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Roleplay Boards => Archived Roleplays => Climax Control Archives => Topic started by: LJKasey on June 06, 2025, 11:12:06 PM
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The buzz backstage was electric long after the bell for Queen for a Day at Into the Void had sounded. Techs and crew members bustled around the corridors, packing down equipment, rolling cases through the narrow halls of the Paris arena. Champions passed with belts slung over their shoulders, some smiling, some scowling, some too damn tired to do anything but keep moving.
But in one corner, just outside catering, LJ paced like a man possessed.
A bottle of water hung loosely from his fingers, half-forgotten, as his feet padded a restless rhythm against the tile. His black t-shirt clung to him over his shoulder — more from nervous energy than the late night air — and the faint purpling on his neck from the fight from several weeks ago still peeked out. But he was always a fast healer. "To be honest, he should’ve never gone into that PWS match in the state he was in but he wasn’t about to let his first title be lost via forfeiture.
But none of that mattered right now.
Down the hall, Ally’s match had just ended. And not just ended — she’d won. Queen for a Day. A golden ticket with more power than most champions held. LJ had watched from the monitors backstage, shoeless and shirtless because he had to go through a workout just to stay calm before her match, heart damn near punching out of his chest. Now he couldn’t keep still.
A door swung open, and there she was.
Alexandra Callaway. His pulse kicked harder at the sight of her.
Still laced in her battle-worn gear, sweat-slicked black hair with blue streaks spilling over her shoulders, and that victorious, wicked little smirk he loved so much lighting her entire face. The Queen’s crown wasn’t in her hands at the moment— still being prepped for the photo ops — but the power was already there in her eyes.
And it damn near knocked the air out of him.
“Ally!” LJ was on her in an instant, meeting her halfway down the hall.
She barely had time to catch her breath before his arms wrapped around her, lifting her small frame right off her feet.
“You did it,” he whispered against her ear, voice rough with pride. “You fucking did it.”
She laughed, looping her arms around his neck. “You doubted me?”
“Never,” he said, setting her down gently but not letting go. His hands stayed firm on her waist. “But watching it happen? That’s a whole other feeling.”
For a beat they just stood there, foreheads resting together, the noise of the backstage world falling away.
Then she pulled back, brushing her fingers along his jawline where there were more faint bruises that still lingered. “And you… how’s the head?”
He snorted softly. “I’m still here, aren’t I? None of them could have put me down for good. Just made me hungrier.”
Her gaze darkened, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure you’re ready for what’s next?”
“After watching you tonight?” He smirked. “I’m more than ready. In fact, I’m practically starving.”
He finally stepped back, running a hand through his hair as the restless energy surged again. “Truth is, I needed this. To see you take the damn spotlight. Because now? Now it’s my turn.”
Ally arched a brow, intrigued. “Oh?”
“Officially got the word from the trainers just before you went out.” He flexed his knuckles absently. “I’m cleared, fully. I’m on the card for Climax Control when we get back to the states.”
“LJ.” Her voice held that mix of warning and love. “Don’t push it if you’re not—”
“I am.” He cut her off gently but firmly. “I’ve been waiting too damn long. I’ve taken the hits. I’ve eaten the pavement. And I’m still here.” He smirked. “Besides… after everything? I’m itching to remind the SCW locker room exactly who the hell I am.”
Ally grinned. “Then go remind them. Just remember — I’m not done yet either.”
“Oh, trust me,” LJ said, eyes gleaming now. “I wouldn’t dare forget.”
He pulled her close one more time, lips brushing against her temple. The moment was broken up with a stage hand approaching with the crown. LJ gladly took it from them and turned around to look at Ally. He brushed a few strands off her shoulder and placed the crown on her head and gave her a kiss.
“Queen of SCW,” he murmured. “You’ve got your crown. Now it’s my turn to take heads.”
And with that, he stepped back, bottle of water in one hand, fire burning in his veins.
Next stop? Climax Control.
The Vegas heat felt different when you’d been through Paris and Stockholm in the span of a few weeks. Dry, relentless, like the sun wanted a shot at your title, too.
LJ had the A/C cranked up in his apartment, but it still wasn’t enough to keep him from pacing like a caged lion. The idle time was what got him—after finally getting back in the game, sitting still for even an afternoon made him itch.
He tossed a tennis ball from hand to hand while watching the clock. Ally had been out handling Queen for a Day business most of the day. He was proud of her—hell, he’d seen what she’d done in Paris with his own eyes—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t antsy to know what came next.
Finally, the door opened.
Ally came in, sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair, blue streaks still shimmering in the sunlight that followed her inside. The moment she dropped her bag by the door, LJ was on his feet.
“Well?” he grinned, tossing the tennis ball aside and crossing the room to meet her. “What glorious main event did my Queen book for me?”
Ally laughed, shaking her head. “Hi to you too.”
“Hi,” he said quickly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Now c’mon. I know you’ve been out there wheeling and dealing. What match did you pull strings for?”
She smirked, sliding off her leather jacket and tossing it over the arm of the couch. “Spoiler alert—you’re not in any of the matches I booked.”
LJ blinked. “Wait. What?”
“I didn’t book you in any of my picks,” she said, sauntering past him into the kitchen. “TRUST ME I wanted to but—I did make sure you had a match for your return. They already had plans for you. I just made sure they followed through.”
LJ narrowed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe with a dramatic sigh. “Sleeping with the Queen is getting me absolutely nowhere.”
Ally snorted. “Please. You’d sleep with me even if I were a stagehand.”
“That’s beside the point,” he shot back, grinning now. “I figured Queen for a Day perks had to account for something.”
She grabbed two waters from the fridge, tossing one to him. “I used them where it mattered. Trust me—you’ve got a match. You’ll be back in that SCW ring next show.”
LJ caught the bottle and cracked the cap with one smooth twist. “Yeah? And I don’t even get to brag that my girlfriend gifted me a marquee spot?”
“Nope,” Ally said, popping the cap on hers and leaning one hip against the counter. “You’ll just have to earn it. Like always.”
He took a long pull of water, then smirked over the bottle. “You’re ruthless. I like it.”
“You better,” she teased, eyes gleaming. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said easily, crossing the room to hook an arm around her waist. “But just so we’re clear—next time you get to book matches, I want top billing. Full pyro. Maybe a custom throne entrance. Hell, a live entrance wouldn’t be that bad either.”
Ally laughed outright. “I’ll pencil it in... right after I take care of the Bombshell division.”
LJ kissed her temple and grinned. “Deal. And in the meantime? Guess I’d better get ready to remind SCW why they should’ve cleared the damn runway. Just gotta wait to find out who it’s gonna be.”
LJ had just flopped back onto the couch, one arm slung lazily over the back, the other holding his water bottle. Ally had curled up sideways on the other end, phone in hand, legs draped across his lap like she owned the place — which, honestly, she practically did these days.
A few minutes of companionable quiet passed, just the low hum of the A/C and faint traffic noise from the strip below.
Then LJ’s phone buzzed.
He glanced at it absently at first, but when he saw the SCW notification, his brow arched.
“Huh.”
Ally tilted her head. “What?”
“Card’s out,” he said, thumbing it open. “Guess they didn’t waste any time.”
She perked up. “Oh? Who’d they line you up with?”
LJ scanned the preview of the lineup… then blinked.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
Ally sat up straighter. “Talk to me.”
“There’s fresh blood in town,” LJ said, shaking his head with a dry chuckle. “They’ve got me opening the dance card for some new guy. Liam Davis.”
“Liam Davis…” Ally repeated, frowning in thought. “I heard the name floating around. The rogue cop, right? Supposed to have a chip on his shoulder the size of a city block.”
“‘Anger therapy,’” LJ read off with a snort. “That’s how they’re selling it. Using me and the ring to work out his issues.”
Ally rolled her eyes. “That’s cute. Hope they told him you hit back.”
LJ’s grin was sharp now. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone still in one hand. “Oh, I hope he tries to swing for the fences. Hell, I’ve been waiting for someone to test this neck and chin again. The difference is? I’m not the therapy type. I’m the relapse.” He glanced at her, eyes gleaming. “And I’m about to make this poor bastard regret thinking I’m the warm-up act.”
Ally smiled darkly. “That’s my guy.”
He leaned back, a low hum of energy starting to pulse through him again. “You know, this is exactly what I needed. Fresh face, fresh fight. He’s hungry, sure. But me? I’m starving.”
She rested her chin on his shoulder, voice soft but knowing. “Just don’t underestimate him.”
“I would never,” LJ said. “But let’s be honest — this guy’s stepping in thinking he’s got a point to prove. I’ve already proved mine. Now? I’m just reminding everyone why the hell I’m still here.”
He glanced back at his phone one more time, the match graphic now burned into his mind.
Liam Davis.
Welcome to SCW, kid, LJ thought grimly. Hope your badge has good health insurance.
The gym was mostly empty — just the way LJ liked it.
Late afternoon sun streamed through the high windows, throwing sharp lines across the black mats and gleaming steel. The rhythmic clank of weights echoed through the cavernous space, punctuated by LJ’s sharp exhales as he drove through another brutal set of incline presses.
“C’mon,” he muttered through gritted teeth, sweat trailing down the side of his face. “One more. Earn it.”
Muscles strained, veins prominent along his arms and shoulders — he locked out the final rep, then racked the bar with a loud clang that seemed to shake the air.
He sat up, towel already around his neck, chest heaving as he caught his breath.
Goddamn it felt good to move like this again.
He’d spent weeks after the war with Alex Jones just trying to get his neck and head to stop feeling like they were on fire. Weeks pacing, itching, watching cards go up without his name on them. Weeks grinding in silence.
Now?
Now the wait was over. Now the beast was out of the cage again. And judging by the reflection staring back at him in the mirror — leaner, harder, broader across the chest and shoulders — LJ Kasey was coming back stronger than before.
He grabbed a bottle of water, took a long swig, then spotted the camera crew moving in. SCW always knew when to show up.
Perfect.
He wiped the towel across his face once, then leaned casually against the rack, that signature half-smirk curling at his mouth. His eyes, though? Ice cold.
“You can feel it, can’t you?”
His voice rolled out low, calm — but there was fire beneath every word.
“That buzz. That tension. The sense that something’s coming.”
He glanced down for a beat, then straight back to the lens.
“For weeks, I’ve been sidelined. Watched as the cards filled up, as names got called. I took my shots. I paid my dues in blood. And I’ve been patient. But patience has a shelf life.”
He folded his arms across his chest — forearms looking downright ridiculous after the pump he’d just run through.
“And now… it’s time.”
His smirk sharpened.
“Liam Davis. Welcome to Sin City, bruv. It’s a pity we gotta meet this way.”
He let the name hang in the air for a beat — the slightest tilt of his head, like the idea of it amused him.
“The rogue cop. The big bad enforcer with a badge and a grudge. I hear you’ve got a little anger problem, Liam. I hear you’re looking to use me as your therapy session.”
LJ let out a low chuckle — dark and humorless.
“Mate, you picked the wrong damn appointment slot.”
He pushed off the rack now, pacing slowly in front of the camera, rolling his shoulders loose.
“See, I’m walking into Climax Control with more heat under my skin than you can begin to understand. I’ve taken shots from one of the best to ever do it, and I’m still here. I’ve eaten the canvas, the barricade, hell — the concrete — and I’m still standing. Still stronger.”
A slow nod. That fire in his voice now bleeding into a near-growl.
“And you? You’re stepping in, green as grass. Hungry, sure — I respect that. But this business doesn’t give a damn about your hunger. This ring doesn’t care if you’ve got demons to exorcise. Once that bell rings? It’s about survival.”
He stopped, squared to the camera, gaze burning straight through the lens now.
“And I refuse to be your damn therapy puppet. You want to bleed out your issues? Find someone else. Because when you step in there with me, Liam — you’re stepping into a fight you can’t just talk your way out of. You’re stepping in with a man who’s been to hell already and dragged himself back up by his teeth.”
A slow shake of his head.
“Your first match… my return match. Bad timing, kid. Real bad. I’ve got too much rage left unshed. Too much pride to reclaim. Too much to prove — not to anyone else. To myself.”
He took a step closer now, voice dropping lower, each word a hammer.
“So come hungry, Liam. Come angry. Come swinging like your damn life depends on it. Because I’m coming to remind this company — and everyone watching — why Lyle Kasey Junior is still the man they should fear.”
One last smirk.
“One way or another… you’ll learn the hard way.”
He grabbed his towel, slung it over his shoulder, and strode out of frame — camera lingering on the empty rack as the screen faded to black.