"Crave"
Parts 1 - 4
By Jade Doll
Disclaimer: If I owned the characters I’d just blush and stammer, but I don’t, Vince and Titan do. The Gentlemen own their own bodies and faces. *Sigh*
Distribution: You want it???
Rating: R to NC-17
Characters: Austin/Jericho
Content: M/M Relationships, language, sex, angst, violence, mentions of rape
Spoilers: Only if you haven’t watched RAW in over a year.
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Prologue
No Way Out Goddamn it hurts. Feels like someone keeps jabbin’ a knife into the side of my neck. I see a drop of sweat slide off my forehead onto the floor of the trainer’s room. It joins about the billion others I’ve left there while my neck’s bein’ seen to. “Fuck Francois. Just chop my head off for god’s sake.” I’m not feelin’ the best right now. “Yes Austin, I know. It’s ok.” Smooth french accent just pisses me off even more as his thumbs press little circles into the side of my spine. Right where the pain is worst. He always says that. “Not you don’t fuckin’ know…” I begin. “Austin? How bad is it Francois?” Vince and his entourage’s shiny shoes are now in the room. I can only see from their knees down, because I can’t raise my head from where it’s spasming with my chin on my chest. It hurts like acid down my spine. “It’s fuckin’ agony Vince is what it is!” Would I be in here if I was fine you idiot? “Bad swelling from the pressure on the disc. I’m releasing the nerve pinch, but it is not good Mr. McMahon.” Francois continues rubbing ground zero, pushing in hard. It hurts so much. “Damn. You were supposed to run this feud with Bischoff for another week at least.” The big man doesn’t like his plans being upset by my fuckin’ permanent injury! Asshole. “I can fuckin’ talk Vince and do some quick spots to keep things hot. Don’t get ya panties in a twist. It’ll heal.” My voice is confident, I almost believe it myself. Agony hotter than hell. Their silence speaks volumes and I wonder at the look on François’ face if they’re having doubts about a couple of promos and quick spots. “We’ll see.” God, Vince can’t bullshit to save himself. “We’ll meet tomorrow to assess the situation.” He pats me on the back and heads out. I feel the gentle pat like Paul’s sledgehammer. Stop hurting for just one second. "Yeah.” I watch their shiny shoes leave and know I’m screwed. “François, is it gonna be like this..?” Suddenly, just like out in the ring when I took a bump near the steps, I feel a twist in my neck like red-hot fire and then the knife is gone. Gone. I almost sob with relief. About to lift my head, Francois stops me with a gentle hand. “No Austin, keep your head down. You are still swollen around the disk, but the nerve no longer pinch you. Have an ice pack then cool shower. You are Not ok to fly, someone drive you right?” The little French guy starts picking up his towels and stuff. “Drive, yeah, ok. Thanks Francois.” His sneakered feet leave the room and now I’m alone. It still hurts. Throbbing now, but it still hurts. I put a hand up to hold the ice pack in place and watch the water drops mingle with my sweat on the floor. It still hurts. I hear the door open and see black boots and bright ring tights move into view. I’d recognize those legs anywhere. They are in perfect proportion to the rest of his gorgeous body, all of which I’ve enjoyed watching on occasion. What he’s doing here is anyone’s guess. A hand appears, palm up containing two white painkillers. With a slightly shaky hand I take them from him and pop them in my mouth. His other hand appears. It’s holding a beer. Damn. “I’m gonna kiss you in a second Jericho.” I say around the meds as I take the beer from that long-fingered hand. “Promise?” he comes back sarcastically. “Mmm-humm.” I mumble through the beer. “If it’s any comfort. Eric is in a fit, thinking he’s screwed for injuring you on the night of your big return.” I lift my head a fraction to see hands resting on slim hips and the bottom of a black ‘Jericoholic’ t-shirt. I snort. “He couldn’t injure me if he was fuckin’ tryin’. I hit a bump wrong and now my damn neck’s swollen again, he was prissin about on the other side of the ring!” While we’ve been talking, I’ve been ogling a certain cute, Canadian from the waist down. One of the best parts. “What about Westlemania?” The painkillers must be kicking in because I swear that sounded like concern in his voice. “It’s me and Dwayne again. He’s goin’ heel.” This is not news to Jericho apparently. “Thought so. Dwayne’s good enough to keep your neck safe.” Definitely concern. I keep my eyes at crotch level and grin. “We could run it eyes closed, but I won’t be doin’ much after if this keeps playin’ up.” “Are you on Raw tomorrow?” he asks. You interested? “Was. Probably not now, this’ll have to rest.” I grumble. “Then I’ll see you next week.” Another beer appears in front of my face, adding several more items to the list of reasons to grab Chris and fuck him senseless. “Thanks Chris.” His feet move towards the door so I let my eyes linger on another fine piece of Jericho. “I’m glad your back.” Now THAT sends my head straight up, but it’s only to see a flash of blonde hair and golden arms as he leaves. Despite my injury, the agony and the likelihood of not being able to wrestle, things are looking up. Part 1 Look, I’m pretty damn sure it ain’t love ok? It’s just lust, or loneliness. I haven’t damn well gotten laid since Debra decided I wasn’t payin’ her enough attention and fucked off with some nineteen-year-old toy boy. Not that she didn’t have a point. I barely looked at her for the last few months ‘cos I was distracted by the fact that I am NOT in any kind of love with Chris Jericho. I want him; sure, I’ll admit that. He’s just, well fuck, damn easy on the eyes is one thing, but ya gotta be in his company to understand the overwhelming need I got for his fine little Canadian self. Basically, I’m so hot for his body that my cock aches when he’s within ten feet of me. The way he moves in and outta the ring is eyecatchin’ ta say the least. He’s a damn good wrestler and can probably take out any sonofabitch that crosses him, ‘cept maybe Angle or Benoit. He can handle himself anywhere, running rings around so-called cerebral assassins like Paul. Chris’ good at anything he does and has the co-ordination a panther would envy. Backstage his mouth is kinda legendary ya know, ‘cos he can turn a phrase like a knife. Ya think his promos are funny? Ya think that shit he used to say to Steph was nasty? That was him being restrained for crying out loud. I swear I once saw a big, mean bastard nearly reduced to tears when Jericho was verbally tearing him apart for fucking up a spot and hurting one of the young kids. And that’s nothing compared to the ice ya get if ya make a pass at him. He may dress all cock-tease outfits and stroke me hair, but it ain’t an invitation. All ya get is a resigned sigh, frozen sapphire eyes and a polite decline that’ll put ya into therapy if ya don’t get over it quick. It was HBK who said of Jericho when introduced to him for the first time, “It’s a tie between wanting to belt the taste outta his smart mouth or tie him to my bed for a week.” People adore him or loathe him, sometimes both at once. All in all a hell of a package. And one that I mean to own. ******* Lita bawling her eyes out is something you don’t see every day in the back stage area. She’s a tough girl, gotta be to return from that hellish injury she took last year. Now she’s sitting on the floor, sobbin’ like a little kid. As I reach her to ask what’s up, I hear the unmistakable sound of Jericho’s voice from the Diva’s locker room. Angry that he’s loosed his venom on Lita, I shove open the door to see Chris in the center of the room, hands on slim hips, nose to nose with Stacey Keibler. I never realized she was taller than him. “Look Jericho as far as I’m concerned, Lita shouldn’t even have come back.” The leggy blonde’s voice is harsh. “She’s been gone eight months and decides to just stroll on back. No one consulted me. Why is she even here? She should be on Smackdown.” Bitch. Chris didn’t move, but I can imagine the frost in his stare. “Because Queen Stacey has made that decree? Lita just has to deal with returning to work to find some of her friends, including her boyfriend on a different show? She can’t possibly ask for a little time to adjust? No chance to settle in because the indescribably talented Stacey now rules the Diva’s room? Did it ever occur to you to show some compassion for a woman who had her fucking neck broken?” I give Stacey credit for only taking one step back from Chris after his vicious words. Too bad for her, she started it. “No way, no compassion here, is there? Stacey ‘most famous part of me is my ass’ Keibler is in a red-hot relationship with Test and is now the alpha fucking female back here? Despite the fact that every woman in this room could break your arms, including Terri, you think you can dictate to the others what they can and can’t do? Has there been a vote or something? If there was, Keibler, do you think of everyone here, you would win?” It was the relentless way Jericho’s words pounded into the woman that made me almost sympathetic, till I remembered Lita’s sad face. “Chris… you can’t talk to me like that you bastard.” Tears welled in Stacey’s big eyes and a pout formed on her glossy lips. “Grow the fuck up Keibler, I don’t care if I hurt your damn feelings you brainless fool. This is not high school. Stop acting like your sixteen and dating the quarterback. This is a business and from now on you will conduct yourself like an adult, not a five year old having a tantrum. You are here to work, god knows why, not priss around like you own the place and bitch at the other women. If Lita wants some time to adjust then you’ll give it to her, because she earn’t her place here, unlike you.” With that last parting shot, Chris turned around and headed back to the doorway, which I currently occupy. I move back out as he passes me and crouches on the floor next to Lita. “Come on, get up woman. Your really going to let Barbie in there get to you?” He takes the tear-stained Diva’s hand, tugging her to her feet. Lita shakes her head, wiping away the residue of her crying jag. In the locker room, the Divas are all continuing on like nothing occurred except for Stacey, who is muttering bitterly in front of the mirror. “Thanks Chris, she was just being a cow and it got a bit much.” Lita took a deep breath. Squaring her shoulders, she enters the dangerous waters of the women’s locker room. “You’re a braver man than me.” I comment as the door closes behind her. “Thank you.” Jericho smiles at me briefly then heads to his dressing room. He just smiled at me, a voice in my head crows. Now who’s actin’ like a teenager? I walk with him. My locker room’s in that direction too. Really. “Ya don’t think that was a bit harsh?” I ask. Chris continues walking. “Keibler is a bitch. She told Lita that Matt was sleeping with Dawn-Marie.” “No way!” Those kids are stuck to one another. “It’s bullshit, but Lita was feeling low and it hurt.” Chris stops and turns to me. “She deliberately hurt Torrie’s back in Australia last year. She won’t go to training, won’t practice and is refusing to work in women’s matches. She is pressuring Test into making demands on Patterson that could hurt his career and she’s fucking Steiner in case Test looses his push. The other women only tolerate her because they have to, but none let her get to them. Lita barely knew her before the injury so Keibler’s found a target that won’t hit back. Yet.” Jericho’s distain for the leggy diva is plain. “Fair enough. She deserved it.” I have no sympathy for a stupid women who alienates those around her. Jericho looks at me oddly, like he can’t believe I agree with him. “Yeah she did.” “I guess it wasn’t so hard to smack her with that chair after all huh?” I snicker. Chris smiles at me, a real genuine smile. No ice at all. “I barely touched her. Nearly did take her head off though. Had to pull it at the last moment because the silly bitch moved to the wrong spot.” He shakes his head in memory. “The Divas gave me a thank you card.” My snicker turns to a guffaw at that. “Ya refused to apologise as well. Now I know why.” “It was the arc.” Chris protested eyes wide and unbelievably innocent. Oh damn, my jeans are too tight. Jericho looks at his watch, while I stare at the golden skin on his chest. “I need to be elsewhere. I’ll see you later Austin.” With another smile he turns away. I love to watch him walk away from me. Damn he has a fine ass. “Just fuckin’ lust,” I mutter to myself as I head in the opposite direction. Part 2 No matter which arena we’re in, Vince’s office is always the same. It’s like him, a crazy mix of neat piles of paperwork and downright goofy promotional stuff. He’s not been on Raw much lately so this flying visit to let us know about some new ideas from ‘creative’ means every wrestler and his dog is taking up his time. I kick back and relax in my chair ignoring Paul and Steph who’re taking the opportunity of being in the same city at the same time to suck on each other’s tonsils. Dwayne’s on his cell phone as usual and Vince is late. I’m more than a little surprised when the object of my lust, Chris Jericho, walks in and grabs a seat next to me on one of the room’s couches. Dwayne lifts a hand in greeting then continues his conversation. Jericho doesn’t normally come to these meetings unless his own work is gonna be discussed. At my inquiring look he shrugs gracefully, “Vince commands, I obey.” Chris’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Yeah right,” I snort, Jericho obeys no one but himself. At that moment, Vince comes in. Followed by Pat Patterson, he throws a bundle of folders on the desk and starts discussing Paul’s current arc with Booker T. Chris and I remain silent as the two battle it out over the uninspiring storyline. Then it’s Dwayne and my turn as we plot out Wrestlemania and my next arc. Finally Vince gets to the main reason for this meeting. “Gentlemen, we have a new recruit to the WWE,” Vince says grandly. “He’ll be coming straight into a feud with The Rock at Backlash..” Dwayne’s famous eyebrow shoots up at this, “then an arc with Jericho and finally a title hunt against Triple H.” We are all speechless at such a high profile and top card angle for a new wrestler. “On a silver platter?” The temperature in the room has dropped about ten degrees with Chris’ question. I shoot him a look, but his eyes are on Vince and I realize he knows what’s going on more than me. “He’s gonna bring great heat..” Pat begins. “..and a huge ego.” Chris finishes with a sharp tone that is usually only reserved for one person. “Goldberg.” I mutter. Dwayne, Stephanie and Paul instantly look at Jericho. Vince is standing up to the Canadian’s hard stare and returning it full force. “I know you and he have had your issues Chris, but that’s in the past and right now Bill Goldberg is the biggest free agent in the business. He’s signed with us….” “…so long as Dwayne and I job to him and then he gets the title when Paul and Stephanie get married?” Chris interrupts. “It’s logical that talent of his level come in and face the top card. What do you want him to do, wrestle Hurricane and Test?” Vince is loosing his temper with Jericho’s attitude. “Why not? They’ll show up his three moves in the first match.” Chris rises to his feet. “Jericho.” Taking a big risk, I grab Chris’ shoulder to divert his attention from Vince and a possible suspension. Unused to being touched outside the ring, the blonde head snaps around and I’m caught in the furious sapphire glare. “The deal is done, he’s coming.” For a second I think he may hit me but then his eyes warm somewhat and he nods slightly. Flicking a look at Vince that could freeze a bonfire, Jericho pulls away from me and heads out the door. I swing an incredulous look at our owner. “Chris has a point Vince. Even with Rock’s heel turn the fans will see our best being fed to Goldberg like an offering. He’s not that important.” But the big man has had enough of rebellion from his employees and shuts me down. “He’s contracted and that is the arc. You people just do your jobs and leave the storylines to ‘creative’.” Vince dismisses us with a glare. None of the people in the room are used to being treated so rudely by Vince and we all leave feeling pretty pissed off ourselves. “What the hell was that Steph?” Paul asks his fiancé when we’re out of Vince’s earshot. “I had no idea Hon,” she’s as thrown by the encounter in the office as the rest of us. “I knew we were pursuing him, but not that he signed or the conditions.” “Chris is gonna be in the shits now.” Dwayne commented, his easy-going manner undaunted by the previous exchange. “More than usual anyway,” Paul snipes. “Well,” Dwayne reasons, “Let’s see how it goes. If he minds himself and doesn’t get up Jericho’s nose or act like he owns the place, it may turn out ok.” “Goldberg minding his manners and treating other wrestlers with respect?” I ask. “You obviously haven’t met the man.” Yeah, Goldberg’s coming to the WWE. Hoo-fuckin’-ray.! Part 3 Chris Jericho drives me fuckin’ insane. I want him so badly, but he’s such a nasty little bastard, and he’s not even slightly interested in me. Or anyone else for that matter. Plenty have tried to melt the frozen blond, but none have succeeded yet. The only time the ice breaks is with the young guys. I dunno what happened to Jericho when he was just starting out, but the only soft spot he has is for the newbies. Maven, Nowiski, Jindrak, Orton, Cade, Jeff Hardy, even Helms is one of his little crowd. He’s always patient with them, as kind as you can be in this business. He watches out for them, coaches em, and gives em tips on how to improve. He’s not a shoulder to cry on, but Jericho never turned away a forlorn wannabe who knocks on his hotel door at 2am. Don’t sneer. He’s never laid a finger on em. And no-one else better if they wanna keep said finger. They trust him in a world were they could be used and abused in a second. ‘Cos of all this, he’s hero-worshiped by these kids, they flock around him like bees to honey. Asking questions, showing new ring attire, talking about music or just trying to show off in front of him. It’s kinda cute really. All us old men watch and grin at these young turks, stretching their wings and feeling their oats. We call them the Boyos, cos not one of them is over 25. ******** Relaxing with a beer, I let my eyes wander the darkened bar. Most of the locker room had come with us to this little dive not far from the hotel and are generally lounging at the bar or playing pool with the locals. We hadn’t caused much of a stir, ‘cept I was getting free beer all night, as it was kinda tough to impress these patrons. Chris climbed a stool next to mine and ordered a whiskey, grabbing a handful of peanuts. I was surprised, where were the Boyos? Glancing around I saw the kids in various bunches sitting at booths. I’m amazed they let Jericho out of their sight sometimes. “Good show,” I comment quietly. “Chicago’s always good.” Chris takes a mouthful of his drink and swallows it neat. Impressive. “Yeah, but no-one really fucked-up, no-one got hurt and the booking was dead on.” “For a change.” Chris grins at me. Damn, he should do that more often. “So you taking any time off soon?” I ask steadily. Come away with me on dirty weekend. “Maybe in a month or so, depending on what Vince wants to do with me after Backlash.” “Yeah, that’s when he’s got me back in full-time.” I’ll do you after Backlash Darlin’. “You’ve been gone too long.” I’m pleased at the compliment and start to feel hot. He flicks a look around the room and I realize it’s not the Boyos who are watching over Chris tonight, it’s the other way round. “Think this co-general manager arc’s gonna work?” I ask trying not to be obvious as I shift on the bar stool to relieve the pressure in the front of my jeans. “Actually yes. If Bischoff doesn’t cut his own throat with Vince, you’ll work well off him. It’ll be fun. We’re talking about having me get under your skin and vice versa.” Jericho’s eyes flick more rapidly around the bar and he turns fully on the stool. Skin to skin, yes please. ‘What is it?” I ask. “Where’s Jeff?” Chris slips to his feet just as Christian comes up to us. “Hardy’s in the men’s room with some guy. I can’t get in.” He looks worried. Chris makes a beeline for the long corridor leading to the toilets, Christian and I one-step behind him. Leaning against the wall next to the men’s room door, a young man moves into our path. “Take a piss outside Fellas. Slut’s got himself a couple a clients, might make a hundred.” My fist in his gut causes him to curl up on the floor coughing and spluttering. Chris didn’t even pause, trying the metal handle once, before throwing his shoulder against the tough steel door. I wince as Jericho tries a second time to force the lock. Reaching out to wrench a piece of metal wire off a nearby beer sign, Chris turns hard blue eyes on Christian who jumps, then dives back into the main bar. “Glenn!!” “You gotta be kiddin’ me.” Stunned I watch as Jericho bends the piece of wire in half and feeds it into the lock. “You never know what you’ll learn in a crappy apartment in Japan.” Chris stares into my eyes as his fingers try to pick the lock. Seconds pass. “Scoot outta the way Chris.” Glenn commands as he approaches. Christian in tow. Leaving the lock, Jericho and I move aside as Glenn throws three hundred plus pounds against the door. Hinges begin to bend. A second shoulder is all that’s needed to force the lock. I tackle the son of a bitch on his knees forcing himself into Jeff on the floor. I see Jericho launch a vicious kick into the face of the guy holding Jeff’s shoulders down, probably breaking the asshole’s jaw. I pummel the bastard beneath me, eventually climbing to my feet and booting him hard in the ribs till he’s rolling and spitting blood onto the filthy floor. I turn back to see Glenn with his foot on the other guy’s chest, but it looks like Chris’ kick knocked him out. Jericho has pulled up Jeff’s pants, re-buckled his belt and now kneels with Jeff’s head in his lap, leaning over him curtaining their faces with his long hair. Jeff’s curled on his side, arms wrapped around Chris’ waist, his chest shuddering with his sobs as Jericho speaks softly to him. Catching Glenn’s eye, I nod to the man under his boot. He grins yanking the semi-conscious rapist to his feet, dragging him out the now ruined door. Christian moves to one side to let the big man pass and asks nervously, “What should I do?” Jericho looks up from Jeff’s distraught face. “Two thugs tried to beat up Jeff to prove wrestling’s fake. He’s got cracked ribs, but that’s all that happened Christian, do you understand?” Chris’s voice was still quiet and calm. “Yeah, OK.” Christian nods and heads back into the bar. I look at the piece of shit now moaning near my feet. I really want to get Chris and Jeff out of here. Where should we go?” I ask. “Hospital? Police?” “Nooo,” Jeff’s voice is desperate. “The hotel, my room. Jeff was sharing with Christian, he’ll manage.” Jericho gently helps the youngest Hardy to his feet, slipping an arm around his middle when the kid nearly blacks out. I latch onto his other arm and we slowly walk him out of the bar via the rear exit so the other Boyos don’t see us. ******* Chris gets Jeff showered and into the bed while I grab the pillows and blankets from my room. I settle onto the couch listening to the quite murmuring from the bed. When Chris comes over I offer him the beer I got from the bar fridge. He accepts it sitting on the couch. “How bad?” I don’t really want to know, but I ask anyway. “He’s torn, but I don’t think he needs stitches. The bleeding’s stopped and I’ve given him painkillers.” Jericho takes a long drink. I can’t help but stare at the golden curve of his throat. “Why was he in that men’s room?” Thinking of what happened to Jeff easily dampens my desire. “Because he’s a romantic fucking idiot who thinks he’ll meet his soul mate in a bar in Chicago. He let the guy pick him up at the pool table and they were going to make-out in the hallway, till Romeo invited a friend to join in.” Chris’ words are all the harsher by being spoken in a whisper. “Damn.” I shake my head at the youngest Hardy’s cluelessness. “In a word.” The beer helps a bit. Still doesn’t unclench the knot in my gut from the fight, but my shoulders aren’t made of iron now. Eventually we resume our conversation from the bar. Several more raids of the bar fridge and I’m becoming nice and blurry round the edges. Chris is relaxing a little as well, though I could set my watch by the regular checks he does on the occupant of the room’s bed. There is no ice in him when it comes to the Boyos. ******* “You're sleepin’ on the couch Chris and don’t open ya fuckin’ mouth ‘cos I’ll shut it for ya, now go to sleep. Ya gotta take care of yourself as well ya know.” I slur down at the smaller blonde. “My mother is in Canada, Austin and she’s a better bully than you. Lie down.” God he can be a pain in the ass. “Bet she’s beautiful.” What! I didn’t say that did I? “More muscles than Randy, now sleep Redneck or I’ll drug your beer.” “Bossy little thing, ‘night Darlin.” No, no, no, no. "Goodnight sweety-pie.” But I can hear the amusement in that sexy voice. At least there wasn’t any ice. ******* I wake up slowly as always and realize I’m uncomfortably crammed onto the couch. Fuck. I remember having a semi-drunken argument with Jericho as to who sleeps on the couch at about 3am. I didn’t call him Darlin’ did I? Opening my eyes I look around the room, wiping away a crate of sand from my lids. Chris is asleep in the only other chair, feet curled up under the remaining blanket, tousled blonde head resting on a folded pillow wedged against the wall. I stand up, amazed at the difference when he’s asleep. No attitude, no hardness and most importantly, no ice. Jesus, he looks younger than the Boyos. I realize I’m not the only one enjoying the view as Jeff’s awake. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes on Jericho, an unreadable expression on his bruised face. Carefully I edge over to the bed, trying not to freak Jeff out. “How ya feelin’ son?” Stupid question Austin. He shrugs, whispering, “Pretty awful I guess.” Gingerly I sit on the bed but he doesn’t seem worried by my nearness. “He saved me didn’t he?” Jeff’s eyes have never left the sleeping man in the chair. “Yep. He noticed you were missin’ and Christian was worried so we got Glenn and….” “When I heard his voice I knew it would be over soon, so I stopped struggling.” Jeff turns his gaze to me and I see the tears in his eyes and something else. Something I recognized because I see it in the mirror most days. The craving. For Chris. “Aww kid. Shit.” I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t have to because Jeff was crying again, this time in my arms, head buried against my chest. “Yeah kid, just let it out.” Since when did I become Mr. Sensitive? Who knows, but after what Jeff went through I’d have to be Mr. Asshole to refuse the comfort he so desperately needed. “Jeff?” Jericho had woken up at the kid’s muffled sobs. Sliding to his feet, looking sexily rumpled by sleep, he eyes us with concern and heads over to his luggage. “I’m calling Matt.” Retrieving his cell phone from a bag. “No!” Jeff’s head shoots around. “Yes. He’ll come and get you. You need to be with him right now.” “No, I can’t tell him. I’m such a fuck-up.” Jeff moans. “He’s fully aware of that Jeff. But he’s your brother and he will help you.” Chris is firm. “I’ve got to wrestle tomorrow.” The kid tries one last tactic. “Chance in hell, Hardy. Now get changed and we’ll get some breakfast.” The blonde orders as he dials Matt Hardy’s number. “Okay.” Jeff crawls to the bathroom to shower again, while I pick up the extra bedding from last night. “I’m gonna shower in my room, then I gotta plane to catch Chris. Ya’ll be alright with him?” I ask when the Canadian hangs up from his call. I hate my schedule sometimes. Jericho nods. "Fine. Matt will be here at midday, and then I’ve got a flight. So I’ll see you on Friday?” he looks up at me with those sapphire eyes and I’m lost. I have been for a while. “Yeah, Friday. Take care of the kid.” I walk into the hallway. “Thanks Austin.” Jericho leans against the doorframe as I head out. “No problem, wish I’d done more though.” I call over my shoulder. “You did enough…..Darlin’.” Chris grins at my stunned stare, and then closes the door. Part 4 Grabbing a can of soda from the machine I walk towards the meeting area when a door slams open behind me. Tensing instinctively I swing around to be overwhelmed by a dozen insane monsters. “Stone Cold….Austin help…Mr. Cold… Mr. Austin… Stone Cold…they’re gonna kill us…” Several young voices all begin to babble at me at once. It’s sort of a family day back stage at Raw this week, so all the wives and husbands of the talent and crew have turned up with infants in tow to visit Daddy’s or Mommy’s work. From 3 to 15 I’m surrounded by miniature versions of the people I spend most of my waking hours with. “Now shush the he…ah..heck up kids. What the…blazes…are ya yammerin’ about?” I yell over the bedlam. “They’re gonna kill us…” Young Cameron Michaels begins to explain but is then interrupted by the same loud slam of a door being flung open as before. Oh sweet Lord. The star of most of my fantasies Chris Jericho is leading a posse of the Boyos in pursuit of the children. Each wrestler is wearing some kind of plastic helmet and waving foot long toy swords at me. Jericho has a one horned Viking helmet perched neatly on his golden locks. He comes to within’ five feet of me then stops. He looks like Thor. The Kids pull behind me in a bundle of giggles and shushes. “Greetings noble warrior. We are hunting a tribe of Orcs that must be Slayed most violently and it seems they Cower Cravenly behind your jeans. Hand them over to the King’s Mighty Warriors.” Chris declares with a completely straight face. I can actually hear the capitals in that statement. “We’re not orcs,” Emily Corden yells. “We’re HOBBITS.” Jericho sneers, “A orcish trick no doubt. We know orcs when we see them, don’t we men?” A rousing yell of support from the Boyos makes the kids squeak and giggle even more. “We’re HOBBITS,” the children chorus. “No your not.” Jericho counters. “Yes we are.” The kids chant back. "No you're not.” “I’m an orc,” David Francetti offers smugly. All eyes turn to the ten year old. David looks back defiantly. “I wanna be an orc. Orcs‘re cool.” Jericho adjusts the helmet which had fallen into his eyes. “There see? They admit it. ORCS!!” he yells brandishing his pale green plastic sword. It swishes dangerously close to my nose. I can see the twinkle in those glorious blue eyes. Little tease. “Stand aside Lord Austin, the Orcs must be slain.” Randy commands. He seems to have stolen Scott Steiner’s chain mail head gear from somewhere. “Now fella’s ya seem to be makin’ an error here. These little mites are not Orcs..” “I am.” Francetti junior interrupts. “..’cept for that one.” I correct myself. “They’re Hobbits and I can prove it to ya.” “How?” Jericho asks suspiciously. “Look at their feet. Hobbits have hairy feet. Orc’s don’t.” I point out reasonably. The Mighty Warriors look down to examine the kids’ feet. Someone, Jericho I bet, has stuck cotton balls to the tops of the tiny feet with what looks like exercise tape. It’s totally unconvincing and very cute. With a grin Chris meets my gaze again. “Indeed it seems we were mistaken in our attempt at slaughter noble sir. These Hobbits are no threat to the king…yes except for the lone orc in their midst thank you David…thus we will pursue other more foul foes.” With a disappointed rumble the Boyos begin to lower their weapons. The same door slams open to reveal the rest of the Evolution group with Nash and Michaels in tow. For a split second no-one moves then I see an unholy light enter Jericho’s eyes and.. “Orukkai! Giant orcs! They must be slain,” he yells at the top of his lungs. With a delighted roar the Boyos and the Hobbits plus one Orc join forces to take down the monsters. Hands up in a cowardly show of neutrality I move down the corridor, grinning at Shawn’s attempts to remove his son from Nash’s leg. Decent set o’ teeth that kid. The battle moves further back through the doorway. Damn! Little girls squeal loud. I notice some kind of change in direction in the pack as most of the Hobbits tear off down a different hallway. Eight year old Dannielle Roberts barrels up to me. “Mr. Austin you gotta come with us to ass..assau…attack Sauron’s Fortress. Please, please...’ I put up a hand to quiet the pigtailed terror’s pleas. “Sauron’s what?” I question. “Sauron’s Fortress. Chris said it’s the most well protected place in the arena.” So he’s Chris and I’m Mr. Austin huh? Well protected… oh you little... “Come on.” I snatch the minx into a bear hug and run through the arena as fast as my crippled legs will allow. I’m too late. Already the Mighty Warriors, the Orukkai and the Hobbits plus one Orc are pounding their plastic swords again the door to the Women’s Locker Room. “Come out, Evil Villains.” Jericho calls. “Come out Mommy you’re Evil,” a high pitched voice joins in. Chris nearly kills himself at that one but remains in character enough to pound on the door again. The handle turns. In a breathless silence we all watch the door swing inwards to reveal Linda McMahon CEO of Titan Entertainment. Beyond her stand the Divas and wives of most of the employees of Raw. A muffled “Ooops,” echoes in the corridor. Faced with Linda’s frosty face Jericho, naturally, keeps pushing. “Do you surrender the Fortress of Doom Gatekeeper?” he demands. With a sweep of deep hazel eyes Linda takes in her employees dressed as knights, the weapons and the children. “Why is Ashaya painted green?” She asks nicely. All eyes turn to the little girl. I recognize Rico’s sparkly make-up adorning her coffee coloured cheeks and bare arms. “I’m Golum.” Ashaya declares proudly. Giggles from the Hobbits while the Mighty Warrior’s begin to shift nervously in their helmets. “I see.” The most powerful women, no person, in our organization lets her gaze rest on the kids cottons stuck feet. A flicker in that unreadable gaze. She turns back to the other occupants of the room. All the gals are grinning like monkeys at us idiots. With a nod Linda returns her eyes to us. “Your forces are too much Sir Christopher of Jericho. Sauron’s..ah..” she raises a enquiring eyebrow. “Fortress of Doom.” Maven supplies helpfully. “Sauron’s Fortress of Doom will surrender.” Linda finishes. With a roar of approval the kids begin to clap and cheer as their mothers wrangle them into a less sugar-high mode. I relinquish Danielle to her father, grinning like an idiot at Jericho’s warmth towards the children. He’s being attacked by two tots about the age of four and six. Lifting one up by the ankles he swings the boy high in the air before catching him with ease. “The cotton balls from the trainer’s room?” I tense a little at Linda’s question. Not about to turn in the lust of my life I smile charmingly. “Yeah I guess so. Keeps ‘em out of Mom’s way while ya all gossip and such,” I explain. “That was really sportin’ Linda.” I decide compliments are the best bet here. Not taken in an inch. Linda smiles back at me. “I do have grandchildren Austin.” With that she glides serenely down the corridor to her office. Jericho approaches me, eyes on Linda’s retreating back. “Problem?” he enquires, concern lacing his suddenly calm voice. At the tone a happy little tickle runs the length of my spine. “Nah,” I let my eyes rest on that perfect profile and wish for the millionth time I had permission to run my hands across his skin. “Linda’s a doll when ya’ get to know her.” “I bet.” The laughter is back in full force. The helmet is slightly crooked. Without thinking I reach out to adjust it, trailing my fingertips down the spun-gold hair. What the fuck did I just do? I hear Jericho’s breath hiss from his lungs at the contact. He moves a fraction closer. Sapphire eyes lock with mine. Time literally fuckin’ stops for a second as I loose myself in Chris’s gaze. “Austin I…” Chris’ words are lost as a high shriek cuts into our ears. Goddammit no! “Mommmmyyy Noooooooo. I don’t wannaaaa…” the overtired wail continues. The moment is lost and the ice has returned to Jericho. “See you out there.” He pulls the Viking helmet off. The playful, fantastic beauty is gone, before me stands a sharp, professional performer. “’kay.” I agree, inwardly cursing the children, vowing never to have any of the little monsters. I watch Chris walk through the throng towards his dressing room. What the fuck was he gonna say? **** |