Jacobs vs. Weaver: The Second Fall, in which the men really rough each other up.


Jacobs rings the bell, and it echoes from the rafters to the dark dressing rooms of the old gym.

The wrestlers circle the center of the ring, pause, and lock up.

Weaver quickly pulls Jacobs into a side headlock.

"Ahhh," Jacobs grunts. He puts his right arm around Weaver's waist.

Weaver feels the heat of Jacobs's hand on his naked flesh. He cinches the headlock tighter, crushing Jacobs's head between his forearm and bicep and his chest. He bends at his knees and rises slowly, grinding the headlock.

"Oohh," Jacobs cries through gritted teeth. His right hand spasm‑grips Weaver's lovehandles, his left hand rises into the air, pleading.

Weaver smiles and cinches the hold tighter still.

Jacobs moves his right hand to Weaver's right shoulder and presses his left against Weaver's belly.

Weaver smiles again at these pleading touches, cinches the headlock tighter, and then flips Jacobs across his hip to the mat, coming down hard on top of him and still maintaining the hold.

"Uhh," Jacobs grunts as part of his wind is lost.

Weaver lies with his naked side against Jacobs's pecs. Again, with all the weight of his torso on Jacobs's chest, he grinds the headlock tighter. He leans in close and can see the shining moisture in Jacobs's eyes, the gleam of sweat popping out on his forehead.

Jacobs grabs Weaver's wrist and with a muffled grunt, pulls on it.

But Weaver holds on and continues to squeeze Jacobs's head.

"Ohhh," Jacobs gasps. He puts his left hand to Weaver's chin and pushes. He gets his right hand across Weaver's bicep and pushes the chin with it too.

"Umph." The sound escapes through Weaver's nose as Jacobs pushes hard. Weaver begins to lose the powerful leverage he had on the hold as his head goes back. The headlock finally slips until he has it locked only by the tips of his fingers.

Jacobs slides his sweaty head out and rolls away.

Weaver rises to his knees and slaps the mat with both hands. He watches Jacobs get to his feet and shake his head. He wipes the sweat from his face and stands up.

They lock up again, but this time it is Jacobs who takes the quick hold, slipping behind Weaver and applying a full nelson.

"Aahh," Weaver yells, his eyes slammed shut and his chin being forced down onto his chest as Jacobs stretches out his neck. "Damn!" he says through gritted teeth.

Jacobs leans his chest against Weaver's back, his forehead against Weaver's left shoulder.

Weaver strains to pull his arms down in an attempt to break the hold.

"Oh, my neck!" he grunts, still pulling against Jacobs's full nelson. He feels Jacobs's laced fingers at the back of his neck, feels them slip a fraction. He pushes his hips forward and then thrusts his naked rump backward into Jacobs's round belly.

Jacobs loses the hold and backs away.

Both wrestlers are sweating heavily in the midnight heat of the old gym. Both are breathing hard, their bellies ballooning and then shrinking rapidly.

They lock up again and sweat flies in the amberwhite light. They feel each other out, pushing and pulling, looking for leverage. Jacobs's hands slip a little in the sweat on Weaver's body, and Weaver yanks him back into the side headlock.

"Nooo," Jacobs moans as Weaver cinches the headlock tight. "Not again."

But this time Jacobs moves quickly to free himself from the vise‑like hold. He maneuvers his bent body in close to Weaver's and drops his right hand to the outside of Weaver's right thigh.
Then he threads his left hand between Weaver's legs. His hands lock on Weaver's thigh, his left wrist is against Weaver's dangling basket, his shoulder is pressed against the top of Weaver's naked buttocks.

Weaver is leaning back, working Jacobs's neck muscles when he feels his bare feet leave the mat.

"Whaa?" he gasps in surprise, just as Jacobs, with great effort, continues to lift him and falls back in a suplex.

"Ooohh," Weaver says as he squirms on the mat with his hands to the back of his head.

Jacobs rolls quickly back to his feet, slapping his pecs and waiting. But waiting only for a moment.

Weaver rolls slowly to his side and gets up to his knees.

Jacobs moves behind him, and his fingers pinch deep into the muscles at the meeting of Weaver's neck and shoulder.

"Aahhh," Weaver screams, his hands flying up in the air, his face folding into a sweaty red grimace of pain.

Jacobs lifts his face toward the light, which shines on his sweat‑wet face and his bared and gritted teeth. His biceps and forearms bulge as he squeezes Weaver's muscle, digging the hold
deeper and pushing down with the grip.

"Ohh," Weaver groans and falls to his knees. His hands clench and unclench in the air. He is almost sobbing from the pain.

Jacobs stands over him now, dominating. He shakes his head and the sweat flies. He bears down hard with strength and weight.

"Ahhhhh! Please, Jacobs!" Weaver cries. His eyes open for a second and then squeeze shut again. His hands are clasped in the air in front of his face. In supplication.

"Do you wanna give?" Jacobs says through the strain of the pressure he is focusing on Weaver's shoulder.

"No!" Weaver shouts and with an impulse of panic, rises to one knee.

"Didn't think so," Jacobs says and squeezes the hold tighter, leaning even more of his weight into it now that Weaver is up on one knee. Then he feels the first sign of cramping in his fingers.

Weaver feels the weight behind the hold increase, but he senses a weakening in the hold itself. He pushes up suddenly, almost standing, and plants his left elbow in Jacobs's abs.

"Ooooff." The sound explodes from Jacobs as he releases the hold and backs away bent over. He rests his hands on his thigh to recapture his wind and then shakes the cramps out of his fingers.

Weaver rises to his feet, his neck stinging, but he doesn't wait for Jacobs. With Jacobs still bent over and trying to catch his breath, Weaver moves in on him and takes him in a front facelock. He feels the sweat of Jacobs's head between his left arm and side. He leans his belly over Jacobs's shoulders, still holding the facelock and easing his weight down onto Jacobs's broad
back. He pulls the hold tight.

"Aahh." Jacobs drops to one knee, Weaver standing over him, standing in front of him. Jacobs's neck aches as the pain from the two previous headlocks returns. He feels Weaver's weight still
leaning heavily down on his shoulder.

Then suddenly the weight is gone. The hold is gone. Weaver is gone.

Jacobs is on his knees in the ring, blinking at the darkness outside the ring. Then he sees the Weaver's left arm snaking down over his chin and up the right side of his face. He feels the
powerful reverse chinlock being cinched tight, feels Weaver's weight now from behind.

"Uugh," he grunts and his hands rise into the air, pleading.

Weaver leans into him, cinching the chinlock tight and putting pressure on Jacobs's back with his weight.

Jacobs reaches back and grabs the nape of Weaver's neck with both hands.

Weaver tries to shake him off.

Jacobs rises partway to his feet, moves his hand to the back of Weaver's head and Weaver's chin to the top of his. He drops quickly to both knees, jarring Weaver's jaw and teeth on the top of
his head.

Weaver's howl of pain sounds more like a gurgle as he clamps his hands over his mouth and stumbles across the ring.

Jacobs stumbles forward and then steadies himself on his feet.

Both wrestlers are tired and weaving, soaked with sweat from hair to bare feet, breathing hard. Weaver holds onto the ropes, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head. Jacobs stands a few
feet away, rubbing his neck. They eye each other for a moment then simultaneously grin and extend their right hands and shake.

They circle, slowly and warily, tiredly. Then they lock up and the sweat flies in all directions as they jerk each other, struggling for leverage.

Jacobs begins to reach around Weaver's shoulder and moves in a bit too close.

Weaver pulls him into the third side headlock of the match.

"Nooo!" Jacobs screams, his left hand to the side of his neck.

Weaver bends into the hold, every moment cinching it tighter around Jacobs's head.

Jacobs reaches both hands around Weaver's waist and holds on tightly against the pain in his neck and ears.

"Ahhhh," Jacobs yells and begins desperately to push Weaver toward the ropes.

Weaver's side touches the ropes. He feels Jacobs leaning heavily into him, his breath lifting his shoulders up and down. Weaver releases the hold and raises his hands.

Jacobs straightens up and slowly backs away.

But Weaver jumps, returning to the headlock.

"Ahhh," Jacobs cries, a whimper of frustration.

Weaver works the headlock up and down on Jacobs's red ears.

Jacobs grabs Weaver's wrists, twists his body, and pushes up into a top wristlock.

"Ummppht," Weaver grunts, straining against his opponent and friend. He spreads his legs for balance.

The wrestlers arms are over their heads. Sweat pours into their eyes and down their arms and armpits and sides. They are almost face to face, their arms locked together, muscle against
muscle.

But after an attack made up completely of various arm‑oriented holds, Weaver weakens first. Jacobs's strength forces him to stumble back, but he awkwardly pulls Jacobs with him into a clumsy arm drag.

Jacobs pulls against it, but Weaver's weight is in free fall now, and he goes over with him to the mat, flipping over Weaver's hip and landing hard on the flat of his back.

Weaver is quickly to his feet. He grabs Jacobs's red ears and lifts him to sitting.

"Aahh," Jacobs screams.

Weaver moves his right hand to the top of Jacobs's head and his left cups Jacobs's chin. He throws his right leg over Jacobs's right shoulder and falls back into a straight head scissors from
behind.

"Aahhhh," Jacobs cries.

Weaver leans back on his hands and cinches the scissors tight.

"Ooohh noooo," Jacobs yells through gritted teeth, his face already reddening. He pulls frantically at the thighs squeezing his head.

Weaver plants his right heel into Jacobs's fleshy belly, and, leaning back on his hands, lifts his buttocks off the mat. His jaw clamps shut and he cinches the scissors tighter.

"Uuhhhhh," Jacobs grunts. His hands fly off Weaver's thighs and into the air as Weaver cinches the scissors again. "Ohhh, Weaver! Please!"

Weaver knows this will eventually be it if he handles himself and his opponent right. He looks down and sees his erection blooming from behind Jacobs's head. He feels Jacobs's short hair
scratching at the blood‑tightened skin.

His thighs tighten to stone, and he breathes hard through clenched teeth.

Jacobs grabs Weaver's ankles and pulls as hard as he can, but his arms are weak from trying to escape the headlocks, from own his full nelson, suplex, and extended nerve pinch.

Weaver's legs are practically fresh, and the ankles do not budge.

Jacobs tries to roll over.

"Uuughh." He grunts with the effort.

Weaver feels the pressure to roll with him, but he is desperate to maintain this hold. He cinches the scissors tighter yet.

"Ohhh, Weaver, nooooo!" Jacobs wheezes.

Weaver thumps a heel hard into Jacobs's heaving belly to stop his attempt to roll. Again the scissors tightens.

Jacobs stamps his heels repeatedly on the mat. He slaps Weaver's thighs frantically.

His own erection jolts from side to side.

Weaver leans back on his right hand, and places his left hand on top of Jacobs's sweaty head as more leverage to prevent another attempt to roll‑‑and for another reason.

Jacobs feels light‑headed, but he feels the hardness of Weaver's basket at the back of his head.

Weaver squeezes again, slowly and steadily building the pressure on the sides of Jacobs's head.

"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhh!" Jacobs howls in a raspy voice.

With his fingers locked in Jacobs's hair to hold his head in place, Weaver gives one hard quick squeeze to the straight head scissors to divert Jacobs's attention while he makes the split‑
second switch to a figure‑4 head scissors.

"Please!" Jacobs cries.

Weaver, breathing heavily but otherwise silent, leans to his right and begins bending his left leg, the hook leg, back under himself. The further he gets it under, the greater the pressure with which his right calf crushes into Jacobs's chin and jaw.

Jacobs knows he can't take much more.

"Please, Weaver," he sobs one last time, his voice muffled by the hold.

Weaver leans to the right again, moves his left hand from Jacobs's head grabs his own left ankle, and draws his hook leg even further back.

"Aaahhh!" Jacobs scream-mumbles with his last ounce of energy. His hands fly up in the air and shake. "I give! Weaver, I give!"

Weaver untangles the hold and falls back on the mat, exhausted.

Jacobs, his cheek pillowed against the inside of Weaver's right thigh, grabs his head.

"What a headache," he says.

Both wrestlers lie there under the ring light until the heavy breathing has stopped and the sweat is dried and the erections have subsided.