on rotation

After last call always found them in their usual spot: hip to hip on a hotel bed.

Not quite hip to hip. Shawn was on his back, Marty half leaning over him, head in his hand on a pillow, the other hand a couple of fingers deep inside Shawn in a steady rhythm.

Shawn was cute like this. Cute always—that's what those girls in the front rows were always telling him—but like this, face flushed, pupils blown, little drunken slur telling Marty what he thought of the card that night.

"And then that Beefcake bullshit." Shawn rolled his eyes. "Only in the main event against Savage 'cuz he's sucking Hogan's dick."

Marty hummed, pensive and understanding as a shrink. Shawn had divulged this conspiracy to him before.

He wasn't finished. "And don't get me started on him."

Shawn didn't have a particularly high opinion of most talent on the roster, and Marty got to hear about it during their nightly debriefs.

"Whose dick you sucking, baby? 'Sides mine."

"I don't need to suck dick. I just do it 'cuz I like to."

Marty dug his fingers in, the way he knew Shawn liked. Shawn was supposed to be giving him a handy, but he'd been dropping Marty's cock to talk with his hands. And, well, Marty was looking to get to the main event himself.

Shawn hissed. "'M trying to give you my review. You're interrupting."

"You're right. Rude of me." Marty stopped. Shawn whined.

"You can keep doing it." Shawn slid his hips down an inch to meet Marty's knuckles. "Jus' don't be so distracting."

Marty got back to it. Slowly.

"What about our match? Match of the night?"

They'd wrestled the Hart Foundation. Just a short one, for TV.

"Yeah, it was okay." He paused. "But—" Shawn looked off in the distance. Marty stopped his fingers and gave him a minute to work up a couple of tears. "Marty, I hope you won't be angry."

Jack always made him a little weepy.

"What happened?"

"Bret, he—"

Marty looked down to school his smile.

"He touched me. During the match."

Marty put on a frown and looked back up at him. "Touched you?"

Shawn looked scandalized, face flushed, tears making new paths down his cheeks when he craned his head to meet Marty's eyes. "Grabbed me, more like. I'm surprised you didn't see it." He sobbed. "Oh, Marty. It was awful!"

Shawn grabbed a spare pillow for his face and Marty was sure even he was covering a laugh. Even still, he adjusted his hips on the mattress, signal enough for Marty to get back to work.

"Sounds like I need to have a word with Bret Hart."

Shawn hiccuped. A nice touch. "What are you gonna do to 'im?"

Marty lifted up on his hands to position himself over Shawn, then slid home in one thrust.

And Marty told him, into his ear, into his neck. How he was going to defend his honor and avenge that no-good Bret Hart.

Shawn arched under him, wrapped a knee around Marty's hip.

He shot between their stomachs at one of Marty's more devious ideas, and Marty finished not long after. Then they were tucking themselves into bed, ready for justice the next day.

--

Marty invited Bret to meet them at their rental after the show the next night, all friendly-like. Marty sat behind the wheel and Shawn sat in the backseat, head in his hands. Bret walked up, duffel on his shoulder like an absolute goober.

Marty gave him a once over as he settled into the car. "Brought his bag. Thinks he's staying the night," he said to Shawn in the rear view, but Shawn's head was still down, playing the part.

Bret looked around, then stopped dead when he caught sight of Shawn in the mirror.

Marty pursed his lips. "Heard a little rumor about something you did last night."

"A little rumor?"

"You wanna tell us why you did it?"

"I really don't—" Bret looked around again, though there wasn't much to look around at in a sedan, other than Marty's best disapproving look and Shawn's ducked head. "Did I hurt him?"

Marty nodded. "In a way. He's right there, you can ask him yourself."

"Shawn, did I—"

Shawn cut him off with a sob. They might as well have been doing this in the middle of the ring. This was one for the back rows.

Bret looked back to Marty. "Wrestling is so—"

"Hands on?"

"Yes. Yes." Bret looked relieved, almost.

"Funny you should say that."

Bret's hands clenched and unclenched on the strap of his duffel, still in his lap. Marty didn't think he'd ever seen him so nervous. Or nervous at all.

It was making him a little hard.

"Don't play dumb, Hart. You know what you did."

Bret angled himself in his seat to address both of them now, looking back and forth between them. Desperate.

Marty readjusted in his seat.

"Listen. I didn't mean to—"

"Cut the bullshit, Hart. Why don't you just go ahead and apologize to Shawn?"

Bret frowned, set his face, opened and closed his mouth a few times. He looked like he was going to put up a fight. Then he shifted in his seat to face Shawn.

"Shawn, I really don't know—"

"That's no way to start an apology."

"Shawn, I'm sorry, but—"

A good start, but he was rushing in that excuse at the end.

"I think you should get in the back seat and make your apology."

Bret gave him a quick 'are you serious' type of look. Marty didn't care for the attitude, but Bret dropped it then opened the door to slide into the back with Shawn.

Marty watched in the mirror as Bret angled himself to face Shawn, now head in hand and leaning against the window.

"Shawn, listen—" Bret started.

Marty cleared his throat. "With what you did, I think you're gonna need to make a better apology."

Marty could tell he was starting to get a little riled up. That short temper he liked to pretend he didn't have. "A better apology? You haven't even let me finish a sentence yet."

"A different apology." Marty turned to face him now and nodded his head toward Shawn's lap.

Bret had the audacity to laugh. Probably the first time Marty had seen him do that, too, but it didn't turn him on. "You can't be serious."

"It's only fair—ain't that right, Shawnie?" Marty had to hide his smile when he noticed Shawn had repositioned his body toward Bret's.

"Only fair? What the fuck did I even do?"

"Door's right there," Marty said. "But I heard you've been a little more open minded lately."

Marty watched the gears turn in Bret's head.

"But I can lock 'em if you want." Marty jabbed a finger into the button at the driver's side door, the click louder than ever.

But Bret wasn't listening.

"You told him?" He was talking to Shawn again now.

"Of course," Marty said. "He tells me everything. He had some notes about your performance, though."

Marty didn't spend a whole lot of time talking to Bret, so he didn't really know what his deal was. But he did know Bret was kind of fucked up, so he had to talk his big game first and pretend like he didn't want to suck Shawn off.

That was fine. Marty didn't have any place to be.

Bret took a deep breath and reached for Shawn's jeans. Already hard, if Marty knew anything about him. Well, that was probably true for both of 'em.

Marty adjusted the mirror. Shawn knew what Marty was after, so he'd scooted to the middle seat. Bret had his head down, not doing anything but just looking. Shawn's hand had moved from covering tears to bracing for a migraine, never one for patience.

Bret lowered his head finally, and Marty watched Shawn's mouth go slack even from just the little bit Marty knew Bret must've been giving him. He knew he'd been fiending for this since last night when Marty dropped his plan.

Marty eased into drive and rolled out of their parking spot while they got their acts together in the back seat.

Bret lifted his head. "Where are we headed?"

"You're gonna do it, aren't you?" Marty said to him in the mirror. "You want a buncha perverts watching you?"

Bret watched the highway roll by for a second, then went back down. Marty watched him bob a couple of times.

Then Shawn snorted.

Bret pulled away immediately. Marty watched Shawn pull up his shirt to wipe his face, and Bret watch Shawn do it.

"Sorry, Marty." Shawn swallowed another laugh. "I couldn't—"

"All right," Bret started and grabbed for the door. "Fuck this. Let me out."

"You sure, Hart? Light's about to change."

Marty watched Bret's face in the mirror. The way he froze when he realized they were in traffic now—not a lot, it was close to midnight on a weeknight, after all, but enough that someone could have seen what he was getting up to in the backseat.

Bret took his hand off the door handle. Marty knew he was full of shit, but he wasn't prepared for him to turn back around and shove Shawn over onto his side. Well, he hadn't planned for it yet.

"Up."

"Hey—"

Marty pushed the mirror down a little more to watch Bret pull down Shawn's pants then start on his own fly.

Shawn laughed again—mouth wide open, like he was shocked—until Marty hit the gas and Shawn lost his balance on his knees and smacked the window.

But Hart couldn't quite get more than a tip in before they were in the hotel parking lot and Shawn was slamming the door open to run up to their room, pulling up his jeans on the way. Marty had barely parked and yanked the keys out of the ignition before he was behind him.

They were falling into each other laughing, catching their breath, when Bret was hustling into the lobby. Marty caught his eye through the closing door and watched him still trying to zip his jeans as he ran past for the stairs.

--

They beat Bret up to the room with just enough time for Shawn to strip out of his clothes, toss them to Marty, and kneel, ass out, at the edge of the bed closest to the door. Marty settled into the chair in the corner.

Bret slammed the door open a moment later and kicked his shoes in Marty's direction. He pulled Shawn up by the arm and shoved him back onto the bed, Shawn still with that surprised laugh the whole time. Bret pushed his jeans down and Marty could see everything that had happened certainly hadn't turned him off. Shawn pulled his knees up, not put off either, of course, and Bret started to push into him.

"You don't waste any time, Hart."

"Shut the fuck up."

Marty watched Bret sink in, fully seating himself inside Shawn, and then pull back for a hard thrust. From his vantage point, Marty could see Bret's cock, dark red and angry as he was, pressing deep inside Shawn with every rough snap. The bed frame rewarded each of his efforts with a dull thunk against the wall.

Marty finally unzipped his own jeans to tend to the cock that had been drooling a wet spot into his jeans since the start of their car ride.

He could just see Bret's ass peeking out from under his shirt every time he pulled out. He thumbed the head of his cock, watching his ass flex and relax. He wished Bret had gotten undressed to give him something else to work with, but he could use his imagination. Plus, he could see Shawn under him.

Shawn, pressing his fingers into Bret's back but looking right into Marty's eyes.

Marty stood.

Shawn tracked him over to the bed, but Bret was too into his own shit to even notice Shawn hadn't been looking at him the entire time. No romance tonight, then.

Marty twirled a bottle of lube between his fingers, warm from his pocket, then drizzled some on his fingers. Bret turned his head a little at the squeak of the air.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you out."

Marty didn't give him any time to fight him—not that he did; all that bravado shit stopped the second he was balls deep. He ran a finger around Bret's asshole and let Bret sink onto it after his next thrust.

"Fuck." Bret inhaled. Surprising, but not surprising enough to stop fucking Shawn.

"Well, you got some experience now." Marty kneeled on the bed behind him and fucked him open a little with that first finger, then added a second.

"You're not gonna—"

"Sure am." Marty lubed himself up—more than usual, he didn't need any whining—and lined up.

He pressed in a little and they both sucked in, Marty was ashamed to say.

Marty swore under his breath. "Shawn was right." He grunted. "You're tight as hell."

Bret stilled under him, but it wasn't long before he pushed back a little. Or it could've been Shawn on the bottom, impatient as ever, making that decision.

They found a rhythm, and Shawn had twice as much man fucking into him—Marty fucking Bret, both of them fucking Shawn. Marty settled his hands on Bret's hips, but lightly; grabbing him the way he grabbed Shawn still felt a step too far, for some reason.

Bret was already starting to tense and stutter underneath him. Marty let go of Bret on one side to find Shawn's hand lying against the sheets. Shawn wrapped his fingers around Marty's and Marty squeezed back. He could just see Shawn's eyes over Bret's shoulder as Bret started to slow down, and they finished almost at the same time. Marty finished at the squeeze of Bret around him, knew Shawn finished as soon as Bret shot off inside.

But they were both looking at each other, and that was enough.

--

Bret didn't even make a big show of going to settle onto the other bed or leave the room entirely. He shifted over to the middle when Marty came back from the bathroom.

"What did I do again?" Bret sounded groggy. Fucked out of his mind, Marty figured.

Shawn continued, "Speaking of which…?"

Bret met his eyes again. "I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner tomorrow."

Bret tried not to let Shawn's scrunched nose sting him too much.

"What for?"

"Valentine's Day."

Shawn unwrapped the lollipop and noodled around with it, letting it clack over his teeth. Cherry, by the smell of it.

"I got a better idea."

Shawn's better idea could've involved anything, but Bret figured it would involve sex… of some kind. What kind was always the variable with Shawn. Still, he debated over a few items folded neatly in his suitcase before he settled on a dark sweater and jeans.

The empty parking lot behind the daprtment store where Shawn told him to meet him should have been a tip off that he didn't need to bother dressing up. Or think of dressing up. Bret wondered if Shawn's "better idea" involved Bret being mugged.

He scanned the parking lot, yellow lights glinting off the wet pavement and last bits of snow that had been cleared to the edges, before he spotted a single figure under a streetlight at the other end of the lot.

Shawn.

Wearing… nothing but a long black coat. Bret squinted then pulled forward slowly, still not convinced this wasn't a setup.

Bret pulled to a stop and rolled down the window, and Shawn sauntered over, more catlike than usual. He leaned an arm against the roof of the car and ducked his head low to meet Bret's eyes.

"Shawn—"

"Hey, baby. Looking for a good time?"

Bret could see something lacy under Shawn's coat where it had fallen open. Now he knew what the "better idea" was.

Fine.

"How much?"

Shawn looked around, really playing it up. "Full service? Two hundred. And I don't mean Canadian."

Bret laughed. "Two hundred dollars? Shawn, be serious."

Shawn cleared his throat.

"I'm not that kind of girl, sir."

"You sure aren't."

Shawn stopped for a beat, but Bret could see his eyes darken even in the dim light haloing Shawn's head.

"Actually—" Shawn started.

He stepped away and waved Bret off, shooing him like a dog to the back of the parking lot where he'd been. Bret watched him walk back under the lamp, then slung an arm over the passenger seat—safety first—and looked behind him to reverse back into the darkness.

The moment he gave Shawn to reset the scene was long enough to think about how he should've just gone to the bar with the guys.

Then Bret pulled forward again, half a mind on making a sharp enough turn to flick some ice on Shawn's bare legs. Shawn slinked out of the pool of yellow light and over to Bret's window.

"Wanna party?"

Shawn had settled on being a twenty-dollar whore. The kind who threw in road head as an extra.

Bret looked at the head his lap, blond hair spilling over his legs. He leaned forward on the steering wheel to cover Shawn's head with his body when they pulled up to a red light and nearly hit the gas early when Shawn decided to do something cute with his tongue.

Shawn pulled off, lips slick.

"Where we headed?"

"My hotel."

Shawn wrapped a hand around Bret. "You sure about that?"

Bret wasn't sure about that. Not with Owen and Davey in the same hall.

"What about yours?" Bret looked down at him to see his frown. "I mean, I know a place." Shawn's mouth quirked back into a smile.

But that place was just after the light, which didn't give Shawn enough time to wrap up his first service. If Shawn even had any intention of finishing it.

He stuffed Bret back into his jeans and very kindly zipped them back up, dropping a kiss on the button.

"Are you serious?"

"You don't expect me to go in there, do you—" He paused, running something over in his head. "…daddy?"

Bret shook his head, and Shawn pursed his lips, not liking it either. Bret'd never been one for "daddy," and especially not after how many other men he was sure Shawn had used it on.

"What if somebody recognizes me?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, and Bret could tell he was breaking character now. "You are so full of yourself."

Except the night clerk had recognized him and offered the room with the heart-shaped bed if Bret gave him an autograph. Bret tried to stop himself from pressing the front of his jeans against the counter while he waited for the keys.

The room had a red carpet and, as promised, a heart-shaped bed.

"Cute."

Shawn dropped his coat down and threw it over the chair in the corner. And when he turned back around, Bret saw it. Or… the Barbie-esque lack of it. Lack of anything.

Shawn stepped forward and ran his hands over Bret's chest. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Uh." Bret pulled his eyes up to run over the rest of the ensemble—a strappy red lace lingerie set of some kind—but then immediately back to Shawn's crotch.

Shawn thumbed open Bret's jeans and pulled him out. Nothing about this had deterred him, certainly, and Shawn's hand brought him fully back, resting heavy and ready in Shawn's palm.

It looked like that was the only thing Shawn had done to get into character, chest still hairy, nails still stubby. Voice still… like that.

Well, Bret could see now, in the light of the room, that he'd shaved his legs, inner thighs visibly slick and glistening. But that wasn't really the focal point here.

"Let me help you out." Shawn guided them backward to the bed, Bret's dick still in his hand like a leash, and laid himself out when they hit the edge. Bret kneeled between his legs. "What do you think, honey?"

Shawn was splayed out, leaned up on his elbows, angling his shoulders in a way that pushed his pecs together against the lace. But how had he done that? Bret leaned forward on his palms for a better look.

There were bits of ACE bandage material, just barely darker than flesh color, visible from under the thong he was wearing. He could investigate this later, his dick told him.

But for now, this twenty-dollar whore was the kind of girl who kissed, and Shawn was pulling him down by the shoulders to meet his lips.

Bret readjusted between Shawn's legs and his cock bumped up against the mound there, cotton bandage rubbing along the underside. He could get used to that feeling. And he was, quickly, rubbing himself against it a few more times while he and Shawn kissed.

Shawn pulled away. "Not so fast, big boy."

That was all right. He could do a little something for Shawn.

Bret dropped his lips to Shawn's neck, Shawn's chest, and Shawn's stomach, taking a moment to take his bellybutton ring between his teeth—just a light pull—and then dip his tongue into his navel in a move that had Shawn moaning above him.

He went lower again to take the strap of Shawn's thong between his teeth and let it snap against his hip. Not prepared to look too closely and ruin the mystery there, he moved down to Shawn's thighs. Bret brought the flat of his tongue to lick at the lube that had been glistening there and dropped a bite onto the inside of each thigh, Shawn tangling his hands in Bret's hair.

"That's it," Shawn groaned out.

Shawn pulled at Bret's hair to guide him back up, and Bret settled back between his legs. He pushed forward, instinctively going to enter a pussy, before he remembered.

"Hold still." Shawn rocked his hips to let the smooth lace of his underwear rub against the head of Bret's cock. He went on like that for a few seconds, biting his lip, teasing himself against Bret.

Bret groaned.

"You like that?"

Shawn pushed Bret back with a hand to his chest and brought his legs up, crossing his thighs against Bret's chest. Shawn flicked his head up by a fraction and pulled Bret's hand forward, which Bret took as his signal to slide himself into the tight space between Shawn's thighs. The remnants of the lube slid him along easily, and the length of Bret's cock was once again rubbing the mixture of rough bandage and smooth lace that now made up Shawn's crotch.

He fucked into the tight space, almost as warm and damp as a pussy, and watched himself disappear and reappear from his foreskin against Shawn's thong. Shawn's moans and closed eyes and hands clenched against the comforter could have made anyone think he was really being fucked—really getting anything out of this—but maybe it was the idea that was getting him off.

Bret let go of Shawn's ankles, now nearly executing a head scissor on either side of Bret's neck—but the brief lightheadedness didn't hurt—and moved them to grip Shawn's hips. The warm dampness of Shawn's thighs and the rough drag of cotton and lace were dangerously close to finishing him off.

Shawn disentangled himself and Bret begrudgingly let go of his hips.

He rolled over onto his stomach—"This way, baby"—and Bret remembered he had a whole back half of Shawn's body he hadn't yet explored.

Shawn settled on his stomach and his ass jiggled to a stop. He lifted up on his forearm to meet Bret's eyes over his shoulder and snapped the waist of his thong against his hip, landing just over the heart tattoo. Bret kissed the spot with cock.

Shawn hooked a finger back under the band and let it catch at the head of Bret's dick. Bret shifted on his knees a few times, liking the feel of the band catching on the helmet. But Shawn had had enough of that after just a moment. And so had Bret—they'd been teasing each other for the better part of an hour at this point.

Shawn pulled his cheeks apart, showing off, and Bret nestled his length between them. Shawn had lubed up everywhere, it seemed, prepared for every eventuality.

Bret rubbed his length along the slick channel that Shawn's asscheeks made, letting the friction pull his foreskin along and giving himself some purchase.

He caught Shawn rubbing himself against the bed below them and Bret snatched his hips up, sliding his tip inside in one easy motion. Shawn keened at the teasing, and Bret let him, enjoying the feeling concentrated on that one point before Shawn shoved back against him.

Shawn was already open and ready for him, but he still whined—loudly—as Bret sank in.

Neither of them would last long, not as good as Shawn felt—as both sides of him had felt—and Shawn's back was bowing out for Bret to push into him for a few long strokes.

"Good girl," Bret ground out. He could hear the gruffness of his own voice, fighting the heat coiling in his gut, but that was enough to finish Shawn off.

He gave a sharp cry and stilled, clenching around Bret. Bret didn't last much longer, and dropped a kiss onto Shawn's shoulder before he rolled onto the bed.

"Did you finish?" Bret asked.

"I think."

Bret didn't know how long he was lying on the bed, arm over his eyes. But it was long enough for Shawn to disappear into the bathroom, shower, and reappear intact. Bret had been too boneless to join him.

Bret pulled his arm away and tucked it behind his head, looking at Shawn's lower half when he pulled the towel away to dry his hair.

"How'd you do that, anyway?"

"Somebody showed me once."

That seemed to be the end of the explanation Shawn was willing to provide, but it set Bret's mind to the idea that Shawn seemed to have lived an entirely different life than he did outside of the ring.

Bret reached between Shawn's legs and fondled him, starting to stroke him to hardness. Shawn whined, still tender and pink.

"Not yet."

Bret scooted over to let Shawn onto the bed.

Shawn's mouth twitched up. "Y'know, I didn't expect the guy with the heart gimmick to be alone on Valentine's Day."

For some reason, Shawn Michaels was always just out of the shower every time Bret saw him outside of the ring. And for some reason, Shawn Michaels was here, just behind the door in Bret's hotel room.

"Okay, very interesting."

"I was thinking the same thing." Bret stepped back from where he'd been about to shove past Shawn. "What do you mean?"

"It's just that you've tried this shit before."

"What shit?"

"'No rooms left in all of Manhattan, boys, can I stay with you?'" Bret guessed this was an impression of himself. Shawn hit him with an accusatory finger squarely in the chest. "And then suddenly your dick was up my ass." Shawn crossed his arms. "Crazy that it happened twice."

"The second part didn't happen twice."

Shawn nodded, like he was unraveling a truly sinister plot. "Nice try. I'm not in the mood for that tonight. Or maybe ever again."

"Ever again?"

"From you." And yet Shawn gave Bret plenty of time to look him over while he made to drop the door shut behind him. He even looked over his shoulder to make sure Bret was doing it.

He really was like a broad sometimes.

Bret jammed his foot in the crack just as it was closing.

"I'll sleep on the sofa."

Bret was prepared to lie down in his clothes, get a solid five hours, and get the hell out of here as soon as he could in the morning. He pulled a couple of pillows off the bed and set up a sad little bed on the couch and let his angry wife Shawn have the king-size mattress.

Shawn went back into the bathroom to do… whatever it was he did before bed. A rail of coke? Use the blowdryer? Their hookups didn't normally involve staying over.

Use the blowdryer it was. Bret punched a pillow into place and used the other one to cover his ears.

Shawn left the bathroom a few minutes later, still just in a towel. No sense of decorum or decency for his roommate.

"Oh, so sorry." Bret could hear in Shawn's voice that he was just being an asshole, but he didn't even know about what. He shouldn't have looked.

Shawn was covering his navel—still also covered by his towel—with a palm. "I know you find this very offensive."

His towel was secured around his waist, and the piercing in question was totally out of sight. Good. Where it should be.

"Please. I can't even see it." Bret turned over and squeezed his eyes shut. Now he definitely couldn't see it.

"I hope the idea of it won't interrupt your sleep." The creak of the bedframe and the sharp click of the bedside lamp should have been the last noises in the room for the night. Morse Code for "this is a truce; shut the fuck up."

"I just think it's pretty slutty," Bret said to the back of the sofa.

"Well, I wasn't planning on wearing white to our wedding anyway." He wondered if Shawn was still wearing his towel, or if he was—

Bret turned his head as much as he could, not to look for any telling lumps or shadows in their dark room, certainly, but to say: "It's not something a man should have."

The lamp clicked on. Shawn leaned up on his elbows.

"Oh, yeah? When's the last time you jacked off about it?"

Bret shut his mouth. Certainly not because Shawn was right. And it hadn't been that recently. Just the first time he noticed it on TV, watching at home. And maybe a couple times after that, if it happened to cross his mind in the shower. Thoughts of that stupid little ring on a flat stomach a few inches above a—

Bret put a hand to his forehead. He could feel a migraine coming on. Or something.

The issue with Shawn Michaels, really, was that he knew Bret too well.

"Why don't you come up here and get a closer look, then? I know you want to."

"Well, just so I can remember what I'm so angry about."

"Right."

Bret kneeled at the foot of the bed but crawled up closer when Shawn scooted himself back, getting all the way between Shawn's knees, which he'd helpfully parted.

Shawn unwrapped his towel and not with all the pomp and circumstance that was normally involved in his undressing. Very matter of fact.

And then Bret very matter of factly looked at the little gold ring in front of him. And the half-hard dick sticking to Shawn's thigh just below it.

"Well, there it is," Bret said.

"Did it get your blood pressure up?"

"Uh huh." Bret hadn't taken his eyes off it. He hadn't slept with Shawn, well, in a while. And every time he saw it up close, it was half hidden by a pair of tights. But now… now Bret could see how offensive and immoral it was. Bret leaned a little to the side to adjust himself.

Then Shawn's hands were at Bret's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping. "I wanna watch you."

Oh.

"Take your shirt off." Shawn looked him over. "And take your hair down."

"You got a lot of—"

"And keep your mouth shut."

It was easy enough to fall into a rhythm. Easy enough to pretend Shawn wasn't there, once he got going. If they'd put a shot of this—Shawn, still a little damp, with his knees splayed and totally nude—in that Playgirl, maybe he wouldn't even be in this situation right now. But he'd used this material before, basically.

The rough drag of his own callused fingers, the catch of his foreskin, the twisting grip—Bret liked fucking as much as the next guy, but knowing all your own spots couldn't be topped, really.

Bret's breath caught in his throat as he ran the rough pad of his middle finger just under his head. He leaned forward on one palm next to Shawn's side, looking down at the piercing like it was a display under glass at a museum.

Shawn shifted under him, and Bret was reminded he was there and he watched everything that wasn't hard muscle jiggle just a little.

It seemed like Bret wasn't the only one keeping his mouth shut, until: "I can't believe you. You get on TV and pretend to be a role model, but look at you, getting hard for a lowlife." His voice was lower now, talking himself hard. "Especially now, when you should be at home with your family."

Bret pulled his eyes away from Shawn's lower half—the ring glinting in the bedside lamplight, the flat muscle, the now more-than-half-hard cock against his hip—to meet Shawn's eyes, dark and blown. Bret may have been getting hard for a lowlife, but Shawn was getting just as hard for a hypocrite.

He reached out a hand and caught Bret's wrist.

"You can fuck me, but I won't kiss you."

"Fine." That was all the invitation Bret needed. He was pushing his jeans lower and lining himself up in one move when Shawn's hand grabbed the back of his head and crushed their lips together, narrowly missing a couple of broken noses. Bret yanked his head back. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't like that you didn't care."

Bret rolled his eyes. Any energy he would have had for this argument wasn't being wasted on his mind, so he pushed forward and ignored it. Shawn's body met him with almost no resistance.

It sent a little stutter through his brain, but it wasn't enough to make him stop the roll of his hips.

"Were you planning for this?"

"Maybe another guy was in here fucking me right before you came in."

Bret didn't care about that. What Bret didn't care for was the sudden pain in his chest. He distracted himself by looking around the room for the guy in question. Just because he had his pants down and all.

Shawn crossed his ankles just under Bret's ass and pulled him back into a thrust. "I'm lying, you bozo."

They hadn't slept together in almost a year, and Bret forgot how good he could be even when he was being so… bad. Even when he was cold and assholeish, he was warm and perfect.

This was easy. Bret in a rhythm, Shawn meeting him thrust for thrust. All of their best matches were out of the ring, etc.

Speaking of rings—

Bret shouldn't have looked. There was a lot of that going on tonight. He should have just kept his eyes up on Shawn's face, mouth dropped open—

Bret pulled himself out and, cock in hand, was back to working over Shawn's navel.

"Hey, what the hell? I was close!" It sounded like real anger, but Bret couldn't spare him more than a glance.

"Yeah? Me too."

If there was an eyeroll equivalent of jacking off, Shawn was doing it. Bret decided to help him out.

He managed a hand around them both, the hard press of a thumb working himself, his other fingers on Shawn's cock. They felt electric together, honestly, and they hadn't done this move in a while.

It didn't take long for either of them.

Bret shot directly onto Shawn's piercing, drowning the gold in a sea of white relief. Now he couldn't see it.

Maybe he could get it out of his mind. For now. Until tomorrow.

Bret rolled away. He might as well stay on the bed, now that he was here. He had only the barest awareness of Shawn taking his discarded shirt to wipe himself down, then flop back hard onto Bret's shoulder.

Bret was stepping into the locker room showers when he spotted a familiar head of blond hair. And a now even more familiar ass.

He'd always thought Shawn was built more like a baseball player than a wrestler.

Shawn must have felt Bret's eyes boring into the back of his head—and must not have liked it, either, because he turned around and snapped shut the shower curtain with a sharp tug.

He found Shawn sitting alone at the bar by the hotel, watching what Bret figured was a Cowboys game. Shawn looked at him over his shoulder when he slid onto the stool next to him, one of those half second glances you give when someone gets too close to you in line.

Marty was nowhere in sight. Bret had started to see the cracks in their foundation.

"Hey, Shawn."

"Bret."

Shawn hadn't looked at him again, still facing toward the TV in the corner, eating a cherry garnish. Bret wondered if he was tying the stem in a knot in his mouth.

"Good match earlier. You know, if you just—"

"Thanks."

Shawn drained the rest of his glass. Something in a highball.

Bret signaled for the bartender. "What're you drinking?"

"Water," Shawn said.

"Can you get him another one of these?" Bret asked the bartender. "I'll have a whiskey and Coke."

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Everybody else on the roster had gone to another bar, Bret figured, which he was normally happy with. Tonight he would've liked someone else there to break the silence.

"Where's Jannetty?"

"With some girl."

Bret leaned in close. "Are you two not…?"

"Well, we're not married." Bret tucked his fingers under his palm on instinct when finally glanced over his shoulder to shoot a look at his ring finger. "Maybe he'll make an honest man of me soon."

Shawn had been drinking a vodka soda, as it turned out, and now he was drinking his refill out of the cocktail straw. Bret tried not to watch him too closely.

They went back to silence, both drinking their drinks. Bret wasn't a football fan, but he watched Shawn's face change with every back and forth.

The game went to halftime and Shawn stood up in such a sudden movement that Bret thought he was going to punch him.

"Are we doing this?"

Bret was pretty smooth. He thought so, at least. He was never hurting for company. But this… This wasn't like picking up a chick at all.

Picking up a dick. In more ways than one, maybe. But Shawn had obviously picked up on whatever half-formed thought Bret had had when he'd caught Bret in the showers, and now he was doing all the work.

Bret cleared his throat. "Yeah."

The last two times Bret and Shawn had been in a hotel room together, Marty had been there, basically running things. But, well… Bret would just stick to what he knew.

He flipped Shawn against the back of the door in an easy move, and Shawn didn't stop him when their mouths met in a crush, lips and teeth and tongues. Bret knew he'd wanted this as much as he had.

But what he hadn't been anticipating was Shawn turning them around and pinning him, fists in the shoulders of his jacket.

"You think I'm pretty easy, huh?" Shawn gave him a hard look. Bret could remember a moment not many months ago when the only thing that had fixed Shawn's sour mood was the idea of taking two guys at once. "You didn't even pay for that drink you ordered me—they put it on my tab." He laughed. "Actually, they put your drink in my tab, too, so I figure that means I get to fuck you."

Shawn nudged a thigh up against Bret's crotch, and finding what he wanted, smirked at him. "I'll be gentle."

Really, it felt like one of those things you said when you weren't going to be gentle. And his first act of tender, loving kindness was shoving Bret onto the bed from where they'd been standing at the doorway.

"Take these off." Shawn grunted a little with the effort of pulling Bret's jeans down.

"Sorry, were you in a hurry?" Bret asked, doing Shawn the favor of kicking off his socks and shoes.

"Well, I might still be able to catch the fourth quarter."

Ah, Bret thought. So that was it.

And here Bret was, feeling like a ring rat. Or like a nagging spouse interrupting the game. And now he was determined to make this last as long as possible. He was a little insulted that Shawn still wasn't hard, even after they'd worked each other up over by the door, so this would either last an hour or it wouldn't even get off the ground.

They both finished undressing, neither one of them watching the other, neither one of them putting on any kind of show, really. They caught eyes when they both gave each other a quick glance to make sure they weren't the first one undressed.

Well, that's what Bret was doing, anyway.

The last two times they'd been together, they'd had an audience, watching them clash together in hot tongues and teasing touches, but now it was just the two of them.

Shawn pushed him back to the bed, then stood at the foot, hands resting where his tan line cut him in half. He was standing contrapposto, like a nude model in an art class, just as tastefully soft as they were always supposed to be.

Bret also realized he could see the reflection of Shawn's ass in the glass of the TV behind them and looked at it for a second too long.

"You ever done this before?" Shawn looked Bret over, still splayed on the bed how he'd landed. "Who am I kidding? Of course you haven't."

Bret wasn't sure what Shawn saw that made him think that. His manly expanse of flesh, meant to cradle women? His involuntarily clenched asshole?

He also didn't know if it was an insult—either way, it didn't put off his cock, which was now leaning heavy against his hip and waiting for direction. Or maybe just a moment to watch Shawn's reflection walk around.

"Where's your, uh…" Shawn interrupted himself with a laugh. "Your strawberry lube?"

"Well, I'm sure you remember I had to get rid of it after I shoved the bottle up your ass," Bret said, cutting a look at the ass in question. Shawn might not have even remembered that, Bret thought. It seemed like it might as well have been just another Sunday night to him.

"And I know you bought another one." Shawn was crossing his arms now. Bret had learned a few things about Shawn Michaels in the years he'd known him, but one of the main ones was that Shawn was in the habit of trying to be deadly serious under absurd circumstances.

"In the front pocket of my bag."

Shawn drizzled some—yes, still strawberry—lube onto his fingers, watching it spread like it had been the one to force him into this.

"You know, I don't do this a lot because I feel like it's a lotta fuckin' work." Shawn didn't even take a moment to laugh at his accidental pun, so Bret knew he was serious.

"This was your idea. I brought you up here to fuck you."

"We're already doing this now, so get ready."

That was perhaps the most menacing preface to a blowjob Bret had ever heard.

He lifted himself up onto his hands. "You know, Shawn, you kind of sound like you're working yourself up to this. Why don't we just… switch?" His dick leapt at the thought of flipping Shawn on to the bed and taking over. "And then you can get back to watching your game."

From this position, he could reach out and touch Shawn. He made a grab for his dick, but Shawn stepped out of reach before he could connect.

"How do you expect—"

"Calm down," was all Shawn said before he knelt on the bed and took Bret's own dick in his hand and swallowed down as much as he could. Bret immediately felt him everywhere and gave up trying to watch.

"Almost forgot." Shawn glided his lube-covered hand over Bret's cock. "This is what it's for, right?"

"Not the only thing it's for," Bret said, hoping Shawn was still considering that he would have to be inside him at some point. All Shawn did was hum in response, using the flat of his tongue to lick away a trail of chemical strawberry flavor.

That distracted him for a moment, but Bret white knuckled the bedspread when he felt a finger coming up on his ass.

He prepared himself for the admonishment when he heard the slick pop of his cock falling out of Shawn's mouth, but at least he couldn't see him roll his eyes from this angle. "You have to relax."

He unclenched—the comforter, his muscles, his asshole—and took a deep breath.

"That's better."

Bret thought maybe he'd get used to the feeling of it, but by the second finger Shawn had managed to flex inside, it still felt like an intrusion. Until—

"Ah, fuck." Bret was embarrassed at how breathy he'd sounded in his own ears, but really… it was hard not to.

"Did you not know about that?" Shawn ran his fingers over it again to illustrate, and Bret felt like he was going to shoot out of his skin.

"I knew about it—shit." Bret took a steadying breath. "I knew about it from you, but…"

"You never had a girl do this to you?" Shawn fucked him open a little more, really spreading his fingers out. Bret had never taken note of how big Shawn's fingers were until they were knuckle deep inside him.

Shawn leaned up to kiss him again but broke away after a second for more direction. "You can do this now." He guided Bret's hand to his cock, which was now, thankfully, hard. Angry and straining dark red against his stomach. Bret had been beginning to doubt himself.

"Tighter." Bret hadn't even realized his grip was loose, like he'd been afraid of touching him even though he'd done it before. But that had been spontaneous. The warmth and weight of another man's cock was still something he was getting used to.

He gave Shawn a few sharp tugs and a thumb over the damp slit, and Shawn groaned into his mouth, snapping his hips forward into Bret's hand a few times. "That's it." Bret watched it, watched the shape and size of it disappear and reappear over his fingers and palm, thinking about how it would soon be in him. He glanced over to the TV set to watch Shawn's back flex with every move.

He pushed a condom into Bret's hand and didn't know if he felt insulted, but he tore it open and rolled it over him. Shawn squeezed more of the lube onto Bret's hand and Bret lathered him up.

"Okay." Shawn pulled away and settled himself between Bret's legs, just taking a moment to shift Bret's knees up and over his shoulders for better access.

And, fuck, that would take some getting used to.

"Fuck, you're tight." Bret could hear the faint noise of the rubber slicking into his asshole as Shawn worked himself in and out a few times in shallow thrusts.

Bret was still gritting his teeth against the stretch when Shawn slid deep. He looked up, half looking at Bret and half watching himself. "You okay?"

Bret was no virgin, but Shawn had a way of making him feel woefully inexperienced in bed. Everything Shawn did out of habit was something Bret had never even considered. He didn't want to sound like a pussy, but it was just so new. "Yeah, great," he ground out.

Shawn raised up on his palms, taking Bret's leg up with him, and watched himself push in and out of Bret. Bret was already dizzy with the feeling of it, feeling the way Shawn had set him up to hit Bret over and over in that spot. He was slack jawed and totally empty headed from the feeling and from the reflection of Shawn's ass in the TV flexing on every thrust. He could only watch the smooth muscle of Shawn's shoulders and biceps glide under the surface of his skin with the effort for a few seconds before he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

The bed dipped near his head where Shawn had moved his hand to rest, using his other to tug Bret off in long, solid strokes. Shawn built up to deep, snapping thrusts, probably—correctly—figuring that Bret had almost had enough.

Bret reached up to run his hands over the expanse of lithe muscle at Shawn's sides—the way it contracted and lengthened with every move—no longer feeling like he needed to press the bed down to the floor. It thanked him by hitting the wall with a flat thud.

As much as Bret had meant to draw this out, he'd felt the heat coiling in his gut for a while now and fell boneless and relieved against the bed when a few thick spurts shot out between their chests.

Shawn must've taken that as his cue to rock in a few more times and then still.

"You have fun?"

"Uh huh," was all Bret could manage. Fuck was it different.

The gradual emptiness of the pulling out was the weirdest, for some reason. But Shawn was back with a washcloth in one hand and the remote in the other before he could really register it. The quiet buzz of the flyback from the TV and the damp weight of the washcloth hitting him squarely in the chest were almost enough to overstimulate him.

Shawn creaked against the headboard of the next bed and flipped through the channels. Bret wondered if any of the people who could hear talking in half-second snatches had ever been fucked up the ass.

"Hell yeah," Shawn breathed. "Still six minutes left."

--

Shawn shifted a little bit to stop the gravel from the alleyway digging into his knees. He could only imagine how he looked, brushing rocks off his pants with a dick hanging out of his mouth. He almost moaned.

He heard a throat clear and then the gravel under unsure feet shifting in front of him.

“What’s it take to get in that ass?”

Shawn had to laugh. He could tell this guy didn’t do this a lot. They’d only been here for five minutes, but every time he’d tried to boss Shawn around or talk dirty to him, it’s like he had to work himself up to it first, like he was trying to speak another language, but that backwards backwater drawl told him the other language he was trying to speak was English.