Forfeit the Game
By the Angel
Slash, if that bothers you, don't read.
Rated R for language, violence, and angst.
*
"Nice People's Elbow I delivered, huh, Rocky?" I pinched the Rock's arm as I met him backstage. I can still see the sweat drops dripping down his dark skin. And the fake gash on his cheek. It was real blood. It looks like it stings.
"Better watch the ego before it gets too big," He says coolly, "and bites you in the ass."
I laugh snidely. "You think you have it figured out, don't you Rocky? I am not a book. I change chapters. I cannot be reread."
The Rock tapped his foot impatiently. "First of all, The Rock does not like to be called Rocky. Second of all, that metaphor was lame and not well thought out. Please get out of the Rock's face, Chris."
Ooh. Now he's getting touchy. Perfect. I have him right where I want him. "First of all," I mocked his words, slipping them into my own vocabulary, "Y2J can call The Rock whatever he wants. Y2J is larger than life. He is a star. Have we forgotten that?"
The Rock ran his tongue over those perfect lips. He raised his eyebrow. "You can take your larger than life qualities, uh—Shine them up real nice, turn that son of a bitch sideways, and stick it straight up your roody poo punk rock star candy ass!"
"That was original," I say. His words don't have any effect on me. "And you're wrong on all counts. You see, I am neither punk nor rock. I am metal. I am the best."
"You're an asshole." The Rock said without missing a beat.
"And you're the whole ass." I laugh. I bring my face closer to his. "We got it all Rock. The best storyline, the best chemistry…It's all dramatic, it's all action/adventure…It's all angsty. We can really give the people what they want."
The Rock paced around me in little circles. He seemed to be thinking. He blinked a few times, and rubbed his hands together. "The Rock thought you didn't CARE what the people thought."
"I want them to be happy," I shrugged. I put my hand to his chest and pushed him down on the bench. "Do you like to see me suffer?"
"My form of entertainment," He said, kicking back on the stool.
"You like to see me sweat, bleed, cry with determination?" I had no idea what the fuck I was talking about, but it sounded pretty good. "You like the way I get an evil gleam in my eye whenever I am on the receiving end of a fucking Rock Bottom?"
The Rock grinned. "Yeah, I do. Sweat is pouring off of you, dripping. The blood is so salty and sour, bitter to the taste. But you cry when I kick your ass. You have no determination. You aren't good enough."
"Contrary to popular belief, I do root for you in matches. I want you to fight. I want you to give it your all every match. That way I can beat your broke ass easily afterwards." The Rock said.
"And what if I don't win?" I asked, licking my lips.
"You get punished." He said simply. "Easily, too."
"How? What if I rebel?" My voice was down to a scratchy whisper.
"You'll never rebel." The Rock said, running his hands on my chest.
I groaned and pushed his hands off. "I'll never forfeit the game." I said, buttoning my shirt. "You weren't supposed to do that yet," The Rock whined. "Now the sex tape is ruined. We have to do it over!"
"Aw, shit." I flopped back down on the bed.
I knew I should have studied those lines…
