He did not feel this way. HELL no! He was a man, a real man, and he did NOT get any goopy, soft, mushy feelings. He liked fucking, because that was manly. He did NOT like candlelight, love songs, or cuddling.

He had accepted a long time ago that he was attracted to men. He wasn't particularly happy about it, but it was his nature, and he wasn't going to fight it. It did have some advantages; men were more likely to be into fucking without any of the romantic crap, and so far he had gotten by without any of his sexual partners trying to push him into a sappy relationship.

But now? Now some part of him was going crazy. It had to be, for him to even be thinking about THAT man! The men he slept with were all real men; men who hated shopping, men who never cared what their hair looked like, men who wouldn't be caught dead wearing makeup! REAL men!

He was sitting on a bench backstage, his head in his hands. He took a deep breath, hoping it would clear his head. Being around *him* was driving him crazy! Their hardcore match earlier that evening had almost killed him; getting his hands on *him* almost put him through the roof. The finish had been the crown on it all; slamming Sylvan through the table, then laying on top of him for the three count...he KNEW Sylvan had felt his hard on, which was why he had bolted the second the bell rang. He would NOT let himself be attracted to prissy, makeup-wearing pussy boys!

He had fucked pussy boys before, and it never turned out well. Pussy boys just didn't get fucking for the sake of fucking. They thought there always had to be some "connection"; some "relationship" or "feeling" behind everything. Well, he didn't do relationships! He didn't do relationships, and he didn't do romance, and that wasn't going to change!

He was determined not to change, and that was why his attraction to Sylvan bothered him so much. He hated to let himself think about Sylvan, because when he did, he started thinking about...candles. And chocolate. And soft crappy love songs! He had stopped skipping the ballads on his favorite CDs. He had actually sung along in the car as the speakers crooned, "I want someone by my side. Someone to give me unconditional love..."

Thank god he traveled alone. But witnesses or no, he was damn embarassed of himself!

"Ah, Bobby!"

Hardcore Holly winced at the sound of that voice. That lilting, beautiful...no. NO! That annoying little tweeky accent, which he couldn't stand! Bracing himself, he raised his head, glaring at the French Canadian model before him. "What do you want, boy?" he growled.

Sylvan cocked his head, raising his eyebrows over his dark shades. "Tired, Bobby?" he questioned.

"No! I just got a bit of a headache!" Hardcore snapped.

Sylvan snorted. "YOU've got a headache?" he exclaimed. "Who went through the table tonight? Was it you?"

Hardcore just shrugged. His treacherous eyes were wandering over Sylvan's chest, which was glistening deliciously with sweat. Why the hell couldn't the man put on a shirt? Or pants, for that matter. He was still in nothing but his tiny ring trunks. His tight, exposing ring trunks, which wrapped so perfectly around his amazing muscular thighs.

Hardcore swallowed, knowing Sylvan must have noticed his ogling. He couldn't go on like this! He WANTED Sylvan...pussy boy or not, he wanted the man. Maybe, if he fucked him, all these other unwelcome feelings would go away. They were probably just a result of unfulfilled infatuation...yeah, that sounded good. Totally reasonable! Of course, getting Sylvan into bed might not be the easiest thing in the world. They hadn't been on particularly great terms lately, after all. But then, when he thought about it, most of the animosity had been on his part. Sylvan had actually been quite friendly to him.

"Sylvan, you, uh, you wanna get a beer?" Hardcore questioned. A few beers and some sex would be just what he needed to cure his crazy thoughts. He hadn't fucked anyone for a while, which was probably why his emotions were going all out of whack.

Sylvan smiled. "Thank you for the invitation, Bobby! I would love to. I have to go apply some moisturizers now, but I'll meet you after the show." He spun on his heel, and strutted away.

"Oh god." Hardcore leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking the deep breath. "What the hell am I doing?"



Two hours later, Hardcore was not regretting his invitation, namely because he had Sylvan pinned beneath him on the bedspread. Hands were going everywhere, touching everything, as much as was possible with them both still clothed. They had chatted over a few beers, sharing some inane conversation that Hardcore barely remembered. It had been easier than expected to get Sylvan back to his room and into his bed; now, however, came the hard part.

This was the point where pussy boys always shut him down. Just as the action was getting hot, they would pull away; demanding a date, demanding romance, demanding presents. He needed to fuck Sylvan so he could get the gorgeous model out of his system, and he didn't do dates, romance, and presents! He could only hope that, for once, a pussy boy would be reasonable, and just want to fuck.

"Mmm, Bobby." Sylvan pulled back from Hardcore a bit, and Hardcore felt his hopes plunging. Then...Sylvan was pulling off Hardcore's shirt, then his own, followed by both their pants. Hardcore almost drooled as he watched Sylvan pull off his last strip of clothing, a tiny black thong. Definitely unmanly, but damn hot.

"Bobby," Sylvan purred, gazing lustfully up into Hardcore's eyes. A condom seemed to appear in Hardcore's hand out of nowhere, and then Sylvan was dripping lube into his palm. "Fuck me!" Sylvan growled, his thighs brushing against Hardcore's hips.

Hardcore couldn't even remember the seconds that passed before he was inside Sylvan. Then he was drowning in the adrenaline of sex. He thrust into that hot body with vigor, grasping Sylvan's spread thighs, drilling into the man beneath him. And Sylvan was moaning, gasping, rocking up against him...it was all a frantic rush of pleasure and adrenaline, then...then he was lying on Sylvan's chest, panting.

A moment later, he was on the mattress beside Sylvan, still trying to calm his frantic breathing. He closed his eyes, his mind almost swimming. Being on top of Sylvan...being inside Sylvan...damn, was that amazing.

He HAD to do that again! Maybe not right now...well, maybe in a little while, but still, he wanted to be doing that tomorrow, and the day after, and next week! Just as a sex thing, of course. Because great sex didn't have to be anything more.

"Wanna get a beer again some time?" Hardcore questioned. He glanced at Sylvan, seeing that the model was smiling tiredly at him. He swallowed, afraid that his invitation might have been taken the wrong way. He had to clarify, before Sylvan started planning their wedding. "I'd like to buy you another beer some time, because you are one hot piece of ass, and I'd hate to miss another ride!"

He almost winced as the words left his mouth. Did he really just say something that rude, to a man who'd just given him the most fantastic sexual experience he'd had to years? Sylvan was such a beautiful, sensual creature; he'd probably slap him and walk out after hearing that.

"Sounds good, Bobby." Sylvan didn't seem phased in the least. He was ok with that? With Hardcore telling him that he was just a piece of ass? A fuck buddy? He blinked as Sylvan's gaze swept over him. "You going to be up for it again tonight?" Sylvan's lilting voice questioned. "Because I'm willing to wait up a bit. Otherwise, I'm going to sleep."

Hardcore swallowed, not sure if he could vouch for a second performance, not after the first one had been so spectacular. "Normally, I would be," he replied, "but after that tough match tonight, think I'll have to stick with one."

"Ok." Sylvan turned away from him, arranging a pillow under his head. He rolled half way onto his back, glancing back at Hardcore. "This side's mine, ok?" He indicated a line through the middle of the bed, then turned away again, closing his eyes and pulling the covers up over himself.

Hardcore just stared at the young model's back for a moment. No pleading for cuddling? Well, good. Because he didn't do cuddling anyway! He turned away from Sylvan, making himself comfortable on his side of the bed. He was glad Sylvan didn't want to cuddle. Cuddling was too intimate to be manly. And he didn't want any intimacy with Sylvan, anyway. He was just fine lying alone on his half of the bed. He was not disappointed. Not in the least.



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