#ft. matt jackson talking about squatting with wardlow

[pepsi-maxwell]

more wrestle derby au, featuring matt jackson inviting wardlow to go park skating (euphemistically ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) with him because like i said, indulgent aus are for crack ships, i rest my case.

rating: g

wordcount: ~1000

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"Oh god my body's broken-"

"-think my bruises have bruises-"

"-how long until the next jam? Please say we're up against the Best Friends, some easy team, for the love of-"

Matt's mostly tuned out everyone's complaints as they skate off the track. He's pretty sore himself; fell right on top of Kyle's wheels at one point so he's limping a little, gonna have one hell of a purple shin, but he managed to do some good offense against Cash, created a path for Adam to get through, so he's happy with that.

And sure, they still lost abysmally, but now that they've gone up against the Pinnacle and the House of Black, they've pretty much covered all of the really heavy hitters, which means the next few rounds should be less intense.

"Uh. Hey. You got a minute?"

He pivots smoothly on his back wheels, all those freestyle skate sessions coming in handy. Comes face to face with the big guy himself. Wardog. Alone. The rest of his team are over by their bench on the other side of the hall, including their pissy looking captain, finally out of the sin-bin. Which makes this capital-i Interesting, and very much worthy of his attention.

"Just wanted to say, good game, and... hope I didn't bump you too hard out there?" he says, holding out his palm tentatively.

He wants to hate him for how impeccable he looks, like he's barely broke a sweat, whereas Matt feels (and probably smells) like he's been dumped in the Everglades, but. Honestly, he looks like a big puppy dog, just... so earnest, and he can't be mean to a face like that.

So he bumps the plastic of their wristguards together in a facsimile of a high five. "Nothing bruised but my pride," he says cheerfully, if only because he can see Kyle glaring at him, probably for fraternising with the 'enemy', like that even matters outside a jam. "There was no stopping you out there! Even if I'd got lower to block, you could have just stepped right over me."

And, hmm.

Isn't that an interesting thought.

Wardog rubs his helmet, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I mean, you got some good offense in, and your form was really good-"

"-oh yeah, I do so many squats off-skates, you wouldn't believe," he agrees, preening slightly because it's true! His form is perfect, and it's good that someone notices! "But still, you're, like, unstoppable as a jammer! You know, you should really do it more often."

He really shouldn't be putting ideas in the guy's head; trying to block him in a single jam had been bad enough. At least the Pinnacle's usual jammer is a similar size to the rest of Matt's team and easier to hold in place. Even if he is a filthy, filthy cheater who plays dirtier than the Elite at their absolute worst.

But still. There's something about this guy that has him wanting to return the compliment. He just seems so... nice. And big. And a little hot, maybe? Hard to tell with the mouth guard and the helmet, but he's gotten good at judging attractiveness under people's gear, so.

"Honestly?" he says, like he's imparting some deep, well-hidden secret. "I hate jamming. Too much endurance. I'm much better at doing offense, or stopping someone else." Matt wonders how much of that's actually truth, and how much is Mr Penalty Box not wanting to share the limelight.

And he could make a dirty remark about endurance, but Wardog's just lapped the Elite about six times with ease, so it'd be more an insult to himself. "Huh. Can't relate!" Is what he says instead, because he genuinely can't; doesn't understand how someone wouldn't enjoy sailing past the opposing team like the biggest, most smug asshole on on the planet. So much fun. If Matt was Wardog's size, with that much agility, he'd jam full time. Maybe even the national team, dude's wasted at a regional Sur5al tournament.

They're interrupted by the Chairman calling out Wardog's name, his real one, probably to talk strategy for whoever they're up against next, and Matt decides to make his most impulsive decision of the day (so far).

"Hey, do you park skate?" he asks, already having an idea of the answer because he's pretty sure he's seen this guy before at his local bowl. One of the benefits of regional tournaments, at least, everyone's pretty local. Follows up Wardog's nod of confirmation with, "Cool! I'm on the social media page for the tournament; look for Matt Jackson, you'll know it's me. Hit me up and we should totally go skate sometime!"

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I'll. Definitely do that. Listen, I should head back to my team, but I'll... send you a message?" he says, with the tiniest pink tinge to his cheeks that says he actually will, and honestly, he's way cuter than he has any right to be, which means there's a decent chance that Matt's going to message him first.

To skate.

Definitely.

Just skating. Nothing else.

He watches him cross the empty track, eyes on one very specific spot as Nick ploughs to a stop beside him.

"Matt, I swear to god, you better not be hitting on the guy whose team just tore us a new one-"

He shouldn't go for it. It's the most obvious thing he could say but it's also going to annoy the hell out of Nick, so he can't not. Smirks and says, "Oh, he can tear me a new one any time."

"One of these days, I am going to kill you so hard-"

Matt rolls his eyes and pushes off with a toe stop. "Yeah, yeah, just save it for when Kenny's back. You still need me for the tournament."

Grabs the helmet cover with the star for their next match up, making the unanimous decision to play jammer because he's got someone to show off to now, and by god he is going to shine.

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fun fact helmet covers used to be called panties because of course they were 🙃