WARNING: M/M Slash. If you don't like it, don't read it.
Title: Personal
Author: Phoebe
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody. This has only happened in my most beloved dreams. I'm not making any money off of this.
Distribution: I've said it several times and I'll say it again. If you want it, you can have it. As long as I get full credit for the story, and I get an email first, you're free to archive it. JandKlover@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Brock feels guilty for letting Rey get into the ring with Big Show.
Pairing: Brock Lesnar/Rey Mysterio Jr.
Spoilers: From Backlash '03 to Smackdown! 5/15/03
Notes: You should've seen me watching the ending segment of Smackdown! I was jumping up and down like a fruit cake. I most definately taped it, and have been rewinding and re-watching that part over and over again. *sighs* I'm such a spaz. This is more of a ficlet than an actual story. I believe someone named pretty_little_ whore requested a Brock/Rey fic, and I was more than happy to oblige. This is for you, hun! I hope ya still want it, 'cause you're getting it. ;)
Feedback: Always appreciated!
------
"Couldn't let 'im hurt you again."
Rey sighed at the affectionate murmur against his ear. In the darkness and silence of their hotel room, Rey had honestly thought Brock had already fallen asleep. He shifted from his spooned position against Brock, and turned so that they were facing each other. His bent knees rested lightly against Brock's thighs. His head was slightly propped up on his elbow.
"Can't sleep?" Rey asked quietly.
Brock shook his head. "No."
"Any reason?"
Brock nodded, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Same as you. Been thinking."
"'Bout what?"
Brock narrowed his eyes at Rey, only to drop his head, concentrating on his own hands. "You know what."
Rey put his hand on top of Brock's, causing him to look up immediately. Rey smiled gently. "I'm okay."
Brock looked off to the side for a split second, before returning his gaze to Rey, his eyes briefly scanning over his body.
"Luckily." He muttered. He sighed heavily, a sigh with a faint undertone of a growl. "I'm sorry, Rey. I'm really, really, sorry."
"Eres imposible." Rey said under his breath. He scowled. It wasn't often that his lover apologized, but he sure as hell didn't want him apologizing for the wrong reasons. Confusion washed over Brock's face, and Rey rolled his eyes. "I said you're impossible. How many times do we have to go over this? It was not your fault that I got hurt. Some of it was mine, most of it was Big Show's, but none of it was yours. ¿Comprendes? None of it."
Brock shook his head, his jaw clenching. "Dammit, Rey, I could've talked you out of it. I've been in the ring with Show more than once, alright? I know how dangerous he can get." At the blank look on Rey's face, Brock tilted his head back slightly, and clicked his tongue agrivatedly. "Don't you get it? I let you walk into a situation that I knew was dangerous. I knew what could go down, and I still let it happen. I willingly watched you walk into a match that I knew could've very well been your last, and I didn't do a damn thing about it. Not one damn thing! And that's why it's my fault."
Rey slapped him across the face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough so that his head rocked a little to the side; just hard enough to get his attention. He snarled. "You respected my decision when no one else would. You let me do what I felt needed to be done. I appreciated that, Brock. I really did. I still do. You did the only thing no one else could do, and that was to put my size aside to watch what I could really do, as a wrestler, not just 'a small guy'. You're the only one who had any sort of faith in me. Don't you dare apologize for that! Don't you even fuckin' dare!"
Brock glared at him, rubbing his jaw unconciously. It didn't hurt; not really, anyway, but the lash out had surprised him, to say the least. "You don't get it." he growled, "I put that before your safety, and I don't even think you realize what jeopordy that was in. I want you succeed, Rey. I want you to prove that you're more than your size lets on, but damn, there're just some guys you shouldn't step into the ring with. Some guys who don't know where to stop. Some guys who don't know how to leave what's in the ring exactly there. In the ring. Guess what? Show is one of those guys. I could've done more to protect you. I'm your boyfriend, your lover; whatever the hell you wanna call me. That's what I am. I'm supposed to protect you. I want to protect you." He sighed, running his hand through his hair. His dissapointed gaze locked with Rey's intent one. He spoke softly. "I didn't protect you."
Rey flopped on to his back, covering his face with his hands and counting to ten -- actually, diez -- slowly. He put his hands behind his head and took a deep breath, his head lolling to the side, eyes locking with Brock's. "Everyone who steps into a ring is responsible for themselves. You, of all people, should know that. It's like a different world when you're in a ring. I'm not a boyfriend, or a friend, or even a person. I'm a wrestler, and I have to fend for myself in there just like everyone else does. I can't expect you, or anyone else, to come to my rescue everytime I get into something that's over my head. I got myself into the mess. It's my responsibility to get myself out of the mess."
Brock laughed bitterly, anger and... something like remorse shining in his eyes. "That's exactly it. Inside the ring -- in a match -- the only person who can pull you through it is yourself. It's all bussiness. You have no thoughts or feelings, and niether does the guy on the other side of the ring. It's like being a robot. All you are to him is a stone to get yourself on a higher ranking, and vice-versa. What you're not getting is that your match was over. When the match is over, you're not a robot anymore. The deed has been done, and you're back to who you were before you walked into the ring. Oscar Guttierrez. I know you like Rey better, but eventually, it all comes down to just being Oscar. The match is all bussiness. He attacked when the match was over. I know I don't look like a person who should be talking. I have F-5'd three men into poles once a match was over, after all. The difference is that they could get off of my shoulders if they tried hard enough. You were strapped to a goddamn stretcher. You were completely helpless! Getting attacked like that isn't just bussiness." Brock's eyes took on a look that Rey couldn't quite identify; a cross between determination and an eerie calmness. "It's personal."
It's personal. The words rendered Rey silent. He wasn't exactly sure of how Brock meant that, and he was a little frightened. He wasn't sure if it meant that it was personal for Show, or personal for Brock. Even worse and most likely, both. He knew that he didn't like that look in Brock's eyes. That look could kill, and he was pretty sure Brock could, too. Anybody who even got near Brock knew how protective he was of things he held dear to him. The list wasn't a long one, but during this match he was defending two of them. And as if a stretcher match wasn't going to brutal enough, it was going to be a personal stretcher match. He bit his lip nervously. No match was ever supposed --
Rey's thoughts were interrupted by Brock's index finger running across his jaw line, almost idly. The deathly look that had been in Brock's eyes was gone, and replaced with a curt honesty, and something else...
"What's between me," Brock put a hand on his own chest, "and you," he put that hand on Rey's chest, carressing the skin softly with his fingertips. Rey sighed softly at the delicious shiver that ran up his spine. Brock's voice dropped to a deep, seductive murmur, "is personal." He dragged his hand up to Rey's neck, messaging the the tense muscles with a strong, yet delicate accuracy. Rey purred and nuzzled into his hand. Brock almost smiled at the action, but a heavier thought cancled out that option. "But matches should never be personal. In ring stuff -- in general -- should never be personal, but it is now. He made it personal, which is why I should've been out there."
Brock's chameleon-like change of demeanor; his shift in tones, made Rey instinctively jerk away from the hand on his neck. Rey looked at him incredulously. "Brock, you had a match of your own to worry about! How were you supposed to know what --"
"I should've kept a closer eye on you! I'm supposed to have your back, dammit, and I didn't. For fuck's sake, you were in the ring with Big Show! That should speak for itself! I --"
"I'm not a child! Quit fuckin' treating me like one! I'm not some piece of glass that's gonna break, or- or- some damsel in distress that needs a night in shining armor! I can take care of myself, you know!"
Brock shifted slightly, propping himself up against the headboard. He sighed, concentrating on his interlocked fingers and searching desperately for the right words. "I don't think you're -- I mean, I know you're not --" he breathed deeply, "You're not weak, or anything. I know that. It's just that... Big Show isn't -- he doesn't have much of a concious. And with you... and him facing off... and then you on the stretcher... and him picking you up and... you going into the pole... and, um... falling from five feet up and landing on your head... it --"
Rey's glare immediately softened. He sat up and scooted closer to Brock, resting his head on the broad shoulder. "Cariño..."
Brock looked down at him, hesitant blue eyes meeting warm brown ones. He surpressed a sigh and wrapped his arm around Rey's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I've never been that scared in my life. I mean, you can't even imagine -- actually, you can, but... you know how it's always worse watching someone you care about get hurt, than it would be if you got hurt yourself?" Brock closed his eyes briefly. Dear God, he could remember exactly how he felt. Like someone had reached down his throat, and torn his heart out with their bare hands. The dizzy nausea setting in, and him not being sure if he was going to throw up or pass out. "I thought I honestly could've lost ya. Or maybe that you wouldn't be able to wrestle anymore, and that if I had interfered, then I could've prevented that, y'know?" He leaned down to kiss Rey. It was just a simple brushing of the lips, but Rey returned it eagerly. Brock pulled back, and lowered his hand to Rey's elbow, just lightly grazing at the crook of it with his fingernails. "I know I get overprotective sometimes, but it's just because... I love you, y'know? I don't say that as much as I know I should, but I do." He admitted softly.
"Yo te amo, tambien."
"Um... Rey?"
"¿Sí?"
"Could you say that in English... please?"
Rey laughed softly, leaning over to place a soft kiss on Brock's lips. "You know what it means, you big lug. You just wanna hear it twice. Admit it." Brock shrugged with a small smirk. Rey smiled and winked at him. "I love you, Brocky."
Brock growled in distaste, laying down on his side. "Don't call me that. Ever."
Rey smirked, laying down next Brock and tangling their legs together, his forearm resting on his hip. He nuzzled Brock's collar bone. "You got it, Brocky."
Brock rolled his eyes, pulling the blankets over them and putting his arm around Rey's back. "'Night, Rey."
Rey thought of all things they still had to talk about. There were a lot of things they had to talk about. Not just dealing with the Big Show, either. Brock really wasn't much of a talker. Hell, there were times when Brock seemed determined not to talk. Most of the time, Rey had to spend -- at minimum -- an hour or two prying what ever the problem was out of Brock. He was thinking that the perfect moment to start talking was right then, seeing as to how they had been on such a role. He shifted and looked up, his eyes meeting Brock's baby blues.
He rested his forehead against Brock's chest. He was tired. Brock was tired. Rey supposed it could wait.
"'Night."
*END*
Title: Personal
Author: Phoebe
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody. This has only happened in my most beloved dreams. I'm not making any money off of this.
Distribution: I've said it several times and I'll say it again. If you want it, you can have it. As long as I get full credit for the story, and I get an email first, you're free to archive it. JandKlover@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Brock feels guilty for letting Rey get into the ring with Big Show.
Pairing: Brock Lesnar/Rey Mysterio Jr.
Spoilers: From Backlash '03 to Smackdown! 5/15/03
Notes: You should've seen me watching the ending segment of Smackdown! I was jumping up and down like a fruit cake. I most definately taped it, and have been rewinding and re-watching that part over and over again. *sighs* I'm such a spaz. This is more of a ficlet than an actual story. I believe someone named pretty_little_ whore requested a Brock/Rey fic, and I was more than happy to oblige. This is for you, hun! I hope ya still want it, 'cause you're getting it. ;)
Feedback: Always appreciated!
------
"Couldn't let 'im hurt you again."
Rey sighed at the affectionate murmur against his ear. In the darkness and silence of their hotel room, Rey had honestly thought Brock had already fallen asleep. He shifted from his spooned position against Brock, and turned so that they were facing each other. His bent knees rested lightly against Brock's thighs. His head was slightly propped up on his elbow.
"Can't sleep?" Rey asked quietly.
Brock shook his head. "No."
"Any reason?"
Brock nodded, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Same as you. Been thinking."
"'Bout what?"
Brock narrowed his eyes at Rey, only to drop his head, concentrating on his own hands. "You know what."
Rey put his hand on top of Brock's, causing him to look up immediately. Rey smiled gently. "I'm okay."
Brock looked off to the side for a split second, before returning his gaze to Rey, his eyes briefly scanning over his body.
"Luckily." He muttered. He sighed heavily, a sigh with a faint undertone of a growl. "I'm sorry, Rey. I'm really, really, sorry."
"Eres imposible." Rey said under his breath. He scowled. It wasn't often that his lover apologized, but he sure as hell didn't want him apologizing for the wrong reasons. Confusion washed over Brock's face, and Rey rolled his eyes. "I said you're impossible. How many times do we have to go over this? It was not your fault that I got hurt. Some of it was mine, most of it was Big Show's, but none of it was yours. ¿Comprendes? None of it."
Brock shook his head, his jaw clenching. "Dammit, Rey, I could've talked you out of it. I've been in the ring with Show more than once, alright? I know how dangerous he can get." At the blank look on Rey's face, Brock tilted his head back slightly, and clicked his tongue agrivatedly. "Don't you get it? I let you walk into a situation that I knew was dangerous. I knew what could go down, and I still let it happen. I willingly watched you walk into a match that I knew could've very well been your last, and I didn't do a damn thing about it. Not one damn thing! And that's why it's my fault."
Rey slapped him across the face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough so that his head rocked a little to the side; just hard enough to get his attention. He snarled. "You respected my decision when no one else would. You let me do what I felt needed to be done. I appreciated that, Brock. I really did. I still do. You did the only thing no one else could do, and that was to put my size aside to watch what I could really do, as a wrestler, not just 'a small guy'. You're the only one who had any sort of faith in me. Don't you dare apologize for that! Don't you even fuckin' dare!"
Brock glared at him, rubbing his jaw unconciously. It didn't hurt; not really, anyway, but the lash out had surprised him, to say the least. "You don't get it." he growled, "I put that before your safety, and I don't even think you realize what jeopordy that was in. I want you succeed, Rey. I want you to prove that you're more than your size lets on, but damn, there're just some guys you shouldn't step into the ring with. Some guys who don't know where to stop. Some guys who don't know how to leave what's in the ring exactly there. In the ring. Guess what? Show is one of those guys. I could've done more to protect you. I'm your boyfriend, your lover; whatever the hell you wanna call me. That's what I am. I'm supposed to protect you. I want to protect you." He sighed, running his hand through his hair. His dissapointed gaze locked with Rey's intent one. He spoke softly. "I didn't protect you."
Rey flopped on to his back, covering his face with his hands and counting to ten -- actually, diez -- slowly. He put his hands behind his head and took a deep breath, his head lolling to the side, eyes locking with Brock's. "Everyone who steps into a ring is responsible for themselves. You, of all people, should know that. It's like a different world when you're in a ring. I'm not a boyfriend, or a friend, or even a person. I'm a wrestler, and I have to fend for myself in there just like everyone else does. I can't expect you, or anyone else, to come to my rescue everytime I get into something that's over my head. I got myself into the mess. It's my responsibility to get myself out of the mess."
Brock laughed bitterly, anger and... something like remorse shining in his eyes. "That's exactly it. Inside the ring -- in a match -- the only person who can pull you through it is yourself. It's all bussiness. You have no thoughts or feelings, and niether does the guy on the other side of the ring. It's like being a robot. All you are to him is a stone to get yourself on a higher ranking, and vice-versa. What you're not getting is that your match was over. When the match is over, you're not a robot anymore. The deed has been done, and you're back to who you were before you walked into the ring. Oscar Guttierrez. I know you like Rey better, but eventually, it all comes down to just being Oscar. The match is all bussiness. He attacked when the match was over. I know I don't look like a person who should be talking. I have F-5'd three men into poles once a match was over, after all. The difference is that they could get off of my shoulders if they tried hard enough. You were strapped to a goddamn stretcher. You were completely helpless! Getting attacked like that isn't just bussiness." Brock's eyes took on a look that Rey couldn't quite identify; a cross between determination and an eerie calmness. "It's personal."
It's personal. The words rendered Rey silent. He wasn't exactly sure of how Brock meant that, and he was a little frightened. He wasn't sure if it meant that it was personal for Show, or personal for Brock. Even worse and most likely, both. He knew that he didn't like that look in Brock's eyes. That look could kill, and he was pretty sure Brock could, too. Anybody who even got near Brock knew how protective he was of things he held dear to him. The list wasn't a long one, but during this match he was defending two of them. And as if a stretcher match wasn't going to brutal enough, it was going to be a personal stretcher match. He bit his lip nervously. No match was ever supposed --
Rey's thoughts were interrupted by Brock's index finger running across his jaw line, almost idly. The deathly look that had been in Brock's eyes was gone, and replaced with a curt honesty, and something else...
"What's between me," Brock put a hand on his own chest, "and you," he put that hand on Rey's chest, carressing the skin softly with his fingertips. Rey sighed softly at the delicious shiver that ran up his spine. Brock's voice dropped to a deep, seductive murmur, "is personal." He dragged his hand up to Rey's neck, messaging the the tense muscles with a strong, yet delicate accuracy. Rey purred and nuzzled into his hand. Brock almost smiled at the action, but a heavier thought cancled out that option. "But matches should never be personal. In ring stuff -- in general -- should never be personal, but it is now. He made it personal, which is why I should've been out there."
Brock's chameleon-like change of demeanor; his shift in tones, made Rey instinctively jerk away from the hand on his neck. Rey looked at him incredulously. "Brock, you had a match of your own to worry about! How were you supposed to know what --"
"I should've kept a closer eye on you! I'm supposed to have your back, dammit, and I didn't. For fuck's sake, you were in the ring with Big Show! That should speak for itself! I --"
"I'm not a child! Quit fuckin' treating me like one! I'm not some piece of glass that's gonna break, or- or- some damsel in distress that needs a night in shining armor! I can take care of myself, you know!"
Brock shifted slightly, propping himself up against the headboard. He sighed, concentrating on his interlocked fingers and searching desperately for the right words. "I don't think you're -- I mean, I know you're not --" he breathed deeply, "You're not weak, or anything. I know that. It's just that... Big Show isn't -- he doesn't have much of a concious. And with you... and him facing off... and then you on the stretcher... and him picking you up and... you going into the pole... and, um... falling from five feet up and landing on your head... it --"
Rey's glare immediately softened. He sat up and scooted closer to Brock, resting his head on the broad shoulder. "Cariño..."
Brock looked down at him, hesitant blue eyes meeting warm brown ones. He surpressed a sigh and wrapped his arm around Rey's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I've never been that scared in my life. I mean, you can't even imagine -- actually, you can, but... you know how it's always worse watching someone you care about get hurt, than it would be if you got hurt yourself?" Brock closed his eyes briefly. Dear God, he could remember exactly how he felt. Like someone had reached down his throat, and torn his heart out with their bare hands. The dizzy nausea setting in, and him not being sure if he was going to throw up or pass out. "I thought I honestly could've lost ya. Or maybe that you wouldn't be able to wrestle anymore, and that if I had interfered, then I could've prevented that, y'know?" He leaned down to kiss Rey. It was just a simple brushing of the lips, but Rey returned it eagerly. Brock pulled back, and lowered his hand to Rey's elbow, just lightly grazing at the crook of it with his fingernails. "I know I get overprotective sometimes, but it's just because... I love you, y'know? I don't say that as much as I know I should, but I do." He admitted softly.
"Yo te amo, tambien."
"Um... Rey?"
"¿Sí?"
"Could you say that in English... please?"
Rey laughed softly, leaning over to place a soft kiss on Brock's lips. "You know what it means, you big lug. You just wanna hear it twice. Admit it." Brock shrugged with a small smirk. Rey smiled and winked at him. "I love you, Brocky."
Brock growled in distaste, laying down on his side. "Don't call me that. Ever."
Rey smirked, laying down next Brock and tangling their legs together, his forearm resting on his hip. He nuzzled Brock's collar bone. "You got it, Brocky."
Brock rolled his eyes, pulling the blankets over them and putting his arm around Rey's back. "'Night, Rey."
Rey thought of all things they still had to talk about. There were a lot of things they had to talk about. Not just dealing with the Big Show, either. Brock really wasn't much of a talker. Hell, there were times when Brock seemed determined not to talk. Most of the time, Rey had to spend -- at minimum -- an hour or two prying what ever the problem was out of Brock. He was thinking that the perfect moment to start talking was right then, seeing as to how they had been on such a role. He shifted and looked up, his eyes meeting Brock's baby blues.
He rested his forehead against Brock's chest. He was tired. Brock was tired. Rey supposed it could wait.
"'Night."
*END*