A Sheamus Fanfic : Chapter 3 - "Dripping with Honey"
Chapter Title: “Dripping With Honey”
Author: Ingrid or "showmescars"
Rating: R to NC-17
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor
Pairing/Characters: "Sheamus" aka. Stephen Farrelly/”Eireann”
Word Count: 4,306
Warnings: Drinking/mentions of drug use, adult situations, adult language, nudity & lots of "teh secks"
Summary: On St. Patrick's Day in Daytona Beach, w/ her ex-boyfriend Sidney, who is looking for the “ideal” gal (a very tired Eireann stops at a pub to get away from the heat, where a small riot starts and the man of her dreams breaks it up while still taking care of her.
A/N: I do not own the characters in this. None of it is true, and I do not make money off of it. Although, I'd like to think that Sheamus owns me. Hell, Sheamus can do anything to me, you sexy thang, you.
Feedback: Always welcome... thanks! :)
“Mmm, sure I do, Stephen,” I looked deeply into his blue-green eyes, as he poured me another shot, each drop clunking one after another. All of a sudden, I heard my own stupid cell phone buzz from inside the pocket of my denim skirt, which got tossed to the floor, in a moment of heat.
“Argh! 'Scuse me for a second,” I shook my head, figuring it was just stupid Sidney.
“Yeah... Sidney?” I answered in frustration.
“I found a nice girl. She's my Nancy,” he prattled on, “She's staying here.”
“What is this? You have her right there listening, so you'd seem like you'd have a little power, or some shit?”
“Damn, right,” he answered in a way that'd satisfy him and indicate that he really was a sneaky little worm, just as I'd suspected.
I grabbed the shot glass, wobbling on one crutch out of the room, and onto the balcony, nude, as Sidney rattled on about some junkie who's staying in my apartment. I was pissed off, and taking the whiskey in the glass back, I grabbed my cigarettes from my purse. I had started up again once “Sid” had moved in, illegally with me. My apartment's strictly a one-person apartment. I slowly stepped out onto the balcony. No breeze. Still hotter than hell.
“So what you're saying is she's staying the night at my apartment, you slovenly fuck!?!”
“Uh... yeah,” he whispered back. I guess he's stepped away from this charming bitch.
“Unless she's out by tomorrow, and I will know, believe me, you will both be forced to leave. So get out fast, and it better happen really fucking fast!” I took a last puff and flicked the cigarette off the balcony, as I could no longer listen to Sid's bullshit.
“Or else, what?” I cannot believe that he actually had the gall to ask me.
“Fuck you, Sid. Keep her away from my shit! You better remember this: I find ONE SINGLE used needle on the floor and you'll be able to show your new girl how your ex can break your neck. Besides, did I say I know a very large and muscular reinforcement? 'Cause I do. Also, something you should remember is that I have two very large acquaintances, if you fuck with me.” I was just about to hang up, when Stephen kindly took the phone from me.
“Look, yeh lo-life! I am the Celtic Warrior and I got no qualms about hertin' yeh fer hertin' me lass, Eire. Yeh fuck up 'er home an' I won't hesitayte ta put either one of ya in the grave foster then yeh can say “Sid an' Nancy!”
I turned around to wobble back into Stephen's bedroom, and when I turned around, I saw the fiery-haired man standing a few feet from me. Walking over to me, he took my arms around his waist while sighing from sick exhaustion, he put his hands on my shoulders, and I began to breath heavily into his massive pectoral muscles. Anything to keep myself from crying. I was beyond stressed. Settling the both of us on the couch, Stephen began to gently run his giant fingers, one hand after another, through my reddish-brown hair, as I began to pull his self out of his boxer-briefs. The fact that his boxer-biefs were still sweaty slowed me down and when he stopped to pull me onto his lap, onto those thick, muscular, tree-trunk legs, he wouldn't let me get out of it through sex, fucking, or making love. It doesn't matter whatcha call it. He wanted to know what the problem was. Putting it back into the pouch, he sympathetically asked, “Now what's wrong, ye beautee?”
“My ex-boyfriend is crashing on my couch in my apartment. And he really loves to do drugs. Mostly cocaine & dope, ya know?” I sighed. I might've sounded merely frustrated, but I was more than fuming with anger. I had a safe under my bed that held many things that... well, if they got into the wrong person's hands, would be a definite problem for me.
“When ya say 'dope', whatcha mean, love? Smoaking et? ” He pulled me in close and put his arm behind my neck.
Leaning back on it, I took a deep breath, and then let it out, slowly, while the word escaped from my lips, “Heroin... he really likes to shoot it, you know, like, way up in there. I mean, sure I had done it before, too. But not more than a couple times when I was real young, y'know? When I was seventeen or eighteen!” I nuzzled myself in his chest.
“S'thar enythin' else that'cha gots ta worry 'bout?” he inquired, “I mean, this place whar yeh keep yer monay, er enythin' alse? Loike a gun?” he repeated, with a disappointed tone.
“Mmmhmm... oh yeah! Of course! It'd be way too easy if there's nothing I'd got to be worried 'bout! I have a gun in my safe, which isn't in the wall; it's on the floor under my bed. My mother's former white gold wedding ring, next month's rent is there, and the list goes on. And of course, I can't have Dopey and the Junkhead taking my Sheamus shirts! Is there any way that... nah, forget it.”
He snorted in amusement at the last comment. “Oh, ya poor thing. Tell me, an' then all mayke yeh feel much, muuuch better, yeh secksee thing.” He heaved me onto his lap from the white leather couch. “Now ya tell everythin' ta yer Dokter 'Sheamus',” he repeated himself with a sexy half-grit grin.
“Well, before I tell you about,” I leaned over to his ear, “what's throbbin' in my pants and that pesky g-spot,” I sighed deeply, “I'm afraid I might have a serious drinking problem. I heard you have some excellent and quite tasty shots. And it being Saint Paddy's day, I think I should be entitled to some more. What do you think?”
“Aye now, naught too many more shots, because of tha party tonoight,” he poured the both of us another shot of Old Bushmill's. We picked up the shot glasses, and poured the whiskey down our throats.
“That's not exactly what I had in mind, baby,” I batted my eyelashes at him and ran my hands through his spiked and messy hair. He was in dark-green boxer briefs that hugged his package tightly. “I know you have to leave soon, but this has always been a dream for me.”
“We have to leave soon,” he corrected me and I grinned just a bit.. I remembered when Sidney, told me that had I even met “Sheamus”, that the grappler wouldn't give a shit about me, and that Sid would not believe me for a second. I thought that Sid's gonna be in the surprise of his life, as I watched Stephen running his large hands up and down my arms. I turned my head away from his and tears began to form in the corners of my eyes, and I began to sniffle.
“Whasa matt'ur lowve? Why ye getting' upset so easily? Did yer ex-boyfriend give yeh shite? Did he give yeh shite 'bout me?” he demanded, gently, while the tiny corners of his thumbs wiped the tears off my eyes. I carefully took his left, injured hand and let it rub softly and smoothly across the pale skin of my own face. I kissed his stitches, and more the tears continued running.
“I'm so sorry, Stiofan,” I whimpered, in an Irish brogue, “that I made yeh get 'urt because of meh, ya know, at the bar.”
“Yeh sound so beautiful, lass. If yer embarassed to talk like this en fronta others, oi complateley oonderstand, but if yeh brings it out, I woot LOVE it so, so much! And...” he talked more in a whisper, “if yeh think ye herts me, er that'cha ment ta, Oi don't believe en such a theng, mi lass. Yer a good, lovin' creatcherr!”
“Ya? Well, then,” I faked an accent, “can oi please git me a shot, love?” I licked the tip of his penis, and sucked it into my mouth, like a straw.
And now he knew exactly what I meant by 'shots'. Sure, my leg was broken but once as I pried his large penis out the boxer-briefs, entirely, he pushed the coffee table away. His self was dripping with a sense of desperation. He pulled a soft pillow from the end of the couched he dropped it on the floor, and I got on my knees, quickly. Putting his arms around my shoulders, he held my arms out and felt my silky pale arms and how the muscles cut up my slim arms off his muscular bum. He stood up to get a better angle to watch, and I dug my nails into his backside, nibbling on his thighs, and he moaned in the knowledge about what was to come. I took it in deeper and deeper, and before I felt it touch the back of my throat, a sweet shot fired off, as if from a cannon, and he moaned and gave a hearty laugh in appreciation.
“S'that a shot, meh gerl?” Again he licked his lips, and oh, how I loved that!
“Thas' the one I wus lickin'... er, uh lookin for,” I faked an accent.
“Hmm... now es moi tern, lass!” he growled, lifting me up with ease, paying close attention to my injured leg. With my back on his monstrous legs and his come dripping down his legs, he put my legs over his shoulders, and played with my clitoris, two fingers, then three. I could barely catch my breath Putting his giant fingers in and out my cunt, jabbing, and licking, he laughs, “Ya taste goo-oo-ood lass. Ye wants some more, I can tell!” He repeated the process and I squealed out, yet again.
He growls and grunts licking up and down, “Mmm, mm, mmm, mmm. augh! Yer so tastey and ya take care yerself good. Let's say,” he looks up at the antique hall clock, “en twnentie ta tenty-foive menutes, we take care of this scum in yer apartment, and fer now, grrrah!” He flips me onto the couch, our naked bodies rubbing against each other. My mouth gasping for air, while I felt his hot breath on my neck, nibbling up and down until I had to pull his spiky hair off me.
Stephen's couch was an extra-large one; I'd seen some like it on Mtv for basketball players. I thought a moment how Shaq & his “roundball” friends could never beat Stephen & his friends in a game o' rugby. Or the fact that “Sheamus O'Shaunessey” could take out a basketball player and how he called that guest host, Ocho Cinco, “Ocho Dingo”. Which I thought of as what Stephen's nickname would be... a name that means “Eight Dicks”, which was certainly proving to be so, but then again, I didn't follow basketball much. Stephen was leaning back against the white leather couch, his head resting on one of his enormous hands. He was smiling, and let out a refreshed sigh. I laid down on the muscle of his upper-arm, and Stephen flexed it when his face came into the scope of my vision.
“So's ev'rythin' good between you ant awl the other grapplers? Backstage, Oi mean,” I sighed again, not knowing whether my accent was poor or not, and whether there's a need for it. Stephen had told me it turned him on when an Irish girl, born in America, talked with an Irish accent.
And there was no reason for me to keep him further turned on, as utterly exhausted I was at the time. Stephen lifted me, with great ease, while moving to the full pillow of the couch, and put me down gently on his chest. I allowed my one injured leg to hang off the couch.
“Lissen, loff. Thus es gentul, whech is not how oi am to anywon en the WWE, but that's okay. Thay doan't pay me ta be gentul. Vence McMan don't no nothin' bout this side o' me. I ain't no monstarr to ye, and ye bettur bulief I'd neverr raise a hond to yeh, let alone two. Me 'arts jus' not built thot way, ant any wommin's goat me mum ta thank fer that!” Craning his neck up, his eyes closed and his lips parted and I leaned down to plant a big kiss on him.
“Thass goot ta know Mr. O'Shaunessey,” I winked in his direction, “et's verrrrry goot ta know. How's yer injury?”
“From the bar err the ofternoon?” he asked.
“Well, both I guess.” He showed me the bloody hand from the fight, and I couldn't see his other.
“Meh hond is doin' pritteh good. And meh strained back ond neck ain't so bad. I tell McMan about a terrible injury every once en a while, so's I can come home. Even the moast patient mon can be eerretable to his mates after bein' on the roat too domn long, yeh know?”
“For real?” I gasped, whispering quietly.
“No, not really. It'd be noice ta take a vacation, but it's not loike that. I have to stay bock 'ere, cause I strained me baock, and 'cause I have a concushin. Not too bod, but I gotta deal wit' Maureen checkin' awn me so Oi don't get to dizzeh, yeh know? But so fahr the concushin is,” he grinned, “naught too bod et'tall!”
“Just let me know if I do something that hurts. And should you be drivin'?”
“Weeell, Maureen perferrs me not ta, but--”
“It seems to me that Maureen's a nice lady, who knows what she's talking about,” I interrupted.
“Do ya think yeh can deal wit two junk-heads without me?” he asked, leaning his head on his elbow, and holding me around my waist, on the gigantic couch with the other.
I sighed, looking at his antique clock, thinking of any illegal activity, and how nice Sid had been this morning, and what the influence of a drug-user could do to him, and said to Stephen, “I certainly could, but Sidney's not on my lease, and I have to deal with a possibly violent woman, too. So, I do appreciate it, very much.” I kissed his nose, and he went from serious back to a gentle, sweet giant. 'Really, I don't know why everyone's afraid or against him,' I thought to myself.
“Yeh wanta take a shower wit' meh lass? I'll help ye balance,” Stephen said, straight-faced.
“I definitely need to,” I replied, “but I also need a tall garbage bag and a loose rubber band, for my broken leg, and then I definitely need the help balancing!”
“No problem,” he waved his hand and shook his head, “and then we'll droive up ta yer apartmint to do whahtever yeh wanna do with the people who ain't even on yer lease.” He sat up and walked into the spacious kitchen, something that'd certainly been a beautiful sight. Aye, that's me lucky charm! I thought to myself of Stephen, and of Sidney and the junkies getting the surprise of they're lives once we showed up to the apartment duplex.
After I got the tall kitchen bag cut around the bottom, since my foot wasn't broken around my leg the tie around the top tightened, and the bottom rubber-banded, Stephen thought to rubber-band the top, because I'm certain he understood how it was to have a broken bone, especially being an Irish rugby player. “Now tha' oi thenk 'bout it, I had somethin' loike this when oi was playin' rugby. That'sa lotta broaken bones, when yeh play outside o' school, ye know? Aside from the lil' plasteck bag round yer leg, yeh look good 'nuff ta eat!” he bellowed on the part when he said, 'good enough to eat', then licked his lips and helped me into the two-door shower. It was completely transparent, and I thought of naughty things because the back was completely gone. As in a-no closed-in shower.
Though I was COMPLETELY exhausted, I made the effort to turning around, as I stood in font of him in the shower with water droplets flowing down our bodies, feeling almost in slow-motion he put his head down to allow me to wrap my pale arms around his torso and kiss him. It seemed almost surreal, as if my little exhausted body could take a bit more sexual tension, and it came in the form of a long, passionate kiss. I leaned my head back just a little, as he put his ginormous hands up above the shower and to the sides, leaving no passage for me to escape. As the drops seemed to fall slower, I rubbed my hands gently up and down his torso and chest. My lips were around his, licking his teeth and dancing about his tongue, pushing hard back and fourth between each other, almost like two fighters in the ring that was our lips presssed together. As he gave in, we pulled our mouths apart and my lips sucked on his, and pulled apart. I loved that sucking in-and-out noise when kissing someone. After our kiss and the water rushing over our heads, Stephen carefully turned me around and grabbed a giant horse-hair exfoliating brush and began to scrub my back, quite gently, actually.
“That a'roight witcha?” he yelled above the noise of the water.
“S'alroight. Yeh can put a lil' more muscle en et, if ye wont ta!” I yelled back, as he brushed a little harder, and I could feel my back easing up. Of course my muscles weren't too tense from the intercourse, but my arms and legs had been tense from the morning trudging up Main Street and then from the craziness that went down at O'Malley's. Thank goodness that we only walked away from the brawl with minor injuries.
He turned toward me, handing me the brush, “Can yeh get meh bock? Put as much muscle en it, as ye can. Jus' don't leave red marks on me back. Thas fer tonoight,” he laughed, a hearty laugh, and smacked my bottom with the wooden brush as he was handing it to me. Six-foot six-inches may not seem as much, but when you're almost a foot shorter, you feel as if you're painting a wall with lots of lumps and bums. Sexy ones, but nonetheless. “Yer gonna kill me, love! I think oi'm done now.” Did he just call me 'love'? I thought to myself, then tried to brush it off like nothing. Nonetheless it stuck in my head for a long while. I washed my hair and conditioned. It was nice to have a man with spiky hair with conditioner in his shower. When we finished, I DID tend to look at him from his toes up, before he tossed a terrycloth towel 'round his waist. He gave me a fresh towel as well, and I could see that he was happy watching me dry off, too. “Lass, I envy yer pale skin. Er, how con oi sound tactful with thus?”
“Don't worry about it! And by the way, should I keep on with the accent? I don't want everyone lookin' at me date tonoight.”
“Roight then. Continue to tawk American acksent, or tawk loike an Irish-American woman, my lil' Eire. Oi jus' loikes it, me gerl. Remoids me o' home. Et's not a 24-houer hard-on, if tat's whatcha mean! And fer the sake of naught bein' tactful, yer breasts look beautiful. I like those piersins in 'em, too!”
“Darlin' ye ain't the only one! Um, my feet are dry. Only me hair needs to be droid,” I said, adding another towel around her reddish-brown hair to go explore the complex. I went back to the living room, where the gigantic stereo BOSE system, with a television I hadn't even noticed. It was the size of a small movie screen. And there sat a Playstation 3, with a large collection of videogames, and since there was a PS3, that meant it could also play Blu-Ray DVDs near three humungous bean-bag chairs. I wandered into the smaller kitchen and saw that the sun was setting, and it had reached evening. I opened the refigerator door and saw the protein shakes, plus the whey and bananas used to make your own, since I knew he drank a protein shake every morning. I wandered back into his bedroom where I noticed a very big, long bed with light sheets, another TV popping out of the bed, and a heavier blanket in the corner, for those cold Florida nights.
He also had two gold belts from the WWE framed in glass on the wall. I guess he either had more female guests than I thought before, or he wanted to focus on his third WWE Championship belt. All in all a very nice apartment, and I told him so. I also told him that it was getting toward dusk and that we should go back to my apartment, fix up Sidney & Nancy, the new girl. Then I'd pack a new bag from there, since he'd told me he wanted me around all week, and ne'er near the junkies. Change into some nightclub wear, and get more drinks and watch the fireworks on the beach with two of my friends, and two of his.
I enjoyed standing on a step-stool, drying his ginger-red hair. He obviously needed no help in drying mine, as he stood a foot and then some over me. There was certainly more of my curly hair than his, but he managed, as I pulled the hair over in front of my face. Since I wanted “Sid and Nancy” to realize it WAS most certainly him, I styled his hair as I'd done similar to mine when I had some liberty spikes. My hair was much MUCH shorter then. I don't know if I got it to his satisfaction but he did say how much he appreciated it. “Me lass, ye certainly styled me hair much, much faster than the one that does me hair before I grease up ferr the foights. Oi can put'ten a good werd for ya, eff yeh'd loike.”
“Wow... um, Oi dunno wha' ta say, Stephen! Um, Oi know thar's no guarantee fer it, but Oi'd luff it, ef Oi could do that! I've done a lot of stylin' of me hair, me frend's hair, and stranger's hair. When ya go back, ye can take the pectures of me stoilyn' hair, as portfolio, ef that'd help?!?”
“Aye! That'd definitely help!” he exclaimed and I smiled widely.
We both dressed ourselves, and while getting ready to go to drive back to my apartment, I had something important to explain to Stephen, “Now, Stephen. I want ya ta put on the thickest shoes ye gawt. And frem wha' I felt outsoide, et'd be goot fer yeh ta puh'ton a noice sleeveluss shert. I know oi won't tawk yeh inta wearin' no shorts, but...
“Mostlay 'cause I dun't 'ave too many pairs...”
“Yeh got'ta few comfy pairs? Because et'ds so disgustin' outsoide roight ehw! 'Bout eighty-foive with nerrlay 100% humititee! Some thick soled bouts'd be goot, s'long as yeh've gonna put on some shorts.”
“Awroight,” he finally gave in, “but yeh've gotta help meh put on sunscreen. Besoides, yeh shoult wear it, too, Lass,” he finally agreed to wearing some basketball or shorts (which were hardly considered shorts, but I don't wanna be responsible for giving the most pale man in the WWE his first tan, or worse yet, a burn), and though they'd be very long on me, Stephen also lent me a shorter pair to get to his apartment. I got the lil' parts of my legs where even the shorts didn't cover. I buttoned my shirt but left it mostly open with a sports bra showing, and Stephen was very glad to help me cover my arms and the little part of my chest that the sports bra didn't cover. He had helped me into my orthopedic shoe, then helping me to his SUV, and just as I liked, he'd aided me, by carrying me into the Cadillac. By now, I think he knew how sexy it felt for me.
Chapter 1 - Green Beer
Chapter 2 - Mercy
Author: Ingrid or "showmescars"
Rating: R to NC-17
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor
Pairing/Characters: "Sheamus" aka. Stephen Farrelly/”Eireann”
Word Count: 4,306
Warnings: Drinking/mentions of drug use, adult situations, adult language, nudity & lots of "teh secks"
Summary: On St. Patrick's Day in Daytona Beach, w/ her ex-boyfriend Sidney, who is looking for the “ideal” gal (a very tired Eireann stops at a pub to get away from the heat, where a small riot starts and the man of her dreams breaks it up while still taking care of her.
A/N: I do not own the characters in this. None of it is true, and I do not make money off of it. Although, I'd like to think that Sheamus owns me. Hell, Sheamus can do anything to me, you sexy thang, you.
Feedback: Always welcome... thanks! :)
“Mmm, sure I do, Stephen,” I looked deeply into his blue-green eyes, as he poured me another shot, each drop clunking one after another. All of a sudden, I heard my own stupid cell phone buzz from inside the pocket of my denim skirt, which got tossed to the floor, in a moment of heat.
“Argh! 'Scuse me for a second,” I shook my head, figuring it was just stupid Sidney.
“Yeah... Sidney?” I answered in frustration.
“I found a nice girl. She's my Nancy,” he prattled on, “She's staying here.”
“What is this? You have her right there listening, so you'd seem like you'd have a little power, or some shit?”
“Damn, right,” he answered in a way that'd satisfy him and indicate that he really was a sneaky little worm, just as I'd suspected.
I grabbed the shot glass, wobbling on one crutch out of the room, and onto the balcony, nude, as Sidney rattled on about some junkie who's staying in my apartment. I was pissed off, and taking the whiskey in the glass back, I grabbed my cigarettes from my purse. I had started up again once “Sid” had moved in, illegally with me. My apartment's strictly a one-person apartment. I slowly stepped out onto the balcony. No breeze. Still hotter than hell.
“So what you're saying is she's staying the night at my apartment, you slovenly fuck!?!”
“Uh... yeah,” he whispered back. I guess he's stepped away from this charming bitch.
“Unless she's out by tomorrow, and I will know, believe me, you will both be forced to leave. So get out fast, and it better happen really fucking fast!” I took a last puff and flicked the cigarette off the balcony, as I could no longer listen to Sid's bullshit.
“Or else, what?” I cannot believe that he actually had the gall to ask me.
“Fuck you, Sid. Keep her away from my shit! You better remember this: I find ONE SINGLE used needle on the floor and you'll be able to show your new girl how your ex can break your neck. Besides, did I say I know a very large and muscular reinforcement? 'Cause I do. Also, something you should remember is that I have two very large acquaintances, if you fuck with me.” I was just about to hang up, when Stephen kindly took the phone from me.
“Look, yeh lo-life! I am the Celtic Warrior and I got no qualms about hertin' yeh fer hertin' me lass, Eire. Yeh fuck up 'er home an' I won't hesitayte ta put either one of ya in the grave foster then yeh can say “Sid an' Nancy!”
I turned around to wobble back into Stephen's bedroom, and when I turned around, I saw the fiery-haired man standing a few feet from me. Walking over to me, he took my arms around his waist while sighing from sick exhaustion, he put his hands on my shoulders, and I began to breath heavily into his massive pectoral muscles. Anything to keep myself from crying. I was beyond stressed. Settling the both of us on the couch, Stephen began to gently run his giant fingers, one hand after another, through my reddish-brown hair, as I began to pull his self out of his boxer-briefs. The fact that his boxer-biefs were still sweaty slowed me down and when he stopped to pull me onto his lap, onto those thick, muscular, tree-trunk legs, he wouldn't let me get out of it through sex, fucking, or making love. It doesn't matter whatcha call it. He wanted to know what the problem was. Putting it back into the pouch, he sympathetically asked, “Now what's wrong, ye beautee?”
“My ex-boyfriend is crashing on my couch in my apartment. And he really loves to do drugs. Mostly cocaine & dope, ya know?” I sighed. I might've sounded merely frustrated, but I was more than fuming with anger. I had a safe under my bed that held many things that... well, if they got into the wrong person's hands, would be a definite problem for me.
“When ya say 'dope', whatcha mean, love? Smoaking et? ” He pulled me in close and put his arm behind my neck.
Leaning back on it, I took a deep breath, and then let it out, slowly, while the word escaped from my lips, “Heroin... he really likes to shoot it, you know, like, way up in there. I mean, sure I had done it before, too. But not more than a couple times when I was real young, y'know? When I was seventeen or eighteen!” I nuzzled myself in his chest.
“S'thar enythin' else that'cha gots ta worry 'bout?” he inquired, “I mean, this place whar yeh keep yer monay, er enythin' alse? Loike a gun?” he repeated, with a disappointed tone.
“Mmmhmm... oh yeah! Of course! It'd be way too easy if there's nothing I'd got to be worried 'bout! I have a gun in my safe, which isn't in the wall; it's on the floor under my bed. My mother's former white gold wedding ring, next month's rent is there, and the list goes on. And of course, I can't have Dopey and the Junkhead taking my Sheamus shirts! Is there any way that... nah, forget it.”
He snorted in amusement at the last comment. “Oh, ya poor thing. Tell me, an' then all mayke yeh feel much, muuuch better, yeh secksee thing.” He heaved me onto his lap from the white leather couch. “Now ya tell everythin' ta yer Dokter 'Sheamus',” he repeated himself with a sexy half-grit grin.
“Well, before I tell you about,” I leaned over to his ear, “what's throbbin' in my pants and that pesky g-spot,” I sighed deeply, “I'm afraid I might have a serious drinking problem. I heard you have some excellent and quite tasty shots. And it being Saint Paddy's day, I think I should be entitled to some more. What do you think?”
“Aye now, naught too many more shots, because of tha party tonoight,” he poured the both of us another shot of Old Bushmill's. We picked up the shot glasses, and poured the whiskey down our throats.
“That's not exactly what I had in mind, baby,” I batted my eyelashes at him and ran my hands through his spiked and messy hair. He was in dark-green boxer briefs that hugged his package tightly. “I know you have to leave soon, but this has always been a dream for me.”
“We have to leave soon,” he corrected me and I grinned just a bit.. I remembered when Sidney, told me that had I even met “Sheamus”, that the grappler wouldn't give a shit about me, and that Sid would not believe me for a second. I thought that Sid's gonna be in the surprise of his life, as I watched Stephen running his large hands up and down my arms. I turned my head away from his and tears began to form in the corners of my eyes, and I began to sniffle.
“Whasa matt'ur lowve? Why ye getting' upset so easily? Did yer ex-boyfriend give yeh shite? Did he give yeh shite 'bout me?” he demanded, gently, while the tiny corners of his thumbs wiped the tears off my eyes. I carefully took his left, injured hand and let it rub softly and smoothly across the pale skin of my own face. I kissed his stitches, and more the tears continued running.
“I'm so sorry, Stiofan,” I whimpered, in an Irish brogue, “that I made yeh get 'urt because of meh, ya know, at the bar.”
“Yeh sound so beautiful, lass. If yer embarassed to talk like this en fronta others, oi complateley oonderstand, but if yeh brings it out, I woot LOVE it so, so much! And...” he talked more in a whisper, “if yeh think ye herts me, er that'cha ment ta, Oi don't believe en such a theng, mi lass. Yer a good, lovin' creatcherr!”
“Ya? Well, then,” I faked an accent, “can oi please git me a shot, love?” I licked the tip of his penis, and sucked it into my mouth, like a straw.
And now he knew exactly what I meant by 'shots'. Sure, my leg was broken but once as I pried his large penis out the boxer-briefs, entirely, he pushed the coffee table away. His self was dripping with a sense of desperation. He pulled a soft pillow from the end of the couched he dropped it on the floor, and I got on my knees, quickly. Putting his arms around my shoulders, he held my arms out and felt my silky pale arms and how the muscles cut up my slim arms off his muscular bum. He stood up to get a better angle to watch, and I dug my nails into his backside, nibbling on his thighs, and he moaned in the knowledge about what was to come. I took it in deeper and deeper, and before I felt it touch the back of my throat, a sweet shot fired off, as if from a cannon, and he moaned and gave a hearty laugh in appreciation.
“S'that a shot, meh gerl?” Again he licked his lips, and oh, how I loved that!
“Thas' the one I wus lickin'... er, uh lookin for,” I faked an accent.
“Hmm... now es moi tern, lass!” he growled, lifting me up with ease, paying close attention to my injured leg. With my back on his monstrous legs and his come dripping down his legs, he put my legs over his shoulders, and played with my clitoris, two fingers, then three. I could barely catch my breath Putting his giant fingers in and out my cunt, jabbing, and licking, he laughs, “Ya taste goo-oo-ood lass. Ye wants some more, I can tell!” He repeated the process and I squealed out, yet again.
He growls and grunts licking up and down, “Mmm, mm, mmm, mmm. augh! Yer so tastey and ya take care yerself good. Let's say,” he looks up at the antique hall clock, “en twnentie ta tenty-foive menutes, we take care of this scum in yer apartment, and fer now, grrrah!” He flips me onto the couch, our naked bodies rubbing against each other. My mouth gasping for air, while I felt his hot breath on my neck, nibbling up and down until I had to pull his spiky hair off me.
Stephen's couch was an extra-large one; I'd seen some like it on Mtv for basketball players. I thought a moment how Shaq & his “roundball” friends could never beat Stephen & his friends in a game o' rugby. Or the fact that “Sheamus O'Shaunessey” could take out a basketball player and how he called that guest host, Ocho Cinco, “Ocho Dingo”. Which I thought of as what Stephen's nickname would be... a name that means “Eight Dicks”, which was certainly proving to be so, but then again, I didn't follow basketball much. Stephen was leaning back against the white leather couch, his head resting on one of his enormous hands. He was smiling, and let out a refreshed sigh. I laid down on the muscle of his upper-arm, and Stephen flexed it when his face came into the scope of my vision.
“So's ev'rythin' good between you ant awl the other grapplers? Backstage, Oi mean,” I sighed again, not knowing whether my accent was poor or not, and whether there's a need for it. Stephen had told me it turned him on when an Irish girl, born in America, talked with an Irish accent.
And there was no reason for me to keep him further turned on, as utterly exhausted I was at the time. Stephen lifted me, with great ease, while moving to the full pillow of the couch, and put me down gently on his chest. I allowed my one injured leg to hang off the couch.
“Lissen, loff. Thus es gentul, whech is not how oi am to anywon en the WWE, but that's okay. Thay doan't pay me ta be gentul. Vence McMan don't no nothin' bout this side o' me. I ain't no monstarr to ye, and ye bettur bulief I'd neverr raise a hond to yeh, let alone two. Me 'arts jus' not built thot way, ant any wommin's goat me mum ta thank fer that!” Craning his neck up, his eyes closed and his lips parted and I leaned down to plant a big kiss on him.
“Thass goot ta know Mr. O'Shaunessey,” I winked in his direction, “et's verrrrry goot ta know. How's yer injury?”
“From the bar err the ofternoon?” he asked.
“Well, both I guess.” He showed me the bloody hand from the fight, and I couldn't see his other.
“Meh hond is doin' pritteh good. And meh strained back ond neck ain't so bad. I tell McMan about a terrible injury every once en a while, so's I can come home. Even the moast patient mon can be eerretable to his mates after bein' on the roat too domn long, yeh know?”
“For real?” I gasped, whispering quietly.
“No, not really. It'd be noice ta take a vacation, but it's not loike that. I have to stay bock 'ere, cause I strained me baock, and 'cause I have a concushin. Not too bod, but I gotta deal wit' Maureen checkin' awn me so Oi don't get to dizzeh, yeh know? But so fahr the concushin is,” he grinned, “naught too bod et'tall!”
“Just let me know if I do something that hurts. And should you be drivin'?”
“Weeell, Maureen perferrs me not ta, but--”
“It seems to me that Maureen's a nice lady, who knows what she's talking about,” I interrupted.
“Do ya think yeh can deal wit two junk-heads without me?” he asked, leaning his head on his elbow, and holding me around my waist, on the gigantic couch with the other.
I sighed, looking at his antique clock, thinking of any illegal activity, and how nice Sid had been this morning, and what the influence of a drug-user could do to him, and said to Stephen, “I certainly could, but Sidney's not on my lease, and I have to deal with a possibly violent woman, too. So, I do appreciate it, very much.” I kissed his nose, and he went from serious back to a gentle, sweet giant. 'Really, I don't know why everyone's afraid or against him,' I thought to myself.
“Yeh wanta take a shower wit' meh lass? I'll help ye balance,” Stephen said, straight-faced.
“I definitely need to,” I replied, “but I also need a tall garbage bag and a loose rubber band, for my broken leg, and then I definitely need the help balancing!”
“No problem,” he waved his hand and shook his head, “and then we'll droive up ta yer apartmint to do whahtever yeh wanna do with the people who ain't even on yer lease.” He sat up and walked into the spacious kitchen, something that'd certainly been a beautiful sight. Aye, that's me lucky charm! I thought to myself of Stephen, and of Sidney and the junkies getting the surprise of they're lives once we showed up to the apartment duplex.
After I got the tall kitchen bag cut around the bottom, since my foot wasn't broken around my leg the tie around the top tightened, and the bottom rubber-banded, Stephen thought to rubber-band the top, because I'm certain he understood how it was to have a broken bone, especially being an Irish rugby player. “Now tha' oi thenk 'bout it, I had somethin' loike this when oi was playin' rugby. That'sa lotta broaken bones, when yeh play outside o' school, ye know? Aside from the lil' plasteck bag round yer leg, yeh look good 'nuff ta eat!” he bellowed on the part when he said, 'good enough to eat', then licked his lips and helped me into the two-door shower. It was completely transparent, and I thought of naughty things because the back was completely gone. As in a-no closed-in shower.
Though I was COMPLETELY exhausted, I made the effort to turning around, as I stood in font of him in the shower with water droplets flowing down our bodies, feeling almost in slow-motion he put his head down to allow me to wrap my pale arms around his torso and kiss him. It seemed almost surreal, as if my little exhausted body could take a bit more sexual tension, and it came in the form of a long, passionate kiss. I leaned my head back just a little, as he put his ginormous hands up above the shower and to the sides, leaving no passage for me to escape. As the drops seemed to fall slower, I rubbed my hands gently up and down his torso and chest. My lips were around his, licking his teeth and dancing about his tongue, pushing hard back and fourth between each other, almost like two fighters in the ring that was our lips presssed together. As he gave in, we pulled our mouths apart and my lips sucked on his, and pulled apart. I loved that sucking in-and-out noise when kissing someone. After our kiss and the water rushing over our heads, Stephen carefully turned me around and grabbed a giant horse-hair exfoliating brush and began to scrub my back, quite gently, actually.
“That a'roight witcha?” he yelled above the noise of the water.
“S'alroight. Yeh can put a lil' more muscle en et, if ye wont ta!” I yelled back, as he brushed a little harder, and I could feel my back easing up. Of course my muscles weren't too tense from the intercourse, but my arms and legs had been tense from the morning trudging up Main Street and then from the craziness that went down at O'Malley's. Thank goodness that we only walked away from the brawl with minor injuries.
He turned toward me, handing me the brush, “Can yeh get meh bock? Put as much muscle en it, as ye can. Jus' don't leave red marks on me back. Thas fer tonoight,” he laughed, a hearty laugh, and smacked my bottom with the wooden brush as he was handing it to me. Six-foot six-inches may not seem as much, but when you're almost a foot shorter, you feel as if you're painting a wall with lots of lumps and bums. Sexy ones, but nonetheless. “Yer gonna kill me, love! I think oi'm done now.” Did he just call me 'love'? I thought to myself, then tried to brush it off like nothing. Nonetheless it stuck in my head for a long while. I washed my hair and conditioned. It was nice to have a man with spiky hair with conditioner in his shower. When we finished, I DID tend to look at him from his toes up, before he tossed a terrycloth towel 'round his waist. He gave me a fresh towel as well, and I could see that he was happy watching me dry off, too. “Lass, I envy yer pale skin. Er, how con oi sound tactful with thus?”
“Don't worry about it! And by the way, should I keep on with the accent? I don't want everyone lookin' at me date tonoight.”
“Roight then. Continue to tawk American acksent, or tawk loike an Irish-American woman, my lil' Eire. Oi jus' loikes it, me gerl. Remoids me o' home. Et's not a 24-houer hard-on, if tat's whatcha mean! And fer the sake of naught bein' tactful, yer breasts look beautiful. I like those piersins in 'em, too!”
“Darlin' ye ain't the only one! Um, my feet are dry. Only me hair needs to be droid,” I said, adding another towel around her reddish-brown hair to go explore the complex. I went back to the living room, where the gigantic stereo BOSE system, with a television I hadn't even noticed. It was the size of a small movie screen. And there sat a Playstation 3, with a large collection of videogames, and since there was a PS3, that meant it could also play Blu-Ray DVDs near three humungous bean-bag chairs. I wandered into the smaller kitchen and saw that the sun was setting, and it had reached evening. I opened the refigerator door and saw the protein shakes, plus the whey and bananas used to make your own, since I knew he drank a protein shake every morning. I wandered back into his bedroom where I noticed a very big, long bed with light sheets, another TV popping out of the bed, and a heavier blanket in the corner, for those cold Florida nights.
He also had two gold belts from the WWE framed in glass on the wall. I guess he either had more female guests than I thought before, or he wanted to focus on his third WWE Championship belt. All in all a very nice apartment, and I told him so. I also told him that it was getting toward dusk and that we should go back to my apartment, fix up Sidney & Nancy, the new girl. Then I'd pack a new bag from there, since he'd told me he wanted me around all week, and ne'er near the junkies. Change into some nightclub wear, and get more drinks and watch the fireworks on the beach with two of my friends, and two of his.
I enjoyed standing on a step-stool, drying his ginger-red hair. He obviously needed no help in drying mine, as he stood a foot and then some over me. There was certainly more of my curly hair than his, but he managed, as I pulled the hair over in front of my face. Since I wanted “Sid and Nancy” to realize it WAS most certainly him, I styled his hair as I'd done similar to mine when I had some liberty spikes. My hair was much MUCH shorter then. I don't know if I got it to his satisfaction but he did say how much he appreciated it. “Me lass, ye certainly styled me hair much, much faster than the one that does me hair before I grease up ferr the foights. Oi can put'ten a good werd for ya, eff yeh'd loike.”
“Wow... um, Oi dunno wha' ta say, Stephen! Um, Oi know thar's no guarantee fer it, but Oi'd luff it, ef Oi could do that! I've done a lot of stylin' of me hair, me frend's hair, and stranger's hair. When ya go back, ye can take the pectures of me stoilyn' hair, as portfolio, ef that'd help?!?”
“Aye! That'd definitely help!” he exclaimed and I smiled widely.
We both dressed ourselves, and while getting ready to go to drive back to my apartment, I had something important to explain to Stephen, “Now, Stephen. I want ya ta put on the thickest shoes ye gawt. And frem wha' I felt outsoide, et'd be goot fer yeh ta puh'ton a noice sleeveluss shert. I know oi won't tawk yeh inta wearin' no shorts, but...
“Mostlay 'cause I dun't 'ave too many pairs...”
“Yeh got'ta few comfy pairs? Because et'ds so disgustin' outsoide roight ehw! 'Bout eighty-foive with nerrlay 100% humititee! Some thick soled bouts'd be goot, s'long as yeh've gonna put on some shorts.”
“Awroight,” he finally gave in, “but yeh've gotta help meh put on sunscreen. Besoides, yeh shoult wear it, too, Lass,” he finally agreed to wearing some basketball or shorts (which were hardly considered shorts, but I don't wanna be responsible for giving the most pale man in the WWE his first tan, or worse yet, a burn), and though they'd be very long on me, Stephen also lent me a shorter pair to get to his apartment. I got the lil' parts of my legs where even the shorts didn't cover. I buttoned my shirt but left it mostly open with a sports bra showing, and Stephen was very glad to help me cover my arms and the little part of my chest that the sports bra didn't cover. He had helped me into my orthopedic shoe, then helping me to his SUV, and just as I liked, he'd aided me, by carrying me into the Cadillac. By now, I think he knew how sexy it felt for me.
Chapter 1 - Green Beer
Chapter 2 - Mercy