Summary: Happiness cannot be measured. Pain can bring you all life's little pleasures. 6 months after losing the one person they both loved, can John Cena and Jeff Hardy ever hope to truly mend their broken hearts? Does time really heal all wounds, or does some hurt run too deep to ever be cured? Slash! OC.
A/N: New story. Here is the long awaited sequel to 'Confide In Me'. It's taken me a few months to get my head around it, but it's finally ready to be published. Thank you guys for waiting so patiently.
The ballad collection 'Something To Remember' has really been my inspiration for this story. Lyrics are taken from this album (unless stated otherwise) without permission.
To those who read my other stories, this isn't anything like my usual Randy/Trish universe. To begin with, it's a 'slash' story, that is to say a male/male paring. Added to that, it's an OC pairing. So its a wrestler with a created character, in this case Morgan Lee.
If the slash isn't your thing, don't read. I just want everyone to know what I'm writing before I write it. As a disclaimer, I don't own any wrestler or anything affiliated with WWE. .It's all owned by Vince McMahon and I don't have any permission to use any of it. It's just me obeying my creative muses. Morgan and Kade are my characters. The songs Morgan performs are taken from other artists; again I have no permission to use them.
'Confide In Me' came before this story, so if you haven't read that story none of this is going make any sense. So enough said. Here it is. I disclaim. I hope you guys enjoy.
I Want You
"One way love is just a fantasy. To share is precious, pure and fair."
'…and in other news today, gay pop singer Morgan Lee has earned fierce criticism from religious and family groups for his performance at last night's Grammy awards. Mr. Lee, born in the United Kingdom, opened the ceremony performing a cover of Kylie Minogue's 'Better The Devil You Know'. Critics described the performance as a 'homo-erotic pole dance, completely unsuitable for a televised broadcast.' As this clips shows, Morgan performed the song dancing with a pole whilst wielding a leather riding crop. Surrounded by a group of male dancers, they were dressed in very little other than leather riding-garb.
The Grammy's executive committee today issued an unreserved apology to anyone offended by the show, and have promised to investigate how the performance was allowed to go ahead.
This controversy occurs just days after Morgan drew harsh chastisement around the world for acts committed on his new world tour. In the second segment of the show, Mr. Lee reportedly appears on stage performing a cover of Olivia Newton-John's 'Physical'. During the performance, the singer is allegedly engaged in simulated acts of a sexual nature with several male dancers. One critic for a pre-eminent news column described the scene as 'nothing short of a homosexual orgy' and 'absolutely unacceptable to civilised society'.
The Vatican has issued a statement calling for an immediate ban on the tour, calling for a police investigation into alleged acts of gross-indecency in a public forum. They have petitioned the Italian government to bar Mr. Lee entry to the country later this summer when his tour moves to Europe.
Several American pressure groups, lead by 'Concerned Families of America', are backing a petition to have Mr. Lee's CD's removed from sale in stores across America. Backed by several politicians and senators, they have called their move a 'protection for the innocent members of society.'
All this controversy comes days ahead of the release of the performers' new album, entitled 'Something To Remember'. The performer continues to hold a staunch 'no comment' position on his antics of late. His record label, the independent group 'Sweet Baby Girl Entertainment' has stood by Morgan, stating the right to artistic freedom and expression. Sources close to the singer have stated that…"
Click.
Hitting the power-off button on the remote, John Cena dropped the item onto the table. Landing with an audible clatter against the polished oak, John paid no further attention to the darkened television.
Glancing around the bare hotel room, his breath came out as a short sigh. Running his hand back over the short crop of his brown hair, his eyes became vacant. The steel blue gaze fell across the wall opposite him. It was almost as though his lack-lustre stare was searching the wall for something. He didn't know what. All John Cena did know, was that the silence left in the room now the television was off, was deafening. And it was just as unsettling.
In an effort to keep busy as much as create noise, John began pacing around the room. The worn, faded blue carpet of the standard hotel room was soft under foot, caressing the bare soles of John's feet. The pacing became a game almost. Every fourth step John took, the floorboard near the bed gave a faint squeak. Wondering if the wood had warped over the years, John all at once found himself by his bed. Not sure how he had ended on the bed, the wrestler didn't cease to continue moving. As though he were working on some kind of autopilot, his hand reached for the suitcase resting by the side of the bed.
The case was large, in a faded powder blue hue. It had been with John since he had started out in the wrestling business. His eldest brother had joked that it was his good luck charm. John couldn't help but doubt that, despite the fact he wouldn't go anywhere without it. If anything, his luck had turned for the worse. Everything seemed to have gone down hill since that day six months ago. That one fateful day in the airport, when -
Stop it John. Don't go through this again. Mentally chastising himself for bringing up heart-wrenching memories, John found himself unzipping his case anyway. Those memories were with him all the time. Constantly bubbling under the surface, John knew he would never be rid of them. Still, it wouldn't stop him from trying to forget.
Repeating the same actions he had been taking for the past six months, Cena carefully placed the case flat on top of the mattress. Carefully lifting the lid, an unorganized pile of clothes presented itself. Tee-shirts and jerseys of all colours and designs were all crammed in against one another, straining the objects' storage capacity to the limits. Shifting beneath the piles of tee-shirts and cut off shorts, Cena's fingers grasped for what he knew would be at the bottom.
It was smooth and glazed, and very much cool to the touch. His fingers travelled across the sides of the rectangle object, taking each straight line and ninety-degree corner with the gentle caress usually reserved for a lover. Already in his head, he could picture the object without seeing it. Somehow, touching it without seeing it made it more real to John.
With great care, John pulled the object free of the suit-case. It was a black photo album. The slight curve of the spine was well worn and showed signs of distress. It was probably because of the amount of times it had been opened over the past twenty-four weeks. The constant flipping and closing of the covers had taken its effect on the spine. The dark leather was lighter and cracked, with deep crevices of use.
And it was about to be opened again.
Almost lovingly, John carefully held the cover in his hand and pulled it to the side. The front page was a smooth ivory colour, unblemished with writing. A simple gold rectangle, imprinted as a border on the page, was the only visible marking on the paper. Carefully touching the page, John turned it to the next.
The double page was an explosion of colour and texture and picture. It was best described as a collage, a mixture of photographs and magazine clippings. The occasional newspaper article or scribbled note was woven between the lattice of pictures, creating a wall of image and word.
The common factor, either in the picture or the writing was simple. It was the one thing that had plagued John Cena's thoughts for the best part of two years. Though the reason for the near-obsession had changed through all that time, it was still centred on the same thing. Morgan Lee. Either the words or the picture of the singer set to life emotions in John that threatened to take him to the edge of his sanity. And even further again beyond those limits.
With an almost ironic smile, John looked with a swollen heart at the images before him. Picking a particular photograph, he could remember the scene like it was yesterday. It was the first time Morgan had come to a WWE event. John chuckled softly to himself, remembering just how excited Morgan had been. He was meeting all his favourite superstars, and getting to see a show live. That was something he had never done before, and was so thankful to get the opportunity to do. It was times like that seemed forever etched in John's memory. The way Morgan was older than his years, and yet could be reduced to nervous hiccups at such a token gesture.
Moving his eyes slightly, the next picture had just as many memories for John as the one before it. It was taken during the pair's visit to Albuquerque. Morgan had joked about it being a stain of the canvas of America. A gentle chuckle escaped John's lips. He could remember almost too vividly how Morgan had secretly confessed how he thought the residents were actually 'spiking' his soda with Holy water blessed by a local priest. 'They're trying to cure me John.' Morgan had joked.
The curve of Morgan's mouth in his beaming smile gripped the gut of Cena tightly, seemingly refusing to let go. The memory of Morgan's smile took a further tone. John's memory blended to the memory of Morgan's mouth on his. That soft pink curve pressing against his own mouth - gently tasting the bottom lip as his tongue skilfully worked it's way into his mouth. The feeling of Morgan's tongue sliding into his own mouth, teasing the flesh as it probed further was almost too much to bear.
Snapping the book shut, it fell to the floor as John's head fell into his hands. The book skidded away across the ground, far away from John's gasp. He preferred it that way, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his memories as he could.
Tears prickled at the back of his eyes. Why was this still so hard? After all this time, you'd think someone with the hometown roots of John Cena would be able to overcome a break-up. Surely the ties of family and friends were enough to overcome the heartache of a fleeting resonance that never quite was. It seemed not. If anything, the longer John was apart from Morgan, the deeper the wound became. The aching, empty hole in the centre of his chest some how got that little bit wider every day. Sooner or later, John knew there would be nothing left of him at all. Just an empty hole where his heart should have been. No amount of family and friends or friendly faces could ever hope to fill it.
In a cloud of misery and heartbreak, the wrestler watched his actions in what felt like he was watching some kind of movie. His fingers found the steel chain to which his keys were attached on the top of a chest of drawers. As though fate had been premeditated by the circumstance, a baseball cap rested next to the keys. It was soon atop Cena's head, the peak pulled low down over his steel blue eyes as she slid his sneakers onto his feet.
In a haze, John had somehow made it out of his hotel room and through lobby to the garage below. Every face he passed was distant band blank, as though they weren't real people. Shunning any kind of human contact, John found his hire car parked where he had left. Pushing the button for his alarm, the lights flashed an intense amber glow as he unlocked it from afar. Sliding into the front seat, he brought the car to life with a feral growl as he revved the engine.
Speeding out to the road, night had already cast its blanket over the sky. Dots of light sparkled against the black backdrop, the air peppered with drops of icy cold rain. There were no headlights on the road ahead of John. Formless buildings ranging from stores to houses passed by as Cena ventured even further into the night. He told himself he didn't know where he was going - that this was just a spur of the moment thing. But he knew.
Pulling to a stop a block away from his destination, his car slowed to a complete halt. Gripping the rear-view mirror in his hand, John saw the reflection of his own tired greyish-blue eyes. His reflection stared back as impassively as John peered at it. Wanting some kind of validation to his actions, he couldn't bare to look at it anymore.
Getting out of his car, he pushed his hands into his pockets, bracing against the cool night air. Drops of rain patted his tee-shirt, leaving dots of darkened colour on the otherwise plain black.
Crossing the street, John Cena turned a corner. Stepping into an alleyway, he carefully looked both ways down the street. Certain there was no-one else around, he headed forward into the dark crevice. The sound of something rustling in a pile of cardboard boxes did nothing to still his agitated nerves. Quickening his pace, John ventured forward before coming to a stop. Almost camouflaged against the brick wall was a dark red door. Years of grime and dirt had built up into an effective disguise. It was good enough that if you didn't know that this door was there, you probably wouldn't notice it. John Cena knew where it was. In fact, he had visited far too many times over the past six months.
With surprising force, he thumped his fist against the darkened entrance. He heard the sound reverberating into the silence around him. It bounced around, whispering in indignation of what he was about to do. After a few moments, the door swung open. John was immediately bathed in the incandescent beams of a nightclub. Sound poured out of the door into the empty alleyway. Keeping his cap pulled low, John dared to look up into the face of the bouncer. He was old, possibly in his fifties. Dressed in a pair of jeans a black leather waist-coat, the material of his tee-shirt was stretched to almost breaking point.
Scratching his bulbous gut, the balding man simply nodded at John. Accepting the wad of notes John handed him, he stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The bouncer had worked there long enough to recognise John Cena whenever he came to the back door. And he wasn't the only more well know patron to approach the nightclub from the back entrance. It was clear that some people just did not want to be seen taking the front way. That way you could be seen. And recognised. Coming in this way, you weren't as obvious. You could blend in without fear of discovery.
For John, it was almost ironic that he would take the back entrance into a gay club. In some way, it was a scathing commentary to his life. Escaping the darkened reality in which he was trapped, he took the most degrading way into a life he didn't want, but somehow couldn't live without.
It was already thriving in the club. Not much else could be expected for a Friday night. Just before midnight, and it was full to capacity with men and the occasional woman. The back entrance led into the area where the club's toilets were situated. Keeping his eyes low, John walked forward, pretending not to notice the men pawing at each other in the darkened corners of the area. If the staff of the club were willing to let such activities go on, who was he to pass judgement?
Hurrying through the archway, John came into the main area of the club. It was a lot hotter in here, with the smoke machine making the entire room hazy and surreal. Lights glittered and flashed as the collective mass on the dance floor throbbed with eroticism. John didn't recognise the song that was exploding from the speakers, but he could certainly appreciate the low sultry beats that it came with.
Everywhere he looked, men were engaged in varying sexual activities. They ranged from the innocent to the outright brazen. Keeping to the wall, John slowly navigated the room. Trying his best not to look up, he still had to get what he came for. Daring to look up, his vision was obscured by two men dressed in leather S&M gear. One was tugging harshly on the other man's nipple as he seemed to devour his neck.
Glancing past, John saw several younger, fresh faced men dancing wildly on a platform. They were in various states of undress, but seemed to be having the time of their lives. As he passed, a particularly zealous man saw it fit to thrust his rear into John's face. Recoiling in abject terror, John staggered past, finding himself nearly collapsing on the bar.
It was there that he saw him.
Perched carefully on a bar stool, he seemed quite out of place in the surroundings. Dressed in tight fitting dark denim jeans, his toned body was hiding behind a tight black tee-shirt. His dark hair was swept back, exposing his face. He was incredibly handsome, having an almost beautiful appearance to him. He was a lot thinner than a lot of the men in the club, and of obvious Mediterranean background. Beautiful dark looks and a round, tight bottom, and John couldn't help but wonder why no-one had snapped him up already. As the man sat there, playfully chewed on the straw protruding from his glass, John found the innocent action intoxicating. Every now and then his tongue would flick out to catch the straw, sucking it in between his plump lips.
He too was looking around the club too, perhaps eyeing up the potential of the men around him. Obviously not interested in anything he had seen so far, he craned his neck. Looking directly at him, John noted the slight smile that appeared on his face as he made no attempt to hide the fact he was checking out his body. And who wouldn't? The bulging muscles that were hinted at just beneath his tee-shirt had attracted many hungry glances already. But John only had eyes for the man in front of him.
Making no effort to move, John waited as the other man finally hoped down off his stool. Casually making his way towards John, his hips wound to the music as he walked. Finally reaching John, the man smiled, exposing his perfect white teeth. His dark eyes were soft and inquisitive. It disturbed John slightly at how good he was becoming at spotting first-timers in clubs as these. He could pick them out of a crowd of over hundred people. It made him feel dirty, like he was a predator stalking the unwary. Maybe he actually was. But it was a secondary concern.
Without any indication of his intentions, John simply leant forward. Catching the back of the dark-haired man's neck with his hand, he pressed his lips against the man's mouth. Moving his lips gently, John carefully tasted the other man's lips. He tasted of alcohol, perhaps some sort of fruit cocktail. Pulling back, John's face remained expressionless. The other man was clearly breathless, grinning wildly as he traced his bottom lip with his tongue.
Without bothering to make any form of introduction, John took the man's hand in his own. Turning, he headed back towards the archway where the toilets were located. He met no resistance from the dark haired man; he simply fell into step behind him.
Avoiding eye contact with bouncer, John led the man outside. Hearing the back door to the club close behind him, John quickly checked out the alley. It was still completely empty, and engulfed in the silence of the night. The rain had stopped, but there was a more pronounced breeze than before. Oblivious to the cold, John saw the other man shiver and was totally unmoved. He wasn't out here to be concerned with well-being of someone else. There was only one thing he was out here for.
Gripping him by the shoulders, John pushed the dark haired man back against the wall. Closing the gap, his lips went straight for the man's neck. His mouth was hot against the flushed skin, his tongue demanding and dominant, tasting as much of the flesh as he wanted.
His partner was obviously caught by surprise, but moaned softly as John's mouth kissed his neck. More than willing to be dominated, he let his fingers roam over John's back, exploring every contour of every muscle he could reach. The man squeaked softly as Cena's hands suddenly grabbed him by the wrists, pinning them against the wall. Now he looked a little unsure as he glanced up at John, chewing his bottom lips nervously. Realising he was being a little too forceful, John leant his head forward, kissing him softly. Obviously reassured by the more tender display, the dark haired man smiled. "I'm Marco. What's your…"
Marco lost his voice somewhere in his throat as John closed his mouth over his. He didn't care about the man's name. He didn't want to know. Names made it too personal. That wasn't what this was about.
The kiss was hot and rough, John's tongue anything but gentle and loving like they had been moments before. His hands were all over Marco's, kneading the flesh beneath his touch. Marco moaned softly, hooking his leg around John's waist. Feeling the growing hardness of Cena's crotch against his own, Marco slipped his hand down between John's legs. Gripping the bulge in his fist, he began to squeeze the flesh, making stroking motions over the material. John stopped his assault on Marco's neck to grunt softly.
Taking the advantage while he could, Marco deftly slipped to his knees. Gripping the belt, he quickly unbuckled it, making short work of John's zipper. In one move, he had John's jeans and boxer shorts pulled down around his muscled thighs. Feeling the cold night air caress his bare backside, John shuddered slightly. His manhood danced in front of Marco, bringing a greedy smile to dark haired man's lips. Gripping the base of John's member in his fist, he easily took the head into his mouth.
John groaned as he felt the hot mouth cover him. Resting his hand against the wall for support, he lowered his other to catch the back of Marco's head. With steady pressure, he guided Marco's mouth over his hardness. Marco was more than willing, and apparently not was innocent as John had once thought. He took as much of the length into his mouth as he could, surprising John easily. Most of his hook-ups could get to the half way mark before they started spluttering and gagging. Not Marco. He relished in his ministrations. With two thirds buried in his throat, his head rocked back and forth, sending spasms of pleasure through John's gut.
Leaning over, he gripped Marco beneath the arms. Lifting him back to his feet, he span the other man around. Marco chuckled to himself as legs were spread under him. Lying flush against the wall, he was under no illusions of what was coming next. John was by no means as considerate with Marco's clothing. Grabbing the waist of his jeans, he yanked them down roughly. They fell easily to Marco's ankles, exposing the fact he wasn't wearing any underwear.
Marco heard the sound of a foil packet tearing, guessing that John had brought protection with him. Arching his back, he lifted his rear upwards to be as inviting as he could. This was the kind of thing he fantasised about. Meeting a stranger, just to be taken into a seedy alleyway and being taken control of. Shudder with excitement, he continued to grind his naked buttocks, desperate for the of John's skin against his own. Grinning to himself, he heard John spitting into his hand, and braced himself against the wall.
Gripping his manhood in his hand, John held himself against Marco's secret entrance. Feeling the resistance of the tight ring of muscles, he redoubled his efforts, pushing forward. Marco groaned, more out of pain than enjoyment. Without any kind of preparation, this was more uncomfortable than it had to be. Still, he said nothing. He did his best to lean backwards onto John's hardness, trying to make it easier for him to enter his passage. John continued to push forward, feeling heat envelope him as he pushed deeper. Finally, he stopped invading Marco, holding himself still as his dark haired lover panted through the discomfort.
With barely time to get used to the feeling of John inside him, Marco hissed through his teeth as John began pulling out of him. With a lot more force than the last time, John pushed himself forward, thrusting deeply. Marco groaned, his fingers trying desperately to grip against the wall in front of him. John seemed oblivious as he trusted again and again, each time with more force than before. All around him, the alley fell away. It was replaced by the hotel room. The one in which he had first made love to Morgan. He could just about see Morgan's face before him. His eyes closed in the throws of ecstasy, he could hear Morgan's voice daring him to go harder, whispering his encouragement.
The sound of Morgan moaning in pleasure was the easily the most erotic thing he had ever heard. And it was all he could hear. Grabbing Marco's hips, John continued to spear inside, grunting each time his member disappeared into the flesh. In his ears, he could here Morgan screaming his name, his hands gripping John's legs as he bucked his hips to keep in time with the pace. John trusted harder, forcing himself as hard as he could into Morgan. Marco groaned uncomfortably against the assault as John continued to pound into him, a fresh grunt as did so. If he went deep enough, Morgan would hurt more. If he trusted harder, John was certain he could force all the heartache inside out of himself and back into Morgan where it belonged. He deserved to hurt as much as John did.
The channel tighter than a fist, John groaned at the friction stimulating him. Between the physical exertion and the memory of hurting the lover that had crushed his heart, it wasn't long before he felt the familiar sensations inside him as his climax built. His pace increased, his hips bucking with an increased sense of urgency. Marco moaned louder at the increased rhythm, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he wanted it to just be over.
John's voice came out as a long groan. His thrusting ceased as he felt the white hot release pulse through his vein, centring in the pit of his stomach. His body shuddered briefly as he emptied himself. His hops bucked spasmodically with force of everything being expelled inside him. His voice sounded a mess in his own ears, a jumble or words spilling over his lips the moment of agonising ecstasy. The last waves rode through John, and sanity resumed. Holding himself steady, his heart pounded wildly inside his chest, his breath a ragged gasp in his own ears.
As if realising where he was for this first time tonight, John pulled himself roughly backwards, removing his rapidly softening member out of Marco. Removing the used condom, John couldn't get his pants back up quickly enough. Fastening the belt at his waist, he did his best not to make any kind of eye contact with Marco. Marco had other ideas.
"Who is Morgan?" It was an honest question, but it made John feel like he was about to have a heart attack. With John looking at him, he asked the question again. "Who is Morgan? You said his name when you came. He your boyfriend or something?"
John shook his head from side to side. "He's no-one." Turning his back to Marco, Cena pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. There was nothing more to say. Marco didn't seem entirely bothered. Pulling his jeans back up, he fastened them before removing a cigarette. Grinning in John's direction, he placed it between his lips.
Nausea threatened to overcome John as he realised exactly what he had just done. Unable to look Marco in the face, John left his back facing the dark haired man's direction. Before he knew what he was doing, he had broken into a run. His arms swung at his sides, his feet thundering against the solid floor as he threw himself towards his car. He had to escape, and he had to do it now.
John honestly couldn't remember how he had made it back to his apartment. The journey was non existent in his mind. He was far to preoccupied with having just had sex with Morgan. Marco. His name was Marco.
Bursting through the door, he headed straight for the bathroom. Turning the shower on, he ripped at his clothes, throwing them carelessly away as he stepped inside the cubicle. Warm tears were lost in the water raining down from the shower above. It beat down in warm waves against his skin, clearing him of any lingering impurities that still stained his skin. But it wasn't enough for John.
Grabbing the coarse nail brush from the soap dish, he began rubbing it against his skin. The brush scraped back and forth, bringing an angry red hue to his arms and chest. He scrubbed as though his life depended on it. If he scrubbed hard enough, maybe he scrub away the lasting imprint Morgan had made on his heart. John Cena was stained with the love of another man. It had been a blessing, but now was his eternal curse. Trapped in the bosom of his own emotion, John knew he was slowly losing his grip on reality. Time had done nothing to heal the wounds Morgan had left. They only festered.
Scrubbing his skin, John silently begged to be free of this hurt. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, he would never be free.
He was still in love with Morgan.