A/N: Written as a request for my smexy canadian lover Dusti VonC. I like this pairing and might do more with it, but time will tell. Anyways, ENJOY everyone.
Brown eyes scanned the backstage area, watching as the rosters mingled and the cameras rolled. A few nodded to him as he passed, but most stayed out of his way, not wanting to unintentionally upset him. With a sigh he headed towards his office, intent on hiding from everyone and everything. However the sight of Phil bent over the dark wood top of his desk with John Layfield hammering into him put an end to that thought. He slammed the door as the Straight Edged Champion screamed out his climax. With a grumble he moved down the hallway, trying to stay out of everyone's way but still seeing more of his superstars than he really wanted.
Heading into a room with devious smirk on his face was Matt Striker, leading a willowy brunette with blonde streaks in her hair and dressed in a school girl's outfit; murmuring about a specific lesson that he wanted to 'teach' her. With an eye roll Shane moved past, sighing when he seen Chris Irvine pressing a rather short—although the perfect height for him—black headed girl against the wall and making her moan as he nipped at her neck. With a disgusted sigh he barked at the two to take their bedroom play somewhere else and out of the public eye. As they did as he commanded he ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair; a perfect imitation of his father from head to foot.
He stood there a moment, taking in the sounds from the crowd as they filtered through the arena; making the flooring writhe as if it were alive under his feet. He moved further down the darkened corridor, finding a stack of crates and hopping up onto them, sitting with his back pressed against the cool concrete wall. They were running the tribute to Eddie now, sounds of cheering and chants of 'we lie, we cheat, we steal' rising to a deafening pitch as they echoed through the stone structure. With a sad smile he thought back. Some of his fondest memories contained the Latino fire cracker. Of course thinking about those long lost snap shots in time brought up other—more tear threatening memories. Memories that were so cherished that they were brought to the front of his mind at least two or three times a day and they all centered on one man. A man that could set his blood racing through his veins and his skin a fire without even touching him.
The slipped past his lips, a whisper that was lost in the roar of the crowd. It was so long ago, yet Shane could still feel Dwaynes' warm hands on him, could still smell the fresh scent of his skin as it filled his senses.
"You're really leaving." It wasn't a question and his voice was tinged with sadness as he ran his finger over Dwyane's bare chest.
"Yeah. And you're taking the helm from the old man."
"Is there anything I can offer you to make stay?"
"Shane, I've had my run and now I'm going to try my hand at something else."
Sadly he nodded; they'd had this conversation time and time again and yet neither could make the other see their point of view. The rest of the night was spent cuddled close, hands lazily caressing in order to memorize the texture of skin and imprint the sounds that the gentle touches created as lips and tongues committed the taste to memory.
A loud groan pulled Shane from the often thought of memory and he looked up to see Glen leaning against the wall not too far from him. Of course on second look Shane seen the reason for Glen's guttural utterances. On her knees in front of him was a red head; her lips wrapped around him as he grabbed at her hair and used it to guide her head in a quick bobbing motion. Shane shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, there was no way that he could move without being noticed. Unfortunately for him closing his eyes didn't drown out the primal sounds. Soon though Glen's voice melted into another's deep throated groan and he lost himself to yet another memory.
Dwayne was lying on the bed, panting as Shane ran his tongue in teasing swipes up and down the twitching shaft. Anyone stumbling onto the scene would have trouble picking out who was exactly in charge of the situation, but it didn't matter. Shane knew what Dwayne liked and it only took moments for Dwayne to reach his peak; hoarsely yelling as he toppled over the edge. Panting he pulled Shane up, holding him close and kissing him softy; smiling against his sticky lips.
Glen howled, busting back into Shane's daydream and reminding him that he wasn't in the arms of his lover but sitting in a hallway while an employee got his dick sucked. The sound of a zipper and Glen's throaty laughter as he promised the short red head even more later ringing loudly in his ears. Finally Shane was alone to nurse the ache that no one even knew existed. It didn't help matters that the next thing he heard was Dwayne's voice as he went through his taped segment. Shane mouthed the words, knowing each one by heart, his whispered words mingling with those on the Titantron.
"Finally, The Rock has come back to his Shane O Mac."
The change in words made Shane's eyes fly open and his mouth fall open in a shocked 'O'. Standing in front of his crate was Dwayne, wearing a white A-shirt and a pair jean of distressed jeans. It was a simple look, but it was more than enough to steal Shane's breath. Dwayne smiled at him, his teeth startling white in the dim hallway.
"I didn't think you'd be here." Shane whispered.
"When the old man let it slip that you'd be overseeing it all, there was no way I could stay away."
Words died on both their lips as they stared; taking in the changes that time had wrought on their faces and bodies. In the end it was what time never killed that meant the most; the light touch of lips that whisked away the years and left them merged as they breathed the one word on both their minds.