Part 3 in Series
Author: Midnight
Email: bratd19@charter.net
Fandom: Wrestling
Series: Is This Love? (pt. 3 in
series)
Rating: FRT
Warnings: Bad language, angst,
slash m/m relationships
Disclaimer: Don’t know ‘em.
Don’t own ‘em. This is fiction.
After Shawn’s Stint on Raw 4/25/05
He hadn’t been able to watch Raw since
they’d broken up. It hurt too much, seeing him out there, all happy and cocky
and having so much fun. He hadn’t been able to look at him since he’d said what
he said the week before. How dare that overgrown chimpanzee question his love
for him? So he’d been irrational. So he was an idiot. Big deal, he knew that
going in. He snuggled deep into the fluffy couch and wrapped his arms
protectively around himself. He’d loved him. He’d loved him more than he’d ever
loved anyone. His heart ached with the love he felt, with the loss of the love
that had been his sole reason for living for the last year. He had never
thought he could ever feel so strongly for someone. Before his injury he’d
thought himself infallible. He’d lived life as though he were immortal; as if
he had all the time in the world to find love. Now he knew better. He realized
just how much he wasn’t immortal. He agonized over it, as he agonized over the
loss of the one man in the world who had ever made him feel something so deep
and unbreakable. He’d felt that love on every level, on levels he didn’t even
know he had, the loss of it left him something more than empty; not even a
shell. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to function these past two weeks. Wasn’t
aware of moving, speaking, even wrestling half of the time. Hunter was worried
but Shawn was avoiding him so it didn’t really matter. The couch dipped, jarring
him from his thoughts, and he blinked, realizing he was staring at a blank
monitor and turned his head, slightly, barely managing not to scream or throw
up, and wondering which would make him feel worse. Somehow he managed to force
a smile onto his face.
“What do you say I take you out? We’ll
drink, we’ll talk, and at the end of the night you’ll feel much better.” How
the hell was he supposed to say ‘no’ and not make the old bastard go running
back to Vince claiming all sorts of vicious lies? He was already on thin ice
with Vince. He wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t been listening.
“I’m kind of tired, actually.” He managed
to find his voice, albeit small and unconvincing. The sagging sack of flesh
smiled even more broadly and laid a hand on his thigh. Shawn managed not to
scream in terror and flee the room.
“Come on now, Shawn.” He needled. “We both
know you want to.” They both knew that he meant ‘had to’, actually, but neither
of them bothered to address that. Vince wanted him to entertain the twittering
old crone, whose idea of ‘entertainment’ terrified Shawn to no end. Made him
want to do a swan dive onto some of that pretty black pavement outside. He
sighed and very slightly nodded his ascent.
“Okay.”
He whispered. “I’ll go.” He felt sick. His stomach churned, his head ached, and
he wished hardest now that he hadn’t broken up with Dave. Dave would’ve cracked
the creepy old bastard’s head open and siphoned out the thimbleful of gray
matter he claimed was brains. The withered beach ball patted his thigh.
“See?” He wondered how much trouble he’d
get into for breaking every bone in the hand that was being way too bold down
there on his thigh. Vince would believe he’d been harassed, right? Or had he
used that one before? “What do you say we leave now, hmm? Get a head start.” He
sighed and nodded. What use would it be to put it off? He knew how the night
was going to end. Hmm, maybe he’d slit his throat when he got to his room. That
would definitely get him out of this. He eyed Hogan contemplatively. Well, it
might anyway. He wasn’t quite so sure. “How about we just go back to your
room.” Hogan cooed in his ear as he led him down the hall. “That way you feel a
bit more comfortable.” Shawn closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He didn’t care
how important this match was. He didn’t care if the future of the damn company
rested on Hogan competing in this last match. He was not, under any
circumstances, whoring himself out to the dilapidated, rotting corpse, whose
hand on his back was being entirely too friendly.
“Can I talk to you?” Shawn almost screamed
in relief, even if the voice belonged to the man who had torn his heart from
his chest and trampled all over it the week before. He almost said ‘no’ and
then Hogan’s hand dipped and brushed across his ass and he nodded rather
jerkily and stepped up to him.
“Just make it quick.” He tried to keep his
voice neutral, even cold, but he was sure from the look ‘the Animal’ gave him
that he’d sounded just as insecure and heart-broken as he felt. Dave sighed and
led him away from Hogan and into the nearest empty room, where he promptly
locked the door and trapped Shawn against it, glaring down at him.
“What are you doing?” He asked and he
sounded something comparable to irritated. Shawn blinked and stared up at him,
confused and somewhat scared. His ex looked angry. At him. And since he hadn’t
so much as looked at him in a week he wasn’t sure how that was possible.
“What do you mean?” He realized then that
he should have been fighting against this; against being restrained like this
when Dave gave up his right to touch him when he decided Shawn’s vow of love
had been a lie.
“With him.” And he jerked his head toward
the door. “With that decaying piece of flab who thinks he’s still got what it
takes to be here.”
“That how you describe me when I’m not
around?” Shawn muttered and decided he’d have more fun examining his
fingernails than looking into Dave’s eyes.
“Of course not!” His voice was harsh and
made Shawn wince. “Christ, Shawn, what’s wrong with your head that you think up
shit like that?” Shawn shrugged. He’d asked himself that once. He’d never
answered so he’d let it go.
“I have to sleep with him.” He wasn’t sure
who was more shocked. He hadn’t meant to say it after all. He sure as hell
didn’t want Dave to know. While he was marveling over what strange trick of his
imagination had cause him to reveal that disgusting piece of information,
Dave’s shock was wearing off.
“Oh, I don’t fucking think so.” He hissed
and pulled Shawn away from the door. “Over my dead fucking body. That bitch
isn’t putting so much as a finger on you.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Damn but his
hands were interesting. He’d been looking at them for ten minutes now and they
never seemed to get boring.
“The hell you don’t!” Shawn cringed and
backed away. “You’re not sleeping with him and you’re not leaving here with
him, either.”
“You can’t tell me what to do anymore.” He
felt more than saw Dave advance on him. It was a lucky thing indeed that Dave
loved him so much or he might just have found himself sprawled on the floor
with a reason to ice his jaw.
“You are not going anywhere
with him!” He hissed and Shawn stepped back from him. “I swear, Shawn, I’ll
fucking kill him if you do.” He almost smiled and then he remembered that he
was Shawn Michaels and he was nobody’s property. He forced himself to meet
Dave’s eyes.
“I’m not your property, Dave. You can’t
tell me what to do.” He’d hoped to sound more forceful. He’d hoped to at least
make Dave believe he meant what he was saying even if he knew he didn’t.
“Watch me.” He took Shawn’s bag and slung
it over his own shoulder. “We’re leaving.” He thought about protesting. Yelling
about how they’d broken up and he didn’t have to put up with this bullshit anymore.
But in the end he decided that he’d much rather have Dave telling him what to
do than Hogan doing things to him that he really didn’t want to think about.
The End