"Crave"
Parts 5 - 8
By Jade Doll
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Part 5 We all knew it was coming. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to know of Jericho’s history with Goldberg. He left WCW mainly because the bookers wouldn’t set a PPV resolution to the Jericho/Goldberg feud. So why does Chris hate Goldberg so much? Well, we all found out. It was a typical post Raw locker room, Dwayne and I were talking about his idea for a Rock concert, and he’s an even worse guitar player than me. Chris was chatting to Maven by the lockers while the Boyo was icing his wrenched knee and everyone was generally chilling out after our matches. It was Shane McMahon’s voice that alerted us to what was about to happen. “….and this is the main locker area that most of the guys use, although in most arenas you’ll get your own dressing room like the other top card talent.” Then they came in through the open door. He’s bigger than I remember, gotta couple inches on me and built like a Mack truck. Shane introduces Goldberg to a couple of guys, Paul and Flair shake his hand like old buddies, while the rest of the room notices the change in atmosphere near the lockers. If I thought the temperature dropped in McMahon’s office, it was fucking zero in here now. Jericho was still casually leaning against one knee while his foot rested on the bench where Maven sat, but it was Maven who kept flicking glances to Goldberg while talking uneasily to Chris. Unfortunately Goldberg chose that moment to look away from Flair and let his eyes travel over the rest of us present. When he spotted Jericho I felt my neck itch at the smile that grew on his face. Practically snubbing Flair he made a beeline across the room to the lockers. I began to move and I could feel Dwayne doing the same when we saw Goldberg’s eyes travel from Chris’ booted feet over those fitted leather pants and shiny shirt to the blond hair and beautiful averted face. He got about three feet away when Jericho turned his head to acknowledge his approach. “Looking typically fuckable as always Angel, wanna go somewhere quiet and talk?” Son. Of. A. Bitch. The absolute silence that followed Goldberg’s words was broken only by the thump of Chris’ foot hitting the floor. I could only imagine the cold rage in those amazing blue eyes. “No.” Jericho made to step past Goldberg, so the moron grabbed his wrist to stop him. “C’mon Angel, be nice…” Goldberg never finished his sentence as in a blur of motion Jericho twisted the bigger man’s hand out of the grip and bent Bill’s fingers back at an unnatural angle. With a grunt Goldberg went for Chris’ throat but missed and in three neat moves was taken to the ground in a front face-lock applied by man several inches smaller than him. I acted on instinct; get Chris out of danger, which, seeming as he was in control of the situation was damn stupid, really. But I wrapped my arms around his waist to lift him away from Goldberg. For an instant he resisted then released the hold and let me pull him a couple of feet back to the lockers. He began to break my grip then stilled, almost relaxing into me, no longer trying to escape my arms. I was becoming distracted by messages from my groin about it’s closeness to Chris vinyl wrapped ass, so I forced myself away from burying my face in his abundant hair and focused on Goldberg. Hefting himself to his feet, Goldberg shrugged off Shane and Paul, his gaze returning to the man now standing quite docile in my embrace. “Awww, Angel…” He never took a step. Bill Goldberg found himself facing a wall of several hard-muscled bodies. The Boyos. “Back off!” Hell, Randy was pissed. All the Boyos were glaring daggers at the WWE’s newest recruit. Goldberg inspected each young man then grinned back at Chris and me. “C’mon Bill. The Divas want to say hi.” Shane pulled at the bigger man’s arm. Goldberg allowed himself to be led away, but not before licking his lips as he smirked at Jericho. There was a tense silence in the locker room. “Asshole.” I think it was Chuck who spoke. Everyone slowly began to shake off the fight, commenting in hushed voices on Goldberg’s behavior. The instant Bill and Shane left I released my hold on Jericho’s waist, despite my bodies lustful pleas. Dwayne, who’d put himself in front of us with his back to Bill, to catch Chris if he got free of me, adjusted his sunglasses and cleared his throat. “You ok?” he asked Jericho. “Wonderful.” I guess his sarcasm could be forgiven considering. “Well, we gotta tell Vince if he’s all weird on you like that.” It was Maven who spoke for the group of Boyos hovering near Chris. “No. Vince knows and doesn’t care, he needs Goldberg. I can deal with this. Forget it happened.” With that Chris stalked out, wrestlers parting like the red sea as the blonde moved out the door. “Fuck me. What the hell was that?” Christian asked as he approached us. “That was a damn sight more than not working an angle.” I said. “Do you think he ever….”? Maven asked quietly, going pale. “No.” I was confident. “Goldberg would be a cripple if he tried to overpower Chris.” “This is not going to be an easy ride.” Dwayne commented. “Oh yeah, bastard’s gonna fit right in.” HBK sneered from across the room. “He’s already made such a good impression.” Damn. Looks like things are gonna get ugly. Part 6 “So I’ll leave you two to plan some ideas.” The owner of World Wrestling Entertainment heartily slaps our shoulders and departs, surrounded by minions. Eric Bischoff stares at me from across our table in the private dining room of our hotel in New York. Vince had commandeered the room for his employees and ‘invited’ Eric and me to breakfast. As we lock eyes over scrambled eggs the other wrestlers filter in, looking for coffee. “Can I tell you how much I hate this idea?” Eric asks. I grab my fork ‘cause I’m starving. “What? Breakfast or being Co-General Managers?” “Both.” He sighs and stares at his plate. “Person’ly I like it.” I spear a bit of sausage and start chomping down. Eric grimaces at me. “You would. You get to cause trouble, insult me, give me Stunners and drive trucks around the arena. I get to be an asshole.” “You are an asshole Eric.” I point out. Raw’s General Manager sighs again and covers his eyes with one hand. “Why couldn’t I go to Smackdown?” he mumbles. “’Cause Raw is the flagship and ya talents are needed here.” I parrot Vince’s motivational speech from ten minutes ago, using my fork to encompass the Raw roster now enjoying their caffeine infusions. “’sides with Vince going off the air I need someone to piss off and throw beer at.” Eric looks at me from between his fingers. “I hate you.” “Good.” Temporary silence as Eric sulks and I eat. “I do realize things haven’t been exactly easy going since I arrived here...” he begins. “What?” “..and so I accept that it would be good for ratings and the back stage status quo…” “What?” “Stop that.” “What?” “THAT!” Eric yells, causing several sets of eyes to turn to us. “Just practicing,” I grin my biggest shit-eating grin at him. “Well don’t.” Eric launches into an impressive argument about the business and how at WCW he was doing the best for the company etc, etc. I give up paying attention after about two seconds because Jericho just walked in for breakfast. Using Eric as cover I grab an eyeful of the blonde. Starting at runners and bare golden legs, up over cut-off jeans and long sleeved tee-shirt, hair pulled back and gold rimmed glasses. Aha. Chris suffered from occasional migraines, causing vision problems for twenty-four hours afterwards. That would explain the casual clothes and the huge coffee he just grabbed. Is it just me or are those glasses a real turn on? I have a fantasy of making him wear them while I drill him through the mattress. “Vince hates me.” I return my attention to Eric as he flashes a nasty look at the door. “Well yeah.” I agree. At his dirty look I continue. “Ya see Eric, I understand what you were doing back in the day. I really do. Ya made business decisions based on the influence of powerful people. A lot of them were good decisions, but most of them totally sucked. Now ya have to deal with all those guys you pissed off and insulted. And ya know who the most insulted person was?” I ask. “Vince.” Another sigh. “No. Ya stupid prick. Vince’s balls are made of iron, he never gave a shit about anything you guys did, he just wanted to beat you in the ratings. No the person ya fucked with was Mick. Ya had yer guys put him down and make fun of his work at the peak of his career and that was a really shitty thing to do. Now ya are in the place Mick worked, with his friends and the guys ya fucked over at WCW are in the same locker room.” I gesture at him with my fork to make my point. “Ya gotta live with the consequences of being such a bastard.” “Stop waving that sausage at me!” Eric demands a little too loudly. Conversation ceases in the dining room as all stop to look at us for a moment. I grin at Eric again. “My point is, yer gonna have to take the humiliation and the shit till everyone sees ya suffered enough or until they just can’t be bothered laughing any more.” “Oh brilliant. Thank you for your insight Oh Wise One. I accept that I’m not popular but this is a business and…” Bischoff begins “Jesus Eric I haven’t seen anyone get so many glares since Sable left.” He’s gone a bit red now and I see that I’m probably just pissing him off and making him feel worse about things. Good. “I really hate you and I hate Vince. This is going to be awful.” Eric moans. I burp, extremely satisfied with my lot in life. “Just wait till Jericho gets involved.” I tease. Eric literally shudders. “Ya thought I was a pain in the ass. Ya have any idea how much that guy hates yer guts?” He nods, checking his watch. “I’m leaving.” He says pushing back his chair. “Nice talking with ya Eric. I got some great ideas for our Pay Per View. How ya like the idea of a pie-eating contest?” I taunt. Eric sighs for the hundredth time and leaves. I push my chair back on its hind legs and savour the moment. Grinning I watch as Chris Jericho slides gracefully into the seat opposite me. “That looked like fun.” “It was.” I smirk. “Tell ya something Chris. I’m gonna be grinning all month if this goes the way I see it going.” Jericho leans an elbow on the table, resting chin in hand. “Eric Bischoff harassed, humiliated and hopefully Stunnered by Stone Cold on a regular basis. Dreams can come true.” I wish. I return Chris’s nasty smile, eyeing those glasses. Part 7.
Bad Blood June 15, 2003. I stomp towards the curtain to see Randy and Maven glaring angrily through it into the arena. They both move back as Jericho bursts through brutally ignoring the assistants and trainers that await him. Panting, sweaty and half-naked he’s something out my wet dreams but the solid ice in his eyes would shrivel any libido in its’ tracks. Randy’s about to speak when Jericho raises a hand for silence and continues on like a bullet to the locker room. “Chris!” Only Vince’s voice is enough to halt the Canadian’s enraged stalk. Just. “Vince.” That sexy voice is barely civil. “That was an excellent match Chris. I realize this hasn’t been easy…” Vince begins to try and sooth his volatile employee. “Vince.” Chris moves to stand nose to neck with his boss. “As of this moment the feud is finished. I will not continue it, even if it means my contract.” Jericho face is almost white with rage. “If I find myself alone with him in the ring again, I will not control my actions and I WILL hurt him. So you make it clear to him to stay out of my way.” Even Vince acknowledges the seriousness of Chris’ threat and nods sternly in agreement. “Of course. That’s it Chris I swear, he’ll feud with Paul now. Maybe only a tag or something that’s it.” Vince tries to appease the enraged blonde. With an equally stern nod Jericho swings away from WWE’s owner and storms once more towards the locker room. “Oh and if you could stop him from killing my fans I’d appreciate it.” The sarcastic comment floats back to us. I just stand and glare at Vince until he looks at me. “What?” He’s pissy now, cause Jericho handed him his balls. “No-one is happy with this situation Vince. Chris may hurt him but if he doesn’t keep his fuckin’ hands to himself he’s going to lose them.” I snarl. Vince blinks. “What? Was it that bad? I didn’t see anything.” “Because ya ain’t wrestled the same moves for ten years and know the right place to hold a guy Vince. That could’a been goddammn sexual harassment out there if a lawyer knew what to look for.” I explain. We’d all seen it as we’d watched backstage on the monitor. Hands that are supposed to be on hips on curved ass-cheeks. Arms around a waist for a rear bear hug that should have been a suplex. A pin applied with legs in the incorrect position. It was a perversion of our work and despite what many would say, in the ring we are all professionals. We have to be. Too dangerous to try to feel up a guy when you could snap your damn neck. And for Chris to have continued to execute a clean match while enduring all that shit was a credit to him. No way I wouldn’t have kicked the guy in the balls first time he tried something. “Right...well..” Vince coughs uncomfortably. “I’ll have a conversation with him. Tell him once and for all to let it go or there’ll be consequences.” “Yeah Vince there will be.” I agree. Because if he touches Jericho again, I’m gonna kill him. Part 8 All I can say as I drink my beer at the bar is “Damn. Paul’s a fuckin’ loser when he’s plastered.” “Yeah. He’s only had a couple of shots of vodka.” Dwayne chimes in from the next stool. Paul and Steph are getting married in three weeks. The entire male locker room, and most of Paul’s non-wrestler buddies, are inflicting a bachelor party on the groom that will soon become legendary. So far I’ve seen strippers, an on-stage girl on girl orgy, too much rich catered food and enough alcohol to leave even me blinking in wonder. Nearly a hundred of us have been to bars and clubs across NYC causing as much mayhem as our drunkenness can manage. We’ve finished up in the private ballroom of a top of the line hotel, with a free bar and more strippers. Paul is currently wank-dancing with a thong wearing cowgirl, a french maid and pink sequined twins, while his friends toss beer nuts and bottle tops at him. “He’s not a very good dancer,” Kurt Angle comments critically. “That’s dancing?” Dwayne asks curiously. “I think so.” Kurt seems uncertain. “Looks like a cat trying to hack up a fur ball.” I decide. “Cats are more graceful.” Jericho wanders in our direction from a group of just conscious Boyos. Damn but I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s semi-formal like the rest of us, in gray pants and a pearly blue-green shirt. On me this look is kinda weird, on Jericho it’s cock hardening. “Hey Chris. Is Maven ok?” Dwayne looks back towards the circle of young wrestlers. The smaller man smirks. “He’ll regret the Chartreuse tomorrow. Right now, Matt’s shoes are not too happy about it either.” Dwayne’s ‘photo perfect nose wrinkles in distaste. “Stupid kid. Did he do it on a dare?” “No. He thought it was a pretty colour.” Chris leaned against the bar next to me. “He’d had about ten beers at the time.” “He’s doing the Chicken Dance,” Kurt proclaimed. Four pairs of eyes turned to the stage at the far end of the room. A stunned silence settles across the bar. “No. It’s the Moonwalk.” Dwayne tries to keep the laughter from his voice. Kurt shakes his head in disagreement “The Chicken Dance. See, his arms are flapping like wings.” “I think that’s to correct his balance.” Jericho tilts his head to one side. I want to peel my eyes away from the stage but it’s like a watching a car wreck. “Damn. That’s the worst dancing I’ve ever seen in my life,” I state honestly and turn back to the bar. “Cowgirl nearly got taken out by a wing. She’s diving for cover.” Chris informs me after a moment or two. “What is that?” Kurt sounds horrified. “Illegal in some countries.” Even the icy Canadian’s voice is bubbling with laughter. I don’t wanna see, I don’t wanna see, I don’t wanna see. Chris begins a play by play as I stare fixedly at my beer bottle. “Cowgirl has womanfully recovered from the near miss and has rejoined the group. Paul is still..er..trying to..” “Hang himself with his tie,” Dwayne isn’t even trying to not chuckle. “…take it off I think, but it’s twisted around the back…” “He’s looks like my dog.” Kurt is entranced. “…he’s given up on the tie and is going for his belt. The Twins are all for it but Maid is a bit dubious. She witnessed the tie incident so I don’t blame her…” “I don’t want to see Paul half-naked.” I wonder at the offended tone in Kurt’s voice. “…he’s found the buckle. Trust me it took a while...” “You see Paul half naked every day.” I can’t help but point out to Kurt. ”…the Twins are sliding up and down his legs. Very sexy and quite good for the calves but not good for Paul’s center of gravity…” “Yeah, but that’s work.” Kurt seems to see a difference. “…the buckle’s open but he’s lost interest. Cowgirl did a spin and he caught sight of the thong…” “Oh shit. He stepped on her foot.” Dwayne is starting to hiccup. “…Cowgirl has had enough. She’s off to Texas to ride horses in a thong and sparkly nipple-things… “Chris gimme a break,” I’m snorting with laughter now. “…Maid is staying clear of Paul’s feet, but she’s hanging in there. The Twins are now kissing each other which seems wrong on one level…” “Are they really sisters?” Kurt asks ingenuinely. “Because it looks hot, but that’s just weird.” “…despite the hillbilly instincts of the Twins, Paul has decided to stop stripping…” “Thank the Lord for that.” Dwayne gasps. “…and is preparing to..uh…” Jericho straightens up from the bar. “Kurt, Dwayne…” Whatever Jericho was going to say is lost in the loud cheering from the assembled onlookers. I resist the urge to turn around. I just don’t wanna see. “What?” “Do you think he’s hurt?” Kurt sounds worried. Dwayne has managed to get himself under control. “He wouldn’t feel it anyway.” “Feel what?” I demand. “Paul decided to stage dive onto the Dudleys. It seems Bubba-Ray caught him but as he’s full of beer too, it got ugly.” Chris has resumed his relaxed posture against the bar. I wonder how much whiskey he’s had and if I can get him drunk maybe I can…. “Fuck Chris!” Exactly. “What did you teach Jindrak about arm wrestling?” Dwayne’s been watching an impromptu tough guy comp near the stage. “Not to compete. Why?” Jericho follows Dwayne’s gaze. “Because I think he’s just bet $50 he can beat Steiner.” Chris’ leaves his drink near my arm and with a sigh heads over to the circle forming beneath the gyrating Twins. The four of us spend the rest of the night near the bar. Around 4am Kurt starts to doze while Dwayne rambles incessantly about how much he misses us. He’s genuine I know but he doesn’t realize we don’t resent his movie success. My God, if I could pull in what he gets for a film and not fuck my body up at the same time you wouldn’t catch me apologizing to anyone. Jericho’s based his drink with me as he keeps leaving to snag any wayward Boyos like a mother tiger with cubs. Moves like a cat too. Virtually emitting pheromones that say, “I’m gorgeous, but touch my fur and I’ll scratch you.” I’m getting nicely hammered here, thank you and fuck, he walks like a Fucking Cat OK? My cock aches. *1 hour later* It’s Randy. Of course it’s fuckin’ Randy. He’s got a temper like a pit bull when he’s full and he’s been drinking like a fish since 10pm. I found out later one of the Smackdown newbies made some comment about Chris and Jeff. Randy, still riled up about Goldberg, got aggressive and shoved the dumb fuck into his mates. Now this kid happens to be a protégé of Eddie Guerrero, who is on edge tonight because of all the booze. I respect that he’s had problems with alcohol and tonight would be fuckin’ awful if I was on the wagon, but he then gets in Orton’s face and yells in Hispanic about Randy’s dad. Bad idea ‘cos the kid speaks the lingo and takes a shot at the crazy Latino. I turn Jericho around by the shoulder as I see this, but by the time he’s halfway there it’s a free for all. Raw vs. Smackdown, wrestlers vs. non-wrestler, veteran vs. newbie they’re all going at it. Wading in, I’m glad I’m as drunk as everyone else because if there were any co-ordination in the room it would get nasty. Instead it’s wild haymakers, head butts that do more damage to the butt-er rather than the butt-ee and wrestle locks that don’t really get applied properly. Like the lust-sick fool that I am I try to protect Jericho as he tracks down various Boyos and pulls them out. But the Boyos are drunk, young and having fun, so as soon as Chris lets go of one they dive back into the melee. “Let it go,” I yell as I unsteadily duck Glenn’s roundhouse at Rhyno. “They won’t be hurt that bad.” He must have heard me because he begins to head out of the melee. Occasionally tripping someone who got on his nerves lately or helping a friend in trouble with a well placed jab. The brawl is in full swing as we dart towards the stage. Jericho leaps up with that god damned cat DNA of his while my knees make me crawl up a like an old man. We dodge behind the heavy curtain to find the Maid, Cowgirl and Twins from Paul’s earlier performance cowering behind the sound system. Their ‘protection’ a large black guy in sunglasses, is worried because most of the guys in the brawl are bigger than he is. Chris bowls up to this dude and starts a hurried conversation while the girls begin to freak in case Jericho’s trying to buy ‘em or something. “Cool. Thanks Kid.” The guy misses the surprised look on the Canadian’s face as he rounds up his charges and heads backstage towards what I guess is the kitchens. “Kid?” I tease. “He’s just happy to see someone shorter than him. Is ‘Taker actually trying to pick up Henry?” Chris has moved to the edge of the curtain and is watching the melee beneath us. It was true. As gone as the rest of us, Mark Calloway was hernia bound in his attempt to lift Henry without the big man’s help. The Boyos seemed to be trying to take out the entire Smackdown Cruiserweight division but the quick little buggers are giving them a run for their money. “Ya’d think people that spend all day practicing to hurt each other would be doing a better job of the real thing.” I’m almost tempted to wade back in, my duty as old man of the locker room coming to the fore. Then I see Batista get hit with a shoulder to the chest that makes me wince, so I resist temptation. I catch sight of Eddie Guerrero fall backwards into Rodney Mack’s arms. I look down to see the gorgeous Canadian sitting crossed legged beside me on the stage. From somewhere Chris has found a pile of tennis balls and is pelting various wrestlers with the small green projectiles. Benoit, struck with pinpoint accuracy keels over and a half dozen wrestlers dive for cover as Paul Wright, not known for his balance looses his precarious footing. The impact causes a ripple across the dance floor. The domino effect continues as wrestlers drop, felled by the beautiful blond at my feet. I reach down and snatch a tennis ball from Chris’ lap and take aim. “Whoops. That was Kurt,” Jericho’s voice is husky with laughter, the sound goes straight to my groin. “Go on. The one with the sideburns, he’s a frat buddy of Paul’s if ever there was one.” The frat buddy went down, as did Eric Bischoff behind him and several other guys who’d pissed me off for one reason or another. Gurgling with laughter Chris jumps to his feet at the same time as several brawlers catch sight of us and decide to return us to the fun. Without really thinking I grab my partner’s wrist and run across the stage to the hallway previously taken by the fleeing strippers. We’re heading towards an exit with Benoit, Rico and three of Paul’s friends in hot pursuit when Chris tugs on the arm I’m pulling him by, directing me into a utility stairwell. Managing to put four floors between our pursuers and us we stop, clutching our sides, gasping from laughter and lack of oxygen. Chris looks up at me, flushed and smiling joyously. His eyes are sparkling with excitement and mirth. My body acts without consulting my brain. “Fuck Chris. Why can’t ya be like this all the time?” I ask as I reach out to take what I have longed so very much for. Tangling one hand in that wild honey hair, I slide the other around a slim waist to rest on his tailbone. I close the distance between us. His mouth, oh dear lord, is like heaven and hell. Soft, silky lips and hot, spicy depths that I never want to stop exploring. Hard body relaxing against mine as I trap him against the stairwell wall. I tighten my fingers in Chris’ hair, tilting his head slightly so I can deepen the kiss. My tongue flicks and curls around his. So incredibly hot. Someone’s growling like a wolf. I think it’s me. I pull back slightly, breaking the kiss. A surge of triumph rips through me as I look at his inhumanly beautiful face. Eyelids flutter open. His eyes are huge, black nearly consuming the blue irises. I moan as his tongue gently wets those incredible lips. Pressing forward, I nuzzle at his mouth until once more I’m tasting heaven. A slammed door and burst of laughter echoes around us. But unlike in the movies we don’t blushingly jump apart. I’m still kissing the man I’m pretty sure I’m in love with and no fuckin’ door is going to ruin it now. Our mouths break apart again but this time Chris is staring at me with an expression I, for the life of me, can’t read. “That was a mistake.” No! Please God no ice, please! “Not for me,” my voice is so low and husky I almost don’t recognize it. Chris hasn’t pulled out of my embrace. He could without a doubt do it in a second, but instead he’s politely waiting for me to let him go. Reluctantly I release his delectable body and step back to lean against the railing. “I’m going to check on the kids to make sure there isn’t anything more than bruises.” Damn him he’s all Prince of Egypt icicle again. But inside he burns. “Sure.” I don’t move my eyes from those slightly flushed delicate cheekbones. My primitive side crows at him loosing composure because of me, ME! Without another word he spins on one heel and heads downstairs to check on his Boyos. I fix my gaze on his cute Canadian ass as I let a broad smile cross my face. He kissed me back. **** |