Hunter vs. Shank (By request) - Part I tonywrestles2

Hunter sprinted from the classroom like every father of every girl he'd ever done was on his butt. Free! His papers were in the hands of his professors, his finals were over, and he was finally free!

With only two problems: his flight back to Michigan wasn't for another two days, and most of the guys of Delta House were gone. About the only one left was Carlos, and, even though Carlos was Hunter's frat brother and Hunter would take on an army for him, he could be dull as dirt when he put his mind to it.

Well, he could always go off-campus. There was that bar where the locals hung out; some of the guys had been there. He'd heard that Buzz wouldn't go back, though, and it took a lot to faze Buzz.....

Ah, screw it, he thought as he reached the frathouse. I'm gonna go nuts if I hang around here for the next two days! All I gotta do is keep my head down and my eyes open and I should be fine.

On that self-confident note, he changed into workout clothes and headed for the gym.

____________________________________________

Okay, so far, so good. Beer in hand, ID not looked at too closely by bouncer or bartender, and no one had tried to jump him in the hour he'd been there. Maybe the Lambs had been exaggerating. Hell, if John had gotten his ass whipped as badly as he'd heard Buzz had, Hunter reasoned, the whole frat would probably lie like hell to save John's rep.

He moved around the bar, but never looked at the same face twice. Hunter didn't think he was picky when it came to women (or men, for that matter, even though he wasn't about to try anything like that here). But there was nothing in this bar worth the time it would take. He began to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off taking his chances that Carlos wouldn't put him to sleep.

The familiar, sharp crack! of fiberglass on fiberglass got his attention. Even the times he'd been half drunk and with his ears ringing from too-loud music, Hunter could always recognize the sound of a pool ball striking its brothers. The sound drew him in like a siren's call. If nothing else, he'd get a good game out of this; it sounded like whoever was at the table knew what he, or she, was doing.

He stopped short when he saw the man with the pool cue. He was about Hunter's size, pure muscle, wearing a tight wife-beater that showed off an impressive six pack, blue jeans, black heavy boots, and a red skull cap. Alarms went off in the back of Hunter's head; this guy was trouble. He started to back off--and then the guy looked up and their eyes met.

Shank saw the college boy come close, and then try to back away. Nice try, college boy, but I saw you. You're already mine and you don't even know it.

Shank knew what went on at Simpson; hell, most of the town knew. And he wanted to be a part of it, real bad. But to wrestle in their rings, you had to go to the school, and Shank didn't have the money or the inclination for college. So he heard about the fights secondhand and seethed with impotent rage at the spoiled brat rich kids who were lucky enough to have their daddies pay for a four-year babysitter.

But every so often, them college boys would slip their leash and come into town, looking for some action. The last time, Greg had taken down their champ, and hadn't even worked up any sweat he hadn't wanted to. And now this boy was in Shank's hunting ground.

Fair game.

He deliberately knocked the eight-ball into the side pocket, and handed his surprised opponent the ten buck wager, then headed into the crowd, looking for the boy. There he was. Looking rather sharp, too; nice chest, good delts, okay arms but definite potential there, flat stomach, strong-looking legs.

Shank smirked. This was gonna be fun.

He melted into the crowd and stayed out of the boy's sight until he was right on top of him, then tapped him on the shoulder and grinned at the look on his face, like he'd just swallowed a live frog. "Howdy," he drawled in an exaggerated accent. "Y'ain't from aroun' he-ah, are yuh?"

The boy shook his head so hard Shank thought his nose would fly off.

"I'm Shank," he said, dropping the accent and holding out a hand.

"H-Hunter," came the response.

"You go to Simpson, don't you, Hunter?"

"Uh, yeah. Sophomore."

"'Sophomore.' The wise fool. Didn't think I'd know something like that, did you, Hunter?"

"Uh.....I don't see why not....."

"Don't try to make it up," Shank said, with as much warmth in his voice as he could force. He wanted this kid relaxed, not peeing his pants. "It's okay. I don't look like I know anything besides how to hot-wire a car, do I?"

Hunter grinned sheepishly. "Well, no," he admitted.

"Well, then, you learned something tonight, and I'm not even gonna charge you for it: don't believe what you see, believe what you know. For example, I happen to know that a lot of wrestling goes on at Simpson....."

"Well....yeah," Hunter said. "I mean, it's private, we don't compete against other colleges or anything...."

"Do you wrestle, Hunter?" Shank asked sharply.

"Uh....yeah."

"You any good?

"I do okay," Hunter said. "My buddies Edge and Zak are better, though."

"How'd you like to do a little wrestling tonight?" Shank offered.

"What, you mean, with you?" Hunter asked. "Where?"

"Downstairs. There's a ring and everything. The room's soundproofed so if two guys want some privacy, the rest of the bar won't hear what's going on." He looked at Hunter critically. "You're not much, but I feel like fighting tonight. Whaddya say?"

The male ego is a touchy thing, particularly the 19-year-old-male ego. Hunter bristled at Shank's offhand dismissal of his skills and responded, "If you wanna fight, let's go!"

Shank shrugged again, turned, and motioned for Hunter to follow him. As he led Hunter through the bar, he caught Keegan's eye and gestured toward the back with his head. Keegan nodded and had the door to the basement open for the two men to pass through and shut again before anyone else even noticed.

Shank led Hunter down a narrow staircase that opened into a musty-smelling storeroom, then around crates of liquor to a door at the far end of the room. It wasn't locked; no one who had no business being down here got past Keegan. He opened the door and flicked on the light switch.

Hunter gaped when he saw the ring. It was no bigger than the one at Simpson, but it was...cooler, somehow. More like the kind of stuff you saw on tv.

Shank bounded easily into the ring, picked a corner, and quickly divested himself of shirt, jeans, boots, and cap, leaving only a tight pair of blue briefs. He looked back at Hunter. "Are you gonna wrestle in all that?" he asked sarcastically.

Hunter shot him a sour look, then climbed into the ring and stripped down to his red briefs. He tested the ropes and found them to be am azingly taut--again, much better than Simpson's.

"So," Shank said. "Any special rules? Last words?"

Hunter flipped him the finger. "Let's go," he growled.

Shank smiled. This was gonna be fun.....

The two men began to circle, crouched low, sizing each other up. They came together in a loud smack of flesh. Shank got lower than Hunter and drove him into the ropes. He released him, and patted him gently on the chest. "Nice and clean," he smirked.

Hunter saw red. The two tied up again, but this time Hunter muscled Shank into a side headlock. Shank endured Hunter's squeezing for all of five seconds before he lifted the surprised college student into the air, and fell backwards. Hunter's back and neck got the worst of the suplex, and he rolled on the mat in pain.

Shank leaned into the ropes, waiting for Hunter to get to his feet. There was no rush; they had all night to play.

When Hunter finally made it up, Shank rushed him and hiptossed him back down to the mat again, then dropped his elbow on Hunter's chest. He hovered behind Hunter as the other man slowly climbed to his feet, then shot in and wrapped his arms around Hunter's neck in a full nelson.

Hunter squirmed as Shank's fingers dug into his neck and his powerful arms bent him over. Shank worked the nelson for all it was worth, easing it just a little and then redoubling the pressure and making Hunter cry out in surprise and pain. He grinned. It just didn't get better than this.

Hunter thought his neck was about to snap as Shank pressed harder and harder. He needed a way out of this, and he needed it fast! Shank, however, wasn't about to let him find one. He frogmarched Hunter into the corner, with the nelson firmly in place the whole time, and rammed Hunter's head into the turnbuckle! Hunter saw stars, and when Shank back suplexed him again, he thought he might pass out from the pain.

Shank grabbed a handful of Hunter's hair and lifted him to his feet. He steadied the stunned wrestler until he was just right, and then wrapped his arms around Hunter's ribcage and began to squeeze. Hunter screamed as his ribs began to creak and press in on his innards!

But Shank, in his overconfidence, neglected to pin Hunter's arms, and Hunter nailed him with a fist right on the nose. Shank dropped to his knees in surprise, and Hunter pounded him with overhand rights.

Now it was Hunter dragging Shank up by the hair. He sent the townie into the ropes, and met him on the rebound with a huge clothesline that flattened Shank. Hunter dragged him up again, grabbed Shank's head and tights, and lifted him into the air! Hunter held him there for a full three count before falling back to the mat with Shank still in his grasp!

Hunter grabbed Shank by the hair again, but suddenly Shank elbowed him in the gut! And again! A kneelift sent Hunter down, and Shank rubbed his neck and considered his next attack.
Shank stomped on Hunter's chest a few times to soften the college boy up, then brought him up and sent him reeling with a spin kick right on the jaw! Before Hunter could collapse to the mat, Shank helped him along; he scooped the shellshocked Hunter up and then came crashing down with him to the mat with a huge powerslam!

Shank drove his knee into Hunter's side to disorient his foe, then brought him up for another bearhug--but this time, Shank held Hunter upside down! Hunter screamed as Shank renewed his assault on Hunter's ribs, and Shank hopped up and down to inflict the maximum am ount of pain on the helpless Hunter.

Finally, Shank let Hunter slip in his grasp just enough so that his head was between Shank's knees--and then piledrived Hunter's head into the mat! Hunter flopped to the mat and went limp, half-conscious from the brutal beating. Shank launched himself into the ropes, and leaped high into the air before coming crashing down on the prone Hunter!

Shank lay on top of Hunter, and slapped the mat.....slowly.....three times. Hunter put up no resistance. Shank got to his feet, a healthy glow of sweat on his body, while Hunter tried to recover his strength and figure out which way was up.
"So whaddya say? Wanna go again?" Shank asked. Hunter's only response was to rush him, but Shank easily dodged the clumsy attack, and Hunter ran facefirst into the buckle. Before he had a chance to fall to the mat, Shank rushed in and clamped on another full nelson.

"How's that feel, college boy? How does the buckle taste?" Shank's whispered taunts drove Hunter wild, but he was trapped between the muscular townie and the corner. Shank cranked the nelson like he wanted to break Hunter's neck, and Hunter's mouth and nose were pressed into the buckle, making it difficult to breathe. He thrashed his arms wildly, and futilely.

Shank finally let Hunter out of the corner, and whipped him into the ropes again. On the rebound, Shank fell flat to the mat, and Hunter had the presence of mind to leap over him. When Hunter returned, Shank was waiting with a dropkick......but he fell wrong, and banged his forehead on the mat.

Shank shook his head to clear it as Hunter tried manfully to get to his feet before Shank recovered. In the end, it was a tie, and Shank kicked Hunter in the stomach just as Hunter unloaded a left cross on Shank's jaw.

Shank had more behind his blow, and Hunter sagged into the ropes. His sadistic instinct really kicking into high gear, Shank wrapped Hunter's head around the rope so that his throat was directly over it, then dropped the elbow onto Hunter's head. Hunter's head snapped back as he was simultaneously clocked and clotheslined!

Shank kicked Hunter in the head a couple of times, then kicked him over onto his stomach He planted himself firmly on the fallen wrestler's back, draped Hunter's arms over his legs, and reached for the chin.

Hunter felt himself being bent in two--the wrong way!--as Shank poured on the pressure in the camel clutch. Shank's chest and arms swelled with the effort as he inflicted more and more punishment on the helpless Hunter.

Hunter could take no more. The words came out of his mouth in a hoarse gasp. "No more, no more, I give up, I give."

Shank pretended not to hear him.

"C'mon, please, I give, I give, I GIVE!!!!"

"Oh, all right," Shank said reluctantly. He released his hold on Hunter's chin and let the beaten man fall forward to lie unmoving and prone on the mat. Shank leaned forward, so that his mouth was right beside Hunter's ear.

"So let me tell you a little story about a college boy named Buzz.......and a fighting man named Greg....."