Title: Say It

Rating: NC-17, eventually.

Pairing: Christian and erm…William Regal.

Genre: Filth and humor.

Warnings: Smut, BDSM, Non-con (sort of-ish), Oral/Anal, all the good stuff.

Summary: Regal has the perfect cure for Christian's insolence.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author Notes: I haven't wrote a wrestling slash fic in a long time, but the idea for this one has been nagging at me for months. I just tend to write filth so if you find any plot in here, shoot it on sight 'cause it's trespassing. I don't expect to have many readers considering the pairing. I think I'm one of the few rare people who finds William Regal attractive, but I hope there are some die-hard slashers out there who are willing to give this story a shot. This is only the first part. Next part will follow soon. Enjoy Chapter One.

Say It


'Unbelievable. He's actually drawn a smiley face on his door. A smiley bloody face, for goodness sake...'

William Regal muttered to himself, sneering at the crudely scribbled sign pinned to the dressing room door. He could hardly believe Christian's lack of decorum. The man was pushing forty, yet he was drawing faces on doors like a bored infant! Truth be told, the only thing that actually surprised Regal was that the sign was written in permanent marker and not crayon. Christian had never acted in accordance with his age - not for as long as William had known him, anyway. Perhaps that was the secret to his appeal, the key to his popularity both in the ring and out. If so, then the Englishman was more than happy being a social outcast.

He raised a hand to knock on the locker room door, but then lowered it and yanked the handle. He was well beyond politeness when it came to dealing with Christian. Entering the champ's locker room, he found the private changing area empty, but could hear running water drowning out the sound of a vaguely familiar melody. William rolled his eyes when he realised that Christian was softly singing his own entrance music as he showered. The Canadian sounded surprisingly cheerful for someone who had just lost a match, and then been mercilessly beaten down by the number one contender for his title.

William smirked at that thought. Defeating Christian that night had given him such a rush. As he had held the obnoxious champion's shoulders to the mat for the three count, elation coursed through his veins. Both the embarrassment of his breakneck defeat at Summerslam and all the petulant and disrespectful remarks Christian had made about him recently had momentarily disappeared, to be replaced by a split-second of the ecstatic joy that only having complete power over another person can give. William wanted that feeling again, and soon.

The sound of water ceased, leaving only Christian's merry humming filling the silence. Smoothing down the lapel of his navy blue jacket, William straightened up and prepared to confront his rival. For the first time since arriving, he noticed the ECW championship glinting where it sat atop Christian's carryall. William licked his lips at the sight of the title. Soon, that precious belt would be his. He was sure of it. He'd done more than enough work lately to ensure as much. Ever since moving to ECW, William had devoted a considerable amount of his time to watching as many tapes of Christian's matches as he could get his hands on. It had become somewhat of an obsession. He had made it his personal mission to develop a second nature for anticipating Christian's every movement, his every breath. He was going to make Christian regret the day he ever signed on the dotted line to return to WWE.

And to think that he had heard through the grapevine that Christian, apparently perturbed by the lack of familiar faces on ECW, had been rather happy to hear that his fellow veteran was joining the brand! William had certainly done a good job of changing his tune...

Christian eventually emerged from the shower cubicle, a towel draped loosely around his slender waist. He paced across the cold concrete floor into the changing area, rubbing his aching head tiredly. Upon seeing Regal he grinned coolly, quirking an eyebrow at the suited Englishman.

'You know, it's not considered good etiquette to jump a guy in a towel.'

William adjusted the amethyst tie hanging around his neck before neatly clasping his hands behind his back. He took his time disdainfully regarding the younger man in front of him, scanning the faintly tanned form from top to toe. Short blonde hair, twinkling cerulean eyes, full lipped smirk, slightly haired chest, toned stomach, narrow hips and slender legs. Not at all unpleasant to look at – though it was a shame the individual beneath it all was an utter imbecile. William's eyes swept back up to meet Christian's, and he flashed his patented snobby smile.

'I have no intention of 'jumping' you, my dear boy.'

Understandably sceptical, Christian glanced around the locker room, and William was pretty sure of the reason why.

'I can assure you, my two associates aren't here. It's just me.'

Whether Christian believed William or simply didn't care was unclear as he turned to his bag. He made quite a performance of moving his title, pausing to polish its golden face with a theatrical flourish of his wrist. The other man pretended not to notice, shaking his dishevelled brunette waves out of his eyes as Christian glanced back over at him.

'So, what is 'just you' doing in my locker room anyway?'

'I have something I wish to discuss with you.'

'Really?' Christian said, sounding uninterested as he pulled his jeans from his bag. 'Well, you already have your re-match for my title. What more could you possibly want from me?'

'This isn't about the championship. I wanted to address the way you-'

A soft thud cut the Englishman off mid-sentence. William's jaw dropped as he drank in the sight of newly exposed flesh, slightly less bronzed than that he had observed before, but equally as perfect. Regal's face flushed a shade of scarlet as he struggled to remember what he had been saying. When memory failed him, he simply blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

'Bloody hell fire!'

Surprised by the outburst, Christian turned to face his flustered adversary.

'What? Is there a pimple on my ass or something?'

Christian ran his hands over the immaculate skin of his bare hip, sniggering when Regal's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

'Why, you brazen little... Have you no shame, man? You can't just drop your towel in front of me like that!'

'Why not?' Christian laughed. 'Scared you'll...what's that weird English expression you use? 'Go blind', is it?'

'I beg your pardon?! I'll have you know that I'm a gentleman!'

'And I'm a champion. And as a champion, it's my right to get naked whenever I want. Especially in my own locker room.'

Scandalised, William strained to find his words, and to keep his eyes front and centre. Unable to do both, he let out a squeak of outrage and spun melodramatically to face the door. Christian rolled his eyes.

'Alright, fine. Don't bust a blood vessel, dude. Just give me a second.'

Taking his sweet time slipping into his jeans, Christian studied the Englishman's tense posture and smiled. He liked this side of Regal. Evil Bond villain wannabe Regal was pretty cool, but the good old fashioned camp eccentric Regal was just plain hilarious. Despite all that had transpired between them recently, Christian was still pretty glad to have his fellow veteran around. Ass-kickings aside, it had been fun so far. And if Christian had anything to do with it, things could only get more entertaining from here on out...

Having taken a few deep breaths, William felt the excess blood draining away from his face, as well as another unmentionable area. Thank goodness for his preference for wearing loose-fitting suit pants! Perhaps his reaction to the situation had been a little exaggerated. After all, they had worked together for years, so it wasn't as if he hadn't caught a glimpse of Christian's perfectly proportioned backside before. However, there was a big difference between having it right in your face like that and glancing over at it from across the other side of the communal showers. Not that he'd ever done that intentionally, of course! Christian had just happened to be in his line of vision at the time…

'Okay, I'm decent,' Christian sighed. 'You know, you're the one who came into my locker room and waited for me to get out of the shower. You expect me to believe that it wasn't your intention to perve over my naked ass?'

'Filthy little swine that you are!' Regal growled, turning back. 'What makes you think that I-'

'In fact, I'm actually kind of offended. I always thought that you cultured Shakespearean types knew how to appreciate works of art, Bill.'

William bristled as that word detonated an explosive somewhere inside of him. It was a stark reminder of why he had come here in the first place. He gave Christian a serious look.

'Listen, that's precisely the reason I've come to talk to you.'

'To appreciate my work of art?'

'Ye-No!' William spluttered. 'Stop calling me Bill!'

'That again? It really bothers you that much? I think it suits you. It gives you a well-needed softer edge.'

Christian grinned playfully, running his fingertips over the lapel of Regal's jacket. Snarling under his breath, Regal snatched Christian's wrist, holding it firmly. Christian looked somewhat hurt by the action, shooting Regal a wounded look. William felt the breath catch in the back of his throat, his anger suddenly dwindling. What on earth was wrong with him today? He was a professional, for goodness sake! He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by naked flesh or puppy-dog eyes! Forcing a scowl, William locked eyes with Christian, trying his damnedest to ignore the beautiful expression on the younger man's face.

'I do not have a softer edge, nor do I want one,' he said sternly. 'My name is William, not Bill. Bill is a name for some feckless troglodyte standing in a dole queue in torn jeans and a grubby t-shirt. Before you stands a well-educated respectable gentleman, not some bloody street peasant. Ergo, I will ask – no, demand of you one last time...call me William.'

'How 'bout Willy?'

The Englishman replied by twisting and squeezing the wrist caught in his hand, allowing himself to enjoy the yelp of discomfort that escaped Christian's lips.

'Ow, fuck! Okay, I'm only teasing you! William it is!'

Satisfied, Regal released Christian, observing the hurt pout on the blonde's face in amusement. 'I've made myself clear then?'

'As crystal.'

Grinning wickedly, Regal watched the younger man rubbing at the red imprints on his wrist. Pitiful. 'Well then, in that case I suppose I shall be seeing you - and your title - next week.'

William gave Christian a curt bow as he turned towards the door. Just as he reached for the handle, he heard Christian's reply.

'I suppose you shall...Bill.'

Regal's hand froze. He glanced over his shoulder sharply and was met with yet another teasing smirk. As Christian returned to getting ready, William found himself unsure what to think of his rival's actions. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to wipe that antagonising look from Christian's handsome face. But on the other, he felt he needed to rise above the petty name-calling and focus on what was important. Namely, kicking the life out of the little swine that following week. And of course, reliving that wonderful feeling of having Christian totally at his mercy. This seemed like the more logical thing to do. After all, Christian was only trying to get a rise out of him, to distract him in order to defeat him. And Regal couldn't keep allowing that to happen.

As if to reassure himself, William glanced over at Christian one more time, just as the champ bent over to pick up his discarded towel. The Brit absently noted how fabulous Christian's shapely rear looked encased in skin-tight denim, especially from his vantage point. Before he could banish that notion from his thoughts, the image of Christian's gorgeous naked backside flashed through his mind once more. Regal felt himself shudder as hot blood surged through his system, and then cursed under his breath. It seemed that despite his efforts, Christian had still managed to get a 'rise' of some description out of him. Either way, it was another lapse in concentration, yet another defeat. And William wasn't content to suffer it.

Observing how Christian nursed the back of his aching head again, the Englishman was hit by a sudden wave of inspiration. With a sly smile, William removed his hand from the door handle. He silently turned towards Christian as he reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket, his fingers sliding around the familiar metal object concealed within. Perhaps he wouldn't need to wait quite so long to have Christian at his mercy once more...