Niki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niki_chidon) wrote2006-12-31 01:27 am
niki_chidon) wrote2006-12-31 01:27 am
Fic: The Accord (WWE, Edge/Jericho)
Title: The Accord (aka Bound 7/6)
Author: Niki
Fandom: WWE
Genre: Slash
Disclaimers: The world and the characters don’t belong to me. Everything else does.
Series: Sequel to Bound
Rating: NC-17, mostly for sex
Pairing: Edge / Jericho
Summary: There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
The Accord
--------------
1/5
'Happily ever after' is a funny concept. It's a long, long time.
Oh, I'm not complaining. I'm not building up for anything bad, this time.
It's just that when your current life is going so smooth, you start to feel like you could make peace with your past as well.
Yeah, you guessed it. Christian.
I spent years with him. Years. We grew up together. Even if that growing up made us grow apart, it's still true. Having this... emptiness between us... It feels wrong.
It's like that one bruise that doesn't heal.
I haven't felt this way for long, though. I was angry, I was bitter, and I didn't want *anything* to do with him. Couldn't care whether he lived or died.
I do now. I got my life in order. I'm over the pain. I just... I wanna... I don't know. We can't be friends. I don't *like* him. After what he did, I don't want to spend time with him. But he made me happy for a while, and I don't like seeing him in pain.
He is. He's so not over us. I'm not hiding my relationship with Chris, it would be kinda hard when we spend all our time together, and especially after we started showing some gold in our fingers. Yeah, we decided to wear them officially, in public.
Not everyone was happy with that. And you should've seen Christian's face. I knew he knew about us, but having avoided him the best I could I really didn't know how he was taking it.
We ran into him in a hotel lobby. He had obviously heard some rumours because he fixed his gaze on my finger immediately.
He looked like he does when someone punches him in the gut. The look that followed was so full of hate that it made me wince. Chris met his eyes without expression, and slowly reached for my hand.
He didn't show any signs of triumph. I'm glad. That would have been cruel, and I was over my desire to hurt him.
I mean, I am *happy*. I'm *completely* happy with Chris. Feeling resentment towards Christian would mean I still felt something for him, and that I wasn't over what happened.
I'd like to think that I am.
But to prove it to myself, to Chris, and to Christian, I have to make peace with him.
2/5
Well, no use beating around the bush. When I pass Christian in the corridor, I stop and address him, for the first time in close to a year.
"Christian, can I have a word?"
He starts, and turns to look at me slowly. I see resentment in his eyes, and that would stop me if I didn't see sadness as well.
He doesn't say a word, but follows me to an empty room. I don't know how this will end up, so I don't want any witnesses.
"I know we can't be friends," I go straight to the point. "But I don't want us to be enemies either."
He just looks at me, and I can't read him. Things have changed.
"You hurt me. Bad. And I didn't care if I hurt you after that. I'm not proud of that. But I'm not going to apologise either. I'm not expecting apologies, not anymore. I just... We work together. I just... I hoped we could be civil."
"I'm sorry," he whispers, after a silence so long I was sure he was just going to ignore me.
"I'm sorry for hurting you," he goes on, "but you were going to leave me."
"Probably," I admit. I have given it much thought over the months, and have come to the conclusion that, yes, I would have. It would have been my only option to stay me.
It's not like it's any justification for what he did, but hey, I don't have to like him to make my peace with him. The apology does surprise me though. It looks like he's done some growing up as well.
"Can you blame me?" I ask. "Can you honestly say we were good in the end?"
He swallows.
"No."
He just looks at me for a minute, and I see no more signs of resentment.
"It took me a long time to admit that to myself. I felt... I felt like you left me for him. He was there, acting like he owned you."
"I hope you know the truth now. It took me months to get over what had happened. He was there to help me through. But he does not *own* me, Cee. He doesn't try to."
I might put a little too much emphasis on the last two sentences, but I want him to realise that's the difference between Chris and him.
He demanded, Chris asks.
The old nickname escapes my lips, and it makes Christian close his eyes.
"I wish we could still be friends."
Yeah, you know what, I'm starting to feel that way too. He might be becoming someone I might... respect again. Not enough to take him back even if I didn't have Chris, but maybe just enough to be able to stay friends.
"We could try," I reply and awkwardly, we move for a hug.
We've been so tactile in the past we need this confirmation of... peace.
We stay that way for a few moments. I'm just about to let him go when I hear the door opening, and, as I turn, have just enough time to see Chris's shocked face before he backs away from the door, and turns to leave.
3/5
"Chris!"
I follow him to the corridor, ignoring Christian's shout of my name.
Chris has stopped a few feet from the doorway, resting his forehead against the wall.
"Something you want to tell me, Adam?" he asks, raising his head. His face is expressionless, but his eyes are sad.
I raise my hand and use my thumb to roll the ring around my finger.
"This means something to me, you know," I say quietly, knowing that if he doesn't believe me now, without explanations, I've been living in a dream with no basis on reality.
Trust, the most gorgeous thing in our relationship.
He just looks at me, then screws his eyes shut so tight it must hurt, and his expression looks pained.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, face calming down, "I told you I was a jealous son of a bitch," he aims for a grin, and one side of his mouth cooperates.
He looks absolutely gorgeous when he does that, so I kiss him. It's also a thank you.
It's *also* very brief since we are in public.
"Making peace?" he hazards a guess, and I smile at his fast thinking.
"I love you for your mind, you know," I say, and pull him with me to the room I just left.
"Adam..."
"I think you need to be present for this to mean anything," I realise. I can't try to restore relations with Christian if he and my heart still hate each other's guts.
Yes, I just called Chris 'my heart'. Deal with it.
"Everything okay?" Christian checks when we enter the room. I think that's actual concern on his face. He didn't want to screw this up for me.
Bloody hell. He might be over us.
"Yeah."
It's Chris who answers, and then he does something that surprises me. He extends his hand to Christian.
Now, let's make one thing clear. Chris is fiercly protective. He hates Christian's guts for what he did to me. He despises him for being blind, and can't understand him for not, how did he put it, 'treasuring me as he should've'.
For him to want to even touch Christian... he's doing it for me. *I* need this to go on with my life with no regrets. Have I mentioned lately how much I love this man?
Christian takes the hand, half expecting something sneaky.
"I don't like you," Chris says firmly, holding his hand, "And I never will. For Adam, I will try to be civil. I expect the same from you. You will never be invited in our home. You will never be on my Christmas card list. But I might consider sharing a burger with you after a show, and give you a lift to the hotel."
He turns to look at me and smirks, and I can't stop the smile.
"See you at our dressing room," he says, and leaves.
I can't help but follow him with my gaze, and only turn to look at Christian when he's disappeared.
"Wow. You can tell him the same applies for me. I never liked him, and I sure as hell am not going to start now. And you say he doesn't try to order you around!"
"He was speaking for himself. It's his home as much as mine. And I don't think I'd invite you over either. I don't know how things will work out. I don't know how well we can repair our relations. I'm willing to try. That's my decision. Whether you take it is your call. I feel better for us having had this conversation, and I hope you do too."
Again he just looks at me for a long time, then sighs.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. I've held on to my bitterness for way too long."
4/5
I find Chris where he said he'd be, in our dressing room. He talks before I have a chance to say anything.
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you," he says quietly.
"Chris..."
"No, I am. I should've known you wouldn't... I still have nightmares about it," he admits.
I just look at him.
"About the way you looked the day after you walked out on him. Haven't seen you look that defeated after the worst of your matches. I'm not really proud of beating him that day. But I had to. Everyone I had a match with after that became him. I just needed... Fuck. I don't know. You were in a very bad place in your life, and I was no better. I was taking my frustrations out in the ring, and that's not fair to the people we work with."
"Chris... love, I had no idea... Well, I had, a little. The day you first let me see a little of that frustration..."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know. I'm glad you did."
"Me too," he smiles slightly, then goes on:
"I've hated him for so long, at first for having you, then for having hurt you. I won't start liking him now. But... I know you needed this. I've seen it coming."
"He apologised," I say quietly, and he turns to look at me.
"I'm not saying that it'll make it okay, but he did. And maybe, just maybe, it means that he'll be another person in his next relationship."
I move closer to hug Chris.
"The only reason I was able to even face him was the fact that I feel safe now. Emotionally safe. And I feel better now. I didn't know it was possible, really. I thought I was being perfectly happy. Well, now I'm happy beyond perfect, then. The one wound bleeding quietly somewhere inside of me is finally covered. And I think he was the same, though the wound was bigger and more painful for him."
We hug for a while in silence. He feels right in my arms. Somehow better shaped for it than Christian ever was.
Inevitable happens, as always when we are in each other's physical proximity.
"How long do we have before the match?" he whispers into my ear.
"Long enough," I reply, lowering my head to bite down on his neck gently.
5/5
“What do you want?”
“Well, we can’t exhaust ourselves before the show. So...” I kiss my way down his chest, “I want to make you remember me until we get home.”
I give him a predatory grin, and his answering grin is expectant. Suddenly I grab his hands and push him roughly against the lockers. I’m comfortable with using my strength against him now, and if I read the reactions of his body right, he’s enjoying the show of force.
And I do read his body well, thank you very much.
He was shirtless when I came in, and now I move to work on his jeans. He could easily pull out of my grasp, seeing that I have to hold both of his wrists with my left hand now, to free the right hand for the zipper, but what fun would that be?
I’m deliberately slow in my movements, and accompany every movement, every lick and kiss with a running commentary. My fingers are working on the zipper, and I’m nibbling my way down on his chest. I have to let go of his hands now, but sensing the mood he keeps them out of my way, holding on to the lockers above his head.
“I want you to think about what I’m going to do later tonight... Want you to remember that every single moment... When I’m in the ring... When you’re in the ring... When you watch me fight... just remember that when we get home, late, late tonight, I’m going to pounce you the second we get in, and... Shit!” I let go of him suddenly, then grin, embarrassed, and rush to the door.
“I forgot to lock it,” I explain sheepishly.
Then I take a good look at him. He’s still gripping the lockers, and presenting a sight so fuckable I falter in my plan. His chest is sweaty, heaving, and his gaze is dazed. His jeans are open, but still on him. Jesus he looks good aroused.
We don’t have time for what I want. That’s why I’m saving it for later. And I’m also making damn sure he’ll be ready for it then.
“Now, where were we?” I murmur as I take my former position. Almost.
I start again from the beginning, by returning to nibble on his neck before slowly, slowly, slowly moving downwards.
“When we get that door locked behind us,” I go on with my list of promises, “I won’t give you time to take your clothes of, take a shower, anything... and you won’t take a shower here either. I want you hot, I want you sweaty, I want you ready for me...”
I’ve reached his stomach now, and can feel his muscles rippling beneath the skin.
“I’ll kiss you all the way to the bedroom,” I demonstrate with a big sloppy kiss on his stomach that makes him laugh but then take his breath away by moving down, down, down... but not quite where he wants me, yet.
“I’ll rip your clothes off on the way – shoes to the hall, shirt in the kitchen, jeans by the doorway, the rest when you’re falling on the bed.”
I release his straining erection, and lick the top lightly, “then I’ll lick all over your wonderful, sweaty body.”
I demonstrate my meaning by licking his length thoroughly.
“Because I love the taste of your skin...” I whisper, and he nearly growls of frustration because I had to remove my tongue from his skin to speak.
I look up, holding him in my left hand, pumping ever so slightly.
He’s looking at me, sweaty, tousled, so damn aroused I fear I can’t even finish my wicked plan.
“Then I’ll get up to get rid of *my* clothes,” I say, and lower my head again.
When my tongue touches the sensitive underside his head hits the lockers with a bang.
“You fucking bastard,” he gasps.
“What, you want me to stop?” I smile innocently.
He wants to say something nasty, I’m sure, but I prevent it by turning what ever was going to come out of his mouth into a whimper of pleasure.
Yeah, he whimpers. It’s a sexy sound, believe me.
After some heavy duty sucking and licking I pause again, raise my head to look at him, and go on as if I hadn’t done anything.
“Then I’ll take a second to just look at you. You’re so beautiful, lying in our bed that is still messed from the morning, your skin glowing from sweat and my saliva, your eyes meeting mine, mixing desire and love in their look. You’ll be shaking with passion, knowing what I’m going to do, and waiting me to do it, because if you have to wait another second, you’ll die...” then end of the sentence is nothing but a husky whisper but I’m sure he can make out the meaning if not the words.
I speed up what my hand is doing, and run the nails of my right hand down his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be felt, and I’m rewarded by a sudden jump and further hardening of his cock
“I’ll take the lube from the bedside table...”
I lower my head to lick, kiss, nibble, suck... only for a second or two, then I’m talking again, but against him this time, and the air my words breathe towards him makes him shiver.
“And slowly, so very slowly, I start preparing you. First, with one finger...” lick “then another” nibble “then yet another... just in case... I won’t want to hurt you... we’re not in the mood for pain.”
“When you’re ready *I’ll* be ready, and I will push into you... Slowly... slowly...”
I take him in my mouth again, realising how close he is. I move my hand a bit, not wanting him to come just yet.
“But we’re not in a mood for slow, either. We will want more, and hard, and fast, and I’ll oblige. And you’ll meet me, move for move, push for push, grip for grip, until the neighbours are going to lose their minds again because the bed won’t be able to take it anymore.”
“And then, then, then...” I speed up again, “you’ll come,” I finish, hearing, seeing and feeling that that’s just what he’s about to do, and take him in my mouth, just in time to take what he has to give.
He finally lets go of the locker and falls to the ground, not too gracefully. I collect him in my arms, moving to rest my back against the locker as well.
It takes him a minute to catch his breath. I’m grinning like a lunatic.
“You are...a fucking devious... bastard,” he gets out, and turns to rest his forehead against my neck.
“You?” he asks after a while, remembering that the things were a little one-sided. Yeah, they were. I got all the fun!
“Kinda took care of itself,” I admit. So he sounds so fucking hot when he’s coming that it usually pushes me over as well. Sue me. Got punished already: I hate coming in my pants.
“Adam, I hate you,” he says quietly, “I have to wrestle soon!”
“Not for an hour or so, you big baby. Surely a man with your stamina can handle a little strain? I have plans for later, you know,” I grin.
“That became quite clear,” he answers dryly, but I somehow get the impression he doesn’t mind. Could be the gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Or the answering grin. Or the slow burning kiss he gives me before we bother getting up.
I’m glad we have that hour. We spend it lounging around the locker room instead of joining the bunch outside as we usually do. Chris claims it’s because he can’t get rid of his hard-on when thinking about my “later”. I just say we’re boring and domesticated.
We have to leave the sanctuary of our room in the end. We get some knowing grins and winks, and the usual scowl from the more repressed crewmembers. I’m flying so high I couldn’t care less.
Christian winks to me.
I smile in reply.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a friend again one day.
At least I have my lover, I grin to my thoughts and turn to share them with Chris. He meets my gaze with his own, happy and secure in our love.
I’m glad the timetable interrupts our soppiness before I embarrass myself, and we go kick ass.
***
Then we go home, and I do all the things I said I would.
***
And, currently, we are in the process of living happily ever after.
The End
Author: Niki
Fandom: WWE
Genre: Slash
Disclaimers: The world and the characters don’t belong to me. Everything else does.
Series: Sequel to Bound
Rating: NC-17, mostly for sex
Pairing: Edge / Jericho
Summary: There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
The Accord
--------------
1/5
'Happily ever after' is a funny concept. It's a long, long time.
Oh, I'm not complaining. I'm not building up for anything bad, this time.
It's just that when your current life is going so smooth, you start to feel like you could make peace with your past as well.
Yeah, you guessed it. Christian.
I spent years with him. Years. We grew up together. Even if that growing up made us grow apart, it's still true. Having this... emptiness between us... It feels wrong.
It's like that one bruise that doesn't heal.
I haven't felt this way for long, though. I was angry, I was bitter, and I didn't want *anything* to do with him. Couldn't care whether he lived or died.
I do now. I got my life in order. I'm over the pain. I just... I wanna... I don't know. We can't be friends. I don't *like* him. After what he did, I don't want to spend time with him. But he made me happy for a while, and I don't like seeing him in pain.
He is. He's so not over us. I'm not hiding my relationship with Chris, it would be kinda hard when we spend all our time together, and especially after we started showing some gold in our fingers. Yeah, we decided to wear them officially, in public.
Not everyone was happy with that. And you should've seen Christian's face. I knew he knew about us, but having avoided him the best I could I really didn't know how he was taking it.
We ran into him in a hotel lobby. He had obviously heard some rumours because he fixed his gaze on my finger immediately.
He looked like he does when someone punches him in the gut. The look that followed was so full of hate that it made me wince. Chris met his eyes without expression, and slowly reached for my hand.
He didn't show any signs of triumph. I'm glad. That would have been cruel, and I was over my desire to hurt him.
I mean, I am *happy*. I'm *completely* happy with Chris. Feeling resentment towards Christian would mean I still felt something for him, and that I wasn't over what happened.
I'd like to think that I am.
But to prove it to myself, to Chris, and to Christian, I have to make peace with him.
2/5
Well, no use beating around the bush. When I pass Christian in the corridor, I stop and address him, for the first time in close to a year.
"Christian, can I have a word?"
He starts, and turns to look at me slowly. I see resentment in his eyes, and that would stop me if I didn't see sadness as well.
He doesn't say a word, but follows me to an empty room. I don't know how this will end up, so I don't want any witnesses.
"I know we can't be friends," I go straight to the point. "But I don't want us to be enemies either."
He just looks at me, and I can't read him. Things have changed.
"You hurt me. Bad. And I didn't care if I hurt you after that. I'm not proud of that. But I'm not going to apologise either. I'm not expecting apologies, not anymore. I just... We work together. I just... I hoped we could be civil."
"I'm sorry," he whispers, after a silence so long I was sure he was just going to ignore me.
"I'm sorry for hurting you," he goes on, "but you were going to leave me."
"Probably," I admit. I have given it much thought over the months, and have come to the conclusion that, yes, I would have. It would have been my only option to stay me.
It's not like it's any justification for what he did, but hey, I don't have to like him to make my peace with him. The apology does surprise me though. It looks like he's done some growing up as well.
"Can you blame me?" I ask. "Can you honestly say we were good in the end?"
He swallows.
"No."
He just looks at me for a minute, and I see no more signs of resentment.
"It took me a long time to admit that to myself. I felt... I felt like you left me for him. He was there, acting like he owned you."
"I hope you know the truth now. It took me months to get over what had happened. He was there to help me through. But he does not *own* me, Cee. He doesn't try to."
I might put a little too much emphasis on the last two sentences, but I want him to realise that's the difference between Chris and him.
He demanded, Chris asks.
The old nickname escapes my lips, and it makes Christian close his eyes.
"I wish we could still be friends."
Yeah, you know what, I'm starting to feel that way too. He might be becoming someone I might... respect again. Not enough to take him back even if I didn't have Chris, but maybe just enough to be able to stay friends.
"We could try," I reply and awkwardly, we move for a hug.
We've been so tactile in the past we need this confirmation of... peace.
We stay that way for a few moments. I'm just about to let him go when I hear the door opening, and, as I turn, have just enough time to see Chris's shocked face before he backs away from the door, and turns to leave.
3/5
"Chris!"
I follow him to the corridor, ignoring Christian's shout of my name.
Chris has stopped a few feet from the doorway, resting his forehead against the wall.
"Something you want to tell me, Adam?" he asks, raising his head. His face is expressionless, but his eyes are sad.
I raise my hand and use my thumb to roll the ring around my finger.
"This means something to me, you know," I say quietly, knowing that if he doesn't believe me now, without explanations, I've been living in a dream with no basis on reality.
Trust, the most gorgeous thing in our relationship.
He just looks at me, then screws his eyes shut so tight it must hurt, and his expression looks pained.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, face calming down, "I told you I was a jealous son of a bitch," he aims for a grin, and one side of his mouth cooperates.
He looks absolutely gorgeous when he does that, so I kiss him. It's also a thank you.
It's *also* very brief since we are in public.
"Making peace?" he hazards a guess, and I smile at his fast thinking.
"I love you for your mind, you know," I say, and pull him with me to the room I just left.
"Adam..."
"I think you need to be present for this to mean anything," I realise. I can't try to restore relations with Christian if he and my heart still hate each other's guts.
Yes, I just called Chris 'my heart'. Deal with it.
"Everything okay?" Christian checks when we enter the room. I think that's actual concern on his face. He didn't want to screw this up for me.
Bloody hell. He might be over us.
"Yeah."
It's Chris who answers, and then he does something that surprises me. He extends his hand to Christian.
Now, let's make one thing clear. Chris is fiercly protective. He hates Christian's guts for what he did to me. He despises him for being blind, and can't understand him for not, how did he put it, 'treasuring me as he should've'.
For him to want to even touch Christian... he's doing it for me. *I* need this to go on with my life with no regrets. Have I mentioned lately how much I love this man?
Christian takes the hand, half expecting something sneaky.
"I don't like you," Chris says firmly, holding his hand, "And I never will. For Adam, I will try to be civil. I expect the same from you. You will never be invited in our home. You will never be on my Christmas card list. But I might consider sharing a burger with you after a show, and give you a lift to the hotel."
He turns to look at me and smirks, and I can't stop the smile.
"See you at our dressing room," he says, and leaves.
I can't help but follow him with my gaze, and only turn to look at Christian when he's disappeared.
"Wow. You can tell him the same applies for me. I never liked him, and I sure as hell am not going to start now. And you say he doesn't try to order you around!"
"He was speaking for himself. It's his home as much as mine. And I don't think I'd invite you over either. I don't know how things will work out. I don't know how well we can repair our relations. I'm willing to try. That's my decision. Whether you take it is your call. I feel better for us having had this conversation, and I hope you do too."
Again he just looks at me for a long time, then sighs.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. I've held on to my bitterness for way too long."
4/5
I find Chris where he said he'd be, in our dressing room. He talks before I have a chance to say anything.
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you," he says quietly.
"Chris..."
"No, I am. I should've known you wouldn't... I still have nightmares about it," he admits.
I just look at him.
"About the way you looked the day after you walked out on him. Haven't seen you look that defeated after the worst of your matches. I'm not really proud of beating him that day. But I had to. Everyone I had a match with after that became him. I just needed... Fuck. I don't know. You were in a very bad place in your life, and I was no better. I was taking my frustrations out in the ring, and that's not fair to the people we work with."
"Chris... love, I had no idea... Well, I had, a little. The day you first let me see a little of that frustration..."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know. I'm glad you did."
"Me too," he smiles slightly, then goes on:
"I've hated him for so long, at first for having you, then for having hurt you. I won't start liking him now. But... I know you needed this. I've seen it coming."
"He apologised," I say quietly, and he turns to look at me.
"I'm not saying that it'll make it okay, but he did. And maybe, just maybe, it means that he'll be another person in his next relationship."
I move closer to hug Chris.
"The only reason I was able to even face him was the fact that I feel safe now. Emotionally safe. And I feel better now. I didn't know it was possible, really. I thought I was being perfectly happy. Well, now I'm happy beyond perfect, then. The one wound bleeding quietly somewhere inside of me is finally covered. And I think he was the same, though the wound was bigger and more painful for him."
We hug for a while in silence. He feels right in my arms. Somehow better shaped for it than Christian ever was.
Inevitable happens, as always when we are in each other's physical proximity.
"How long do we have before the match?" he whispers into my ear.
"Long enough," I reply, lowering my head to bite down on his neck gently.
5/5
“What do you want?”
“Well, we can’t exhaust ourselves before the show. So...” I kiss my way down his chest, “I want to make you remember me until we get home.”
I give him a predatory grin, and his answering grin is expectant. Suddenly I grab his hands and push him roughly against the lockers. I’m comfortable with using my strength against him now, and if I read the reactions of his body right, he’s enjoying the show of force.
And I do read his body well, thank you very much.
He was shirtless when I came in, and now I move to work on his jeans. He could easily pull out of my grasp, seeing that I have to hold both of his wrists with my left hand now, to free the right hand for the zipper, but what fun would that be?
I’m deliberately slow in my movements, and accompany every movement, every lick and kiss with a running commentary. My fingers are working on the zipper, and I’m nibbling my way down on his chest. I have to let go of his hands now, but sensing the mood he keeps them out of my way, holding on to the lockers above his head.
“I want you to think about what I’m going to do later tonight... Want you to remember that every single moment... When I’m in the ring... When you’re in the ring... When you watch me fight... just remember that when we get home, late, late tonight, I’m going to pounce you the second we get in, and... Shit!” I let go of him suddenly, then grin, embarrassed, and rush to the door.
“I forgot to lock it,” I explain sheepishly.
Then I take a good look at him. He’s still gripping the lockers, and presenting a sight so fuckable I falter in my plan. His chest is sweaty, heaving, and his gaze is dazed. His jeans are open, but still on him. Jesus he looks good aroused.
We don’t have time for what I want. That’s why I’m saving it for later. And I’m also making damn sure he’ll be ready for it then.
“Now, where were we?” I murmur as I take my former position. Almost.
I start again from the beginning, by returning to nibble on his neck before slowly, slowly, slowly moving downwards.
“When we get that door locked behind us,” I go on with my list of promises, “I won’t give you time to take your clothes of, take a shower, anything... and you won’t take a shower here either. I want you hot, I want you sweaty, I want you ready for me...”
I’ve reached his stomach now, and can feel his muscles rippling beneath the skin.
“I’ll kiss you all the way to the bedroom,” I demonstrate with a big sloppy kiss on his stomach that makes him laugh but then take his breath away by moving down, down, down... but not quite where he wants me, yet.
“I’ll rip your clothes off on the way – shoes to the hall, shirt in the kitchen, jeans by the doorway, the rest when you’re falling on the bed.”
I release his straining erection, and lick the top lightly, “then I’ll lick all over your wonderful, sweaty body.”
I demonstrate my meaning by licking his length thoroughly.
“Because I love the taste of your skin...” I whisper, and he nearly growls of frustration because I had to remove my tongue from his skin to speak.
I look up, holding him in my left hand, pumping ever so slightly.
He’s looking at me, sweaty, tousled, so damn aroused I fear I can’t even finish my wicked plan.
“Then I’ll get up to get rid of *my* clothes,” I say, and lower my head again.
When my tongue touches the sensitive underside his head hits the lockers with a bang.
“You fucking bastard,” he gasps.
“What, you want me to stop?” I smile innocently.
He wants to say something nasty, I’m sure, but I prevent it by turning what ever was going to come out of his mouth into a whimper of pleasure.
Yeah, he whimpers. It’s a sexy sound, believe me.
After some heavy duty sucking and licking I pause again, raise my head to look at him, and go on as if I hadn’t done anything.
“Then I’ll take a second to just look at you. You’re so beautiful, lying in our bed that is still messed from the morning, your skin glowing from sweat and my saliva, your eyes meeting mine, mixing desire and love in their look. You’ll be shaking with passion, knowing what I’m going to do, and waiting me to do it, because if you have to wait another second, you’ll die...” then end of the sentence is nothing but a husky whisper but I’m sure he can make out the meaning if not the words.
I speed up what my hand is doing, and run the nails of my right hand down his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be felt, and I’m rewarded by a sudden jump and further hardening of his cock
“I’ll take the lube from the bedside table...”
I lower my head to lick, kiss, nibble, suck... only for a second or two, then I’m talking again, but against him this time, and the air my words breathe towards him makes him shiver.
“And slowly, so very slowly, I start preparing you. First, with one finger...” lick “then another” nibble “then yet another... just in case... I won’t want to hurt you... we’re not in the mood for pain.”
“When you’re ready *I’ll* be ready, and I will push into you... Slowly... slowly...”
I take him in my mouth again, realising how close he is. I move my hand a bit, not wanting him to come just yet.
“But we’re not in a mood for slow, either. We will want more, and hard, and fast, and I’ll oblige. And you’ll meet me, move for move, push for push, grip for grip, until the neighbours are going to lose their minds again because the bed won’t be able to take it anymore.”
“And then, then, then...” I speed up again, “you’ll come,” I finish, hearing, seeing and feeling that that’s just what he’s about to do, and take him in my mouth, just in time to take what he has to give.
He finally lets go of the locker and falls to the ground, not too gracefully. I collect him in my arms, moving to rest my back against the locker as well.
It takes him a minute to catch his breath. I’m grinning like a lunatic.
“You are...a fucking devious... bastard,” he gets out, and turns to rest his forehead against my neck.
“You?” he asks after a while, remembering that the things were a little one-sided. Yeah, they were. I got all the fun!
“Kinda took care of itself,” I admit. So he sounds so fucking hot when he’s coming that it usually pushes me over as well. Sue me. Got punished already: I hate coming in my pants.
“Adam, I hate you,” he says quietly, “I have to wrestle soon!”
“Not for an hour or so, you big baby. Surely a man with your stamina can handle a little strain? I have plans for later, you know,” I grin.
“That became quite clear,” he answers dryly, but I somehow get the impression he doesn’t mind. Could be the gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Or the answering grin. Or the slow burning kiss he gives me before we bother getting up.
I’m glad we have that hour. We spend it lounging around the locker room instead of joining the bunch outside as we usually do. Chris claims it’s because he can’t get rid of his hard-on when thinking about my “later”. I just say we’re boring and domesticated.
We have to leave the sanctuary of our room in the end. We get some knowing grins and winks, and the usual scowl from the more repressed crewmembers. I’m flying so high I couldn’t care less.
Christian winks to me.
I smile in reply.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a friend again one day.
At least I have my lover, I grin to my thoughts and turn to share them with Chris. He meets my gaze with his own, happy and secure in our love.
I’m glad the timetable interrupts our soppiness before I embarrass myself, and we go kick ass.
***
Then we go home, and I do all the things I said I would.
***
And, currently, we are in the process of living happily ever after.
The End