Title: Worse, I Think I'm In Love
Pairings: John Cena/The Miz
Summary: So he hadn't planned it, and when he did plan it…everything just got twisted up and sharp and suddenly he had lost a chance he was never sure he had in the first place. Happy ending!
Disclaimer: The WWE is not mine nor are any of it's child branches, it is the 96% property of the McMahon's and God bless the bastards that work for them. I respect the sexual preferences and identities of all the wrestlers on WWE roster, and who they share a bed with is really none of my business.
Warnings: Spoilers before and for The Bash 2009, character analysis, touch of angst, slash, happy ending
AN: Ok, here's a shot at this couple. I love them, they're hot, even though we all know Miz is fucking Swagger. Not the point (though if you like that couple, I have a little series of those ficlets on my profile you can check out.) Shameless promoting aside, I started re-watching the WWE a little bit after The Bash, so I missed the entire feud that led up to it. I own the DVD, so all details of the before feud came from the build-up promo before the actual match.
It's not like he planned it.
Miz came into the WWE after that horrible reality TV show, wanting to fulfill a dream he'd had since he was a Twist-of-Fating his cousins on the trampoline in his Grandma's back yard. He struggled to make a name for himself. He cut down on the partying to train, to lift more weights than he ever had, to push himself that extra inch. He worked on his signature moves more than he'd like to admit, and he even made them a bit risky (he'd hurt his knee a bit more than he'd admit either.)
Then Be Jealous was formed, and he was in the spotlight. The belts were more amazing than they looked on TV all that those years, and he couldn't stop himself from gyrating all over his hotel room in nothing but the belt and a pair of boxers. John became his best friend in half no-time, and they did everything together. He was so cool. Nothing could mar the perfection of John Morrison, from his impeccable taste in music to the glitter on his abs.
The Draft snuck up on them both. Before Miz knew it, his belt was gone and Morrison had cost him an important match. Hurt and confused, he screamed at his friend back stage and demanded a reason. With John's soft-spoken reply that he hadn't wanted to see him hurt, Miz knew he couldn't stay mad. They made up, but when The Draft finally came it messed with their friendship. Morrison was kind of annoyed that he got the honor of going to RAW while he himself was put on Smackdown.
An honor? What the fuck ever! Miz found himself suddenly put into a locker room with a bunch of guys who either hated him or thought he was a joke. He recognized some faces from TV and WWE roster get-togethers, and he knew only a scant few personally.
Jack wanted nothing to do with him right off, informing him in that stupid lisp that he was a nobody and Jack Swagger was going to make a real name for himself. Evan had become a huge face with the audience, and was advised by several people not to be seen with him.
Somehow, Miz found himself a heel…a villain among heroes.
That first episode, that first live event, was when he fell in love.
Miz had just been sitting there in his wrestling pants, minding his own business and lacing up his boots. He had been looking for his fedora earlier, but it was nowhere to be found. No worried, he had a back-up in his locker. He felt someone approach him, but again he didn't give it a second thought.
Tennis shoes and denim filled his vision, the man stood right there in front of him. Miz slowly lifted his head, his ice blue eyes meeting warm azure.
" 'Sup, man."
John Cena…standing there in front of him. Smiling, cool, larger than life…his brain shut off.
Miz nodded slowly, his foot dropping to the floor with a heavy thump.
//I can't breathe. Say something, moron!//
Miz wet his lips, trying to relieve his cotton mouth, "I…I know."
//Real smooth, dumb-fuck.//
"Cool" John held out something, and the younger man had to seriously concentrate so he could see that it was clearly his sparkly flame fedora "Here."
"Uh…" Miz blinked up at him, feeling ridiculous "How'd you get that?"
"The Rhodes brat was sneaking off with it" John chuckled, like he couldn't believe it but didn't expect anything else "From the look on his face, he was either gonna dip it in white-out or beat off to it. I dunno, I don't pretend to understand him or DiBiase. But, hey, what can I do? Rhodes considers me a friend, so I entertain the kid. It's not hard, he's got the attention span of, like…a fly."
Miz cursed the sudden tremble in his fingers, giving them a firm flex before reaching out for his hat. When he curled his fingers around the brim, his pinky just brushed Cena's fist. His heart skipped two beats and his face flamed, just at such simple contact.
"Keep your eyes on that" John winked, grinning down at him "Some of these jackasses like to steal gimmick-stuff."
Dear God, those dimples!
John glanced at the clock, pulling a face, "Shit, gotta get. See ya, man."
John went off, disappearing through the lockers.
Miz put the back of his hand to his cheek, brow creased in astonishment at the heat there.
No, he didn't plan this at all.
Miz was sure it had been a fluke, pure and simple. It was his first show, John was nice to him, so his body reacted to the act of kindness. That was it, there was nothing there. He didn't feel a thing for John Cena, nope…not him. He buried his head in the proverbial sand, crossed his arms and refused to give it another moment of his time.
Mike was prone to migraines. Not hospital-level-eight-dehydration migraine, but enough to make him dizzy and put him out of commission (not to mention it kicked in his photosensitivity.) Unfortunately, one of these hit him rather suddenly at a house show. He had been making his way toward the entrance, he had a match with Primo, when the faint tingling in the back of his neck exploded into a full-frontal fire.
Miz gave a short, sharp yelp and doubled over himself. He cradled his head between his palms, the ache filling up his head like marmalade and weighing heavily down upon him. His hat clacked to the floor, his feet giving way beneath him when he tried to stumble forward. He kept his eyes clenched shut, crawling until his side hit the wall. It was mercifully chilly against his skin. Miz pressed his forehead to it, yet the pain remained in his temples.
Twin tears escaped his eyes under the sudden pressure, and Mike couldn't bring himself to man-up when he couldn't stand to open his eyes.
Miz swore he heard his name, his given name at that. It fizzled out, blocked by the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.
Mike, you ok?
A cool palm laid over the back of his neck, drawing him away from the wall. Light flooded his lids, threatening his sensitive eyes. Someone was asking him something, inquiring about his health, in this perfect masculine voice. Just enough depth, smooth like good whiskey…it didn't hurt his head.
"Migraine" Miz replied, teeth grit "Everything hurts."
Strong arms lifted him to his feet, and his legs went weak on him.
"It's ok, I got ya. Wrap your arms around me."
Miz murmured his thanks, his arms around the man's thick shoulders. Sunglasses slid onto his face, shielding his aching eyes. He found himself lifted up quite easily, trying not to make a noise of surprise or protest for fear of aggravating his head further. He was carried out of the area, away from his match.
Miz ended up with his head half-buried in the man's neck, eyes shut in pleasure now instead of screwed up in pain. A musky, Gillette scent flooded his senses, coating his palate teasingly. He didn't give a thought about parting his lips and mouthing the thick line of throat bared to him. Lust sparked in his belly when he tasted the heat beneath his tongue, the skin smooth. He felt a shiver go through the man carrying him, his own body responding to the kind gesture and the warmth.
"Take it easy on me, Miz" the man laughed.
Miz's heart stopped realizing just who it was as he was taken into a room. With a brush of his shoulder, the lights were dimmed and some of the ache disappeared.
"In the flesh" John laid the younger man down on the couch, making sure he was comfortable "If you feel as bad as you look, you should stay here."
Miz wanted to laugh, joke it off, but his head was throbbing while his mind was frozen in shock.
John eased the sunglasses from the man's eyes, folding them into his shirt collar. Mike looked over the man standing before him, ice blue eyes wide.
//I just suckled John Cena.//
"Need anything?" John inquired, acting as if nothing had happened "Tylenol? Need me to get a trainer to look you over?"
Miz shook his head, indicating he was fine when he was shaken up on the inside.
John gave him that dimpled smile and he melted right there on the couch, "Pay more attention next time. Our bodies give us signals when we're gonna shut down. Later."
John left him alone in the dimmed room with his thoughts, shutting the door carefully behind him.
Miz curled up on the couch, clenching his eyes to block out the world.
He couldn't bury his head in the sand any longer, he had to face this head-on.
Miz waited until the next Superstars taping before he decided to lay his feelings out to examine them carefully. He needed help to fix these things, and there was only one man he trusted with himself like this.
John Morrison walked into his shared dressing room, finding his best friend slumped on one of the benches.
"Mikey!" Morrison smiled, though it faded when he saw how pale his friend was "You look horrible, man. Are you ok? You hurt?"
"Worse" Miz scowled "I think I'm in love."
"Oh, you poor baby, you've got it so rough" John scoffed, stripping off his gold wrestling pants "Life sure deals you from the bottom of the deck, huh?"
"…with John Cena."
John's expression changed instantly. He thought it over as he stripped off his clothes, pulling a fresh outfit. As he changed, Mike ducked his head and let his friend mull it over. John paused at the fly of his jeans, looking up.
"Are you sure?"
"I dunno" Miz raked a hand through his hair, not caring that he messed it up "Some things have happened."
John raised a brow at him, "What kind of things?"
Miz flushed, giving the man a nasty look, "Not those kinds of things, perv. He's been real cool to me…ad I always did think he was so damn awesome on TV…"
"Cena? You sure?" John plopped down beside him on the bench, shirtless and confused "Really?"
"Start at the beginning" John sighed, tugging on his tennis shoes "And when you get to the end…stop."
Miz didn't even twitch at the Through The Looking Glass reference, he wasn't in the mood.
This concerned his friend, "I mean it, man, tell me."
"I'd never been that close to him before" Miz began, folding his knee up to his chest so he could play with the torn seam at the cuff "He came up to me before a match, my fedora had gone missing. He came up and…I couldn't breath. My chest got tight, my throat closed up, and couldn't get more than four words out. He was so…I didn't know what to do with myself. When I walked away, I realized I was blushing. I tried to write it off as a fluke, I seriously did. And then…"
Miz ducked his head, "I got this migraine, and he carried me to a private room so I didn't flail around in the hallway like an idiot. I…I may have kissed his neck a little…"
John wet his lips, "And?"
"…I liked it."
"Wow, ok then" the ravenette rubbed the back of his neck, mulling it over "What are you gonna do about this? Are you going to go after him or admire from afar and slowly kill yourself or what?"
"I dunno" Miz shrugged "That's why I came to you. I need your help. I don't know what to do with myself, I'm fucking lost here!"
"Damn" John took a deep breath, thinking it over "If you love him, you should go after him. He's a great guy, those dimples are enough for anyone."
"How?" the younger man asked dejectedly, feeling adrift and floatie-less "How can I get him to look at a guy like me that way? I mean, I know I'm not turning anyone to stone, but I think he's a little out of my league. I need plan."
They sat in silence, one thinking over the situation and the other trying not to over think it all.
"I know!" John stated suddenly, scaring his ex-tag team partner "I got it, man. I know how you can convince him you're worth hooking up with!"
//I didn't say I was unworthy// Miz narrowed his eyes at his best friend //But whatever, that's cool too.//
"Ok, let's hear it."
"You can feud with him!"
Miz blinked…then blinked again…blinked, then furrowed his brow.
"You can ask Stephanie to write in a feud for the two of you" John began, sounding a little too excited on the prospect "Cena's known for hooking up with people that've stood up to him. Let's look at his last four lovers…Edge, Jericho, Shawn Michaels, even that couple week stunt with The Hardy Boyz. He loves a good fight, a challenge."
"I can't do that" Miz stated in a near whisper, then escalading into an angry hiss "That's the exact opposite of what I want, glitter-butt!"
"You asked me for my advice and that's it" John stated finally, getting up off the bench and grabbing his duffle (which he filled with his crap) "I say you should start a feud. You'll get some one-on-one in the ring, he'll start feeling on you, and realize suddenly that he wants your ass. Once you get him in your bed, you can ensnare him with your Real Deal Sex Appeal."
Miz chewed the side of his lip, "Are you sure, man? This sounds like it's gonna be a high-stakes game."
"It is" John shrugged "But hey, I'm not the one playing it."
Morrison left him alone in the locker room, gaping after him.
//The people I surround myself with// Miz groaned, digging his fingertips into his scalp //But maybe he has something there. Maybe if I show him I can be passionate…it'll attract him the same way it did to Shawn. He really seemed to love that guy, even though Michaels betrayed him in the ring.//
So Johnny had a point, he needed to start a feud with Cena.
Ok, he could do this.
It took Miz some time discussing with Stephanie McMahon and some of the writers with RAW, but they soon enough found a patch of middle ground.
So The Miz went out there and mocked John Cena openly, calling him a poser and making fun of his vast fan base. Even making a crack about his movies (though he knew that was a low blow, because he'd seen The Marine at least seven times.) Called him a corporate puppet, dressed up in Cenation gear and waved his hand in front of his face on camera.
Those clothes were still in his closet, actually.
But no matter what he did, Cena ignored him.
"What do I have to do to get you in this ring?"
This was when Mike was forced to take "The Miz" into the next level, to full-on play his persona until it consumed him. He mocked, he screamed, he did everything The Miz is supposed to do. And in that mindset, he apparently decided it was ok to declare himself the winner of a match that never really was. He'd call Cena out, he'd be ignored, and then he would say he had won by forfeit. It wasn't right, but that wasn't the point.
Around the "The Miz: 4, Cena: 0", Mike almost broke.
He came back from the ring in full Cenation gear, from the shoes to the "U Can't C Me" cap and bands and everything else. Mike's grin dropped as soon as he was backstage, muscles aching as they were relaxed. Tension had been tight out there, he had been sure Cena was ready to come out there and beat his ass all over the ring. But so far, nothing.
Miz stopped in one of the side hallways, taking off his cap and wiping his slick forehead with the back of his hand. Damn, he couldn't even remember where the locker room was. So many arenas…and it didn't help that his adrenalin-rush had left him dizzy. This whole business was exhausting, and he decided right then that the next time he saw Cena, he was just going to tell him the truth.
Humiliation had to be better than inducing migraines.
Two strong hands seized him by the loose material of his shirt, whipping him around and slamming him against the wall. His had clattered to the floor. He lost his breath for a moment, trying to gather his wits as John Cena himself appeared in front of him. This was it, this was the confrontation he had been looking for! He opened his mouth to explain, to tell him that it was all a ruse, that he didn't mean a word of it. He was ready to admit his embarrassing secret, let it out.
John clamped a hand down over his mouth, cutting off any sound he would've made. The older man looked extremely pissed, handsome features twisted in a scowl. The other hand was balled into a fist, but he wasn't punched. Instead the thick forearm slammed down across his chest, pinning him effectively.
"You have a good time out there makin' an ass outta yourself?" John growled, digging the tips of his fingers into the younger man's cheek "Trying to make it out like I'm a poser?"
Mike just stared at him with those wide ice blue eyes, imploring him to understand. Something softened on Cena's face, something resembling desire flickering in his own eyes. There was a moment when The Miz was sure he was dreaming, when John softened his touch to a brush of his palm against his face. John lowered his hand slowly, both memorizing every slide of flesh.
Cena stopped when the side of his hand brushed just beneath the swell of the other's lower lip, revealing the pink flesh of his mouth. There was a moment, that dreaming moment, when John leaned in for just a second.
Miz took in a shaky breath, thinking he was finally going to get what he wanted.
"You keep pushin', and I'm gonna break you" John hissed out "Yer gonna get yourself hurt, kid."
Miz found himself shoved down onto the ground, afraid to look up at the older man. He kept his eyes on the floor, listening to the heavy footsteps as Cena left.
When he was sure he was alone, Mike lifted his head and found his ball cap. He slid his fingers over the swell of it, gripping it tight and sliding it closer. He clutched it to his chest, trying not to cry and hoping to get his heart to slow down.
This wasn't going how he wanted…not one part of this was right.
Maybe he couldn't do this.