Yeah, that’s right. I happened to have a brief, but deeply meaningful (to me) exchange with Dio Characi. So, you know I’m going to name drop that brush-with-fame! Fuck, that man is hot. I asked him if he could recommend a match that he thought was his best, excepting every match I’ve already reviewed (which means excluding all of his BG East matches, because I have jumped all over every one of those!). Dio was adoringly self-deprecating, but he did mention that he thought his match with Mason Brooks on WatchFighters is “good.”

So, what Dio considers “good,” I find sensational! I mean, it’s not like I’m surprised that Mason v. Dio turns me on SO fucking hard. I’ve hardly been subtle about how much Dio’s wrestling yanks on my chain. And I’ve been infatuated about Mason(‘s nipples) from before I ever even saw him. All of these awesome ingredients were guaranteed to make this battle incendiary.

I love the chemistry between them that feels genuine and passionate. Dio sells his patented brand of seduction and fire-to-dominate that carries through in every match I’ve seen of his (including the ones where he jobs). He compliments Mason in this casual way that seems so spontaneous and authentic, and it costs him nothing in terms of his ability to dominate and intimidate. I’d love to see Dio give lessons to A LOT of other homoerotic wrestlers out there about how to say what we’re all thinking (e.g., yes, Mason unquestionably has sweet, strong pecs). He can afford to hand out compliments like a snack-sized candy bar to an underwhelmed trick-or-treater, because Dio is cooly confident in his superior strength and skill. It’s like that classic underground wrestling mind game taken to the next level. Not needing to try to undermine an opponent’s confidence with a ton of trash talk only serves to put Mason on notice that the babyface beefcake from Brazil is absolutely certain that he’s going to wipe the floor with him. And I love homoerotic wrestling where the attraction between the wrestlers doesn’t have to be subtext. Dio can both praise Mason’s objectively and obviously hot bod, and he can delight in thrashing him into submission. “You have a good ass,” Dio observes, enthusiastically slapping Mason’s stripped bare muscle butt, because it’s just plain the truth.

“Just ‘good!?’ Fuck you,” Mason snarks back in classic, cocky Mason fashion. He appears to be his delightfully authentic self as well, from the moment that he sees Dio’s bare torso when the Brazilian pretty boy pulls off his hoodie, and Mason can’t help himself but give those legendary pecs a squeeze. Over the course of his career (at least since I started watching him when he debuted with BG East), he’s evolved into such a hilariously snarky bitch. He has a genuine self-consciousness about him, in a good way, like the self-deprecating shots he takes at himself from time to time. For example, the way he deflects Dio’s compliment for his handsome face (“Let’s face it, the ass is better, to be honest”). Not to suggest Mason’s ego is anything but super-sized. He’s unflinchingly cocky and wields withering trash talk with surgical precision. “You thought you had me, huh?” He taunts and sneers, when he’s turned the tables on Dio’s out-of-the-gate offense, slapping on headscissors, a hammerlock, and a twist of Dio’s leg to turn him into a deliciously mouthwatering pretzel. “I did enjoy those pecs, though,” Mason admits, savoring his riding time. “Not gonna lie.”

Both sets of pecs are profoundly enjoyable, and honestly, the stars of the show. Both of these sensationally sexy hunks have stunningly gorgeous pecs, but it’s Dio who takes advantage of his (and of Mason’s obvious attraction to them) most effectively. He smothers the snarky bad boy for days on end with Mason’s face buried in the cleft between Dio’s hot pecs. Sometimes, frankly, it looks like Mason is hating it, screwing up his face and trying to pull away in a way that makes me want to slap some sense into him myself. Fuck, Mason, if you aren’t going to enjoy that ride, tag me in, damn it!!! But soon enough, Dio’s magical pecs weave their spell over even jaded snarkmaster Mason, who isn’t exactly hating his life around the time that Dio is forcing him to suck his nipples, absolutely in control and shoving Mason’s face from nipple to nipple to make sure they both get equal love.

Both stubborn and dangerous muscle boys demand a submission, but only Dio, with that fucking sexy and chill inevitability about him, is able to milk it out of his opponent. It’s that rear naked choke, threatening to put the snarling bad boy out cold, that Mason finally can’t trash talk his way out of. “I’m sure you don’t want this bicep wrapped around your neck like this, right,” Dio asks. It’s a rhetorical question, because Mason can’t say a word with his windpipe pinched close. The level of panic in Mason’s frantic fingers, tapping out his submission like a seasoned Morse code operator, is delicious. The babyface Brazilian muscle boy literally laughs as he enjoys watching all that swagger and cockiness evaporate like dry ice, leaving Mason sweaty, bitter, and beaten.

I’m so turned on by watching this cherubic-faced muscle boy absolutely bring bad boy Mason to heel. There’s a sweet, sweaty moment where Mason has been riding roughshod on his hunky guest, and he’s sitting on his face and forcing Dio to stroke his (let’s face it, stunningly hot) pecs. Dio does such a good job of it, and Mason is so cocksure of his superiority, that the Brazilian takes advantage of Mason’s aroused distraction to pop free. “Now, it’s my turn,” Dio snarls with this deep, fierce, bitter sincerity that brings tears to my eyes, moments before snapping shut the bear trap of his hairy thighs around Mason’s head. I’m having a hard time conveying just how hot those four words are, but again, it has to do with the intimate intensity and spontaneity of this entire match. It’s not campy. It’s not forced. It’s just fucking fiercely sexy! At another point, after the fateful submission, when Dio is demanding that his beaten opponent worship his armpit, Mason is apparently half-assing it and just kissing Dio’s sweaty curls with his lips. “Use your tongue!” Dio fucking growls at him in a way that makes my crotch squirm at exactly the same instant it makes Mason stick out his tongue and start obeying.

The subission come 13 minutes into the rough and tumble session, mind you, with another 9 minutes or so left for Dio to savor the spoils of victory. There are a few moments where I think his bullying commands are going to make Mason start to fight again, but no shit, Mason got beat, and he knows it. And, judging by his hard cock coming out to play and getting totally put over the top by Dio’s battering his face with the Brazilian’s force-fed pec bouncing, Mason’s “okay” with finally admitting defeat.

The set-up is spartan, a couple of small blue wrestling mats on a wood floor. The camera work is pretty remarkable, putting you right into the room with them unselfconsciously. It’s pretty much all close-ups because space is limited, but it just feels intimate, not cramped. The product totals almost 23 minutes, with about 40 seconds of intro/outro graphics, and about a minute of pre-match chatter and sizing each other up. You’ll see Mason in all his naked glory, but Dio’s singlet, straps down, just barely stays on his gorgeous body.

I love knowing that when Dio thinks about the scope of his wrestling resume, this hot, intimate, intensely physical grappling session-turned muscle worship and domination rises to the top of his list of “good” ones. Holy fuck, can you imagine how dazzlingly sexy a match would have to be for Dio to classify it as “great?!”