A/N: A little bit of fiction to stop myself from going crazy - I just can't live without writing. It's inspired by a paragraph from "Undisputed" which is a great read by the way. I had half a mind to make this a Slash story, but drunken Chris was just too innocent to slash him :) I don't own anything and I don't earn anything either. This is fiction. Enjoy.

How had I gotten myself into this ridiculous situation again? Ah, yeah, because the boys desperately wanted to get smashed even when we had a show tomorrow and Daddy had to go with them because of the stupid part of my brain that told me that I had to look out for them.

And, well, the stupid part of my brain – as always – was right; because there was no way that they would be able to get back to the hotel on their own. Half of them couldn't walk three steps without stumbling and falling and how the other half was still standing was beyond me. They were just a bunch of giggling, singing, dancing wrestlers drunk out of their minds with the goal to stay in this club until the sun rose or the bouncers kicked them out – what was a lot more likely at this time of the night.

But hey, I knew my boys and none of the guys in black standing by the door and eyeing our table suspiciously had any chance of winning a fist fight against them. It didn't matter that they were drunk, the theory was that a wrestler – no matter how smashed – could win a good brawl no matter the circumstances, and as long as I was sitting at a table with them I wouldn't let anyone prove us otherwise.

"Maaaaarky!" the high-pitched voice shook me out of my day dream and before I had time to react in any way I had an excited blond sitting in my lap, clapping his hands like a little child who had found a fascinating new toy.

Holding back a snort I looked down and into Chris' clouded blue eyes. His hair was rumpled, cheeks reddened from alcohol and excitement and his dark gray shirt hung open, exposing his torso and gaining him a few yearning looks from the women in our immediate vicinity.

One look confirmed my assumption that this wasn't really Chris but Drunkicho gazing up at me with a shit eating grin. Right now I had the over-emotional, brutally honest, more vulnerable and slightly crazy part of his persona in front of me and I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from curling upwards – this would be fun.

"What do you want, Chrissy?" I'd have never called him that if he'd been sober, but fact was that he wasn't sober and would be lucky to remember any part of what was currently happening come morning.

For a moment he just tilted his head to the side and looked at me as if trying to remember what it was that he wanted from me – or at least I assumed that he wanted something from me from the puppy look he was giving me. You never knew with a drunken Chris.

"I wanna' kiss." he blurted out, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest in determination and swaying slightly on my lap.

Hysteric laughter arose on the other side of the table from the guys who were still halfway able to register what was going on around them. I raised an eyebrow in their direction but didn't bother to outright glare at them – just like Chris I would be very surprised if any of them remembered what had happened tonight by tomorrow.

"Please?" Chris put his head back to better look up at me, his bottom lip coming out to give me his best I-am-so-cute-and-innocent-you-have-to-love-me pout. But obviously the gesture didn't mix well with the alcohol in his blood and he swayed again, coming dangerously close to slipping out of my lap and crashing on the floor – my hands automatically shot out to grab his hips and prevent him from getting a close-up of the ground beneath my feet.

"You have to be more careful, we have a show tomorrow. Can't have you hurt." I probably should've tried to sound less stern, because the moment I said the words his eyes got teary. Fuck, a drunken, crying Chris was pretty high up on the list of things I didn't want to deal with right now.

"You don't love me! You're a meeeeeany!" he untangled his arms and pushed his hands against my chest in an attempt to hurt me, but because of his drunken state there was hardly any force behind the action – he could have tried to beat me up right now and I would have probably had to make sure that he didn't do any lasting damage to himself.

"Calm down Chris. Of course I love you." Rule number one when dealing with hammered wrestlers: never try to argue, it's not worth the trouble.

"Prove it!" Chris' eyes became determined, "Gimme a kiss."

I sighed. Smashed Chris was always persistent and today was no exception. My best option was to try and distract him to the point where he didn't know anymore why he'd come to me in the first place – what shouldn't be that difficult in his current state of mind.

"And how do you think you have earned that kiss?" it was funny to watch the frown settle on his face, his eyes narrowing in confusion. His head most likely wasn't clear enough to answer any question with more than a simple yes or no and I was totally taking advantage of that fact – I'm no bastard, but there had to be at last one perk in playing the babysitter for two dozen grown, plastered men and watching Chris struggle to answer my question definitely made my night.

"Doesn't matter! You're just tryin' to confuse me!" he accused me of the truth and to be honest I was a little surprised that he was still sober enough to notice that.

"And why would I do that, Chrissy?" trying to not outright laugh at his irritated expression became harder and harder. Watching him when he opened his mouth to answer and closed it when he couldn't frame an answer just made him look like an angry, pouting, cute little kid that was about to throw a fit.

"Cause you're mean! Meeeeean Mark…" before I really got was happening Chris had already started to giggle like crazy, his hands coming up to support his weight on my shoulders as he chuckled happily into my chest.

One day when I was done with the whole wrestling business I really should write a book about all the shit that happened to me in 20+ years with the WWE/F. Some of the guys would never live it down, but all this hilarity couldn't just go to waste in my eyes – plus I'd make a shitload of money for simply writing how other men made fools of themselves. I was a wrestler after all, and we never turned down easy money.

"Marky!" the blond Canadian whining and struggling in my lap brought me back to reality.

"Fine." I gave in, knowing that to give him at least partly what he wanted was the only way to get Chris to shut up and run back to the dance floor – plus the barman had been eying us suspiciously for a few minutes now and I really didn't want to have to go over there and beat the guy to a pulp because he'd taken out a camera and made a photo of the two of us.

"You can kiss me on the cheek, but after that you'll leave me alone. Understood?" my voice was grave and I watched him cowering before my eyes in amusement.

"Kay." the shit-eating grin was back on Chris' lips in seconds and he nodded eagerly before sitting up and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to my right cheek. He was off my lap only seconds later and running over to the rest of the boys, nearly stumbling over his own legs in his haste to get back to the group.

Just for a second I allowed my own lips to mirror his grin, then I raised my empty glass for the waitress to see. She gave me a curt nod and went to fetch me another drink – the gesture for "I need another one of that" was the same in every country I'd ever been to and as far as I was concerned it was the only kind of language skills I needed to have.

Somewhere on my right I heard the unmistakable sound of glasses being smashed against the wall – oh yeah, I needed a lot more of those if I had to get the idiots back to the hotel later on.

I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing it :)