Disclaimer: I do not own these character names, no disrespect is intended

Merciless

The round ball of dough made a little plop as it landed in the dish of cinnamon sugar. Chris rolled it around and transferred it on to the cookie sheet. He took a perverse pleasure in flattening each disc out with the back of a spoon. It didn't change anything about the way he was feeling, but it helped to have some power over something as helpless as a ball of dough.

The sheet filled he turned to put it in the oven and promptly tripped over the dog.

"Son of a…" he caught himself and after he popped the sheet in the oven he bent down and tousled his ears, "You're right in the way silly. Why are you sleeping on the floor anyway? Mommy's not home; you could be all over the bed by now. Go on, get to it!"

Indeed the dog did lever himself up from the floor as Chris turned to wash his hands, but it wasn't to go get up on the bed, it was due to his sixth sense that alerted him whenever someone came to the front door. The extra tail wagging and sneezing communicated that this wasn't just "someone at the door."

Chris grimaced as he picked up the towel. Of course, he could pretend he wasn't home, but somehow David always knew, and there'd be ten kinds of hell to pay for ignoring him. With shuffling steps he headed out of the kitchen and opened the front door.

The storm had blown itself out, but the sky was still overcast. Of course this did not prevent David from wearing his impossibly expensive sunglasses, and as always he looked impeccable. He reached up to take the glasses off as Chris popped the towel up over his shoulder.

"To what do I owe this invasion?" he quipped.

"Is that an invitation to come in?" David asked as he stepped across the threshold.

"It wasn't," Chris said, and he slammed the door shut, turned and headed back to the kitchen, "It's just that you usually don't come over here without calling first."

"Eh," David followed him down the hall, "I was out running errands, noticed there was only one car in the driveway, figured I'd give it a shot."

"Jess is out in California," Chris said. He dropped the towel by the sink and went back to work on his cookies. "With the hurricane coming I figured she and the little ones would be safer out there for a few weeks."

David's nose twitched as he boosted himself up on a stool at the counter. "You making cookies?"

"Very good Einstein," Chris said. Plop, another ball of dough into the dish of cinnamon sugar. "What the fuck kind of errands are you running that takes you by my place anyway?"

"Went to that dry cleaner you suggested," David said. "Besides that, I came over to see how you're doing."

"And what if there were two cars in the driveway?" Chris said as he scraped the last of the dough out of the bowl. "Would you just have assumed I was fine?"

"Cut the crap Chris," David said. "I tried to catch up with you yesterday, but you took off like a bat out of hell. That alone suggested you weren't fine, but compounded by the fact that you were screening my calls…if there had been two cars in the driveway I'd have knocked on the door anyway."

"I'm fine David," Chris said with more than a hint of irritation. "Everyone keeps asking me and I keep saying, I'm fine. Hell, it's one of the biggest angles of the year. The only thing bigger in 2008 was Ric Flair retiring."

David folded the arms of his glasses and set them on the counter in front of him. "I wasn't talking about the angle Chris, I was talking about you."

The buzzer tinged and Chris turned to pull the sheet of crispy cookies out of the oven. He set them aside and reached for the next sheet ready to go in, closed the door with an extra thump.

"What's the difference?" he said as he reached for a spatula. "If it wasn't for the angle you'd be at home right now doing whatever Dave Batista does on an off day, so I see no separation between the two."

"And you'd be in Los Angeles with your family instead of here making cookies." David reached for a cookie and dropped it, "Hot."

"Because I just took them out of the oven!" Chris said. He frowned as he put the rest of the cookies on the rack, then set the sheet in the sink. He turned and took a carton of milk out of the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. "I'm fine David."

"You're not," David said. He eyed the milk, then looked up at Chris. "I don't want milk."

"Oh, but you want cookies I take it?" Chris said. He slipped two of the cooled cookies on to a napkin and handed them over.

"Talk to me Chris," David said, "And no lies this time. I really don't believe that the plan going in to this match was you punching Shawn's wife in the mouth. I watched the tape, I saw you twist your body. Something went wrong."

"Fuck," Chris said. He slopped some milk into his glass and took a long drink. The glass set on the counter he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why can't you just mind your own business?"

David sighed and leaned backwards. He took a bite of cookie and licked his lips. "These would be better with chocolate chips."

"They're snickerdoodles, they're not supposed to have chocolate chips," Chris said as he popped one into his mouth, "Besides, you're always harping on watching what you eat, I didn't think you even ate chocolate."

"I don't," David said.

"You're fucking trying my patience old man," Chris said.

"Look," David said as he broke his second cookie into pieces, "I'm not as good as you are at making me break down and talk about what's bothering me, but do you have any idea how much I appreciate it? I didn't come here to play tag with you, I came here to make you talk about what's clearly bothering you. Do me a favor and let it out so I can go home."

Chris smirked, "You don't want to go home."

David slid off the barstool and stood. He flexed his muscles until they bulged against his t-shirt. "I mean it Chris, no more bullshit games."

"For the record, you don't scare me," Chris said. He turned as the buzzer tinged again. He was silent as he took the cookies out of the oven and transferred them to the cooling rack. At last he put the spatula and oven mitts in the sink. "Fine. Come with me."

In the living room Chris poured two tumblers of whiskey, handed one to David as he sank down on the couch. "Humor me and drink this."

David's nose wrinkled as he took a sip, then settled back to listen.

"Chris Irvine would never hit a woman, even for a storyline. Chris Jericho is a whole different ball of wax." He paused to take a deep swallow of his drink. "The plan went awry. It made for good television, and it did what I wanted it to do in the long run, it made people hate me even more, probably turned those people who were still on the fence. Chris Jericho is a bastard."

"Stating the obvious here," David said, "But it left Chris Irvine a little troubled."

Chris closed his eyes. "There's no crying in wrestling, even Rebecca Michaels knows that."

David set his tumbler down on a side table and moved closer to Chris on the couch. This was a dance they'd done several times before, the silent asking, the giving and taking. Chris moved against the curve of David's body and after a moment laid his head against his shoulder.

"This is all I wanted Chris, for you to admit that it bothered you," David murmured. He left the rest of it unsaid, the part about wanting Chris to take comfort from him, comfort he was more than willing to give.

"You know it's not all you wanted," Chris said, "And for once I wish we could just say it out loud and not hide behind euphemisms."

"There's no one stopping you from saying it Chris. If there'd been two cars in your driveway I still would have come up to your door." He turned then, looked directly into Chris's eyes. "But if she was here, then I'm not afraid to admit to you that I would have left here with a little less than what I wanted."

Chris stayed against the back of the couch, his eyes wide open, his lips parted as his breathing came a little faster. "Then say it David, tell me what you wanted."

David leaned closer; his lips hovered over Chris's. So many times in impersonal hotel rooms on the road this dance happened without asking, but somehow there was power in saying the words now.

"What I wanted Chris," there was a hitch in his voice, "Was to feel your body against mine."

Chris eased up, touched his lips to David's, "You already have big man," he whispered, "But I want more."

Somehow it never felt wrong, even here.