Apex Predator (Part II) - Devil in Disguise
Author: Rkowhore79
Title: Apex Predator (Part II) - Devil in Disguise
Pairing: Centon
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Just a small part this time with an excerpt from Part III at the end
Disclaimer: Completely fiction, unfortunately. Every word comes from some sick and twisted voice inside of my head.
Word Count: 1, 832
*Author’s Note: Song lyrics from Cowboy Casanova by Carrie Underwood
Apex Predator (Part II)
(Devil in Disguise)
“He’s the devil in disguise, a snake with blue eyes, and he only comes out at night; gives you feelings that you don’t wanna fight. You better run for your life.”
Let them all cheer for their new champion for I cannot wait to hear their screams of fear and repulsion when they all witness first hand what it is that I am really capable of. ‘It’s going to be one for the record books, Vince, that’s for sure,’ I mutter to myself. I leave the arena with a slight spring in my step, the ditzy divas long since forgotten, and my “smile” turned all the way up.
I was going to leave them all with my real “Legacy” burned into their brains for years to come because when I was through with John Cena, they were all going to wish that they couldn’t “see him”.
***
“Are these yours?” Cena asked. I glanced over at the proffered socks dangling between his stubby thumb and forefinger and shook my head.
“Nah, don’t think so. They must belong to your other boyfriend.”
John smirked. “Must be,” he went along, tossing the socks back into the top drawer and slamming it shut. “You know the guys just can’t get enough of John Ceeena,” he drawled, running his hands over his broad, naked chest and winking. I gritted my teeth and curled a lip towards him.
“That’s the rumor,” I smirked, throwing his duffel bag into the large, walk-in closet where it landed on top of mine; my little bitch had a lot of laundry to do tomorrow. It was late; RAW had been in St. Louis tonight and I had gone straight back to my place after the show, dragging my pissy mood along behind me. John arrived about an hour later, always the fan pleaser; he even let them pose with the belt for fuck’s sake. That was fine, though, it gave me the time I needed to do….other things. I had already gotten the room in order and ready for his arrival and was itching to get him down there; but yet here he was, laughing about socks and who the hell knows what else.
“Just leave all that shit for tomorrow,” I griped, closing my eyes briefly in an attempt to control my anger. John looked up, a confused look in his eye for a second; a second that is until he saw the look in mine.
“Al-riiight,” he said slowly, backing away from the dresser where he was currently returning about a whole perfume counter’s worth of various colognes to their spots. “Just let me-“
“Now, John,” I commanded in that voice. He didn’t need to be told again, and like an obedient child he stopped digging around in his travel bag and set it down on the bed; the rest of its contents would have to wait to be put away.
“What a night, huh Randy?” John grinned knowing that I was not in the mood tonight for his crap but that wasn’t going to stop him from baiting me anyway. “It’s good to be champ again, ya know? It just feels…right. I was born to wear this belt, I was born to be adored by thousands, if not millions, of people around the world, and I was born to be a champion.” He inched his way closer to where I was standing in the doorway, my tattooed arms folded across my bare, bronzed, chest. John’s hands rested lightly on his hips, his still jean clad thighs pressing up against mine “Dontcha think?” He could see the slight flicker of anger that flashed briefly across my face but then just as quickly it disappeared and the stoic expression once again took up residence.
“What I think,” I breathed, lowering my head slowly down towards John’s until our foreheads were touching, “Is that you were born to be my bitch; that’s what I think.” My hot breath ghosted across John’s nose, the moisture bringing droplets of sweat to its surface, my words inducing chills down his body at the same time. “I also think that you might have forgotten that one little detail but don’t worry, I’m going to remind you of it tonight. Maybe you’ve forgotten your role in this relationship, John, and that’s okay, these things happen; just as long as you’re quick to remember. Because if you’re not? Well, then….I’m sure I can figure out a way or two to jog your memory. I also think that you might be letting all this champ business,” I gestured to the belt, “go to your head and I can’t have that.” I dragged my index finger down the side of John’s face, the blunt nail emphasizing my point, until I reached his chin. Grasping it roughly in one hand I jerked John’s head up so that our eyes locked. “Understand?”
John shook his head up and down as best he could, his baby blues widened in surprise. “Yeah,” he choked out.
“Good,” I muttered, letting go of John’s chin and reaching up to trace the faint scratch my nail had made on his cheek. “I’m glad we agree on something. Now go take a quick shower and meet me downstairs. Oh and John? Don’t forget to cover yourself in this when you get out.” I picked up a value sized bottle of Jergen’s cocoa butter body lotion from the dresser and tossed it John’s way. He caught it easily and nodded.
“Yes, Randy,” he acquiesced turning on his heel and heading to the master bathroom. I sighed heavily; this champ business was definitely a problem but it wasn’t one that I didn’t already have a solution to. I glanced at the clock; 1:30 a.m. already and we hadn’t even gotten started yet. It was okay, though, we had the whole rest of the night to play, and I’d take all of tomorrow if I had to as well; neither of us had to be anywhere, there weren’t any signings or house shows going on so we had the day to ourselves. Perfect. I heard the water turn on and soon after sounds of washing wafted out into the bedroom. I knew he’d only be about five minutes so I took that time to admire myself in the mirror. I do that a lot, stare in the mirror; I can’t help it, I’m more than a little gay for myself but who could blame me really? I stood in front of the full length mirror on my side of the bed and looked myself over from head to toe.
My hair was buzzed short, really close to my scalp, and I ran my right hand over it; starting at my forehead, I slowly made my way back to my neck, the sharp bristles of my hair pricking my palm. I did the same thing with my left hand, loving the feel of it against my skin. My piercing blue eyes penetrated my image in the mirror as I visually made love to myself, dragging both of my hands down my chest, over my taut abs, until I reached my fully erect cock. The thin cotton of my boxers did nothing to restrain it as I hooked my thumbs in the waist band and slowly slid the material from my body, inch by painstakingly slow inch. I gyrated my hips, grinding against my reflection, as I kicked out of the underwear. My long, tanned legs glistened under the bright light I had installed over the mirror and I flexed the bulging muscle in my left quad. I worked hard on these legs, sweating and grunting every other day in the gym to get them just right; to get them perfectly sculpted, and it paid off. Nobody got out of my scissor hold, once I had these boa constrictor-like legs around your body it was over for you. You might as well just tap because there was no way in Hell you were getting out of my grip.
My dick bobbed in the air as I moved my legs around, wanting to see them from every angle. Chris Masters could suck it; I was a true masterpiece. A viper, coiled and at the ready. A superbly intelligent individual; I reigned supreme. A devil in disguise; I walked among you. Fans loved to hate me, they loved to boo, and curse, and ridicule me but that’s only because they feared me. Fear is a four-letter word that they know all too well. Ahh, the fans; they’re like a bunch of mangy, beaten, stray cats; they can tell when somebody is evil or no good, they can sense it, and yet they keep coming back to get beaten again because their hunger is too great.
Their hunger for me.
I heard the water shut off and John curse as a loud crashing sound erupted from the bathroom. The big, clumsy oaf; he was always dropping something and this time it sounded like he had just dropped himself. I shook my head and flipped the mirror light off before I left the room. One more bruise to add to the ones I had yet to inflict on him tonight wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Two minutes, John!” I commanded over my shoulder as I exited the bedroom and made my way down the hall, his muffled reply fading behind me. A light in the hallway flickered unsteadily; I narrowed my eyes at the problem and made a mental note to tell John to replace the bulb tomorrow. My bare feet padded down the plush carpet until I reached my destination on my right.
It was just an ordinary door, nothing out of the ordinary, especially nothing to indicate any of the shocking behaviors that went on behind it. I strived for normal; a normal job, a normal house, a normal life, even a normal door; to hide my not so normal tendencies. I reached up to the thin chain that adorned my neck and fondled the single key that hung from it; the key to my salvation. This key freed me; freed me from the constant pressure and stress that “normal” thrust upon me on a daily basis. This was the key to my true self, the one that the world would soon be witness to as I dragged John Cena’s goody-two-shoes ass into the light of infamy along with me.
I let out my breath in a slow “hisssss” as I inserted the key into the lock and slowly turned it. It was like deflowering a woman each and every time my key breached that hole. I heard the definitive “click” as the lock popped open and she released herself to me; ready for me to enter and to spill all of my secrets to her.
Secrets; a secret key to a secret room to a secret life.
Welcome to the real home of the Apex Predator. I hope you enjoy your stay.
***
*Excerpt from Part III*
We are all destined for Hell, one way or another; human beings are the most imperfect souls around so it’d be highly egotistical of us to think otherwise. I’m aware of this fact; hell, I embrace it. I let my imperfections guide me down a path of fulfillment, pride, and accomplishment. Granted, the things that fulfill me and that give me those senses of pride and accomplishment are not the same for the other half of society; the half that lives behind a cloak of “goodness” and “righteousness”. Fuck that. I’ve got far better things to do with my time than to attempt being “good”. The world is lucky enough that I hide behind an appearance of “normal”. Oh, they are well aware of how bad I am, just not of how bad I can be.
A minor inconsistency that I have no problem showing them the difference between.