Disclaimer: I don't own any of the WWE Superstars featured in this fic. I wish I could borrow them, though...
Rated: M
WARNINGS: slash, m/m pairings & sex, character death, blood and gore, explicit language, & other graphic scenes
Phil woke up to sunlight, albeit very pale, shining into his eyes. His surroundings were still very dark, but at least he could see clearer. The clock at the front of the bus read 9:33. After a huge yawn, he looked around at his colleagues and noticed most of them sleeping still. He stood up and stretched his slender limbs before pulling his trunks out of his ass and making his way to the very front of the bus. Noticing but not caring that the bus driver was gone, Phil cleared his throat to get the attention of the other superstars.
"Everyone, let's start waking up. We've got a long day ahead of us if we plan to get back into civilization."
A few more men started to stir, which only left Sheamus, Christian, the Miz, Jericho, Zack, and Randy still asleep. Noting that Sheamus and Christian had a longer night than the others, he went around and triple tapped each remaining sleeping man. The Miz and Jericho awoke easily, while Zack was like a fucking brick and the Apex Predator remained headstrong about opening his eyes.
"Do what you have to do, and we'll leave at 10:30 or earlier, depending on how long you guys take."
Somewhat surprised that the men didn't question him once, he went back to the front of the bus to investigate about the driver. The old, chubby man's coat sat on the back of the seat, and a pair of sunglasses sat collecting dust on the dashboard. Why the fuck would the driver just book it, especially given the current circumstances? Phil wondered to himself, rooting through the pockets of the jacket for clues about the driver. His slender fingers wrapped around a square-shaped object. He drew his hand out of the pocket and saw a beat-up, leather wallet in his palm. He flipped it open to find an American Express credit card, a Washington State driver's license, a few gift cards to miscellaneous clothing stores, some crinkled up money and loose change, and a few folded pieces of paper. The name on the license read Herbert Smith. He was 5'8", wore round wire glasses, and was 49 years old. He had a small gap between his top front teeth, and his round face housed a few acne scars and a scruffy mustache.
Phil counted the money and arrived at $42.63 as the total before he started to unfold the pieces of paper. One was his birth certificate, which stated the information that was on the license regarding his identity. The second was what seemed like a grocery list, as he scrawled messily on it Milk, eggs, noodles, cookies. The third seemed like a personal reminder, and the fourth made Phil furrow his brows in confusion.
My dream 5-14:
It's night and I'm driving my bus like usual. There's a bunch of passengers. Good 'ole Shirley goes and breaks on me. We're lost and they're mad at me. It's raining so hard that we can't walk to find our way back. Things start to happen that nobody would have expected.
…
This dude's a fucking freak, Phil told himself. He shoved everything back into the wallet and put it back in the pocket. Everyone was walking around, taking turns in the bathroom and for the most part getting along. Phil glanced out the window at the pouring rain and groaned. They could have got lost anywhere in the world, but it had to be the soggy Pacific Northwest. Phil went back to the Viper and shook him once more.
"Dammit, Punk," Randy groaned while showing off his teeth in a tired growl. "I just want to sleep."
"You can sleep," Phil started, trying to pull the tall man to his feet, "when we get the hell out of here."
Randy gave up and got to his feet, rubbing his eyes slowly. Phil left him and approached the Broski, who still slept soundly.
"Zack, wake up," Phil shouted, slapping him on the shoulder. The living zombie started to shift around. Phil knew he would wake up on his own and stay that way, so he went towards the front of the bus again.
Phil waited until ten to wake his sensible comrades. They awoke easily and appeared well-rested.
"What's on the agenda today, Punk?" Sheamus asked, stifling a yawn so he could speak.
"Well, I was hoping to pry the lock off of the stowaway portion of the bus so we could get our bags," Phil spoke, scratching his forehead briefly. "Then we'll start walking, making sure to leave a trail behind. If we get lost, at least we can get back to the safety of the bus."
"It's so cold and rainy," Christian noted. "I hope we can get the locks off. Otherwise we're going to end up with pneumonia and hypothermia."
"Yeah. We can't afford to have anybody fall sick out here," Phil spoke. "At least we could grab some clothes to keep ourselves warm. Anyway, why don't you two go get ready? We're leaving at 10:30."
The two men nodded towards Phil and headed towards the bathroom. Phil sat back down in his seat and let out a huge yawn. Just the thought of what was going to be accomplished later on made him exhausted. As soon as he allowed himself to relax into the seat, he felt someone's hot breath in his ear. He ignored it until the person started to talk.
"Aw, rough night?" Jericho snickered, perverse humor lacing his voice. "It must be tough popping a boner out here over your male colleague and not being able to do anything about it. That must have been torture."
Phil whipped his head around and glared at the super douche. His face showcased that signature, snide smirk and Phil's heart skipped a beat before he regained control of himself. "Shut the fuck up, Jericho."
"Suit yourself," Chris spoke, holding his hands in the air. "I figured hearing my voice would soothe you, but I guess it's just my ass you want."
Chris got up and turned his ass towards Phil and gave it a quick shake. He slapped it and stared at Phil with a slightly agape mouth before he smirked again. "If you want it, baby, come get it."
Phil hit his head against the window a few times until the noisy breathing of Jericho went further down the bus. He had to hold his hands over his crotch to hide the ever-hardening erection in his thin trunks. He wasn't even gay, but that blond little fuck had some sort of charm to him that made Phil want to bend him over a table and fuck the shit out of him.
Thinking in turn about Mark Henry and Khali naked, Phil sighed with relief as his erection fell and arousal stopped coursing through his veins. He wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead before letting out his shaky breath slowly. It was going to be tough trying to maintain his composure with Jericho prancing around in his tiny trunks, toying with the younger man.
Phil relaxed into his seat once again, and waited until the men stopped stirring on the bus. The clock read 10:23, but if everyone was ready…
"Everybody ready?" Phil asked, standing up once again. Nods came from the other men. "Okay. I figured we'd try to snap the locks off the stowaway portion of the bus so we could get our bags. Randy, you're good at punting, why don't you come out with me first to give it a go?"
The taller man grunted in response and walked down the aisle towards Phil. He shoved his tattooed shoulders against the doors and lead Randy to the side of the bus. Phil squinted his eyes to keep the driving rain out as he examined the locks. They were all broken off.
"What in the hell…" Phil's voice trailed off as he opened the small door. Everything was gone.
"Who the fuck took all of our shit?" Randy hissed, giving the side of the bus an angry kick.
"Maybe Herbert took it when he randomly fucked off."
"Who the hell is Herbert?" Randy growled, mad at the loss of their belongings, not at the paler man.
"He's the driver," Phil explained. "He's nowhere to be found. He left his jacket and wallet on the bus. I think he had a psychotic break." He chose to leave out the part about the note in the wallet, figuring if the guy really was a creep, it'd be best not to worry anyone.
"Well, that's just fucking great," Randy seethed. "We're lost in the middle of fucking nowhere with none of our belongings and no way of getting back to civilization."
"What the hell are we going to do about food and water? And what about warmth?" Phil wondered aloud, squatting down to hold his head in his hands. He felt a swift, although rather gentle, kick to his ribs. Randy hovered above him with his right hand outstretched.
"Come on, Punk; let's get back on the bus and think of some way to get out of this hellhole."
Phil accepted Randy's hand and followed the Viper onto the bus again. Everyone looked at Phil expectantly as he shook some of the rain from his hair. After shutting the doors again, he slumped down at the front of the bus.
"Someone busted the locks and took our shit," Phil sighed, running a hand through his soaking wet hair. "And the driver screwed. I really think we're stuck out here."
A/N: School's out for the summer! (cue Alice Cooper) Hope you enjoyed ;) Please Review!