Fic: Crave Part 2.
Chris Jericho drives me fuckin’ insane. I want him so badly, but he’s such a nasty little bastard, and he’s not even slightly interested in me. Or anyone else for that matter. Plenty have tried to melt the frozen blond, but none have succeeded yet.
The only time the ice breaks is with the young guys. I dunno what happened to Jericho when he was just starting out, but the only soft spot he has is for the newbies. Maven, Nowiski, Jindrak, Orton, Cade, Jeff Hardy, even Helms is one of his little crowd. He’s always patient with them, as kind as you can be in this business. He watches out for them, coaches em, and gives em tips on how to improve. He’s not a shoulder to cry on, but Jericho never turned away a forlorn wannabe who knocks on his hotel door at 2am. Don’t sneer. He’s never laid a finger on em. And no-one else better if they wanna keep said finger. They trust him in a world were they could be used and abused in a second.
‘Cos of all this, he’s hero-worshiped by these kids, they flock around him like bees to honey. Asking questions, showing new ring attire, talking about music or just trying to show off in front of him. It’s kinda cute really. All us old men watch and grin at these young turks, stretching their wings and feeling their oats. We call them the Boyos, cos not one of them is over 25.
********
Relaxing with a beer, I let my eyes wander the darkened bar. Most of the locker room had come with us to this little dive not far from the hotel and are generally lounging at the bar or playing pool with the locals. We hadn’t caused much of a stir, ‘cept I was getting free beer all night, as it was kinda tough to impress these patrons. Chris climbed a stool next to mine and ordered a whiskey, grabbing a handful of peanuts. I was surprised, where were the Boyos? Glancing around I saw the kids in various bunches sitting at booths. I’m amazed they let Jericho out of their sight sometimes.
“Good show,” I comment quietly.
“Chicago’s always good.” Chris takes a mouthful of his drink and swallows it neat. Impressive.
“Yeah, but no-one really fucked-up, no-one got hurt and the booking was dead on.”
“For a change.” Chris grins at me. Damn, he should do that more often.
“So you taking any time off soon?” I ask steadily. Come away with me on dirty weekend.
“Maybe in a month or so, depending on what Vince wants to do with me after Backlash.”
“Yeah, that’s when he’s got me back in full-time.” I’ll do you after Backlash Darlin’.
“You’ve been gone too long.” I’m pleased at the compliment and start to feel hot. He flicks a look around the room and I realize it’s not the Boyos who are watching over Chris tonight, it’s the other way round.
“Think this co-general manager arc’s gonna work?” I ask trying not to be obvious as I shift on the bar stool to relieve the pressure in the front of my jeans.
“Actually yes. If Bischoff doesn’t cut his own throat with Vince, you’ll work well off him. It’ll be fun. We’re talking about having me get under your skin and vice versa.” Jericho’s eyes flick more rapidly around the bar and he turns fully on the stool. Skin to skin, yes please.
‘What is it?” I ask.
“Where’s Jeff?” Chris slips to his feet just as Christian comes up to us.
“Hardy’s in the men’s room with some guy. I can’t get in.” He looks worried.
Chris makes a beeline for the long corridor leading to the toilets, Christian and I one-step behind him.
Leaning against the wall next to the men’s room door, a young man moves into our path.
“Take a piss outside Fella’s. Slut’s got himself a couple a clients, might make a hundred.”
My fist in his gut causes him to curl up on the floor coughing and spluttering.
Chris didn’t even pause, trying the metal handle once, before throwing his shoulder against the tough steel door. I wince as Jericho tries a second time to force the lock. Reaching out to wrench a piece of metal wire off a nearby beer sign, Chris turns hard blue eyes on Christian who jumps, then dives back into the main bar.
“Glenn!!”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” Stunned I watch as Jericho bends the piece of wire in half and feeds it into the lock.
“You never know what you’ll learn in a crappy apartment in Japan.” Chris stares into my eyes as his fingers try to pick the lock. Seconds pass.
“Scoot outta the way Chris.” Glenn commands as he approaches. Christian in tow.
Leaving the lock, Jericho and I move aside as Glenn throws three hundred plus pounds against the door. Hinges begin to bend. A second shoulder is all that’s needed to force the lock. I tackle the son of a bitch on his knees forcing himself into Jeff on the floor. I see Jericho launch a vicious kick into the face of the guy holding Jeff’s shoulders down, probably breaking the asshole’s jaw. I pummel the bastard beneath me, eventually climbing to my feet and booting him hard in the ribs till he’s rolling and spitting blood onto the filthy floor.
I turn back to see Glenn with his foot on the other guy’s chest, but it looks like Chris’ kick knocked him out. Jericho has pulled up Jeff’s pants, re-buckled his belt and now kneels with Jeff’s head in his lap, leaning over him curtaining their faces with his long hair. Jeff’s curled on his side, arms wrapped around Chris’ waist, his chest shuddering with his sobs as Jericho speaks softly to him.
Catching Glenn’s eye, I nod to the man under his boot. He grins yanking the semi-conscious rapist to his feet, dragging him out the now ruined door. Christian moves to one side to let the big man pass and asks nervously,
“What should I do?”
Jericho looks up from Jeff’s distraught face.
“Two thugs tried to beat up Jeff to prove wrestling’s fake. He’s got cracked ribs, but that’s all that happened Christian, do you understand?” Chris’s voice was still quiet and calm.
“Yeah, OK.” Christian nods and heads back into the bar. I look at the piece of shit now moaning near my feet. I really want to get Chris and Jeff out of here.
“Where should we go?” I ask. “Hospital? Police?”
“Nooo,” Jeff’s voice is desperate.
“The hotel, my room. Jeff was sharing with Christian, he’ll manage.” Jericho gently helps the youngest Hardy to his feet, slipping an arm around his middle when the kid nearly blacks out. I latch onto his other arm and we slowly walk him out of the bar via the rear exit so the other Boyos don’t see us.
*******
Chris gets Jeff showered and into the bed while I grab the pillows and blankets from my room. I settle onto the couch listening to the quite murmuring from the bed. When Chris comes over I offer him the beer I got from the bar fridge. He accepts it sitting on the couch.
“How bad?” I don’t really want to know, but I ask anyway.
“He’s torn, but I don’t think he needs stitches. The bleeding’s stopped and I’ve given him painkillers.” Jericho takes a long drink. I can’t help but stare at the golden curve of his throat.
“Why was he in that men’s room?” Thinking of what happened to Jeff easily dampens my desire.
“Because he’s a romantic fucking idiot who thinks he’ll meet his soul mate in a bar in Chicago. He let the guy pick him up at the pool table and they were going to make-out in the hallway, till Romeo invited a friend to join in.” Chris’ words are all the harsher by being spoken in a whisper.
“Damn.” I shake my head at the youngest Hardy’s cluelessness.
“In a word.”
The beer helps a bit. Still doesn’t unclench the knot in my gut from the fight, but my shoulders aren’t made of iron now. Eventually we resume our conversation from the bar. Several more raids of the bar fridge and I’m becoming nice and blurry round the edges. Chris is relaxing a little as well, though I could set my watch by the regular checks he does on the occupant of the room’s bed. There is no ice in him when it comes to the Boyos.
*******
“Your sleepin’ on the couch Chris and don’t open ya fuckin’ mouth ‘cos I’ll shut it for ya, now go to sleep. Ya gotta take care of yourself as well ya know.” I slur down at the smaller blonde.
“My mother is in Canada, Austin and she’s a better bully than you. Lie down.” God he can be a pain in the ass.
“Bet she’s beautiful.” What! I didn’t say that did I?
“More muscles that Randy, now sleep Redneck or I’ll drug your beer.”
“Bossy little thing, ‘night Darlin.” No, no, no, no.
“Goodnight Sweety-Pie.” But I can hear the amusement in that sexy voice.
At least there wasn’t any ice.
*******
I wake up slowly as always and realize I’m uncomfortably crammed onto the couch. Fuck. I remember having a semi-drunken argument with Jericho as to who sleeps on the couch at about 3am. I didn’t call him Darlin’ did I?
Opening my eyes I look around the room, wiping away a crate of sand from my lids. Chris is asleep in the only other chair, feet curled up under the remaining blanket, tousled blonde head resting on a folded pillow wedged against the wall. I stand up, amazed at the difference when he’s asleep. No attitude, no hardness and most importantly, no ice. Jesus, he looks younger than the Boyos. I realize I’m not the only one enjoying the view as Jeff’s awake. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes on Jericho, an unreadable expression on his bruised face.
Carefully I edge over to the bed, trying not to freak Jeff out.
“How ya feelin’ son?” Stupid question Austin.
He shrugs, whispering, “Pretty awful I guess.”
Gingerly I sit on the bed but he doesn’t seem worried by my nearness.
“He saved me didn’t he?” Jeff’s eyes have never left the sleeping man in the chair.
“Yep. He noticed you were missin’ and Christian was worried so we got Glenn and….”
“When I heard his voice I knew it would be over soon, so I stopped struggling.” Jeff turns his gaze to me and I see the tears in his eyes and something else. Something I recognized because I see it in the mirror most days. The craving. For Chris.
“Aww kid. Shit.” I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t have to because Jeff was crying again, this time in my arms, head buried against my chest. “Yeah kid, just let it out.” Since when did I become Mr. Sensitive? Who knows, but after what Jeff went through I’d have to be Mr. Asshole to refuse the comfort he so desperately needed.
“Jeff?” Jericho had woken up at the kid’s muffled sobs. Sliding to his feet, looking sexily rumpled by sleep, he eyes us with concern and heads over to his luggage.
“I’m calling Matt.” Retrieving his cell phone from a bag.
“No!” Jeff’s head shoots around.
“Yes. He’ll come and get you. You need to be with him right now.”
“No, I can’t tell him. I’m such a fuck-up.” Jeff moans.
“He’s fully aware of that Jeff. But he’s your brother and he will help you.” Chris is firm.
“I’ve got to wrestle tomorrow.” The kid tries one last tactic.
“Chance in hell, Hardy. Now get changed and we’ll get some breakfast.” The blonde orders as he dials Matt Hardy’s number.
“Okay.” Jeff crawls to the bathroom to shower again, while I pick up the extra bedding from last night.
“I’m gonna shower in my room, then I gotta plane to catch Chris. Ya’ll be alright with him?” I ask when the Canadian hangs up from his call. I hate my schedule sometimes.
Jericho nods.
“Fine. Matt will be here at midday, and then I’ve got a flight. So I’ll see you on Friday?” he looks up at me with those sapphire eyes and I’m lost. I have been for a while.
“Yeah, Friday. Take care of the kid.” I walk into the hallway.
“Thanks Austin.” Jericho leans against the doorframe as I head out.
“No problem, wish I’d done more though.” I call over my shoulder.
“You did enough…..Darlin’.” Chris grins at my stunned stare, and then closes the door.
******