My best ladies Dark Kaneanite and Layfield Vice and I occasionally do prompts when we're chatting like insane people. All it is: We have one word and then make a short (in my case I have trouble with the 'short' part) little scene inspired by that word. The next ones will be a different pairing. If you don't get it or don't like, whatever. I just think they're cute and fun :) Paul= Paul Wight or Big Show. Don't hate, try it...I promise it wont scar you for life.
Paul rolled his eyes as Chris carried on ranting about the approach of his fortieth birthday as though it was the Apocalypse on its way. "It'll be special baby, and I won't let anyone say anything about your age." Paul offered, watching Chris' scowl move on his face. "Fine...I want fireworks." Paul sighed. "Where will I find fireworks in November? That's for July." Chris grumbled and swaggered past Paul, reaching for the calendar he tore off pages and tossed them over his shoulder. "There, it's July. I want fireworks."
I asked him to go out with me. I had no need to be nervous, after all I am Chris Jericho the epitome of confidence and perfection. He answered me by pressing his lips to mine, with a smirk the giant turned away and for a moment I was stunned. Then I followed him with a spring in my step, he'd said yes after all. But why wouldn't he? I am Chris Jericho.
"Who was on the phone babe?" Paul asked, looking up from his breakfast. Chris yawned and ran a hand through his hair standing it up in crazy spikes. "Apparently, I have just been asked to be on Dancing With The Stars." Chris rolled his eyes and slid onto Pauls' lap, playing with the pancakes on his plate and feeding the big man some. "So?" Paul asked, trying to keep the chuckle out of his voice. Chris noted it and scowled, only for a moment. "I said yes...but if that assclown emcee Tom Burgeron gets too corny I'm putting him in The Walls. I can't stand him." Paul almost choked on his food, laughing.
Chris straddled the big mans waist and brought his hand up, ready to seductively suck at one of those big, yummy fingers. He only got as far as the finger tip before he pulled it away, grimacing and spitting. "You taste disgusting, what have you been touching?" The blond scrubbed his lips on his hand. "You!" Paul laughed, rolling Chris off of him and onto the floor, where he pouted.
Chris and Paul sat at their table, all that was on it were glasses of water and silverware, not even rolls yet. Chris was getting impatient and scowling to kill, so when the next employee walked by Paul stopped him. "Hey, we've been waiting for a few years here for some service, we better get some pronto. I'm not gonna sit here and take this disrespect." Chris leaned towards the terrified, babbling, waiter and leered. "Yeah, and I'm not gonna take it either."
Paul went to the air conditioner and turned the knob. He shivered, looking over at Chris who was seated in the middle of the bed channel surfing, rolling his eyes because nothing seemed to suit him. "Damn Chris, it's colder than a morgue in here!" "I like it." Chris said simply, and with a sigh, Paul fixed the knob back to where Chris had put it.
"Well?" Paul asked and held his breath after the word was out. He watched as Chris tasted the dinner he'd made, his face giving no hint as he chewed. "It's good." Chris answered, taking a drink. "Whoah, wait...that's it? No complaining, no nit-picking, no nose-wrinkling or scowling?" "No." Chris said, taking another bite. Paul was floored, and wondered if he shouldn't throw a block party to celebrate.
Some people ask me what I see in Chris Jericho, okay, so a lot of people do. I mainly just tell them it's not their business and threaten to flatten them, being a giant I can do that. Sometimes I don't say anything, I just loom. It has the same affect. Their self-righteous veneers easily crumble, as if it's their business to ask anyway.
Chris was pouting in his locker, his head hung as guys laughed at him before leaving. Just him and I were left and I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pulling him close to me. "What's wrong beautiful?" I ask. He sighs, and turns around, his wet cobalt eyes searching mine. "Do I really act like a 'Christina'?" He whines, wiping a tear from his cheek. I tell him no even though he does, and vow to severely fuck up the next idiot who calls him that.
Chris was slumped over the table, eyes barely open, swollen and puffy from crying. I moved him a little and he was limp like a doll, trying to say something but the words weren't coherent. I lifted him into my arms and carried him back to our room as his tears wet my chest, like a lost child.
The barber took one look at Chris...and asked him if he needed to sit on a phone book. He got a magazine lobbed at his head with intent to kill. I grabbed Chris around the waist and dragged him out as he shouted a line of threats and curses.
I dumped Chris onto the bed leaned over him. Just as we were about to kiss, the bed collapsed. "Maybe you should have skipped dessert." It was a joke. A bad one obviously. Chris was offended and huffed, crawled out from under me, and stomped to the door. "I'm not fat, hypocrite! I---I'm big boned!" He shouted before slamming the door. Now he's going to pout...probably for the next year or so.
I love the way he finds my shirt after we make love, no matter where it has happened to land. He likes to wear it and curl up, consumed in it like he is right now, asleep with a content smile curving his lips. These are the best moments, the reasons I love him. No one else has to understand, they don't see past his mask of arrogance, they don't see him when he's wearing my shirt.
Chris shoved some bills into my hand and waved me away. "You know what I like." He added. I came back moments later with a tall Starbucks cup. Chris sipped it and narrowed his eyes at me. "It tastes different." "Skim milk." I explained. He slammed the drink onto the table angirly. "Are you trying to say that I'm fat again!" "Chris..." I groaned. Note to self: Quit offending moody boyfriend.
Chris was looking me over in my spandex ring gear. By the look on his face I could tell he was contemplating something and it probably had something to do with matching Armani suits. "You should spray tan. You're pale." Well, I wasn't expecting that. I laughed. "I probably wouldn't fit in the booth."
"Your ego is so fucking huge--" I shouted at Chris and he interrupted me. "At least I'm not a massive freak of nature!" "That's debatable!" I countered. "Put some ice on that head of yours Chris, I hear it works wonders for swelling!" He yanked open the freezer door and lobbed a bag of frozen vegetables at me. That ruined the whole fight, we both started laughing.
I groaned and looked at my watch. There's nothing quite like being in the airport at 4 fucking a.m. with Chris at my side groggy and complaining about absolutely everything. I roll my eyes, already getting a headache. "Chris, it's too early to be bitching isn't it?" I sigh, annoyed. "I don't know," He snapped. "Is it too early for me to tell you I'm not in the mood tonight?" I shut my mouth.
We'd been fighting all day, at each others throats, and it had finally reached its boiling point. Chris' eyes flashed at me, indignant silver sparkling hotly against blue. I hoisted him onto the counter and sat him there, ravaging his mouth with hungry kisses. We both broke away panting. "Chris, you know I just fight with you just so we can make up, right?" He smirked, wrapping his arms around my neck. "I know that assclown, now shut up and kiss me!"