Notes: This story has been the bane of my existence for nearly six months. I had the idea a while ago, and started writing it about two, two and a half months ago. I just finally completed it. Seriously. I could jump up and down and flail, I am so excited. There's probably a sequel to this somewhere in my brain... so look for that in another couple of months, haha! To everyone who listened to me bitch about this story... THANK YOU!

During the day, they were complete strangers. They didn't whisper furtively in corners, share hurried touches in darkened hallways, exchange lingering glances from across the locker room. There were no secret rendezvous in the backseat of either one of their rental cars. Theirs was not a grand, ill-fated, overpowering romance comparable to Romeo and Juliet or Rick and Ilsa.

To see them as they went about their daily routines – work-outs and practice and travel and matches and tapings – gave no sign that either man saw the other any more than a mere work acquaintance, someone to nod at as they passed each other in the hallways. Perhaps not even then; what would Jericho, an established veteran with nearly twenty years of wrestling under his belt, have to do with ECW's newest addition Matthew Korklan, alias Evan "Air" Bourne, who had been there less than a year? To say they had little to do with each other was an overstatement. Jericho was donning suits and talking shit on Smackdown while Evan was shooting stars and flashing peace signs on ECW. Their brands toured together, and that was the only commonality they had.

At night, however, a completely different story would unfold.

The setting of the sun would show an unknown and unsuspected facet of their relationship, if it could be described as such. The small hours of the morning would find Evan creeping down yet another featureless hallway in another nondescript hotel, in any one of dozens of cities. He could be anywhere; in Atlanta, Cleveland, Nashville, Seattle, Portland, Bangor, Sydney, Tokyo, London, Prague.

It was always the same. The thin, utilitarian carpet scuffling under his anxious feet, the bland walls stretching endlessly to either side as he made the humiliating trek back to his room. The myriad scents of various cleaning solutions; of carpet cleaner and Windex and bleach and laundry soap all seemed to be indistinguishable, no matter where he was. And the shame. The shame was always exactly the same. If anything, the depth and breadth of the degradation felt by Evan was growing.

He needed the older man. No matter how many times he tried to deny it, deny himself, deny the urge, he always found himself making the same dimly lit trek from the room he usually shared with Jack Swagger to the room Jericho could afford to have to himself. The arguments he'd have within his own mind as he tossed and turned in his rented bed, as his pride said no and his body screamed yes.

As the need grew to overwhelming levels, Evan would slide quietly out of bed, tug his jeans over the boxers he normally slept in, pull his wrinkled shirt back over his head and slip as silently as possible out of his room. If Jack knew, or even suspected, that Evan was spending most of his late nights in a different room, he never let on.

Always the same. Over and over and over again. Evan hated this weakness, and yet he could not stop himself.

This particular night was no different.

Bedded down in a Holiday Inn in Albuquerque, New Mexico, watching the full moon rise over the stark desert, Evan could feel the conflict rising within him.

Don't go to him. Stop letting him use you. Be strong… for once.

I don't care. I want him. No one else but him.

He's using you. He'll just keep on using you as long as you'll let him. It's weak. It's pathetic. You're pathetic.

Evan closed his eyes as this never-ending internal argument echoed back and forth in his mind.

I don't want to want him, he thought tiredly. I wish I could say no. I wish I knew how.

Jack was sprawled out on one of the beds behind him, watching the evening news. The reporters were nattering away over some terrible thing or another – rape, murder, theft, car accidents, crooked politicians, celebrity divorce – while Evan just let their words flow over him. It seemed like the news was nothing but negativity all the time; it was depressing. He didn't need any additional negativity in his life. And there was something peaceful about watching the moon light the distant desert hills. Even with the bright orange streetlights in the way, it was… serene. Serenity was something he could use more of.

Jack glanced over at Evan a few times during the newscast. Evan used to enjoy watching the news with him, even engaging him in spirited – but still friendly – debates over the issues of the day. But recently, he seemed to have lost interest in current events altogether. When Jack questioned his sudden apathy over something that he had always been so involved in, Evan had just shrugged and mumbled something about too much negativity. There was obviously something going on with him, and had been going on for quite some time, but Jack had no idea how to confront him about it.

At first he'd just assumed Evan was seeing someone and was sneaking out to be with whoever it was. But he seemed to be in his head too much lately, struggling with some kind of inner turmoil. If he was in some kind of secret relationship, it certainly wasn't a very healthy one.

He wanted to draw Evan out of this self-imposed shell, but how would that conversation start? "I think you're in an unhealthy relationship and we should talk about it?" Yeah, that would go over well.

So he kept a silent vigil, listening when Evan left their shared room, and listening for his return, waiting for the younger man to either open up about his situation… or completely break down. And if he thought he was being sneaky? More power to him.

He went back to the news, resisting as best he could the urge to watch Evan instead, who was completely absorbed with whatever was going on outside - or completely absorbed in his own head. The news, Jack reluctantly admitted to himself, was far less interesting than the droop of Evan's shoulders, or gentle curve of his spine. Obviously Evan wasn't the only one in this room with some internal issues to work out.

When the news was over, Jack feigned tiredness, giving Evan the opportunity to "sneak" out, if he intended to. He wanted to tell him not to go, to stop doing what he was doing to himself. But on the other hand, Evan was a grown man and fully capable of making his own choices, as piss-poor and self-destructive as they might appear to be to any interested outside parties.

Jack rolled over on his side, facing away from Evan, and closed his eyes. Minutes or perhaps hours later, he heard the covers shift as Evan got out of bed, a quiet scuffling as he walked across the floor, and the soft snick of the door as he ever-so-considerately opened it with a minimum of noise. Another soft snick as the door was just as considerately closed behind him. And then he was gone.

Jack opened his eyes and stared at the door, barely visible in the indirect glow of the streetlights.

Damn you, Evan.

~*~

Evan stood outside his hotel room for a moment, telling himself the best thing he could possibly do for himself was to just go back the way he came and forget Chris Jericho even existed.

Instead he fumbled his cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and scrolled through his texts to find the one Jericho sent him a few hours earlier. It contained only a number – 304 – that would be meaningless to anyone who might stumble upon Evan's texts. These numerical messages were the only outside communication between the two men; Jericho always made sure to inform Evan of his whereabouts for the evening.

Always the same, he thought to himself as he headed down the antiseptic grey stairs, his footsteps echoing hollowly. Every rational part of his mind was telling him to turn around, he was only killing himself slowly, digging himself deeper into this mess. But his body was remembering only the mind-shattering pleasure Jericho wrought upon him.

Evan quickened his pace.

He rushed down the rest of the stairs, pushed the stairwell door open, and surveyed the hall briefly before turning left. As the numbers decreased, any rationality left was heavily overshadowed by pure trembling anticipation. Finally he stood outside of room 304, his heart pounding. Taking a moment to scrub the palms of his hands on his jeans, he raised one minutely shaking hand, and knocked.

After a moment – a long moment, it felt to Evan – he heard the doorknob rattle and a split second later, the door opened. Jericho stood in the half open door, clad only in a pair of jeans, a lit cigarette dangling from one hand. He glanced down at Evan, and then walked back into the room, leaving him to follow.

By the time Evan closed the door and hurried further into the hotel room, Jericho had seated himself at the table and was finishing his cigarette, the window open behind him. His bare feet were propped up on the table as he watched Evan through the drifting smoke. He took a drag and then gestured towards the bed with the cigarette.

"Have a seat. Or take your clothes off. I'll be done in a minute."

Evan walked on unsteady legs to the foot of the bed, feeling Jericho's eyes on him as he moved, resting heavily between his shoulder blades. He turned around and met the older man's intense gaze, already feeling stripped and laid out under the other man's scrutiny.

He dropped his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. Jericho always did this to him, rendered him naked and silent and young with a single glance. Always. As he stared at the floor between his feet, ashamed of his eagerness, of his raw need, his fingers twisted unconsciously in the hem of his shirt.

From across the room, Jericho uttered a derisive noise, part snort and part chuckle. Evan's head shot up and he caught a glimpse of the darkly amused smirk on the older man's face as he turned his head to the side, exhaling smoke out the window. Evan's eyes narrowed slightly and steely resolve rose up within him. Making sure Jericho was still watching, he hooked his fingers under the hem of his shirt and wriggled it over his head, dropping it carelessly to the floor.

Jericho ground his cigarette into the glass ashtray on the table.

He tugged his shoes off, kicking them in opposing directions. One bonked into the bathroom door; both men ignored it. He worked the button on his jeans, fumbling momentarily before undoing it, following immediately with the zipper. Boxers, jeans and socks all came off in one fell swoop.

Jericho dropped his feet to the floor and stood up slowly, eyes still fixed firmly on the sight before him. This Evan was different from what he was used to; this was definitely not the timid, needy, pliable young man who had first caught his attention. Perhaps Evan was finally presenting him with a challenge. Not that it would take very long to destroy this unprecedented audacity; he rather looked forward to it, as a matter of fact.

Evan stepped out from the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor, and stood there, completely bare. He raised his chin slightly, issuing a silent challenge, enjoying the flicker of heat evident in the other man's eyes. The flicker became a flame as Jericho's eyes wandered, taking in the lithe, muscled form before him.

"On the bed. Now." Jericho's voice was little more than a growl.

Evan obliged quickly, scrambling backwards on the bed, perching comfortably on his knees atop the comforter. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched the older man make quick work of his jeans, tugging them down his hips and stepping out of them. He was unable to suppress a little murmur of appreciation at the sight, not to mention the idea that Jericho had been going commando.

In seconds, he was joined on the bed, brusque hands roughly positioning his body until he was on his hands and knees, facing the generic bolted-to-the-wall headboard. Callused fingertips traced lightly down his spine, making him shiver. As if to counteract the gentle touch, blunt fingernails scraped the length of his back, not quite hard enough to break the skin. The angry red welts wouldn't last; the next time Evan had to be in the ring and shirtless, there would be no trace of them.

Evan ducked his head and closed his eyes as Jericho raked at his body, bringing blood to the surface in thin lines, focusing heavily on the areas that wouldn't be immediately obvious. The rough hands wandered aimlessly, tickling and teasing; creeping up the inside of his thighs, sliding across his flat stomach, reaching across his chest to rudely twist a nipple.

He didn't want to beg. He kept his eyes closed, his lower lip checked firmly between his teeth, hoping that would be enough to silence his pleas. Little whines of need worked their way out of his throat, but he swore to himself that he absolutely would not beg. Unfortunately, this was a promise he made to himself every time, and one he had thus far been unable to keep.

"Chris, please," he whispered, hating his weakness, his lack of self-control. Hating Jericho for taking it away from him, with a touch, a glance.

Jericho chuckled from behind him, and Evan squinched his eyes tighter shut at the sound. Suddenly, a trickling coolness hit Evan's backside, causing him to twitch in surprise at the sensation. A moment later, one finger, followed quickly by a second was forced into him; he bit his lip again, nearly hard enough to bring blood.

As Jericho settled one hand firmly on Evan's hip, guiding himself with the other, the younger man tried to steel himself for the pain he knew was coming. It wouldn't last long, it never did, but considering Jericho couldn't be bothered to do much more than a few seconds of preparation, pain was a constant expectance.

Without any warning, Jericho slammed fully into him, and Evan was unable to silence a brief wail of pain. Paying no mind to the younger man's discomfort, he set a leisurely pace, both hands now gripping Evan's hips firmly as he thrust. Evan willed the pain to disappear, and slowly, slowly it dissipated, faint pleasure finally creeping through his body. He shifted his weight slightly, allowing him to free his right arm, hand sliding around his cock to stroke himself back to full hardness.

He kept his eyes closed, allowing the pleasure to build and wash over him. As his hand moved in time with Jericho inside him, he was able to push all the unpleasantness out of his mind; the pain, the derision, the disregard with which he was treated. In spite of all this, Jericho still made him feel more alive than anyone else ever had. Even with all of the negative aspects, wasn't that worth what he was feeling now? Didn't pleasure have to come with pain?

Jericho picked up his speed, muttering obscenities under his breath. Evan sped up his own ministrations in response, feeling his own climax approaching rapidly, the heat pooling at the base of his spine, sparks shooting all through him. Again unable to contain a cry – this time of absolute purest pleasure – he came, hips bucking hard as he thrust into his hand, wetness pooling on the bed beneath him. A few moments later, Jericho thrust forward hard enough to cause Evan faint pain again, even through the afterglow, and then he stilled.

He pulled back entirely, a few drops of cum landing on the already soiled bedspread. Evan, now his own man again, flopped over on his back, breathing hard. Jericho had disappeared into the bathroom to clean himself off; surely he wouldn't mind if Evan stayed here a little while, just a few minutes….

"Out, kid." Jericho's harsh words snapped Evan to attention. Had he dozed off for a moment there?

He sat up, feeling logy and disoriented. Jericho was back at the table, looking almost exactly the same as he had when Evan first entered the room; a lit cigarette at his lips, feet nonchalantly propped on the table, and suddenly Evan had a bad feeling.

"I'm… I'm not the first person you've fucked tonight, am I?" Jericho raised an eyebrow, surprised at the choice of words. He'd never heard Evan swear before. He didn't think Evan had a swear in him. Apparently he was wrong. Oh well.

"Please. You think you're that special? And if you don't get your ass out of here, you'll definitely be the last fuck I'll have tonight, and that's just unacceptable."

Evan's head was spinning; why had he thought he was the only person Jericho was seeing on the sly? How could he have been so stupid? So naïve? He hadn't quite deluded himself into believing that these late night liaisons meant anything more than sex to the other man, but he'd still thought they'd meant something. They had meant something to him.

Shaking from a mix of shock, anger and the earlier exertion, he hurriedly pulled his clothes back on in the proper order, shoving his feet into his shoes and wanting nothing more than to get out of that room. His mind was racing, trying to think of something to say to Jericho that would wipe that smug, self-satisfied smirk off his face, something to cause one tiny fraction of the pain Evan was feeling. Nothing came to mind.

"Fuck you," he seethed, glaring at Jericho, his hand on the doorknob. The expression on the older man's face didn't change; if anything, the smirk widened just slightly.

"Not likely, kid. Now fuck off, okay?"

Resisting mightily the urge to slam the door behind him, he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. He stood in the hallway for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to keep his crushing emotions in check. Then, with his head hung low, limping slightly, Evan slowly walked back to his room.

~*~

The rattle of the door handle jolted Jack out of his light doze. He wasn't sure how long Evan had been gone for; an hour, two at the most. Not long enough for him to actually fall completely asleep, as it were.

He heard Evan step in, closing the door quietly behind him. His slow, trudging footsteps took him across the room and past Jack's bed, where he laid, still feigning sleep. The muted creak of bedsprings as Evan took a heavy seat on his own bed, then two soft thumps as he wrangled off his shoes and dropped them to the floor.

Then… silence. Jack's brow furrowed in confusion; was Evan just sitting there? Staring blankly into the darkness, God knew only what thoughts going through his mind… had Evan finally cracked?

This has gone on long enough.

Jack tossed back the covers, slung his long form out of the bed and walked across the room, sitting gingerly next to Evan. The younger man seemed to barely notice Jack's presence, acknowledging him not at all. He had his elbows on his knees, hunched over, head down.

"I don't know what's going on, but I won't sit by and watch you tear yourself apart anymore." He laid an unsure hand on Evan's back, not sure how the younger man would take it. Evan wrenched away from the contact, causing Jack to pull back sharply.

"Please don't touch me. I don't… I don't want to be touched… right now," he said quietly. Jack had expected anger – or indignation, or denial – from Evan when this confrontation finally occurred, but not this… defeat. He sounded broken.

Evan raised his head and glanced over at Jack, making eye contact for a split second before looking back down.

"I need to go take a shower," he whispered. He stood up, moving slowly, as though he were in pain. As he knelt beside his duffel back to dig out clean clothes, the faint hiss of air he sucked in between clenched teeth only proved the fact. He stood back up, still moving slowly and carefully, and shuffled off towards the bathroom.

Evan, what the hell happened to you?

After a moment, Jack stood up and pawed through his own luggage, tugging on a pair of jeans. If he was going to have a serious conversation with Evan, he didn't want to do it in his underwear.

~*~

The water was on as hot as he could stand it; steam rolled through the room, obscuring everything from sight. Evan closed his eyes and let the scalding water roll over him, reddening his skin, and washing away his sins. Or so he hoped. No matter how high he turned the water, he could still feel Jericho's fingers digging into his hips, the claw marks on his thighs… sticky semen clinging to his skin. The little bar of hotel soap had long since melted away, and so Evan just stood, the hot water pounding over his head, the back of his neck, trailing down his back, his chest, his legs, swirling around his feet and disappearing down the drain.

Evan slowly came to realize the water wasn't quite as hot as it had been a few moments ago. With his eyes still closed he reached out a hand, fumbling across the slick tiles for the shower knob. He grasped it, but it was turned fully over to the left; he was running out of hot water.

Oh well.

(Fuck off, kid.)

The water temperature dropped steadily – hot, warm, tepid, cool, cold, frigid, freezing – until Evan was no longer burning under the spray of the shower, but shivering. The icy water didn't feel any more cleansing than the hot water, and he eventually shut it off.

He shuddered as he dried himself off, unable to control his quaking body. Shivers wracked his small frame and for a long moment, all he could do was wrap the thin hotel towel around himself and listen to his teeth chatter. Slowly the trembling stilled in all but his hands, and he was able to pull on clean clothes; clothes that smelled only of him, not of sweat and sex and shame.

Evan paused with his hand on the bathroom doorknob; Jack was sitting out there, waiting for him. How was he going to explain himself? What could he possibly say in his defense? He couldn't stay in the bathroom forever; Jack would come looking for him. He was rather surprised that he hadn't already. With a deep breath, he exited the bathroom, dread already sitting heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Jack was sitting on the bed, in the same place he'd been before Evan left, although now he was fully dressed. He was only able to meet Jack's eyes for a brief second before dropping his gaze to the floor. Without looking up, he walked across the floor and sat down on his bed, near Jack.

"Evan… tell me what's going on," Jack said softly to the top of Evan's head; the younger man's attention was fixed firmly on his hands, fingers worrying the hem of his t-shirt. After a moment, Evan responded with a slow shake of his head: no.

"Yes. I know something's been happening with you, it's been happening for weeks. You can tell me. I'm not… I won't judge you, I promise."

Silence. Evan's fingers fiddled, fiddled, fiddled.

"Everything's fine," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack sighed. "No, everything is not fine. You sneak out almost every night, you're gone for a couple of hours and then you come back. You're quiet, you're withdrawn, and you spend too much time in your head. Sometimes you limp."
Evan's hands stilled.

"I'm not an idiot. I've seen how different you've become. Something is going on with you, and I want to help. Before it kills you. Please, Evan."

At this last he reached out and touched Evan's shoulder, despite recalling his earlier displeasure at being touched. He did not recoil away from Jack's hand this time, merely hunched a little further into himself.

"Jesus, you're freezing. What happened?"

"Ran out of hot water," Evan murmured.

Jack stood up, motioning for Evan to do the same. As soon as he was off the bed, Jack skimmed down the comforter and sheets, and then waved Evan back down. The younger man risked a glance up, saw no room for argument on Jack's face, and sat back on the bed. The comforter and sheets were wrapped around him in seconds, along with Jack's long arms. He expected Jack's arms to drop, but no, they stayed there, wrapped around him. Cuddling him.

Jack was cuddling him?

Anticipating Evan's confusion, Jack hurriedly addressed his actions.

"I'm not going to let you die of hypothermia," he said gruffly. Although in truth, he was feeling anything but gruff. The feel of having Evan in his arms, even through several blankets, was quite enjoyable. He was glad of the height discrepancy; Evan would have to crane his neck quite far up to see the happy little smile dancing around the corners of Jack's lips.

Evan wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this; on one hand, he still wasn't exactly in the mood to be touched. But on the other hand, it had been so long since he had been cuddled – even though apparently that wasn't what was going on – that he couldn't help but slowly relax into the touch. It was a little odd, but it was also… nice.

"Talk to me, Evan," Jack said quietly.

Evan took a deep breath – it sounded like he was preparing to lift the weight of the world – and let it all in a long, drawn out sigh.

"Jericho." The word was barely audible in the breathy exhale. Jack wasn't even sure he'd heard correctly.

"Jericho?"

Evan dipped his head down once: yes.

"Chris Jericho?"

Another nod.

"That's… that's who you've been sneaking out to see." It started out almost as a question, but Jack's mind raced, and suddenly everything was falling into place. The long showers. The marks on Evan's body that he claimed were merely wrestling-related, but the lie was always evident in the sideward shift of his gaze. The way he limped on some occasions when he snuck back in.

"Oh, Jesus, Evan!" Unconsciously he tightened his arms around the smaller man. "Why?"

Evan's head was bowed low; shameful tears prickled the backs of his eyes, and he closed his eyes to keep them at bay. He didn't want to answer Jack's question, but words rose to his lips just the same.

"Why do I… go to him? Why I let him…? He… he makes me… feel something."

"But he hurts you!"

"It's something."

Jack pulled back, trying to meet Evan's eyes, but he was having none of it. His gaze was firmly downcast.

"Evan, look at me." When he refused to budge, Jack reached into the blanket cocoon and tucked his fingers under the younger man's chin, tilting his head up. Evan finally met Jack's gaze, brown eyes a little too bright in the dark room.

He spoke slowly, making sure every word was as clear as possible.

"You are better than that. You deserve better than that. You should be with someone who loves you, not with someone who will just use you and hurt you. You don't have to suffer just so you can feel something."

Evan's eyes darted back and forth, searching Jack for the truth in his words, for a lie, for something. For anything. After a moment, his gaze dipped down again.

"I don't expect you to understand…."

Jack was not about to pursue this line of thought. Before he could even think about it – because if he did, he surely would have thought twice – the hand resting lightly under Evan's jaw slid back and curled around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. Before he could pull away, Jack closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Evan's.

He felt Evan go rigid at the touch, and he reached out, cradling the younger man's face with both hands, hoping to prolong the moment just one second longer, one more second—

Much to his surprise, Evan seemed to relax, the tautness drumming through his muscles easing. He wriggled closer, wrapping his hands around Jack's forearms for balance, and timidly returned the kiss. Jericho never kissed him. Never. The brush of his lips across his chest, the back of his neck – usually preceding a firm bite – was the closest Jericho ever came to kissing him.

Jack couldn't contain the smile surfacing on his lips as he took his time kissing the life out of Evan. Anything worth doing was worth doing well, as the adage went. He wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment as he memorized the softness, the taste, every tiny breathy sound Evan exhaled, pulling him close, closer still, until Evan was flush against him and—

He was so focused on taking in every detail of kissing Evan that it took his conscience a good two or three minutes to remind him that kissing his friend two minutes after he confessed to being used mercilessly by someone they both work with was probably not the best of ideas.

Jack pulled back as if he'd been bitten, realizing only peripherally that Evan had both hands fisted tightly in the material of his t-shirt. He turned his head away, desperately ashamed of his behavior, and pressed the back of one shaky hand to his lips. He didn't see Evan's brow furrowed in confusion or feel his hands release the cotton of his shirt, leaving starburst wrinkles.

"Evan… I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry."

He couldn't bear to look at Evan; surely the younger man thought he was taking advantage of him, his situation, his confession, his vulnerable state. It couldn't be further from the truth, but there was no way he could explain his reasoning. He didn't have any reasoning.

"Oh," Evan breathed from beside him in the dark. "Oh. I see."

Jack turned slightly away from Evan, berating himself for being about nineteen different kinds of an insensitive idiot… and also trying to catch his breath, calm down and ignore everything that simple kiss had done to his body.

He risked a glance to his right, seeing Evan watching him with wide eyes and slightly puffy lips, just barely visible. Jack swallowed hard and suppressed the urge to grab the smaller man and continue where they left off, consequence and conscience be damned. But he would never be able to live with himself if he did that.

Evan reached out a hand, held it wavering in the air between their bodies, and Jack turned his head away again, looking forlornly at the carpet between his feet. A moment later he heard a slight thump as Evan's hand dropped to the mattress.

"I see," he said again, softly. "I understand."

It was Evan's turn to look down and away.

"I don't blame you," he said, his voice thick.

Jack glanced up again, feeling a little more in control of himself… as long as Evan kept his gaze on the floor, that was.

"Blame me for what?"

"Changing your mind."

"What?"

"You don't know… everything I've done… everything Jericho's done. I'm sure you could imagine, and… and it's probably worse than that. So... I don't blame you. I wouldn't want… Jericho's sloppy seconds. I wouldn't want…." Evan trailed off, his voice breaking on the last word.

"Evan… no. That's not… is that what you think?"

He met Evan's eyes, shining brightly even in the dark. The younger man bit his lip and nodded once, never dropping his gaze. In spite of his earlier reluctance, Jack leaned forward and wrapped Evan in his arms, almost before he realized he had moved. He pressed a kiss to the top of Evan's head, the still damp hair ticking his nose, but he didn't move.

"No, Evan. No… it's not like that. That's not it at all. That's not what I think. I didn't change my mind. I don't want you to think I'm just trying to… take advantage of you. I don't want to hurt you."

Evan was held to Jack's chest, his face pressed to the side of the other man's neck. He wriggled closer, feeling the somehow reassuring press of his body, breathing in the clean scent of his skin, so different from the heavy cigarette smoke-tinged odor he had become so familiar with. His throat ached with unshed tears and guilt and shame and the desire to believe wholeheartedly in Jack's words.

He leaned away from of the strong arms encircling him and tipped his head back, meeting Jack's eyes forthright for the first time all evening. The words echoed through his mind; no one had ever said anything like that to him before. Not with the level of sincerity Jack mustered, not only with his tone of voice, but the look in his eyes when he said it.

As Evan searched the blonde's eyes as best he could in the dim room, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to believe so badly.

"Do you really mean… all that?"

Jack nodded in response, not looking away, then reached out and laid his fingertips gently on the side of the younger man's face. Evan looked a little surprised at the gentle touch, but after a moment relaxed into it. Moving slowly, almost timidly, he turned his head slightly, not dropping his gaze, and pressed his cheek into the palm of Jack's hand. When Jack didn't immediately remove his hand in disgust or push him away, he allowed himself to relax a little more and shut his eyes. A strange warm feeling was curling through his chest, something that he couldn't quite put a name to, something he couldn't remember feeling in a very long time.

He opened his eyes to see Jack still watching him, a slight smile on his face. In that moment, something clicked in Evan's brain and everything suddenly made perfect sense. He didn't want to think about it, overanalyze it, worry whether or not Jack was being honest or just trying to worm his way past his mostly shattered defenses. None of that mattered, and mustering what little nerve he could find, he stretched forward and brushed his lips against Jack's. Timidly at first, but with growing confidence as Jack kissed back, holding him firmly in place with one hand on the back of his neck.

After a long moment Jack pulled away, and looked down, panting slightly.

"Evan… I don't know… about this."

"Why?" Evan murmured back, a cold chill flicking through the warmth he had been feeling.

"I don't …want you to do this for the wrong reasons. Or force you into anything."

"I want to."

"Are you sure?"
"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I want to know… what this is supposed to feel like. Show me. I want you to show me."

Jack obliged, no further words needed to be spoken. He pulled the smaller man tight against his chest, kissing him gently and thoroughly, doing his damnedest to show Evan everything he had been missing for so long. Evan sighed into the kiss, pulling away just long enough to crawl into Jack's lap, knees on either side of the taller man's thighs. Jack immediately established a firm grip on the younger man's lower back, holding him as close as physically possible.

He wasn't sure if this would be the only time this would happen, if it meant Evan would stop seeing Jericho in the small hours of the morning, or if Evan would even be willing to pursue a relationship with him. None of that mattered. All he could focus on was the softness of Evan's lips, the mint-tinged flavor of his mouth, the little needy moans wrung from his throat, the undulating movement of Evan's hips against his own.

Jack pulled away slightly and changed tactics, dropping a line of soft, sweet kisses up the side of Evan's neck, reveling in the scent and taste of the smaller man's skin, hearing him gasp lightly as the sensitive skin there was assaulted. Evan had stilled atop Jack's lap, as though the slightest movement would cause him to stop what he was doing.

With a gentle nip to his earlobe, his lips brushing the shell of Evan's ear, he whispered, "Lay on the bed?"

Although the words themselves, the very tone was completely and utterly unlike anything Jericho had ever spoken to him, Evan couldn't help but flash back, hearing an echo of that voice as clearly as though the words were spoken from somewhere in the room.

On the bed, kid.

Jack pulled back, feeling an abrupt shift in Evan's attitude; he was sitting bolt upright, muscles rigid. Evan's eyes were wide, almost fearful in the darkness.

"Evan, what's wrong? Did I say something…?" He felt cold to the pit of his stomach; maybe he had pushed too hard, too fast.

Evan, still wide-eyed, met Jack's eyes and shook his head slowly, pressing trembling fingers lightly to the blonde's slightly puffy lips.

"Not you," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

After a moment, insight hit Jack and it was all he had within him not to charge out of the room, find Jericho and beat him to within an inch of his life. He reached up, cradling the younger man's face in his large hands, his fingers twining in dark hair.

"I'm not him. I'm not like him. I'm not going to hurt you, I swear to you, I would never hurt you."

With an infinite amount of gentleness, Jack traced the line of his jaw, the curve of a cheekbone, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Evan closed his eyes, a trembling exhale sliding between his slightly parted lips.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, his eyes still closed. "I want to, but I… I can't…."

"You don't have to explain," Jack said quietly. "I understand."

"Are you mad?"

"No, of course not. I'm not going to force you into anything you aren't ready for. Take all the time you need."

He wrapped the smaller man in his arms, holding him tightly, running his hands up and down the length of his back. Jack glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand, glowing red; the hour was late.

"We should probably go to sleep. It's getting late, and we have a show tomorrow," he murmured to the top of Evan's head, which nodded in response under his chin.

Evan wriggled out from Jack's cozy embrace and slid under the covers. Jack stood up and quickly tugged off his jeans before joining Evan in the bed and hesitantly curling up beside him, dropping a hand lightly on Evan's side.

"Hey Jack?' Evan whispered in the darkness. Jack pulled his hand away from Evan's body, worried he had overstepped another boundary.

"You can leave your hand there. I just wanted to say thank you."

Jack's hand curled lightly around the ridge of Evan's hip. He wasn't sure what he was being thanked for, but because his momma taught him manners, he merely responded with a softly whispered "you're welcome," and pressed a kiss to the younger man's temple.

~*~

The next day, by an unspoken agreement, they did the best they could to give each other some space. Evan in particular needed some time to think, to figure out what was happening between them, to put a name to the warmth he felt whenever he happened to lock eyes with Jack from across the room, whenever Jack smiled at him.

Catching a quiet moment in the locker room a little later on, Jack pulled him into the empty showers and kissed him soundly.

"Been wanting to do that all day," he murmured. "You did good in your match earlier."

"But I lost," Evan replied, eyes sparkling.

"You did good anyway," Jack grinned before leaning in to kiss the high flyer again.

"When's your match against MVP?" Evan asked, pulling away slightly, trying to catch his breath.

"Not 'til later."

"Want me to stick around?"

"You don't have to."

"I don't mind."

"Alright. I gotta get ready. Care to join me in the shower?

Evan grinned; it was the first genuine smile Jack had seen on his friend's face in months. He couldn't help but smile in response.

"Nah, I have to change. Maybe later."

"I'll hold you to that."

After another quick kiss, Evan slipped out of the showers and back into the locker room, smiling quietly to himself. He stripped out of his ring gear and into his street clothes, thinking about everything that had been said the night before, the way Jack had treated him, kind and patient and understanding. No one had shown him that degree of consideration. Ever. Evan hadn't dared imagine there were people like that anywhere in the world… or that he would find one. Or that one would want to be with him.

As he packed his gear into his gym bag, his phone buzzed from on the bench beside him. He grabbed the device and flipped it open.

One new text.

As he read the short message, a sudden chill wrenched through his body and the smile dropped off his face.

Newhaven hotel. 122

With violently shaking hands, he closed the phone slowly and carefully, taking great pains not to drop it to the floor.

Fuck off, kid.

I would never hurt you.

Jericho's rough, experienced hands. Jack's understanding, patience, gentleness.

Evan shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands, feeling sick all the way to the pit of his stomach.