Content: Mature subject matter, language, implied m/m slash.
Character/s: Hunter, Chris Jericho
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. All lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
* * *
Ask any of the guys around here and they'll all tell you the same thing. I sure know how to get under a guy's skin. I've practically made an art form of it. And if I didn't enjoy being such a complete and utter prick, I might feel some semblance of remorse. But I don't. I totally get off on pissing people off. And Chris... Oh, he asks for it, damn near begs for it in fact. The little idiot hasn't quite clued in to the fact that he will never beat me. Not at this game, anyway. I always get what I want. And tonight, I want him.
"Fuck you, Hunter! What you did out there tonight was completely uncool, and you damn well know it!"
"Why, Chris, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The next time you wanna yank my pants down on national television, gimme some fucking warning okay?"
"And why's that? So you'll wear nicer underwear next time?"
"Fuck you, Hunter!"
He's so excitable, this one. So easy to work up into a lather. Just knowing I get to him so very much, know how to push his buttons, is so satisfying to me. There's something about driving him into a blinding rage that makes him that much more appealing. He's so much fun to tease and torment. And I know he'll be all too eager to try to take it out on me in the locker room later tonight. I can practically hear his well-rehearsed speech of protest.
"Hunter, I wanna talk to you."
"What about, Chris?"
"Don't play fucking innocent with me. You know damn good and well I wasn't expecting you to pull that shit in the ring tonight."
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't know I was going to do it until about thirty seconds before it happened."
"Bullshit, Hunter! Fucking bullshit!"
"It's the truth. And I could care less if you believe me or not."
"You just... I think... you're so... Just FORGET it!"
Poor Chris. He has no idea just how far I intend to take things with him. If he knew, he probably never would have asked to be transferred back here in the first place. I can't say I'm disappointed in his performance. There are few things I enjoy quite so much as fucking around with people's heads. He should know this by now. There's a reason most people don't dare try to get too close to me and that's just one of them. Predictably, he'll probably try once more to have an actual conversation with me tonight, if you can call his abbreviated rantings 'talking.' Then I'll make my move. And just like all the rest, he'll be helpless before the onslaught.
"Hunter, can I please speak with you?"
"Oh, so you're being polite now? Not spitting curses at me?"
"I was upset. You know that. And you know why."
"So tell me, Chris. What is it you want to ask me?"
"Why?"
"Let's just say I've got a sick sense of humor and leave it at that."
"I don't WANT to leave it at that, Hunter. I want to know why."
"I don't think you really want to know the answer to that question."
"Why's that?"
"Because you might not like it. You might not like that side of me"
"Um..."
"So articulate. That's the best you've got to come back at me with?"
"What is it you want from me?"
"I should think I've made that abundantly clear, Chris."
And then he'll just stop and stare, his mouth slightly open. He'll be searching for some witty remark, something pithy to throw back at me, to try to show me how he's just going to blow this whole conversation off. That he doesn't get the REAL meaning behind my words. He'll want to rant and rave and tell me he's not like that, that he would never, EVER...
"Hunter, you know I'm not like..."
"Not like what, Chris? I don't quite follow you."
"Don't play games with me, Hunter. You know what I'm talking about."
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do. You're just trying to fuck with me."
"Don't you mean 'fuck you,' Chris?"
"Don't... don't say that... I don't..."
But I'll know differently. He's so easy to read, my poor, pitiful Chris. My chosen victim for the night. And before the night is over, he'll be more than willing to do whatever I wish him to do. They always do.
Because I always get what I want.
Always.
Character/s: Hunter, Chris Jericho
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. All lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
* * *
Ask any of the guys around here and they'll all tell you the same thing. I sure know how to get under a guy's skin. I've practically made an art form of it. And if I didn't enjoy being such a complete and utter prick, I might feel some semblance of remorse. But I don't. I totally get off on pissing people off. And Chris... Oh, he asks for it, damn near begs for it in fact. The little idiot hasn't quite clued in to the fact that he will never beat me. Not at this game, anyway. I always get what I want. And tonight, I want him.
"Fuck you, Hunter! What you did out there tonight was completely uncool, and you damn well know it!"
"Why, Chris, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The next time you wanna yank my pants down on national television, gimme some fucking warning okay?"
"And why's that? So you'll wear nicer underwear next time?"
"Fuck you, Hunter!"
He's so excitable, this one. So easy to work up into a lather. Just knowing I get to him so very much, know how to push his buttons, is so satisfying to me. There's something about driving him into a blinding rage that makes him that much more appealing. He's so much fun to tease and torment. And I know he'll be all too eager to try to take it out on me in the locker room later tonight. I can practically hear his well-rehearsed speech of protest.
"Hunter, I wanna talk to you."
"What about, Chris?"
"Don't play fucking innocent with me. You know damn good and well I wasn't expecting you to pull that shit in the ring tonight."
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't know I was going to do it until about thirty seconds before it happened."
"Bullshit, Hunter! Fucking bullshit!"
"It's the truth. And I could care less if you believe me or not."
"You just... I think... you're so... Just FORGET it!"
Poor Chris. He has no idea just how far I intend to take things with him. If he knew, he probably never would have asked to be transferred back here in the first place. I can't say I'm disappointed in his performance. There are few things I enjoy quite so much as fucking around with people's heads. He should know this by now. There's a reason most people don't dare try to get too close to me and that's just one of them. Predictably, he'll probably try once more to have an actual conversation with me tonight, if you can call his abbreviated rantings 'talking.' Then I'll make my move. And just like all the rest, he'll be helpless before the onslaught.
"Hunter, can I please speak with you?"
"Oh, so you're being polite now? Not spitting curses at me?"
"I was upset. You know that. And you know why."
"So tell me, Chris. What is it you want to ask me?"
"Why?"
"Let's just say I've got a sick sense of humor and leave it at that."
"I don't WANT to leave it at that, Hunter. I want to know why."
"I don't think you really want to know the answer to that question."
"Why's that?"
"Because you might not like it. You might not like that side of me"
"Um..."
"So articulate. That's the best you've got to come back at me with?"
"What is it you want from me?"
"I should think I've made that abundantly clear, Chris."
And then he'll just stop and stare, his mouth slightly open. He'll be searching for some witty remark, something pithy to throw back at me, to try to show me how he's just going to blow this whole conversation off. That he doesn't get the REAL meaning behind my words. He'll want to rant and rave and tell me he's not like that, that he would never, EVER...
"Hunter, you know I'm not like..."
"Not like what, Chris? I don't quite follow you."
"Don't play games with me, Hunter. You know what I'm talking about."
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do. You're just trying to fuck with me."
"Don't you mean 'fuck you,' Chris?"
"Don't... don't say that... I don't..."
But I'll know differently. He's so easy to read, my poor, pitiful Chris. My chosen victim for the night. And before the night is over, he'll be more than willing to do whatever I wish him to do. They always do.
Because I always get what I want.
Always.