“I fucking hate you!”
“Yeah, but you fucking love to fuck me!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck me!”
“Oh god.”
“Yeah, yeah, do it!”
“Why the fuck should I make you come?”
“Because you want my ass again. You fucking know you do. Oh, fuck! Yeah!”
The bedsprings ceased their squeaking, the room quiet save for the panting of two men. John Cena recovered first, raising his head to glare at the gorgeous blonde laying beside him. “Get the fuck out.”
Edge smirked, stretching languidly and folding his arms behind his head. “Why? I’m comfortable.”
Cena almost snarled. “I want you the fuck out of my bed and the fuck out of my room!”
“Fuck me and throw me out, aye?” Edge chuckled. “What a man.”
“Fuck you,” John spat out.
“You already have done.” Edge ran a hand throw his glorious locks, raising his eyebrows at John. “Maybe you can do it again if I give you a bit, hmm?”
John groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t believe I did this,” he moaned.
“Uh huh.” Edge rolled his eyes. “Just like you couldn’t believe you did the shower last week, or the locker room on Tuesday, or the car yesterday morning. You can hate me all you want, I’m just too fucking hot for you to resist.”
John sighed, hating how true the words rang. He didn’t want to be associated with a man like Edge in any way, shape or form; unfortunately, his cock had other ideas. He got hard just from seeing Edge shirtless; hell, he got hard just from *thinking* about seeing Edge shirtless.
He had resisted all the locker room sluts. He had refused point blank any offered sexual favors. He had even maintained a strict “sex only after a minimum of three real dates” policy. And now, his body was rebelling. He was so hot for Edge that he had absolutely no control over it what-so-ever. That was why the shower had happened. And the locker room. And the car. And now, this. He was supposed to be fighting for the WWE title the next day, and all he could think about was fucking Edge’s tight ass one more time.
“You know what’s great,” Edge mused with a smirk, “After I beat you tomorrow, which I will because you can’t come within 20 feet of me without popping a boner, then I can count it as pity sex.” He laughed out loud, ignoring Cena’s glare. “Aw, lighten up, baby,” he cooed, trailing his fingers through his golden tresses. “You know that I feel a hell of a lot better wrapped around you than some belt.”
Cena almost whimpered, pulling the pillow out from beneath Edge’s head and covering his own face with it. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” he growled through the mass of cotton and feathers.
“Shut up and let’s fuck again.” Edge crawled on top of John, yanking the pillow away and mashing his lips against John’s. John kept his eyes closed, wishing he could push Edge away, but too addicted to the ripples of excitement that coursed through him as he returned Edge’s kiss.
It was then that the thought struck him; he wanted Edge inside him. Only he didn’t, because letting Edge inside him would be giving up too much power. Edge had too much control over him as it was, John wouldn’t give him any more. He quickly cast the thought away, rolling Edge onto his back and grabbing him by the hair, ravaging his mouth aggressively. He tried to forget who it was beneath him, focusing on the skin, the flesh, the heat.
He might have to give in to this passion, but he didn’t have to like
it.