Producer’s Ring: Ventimiglia vs. Ramamurthy

—–continued from The TV League: Match 1—–

The TV League: Match 2

Ventimiglia v Ramamurthy

by Bard

“We have a problem,” Eli Brody said to two of the hunks from his TV talent pool.  Sitting in front of Eli in his Vancouver office was Sendhil Ramamurthy and his co-star Milo Ventimiglia.  They were both original components of a running series that started strong, but was slowly bleeding its audience ever since the conclusion of the first season.  “The show is heading into the toilet unless we shake things up and grab the audience’s attention.  We’ve tried pulling in new talent.  We’ve tried changing settings, turning the good guys bad and the bad guys good.  The last hope to save this show is that someone big needs to die.”

Both men shifted in their seats, seeing where this was going.  Milo interjected, “It’s the writing, Eli.  They need to get back to storylines like we had in the first season.”

“It’s not just the writing, Milo,” Eli corrected.  “The ensemble has gotten stale.  I have a strong intuition about these things,” Eli said with his hands crossed over his crotch.  “Someone needs to die, and it’s going to be one of the two of you.”

“Look, Eli,” Sendhil said quickly, “I want this.  I need this.  What do you want in order to convince you to keep me on board?”

“I need to see some passion,” Eli reponded.  “One of you needs to step up and show some rage.  Someone needs to show me that he can let loose and tap into something primal.  If the show survives, it will be because we’ve reconnected our market with what they deeply desire.  And what your market desires is to see one of the two of you start to color outside the box, to show some ferocity, to really convince them that you’re someone that kicks ass.”

Both men glanced at one another nervously.  Neither was certain what rage might lay beneath the surface of the other.

“Your contracts are mine, and they’re both up for renewal.  I need to see your ferocity today, right now.  I don’t want to see your classical training or your method acting.  I need to see you, laid bare and in touch with what gets your blood pumping, not to mention what gets my blood pumping.  Follow me,” Eli said commandingly.  Milo and Sendhil followed Eli out of his office and down a deserted hallway in Eli’s warehouse headquarters.

Stopping at an unmarked door, Eli explained, “Inside you’ll find some gear to change into.  When you’re dressed, you’ll go through the door at the end of the room.  This is going to be a battle between the two of you.  No one else is watching.  Your task is to convince me, just me, that you have the fighting spirit to keep your job.  The man who can show me today that he’s a warrior will have a role in next season’s show.”

Milo angrily shoved open the door and walked in to discover a conventional gym locker room.  Sendhil followed Milo.  On either side of the locker room were unmarked boxes.  Milo walked directly to one of the boxes and opened it.  Inside he found solid black wrestling tights.  He immediately began to strip down out of this street clothes.  Sendhil silently watched Milo unbotton his flannel shirt to reveal his slender, tightly muscled torso.  Milo’s ripped pecs weren’t huge, but they were deeply cut and lightly covered in dark hair.  His abs flexed and stretched as he removed his shirt, revealing a light trail of hair extending from his bellybutton down to the top of his jeans.  Milo noticed Sendhil watching, and Milo flashed him a contemptuous smile.  Eyes fixed on Sendhil, Milo squared his shoulders to stand directly in front of him.  Slowly, Milo’s hands unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his fly.  Milo’s right hand touched his rippled abs, and then slowly rubbed down his lower abdomen.  His hand slipped underneath the top of his underwear and disappeared up to the top of his wrist, expanding the tight fabric.  Sendhil could see Milo’s hand flexing beneath the surface of his underwear, rubbing his cock and balls sensuously.

Suddenly, Milo turned away from Sendhil and grabbed both his jeans and underwear at his hips, and slowly pulled them both down his legs.  Straight-legged, Milo bent over, peeling his clothes off his legs.  Sendhil watched as Milo’s muscled ass stretched as he bent forward.  Milo then slowly stood up straight, running his hands up the back of his naked legs and ass as he came upright.  Then still with his back to Senhil, Milo picked up the black singlet, stepped inside the legs, and put his arms through the shoulder straps.  Milo turned around to face Sendhil again and smiled at him, as Milo snapped the straps across both shoulders and then adjusted his cock and balls, naked beneath the taught fabric.

Sendhil swallowed loudly, and then walked to the other box.  Upon opening it, Sendhil pulled out the solid white singlet that were inside.  Milo chuckled, “I guess we know who’s the jobber in this match.”

Sendhil looked at Milo sideways, then pulled his pink polo shirt over his head while Milo watched.  Sendhil’s torso wasn’t as muscled as Milo’s, but he was wiry and looked strong.  Sendhil’s chest was broad and covered in a layer of dark hair.  Not looking at Milo, but facing him, Sendhil unzipped his khaki trousers and pulled them off.  Stepping out of his trousers, Sendhil stood still for a moment, looking down at his bronze body and his white bikini underwear.  Then turning to the box, Sendhil picked up the white singlet and stepped inside the legs, pulling his arms through the straps and adjusting the taught material over his slender body.

Milo grinned contemptously, slowly looking down and up Sendhil’s body.  Then Milo turned and walked across to the end of the room and through the door, with Sendhil following silently.  They entered into a large open warehouse with a pro wrestling ring in the middle surrounded by empty raised bleachers on all sides.  In a wooden chair next to the ring apron, Eli sat with his arms crossed, one ankle resting on the other knee.

“It’s time to start, gentlemen.  I call you gentlemen, but what I need to see is for the two of you to become something other than gentlemen, now.”  Waving to the ring, Eli concluded, “Let the games begin.”

Both fighters walked confidently to the ring, hopped up on the ring apron, and stepped through the top two ropes.  Milo began to swing his arms in broad circles to warm up.  Sendhil remained still, staring at his opponent.  Milo began twisting his torso, popping his back and stretching his core.  Then he began running in place, pumping the blood to his legs.  Milo turned to the corner and stretched his legs out to either side, stretching his hamstrings and bending forward in a graceful stretch of his lower back.

At that moment, Sendhil rushed forward, knelt one knee to the mat, and with his right hand reached between Milo’s outstretched legs and locked his grip around Milo’s balls.  Milo fell foward on his knees awkwardly, crying out in pain and grabbing at Sendhil’s hand squeezing like a vice.  With his left hand, Sendhil grabbed a handful of Milo’s dark hair, and controlling him by both the hair and the balls, Sendhil lifted Milo jerkingly to his feet.  Squeezing Milo’s balls even harder and pulling on his hair, Sendhil drew Milo up to the balls of his feet, Milo’s hands clutching Sendhil’s right hand flexing control over Milo’s balls.  Suddenly Sendhil shoved the back of Milo’s head forward and downward, plowing Milo’s face into the turnbuckle with the full weight of Sendhil’s body crashing down behind him.  Releasing both grips on his opponent, Sendhil stepped backward as Milo’s face richoted off the turnbackle and he fell flat on his back onto the mat, with blood spurting from his broken nose.

Milol’s left hand cupped his throbbing balls while he raised his right hand to his broken nose.  Pulling his right hand away from his face, Milo looked at the blood dripping from his fingers with shock.  “You fucker!” Milo screamed hoarsely through the pain in his balls and the swelling in his deviated septum.  Milo turned his head to the side and spit out blood that was pooling down the back of his throat from his broken nose.

But before Milo could roll completely to his side, Sendhil leapt into the air and stretched out his legs over top of his opponent’s prone body.  Falling with his full body weight, Sendhil brought his right leg squarely across Milo’s bloody face.  Rolling over Milo’s body, Sendhil hopped back to his feet and leapt again in the air, dropping his right leg again across his opponents face that was bleeding profusely now and swelling quickly.

As Sendhil stood again, he felt a cold, wet sensation on the back of his bare right leg.  Pausing from his onslaught, Sendhil felt the back of his leg with his right hand, and then brought the bloody hand in front of his face.  Looking at his opponent’s blood dripping from his fingers, Sendhil’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment.  Bringing his hand to his lips, he licked the blood from his middle finger.

Turning his attention back to his bloody opponent, Sendhil leapt again in the air to drop his leg across Milo’s broken face one more time.  Milo had gathered his wits by this time, though, and at the last moment he rolled away, leaving Sendhil to land solidly on his tailbone, sending a shock of pain up his back and through his limbs.  Sendhil’s hands went reflexively to his lower back.

Milo jumped unsteadily to his feet, and straddling his opponent’s outstretched legs, Milo grabbed a handful of Sendhil’s thick black hair with his right hand.  Drawing Sendhil up by the hair, Milo pulled his opponent to his feet.  Just as Sendhil reached his feet, Milo ducked under Sendhil’s right arm, wrapping his wiry arms around Sendhil’s midsection and lifting him in the air in a brutal bearhug. Still stunned from his injuries, Milo focused his full effort on squeezing his opponent’s torso with every ounce of strength left in his arms and chest.  Sendhil screamed out in pain, straining to touch to mat with his suspended feet.  Milo leaned backward, pulling Sendhil further off the ground and not allowing him to relieve the pressure on the small of his back.

Squeezing furiously, Milo buried his bloody face in the white tights stretched across his opponent’s upper abdomen in front of him.  After a few seconds, Milo felt his adrenalin fueled fury waning, and he leaned forward under the weight of Sendhil’s body clutched in front him.  Slowly, Sendhil slipped lower through Milo’s grasping bearhug, Milo’s face dragging upward to rest on Sendhil’s chest.

Still caught in Milo’s weakening bearhug, his face a half inch from his opponents bloody and swollen face, Sendhil’s eyes again fluttered shut as a wave of both pain and pleasure shot through his core.  Sendhil drew his arms up, and brought his hands to cup each side of Milo’s face in front him.  Sensing a new tactic, Milo squeezed again with all his strength, but his strength was largely spent.  After momentarily drawing his hands away under Milo’s crush, Sendhil smiled and held Milo’s face again in his hands.  Still held in Milo’s loosening grip, Sendhil leaned his head forward and licked the blood from Milo’s right cheek.

Shocked by this unexpected move, Milo dropped Sendhil to the ground, released his grip, and shoved him away.  Sendhil took two steps backward, then with a blood curdling scream ran forward, lowering his shoulder into Milo’s midsection and lifting his opponent off his feet.  Rushing forward with his opponent on his shoulder, Sendhil drove Milo’s back into the turnbuckle, spearing him further in the abs with his shoulder.  The air came rushing out of Milo’s lungs with a “whoosh,” and his shoulders slumped forward as he clutched his stomach.

Sendhil grabbed Milo’s right arm, and forcefully placed it over the top rope, then did the same with Milo’s quivering left arm.  Then grasping Milo’s right knee with both hands, Sendhil lifted Milo’s right leg up and over the middle rope, twisting his ankle in the rope to trap him in place.  Finally, Sendhil muscled Milo’s left leg up and over the middle rope, leaving Milo spread-eagled and suspended in the corner, completely vulnerable.

Standing in front of his trapped opponent, Sendhil reached down with his right hand and grabbed Milo’s cock through his black singlet.  As Sendhil squeezed, Milo squirmed and moaned in pain.  Still grasping Milo’s cock, Sendhil then reached down with his left hand and grabbed the base of Milo’s balls through the fabric.  Milo’s head rolled back and forth on this neck, as if warding away his tormentor.  But as Sendhil began to squeeze and pull Milo’s balls and cock apart, a gutteral growl began to rumble in Sendhil’s chest.  His eyes wide with fury, Sendhil stretched Milo’s cock and balls until Milo was sure that Sendhil would rip them both from his body.

Screaming out in pain and desparation, Milo cried, “I give, I give!” as clear tears poured down his bloody red face.

Sendhil released his grip and stepped away, as a quivering post coital sigh escaped from his parted lips.  Shrugging his shoulders, one at a time, out from his mostly bloody white tights, Sendhil stood with his torso bare in front of Milo’s body still trapped in the corner.  Then grasping Milo’s face with his hands again, Sendhil rubbed at the blood and tears caked on Milo’s face.  Sendhil then turned away from his defeated opponent and walked to the side of the ring where Eli sat transfixed by the battle.  Sendhil then wiped his opponents blood across his own cheeks and then across his darkly hairy chest, and clenching his fits and flexing his arms, Sendhil’s head tilted back and he let loose a primordial scream.

Then panting, Sendhil dropped his arms limply to his side and stood erect, staring into Eli’s eyes.

Eli smiled lustfully and said, simply, “Fierce.”


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