Somebody needs to tell Tex, whoever the hell that is, that he's in the Midwest. Pretending to be in Texas won't endear him to anybody who's actually from there, especially when he thinks that playing "Achy Breaky Heart" nineteen times in a row makes him seem like a Texan. Personally, it makes me wish for a gun to put him out of his misery.

That's why Hunter and I are slouching in the corner by ourselves while Sean, Scott and Kevin hang out by the bar and amuse themselves with the local color. I'm peacefully protesting the slaughter of good taste, while Hunter... well, I don't think this is his kind of place. He looks miserable. Unfortunately for me, he's cute when he's miserable.

He moves so suddenly that I jump back. Every once and a while, he'll do that, go from sitting completely still and looking like a statue of an angel in a graveyard to sudden motion again. From cold, inhuman distance to abrupt warmth again. Yeah, pretty words, I know, but it's unnerving to watch. It makes me wonder what it would take to keep him from being frozen like that. More dangerously, it makes me wonder what made him like that in the first place, no matter how much I berate myself for getting into his business.

"Is Scott okay?" he asks quietly, gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the bar. His voice is a total contrast to the rest of him. The hint of a New York accent doesn't exactly mingle with regal perfection.

I glance towards where Scott and Kev are leaning against the bar. Scott still has one arm over his ribs, even though he swore up and down that they weren't injured when Calloway threw him into the ringpost. Right. My ass. I have to grin when Kevin smacks him upside the back of the head and attempts to yank his shirt up to see the damage for himself. Scott grabs the shirt and pulls it back down, glaring at Kevin as if he doesn't spend most of his time half-naked anyway. Modesty and Scott Hall don't really get along. Then again, I'm not on a first name basis with it either.

"Yeah, he's fine. Kevin’s over there to dote on him anyway."

Hunter doesn't smile back at me, just keeps staring at Scott with... concern? Hmm. This is new. "His ribs look like they're hurting him."

I laugh and take a swallow of beer. Maybe it makes me reckless, because I say out loud, "This is a surprise."

"What?" He finally looks at me. "Why?"

Ooo. Boy. Watch in amusement as the Heartbreak Kid sticks his foot so far in his mouth that he chokes on it… Taking a deep breath, I shrug and explain, "Listen, Hunt. Don't take this the wrong way, or anything. I trust you with my life. Hell, when it comes to having somebody there to haul me out of trouble, I trust you more than even Kev. You're just not very good on the follow-up. You'll drag people out of the ring and towards the ambulance, but when it comes to the hand-holding, comforting stuff, you kinda fall apart."

A strange expression crosses his face. "You think I'm cold." It's not a question or an accusation, just a statement of fact. He sounds almost hurt.

I sigh. "No. I'm saying you're a little... distant. Christ, you've been travelling with us for six months or so now, and we still know roughly jack about you. Every time it comes up, you manage to change the subject."

Hunter tenses up and moves back. "So you want to know about me?"

"Yeah,” I reply, against my better instincts. “Anything would be good. I'm- We're flying blind with you. It's like trying to deal with a complete stranger."

A flicker of something dangerous passes behind his eyes, and he focuses his attention on the bottle in front of him. His voice is suddenly quiet but harsh with anger. "You want to hear my life story, Michaels? Fine. Try this for size. I grew up in Greenwich in a fucking mansion, but the 'help' were the ones that raised me. My father was a cold bastard, who I could only please if I opened up a fucking vein. I went to the best schools and got nearly perfect grades, but never perfect enough." He glances up, notices my expression, and laughs, a bitter, jagged sound. "Yeah, poor little rich boy. I can't get away from it. God knows I've tried, I've gone as far from what the old man wanted for me as I could, but it's still not enough. I was raised to be a completely frozen over son of a bitch, like my father, and it apparently worked very well." Rising to his feet, he says tersely, "I'm going to talk to Scott."

Something inside me wrenches at the pain on his face. I try to grab the sleeve of his leather jacket before he can move away. "Hunter. Hey..."

He slaps my hand away, turning for a moment to glare down at me with absolute cold in his eyes before going to the bar.

Left by myself at the table, I can only stare at the abandoned chair across from me and wonder what the hell just happened.
---
Hunter
---
The bastard. The absolute fucking bastard. What the hell gives him the right to pry into my life?

I don't want to remember it, any of it. I don't want to think about how much like my father I'm becoming. I told myself I'd never be like him, swore up and down every time that belt, that goddamned belt, cracked down on my back. I thought I could escape him when I left Greenwich. God, I was naive. I never stopped to think that the taint might be in me.

Scott and Kevin are watching me with bewilderment- ooo, big word, Helmsley, you're starting to sound like him too.

I'm shaking. I need to calm down. I need control.

Finally reaching Kevin's side, I lean against the bar and offer a smirk. I hope it doesn't look as sick as I feel right now. Eyeing me suspiciously, Kevin finally nods back. "Hey, Helmsley. You okay?"

"Fine," I answer, maybe a bit too quickly. "Just fine."

He shrugs. "Okay. You mind keeping an eye on Scott in case he decides to throw himself into any more blunt objects?"

Scott growls at him, but it's obvious from the way they're both grinning at each other that they're only playing. They're closer than brothers, these two.

Something in the back of my mind condemns that, an ancient whisper in my father's voice: /They're probably fucking each other. Like animals. Then again, what can you expect from the lower class.../

I bite my lip so hard that I taste blood, shaking the thought away, and look up to see Kevin staring down at me with open concern. Surprisingly, I manage a grin. "Sorry. Yeah, I'll keep an eye on him."

"Cool. I'm gonna go talk to Michaels, then try to pry that waitress off of Sean so we can go."

The realization that I'm going to be sharing a room with Shawn hits me suddenly, and that control I struggled for is gone again. Eyes widening, I protest, "No!"

Now they're both staring at me. Smooth, Helmsley, real smooth. I take a deep breath, then explain, "I can drive back myself. I'd rather stay."

One side of Scott's mouth quirks up. "You sure? This isn't exactly a four star establishment. No caviar here, kid."

A tired laugh works it's way out of me before I can stop it. "Thank God."

They exchange another look over my head that they think I don't see. Then, with a final shrug, Kevin wanders over the table where Shawn is still slouching.

Michaels looks confused, and rather hurt. Half of me feels a twinge of triumph about that. He needs to grow up, and he shouldn't have pushed me in the first place, shouldn't have cared enough to push me. The other half, the half that I thought had died a long time ago, demands that I go over there, gather him in my arms and swear that I’ll never hurt him again.

I'm so fucked up it isn't funny.

Pulling my attention away from Shawn, I look towards Scott. He’s as out of place in this bar as I do, but he looks completely comfortable. Jesus, I envy him that.

"How are your ribs?" I ask, a little brusquely.

Scott blinks in surprise, then chuckles. "They hurt like hell. Don't tell Kevin or he'll try to drag me into a hospital, lecturing the whole way. Like I don't already know why not going is a bad idea." Another smirk touches his face, this time a slightly fond one. "Overprotective prick that he is, he'd probably try to kill Calloway."

"Calloway deserves to be killed, if you're seriously hurt."

Another surprised look crosses Scott's face, before he gives another laugh. "God, he's contagious. Now he's got you doing it." Before I can ask what he's talking about, he turns a sudden, searching look towards me. "Are you okay?"

So much for control. I swallow, lean my head back, and do the smartest thing: lie through my teeth. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?" Scott turns the words into a silent offer. He knows exactly how not okay I am, and is giving me a chance to tell him. To let him help. To let him in.

I can't do that.

"Uh huh," I reply flatly. "Just perfect."

I am so fucking tired of being 'perfect'.
---
Shawn
---
The sound of the chair across from me being dragged back snaps me out of my thoughts. Kevin slings himself into the chair, leans his elbows on the table and demands, "What just happened?"

Being my usual articulate, intelligent self, I managed a "What?"

Kevin sighs, pushing hair out of his eyes with one hand as he explains irritably, "You're sitting over here looking like somebody just ran over your dog and Helmsley looks even worse. I want to know who did what to who and why."

Oh, fantastic. On top of pissing off Hunter, I'm now going to piss off Kevin while he's in big brother mode. Wondering idly if I’m going to be able to walk out of the bar under my own power after this, I admit slowly, "I kinda asked him about his past."

"That's it?"

"Well... no. I, uh, sort of called him 'distant', he took it wrong. Hell, he had his reasons for taking it wrong." Rubbing my eyes, I risk a glance at Kevin. "He's really upset?"

"Upset as I've seen him. Then again, that isn't saying much. He's locked down tighter than a prison sometimes." Kevin sighs, picking up the beer that Hunter abandoned. "Christ, Shawn, why'd you push him like that?"

Defensive, I argue, "I thought it might help. He's hurting, Kev."

"He is now, yeah."

Ouch. Never let it be said that Kev can't be brutally honest when he needs to be. It’s one of the disadvantages to having your ex-lover for a best friend: he doesn’t feel obligated to pull punches. I glare at him, hurt, and he ignores me, tilting the bottle back and forth, lost in thought. After a moment, he sighs. "I don't think it's a good idea to leave him alone tonight."

Alarm sparks to life in my chest. “Why would we?”

"Because he asked to stay here for a while longer. I think that means 'until dawn'."

Oh, yeah. Definitely alarms. This can't be good. He wouldn't willingly stay here, not unless he was trying to dodge something. Like me.

Shit.

Before I can reconsider, I blurt out, "I'm staying here with him, then."

Kevin raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I don't think he'll like that."

"Screw what he wants. I started this, I'm not just going to walk away." My gaze falls on the beer bottle in front of me. With a trademark cocky grin, I lean my head against the window and comment, "'Sides, if I've had a few too many of these and ask him to drive me home before I pass out or throw up, he's not going to refuse."

"He'll just drive you back to the hotel and leave for the bar again," Nash predicts flatly.

Then I'll just have to keep him there. The grin deepens into a smirk, which unnerves Kevin for a moment before he sighs yet again. I think acting as resident bodyguard for all four of us is going to take ten years off his life. "Fine. I'll help you out there. Just bring him back tomorrow in one piece, okay?"

"I'll try," I offer.

He shakes his head in despair, then turns his attention to Scott. "Hey! Scotty! We're going!" he calls across the bar before beginning to search the room for Sean.

The kid is seated at the bar next to a rather overzealous woman who's trying to undress him. Sean keeps smacking her hands away, but she's too drunk to notice. When Kevin called for Scott, his head snapped up. "Hey, Kev," he says with a grin.

Grabbing Sean by the ear, Nash begins patiently dragging him away. "C'mon, time for all good little lightweights to be in bed."

"Oh, for the love of God, Kevin, I'm twenty three," Sean protests, trying to dig his heels in. Too bad the kid doesn't know how well that doesn't work on a guy who's a foot taller than you. I should know, I've tried it myself a few times.

Kevin pauses, turns to look at Sean, and without warning hauls him off the floor and slings him over one shoulder. Calmly turning back to face Hunter and ignoring Sean's indignant snarls and squirming, he says, "By the way, Helmsley, think you can get Shawn home? He's totally smashed."

The startled look on Hunter's face would be amusing in another situation. At the moment, it just hurt me again. God, he's practically panicking. What in the hell has him this scared? What's he afraid of?

Not waiting for an answer, Kevin nods. "Cool. Okay, I'll see you in the morning, then." He turns and walks out, ruthlessly ignoring the look on Hunter's face. Damn, he can be cold if he wants to be. Scott hesitates a second longer, glancing from me to Hunter, then shrugs and follows Kevin and Sean out.

Even with my head down on my arms and my eyes half-closed, I can see the tension in Hunter's body as he moves warily closer. I smile painfully as I watch him watching me.

Hunter, babe, I do believe your mask is slipping.
---
Hunter
---
You know, even for me, it's unusual to damn somebody to hell more than once per night. I think the current count of times I've wished that Shawn was burning, cocky grin and all, in the ninth circle of hell is up to thirty one. It's going to be thirty two if the idiot doesn't stop smirking at me. If I was smart, I'd have let him drink himself in unconsciousness and then I'd drag his sorry ass back to the hotel. But nooo, I had to be a fucking humanitarian about the whole thing and take him home first thing.

/This is what you get for being friends with lower class trash,/ comes the snide comment from the back of my mind.

Yeah, the rich only get falling down drunk in the privacy of their own homes. That way they only smack around their own kids. Those are always replaceable.

Shaking my head, I pull myself back to reality. Or what passes for my reality, which is fairly screwed up at the moment. For one thing, Shawn is curled up under my arm, stumbling slightly and grinning like an idiot while I pull him through the hotel lobby. The receptionist is watching us over her magazine, slightly amused. I'd like to see her balance a drunk wrestler. Still, at least trying to balance Shawn is better than concentrating on having him this close.

I managed it all the way through the drive here, I can get him into bed, his own bed, and go my way with no problems. It’s possible.

He's so warm. His heat is working through my shirt, practically burning my skin wherever there's direct contact.

I want to touch him.

His hair, soft and tawny, presses into my throat. It still smells faintly sweet from the hotel shampoo, and that sweetness mixes with the cigarette smoke from the bar to form a strange sort of burnt sugar scent.

I want to kiss him and listen to him moan. Make him moan my name. Only mine.

Shawn makes a odd kind of purring sound in his throat, deep and satisfied, as he stretches. That lithe body presses against mine, and my control wavers to the breaking point. His eyes flicker open and meet mine. For a moment, he seems to be challenging me.

Burnt sugar. A smell of something pure destroyed.

I can't have him.

Dropping my gaze like the coward I am, I reach for the room key with shaking hands and manage to get it into the lock. After a moment of fumbling, I get it open and lead Shawn inside. His purring has stopped, and he's staring at me now. I turn my face away from him, cursing myself all the way.

The final door out of the shadows my father threw me into is slowly closing, and there isn't a fucking thing I do.

Nothing but shadows in my future. Shawn deserves better.

Maybe if I tell myself that enough times, I'll actually believe it.
---
Shawn
---
What just happened?

Damn it, I almost had him! After I thought it couldn't happen, straight-as-a-board Helmsley was on the verge of taking the bait. The look in his eyes after I leaned into him was not a look that you give your best friend. That was a look you give to the person you want to throw up against a wall and fuck until they scream. He was so close to going for it... And then the walls snapped down again, hard. Hunter won't even look at me now.

Can't he see what I'm trying to do here? I'm trying to help him, I'm nearly throwing myself at him, and he ignores me. It hurts him, but he still does it. Even though he seems to want me as much as I want him. Even if I love him-

When the hell did that change from lust to love?

I've got better things to concentrate on now than how my psyche keeps doing these things without my consent. I can work it out later. Now is the problem.

Hunter's steering me towards the bed, and I force myself to go limp against him. I'm supposed to be drunk, after all. Pressing my head against his throat again, I let him set me down. He's careful with me, propping me up against the headboard and making sure that I'm not going to slide forward before leaning forward to pull off my shoes. He's trying to touch me as little as possible, and his movements are as fast as they can be without a risk of hurting me. It's kind of cute. He'll let himself be cracked in the head with steel chairs almost every night, but he won't hurt me. I think that's part of the problem.

Finally, he tosses the shoes aside and sits back up. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he pulls me forward and starts to pull the sheets back. So he's going to tuck me in, too? I can't help a tiny smirk at the thought. Too bad for Hunter that I'm not going to let him.

That smirk slips when I see that Hunter still won't look at me. His eyes are locked on to the sheets, his expression impassive. His eyes, though, are raw with emotion. Desperation. He wants out of here, so badly.

There's no way I'm letting him out the door like this, to go sit in a bar alone.

He stops moving when I grab the collar of his jacket. Still not looking at me, he says, in the deadliest voice I've ever heard him use with me, "Let go of me, Michaels."

"Hunter." When he finally pauses long enough to glance towards me, I move. Using the grip on his jacket, I haul him sideways on to the bed, push his shoulders flat, and sprawl over him, pinning his arms. The only way I pulled that off was surprise. Dirty, cheap trick, I know.

Well, whatever works.

He's staring up at me, too startled to be angry. I can feel him breathing under me. I've had dreams about this, but they were nothing like how this is going. Having him here, really here, is intoxicating. He could throw me off, I know that, but instead he's watching me with shock. That pain is still in his face. I want to make it go away, with an intensity that scares the hell out of me.

Reaching out with one hand, keeping his arm pinned with my elbow, I touch his face. It's rough with stubble, but the skin is soft. Funny how it looked like marble before I touched it.

"Hey, Hunter," I say quietly. My voice is shaking. "Guess what? I'm not drunk after all."

And then I kiss him.
---
Hunter
---
I can't take this. Any of it.

My mind is on overload, trying to catalogue everything that's happening, committing every sensation to memory. Shawn's body, solid and lithe and hot against mine, even through two layers of clothing. The brandy-colored hair brushing against my throat. The soft lips pressed gently against my own, the delicate touch of a tongue. And oh, God, the erection pushing against my hip, a silent promise that Shawn wants this. Wants me.

I... I can't do this. Why doesn't he understand that? Why is he doing this to me?

I pull away, turning my face to the side when Shawn tries to move in again. He blinks, surprised but not offended, then touches my face again. "What?" he asks simply. The concern on his face threatens to break my control completely, but I bite my lip again.

"You're drunk." The bitterness in my own voice unnerves me.

"I just told you that I wasn't."

"You're so drunk that you don't even know you're drunk." Desperation colors my words. I can't summon up the energy to push him off.

"Stop making excuses for me." Shawn cups my jaw with his hand, forces me to look at him. "I want you," he says slowly.

I close my eyes and shake my head, denying both him and the situation. The old man's voice is murmuring advice: /Take him, then. Let the lust, and that's all he has for you, all you have for him, burn itself out. Then walk away./

I love him.

It sounds pitiful, weak, even to my own ears. The voice neatly tears that protest apart. /Love doesn't exist. It's a temporary condition. Look at all the evidence around you, and don't be a fool, boy./

I swallow, and open my eyes to meet Shawn's. He's still studying at me, unaware that I’m being ripped apart inside. God, I hope he can forgive me for this.

"Fuck me, then." My voice sounds harsh and tired in the silence.

Shawn pulls back slightly, eyes widening. What, Michaels, you offended by the phrasing? That's what this is. That's all it can be. Use your pretty words to put it however the hell you want, but that's what it comes down to.

After a moment, he settles back, frowning a little. His fingertips slide over my face again, through my hair, finally settling behind my neck. "All right," he murmurs. "I can do that."

Leaning closer, he kisses me again, deepening it this time, sliding his tongue inside my mouth, running it over my own. I finally respond, thrusting my tongue against his. I don't open my eyes as he pulls back, drawing in unsteady breaths. I can't look at him anymore.
 ---
Shawn
---
I can't let him do this to himself. My instincts are screaming at me, telling me that I just ripped open an old wound. I can't go back, so I sure as hell better watch my step when I go forward. 'Fuck me'? Jesus, Hunter, what's going on in that mind of yours?

I hesitate a little too long for his taste as I'm pulling off his jacket. He growls low in his throat and nips my earlobe, hard, lightly tugging the earring. An appreciative moan works its way through my lips as he draws the lobe into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the hoop. Damn, he's good at this.

My hands are shaking as I throw his jacket aside and go for his shirt. We break apart for all of three seconds as I yank it over his head and toss it aside, not caring where it lands. Then we press together again, and his mouth is on my throat, seeking out with a desperate intensity the places that drive me insane. I sit back, ignoring his snarl of protest, and pull my own shirt off.

Moving back, I pull away from his mouth and slide down his chest, letting my hands roam. The direct contact, skin to skin, is fantastic. It's nearly sending up sparks. Everything feels oversensitized. When his hand tangles in my hair to try to urge me back up, I wince but ignore him.

Christ, his fingers on my scalp is a turn-on. I've needed this just as much as he has.

My fingers finally settle on one nipple, rubbing slowly back and forth. "Let's see exactly how cold you really are, hmm?" I murmur, before replacing my fingers with my mouth. He's as responsive as I thought he would be, arching into the touch and giving a low moan.

When I don't quickly move on, though, he tenses up and tries to pull me back up again. Nuh uh, Helmsley. No go. I won't let you rush this.

Still running my tongue over his nipple, I slide my hand lower, over his stomach and to the waistband on his jeans. His fingers tighten their grip on the bedspread and my hair, so I pull my mouth away. "Easy, Hunter. Calm down."

"Don't... do that."

"I'm not gonna hurt you. You need to trust me." Running my fingers over the bulge in his jeans, I listen to his choked moans for a moment before unzipping the jeans and pulling them off. The underwear follows a moment later, leaving him naked beneath me.

Good God, he's beautiful. That's the only way to put it. All golden skin, golden hair, strength and, at the moment, desperate need. And control. He's shaking with the effort of holding it together, and his eyes are still pressed tightly closed. It takes me a second to realize that he's talking. "Shawn, we can’t-"

"'Course we can." Nuzzling his shaft, I smirk when he shudders. "We've got all the time in the world."

That said, I take in as much of him as I can. He cries out, arching, so I shove his hips back down and start flicking my tongue over him. He tastes... indescribably good. Fantastic. For a minute, I want to bring him off like this, listen to him moan and taste his release. But that can wait until later.

I torture him for another few moments, running my teeth gently over his length. The sounds he's making are getting more incoherent by the second. Pulling away, I gather some of the precum and reach under his hips. He flinches when my fingertip runs over his entrance, then shudders when I push it inside him up to the first knuckle. I thrust the finger slowly, letting him get used to it before adding another. He bites his lip, then cries out suddenly as my fingers brush his prostate.

I could get addicted to doing this, bringing him to this point where he's completely at my mercy. Or lack of mercy. Whatever. Beautiful, beautiful Hunter. My Hunter.

"Shawn," his voice is raspy with need. Christ, I love the way he's saying my name. "Please-"

"Mmm. No, I don't think so. I'm taking my sweet time. Be a little patient." Leaning forward, I run my tongue along his cock just as I nudge his prostate again. That stops the complaint. His head falls back into the pillow, and he whimpers. Just to prove that I won't be commanded this time, I wait another moment or so before removing my fingers and shifting into position.

If I was running on common sense, I'd do this from behind, but not this time. Now I need to see his face, and he needs to see mine. I don't rush sliding into him, even though his moans are getting frantic and his hands on my back are urging me in. But once I'm in...

Damn, he's so fucking tight...! I have to bite my lip to keep from coming, just from the heat and pressure. The tiny noises that Hunter's making aren't helping. I shift a little, slip my hand under my stomach to grip Hunter's erection, and start thrusting slowly. My hips are barely rocking back and forth, an agonizing rhythm for both of us. I want to just pound into him, bury myself in him, but he doesn’t need that right now. Hunter mewls and tries to press back, but can't with most of my weight resting on him.

"Hunter, open your eyes," I manage between thrusts. My voice is shaky from keeping it slow.

Hunter shakes his head, eyes squeezed closed as he snarls, "Will you please speed up?!"

"Not until you do what I'm asking you to. Open your eyes and look at me, baby. C'mon."

He wavers for a second, then his eyes finally open. My breath catches in my throat. There's so much pleasure and pain splintered in those hazel eyes that it makes the pit of my stomach hurt. Hunter looks totally lost without that mask of ice.

I run my fingers down his cheek, petting him like a frightened kid. Making sure that he's meeting my eyes, I tell him, "I love you."

Jerking back, he shakes his head frantically. His eyes are wide with a near panic. "No-"

"Yes. I'm not lying to you. I. Love. You. What, do you need a diagram?"

"I need you to move faster!"

"No, you need to believe me. I'm not going to let you come until you say you believe me."

Frustrated, he turns his head away. "Christ, you play dirty."

"Do you believe me? Because I can stay like this all night." It’s a lie. I'm as close to the edge as he is. I’ll fight it as long as I can for him, though. Just to make him say it.

"Shawn..." he sighs suddenly, something flickering in his eyes. "I-... I believe you."

I laugh and lean forward, pressing my lips to his. He yields, melting into me, suddenly pliant. Then he bites my tongue, making me jerk back to stare at him in surprise.

"Now move," he growls.

"I can do that," I reply, smirking, and speed my thrusts. "Do you like that, sweetheart? Hmm?" Stroking his cock, I watch as his head falls back again and little gasps start to escape him. He arches up and goes after my throat, nipping it as he rubs my nipples with his thumbs. It draws a moan out of my throat. "Mmm... Hunter..."

That finally makes him grin at me, smug and triumphant. I get back at him by increasing the tempo of my thrusts, harder and harder until the only thing I can think is that I have to bury myself in him further, until I'm not thinking anymore, just feeling him shudder under me. A final strangled sound from Hunter that seems to be my name warns me a second before I feel warmth between our stomachs and he tightens around me.

Pressure builds up at the base of my spine as the stimulation hits me, hard. His lips are on my throat, his hands working at my nipples. A tired, familiar voice murmurs into my ear, "Love you.”

And then I'm coming so hard that I see multicolored static in front of my eyes. My own harsh yowl echoes in my ears as I crash down on top of him, exhausted and sated, struggling to get a full breath as I hit the earth again.

We sprawl there, pressed together. If we don't move, we're going to end up glued together like this. I can’t say as I would mind.

How in the hell did I ever think of him as distant?
---
Hunter
---
I can’t move. I can’t even  twitch, I’m so wrecked. Shawn seems to be having the same problem, sprawled out on top of me and not moving. We probably ought to move apart, but I can't push him off. He's dead weight. Hell, I'm not even sure that I want to push him off. It's too good to remember the way he felt a few minutes ago, writhing in my arms while I told him that-

Oh, Jesus. I actually told him that I...

Do I love him? I'm not even completely sure what that means. I just had the most mindblowing orgasm of my life. I lost control; he managed to drive me past it. It felt like fire burning me from the inside out, branding me. That should have been enough. I ought to be able to walk away after this, if it was just lust.

So why do I want to do it again in the morning? Why don't I want to push him away so I can get up and sleep by myself?

"Fuck." The resentful mutter escapes me before I can censor it.

Shawn chuckles softly, his head cushioned on my shoulder. "I think that's what we were just doing."

"Funny, Michaels."

"Thanks, I thought so." Sitting up with a little wince, he looks down at me. "So. Why the random cursing?"

"I need an excuse now? What are you, my keeper?" I probably shouldn't be snapping at him, but it's better than trying to explain.

"Hey." He grabs my jaw again and glares at me. "Don't do that, damn it. I just spent the last hour taking your walls down, don't you dare put them back up again."

"Maybe they were there for a reason."

"Yeah, because your dad was a grade A, premium asshole who screwed you up royally."

"So what would that make me, then?"

"Nothing like him!" His angry growl almost makes me back up. "You might think you are, but you're not. I wouldn't sleep with somebody like that. I wouldn't love somebody like that. Understand?"

The protective look in his eyes unnerves me. Obviously, he's not going to take any shit from me on that subject. "Yeah. I understand."

An amused smirk touches his face. "Liar." Reaching up, he runs the fingers of one hand through my hair while rubbing his knuckles over my cheek. He doesn't comment on the fact that my face is suspiciously wet. "It’s okay, though. I'm gonna drive it through that thick skull of yours until you do." Shawn frowns suddenly, uncertain. It's the first time I've seen him anything other than sure of himself, and it sends a stab of protectiveness straight through my stomach. "If... if that's okay. If you want this to happen again."

There’s no other answer I can give. I smile at him, and for once it's genuine. "Yeah. I want that."

That grin lights up his face again, making him so gorgeous it hurts. "All right." Shawn sprawls on me again, nuzzling his cheek against mine before delicately licking the tears off my face. It pulls a moan from me, but I'm too exhausted to do anything about it. Besides, the tender look on his face as he pulls back is too rare to risk. It sends that same wrenching feeling through me. I welcome it this time. "Want to sleep now?"

"Mmm hmm." Before he can move, I loop both arms around his waist and pull him to my chest. We fit together nicely anyway. Running my fingers over the tattoo on his arm, I nearly plead, "Stay?"

Damn. Hunter Hearst Helmsley reduced to pleading. The things he's done to me in one night.

Shawn laughs, settling his head against the crook of my throat. "It's not like I'd rather be somewhere else, baby."

There's the wrench of warmth again, almost painfully strong this time. I could get addicted to that. "Good."

He purrs as he falls asleep, deeply content and pleased with himself. The brat. MY brat.

Yeah. I guess I can love him.

I'm grinning like an idiot as I close my eyes and lean my chin on the top of his head. He's warm, I'm warm... everything's lost in this warm, comfortable sleepiness.

I can't hear the voice of my father in my head anymore. It's burned out, melted away... what does it matter? It's gone. I don't need it now.

No more ice.
---
Kevin
---
One of these days I'm going to get Shawn to accept that a seven o'clock alarm is not a convenient option. The brat seems to think that the planes will wait for him.

Shawn's a good guy, but there are days when his ego makes me what to smack him upside the head. With a table. And when I, arrogance personified, start to get irritated with your ego, it's really not a good sign.

I knock twice on the door, hard enough that the doorknob rattles. Then I just use the key I bribed out of the receptionist and open the door. Something tells me that I don't want to turn on the overhead lights, so I settle for stalking forward towards his bed.

Hunter's is empty. I guess he spent the night at the bar after all. Great, he ought to be a joy to be on the plane with. I sigh in pained anticipation, then lean forward, planning to grab Shawn by the hair and pull him out of bed.

Oh. There's... somebody laying under him. Somebody blond, and pretty damned built. And male. And Hunter.

Shawn’s sleeping on top of Hunter. They're both naked. The room smells like sex. Hell, even I can figure out this situation. Problem is, I can't figure out the why of it.

Before I can back up, Shawn blinks awake and raises his head, rubbing one eye. "What d'you want, Kev?" he mutters, as cheerful as usual at seven in the morning before he's had his coffee.

"Uh..." Oh, brilliant, I deserve an Oscar for that one. Bravo, Kevin. Swallowing, I try again. "The flight-"

"Aw, shit." Hair slides into his face and he pushes it irritably back, letting his head fall forward to hit Hunter's chest. "Bad."

"Yeah." Maybe I ought to use the direct approach... "Shawn? Mind if I ask why you're in bed with Hunter?" Okay, cool, I managed to make it sound like I'm not freaking. Yeah, my sense of reality wasn't just flipped over on its side or anything.

Shawn looks up at me, eyes wide and mock innocent. "Well, I said that I was going to keep him from going back to the bar..."

"You never said that you were going to sleep with him!"

"You didn't ask."

Before I could find something to throw at Shawn, Hunter stirs, shifting under him. He doesn't bother to open his eyes when he asks drowsily, "Shawn?"

Shawn motions for me to shut up. Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against Hunter's while he pushes hair out of the other man’s face. "Hey, sweetheart." When I raise an eyebrow at the tenderness in his voice, Shawn flips me off.

A tiny smile touches Hunter's face. "Morning yet?"

Pausing a moment, Shawn gives that grin that means somebody is about to end up hip deep in trouble. Usually me, in fact. "Nope. Go back to sleep, okay?"

"'kay." His arms wrapping around Shawn fractionally tighter, Hunter drops off again. Shawn smiles fondly at him, his expression soft for a second. I never got that look. God, he's far gone on Helmsley...

I clear my throat pointedly, tearing his attention away. He scowls at me. "Whaaat?"

"You know, we do need to be at the airport in an hour."

"No, you, Scott and Waltman do. Hunter and me are staying here. I was headed back for San Antonio, and he was headed home anyway. I'll just rescheduale two tickets to San Antonio." He smirks, wickedly. "Vince'll hate it, but he owes me for that time I did three weeks straight of shows."

"You enjoy pissing Vince off, don't you?" The question makes him grin wider. I smirk back, then look towards Hunter. "Shawn, are you sure about... this?"

"'This'? What, that I'm sleeping with him? Never been more sure about anything in my life." He glances at Hunter, and the look, sweet and unfamiliar, on his face convinces me more than his words.

"Fine. Whatever. But if he hurts you-"

"If he hurts me, I'll handle it. I'm a big boy, Kev." His grin takes the sting out of his words. "Now go away or you'll miss your flight. Shoo. And put the  'do not disturb' sign up on your way out, huh?"

As usual, I end up doing what he asks without thinking about it. Should've told him to get up and do it his own damned self, but Helmsley was out cold and didn't seem to want him to move, so...

Aw, fuck, I'm going soft.

"Kev?" A tap on my shoulder makes me turn to look at Scott. He's standing there with his bag slung over his shoulder and a wince struggling to get on to his face. The idiot.

With a sigh, I grab the bag, glare at him, and put it over my own shoulder. Fine, so I'm a wimp around these four. Doesn't mean they should think that I enjoy it. Just for good measure, I whack him upside the head and mutter 'moron'. Scott smirks back before nodding towards Shawn's door. "Those two ready to go?"

"They're hanging around for the next flight. C'mon, let's go."

"The next flight?" Scott doesn't budge. "The hell were they doing last night?"

"Screwing each other until four in the morning." The sour comment from Sean earns him Scott's surprised stare. Sean sighs, raking a hand through his hair, and explains, "They were in the room next to mine. I heard them through the wall."

"They were-... those two?" Alarmed, Scott looks up at me. "Did I miss something here? I feel like I ought to be seeing Rod Serling."

I sigh and put my arm over his shoulders. "I'm with you there. C'mon, maybe we can figure it out on the way to the airport."

We're halfway down the hallway before I notice that Sean isn't with us. He's still by the doorway to Shawn and Hunter's room, lost in thought. He looks almost... what, wistful? Jealous, maybe?

Oh, no way in hell. I'm seeing things that aren't there. Gotta be.

"Hey, Sean! Wanna hurry it up a tad?"

The kid jumps half a mile, looks guiltily up, and bounces a little on his toes. "'Kay. Be there in a second."

In less than a second, he's under my other arm. I blink at him, but Sean just grins and ignores me. Shawn and Scott have corrupted the kid, obviously.  On his face, there's no trace of the strange look he'd had a moment ago. Shaking my head, I keep walking, grinning a little at my own stupidity.

 Had to be just my imagination.
---
End.