A/n: This bugged me forever, and I finally got it out! For any of you following my chaptered stories, I'm still working on them as we speak. Well, we're not speaking but you get the idea. Every time I hear this song, this kind of situation between these three just comes into my head. So, I had to do it. I hope the song doesn't become awkward. I almost actually left it out after I wrote the whole story because I wasn't sure if it flowed right. In the end, the song stayed because it was what inspired the story. The song is "You Can't Hide Your Lyin' Eyes" by The Eagles. It's changed just a little to make it fit even better. I don't own anything! Wish I did.
Lyin' Eyes
Shawn Michaels. John watched the blond from across the room, where he sat in his chair, a copy of The Wallstreet Journal hung over his knee like a collapsed tent. Curled in his hands was a mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm, made stronger by the Irish whiskey he'd dumped in it. Shawn was knelt by the fire, where it crackled warmly in the rustic looking fireplace. Right now, it was a cold night in Texas, in the grandiose home the two men shared, where most moments were spent passing one another like ghosts. How it had became this way, John couldn't figure out for the life of him. Sometimes he wondered if Shawn was not as naive as he appeared to be, and if John Charles Layfield had been the one played for a fool.
When things had begun for them, John was lonely, and Shawn was broke and beautiful. Shawn was the secret and outright desire of many, and even John was not above such lusts. A deal was made between the two, which soon turned into more than either of them had ever imagined.
Pretty boys just seem to find out early
How to open doors with just a smile
A richer man and he won't have to worry
He'll dress up all in lace and go in style
John looked down at the hand that was in his lap. The gold band that was on his finger winked like a glittering eye in the firelight. He wasn't sure what it meant anymore. His eyes left the hollow promise of love, and focused back on that pretty face. Shadows and light mingled like dancing angels and undulating demons over that face, which even with age, remained just as beautiful. Rivulets of soft, long, hair kissed Shawn's cheeks, and caught on his golden eyelashes. He blinked, and his eyes were jewels that sparkled with all the wonder of a rippling ocean--cobalt and silver--under moonlight, with just as many mysteries lying deep beneath the quivering surface.
John wanted to reach out and brush the hair from Shawn's face, to gently kiss his lips, but he stayed where he was, noticing that his hands were trembling. The worded paper tented across his knee was beginning to slip, and at any moment it would end up on the floor. It didn't really matter, and a moment later pages rustled and the papers sprawled over the polished wood floor. Shawn looked up from whatever he was thinking of, a hollow, unreadable, expression on his face. After a moment of what seemed like working, like slipping into a character before heading to the ring, Shawns' eyes brightened. His lips revealed that dazzling smile that had first captivated a man who was known to be captivated by very little at all, unless it involved money. Shawn moved closer, and John couldn't help but be angry at himself for falling into that smile, and being snared by those eyes.
Shawn knew. He had to have known, and yet John had been accused of being the great manipulator, but it was Shawn all this time. John was sure he was not the only one who had ever been at the mercy of Shawn's exploitation first hand: John Cena, Paul Levesque, Chris Irvine, hell, maybe even Bret Hart. John wouldn't have doubted it one bit. Snaring, bending, scheming, screwing over others for his own gain--was what Shawn did. He played Montreal with fragile hearts, and then somehow managed to come out on the other side, looking like the one who was really wounded, garnering sympathy while on the inside he probably laughed.
Now, as Shawn sauntered to him from across the room, John scowled knowing these things. He tried to hold on to the bitterness, the hurt, but when Shawns' fingers brushed his arms he couldn't keep hold of it all. Shawn Michaels possessed some sort of beautiful, malicious, charm that made John hope he was wrong about the blond angel of the locker room. In a way, he was an angel whose wings spread iridescent feathers, in one light white and pearlescent—but in the next flutter—blackened and bloody and ready to blot out the sun. Still, all the time he was pretty, he was beautiful, and all the time he knew it.
Shawn climbed into Johns' lap, moving slow and seductively. Fingers threaded through soft, fluffy, chestnut hair. One hand rested on a chest which contained a throbbing heart, the beat beneath the flattened palm quickening with the touch. The siren-seducer pressed their lips together, drawing forth the taste of whisky laced coffee, and heartbreak.
Johns' eyes flicked open, the mug that was in his hand slipped and clamored to the floor, spilling frigid, stale, contents across the wood. Shawn wasn't there. John had just drifted off. His loneliness had caught up with him as it did many nights. Even the big, warm, house did not make him feel less alone or cold. He seemed to himself almost like an intruder in his own space, a man who was drifting pointlessly around the plane of the earth, all of it hopelessly empty even in the most crowded of places. When he cleared his throat, and stood up, the creaking of his feet against the floor sounded like the saddest sigh in the most desolate dungeon. That's what his home felt like with only a shadow to share it with. He glanced towards the fireplace. The logs were ashy and dead. The black pit where they lay seemed like a well of swallowing darkness. He shivered. The touch of wintry breath against his skin might as well have been Shawn's hands. He glanced at the clock, as it chimed midnight.
Late at night, a big old house gets lonely
I guess ev'ry form of refuge has its price
And it breaks his heart to think his love is only
Given to a man with hands as cold as ice
He wished Shawn could be there, wanted him so badly. Somehow John imagined that the next time he pulled his lover in for a kiss, that Shawn's lips would respond and their bodies would press warmly together, the embers in the fireplace rekindled to an orangey glow. All they had now were ashes. John looked down at his hands. The long fingers were splayed, and imagined the white and gray dust of a love that once was, seeping through his fingers, fluttering to the ground, like dirty snowflakes from a colorless sky.
He made his way to the kitchen, really not sure why he was headed there. His thoughts were mingled with words Shawn had spoken earlier, quickly before he grabbed his coat and left for—however long. John didn't know. He'd made some remark about needing to visit a friend who was in town. John said nothing, knowing without having to pry who Shawn was going to see and why.
The 'other man' had existed in Shawn and Johns' lives for so long now, that John was almost numb to it. Sometimes he wished Shawn would just leave him altogether and let him cry over the ruins of something that had seemed so wonderful to a wary heart. For once, John had trusted. He had allowed himself to open up, and in what seemed like a dream--he had actually found love, fallen into it headfirst, and forever. Since then John had come to the conclusion that the problem with falling in love with Shawn Michaels, was that Shawn was incapable of falling. He only laced together lies and sweet things that really meant nothing, no matter how real he made them seem. The heart that he had given to John was not his own, but one constructed of flimsy, shoddy, bullshit, like a cheap valentine.
So, now another night was passing alone. There was no difference really, between Shawn being home or being gone. The nights were still just as lonely. I have to go out John, an old friend is in town. And then he gave that smile.
So he tells him he must go out for the evening
To comfort an old friend who's feelin' down
But he knows just where he's goin' as he's leavin'
He is headed for the cheatin' side of town
That God damn smile. John knew now that it was just a mask, just a trick. He could see through it with his eyes, with his mind, and yet his heart wanted to believe it. Even looking into those dark, blue, depths, he could decipher the truth, yet he never spoke it. He just let Shawn go on with his lie, and think he was brilliant, and somehow John kept hoping that things would change. He kept hoping for something that was never going to exist between them again—and really, in hindsight, never had in the first place. All of Shawn's 'I love yous' had been lies.
You can't hide your lyin' eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize
There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes
*****
Shawn drove quietly through the night, comfortable with the heater making the inside of the car and the immaculate interior toasty warm. When he had first driven it the feeling had been strange. After all, Shawn wasn't used to being behind the wheel of a vehicle upwards of 80,000 dollars. John had put it in his garage just for Shawn, a gift for something Shawn couldn't remember, not that he really cared. If he did ever care for John, it was only pretense, just a way to get what he wanted. It wasn't as if anyone could really be expected to fall in love with John Charles Layfield anyway. He might have had 10 tons of business savvy, and knew how to do well for himself, but he had the personality of a jackass. When he was drunk, it was more like a herd of jackasses. When he was with Shawn, he let that guard slip away and showed a side that was hard to coax out, and made him a different person altogether. Shawn didn't care. It didn't matter to him that John was a person with feelings and insecurities, it didn't matter that he had trusted Shawn with his heart. That was fault of John's own stupidity.
Shawn surely didn't care. Right now, his focus was on a man who was waiting for him, across town, in the motel the RAW roster had booked. He couldn't wait to see those lively blue eyes, shimmering, those smiling dimples, the warm, muscled arms. The man waiting for him was the biggest, brightest, thing in the WWE just as once had been another, long ago lover. Somehow, he made Shawn feel young again—important again even. The fact that John Cena was head over heels in love with him, gave his ego a huge boost, and always when he saw those eyes, he couldn't help the proud smirk that tilted his lips upward.
On the other side of town a boy is waiting
With fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal
He drives on through the night anticipating
'Cause he makes him feel the way he used to feel
Shawn pulled into the parking lot and left the car, his eyes shifting around the pavement, glittering with drops of rain under the yellowy lamps. He pulled his cowboy hat down, to partially shield his face, and hurried across the lot and inside. Discretely as he could he made his way to the elevator, and glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand, a room number. He found it quickly and rapped on the door, and before he'd even stopped knocking, it was jerked open. John almost knocked him over with his eagerness. John quickly apologized, and drew Shawn inside, wrapped in his arms as he laid soft kisses onto his face and whispered 'I love you' again and again. Shawn moved them towards the bed, and the both rolled onto it, still wrapped in each other as soft words were spoken together. John pulled Shawn on top of him, and stared up with misty eyes, at the angel in his arms—every time he saw him, still not believing he was real.
"I hate not seeing you." John said lowly, his lips brushing Shawn's. The simple feel of Shawn pressing back against them, made him shiver.
"I know baby." Shawn's mouth lapped at John's hungrily.
"Shawn?" For a moment, John separated their lips, and with his fingers combed Shawn's golden hair away from his face. "Please, Shawn? Tell me you'll be with me…not just quick, forbidden, moments but…that you'll really be with me."
Shawn nodded his head, a slow smile on his lips. His fingers brushed John's squared jaw-line and made a slow decent, over the racing pulse in the column of his neck.
"You know I will John. Soon, okay? Real soon…we can be together. We'll have all the time in the world, just you and me."
Shawn replace the touch of his fingers with his hot mouth and tongue, caressing the column of John's neck, nipping with teeth like an eager kitten. John sighed, the sound beautiful against his ear. Moments were stolen, like thieves discretely pick-pocketing time, and they made love together. After, John fell into those eyes for one last time that night, as Shawn pulled away from him. Their hands slipped from one another. The smoothness of Shawn's wedding band slid over John's palm, sending a twinge of a painful reminder like a dagger into his heart. Shawn left his lover with one last promise, with nod, and a smile. John knew that promise was broken before the words even came. Still, his heart longed to hear it, and was a willing fool to believe it.
He rushes to his arms, they fall together
He whispers that it's only for awhile
He swears that soon he'll be comin' back forever
He pulls away and leaves him with a smile
Shawn had promised him these same lies time and time again. Before John was fighting his time away from Layfield, it had been Jericho. That romance had ended poorly, and on the t.v. of millions of viewers-eventually Shawn's wife had even been hurt—shortly after they divorced. Shawn had probably lied to her, lied about how he'd changed, about what kind of man he was. According to Chris, Shawn had made promises to him too, all of them empty, leaving nothing but pain which left a man who was this 'heel' character Chris swaggered around these days. John imagined it all happening to him to, the hurt playing out in different ways, the end result unknown, except that it would be alone.
With Shawn, that was the only thing a man could really rely on, that eventually, he would be thrown away. Shawn was not as good a liar as he would like to think, his eyes gave him away. It was just that he was so easy to fall in love with, he was a siren. Men wanted to believe his honey words, needed to believe them, in the same desperate way a man wandering the desert needs a drop of water to quench his insatiable thirsts. Surprising, that after all this time Shawn still didn't release how see-through he was. Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't care, because he knew he could still win in the end. Like the house rigging the deck, scooping up all hearts invested in the game, Shawn always won, and left the players empty and broken. Then, that trademark victory smile would spread thinly over his face as he counted his winnings, still pretty even in its cruelty. John Cena rolled his face into his pillow, and felt the warmth of silent tears.
You can't hide your lyin' eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize
There ain't no way to hide you lyin' eyes
*******
John Layfield tilted the bottle of Jack, the glass rim clinking against that of the shot glass, as his hands shook. Never had he been so careless in his investments, and with the biggest one of his life—his heart. He sighed, and played with the small glass in his hand. He stared into the dark liquid, trying to figure out how he'd been used, and why he still couldn't bring himself to take the ring from his finger, just kept laying himself out at the mercy of someone who no longer cared.
He threw back the shot, the alcohol comforting in its numbing burn. He leaned over the sink, and ran his fingers over the winding ropes of black and gray within the marble countertop. His eyes slowly rose, catching the shimmer of moonlight off the window panes above the sink. The Texas outside was doused in inky blackness, night had descended like an ebony cloak. Out there in it, under the hiding cover, Shawn was naked against another man. The images played themselves in John's mind, that arrogant boy touching his husband, and Shawn giving him those pretty sounds in the heat of their passion. John pulled his eyes upwards to the sky, as his hand tightly gripped the empty glass in his hand. There were only a few stars out, winking against the never ending sky. They seemed so lonely tonight.
With a quivering hand, John drew the curtain over the panes, and abandoned his shot glass at the edge of the sink. He opted instead to take the whole bottle with him, as he dragged his feet sluggishly back towards the empty living room, with the cold fireplace. He stepped over the mug and ring of coffee he'd left on the floor, and sank into his chair again. He stared a moment at the bottle his fingers gripped, but couldn't bring it to his lips. He tilted his face into his hand, and let the tears fall through his fingers.
He gets up and pours himself a strong one
And stares out at the stars up in the sky
Another night, it's gonna be a long one
He draws the shade and hangs his head to cry
How? How did it happened? How did things turn out this way? At one time, he'd known the rules. He wasn't ever going to fall in love. There was too much room for it to end up in pain. He'd spent his time guarding his heart, keeping anyone and everyone away, until everyone regarded him as an outright ass hole who wasn't even deserving of love anyway. But then he broke the rules, and gave his heart to the Venus of the WWE. Now there was nothing left, a cold bed, a cold heart, ruins of a foolish man.
He wonders how it ever got this crazy
He thinks about a man who used to know the rules
Did he get tired or did he just get lazy?
He's so far gone he feels just like a fool
Some point John had fallen asleep again. The tiniest sound woke him, starling him upright in his chair. He turned and blinked his sleep-blurred eyes to see Shawn just slipping in from his night. Shawn smiled at him, and untwined the scarf from his neck. He sauntered over, and placed a kiss atop John's head, where his hair was soft and shiny. Neither of them said a word. John could barely look at him. Shawn lowered himself into John's lap and trailed his fingers up and down John's arm as the brunette tried to avoid looking at him, knowing those captivating blue eyes were traps with teeth that made you shiver with pleasure when they bit.
"What's wrong John?" Shawn purred. "You didn't have to wait up for me."
"I…I know Kitten." His words were choked sounding. His eyes flicked everywhere but at his husband.
"Such a sweet guy." Shawn tilted John's chin up, and kissed his lips.
John cringed, almost expecting to taste Cena's lips instead of Shawn's, but they were Shawn's lips, just as sweet and hypnotic as ever. John looked, as honey colored lashes fluttered over eyes like the rippling oceans.
"Come to bed John." A spark danced on the sapphire waters, like diamonds winking from dazzling facets.
John found that his head was bobbing in agreement, and his loosed tie was wrapped around Shawn's wrist, as he allowed himself to be led away, not feeling his feet even touch the floor with his steps. Afterwards, Shawn purred an 'I love you' before rolling of bed. John stared sleepily at the ceiling, just feeling numb.
My, oh my, you sure know how to arrange things
You set it up so well, so carefully
Ain't it funny how your new life didn't change things
You're still the same heartbreaker you used to be
*****
Shawn looked into the mirror over the bathroom sink. The door was slightly open, and he could hear John snoring softly. He watched the image in the mirror as it imitated his every blink, his every breath. He told himself for the countless time, that it didn't matter what he was doing. If others fell for him blindly, then he couldn't help that. Why not get what he wanted? Why not be selfish? Maybe there had been time when things had been different, but that time was long ago. The Shawn in the mirror was a very different person from the naive young man who had been played for a fool by—the reflection in the mirror. It changed, as Shawn blinked through tears. Long, dark, hair in curly rivulets, hung over strong shoulders. That cocky smirk curved his lips, his hazel eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, just the way Shawn had first seen him, as he made his way to the ring in pink, his eyes shielded behind black glasses. His lying eyes.
You can't hide your lyin eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
With a furious growl, Shawn grabbed the bar of soap from the dish at the sink and hurled it at the mirror, cracking and breaking it, distorting what was left of his own reflected, tear-streaked face, the bitterness apparent as his features twisted in a rare occasion of something that was not pretty.
I thought by now you'd realize
Shawn told himself, inside his tumultuous thoughts, that he hated that bastard. That he'd stopped loving him a very long time ago.
There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes
Shawn wiped his face and told himself that same mantra over and over. If he would have looked back, into the broken pieces of the mirror, as he left to head to bed—he would have seen the truth behind them. That would have been too much. He would rather look away. He'd rather hide from himself, lie to himself, and keep being, the selfish one he was entitled to be. I hate him. All of this is because of him, and I HATE HIM…and after that something else, even less pleasant, echoed. You're just like him. No. Shawn shook his head adamantly before he climbed into bed and closed his eyes to the dark.
There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes
Honey, you can't hide your lyin' eyes
A:n/ Yep there's another note at the end. Just wanted to say…I actually dislike this fic. I liked Shawn being all manipulative and 'heel Shawn' but then I didn't like how he got to cry and have a pity party at the end. But this is how the story wanted to turn out, so that's how it is whether I like it or not. Let me know what you guys think of it. :) Thanks for reading! AND go check out xShawnsGuardianAngelNefx she's having a Secret Santa Christmas challenge go find it and check it out. Also, if you haven't read any of DarkKaneanite's Christmas oneshots yet, I suggest finding those too. They're all good and will make you feel warm and fuzzley inside. :)