Resistance Is Futile
By: Princess Yori
Summary: Jomo wants to resist
Genre: Romance
Pairing: MiMo
Rating: K+
Status: Complete
Type: One-shot.
Disclaimer: Miz & Morrison belong to WWE
Morrison hid his face from 'The' Miz; it was much less complicated when he didn't look him in the face. He always hid his face whenever Miz would ask him who he was 'banging', always made up some lie, and pretended the world was not ending when he saw the seemingly proud look across his tag-team partner's face. He'd like to believe they were both pretending, but he could never gather up the lie. He could feel the intent eyes staring at him; thankfully Miz always seemed too distracted to notice his rituals. During the whole torturous minute and a half he was silently hoping he wouldn't screw up and say 'I wish it were you'.
He hated that his emotions were always complicating their friendship, he almost always refused to go anywhere with him anymore. He saw that occasional look of hurt on Miz's face and winced internally, the hope that spiked from it wasn't easily smothered either. Miz dropped down on the bench beside him, he stared at the floor, they were there alone after hours, he often wondered why fate liked to mess with him. He was perfectly content suffering alone, wishing he had the courage to say anything, and yet, there were always these times where his buttons were being pressed. It wanted him to screw up, to trip over his own words and attempt to hide the blush coloring his face.
"Hey Jomo," He glanced over at Miz, who had instantly gone from joking around about girls to being serious. He worried about where the conversation was headed, more importantly how it would end. "We're still friends right?"
"What? Yeah, of course…" He trailed off unconvincingly, causing Miz to raise an eyebrow.
"Then why the hell do you avoid me?"
He stared back at the locker room floor, unsure of what lie to tell next. Maybe he should just tell the truth; after all it couldn't hurt them anymore than what had already been done. But then who was to say if Miz wouldn't go on some vengeance strike, and tell the whole world. Three little words did a whole lot for being just words, however I want you, probably wouldn't sound as meaningful as I love you, but how was he sure of the latter? He was always a little unorthodox, which was probably why he and Miz got along so well. He exhaled, was there any way to tell your friend you wanted to screw them without sounding completely like a lunatic? Maybe if one of them were a girl…
"You don't even have a reason, do you?" Miz eyed him defensively, it only came out sounding like a dare, and Morrison wasn't one to step down from a challenge. If he was going to regret it, he might as well regret it the right way.
He shifted, grabbing Miz's shirt in one swift motion, he dragged him to him, pressing their lips together. It was unusual, to say the least, and Miz tasted better than he had imagined the self-centered one to taste. He should have known, Miz was always full of surprises. Embarrassed, and no longer wanting to prolong the inevitable he shoved Miz away, waiting for a reaction. He smiled slightly to himself when he realized he had left Miz speechless, Miz blinked several times before regaining composure. Morrison tried to enjoy the lingering taste, fairly certain it would be the last he ever got, his friend shifted uncomfortably, turning slightly away from him. He tried to conceal the sudden hurt he felt, but he doubted his success.
"Well that's one hell of a reason I guess," Miz shrugged. "Shoulda known, who can resist me?"
"Great," Morrison replied. "Just what you need, another ego boost."
Miz grinned at him, before standing up and offering his hand. Morrison stared confused for a moment, before accepting and being pulled up.
"You're pretty irresistible yourself," Miz noted, before dragging Morrison back to him for another kiss.