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thesamoanqueen · 2 years ago

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Darkside

Raiting: 14

Warnings: Angst; A lot...

A/N: Dark days will come its all your fault Dwayne... So therapeutic writing for me.

The PPV routine was inhumane, something that even those in the business tried to sustain, knowing that in the end, all the hard work would be reduced to a couple of chaotic hours. You prepared yourself, tried to be in the right emotional state and threw yourself headlong into the work, on your shoulders the responsibility to get to the point storylines, promos, shots and shots so that people out there could go home satisfied. And you could emerged from that atmosphere in two ways: excited by adrenaline or drained by fatigue, but often, neither excluded the other.

For Y/N on that particular occasion it was the latter. She felt like she'd been holding her breath for an eternity, her mind full of noise, her blood pumping more than it should in her aching muscles. She had gotten to the point of hating her heels and it wasn't something she usually did, hoping the end would come quickly so she could rest and restore the fragile balance that was interrupted. She missed Roman and every day, that farce of friends with benefits was getting harder and harder to sustain. They texted each other all the time, they talked on the phone in their spare time, but it wasn't the same and this time seemed worse than the previous ones.

Maybe it was the realization of feeling something more that made it heavy for her. She literally froze one morning in front of the sliding doors of a restaurant, her heart suddenly crazy just reading his name on the phone screen and a voice in her head announcing: 'It's him. It's always been him.' And actually wasn't wrong, because with Roman it had never been about sex or attraction, it had been so natural, so familiar, that she didn't even have time to notice it. Samantha had moved her out of the way of the doors by miracle that day, she hadn't even noticed the ones closing too.

But she had noticed Roman's voice, the way he answered her questions, the few details in the stories and the too many meetings he was having. Maybe it wasn't that, maybe it wasn't her feelings and she was just being paranoid, which she found herself incredibly talented at when he was involved, but something was really wrong.

She had investigated with Jimmy and Jey, in the short time she had spend with them too, but they just claimed they were too busy with the current storyline. And she had really believed it, because they were going so well that they surpassed even the most extreme forecasts, but then Y/N had seen Roman. She had seen him at the arena, Heyman whispering as if they were in the middle of a conspiracy and him silently listening, absorbing word after word. She had seen him again hours later, she had recognized the stiffness in his muscles, despite the fact that he seemed to let everything slip off him, she had seen his polite smile and that shadow in his eyes which, tenacious and responsible, continued to wander from one face to another, keeping him on track. She had seen him shake his hand before the fireworks started and from afar, Y/N understood.

***

It was late, the arena had emptied, the press conference had ended and by now there were only a few left in there, almost only technicians. But there he was, inside the ring, staring at the empty stands where people had yelled at him a few hours earlier. A big reaction, a tremendous success, but he didn't look fully satisfied and Y/N knew him enough to read between lines.

With hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt, she walked over in silence, looking at him there: alone at the top of his mountain.

When you work in an environment like that, you can't get caught up in the crowd's reactions. It's a self-defense mechanism, you become somehow less prone to empathy and more focused on yourself, but there are things that hurt anyway. Roman was a grown man, one of those who really takes all kinds of responsibility on his shoulders and strives to go forward day after day, trying to overcome difficulties with the right mind. Y/N knew with absolute certainty that he had accepted everything for the good of the company, for the sport that had accompanied him since he was a kid, even before he set a foot inside the ring. She knew that Roman had no regrets, that he had pushed as far as he could and even further, she knew that every more day was a gift for him, but that ring, those people, were truly his mountain. One that he had never fully climbed and that he still felt he owed something to. He had been in his place and they had hated him so much, while now they gave him only praise…

It wasn't envy or competition, it wasn't refusal to give up his place or anger. She was pretty sure he even liked him, his heart was tender under all those muscles. Was the sneaky suspicion that he hadn't lived up to it when he should have, the simple refusal, after years of struggling to achieve something they had even promised him. He had trudged up his mountain and what in her eyes seemed determination, constancy, seemed something else to him at that moment. It was the darkside of their mind, the dark behind the spotlight, the silence of the future coming and leaving others behind.

- Hey… - she called softly, stopping under the ropes to look at him from below.

- Y'still here? – he asked hoarsely, a couple of scratches caused by the match on his neck.

- I was lookin for a big lost boy – she tried to joke, but Roman barely smiled, his gaze wandering everywhere without stopping on her.

If only he had looked at her, if only he had paid Y/N the attention that his mind was urging him to have for those empty chairs, for the stands above, for that now dark logo dangling in the void, he would have noticed perhaps that no one else in the world for her would ever be like him.

- Ro, if you want to-

- Im tired for those things Y/N. Not tonight – he stopped her, with his usual slowness overcoming the ropes to get out of the ring.

Not that it had ever happened to her thanks God, but if someone had opened her chest there, to rip the air out of her lungs and crumple her heart, it probably would have hurt less than that. The floor felt softer than it should, ready to suck her in, her knees less still despite no longer wearing heels, the arena incredibly empty and cold. And yet she pursed her lips, swallowing the idea that that was all he could think of right now, enduring the harsh reality between them.

- Im just saying that if y'want... Im here. I’ll listen.

- What? - he asked almost confused, but she couldn't find the right words fast enough and Roman realized with a nod of his head.

- Im a grown ass man Y/N. Its just how da business works – he said, a hand running through her hair as if she were the one who needed to be comforted at that moment.

And he wasn't really wrong. Things were always like this, he had been an extraordinary exception after decades and now the balance had to be restored, people needed it, another chapter had to be written. But she suddenly felt crushed, angry, hurt by those changes, by that reality, while Roman was already metabolizing.

- Yes, but ya know. You've put up with me so many times, always supporting me and making me see things differently, that I would like to do the same for you – she admitted – being with you.

Words came out of her mouth out of control, without her planning them, but they were the plain truth.

Y/N was genuinely terrified, she didn't even know exactly by what, perhaps the change itself. The idea that their balance could change due to an external cause, by having seen the shadow of a wound reopen in him and not being able to shield him. She was used to facing a routine made up of changes in plans, improvisations, rushes and unexpected twists, her first-person tolerance index was out of the ordinary and tempered over the years, but when the people she cared about came into play, when Roman came into play, she always felt like a lost child. That was one of the reasons she probably fell so bad for him, because no matter what came at him, Roman was able to stay on his feet. He was her safe place and for the first time in her life, Y/N wanted to be like him, she wanted to be that for him. She wanted him to know even if he could do it on his own.

She saw his gaze soften, shoulders sag, even if just a little. Her body began to feel the warmth of his embrace before he could even pull her to him, because she knew he would, he always did. But not that time.

- I appreciate it – she heard him thank her and his watch rumbled softly, an incoming call - sorry... it's... I have to go.

A call from Florida.

- Sure, go, go – she encouraged him as if in a trance as he walked towards the ramp giving her one last look and a half smile.

With her hands clasped in her pockets, she watched him walk away, until he disappeared who knows where, his phone already in hand and something else to take care of. She watched the gap in the screens in silence, alone, in the middle of the empty arena until she realized she was about to collapse. Her shoulders trembling, her eyes already wet, she was short of breath.

She wanted to be there for him, she wanted to be with him, but he was already moving on. He was metabolizing, enduring as always, he was already writing another chapter of his life and the fear she had felt at realizing what was happening was clearer now. She was falling behind as he moved forward and she wasn't ready. It hurts, it hurts damn bad.

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snowbellewells · 7 months ago

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Self Promo Sunday: "Melting for You"

It's been a bit since I've done a Self Promo Sunday post, but with the weather heating and well into summer this one shot came to mind, and it seemed like the right one for this week to get them going again. I wish we had a few more steamy CS pics to work with to make a cover art, but I still gave it a go. If this is new to you, I hope you'll enjoy, and if it's a repeat maybe you'll find it fun to revisit.

Summary: When Emma decides to tease an overheated pirate, soon she's the one burning up... A Post Season 6 canon divergent ff, with CS enjoying their happy beginning

Can also be found on AO3 if that's your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Even indoors the air was heavy and oppressive - especially for June - and Emma Swan gave herself a mental pat on the back for even being out of her recliner nearest the air conditioning vent in the old, high-ceiling house that could be expensive to sufficiently cool. She tended to covet a day like this - off from the station, Henry out with friends, no one needing anything from her, and a backlog of her favorite crime procedurals ready in her streaming queue - chuckling to herself about deserving some sort of Savior Above and Beyond medal for being in the kitchen tackling a sink of dirty dishes.

Normally, she’d just put them in the dishwasher, but the last clean load had never been taken back out and put away - one of Henry’s designated jobs - and her husband, loving and fond of her son as he was, was still a captain through and through, determined for each member of his crew to pull their weight. Emma, on the other hand, while not as worried about the degree of neatness Killian would prefer, was just stubborn enough not to do her kid’s chores for him. Henry had been busy lately; finals, college applications and other genuine responsibilities taking up the bulk of his time, but she trusted him to get to it when he could. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the real reason she didn’t put the clean dishes away was because she didn’t understand Killian’s precise method for storing all the various pots, pans, containers, and baking sheets; inevitably, when she tried to unload the dishwasher alone, she ended up with numerous things she couldn’t find a place for strewn across the kitchen’s center island and more of a mess than she’d started with.

It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

So, here she stood, sweating over a sink full of hot, soapy water, feeling loose tendrils of hair begin to curl around her face in the humidity, just trying to make sure they had enough clean spoons and to-go mugs for their coffee the next morning and cursing the 90 degree heat and the ceiling fan not doing an adequate job of getting the cooler air to her as her shirt began to feel stuck to her skin between her shoulder blades.

At least she had a good view.

Emma smirked to herself, eyes lighting up once again as she refocused from the charred bits of pizza crust she’d slightly burnt onto a pan and back out the window over the sink. She wasn’t sure how her husband could stand it outside, and he’d been at it for at least a couple hours at this point, but as she took in the scene before her, Emma couldn’t help thinking that at this moment, his discomfort was a cross she was willing to bear.

Standing up straighter, running her forearm across her face, she dazedly allowed her hands to drip across the counter as she studied him more closely, almost forgetting where she was. Killian was wearing dark, stained denim jeans he often used when out of doors and not on his ship, along with a thin, gray T-shirt, stretched and faded with holes in places, but more than serviceable for working around the house and yard. She could see the muscles in his back and shoulders straining and bunching through the nearly threadbare material easily, and hardly realized she’d unconsciously licked her lips at the decadent sight.

As she continued to shamelessly spy on her fine pirate, Killian stretched his arms up overhead, clearly working out some of the kinks from his exertions, then to her eternal delight, raised the hem of his T-shirt to mop sweat from his brow. She could see a band of tanned, flushed skin on his lower back, unknowingly tantalizing her as she stared, unable to blink or look away. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, he slowly peeled the taut fabric up his torso and off over his head before tossing it to the side.

She knew her breath went a bit shallow at the sight of his whole back bared to her while Killian stood for several long moments catching his breath. At this point, her sudsy hands were clutching the edge of the sink while her knees went watery at the show he was putting on inadvertently. The expanse of his skin was marred in places by lines almost white from the time gone by since they had been inflicted, and high on his left shoulder a compass sat, bearing the name ‘Liam’ along its edge, while the dark tentacles of a kraken curled surreptitiously along his rib cage on his right side. The dark and light took not one iota from his swarthy perfection though, not to her eyes. In fact, if she had been overwarm before, she was burning up now; the sight of his whole torso practically glistening in the bright afternoon sun making her weak. She was seized with the almost uncontrollable desire to go out there and started licking the salty moisture from his skin with her tongue.

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was purposely trying to tempt her.

Wait… did she know better? Emma paused, tilted her head to one side in thought. She’d told him when he’d gone outside that she was kicking back to watch some tv. But Killian could be scarily prescient of everyone around him, alert without even trying. Did he know she was watching; and, if so, was he teasing her?

Eyes narrowing, she thought for a second, feeling more than a bit devious as she considered her rapscallion husband and just what mischief he might have on his mind. She could almost picture him scoffing about getting her riled up; his brow arched just so, tongue poking against the inside of his lower lip, practically leering at her, knowing she couldn’t resist him at the best of times, and absolutely using it to his advantage. What she needed, Emma decided, a twinkle coming into her eye as the perfect plan of attack took shape in her mind, was to get him back, while appearing completely innocent. Get him flustered and as hot and bothered as he was making her. Turning off the tap and quickly drying her hands on a towel nearby, she grabbed a large glass from the cabinet to her left, then opened the freezer for ice - and her chosen secret weapon.

Strolling outside, Emma tried her best to school her expression, knowing a twitch of mischievous humor or devilish twinkle would give her away. Her pirate still read her like a book - knew her every feature more minutely than anyone else had ever bothered to try - even more so after years together. He’d catch any slip and be on the alert.

Killian turned to look at her, just as she drew up beside him. Reaching out to trail the hand holding an ice cold glass of water down his damp, overheated bicep, she fought to hold in the smirk as her husband let his head fall backwards, nearly growling in pleasure. The unrelenting heat had the glass already covered in condensation, and the warmth radiating from Killian as well after working so long in the sun, meant the cool moisture had to feel heavenly.

Eyeing her with both adoration and curiosity, her captain made Emma’s own inner thermostat raise a tick as well when he licked the perspiration from his upper lip. “May I assume that’s for me, Love?”

“Yep,” she replied, letting the ‘p’ pop distinctly, just as he often did when alluring her with his speech. “I thought it was time to bring you some water. Can’t have my True Love getting dehydrated, after all.”

He raised a brow, as if wondering why she seemed so enthusiastic, but he took the glass from her eagerly, seemingly deciding just to accept the gesture with thanks. Of course, as his Adam's apple bobbed with his greedy swallows of the cool, refreshing liquid, it was Emma who found her throat working desperately to gain more air.

For a second, she almost forgot her plan in the wake of the tantalizing distraction he made, before she regained focus and hurried to unwrap what she held in her other hand.

While Killian’s eyes were still closed savoring the last of his drink, Emma quickly stuffed the wrapper of an ice cream bar in her cutoff jean pockets and began to lick the chocolate coating, enjoying the sweet taste, but also waiting for the moment she would feel the sizzle of his eyes on her once more.

“Here you go, Love,” Killian’s voice spoke up as she felt him turn toward her, just as she enveloped the whole tip of the ice cream bar between her lips. “That truly hit the sp - “

His words died on his tongue as he got an eyeful of what she was doing, though Emma avoided looking back just yet, knowing the glee she was feeling would give her away. ‘Gotcha, Pirate!’ she couldn’t help gloating in her mind.

Humming slightly as if she was only focused on how delicious her frozen treat tasted, Emma was inwardly high fiving herself after shooting a quick sidelong glance at her husband to see him looking as though he had swallowed his own tongue. The empty glass he’d moved to hand back to her fell to the ground from his suddenly lax fingers, and when she heard him speak again, his words were a hoarse whisper. “Gods above, Swan, are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not,” she chirped happily, winking at him with what she hoped was breezy nonchalance. “Just enjoying some refreshment myself.” She then popped the treat back into her mouth, pointedly hollowing her cheeks a bit, then pulling it back out while letting her tongue trail along the rapidly melting chocolate coating.

‘And now the final touch,’ she thought, turning her head back toward the porch and deliberately putting more swing in her hips than normal. “Bring that glass with you when you come back in, okay Babe?” she tossed over her shoulder, with one brief backward glance that she hoped managed to be sultry.

Congratulating herself, even as just the short amount of time she’d been outside was beginning to make her sweat too and the vanilla insides of her ice cream began to drip down her hand, Emma had nearly reached the outdoor water spigot and attached hose by the porch steps, which seemed a good place to finish her dessert and wash off the stickiness, when she heard heavy steps coming up behind her rapidly. ‘Right on cue, ’ her mind practically crowed.

In the next moment, Killian’s strong, muscled arm snaked around her stomach and jerked her back firmly against the front of his body. Holding her tightly, his teeth nipped her earlobe before he purred a seductive warning against her neck. “It’s cruel to tease a man like that, Minx - not if you don’t intend to share a taste.”

Impishly, Emma held up the rapidly shrinking bit of ice cream left on the stick, as if in offering. However, when he dove in to swipe his tongue up the side of her hand and engulf both the melting treat and the tips of her fingers in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, she willingly let go. His eyes were pure blue flames that wouldn’t allow her to blink, turning her bones and sinew to liquid more than the heat outside could have ever managed.

Emma was leaning into him breathlessly, mind going blank at the way he pulled his lips back off her fingers, laving her skin playfully as he leaned away, the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes along with the heat telling her all too well that he knew what he was doing. Winking devilishly, he stepped away slightly, making her nearly stumble as her body strained to follow, a soft whine leaving her throat completely against her will.

“Hmm…” he purred, baiting her now, sensing victory no doubt. “Just as I thought - delicious.”

Emma’s misfiring synapses crackled back to life as he stood there, just out of reach, clearly waiting for his wife’s next move, and almost certainly counting on her being unable to resist.

Her chest heaved, trying to get a full breath and bring herself under control. She’d had the upper hand! She was so sure she’d have him begging - just this once. But she was flushed and sweating every bit as much as Killian now. That sinful way he was tracing her bare legs with his gaze, and the feel of his mouth on her, however briefly, had been all it had taken to send her temperature soaring beyond all reason.

“You don’t play fair, Captain,” she chided, her voice low and her own teasing smile finally returning to her as it just tilted the corner of her lips.

Killian’s dark brow arched devastatingly in challenge, not about to be outdone. “Oh, and I suppose you think waltzing out here in those shorts that barely cover your knickers and shamelessly teasing me was fair play?”

There was no good comeback, and Emma knew it. She’d been messing with him from the start, and neither of them had any doubts on that score. However, it was just then she remembered the hose and spigot right behind her. Using an innocent shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her blond hair she knew could often distract him - pirate indeed, her golden hair had always drawn his touch, he’d been brushing it over her shoulder since they had first climbed the beanstalk together - she managed to move back enough to reach behind her and turn on the water without him catching onto her actions. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” she sniffed, feigning insult. “I only brought you a cold drink. You looked like you needed…” she fumbled to grasp the hose quickly and pull it up into her hands “...to cool off!”

Without further warning, she pointed the nozzle at him, squeezed the handle and let fly, startling him with a blast of water right to the chest. Luckily, she’d managed to crank up the power enough to have a steady stream leaving the hose at full blast, and they kept it coiled in the shade of the porch, so she knew the spray rapidly soaking her husband was as ice cold as the sun beating down on them from above was burning hot.

Spluttering and yelping at the sudden, frigid onslaught, Killian’s pleased smirk dissolved as he threw up both arms in a helpless attempt to block the spray. She couldn’t help throwing her head back with a triumphant laugh and an emphatic “Gotcha!” escaping her lips. No part of her husband was getting out of this unscathed, she decided, aiming to soak him from head to toe while she had the upper hand.

Unfortunately for her, the victory was short-lived. Adaptable and quick-thinking as ever, Killian had steeled himself against the cold blast and was inching closer amidst laughter of his own and short exclamations at the bursts of chilled water hitting him.

Emma was about to relent in truth, the sight of Killian’s streams of eater running down his arms and sides and droplets clinging to his trim, well-defined chest and the enticing covering of matted dark hair across his taut chest muscles, was more than enough prize for her efforts. The handle actually faltered in her grip for a moment as her mouth fell open with her gawking.

It was all the opening her pirate needed.

Killian bounded forward, closing the slight distance left between them and deftly plucking the hose from her grip. The squelch of his feet on the wet grass and the slap of soaked denim against his legs were Emma’s only other warnings before the sharp, freezing spray was turned on her full blast in retaliation.

“Ahhh! Killian!” she screeched helplessly, the shock of the cold making her gasp, despite knowing she wasn’t going to get any more mercy than she herself had been willing to grant moments ago. Instead, she floundered forward, grabbing for the hand aiming the spray at her. They scuffled briefly, both only getting wetter and more winded, until - ridiculously tangled up with each other and the hose - they tumbled to the sodden grass in a heap of wriggling limbs.

At this point, both of them were laughing, hands rapidly smoothing over wet skin in delicious slides. The hose fell from Killian’s grip, easily forgotten, and the water splashed them both in a wild arc until it fell to the ground and stopped. The damage was long done anyway as they rolled together on the marshy ground, legs entwined and bodies beginning to move against each other deliciously, almost without thought in a deliciously familiar next move.

Unable to resist any longer, and far past teasing or trying to win their game, Emma’s hands stole to trace up his panting side, thrilling at the feel of his stomach muscles trembling where her fingertips swept over them.

Killian was not idle as she worked feverishly, a low groan of pleasure escaping him as she stroked along the planes of his torso. In the next moment, he dove in, pulling down the vee of her own shirt further and baring her breast before closing his mouth over the tight, alert bud warming and tormenting in equal measure with swipes of his wicked tongue.

She bucked up into him, keening and whimpering and wordlessly desperate to urge him on. After that, there was no time for words, merely pants of exertion, the occasional clacking of teeth, the slapping of damp skin on skin, and the smack of the rest of their soaking clothing frantically shed on the swampy ground around them. Soon they were moving in unison, Killian pushing forward, and her opening to pull him in, then clinging to him tightly for all she was worth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, as the evening shadows fell, a light breeze moved in, cooling the heavy air of the day. Emma’s eyes trailed languidly over the nude lines of her husband’s hip and side as he returned to her with water and slid back under the light blanket they had draped over their bodies as they snuggled skin to skin on the back porch. It hadn’t seemed worth bothering to get dressed again when they’d only adjourned as far as the porch before their kisses and touches and mischievous smiles led to them going again at an achingly slower, more luxurious pace on the porch glider while the sun had slowly dipped closer to the horizon. As Killian curled back around her and brought her hand up to kiss each one of her knuckles reverently, humming as he somehow found a sweet bit of leftover ice cream, Emma could only think it was lucky their porch faced nothing but the rocky coastline and the harbor beyond it. Not that she was ashamed of how quickly she had melted at his whim, but she didn’t need anyone else to get an eyeful.

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#self promo sunday #cs ff #cs one shot #melting for you #post s6 caon divergent #cs future fluff #cs happy beginning #summer steam #almost m smuff

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blowflyfag · 7 months ago

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Inside Wrestling: Volume 25, 2009

Enduring The Sting Of Psychological Warfare: IS SAMOA JOE READY TO CRACK?

Whether he’s in the ring or not, Samoa Joe keeps one eye on the rafters in anticipation of thwarting an attack by Sting. How long can the TNA World champion maintain such vigilance before he snaps?

By Bill Meltzer

Photos By Lee South/TNA Wrestling

TNA WORLD CHAMPION Samoa Joe may not have lost his smile, a la Shawn Michaels, but that’s only because Joe never smiles much, anyway-at least not within the confines of the Impact Zone. He’s always been an intense and often brutal competitor in the ring.

Even when he’s cheered by the fans, Joe enjoys inflicting punishment, and has never been afraid to be on the receiving end of a heavy shot if it means getting in a devastating kick, chop, punch, or slam of his own. Of late, however, there’s been a decided change that has come over the “Samoan Submission Machine,” and it has everything to do with the gold belt around his waist.

For all of his no-nonsense fury in the ring, he’s always been very calculating in his approach to every match-letting up just enough to avoid disqualifications or suspensions. In promos, he usually accomplishes more with his infamous smoldering death stare than others do with a dozen shouted threats. This sense of calm inside of a monster has always made Joe one of the toughest competitors in the sport.

That’s why it’s been shocking to watch how Joe has seemingly come unglued now that he’s accomplished his goal of establishing himself as the man to beat in TNA. Why would the champion mess with success, unless the pressure is getting to him?

[Always one to favor a stiff style in the ring, Samoa Joe has recently turned up the aggression against opponents such as Christian Cage for no apparent reason. Perhaps Sting’s recent sneak-attacks have taken their toll on Joe’s psyche.

Joe’s recent mauling of Booker T was considered beyond the pale, even by his most ardent fans. At some point, proving his invincibility could prevent Joe from successfully defending his World title.]

Mick Foley, himself a former world champion who is no stranger to brutal brawls, thinks he knows the answer.

“It’s a whole different ballgame going from hunter to the hunted,” Foley says. “Suddenly, everyone is gunning for you. You’re not sure who to trust. If you get attacked and someone rushes in to help you, is that guy doing it because he wants to be the one to take you out? I haven't talked to Samoa Joe about it, but I'm almost certain he’s going through some of that.”

[While recent signs might suggest Joe is headed for a breakdown, Sting’s attacks have not affected Joe’s wrestling ability. TO fend off the competition, Joe will need to be at his technical best, as he was when he defeated Kurt Angle at Lockdown for the TNA World title.

Confronting Sting one-on-one in the ring would go a long way in settling Samoa Joe’s nerves. But as long as “The Stinger” evades Joe’s grasp, the champion will remain on edge.

Motivated by a title defense, revenge, and Sting’s antics, Joe used every weapon at his disposal to unleash his frustration on Booker T in their “Six Sides Of Steel” match at Hard Justice. This time, though, Joe’s brutality was legal and necessary.]

Foley may be onto something. TNA’s crop of challengers is the deepest it has been in federation history. It includes a host of former TNA, NWA, WCW, and WWE champions with varying reputations for treachery and violence.

But, it’s not just the fact that Joe is champion that seems to be bringing him out of his usually collected self. In the recent months, Joe has been brought down in various matches by the dark and brooding Sting. Now that Sting is back in the picture, his mental warfare seems to be working.

The strain is showing, as Joe has slowly begun to lose control of his emotions. In the ring, his style is showing an increasing amount of recklessness-even desperation. In his promos, the veins on his neck bulge as he rants at his enemies.

“Despite his unusual agility for such a big guy, Joe’s always been more Stan Hansen than Big Van Vader in his approach,” says Foley. “Hansen could intimidate the hell out of you because he was so methodical and relentless. Vader was a guy who could get reckless and throw any sort of game plan out the window.

“But Joe seems to be leaning more toward the Vader side of wrestling. These mind games Sting has been playing with him seem to be working on him pretty well. It’s hard enough being champion without someone always turning the lights out and beating you with a baseball bat.”

TNA Management Director Jim Cornette also sees a similarity between Joe’s current in-ring behavior and Vader’s lunacy during his three tenures atop WCW. He even says the strain of being champion could be affecting Joe away from the ring.

“The other day, I asked Joe, ‘What time is it?’ He slapped his chest beet red and screamed, “It’s Samoa time!’

“Joe is normally a real laid-back, funny guy when he’s away from the ring. He’s not usually uptight at all. Lately, he’s been very serious and subdued away from the ring. I told him to relax and have fun being champion. He’s worked hard to get where he’s at.”

[As TNA commentator Jeremy Borash knows, Joe can be as intense an interview as he is a wrestler. Borash and other TNA personnel have noticed the increased tension in Samoa Joe’s demeanor recently.]

For his part, Joe doesn’t seem to understand why there’s so much consternation about him taking an even more aggressive approach in the ring. He also denies that the pressure is getting to him. Instead, he points the finger at the tactics of his opposition.

“I call it being proactive,” Joe says. “I understand that there’s a target on my back now, but I'm not the least bit worried about it. I’m sending a message to make it clear to everyone in TNA that the World championship is my property. I don’t take kindly to people trying to beat me up and take my property. Call me crazy.”

Despite his protests to the contrary, as the number of challengers has mounted and unlikely alliances have formed to take Joe out, the champion’s actions have seemed increasingly reactive. Joe appears to be looking over his shoulder constantly, waiting for someone to jump him from behind.

[Properly channeled aggression has allowed Joe to rise above other dangerous men in TNA like Scott Steiner. But the uncontrolled rage he’s exhibiting now could destroy his title reign and his career. Joe must find a way to keep his emotions in check.]

This shows just how Sting’s initial attacks have opened up the eyes to the rest of TNA’s roster. They now see that the champ can be flustered, even bothered, by guerilla attacks.

Even when there is no sneak attack, the thought infuriates him and leads him to become violent to the point of being out of control. When there is an attack, Joe practically froths at the mouth trying to fight off his assailants. He spends a lot of time thinking about revenge against the likes of Booker T and Sting.

No one can say Samoa Joe isn’t a fighting champion. But at the rate he’s going at, he’s in danger of becoming an ex-champion sooner than he should.

#samoa joe #joe…. <3 #magazine scan #magazine transcript #tna #total nonstop action #Inside Wrestling #Inside Wrestling 2000s #2000s #2009

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magnoliacharmed · 2 years ago

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Golden Boy

18+, Shawn Michaels x Billy Gunn one shot

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Word count: 5054

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, self esteem issues, implied drug use, blow jobs, masturbation, condomless sex, praise kink (guess who has it. just guess.)

Summary:

Shawn Michaels' conflicting feelings for Billy Gunn are making his life a lot more difficult.

---

Looking briefly into Billy's gray-blue eyes earlier, Shawn had felt like the light was breaking through the angry storm clouds. He finally felt the warmth he'd been missing.

Author’s note:

also starring d-generation x!

shawn confirmed a bottom from his "my middle name is 'top this'!" promo. i don't make the rules

suspend your disbelief and pretend that shawn didn't take that break for a few years in the late 90s/early 00s! haha i didn't know how to reconcile that.

There was something about Billy Gunn that everyone loved. He was just a nice fucking guy. His smile was sincere, his laugh never mocking, his energy fun. The worst part about it all was that he never had to try to be that man. He just was. Nobody had a bad word to say about Gunn.

It drove Shawn insane.

So what, he was "nice"? Anybody could pretend to be nice. Shawn had managed just fine at it for years now. He was likable enough. Ever since Billy joined D-Generation X though, Shawn's facade began to crack. Fake, fake, fake. Shawn couldn't even look in a mirror at himself without picking at all his flaws. He wasn't old by any stretch of the imagination. But his hard lifestyle was going to catch up with him soon enough if he didn't slow down. When he got sick of his own face screwing up at itself, he'd lay in the dark and replay the day's events. He'd be flying high when Hunter and X-Pac nodded away at everything he said, chuckling at his jokes. The sounds would echo through the hall for everyone to hear. Eat that, Billy. You may be in the crew, but you'll never be a part of it.

Then Billy would make an offhand comment and the whole locker room would double over in pain from laughing so hard. Chyna's smile stretched from ear to ear whenever Gunn was around her. Road Dogg stuck by his side like a pathetic leech. They acted like the sun shined out of his ass.

Shawn's eyes burned in his sockets. The pain didn't even bother him any more. The muscles in jaw were shot to hell from mashing on his gum. The mint flavoring was giving him a stomach ache, flips and turns bounding around in his lower body. The acid felt like it was burning him from inside out. It was the gum. A shitty brand he didn't usually choose. That's all they had at the local gas station so he was stuck. Yes, it was definitely that and not the image of Billy standing near him in the mirror pulling his white-blond hair into a ponytail. He was chewing gum too, the muscles in his neck moving below his skin hypnotically. Shawn was 99% sure his eye twitched at the sight of it.

"Shawn… Shawn. You okay?"

Very suddenly, Gunn was face to face with Shawn. He cocked his head to the side like a puppy, the curls of his ponytail following the movement. There was concern painted on his face plainly. Shawn hated how the taller man could wear his heart on his sleeve like that. It'd been a long, long time since he could be so open. A wicked thought passed through his head, that one day Billy too would go through the same pain as him. One day he wouldn't be so happy-go-lucky. It happens to everyone. At least, that's what Shawn had to tell himself over the years.

"What? I'm fine, man."

"Okay, I just wanted to make sure. You were staring into the distance."

"Thanks." Shawn's voice was clipped. Get the fuck out of my face.

Billy couldn't seem to catch the hint. He instead leaned down to reach into his duffel bag, the smooth, tanned skin of his back shining under the harsh backstage lighting. Shawn had to shut his eyes at the sight of it.

Billy rose up with a pack of gum resting in his hand. It was Shawn's favorite brand. The bright red of the packaging signified that it was his favorite flavor too, cinnamon. The smell of it wafting off the pack and from Billy was beginning to be too much.

"Do you wanna trade? I hate cinnamon, but it's all the liquor store had left. I wanted spearmint."

Shawn dug into the pocket of his slacks for the gum. He was happy to get it off his hands. Maybe his jaw would stop hurting so bad once he got the new--

Something that felt like hot lava and the brightest strike of lightning zipped through Shawn's heart. It struck his brain and flowed down to his cock in a millisecond. The little voices in his head-- the mean one, the self-loathing one, the needy one-- all ceased.

Shawn's pupils dropped to focus on his fingers. They were… touching Billy's. While they were handing off the gum. Touching. Still.

Billy took the spearmint gum from Shawn gently. The rest of the world blurred around Gunn's figure while Shawn watched him unwrap a new piece. Billy raised the shiny silver wrapper to his lips to press his tongue, the tip of it covered in the pinkish wad of cinnamon gum, to the surface of it. Billy's tongue was at half speed as it moved back into his mouth. Like he was teasing Shawn. Wait, was he? A new piece was in his mouth now.

Shawn was pretty sure the blue was going to drain right out of his irises if he stood there straining himself any further. With no words, not even a thanks, he walked away from Billy squeezing the cinnamon gum in his fist.

Shawn could barely speak for the rest of the day. Hunter and Chyna whispered to each other about him. He didn't appreciate their lack of discretion about it. They were really loud. Might as well have just said out loud, "Shawn, what's your problem?" It's not like it was the first time he had an attitude. More often than not recently, he always had an attitude. Nobody could figure out why, so they made stuff up. The obvious rumors around the locker room were his drug problems. Yeah, okay, maybe. He had to start taking more and more Soma for it to actually work and he was incredibly irritable when he didn't have enough. It was better for them to think that he was a junkie.

In reality, it didn't have much to do with the drugs at all. The world around him was changing a lot faster than he realized. The new millennium was approaching in a flash. What did he have to show for it? The belts he'd won were nice. The media attention fueled his inflated ego. His friends had his back no matter how shitty of a person he could be. For Shawn, it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough for him. Until earlier.

The way Billy had looked at him lit something up that had been dormant for a long while. It made Shawn's head pound. Out of all the people in the whole world, it had to be Billy Gunn. Annoying, frustratingly charming, perfectly sculpted, Billy Gunn.

WWF's golden retriever of a man was no longer well pampered and doted on. Ever since Shawn's drug problem had gotten worse, McMahon punished him. He pushed him out into the street and let him fend for himself like a stray. The rain kept pouring down on him and he didn't know how to make it stop. Looking briefly into Billy's gray-blue eyes earlier, Shawn had felt like the light was breaking through the angry storm clouds. He finally felt the warmth he'd been missing. This time it felt real. This wasn't the warmth he got from McMahon, a heat lamp sort of warmth that could be switched off any time. This was the sun.

Hot tears pricked in the corners of Shawn's eyes. This was too much all at once. Thank God he could finally be alone in his hotel room. Looking into the hotel mirror he expected those self-conscious feelings to darken his features again. Instead though, his wet lashes blinked in awe at himself. There was hope. Hope…

Shawn frantically grabbed through his pockets to search for his gum. He threw his keys, wallet, pills, and jewelry out onto the bed with worry. Where was it? It was just there. He squinted at his wallet on his bed, the red pack hiding behind it. Shawn took out two pieces of it and began to chew like his life depended on it. For the first time in his life, he actually wished it was spearmint. Just so he could know how Billy's tongue tasted. The memory of Gunn's pressing his gum against his wrapper kept playing in Shawn's mind. It was so pink.

Blood rushed to Shawn's dick again. Conflicting feelings of hate, inadequacy, and lust ping-ponged in his brain. With how hard he was, he had to admit that Billy got him going in the worst way. Fine. Now he could move on from that. As if Billy would want him anyways. Even if he did, Billy wouldn't be able to handle him. That "sexy boy" stuff wasn't just for the cute little song. The one thing Shawn never lost his confidence in were his skills in bed. No matter who he was with, men or women, or if he was on top or bottom he blew everyone's mind. Whatever to the fact that it wasn't enough to make them stay. They'd never forget him and that was more important.

Shawn began to palm himself through his pants, his eyes fluttering closed and his head falling back. He tried to make the image of Billy on his knees in front of him work, but it just wasn't coming to fruition. The pieces seemed to click together when the roles were reversed. Shawn's dishwater blond hair fell out of his face as he looked up into Billy's eyes while his tongue swirled around his cock. Billy's fingers smoothed along Shawn's hair with every lick and he smiled at the man below him in that same sincere way Shawn loved. Loved to hate, of course.

The Billy of Shawn's mind was so infuriatingly gentle. He was used to the rough stuff. Sometimes that was exactly what he wanted, but other times he wished he got to be treated a little nicer. Everyone was so used to his reputation that he didn't know how to express that without looking weak. But Gunn just knew. Billy placed his hands on either side of Shawn's face, never once breaking eye contact with him. Even when Shawn took Billy's cock down his throat Billy tried his hardest not to blink.

"You're so good, Shawn. My good boy. So beautiful…"

With that, Shawn came in his pants. He thought he was going to collapse on the floor with the way his knees buckled. Falling on the bed in front him, Shawn didn't even care that his keys were poking into his stomach or that he was uncomfortably sticky. The warmth was shining down on him.

---

A week later, Shawn still couldn't get Billy out of his mind. Whenever they were on TV together he acted as normal as possible. Even when he was around all of DX at a bar or restaurant he could keep it together. Being alone with Billy was a no go. He blamed his recent up and down mood on trying to quit Soma, which everyone was surprised at. That made him feel both awful and proud of himself. No one thought he could do it. One day he really would prove that he could.

Billy was trying his best to reach out to Shawn. He was so guarded beneath that playboy exterior. Talking to the other wrestlers, the only ones who seemed to really understand why were Chyna and Hunter. They didn't go into detail but did mention that Shawn had been hurt in the past. Billy couldn't understand who would want to hurt him. Despite him having the tendency to be a huge asshole at times, there was a lot of good about Shawn. Billy liked the little flashes of Shawn's sweet personality. He appreciated how he put his all into selling it when he was in the ring. There was an it-factor about Shawn that Billy wished he had. In Billy's night sky, Shawn was the brightest and biggest star.

It was pure luck that Shawn's favorite flavor was cinnamon. He thanked every deity he could when Shawn agreed to trade flavors. With the way Shawn had been staring at him he thought that as soon as he approached him, the shorter man would knock him out. Shawn instead maintained his tightly wound demeanor, barely speaking or moving. When their fingers touched Billy was ready to grab Shawn right there. He could tell that it made Shawn feel something. He made Shawn feel something. It was confirmed when Shawn left in a rush.

Since that moment Billy hadn't been able to break through again. Whenever he tried to speak to Shawn someone interrupted the conversation. The tight little shorts he wore into the ring were doing him no favors. Every time he was around Shawn he got so hard it hurt. It was difficult to distract himself with anything besides the thought of making Shawn say his name.

Billy was shaken out of his dilemma ridden thoughts by X-Pac.

"Hey, you going out tonight with us to the bar? We're on match two of the best three out of five drinking contest, me and Hunter."

Billy laughed out loud at this. "You and Hunter? Good luck. You'll get alcohol poisoning before you win against him."

"You think so? I won a couple nights ago." Pac raised his hand up to his chin and rubbed it in deep thought. This was obviously a big source of pride for him.

"As much as I'd like to see that, I'm staying in tonight. I'm feeling a little worn out."

Pac shrugged, then patted Billy's shoulder sympathetically. "Hope you feel better, Billy. If you change your mind, we'll be downtown. We're gonna bar crawl. Page me and I'll let you know where we're at."

Billy shook his head idly while Pac walked away. He blew loose strands of his hair out of his face in frustration. There was no way he could spend another night out with Shawn pretending like he didn't have feelings for the man. Especially if both of them got drunk. He'd rather sulk alone in his room if that was the prospect. If he couldn't have Shawn sober and present when they were together, he couldn't be with him.

Shawn walked down the hallway with a lost look on his face. His own thoughts were a little jumbled up. Chyna had invited him out to the drinking contest too, jokingly begging him to come so she wouldn't have to deal with taking care of a sloshed Hunter all by herself. He turned her down with a whisper. She hugged Shawn tight and squeezed his hand.

"You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?"

Shawn sighed and nodded his head. "I know. One day I'll tell you all about it."

After that conversation, Shawn walked around the arena in confusion. He was so antsy over the last few days. It'd been a solid month since he'd had a good match. The lack of physical contact was making him feel funny. What did he have to do to prove to McMahon that he'd be in good enough shape to get back in the squared circle and be the WWF champion?

Shawn smacked right into Gunn's oiled up chest. He shook his head, his hair flying around him in soft waves. That's all it took for Billy's shorts to get tight again.

Shawn muttered out a raspy "sorry" at Billy. He was too mentally exhausted to exert any outward feelings of hate towards him. They simmered now instead of burned, the coals in Shawn's stomach finally giving out. He still strongly disliked the man, the bright sun in everyone's sky.

"That's okay. How are you?"

"I'm… fine. Why do you care?"

"You've been looking a little down lately. I'd hate for anyone in the group to be feeling bad."

So caring. There was no way anyone could actually be this good of a person. No fucking way. Shawn knew how awful people could get.

"Yeah, I'm good."

The pair stood there awkwardly. They had managed to find the one empty hallway in the whole stadium, so there was no reason to escape. Billy was the first to break the extending silence.

"You going out tonight with the rest of them? Hunter and Pac are having a drinking contest."

For the first time all day Shawn cracked a smile. "I was there the other night when Pac won. Between you and me, he cheated. He ate a big meal before going out and Hunter didn't get the chance to."

"Not surprised. As small as he is, he's not beating anyone fair."

The two men laughed at the harmless ribbing. Billy was on top of the world at Shawn's thousand watt smile. The taller man had a soft look in his eyes that made Shawn feel fuzzy.

"I'm staying in my room tonight though. Kinda tired, you know how it is."

"Definitely. I'm actually gonna stay in too."

Shawn hummed. Billy was so easy. This had to be fate. If he invited Billy to his room, they could fuck each other's brains out and Shawn could get over this weird little hate-crush he had on him. Perfect.

"Well… if you get bored, stop by my room. I'm in 1724." Shawn had that sparkle in his eyes he got whenever he was being a flirt. He dropped his eyes down to Billy's crotch, then to put the cherry on top he winked up at him playfully. Billy's mouth fell open in shock. This was really happening.

"Alright. I might take you up on that."

Might, Shawn scoffed internally.

---

Shawn wasn't nervous. Why the fuck would he be nervous about someone who calls himself Mr. Ass?

He was pacing around his hotel room because he hadn't taken any Soma in a few hours. And he was hungry. And he was trying to break in his new shoes. Not because of Billy.

As soon as he knocked on the door, Shawn ran over to open it. He looked up at Billy in his casual clothes and wanted to sigh. Shawn knew handsome. He knew it because he looked at it in the mirror everyday. But Billy was a different kind of handsome. To Shawn, Billy was football quarterback hot and just as sweet and oblivious as one. Billy probably would have laughed at hearing that. Shawn wracked his mind to figure out how to tell him.

Although Billy had been enjoying Shawn's suit jackets and dress shirts, he did miss the colorful tights Shawn used to wear into the ring. Billy was on another planet when Shawn did a little strip tease on TV wearing his black ones, his cock leaking right into his pants. It had morphed into a fantasy for Billy. He couldn't even count how many times he got off to Shawn dancing in front of him that same way.

"You actually came."

"Yeah. You thought I wouldn't?"

Shawn shrugged. Whether he did or didn't, whatever. He didn't care. Now what? Shawn figured he might as well leap right into the fire.

"I saw how hard you were for me earlier. You really are a big guy."

Billy's cheeks immediately reddened. Those stupid shorts finally got him in trouble. He didn't know what to say as Shawn inched closer to him.

The crystal blue of Shawn's eyes glittered in the low lighting. "You hard for me right now?" Shawn's hand reached out to rub at Billy.

A groan got caught in Billy's throat. "Ah-- you know I am."

"I know you are, baby."

Shawn moved his hands back to his body to unbutton his shirt. He took his sweet time, reveling in Billy's hungry looks at him. Billy's eyes threatened to pop right out of his head at seeing the smattering of light brown hair on Shawn's chest and stomach.

"Get on your knees." Billy could barely get the words out. Shawn complied, his fantasy from the previous week playing out perfectly. Deep down within him he hoped that Billy would be just as gentle with him.

Billy's dick sprang forward at Shawn. He felt his eyes cross at the length of it. Geez, he knew he'd be big but not like this. It was leaking onto the carpet. Shawn's mind twisted at how aroused he made Billy. With a kiss at the tip of him, Billy's moan filled the room. That was exactly what Shawn needed to hear. The inside of Shawn's mouth was so hot it was verging on being uncomfortable. He'd only put the tip in so far but he was sucking at it with force, hollowing his cheeks around him.

There was no way Billy was going to be able to stand the whole time. He collapsed on the bed, forcing himself to sit up to watch Shawn crawl over to him. He smiled at the smaller man like he had just gotten done running a marathon. It made Shawn's heart beat out of his chest. He swirled his tongue around the underside of Billy's cock as he swallowed him down. He wanted to hear him come undone above him. Billy's chest puffed in and out every time his dick touched the back of Shawn's throat.

"Shawn, fuck. You're so pretty."

The pads of Billy's thumbs ran along Shawn's cheekbones. It was too intimate. Shawn gagged and hummed around the length of Billy in an attempt to get him to stop. Billy moved his hands to play in Shawn's hair. Everyone always wanted to grab and pull it when he was giving them oral. It wasn't his favorite thing, but it was another part of putting on the show. Shawn's eye twitched when Billy didn't grab but instead kept smoothing it and massaging at his scalp. Too nice, too nice, too nice--

Billy suddenly pulled out of Shawn's mouth and raised the smaller man up to pull him on top.

"Off… take your pants off…"

Billy fumbled at Shawn's zipper and thrust his slacks down. Shawn pulled them the rest of the way down in a fog. He was realizing this was not going to be the quick, one-track minded fumbling he thought it would be. Billy wanted him. All of him. Billy kissed Shawn's neck then moved up to plant little kisses all over his face. He pressed his lips against Shawn's and was shocked when he jerked his head away.

"That's okay, that's okay. I won't do it again. Only if you want me to." Billy breathed.

He flipped Shawn over onto his back and raised up onto his knees to take his shirt off. Shawn was pretty sure Billy was a Greek god who was living out his days on Earth because he was bored in Olympus. That could be the only explanation why Billy made Shawn feel so heady and intoxicated at something as simple as a shirt being taken off. Billy sure felt like a god with the way Shawn blinked at him while he did it.

"There's lube on my bathroom counter." Shawn pointed into the other room.

Billy tried not to short circuit as he raised off the bed to go into the bathroom. He almost tripped over himself returning to Shawn, fumbling with the lid of the container. Shawn so badly wanted to laugh at him, but it was kind of sweet to see how excited he was. Billy squeezed some out into his hand and began to stroke himself on his knees above Shawn. He shut his eyes and twisted his hand around his cock trying to mentally prepare himself for what was next. Shawn took the opportunity to readjust himself by getting on all fours even though he'd miss the view. Billy was probably wanting to look in his eyes and kiss him and all that mushy stuff that Shawn just couldn't handle. Not yet.

Just as Shawn expected, he was unsurprised when Billy said "I wanted to see your face." Too bad, Gunn. I'm running the show here. Shawn arched up at him in apology.

"This is a nice view too, though." Shawn felt the weight of the bed shift below him as Billy leaned down to kiss the tattoo on his ass. He was so… sentimental. Why wouldn't he just fuck him and leave like everyone else?

Shawn pushed those thoughts out of his mind when Billy's finger began to slick against his hole. He could hear Billy muttering above him but couldn't quite make it out. Soon his finger was replaced by the tip of Billy's cock, so warm that it felt hot. Shawn took a deep breath as Billy slowly pushed inside of him.

It'd been a while since he'd been fucked by someone so big. Or fucked at all, really. He made a high pitched noise that made Billy stop dead above him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, dammit. Keep going, please," Shawn begged.

Billy gripped Shawn's hips and filled him to the hilt. At that moment, it was like he died and went to heaven. That's what had to be happening here. Shawn was so tight around him he had a hard time thrusting. Once he finally caught the rhythm, he had no problem hitting Shawn's prostate. With every bump against it, Shawn groaned and gripped his fingers into the sheets. His pronounced arch kept falling away, but Shawn was a trooper. Every time he lost it he arched back up and pushed himself against Billy to get him deeper. He caught the bigger man right as he thrusted into him and let out a scream he was sure the room next to him could hear. Fuck it.

Billy reached down to grab Shawn's cock. It was twitching below him and looking just as pretty as the rest of him. Billy had dreamed too many times of feeling it in his hand to not start stroking the man the way he stroked himself, slow and twisting. Tears started to stream down Shawn's face at the pleasure. He rubbed his face into the sheets to dry them away. When he raised up again he turned his head around to look at Billy's face and groan his name.

Billy had to stare up at the ceiling. If he looked at Shawn's face or back down at the tattoo for a second longer he was done right then and there, and it wasn't time for that yet. It was close, but he just needed one more thing…He used the little force he had left in his weakening muscles to flip Shawn onto his back. He bared down on the man below him, shaking his hair out and raising one of Shawn's legs up for a better angle. Shawn could barely comprehend what was going on, but he did miss the feeling of Billy's rough hand against his dick.

"I want you to look at me, Shawn. Look at me, please," Billy kissed Shawn's cheek and entered him again.

They were too close! Billy was such a weirdo, but he'd give this weirdo whatever he needed. So Shawn blinked his long lashes at him and stared into his eyes. Billy smiled again. He was slower this time, annoyingly. Shawn knew he was going to come soon. He was getting to the limit himself.

"You're beautiful." Billy kissed Shawn's other cheek.

Shawn shifted below him. He wanted to cry at being called beautiful. He didn't deserve such sweet words from a guy like Billy. How did he see anything good in him? Because he was just that cool of a guy. It made Shawn soften. He didn't dislike Billy. Not at all. He liked him quite a bit. Shawn just didn't like himself. But Billy did. When no one else really liked Shawn, Billy did. He was still nice to him even when he barked back after all this time.

"Kiss me," Shawn whispered.

Before he could even get the last word out, Billy gently pressed his lips against Shawn's. The kiss hastily deepened, tongues swirling around each other like they'd never be able to kiss each other again. Billy lost his breath and had to break it to catch it again. As soon as he saw the completely open and vulnerable look on Shawn's face…

Snap!

Billy pulled out of Shawn just in time to paint his stomach with his come. The sight of it in Shawn's happy trail would be burned into his memory until the end of time. Shawn looked at the mess with awe while Billy began to stroke him again.

"Oh, Shawn. God, you're amazing. You did such a good job for me. You made me feel like I was on top of the world. Now I wanna make you feel good. You deserve it, baby."

Billy removed his hand and placed his mouth around Shawn's cock just as he released. He copied that thing Shawn did when he hollowed his cheeks out, making him almost jolt off the bed. Billy happily swallowed all of Shawn's come and kissed the tip of him before taking his mouth off.

Shawn was completely spent. All he could do was look up at the ceiling and try to make sense of what just happened. Billy managed to climb out of the bed and head to the bathroom to get a warm, wet towel for Shawn. He shut the door behind him and took a minute to replay everything. It was a blur right now, but he was sure he'd remember every little thing over the next few days.

When Billy exited the bathroom, he returned to see Shawn knocked out. Seeing him like that and knowing he did it was better than winning the belt. He took care to clean Shawn up as carefully as possible to not wake him.

---

The next morning, Shawn felt the warmth of the sun surrounding him on all sides. That was strange, he couldn't help but think. He squinted his eyes at the rays beaming through the windows. When he turned away from them, he had the surprise of his life seeing Billy lying beside him in a deep sleep.

He stayed.

No one stayed.

No one except Billy.

Shawn nuzzled against his chest and fell back asleep quickly.

#shawn michaels x billy gunn #shawn michaels #billy gunn #wrestling #wrestling fanfic #wwe fanfic #wwe #90s wwf #wwf #wwe smut #wrestling smut #wwe billy gunn #wwe shawn michaels #magnoliafanfic

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casspurrjoybell-26 · 9 months ago

Text

💖Sweet Revenge💖 - Chapter 20

*Warning Adult Content*

Blake Welling

Aaron's been working hard lately, as usual.

Both sides of our business are doing great but his is legitimately booming and as if the candy wasn't enough, he's expanded to catering as well.

Some other business refused to cater a lesbian wedding and Aaron stepped in and offered to give it a shot, pro bono.

It went so well, he ended up booked through the end of the year.

I understand and it's not like he's been neglecting me or anything but sometimes I just want to take him away somewhere, tie him up, fuck him hard and teach him to relax.

Not necessarily in that order.

Ten minutes of wallowing is enough and I force myself to get up and decide what to do with the rest of the day.

I'd taken it off and I'd thought Aaron would too.

Now I don't know what to do with myself.

I decide to go for a ride.

I love my bike.

It's a top brand and I got it at a steep discount through a promo deal with the shop.

It's way beyond anything I'd be able to afford otherwise.

Besides Aaron, it's my baby.

I can't ride like I once did... a hundred miles at a time, pushing through pain and fatigue just for the reward of knowing what my body can do... but recently I've at least been able to get back into the rhythm of regular rides.

I take a series of back streets and side roads, skirting the busier areas.

When it comes to traffic, I'm still a little gun-shy but there's a paved bike trail on the edge of town and it's peacefully deserted at this time of day.

I ride its whole ten-mile length... farther than I've gone so far.

Taking my time, with plenty of stops to rest my leg, I get back home around noon, hang my bike up in the garage and go in for a shower.

When I come out, wrapped in a loose towel, a noise makes me freeze.

It sounds like someone dropping something in the kitchen but I'm the only one at home.

Heart in my mouth, I creep forward down the hall.

On the way, I grab a framed picture from the wall.

It's not much of a weapon but it's the only thing at hand.

In the frame, Aaron laughs up at me while I grin at the camera.

My mom took it the last time she visited.

Rounding the corner, I prepare to defend my home with life and limb, deadly picture-frame in hand.

What I see sends all thoughts of violence... all thoughts of any kind, actually... fleeing my mind like doves released en masse.

Aaron stands at the stove, stirring something in a small saucepan and humming to himself.

That isn't so odd.

I've seen that plenty of times.

What's different is that he's wearing nothing but his candy-making apron.

It's tied loosely around his slender waist, the tails trailing over his bare ass and swaying between his legs as he rocks gently to whatever tune is playing in his head.

I make some noise... probably a sort of choking, gagging sound and he turns towards me, lips spreading in that beautiful smile I love so much.

His bare shoulders and arms look pale and graceful and I don't know why the hell it turns me on so much, seeing him like this, except that it's the two things I love most in this world reduced to their barest elements... this man and his candy.

"Aaron...?" my voice is strained and breathless.

He lifts a silicone spatula from the saucepan.

It's dripping chocolate in silky strands.

He gives a quick twist with his wrist, twirling the ribbons and then brings it to his mouth and licks it, red tongue turning dark with molten sweet.

He swallows and bites his lip.

"Almost ready," he says, eyes locked on mine.

On the counter, a plate of strawberries waits.

I move towards him, wondering if maybe I've had a heart attack and my body is lying dead in the shower or something because this looks like heaven.

He turns back to the pan, stirring the contents with the lazy self-assurance of the professional.

I come and stand at his back, breathing in the scent of him and trail my fingers from his shoulders down his lightly muscled arms.

"Uh-uh," he chides, prying my hands off with the handle of his spatula.

"No touching. Not yet."

He smirks.

"What? Did you think I forgot?"

"Uh... yes."

He laughs.

It's a low, sinful sound.

"Now back off, before you get burned."

I do as he says but instead of heaven, now I'm in some kind of chocolate-themed hell, watching and not allowed to touch.

I realize I'm still wrapped in nothing but the towel and that I'm painfully erect.

Two can play at this game.

I let the towel fall and wait for him to turn.

When he does, his eyes drop and go dark.

He licks his lips.

"Well... dip me in chocolate and call me a banana pop," he says.

I should be used to it by now but it still makes me choke and I have to yield the victory.

As ever, he wins.

"Not long now," he assures me.

The strawberries are perfect... long-stemmed and just the right size for a single bite, plump and red.

He takes each by the stem between his finger and thumb and dips them expertly in the melted chocolate.

Then he sets them on a sheet of wax paper cool.

When the last is done, he dips his own fingers in the cooling chocolate and comes towards me, rolling his hips.

He slides his fingers past my lips, across my tongue.

"Suck," he demands.

I suck him clean.

When he withdraws his fingers, a string of saliva trails from my mouth.

He wipes his fingers on his apron and then his mouth is on mine, hot and wet and hungry.

"Do you want me?" he asks, when he comes up for air, lips swollen and slick.

The question is rhetorical.

"God... yes."

His smile stretches a little wider.

"Did you really think I forgot?"

"I... yes."

"I love you Blake Welling but you're an idiot sometimes."

I can't argue.

Most of my blood is below my waist, for one thing.

He takes my hand and pulls me into the living room.

There, he kisses me again, sucking my tongue like it's one of his strawberries.

"Lie down," he says, hands on my shoulders, pushing me to my knees.

I do as he says, lying back on the carpet.

He kneels over me.

I can't see what he's doing behind the drape of his apron but I feel it when he takes me in his hand and guides the head of my cock to his hole.

"Wait..." I gasp.

"Are you ready?"

He grins.

"That was a long ride you went on, babe. I'm more than ready and now it's my turn."

He throws his head back and impales himself on my length in a single, swift motion.

I can't breathe.

"Oh God... fuck," I gasp, struggling for air.

"That's the idea," he says, smirking.

He rides me, taking his own pleasure, slow and sensuous.

I see the red tip of his tongue against his lips and he gasps softly as he moves with me inside him.

Finally, I can't bear it anymore and he knows it.

He gives himself to me hard and fast.

A cry... tears itself from my lips... as I come and he thrusts down, taking me deep.

Slowly, he pulls off me, my softening shaft slicked with lube and my own spill.

His mouth finds mine once more.

"Happy birthday, you sick fuck," he says.

"Don't expect this every year."

~♡♡♡~ ~The End~ ~♡♡♡~

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shoresent · 12 days ago

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WHEN I'M GONE, CAST THE BRONZE OF THE BUST OF MY HEAD TO BE DISPLAYED IN THE LIBRARY ! ENGRAVE THAT I GAVE MY CONSENT TO BE ANYTHING THAT ANYONE PREFER I BE !

a tale written by REN ( he/they, 24 ). wuthering waves multimuse ft zhezhi. features darker themes as told by companion storylines & the game itself. currently in the middle of a revamp, & looking for some new moots!

art credit.

#wuwa roleplay #wuwa rp #wuthering waves roleplay #wuthering waves rp #hsr rp #hsr roleplay #honkai rp #honkai roleplay #honkai star rail rp #honkai star rail roleplay #* self promo ─ take a shot in the dark.

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ohblackdiamond · 1 year ago

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catch my drift (gene/vanity, very brief mentions of paul/gene) (nc-17)

Nikki hadn’t even cut a record yet when KISS was at its peak. Neither had Prince. She takes an idle lick of her cone, thinking about how Nikki had brushed Gene off last night. So fucking washed up, he’d said. But sitting here in the ice cream parlor, self-assured and comfortable, keen interest in his dark eyes, he doesn’t look washed up at all. During the filming of Never Too Young to Die, Gene and Vanity make a connection.

“catch my drift”

by Ruriruri

“That’s your outfit, huh?”

“That’s my outfit.”

Sitting down at the table in her trailer, looking through the movie promo pictures, Nikki seems like he’s seconds from salivating. Which is kind of cute, given how long he’s been on the groupie hunt. Rockstars start getting so burned out, wanting weirder and weirder kinks out of girls and even girlfriends. It’s charming that a shot of her in a cleavage-baring top can still eke something boyish out of him.

Admittedly, it’s pretty cute. White and kind of pirate-style, long, flowy sleeves, and a neckline that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Totally impractical for the scene--she’s supposed to be riding a horse, then killing some of Ragnar’s goons--but that’s all right. The whole movie’s all about the eye candy, like any James Bond parody ought to be. If Never Too Young to Die does as well as The Last Dragon, well, she’ll be happy.

Nikki’d come over after the shoot was done for the day, like a good boyfriend. He’d been chasing her around off and on a couple years before they’d ever gotten together. She hadn’t minded, exactly; she just hadn’t been available. It had been sweet—compared to Prince and even Adam, he was so tall and lanky, like an overgrown, skinny puppy. Eventually, he’d managed to catch her between boyfriends and then they’d kind of fallen into it. They fooled around on each other, but they had a lot in common. They did the same drugs. They fought over the same stupid shit over and over again. They occasionally liked talking about getting married and having kids. They both ended up high off their asses onstage and passed out in trashed hotel rooms.

It was just one of those things. It’s still just one of those things. He might propose to her eventually. She might take him up on it.

“You should see what I’m wearing during the club scene with Gene.” They haven’t finished filming that one yet. She rummages through the pictures, finally finding it. It’s a blue gown with a thick trim of silver sequins down the v-neck front. The v-neck comes an inch shy of being all the way down to her navel. Needless to say, she’s not wearing a bra that entire scene.

Nikki’s properly impressed.

“Jesus. He must’ve hit on you as soon as you walked out of the dressing room.”

“Nah. But he looked like he wanted to.”

Nikki snorts.

“He’s so fucking washed up. Him and his princess knocked us off their tour a couple years back.”

Vanity doesn’t know who the princess is. Possibly the blonde that’s stopped by every so often. Sharon or—no, Shannon. She’s been in Playboy. But Shannon doesn’t quite strike her as the type to get involved in her man’s band.

“Why?”

“’Cause we were getting more out of the crowd. You think anybody but them wants to hear all that seventies shit?” Nikki shakes his head.

“That’s sad, Nikki. You should’ve felt sorry for them.”

“Nothing to feel sorry for. They had their time.” Nikki stretches and heads for the fridge, pulling out a couple bottles of beer.

“Had their time? What if someone says that about you in a couple years?”

Nikki just shrugs.

He stays a few hours. Just long enough for them both to get high and get off a few times; then, probably on half-remembered orders from Doc, he gets someone to drive him back. Vanity listens to the sound of the limo backing out as she tugs on her bathrobe, musing.

Not much afterglow these days, even with coke and booze. It’s not even like they fought any tonight, either; there’s just not a lot of satisfaction once it’s over, somehow. Going, going, gone. She feels a bit emptied out as the taillights fade off into the distance. A bit—a bit low. There’s no glitz left once the orgasm’s over, once the euphoria fades out. Just a weird, wasted feeling. Ten years ago, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible.

She’s about to go back to bed when she hears someone pull up. At first she thinks it’s Nikki again, in a sappy or horny mood, but when she walks over to the window, she realizes it’s not a limo. It’s just a car.

Vanity’s not coked-up enough to be stupid. She hurries to the trailer door, making sure it’s locked, then pushes a chair in front of it. But it turns out she doesn’t need to. The car engine shuts off; there’s a beep, and then, finally, someone steps out. She can’t tell who it is, with not much more but the lights inside to really go off of, but from the shape and size, it’s a man. He’s not heading for her trailer. He’s heading for Gene’s.

It’s none of her business, sure. Hollywood, the music industry, all of it, is crammed with gays and bisexuals and wannabes. It’s to the point she thought Prince was gay and just wanting a beard when he first came on to her—which, well, shows how much she knew. But it really is hard to tell. For every one guy that’s out in his own private circle, there are probably five or six that hire on their boyfriends as secretaries or get in touch with a male escort service every tour, thinking they’re being stealthy.

Gene doesn’t strike her as remotely gay, anyway. There’s that rep of his, of course, but his interactions seal the deal. He’s sent a good amount of come-ons her way during shootings and breaks for lunch and dinner. He’s even had the gall to hit on her while his girlfriend’s in tow, something Vanity would never have put up with out of Nikki. Gene’s always got that total ease, like he’s absolutely fine with being blown off. It’s something she appreciates, a guy who doesn’t expect anything and doesn’t take it personally, in a town where everyone takes it personally.

And she’s seen the way he looks at her, that approving want she’s gotten out of guys ever since she was a teenager. It’s so customary. She’d ignored it from him up until now. Gene’s smart, and a good conversationalist, but he hadn’t interested her before. He’s not exactly a traditionally attractive guy, and he’s got right at nine or ten years on her, but those things aren’t the real issue. As much as she hates to admit it, Nikki wasn’t wrong about him. KISS is getting too old for the game, and Gene’s using the movies to try to bow out entirely. And after dating Prince, all her own pickings are a downhill slope, anyway.

But now, Gene’s intriguing. There are only two reasons for any guy to be sneaking up to his trailer that late at night. One’s for drugs, and Gene’s so clean they don’t even offer him the wine list at restaurants. The other’s for a lay.

“Let’s go out, Gene.”

She says it casually, five minutes or so after they’ve wrapped for the evening. His eyes absolutely light up. He’s still in most of the Velvet garb, minus the gigantic headpiece and pink boas. A sparkle-encrusted, flesh-colored bodystocking, with studded leather cupping his breasts and outlining his whole body. Weird armor-like protrusions at the shoulders. And the crotch--shit, it’s all pure fetishwear. Then again, Gene’s definitely used to that.

“Where?”

He’s still got on most of the makeup from the shoot, too. Layers of pink and purple eyeshadow, sharp cheek contour, and matching lipstick. It gives an interesting cast to his broad, heavy features, manages to create some androgyny in a face that’s so decidedly masculine. The colors aren’t bad on his swarthy, tanned skin, either.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve lived here a couple years, yeah? I bet you know some great places.” Vanity smiles. “Don’t worry. Promise I’m a cheap date.”

“I don’t think a girl that goes by Vanity could ever be a cheap date.” He’s grinning right back. “How’s your Italian?”

“Worse than my Japanese.”

“Perfect.”

An hour later, he’s stripped off the makeup and costume,down to a pair of black leather pants and a casual-enough button-down, a good enough match for her cream-colored, ruffled blouse and jeans. He surprises her when he has his driver pull into an ice-cream parlor rather than a restaurant.

“This place serves some of the best gelato you can get on the West Coast,” he says, ushering her inside. “Sorbets aren’t too bad, either.”

“Don’t tell me you’re watching your figure, Gene.”

“That corset’s a pain in the ass,” he says lightly. “Pick what you’d like.”

She gets a scoop of pistachio in a cone. Gene gets a bowl with three scoops-- one vanilla, one chocolate, one hazelnut-- and starts in with an eagerness that’s a little cute. She’s sort of had it with the prissy types that act like they’ve always had money. It’s better to watch a man eat like he’s starved than watch him snivel and pick at his food like all the luckless models she used to know.

“How is it?” he asks, in between spoonfuls.

“It’s good. Really creamy.”

“Good.”

“You want a taste?”

“Wouldn’t turn it down,” he says, and she tilts the cone his way. That too-long tongue of his slips lizardlike against the gelato, swiping a bit, and then he snaps off a chunk of the cone between his teeth. It’s honestly a little fascinating. Maybe he’s not laying claim yet so much as seeing where she’s at, figuring out how to proceed. Or, maybe, three scoops of gelato just aren’t enough for him. He smiles. “Not quite Italy, but close.”

“I’ve never been to Italy.”

“Really?”

“Nah. I modeled in Japan for awhile, starting out. I was too short to do it in New York.” She grins back. “They’ve got pretty good ice cream there, I was surprised. They had this kind with green tea.”

“Matcha.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” She keeps going. “And weird flavors like wasabi… you’ve been over there, right?”

“We played the Budokan.”

“Right, yeah. You’ve been everywhere.” Mr. Rockstar. One of many. He’s just been at it longer than her guys. All her guys. Nikki hadn’t even cut a record yet when KISS was at its peak. Neither had Prince. She takes an idle lick of her cone, thinking about how Nikki had brushed Gene off last night. So fucking washed up, he’d said. But sitting here in the ice cream parlor, self-assured and comfortable, keen interest in his dark eyes, he doesn’t look washed up at all. “I’m just a simple Canadian girl over here. Got any favorite places?”

“Oh, the hell you are.” He laughs, and she can’t help but chuckle herself. “It’s a very cute shtick, but you’re no ingenue.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Your albums.”

“Yeah? Didn’t think they were your kind of music.”

“I keep tabs. I’ve got a few bands I produce myself.”

Oh. She didn’t know that. So he’s not just doing the singer-actor bit, like everybody from Frank Sinatra to Mick Jagger tried. He really is diversifying his portfolio, or whatever the expression is. Diversifying his portfolio, or trying to get the hell out of KISS.

“You never answered my question.” He’s already more than halfway done with his three scoops of gelato. How he’s managed to polish it off between staring at her, she’s not quite sure. On impulse, she offers her cone to him again, just to get a better look at that tongue. He laps the gelato in long, thick strokes, leaving her with maybe an inch of it remaining above the cone. “Do you have any favorite places?”

“They all start to look the same when you mostly see them from the tour bus.”

“Favorite girls?”

“That’d be telling, sweetheart.”

He’s not giving her a good opening. That’s okay. She’ll make one herself. She takes another lick of what little remains of her gelato, then nibbles around the cone. She’s not trying to be particularly sensual about it, but Gene’s gaze is locked on her anyway as she speaks.

“I saw someone come to your trailer last night. Who was it?”

He doesn’t hesitate. His gaze doesn’t drop from her face. In fact, he smiles.

“Paul Stanley.”

“Are you together?” It’s hard to picture. Or maybe not so hard at all. Paul’s pretty effeminate. It’d make a certain amount of sense, aesthetically and otherwise. Keeping it within the band would stymie any concerns about either one of them popping off to the press.

“No.” A pause. “There’s no commitment.”

“Just an itch, then?”

“An understanding.” Gene takes a large scoop of his own gelato, swallows. “Does it bother you?”

He sounds like he doesn’t give a shit whether it bothers her or not. She can respect that.

“No. It’s just interesting. I figured you were both only into women. Well, maybe not Paul, but…”

“Paul likes women almost as much as I do. He just can’t hold onto them.”

“Sounds like a lot of guys I know.”

“Would you like to meet him?” he says, ever so nonchalant. Something about his tone makes even that question sound like a come-on.

“I’ve met him already.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My kid sister had his poster on her wall all through junior high.”

Gene just grins.

“Not mine?”

“Nah, you weren’t quite her taste. There’s a…” and she’s trailing for the right word all of a sudden, “a psychology to it, you know?”

“A psychology to taste? I’d never have imagined.” Thankfully, he doesn’t punctuate the sarcasm with a flick of his tongue. Vanity nudges his arm with her knuckles.

“A psychology to teenage girls’ taste. See, they’ve really got it in for the safe boy.”

“Paul’s only safe compared to a nuclear bomb.”

“Oh, yeah?” She quirks the side of her mouth up. “You know what I mean, right? They’ve gotta have them all packaged and shrink-wrapped. Sweet, sensitive, harmless. Takes awhile before they start growing up. Figure out Prince Charming isn’t composing poetry.”

“You’d know, Vanity.”

“I would.”

“But maybe he’s composing something a little more fun. A nasty limerick here, a dirty joke there--”

“A way into your pants there--”

“If it works, sure.” His dark eyes are glinting. He’s not handsome even when he’s amused, but there’s something there, something ineffable that goes a little past simple charm and charisma. He’s claimed it before, but she’s never seen it in action until now, the full force of intrigue aimed directly at her.

It’s not enough to knock her down, definitely not overwhelming. But it’s more than she’s expected.

“Don’t get too cocky,” she says, but she pokes the rest of the cone into his mouth.

They talk awhile longer. Not about the superficial crap. Not about the business. Not about Paul. She tells him about the T.V. shows she used to watch as a kid. Saturday Night at the Movies. The Wonderful World of Disney-- he remembers it as Walt Disney Presents and The Wonderful World of Color, but hell, it’s the same thing, really.

He gets a little bit endearing when he starts talking about the first shows he ever saw. Gunsmoke and Howdy Doody. He loves movies. He’ll watch just about anything, though he likes cartoons and horror.

“Aw, you’re just playing up to your image--”

“No, I’m not. I watched Dark Shadows every day after classes.”

“Everybody watched Dark Shadows. You’ve got to give me something better than that.”

“Carolyn Jones may well be my only true love.”

“Now, now, don’t get dirty with Morticia. I’m not letting you off that easy.”

“I’d never want you to.” Gene kind of grins. “What proof do you want? Give me a year and I’ll name you at least one horror movie.”

“Is that how you get all the girls, Gene? A hot game of Trivial Pursuit?”

“Only a certain variety of girls.”

“Trekkies?”

“They find me endearing. C’mon, give me a year.”

She purses her lips, pretending to give it a serious amount of thought. It’s so nerdy of him. He’ll probably be showing her his comic book collection next. And yet he’s so incredibly cocksure and confident about it that she could almost, almost–

Almost what? Buy it? No, she can’t buy it. Gene’s more fascinating than she’d ever counted on, but she can’t buy it. Intrigued, aroused, but anything past that, hell. She was never a groupie; the guys all came to her. She doesn’t have it in her to fall hard for anyone, least of all a middle-aged, bisexual rockstar with a potbelly.

Gene’s brown eyes are on hers, waiting. Oh. She still needs to give him a year.

“’31.”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with Fredric March. And Dracula, of course.”

‘I vant to suck your blood’... please, Gene.”

“If you’re offering.” Gene’s hand finds its way to her wrist, lifting it as he bends his head down. Her fingers twitch when he opens his mouth, showing slightly-yellow teeth and a handful of fillings–and then his jaw snaps shut on nothing at all.

“No follow through?”

An exaggeratedly chivalrous kiss on her wrist. One that really shouldn’t make her feel warm.

“Lon Chaney was always more my scene. Charles Laughton, too.”

“Wasn’t he… he was the fat guy in Spartacus, right?”

“Good girl. And Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Chaney played him, too, but I like Laughton’s performance more. The part where he watches Esmerelda get carried away by Captain Phoebus…”

“You pitied him.”

“I was him.” He’s still touching her, his hand warm and heavy around her wrist. “Quasimodo’s every fat teenage boy that ever lived.”

“And now? Are you still him?”

“I’ve got a real nice bell tower these days.”

“I bet you want me to see it. This is how it starts, right? Gelato and a limo ride, and then you take me to your trailer and I end up with rugburn.”

“And you claimed you were a simple Canadian girl.”

“You were right not to believe me.” She tugs her hand away, tapping his wrist lightly. “So let’s see. Go on, take me to your trailer.”

His grin could have lit up half of Hollywood as they head out of the ice cream shop, arm in arm, like kids playing house.

–

The inside of his on-location trailer is messy. Promos and flyers and magazines (some filthy, others are just standards like Variety and Time). Candy wrappers and Coke bottles in wastebaskets and on the floor. The bedroom’s occupied mostly by the bed and partially by a T.V. But Gene gestures around like it’s a castle.

“My bell tower.”

“I thought you were gonna have to unzip for that,” she says, and he laughs hard. She takes off her boots and perches on the bed. There’s the vague whiff of a man’s cologne, one she’d never noticed on Gene, but there’s no other obvious signs that anyone else, man or woman, has been in here.

It’s just that she wonders, is all. She wonders, and he’s fun. Still worth a little fooling around with. She stretches a bit and starts to unbutton her blouse.

“You’ve had them all, haven’t you?”

It’s not meant as a come-on. Well, not completely. Gene’s found his way behind her on the bed, his hand pushing her hair back just so he can mouth at her neck. His lips are warm, just as warm as they’d been on her wrist.

“You’ve never had them all.”

“You’ve– I mean there’s nothing new for you. You’ve seen everything. You’ve done everything.” Two more buttons and she’s free of her blouse. One elastic snap and he’s freed her from her bra, too. Her pulse speeds suddenly as she turns to kiss him. “You get it, don’t you? Don’t you? What’s left, Gene?”

“You’ve never done everything. No matter what, you can’t afford to ever think like that.” His face clouds just a little, but not enough to overwhelm the want in his expression. “If you do, it’ll kill you.”

Already she’s amazed he can even summon that much brainpower. His dick’s hard and straining through those leather pants already. But he keeps on going, heedless, for now, of his own need, eyes so intent on hers she feels like both their visions have telescoped into only each other.

“You have to keep believing there’s something out of reach. Something else you can try for.”

“Another thrill.”

“Not your thrills.” Gene’s fingers slip to the button and zipper of her jeans. The thin, lacey panties aren’t much of a barrier against the intent rhythm of his hand. “Mine.”

She tries to respond, but she’s already bucking, and a little wet, as his fingers press just-so against her folds. Another kiss and somehow now she’s found herself hoisted onto his lap, wriggling helplessly as his fingers slide beneath her underwear. She’s trying not to cry out too much, trying to play it collected and cool and easy, but a few small moans escape her anyway.

His fingers are broad, practiced. He eases an orgasm out of her like a guitar solo, right there on his lap, leaving her grunting and open, rubbing against his hand to try and tease another crescendo, suddenly greedy. He unzips after that, finally, shoving his pants and briefs down in one motion, leaving them around his thighs. Sloppy. The product, probably, of over ten years on the road. She doesn’t give a damn at all once he starts to thrust.

Overcome, that’s it. She’s overcome. She doesn’t know how that could possibly be. His mouth on hers, his body against hers, pressing her into the mattress. Nothing new about any of the motions, the thrusts that go from rhythmic to erratic as they both get closer and closer, the heaviness of their breaths, the slickness of their bodies. The only thing new is him.

–

They lay together awhile after. Vanity stares up at the low ceiling of the trailer bedroom. Gene’s got an arm self-assuredly around her bare shoulders. He doesn’t move when she sits up.

“I should get back.”

“Later. Shower with me.” Gene looks like he has no intention of getting out of bed anytime in the near future.

“Bathroom’s too small,” she says, grinning. “I guess that’s the point.”

His hand’s tracing absentmindedly down to her bare breast. She pushes it away, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the bed.

“I really gotta go, Gene.” Nikki’s too laughable an excuse to bother with, and the truth’s too complex to bother putting to words. She likes to think he understands.

“All right. You know where to find me.”

She steps back into her clothes, eying him carefully, just off to her side. Not too much lasciviousness right now, just a little, and something else she thinks she recognizes.

“Vanity–”

“Denise,” she slips out suddenly. “It’s Denise.”

“Denise.” The corner of his mouth lifts up. “Denise, you’re a beautiful girl. But Hollywood, music, it’s rotten. It’s a cesspool. You’ll never find what you’re looking for here.”

“I know.”

“Find what you really want and hold onto it.” Urgent, strangely urgent. Doting. He’s sitting up, tugging up and zipping his pants as he speaks. “The paint always flakes off. The highs go to shit. I’ve seen it a million times. Don’t destroy yourself over something cheap.”

Sex and a sermon. But he’s so focused, so sincere that she nods, in acknowledgment, if not agreement.

“I’ll see you on the set, Quasimodo.”

“Goodbye, Esmeralda.”

He walks her out, takes her all the way to her own trailer, like the gentlemen he isn’t. Kisses her before she steps inside, and a part of her wants to let him in, even then. But she goes in alone, strips and showers, the water droplets insistent against her skin.

Twenty-seven to his thirty-seven. Up and coming to his washed-up. And yet it’s Gene with the vibrance and the zest for life. And yet, somehow, it’s Gene that understands.

(there’s something out of reach)

(something you can try for)

Just once, she’d like to believe that. Just once.

#kiss the band #gene simmons #vanity #kiss fanfiction

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