A/N: Just to mention that timeline has gone out of the window here. This is something I've wanted to read for so long and after the simply incredible birthday gift I received from the awesome Sera I decided that I could finish this near PWP (which I started months ago) with a clear conscience. I'd previously dismissed it as too self serving and kept it on my lappy only. Now its the second fic of this pairing on ff and I can giggle my ass off at it :) Rarepair is ultra rare and I love it. My dirty little OTP secret. Hate at your peril, enjoy at your leisure, review if you make it to the end and don't despise me for it ;)
The real excitement usually began the moment after he made his way around the back of the titantron. John would slip away from the chatter and banter of the gorilla and make his way towards the production vans, not bothering to put a t-shirt on as he crossed the lot in the usually chill night air. Everyone regarded this as part of his bizarre obsession with and devotion to the industry, never really understanding his need to view his performance back straight away after they'd gone off air.
As he swung open the heavy van door he was faced by a bank of screens and passed pleasantries with all those seated inside, the team finally pausing for coffees after two hours of straight concentration. He made his way to the executive production office at the end of the truck same as he ever did, knocking briskly but not awaiting a reply before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Perched on the leather chair at the other side of the fixed desk was Shane, eyes fixed on the screen as the crowd pleasing bout was underway in the ring. He couldn't help but smile as he saw Hunter eating another Batista Bomb, no longer able to rely on glowsticks and crotch chops to get a rise from the crowd since Shawn had gone it alone.
He lifted his eyes from the screen and locked them with John's, the smile turning into a grin as he realised that once again it was Monday night and things were as they should be. Shane rose, walked around to the other side of the desk and watched as John deftly slid the lock across on the door to prevent any unwanted visitors. He perched on the edge of the desk and placed a hand at either side to steady himself.
"So, how was tonight?"
"Ok, I suppose. Got a little bashed up but nothing too bad. Maybe need a little trainer time later but as you know, that can wait on Mondays."
The reassuring words were underlined with a trademark winning smile. The baby blue eyes and brilliant white teeth were cartoon like, both so perfect to Shane that it seemed impossible that nature had just offered them up to one person on the same face. John's thick figure grew closer to him and he reached up to loosen his tie, the expensive silk sliding undone easily and his fingers moving to the top button of the fine cotton shirt he'd been waiting all night to ditch.
As he worked down to the other buttons he tried to recall how it had all started, when the review of matches turned into something more. Week after week their bodies twisted and tangled into an obscene string of positions over, under and around the desk, up against the wall and often the chair would be a host to their interactions. In the background the screen would carry on showing the arena floor, the sound up and helping to muffle the noises they tried to stifle.
Sliding the Armani shirt down his arms he left it to John to tug it free from the lashing of the Italian leather belt around his waist, watching as a few hundred of his dad's dollars pooled in a pile on the floor. The firm and attentive fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder, the thumb dragging behind and pressing into the muscles that lay beneath a layer of good living that he'd never stopped being conscious of. Before him was a body akin to a sculpture and he could never understand how the owner of that body wanted to press it up against his. He tried to stay in shape but it wasn't easy and he could never mirror the fitness regimes of the many men he had the sometimes-privilege to work with.
Reaching out with his other hand John worked simultaneously at both of Shane's shoulders with his thumbs. He was always tense and although John assumed that was because he'd be aware that Vince was never far away, calling and commenting on the show and how well or badly it was doing, he never dared to ask. He and Shane had a good thing going that he didn't want to spoil or stop. Talk of the outside world was occasional, neither man wanting to waste time discussing a world where what they had didn't exist.
Their routine had become more than the highlight of John's week. Champ or not, main event or not he counted down the hours until he could find solace in the dark office and time to be with the man who now meant more to him than any other. It was more by bad luck than poor judgement that he'd come to desire the boss' son, the man who was more off limits than Vince himself, not that anyone wanted to go there. Nobody knew about him and Shane. He dated the Divas, made all the right moves and noises but managed to plead respect to help stay out of their beds. Shane talked of finding the right woman to settle down with, doing just enough to make everyone think that he'd be providing Vince with a few more greedy grandchildren.
John knew the truth of their situation in the most literal way. He'd been on his knees for Shane and had the favour eagerly reciprocated. He'd touched every inch of the softly toned body, buried his face into the warmly naped neck and every time just drove the lust for the next. Working his fingers into the flesh more firmly he watched as Shane's eyes closed and his lips parted slightly, the near imperceptible noises letting him know that his touch was having its intended effect. The new storylines were not going well and although Steph was running that side of the show John knew Shane was feeling the pressure. In a family full of successes nobody wanted to be the disappointment.
Shane's grin returned and John rolled his eyes.
"You know what I meant Shane. Really, you need to learn to take it easy man before you give yourself a heart attack. Your old man is a real slavedriver and I can't have you too tired to tend to my every need now can I?"
"John, I'm fine. Its been a couple of tough weeks, that's all. I've got a break due soon, I'll get some rest then. I'm good, I promise."
Pausing for a moment John shuffled his feet and slowly sunk to his knees, the surprisingly soft carpet brushing against his skin. He pulled Shane closer to the edge of the desk, his hands having dragged down over the warm skin and come to rest on the shining belt buckle. His large hands dwarfed the metal but made short work of undoing it, the button and zip fly following suit.
The fabric of the tight black boxer briefs that lay beneath was crudely distorted and John followed the shape of Shane's shaft with his eyes until he reached the waistband. There was no set of washboard abs, no firm muscle still glistening with the remnants of the night's body oil. Instead there was the slightest muffin top, the barely tanned skin beneath the hollow of Shane's navel coated with dark downy hair. Leaning forward John kissed softly at the giving flesh and hooked his fingers under the thick branded elastic.
"Feels good John but do you have to... hang around down there? I'm out of shape these days. You'll be swapping me for one of the rookies before long..."
Shane left the half-joking words hanging in the air. He'd never understood what John had seen in him and still failed to do so. He was the moderately husky son in comparison to the surgically perfected daughter. There wasn't an eligible guy on the roster with an ounce of fat out of place on his body yet the darling of the company got on his knees for him. Every time he felt John's cheek rubbing against his body he felt himself breathing in, trying to be what he wasn't and most likely would never be. Instead he'd wait until John shot him a disapproving look and then breathe out, the difference minimal in real terms but huge in Shane's mind.
He always went back to their first time; back when he could hardly believe that John would be interested in anything less than absolute perfection. Their review of his match had ended up with John spending that moment too long staring into his eyes, the frisson in the air stopping all logical thought and dissolving any restraint either man might've otherwise shown. Shane had gladly been thrown face down over the desk and screwed almost through it. He sometimes caught sight of the faint scratch marks when the light hit them at the right angle which always earned his most wicked knowing smile.
"Shane. Listen, I'm sure if I wanted some twenty year old kid I could get one. But I don't. I want a man. A proper man who wears less make up than me and one who only wears fake tan when he's rubbing it into my back. Now if that man is you, and I think it is, shut your mouth so I can make use of mine, a'ight?"
John grinned as he looked up, holding Shane's gaze as he pulled the boxers down slowly, exposing the stiff shaft and smooth head he'd become so accustomed to seeing, touching and tasting over the course of their 'arrangement'. He felt Shane's hips lift and instinctively pulled all the remaining clothing down until it bunched around the ankles covered only by the usual ridiculously patterned socks. The tailored suit pants and leather shoes, polished to within an inch of wearing thin, were a stark comparison to the jean shorts and sneakers he himself wore not just inside the ring but in his everyday life as well. It was another in the long line of differences between them that proved the 'opposites attract' cliché absolutely true.
Bringing his lips to the column of hot flesh John eagerly planted open mouthed slippery kisses as he worked his way up it, his fingers curling around the base and bringing it to a more comfortable angle for him to take it into his mouth. In a deliberate effort to tease he inched down it slowly until he felt the familiar sensation at the back of his throat and a hand on the side of his face. Unable to look up he knew Shane would have his eyes closed and would either be biting down hard on his lip or allowing his jaw to drop open. The sounds of pleasure that filled the air already indicated that it was the latter.
The warm lips around his most sensitive areas pressed buttons in Shane that he'd not known he had before John. He'd learned a long time ago that John could do more than shout with his mouth. The defined jaw was as toned and primed as the rest of the carefully sculpted body and the sensation of being sucked harder and harder never ceased to weaken both Shane's knees and his resolve that one day they'd have to stop before they got found out. In truth he suspected they both knew that the reveal would come before long. As time passed it was getting clearer that neither of them had the real will to stop and that eventually there was going to be a tough call to make. Shane pushed the thoughts of that day in the future to the back of his mind and re-concentrated on his groin, determined to enjoy himself as much as possible.
Two large hands made their way around to his ass where the bare skin pressed against the veneer of the desk and he found himself grasped, grabbed and then devoured more deeply than even he thought possible. His panting didn't take long to grow fitful and sharp in nature, the tightening in his gut a further indication that the physical and mental thrills of getting good head from the champ were things that he come to crave. Shane kept his hips as still as he could, resisting the urge to stand and pound against the warm and willing mouth as hard and fast as he often took John in different ways. He loved the way they played sometimes soft and sometimes rough, neither man in total control and both preferring to hold the reins at one time or another.
John felt the sweet yet salty taste mixing with his own saliva and coating the inside of his mouth. He concentrated on keeping the motion rhythmic and strong, his awareness of what it took to get Shane off growing week by week. His own moaning vibrated his lips and he eagerly anticipated the final twitch which would signal his time to swallow hard, firstly so as not to waste any and secondly as he knew the sensation would make Shane release the last shreds of control he clung so tightly onto.
John hoped that later he'd be pressed up against the wall with the smooth skinned hand of his secret lover wrapped tightly around his cock. Images flashed in his mind of being pounded hard and played with while the whispered filth in his ear took him to the dark crevices of his desires that nobody else had managed to tap into. The college education was paying off for more than just the company and hearing the well pronounced crude words in such a careful, considered and metered tone did more to him than almost any of their other antics. He liked the dirty feeling that getting jacked off by the boss's son gave him; a son that moaned his name and begged hard now the walls of feigned innocence and restraint had fallen to rubble around them.
With one hand pressed against the short stubbly hairs at the back of John's head Shane felt himself let go, the fast paced sucking then turning into longer, slower motions. With his other hand he stroked slowly down from John's damp cheek to the site of the scar on his neck before allowing his fingers to rest on the undulating Adam's Apple of his younger lover. A shudder hit him from head to toe as his muscles started to relax, first his neck and shoulders and then down as far as his calf muscles. Only the desk beneath him and John's hands gripping him stopped the seemingly inevitable slide to the ground. Shane waited until John was doing nothing more than leaning back and indiscreetly wiping the sides of his mouth before moving back for more support.
"You ok there? Looking a little... flushed ShaneO..."
"John I hate it when you call me that. In fact, I hate it when anyone calls me that. And no, I'm not going to do the dance. Particularly not with my pants around my ankles so don't ask me again."
"Awww you're no fun these days Shane-Oooo..."
With one gentle knee raise into John's crotch area Shane both silenced the mocking of his name and established that it wasn't just him who'd needed a little relief. Leaning forward he hooked one finger under the belt that secured the creased jean shorts in place and pulled John close, his knee still where he'd pressed it. Their ensuing kiss was languid at first but grew progressively heated, their touches slipping from tender into tormenting. No more words were spoken as hands wandered to familiar spots in familiar ways. For a while they could take time and enjoy each other, safe in the knowledge that there would be plenty of time for silly dances and petty name calling just after the pretty name calling was over for another Monday night.
A/N: So yeah. There. It's done. ShaneO and John is love. Jus sayin'. And fwiw, today is a pretty crappy day so finishing this has cheered me up a little. All reads and (non flaming) reviews appreciated :)