Author's Note: I've left the identity of the narrator (unintentionally) absent. Insert whichever Superstar you like in that slot. Except, of course, for Chris Jericho. Not unless he's come across another guy named Chris Jericho... And that would just be strange...

ReKindle the Flame

He's got those god-awful pants on again. A green and red plaid monstrosity that looked like a reindeer dropped acid and had a massive vomit on it. He knows how I feel about them. They are the most repulsive article of clothing to ever come off the line since… well, anything Richard Simmons wore while he sweated to the oldies.

There is only one reason I have not buried those atrocities in the backyard or dunked it in a tub full of bleach or simply set them ablaze. It's a simple reason. I am not the least bit ashamed to admit it.

They make Chris Jericho's ass look awesome.

Granted, it does not take much to make my Chris' ass look good. He looks hot naked. He looks damn hot naked.

Wait… I've lost my point…

The pants… Those horrible hideous pants. It's their one saving grace. The way they mold around Chris' backside. After eight years of monogamy, one learns to appreciate the little things.

I fully appreciate the fact that Chris only wears those pants to bed. The rest of the six billion people of the world can breathe a sigh of relief over that.

I appreciate that, in this post-summer weather, he slumbers above the covers. It gives me a chance to admire its perfection while I attempt to read my book.

Correction: eBook. On the Kindle Chris got me for my birthday. And what did I get him for his birthday? A Kindle, of course. This is why we've been together for eight years. Compatibility.

Because of our unparalleled compatibility – he loves me more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I have yet to tire of waking up beside him everyday – I have been on the same page of this electronic book for the last twenty minutes.

This would be a riveting piece of fiction on any other night. It's one of my favorite authors and got great reviews. I've been looking forward to some spare time to finally submerge myself in it. I've got the free time right now. It's tick, tick, ticking itself away as I sit here in bed. Yet the words trickle past my eyes without making contact with my brain.

Perhaps it has something to do with the ass in the bed beside me. Mr. Jericho is enjoying his Kindle, which does give me a bit of a warm fuzzy feeling to know I've given him a present he is not compelled to hide in the back of the wardrobe. However, those feelings are outmatched by the rampant erection I am doing my damnedest to ignore.

Chris Jericho is a beautiful, beautiful man. Devastating blue eyes, long blond hair my fingers have knotted in on more than one occasion. I've already made mention of his bountiful bottom. We've spent many a night spooned together, his ass cradled in my crotch.

The more I fixate on him, the less interesting my reading becomes. My mind wanders back to this morning. I awoke at the crack of dawn to discover my beloved Chris grinding his backside against my morning-hardened dick. While completely unconscious. I don't know what he was dreaming about, but from the sexy sighs that escaped his lips and the agitated rocking of his hips, I drew my own conclusions.

Long story short, Chris awoke to his boxers shoved down around his knees and the slow thrust of my cock in his ass. It took him a few moments to piece together what was going on. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, eyes still foggy from slumber, and gave me the nod. I finished what Chris had started.

It's still fresh in my mind. His grip. His heat. His sleep-roughened voice urging me on. "Harder… Faster… Deeper… Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…"

I put the tablet aside. There'll be no more reading tonight. Not for me and definitely not for Chris.

He barely notices as I roll onto my side, facing him. His Kindle rests against his pillow. Inches away from the screen, Chris' eyes flicker left to right. Following the flow of the words. A part of me feels guilty for disturbing him. But it's only a small part and is swiftly overruled the second Chris' tongue slips out to moisten his lips.

On almost its own accord, my hand finds Chris' ass. Which was not that difficult a task. My brain has been preoccupied by it for some time. Underneath that atrocious cotton is a firmness that cannot be matched by any other person on this planet.

If I had the talent, I would compose an ode to Chris Jericho's ass.

I stroke; I pet; I caress; I do everything within my power short of tearing his clothes off.

"What happened to your book?" Chris ultimately asks. He's squirming beneath my hand while keeping his eyes on his Kindle.

By the wiggle of his hops, I can tell there is some internal struggle going on in Chris' mind. Half of his brain is engaged in the text. The other half is determining if having sex twice in less than twenty-four hours qualifies him as a nymphomaniac.

I suspect that, at some point, years and years down the line, sex with Chris may become boring. A chore, even. That day is not today. Today, I want Chris to bounce on my dick like a Championship pogo-stick rider.

My response to his question is, "I lost interest." I should add, "because your migraine-inducing pants were distracting me." My hand slips beneath his waistband. I revel in the startled flutter of Chris' eyelashes.

"Well…" Chris clears his voice twice to remove the frog that has leapt down it. "I'm sorry to hear that."

I'm not. While I had been looking forward to relaxing with a brand new selection, I will always prefer having my hand down my lover's pants. I waste no time making my intentions known. Down the crease, between the cheeks, across the hole…

The up and down bobble of Chris' Adam's apple is a wondrous sight to behold.

"What are you reading?" I inquire, by way of conversation. As long as Chris is going to feign interest in his book, I will feign interest in his interest.

It takes several heartbeats for Chris to respond. Perhaps the flickering of my finger across his opening has something to do with the delay. He takes a deep breath. That's my cue to slide my middle finger two knuckles deep.

"Oh, fuck…"

If that's the title, I am unfamiliar with it. "Come again?"

Chris blushes as beautifully as he cusses. "Keep it up and, in about five minutes, I will."

I never have a problem keeping it up with him. And I know from extensive experience that Chris can last more than five minutes. We've even come up with this game where I…

"Could you at least move the finger?" Chris grunts. "If I'm going to be teased, I'd rather have it done properly."

"You mean like this?" The movement – which he fervently insisted on – causes Chris' head to crash down onto his Kindle.

No worries. It's a sturdy piece of techno-wizardry.

Seeing that Chris has now come fully to my way of thinking – book put aside, pants pooled at the foot of the bed – I bestow upon him the treatment he so justly deserves. Because I love Chris Jericho. Ugly pants and all.

I love that he walks around naked after a shower. No towel. No bathrobe. Dick swinging, bare-assed, and completely surprised when I bend him across the kitchen table.

I love the way he purrs as he licks and slurps at my cock. Whether using broad, flat strokes or the finest of flickers, Chris is a genius with his tongue. A gift from heaven. And Chris never complains when, in a moment of over-eagerness, I surge too far down his throat. He merely backs off a little, gives a bit of a cough, and soldiers on.

On one occasion, I did apologize – most profusely – for nearly strangling him with my dick. Chris merely waved away my concern. His response put a grin on my face for a week. "The gagging part is one of the things I like best about sucking your cock. It reminds me that, if I'm not careful, you could be very, very dangerous."

I'm not sure if Chris is extra excited or if he just wants to get back to his book, but he straddles my waist before I've had the chance to work in a third finger.

"No more waiting," he whispers, reading my concerned expression. At least Chris has the presence of mind to liberally lubricate my shaft. His slick hand pales in comparison to the hot, wet suction of his mouth.

In a contest between Chris' mouth and Chris' ass, I would be hard put to rank one above the other. They both bring me so much pleasure. I suppose I would have to place his bottom first. Mainly because when I bottom out in it, I don't have to worry about Chris suffocating.

Even though I had initiated this unscheduled get-together, Chris immediately takes control. He's got issues, my boyfriend. That's another reason I love him.

I spread his ass apart as he grasps my cock. Face flushed, bottom lip wedged firmly between his teeth, eyebrows knitted together in concentration, Chris forces the head of my cock into his body. We've done this countless times. The initial penetration never fails to make Chris quiver.

Slowly, he grinds down. His body gradually accepting this invasion. My hands slide to his hips. I do not intend to quicken his descent. This is Chris' cherished time. The moments before the fuck. Before the thrusting and pumping and pounding begins. His mind is quiet. His heartbeat steady. Soon, both will race. But for now…

I lean forward to nibble at his collarbone. The layer of flesh is thin there and extremely sensitive. My movement changes the angle of his decline by the minutest of degrees. So close to his voice box is my mouth, Chris' groans reverberate across my lips.

The hardest part of this moment is fighting the urge to surge upwards. Putting an end to this distance between us. Slow and steady might have won the race for one illustrious tortoise, but it is driving me batty.

Miracle of miracles, he bottoms out. Chris' ass cheeks rest flush against my thighs. He rocks back and forth. Swivels his hips side to side and all around. Ensuring that every inch of him touches every inch of me.

My lips progress up the side of his neck. I can feel his pulse begin to quicken. Lips pressed against his ear, I ask the most obvious of questions. "Do you like this, Chris?"

His response is to rock harder, swivel faster, and grip me tighter. One hand fists in the back of my head while the other digs into the meat of my shoulder.

"You like my thick dick, don't you? The way it fills you up. I'm so deep inside you, baby. I can't tell where I end and you begin. I'm part of you now, Chris. We're together."

"Together," repeats Chris. It's more of a moan than a word emanating from his lips.

While his slow descent had been maddening, Chris' constant motion has me ready to yank my hair out. There's friction, but not the kind either of us crave. The kind that would get us off.

My hands cup his ass. Squeezing and kneading his smooth, firm flesh. "Ride me, bunny. Bounce up and down on my dick. You know you love that."

The planted seed takes root. Chris begins to move. Slowly at first but gradually picking up steam. Up and down on my cock he goes. Bouncing like a good little bunny.

I help him along. My hips meet his halfway. They smack noisily against his cheeks. It is a blatantly sexual sound. There is no mistaking it for anything other than the most pornographic of interactions.

Chris' eyes are half-lidded and misted over with lust. I wonder if he can even see me anymore. Perhaps he's gone beyond sight. Where sensation is the only medium left available to him. The grip of my hands on his hips. The stretch of his muscles around my cock. The rhythmic stroke of my shaft against the walls of his ass.

His jaw is slack. His mouth hangs open, revealing just a glimpse of his tongue. The tongue that works wonders on my cock. I latch into his mouth with my own. Savagely kissing him. Biting his bottom lip. Sucking on that perfect tongue. Drawing moans and whimpers as fiercely as I draw breath.

The tempo changes. Chris' downward plunges grow heavier. More urgent. He groans and pants. His breathing is more labored. Like he is racing to catch something hovering just out of his reach.

"Ride my dick, bunny. Chase that come. Go get it, bunny." My cock slams deeper. Harder. Burying to the hilt, and then drawing nearly completely out only to drive home again. My thrusts border on violence. I don't want to hurt him – would never, could never hurt him – but I know this is what Chris needs. To be driven right to the edge and then over it. "It's right there, bunny… Get it."

The fingers on my shoulder grip tight enough to crack bone. "Right there," whimpers Chris. His forehead presses against my own. We are nose to nose, eye to eye. His pupils are the size of olives. I swear I can see right down to his soul. "Gonna get it… Gonna get it… It's right there… Right fucking there!"

One final thrust sends Chris clenching around my cock. Clenching and swearing and screaming. I don't stop pumping. Even as his passage becomes almost unbearably tight. I fuck the come out of him. Warm spunk splashes against my stomach. It oozes down, some of it into my belly button, the rest into my crotch.

That sticky trickle sets me off. I come hard. Spurting semen deep inside Chris. I fill him with everything I have.

I hold Chris' spent body against me. Slowly kissing the life back into him. Drawing him back to reality.

Sufficiently resuscitated, Chris greets me with a shaky smile. "I love it when you come inside me. It feels so…" He shakes his head. For once, words escape him. Instead, he wiggles his bottom on my softening cock.

I kiss his nose, his cheeks, and his chin before rolling Chris onto his back. This may be the beginning of Round Two. Or is it three? I can't keep track anymore.

"Just out if curiosity," I mumble as I trail kisses down his chest. "What were you reading?"

"Pride & Prejudice & Zombies."

That's my Chris. A sucker for the classics.

END