New Prompt Fic
Story Title: Wake Up Call
Story Type: Slash, Humor
Characters: Chris Sabin, Alex Shelley, Sonjay Dutt, mentions of Jay Lethal
Pairings: MMG
Rating: PG-13/NC-17
Series: None
Disclaimer: If these two were mine, my house would smell like weed and sex 24/7.
Warnings: Slash, language
Prompt: One of the Guns gives the other a facial.
A/N: Here's another prompt, from the awesomely great energy_purple. Enjoy, peeps.
Chris stirred as the pounding on the hotel door got louder.
“Go answer it, jack off,” Alex muttered and tried shove to shove Chris off of the bed.
“You answer it,” Chris said as he kicked him in retaliation. “I'm not fucken getting up.”
“Come on, man,” Alex told him with just a hint of a whine in his voice. “You're closer to the door.”
Deciding it would be quicker to just answer the door then argue about it for another twenty minutes, Chris rolled out of bed.
Yawning, he rubbed at his eyes; briefly wondering why his eyelashes felt like they were glued together. When he swung the door open, Sonjay was there glaring at him.
“What took you so long?” Sonjay demanded before rushing on without an answer. “Me and Jay've been ready to leave for - What the fuck is on your face?”
“Huh?” Chris asked, his eyes barely open. He hated waking up and it usually took him a few hours to become coherent. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your face,” Sonjay repeated, leaning closer to get a better look at it. “All over your forehead and your eyes; it looks like -”
He broke off all of a sudden and started laughing hysterically. “Dude, you -”
Frowning, Chris swiped a hand over his forehead and then looked at it confused. Why the hell was his forehead sticky and -
“God damn it, 'Lex!” Chris slammed the door on Sonjay's laughing face and looked over at his smirking partner in exasperation. “What the fuck, asshole?”
“Hey, don't blame me,” Alex told him, standing up and stretching before he started rummaging through the bags on the floor. “Is this mine or yours?” He asked, holding up a faded t-shirt.
“Mine,” Chris answered, unsurprised when Alex shrugged and put it on anyway. “And what do you mean, 'don't blame you'? My face is covered in jizz and it's not your fault?”
“No, it's not,” Alex said absently, heading to the bathroom. “I was bored and you wouldn't wake up; you were practically asking for it.”
Chris debated walking over and smacking Alex in the back of the head, but he knew it would be useless; Alex would always do what he wanted, no matter what the consequences were or what people would think.
But why the hell was it always his face?
Story Type: Slash, Humor
Characters: Chris Sabin, Alex Shelley, Sonjay Dutt, mentions of Jay Lethal
Pairings: MMG
Rating: PG-13/NC-17
Series: None
Disclaimer: If these two were mine, my house would smell like weed and sex 24/7.
Warnings: Slash, language
Prompt: One of the Guns gives the other a facial.
A/N: Here's another prompt, from the awesomely great energy_purple. Enjoy, peeps.
Chris stirred as the pounding on the hotel door got louder.
“Go answer it, jack off,” Alex muttered and tried shove to shove Chris off of the bed.
“You answer it,” Chris said as he kicked him in retaliation. “I'm not fucken getting up.”
“Come on, man,” Alex told him with just a hint of a whine in his voice. “You're closer to the door.”
Deciding it would be quicker to just answer the door then argue about it for another twenty minutes, Chris rolled out of bed.
Yawning, he rubbed at his eyes; briefly wondering why his eyelashes felt like they were glued together. When he swung the door open, Sonjay was there glaring at him.
“What took you so long?” Sonjay demanded before rushing on without an answer. “Me and Jay've been ready to leave for - What the fuck is on your face?”
“Huh?” Chris asked, his eyes barely open. He hated waking up and it usually took him a few hours to become coherent. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your face,” Sonjay repeated, leaning closer to get a better look at it. “All over your forehead and your eyes; it looks like -”
He broke off all of a sudden and started laughing hysterically. “Dude, you -”
Frowning, Chris swiped a hand over his forehead and then looked at it confused. Why the hell was his forehead sticky and -
“God damn it, 'Lex!” Chris slammed the door on Sonjay's laughing face and looked over at his smirking partner in exasperation. “What the fuck, asshole?”
“Hey, don't blame me,” Alex told him, standing up and stretching before he started rummaging through the bags on the floor. “Is this mine or yours?” He asked, holding up a faded t-shirt.
“Mine,” Chris answered, unsurprised when Alex shrugged and put it on anyway. “And what do you mean, 'don't blame you'? My face is covered in jizz and it's not your fault?”
“No, it's not,” Alex said absently, heading to the bathroom. “I was bored and you wouldn't wake up; you were practically asking for it.”
Chris debated walking over and smacking Alex in the back of the head, but he knew it would be useless; Alex would always do what he wanted, no matter what the consequences were or what people would think.
But why the hell was it always his face?