Joey Justice is equipped with that All-American, heart-throbbing ruggedness, that fuels fantasies to a fever pitch. For all his dashing good looks, Justice maintains a slick edge to his demeanor, that sells him as a certified badass, which he most certainly is, being the owner of a formidable mixed martial arts record. Joey embodies the Adonis male, looking statuesque in his perfection, with his bulging guns flexed proudly towards the heavens. Rookie wrestler, hot-headed Xander, could give a fuck about appearances, or accolades, which hardly halts him from comparing physiques with the musclebound, mma veteran, before launching a challenge, wherein the loser must worship the winner and bathe their muscles in oil, as a concession to the winner’s triumph.
After an exhausting posing practice, Joey is feeling fatigued, but nevertheless cannot bring himself to succumb to the surely weaker, infinitely cockier, Xander. In an off-screen interview, Xander admits he has a serious problem with the need to be best and always the dominant party. This quality of the surfer looking bad-boy, manifests itself in Xander’s unwavering tenacity, which he employs in asserting himself to the detriment of a weakened Joey Justice. Xander uses his aforementioned assets alongside his ridiculously advantageous height, leveraging his way to winning a contest of strength. Retaliating, Joey slams his chest against Xander’s as the two men maintain clasped hands, struggling to bring the opponent to his knees.
Xander’s giant stature prevails upon Joey, until the latter finds himself on the ground looking up at the towering menace.
Xander, strikes hard and fast, offsetting his inexperience with sheer viciousness. Winning is what Xander does best in life; the bro finds himself in familiar shoes (notwithstanding his bare feet) as he coils his lengthy appendages round Joey’s neck. Rather than using the steady force of a regular submission attempt, Xander discovers a method of evoking choked gasps from Justice, loosening and squeezing his grip in cruel rhythm. “I want you to tell the world how I hurt you.”
As Joey falters to a faint, Xander unmercifully yanks the strength sapped fighter by his suffering neck, where windpipe is dangerously crushed. Joey is nearly out cold, but Xander could care less about his well-being, “No (don’t go out just yet) stand up, let’s show those pretty boy muscles.” Joey is compelled to display his veiny slabs of meat that desperately need oxygen.
Xander drapes Joey’s muscle bound mass over the ropes, deepening the indenture of his choke hold, flaunting the flaccidity of Justice. “Let’s see that muscle now,” Xander teases while lifting Joey’s limp arm into a mock bicep flex. Even on the brink of his destruction, Justice is a marvel of the male species; he tries to reach his feet but is met by a destructive knee for his efforts.
