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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 6 years ago

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NSFW #03: Not Like You

“Say hey, EWC Faithful! Welcome to beautiful sunny California! Check it out, we saved so much cash on the way here that we splurged and rented us a beach house!” “And I’m sleeping on the couch.” The camera swiveled around momentarily to focus on a neat little cottage on the beach with a teal paint job and pink trim that boasted one bedroom, one bathroom, a common room, a kitchen, and a back deck (and an adorable, if perhaps slightly overdone, mermaid-based decor theme). A cute little place, really, even if the presence of three people relegated one to the fold-out. Still, a small private stretch of beach was included, and that’s what was arguably the most important part. After lingering a second on the house, the camera swooped back around to focus on NSFW themselves, both smartly clad in swim trunks and NSFW tank tops, sunglasses, and in Bishop’s case, swim floaties. Their noses were coated in Zinka sunscreen, orange and green respectively. There was a sandwich board planted in the sand before them, but it was covered up by a official new, hot for the summer, NSFW beach towel. “I told him he didn’t fuckin’ have to, but he insisted. THAT is the kind of stand-up fuckin’ guy your TV Champion is, Faithful. Eat your hearts out.” “It would be unforward of me considering.” “Yeah I know, but the couch’s a fold out and we TOTALLY coulda… anyway. We ain’t talkin’ bout the ever-lively TV Championship scene today. Today, we are gonna start off by talkin’ a little bit about our beloved Tag Team division in general. And we even made a nice clear visual aid.” Grabbing the towel- only $15.99 plus S&H, order now and get a free pair of NSFW arm floaties AND a set of five fidget spinners!- Mike whipped it off in a dramatic flourish, revealing its bold text to the world. The camera lingered long enough for it to be easily read. Finally pulling back to them, Mike planted the phone onto a tripod and backed up, standing as always at her partner’s right hand side, arms folded and a small smirk on her face. John tapped his fingers on top of the wooden board. “We share this with our colleagues with only the intention of inspiration. But maybe being called to the carpet evokes different king of feeling.” John looked over to Mike with a fond expression as if saying ‘Take it from here.’ “If this pisses you guys off? Good. Maybe it’ll light a goddamn fire under your asses. We said from the moment we came here that we wanna spark a revolution. A fuckin’ Renaissance. Bring this division back from the dead. WORK WITH US, PEOPLE. We want to make this division worth seeing. Shit, we want our tag division to be SO good that we get butts in seats just to see us.” She made a circular gesture, indicating she meant ‘us’ as a collective, the tag division entire, before dropping her hand back to her side and sighing. “Come on, guys. Cooperate.” The TV champ nodded in agreement. “Last week was the epitome of what the tag team division should be. Two teams. Lutter. Kross. Mike and I still think you’re a poor judge of character. But Kross and you showed just how deep your convictions lie. You are professional wrestling through and through, and NSFW was wrong. Let’s bring about this Renaissance together.” Mike grinned widely, bouncing back on the heels of her bare feet slightly. “Y’know, there’s this country song that goes ‘Lovin’ You Is Fun’. Well, Nos, I gotta say thatFightin’ You Is Fun, and I really hope we get to do it again sometime.” “But that was last week. The new Assistant General Manager has a sense of humor seemingly...” His voice trailed off. He seemed lost in thought or he lost what he was about to say. “And...there are no rules this time.” Mike looked up at him, her brow furrowing in mild concern. She didn’t say anything, but her expression was clearly asking if he was alright. “And... our opponents, no strangers to each other are…complicit…” “They’re a couple of crazy fucks, is what they are. I mean, Church, what do you even make of, as that cranky-ass lazy dickhole Bennet would say, these sons-a-bitches? I mean, I’m pretty sure at least one of them is seriously fuckin’ unhinged.” John looked at her again, this time with an expression Mike had actually not seen in months at least in relation to professional wrestling. “They seem nice.” Holding up a finger, Mike walked over to the phone and turned the camera off for the time being, and turning back to their partner, finally gave voice to their concern. “Bud, are you okay? You haven’t said that in ages and you seem kinda… I dunno. Off? Talk to me. Tell me what’s up.” John took off his shades and looked directly at them. “I don’t know what you mean.” Mike took theirs off as well, looking back at him with a bit of a frown, shaking their head. “That ain’t gonna work, Church. I know you too good by now.” John averted his eyes from her gaze. “Well.” “And when’s the last time you corrected my goddamn grammar? Look. Real fucking talk. We’re supposed to trust each other. If there’s a problem I wanna help, you KNOW that. So. Please. If something’s wrong, would you please tell me? We’ll work it out. We can do anything.” Mike comes closer, reaching out and resting a hand on his arm. They were allowed to do this now (a level of mutual comfort they felt more grateful for than they could say) but they knew it’d get him to focus on them. They looked up, dark green eyes almost pleading with him to be open with them. John sighed. “I’m not like you. Mike. I told you that I’d uphold the integrity of this sport by staying in the bounds of the rules. But I’m not David. I’m not Natalie. But it looks good. It looks like I’m taking a stand.” And he shook his head. He struggled to find his words and Mike lightly squeezed his forearm. “But it’s something you don’t say for public consumption. Because it’s like chum in the water. I’m no righteous defender of the sport. I’m...afraid. Afraid of the mindset it takes to go beyond what has been given to me.” John raised brought up hands, palms facing towards him. “That fear makes me a coward. Unable to act. Confirming the criticisms. Getting in your way. Causing you harm. Last time this came up, I watched you stagger about afterwards unable to tell me what state we were in. That was my inaction. My cowardice.” Mike listened. They may have the reputation of a loudmouth, but whenever John spoke, Mike always gave him their full attention, no matter what else they may be doing. They listened until he was finished. Then they wrapped her arms around him, squeezing and staying there a moment before stepping back. “Don’t ever say that. You are not a coward, John, you hear me? You’re… shit. You’re the most fucking noble, upright person I’ve ever met. Anything that happens to me, don’t blame yourself for that. I get myself in a shitton of trouble on my own. So yeah. You’re not like anybody else. So what? I LIKE that you aren’t like me. I like that you’re like you. And if you don’t want to use weapons? You don’t have to. I’m hardcore enough for both of us.” They gave a slightly wavering little ‘heh’, probably to lighten the mood a bit. “Besides. You’ve bent the rules a little before. In Oakland.” He shuffled his feet in the sand. “I don’t remember such a thing.” His tone was coy. So perhaps a good sign. “You did though. You jumped off the top. It was fuckin’ awesome. I’ll show you later but it was totally sweet.” “Just kind of in the moment. Never did that before.” “You should do that kind of thing more often, y’know, if you feel okay with it. Hell, maybe in this match. You don’t gotta break the rules if you don’t want, but maybe you could do stuff like that. Skirt ‘em a little, you know? And leave the fuckin’ screaming murder shit to me.” John nodded, smiling faintly but earnestly. Mike smiled back, glanced toward the camera and, with a gesture of approval on their partner’s part, resumed recording. “Woo! Sorry about the weird cut there, Faithful, minor tech difficulties.” “Actually I forgot my line.” “We have lines?” She snickered, tucking a windblown strand of hair back under her Mets cap. “Anyway. Our competition this week. Young Sinatra and Anthony Grunge. One would be crooner and one guy crazier than a sack full of rabid goddamn ferrets.” “I don’t think this Sinatra sings at all.” “He don’t? Aw, that sucks, I wanted to hear him do ‘AIn’t That A Kick In The Head.’” “He is however another Messiah.” Mike shook her head, tisking in obvious disappointment. “Now, this is a real fuckin’ shame. See, this Young Sinatra guy ain’t unknown to us. He came into our FighterTalk thread and said how big of a fan he was, and I was like, ‘awww, what a sweet kid!’ Then I heard him talk. And holy fucking christ he’s ANOTHER one of these anti-hardcore crusaders with a God complex. Who probably thinks I’m some kind of abomination unto the holy ring or whatever. Listen up, Lil’ Blue Eyes. I don’t go waving this around cuz believe it or not I got an ounce of humbleness in me about it, but do you know who taught me? Harley Fucking Race, the King himself. And if that ain’t pure enough a pedigree to satisfy your uppity fuckin’ sensibilities, I don’t know what is. So I will do whatever the shit I want in this match and if you got somethin’ to say to me about it? Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut or me an’ my Louisville Slugger’ll shut it for you.” Her grin had gained a somewhat rabid quality. John’s mouth was slightly agape at the outburst, but he felt the truth in this words and quickly stepped in line with a reaffirming nod. “That’s… right. Mike and me had hopes for you. Would you believe that David Scott, of all people, enjoys riding Space Mountain? That guy?” Mike blinked and tried (and failed) to say something a few times, obviously trying not to fall over and roll into the Pacific in a fit of laughter. “What? What did I say?” “Nothing! Nothing, keep going, you’re good.” She held a hand up to her face, barely concealing a ‘Woooo!’ John shook his head and continued. “You and me. We share something in common. In the physical sense. We’re on the outside looking in. However, you’re representing that division in an ironic fashion. I assure you that this match will be anything but make-believe. Leave your moralizing at the curtain. You don’t do what you do because you’re taking a grand stance against depravity. You have no real aspirations to make any changes that benefit anyone but yourself. You want to remake the world in your image. Your opposition is not the Madison brothers. It is not any other‘team’ in our division.” John stepped forward and looked directly in the camera as opposed to his normal past the camera gaze.. “You will stand face to face with the constant of the tag team division. Understand this. What you will say and what you will assume of us will be what we’ve heard since day one. You will try to pick us apart. You will try to drive a wedge in our partnership by playing to simple human nature. If you do that: you don’t get us.” “So. With Snooty No Hardcore Guy addressed, let’s move on, shall we? Anthony Grunge. Now here we got a complete opposite dude. No classy classic piano tickling and smooth crooning here, now we got a raw, smashmouth, in your face cat from right here in L.A., so he’s gonna have a nice hometown advantage going on. Which is very cool. Problem is, like I noted before… this guy is absolutely fucking nuts.” “That unpredictability has perhaps brought him unpredictable results. It would be arrogant of us to be so dismissive of a man who’s proclivities lead him to have discussions with a cactus. This man gives everything no matter the circumstances and I know that he will not be intimidated to the ones he has been given here. Mike. Two months ago we stood before Collateral Damage, an unknown entity, and in their hearts they knew that a team with no experience would never have a chance against them. We cannot make the same mistake that they did.” Mike nodded. She knew better as well. “You’re good, Grunge. And you KNOW you’re good. You showed everybody just how good you fucking were, us included. And y’know what? You may be a crazy SOB, but nobody ever called me the picture’a sanity neither. I like the cut of your jib, dude. You proved to a stuck up purist like Sinatra that you can do it traditional, but now? You’re gonna be in the ring with ME. And I wanna see what you got. Turn up the crazy and bring it hard, cuz I’ve wanted to face someone like you since I fuckin’ got here.” John stood back beside his partner and for a second appearance in a row, he wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulders. “But despite the non-standard rules of this match, two men who are ideologically opposed will be forced to work together against one team. We are not the tag team champions. We have defeated the tag team champions. And we are not the number one contenders but we don’t haphazardly cost each other matches either.” “They ain’t just ‘ideologically opposed’, bud. They outright fuckin’ HATE each other. And that? That above everything else, the skill and the snootiness and the hardcore and the crazy, is what’s gonna get us the win here. Cuz Church and me? We love each other. We’ve gone up and down the road, done everything together, we train together all the time. We know each other in an’ out, back an’ frontways. Our sync is perfect. I bet he even knows what I’m thinking right now.” She made a show of putting on a ‘hard thinking’ expression. “No electric toothbrush.” “If all goes well, partner. If all goes well.” Mike looked up at the cottage, perhaps at someone just visible through the window, and grins slyly. “So. Grunge, Sinatra, we will see you on Monday. If you don’t kill each other first. As for us? We’ve worked our butts off and now it’s time for some play. Cuz what’s the point of coming all the way to the beach and Not Surfing the Fucking Waves?” Beaming, she yanked a pair of boogie boards out of the sand, handing her partner one. There’s also a third, but it stays put. Waving, she strode over to the phone and ended the recording. Soon as the stuff from their promo was stashed away- the tripod, the sandwich board, the excess of self-branded merch- NSFW was joined by the third person sharing their little beachside cottage for their two weeks in California. Mike found it happily ironic. They had left her at her house on one end of the country only to join her on the other side. It was like a rainbow with a pot of gold at both ends. As the Southern Belle stepped out onto the deck and joined her friends on the sand, Mike couldn’t help but give her an appreciative look over- she looked damn good in a bikini and, as with her ring gear, coral was absolutely Natalie’s color. But she didn’t spend too long ogling: whipping off her tank top to reveal a flesh tone swim top underneath, she grabbed her board and, hollering for her friends to follow, ran into the sea full tilt. It’d been far too long since either Mike or John had seen the ocean, and they were reveling in it. It was Natalie that came back to shore first, dropping her boogie board onto the sand before taking a seat on it. A couple weeks of recovery time had done wonders for her condition, the bruises along her ribs and backs mostly gone. She was still healing, though, and the combination of salt water and sun on her skin felt like it was helping matters. Or maybe that was just the company talking. A short time passed before she’s joined by Mike, who plops her board next to Natalie’s and sits down as well, a smile on her face. The constant breeze smelled fresh and salty, and the sun was beginning to come down, glittering on the ocean. “I’m so freakin’ glad you came, Miss Natalie. You… heh. You look a lot better. Not that you looked bad before or nothin’! Just, y’know. Less banged up. Like you feel better.” Knocking her wet bangs out of her face, she looked over to the other woman with as sweet a smile as the rough brawler could possibly manage. Returning that smile, the blond nodded. “I do feel better, thanks. Don’t tell him I said so, but Mister Morgan was right in that I needed to take it easy for a couple of weeks.” That smile turned into a playful sort of grin as Natalie leaned over, nudging Mike’s shoulder with her own. A third boogie board plopped itself beside them. John, soaking wet, disheveled, and short of breath, plopped down as well. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that again.” “Aw, really? I could do that all day. I feel like a mermaid. A badass mermaid with a freakin’ shark tail and awesome tattoos. I’d ask if we could move here if I didn’t like our house so much. And if it wouldn’t put us clear on the other side of the country from you, Miss Nat.” She laughed, curling her toes in the sand. The ocean was starting to take on the pink and orange hues of the sky. “And when he says ‘take it easy’, does he mean, like, no strenuous activity? At all? None?” That smile was getting awfully cheeky… though at least this time, the blond was prepared to fire back. “If he did, do you think I would’ve packed my swimsuit?” “Mmm, point. A’course, if you’re allowed to go swimming and boarding…” That smile only got more coy. John looked past Mike in the middle and right at Natalie. “I don’t think that’s the kind of strenuous activity that they are talking about.” “Well clearly--wait. ‘They’?” Leaning forward a little, the Southern Belle looked at both members of NSFW with a brow raised. “Forgive me, but I’m a little confused. Why did you call Mike ‘they’?” His reply was direct. “Because that is who Mike is, Natalie.” Mike, for her part, froze. Her grip dug into the sides of her board, leaving impressions in the foam. Her heart started pounding, and the pleasantly warm evening suddenly felt ice cold.Oh god. Please don’t let it happen again. I couldn’t handle it if it did. Don’t freak out. Please don’t freak out… “I… understand, I think.” Leaning over, Natalie’s head rested on Mike’s shoulder, a sandy arm looping around the small of their back before she continued. “I mean, if you’ve got your preferences that’s fine… and I’ll do my best to use them. But it doesn’t really matter to me, y’know? So long as you’re you, Mike.” “R...really? You don’t think it’s weird? I mean nobody knows but… but John. I’m. I’m not really a girl, b-but I’m not a guy a’neither…” “You’re Mike.” “And really, wanting to be called ‘they’ is normal compared to the one guy I used to wrestle with that insisted that he was really a giant albino lizard like Godzilla, or the Cult of Yorlik… or, well, most of my time in Hardkore World.” There was a quiet pause for just a moment. And then, Mike laughed. It was not only a response to hearing something funny, but a sound of pure relief. They lean their cheek against Natalie’s wet hair, arm curling around her back in turn. However, their other hand reaches in the other direction, wrapping around her partner’s wrist. The closest they could get to holding his hand. “Hey. Just so you know? You guys are the fucking best.”

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