One of the things I love the most is a good hot shower; water pummelling the pains of the ring out of my muscles and the smell of the shower gel making me come slowly back to life. I'm not a man who has a long list of demands but a hot shower, well that's the one I've got to have. All I use is a little gel, my hands and a back scrubber, just for where I can't reach after Anderson half killed me. Yeah, I don't forget easy but when you've spent as many nights as I have laid on cold tiled floors just to get the ache to stop you'd understand why I'm still pissed about it.

The thing I hate is when the bus hits a bump and it makes the whole thing shake. I'm still getting used to having a bus at all. Sure, I shouldn't shower when its on the road but sometimes I just gotta freshen up a little. I'm not a guy who can sit there in his sweats and decide to get clean in the morning. To me there's nothing better than being freshly showered and in a fresh t-shirt and jeans. I love walking around barefoot too, you've no idea just how damn uncomfortable those boots can be.

Tonight though I got straight in bed. It was already past 2am and I'm off to Tennessee on the next stage of the loop. One more house show then I can head home for a week. Instead of getting dressed for bed I decided to sleep in nothing, the air con kicking and nobody back here till the morning when my driver brings breakfast. Nothing beats sliding my legs down under the cold sheets and resting on the pile of pillows I got stacked against the headboard.

I closed my eyes and let my body relax, turning my head to the side and taking a deep breath. Its not as if I didn't know I was smiling but I could feel the wide grin on my face, safe in the knowledge of what I was going to do. One hand snaked under the sheet and made its way down my abs, stopping just a little short of where I knew I wanted it to be. Behind my eyelids I saw an image of him, me staring up into his eyes and him staring straight back at me, speaking with no words at all. He knew only too well how I wanted him and everything he had to give me.

A minute later and I was making the sheets into a whole different shape. The cotton rubbed on my shaft as it got hard and I shuffled my ass around, not wanting to feel teased. He never teased me. Not ever. Wasn't his style. He was the guy who took whatever the fuck he wanted. I got that. I envied that mindset as it was nothing like my own at the time.

Concentrating on the memory of his face above me I rubbed my fingers over my already leaking slit, feeling my guts wrench at the thought of him doing the same with his tongue. You know that thought you have that makes your ass drop through your feet, when all you're thinking is all about the dirty kink that you keep locked away? Well that's my secret. I wanted him to suck me off; wanted it each and every day we ever worked together. I would've killed to get that but hey, I'm a realist. He was never going to open his lips for me. No room at that inn for a nobody like me. My jack-off fantasy at the time was to have it so I couldn't touch him. No grabbing and dragging at his hair, no hand pressed on the back of his neck shoving every inch down his throat like I did with other guys. No, I wanted him to take me. He already owned me in every fucking way imaginable, there was just one more bridge for him to cross.

I can't tell you I didn't like being his pet. He treated me like royalty, did more than any of the others did for me. I never wanted for a thing, had the very best of whatever money could buy. Now I can get it all for myself. I nursemaid the new kids and buy my own designer suits. Kinda puts him out of picture you'd think but you'd be wrong. I wanted him for more than his money and now I have my own I can be honest about my reasons. Trouble for me is I get haunted. All the shit I brush off day after day catches up with me in the end. Don't think I do all that growling and pounding in the ring for nothing. I'm just trying to make sense of it all. He taught me that aggression is the best kind of therapy in our business. I lose myself in the ring so I can hold it down outside one. I can't help but think that he's the only thing that'll ever keep me under control.

Anyway, I digress. So finally I let my hand drift down a little lower and grab my balls in my hand. Its been days since I had the time or the energy to do this to myself. I'm not a guy that jacks off before every match. I can control myself when I have to. The rest of the time I just like winding up the production guys who can't get an angle when I have an angle of my own to show off. I'd like to say I cup my balls and roll them in my hand. I don't. I grab them hard, push my legs wide and start to rag and tug on them until the skin is hot and red. All the time I imagine its not my doing, not me bringing the harsh hands and the pain to my body. They were his tricks, his moves.

Right when the pain in my balls gets too much I let go and grab my cock in my hand. I squeeze it hard, enjoying the feeling of the flesh resisting my fingers and the stiffness against my palm makes me breathe out sharply. I don't moan. I'm not a screamer. Sure, I like to curse, shout and maybe growl but I'm not some crazy pillow princess. I can't just get on my back and sound like I'm in some lame porn flick. If someone is getting my rocks off they'll know. Anyone that made it as far as the sack with me knows what I'm about. If they don't then they shouldn't be there. That whole silent intensity thing is not just part of my in-ring act.

My hand eventually starts to move and I throw the sheets back with my other hand, looking down to see the angry looking redness. It hurts to get off like this, a deep ache in my flesh, knowing that when I go over the edge that it'll be like a dam bursting and I'll probably end up cramping head to toe but that's how I like it when I think of him. I know he wouldn't waste time kissing my neck or telling me how hot I am. He'd have me pinned down by the shoulder, the heel of his hand pressing down right on the bone. On his knees above me, straddled across my leg with his own impressive cock against my hip, prodding and leaking. As I close my eyes again I can see the glint flash across his eyes. My eyes are unfeeling and cold; wickedly so at times but his are warm. They're a dark caramel colour and you'd think he'd find it hard to look as evil as he does but it comes naturally. He was the only man who ever intimidated me and I always got off on that.

Gripping tighter I fight to keep my hips flat to the mattress. I want to start pushing through my hand as it moves, anything to speed me towards the end and stop the pain. I already know my knuckles will be turning white despite the amount of tanner I have on. I hear him saying my name, telling me how I'm all his; only his. He's telling me what a cheap fuck I am, how its embarrassing how easy I was as he was looking forward to breaking me like he did all the other rookies. He must've known only too well that didn't need to break me. I made that clear in the least pathetic way I knew how. I just made myself available if he needed me.

I couldn't take much more so I ground my ass down hard and worked my hand faster, the twitching of my gut as I could sense it coming making me feel sick. It was at that point he disappeared from sight and I was on my own apart from his words ringing in my ears. My face contorted and twisted, my arm aching from the vice like grip. As I heard a growled "Mine..." echoing I let go and my back arched up with the force of the snap in my groin. I watched as the spurts of hot cum started to splash down on me, all up my chest and trickling down my sides. If anyone had been watching I'd have looked ridiculous, my hands balled into the sheets and my chest heaving hard just to keep breathing.

Minutes passed as I got my breath back. I grabbed a t-shirt and wiped myself clean before throwing it into the top of my gear bag so it didn't get stuck to the carpet. I don't play in my own mess like a lot of the guys. They always tell me everyone likes their own brand but I'm the exception. In the dim light thrown out by the passing street lights I can already see the smears on my chest. I'm sure he'd make me sleep dirty, want me to stink of sex whether it was mine or his.

So I suppose I should come clean, I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea. Hunter never gave me a second look in the way I really wanted. He never rammed me against a locker and fucked me. He's never so much as shared a bed with me. All I got in Evolution apart from the five-star treatment was the pain in the ass that was keeping Dave's hands off me. Hunter was with Shawn and back then we all thought they were playing for keeps. All he talked about was Shawn and how much nothing could come between them. He was right from his side of the equation. All those years together and then one month after Bret came back the winds of change blew and somehow they were done.

Hunter is nobody's placeholder, that he's made clear this last six months. Shawn's upped and gone and even backstage The Game is hardly that any more. He stalks and prowls around but nobody else has been under him since. He's just hurt and angry and not looking for anything other than someone's ass to kick to make him feel better. Now I'm kinda biding my time. Yeah, since my Ev days I went off and got married, had a kid; all the normal things normal people do. But I'm not normal. I wanted him back then and I want him now. I want to be the guy that he takes that innate evil streak out on. The side of him that people got before he hooked up with Shawn and the side that's there now, the rough asshole who beats the hell out of you when you're too damn scared to move and then shoves his hard cock so far up your ass it makes you feel like you could cough it up.

That's why I bought this bus. His bus. You heard me right. I bought his tour bus. You might think that makes me strange but I don't care what you think. I needed one and I can sure as hell afford one now. I can take my family around with me, get driven place to place and my life is better. He had one for sale and I bought it, big deal. There are a few added bonuses though. I've only had it a while and it still smells of him. I come back after a match and I can smell his cologne, the expensive heavy stuff he always wore when we'd go out on the town. I'd remember that smell in my sleep.

And right now that's what I'm going to do. I'm gonna roll over and lie face down on his mattress, between his sheets and breathe him in my pillows. I smell his shampoo but I also smell his lust and testosterone. I'll more than likely wake up in the night having made a mess all over again. One day he'll be here and he'll make it for me. I won't be tormenting myself with the shit that hides in the corners of my mind. I won't be rutting against the sheets like a desperate virgin. I'm just waiting till the time is right. Time to strike.

Yeah... so this was spawned out of one of the stories from Randy in the new Rumble Road book. Turns out he bought Hunter's bus. Turns out that gave me a dirty plot bunny so we're both winners ;)

All reads and reviews appreciated as always :)