Title: Got The Ouchies
Word Count: 602
Circa? Old School
Rating: (12) Mild sexuality.
Synopsis: Big boy Wolf likes to pick on everyone... though he didn't mean to hurt Cobra... It's just, anyone that gets between the Wolfman and his prey, you know... What's he going to do?
Got The Ouchies
'Your mother's scarier then you,' he launched the fake attack, a half-folly if you like - you'd have been a fool to believe that face - though he tried to scare the contender right from the mats. It was just Wolf's way. 'That's why I won - I psyched you out,' he lashed, knowing full well he was a lucky climber that day. Honestly, Regan Pilkington's, who came second in the 1995 series, family were indeed pretty intimidating. But the anger was part of his persona. He didn't mean anything by it. Even John Anderson could tell, blowing his whistle in panic and rushing straight over to their sides, with a hurried need to calm. 'Break it up, guys... Break it up,' he argued, shielding Ulrika from the harm. He'd been tampering with the Gladiator rulebook again, pushing guidelines to the brink. They'd all have a good laugh about it later; they always did. Cobra tried to coax our lycan out of the row, leading him by the tanned and muscular arm, but in doing so took a nasty jab to the upper chest. 'I don't need your help!' he scowled. Fine! It'll be the last time he gives it to you.
They begrudgingly trudged off the stage. 'Hey, watch it, okay,' Cobra grinned, a sharp intake of wet breath against his teeth as he sucked back the swelling. He'd been hit harder than anyone had realised. The Glads are more than used to taking all manner of body blows - from tumbling down the semi-plastic softness of Pyramid, to a pugil or Gauntlet pad cuffed around the ears - but nobody was so unknowingly heavy-handed as the team were with each other. 'That smarts,' he pinched a purpling bit of skin, shimmering metallic yellows which shone like Nightshade's eyeshadow under these lights. But she hadn't been buried into his shoulder. It was bruising, and barely disguised by his vest. 'Aw,' Wolf sported a silly voice, akin to baby gurgles, and smiled, 'Did I pokey-wokey you?' He knew Mick could take it; he was the joker of the pack. So he could mostly get away with anything he liked. And with a soft kiss, planted to the pain, although surprised, he certainly received no lip. Well, it depends on how you look at it. Not for the time being, anyway.
If that was his solution to the problem, then he sure be needing some fixing. 'Oh, I think this side hurts as well,' the bleach-blonde then returned, flirtily, catching him up by the stand, 'You might have to make this better too.' Wolf hadn't wanted a whole affair - what started out as a small taunt for him, had now become a one-sided conversation of naughtiness and dirty double-entendres. Although, if Cobra was going begging, it would be a bitch of him to drop it altogether. He did his duty and kissed him there. And when, not before long, he was suffering from such ailments as sprained wrists, broken knuckles and a runny nose, every niggle was duly corrected by his loving mouth. 'I think we'd better get you to physio - I'm getting worried,' he smirked, rubbing thick fingers over the original lesion. 'But,' the younger sniffed, still pretending to have a cold, 'I think my lips are chapped, Wolfy...' That trick would never better him; it was the oldest in the book. In front of an audience of thousands, the hairy creature quoth, 'Isn't that handy - there's a doctor's in the house!'