Title: Can’t Trust Me [1/2]
Pairing: Cena//Miz, John Morrison//The Miz
Summary: Everyone can keep secrets. And it’s the ones that you never suspect that are the best at it.
Warnings/Spoilers: contains allusions to m/m situations and maybe mild language. No spoilers in this one I believe.
I took one last deep breath, and thrust inside him as hard as my body would let me. I was so close to climax, and his warm body took me over the edge. He was so tanned, and in such amazing shape and there was no doubting that he really was the things fantasies were made of. Spasms of pleasure rocked my body hard, making it hard to stay up on my knees and elbows. I knew he was enjoying it as well, as his gorgeous hair was matted with sweat, and his eyes were closed.
I remembered back to when I had seen him on tough enough, with that short brown hair, and that same cocky smile. I remembered him blowing everyone away in that competition, and I often wondered if he blew everyone in a different way to get to the top. It was the same cocky smile that was looking up at me now, clearly reflecting John's feelings of satisfaction, and only shortly after he had blown me away.
I climbed off his sweat-slicked body, and gave a short laugh. I wasn’t laughing at him, but a thought in my mind, and one I planned on keeping there. Grabbing my clothes from the various spots on the floor and the furniture, and even from the next room I went to the large bathroom which was the sole reason I had bought this condo.
I pulled on the pair of fitted jeans, which were worn white in the places where pants got worn when they get old, and didn't even bother with underwear. I knew where I was going, and I wouldn’t need then there. And the last thing I wanted was underwear lines visible through my perfect jeans. I then pulled on a wife beater, followed by a dress shirt and took a moment to regard myself in the mirror. My hair had been a little mussed, but after ten seconds of careful sculpting it was perfect again.
I walked out of the bathroom, and looked over at John's already sleeping figure, which was snoring softly with three pillows under his head. Some people might be offended if the person they just fucked senseless had fallen asleep right away, but I had known Morrison long enough to know that was just what he did. It made him tired. I shook my head softly, not bothering to wake him, and knowing when he would still be asleep when I got back hours later.
After pulling on a pair of dress shoes and strapping on my watch, I walked out the door. I didn't want to go where I was headed, but I didn't have a choice. It was time to let one of my secrets out of the bag. And it was definitely going to be a fun one to let everyone in on.
LA was a strange place at the best of times, and it seemed like everyone was out in full force tonight. Hookers with short skirts, torn nylons, and high heels were on the corner trying to make a little money, and across from them was a boisterous Bible thumper who was preaching the end of the world to all who would listen, and even to most that wouldn’t listen.
But I was not listening, or hardly even looking at the way I was going. My feet knew the way to the hotel he stayed at off by heart, as I had been going there for months, whenever he could manage to get into town. And it was nice to have something to look forward as well. Not that john Morrison in my bed at home was anything to take for granted, but that was exactly what I was doing.
The warm whoosh of air hit me when I walked in the lobby of the swanky hotel, and went over to the desk to find out what Room he was in. Once I knew which floor I was going to, I stepped into the golden elevator, and pressed the button for the tenth floor. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror, and smiled. I was a good looking motherfucker sometimes, and this was one of those times.
He was waiting at the door when I got there, leaning against the wall like it was just another day, and nothing was extremely secretive going on.
But the truth was, neither Morrison, nor John's new wife knew that they were even friends. No one had any idea that I had done a strip tease for him, ripping my John Cena shirt off my tanned body. And absolutely no one knew that I bottomed for Cena whenever I got a chance, and loved it.
He ushered me in, not letting words ruin what we were there to do. Not that we didn't like each other, but it was less awkward if I kept my mouth shut. Hero worship could be a turnoff sometimes, and John wasn't really a fan of it.
The first time we had gotten together was when we were doing the program together, and I was playing a character not so unrealistic to my own feelings. I was jealous of him. He had all the love, and all the hate of the crowd, which was something I wanted so desperately.
But he was much nicer, and much less egotistical than Morrison had ever been. And our attraction was instant, burning like sparks in a fire. I was wearing his shirt and hat, and looked a good amount like him really, and it made him uneasy. We were a lot alike honestly.
And when we were in bed, writhing against each other in the throes of passion, we were also a lot alike. Every move was matched and welcomed and it felt like true happiness.
And so these rendezvous continued, and we met whenever possible. But John didn't know what was happening. He didn't know that when I met with him, things were happening.
He didn't know that I had a very close friend who worked as a concierge and that every time John rented a room here, in this swanky hotel that it was tampered with. He didn't know that I always positioned myself in a certain way, so that he would be most exposed for the cameras, and that I would merely be the innocent Nelly bottom, who was a tool to the breaking of the pillar of all that is good: John Cena’s morals.