Down & Out in Buffalo

Matt could only watch as the swirling snow piled high around the cars. It coated every vehicle in the parking lot in gleaming white. They weren't going anywhere. The show had been canceled due to "inclement weather"

More like a snow-pocalypse, thought the elder Hardy. He counted himself and his fellow Superstars lucky that they were stranded in such lush accommodations. Nothing like the prospect of spending the entire night stuck on the highway or in the airport to make him appreciate even the sparsest hotel room. Soft beds, warm blankets, and cable television with a few of those extra channels that he didn't really mind shelling out a few more bucks for.

Jeff had the remote. He was fully engrossed in The Weather Channel, of all things. Which was why his brother chose to spend his time staring out at the accumulating snow.

"Let me know if you see the Abominable Snowman," called Jeff. "I want his autograph."

The second Matt turned away from the window, the room went black.

"What the hell?" Cautiously, Matt crossed the room. He did the first thing that sprang to his mind. He tried to turn on the bedside lamp. Nothing. Needing further proof, he felt his way to the bathroom.

"Matt, I think the power went out." Jeff continued to sit on the bed, staring glumly at the dead television. "The TV doesn't work."

None of the switches in the bathroom did a damn thing. "Very observant, Jeff. What was your first clue? Not being able to see your hand in front of your face?"

"Don't get snippy with me just because you're afraid of the dark."

Matt snapped, "I'm not afraid of the dark! I simply prefer the lights to stay on when they're supposed to be on!" The bathroom was suddenly too small a space for Matt to stand in. Though he could not be sure, he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Arms outstretched, he made his way out.

"It could be worse," said Jeff.

Great. Not only was he stuck in the dark; his baby brother was waving his middle finger at Fate. Perhaps the bathroom would have been safer after all. He could hide in the bathtub when the tornado touched down and carried Jeff away. "How could this possibly be worse?"

Jeff spontaneously materialized in front of Matt. Even sightless, he managed to flick Matt across the nose. "We could be trapped in an elevator."

From the solitary stranded car in the hotel's elevator shaft came a low, plaintive, "Help…"

After four of the longest minutes in Matt Hardy's life, the lights flickered back on. Barely. The bulbs were not being powered at full capacity. They gave off a pale yellow light that hardly held back the darkness.

Hope renewed, Jeff seized the television remote. To no avail. It was a dead appliance. "Aww, man… What gives?"

"Probably running on a backup generator," reasoned Matt. He strode toward the door and hauled it open. The hallway remained only half lit. He spied a few others poking their heads out of their rooms. Matt gave them a nervous wave, shrugging his shoulders as if to say Nothing I can do about it. He returned to his brother's side.

Jeff flopped face first onto the bed. "This sucks donkey balls. Now what are we supposed to do?"

"We could always go to bed," suggested Matt. He approached his suitcase, intent on ending his night early.

Jeff shook his head. "No matter how bored I get, Matt, sex with you is never an option."

T-shirt in hand, Matt could only gawk at his strange little brother. "I wasn't offering, you whackadoodle. I meant we might as well go to sleep. Separately. In our own beds. While wearing clothes." He didn't think he could make himself any clearer.

"Oh," said Jeff. His cheeks burned because of the misunderstanding. He loved his brother, but there were a select few under the impression that he loved his brother. On a regular basis. "But it's only seven. No one goes to bed at seven."

Matt begged to differ. "Plenty of folks go to bed at seven."

"No one our age goes to bed at seven," corrected Jeff. "There has to be something we can do."

The only magazine Matt carried had been read cover to cover six times. There was no gift shop in the hotel to offer up a book selection. The newspaper rack was picked bare by seven o'clock that evening.

"I dunno, Jeff. Use your imagination."

The moment joy blazed into his brother's emerald eyes, Matt realized the error of his suggestion.

"It'll be fun," swore Jeff. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a six year old having developed a new game. Which, in fact, he had. "It'll be just like we used to do when we were little."

Matt was opposed to the idea for several reasons. One of which being that the cockamamie plan would probably get them both killed. "We never did this when we were little." It was something he would have remembered.

Frustrated by the wet blanket his brother was turning into, Jeff had only one recourse. "Tag, Matt!" With that, he slapped his older brother square in the face with a pillow. While he was left sputtering, Jeff took advantage. His assault was merciless. Head. Shoulders. Stomach. Knees. Back. Any place he could land a hit, he did. Only the crotch was out of bounds, due to common decency.

"Okay!" hollered Matt, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I give in!"

Jeff held his pillow over his head. "So, you'll go along with me?"

"Yeah, whatever… Just stop hitting me." He grabbed a pillow of his own. "So, who's our first target?"

The perfection of Jeff's plan laid in its simplicity. They knew which rooms their fellow Superstars occupied. One by one, they would strike them down. Only the Divas were off-limits.

Jeff pointed to a name on their makeshift map. "Them first. Obviously."

Slowly, Matt warmed to the idea. It seemed a hell of a lot better than catching up on his beauty sleep. "How do we get them to open the door?"

Rubbing his hands together in glee, Jeff said, "Leave it to me. Just be ready when I give the signal."

"Got any threes?"

Adam shook his head. "Go fish." He supposed he should have been grateful the backup generator was pumping heat into the room. Otherwise, it would have turned into a very awkward evening. As much as he enjoyed Jason's company, clinging to him throughout the night to stay warm was a fate worse than endless rounds of Go Fish. "Have I mentioned how utterly lame this is?"

Plucking a card, Jay answered, "About twelve times since the power came back on."

There unexpectedly came a knock at the door. Adam jumped up, anxious to get away from the card table. He came up short as soon as he got the door open. Jeff Hardy stood on the other side. On instinct, he attempted to close the door on his face.

"Adam, wait!" Jeff pressed his hand against the door. "We need to talk."

"Doubt it." He pushed harder. The young Hardy proved to be stronger than he looked. Jeff forced the door wider. "What is there to talk about?" He only asked because it gave him a few extra seconds away from the deck of cards.

Having gained Adam's attention, Jeff did not appear to know what to do with it. He dug the heel of his boot into the hallway carpet. "I really don't know how to say this, Adam." More aimless kicking, along with some pecking at imaginary lint on his shirt. "I guess I'll just have to show you."

"Show me…" His words were cut off by Jeff's lips pressing into his own. Delicate hands clutched his shoulders. The sudden turn of events left Adam's mind frazzled. He stood in the open doorway, wide eyed. Jeff pulled away, looking up at him. Acting on reflex, Adam licked his lips. "What?"

Jeff batted his lashes at him. "Was it good for you, stud?"

Before he could form a response, Jeff dropped to his knees. Adam's eyes followed his movement. A rectangle of white suddenly filled his field of vision. It smacked him in the face with enough force to rock him on his feet. The hits just kept on coming. Driving Adam back into the room.

Jason jumped up. "What the hell?" Matt Hardy was pummeling his best friend with a pillow, of all things! He ran to Adam's aid, only to suffer the same fate at the hands of Jeff.

Soon, both men were beaten onto their beds. Not to be outdone, the team known as Edge and Christian grabbed pillows of their own. They fought the Hardys tooth and nail. Angry growls and hurled curses quickly turned into giggles and full-bodied guffaws. Their strikes lost accuracy as the two opposing teams dissolved into laughter. Because the fact that four top-notch wrestlers were engaging in a pillow fight was absolutely preposterous!

Didn't make it less fun, though.

Calling a truce, they collapsed onto the floor.

Adam wiped tears from his eyes. "What the crap was that?"

"Secret Kiss Attack!" declared Jeff. "Threw you off guard, didn't it?"

That it most certainly had.

Tucking his pillow behind his head, Jason asked the crucial question. "Why?"

Matt shrugged. "Nothing better to do. No TV. Haven't got a radio or anything to read. So we're amusing ourselves."

"And assaulting others," Adam quickly pointed out. "I love it! Who do we hit next?"

Jeff exchanged a look with his brother. It seemed that the night was definitely picking up.

Raising his fist, Matt hesitated outside the door. He wasn't sure he could employ the Secret Kiss Attack his brother had used on Adam. Not that locking lips with a dude weirded him out. Jeff was a bit freer with his feelings than Matt. Less inhibited. The man didn't think twice about launching himself from heights that had Superman second guessing himself.

Matt screwed his courage to the sticking place. He had a mission to accomplish. Fully resolved, he pounded on the door.

"Just the second!" the voice floated through the door. It opened to reveal Chris Jericho, clad only in a white terrycloth towel. "Hey, Matt." His voice hitched higher than his towel. "What's up?"

With an intensity brought on by surprise and panic, Matt forced himself to look Chris in the eye. The Surprise Kiss Attack flew off the table. Which forced him to think on his feet. "Can I come in?" A simple enough request.

"Okay." Chris stepped aside. He kept one hand on his towel as if to further secure it in place. "Something wrong?"

Matt wondered if it would sound suspicious if he asked Chris to put some pants on. Instead, he stumbled onto a surprise attack of his own. Apparently, deviance ran in his family. Matt waited for Chris to shut the door before he approached him. "This is something I have to do, Chris. I simply hope and pray they you'll still respect me in the morning."

Holding up his hands, Chris backed up with every step that Matt took forward. "Whoa, there, cowboy… What do you think you're doing?"

Matt skirted around Chris, placing himself between the retreating man and the door. He forced Chris further into the room. "Don't worry, Jericho. I don't bite." With startling speed, he snatched the towel from Chris' waist.

"Matthew, control yourself!"

Matt was in complete control. Holding a corner of the towel in each hand, he twirled it around itself. A part of him felt bad for forcibly exposing Chris. Another part of him was quite content to gaze upon the naked Jericho for an extended period of time. "I'll try to make this as painless as possible."

The sharp snap of the towel against his thigh made Chris yelp like a freshly neutered Chihuahua. He did the only thing he could do. He clutched his junk and ran. No matter where he went, Matt managed to clip him with the towel. Chris couldn't flee from the room because of his nude state. Hardy had him trapped.

Matt abandoned the towel for his preferred weapon. He scooped up Jericho's pillow and went to work whacking him.

Chris conceded that the pillow was slightly better than the towel. However, he was still defenseless. A spare pillow sat within reach, but he was not about to leave his precious jewels exposed. "Damn it, Matt! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Surprise Attack!" crowed Matt. "How did you like my Whip Action? A bit unorthodox for a pillow fight, I know."

"A pillow fight?" Chris crouched low to the ground. "Matt, I swear, if you don't stop hitting me, I'm putting glitter in your jock strap! You'll be combing sparkles out of your pubes for days!"

Matt relented. "It was Jeff's idea. Adam and Jason are in on it, too. You're free to join. Just put on some pants first."

Standing tall, Chris snatched the pillow out of Matt's hand. "Why can't you and your brother just jerk off like normal people?"

Adam could not decide a method of attack. No matter what happened, he was not kissing John Cena. No way. No how. Was he a good enough actor to appear contrite and ask to bury the hatchet? He was good, no doubt about that. But could he get the words out with a straight face?

Pushing aside his internal struggle, he knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, a little louder. Still no response from the other side. Every second spent standing in the dimly lit hallway ate away at Adam's patience. He pounded on the door, not caring if Cena was sleeping. Besides, what kind of dork went to bed at seven-thirty?

"Screw this," he grumbled, turning on his heels. He headed back to the Hardys' hotel room. Hopefully, there would be a more cooperative target to be found.

"You're not Randy." It was the first thing to spring to Jason's mind and it tumbled uncensored from his lips.

His objective had been a simple one. Gain Randy Orton's confidence, get into his room, and pummel him with a pillow until he begged for mercy. Which, knowing Randy, would take much of the night.

The man who had answered the door bore absolutely no resemblance to Randal Keith Orton. In fact, he was the spitting image of John Cena. Adam's target.

Folding his arms across his chest, John leaned against the door frame. "I'm not Katy Perry, either. I can name a whole mess of people that I'm not."

Jason overcame his surprise enough to ask, "Where's Randy?" He assumed he had the right room.

"Who is it, John?" The voice belonging to Jason's target drifted into the hallway.

Cena called over his shoulder, "Just a Girl Scout selling some cookies."

Undeterred, Jason shouldered his way into the room. He found his quarry lounging on the bed, a paperback book splayed open on his chest.

Randy squinted suspiciously at the new arrival. "If you're here to start shit, save it for another night. I'm not in the mood."

Starting shit was definitely on Jason's agenda. However, he had a more pressing matter on his mind. "I understand your hostility towards me, but why do you have him answering your door?" He hitched a thumb at John, who made himself comfortable on the other side of the not quite large enough bed.

"What we do on our own time is our own business," snapped Randy.

John winced. "Christ, Randy… You make it sound like…" He abandoned his statement to turn his attention to Jason. "You of all people should understand that what goes on in front of the fans does not necessarily extend into our private lives. Can Randy be a royal pain in the ass? Yes, but he has a number of redeemable qualities."

"Like being able to listen to you rap in the shower and not consider stabbing my eardrums with a ballpoint pen." Randy bumped his foot against John's. "That what you mean?"

Rolling his eyes, Jason pulled the pillow out from under Randy's head. "Holy cheese on rye, you guys. Your super secret love affair is safe with me. I only came to hit Randy with a pillow."

"Hit who with a what now?"

Jason demonstrated, with killer precision.

Adam was only slightly surprised to find Chris Jericho occupying the only chair in the room. He sat beside Matt on one of the beds. "Cena was a bust. Bastard wasn't there."

"Where could he have gone?" Jeff wondered aloud.

"Damned if I know. Up Tinkerbell's skirt?" Adam did not feel like discussing his failure. "I need a new target. Whatcha got?"

Matt consulted the map. "Assuming Jason got the job done, we've got The Rock and Triple H on our floor and Kane and the Undertaker upstairs. The elevator's still out of commission, so whoever goes after them would have to take the stairs. Doubling the danger is the fact that they are rooming together."

"Suicide mission," nodded Adam.

There was a knock at the door. Being the closest, Chris stood to answer it. He grabbed a pillow on reflex. Jason entered the room. John and Randy trailed behind him.

Adam jumped to his feet. "Where the feck did you find him?" He pointed an accusing finger at Cena.

"In Randy's room," answered Jason. "The two of them share an unspeakable love that I really should not speak about." He turned to Jericho. "How did Matt take you down? Secret Kiss Attack?"

Chris shook his head. "Whip Action."

"Kinky."

"But effective," Matt concluded.

Adam snatched up the pillow in Chris' lap and began hitting John with it. "My honor remains intact! Mission accomplished!"

After a long, embarrassing struggle, John wrestled the pillow out of Adam's hand. "The next person to come at me with one of these is getting F-U'ed onto the hood of a Toyota!" He handed it to Randy, who gave it back to Chris.

"Let me see if I've got this straight." Randy stared at the assembled Superstars. "The power goes out and the best thing you can come up with is a door-to-door pillow fight?"

Jeff nodded. "We didn't have the stuff to do water balloons." He turned to Matt. "Maybe next summer?"

"I pray you live that long."

Peering at the hit list, Chris volunteered to take out Triple H. "I just hope he doesn't sleep with that sledgehammer." He left the room empty handed. He had learned from the others the important tactic of using the pillow in the prey's room.

"What about you, Randy?" Jeff asked. "You want a piece of The Rock? Or would you prefer going up against the Brothers of Destruction?"

Randy slumped into the previously occupied chair. "Jeffrey, exactly how many times have you landed on your head?"

Intervening before Matt took a swing in defense of his brother, John quickly said, "I'll take Dwayne. Randy, come with me." It was more of an order than a request. "It'll be fun."

"No, it won't." As usual, Randy was hell bent on being difficult. "It'll be stupid."

"Then why did you come here? You could have stayed in your room." John knew the answer.

"Because you wanted to go and I…" Randy glared up at him. Leave it to Cena to force the conversation in front of an audience. And they called Orton underhanded! "I knew you would find a way to get into trouble and need me to save your ass!" He got to his feet and stomped to the door. "Wipe that smug smile off of your face. I haven't got all night." He stepped out into the hall, not bothering to check if John would follow.

Still smiling smugly, John snapped a salute to Jeff. He appeared to be the mastermind. "We shall come back with our shields, or on them." He turned and trailed after his partner.

"It's moments like that," said Adam, "that makes me wish I knew the words to My Heart Will Go On."

Hunter did not, in fact, sleep with a sledgehammer. He preferred, when possible, to sleep alone. There were certain nightly rituals that required privacy. He had been two minutes from getting down the business when someone rapped at his door. Briefly, he considered ignoring it. It was his time, after all.

The second series of knocks had him hauling his abandoned boxers up his legs. The person on the other side of that door needed to have a damn good reason for calling on him at that crucial hour.

"Hi, Hunter." Chris Jericho smiled meekly. Which was odd, because Jericho and meekness did not exist in the same universe. "The… umm… power went out…"

Hunter hid his bottom half behind the door. "I noticed…" He was so not interested in conversation. "Nothing I can do about it, though."

"Yeah… Well… About that… Umm…" Jericho never stammered. "Do you think…" More hemming and hawing. "You think maybe I can stay with you until the power comes back?"

In the history of bad ideas, Chris' suggestion landed just above licking a frozen light pole. "Chris, I don't think…"

"Please, Hunter." He actually clasped his hands in front of his heart. "Let's put our differences aside for tonight. This place has got The Shining vibe all over it and I'm about at the Shelley Duvall level of a freak out." When it seemed likely Hunter was going to deny him, he added, "I won't even talk. Not a single word. I'll sit quietly until we get full power. Please!"

There were too many questions bombarding Hunter's brain for him to single one out. Instead, he stepped aside, moving quickly as Jericho rushed inside. Chris made a bee line for the bed. Climbing onto it and clasping a pillow to his chest. His back rested against the headboard. Slowly, he began to rock.

It was the single most unsettling thing Hunter had seen since Mae Yong gave birth to a hand.

Hunter stood beside the closed door. Indecisive. Unsure. Not the usual mindset of the Cerebral Assassin. Should he comfort Chris? That was a foreign concept. Hunter was an expert at pissing people off, not making them feel better. A soft, low tune reached his ears. Hunter realized Chris was humming Enter Sandman to himself. Not the most relaxing of melodies.

Exercising extreme caution, Hunter slid beside Chris on the bed. He placed a tentative hand on the rocking man's shoulder. "Chris? You okay?" Jericho said nothing. The humming continued. "Listen, everything is gonna be alright. You just have to relax."

Whether his words penetrated Chris' Metallica armor, Hunter could not tell. He placed his hand on the middle of Chris' back. Rubbing in slow, hopefully soothing circles. Gradually, the rocking subsided. The humming stopped completely.

"That better?" he asked. Chris only nodded as he looked up at his face, apparently intent on keeping his word not to speak a word. For some reason, that made Hunter laugh. Silence was not part of Y2J's repertoire. "Want me to keep going?" Another nod.

The two of them remained like that for several minutes. Chris curled into Hunter's side. One comforting the other.

Without warning, Hunter brushed his lips across Chris' temple. The fresh scent of shampoo wafted up his nostrils. Chris immediately stiffened beneath his hand.

"Hunter?"

"Hush," he whispered. "Remember your promise." The back rubbing continued for a few more heated heartbearts. "You might be more comfortable if you lay down." Hunter pressed a finger to Chris' lips. "Lay down and let me take your mind off your troubles."

Hunter was beginning to get the hang of the whole comforting thing.

Chris hesitantly followed his instructions. He let slip a soft squeak as Hunter plucked away his pillow and tossed it aside. Jericho found himself in the strong arms of The Game. Hunter's hands proved to be equally impressive as they slipped beneath his shirt. "Hunter, wait…" The rest of his protest dissolved the second Hunter's lips touched his neck.

"Shhh…" He smiled as Chris shivered under him. "I've got you, Chris. Now, close your eyes and think of Canada."

There came a pounding at the door so furious, Jeff rolled off the bed, dislodging Adam's head. He was nearly trampled under the feet of John and Randy as they burst into the room.

"We got him!" panted Orton, leaning on Cena as both men struggled to catch their breath. "We got Rocky! Nailed him good, too!"

Matt brought each of them a cup of water from the bathroom sink. "How'd you manage it? We had a bet going that he wouldn't even let you past the door."

"Which reminds me, dear Matthew." Jason smiled broadly. "You owe me a lap dance. Tassels and all."

Jeff shook his head. "That's an image I never wanted in my head." He turned to John. "So, how'd ya do it? Doubt he let either one of you lay your lips on him."

"It was Randy's idea," Cena explained. "We fed him some line about Randy falling down the stairs just as the power went out and me finding him in the stairwell, moaning and groaning." He clapped his partner on the shoulder, grinning until his dimples popped onto his cheeks. "This guy is a world class hobbler. Almost had me believin' he had screwed up his ankle."

"After helping me to the bed," continued Orton, "Dwayne made the fatal mistake of turning his back on us. Poor bastard didn't know what hit him! My Johnny smacked him right upside his peanut head. Had him staggering!" He stood up to demonstrate, wobbling around the room.

Eventually, he found his way back to Cena's side. "Next thing we know, we're running for our lives. Dwayne chased us up and down the stairs like we were in some Warner Brothers cartoon!" He collapsed into the chair. Giggling and snorting out of control.

John sat on the floor, leaning back against the legs of the chair. "And you always complain I don't take you anywhere fun." He paused to look around the room. "Chris not back yet?"

The others shook their heads.

"Probably on the receiving end of Hunter's hammer," said Adam.

"Oh… God… Hunter…"

"King of Kings, baby… Don't you forget it…"

A sense of fulfillment washed over Jeff. His plans were nearly complete. Only one piece remained. The Undertaker and his baby brother, the Big Red Machine.

"This is how we take 'em down," he said. "It's dangerous and will take all of us to pull it off."

Before Matt could save his brother from himself yet again, the lights in the room glowed at full strength. "Hey…" He reached for the remote. The television clicked on, flicking from one channel to the other with ease. "Looks like the juice is back on. That means…" One by one, he looked each of them in the eye. John was an okay guy, but the rest of them… It pained Matt to admit that he had been having a damn good time. Even more mind boggling was the notion that he didn't want the night to end just yet.

Acting against his better judgment, Matt inquired, "How many pillows are we gonna need?"

"Well, good evening, little lady. What can I do for you?"

Mickie James twirled her ponytailed hair around her finger as she gazed up at the legendary Phenom. "The power's back on in my room. Is it on in yours?"

"Yup." Mark grinned, filling the open doorway with his mass. "Came back up a few minutes ago."

She leaned from side to side, trying to peer around his bulk and into the room.

"Would you like to come in?" chuckled the Undertaker. He laughed even harder at her vigorous nod. The girl might have been batshit crazy, but she was a cute one. Could make for an interesting couple of hours, assuming he could get Kane out of the room.

He graciously let her pass.

"Hi, Kane!" Mickie waved eagerly. "Whatcha readin'?"

Shooting his brother a look that would peel paint, Kane hid his face behind his book. "The Art of War," he mumbled.

"You'll have to excuse my brother," said Mark. "He's a bit shy around strangers." Which was only half an untruth. Kane typically got over his bashfulness by lighting something or someone on fire.

Mickie turned to face the elder of the pair. "Oh, that reminds me. The rest of them are waiting for me. They weren't sure you'd let them in. But you boys are sweet as pie, so…" She skipped over to the door. Into the hallway, she called, "Come and get it!"

What an interesting turn of events, thought Mark. One minute he was poking fun at his nerdy brother and the next, a harem came knocking at his door. Have lube, will travel was Mark's motto.

The fine young specimens charging into his room were not the scantily clad Divas he had hoped for. And what was up with the pillows?

"Death!" hollered Jeff as he swung his pillow hard.

His was only the first of many blows to find their mark. Kane was not spared, either.

Mickie watched the melee from a safe distance, standing beside the door. She hadn't figured the Brothers of Destruction to be the slumber party type. Luckily, Jeff had explained it all to her. Guys simply had a different definition of fun.

She was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. "Lights off!" She flicked the switch, plunging the room immediately into darkness. She counted to ten in her head. The sounds of the skirmish continued to play out around her.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?"

"Ow! You wanna bite me, you buy me dinner first!"

"Bring the big one down, Jason!"

"Big one? They're both bigger than the Chrysler Building!"

"The first one of you jokers I lay my hands on is gettin' chokeslammed straight to the basement!"

Mickie flipped the switch up. "Lights on!"

Lying in a crumpled heap at the feet of the Undertaker was the valiant John Cena. His pillow still clutched in his hands.

Mark rubbed his chin. "Huh… That worked pretty good…"

"Johnny…" whispered Randy, visibly stricken. He turned his cold, hard eyes to the behemoth that had brought his Sweet Baboo down. The Viper would have his vengeance. "You will pay dearly, you soulless son of a bitch!" He launched himself off the bed, weapon arching down to deliver a devastating blow.

"Lights off!"

Folding his hands behind his head, Hunter basked in the afterglow. He had achieved the highlight of his night not by the vigorous movement of his hand, but by stunning blond sighing beside him. As usual, hot sex beat jerking off, any day of the week. "Powers back."

"Mmm-hmm…" Chris smiled up at the ceiling.

"You know what that means, right?"

"Uh-uh…" There was something Chris was supposed to do. Something important. Maybe it would come to him later.

Hunter reached out an arm and switched off the bedside lamp. "Means we get to do it in the dark."

"Okay," purred Chris, rolling onto Hunter's chest. "But this time, I get to ride on top."

END