A Jeff & Rob Story By Boston Beth
	Hey now. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve posted anything here! This is something I came up with while things were slow at work. I don’t know how good or exciting this one is. I’ve sort of been influenced by what I’ve been reading lately. It’s my lame attempt at something a bit more “artsy”. Hope you like it. A Jeff and Rob Story (lousy title, I know, couldn’t think of anything better) RATING: R, for non-graphic sex, bad words, adult themes (sex and pot smoking) DISTRIBUTION: Amanda and her great Twist of Fate website (www.oocities.org/xxxtwist_of_fatexxx/), where some of my wrestling fics are now. Everyone else, ask and receive! COMMENTS: I love them, please send them via the board, email, AIM(NotLkOtherGrrls), Yahoo Messenger (lavender_lady77) DISCLAIMER: This story is complete fiction and does not necessarily reflect the true sexual orientations and non-work activities of Rob Van Dam and Jeff Hardy. I have to say that, I think we all know otherwise (heh-heh) *************************************** Jeff loved many things about Rob. Their matches, for one thing. They were the stuff that fueled the raging discussions of serious fans, their extreme enthusiasm for the two wrestlers wild like wet dreams. Jeff was amused by what he read on the ‘net. He had to admire the amount of time spent on the dissection of every high-flying leap off a ladder or every karate chop. It really did please Jeff, as performing for the fans was the second most pleasurable thing in his life. Speaking of being high, Jeff also appreciated the ease with which he could attain that state with Rob. A really good dimebag was never far. Pot was not the evil weed, but a beautiful green gift, a way to deal peacefully with the stresses of fame. Especially the stress called Vince. Sometimes that horny bastard could get on Jeff’s nerves, especially when he thought he could convince Jeff that it would be best to hold private practice sessions with him. Never, not even if he were the last man on earth, swore Jeff. Rob was the main ingredient in his down time. The most incredible part was the sex. And people think Rob is gymnastic only in the ring, thought Jeff as he waited for him. He was sitting on a burgundy cloth couch that was a little harder than his liking. That was fine because they wouldn’t be spending the whole night on it. Rob’s jacket had been tossed on there. Jeff picked it up. It was red and silky. Jeff put it up to his nose and inhaled the scent of pot and some woodsy cologne. Jeff knew the name of it but didn’t remember it at the moment. Rob told him once during lovemaking, the first time Jeff was introduced to the secret club. Jeff reminisced fondly about it. They had faced each other in the ring numerous times, which led to a lightbulb over their heads that told them they should square off in bed, too. One night they did it. Their tongues mingled nicely, Rob gave fantastic, unreal massages, and eventually Jeff understood was the fuss was all about. All told, they loved being together and so did the fans. Nice, everyone’s happy. Jeff was stretched out on the couch when Rob arrived. Rob sat on the floor and Jeff followed. They sat across from each other, both sporting expectant, devilish smiles. Rob fished out a red bong and a small bag from his suitcase. Rob loaded it up and sparked it. He drew hard on it and took in a huge cloud of smoke. He passed it to Jeff and exhaled. Jeff treated it like it was wine, letting it remain in his mouth for a few seconds, then releasing it. Rob reached over to a loose cord. He plugged it into an empty slot in the wall and the lava lamp began to warm up. He turned out the lights. The day was turning into a cool, gray shade of evening. Jeff and Rob decided they wanted to take things slow tonight. They stared at each other while partying, saying very little. Between the bubbles in the bong and in the lamp, the whole room seemed like a funky aquarium. Rob and Jeff smoked for some time. The buzz they eventually wore was having unusual effects. Never mind making them hungry, the pot was making them horny. Jeff passed the bong to Rob. Rob was thinking about Jeff the whole time. What really got him excited was hearing Jeff’s greeting and getting a hint of his breath, which smelled like coffee cut with cinnamon. Rob put the bong down, leaned over, and kissed Jeff. Jeff’s kisses were as fiery as the spice, a surprising tang among the sweetness of kissing. A little later they were stretched out on the carpet, side by side, watching the lava lamp. They were transfixed by the bouncy, happy perfect little orbs of light blue and purple amid indigo liquid. “Gloop, gloop, gloop. That’s how they go.” Jeff said in a sing-song voice. “It’s real pretty.” said Rob. “Just like your hair.” Rob patted Jeff’s head, messing up his hair, which was colored a bold sapphire. Jeff blushed at Rob’s action. “I like it.” Jeff replied. “Me too.” Rob said, waiting for a moment. “Kiss me.” Jeff whispered. Rob took Jeff carefully, gently to his body and kissed Jeff with such vigor and excitement Jeff thought it was going to make him dizzy. His hands searched under Jeff’s shirt, then took it off. Jeff moaned as Rob smoothed out the delicate hairs on his body. Rob shimmied down so that his face was level to Jeff’s back. He raised his shirt and kissed the expanse of it. The room filled with Jeff’s subdued moans. He felt refreshed, as if someone had opened the windows and a cool breeze had come in. Jeff wore what looked like sweatpants made of tin foil. Rob grabbed the elastic waist and Jeff shifted his hips so that Rob would have no problem pulling them down. They stopped at his ankles. Rob just loved Jeff’s legs. He hated not seeing them in the ring. He always told Jeff they were so lean, so muscular, so sexy that he should show them off. They were sturdy pillars. For a few moments Jeff felt nothing. Then, as he was about to ask why Rob had stopped, a pair of firm hands on his ass broke the quiet. Rob was behind Jeff, above him, his tongue poised and close to its target. So much for taking the scenic route, thought Jeff, not at all disappointed. Jeff enjoyed that for awhile. He concentrated on Rob’s strong hands buried in his thighs like hooks. Jeff’s mouth pressed deep into the rug, absorbing the cries, leaving bright red marks when he raised his head to take a much-needed breath. The way Rob treated him was unlike the ways of past lovers. Rob did not just practice the brutal art of the fuck. Jeff was a poet and musician, and as such, Rob intended to treat him with the sensitivity that one must have for such creative pursuits. Like when Rob took his mouth and lavished Jeff’s shaft, slowly, so that his mouth was draped like silk against the hardness. Rob moved on, along Jeff’s thighs and pressing his lips against his pubic bone. He would play with Jeff’s balls as if Rob were taking clay and sculpting it into something beautiful. Eventually Jeff turned over and they kissed. They rolled and tussled all along the floor. Rob wanted Jeff to feel some kind of burn. Jeff thought the room was becoming more tropical. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead, rolled into his eyes, pooled on the backs of his knees. Rob could only be pleased. He prided himself on caring Jeff. He smothered him with kisses, raced his tongue along Jeff’s muscular stomach, wanting to devour it. Jeff rolled over onto his stomach, offering himself. Everything in the room became an incentive to fuck—the lingering scent of pot, Rob unzipping his jeans, the rubbery smell that was unleashed when Rob peeled a condom onto himself, the remains of cinnamon breath that stayed in Jeff’s mind, if not his mouth. Rob licked his fingers and moistened himself. He speared Jeff hard. Opened him up and made himself a home. It was a super powerful massage, the in and out motion trapped in such a tight space like ecstasy to them. It all merged in Jeff’s brain and pounded on him just as hard as Rob’s thrusts. There was only one way to relieve things. He and Rob were relieved in rivers. They cleaned up, ate pizza, drank beer, smoked pot, and got ready to do more things they loved.