In Drake Reborn: Part 1 you read about my picking up the pieces of a shattered Drake and trying to glue him back together. The plot turns to a grudge match of demons and angels and the making (or unmaking?) of a BG East wrestler.
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Drake Reborn – by Bard
Part 2
I flew home the next day, but we stayed in touch. Emails, texts, chats. He’d ask me what that reinvented, heel Drake would do. And I’d tell him. And then, unbelievably, he’d fucking do it! He was in the gym 5 days a week. He tossed out his boxer briefs and twink-tastic Banana Republic button downs. He started blogging again, fully giving voice to the iconoclastic, loud mouthed, fierce, trash talking troublemaker that I’d only hinted at. He sent me video clips of himself, practicing calling out BG East’s finest, insulting Kid Vicious, taunting Jonny Firestorm, telling Kid Leopard to kiss his ass. Yep. I totally got off to those videos.
And week in and week out, I couldn’t help but notice that Drake was looking sensational. He’d put on some sweet muscle before that train wreck with Trey, but damn. A little blogger-inspired reinvention looked fucking great on the kid. After a couple of months of Bard boot camp, I honestly wouldn’t have recognized him. Which is what inspired me to pitch The Boss.
Gabriel Ross was Drakes very first first opponent, back when he was an overly tanned, quiveringly anxious newbie a few years ago. Drake put some sensational hurt on the pint-sized muscle cherub, but in the end, Drake was on his knees and completely at the Brit babyface’s mercy. Who better for Daemon to face, to demonstrate that this is a whole new wrestler, than Drake’s original tormentor?
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So here we are, me and Drake in a bathroom at BG East’s Boston-area facilities. BG East doesn’t “do” managers, so it took still more fast talking, negotiations, and, yes, flattery for me to be permitted to come along for the ride. Drake insisted on it, though. I think his internal image of his new wrestling persona may be a little more fragile than I thought. He’s still relying on me to reflect back to him this vision of a confident, cocky, balls out bad boy that he’s been trying on for the past 4 months.
The bathroom door flies open. “Let’s get a look at this Daemon,” Kid Leopard smirks, strolling in without knocking, of course. There’s just a momentary twitch across the Boss’ face, and I’m convinced that he’s surprised and impressed with what he sees. Drake looks sensational, and the solid black square cut trunks he’s pulling on are sexy as fuck. “Well, you’d better wrestle better than you look,” Kid Leopard snarls with contempt. His lingering look at Drake’s ripped abs tell an entirely different story.
On command, I’m following The Boss out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the BG East ring room. Jonny Firestorm is already there, setting up equipment with some hot twink I’ve never seen before. Kid Leopard barks at them to hurry the fuck up. Time is money. We’re wasting daylight. On and on, he rides them, and I’m pretty certain they’d be done a lot sooner if he didn’t keep distracting them.
I’m instructed to sit on a couch and remain abso-fucking-lutely silent. “The moment I hear a peep out of you,” Kid Leopard wags a finger in my face threateningly. “We’re making an unprecedented exception to let you watch. But if you fuck up the taping with so much as a sneeze, I’ll drag you by the balls out of here!” I acquiesce. It’s not as if I’m going to cross the Boss in his own ring.
A few minutes later, Kid Leopard is sitting on the couch next to me. Jonny and the hot twink (I’m told his name is Billy), work the equipment. Billy has a shoulder mount video recorder running, and Jonny has a wicked looking digital camera up to his eye when Kid Leopard suddenly shouts, “And… GO!”
A few seconds later, Gabriel Ross walks through the door. Holy shit, this kid is insane to look at! He’s shorter than I am, which is saying something, but good fucking God! He’s huge! I mean, I’ve seen his massively muscled-up body on camera before, but honestly, he’s breathtaking. His massive pecs shake a little as a walks to the ring and steps up to the ring apron. As he climbs through the ropes, I stifle a gasp at the full-on view of his magnificently muscled ass straining the seams of his tantalizingly tight trunks. They’re the same yellow swim trunks he wore in his first match with Drake. His glorious glutes bulge out over the top of them as he slowly walks barefoot across the ring, stretching his arms behind his back, hopping on the balls of his feet, warming up all of that gorgeous muscle mass.
Holy fuck, what have I got Drake into? I think to myself.
Jonny’s clicking that digital camera like a machine gun. Billy keeps crossing back and forth in front of me, clearly studying every juicy inch of the muscle cherub in the ring. It’s annoying, but I know that my unobstructed view is the last priority on anyone’s mind.
A minute later, Drake strolls through the door. He pauses on the short steps leading down to the ring room floor. Fuck, he’s pulsing with cocky confidence. He purses his lips and tilts his head to the side, staring at his opponent. “Time to settle up, Gabriel,” he growls. Walking to the ring and stepping up onto the ring apron.
“You again?” Gabriel asks, as if shocked. He’s not, of course. He knew who his opponent was going to be. But the feigned shock is just part of the story. “Didn’t I already beat your ass?” There’s something about a British accent that makes trash talk sound like poetry.
Drake climbs through the ropes and strolls in a circle around the ring. Gabriel backs away, keeping out of reach for the time being.
“That guy’s gone,” Drake coos almost seductively. “You’ve never met me. You’ve never met anyone quite like me,” Drake promises. My cock’s hard a granite.
They suddenly lunge toward one another, locking up by collar and elbow. Drake is half a foot taller than the muscle cherub. Gabriel struggles with those relatively long arms, until suddenly Drake reverses momentum, stepping backward and pulling Gabriel toward him. Off balance, the British babyface stumbles forward. Drake shoves him in the back of the head toward the ropes. Gabriel slams into the top rope awkwardly, bouncing backward and falling to his ass.
This is Gabriel’s first ring match, as far as I know, and it shows. Drake is on him, dragging him to his feet and shoving those gargantuan pecs of Gabriel’s, sending the muscle boy slamming backward into the turnbuckle. He looks like he’s expecting to get the same bounce out of the corner that he got from the ropes a moment earlier. The agony twisted across his beautiful face suggests that he’s just learned the hard way that a turnbuckle doesn’t “give” the same way the ropes do.
When Gabriel steps out of the corner, arching his back in pain, Drake steps in front of him, turns, and reaches over his shoulder to grab the Brit by the back of the neck. The snap mare is smooth and sweet like honey. Fuck, I can’t help myself. I gasp audibly, just a little, when Gabriel finally lands flat on his back in the middle of the ring. Fortunately, the muscle cherub’s loud cry of pain drowns out my shocked pleasure.
Drake really does look like a new man as he’s instantly on one knee, the other knee digging into Gabriel’s spine as Drake wrenches his head backward in a sick chin lock. A deep, guttural groan comes from Drake. It’s eager and intense, like a grunt of pleasure mid coitus. My cock is throbbing in response.
He keeps bending his opponent backward until Gabriel is arched high across his knee. Suddenly, Drake pounds a vicious forearm across the muscle cherub’s big, bulging pecs, driving the Brit’s back down hard across his knee one more time. Gabriel cries out in honest to god agony before Drake lets him roll like a sack of potatoes to the mat.
Drake is breathing a little harder than I would have expected so soon. He has his hands on his hips as he takes a slow lap around his opponent’s crumpled body. There’s a missed opportunity here for him to press his advantage. When he finally leans over and grabs a handful of Gabriel’s hair, dragging him up to his knees, I can see it in the Brit’s eyes. That breather Drake took was just as beneficial to Gabriel. Suddenly, Gabriel drives up to his feet while he wraps his huge, muscled arms around Drake’s torso. With an animal grunt, the cherub leans backward, pulling his taller opponent off his feet briefly in a powerful bearhug.
There’s a cry of pain that gets stuck somewhere in the back of Drake’s throat as his mouth gapes open. Gabriel can’t manage to hold him off his feet for long. The height difference is just too much for him. When Drake’s feet touch the canvas again, he sucks down a sudden gasp of air. He starts to try to squeeze his hands between his torso and Gabriel’s crushing biceps. I’m relieved he’s still working through the pain, move and counter.
Neither I nor, clearly, Drake are expecting it when Gabriel suddenly sprints forward. Drake is again swept off his feet in that sensationally powerful bearhug. The Brit has built up some momentum by the time he’s pounding Drake’s back into the turnbuckle. The explosion of air out of Drake’s lungs is almost comical. “Ooooof!” If Drake didn’t suddenly choke on a sob of pain and collapse to his knees, it might have been at least momentarily funny.
“No,” Gabriel chuckles, staring down at the dazed stud on his knees in front of him, “now I distinctly remember you being right here once before.” He grabs the back of Drake’s head with both hands and shoves his face into his body. Even on his knees, Drake’s mouth comes mid-chest to the bulging muscle cherub standing in front of him. Gabriel smothers him there, deep in the crevice between his massive pecs. I can hear Drake grunting, struggling for air. He presses his hands against Gabriel’s hips, attempting to pry his face away, but the Brit holds him in place with a vice-like grip. About 30 seconds of pec smothering in, and Drake’s arms start to go slack. Oh, fuck.
Slowly, Gabriel drags Drake’s slackening face down his torso. Drake’s lips stretch and twist across the pronounced ridges of Gabriel’s abs. Down, down Gabriel presses his opponent’s face until Drake his hunched forward, his mouth pressed hard against the muscle cherub’s big bulge. Holy shit. HUGE bulge! Gabriel’s legendary cock is visibly growing right before my eyes. Well, most immediately, it’s growing right before Drake’s lips. Gabriel’s head rolls backward, his eyes closed, obviously getting stoked to the edge. Fuck, they look like both of them may very well ditch the wrestling and just start fucking. Not that I’d mind watching that. But…come on, wrestling!——–to be continued——–
Sidelineland 
You got me hooked and hard