Fic: The Prayer of St. Francis (Shawn/Hunter, R-NC17)
Title: The Prayer of St. Francis
Author: Drea
Rating: R-NC17, for language and adult content.
Pairing: Shawn/Hunter.
Disclaimer: Oh, you better believe my last name ain’t McMahon. I own nothing.
Spoilers: Takes place after Unforgiven 2006, and the DX vs. McMahons/Big Show Hell in a Cell match. If you haven't seen it, what the hell are you waiting for? Find it, watch it, and fall in love with Shawn and Hunter like I have.
Author’s Notes: Full version of the ficlet “Full of Grace”, posted over at starxedhearts. I originally started this as a response to oxoniensis‘s Porn Battle, but my usually non-existent Hunter!muse wouldn’t shut his piehole long enough to get to the smut. And then they got all angsty and this grew from 500 words to six pages. Anyway, much love to Angy for her wonderfully thoughtful beta, and because she puts up with a lot of whining from me in return. Title and quoted portion below are from St. Francis of Assisi’s well-known prayer. You may also know the Sarah McLachlan musical version, and if you don’t, download it. Absolutely beautiful.
~*~*~*~
"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace/Where there is hatred, let me sow love/Where there is injury, pardon/Where there is doubt, faith/Where there is despair, hope"
~*~*~*~
It was a well-known saying in the business - you'd let your best friend do things to you that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.
Hunter had thought it went the same way with family, too. Vince had said to take them to the limit. Vince had said not to work light on him just because he was both Hunter's boss and father-in-law. Vince had told him and Shawn to open them up hardway if they had to. And Vince had sworn Shane could take care of himself.
Vince, as it turned out, was also full of shit.
Because he'd screamed bloody murder over getting busted open. He'd berated both Hunter and Shawn for "unprofessional conduct" - they hadn't mentioned they were going to shove him face-first into Show's exposed ass. He'd apparently told Hunter “a thousand times” not to break the sledgehammer over his head. And he'd put the blame squarely on Shawn for not talking Shane out of that chair-spot-to-the-throat.
And he apparently couldn't count on Steph's support - she was absolutely livid at all four of them.
He'd been "dealt with" first; Vince and the bookers screaming at him until they were blue, red, and purple in the face. Shawn had been made to wait, then "dealt with" separately. Hunter hoped Shawn told them the same two words he had - but with Shawn's newfound religion, he probably hadn't.
The hell of it was, Hunter really was sorry things had gotten out of hand. Not surprised - it was a fuckin' Hell in a Cell, what'd they expect? - but truly sorry for the botched spots and the legit injuries. He'd been absolutely stunned when the sledgehammer broke. Shawn had needed to tell him to go for the pin; not something you usually had to say to a veteran like Hunter.
But he was just frozen. He didn't remember the ref counting, or the medics running out to strap Shane and Vince to stretchers. Didn't remember the screaming crowd or the Cell being raised. Didn't remember anything but locking eyes with Shawn and listening to the low, comforting murmur of his best friend's voice.
"C'mon, Hunt - let's go home. We've done enough. Let the medics take care of them."
He must have been trying to go over there - help check Vince and Shane out - but no, Shawn's arms were around him, pulling him to the side.
"Shh, I’ve got you. Leave them alone . . . they're gonna be okay. It's over. We're done."
He knew in some part of his brain that the match was over, but he was still bleeding adrenaline, flexing exhausted muscles in preparation for more battle. He wouldn't be the first guy who'd experienced it; Ric had fifty billion stories that involved him fighting long after he was supposed to have stopped - in and out of the ring. It had happened to him before, in Shawn's comeback match, when he'd just had to give Shawn that second sledge shot. But not like this. Not this haze of razor-sharp nerves and that "keep going, don't stop swinging" urge that knotted up his back.
But there was Shawn, directing him through the ropes and around the ring. Hugging him close on the ramp and moving to put his body between Hunter and the ring. Hunter wouldn't get past Shawn even if he tried. So he went through the motions - flex on the stage, talk some smack, wave to the crowd, head for the other curtain - with Shawn's arm possessively draped around his waist.
They'd been pulled apart as soon as the curtain swung back into place: Shawn to get cleaned and stitched up, Hunter to face the boss's wrath. He'd absently wished it had been the other way around, as Shawn was only covered in blood from the neck up. Hunt had managed to slice open his side bringing up the blade for the spot into the cage with Shane, and was streaked dark red from the waist up.
Though he’d heard every bit of their rantings, he still couldn’t collect his thoughts together enough to respond. All he wanted was a hot shower and some clean clothes - a fact which took Arn bringing it up to Vince three times before they'd let Hunter go. He'd stumbled back to his and Shawn's dressing room, stripping out of his ring gear the second the door swung closed, and headed straight for the shower.
That was where Shawn found him a half-hour later, slouched against the tile and staring blankly at the opposing wall.
~*~*~*~*~
"Hunt? What's going on?"
Shawn had gotten changed - tee shirt and jeans and those idiotic red cowboy boots of his - and was peering quizzically into the still-running shower. Must have been in a hurry, Hunter noted absently, his hair was still down. Wow, it'd been a while since he'd seen Shawn with that mass of blonde hair around his shoulders.
"Are you okay?" Shawn asked. "Did you slip or something?"
Hunter had to let out a brittle laugh. That WOULD just be the capper to a perfect night. Fuck up in the ring, hurt your family, come close to getting fired, and then fall on your ass in an arena shower. Great plan. They should turn it into an angle.
A muttered curse, and apparently, Shawn had put two and two together, and realized how out-of-it Hunter was, because the next thing he knew, Shawn had kicked off his boots and walked under the spray to kneel in front of him. He reached out, dragging bruised knuckles over the scruff of Hunter's beard, finally causing Hunter to focus on him.
The barest hint of a smile lit Shawn's face. "Finally got your attention, big guy?"
Hunter couldn't answer, just reached out and snagged the belt loop on Shawn's jeans. His best friend came willingly, his body rising to his knees as he slid wet arms around Hunter. One strong hand had made its way into Hunter's hair, stroking and soothing away blood and fear and tension as the other made those signature Shawn-circles across the span of his back and shoulders. Shawn's rough drawl was in his ear, murmuring nonsense that Hunter was grateful for, because it meant he didn't have to talk.
Even here, in Shawn's arms, he couldn't stop his muscles from tensing, but if he'd gotten more foolhardy in his career, Shawn had gained patience. Shawn just kept touching Hunter, chasing away the effects of the Cell, and now he knew why Shawn had gotten so freaked when he'd regained consciousness the morning after the first Cell match in '97. All those matches - seven, counting this one - and he'd never been this combination of hurt and scared. Like being back in that hospital in Birmingham, having his quad stitched back together.
Hunter didn't remember when his brain had switched back on, but everything suddenly came into focus. The floor of the shower in full Norman Bates mode as the blood washed away. The steam rising off the spray of the shower that pounded away above him. The cold tile at his back, seeping into his shoulders where they pressed against it.
And Shawn.
Strong, capable, still heartbreakingly beautiful Shawn, who was plastered to his front and not all that upset to be there. Shawn, who'd been to Hell first and almost didn't come back, but who walked into the Cell not once but twice afterward for Hunter. Shawn, who went off and found himself a wife and kids and God that he didn't have to hide from anyone. Shawn, who gave up the job of best man at Hunter's wedding because he knew it'd make Hunt's father insanely happy. Shawn, who would take numerous sledge and chair shots in his surgically-repaired back because he wanted to build up Hunter's career even more than he already had.
The best partner he'd ever had. The redeemed sinner who stepped right back into the den of thieves and D-Generation X because Hunter had asked him to. The man who never allowed an ill word to be spoken about Hunter in his presence. Hunter's past, present, and future best friend and the onetime love of his life. 'Tis better to be loved and lost', and all that.
Maybe not all love had to be lost.
~*~*~*~
Hunter slowly slid his hands underneath Shawn's arms, bypassing soaked white cotton to cup his face in a shakingly brittle grip. He picked his head up from Shawn's shoulder and finally stared his best friend in the eyes, because Hunter relied on nothing else when it came to the people he loved. Shawn could (and would) lie with his words and actions, but never with those steel blue eyes.
"Hunt- Paul, please . . ."
He had to close his eyes, hands sliding down to rest on Shawn‘s chest. He couldn't look at the fear and want in Shawn's eyes, not when it was laid bare to see and mixed with the plea of his name. It had been so long since anyone had called him Paul (God, even his parents referred to him as Hunter most of the time now) that he'd forgotten the sound of it. Especially like this, a broken gasp in that Texas drawl he loved to hear.
Suddenly, he felt the brush of Shawn's thumb over his lips, and he could feel the hot puff of Shawn's breath against his neck. He couldn't breathe, reduced to a shaking, needful thing, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.
Shawn, don't leave me.
Shawn, I'm a wreck without you.
Shawn, I need you and I want you and I love you.
All those things they'd never said. All those things they'd had to finally say, brought to life in the arch of Shawn's broken back and the six-inch scar on Hunter's left leg. Because Shawn had left, and Hunter had been absolutely lost without him. Because Shawn had nearly killed himself with addictions twice over and Hunter hadn't been there to stop him.
Things left unsaid . . . things they probably should have said long ago.
His hands curled into Shawn’s shirt, voice coming out broken.
“Stay.”
Shawn's breath came again at the bend of his neck, but was followed with the slide of those full lips up to his ear. "Let me," he rasped, gently lifting Hunter (all six-foot-four, 265 pounds of him, and he didn't know why he'd forgotten how strong Shawn was) to his feet. He was shaky - nerves and blood loss screwing with his balance - but having Shawn there to support him helped. When Shawn was satisfied Hunter could stand on his own, he reluctantly let go.
Fortunately, it was worth Hunter's while, Shawn stripping off his drenched clothing to stand bare in the spray of the water. Gaze burning over Shawn's perfection, all he could think was - God, it's been far too long.
Nine years too long.
~*~*~*~
So he didn’t say a word. Just pressed an openmouthed kiss against Shawn’s thumb, and pressed himself against Shawn, watching Shawn arch against him with a gasp.
Fucking beautiful, Shawn was, now more than ever. Nine years older, but as he locked eyes with his best friend, Hunter knew those nine years didn’t matter. Not when they still fit together like this, Shawn backing him against the wall and settling into the cradle of his hips. Not when Shawn still kissed him like that - like he’d never done it before. Tangling them into each other with arms and legs and that slicksoft mouth that did things to Hunter he’d never thought possible.
Made him gasp out curses and prayers into the shower steam as Shawn’s cock slid against his, his best friend’s nails raking grooves into his back he’d probably have to explain away later. Hunter whined in frustration as Shawn’s mouth tore away from his own, only to let out a growl of approval as Shawn’s lips slid down his neck to scrape teeth lightly over his collarbone. Apparently he was still wired to find that agonizingly arousing, and only Shawn could still provoke that response.
And still it felt like nothing had changed, as he turned them to rest Shawn against the wall and kissed his way down Shawn's body to kneel in front of him. Not when Shawn swore worse than before as Hunter took his cock in his mouth, and flicked his tongue against the slit on the head just like Shawn had taught him.
Nine years apart, three years married to Stephanie, and Hunter had never forgotten the precise way to make Shawn come apart. He almost cried when Shawn’s hand came to rest on his head. Not gripping him by the hair or guiding his movements or pulling him upwards for a kiss - just there. And it said all those things they’d never needed to say, because Shawn had come out of that water a new man, but the jagged gasp and widened eyes of Shawn when he came were still the holiest things Hunter had ever known.
But he knew the words: This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.
So they remembered. In every moan and gasp spilling from Shawn’s lips as Hunter continued to lick and suck and stroke him into insanity. In the insistent pulse of Hunter’s own cock, keeping counterpoint to the snap of Shawn’s hips. In that single indrawn breath when Shawn came, all blown-out pupils and reddened lips. And in that blinding flash of need that consumed Hunter as Shawn pulled him up and flipped him around to press against his back.
He almost stopped Shawn - no, you don’t have to - but Shawn’s voice growled low and hot in his ear. “How did I go on so long without you? You’re the only one that can do this to me - make me forget everything except you and how fucking beautiful you are.”
And then there was Shawn’s hand on his aching cock, closing around him and pumping hard and fast, and he was coming with a sharp keen he hadn’t made in too long. His body finally relaxed, Hunter finally came back down to earth.
“Missed you,” he mumbled, sinking back into Shawn’s embrace. “Missed you so much.”
Shawn tightened his arms around Hunter in response, then reached over and flicked off the shower controls. He pulled the towel Hunter had surprisingly remembered to hang outside the shower off the bar, and drew away gently to wrap it around Hunter. He started to guide Hunter out of the shower stall, but Hunter laid a hand on Shawn’s shoulder, stopping just before the curtain.
Because this was most likely the last chance he’d get before they had to suit back up and become husbands and fathers. Put the personas on with the clothing, just like they did in the ring.
“Thank you.”
Shawn looked momentarily surprised, but his face softened as he looked back at Hunter, then brushed a soft kiss across his lips.
“Always.”
~*~*~*~
Feedback is, of course, loved and hugged and squeezed and called George.
Author: Drea
Rating: R-NC17, for language and adult content.
Pairing: Shawn/Hunter.
Disclaimer: Oh, you better believe my last name ain’t McMahon. I own nothing.
Spoilers: Takes place after Unforgiven 2006, and the DX vs. McMahons/Big Show Hell in a Cell match. If you haven't seen it, what the hell are you waiting for? Find it, watch it, and fall in love with Shawn and Hunter like I have.
Author’s Notes: Full version of the ficlet “Full of Grace”, posted over at starxedhearts. I originally started this as a response to oxoniensis‘s Porn Battle, but my usually non-existent Hunter!muse wouldn’t shut his piehole long enough to get to the smut. And then they got all angsty and this grew from 500 words to six pages. Anyway, much love to Angy for her wonderfully thoughtful beta, and because she puts up with a lot of whining from me in return. Title and quoted portion below are from St. Francis of Assisi’s well-known prayer. You may also know the Sarah McLachlan musical version, and if you don’t, download it. Absolutely beautiful.
~*~*~*~
"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace/Where there is hatred, let me sow love/Where there is injury, pardon/Where there is doubt, faith/Where there is despair, hope"
~*~*~*~
It was a well-known saying in the business - you'd let your best friend do things to you that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.
Hunter had thought it went the same way with family, too. Vince had said to take them to the limit. Vince had said not to work light on him just because he was both Hunter's boss and father-in-law. Vince had told him and Shawn to open them up hardway if they had to. And Vince had sworn Shane could take care of himself.
Vince, as it turned out, was also full of shit.
Because he'd screamed bloody murder over getting busted open. He'd berated both Hunter and Shawn for "unprofessional conduct" - they hadn't mentioned they were going to shove him face-first into Show's exposed ass. He'd apparently told Hunter “a thousand times” not to break the sledgehammer over his head. And he'd put the blame squarely on Shawn for not talking Shane out of that chair-spot-to-the-throat.
And he apparently couldn't count on Steph's support - she was absolutely livid at all four of them.
He'd been "dealt with" first; Vince and the bookers screaming at him until they were blue, red, and purple in the face. Shawn had been made to wait, then "dealt with" separately. Hunter hoped Shawn told them the same two words he had - but with Shawn's newfound religion, he probably hadn't.
The hell of it was, Hunter really was sorry things had gotten out of hand. Not surprised - it was a fuckin' Hell in a Cell, what'd they expect? - but truly sorry for the botched spots and the legit injuries. He'd been absolutely stunned when the sledgehammer broke. Shawn had needed to tell him to go for the pin; not something you usually had to say to a veteran like Hunter.
But he was just frozen. He didn't remember the ref counting, or the medics running out to strap Shane and Vince to stretchers. Didn't remember the screaming crowd or the Cell being raised. Didn't remember anything but locking eyes with Shawn and listening to the low, comforting murmur of his best friend's voice.
"C'mon, Hunt - let's go home. We've done enough. Let the medics take care of them."
He must have been trying to go over there - help check Vince and Shane out - but no, Shawn's arms were around him, pulling him to the side.
"Shh, I’ve got you. Leave them alone . . . they're gonna be okay. It's over. We're done."
He knew in some part of his brain that the match was over, but he was still bleeding adrenaline, flexing exhausted muscles in preparation for more battle. He wouldn't be the first guy who'd experienced it; Ric had fifty billion stories that involved him fighting long after he was supposed to have stopped - in and out of the ring. It had happened to him before, in Shawn's comeback match, when he'd just had to give Shawn that second sledge shot. But not like this. Not this haze of razor-sharp nerves and that "keep going, don't stop swinging" urge that knotted up his back.
But there was Shawn, directing him through the ropes and around the ring. Hugging him close on the ramp and moving to put his body between Hunter and the ring. Hunter wouldn't get past Shawn even if he tried. So he went through the motions - flex on the stage, talk some smack, wave to the crowd, head for the other curtain - with Shawn's arm possessively draped around his waist.
They'd been pulled apart as soon as the curtain swung back into place: Shawn to get cleaned and stitched up, Hunter to face the boss's wrath. He'd absently wished it had been the other way around, as Shawn was only covered in blood from the neck up. Hunt had managed to slice open his side bringing up the blade for the spot into the cage with Shane, and was streaked dark red from the waist up.
Though he’d heard every bit of their rantings, he still couldn’t collect his thoughts together enough to respond. All he wanted was a hot shower and some clean clothes - a fact which took Arn bringing it up to Vince three times before they'd let Hunter go. He'd stumbled back to his and Shawn's dressing room, stripping out of his ring gear the second the door swung closed, and headed straight for the shower.
That was where Shawn found him a half-hour later, slouched against the tile and staring blankly at the opposing wall.
~*~*~*~*~
"Hunt? What's going on?"
Shawn had gotten changed - tee shirt and jeans and those idiotic red cowboy boots of his - and was peering quizzically into the still-running shower. Must have been in a hurry, Hunter noted absently, his hair was still down. Wow, it'd been a while since he'd seen Shawn with that mass of blonde hair around his shoulders.
"Are you okay?" Shawn asked. "Did you slip or something?"
Hunter had to let out a brittle laugh. That WOULD just be the capper to a perfect night. Fuck up in the ring, hurt your family, come close to getting fired, and then fall on your ass in an arena shower. Great plan. They should turn it into an angle.
A muttered curse, and apparently, Shawn had put two and two together, and realized how out-of-it Hunter was, because the next thing he knew, Shawn had kicked off his boots and walked under the spray to kneel in front of him. He reached out, dragging bruised knuckles over the scruff of Hunter's beard, finally causing Hunter to focus on him.
The barest hint of a smile lit Shawn's face. "Finally got your attention, big guy?"
Hunter couldn't answer, just reached out and snagged the belt loop on Shawn's jeans. His best friend came willingly, his body rising to his knees as he slid wet arms around Hunter. One strong hand had made its way into Hunter's hair, stroking and soothing away blood and fear and tension as the other made those signature Shawn-circles across the span of his back and shoulders. Shawn's rough drawl was in his ear, murmuring nonsense that Hunter was grateful for, because it meant he didn't have to talk.
Even here, in Shawn's arms, he couldn't stop his muscles from tensing, but if he'd gotten more foolhardy in his career, Shawn had gained patience. Shawn just kept touching Hunter, chasing away the effects of the Cell, and now he knew why Shawn had gotten so freaked when he'd regained consciousness the morning after the first Cell match in '97. All those matches - seven, counting this one - and he'd never been this combination of hurt and scared. Like being back in that hospital in Birmingham, having his quad stitched back together.
Hunter didn't remember when his brain had switched back on, but everything suddenly came into focus. The floor of the shower in full Norman Bates mode as the blood washed away. The steam rising off the spray of the shower that pounded away above him. The cold tile at his back, seeping into his shoulders where they pressed against it.
And Shawn.
Strong, capable, still heartbreakingly beautiful Shawn, who was plastered to his front and not all that upset to be there. Shawn, who'd been to Hell first and almost didn't come back, but who walked into the Cell not once but twice afterward for Hunter. Shawn, who went off and found himself a wife and kids and God that he didn't have to hide from anyone. Shawn, who gave up the job of best man at Hunter's wedding because he knew it'd make Hunt's father insanely happy. Shawn, who would take numerous sledge and chair shots in his surgically-repaired back because he wanted to build up Hunter's career even more than he already had.
The best partner he'd ever had. The redeemed sinner who stepped right back into the den of thieves and D-Generation X because Hunter had asked him to. The man who never allowed an ill word to be spoken about Hunter in his presence. Hunter's past, present, and future best friend and the onetime love of his life. 'Tis better to be loved and lost', and all that.
Maybe not all love had to be lost.
~*~*~*~
Hunter slowly slid his hands underneath Shawn's arms, bypassing soaked white cotton to cup his face in a shakingly brittle grip. He picked his head up from Shawn's shoulder and finally stared his best friend in the eyes, because Hunter relied on nothing else when it came to the people he loved. Shawn could (and would) lie with his words and actions, but never with those steel blue eyes.
"Hunt- Paul, please . . ."
He had to close his eyes, hands sliding down to rest on Shawn‘s chest. He couldn't look at the fear and want in Shawn's eyes, not when it was laid bare to see and mixed with the plea of his name. It had been so long since anyone had called him Paul (God, even his parents referred to him as Hunter most of the time now) that he'd forgotten the sound of it. Especially like this, a broken gasp in that Texas drawl he loved to hear.
Suddenly, he felt the brush of Shawn's thumb over his lips, and he could feel the hot puff of Shawn's breath against his neck. He couldn't breathe, reduced to a shaking, needful thing, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.
Shawn, don't leave me.
Shawn, I'm a wreck without you.
Shawn, I need you and I want you and I love you.
All those things they'd never said. All those things they'd had to finally say, brought to life in the arch of Shawn's broken back and the six-inch scar on Hunter's left leg. Because Shawn had left, and Hunter had been absolutely lost without him. Because Shawn had nearly killed himself with addictions twice over and Hunter hadn't been there to stop him.
Things left unsaid . . . things they probably should have said long ago.
His hands curled into Shawn’s shirt, voice coming out broken.
“Stay.”
Shawn's breath came again at the bend of his neck, but was followed with the slide of those full lips up to his ear. "Let me," he rasped, gently lifting Hunter (all six-foot-four, 265 pounds of him, and he didn't know why he'd forgotten how strong Shawn was) to his feet. He was shaky - nerves and blood loss screwing with his balance - but having Shawn there to support him helped. When Shawn was satisfied Hunter could stand on his own, he reluctantly let go.
Fortunately, it was worth Hunter's while, Shawn stripping off his drenched clothing to stand bare in the spray of the water. Gaze burning over Shawn's perfection, all he could think was - God, it's been far too long.
Nine years too long.
~*~*~*~
So he didn’t say a word. Just pressed an openmouthed kiss against Shawn’s thumb, and pressed himself against Shawn, watching Shawn arch against him with a gasp.
Fucking beautiful, Shawn was, now more than ever. Nine years older, but as he locked eyes with his best friend, Hunter knew those nine years didn’t matter. Not when they still fit together like this, Shawn backing him against the wall and settling into the cradle of his hips. Not when Shawn still kissed him like that - like he’d never done it before. Tangling them into each other with arms and legs and that slicksoft mouth that did things to Hunter he’d never thought possible.
Made him gasp out curses and prayers into the shower steam as Shawn’s cock slid against his, his best friend’s nails raking grooves into his back he’d probably have to explain away later. Hunter whined in frustration as Shawn’s mouth tore away from his own, only to let out a growl of approval as Shawn’s lips slid down his neck to scrape teeth lightly over his collarbone. Apparently he was still wired to find that agonizingly arousing, and only Shawn could still provoke that response.
And still it felt like nothing had changed, as he turned them to rest Shawn against the wall and kissed his way down Shawn's body to kneel in front of him. Not when Shawn swore worse than before as Hunter took his cock in his mouth, and flicked his tongue against the slit on the head just like Shawn had taught him.
Nine years apart, three years married to Stephanie, and Hunter had never forgotten the precise way to make Shawn come apart. He almost cried when Shawn’s hand came to rest on his head. Not gripping him by the hair or guiding his movements or pulling him upwards for a kiss - just there. And it said all those things they’d never needed to say, because Shawn had come out of that water a new man, but the jagged gasp and widened eyes of Shawn when he came were still the holiest things Hunter had ever known.
But he knew the words: This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.
So they remembered. In every moan and gasp spilling from Shawn’s lips as Hunter continued to lick and suck and stroke him into insanity. In the insistent pulse of Hunter’s own cock, keeping counterpoint to the snap of Shawn’s hips. In that single indrawn breath when Shawn came, all blown-out pupils and reddened lips. And in that blinding flash of need that consumed Hunter as Shawn pulled him up and flipped him around to press against his back.
He almost stopped Shawn - no, you don’t have to - but Shawn’s voice growled low and hot in his ear. “How did I go on so long without you? You’re the only one that can do this to me - make me forget everything except you and how fucking beautiful you are.”
And then there was Shawn’s hand on his aching cock, closing around him and pumping hard and fast, and he was coming with a sharp keen he hadn’t made in too long. His body finally relaxed, Hunter finally came back down to earth.
“Missed you,” he mumbled, sinking back into Shawn’s embrace. “Missed you so much.”
Shawn tightened his arms around Hunter in response, then reached over and flicked off the shower controls. He pulled the towel Hunter had surprisingly remembered to hang outside the shower off the bar, and drew away gently to wrap it around Hunter. He started to guide Hunter out of the shower stall, but Hunter laid a hand on Shawn’s shoulder, stopping just before the curtain.
Because this was most likely the last chance he’d get before they had to suit back up and become husbands and fathers. Put the personas on with the clothing, just like they did in the ring.
“Thank you.”
Shawn looked momentarily surprised, but his face softened as he looked back at Hunter, then brushed a soft kiss across his lips.
“Always.”
~*~*~*~
Feedback is, of course, loved and hugged and squeezed and called George.