Crave.

Feels like someone keeps jabbin’ a knife into the side of my neck. I see a drop of sweat slide off my forehead onto the floor of the trainer’s room. It joins about the billion others I’ve left there while my neck’s bein’ seen to.

"Fuck Francois. Just chop my head off for god’s sake.” I’m not feelin’ the best right now

“Yes Austin, I know. It’s ok.” Smooth french accent just pisses me off even more as his thumbs press little circles into the side of my spine. Right where the pain is worst.

He always says that. “No you don’t fuckin’ know…” I begin.

Austin? How bad is it Francois?” Vince and his entourage’s shiny shoes are now in the room. I can only see from their knees down, because I can’t raise my head from where it’s spasming with my chin on my chest.

It hurts like acid down my spine.

“It’s fuckin’ agony Vince is what it is!” Would I be in here if I was fine you idiot?

“Bad swelling from the pressure on the disc. I’m releasing the nerve pinch, but it is not good Mr. McMahon.” Francois continues rubbing ground zero, pushing in hard.

It hurts so much.

“Damn. You were supposed to run this feud with Bischoff for another week at least.” The big man doesn’t like his plans being upset by my fuckin’ permanent injury! Asshole.

“I can fuckin’ talk Vince and do some quick spots to keep things hot. Don’t get ya panties in a twist. It’ll heal.” My voice is confident, I almost believe it myself.

Agony hotter than hell.

Their silence speaks volumes and I wonder at the look on François’ face if they’re having doubts about a couple of promos and quick spots.

“We’ll see.” God, Vince can’t bullshit to save himself. “We’ll meet tomorrow to assess the situation.” He pats me on the back and heads out. I feel the gentle pat like Paul’s sledgehammer.

Stop hurting for just once second.

“Yeah.” I watch their shiny shoes leave and know I’m screwed. “François, is it gonna be like this..?” Suddenly, just like out in the ring when I took a bump near the steps, I feel a twist in my neck like red-hot fire and then the knife is gone.

Gone.

I almost sob with relief. About to lift my head, Francois stops me with a gentle hand.

“No Austin, keep your head down. You are still swollen around the disk, but the nerve no longer pinch you. Have an ice pack then cool shower. You are Not ok to fly, someone drive you right?” The little French guy starts picking up his towels and stuff.

“Drive, yeah, ok. Thanks Francois.”

His sneakered feet leave the room and now I’m alone.

It still hurts.

Throbbing now, but it still hurts. I put a hand up to hold the ice pack in place and watch the water drops mingle with my sweat on the floor.

It still hurts.

I hear the door open and see black boots and bright ring tights move into view. I’d recognize those legs anywhere. They are in perfect proportion to the rest of his gorgeous body, all of which I’ve enjoyed watching on occasion. What he’s doing here is anyone’s guess. A hand appears, palm up containing two white painkillers. With a slightly shaky hand I take them from him and pop them in my mouth.

His other hand appears. It’s holding a beer. Damn.

“I’m gonna kiss you in a second Jericho.” I say around the meds as I take the beer from that long-fingered hand.

“Promise?” he comes back sarcastically.

“Mmm-humm.” I mumble through the beer.

“If it’s any comfort. Eric is in a fit, thinking he’s screwed for injuring you on the night of your big return.” I lift my head a fraction to see hands resting on slim hips and the bottom of a black ‘Jericoholic’ t-shirt.

I snort. “He couldn’t injure me if he was fuckin’ tryin’. I hit a bump wrong and now my damn neck’s swollen again, he was prissin' about on the other side of the ring!” While we’ve been talking, I’ve been ogling a certain cute, Canadian from the waist down. One of the best parts.

“What about Westlemania?” The painkillers must be kicking in because I swear that sounded like concern in his voice.

"It’s me and Dwayne again. He’s goin’ heel.” This is not news to Jericho apparently.

“Thought so. Dwayne’s good enough to keep your neck safe.” Definitely concern.

I keep my eyes at crotch level and grin. “We could run it eyes closed, but I won’t be doin’ much after if this keeps playin’ up.”

“Are you on Raw tomorrow?” he asks.

You interested? “Was. Probably not now, this’ll have to rest.” I grumble.

“Then I’ll see you next week.” Another beer appears in front of my face, adding several more items to the list of reasons to grab Chris and fuck him senseless.

“Thanks Chris.” His feet move towards the door so I let my eyes linger on another fine piece of Jericho.

“I’m glad your back.” Now THAT sends my head straight up, but it’s only to see a flash of blonde hair and golden arms as he leaves. Despite my injury, the agony and the likelihood of not being able to wrestle, things are looking up.

*****

Look, I’m pretty damn sure it ain’t love ok? It’s just lust, or loneliness. I haven’t damn well gotten laid since Debra decided I wasn’t payin’ her enough attention and fucked off with some nineteen-year-old toy boy. Not that she didn’t have a point. I barely looked at her for the last few months ‘cos I was distracted by the fact that I am NOT in any kind of love with Chris Jericho. I want him; sure, I’ll admit that. He’s just, well fuck, damn easy on the eyes is one thing, but ya gotta be in his company to understand the overwhelming need I got for his fine little Canadian self.

Basically, I’m so hot for his body that my cock aches when he’s within ten feet of me. The way he moves in and outta the ring is eyecatchin’ ta say the least. He’s a damn good wrestler and can probably take out any sonofabitch that crosses him, ‘cept maybe Angle or Benoit. He can handle himself anywhere, running rings around so-called cerebral assassins like Paul. Chris’ good at anything he does and has the co-ordination a panther would envy.

Backstage his mouth is kinda legendary ya know, ‘cos he can turn a phrase like a knife. Ya think his promos are funny? Ya think that shit he used to say to Steph was nasty? That was him being restrained for crying out loud. I swear I once saw a big, mean bastard nearly reduced to tears when Jericho was verbally tearing him apart for fucking up a spot and hurting one of the young kids. And that’s nothing compared to the ice ya get if ya make a pass at him. He may dress all cock-tease outfits and stroke me hair, but it ain’t an invitation. All ya get is a resigned sigh, frozen sapphire eyes and a polite decline that’ll put ya into therapy if ya don’t get over it quick.

It was HBK who said of Jericho when introduced to him for the first time, “It’s a tie between wanting to belt the taste outta his smart mouth or tie him to my bed for a week.” People adore him or loathe him, sometimes both at once.

All in all a hell of a package. And one that I mean to own.

*****

Lita bawling her eyes out is something you don’t see every day in the back stage area. She’s a tough girl, gotta be to return from that hellish injury she took last year. Now she’s sitting on the floor, sobbin’ like a little kid. As I reach her to ask what’s up, I hear the unmistakable sound of Jericho’s voice from the Diva’s locker room. Angry that he’s loosed his venom on Lita, I shove open the door to see Chris in the center of the room, hands on slim hips, nose to nose with Stacey Keibler. I never realized she was taller than him.

“Look Jericho as far as I’m concerned, Lita shouldn’t even have come back.” The leggy blonde’s voice is harsh. “She’s been gone eight months and decides to just stroll on back. No one consulted me. Why is she even here? She should be on Smackdown.” Bitch.

Chris didn’t move, but I can imagine the frost in his stare.

“Because Queen Stacey has made that decree? Lita just has to deal with returning to work to find some of her friends, including her boyfriend on a different show? She can’t possibly ask for a little time to adjust? No chance to settle in because the indescribably talented Stacey now rules the Diva’s room? Did it ever occur to you to show some compassion for a woman who had her fucking neck broken?”

I give Stacey credit for only taking one step back from Chris after his vicious words. Too bad for her, she started it.

“No way, no compassion here, is there? Stacey ‘most famous part of me is my ass’ Keibler is in a red-hot relationship with Test and is now the alpha fucking female back here? Despite the fact that every woman in this room could break your arms, including Terri, you think you can dictate to the others what they can and can’t do? Has there been a vote or something? If there was, Keibler, do you think of everyone here, you would win?” It was the relentless way Jericho’s words pounded into the woman that made me almost sympathetic, till I remembered Lita’s sad face.

“Chris… you can’t talk to me like that you bastard.” Tears welled in Stacey’s big eyes and a pout formed on her glossy lips.

“Grow the fuck up Keibler, I don’t care if I hurt your damn feelings you brainless fool. This is not high school. Stop acting like your sixteen and dating the quarterback. This is a business and from now on you will conduct yourself like an adult, not a five year old having a tantrum. You are here to work, god knows why, not priss around like you own the place and bitch at the other women. If Lita wants some time to adjust then you’ll give it to her, because she earn’t her place here, unlike you.”

With that last parting shot, Chris turned around and headed back to the doorway, which I currently occupy. I move back out as he passes me and crouches on the floor next to Lita.

“Come on, get up woman. You’re really going to let Barbie in there get to you?” He takes the tear-stained Diva’s hand, tugging her to her feet.

Lita shakes her head, wiping away the residue of her crying jag. In the locker room, the Diva’s are all continuing on like nothing occurred except for Stacey, who is muttering bitterly in front of the mirror.

“Thanks Chris, she was just being a cow and it got a bit much.” Lita took a deep breath. Squaring her shoulders, she enters the dangerous waters of the women’s locker room.

“You’re a braver man than me.” I comment as the door closes behind her.

“Thank you.” Jericho smiles at me briefly then heads to his dressing room.

He just smiled at me, a voice in my head crows. Now who’s actin’ like a teenager? I walk with him. My locker room’s in that direction too.

Really.

“Ya don’t think that was a bit harsh?” I ask.

Chris continues walking. “Keibler is a bitch. She told Lita that Matt was sleeping with Dawn-Marie.”

“No way!” Those kids are stuck to one another.

“It’s bullshit, but Lita was feeling low and it hurt.” Chris stops and turns to me. “She deliberately

hurt Torrie’s back in Australia last year. She won’t go to training, won’t practice and is refusing to work in women’s matches. She is pressuring Test into making demands on Patterson that could hurt his career and she’s fucking Steiner in case Test looses his push. The other women only tolerate her because they have to, but none let her get to them. Lita barely knew her before the injury so Keibler’s found a target that won’t hit back. Yet.” Jericho’s distain for the leggy diva is plain.

“Fare enough. She deserved it.” I have no sympathy for a stupid women who alienates those around her.

Jericho looks at me oddly, like he can’t believe I agree with him. “Yeah she did.”

“I guess it wasn’t so hard to smack her with that chair after all huh?” I snicker.

Chris smiles at me, a real genuine smile. No ice at all.

“I barely touched her. Nearly did take her head off though. Had to pull it at the last moment because the silly bitch moved to the wrong spot.” He shakes his head in memory. “The Diva’s gave me a thank you card.”

My snicker turns to a guffaw at that. “Ya refused to apologise as well. Now I know why.”

“It was the arc.” Chris protested eyes wide and unbelievably innocent. Oh damn, my jeans are too tight. Jericho looks at his watch, while I stare at the golden skin on his chest. “I need to be elsewhere. I’ll see you later Austin.” With another smile he turns away. I love to watch him walk away from me. Damn he has a fine ass.

“Just fuckin’ lust,” I mutter to myself as I head in the opposite direction.

*****

No matter which arena we’re in, Vince’s office is always the same. It’s like him, a crazy mix of neat piles of paperwork and downright goofy promotional stuff. He’s not been on Raw much lately so this flying visit to let us know about some new ideas from ‘creative’ means every wrestler and his dog is taking up his time.

I kick back and relax in my chair ignoring Paul and Steph who’re taking the opportunity of being in the same city at the same time to suck on each other’s tonsils. Dwayne’s on his cell phone as usual and Vince is late. I’m more than a little surprised when the object of my lust, Chris Jericho, walks in and grabs a seat next to me on one of the room’s couches. Dwayne lifts a hand in greeting then continues his conversation. Jericho doesn’t normally come to these meetings unless his own work is gonna be discussed. At my inquiring look he shrugs gracefully,

“Vince commands, I obey.” Chris’s voice is heavy with sarcasm.

“Yeah right,” I snort, Jericho obeys no one but himself.

At that moment, Vince comes in. Followed by Pat Patterson, he throws a bundle of folders on the desk and starts discussing Paul’s current arc with Booker T. Chris and I remain silent as the two battle it out over the uninspiring storyline. Then it’s Dwayne and my turn as we plot out Wrestlemania and my next arc. Finally Vince gets to the main reason for this meeting.

“Gentlemen, we have a new recruit to the WWE,” Vince says grandly. “He’ll be coming straight into a feud with The Rock at Backlash..” Dwayne’s famous eyebrow shoots up at this, “then an arc with Jericho and finally a title hunt against Triple H.”

We are all speechless at such a high profile and top card angle for a new wrestler.

“On a silver platter?” The temperature in the room has dropped about ten degrees with Chris’ question. I shoot him a look, but his eyes are on Vince and I realize he knows what’s going on more than me.

“He’s gonna bring great heat..” Pat begins.

“..and a huge ego.” Chris finishes with a sharp tone that is usually only reserved for one person.

“Goldberg.” I mutter.

Dwayne, Stephanie and Paul instantly look at Jericho. Vince is standing up to the Canadian’s hard stare and returning it full force.

“I know you and he have had your issues Chris, but that’s in the past and right now Bill Goldberg is the biggest free agent in the business. He’s signed with us….”

“…so long as Dwayne and I job to him and then he gets the title when Paul and Stephanie get married?” Chris interrupts.

“It’s logical that talent of his level come in and face the top card. What do you want him to do, wrestle Hurricane and Test?” Vince is loosing his temper with Jericho’s attitude.

“Why not? They’ll show up his three moves in the first match.” Chris rises to his feet.

“Jericho.” Taking a big risk, I grab Chris’ shoulder to divert his attention from Vince and a possible suspension. Unused to being touched outside the ring, the blonde head snaps around and I’m caught in the furious sapphire glare. “The deal is done, he’s coming.” For a second I think he may hit me but then his eyes warm somewhat and he nods slightly.

Flicking a look at Vince that could freeze a bonfire, Jericho pulls away from me and heads out the door.

I swing an incredulous look at our owner.

“Chris has a point Vince. Even with Rock’s heel turn the fans will see our best being fed to Goldberg like an offering. He’s not that important.”

But the big man has had enough of rebellion from his employees and shuts me down.

“He’s contracted and that is the arc. You people just do your jobs and leave the storylines to ‘creative’.” Vince dismisses us with a glare.

None of the people in the room are used to being treated so rudely by Vince and we all leave feeling pretty pissed off ourselves.

“What the hell was that Steph?” Paul asks his fiancé when we’re out of Vince’s earshot.

“I had no idea Hon,” she’s as thrown by the encounter in the office as the rest of us. “I knew we were pursuing him, but not that he signed or the conditions.”

“Chris is gonna be in the shits now.” Dwayne commented, his easy-going manner undaunted by the previous exchange.

“More than usual anyway,” Paul snipes.

“Well,” Dwayne reasons, “Let’s see how it goes. If he minds himself and doesn’t get up Jericho’s nose or act like he owns the place, it may turn out ok.”

“Goldberg minding his manners and treating other wrestlers with respect?” I ask. “You obviously haven’t met the man.”

Yeah, Goldberg’s coming to the WWE. Hoo-fuckin’-ray.!

******

Chris Jericho drives me fuckin’ insane. I want him so badly, but he’s such a nasty little bastard, and he’s not even slightly interested in me. Or anyone else for that matter. Plenty have tried to melt the frozen blond, but none have succeeded yet.

The only time the ice breaks is with the young guys. I dunno what happened to Jericho when he was just starting out, but the only soft spot he has is for the newbies. Maven, Nowiski, Jindrak, Orton, Cade, Jeff Hardy, even Helms is one of his little crowd. He’s always patient with them, as kind as you can be in this business. He watches out for them, coaches em, and gives em tips on how to improve. He’s not a shoulder to cry on, but Jericho never turned away a forlorn wannabe who knocks on his hotel door at 2am. Don’t sneer. He’s never laid a finger on em. And no-one else better if they wanna keep said finger. They trust him in a world were they could be used and abused in a second.

‘Cos of all this, he’s hero-worshiped by these kids, they flock around him like bees to honey. Asking questions, showing new ring attire, talking about music or just trying to show off in front of him. It’s kinda cute really. All us old men watch and grin at these young turks, stretching their wings and feeling their oats. We call them the Boyos, cos not one of them is over 25.

*****

Relaxing with a beer, I let my eyes wander the darkened bar. Most of the locker room had come with us to this little dive not far from the hotel and are generally lounging at the bar or playing pool with the locals. We hadn’t caused much of a stir, ‘cept I was getting free beer all night, as it was kinda tough to impress these patrons. Chris climbed a stool next to mine and ordered a whiskey, grabbing a handful of peanuts. I was surprised, where were the Boyos? Glancing around I saw the kids in various bunches sitting at booths. I’m amazed they let Jericho out of their sight sometimes.

“Good show,” I comment quietly.

“Chicago’s always good.” Chris takes a mouthful of his drink and swallows it neat. Impressive.

“Yeah, but no-one really fucked-up, no-one got hurt and the booking was dead on.”

“For a change.” Chris grins at me. Damn, he should do that more often.

“So you taking any time off soon?” I ask steadily. Come away with me on dirty weekend.

“Maybe in a month or so, depending on what Vince wants to do with me after Backlash.”

“Yeah, that’s when he’s got me back in full-time.” I’ll do you after Backlash Darlin’.

“You’ve been gone too long.” I’m pleased at the compliment and start to feel hot. He flicks a look around the room and I realize it’s not the Boyos who are watching over Chris tonight, it’s the other way round.

“Think this co-general manager arc’s gonna work?” I ask trying not to be obvious as I shift on the bar stool to relieve the pressure in the front of my jeans.

“Actually yes. If Bischoff doesn’t cut his own throat with Vince, you’ll work well off him. It’ll be fun. We’re talking about having me get under your skin and vice versa.” Jericho’s eyes flick more rapidly around the bar and he turns fully on the stool. Skin to skin, yes please.

"What is it?” I ask.

“Where’s Jeff?” Chris slips to his feet just as Christian comes up to us.

“Hardy’s in the men’s room with some guy. I can’t get in.” He looks worried.

Chris makes a beeline for the long corridor leading to the toilets, Christian and I one-step behind him.

Leaning against the wall next to the men’s room door, a young man moves into our path.

“Take a piss outside Fella’s. Slut’s got himself a couple a clients, might make a hundred.”

My fist in his gut causes him to curl up on the floor coughing and spluttering.

Chris didn’t even pause, trying the metal handle once, before throwing his shoulder against the tough steel door. I wince as Jericho tries a second time to force the lock. Reaching out to wrench a piece of metal wire off a nearby beer sign, Chris turns hard blue eyes on Christian who jumps, then dives back into the main bar.

“Glenn!!”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” Stunned I watch as Jericho bends the piece of wire in half and feeds it into the lock.

“You never know what you’ll learn in a crappy apartment in Japan.” Chris stares into my eyes as his fingers try to pick the lock. Seconds pass.

“Scoot outta the way Chris.” Glenn commands as he approaches. Christian in tow.

Leaving the lock, Jericho and I move aside as Glenn throws three hundred plus pounds against the door. Hinges begin to bend. A second shoulder is all that’s needed to force the lock. I tackle the son of a bitch on his knees forcing himself into Jeff on the floor. I see Jericho launch a vicious kick into the face of the guy holding Jeff’s shoulders down, probably breaking the asshole’s jaw. I pummel the bastard beneath me, eventually climbing to my feet and booting him hard in the ribs till he’s rolling and spitting blood onto the filthy floor.

I turn back to see Glenn with his foot on the other guy’s chest, but it looks like Chris’ kick knocked him out. Jericho has pulled up Jeff’s pants, re-buckled his belt and now kneels with Jeff’s head in his lap, leaning over him curtaining their faces with his long hair. Jeff’s curled on his side, arms wrapped around Chris’ waist, his chest shuddering with his sobs as Jericho speaks softly to him.

Catching Glenn’s eye, I nod to the man under his boot. He grins yanking the semi-conscious rapist to his feet, dragging him out the now ruined door. Christian moves to one side to let the big man pass and asks nervously,

“What should I do?”

Jericho looks up from Jeff’s distraught face.

“Two thugs tried to beat up Jeff to prove wrestling’s fake. He’s got cracked ribs, but that’s all that happened Christian, do you understand?” Chris’s voice was still quiet and calm.

“Yeah, OK.” Christian nods and heads back into the bar. I look at the piece of shit now moaning near my feet. I really want to get Chris and Jeff out of here.

“Where should we go?” I ask. “Hospital? Police?”

“No,” Jeff’s whisper is desperate.

“The hotel, my room. Jeff was sharing with Christian, he’ll manage.” Jericho gently helps the youngest Hardy to his feet, slipping an arm around his middle when the kid nearly blacks out. I latch onto his other arm and we slowly walk him out of the bar via the rear exit so the other Boyos don’t see us.

*****

Chris gets Jeff showered and into the bed while I grab the pillows and blankets from my room. I settle onto the couch listening to the quite murmuring from the bed. When Chris comes over I offer him the beer I got from the bar fridge. He accepts it sitting on the couch.

“How bad?” I don’t really want to know, but I ask anyway.

“He’s torn, but I don’t think he needs stitches. The bleeding’s stopped and I’ve given him painkillers.” Jericho takes a long drink. I can’t help but stare at the golden curve of his throat.

“Why was he in that men’s room?” Thinking of what happened to Jeff easily dampens my desire.

“Because he’s a romantic fucking idiot who thinks he’ll meet his soul mate in a bar in Chicago. He let the guy pick him up at the pool table and they were going to make-out in the hallway, till Romeo invited a friend to join in.” Chris’ words are all the harsher by being spoken in a whisper.

“Damn.” I shake my head at the youngest Hardy’s cluelessness.

“In a word.”

The beer helps a bit. Still doesn’t unclench the knot in my gut from the fight, but my shoulders aren’t made of iron now. Eventually we resume our conversation from the bar. Several more raids of the bar fridge and I’m becoming nice and blurry round the edges. Chris is relaxing a little as well, though I could set my watch by the regular checks he does on the occupant of the room’s bed. There is no ice in him when it comes to the Boyos.

*****

“Your sleepin’ on the couch Chris and don’t open ya fuckin’ mouth ‘cos I’ll shut it for ya, now go to sleep. Ya gotta take care of yourself as well ya know.” I slur down at the smaller blonde.

“My mother is in Canada, Austin and she’s a better bully than you. Lie down.” God he can be a pain in the ass.

“Bet she’s beautiful.” What! I didn’t say that did I?

“More muscles that Randy, now sleep Redneck or I’ll drug your beer.”

“Bossy little thing, ‘night Darlin.” No, no, no, no.

“Goodnight Sweety-Pie.” But I can hear the amusement in that sexy voice.

At least there wasn’t any ice.

*****

I wake up slowly as always and realize I’m uncomfortably crammed onto the couch. Fuck. I remember having a semi-drunken argument with Jericho as to who sleeps on the couch at about 3am. I didn’t call him Darlin’ did I?

Opening my eyes I look around the room, wiping away a crate of sand from my lids. Chris is asleep in the only other chair, feet curled up under the remaining blanket, tousled blonde head resting on a folded pillow wedged against the wall. I stand up, amazed at the difference when he’s asleep. No attitude, no hardness and most importantly, no ice. Jesus, he looks younger than the Boyos. I realize I’m not the only one enjoying the view as Jeff’s awake. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes on Jericho, an unreadable expression on his bruised face.

Carefully I edge over to the bed, trying not to freak Jeff out.

“How ya feelin’ son?” Stupid question Austin.

He shrugs, whispering, “Pretty awful I guess.”

Gingerly I sit on the bed but he doesn’t seem worried by my nearness.

“He saved me didn’t he?” Jeff’s eyes have never left the sleeping man in the chair.

“Yep. He noticed you were missin’ and Christian was worried so we got Glenn and….”

“When I heard his voice I knew it would be over soon, so I stopped struggling.” Jeff turns his gaze to me and I see the tears in his eyes and something else. Something I recognized because I see it in the mirror most days. The craving. For Chris.

“Aww kid. Shit.” I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t have to because Jeff was crying again, this time in my arms, head buried against my chest. “Yeah kid, just let it out.” Since when did I become Mr. Sensitive? Who knows, but after what Jeff went through I’d have to be Mr. Asshole to refuse the comfort he so desperately needed.

“Jeff?” Jericho had woken up at the kid’s muffled sobs. Sliding to his feet, looking sexily rumpled by sleep, he eyes us with concern and heads over to his luggage.

“I’m calling Matt.” Retrieving his cell phone from a bag.

“No!” Jeff’s head shoots around.

“Yes. He’ll come and get you. You need to be with him right now.”

“No, I can’t tell him. I’m such a fuck-up.” Jeff moans.

“He’s fully aware of that Jeff. But he’s your brother and he will help you.” Chris is firm.

“I’ve got to wrestle tomorrow.” The kid tries one last tactic.

“Chance in hell, Hardy. Now get changed and we’ll get some breakfast.” The blonde orders as he dials Matt Hardy’s number.

“Okay.” Jeff crawls to the bathroom to shower again, while I pick up the extra bedding from last night.

“I’m gonna shower in my room, then I gotta plane to catch Chris. Ya’ll be alright with him?” I ask when the Canadian hangs up from his call. I hate my schedule sometimes.

Jericho nods.

“Fine. Matt will be here at midday, and then I’ve got a flight. So I’ll see you on Friday?” he looks up at me with those sapphire eyes and I’m lost. I have been for a while.

“Yeah, Friday. Take care of the kid.” I walk into the hallway.

“Thanks Austin.” Jericho leans against the doorframe as I head out.

“No problem, wish I’d done more though.” I call over my shoulder.

“You did enough…..Darlin’.” Chris grins at my stunned stare, and then closes the door.

*****

Grabbing a can of soda from the machine I walk towards the meeting area when a door slams open behind me. Tensing instinctively I swing around to be overwhelmed by a dozen insane monsters.

“Stone Cold….Austin help…Mr. Cold… Mr. Austin… Stone Cold…they’re gonna kill us…”

Several young voices all begin to babble at me at once. It’s sort of a family day back stage at Raw this week, so all the wives and husbands of the talent and crew have turned up with infants in tow to visit Daddy’s or Mommy’s work. From 3 to 15 I’m surrounded by miniature versions of the people I spend most of my waking hours with.

“Now shush the he…ah..heck up kids. What the…blazes…are ya yammerin’ about?” I yell over the bedlam.

“They’re gonna kill us…” Young Cameron Michaels begins to explain but is then interrupted by the same loud slam of a door being flung open as before.

Oh sweet Lord. The star of most of my fantasies Chris Jericho is leading a posse of the Boyos in pursuit of the children. Each wrestler is wearing some kind of plastic helmet and waving foot long toy swords at me. Jericho has a one horned Viking helmet perched neatly on his golden locks. He comes to within’ five feet of me then stops. He looks like Thor. The Kids pull behind me in a bundle of giggles and shushes.

“Greetings noble warrior. We are hunting a tribe of Orcs that must be Slayed most violently and it seems they Cower Cravenly behind your jeans. Hand them over to the King’s Mighty Warriors.” Chris declares with a completely straight face. I can actually hear the capitals in that statement.

“We’re not orcs,” Emily Corden yells. “We’re HOBBITS.”

Jericho sneers, “An orcish trick no doubt. We know orcs when we see them, don’t we men?”

A rousing yell of support from the Boyos makes the kids squeak and giggle even more.

“We’re HOBBITS,” the children chorus.

“No your not.” Jericho counters.

“Yes we are.” The kids chant back.

“No your not.”

“I’m an orc,” David Francetti offers smugly.

All eyes turn to the ten year old. David looks back defiantly. “I wanna be an orc. Orcs‘re cool.”

Jericho adjusts the helmet which had fallen into his eyes. “There see? They admit it. ORCS!!” he yells brandishing his pale green plastic sword. It swishes dangerously close to my nose. I can see the twinkle in those glorious blue eyes. Little tease.

“Stand aside Lord Austin, the Orcs must be slain.” Randy commands. He seems to have stolen Scott Steiner’s chain mail head gear from somewhere.

“Now fella’s ya seem to be makin’ an error here. These little mites are not Orcs..”

“I am.” Francetti junior interrupts.

“..’cept for that one.” I correct myself. “They’re Hobbits and I can prove it to ya.”

“How?” Jericho asks suspiciously.

“Look at they’re feet. Hobbits have hairy feet. Orc’s don’t.” I point out reasonably.

The Mighty Warriors look down to examine the kids’ feet. Someone, Jericho I bet, has stuck cotton balls to the tops of the tiny feet with what looks like exercise tape. It’s totally unconvincing and very cute.

With a grin Chris meets my gaze again. “Indeed it seems we were mistaken in our attempt at slaughter noble sir. These Hobbits are no threat to the king…yes except for the lone orc in their midst thank you David…thus we will pursue other more foul foes.” With a disappointed rumble the Boyos begin to lower their weapons. The same door slams open to reveal the rest of the Evolution group with Nash and Michaels in tow. For a split second no-one moves then I see an unholy light enter Jericho’s eyes and..

“Orukkai! Giant orcs! They must be slain,” he yells at the top of his lungs.

With a delighted roar the Boyos and the Hobbits plus one Orc join forces to take down the monsters.

Hands up in a cowardly show of neutrality I move down the corridor, grinning at Shawn’s attempts to remove his son from Nash’s leg. Decent set o’ teeth that kid.

The battle moves further back through the doorway. Damn! Little girls squeal loud. I notice some kind of change in direction in the pack as most of the Hobbits tear off down a different hallway. Eight year old Dannielle Roberts barrels up to me.

“Mr. Austin you gotta come with us to ass..assau…attack Sauron’s Fortress. Please, please...’

I put up a hand to quiet the pigtailed terror's pleas.

“Sauron’s what?” I question.

“Sauron’s Fortress. Chris said it’s the most well protected place in the arena.” So he’s Chris and I’m Mr. Austin huh?

Well protected… oh you little...

“Come on.” I snatch the minx into a bear hug and run through the arena as fast as my crippled legs will allow. I’m too late. Already the Mighty Warriors, the Orukkai and the Hobbits plus one Orc are pounding their plastic swords again the door to the Women’s Locker Room.

“Come out, Evil Villains.” Jericho calls.

“Come out Mommy, you’re Evil,” a high pitched voice joins in.

Chris nearly kills himself laughing at that one but remains in character enough to pound on the door again. The handle turns. In a breathless silence we all watch the door swing inwards to reveal Linda McMahon CEO of Titan Entertainment. Beyond her stand the Divas and wives of most of the employees of Raw.

A muffled “Ooops,” echoes in the corridor.

Faced with Linda’s frosty face Jericho, naturally, keeps pushing.

“Do you surrender the Fortress of Doom Gatekeeper?” he demands.

With a sweep of deep hazel eyes Linda takes in her employees dressed as knights, the weapons and the children.

“Why is Ashaya painted green?” She asks nicely.

All eyes turn to the little girl. I recognize Rico’s sparkly make-up adorning her coffee coloured cheeks and bare arms.

“I’m Golum.” Ashaya declares proudly.

Giggles from the Hobbits while the Mighty Warrior’s begin to shift nervously in their helmets.

“I see.” The most powerful women, no person, in our organization lets her gaze rest on the kids cottons stuck feet. A flicker in that unreadable gaze. She turns back to the other occupants of the room. All the gal’s are grinning like monkeys at us idiots. With a nod Linda returns her eyes to us.

“You’re forces are too much Sir Christopher of Jericho. Sauron’s..ah..” she raises a enquiring eyebrow.

“Fortress of Doom.” Maven supplies helpfully.

“Sauron’s Fortress of Doom will surrender.” Linda finishes.

With a roar of approval the kids begin to clap and cheer as their mothers wrangle them into a less sugar-high mode.

I relinquish Danielle to her father, grinning like an idiot at Jericho’s warmth towards the children. He’s being attacked by two tots about the age of four and six. Lifting one up by the ankles he swings the boy high in the air before catching him with ease.

“The cotton balls from the trainer’s room?” I tense a little at Linda’s question. Not about to turn in the lust of my life I smile charmingly.

“Yeah I guess so. Keeps ‘em out of Mom’s way while ya all gossip and such,” I explain. “That was really sportin’ Linda.” I decide compliments are the best bet here.

Not taken in an inch. Linda smiles back at me. “I do have grandchildren Austin.” With that she glides serenely down the corridor to her office.

Jericho approaches me, eyes on Linda’s retreating back.

“Problem?” he enquires, concern lacing his suddenly calm voice.

At the tone a happy little tickle runs the length of my spine. “Nah,” I let my eyes rest on that perfect profile and wish for the millionth time I had permission to run my hands across his skin. “Linda’s a doll when ya’ get to know her.”

“I bet.” The laughter is back in full force. The helmet is slightly crooked. Without thinking I reach out to adjust it, trailing my fingertips down the spun-gold hair.

What the fuck did I just do?

I hear Jericho’s breath hiss from his lungs at the contact. He moves a fraction closer.

Sapphire eyes lock with mine. Time literally fuckin’ stops for a second as I loose myself in Chris’s gaze.

“Austin I…” Chris’ words are lost as a high shriek cuts into our ears. Goddammit no!

“Mommmmyyy Noooooooo. I don’t wannaaaa…” the overtired wail continues.

The moment is lost and the ice has returned to Jericho.

“See you out there.” He pulls the Viking helmet off. The playful, fantastic beauty is gone, before me stands a sharp, professional performer.

“’kay.” I agree, inwardly cursing the children, vowing never to have any of the little monsters.

I watch Chris walk through the throng towards his dressing room.

What the fuck was he gonna say?

*****

We all knew it was coming. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to know of Jericho’s history with Goldberg. He left WCW mainly because the bookers wouldn’t set a PPV resolution to the Jericho/Goldberg feud. So why does Chris hate Goldberg so much? Well, we all found out.

It was a typical post Raw locker room, Dwayne and I were talking about his idea for a Rock concert, and he’s an even worse guitar player than me. Chris was chatting to Maven by the lockers while the Boyo was icing his wrenched knee and everyone was generally chilling out after our matches. It was Shane McMahon’s voice that alerted us to what was about to happen.

“….and this is the main locker area that most of the guys use, although in most arenas you’ll get your own dressing room like the other top card talent.”

Then they came in through the open door. He’s bigger than I remember, gotta couple inches on me and built like a Mack truck. Shane introduces Goldberg to a couple of guys, Paul and Flair shake his hand like old buddies, while the rest of the room notices the change in atmosphere near the lockers. If I thought the temperature dropped in McMahon’s office, it was fucking zero in here now. Jericho was still casually leaning against one knee while his foot rested on the bench where Maven sat, but it was Maven who kept flicking glances to Goldberg while talking uneasily to Chris. Unfortunately Goldberg chose that moment to look away from Flair and let his eyes travel over the rest of us present. When he spotted Jericho I felt my neck itch at the smile that grew on his face. Practically snubbing Flair he made a beeline across the room to the lockers. I began to move and I could feel Dwayne doing the same when we saw Goldberg’s eyes travel from Chris’ booted feet over those fitted leather pants and shiny shirt to the blond hair and beautiful averted face. He got about three feet away when Jericho turned his head to acknowledge his approach.

“Looking typically fuckable as always Angel, wanna go somewhere quiet and talk?”

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

The absolute silence that followed Goldberg’s words was broken only by the thump of Chris’ foot hitting the floor. I could only imagine the cold rage in those amazing blue eyes.

“No.”

Jericho made to step past Goldberg, so the moron grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“C’mon Angel, be nice…”

Goldberg never finished his sentence as in a blur of motion Jericho twisted the bigger man’s hand out of the grip and bent Bill’s fingers back at an unnatural angle. With a grunt Goldberg went for Chris’ throat but missed and in three neat moves was taken to the ground in a front face-lock applied by man several inches smaller than him.

I acted on instinct; get Chris out of danger, which, seeming as he was in control of the situation was damn stupid, really. But I wrapped my arms around his waist to lift him away from Goldberg. For an instant he resisted then released the hold and let me pull him a couple of feet back to the lockers. He began to break my grip then stilled, almost relaxing into me, no longer trying to escape my arms. I was becoming distracted by messages from my groin about it’s closeness to Chris vinyl wrapped ass, so I forced myself away from burying my face in his abundant hair and focused on Goldberg.

Hefting himself to his feet, Goldberg shrugged off Shane and Paul, his gaze returning to the man now standing quite docile in my embrace.

“Awww, Angel…”

He never took a step. Bill Goldberg found himself facing a wall of several hard-muscled bodies.

The Boyos.

“Back off!”

Hell, Randy was pissed. All the Boyos were glaring daggers at the WWE’s newest recruit. Goldberg inspected each young man then grinned back at Chris and me.

“C’mon Bill. The Divas want to say hi.” Shane pulled at the bigger man’s arm. Goldberg allowed himself to be led away, but not before licking his lips as he smirked at Jericho.

There was a tense silence in the locker room.

“Asshole.” I think it was Chuck who spoke. Everyone slowly began to shake off the fight, commenting in hushed voices on Goldberg’s behavior.

The instant Bill and Shane left I released my hold on Jericho’s waist, despite my bodies lustful pleas. Dwayne, who’d put himself in front of us with his back to Bill, to catch Chris if he got free of me, adjusted his sunglasses and cleared his throat.

“You ok?” he asked Jericho.

“Wonderful.” I guess his sarcasm could be forgiven considering.

“Well, we gotta tell Vince if he’s all weird on you like that.” It was Maven who spoke for the group of Boyos hovering near Chris.

“No. Vince knows and doesn’t care, he needs Goldberg. I can deal with this. Forget it happened.” With that Chris stalked out, wrestlers parting like the red sea as the blonde moved out the door.

“Fuck me. What the hell was that?” Christian asked as he approached us.

“That was a damn sight more than not working an angle.” I said.

“Do you think he ever….”? Maven asked quietly, going pale.

“No.” I was confident. “Goldberg would be a cripple if he tried to overpower Chris.”

“This is not going to be an easy ride.” Dwayne commented.

“Oh yeah, bastard’s gonna fit right in.” HBK sneered from across the room. “He’s already made such a good impression.”

Damn. Looks like things are gonna get ugly.

*****

“So I’ll leave you two to plan some ideas.” The owner of World Wrestling Entertainment heartily slaps our shoulders and departs, surrounded by minions.

Eric Bischoff stares at me from across our table in the private dining room of our hotel in New York. Vince had commandeered the room for his employees and ‘invited’ Eric and me to breakfast. As we lock eyes over scrambled eggs the other wrestlers filter in, looking for coffee.

“Can I tell you how much I hate this idea?” Eric asks.

I grab my fork ‘cause I’m starving. “What? Breakfast or being Co-General Managers?”

“Both.” He sighs and stares at his plate.

“Person’ly I like it.” I spear a bit of sausage and start chomping down.

Eric grimaces at me. “You would. You get to cause trouble, insult me, give me Stunners and drive trucks around the arena. I get to be an asshole.”

“You are an asshole Eric.” I point out.

Raw’s General Manager sighs again and covers his eyes with one hand.

“Why couldn’t I go to Smackdown?” he mumbles.

“’Cause Raw is the flagship and ya talents are needed here.” I parrot Vince’s motivational speech from ten minutes ago, using my fork to encompass the Raw roster now enjoying their caffeine infusions. “’sides with Vince going off the air I need someone to piss off and throw beer at.”

Eric looks at me from between his fingers. “I hate you.”

“Good.”

Temporary silence as Eric sulks and I eat.

“I do realize things haven’t been exactly easy going since I arrived here...” he begins.

“What?”

“..and so I accept that it would be good for ratings and the back stage status quo…”

“What?”

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“THAT?” Eric yells, causing several sets of eyes to turn to us.

“Just practicing,” I grin my biggest shit-eating grin at him.

“Well don’t.” Eric launches into an impressive argument about the business and how at WCW he was doing the best for the company etc, etc.

I give up paying attention after about two seconds because Jericho just walked in for breakfast. Using Eric as cover I grab an eyeful of the blonde. Starting at runners and bare golden legs, up over cut-off jeans and long sleeved tee-shirt, hair pulled back and gold rimmed glasses.

Aha.

Chris suffered from occasional migraines, causing vision problems for twenty-four hours afterwards. That would explain the casual clothes and the huge coffee he just grabbed.

Is it just me or are those glasses a real turn on? I have a fantasy of making him wear them while I drill him through the mattress.

“Vince hates me.” I return my attention to Eric as he flashes a nasty look at the door.

“Well yeah.” I agree.

At his dirty look I continue. “Ya see Eric, I understand what you were doing back in the day. I really do. Ya made business decisions based on the influence of powerful people. A lot of them were good decisions, but most of them totally sucked. Now ya have to deal with all those guys you pissed off and insulted. And ya know who the most insulted person was?” I ask.

“Vince.” Another sigh.

“No. Ya stupid prick. Vince’s balls are made of iron, he never gave a shit about anything you guys did, he just wanted to beat you in the ratings. No the person ya fucked with was Mick. Ya had yer guys put him down and make fun of his work at the peak of his career and that was a really shitty thing to do. Now ya are in the place Mick worked, with his friends and the guys ya fucked over at WCW are in the same locker room.” I gesture at him with my fork to make my point. “Ya gotta live with the consequences of being such a bastard.”

“Stop waving that sausage at me!” Eric demands a little too loudly. Conversation ceases in the dining room as all stop to look at us for a moment.

I grin at Eric again. “My point is, yer gonna have to take the humiliation and the shit till everyone sees ya suffered enough or until they just can’t be bothered laughing any more.”

“Oh brilliant. Thank you for your insight Oh Wise One. I accept that I’m not popular but this is a business and…” Bischoff begins

“Jesus Eric, I haven’t seen anyone get so many glares since Sable left.”

He’s gone a bit red now and I see that I’m probably just pissing him off and making him feel worse about things.

Good.

“I really hate you and I hate Vince. This is going to be awful.” Eric moans.

I burp, extremely satisfied with my lot in life.

“Just wait till Jericho gets involved.” I tease.

Eric literally shudders.

“Ya thought I was a pain in the ass. Ya have any idea how much that guy hates yer guts?”

He nods, checking his watch.

“I’m leaving.” He says pushing back his chair.

“Nice talking with ya Eric. I got some great ideas for our Pay Per View. How ya like the idea of a pie-eating contest?” I taunt.

Eric sighs for the hundredth time and leaves.

I push my chair back on its hind legs and savour the moment. Grinning I watch as Chris Jericho slides gracefully into the seat opposite me.

“That looked like fun.”

“It was.” I smirk. “Tell ya something Chris. I’m gonna be grinning all month if this goes the way I see it going.”

Jericho leans an elbow on the table, resting chin in hand. “Eric Bischoff harassed, humiliated and hopefully Stunnered by Stone Cold on a regular basis. Dreams can come true.”

I wish. I return Chris’s nasty smile, eyeing those glasses.

*****

Bad Blood June 15, 2003.

I stomp towards the curtain to see Randy and Maven glaring angrily through it into the arena. They both move back as Jericho bursts through brutally ignoring the assistants and trainers that await him. Panting, sweaty and half-naked he’s something out my wet dreams but the solid ice in his eyes would shrivel any libido in its’ tracks. Randy’s about to speak when Jericho raises a hand for silence and continues on like a bullet to the locker room.

“Chris!” Only Vince’s voice is enough to halt the Canadian’s enraged stalk. Just.

“Vince.” That sexy voice is barely civil.

“That was an excellent match Chris. I realize this hasn’t been easy…” Vince begins to try and sooth his volatile employee.

“Vince.” Chris moves to stand nose to neck with his boss. “As of this moment the feud is finished. I will not continue it, even if it means my contract.” Jericho face is almost white with rage. “If I find myself alone with him in the ring again, I will not control my actions and I WILL hurt him. So you make it clear to him to stay out of my way.”

Even Vince acknowledges the seriousness of Chris’ threat and nods sternly in agreement.

“Of course. That’s it Chris I swear, he’ll feud with Paul now. Maybe only a tag or something that’s it.” Vince tries to appease the enraged blonde.

With an equally stern nod Jericho swings away from WWE’s owner and storms once more towards the locker room.

“Oh and if you could stop him from killing my fans I’d appreciate it.” The sarcastic comment floats back to us.

I just stand and glare at Vince until he looks at me.

“What?” He’s pissy now, cause Jericho handed him his balls.

“No-one is happy with this situation Vince. Chris may hurt him but if he doesn’t keep his fuckin’ hands to himself he’s going to loose them.” I snarl.

Vince blinks. “What? Was it that bad? I didn’t see anything.”

“Because ya ain’t wrestled the same moves for ten years and know the right place to hold a guy Vince. That could’a been goddammn sexual harassment out there if a lawyer knew what to look for.” I explain.

We’d all seen it as we’d watched backstage on the monitor. Hands that are supposed to be on hips on curved ass-cheeks. Arms around a waist for a rear bear hug that should have been a suplex. A pin applied with legs in the incorrect position. It was a perversion of our work and despite what many would say, in the ring we are all professionals. We have to be. Too dangerous to try to feel up a guy when you could snap your damn neck. And for Chris to have continued to execute a clean match while enduring all that shit was a credit to him.

No way I wouldn’t have kicked the guy in the balls first time he tried something.

“Right...well..” Vince coughs uncomfortably. “I’ll have a conversation with him. Tell him once and for all to let it go or there’ll be consequences.”

“Yeah Vince there will be.” I agree.

Because if he touches Jericho again, I’m gonna kill him.

*****

All I can say as I drink my beer at the bar is “Damn. Paul’s a fuckin’ loser when he’s plastered.”

“Yeah. He’s only had a couple of shots of vodka.” Dwayne chimes in from the next stool.

Paul and Steph are getting married in three weeks. The entire male locker room, and most of Paul’s non-wrestler buddies, are inflicting a bachelor party on the groom that will soon become legendary. So far I’ve seen strippers, an on-stage girl on girl orgy, too much rich catered food and enough alcohol to leave even me blinking in wonder. Nearly a hundred of us have been to bars and clubs across NYC causing as much mayhem as our drunkenness can manage. We’ve finished up in the private ballroom of a top of the line hotel, with a free bar and more strippers. Paul is currently wank-dancing with a thong wearing cowgirl, a french maid and pink sequined twins, while his friends toss beer nuts and bottle tops at him.

“He’s not a very good dancer,” Kurt Angle comments critically.

“That’s dancing?” Dwayne asks curiously.

“I think so.” Kurt seems uncertain.

“Looks like a cat trying to hack up a fur ball.” I decide.

“Cat’s are more graceful.” Jericho wanders in our direction from a group of just conscious Boyos. Damn but I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s semi-formal like the rest of us, in gray pants and a pearly blue-green shirt. On me this look is kinda weird, on Jericho it’s cock hardening.

“Hey Chris. Is Maven ok?” Dwayne looks back towards the circle of young wrestlers.

The smaller man smirks. “He’ll regret the Chartreuse tomorrow. Right now, Matt’s shoes are not too happy about it either.”

Dwayne’s ‘photo perfect nose wrinkles in distaste. “Stupid kid. Did he do it on a dare?”

“No. He thought it was a pretty colour.” Chris leaned against the bar next to me. “He’d had about ten beers at the time.”

“He’s doing the Chicken Dance,” Kurt proclaimed.

Four pairs of eyes turned to the stage at the far end of the room.

A stunned silence settles across the bar.

“No. It’s the Moonwalk.” Dwayne tries to keep the laughter from his voice.

Kurt shakes his head in disagreement “The Chicken Dance. See, his arms are flapping like wings.”

“I think that’s to correct his balance.” Jericho tilts his head to one side.

I want to peel my eyes away from the stage but it’s like a watching a car wreck.

“Damn. That’s the worst dancing I’ve ever seen in my life,” I state honestly and turn back to the bar.

“Cowgirl nearly got taken out by a wing. She’s diving for cover.” Chris informs me after a moment or two.

“What is that?” Kurt sounds horrified.

“Illegal in some countries.” Even the icy Canadian’s voice is bubbling with laughter.

I don’t wanna see, I don’t wanna see, I don’t wanna see.

Chris begins a play by play as I stare fixedly at my beer bottle.

“Cowgirl has womanfully recovered from the near miss and has rejoined the group. Paul is still..er..trying to..”

“Hang himself with his tie,” Dwayne isn’t even trying to not chuckle.

“…take it off I think, but it’s twisted around the back…”

“He’s looks like my dog.” Kurt is entranced.

“…he’s given up on the tie and is going for his belt. The Twins are all for it but Maid is a bit dubious. She witnessed the tie incident so I don’t blame her…”

“I don’t want to see Paul half-naked.” I wonder at the offended tone in Kurt’s voice.

“…he’s found the buckle. Trust me it took a while...”

“You see Paul half naked every day.” I can’t help but point out to Kurt.

”…the Twins are sliding up and down his legs. Very sexy and quite good for the calves but not good for Paul’s center of gravity…”

“Yeah, but that’s work.” Kurt seems to see a difference.

“…the buckle’s open but he’s lost interest. Cowgirl did a spin and he caught sight of the thong…”

“Oh shit. He stepped on her foot.” Dwayne is starting to hiccup.

“…Cowgirl has had enough. She’s off to Texas to ride horses in a thong and sparkly nipple-things…

“Chris gimme a break,” I’m snorting with laughter now.

“…Maid is staying clear of Paul’s feet, but she’s hanging in there. The Twins are now kissing each other which seems wrong on one level…”

“Are they really sisters?” Kurt asks ingenuinely. “Because it looks hot, but that’s just weird.”

“…despite the hillbilly instincts of the Twins, Paul has decided to stop stripping…”

“Thank the Lord for that.” Dwayne gasps.

“…and is preparing to..uh…” Jericho straightens up from the bar. “Kurt, Dwayne…”

Whatever Jericho was going to say is lost in the loud cheering from the assembled onlookers. I resist the urge to turn around. I just don’t wanna see. “What?”

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Kurt sounds worried.

Dwayne has managed to get himself under control. “He wouldn’t feel it anyway.”

“Feel what?” I demand.

“Paul decided to stage dive onto the Dudley’s. It seems Bubba-Ray caught him but as he’s full of beer too, it got ugly.” Chris has resumed his relaxed posture against the bar. I wonder how much whiskey he’s had and if I can get him drunk maybe I can….

“Fuck Chris!” Exactly. “What did you teach Jindrak about arm wrestling?” Dwayne’s been watching an impromptu tough guy comp near the stage.

“Not to compete. Why?” Jericho follows Dwayne’s gaze.

“Because I think he’s just bet $50 he can beat Steiner.”

Chris’ leaves his drink near my arm and with a sigh heads over to the circle forming beneath the gyrating Twins.

The four of us spend the rest of the night near the bar. Around 4am Kurt starts to doze while Dwayne rambles incessantly about how much he misses us. He’s genuine I know but he doesn’t realize we don’t resent his movie success. My God, if I could pull in what he gets for a film and not fuck my body up at the same time you wouldn’t catch me apologizing to anyone.

Jericho’s based his drink with me as he keeps leaving to snag any wayward Boyos like a mother tiger with cubs. Moves like a cat too. Virtually emitting pheromones that say, “I’m gorgeous, but touch my fur and I’ll scratch you.” I’m getting nicely hammered here, thank you and fuck, he walks like a Fucking Cat OK?

My cock aches.

*****

1 hour later

It’s Randy. Of course it’s fuckin’ Randy. He’s got a temper like a pit bull when he’s full and he’s been drinking like a fish since 10pm. I found out later one of the Smackdown newbies made some comment about Chris and Jeff. Randy, still riled up about Goldberg, got aggressive and shoved the dumb fuck into his mates. Now this kid happens to be a protégé of Eddie Guerrero, who is on edge tonight because of all the booze. I respect that he’s had problems with alcohol and tonight would be fuckin’ awful if I was on the wagon, but he then gets in Orton’s face and yells in Hispanic about Randy’s dad. Bad idea ‘cos the kid speaks the lingo and takes a shot at the crazy Latino.

I turn Jericho around by the shoulder as I see this, but by the time he’s halfway there it’s a free for all. Raw vs. Smackdown, wrestlers vs. non-wrestler, veteran vs. newbie they’re all going at it. Wading in, I’m glad I’m as drunk as everyone else because if there were any co-ordination in the room it would get nasty. Instead it’s wild haymakers, head butts that do more damage to the butt-er rather than the butt-ee and wrestle locks that don’t really get applied properly. Like the lust-sick fool that I am I try to protect Jericho as he tracks down various Boyos and pulls them out. But the Boyos are drunk, young and having fun, so as soon as Chris lets go of one they dive back into the melee.

“Let it go,” I yell as I unsteadily duck Glenn’s roundhouse at Rhyno. “They won’t be hurt that bad.”

He must have heard me because he begins to head out of the melee. Occasionally tripping someone who got on his nerves lately or helping a friend in trouble with a well placed jab.

The brawl is in full swing as we dart towards the stage. Jericho leaps up with that god damned cat DNA of his while my knees make me crawl up a like an old man. We dodge behind the heavy curtain to find the Maid, Cowgirl and Twins from Paul’s earlier performance cowering behind the sound system. Their ‘protection’ a large black guy in sunglasses, is worried because most of the guys in the brawl are bigger than he is. Chris bowls up to this dude and starts a hurried conversation while the girls begin to freak in case Jericho’s trying to buy ‘em or something.

“Cool. Thanks Kid.” The guy misses the surprised look on the Canadian’s face as he rounds up his charges and heads backstage towards what I guess is the kitchens.

“Kid?” I tease.

“He’s just happy to see someone shorter than him. Is ‘Taker actually trying to pick up Henry?” Chris has moved to the edge of the curtain and is watching the melee beneath us. It was true. As gone as the rest of us, Mark Calloway was hernia bound in his attempt to lift Henry without the big man’s help.

The Boyos seemed to be trying to take out the entire Smackdown Cruiserweight division but the quick little buggers are giving them a run for their money.

“Ya’d think people that spend all day practicing to hurt each other would be doing a better job of the real thing.” I’m almost tempted to wade back in, my duty as old man of the locker room coming to the fore. Then I see Batista get hit with a shoulder to the chest that makes me wince, so I resist temptation. I catch sight of Eddie Guerrero fall backwards into Rodney Mack’s arms.

Gurgling with laughter Chris spins away at the same time as several brawlers catch sight of us and decide to return us to the fun. Without really thinking I grab my partner’s wrist and run across the stage to the hallway previously taken by the fleeing strippers.

We’re heading towards an exit with Benoit, Rico and three of Paul’s friends in hot pursuit when Chris tugs on the arm I’m pulling him by, directing me into a utility stairwell. Managing to put four floors between our pursuers and us we stop, clutching our sides, gasping from laughter and lack of oxygen.

Chris looks up at me, flushed and smiling joyously. His eyes are sparkling with excitement and mirth. My body acts without consulting my brain.

“Fuck Chris. Why can’t ya be like this all the time?” I ask as I reach out to take what I have longed so very much for.

Tangling one hand in that wild honey hair, I slide the other around a slim waist to rest on his tailbone.

I close the distance between us.

His mouth, oh dear lord, is like heaven and hell.

Soft, silky lips and hot, spicy depths that I never want to stop exploring.

Hard body relaxing against mine as I trap him against the stairwell wall.

I tighten my fingers in Chris’ hair, tilting his head slightly so I can deepen the kiss.

My tongue flicks and curls around his.

So incredibly hot.

Someone’s growling like a wolf. I think it’s me.

I pull back slightly, breaking the kiss.

A surge of triumph rips through me as I look at his inhumanly beautiful face.

Eyelids flutter open. His eyes are huge, black nearly consuming the blue irises.

I moan as his tongue gently wets those incredible lips.

Pressing forward, I nuzzle at his mouth until once more I’m tasting heaven.

A slammed door and burst of laughter echoes around us. But unlike in the movies we don’t blushingly jump apart. I’m still kissing the man I’m pretty sure I’m in love with and no fuckin’ door is going to ruin it now. Our mouths break apart again but this time Chris is staring at me with an expression I, for the life of me, can’t read.

“That was a mistake.” No! Please God no ice, please!

“Not for me,” my voice is so low and husky I almost don’t recognize it. Chris hasn’t pulled out of my embrace. He could without a doubt do it in a second, but instead he’s politely waiting for me to let him go. Reluctantly I release his delectable body and step back to lean against the railing.

“I’m going to check on the kids to make sure there isn’t anything more than bruises.” Damn him he’s all Prince of Egypt icicle again.

But inside he burns.

“Sure.” I don’t move my eyes from those slightly flushed delicate cheekbones. My primitive side crows at him loosing composure because of me, ME!

Without another word he spins on one heel and heads downstairs to check on his Boyos. I fix my gaze on his cute Canadian ass as I let a broad smile cross my face.

He kissed me back.

*****

“Seen Jericho?” I ask.

“Yeah Austin, he’s grabbing a water.”

“In his dressing room.”

“If you see him you tell him from me that he can go to hell…”

“Why? What’s he done this time?”

“No, probably getting ready for his match.”

“Talking to Cade in the Locker room.”

“Haven’t seen him since his match.”

“With the trainer.”

I’ve been trying to track down the little bastard all week. I think he’s avoiding me. On Saturday by the time I got back to the “Brawl in the Ballroom” as it’s now known, Chris had checked on his Boyos and bolted back to his hotel. Shelving my plans to pour whiskey all over him and then lick it off, I caught a cab to my hotel and slept till noon.

At the house show I finally corner Chris in his dressing room after his match. I walk in without knocking, to find Jericho toweling his hair dry. Cursing that I missed my cute little blond all soapy and wet, I walk boldly into his personal space and slide my arms around his slim waist. Leaning my nose inches away from his I whisper, “Hit me.”

He blinks, probably in shock at my ballsiness, and freezes up in my arms. No way.

“No way Chris. Ya deck me or break my wrist or somethin’. Hit me or I ain’t letting go.”

Every muscle in Jericho’s body is tense. I can feel it. He seems to be weighing up his options. That he hasn’t handed me my head already sends happy little buzzes to my cock. That and the snug connection it has with Chris’s cotton clad stomach. Very slowly he puts those beautiful hands on my biceps. Eyes of the most unusual shade of blue meet mine.

“Austin. This is the worst idea you have ever had. You were drunk. It’s forgotten.” He says carefully.

“Really?” I snort unimpressed. “Then I better remind ya.”

I close those tiny inches and run my tongue across his bottom lip. He jumps and tries to pull away, but I tighten my hold on him and deepen the kiss. Chris’ mouth is as delicious as I remember, so sweet and hot, that I could just stand here all day kissing him. I’m feelin’ the growl start in my chest again as our lips slide against each other and my cock springs to life in my too-tight jean shorts.

After about a year I pull back slightly. His eyes are shut again, his breathing uneven. I rub my cheek against his like a cat and murmur into his ear, “Hit me now or I never let go.” I mean it, he has one chance to get away from me, one. After this he’s mine.

His voice is husky with that slightly gravelly note in it that makes the girly fans scream.

“I don’t want to hit you.”

Mine.

*****

I’ve discovered the couch in Chris’ locker room is softer than the one I got. Maybe because I’ve never sat on mine with a gorgeous Canadian straddling my lap as I grab two handfuls of the finest ass I’ve ever encountered. His damp hair curtains our faces as we kiss. He’s an awesome kisser. Hot and wet with the right pressure, but mixed with sexy nibble pecks that have me hard as a rock. No pun Dwayne. My beautiful new boyfriend is also nicely turned on if the temperature of his skin and the erection pressing against my stomach is any indication.

“Fuck Baby yeah,” I’m growling non-stop now as he presses closer to me, knees sinking into the couch on either side of my hips.

“Hurry the fuck up Jericho, Vince is waiting.” Paul’s voice is a loud unwelcome intrusion, along with the banging of his hand on the door.

“Vince can bite me.” Chris murmurs against my lips.

“I’ll break his face if he tries,” I’m all possessive, Beast Man at the moment.

Chris giggles. Really. He just giggled.

“My hero.” With a sigh my blonde babe lifts himself from my lap and tries to adjust his leather pants. His shirt’s been untucked by my groping hands and falls over his groin. I stay exactly where I am. Sprawled, hard-on obvious, legs parted, licking my lips as I watch him move around the room.

Chris unlocks the door, turning sapphire eyes on me.

“Can I call around to your room tonight?”

Oh hell yeah!

“Oh Hell Yeah!” I’m off the couch in a second, kissing him hard. “You better.” I threaten.

With a wink and a smirk Chris open the door, carefully shielding me from the hall while he leaves.

I fall back onto the couch and stare at the ceiling. Tonight.

*****

My hotel room is all tidy because I just checked in and the bar fridge is full. I think I’m nervous. Wandering around the suite like a caged wolf. I think I’m very impatient as well. Where the hell is he?

I let my gaze linger on the bed, imagining all the fucking I would love to indulge in with Chris. Probably not tonight, I tell my cock. First date and all that. But I can wish can’t I? Wonder what it would feel like to have him under me, legs wrapped around my waist while I ease into his tight ass. Burying my face in his hair, hearing him gasp and beg while I fuck him long and slow. All night.

“Those bedspreads are truly hypnotizing I know.” His voice rips me from my almost wet dream.

I spin around to stare at the object of my lust lounging in my hotel room doorway. Hair across his shoulders, blue eyes a bit…cautious? I stare at him numbly.

His smile falters a little.

“The door was open. If you want to let this go I…”

Chris doesn’t even finish the sentence as I’m across the room sliding a hand around his waist to pull him inside, shutting the door behind him with the other. I look down into his eyes as I tighten the half-embrace in which he’s trapped. Very deliberately I lock the door. His eyebrows go up.

I realize he’s holding a six-pack.

Did I mention I love the little bastard?

“Do ya have any idea what it does to me to see ya, in my room, with beer?”

The sexy smile is back, blue eyes now bright with amusement.

“Why do you think I keep buying it for you?”

“Ha.” God I’m a fool. I lean forward to lightly nuzzle the golden curve of Chris’ neck. I feel his body melt, curving into mine like molasses. The air around us stills for a second then shifts as Chris draws in a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh. I try to hold on but he moves out of my arms. Dropping the beer onto the small kitchen counter Jericho walks to the other side of the couch.

“What?” If he changes his mind about this I’m gonna kick his ass across the room.

The sharp blue eyes look directly into mine.

“We met...what?...four years ago?” Chris enquires.

“’bout that. Why?” Kick it down the hallway too.

“We had a signing for the third music CD.” I’m lost and I let my expression show it. “You, me and Debra.” He finishes with eyebrows raised.

Whatthefuck?

“So?” I’m down to one syllable it seems.

The only sound in the room is the rustle of Chris’ shirt as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“So. You are Stone Cold Steve Austin. The Toughest SOB in the World Wrestling Federation. Austin 3:16 said I just kicked your ass. Etcetera, etcetera.” Might kick his ass down the stairs too.

“And?” Like pulling fuckin’ teeth this conversation.

“And…” Jericho’s look becomes even more intense. “You married Deb a month after that signing.”

A pause. “Married.”

Another pause. “A woman.”

To say I’m a bit thrown here would be like saying Goldberg is a bit of a bastard. “Yeah so?”

It’s like Chris suddenly drops the icy bitch attitude, letting his arms fall to the sides he begins to pace.

“I have never, in four years, seen you even look at another man Austin. I know Bradshaw tried to get into your pants, but rumour is you turned him down by breaking his nose.” He prowls the room like the big golden wildcat everyone compares him too.

“It was his jaw.” I correct absently.

Those long fingers ruffle through golden hair. He flicks me a blue sideways look, but stays silent.

Oh. I fuckin’ get it.

“Ya wanna know why I’ve switched sides?” I ask incredulously.

Jericho’s face stills then relaxes into a smile. “Guess so.”

I make like I’m seriously thinking about my answer.

“I haven’t.”

His smile freezes.

I can be a bastard too remember.

“I, as Debra the bitch wife from hell will attest to, will fuck any thing that moves.”

The smile warms again.

“And if it doesn’t move…I’ll push it.” I snigger.

A snort of laughter from Chris. “As long as it’s breathing,” he agrees.

“As long as it’s still warm.” I concur.

Jericho shakes his head in despair. “Such a romantic.”

“Romance? Fuck that! I tried romance with Debra and she’s still a complete bitch.” Better we settle this now than it comes back to bite me on the ass later. “Just ‘cos I never did anyone from the locker room, doesn’t mean I never go for guys.” I gesture between us. “Case in point Gorgeous.”

“And Bradshaw?” His eyes are curious now.

I stare at him in shock. “Would you fuck Bradshaw?”

He thinks that over for a second. “Ahh no.”

“So there ya are.” Grinning now I relax the grip my hands had unconsciously taken on the back of a chair.

Posture now more at ease, Chris leans a hip against the couch. “So here we are.”

“And this?” I gestures to the space between us.

“The couch?” He inquires.

“Nah ya Prick. I mean this!” I begin to stalk around the couch, ready to pounce on his cute Canadian ass.

He nimbly avoids me. “What? Our URST?”

Stunned, I stop my hunt. “What?”

Hands once again on slim hips he looks disappointed that I’ve stopped moving.

“Unresolved Sexual Tension.” Like a professor or something.

“Unresolved SEXual Tension? Huh?” I begin the prowl again. Chris resumes his attempt to flee.

A smirk. “You would emphasis the middle.” He teases.

“Well the ‘Unresolved’ bit ain’t gonna be the case much longer.” I make a grab. “Now c’mere.”

I tackle Chris and we fall to the couch in a tangle of blonde hair and blue jeans.

I swear he tastes better each time.

After a couple of minutes of tangled tongues and me trying to unzip vinyl pants that I discover are button fly, we surface for air.

Deciding I can play cock tease with the best of them, I heft myself off my gorgeous new fuck-toy and wander into the little kitchen.

Pulling a beer from the ring I pop it open and look to my guest.

He blinks at me from sex dazed sapphire blue eyes and takes a second to focus.

Ha.

“Want one?” I offer generously.

“Definitely.” I toss him a can, which he catches easily. This sparks a memory as I settle back on the couch.

“I can’t believe ya dropped that beer.” I snicker at him.

Jericho rolls his eyes. “I didn’t. You throw like a girl. Actually the girls I know throw better than you.” He sits crossed legged next to me. In easy reach.

“No way. Ya missed the beer. Chris, I’m-So-Coordinated-A Tiger-Would-Be-Jealous, Jericho needed a kiddy throw to catch a can from five feet away.” I tease ruthlessly.

“You are delusional,” my soon to be lover insults me. “And ‘Drunk With Power’.” Chris smiles nastily.

“Any chance I can get Darlin’,” I bare my teeth at him.

His beer can thumps onto the coffee table as ”oomph” Chris launches himself onto me. Good thing we both like it when he’s on top. I collect two handfuls vinyl and start to growl like some freakin’ beast when….

….de, de dah, da, da dah, de, de dah, da, da, dah, de, de, dah, da, da, dah daa-daa….

All movement from the God of Sex stops as the music echoes through the room.

Sapphire eyes lock onto mine.

“You have Rawhide as your ring tone?” Chris asks.

“Yeah so?” Regretfully, I toss Jericho onto the floor and grab at my bag near the bed.

Lifting his crossed ankles to rest on the disordered couch, Chris watches upside down as I answer my cellular.

“What?”

I ignore the snort from the floor.

Fuck. It’s JR.

“Yeah.” I’m only half listening as Chris’ shirt has ridden up and I can see the tanned skin of his abdomen above the Sinful Pants.

“What? Now?!!” That registers. “Fine, I’ll be there in five.”

I hang up.

“So I’m dating a superstar and he’s never around.” With a move that uses far more back muscles than most people have, Chris twists to his feet.

Like I’m gonna cop that. “Says Mr-Can’t-Miss-A-House-Show-Or-The-World-Will-End.”

Jericho flips me the bird.

Adjusting his clothes, Chris walks to the door. “I’m flying out at 7am. You?”

“Same flight.” I grab my keys and follow him to the door. I cover his hand as it catches the handle. “Ever had a blow job in an airplane toilet?” I whisper into his neck. Yeah I gotta thing for necks, and asses, and hair, and eyes….

“Not that I remember.” Chris’ whisper has the sexy husky tone I just fuckin’ adore.

I twist the handle, exposing us to the world.

“Then I’ll see you at seven.” I promise.

I watch as Jericho wanders back to his room.

“Darlin’” His head shoots around but by then I’ve made it to the elevator.

Score one me.

Almost.

*****

7.13am

I wonder if I concentrate hard enough I can make Hunter’s head explode?

nnnnggghhhhnnnn

Damn.

Didn’t work.

Woulda been perfect. Hunter’s brain matter all over the airline upholstery and Chris, MY Chris, no longer caught by the World Heavyweight Champion’s need for a heart to heart four seats across. Chris in my lap while I do stuff that’ll freak out the stewardess.

Miss Itty Bitty Skirt, keeps checking him out.

Try again with the head thing.

Nnnngggghhhnnnnn

Think I’m all outta luck there.

Oh fer crying out loud….

Yes HONEY, they are both BLOND and gorgeous, but one’s married and the other’s MINE so piss off and get me a beer.

Yeah, I’m a sexist prick, but that’s her job.

There’s like two peanuts in this packet! How can a man survive on that?

Wonder what they’re saying.

I stare mournfully at the toilet, ignoring Kurt’s worried expression, and pray for Hunter to drop dead.

*****

10.07am

“What’s yer name kid?” I ask.

I really do like my fans. They kick ass all over anyone else’s because, well, they’re mine. Sometimes, though, I really, really wish I wasn’t who I was.

Like now. When nearly sixty people stand between me and the baggage area where my SOON TO BE NAILED IN THE BACKSEAT OF A TAXI, potential lover is leaning provocatively against his luggage trolley.

If you thought luggage trolleys weren’t sexy then ya haven’t seen Jericho within three feet of one.

“Sure I can. How do ya spell that?” Smiling I take the marker.

*****

11.35am

“I…I…just...just can’t seem to find the...the…booking Mr Austin.” The silly chit says in nervy voice.

I’d almost feel sorry for the receptionist except it’s my room she’s lost and I’m an angry, sexually frustrated pro wrestler who drinks too much with a bad reputation.

I’d be afraid of me, come to think of it.

“Listen Doll. I know yer doin yer best but I really, really have to have a room in this hotel. Do ya understand?” She stares at me numbly.

It’s now fifteen hours since I last had my hands on Jericho.

Cranky is not the word.

“I’ll…um…call the Day Supervisor.”

I blame Vince.

*****

1.27pm

Ya know I’ve never realized how much of a turn on the Lionsault is.

I mean, I know it’s a blond guy doing a back flip off a big rubber band and all, but it’s really sexy watching him perform it. Even without someone to land on.

And let’s not fuckin’ talk about when he lands it on his feet!

If I wasn’t already in love, watching Jericho rehearse his moves is making me want to squeal like a fan girl.

Well, maybe not.

I think I’m going insane from MSB.

Massive Sperm Buildup.

*****

5.23pm

I’ve decided Maven doesn’t have an off switch.

“...then Jaqueline literally rips the locker open with her fingernails and hands Randy the car keys….”

I could wrap my knee brace around his throat.

“…So he’s like, okay, I’m driving I guess…”

Could try the brain splatter thing.

*****

8.04pm

Prepping thumb and forefinger I pinch that cute ass then duck as Chris instinctively swings around to take my head off.

“Christ! Austin, you don’t like breathing much do you?” he snarls.

I grab Jericho’s wrist, leading him behind the blackout curtain.

“I’ve been achin’ to do that all day,” I inform the blonde as I try to back him up against a partition with ‘Employees only’ printed on it.

Resisting my not so gentle shove, Jericho takes hold of my ears and forces my face from his neck.

“Fight the ache Babe, we’re working,” but the blue eyes are warm and amused.

Grabbing Chris’ wrists I get back to work on the golden curve of neck, gently sinking in my teeth. The 200 odd pounds of muscle squirm enticingly against me so I bite a bit harder, leaving a red mark that’ll bruise by tonight.

I’m actually surprised it takes him as long as it does. By doing some weird Canadian shit with his ankle, Chris reverses our positions. Soft, pink lips hover an inch from mine.

“Austin?” The husky voice has its usual effect on my crotch.

“Darlin’?”

“We’ll deal with your aches later,” I knew he was as hot on the inside as he looks on the outside.

“’Bout, fuckin’ time!” I never meant a sentence more in my life.

*****

Chris Jericho has just finished buckling his belt, when there is a knock on his dressing room door. Frowning at the interruption and the throbbing pain from the mistimed kick to the head earlier in the show, he opens the door. In a split second he thinks of the one person in the arena he would like to see at his door while he is tired and hurt and the only one he wouldn’t want to see. Whatever higher powers there are obviously hate him, because Bill Goldberg’s fist slams into his gut and sends him staggering back into the room. ‘Typical’, Chris thinks as one of Goldberg’s bodyguards follow the large man in and shuts the door, leaning broad shoulders against it.

“Get out.” Jericho hisses, snatching his car keys from the bench, moving the pieces of jagged metal between each knuckle.

Goldberg grins at the improvised weapon, his gaze devouring the shirtless man in front of him. A light red mark appears on Jericho’s abdomen, the result of the initial punch. The big man’s smile widens. Marking his territory.

“Now don’t make me bruise up that pretty face Angel. I own your ass, so warm up a little and it may not hurt so much.” Goldberg signals his bodyguard to head to the right, while he moves left.

“Make no mistake. If you try this, I will kill you.” The blonde holds his ground, tracking the bodyguard, uncertain of the brute’s skill.

“Angel, you’re worth dying for.” Bill grunts like the boar he so often imitates and reaches for his prize.

The fight is short and mean. Chris uses all the illegal moves that would get him arrested in most states. When it comes to dirty fighting not many can top the sheer brutality of Canada’s bar bouncers. But even a part-time job that has you subduing three drunken psychos with knives can only help so much against two guys much bigger and with some training, particularly the fucking bodyguard. As Jericho feels his wrists pulled high behind his back, tied with something that cuts his skin, wire? he smiles grimly at the brute who has his knee pressed into the blonde’s lower back, his hand holding the torn ear where a large hoop once hung. He’d nearly lost an eye too, but Goldberg had managed to clip Chris on the exact spot of the earlier kick, momentarily dazing the Canadian. That moment was Chris’ undoing, too much weight used against him, too much strength.

He could only twist so much, they had overpowered him.

The bodyguard pulls Chris to his knees and forces his face up with a vicious wrench to his hair. Spitting out the blood from a cut lip, Jericho raises his eyes to stare at a man he loathes beyond all reason. Panting slightly from pain and exertion Goldberg is undoing his belt, sliding it from the loops and fingering the metal buckle.

Almost gently he slides the belt around Chris’ neck.

“Angel. You’re gonna be punished for all that. You nearly turned Mac here into Foley and he’s not happy. “The big man grabs Jericho’s chin and rubs the pad of his thumb along the kneeling man’s blooded lower lip. “So I’m gonna fuck your mouth and then your ass. Then I might let Mac have a go, ‘cos he’s like family to me.”

The brute leans against Chris’ back, licking his neck and breathing sour breath into his ear. “Thanks man.” The move has pulled some of Jericho’s hair back from his neck. Goldberg’s eyes slide along the golden skin to freeze on a small bruise on Chris’ pulse point.

“What the fuck is that?” Bill growls, leaning down to examine the mark. Receiving no answer he stares into sharp sapphire eyes. “Who the fuck did this, you slut?” Chris remains silent earning him a hard slap across the face, golden hair flying wildly as his head is turned sharply to the side by the blow.

Red now with fury and frustration Goldberg rants “You tease me constantly and won’t give it up, but you let some bastard touch you and leave his god dammed mark on your neck! Was it good Slut? Did you love it when he put his mouth on you? Huh? Huh?”

“Yes. It was divine.” Jericho deliberately taunts. “His mouth makes me want…”

Another hard slap, this time further opening the cut on his lip. More blood.

“...and when he put his hand on my….”

Goldberg goes over the edge. “Fucking Whore! I’ll show you who’s your fucking master. He’ll never want to touch you again when I’m done with you.” Unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his hips, Bill pulls out his angry red cock and grabs Chris’ jaw again. “Open up Angel.”

“I’ll bite it off you motherfucker so just fucking try,” Chris threatens.

Another slap makes Jericho’s teeth rattle, “I feel teeth and I’ll break your legs.”

Chris looks up into the distorted face of his nemesis and lets his mind drift away from his body. Blue eyes going dull, he resolves that he’ll have to break his promise. If he can’t make Bill kill him, the bodyguard will. He almost laughs at the sheer irony of the situation. “Austin, you shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

The dressing room door opens as Stone Cold pushes his duffle into the room.

“Hey Gorgeous, can I leave this here? I gotta see Vince….” Austin stops dead as he takes in the scene before him. His boyfriend on his knees arms twisted behind his back by a panting stranger, Bill Goldberg dick in hand about to force it passed Chris’ bloodied lips. The big man’s other hand holding a belt, currently looped tightly around the Canadian’s neck.

He sees red.

Jericho doesn’t take his eyes off Goldberg as he hears Austin’s deep Texan accent fill the room. He doesn’t want to see his almost boyfriend’s face, can’t bare it. As hysterical laughter bubbles into his throat the only thing his dazed mind can comprehend is astonishment. Chris’ gaze changes from remote despair to curiosity as he watches Bill turn towards the intruder.

“He’s going to rape someone and he doesn’t lock the door?” Jericho thinks privately as all hell breaks loose around him.

*****

HE’S FUCKING DEAD! I’m gonna kill him, kill the fucking goddammed SON OF A BITCH. Kill him Fucking DEAD! Yeah, you FUCK, take my shoulder in your gut and gasp you BASTARD. Hit me again, c’mon, HIT ME so I can break your god dammed face. Touch my lover would you, YOU CUNT! Put your filthy hands on his perfect body, huh? Try and put your dick in him? I’m gonna rip your cock off and ram it down your FUCKING THROAT.!! Touch a fucking hair on his head? I’m gonna KILL YOU RIGHT NOW. Don’t curl up, don’t beg ‘cos your DEAD in a minute. You try and rape HIM?!! I LOVE HIM you asshole, he gave himself to me, ME and you don’t get to have him now! UNDERSTAND you MOTHERFUCKER. Before you DIE, understand HE IS MINE. You hurt him, you touch him, YOU DIE!!!

*****

Paul Levesque reaches CJ’s dressing room a split second before the rest of the locker room, roused by the noise from the hallway, mainly Stone Cold’s yelling. Taking in the scene in a glance his first thought is “Austin’s going to kill Goldberg.” Paul’s second thought is “who the fuck is the other guy?” Christian pushes passed him, dropping by Jericho’s kneeling form. Paul’s vaunted cerebral cortex kicks in ordering, ”Jesus. Mark, Test, Lance get Austin off him. Val and Helms grab that other guy.”

In the hubbub that follows, the room seems to fill with wrestlers all trying to hold various combatants apart and checking on injuries. Christian’s voice reaches Paul from across the room,

“Fuck! They tied his wrists with wire! The skin’s cut to ribbons.”

Another furious obscenity from Stone Cold and the trio of wrestlers holding the enraged Texan have to pull him back from the fallen Goldberg again. Bill is curled fetal position on the floor while Flair tries to check him for injuries. Paul can imagine the problem, he can see Goldberg’s jeans lowered to his hips and knows what part of his anatomy he is holding in pain, despite the blood from other wounds. Paul can’t really sympathize, he’d seen Jericho.

Flicking a glance at the man he now recognizes as one of Goldberg’s bodyguards, Paul wades through the throng to the circle of Boyos around the two fair-haired Canadians. That Randy and Maven are also being physically restrained from attacking Bill, does not ease tensions in the slightest.

“Jesus Christian, get the belt off his neck.” Matt Hardy’s voice is wavering between anger and horror. Fuck, they put a belt on him.

Austin must have heard Hardy because he breaks through the wall of bodies between him and Goldberg, planting a hard kick into the bigger man’s back. Once more hefted off his victim the frenzied man’s yelling sounds something like a bear’s growl. Other voices, some raised in anger, some trying to calm the noise, all rise to a cacophony of sound that rattles in Paul’s ears like an arena crowd.

A sharp voice rips into the insanity like a knife.

“LET HIM GO!”

Jericho staggers from the arms of his attendants towards Austin.

*****

Suddenly his arms and legs are released and he can see the FUCKING BASTARD who still isn’t DEAD! He takes a step towards his prey when he is impeded by someone. He looks down slightly, past blonde tangled hair into the eyes that sear his soul. The rage is gone, replaced by…Chris.

My hands are trembling as I lift them to cradle his beautiful bruised face. Those bastards hit him in the face. They made him bleed. I still feel like I wanna smash something but I don’t as I tug my love into my arms. Turning, Chris still in my embrace, I walk us out the door.

*****

Sound of fabric tearing like nails on a blackboard.

Sharp crack as wood splinters in my hands.

Bottles impact and break into a million pieces.

The sharp shattering of a glass coffee table like a cry of pain

Fuck.

My theme music starts with glass breaking.

*****

Didn’t know I had it in me. Kill someone? Yeah, I reckon I could kill. But this? Haven’t done anythin’ like this in my life. I sit on a stained cream carpet and survey what was once a suite in the Hotel Du Monde.

I took all the paintings off the walls.

And smashed them on the bar.

Then I threw the cushions off the couch, turned it over and kicked it into submission. I broke the glass coffee table with my foot, and ripped the curtains from their rod. I tore the couch to shreds with my fingernails and threw the contents of the bar fridge into the wall. Then I tossed the bar fridge onto the balcony. Without opening the glass door.

I don’t feel any better.

I nearly punched out the security guy who knocked on the door. Yelled every obscenity I could think of at him, shoved Vince’s card in his direction, then slammed the door into his face. Literally. I could feel the wood impact with his nose. Reckon he thought I was gonna kill him.

Kill someone? Yeah, I could. If I had to. I wanted to, so very badly. I wanted to watch Gol….him…bleed to death. I want him to suffer…hurt….

Not just because he tried to…

Anyway, that would be reason enough as far as I’m concerned. But I want him to die because I think he’s cost me everything. He’s cost me Chris.

*****

He’s so still.

Like a shop mannequin waiting to be dressed.

Jesus. I want to touch him so badly but I’m afraid my hand will freeze if I try. After I got him out of that room, we came here, to my hotel. Christian followed us with our gear and then left. Smart boy. Chris took a shower for about three hours and is now curled on the floor in a fluffy white hotel robe, leaning back against the bedroom door frame. Looking at me.

I can’t even begin to read him right now. He’s all over ice, like armour. Realisation begins to set in and I start to shake, from cold or anger I don’t know, but Jericho spots it and his eyes snap to my hands. Hands that trembled while I wrapped bandages around his wrists. Thick, stupid fingers that couldn’t hold still while I poured disinfectant onto the cuts. He didn’t flinch. Guess in comparison it was hardly that painful.

After long minutes he moves his eyes off me and surveys the wreck I made of the suite. Fine boned face still, eyes frozen and dead Chris takes stock of the damage.

I know what he’s gonna say. The moment we entered the hotel foyer, when he pulled himself from my arms, I knew. When we stood in the lift, my t-shirt tied around his wrists, I knew. The card sliding though the lock, door opening, Chris just walking towards the bathroom, I knew.

“I’ll wait.” I promise.

“Don’t.” Those glorious sapphire blue eyes lock with mine. There is nothing there anymore. Not for me.

“I’ll wait.” I repeat.

“I don’t want you too.”

“Tough.”

Jericho’s razor eyes just keep cutting into me.

“I don’t want you. Leave.” Anyone else would say his voice was nasty, mean. To me….agony.

We enter a staring contest. One I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I ain’t gonna win. It seems like hours but he doesn’t give up, doesn’t sigh and accept my promise. Just looks at me, like I’m nothing. I want to will him to change his mind. Make him believe I can do this, force him to trust me. But forcing anything out of Chris right now is impossible. And despicable.

I watch in frustrated anger as Chris Jericho goes hard as marble all over. Little by little I see him draw into himself, becoming self sufficient and completely isolated. One piece at a time he cuts me out of him, out of his heart and I can see it happening as if he was using a blade. I though he was cool before this all started. Now he isn’t even cold.

He’s ice.

He could be asking for directions, for all the emotion in his voice. “It was a nice idea Austin, but unrealistic. We should cut our losses and move on.”

Like I could?

“I can’t.”

“Then learn.” It’s flat, final and brutal.

What can I say? No you little bastard I’m not gonna let you push me away. I’m not gonna let you end us before we even began? All the arguments spring to my lips but looking at him I know they won’t work. Jericho isn’t gonna break down and cry in my arms. He’s not gonna deal with his feelings of humiliation and violation by leaning on me and making us strong.

It just doesn’t work that way.

I slowly stand feeling my age like never before and walk to the door. Why do all my conversations with Chris take place in hotel rooms? I feel bitterness rise in my gut. Anger that, given the circumstances is selfish and pathetic. God I’m a selfish prick. An asshole who won’t give his rape surviving boyfriend a chance to deal with anything. Selfish, stupid. I should stay. Should argue that I’ll stick around no matter what shit he’s dealing with. Weather he wants me or not.

But I’m leaving and I can’t stop my tongue.

“Nice idea? Huh? That all? Fuckin’ heaven to me!” I spit at him.

I slam the door as I leave.

*****

Sapphire eyes stare silently into the darkness.

“Love you…Darlin’.”

*****

3 Months Later

Christian is kinda sexy. I wanna fuck him.

I may be on my seventh can but I know when I’m being hit on dammit! We’re in the hotel bar and he just slides in next to me and buys me beer. Already in there, Baby. Christian starts leaning close and talking to me about how stressful work is right now and how Francois taught him this really great massage and how he’d like to give me one sometime. My cock starts to tingle at this offer so I turn to check out the scenery. Tight jeans with those thin cotton shirts he wears. Nice. I imagine untying those porn star laces he’s got on his pants. I like fair skin, obviously, and he’s got pretty eyes, a cute mouth. Shame about the hair though. I liked it when it was longer, but at least I can rub my face on his pale neck without getting silk in my mouth.

Fuck.

I refocus on the fingers in my lap and the beer in my hand till that thought is locked in the black box inside my heart with all the rest. A box with a big fuckin’ padlock on it and the letters C J branded into the lid.

There.

Now I’m only thinkin’ about possible futures with the young man currently trying to crawl into my jeans.

“What brought this on?” I ask, sliding my hand under Christian’s shirt tails, feelin’ soft skin.

He licks his lips and smiles nervously. “Well, you’ve been pretty great in the ring lately and we’ve been doin’ some stuff together. So I thought I’d try to generate a little tension.”

I grab his hand back and place in on my cock. “Ya succeeded there Baby.”

We grope some more as I drunkenly review this week, when yes my brain starts. The kid’s been flirting’ with me most times we’ve been together. I’ve been totally uninterested in anythin’ like sex lately and missed all his little hints. So the kid climbs into my lap.

Gotta respect that.

Despite Dwayne’s urgings to get over it, I’ve been sulkin’. Keepin’ myself to myself too much. Why not live a little?

“Austin?” The slim Canadian’s breath tickles my ear. “Want to come up to my room so I can give you that massage?

“Hmmm.” I murmur back, lips caressing the milky skin. “Sound’s nice.”

I’m about to slide off the bar stool when I see through the glass wall of the bar, someone walk across the foyer to reception.

My gut clenches as I watch him move.

It’s been three months. He hasn’t changed at all since I walked from that hotel room. Still a cold, vicious bastard with a mouth on him like a razor. Cold with everybody, even the Boyos. Although he’s still nicer to them than anyone else. But that’s not saying much.

Goldberg’s history. Even Vince realized that with the less than enthusiastic crowd reactions he’s getting now and the possibility of his death if he ever sets foot in a WWE locker room, the guy was more trouble than he was worth. Asshole’s contracted for two more appearances though, including Wrestlemania.

With me.

Can’t wait. Then the soon-to-be-bleeding Goldberg’s gone. For good. Finally.

All thoughts of Christian dribble from my skull as I absently push the kid away and head after Jericho.

I can tell he’s aware of me. Chris’ shoulders tense just ever so slightly as I approach him and lean on the reception counter. Getting an eyeful, I slowly gaze at him from boots to hair. Taking his key he smiles at the receptionist who nods back, slightly stunned.

Uh, ah. Don’t try and run away Pretty Boy. I follow quickly and step into the lift just before the doors close.

Leaning against the wall, I stare at his profile, tracing the lovely bone structure, the curved brow and all that golden…

“If you’re doing that to piss me off, it’s working.” His honey voice has its typical ‘bite me’ tone.

“Good.” I sneer.

He spins around and faces me, crossing his arms he smiles nastily.

“Still torturing yourself?” Those frosty eyes scan me from head to toe. It’s not pleasant. “Kinda pathetic don’t you agree?”

I bark a shout of laughter.

“Ya just don’t get it do ya?” I ask stepping close to invade his personal space.

“Get what Austin?” He doesn’t even flinch at my nearness. Prick. “That you’re so enamoured of yourself that you can’t get over me seeing some sense?”

“No. Ya dumb little shit,” I abuse right back. “Ya don’t get we lost something that could’a been forever!”

“Yeah right. And what colour is the sky in your world Austin?” Chris questions sarcastically as the lift doors open.

“Sapphire…” I murmur to his back as the lift doors close, leaving me alone. “Bright sapphire blue.”

*****

I walk with my usual swagger from Vince’s office, at long last finally feeling good for more than ten seconds. Dwayne is right, I’m moping like a stupid teenager with a crush over a guy that I can never have. As far as CJ is concerned, I get that he was in a bad place, but I wasn't the one that hurt him. Too much bloody trouble dealing with someone else’s issues, Christian is stable and I like him. It’s not like it would have gone anywhere. I don’t need that kinda attitude, if I wanna be treated like dirt for something I didn't do I’ll call Debra. He did us both a favour. I’m glad it never began.

Yeah, right.

Ignoring the little box in my heart, I head to Christian’s locker room with a grin on my face. Tonight I’m gonna seduce him. He’s already given me the go ahead but I wasn’t ready. God I sound like a virgin. Me, not ready for sex! Blame the little blonde prick with the ego the size of Canada. I swing through the showers connected to the locker room and smile as I hear Christian say my name. Slowing I prepare to surprise him by jumping out from hiding.

“Austin likes medium-well steak? Cool. I’ll order it from room service.” Christian sounds like he’s writing something down.

“It’s not that hard to remember Christian.” My heart stops beating at the sound of Jericho’s voice. “Order wine as well, something well flavoured and not too sweet.”

Oh God.

“Wine? C’mon you’re kidding me. Austin?” My maybe boyfriend is incredulous.

“Only with steak. Medium-well steak, mushroom sauce is his favorite but if you can’t get that try peppercorn but nothing tomato.” Chris’ voice is firm and confident, but there is the hint of something…

There isn’t any air.

“Awesome, thanks Chris. Man you know I owe you big time for all of this. I’m gonna pay you back somehow.” Christian says chirpily. Chirpy, he’s chirpy?

“I’ve told you don’t worry about it Christian. You two are good for each other.” He sounds tired.

I can’t seem to breathe.

“Yeah sure. But if you hadn’t, you know, pushed me at him I would never have flirted with him like that or anything. I never even thought he was interested till you told me to go for it.” Movement as Christian packs up his gear. I slide down the wall till my butt hits the tiles.

I hear Jericho get up and walk across the room, “Just do everything we talked about and you’ll be fine. You are perfect for him.”

Why can’t I breathe?

“Whoa Chris I don’t know about that. This is gonna be our first night together and then we’ll see how it goes.” Christian chuckles goofily. Goofy?

“No you will not!” Chris is angry, but there is no ice in his voice. “This is the best chance you will ever get understand? You will not fuck this up by being an adolescent. Austin is the most amazingly decent man you will ever meet and he will be happy, not fucked around by you!”

I wish I could breathe.

“Jeeze Chris okay I get it. Don’t fuck around with his feelings,” Christian is obviously thrown by Jericho’s outburst. “If you think he’s so incredible why don’t you go after him?”

Dead silence.

“Because he deserves better than the poison that is me.” Pure self-hatred in that beloved voice.

Oh God.

"Man Chris, no, that's not..." Christian trails off into uncomfortable silence as Chris opens the outer door.

“Just…be good to him ok?” I never thought I would hear such tenderness from him.

“Sure Chris. I’ll do everything you told me. Treat him like a prince and make him happy. I’ll take care of him for you, I promise.” Christian is sincere.

“Thanks.” I hear the outer door snick closed.

I can finally breathe, huge gasps of oxygen flow into my lungs as the reality of what I just heard sinks in. The box inside my heart is breaking, falling to bits inside me. It really shouldn’t hurt this much. But it does. One thought revolves around and around in my head like a carousel.

I hear footsteps coming my way. I can’t move, the thought has me mesmerized.

A bag dropping to the floor, my never to be boyfriend’s voice.

“Oh shit.”

I’m gonna kill the little bastard for doing this to us.

Then I’m gonna marry him.

*****

My fans would be stunned to see me like this. Sitting, chin on fist as I think about a problem rather than stomping a mudhole in someone. It’s fuckin’ weird actually. All the anger is gone, all the hurt and pain from the past eight weeks is gone now. I’m left with only…why? Part of it is obvious, Chris thinks he’s poison and, get this, is not good enough for me. Jesus! He’s fuckin’ mad. Guys like me kill to be with guys like him. So he breaks my heart and I hate his guts. Then the little fucker sets up his best friend to win me over, making Christian into the perfect lover for me. Only one catch, there is a perfect lover for me and it’s not Christian.

Kid took it well actually. After finding me on my ass in the showers, we go into his room and hash everything out. From what Goldberg did, to my relationship with Chris, to Christian thinking I’m ‘cool and all’ but how Chris and I are just ‘so into each other’. He’s seems kinda bummed that we didn’t work out but hardly heartbroken so I don’t feel that guilty. As to Jericho’s reasoning Christian has no idea but, “Chris is scary the way he thinks sometimes. I swear he doesn’t operate at the same speed as the rest of us. I’ve heard some stories from Stampede that would make you grow hair Austin, Jericho can be so twisted.”

So. I’m not gonna just go to Jericho’s room and beat the crap outta him. I’m not gonna even talk to him. Not till I find out…why? Something Christian said eats at me till I make a decision. Getting up from my ‘thinker’ pose I grab a six-pack and leave my room. Up one floor I knock on the door of the only person that may be able to give me some answers.

“Hey Austin. What’s up?”

“Hey Lance. I need ya help. I need to know about Jericho and Stampede.”

*****

It took some persuading, but I finally convince Lance Storm to confide in me about Chris. These guys were pretty close a while back and I know Jericho treats Lance better than just about anyone other than the Boyos. When I explain the whole situation to Storm, he goes red at some parts but finishes up pretty pale. He gets up from the couch and walks to the window. I give him a minute, ‘cos I got hours.

He turns back to me, takes big gulp of beer and asks, “Do you really CARE about him?”

I snort, “Why the fuck do ya think I’m here Lance? ‘Course I damn well care. I love the bastard but I don’t know what’s wrong!!!”

Lance thinks that one over.

“This never leaves this room because I swore to myself I wouldn’t tell stories about him to anyone, understand?”

“I’m not here to gossip, I want to know why?” I’m almost begging now.

Lance relents. “It was in Stampede. The people responsible don’t matter, what is important is that Chris was the brightest star rising in that company I think there ever was. We trained together and joined about the same time. We had a blast. Chris was wild, in and out of the ring he caused mayhem. I was along for the ride and it was hilarious.” Amusement laces Lance’s voice, but I know where he is going won’t be funny.

“You can imagine Chris on fire, all that charisma turned up to the max. Making us all adore him just like that. Making us want to be with him, party with him and have a ball.” Storm sighs. “Then there was Sym. 19 years old, 6’6’’ built like Dwayne, dark too and thick as a plank. Think of Booker with less brains and more hair. One of the ‘prospects’ from Alberta, but he could actually remember moves and bump like a champion. Nice kid.” Lance’s expression becomes introspective, then wry. “Oh, did I mention he adored a certain blonde loud-mouth we all know? Followed him around like a fuckin’ puppy, makes the Boyos look cold in comparison. And Chris was just too bloody soft to shut Sym down. Ha…” Lance shakes his head. “Chris soft. Hard to believe.”

“One night, after a show, we went to a club. Damn Austin, Jericho was just...I’d say hypnotizing, but that implies he does it deliberately, he doesn’t. Chris just...well…you know what he looks like and he was in a good mood so we were all in one too. I called it an early night because of a bad shoulder, but had trouble sleeping. About 3am I’m coming back from a drug store and I find Chris in the hall near my room. He was naked ‘cept for a sheet and could barely stand.” Lance’s face is like stone now. “Seems Sym decided to make his play while Chris was relaxed and drunk off his head. He managed to get Chris stripped and wouldn’t take no for an answer. So he got rough. Like I said Sym was built and fuck that kid was strong.”

The only reason I’m not being sick or killin’ someone is because I know there is more and I’m not moving till I have it all.

“Luckily, I guess, Chris wasn’t as drunk as he’d hoped. I think Jericho broke Sym’s arm and maybe his jaw before he managed to get to the door.” The nausea recedes slightly as it means the asshole wasn’t successful. “When I found him, he was half out of his mind. Sym wasn’t as dumb as he appeared and had drugged Chris’ drinks to make him more pliable. I cleaned him up and checked us out of the hotel. We drove for three hours till Jericho let me take him to a hospital.” Lance turns away from me again and sits on the end of the bed staring into his beer. “I got a call about dawn. The police had scraped Sym off the front of a Mack truck. My guess is he tried to find Chris, stole a car and tore onto the interstate at about 200miles an hour.

“The hospital kept Jericho overnight, because of a dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs. When he was released I took him back to my hotel and left to get some ice. When I got back...” Lance raises his head to look me in the eye for the first time since he began, ”…he had smashed the mirror in the bathroom and ripped through both wrists with it.”

I close my eyes against Lance’s words, but they continue relentlessly.

“He’d also cut his face from cheekbone to jaw. I think…I think he did his wrists first because the cuts to his face weren’t as deep, they didn’t scar.” I thought of the tape Jericho always wears on his wrists and wonder at the scars inflicted by Goldberg’s wire. “This time they wouldn’t release him to me so I called his mother. She...” Storm swallows hard, “I don’t know what she said but a week later they released him and she asked me to take him out of the country. The next morning I ended our contracts with Stampede and booked us on a tour of Japan. He’s been like this...well...cold...ever since. I don’t blame him.”

It’s my turn to stand and walk to the window. Staring numbly into the night I wonder if I can ever make the world right for Chris. I wonder if he’ll let me.

“About six months after it happened Chris and I were out drinking. A couple of guys tried to pick Jericho up…the look in his eyes. Austin I thought he was gonna kill them. I dragged him out of the place and got him drunk in my hotel room on whiskey. It’s the only alcohol he trusts because any drug would taint the taste he says. When he was pissed he told me what that stupid bastard in Canada had done.” Lance’s sigh is deep and long. “All the while he was stripping him, touching and kissing, getting rough and trying to...” Storm chokes and clears his throat. “Sym kept telling Chris how beautiful he was, how pretty. That he was made for fucking and that he was begging for it every time he moved. Sym thought he was seducing him.” Lance shook his head in remembered despair. “The kid told him he loved him, that he adored him. He tried to rape him because he thought he was in love.”

Finally Storm falls silent.

Cut his face from cheekbone to jaw.

The only sound is Lance’s alarm clock ticking on the bed stand.

Looking typically fuckable as always Angel.

It’s an old-fashioned clock that actually ticks.

The poison that is me.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

So. Now I know.

*****

I stay away from him for another two days. I’m watching him, planning my moment, knowin’ I’ll have one chance if I’m lucky and I better not waste it. After a Raw taping I stand outside his dressing room, rolling my shoulders to relax them. I feel like I’m going into the match of my life, maybe I am. If I loose this, I loose him, and that’s everything. Knowing he won’t let me in if I knock I grab the handle and, praying it isn’t locked, throw open the door. Ignoring his startled hiss I turn and lock the door behind me.

“Get the fuck out Austin.” I see beyond the harsh words now to the intent. Get away from me for your own good.

“Not a chance Darlin’” His surprise at the endearment is obvious, but only for a split second before icy disdain takes him. He turns from me and resumes packing.

“Door. Out. Austin. You bore me.” Yeah, sure I do. That’s why you’re doing your damndest to get me away from you.

“It’s not gonna work Babe. I’m not leaving till I’ve had my say.” I walk over to him, letting my gaze travel down the curve of his spine, so clear through the black shiny shirt. Sensing my proximity my love moves out of range, backing towards the wall next to the door. Ah-hah. He is affected by my closeness. Right now I’ll take any weapon I can get.

“Fine. Whatever. Piss and moan about yourself for the millionth time then Get. The Fuck. Out.” Each word is loaded with icy anger. Water off a duck Darlin’. I take a deep breath.

“All I gotta say is this. You were right. We were a terrible idea and I’m glad you stopped it.” I’m watching him closely so I catch the split-second of surprise and pain as it flicks across his face. That more than anything reassures me I’m going in the right direction.

“Good, now Fu...”

I interrupt. “Not finished so shut up.” I glare hotly into his frozen eyes and see the despair hidden beneath the surface. I can’t believe I couldn’t see it before.

“I mean really, why the fuck should I waste my time with you? Huh?” His head snaps up at this like I just hit him. Mentally stomping on the regret that rises in me I continue on. “I gotta give it to ya Babe your sure are one hell of a looker but that’s worth only so much huh?” I keep my eyes glued to his as I rip into him like I never would’ve risked before.

Distain fills those gorgeous sapphire eyes and Chris smiles, a terrible twisted smile.

“Good thing you’ve finally realized it.” His agreement is pure sarcasm.

“Oh yeah. Definitely good for me. Now I don’t have to deal with all your shit I can have a nice normal life right? Not some melodramatic fucked-up version of reality out of a fuckin’ movie. Right?”

He’s dead white now staring at me like he doesn’t know who I am.

“I mean every time ya get within five fuckin’ feet of someone they wanna kick your ass or fuck it.” And damn me if it isn’t true. “I know which side I was on. ‘Cos that’s all a guy like me would be interested in right? A pretty face, a nice ass? You don’t really got much else to grab a guy like me right? Nothing worthwhile apart from ya looks.”

There! The ice is gone, replaced by something close to pain.

“Charming Aus…”

“SHUT UP!” I pretty much snarl at this point. Stay in control.

“Ya can’t even help those dumb kids you like to watch over. Didn’t keep Jeff safe from them bastards did ya?” I have to do this, I have to, I have to.

The expression in Chris’ eyes is terrible.

Such agony.

“Everyone knows the best thing you were made for right?”

“Enough, go.” His voice is too controlled, his face could be cut from marble.

“But all that attitude and god dammed moodiness annoys the shit outta me. I had a ball checking you out Babe, but the real you, well. I find I like the outside packaging a bit more appealing than the delivery inside.” There’s no stopping now. “Sure you’re skin’s so smooth and soft it’s sooo touchable that I couldn’t help myself from wanting to caress it and your hair. Like spun-gold and so silky. It felt like I was stroking a cat when I tangled my fingers in it.”

“Be quiet.” Barely a whisper.

“Yeah, your voice. Very sexy that. The roughness ya get when ya yelling or excited. When I used to touch ya I’d hear that note and know you liked it Babe, am I right?” I don’t wait for an answer. “It’s obvious why anyone would want ya Darlin’. You move so well, you look so good. But the best part of ya, the only part worth anything really, well that’s gotta be your face Honey.” I take a step closer. Only a few feet separate us now. Not close enough to touch but I can hear his ragged breathing. He’s turned that beloved face from me now, lids lowered in pain, lashes resting on high cheekbones.

“Please be quiet.” A broken whisper.

Be strong. I command myself.

“But why Darlin’. What do ya care what I say?” No response. “So where was I? Yeah ya face. I think that’s ya best feature, obviously. Those lips that make a man or woman crazy just to taste ‘em, yer skin so soft, that cute little dimple ya get when ya really laugh out loud. Well and then there’s ya eyes. What fuckin’ colour are they anyway? Blue just isn’t enough. Sapphire is the closest I can get. Like my Mom’s engagement ring, pure deep Sapphire. I could gaze into them forever.” I’m almost touching him now. My hands on my hips, our bodies mere inches apart. I stare down into his averted face.

“Please…” not even a whisper, just his mouth forming the word.

I continue on relentlessly. “With that hair, that face and that body you are to die for Sweetheart, no question about it. Made to be adored, made to be loved, made to be fucked. Goldberg knew, didn’t he?”

A sound, almost like a sob reaches my ears. My heart is clenching like a vice. I ignore it.

“’cos that’s all I wanted really. Just to fuck that glorious body. I mean, with all this to enjoy why would I care about the rest of ya?” His eyes fly open and at long last I’m in. Past all the ice, the attitude and the pain. Ok this is it. Now or never.

“I wouldn’t want to hear ya laugh at one of my stupid jokes. Wouldn’t want to see ya being all protective around the Boyos when some dumbass thinks he can make a name for himself on one of their backs. I couldn’t possibly want to hear about ya work in Japan and WCW or meet ya Mom and see pictures of ya as a kid. Wouldn’t want to know why ya hate cauliflower but eat broccoli when they are exactly the fuckin’ same. Wouldn’t want to watch ya play with the kids when they visit and hear them squeal ‘cos Chrissy has some insane idea to cause trouble. Wouldn’t want to watch ya loose yourself in that damn music when ya think no-ones looking. Wouldn’t want to watch ya grow old and see that sparkle in yer eyes at sixty when we’ll sit out back and tell all the new Boyos how it was in our heyday. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life telling ya I adore ya and thanking any fuckin’ god there is that ya feel half as much for me as I feel for you.” I pause and take a deep breath.

“It’s not like there is much beneath the surface really is there? When the package is so distracting why would I even bother to look?” I finish with all my heart it my eyes. God dammit Love, believe me please.

Nothing. No response.

Moments pass.

I turn from that agonized face and reach out an unsteady hand to turn the lock.

“Why…..”

I look back. Chris’ face is turned towards me, his head tilted back to rest on the wall. As I stare a single tear slips from those fair lashes and runs from his cheekbone into his hair.

“Why would you bother?” His tone is uncertain, truly curious.

My heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. I’m so desperate to have him back.

“Because yer worth loving. Because when Sym hurt ya he made ya hate yerself and that was the worst crime he could of committed. Because it wasn’t something ya did. It was him, not you, that made it happen. Because despite being hurt so bad, ya stayed in this business and became great. Because I want to be in yer life and have ya in mine. Because I love ya Chris. Because I love YOU Chris. Because I love YOU. I love you….”

His arms wrap around my middle.

His face buries itself in my neck.

Oh God. Please be real.

The muffled sounds tear at my heart. I wrap myself around my love, holding him too tightly for comfort but we don’t care. We need this.

“She made me promise. I kept my word. But it was too much to think I would drag you down as well.” Chris mumbles faintly into my neck. “You could do so much better Austin.”

“Yeah right. Not possible Darlin’” I’m confident of that now, more than ever. I can guess who She was. I stay still, breathing deeply of his rare tears, hoping I’ll not see them again for a very long time.

“Do you forgive me?” He pulls back, tossing his hair out of his eyes like the lion he so reminds people of. The rain-drenched eyes meet mine pleadingly. He feels everything so deeply I realize stunned. Of course you need defenses when you are so vulnerable to your emotions. The tragedy was that he turned his passion inwards, into self-hate and nearly destroyed himself with it.

“Maybe,” my lips curl into a seductive smirk as his eyes widen in surprise. “But you’ll have to make it up to me.” Now that he’s back I’m taking advantage for all I’m worth.

The surprised sapphire eyes become calculating in an instant.

“Oh yes. That seems fair.” His smile is so much sexier than I’ve ever witnessed, my temperature just shot up into the hundreds.

“Hold that thought.” I command as I grab his bag in one hand and his bicep in the other. I take us out of the hallway at record speed, the sound of Chris’ laughter surrounding me.

At long last, I’ve won.

*****

I really, really love my truck. Not as much as I love Chris, but it’s pretty high on my list of things I care about. I’m pretty fuckin’ in love with my truck right now as I lean against the driver door with Chris Jericho on his knees in front of me. He’s nuzzling at my crotch like a cat, hot breath reaching skin through the fly of my jeans and if it weren’t for my truck I’d be flat on my back in the car park of the hotel. The warm metal of the door contrasts with the cold air around us…..

Shhhhiiiittt!!! He just unzipped me with his teeth!!

Oh baby. He’s wrapping his tongue around the button and I know as soon as he gets it open there’s gonna be no stopping me. Chris. Blowjob. Car park.

Car park?

After winning a Herculean battle of mind over dick, I reach down and haul Chris back up by the shoulders. His eyes are wicked and knowing.

“What?” the mockery is plain.

“In a bed Darlin’.” I grit out as I carefully zip up and head to the lifts.

Jericho slides into the small space and grins.

“Or at least a couch?” The tempting little bastard moves his lips near my ear. I stare resolutely at the no. 5 button.

“Up against the door?” Warm breath in my ear shoots straight to my cock.

Ping. Hallway. Door. Card key. Open.

I know I’ve crapped on about how fast Chris is, but I’m not exactly dead either.

“Ooomph.” Did I mention I love that he’s shorter than me? Held hard against the hotel room door, toes about 4 inches off the ground, he’s kinda squirming to regain some balance.

I angle my hips between his legs and take his weight on my groin, sliding my hands under that soon to be fucked ass, holding him in place. My hard-on making small talk with an equally interested partner.

“You are a cock tease.” I growl into his neck, gently thrusting into the apex of his thighs.

Chris moans, writhing in my grip, lips press to my ear.

“Says the sonofabitch dry humping me against a door,” his breath is hot and ticklish.

I let him slide down slightly till his toes touch the floor, keeping the connection at our groins tight. I mention I love trapping him against solid objects? Walls, doors…it’s all good.

Separating our chests by only an inch, Chris pulls my t-shirt over my head.

Cool hands. Hot skin. Oh yeah.

My head snaps longingly to the bed, then back to the blond man tickling my nipples with his tongue.

Bed. With sheets and pillows. Lube in the bed stand and a headboard for Chris to hold onto.

Door. Trapped Chris. My cock pressing against his. Seems ready to go for it right now.

I tangle my fists into honey blond silk and pull backwards till the pleasure shooting from my chest to my groin stops. I focus intently on the wood grain in the door for three seconds and then begin to breathe. Slowly.

In, out. In, out. In, out…?

Don’t think that!!

Bringing my gaze back to Chris’ upturned face, I smile to remove the worry beginning to colour the blue.

“Bed.” Fuck. Back to one syllable. Well, you try to form coherent sentences with an arm full of gorgeous.

Keeping my arm around Chris’ waist I demonstrate a previously unknown ability to dance as I waltz us towards the bed. The look in my baby’s eyes is hilarious as he tries to come to terms with my skills.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks.

Bastard.

“Dancing ya little shit.” I say bitterly. “I was bein’ romantic.”

I so love to see laughter in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry.” He isn’t ya know. “Go right ahead. Don’t let me interrupt.” His smile’s so beautiful I’m gonna fall in love all over again. In instant response to this sappy feeling, I grab two shoulders and shove. I may not be 6’10’ but I know how to get a guy where I want him. Does this cute little bounce on the bed as he lands too.

I toe off my sneakers and unbuckle my belt, eyeing the delectable body, currently stretching like a big ole pussycat on the covers.

He’s just watching me now. Making no move to remove his gear or touch me. Just watching me move, like he’s indulging in somethin’ he never let himself do before. I relish that look. Knowin’ it’s all for me and me alone. He ain’t let himself love anyone else but me. Me. My damaged, fallen, golden angel. Yeah..MY Angel. Never his. God, I’m gonna blush in a second.

I reach out a hand, he IS real, and grab hold of an ankle, dragging him slightly towards the edge of the bed, I get to work on his boot.

“I dreamed this once.” Chris comments. His eyes have never left my face. “That you were here, touching me like this.” Blue eyes cloud momentarily. “But it was a dream.”

“I ain’t no dream Doll,” I intend to prove that in spades, as soon as I get his FUCKIN’ shoes off!

Triumphantly I finish unlacing his second boot and toss it over my shoulder, smiling rakishly at my victim.

The room suddenly becomes a lot darker.

Damn.

“You do have a hatred of hotel rooms don’t you?” I can make out Chris’ grin in the glow from the window.

“That was the light wasn’t it?” I don’t wanna take my eyes off him.

Chris wriggles closer to the edge of the bed. Hands reaching up to grab my ass.

“That light had it coming.” He soothes.

Sliding my palms along the strong planes of Chris’ chest I fist the edges of the see-through black shirt and pull Jericho up till we’re nose to nose.

“Smart ass.” I grin then plant another kiss. He squirms a bit then long fingers are undoin’ my fly and trying to remove my shorts. “Good luck Love.” I murmur between kisses. I toss his shirt onto the floor careful not to wreck any other furniture. ‘Cept the bed.

“Fuck!” Chris cussin’ is a definite turn on. “Austin, do you…oomph…paint these on?”

“I thought you liked my tight shorts?” I tease then groan as he finally releases my straining cock from its prison.

“I do. They leave very little to the imagination.” More swearing. He’s got ‘em to my knees now, which is better than I can do after 10 seconds. Talented fingers.

“You been imaginin’?” I ask, planning my next assault as the shorts hit my feet.

“Oh yes.” He breathes, sapphire orbs locked onto my cock. That note, that sexy husky tone he just used, banishes all playfulness from my mind. Right here, right now, I have Chris.

Without pause, my hands go to the buttons on Chris’ pants and I wrench the vinyl down and off with one strong pull. Now he’s lying before me like an offering. A temple all of my own to worship. Smooth golden skin, strong muscle, warm breath and honey hair.

Chris.

Leaning down I slowly trail a spiraling pattern up one long leg with my tongue, till I reach the junction where the skin dips in just before his hipbone. Silky skin against my tongue, solid muscle lying directly underneath. I nibble a bit, like I’m tasting a new dish. Snort. Certainly a dish at that. I lick some more and am rewarded with an erotic moan of pleasure. I continue upwards, hands pressing undulating hips into the bed when I reach the defined muscle of Chris’s groin. Ya’ll saw those really low vinyl pants he wore with the matching shirt? I nearly came in my jeans when I saw that outfit. Can think of a better place to come right now though.

Chris is twisting beneath me, eyes closed, a blissful expression on that amazing face, his head resting in the crook of one arm. His fingers are digging into my hips as I slowly curl my hand around his beautiful, hard cock.

Mmmmm. Let’s see if I can get that little noise again.

There, yeah Honey. That’s right, I gotcha now.

I can feel the pleasure building along my nerves now, a hot heavy pressure between my legs that’s soon gonna take me over. Reaching out to the bed stand I snag the bottle of oil I got weeks ago and pop the cap. The small sound causes my lover to open dazed sapphire eyes. Eyes that widen and fill with glory as I gently sink one finger deep into his body.

His face. Oh god. I could come just from looking at the expression on that achingly perfect face.

So hot. Tight.

How could I think he was cold?

I can hear the freaky feral growl start in me as I work a second finger into that tight, hot little hole.

“Austin..love...” the low luscious whisper nearly kills me. “Please…”…nearly just.. “Austin please…baby...please,”..begging me.. “…please baby.…oh god….please….Steve!”

My name.

I don’t even recognize the possessive roar that comes from me as I hold his lean hips in place in what I know is gonna be a bruising grip and sink into Chris’ burning body.

Heaven.

I was right.

I rock in, deeper and deeper, growling in satisfaction as I am finally, finally, fully sheathed within that clinging channel.

Oh Jesus!

Chris is moving his hips, rolling himself further down onto me.

Hooking my arm under his bent knee, I lift a long golden leg and twist my hips in a deep grinding thrust that nearly lifts us both off the mattress.

“Yes.” Like he’s won something. “Just like that Love.”

I agree.

“More.”

Yep.

“Now.”

Thrust. “Bossy.” Thrust. “Little”. Thrust. “Thing”. Thrust.

That I can talk is a miracle.

Arms flung back, bracing his body against the headboard, Chris meets my thrusts eagerly.

Hot, spicy breath brushes my mouth as I leaned down to taste Chris’ parted lips, dipping my tongue into the sweet wetness within, growling again as my love retaliates with equal passion. We move together into perfection. Building, rising, pounding harder and faster. I shift angles, pistoning my cock in and out of Chris’ body, jolting the bed with the strength of our strokes.

I can feel the pressure inside of me, low in my stomach, my thighs. The white heat, the fierce pleasure. I can still hear my own voice, hoarse and growling. It twists with Chris’ moans and demands. A tangle of sounds that mirror the tangle of our bodies. Our minds.

Leaning down I curl my arm under the small of Chris’ back, lifting his hips off the bed, controlling the position so I can watch his face as he comes, my hand on his burning flesh telling me it will be soon.

His voice husky, words barely formed.

Sapphire eyes glazed and wild, inhuman with intense pleasure, head fallen back to the pillow in a tangle of honey fire.

Nearly.

There.

Chris’ back arches, fingernails dig into the wooden headboard.

Exquisite.

With a guttural roar I pour my release deep into that slick channel, my cock pulsing endlessly as I yell my beloved’s name.

My eyes fixed on him.

*****

I think I’m dead.

I’m collapsed across Chris, sprawled like a big Texan blanket. His heartbeat is at about 150mph but slowly decelerating. Lazily I nuzzle at his neck, tasting sweat and skin. Then I lift up slightly, resting my forearms on either side of his Chris’ head and watch him come back down to earth.

Big sigh. Small little frown and then eyes flutter and open. Like he’s waking from a dream.

Still deeply embedded in his body, I rock forward slightly.

“I’m real Darlin’,” I whisper, eyes locked onto his.

Chris retaliates with a slight clenching of muscles that send my eyeballs rolling back into my skull.

“So I see,” he whispers back. Contented smile beginning to brighten his lovely face.

“Ahh, yep,” I try to refocus. “An’ I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.” It’s a lifetime, but fuck it all. I mean it.

Jericho’s smile could shame the sun.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He promises. With a surge he rolls us over changing positions so he’s straddling me. My hands automatically grope the round globes of his ass as he begins to slowly start up the band.

“Want to prove it to me?” He asks, hair a halo, eyes wicked, smile like sin. Fallen angel indeed.

“Every single day Darlin.” I vow.

Just lust?

Well, a hell of a lot more than that. It’s also a heap of other stuff that’s going take us our whole lives to enjoy. Can’t wait. I’ve discovered somethin’ else though, as I watch my golden Chris writhe and moan.

Sometimes, when ya get a taste of what you’ve been wanting, ya just crave it all the more.

*****

Epilogue

“My truck.”

a soft chuckle

“If you like.”

“The hood of my truck.”

snort.

“You’ll have to let the tires down.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Ah the romance of a man and his truck.”

snigger.

“I wanna nail ya on Vince’s desk, how’s that for romantic?”

muffled groan

*****

“With that viking helmet ya wore when the kids were around.”

“That’s just weird. And almost perverse.”

“No it isn’t. I wanted to fuck ya right then and there.”

“Ok, damn I know I’ll regret this…why?”

“Ya looked very sexy. Like Thor.”

hysterical laughter

“Remind me to pinch Paul’s hammer.”

full body contact

“I got a hammer right here Darlin’.”

gasp

“You certainly have.”

prolonged movement

“Damn ya look so fuckin’ beautiful when yer ridin’ me.”

bedsprings getting a workout

“View’s pretty good from here too Babe.”

growl

“Oh god yeah. Yeah. That’s it, right there. ”

“Love you, love you, love you….”

mutual cries

“Never lettin’ ya go Darlin’.”

“Don’t wanna go.”

snore

“Rattlesnake? More like a big Labrador.”

snuggle down

purr

*****

“So, your turn Darlin’.”

“Hmmm. I just had my turn don’t you think?”

“C’mon.”

rustle of sheets

“Tell.”

gurgle of laughter

“No. Stop it.”

“Yer ticklish? Oh baby….”

mayhem and violence

“If you ever….I’m going to….kill…..fucking…..dead….”

“Yeah, yeah, ya’ll kick my ass all over the bedroom. Bring it on Blondy.”

a small movement.

“Agghhh. Fuck that fuckin’ hurts...”

“Bring it on Baldy.”

*****

“Ya gotta give me one at least. I got hundreds.”

choke

“Hundreds?”

“Well whenever I look at ya…”

“I get the idea……I love the idea by the way.”

“Good.”

restful quiet

“I want to know if you can hold an open can of beer in each hand while I suck you off.”

stunned silence

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“I thought you might.”

*****

“So Darlin’?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Where are yer glasses?”

sleepy blinking

“My what?”

finis

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