Well, either I have finally gone off the deep end- which is entirely fucking possible- or Rocky propositioned me not once, not twice, but *three* times tonight, all in front of the whole god damned world. That did happen right? I mean, you all saw the scene in the locker room. You all saw what he did during and after the match against the Dudleys.
Let me tell you, it was damn hard not to rape him on national television in front of a live audience.
I'm looking at myself in the mirror, and I can't even fucking believe I am the same man I was a week ago. Some of the circles have disappeared out from under my eyes, and there is actually some color to my cheeks. Actually, I can barely see any evidence of my obsession with Hunter at all, and I have mixed feelings about that.
One one hand, I am totally happy that I am able to sleep for more than an hour a night. I actually *ate* something today, and I haven't eaten solid food in a long fucking time. Until a few days ago, my whole world revolved around his phone calls, around his voice. I can't even hear him anymore, and it's kinda nice knowing what the hell my own voice sounds like.
On the other, I kind of miss his voice in my head. I miss seeing his reflection just below my own. I mean, the greater part of the last year has revolved around him. I almost feel guilty about being attracted to Rocky, like I am cheating on Hunter or something. Pretty god damned weird if you ask me.
What I can't help but worry about, though, is did I just use Hunter as an excuse to not think about Rocky in the first place? Was I even really obsessed with Hunter at all, you know? Shit, it's been so long since I had another thought that didn't have Hunter in it, I can't even remember what the hell my thoughts were pre-Hunter. And that scares the fuck out of me.
I guess the question is now, is do I go up to Rocky's room? I mean, that is the one sure fire fucking way to know if I am still sane, and that my head isn't playing some sick, twisted joke on me.
Guess there's only one way to find out right?
*********
I don't even remember the ride in the elevator, but here I am, hand piosed in front of Rocky's door in an attempt to knock. It's been this way for about five minutes, I think. I wish to fuck I would do something besides stand here like a fucking idiot, but I can't seem to knock and I can't seem to leave either.
Have I always been this indecisive? I mean, come on. It didn't take me this long to tell Hunter no the other night, and I had waited for him to ask me over for an all night fuck-fest for as long as I can remember.
"Jesus, Chris, just fucking do *something*!" My voice is entirely louder than I would have liked it to be, and I wonder if the whole damn floor heard me. Panic sets in now, because I am pretty sure that Rocky heard me, and now I can't even fucking change my mind about this.
I raise my hand to again to knock, and it hits something that is definately not the fucking door. Shit.
"Hello, Christopher." Oh shit, oh fuck, oh god. When the hell did he open the door? I wanna just run back to the saftey of my hotel room and pretend I did *not* just hear the sexiest voice I have ever heard in my life say my name.
Wait. When the hell did *his* voice become the sexiest voice I have ever heard in my life?
"Won't you come in?" It's then that I notice that he's holding my hand. I can't even speak, and I am surprised I have the strength to nod my head and follow him through the door. My whole world seems a bit fuzzy, and the only thing I am sure of is how good the tiny circle he is drawing in my palm with his finger feels.
He leads me over to his bed, and I sit down on the edge of it while he pours me a drink. It's then I realize he's not wearing a shirt, and watching his muscles flex by the simple action of pouring a fucking drink has suddenly become the most erotic thing on this earth. He's saying something, though I couldn't tell you what any of the words are because I think I just drowned in the softness of his voice.
The room temperature has elevated about fourteen thousand degrees, and all he's done so far is pour two drinks, made small talk, and pulled a chair up to sit across from me. God I hope like fuck he really said all those things earlier tonight, because if not, he's going to have to physically peel me off the bed and throw me out the door.
Unconsiously, I cross my legs in an attempt to hide my ever-growing hard on, and consiously I uncross them because it's painful. I was kinda hoping all that had gone unnoticed by the man I will now refer to as 'god in sweat pants', but the bemused smile that crosses those totally kissable lips tells me otherwise, and because of said smile, it is now fifty thousand degrees hotter in here.
So much for the calm, cool as fuck attitude I play off every week for the fans.
"Why so quiet tonight, Christopher? Usually you have so much to say." Could be because my tongue is thick as a brick right now, Rocky. I hadn't even realized I hadn't said anything, but I know if I do, it's going to be entirely too damn garbled to be coherant.
After a few heartbeats of me staring at him like a moron, he stands up and walks over to the window. Even through the loose sweats I can see his well toned ass flex, and I think I might die. I have no idea why the fuck I notice all of the things now. It's not like I haven't seen all this before, but for some reason this is the first time I have actually *noticed* just how fucking sexy he is.
He stares out the window for a little while, and I try to talk to him, but the only words that form in my head are 'I want you to fuck me right through the floor'. Somehow I don't think he'd object to those words, but I would like to retain some semblence of rationality. Why, I have no idea.
Maybe I just want him to be in control of this, since he's the one that started it in the first place. Truthfully, though, I thinks it's because I am scared as all fuck.
Chapter Seven: Make Me Perfect
