Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or real people portrayed in this story. The characters are owned by WWE and the real people own themselves. The story is rated M, but it's only like half an M, there's nothing too graphic in it, but still, it's graphic enough to warrant the rating...maybe.
A/N: I like to write and when I write, things like this come out and so here it is. There's not much you really need to know going into the story. It's a one-shot and well, I hope you all like it and please leave a review if you want. Enjoy, I hope! :)
Chris turned on his side, facing the drawn curtains.
He sighed just slightly, so low that it could only be heard by him. He didn't want his bed partner to hear him. He slowed his breathing down to a rhythm, pretending he was asleep. He could feel the body behind him moving around and shifting on the bed. For a moment, he could feel her arm on his bicep, probably seeing if he was still awake, wanting to pull him down so he would cuddle with him. He wasn't in the mood for cuddling though, he never was, hadn't she figured that out yet? She was so stupid sometimes it made his head want to explode.
He stared at the curtains in front of him, willing another night to pass by without dreams. Sometimes he would stay up for hours, fighting sleep like a valiant knight fighting for his lady, waiting for the light to change in that small slit where the curtains never quite met. They would start at blue and then slowly, slowly change until they were a bright white and sometimes he wanted heaven to be on the other side of those curtains. If it were heaven though, she'd be there, but she was never there.
"Chris?" Voice not quite coupled with sleep, more post-coital bliss, at least for her. He knew what he was good at and sex was something he was good at. Still, he stayed complete still, letting his breath rise and fall. "Are you awake, baby?"
Yes, he was awake, but he just wanted to stare at the curtains. He just wanted to listen to the air conditioner buzz. It was soothing while he toiled the hours away. He didn't know how he'd gotten into this cycle of something akin to self-loathing. Maybe it'd started with his split from his wife, except he knew it wasn't that. If it was that, he'd be turned around looking at the woman behind him, not staring at the soft light peeking in from just behind the curtains.
Was this really self-loathing? He didn't necessarily feel dirty after he slept with her. It was something deeper and more profound than just hating himself. It was like he wasn't himself. He'd spent the past almost 39 years being a model human being and then it all went to hell in a hand-basket, but it couldn't have been all his fault. This spiral into whatever this was wasn't all on him, it was more complicated than that.
Great, now she was kissing up his shoulder. Sometimes he wondered why this girl couldn't see what was so obvious. Sometimes he'd look at them when she shoved a picture in his face and he'd look at his face and wonder where the lines had come from. He'd frown when he saw his own frown. He never used to frown so why was it becoming so prevalent every time he saw himself? It was like he was slowly changing in a series of pictures. Someone should start an art exhibit: "The Slow Decline of Chris Jericho: From Happy Man to Pathetic in a Series of Pictures." Surely some people would pay money to see that. He imagined Paul Levesque would be first in line.
"Chris," she said in a singsong voice, like this was going to get him up. He wasn't moving. He'd just stir a little bit, pretend like he might have heard, but he went right back to pretending. "Wake up, sleepyhead."
She probably wanted another go at him, but he didn't want another go at her. Ahh, that's where the self-loathing came in. There was no emotion behind the sex and it almost cheapened it…okay, it cheapened it. She was a warm body and afterwards, when he'd turn away to "fall asleep," he'd hate himself for what he'd just done. Sure, she was pretty, beautiful even, but he still felt dirty and guilty.
The curve of her hips were different, slimmer than Stephanie's had been. It wasn't like Stephanie was fat, no, she was…perfect. Her skin always smelled so good, a mixture he could never quite decipher, no matter how many times he tasted her skin. There was an essence to her skin, an essence to her, and he'd spent many nights just taking her in, breathing in her scent as he explored her body. She'd arch up into him just the tiniest bit, just enough to present more of her to him.
Now he was feeling even more guilty for what he'd just done with this girl behind him. A mere distraction, that's all he was. He was constantly finding these mere distractions because when he found them, they made him not think of Stephanie for at least five minutes at a time. He was hoping by this time next week to move up to ten minutes, but it was always going to be a work in progress. One minutes to five to ten to twenty to thirty, and so forth and so on. Every day, a little more, every day she'd fade a little more from his head and then maybe he could commit to someone else, anyone else.
"Chris, wake up," she whispered, right in his ear. He squeezed his eyes tighter, willing sleep to come just so he wouldn't have to listen to her voice. When Stephanie just woke up or was close to sleep, her voice would get gravelly, a harsh whisper against the soft night.
"Mmm," he pretended, "I'm tired."
She pulled away then, a disappointed sigh on the edge of her lips and she turned away and he let out a breath of relief. She'd probably fall asleep and he would be okay to stare at that curtain and wait for the whiteness of morning. He pulled the covers tighter over him as if to cover himself from the night. The darkness was mocking him, lingering there so he could stew in his depression. But what the hell did he have to be depressed about? He had a beautiful girl who liked him and wanted to be with him.
But she wasn't the right girl, this wasn't the right bed, her eyes weren't the right color, her hips weren't the right curve, her hands weren't the right length, nothing was right, nothing, nothing, nothing. She wanted nothing more than him and he wanted nothing more than Stephanie. Life wasn't fair. They say you play the cards you're dealt, well he wanted to throw these cards back and get a new set.
She went back to Paul. His hands gripped the covers tighter as he thought about this. His knuckles were turning as white as the sheets he was clinging to. She said she was doing it for her daughters, trying one more time with that asshole and it had stung him in ways he was still trying to figure out. Every so often, he'd see something totally benign, a gum wrapper or a DVD, and it would remind him of her in the strangest ways. He understood trying for her kids, but she and Paul had only lasted a few months after their trial reconciliation, but she hadn't spoken to one word to him since then, even though she wasn't seeing anyone else.
He thought he'd meant more to her than that, but apparently not. So what was he supposed to do? He did the only thing he thought he could, he found another girl and decided to call her his own. Maybe he was trying to make Stephanie jealous, maybe not. Maybe he was trying to ease this ache inside of him; he thought he and Stephanie were going somewhere. He thought they could go all the way, the distance, all of that good stuff that people said was at the end of a rainbow.
She'd left Paul when she was two months pregnant. The baby had been a shock, but she'd been so unhappy she didn't want to stick it out and she'd left Paul. Chris had snapped at the opportunity. Ever since he'd come back, it was like whatever fire they had working together back during the Alliance days had reappeared tenfold. He'd stayed with her throughout her entire pregnancy. He'd never pushed too hard with the baby, letting Paul be the father. Sometimes, if Paul couldn't make it, Chris would go with her to the appointments and he'd be lying if he didn't feel a little fatherly in those moments.
He'd actually been with her in the delivery room. Paul had been overseas or he would've been there as well. That would've made for an awkward situation so Chris was a little glad he wasn't there, though it was Paul's daughter being born so he shouldn't be so callous. Chris had been Stephanie's coach for the pregnancy. He'd gotten to see her daughter before she even had and they even let him cut the umbilical cord. That was probably the start of the end though.
A new baby…how could that not bring two people closer together? He'd tried to stop it, not let it happen, but how could he keep Paul away from his kid and the kid's mother? It was like an impossible mission and she'd drifted farther and farther away from him until she was completely gone and back with Paul. He should've been more understanding, but he wasn't an understanding person.
She was reaching for him sleepily. She was just on the verge of sleep because her touch was barely there. She probably wanted to cuddle with him, let him keep her warm. He didn't want to budge. He continued to stare at the curtains, feeling bad that he was ignoring her, but not bad enough to turn around and actually touch her. It was still way too dark out there, still too much time to pass. Her touches eased and he could hear her breathing deepen in that way only sleepy people did.
Chris waited a few more moments and then could stomach this bed no longer and slowly rose from the bed, making sure not to wake her. He padded his way to the bathroom and went completely inside before turning on the lights lest she see and wake up. He cleaned himself up and avoided looking at the mirror. When that was through, he went back to the bedroom and to his suitcase. He threw on some sweats and a hoodie. He took one look at the bed and then started for the door. No, he wasn't ditching. He just needed some alone time.
He snuck out of the room and padded down the hallway barefoot, his toes squishing into the plush carpet. He ended up in the stairwell. He pushed open the door and sat on the top step, the door slamming loud behind him. Then silence, merciful silence. He put his chin in his hand and sat there.
There was just something about a stairwell. Nobody used them anymore, not this far up. He wondered when the last time someone was actually here. Everyone used the elevators and he was quite far up. The light was dingy and artificial and he could hear the buzz from the fluorescent bulb. It felt dusty up here and lonesome. The stairs are uninviting and cold. He peeked over the edge and saw down, down, down and it was endless banisters and then the floor. The entire place reflected his mood and so he sat there, not thinking about anything in particular, but just sitting.
He could hear the door open before he felt anyone's presence. He couldn't believe he'd been found out. He'd been so quiet. She sat down next to him and after a moment, a long moment, she laced her arm through his and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together so they were connected to one another. He stared straight ahead at the wall. It was a nice gray shade offset by another gray shade. Her chin was digging in his shoulder now.
"Hey," she said.
"How did you find me?" he asked.
"I saw you sneaking into the stairwell," she said. "Like it was some sort of covert operation."
He laughed, "It wasn't, I just needed to be alone for a while."
"Oh, well, don't let me keep you then," she said, starting to pull away.
"You can stay," he told her.
"Okay," she said and he wondered if she ever planned on really leaving. Her chin was back on his shoulder, her forehead resting against his cheek, her hair tickling his chin. "What are you thinking about? It's not everyday a guy sits alone in the middle of the night in a stairwell."
He paused to let his thoughts take form. "Do you ever…feel like…never-mind." He shook his head. He didn't need to bring this up now.
"Like what?"
"Nothing, I guess I just couldn't sleep," he told her.
"No, you were going to ask if I ever felt…something, something, come on, fill in the blank there," she told him.
"Nah, it's not a big deal. I've just been having trouble sleeping. I mean, I was kind of sleeping earlier, trying to, I think I dozed, maybe, but I haven't really been able to get a good sleep in a while. Maybe there's something wrong with me," he shrugged, laughing humorlessly. The sound echoed comically through the stairwell, like even the walls were mocking him.
He leaned his cheek slightly to the right to rest against her forehead. They stayed like that for a few minutes. He didn't much feel like talking and it seemed she didn't either. Their hands were still laced together and he took a moment to study them, the way they did, or didn't, fit together. His hand was larger than hers. It wasn't that she had a completely petite hand, but it was definitely smaller than his own and he engulfed it, her fingers peeking flirtatiously from between his own fingers. They were clasped together tightly, becoming a mess of fingers and skin and touching.
"You should try and get some sleep, you look exhausted."
He was exhausted, but it wasn't the kind of exhaustion that could be cured with sleep. This was a deeper kind of exhaustion, the kind that burrows into your skin and settles itself deep into your bones. Sleep doesn't help that kind of exhaustion. It was probably just an exhaustion of self. It was hard being a person when you didn't feel like a full person, like some part of you was floating off somewhere into the abyss.
He shouldn't miss a person that much; it was silly and contrived. But sometimes feelings run deeper than you anticipated. Maybe the exhaustion was just longing. He'd really thought they were going somewhere. He'd been with her throughout all the drama of separating with Paul and with Murphy and she dropped him like he was nothing in favor of a man who wasn't right for her. He'd tried to tell her he wasn't right, but she hadn't listened and she went back to him and that's when the exhaustion settled on his skin like a fine mist, destined to fall lower and seep into him.
He could feel her chin digging into his shoulder and then disappear. Then his hand was empty and his arm alone. She stood up next to him and stretched her arms over her head and he could hear her back crack. He could feel her eyes on him and then she bent down to grab his hand again, tugging on it and beckoning him to follow her. He stood up with her help and looked up at her in her long-sleeved thermal and pajama pants. She was a step above him and had the leverage and she pulled him.
"You go ahead, I'll be right there."
She looked him in the eye and nodded, letting go of his hand and letting her own drop to her side. She went to the door of the stairwell and looked back at him, her eyes inviting and imploring, searching his, wondering why he was really sitting there. She didn't say another word though and slipped back into the hallway, the door shutting with an audible thunk. He sighed and looked back down at the dingy walls lit by the harsh, artificial light.
She walked back to the hotel room and opened the door, slipping the deadbolt lock into the doorjamb to leave it a little open so he could come in. She walked back into the dark bedroom, the curtains shut and then sank onto the bed, pulling the covers over her a little. They were rumpled from earlier sleep and she pulled them up and over her, trying to stay awake, but it was late and she was having a hard time. She waited and waited, her eyes drooping and then opening and then drooping some more and she was wondering if he was still sitting there staring at the wall.
She was dozing when he got back to the room. He saw she'd left the door open for her and that caused the sides of his mouth to turn up just slightly. He closed the door behind him, ensconcing himself in the darkness. He padded his way to the room. These places were all the same layout so he never really hit a wall in the dark. He walked into the bedroom. The sliver of light coming from the curtains illuminated the bed, like a beacon flashing before him.
He walked over and ran his hand over her hair. She startled awake and turned on her back, looking up at him there, her eyes still drooped. "Hey," she said sleepily, her lips turning up into a smile. She searched for his hand, reaching for it blindly and he offered it. She started to pull him down and he hesitated. She noticed, but kept tugging.
He climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the soft mattress. He lifted his leg and straddled her body. Should he really be doing this? What if it brought that self-loathing again, but in a different way? Her hands were in his shirt though, running up his hard stomach and muscular chest. His shirt was rising up with her and he knelt up to pull it off. Night be damned.
He descended on her like a wolf with his innocent prey. Her hair shone in the light from the window. It made her look different than it had in the stairwell, where her hair looked dull. His lips captured her and as he started to pull away to get air, she rose with him, not letting her lips leave his. He sank again, pressing his body against her and she could feel that he was already getting turned on just from the kissing. His hands braced himself a little so he wouldn't crush her, but she didn't seem to mind the weight.
He rocked himself against her and she moaned against his mouth. This was what she wanted. She wanted all of him, right now. She could barely wait to feel him moving with her. She turned them around and straddled him, looking down at him through the hair falling in her face. She ground herself against him, feeling him getting harder against her body, her movements enticing him to hardness. She pulled off her thermal, leaving her topless and delicious. He raised up and put his hands on her waist.
He kissed up and down her skin as she continued to rock into him. There were too many clothes though and he tugged at her pants. She pushed him back down and laid on top of him, pulling her pants and underwear off of her body. Then she started kissing down his chest, laving his nipples a little before moving down to his stomach, swirling her tongue in his belly button. Her hands slid inside his boxer shorts and enticingly pulled them down his body. She kissing his thighs and then his legs before yanking the offending clothing off and letting it fall to the floor.
She came up and she was about to open her mouth, but Chris didn't want foreplay. He wanted the act of sex, nothing more. He was ready already and didn't need the added foreplay to work him up. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up. With her free hand she gave him a few tugs as she kissed him again. He groaned against her mouth, her touch increasingly sensitive against his skin. He tried to push her hand away, but she kept pulling at him, making him harder. It was like torture as he tried not to buck up against her and let her wrap her mouth around him until his finish.
He managed to push her off him and he ran his hand up her inner thigh, brushing over her and he could feel how wet she already was. He gently pushed her leg out so he could gain better access and she held his hip, trying to guide him into her. He went in raw, nothing between them. Earlier, he'd used protection, but there was no time for that now so he entered her without anything and he'd suffer any consequences when he was thinking coherently. He pushed until he was completely in her and then stilled, letting her body adjust. She bumped her pelvis against his to get him to move.
When it was all over, he lay there, still inside her, connecting himself to her in the most intimate way. His body was over hers, but again, she didn't mind the wait as she played with his short hair. Her fingers felt comforting against his scalp, brushing the short hairs this way and that. There was a feeling creeping over him again. He closed his eyes a moment and then opened them again. His head was resting just below her chin in the space between her breasts and shoulder.
He could see the curtains and the light was starting to change, brighter now and he didn't want to move and look at the clock, but he did anyways. He rolled off of her and onto his side, facing away from her. He checked the clock, it was nearing 6 am and the sun would be out soon, the sliver of light would grow brighter and brighter and the night would be over and he would wake up and he would get dressed and go to a show and then the night would come and the sliver of light would grow darker and darker and then bright again. Just a sliver of light.
He could feel her kissing his shoulder, her hand grazing his back languidly. He closed his eyes and drowned in the feeling. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," he told her quietly, his voice breaking the dawn.
"Why don't you try and get some sleep now, you said you couldn't sleep."
"Yeah, I'm going to try and sleep."
"What took you so long earlier?" she asked.
He turned on his back and she had to move to get out of the way. When he was on his back, she rested her forearms on his chest, then her chin on her forearms. She looked so innocent just laying there. He could still feel her heat on his body and now it was radiating again from where she was lying on him. She didn't say anything as she waited for an answer, occasionally drawing a pattern on his chest with a single finger, writing gibberish into his skin. He cleared his throat a little before putting his arms under his head and glancing at that sliver of light. Morning could wait one more second. Then he looked back down at Stephanie, her long brown hair pushed behind her ears and just a touch of cleavage peeking out at him teasingly, making him want her all over again.
"I had to break up with someone."