Fic: Crave Part 3.
Grabbing a can of soda from the machine I walk towards the meeting area when a door slams open behind me. Tensing instinctively I swing around to be overwhelmed by a dozen insane monsters.
“Stone Cold….Austin help…Mr. Cold… Mr. Austin… Stone Cold…they’re gonna kill us…”
Several young voices all begin to babble at me at once. It’s sort of a family day back stage at Raw this week, so all the wives and husbands of the talent and crew have turned up with infants in tow to visit Daddy’s or Mommy’s work. From 3 to 15 I’m surrounded by miniature versions of the people I spend most of my waking hours with.
“Now shush the he…ah..heck up kids. What the…blazes…are ya yammerin’ about?” I yell over the bedlam.
“They’re gonna kill us…” Young Cameron Michaels begins to explain but is then interrupted by the same loud slam of a door being flung open as before.
Oh sweet Lord. The star of most of my fantasies Chris Jericho is leading a posse of the Boyos in pursuit of the children. Each wrestler is wearing some kind of plastic helmet and waving foot long toy swords at me. Jericho has a one horned Viking helmet perched neatly on his golden locks. He comes to within’ five feet of me then stops. He looks like Thor. The Kids pull behind me in a bundle of giggles and shushes.
“Greetings noble warrior. We are hunting a tribe of Orcs that must be Slayed most violently and it seems they Cower Cravenly behind your jeans. Hand them over to the King’s Mighty Warriors.” Chris declares with a completely straight face. I can actually hear the capitals in that statement.
“We’re not orcs,” Emily Corden yells. “We’re HOBBITS.”
Jericho sneers, “An orcish trick no doubt. We know orcs when we see them, don’t we men?”
A rousing yell of support from the Boyos makes the kids squeak and giggle even more.
“We’re HOBBITS,” the children chorus.
“No your not.” Jericho counters.
“Yes we are.” The kids chant back.
“No your not.”
“I’m an orc,” David Francetti offers smugly.
All eyes turn to the ten year old. David looks back defiantly. “I wanna be an orc. Orcs‘re cool.”
Jericho adjusts the helmet which had fallen into his eyes. “There see? They admit it. ORCS!!” he yells brandishing his pale green plastic sword. It swishes dangerously close to my nose. I can see the twinkle in those glorious blue eyes. Little tease.
“Stand aside Lord Austin, the Orcs must be slain.” Randy commands. He seems to have stolen Scott Steiner’s chain mail head gear from somewhere.
“Now fella’s ya seem to be makin’ an error here. These little mites are not Orcs..”
“I am.” Francetti junior interrupts.
“..’cept for that one.” I correct myself. “They’re Hobbits and I can prove it to ya.”
“How?” Jericho asks suspiciously.
“Look at they’re feet. Hobbits have hairy feet. Orc’s don’t.” I point out reasonably.
The Mighty Warriors look down to examine the kids’ feet. Someone, Jericho I bet, has stuck cotton balls to the tops of the tiny feet with what looks like exercise tape. It’s totally unconvincing and very cute.
With a grin Chris meets my gaze again. “Indeed it seems we were mistaken in our attempt at slaughter noble sir. These Hobbits are no threat to the king…yes except for the lone orc in their midst thank you David…thus we will pursue other more foul foes.” With a disappointed rumble the Boyos begin to lower their weapons. The same door slams open to reveal the rest of the Evolution group with Nash and Michaels in tow. For a split second no-one moves then I see an unholy light enter Jericho’s eyes and..
“Orukkai! Giant orcs! They must be slain,” he yells at the top of his lungs.
With a delighted roar the Boyos and the Hobbits plus one Orc join forces to take down the monsters.
Hands up in a cowardly show of neutrality I move down the corridor, grinning at Shawn’s attempts to remove his son from Nash’s leg. Decent set o’ teeth that kid.
The battle moves further back through the doorway. Damn! Little girls squeal loud. I notice some kind of change in direction in the pack as most of the Hobbits tear off down a different hallway. Eight year old Dannielle Roberts barrels up to me.
“Mr. Austin you gotta come with us to ass..assau…attack Sauron’s Fortress. Please, please...’
I put up a hand to quiet the pigtailed terrors pleas.
“Sauron’s what?” I question.
“Sauron’s Fortress. Chris said it’s the most well protected place in the arena.” So he’s Chris and I’m Mr. Austin huh?
Well protected… oh you little...
“Come on.” I snatch the minx into a bear hug and run through the arena as fast as my crippled legs will allow. I’m too late. Already the Mighty Warriors, the Orukkai and the Hobbits plus one Orc are pounding their plastic swords again the door to the Women’s Locker Room.
“Come out, Evil Villains.” Jericho calls.
“Come out Mommy, you’re Evil,” a high pitched voice joins in.
Chris nearly kills himself at that one but remains in character enough to pound on the door again. The handle turns. In a breathless silence we all watch the door swing inwards to reveal Linda McMahon CEO of Titan Entertainment. Beyond her stand the Divas and wives of most of the employees of Raw.
A muffled “Ooops,” echoes in the corridor.
Faced with Linda’s frosty face Jericho, naturally, keeps pushing.
“Do you surrender the Fortress of Doom Gatekeeper?” he demands.
With a sweep of deep hazel eyes Linda takes in her employees dressed as knights, the weapons and the children.
“Why is Ashaya painted green?” She asks nicely.
All eyes turn to the little girl. I recognize Rico’s sparkly make-up adorning her coffee coloured cheeks and bare arms.
“I’m Golum.” Ashaya declares proudly.
Giggles from the Hobbits while the Mighty Warrior’s begin to shift nervously in their helmets.
“I see.” The most powerful women, no person, in our organization lets her gaze rest on the kids cottons stuck feet. A flicker in that unreadable gaze. She turns back to the other occupants of the room. All the gal’s are grinning like monkeys at us idiots. With a nod Linda returns her eyes to us.
“You’re forces are too much Sir Christopher of Jericho. Sauron’s..ah..” she raises a enquiring eyebrow.
“Fortress of Doom.” Maven supplies helpfully.
“Sauron’s Fortress of Doom will surrender.” Linda finishes.
With a roar of approval the kids begin to clap and cheer as their mothers wrangle them into a less sugar-high mode.
I relinquish Danielle to her father, grinning like an idiot at Jericho’s warmth towards the children. He’s being attacked by two tots about the age of four and six. Lifting one up by the ankles he swings the boy high in the air before catching him with ease.
“The cotton balls from the trainer’s room?” I tense a little at Linda’s question. Not about to turn in the lust of my life I smile charmingly.
“Yeah I guess so. Keeps ‘em out of Mom’s way while ya all gossip and such,” I explain. “That was really sportin’ Linda.” I decide compliments are the best bet here.
Not taken in an inch. Linda smiles back at me. “I do have grandchildren Austin.” With that she glides serenely down the corridor to her office.
Jericho approaches me, eyes on Linda’s retreating back.
“Problem?” he enquires, concern lacing his suddenly calm voice.
At the tone a happy little tickle runs the length of my spine. “Nah,” I let my eyes rest on that perfect profile and wish for the millionth time I had permission to run my hands across his skin. “Linda’s a doll when ya’ get to know her.”
“I bet.” The laughter is back in full force. The helmet is slightly crooked. Without thinking I reach out to adjust it, trailing my fingertips down the spun-gold hair.
What the fuck did I just do?
I hear Jericho’s breath hiss from his lungs at the contact. He moves a fraction closer.
Sapphire eyes lock with mine. Time literally fuckin’ stops for a second as I loose myself in Chris’s gaze.
“Austin I…” Chris’ words are lost as a high shriek cuts into our ears. Goddammit no!
“Mommmmyyy Noooooooo. I don’t wannaaaa…” the overtired wail continues.
The moment is lost and the ice has returned to Jericho.
“See you out there.” He pulls the Viking helmet off. The playful, fantastic beauty is gone, before me stands a sharp, professional performer.
“’kay.” I agree, inwardly cursing the children, vowing never to have any of the little monsters.
I watch Chris walk through the throng towards his dressing room.
What the fuck was he gonna say?
******
We all knew it was coming. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to know of Jericho’s history with Goldberg. He left WCW mainly because the bookers wouldn’t set a PPV resolution to the Jericho/Goldberg feud. So why does Chris hate Goldberg so much? Well, we all found out.
It was a typical post Raw locker room, Dwayne and I were talking about his idea for a Rock concert, and he’s an even worse guitar player than me. Chris was chatting to Maven by the lockers while the Boyo was icing his wrenched knee and everyone was generally chilling out after our matches. It was Shane McMahon’s voice that alerted us to what was about to happen.
“….and this is the main locker area that most of the guys use, although in most arenas you’ll get your own dressing room like the other top card talent.”
Then they came in through the open door. He’s bigger than I remember, gotta couple inches on me and built like a Mack truck. Shane introduces Goldberg to a couple of guys, Paul and Flair shake his hand like old buddies, while the rest of the room notices the change in atmosphere near the lockers. If I thought the temperature dropped in McMahon’s office, it was fucking zero in here now. Jericho was still casually leaning against one knee while his foot rested on the bench where Maven sat, but it was Maven who kept flicking glances to Goldberg while talking uneasily to Chris. Unfortunately Goldberg chose that moment to look away from Flair and let his eyes travel over the rest of us present. When he spotted Jericho I felt my neck itch at the smile that grew on his face. Practically snubbing Flair he made a beeline across the room to the lockers. I began to move and I could feel Dwayne doing the same when we saw Goldberg’s eyes travel from Chris’ booted feet over those fitted leather pants and shiny shirt to the blond hair and beautiful averted face. He got about three feet away when Jericho turned his head to acknowledge his approach.
“Looking typically fuckable as always Angel, wanna go somewhere quiet and talk?”
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
The absolute silence that followed Goldberg’s words was broken only by the thump of Chris’ foot hitting the floor. I could only imagine the cold rage in those amazing blue eyes.
“No.”
Jericho made to step past Goldberg, so the moron grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“C’mon Angel, be nice…”
Goldberg never finished his sentence as in a blur of motion Jericho twisted the bigger man’s hand out of the grip and bent Bill’s fingers back at an unnatural angle. With a grunt Goldberg went for Chris’ throat but missed and in three neat moves was taken to the ground in a front face-lock applied by man several inches smaller than him.
I acted on instinct; get Chris out of danger, which, seeming as he was in control of the situation was damn stupid, really. But I wrapped my arms around his waist to lift him away from Goldberg. For an instant he resisted then released the hold and let me pull him a couple of feet back to the lockers. He began to break my grip then stilled, almost relaxing into me, no longer trying to escape my arms. I was becoming distracted by messages from my groin about it’s closeness to Chris vinyl wrapped ass, so I forced myself away from burying my face in his abundant hair and focused on Goldberg.
Hefting himself to his feet, Goldberg shrugged off Shane and Paul, his gaze returning to the man now standing quite docile in my embrace.
“Awww, Angel…”
He never took a step. Bill Goldberg found himself facing a wall of several hard-muscled bodies.
The Boyos.
“Back off!”
Hell, Randy was pissed. All the Boyos were glaring daggers at the WWE’s newest recruit. Goldberg inspected each young man then grinned back at Chris and me.
“C’mon Bill. The Divas want to say hi.” Shane pulled at the bigger man’s arm. Goldberg allowed himself to be led away, but not before licking his lips as he smirked at Jericho.
There was a tense silence in the locker room.
“Asshole.” I think it was Chuck who spoke. Everyone slowly began to shake off the fight, commenting in hushed voices on Goldberg’s behavior.
The instant Bill and Shane left I released my hold on Jericho’s waist, despite my bodies lustful pleas. Dwayne, who’d put himself in front of us with his back to Bill, to catch Chris if he got free of me, adjusted his sunglasses and cleared his throat.
“You ok?” he asked Jericho.
“Wonderful.” I guess his sarcasm could be forgiven considering.
“Well, we gotta tell Vince if he’s all weird on you like that.” It was Maven who spoke for the group of Boyos hovering near Chris.
“No. Vince knows and doesn’t care, he needs Goldberg. I can deal with this. Forget it happened.” With that Chris stalked out, wrestlers parting like the red sea as the blonde moved out the door.
“Fuck me. What the hell was that?” Christian asked as he approached us.
“That was a damn sight more than not working an angle.” I said.
“Do you think he ever….”? Maven asked quietly, going pale.
“No.” I was confident. “Goldberg would be a cripple if he tried to overpower Chris.”
“This is not going to be an easy ride.” Dwayne commented.
“Oh yeah, bastard’s gonna fit right in.” HBK sneered from across the room. “He’s already made such a good impression.”
Damn. Looks like things are gonna get ugly.