If asked, anyone in WWE would say that Evan Bourne was a nice guy; he was known to be good-natured, even-tempered and kind-hearted. But almost none of them could have said anything beyond that. Even the few who could claim some sort of friendship with him admitted that behind the wide smile and boyish demeanour of his in-ring persona there existed a high, impenetrable wall that kept everyone at a distance.
He was known to be a sympathetic listener, who could offer good advice when asked; he was known to be generous and willing to do a favour for anyone: a loan, a ride or an alibi, but he was never the one asking for advice or a favour. He was never linked with anyone in the company, male or female, and Jack Swagger said that he lived in a tiny, sparsely-furnished condo in Tampa. Although he had his share of humorous on-the-road horror stories and several amusing tales about his time in the indies and Japan, the most personal thing he had ever shared about himself was that he liked cats.
He had an uncanny knack for materialising from nowhere precisely at the time he was expected and disappearing as soon as his scheduled match or appearance was over. When invited out clubbing or to share a meal or a couple of beers, he sometimes accepted with a friendly smile and sometimes declined with the same friendly smile. Overall, the general consensus was that he was a good guy, but rather dull. Cody Rhodes expressed it best when he said that he was like that neighbour nobody knew anything about, except that he was very quiet, who turned out to be a serial killer.
Even Randy Orton, who had known him the longest, could add little, except to say that he had a nice family and was a hard worker. Not that he was the subject of much speculation: he was generally so nondescript and bland outside of the ring that people often forgot his existence. When he returned after a four-month absence for surgery to a torn rotator cuff people were glad to see him, but, if the truth be told, many admitted that they had barely noticed he was gone.
But people who assumed that he was incapable of deep feeling were wrong. There was an unverifiable rumour that he had knocked The Miz flat after a particularly unkind rib at a new guy having a try-out match and Sheamus claimed that he'd extracted a grovelling apology from a drunken frat boy who had been mauling a waitress in a club one night during their time in ECW. Evan refused either to confirm or deny these stories, but, sometimes, as he sat, observing life from the sidelines, he wondered what it would be like to feel part of one of the laughing, confident groups that swept past him and swore to himself that the next time he was approached he would say yes, that he would join in with a whole heart, that he would stop merely existing and start to live before it was too late.
XXXXXX
Sometimes John Cena was convinced that he was the loneliest man in WWE. Although he knew he was respected and well-liked throughout the company, he felt like he could count the number of his friends on one hand; on one finger, actually: Randy Orton. He knew his spot at the top of the roster meant that many of the younger members were either too intimidated to approach him, or, as he had learned to his cost, viewed friendship with him as a means to an end. He had shared his hurt and disappointment with Randy.
"It's not like I was out choosing silver patterns or anything like that. I knew it was pretty casual, but as soon as he found out his title match wasn't going to be at the Rumble he started sulking and pestering me to talk to the bookers," he'd said. "And when I told him I couldn't, that was it."
Randy had been sympathetic, but had pointed out that he had warned him from the start.
"I know," John had sighed, "but we'd been working together on and off since Summerslam. I thought I'd gotten to know him pretty well. My heart's not broken or anything, but it still hurts."
"I know it does, but you have to remember that almost every guy in this company wants your spot and some of them will do practically anything to get it. Anyway, I always thought that Morrison was a little um – flashy for you. You need someone a bit quieter."
"And who would you suggest?" he had asked sardonically.
"You know."
"What? The Invisible Man?" he'd exclaimed.
"Don't call him that," Randy had said, his features hardening, "and don't pretend that you've never thought about it."
Randy was right, but then, John reflected, Randy was seldom wrong about that sort of thing. Once again, he found himself giving thanks that Randy was not his enemy; his ability to get into other people's heads was frightening.
He had always liked Evan, as much as it was possible to like someone whose conversation seemed to be about nothing more significant than the weather, but, for just a moment, last spring, his mask had slipped when they had worked together on the main event of the Memorial Day Raw. When he caught him in his arms, Evan had returned the hug, his features lit up with a fierce joy as he bowed to the fans.
For a few weeks he had been animated and relaxed as he worked with Chris, but then it was gone and he had fallen silent again. John had tried to sound him out, expressing sympathy that his push had gotten lost in the Nexus story line, but Evan had shrugged and, with an impersonal smile that never quite reached his eyes, said that it was simply the nature of the business.
But John had glimpsed something that night in the ring: something that told him that Evan was far from the mild-mannered individual he seemed and, more than anything, John wanted to be the one to break down those walls.
XXXXXX
Evan had flown into Fresno for the Raw following the Elimination Chamber and would be joining the company to do PR during their South American tour. He checked into the hotel quickly and dropped his bags in his room before heading to the arena to meet up with the road agents. Riding the elevator with several other members of the company, he responded to their exclamations of pleasure at his return calmly. Arriving at the arena, he exchanged handshakes and a few hugs with assorted backstage personnel with the same unruffled tranquility.
Once he'd met with the road agents and received his schedule for South America, he found himself a spot where he could watch the show on the monitor, but it failed to engage him and he retreated into his own thoughts. He was daily expecting clearance to wrestle again, but had already accepted that it was highly unlikely that he would be at Wrestlemania. Just as he was contemplating returning to the hotel, since there was really no point in hanging around the arena, his thoughts were interrupted by a hand thumping his shoulder.
"Hey! You're back!"
He turned to face Randy, who pulled him into an awkward hug. "Yes," he replied. Good one, Evan, he thought as he stared tongue-tied at the other man.
"So, how long before you're back in the ring?"
"A week or two."
"That's great." As Evan remained silent, he continued, "Stick around. We'll grab a burger or something after the show."
"Um – okay."
"Great, I'll see you later."
Evan stared after his retreating figure, mentally kicking himself. What was the matter with him? He had sworn to himself that he would stop hanging around the edges when he came back. He knew people thought he was reserved to the point of coldness and dull, but he knew he had only himself to blame. He had known Randy for years and received nothing but kindness and encouragement from him, but he seemed to be incapable of responding to him beyond one-word answers. He was glad to be back and he was happy to see Randy and he determined that he would tell him that tonight; that, for once, he would let down his guard and share what was in his heart.
XXXXXX
Randy had just finished lacing his boots and was taping his wrists when John knocked on his dressing room door and slipped in.
"Evan's back, you know."
"I know," he answered. "I just spoke to him. We're going for a burger after the show."
"That is going to be one silent meal. I ran into him, just as he was arriving and I don't think I got more than four words out of him. What is it with him?" John asked in puzzlement. "He can't be shy."
"No, he's not. He just holds everything in."
"You've known him for a long time. Did something happen to make him that way?"
"I don't think so," Randy said thoughtfully. "I know his parents were very strict with him. One time he said something about how it had been hard going to the school where his parents taught; he was expected to be twice a good as all the other kids."
"My God! Did you get him drunk? That's about the most personal thing I've ever heard about him."
Randy smiled reluctantly. "Actually, he told that to Sam. You should see him with Alanna; he's a completely different person." He looked steadily at John. "There is someone worth getting to know there, but I think if he ever opened up and got hurt he'd shut down for good."
"Are you warning me off?"
"No. I think you'd be good for him, but…" Randy's voice trailed off. Evan was an enigma; occasionally something would flicker across his features, something that told him that he hated the constraints he had placed upon himself, but didn't know how to break free. "You'll have to be very patient and it will be an uphill battle."
"I always did like a challenge," John grinned.
"It's not a game," Randy snapped, "and if I ever hear that you hurt him, I'll break your fucking neck." So saying, he swept past John and left the dressing room.
John followed him out and stared after him. Evan might be a puzzle, but someone could spend a lifetime peeling away Randy's layers and never reach his core. One thing he knew, however, was that he was intensely loyal to people he cared about, but, if betrayed, he turned on them with a bitterness that chilled John's soul.
XXXXXX
Randy bore Evan off to a diner after the show and ordered double cheeseburgers for both of them. "It's good to have you back," he said.
"It's good to be back," he replied. There now, he thought, that wasn't so hard. "I – I need to thank you. You called me every week while I was away. It meant a lot to me; it was very kind of you."
"For God's sake!" Randy exclaimed in mock horror. "Don't tell anyone; it'll ruin my reputation."
"No, I'll just tell everybody that Sam made you do it."
"Better that they think I'm henpecked than soft-hearted."
"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me," he said, punctuating his words with a wide grin.
Randy blinked in surprise. He could see that Evan was struggling and felt a pang of sympathy for him. Despite his earlier words to John, he did believe that Evan had made a conscious decision to shut the world out and was strangely touched to see him trying to come out of his shell. Determined to put him at ease, he kept the conversation light and filled any silence that was about to become awkward with stories about his little daughter.
"Sam would love to see you again," he said. "She was hoping you'd stay with us in a couple of weeks when we're in St Louis, but I guess you'll be at your parents' place."
"I'd like that," Evan answered. "Believe it or not, my parents are going to be in Hawaii that week. They booked their tickets months ago. I told them to go ahead; we still don't know for sure if I'll be cleared by then."
"Sam will be thrilled. Maybe we can go out for St Louis pizza after the show. Of course, the old man will probably be there too."
"I'd like to see your father again. You know he called me a few times while I was off, too. So did Sam." He paused for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. "You've all been very good to me. You'll have to let me pay for that pizza."
"I've never been one to turn down a free meal," Randy said, his words belied as he snatched the bill and pulled out his wallet.
Back at the hotel, he was heading up to his room when a voice called, "Hold it," just as the elevator door was about to shut and John slipped in. Embarrassed as he recalled his earlier silence, he forced his eyes away from the floor indicator and looked directly at the bigger man.
"It's really nice to see you again, John."
"Same here," he answered, smiling easily at him. Deciding to take a chance, he continued, "I have a six-pack here," he said, holding up the bag he was carrying. "Would you like to come to my room and have a cold one?"
Evan hesitated noticeably before answering, "Okay."
He followed John to his room, wondering what on earth he was going to find to say and, perching on the edge of a chair, accepted a can of beer with mumbled thanks. As he popped the tab open, the beer foamed out of the can drenching his shirt. "Oh Jesus!" he cried in dismay, "I'd better head back to my own room."
"Hey! Relax, it's okay," John said, tossing him a towel and pulling a t-shirt out of his bag. "Here. Put this on."
He stripped off his shirt and dried off quickly, pulling John's shirt over his head. Both men burst out laughing at the sight of Evan, swallowed by the purple t-shirt.
"You'd better hope you don't run into any of the guys on the way back to your room," John laughed. "You'd never be able to explain that."
"Then I guess I'll have to spend the night here." The words popped out before he realised what he was saying. He clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. "Just kidding, of course."
"Of course." John was tempted to tease him a little, but remembering Randy's words and looking at Evan, scarlet with mortification, he changed the subject and began to ask him about his rehabilitation regime. He kept the conversation impersonal, telling a few stories about his own rehab, delighted to see Evan slowly relax and speak with increasing confidence.
Evan finished his beer and declined another. "I should turn in. It's going to take a while for me to get used to travelling and sleeping in strange beds all the time again."
"True. It must have been nice to be able to stay in one place and hang out with your friends while you were off."
"Um – yeah."
Something about the way Evan refused to meet his eyes told John everything he needed to know: he had been alone the entire time. And Evan, writhing inside at the pity in John's eyes, spoke defiantly, "My brother stayed with me for a bit. And lots of people called to see how I was doing: Randy and Jack, for instance. You even called me once."
"Once in four months. I should have called more often."
"Why?"
"Because we're – co-workers. I did think about you and I meant to call."
"It's okay," he replied. "I know you're busy."
"That's no excuse. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Anyway," he said, standing up, "I'll be going now. Thanks for the beer, even if I did end out wearing most of it."
"You're welcome," John answered as he walked Evan to the door. "I'm glad you're back." He put his arm around him and gave his shoulders a friendly squeeze as he left the room.
Closing the door, John thought about his words to Evan. "Because we're – co-workers." He had been about to say friends, but stopped himself, realising that they were not friends. Evan had no friends, except, possibly, Randy. As Randy had said, he wasn't shy, but, for some reason, he had withdrawn to the point of solitude and John wondered why.
XXXXXX
Evan hurried back to his room, grateful that he didn't run into anyone else. He certainly didn't want to explain why he was wearing one of John's shirts and couldn't bear the idea of anyone speculating about what he was doing in John's room. He had to smile at the grim irony of his situation: most of the guys would have given their eyeteeth for an invitation from either John or Randy and he had to fight the urge to run in the opposite direction.
Things had been going so well, he thought, until the very end when he had betrayed himself to John. He had felt his guard lifting and, for a few minutes, had felt like he was rejoining the human race. The past is a foreign country, they said. Maybe he could start to believe that; put the past behind him and, finally, stop living a half-life.
Climbing into bed, his thoughts returned to last summer when he was working with Chris. His pleasure over his apparent push and the force of Chris's personality had broken down some of his barriers. He would always be grateful to Chris for his generosity as an opponent and the endorsement he had given him. They had begun to grow close: sharing stories about Japan and Chris had drawn out from him his frustration that his size would always limit his career. As they began to bond, he had wondered if it was possible that they might become more than co-workers and opponents.
He stared at the ceiling as he recalled the night he had tried, haltingly, to express these thoughts to the other man. Chris had been kind, but had gently rebuffed him, saying there could be no future for them. He realised now, in light of his departure from WWE that Chris had done him a favour, but he had been crushed and retreated even further into himself.
He had made a good start, he told himself, although he cringed at the memory of the pity in John's eyes, but even that was better than the shock and disgust he would show if he ever learned the truth.
XXXXXX
More than a few members of the company noticed the change in Evan. He was still quiet and, occasionally, withdrawn, but as they made their way through South America he was seen to initiate conversations, talk about his surgery and recovery and even joke about the fact that he had time for sightseeing, unlike the rest of them. Randy kept a close eye on him, unobtrusively sheltering him when he saw he was becoming overwhelmed and John sought him out frequently, gently teasing him until he began to respond with a formerly hidden quick wit and quietly intervening if he began to flounder around the others.
Another unexpected protector was Sheamus. When Evan finally received his clearance to wrestle at the Raw in Buffalo, he was stunned to learn that the big Irishman had offered to put him over.
"You've had a hard time," he said when Evan attempted to thank him. "You deserve to come back with a splash. I'm only sorry that Hunter will have worn me down when you come out."
"No, this is fantastic! Really!" he said. He had been gloomily anticipating that his return match would involve some sort of beat-down by the Nexus. He knew that he would have to earn his spot on the roster, but he was beginning to realise something else: that he was the one who had been holding himself back. His mike skills were still weak, but he hoped that his new-found confidence and animation would help remedy that.
After his match, he ran backstage, thrilling to the applause and basking in the congratulations and goodwill of the rest of the company, when John stopped him.
"Good job! I see you're back on form."
"It was a pretty short match," he answered, "but I was kind of worried."
"It looks to me like you had nothing to worry about. What's next? Do you know yet?"
"Not really. The bookers are scrambling. Getting things ready for Wrestlemania is their top priority right now," he said. "But I'm back on the card for the house-show circuit."
"That's great! What if we celebrate your return by you letting me buy you a beer after the show?" he asked.
"Only if you bring an extra shirt. You remember what happened last time." He grinned at John and ran off to the locker room.
"So, do you think you're getting anywhere?" asked a voice behind him.
He turned to see Randy. "I don't know. God knows that he's probably talked more in the last few days than he has in the past few years. What's the story there?"
"I think his injury shook him up a bit. Do you think he really had no visitors?"
"He didn't exactly say so, but… yeah."
"That's wrong," Randy said, shaking his head. "I should have made an effort."
"Randy, you called him every week. That's more than anyone else did."
"I know, but still…"
"Anyway, he's really trying to open up. And we're going out for a beer later."
"Good." Randy smiled approvingly. "You know, it really used to bother me to see him hanging around the edges of life. Sam was the only one I ever saw, who could draw him out. You'll be good for him. And I think he'll be good for you."
"I think so, too."
XXXXXX
John had arranged to meet Evan in the hotel bar after the show ended. Making his way to an inconspicuous table, he was disappointed to see him come in with Jack Swagger, but foolishly relieved to see Jack give him a friendly punch on the arm and join several others at another table.
"I didn't keep you waiting, did I?" he asked, taking a seat. "Someone hid Jack's bag. It took us fifteen minutes to find it."
"Where did it turn up?"
"In the women's locker room. You should have seen him, pounding on the door, begging them to pass it out to him. I wonder who put it there," he said, smiling innocently.
John, remembering seeing Evan in conversation with Gail Kim, burst out laughing. "You didn't!"
"There are some advantages to being the Invisible Man. Good thing Jack's on Smackdown. I hate to think what he'll do to pay me back."
"You knew they called you that?" he asked in surprise.
"Of course I did. Invisible. Remember? I fade into the wallpaper." Suddenly, he grinned. "I was thinking of asking Vince if I could have a new gimmick when I came back. 'The Chameleon.'"
"Can I ask you something?"
"I guess," he answered, a certain wariness coming into his voice.
"You've changed since you came back. It's like you're trying not to be quite so… invisible. What made you do that?"
Evan hesitated for a moment. John could see that he was struggling to answer, but just as he was about to tell him he didn't have to, he spoke. "You were right. I was alone while I was off. I didn't notice it so much when I was on the road, but these past few months were the first time that I was home on a weekend in almost ten years. I was lonely, but I knew it was my own fault." He braced himself for the next question, visibly relaxing when it didn't come.
"Well, it's nice that you're not keeping yourself away. I'm glad to see it."
He remained silent for a minute, but finally spoke in a low voice. "I am glad to be back. I'm happy to be back in the ring and I'm very happy to be able to sit here with you."
John caught his breath; there was no mistaking the look in Evan's eye. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What if we continue this conversation in my room?"
Evan drained his beer and swallowed convulsively two or three times. "Okay."
XXXXXX
John led Evan into his room. "I'm sorry half the company was in the bar to see you leaving with me. Do you mind?"
"A little," he answered, sitting awkwardly on the edge of a chair, much as he had a week earlier. "But most of those guys would give their left nut to be here right now."
"I know," John sighed. "But most of them would be here because of my spot on the roster, not because they wanted to be with me."
"Like Morrison?" At John's surprised look, he smiled slightly. "Invisible. Remember? I hear things."
"Yeah. Like Morrison."
"It didn't end well?"
"Not exactly, but Randy warned me I was making a mistake from the beginning. But what about you?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed to face him. "You've never been seen with anyone, except last summer. It looked for a while like you and Chris might get together."
"I know." Evan dropped his eyes and began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. "I thought so, too, but it didn't happen."
"I'm sorry," John said, "if he hurt you, but," he reached out to take Evan's hand, "I'm very glad on my own account."
They sat in silence for several long minutes as Evan stared down at John's big hand curled around his own. Finally, he looked up at John and smiled. "I think I'm glad, too, now."
"Good. What if, for the time being, we just try to spend some time together and see how things work out?"
"I'd like that."
Evan stayed for half an hour chatting about inconsequential things, but his hand remained in John's and when he began to yawn, John stood, gently pulling him up. "You must be beat," he said. "You've had an exciting evening."
"I am. I guess the adrenaline high has worn off."
"Then I'll let you turn in." He took his face between his hands and kissed him very softly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning before we head out to the airport."
XXXXXX
By Thursday Evan had run out of things to do. He had worked out every day, read three books from cover to cover and watched hours of TV. He had even given considerable thought to repainting his kitchen, but finally admitted to himself that he was trying to occupy his mind so he wouldn't have to think about John. He wasn't blind; he had caught John's eyes on him once or twice last year and, when he heard that his relationship with Morrison had ended, promised himself that he would respond to the invitation that he had seen there. He wasn't in love with him, but he had always liked and admired him and he was tired of being alone. He knew that getting involved with John would draw many eyes to him, which made him very uncomfortable, but he was determined to push through his self-imposed barriers.
Then tell him the truth, he thought. John had the right to know and he knew that he could not build any sort of a relationship while fearing John's reaction when he learned. Better to get it out in the open before he risked himself. At least he knew he could trust that John would keep it to himself no matter how he reacted. But he quailed inside at the thought of sharing it with anyone. Only one other person knew and he desperately needed reassurance that he was making the right decision. Randy had told him what he was up to during his time off from the road this week. Recalling his words and determining Randy's whereabouts, he picked up his phone and called St Louis.
XXXXXX
Evan was disappointed, but not surprised, to learn that his spot on the roster had not really changed on his return. He was usually booked to win in the house-shows, but on Raw he was expected to do the job. He had, however, been promised a good match at the up-coming Raw in St Louis and was looking forward to it, especially since his parents had changed their travel plans in order to be there. He couldn't help but hope that after Wrestlemania there might be an opportunity to rise on the card.
He and John usually got together during each loop, but John was so busy promoting Wrestlemania that their time together was minimal. John treated him with the utmost gentleness and patience, doing nothing more than taking him into his arms for a brief embrace, never pressing him for more. Evan responded with increasing ardour as his respect and liking for John grew almost daily and he was determined to share the truth with him soon. If John could accept it, he told himself, he would be ready to give himself without reservation.
Randy approached him on the Friday before the St Louis Raw. "Hey," he said, "Sam was disappointed that you won't be staying with us, after all."
"So was I, actually, but with my parents changing their plans and everything…" his voice trailed off.
"I understand," Randy said, "and so does Sam, but she'd like you to come to lunch on Monday. The old man will be there."
"I'd like that," he answered.
"She's invited John, too." Randy added with a sly grin.
"That's nice," Evan remarked blandly, but he could not prevent the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks.
"Evan," Randy said gently, "we've known each other a long time, haven't we?" He continued as Evan nodded, "And you know I've never wanted anything for you, except that you be happy?"
"Yes," he replied in a low voice, staring at the floor.
"Then give John a chance. He's a good man and he cares about you." Randy could see Evan's discomfort as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting about as if looking for an escape. "Stop keeping him at arm's length or let him go. It's not fair to him."
"I know," he muttered, "and – and I want to."
"Then do it."
XXXXXX
It was easy for Randy to tell him to open up to John and he desperately wanted to, but years of self-imposed restraint could not be easily set aside. Finally, he decided that once the St Louis show was past, he would talk seriously with him. "Give John some credit," he remembered his phone conversation. "You say you admire and trust him; show it."
But sitting in John's room after the show that night, he felt more tongue-tied than he had in weeks: the enormity of what he wanted to say blocking out his ability to say anything at all.
"I was thinking," John said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "we've barely had a moment to ourselves the past couple of weeks, and it will only get worse as we get closer to Wrestlemania."
"It's okay," he mumbled. "I know you're very busy right now."
"It's not okay," John insisted. "How can we ever get to know each other properly when all we can manage is a half-hour or so late at night, when we're both tired and sore? I have an idea. What if we try travelling together for a bit? Just driving from one town to the next. Most of those drives are pretty boring. We'd have plenty of time to talk."
Evan felt his heart sink. Plenty of time to talk was exactly what he didn't need; not until he managed tell John.
Watching Evan sit silently, refusing to meet his eyes, John felt his control desert him. "Dammit Evan!" he snapped. "What is the matter with you? I've tried to understand and I've tried to be patient, but you keep pushing me away!"
"I know you've been patient," he cried desperately, "and I appreciate it more than I can ever say, but –"
"But what? I'm not made of stone, you know. I sit three feet away from you, when all I want to do is hold you in my arms. Why won't you let me get close to you? Why?"
"It's not just you, John. It's –"
"I know it's not just me," he interrupted. "That's the only thing that gives me any hope. The only one you let in is Randy." Suddenly he caught his breath. "Are you in love with Randy? Is that why you keep away from everyone?"
"No! No!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in horror. "Is that what people think? That I'm carrying around some hopeless torch for Randy?" His voice began to rise. "Am I that pathetic? That pitiable?" He leapt from the chair and began to stride around the room, his fists clenched. "You people know nothing about me! Do you hear me?" he shouted as he whirled to face John. "Nothing!"
And John, stunned at the sight of Evan, flushed and animated with anger, his eyes glittering with rage, stood and caught him by the wrists, pulling him against his own body, as he brought his mouth down upon the younger man's. Evan responded fervently, opening his mouth to receive John's kisses, as the bigger man scooped him up in his arms and laid him down on the bed.
"Is this so terrible?" he murmured as he covered Evan's body with his own, kissing him hungrily.
With surprising strength, Evan pushed him off and rolled on top of him. "It's not terrible at all," he whispered as he scraped his teeth along John's jaw line, pulling up his t-shirt to reveal his heavily muscled chest.
John rolled on top of Evan and pulled his shirt open with one motion. "In fact, it's rather nice, isn't it?" he laughed as he fastened his mouth to the spot where Evan's neck met his shoulder and sucked hard. It would probably leave a mark, but he found himself hoping it would as he sought to claim this eager, responsive Evan as his own.
Evan cradled his head as he threw his head back baring his throat to John's lips, revelling in John's caresses and his own avid response to them as his barriers began to crumble. Shaking with need, he pushed John onto his back again and straddled his hips, catching hold of his hands and placing them on his chest. John caught his breath at the sight of his big hands covering so much of the other man's torso and began to trace delicate patterns with his slightly calloused fingertips across his smooth skin. Evan arched his back and sighed with pleasure, his own fingers seeking out the ridges and contours of John's chest, teasing his nipples to hard nubs.
Crushing Evan to his chest, he rolled on top of the smaller man and sought his lips again. Evan writhed under him, kissing him greedily, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and nibbling on it as his hands reached out to cup his buttocks to pull him closer.
Suddenly, John realised that Evan was laughing softly and raised his head to look at him in puzzlement.
"If we roll over one more time," he chuckled, "we'll be on the floor."
It was true, John noticed: they were precariously near the edge of the bed. Lying back in the middle of the bed, he pulled Evan close, so that his head rested on his shoulder, trailing his fingers down his back as he struggled to regain his composure.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper just now," he said. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."
"I don't blame you," Evan said, raising himself up on one elbow to look at him. "You have been very patient; you deserve better than this."
"Why not let me be the judge of that? But," he said, drawing a finger along Evan's jaw line, "like I said, I'm not made of stone and neither are you, obviously. I'm willing to wait, but I need to know that there's hope."
"There is," Evan said in a low voice. "Soon, I promise. And I like your idea of driving together. The only other person I ever travelled with was Jack and he insisted on playing the radio full blast, singing along at the top of his voice."
"I think I can promise not to do that," John replied. He sat up and retrieved Evan's shirt. "Now, put your shirt on and get out before I regret being so damned noble."
"But you are," he said earnestly as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. "I mean it; you are a truly good man and you have no idea how rare that is."
"Aw – shucks," John grinned, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He began to laugh as he realised that he torn most of the buttons off Evan's shirt. "Here," he said, handing him his own t-shirt.
"I think I'd better start keeping a spare shirt in your room," Evan quipped. "Mine keep getting ruined."
"Or better yet," John replied, "you could start staying in my room. Then it wouldn't matter."
"Maybe we could try that sometime next week," Evan said as he reached up to give him a kiss.
"Maybe we could," he said as he returned the kiss and walked him to the door.
Alone, John reflected on the events of that evening. Although he regretted his outburst, perhaps it had been a good thing and, thinking of Evan's impassioned response, he was confident that Evan would soon overcome that part of himself that prevented him from yielding completely.
XXXXXX
John was already at Randy's house when Evan arrived shortly before noon on Monday. He hugged Sam affectionately and shook hands with Cowboy Bob, but as soon as Alanna jumped from her father's lap and ran over to him, he allowed himself to be dragged over to where she kept her toys and squatted down, gravely listening to her babble.
"He loves her," John said to Randy as he watched Evan tickle her until she squealed for mercy and sweep her up into his arms, blowing raspberries on her cheeks.
"I told you; he's a completely different person around her. I'm going to ask him to be godfather if we have another one."
"And who's this?" Evan asked, balancing Alanna on his hip as a tiny ginger tabby kitten wove around his ankles.
"Kitty!" she exclaimed.
"Does he have a name?"
"Kitty," she insisted.
"I wanted to call him Sheamus," Randy commented, "but I was overruled."
Alanna wrinkled her nose. "Sheamus nasty!"
Evan began to laugh. "So who are you going to cheer for tonight, Princess?"
"Daddy!" she crowed.
"And who else?" Bob Orton asked, his lip twitching.
"Evan!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
"What about John?" Orton persevered. "Let's go Cena!" he chanted.
"Cena sucks!" she finished.
"Randy!" Sam exclaimed as John and the others convulsed with laughter, "did you teach her that?" She rolled her eyes as Randy and his father exchanged conspiratorial glances. "Just for that, you can get her to go down for her nap."
Randy detached his daughter from Evan and carried her upstairs, giggling and singing out, "Cena sucks!" over and over.
"I'm sorry about that, John," Sam said as she led them to the dining room. "Randy and his father have a very warped sense of humour." She glared at Bob as he took his seat.
"It's okay," John laughed. "At least they didn't teach her any of the old-school ECW chants."
"Don't give them any ideas," she said cringing at the thought.
Randy joined them shortly, grumbling that he couldn't stay too long. "I ran into an old high school buddy a couple of weeks ago. He talked me into showing up at some charity thing this afternoon. I'll see you all at the arena this evening."
"Don't worry about it," Evan chuckled. "After all, John and I can hang out with you any time. John's got some PR gig this afternoon, so I'll have Sam and Alanna all to myself."
After everyone else had departed, Evan helped Sam clear the table. "Evan," she said, "it's so good to see you like this. You seem happier than I can ever remember. Are you and John…?" Her voice trailed off.
"Not yet," he replied, turning bright pink, "but soon."
"I'm glad," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "You deserve to be happy."
XXXXXX
"You deserve to be happy." Sam's words echoed in his mind as he drove to the arena. Yes, he did. He'd made mistakes in the past, but, finally, he realised that the biggest mistake he'd ever made was allowing the past to rule his life: cutting himself off from the world, afraid to live and afraid to love. Well, no longer, he decided, the memory of John's arms around him and John's lips on his giving him strength. Remembering the tenderness in John's blue eyes, the kindness and patience he had shown, he knew that he trusted John with every fibre of his being. And he knew something else: that he had grown to love him. He leapt from his car and hurried through the corridor to John's dressing room, anxious not to waste another minute.
XXXXXX
Randy could feel his smile becoming more and more fixed as put his arm around another giggling teenaged girl and faced the camera. Still, it was better than some of the others, older women with wandering hands, who slipped their phone numbers in his pocket and drunken frat boys in bars, who wanted to see how tough he really was. Thank God the session was at an end.
One of the organisers came over and shook his hand. "Thank you so much for agreeing to this," he said, "especially since you gave up time you could have spent with your own family."
"I'm glad I could help," he replied. "Now that I think about it, I should have brought Evan with me. He's a local boy too. Maybe next time."
"I'm afraid I don't follow wrestling. Evan who?"
"Bourne. He went to high school not far from here. His parents are both teachers."
The other man's features clouded briefly. "It's probably just as well that you didn't. Considering…"
"Considering what?" Randy snapped and listened in growing shock and horror as he told him.
XXXXXX
Evan sat chatting with John in his dressing room, unable to hide his excitement. "My whole family is here," he said. "Even my brother made it. I was wondering…"
"Wondering what?" John asked.
"I was wondering if you'd like to meet them after the show," he said.
John's heart leapt at the significance of those words. "I'd like that very much," he said softly.
"I – I told my brother a little bit about us. He wrestles too, you know. He said he'd heard a couple of things through the grapevine."
"I'm not surprised," John answered. "Is that why you won't share my dressing room? Because you think people will talk about us? They already are and it's going to get a lot worse after next week."
"I know and I don't mind too much, but I'm just trying to get used to the idea."
"Take as long as you need," John said, cupping his chin. "I'm not going anywhere."
Evan twined his arms around John's neck. "You'd better not," he grinned as he reached up to kiss him.
Suddenly, the door flew open and Randy burst into the room.
"Ever hear of knocking?" John asked sardonically as Evan turned bright pink with embarrassment at being caught in John's arms.
Randy carefully closed the door and crossed the small room purposefully. "You sick bastard!" he hissed, knocking Evan to the floor with a single blow to the jaw. "You perverted little fuck!" he whispered as he dropped to the ground, punching him over and over.
"Randy!" John shouted as he attempted to pull him off the fallen man. "What the fuck…"
"You rotten piece of shit!" he yelled, struggling to break free from John's iron hold. "I left you alone with my wife! I let you touch my daughter! You – you –" Red-faced and incoherent with rage, he panted, "I'm going to Vince tomorrow and telling him exactly what sort of scum you are. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you! I swear it!"
Finally, John slammed Randy against the wall, twisting his arm painfully behind him. "Unless you want me to fuck up your shoulder for good, you'd better get out of here now," he snarled.
Randy suddenly became eerily calm. "Ask him," he said in a bizarrely conversational tone. "Watch him try to deny it."
By this time, Evan had sat up. "No, I won't," he whispered hoarsely. "I'll go. You'll never see me again."
John watched this exchange, dumbstruck as he realised that Evan had not attempted to defend himself or fight back in any way. "Get out! Now!" he commanded, unable to hide his surprise as Randy obeyed without another word. He helped Evan up and guided him to a chair. "I'll go find the trainer," he said. "Don't move."
He returned a few minutes later with an older man, who, hardened by years on the road with the company, showed no surprise at the sight of Evan, blood streaming from his nose and lip, one eye already beginning to close. He tended to him quickly, pronouncing no permanent damage; ice and time were all that was necessary.
"Will you tell the road agents he can't go on tonight?" John asked in a low voice, thanking him as he assented and left the room.
"My family –" Evan mumbled.
"Send your brother a text. I'll talk to security and get him backstage and bring him here," John said, grateful for the immediate necessity of focussing on practical matters.
About ten minutes later, he led Evan's brother into the dressing room.
"Jesus Christ!" he exploded. "What happened to you?"
"I ran into a fist," he answered with a weak smile.
"He can't go on tonight," John said. "Can you come up with something to tell your parents?"
"I'll try. Do you want to go home?"
"To Mom and Dad's? I – I'd rather not."
"I don't blame you," he said, smiling wryly. "I'll take you back to my place."
"Thanks Mike."
"I'll go talk to Mom and Dad. Then I'll get my car and bring it round to the door. Can you make sure security will let me through?" he asked John.
"Of course," he said. "I'll be right back," he added as they slipped out the door.
Returning a few minutes later, he found Evan sitting motionless, where he had left him. "Let's clean you up a bit," he said as he wet a towel and sponged the blood from Evan's face. Peeling off his blood-soaked t-shirt, he pulled one from his own bag and handed it to him. "Here. Put this on."
Evan smiled faintly as he pulled it over his head. "I should go to the souvenir stand and buy them out. You must be running short by now."
Worried by Evan's unnatural calm, John found a hoodie and gently pulled it over Evan's head. "Let's see if we can't get you to the door without more than a couple hundred people seeing you. I'll get your bag from the locker room later and bring it to your brother's place after the show."
"Thank you," he said dully as he withdrew as much as possible into the hood John pulled up over his head.
He followed John silently down the corridor to a side entrance to the arena. Although he drew a few sidelong glances, he went mostly unnoticed in the chaotic backstage. As he opened the door, John barely heard him as he murmured, "I guess being the Invisible Man has some advantages."
John felt his throat close, but managed to reply, "I have to get back there. I'll see you later when I bring your stuff. Okay?"
"Sure," he muttered as he climbed into the car.