They were supposed to train.
To build chemistry.
To become the perfect tag team.

But the second Blayne steps onto the mat — chest out, cocky as ever — and Gary gives him that look… it’s clear: this isn’t about teamwork.

This is about control.

Every hold lasts too long.
Every grip tightens just enough to test boundaries.
And every “tag” between them feels more like a slap than a switch.

What starts as a warm-up spirals into a slow-burn power struggle — body against body, ego against ego, two men flexing not for the crowd… but for each other.

Muscles flex. Sweat drips.
And somewhere in the struggle, something shifts.

They didn’t come here to fight.
But now? They can’t stop.