Title: Always

Prompt: Temple
Medium: fic
Rating: T/PG-13/I hate trying to figure out the rating
Warnings: Mild sexual content.
Summary: The game never changes, but that doesn't stop you from playing it. Petey Williams/Alex Shelley, cameos by Chris Sabin and AJ Styles. From 2005-2006.

The first question on your lips will always be why. You don't speak it, because hey, that would make you some kind of whiny bitch, and you know that's the exact thing that would turn him off of you completely. He doesn't want the clinging and the lovey stuff, because that's the exact kind of stuff that would make him a faggot. And he's not a faggot.

Instead, the one word out of your mouth is "Okay." It is certainly not okay, but for Alex Shelley, you're willing to fake anything.

Alex grins and starts moving towards the door, only pressing his lips to your temple as an afterthought. He likes kissing that spot: it doesn't send the wrong message. Yes, I care… but don't you dare make this into anything more, you Canadian fuckbag. "You're the best," he says, already gone from the spot, as if it were meaningless to him, "Hey, me and Chris are gonna get some wings later, you in?" He doesn't wait for an answer. He knows the answer. Of course you're in. You have, you will, and you're going to go along with whatever plan he makes up for you.

You turn around as he leaves, watching him go with a weird feeling in your chest. You knew what this was, of course, but that doesn't make this moment any less strange. You put your hand on your head, pulling your hair back, tying it up. A few moments later, you pull it out, unsatisfied with the ponytail, and try again. It's really just something to keep your hands busy so you can put your mind on anyone other than.

Finally, once you're truly content with your hair, there's clarity. Alex wanted too much, and most women fell short of that standard. This will only be a break. In a month, or maybe two, he's going to knock on your door with a six-pack and some steaks in hand, and what's just supposed to be friendly dinner will turn into a night of rough sex. It inevitably always happened, and sure enough, it would happen this time too.

It was just fun, a game you two played sometimes. That's what Alex said anyway. But sometimes, when you woke up and looked at Alex lying next to you, you knew it was more than just some fun to you.

It didn't matter. Alex has a girlfriend now; he's not thinking about you. Best thing for you is to keep moving, maybe try to find a girl for yourself. And even though you know it's the best thing to do, you're also sure you're going to remain single, waiting for Alex to start another game with you.

Not a single missed beat. He's there a month and a half later, with the six-pack in hand, but instead of steaks, he has pizza. Ah well. One minor detail wrong. The rest of the night will go as usual, and you know it.

"Hungry?" He asks, grinning, as if the only reason he's there's to feed you.

"Absolutely," You play along anyway; no need to say you've waited a month and a half for this. You let him inside, especially since you don't want your meal to get cold.

"Shit Pete, your place is a fucking dump."

You forgot that Alex had that kind of subtlety. You shrug. "Been busy."

He drops the subject, going straight for the pizza once he opens it. "Got a supreme, alright?"

He could've called to ask what you were in the mood for. "Of course." You close your door before going over, grabbing your own slice. First topic is wrestling, predictably; of other bookings and Japan, of DVDs either of you should get and a small bragging contest about your next jobs. Eventually, that turns to stories of stealing Eric Young's underwear and putting it in Robert Roode's bag of the last time you had to beg Joe not to snap Alex's neck for something profoundly stupid.

Then, of course, when the pizza's gone and there's half a beer left, Alex turns the conversation to his girlfriend. It's almost his way of telling you he wants to start fucking you again; he whines about his short relationship, how one small, completely inconsequential flaw drove a wedge between him and someone 'who he thought was different'—you know, by now, that they are never different—and how he thinks it would be easier for him if he just gave up sex all together.

Alex Shelley will give up sex when and only when you give birth to an alien's illegitimate love child. And even then, he'd be asking everyone in sight if a blowjob counts as sex.

Of course, you just nod sympathetically, offering that other fish bullcrap and telling him the next time will be better. Of course, Alex doesn't want to hear that. He wants to say his peace, not to get advice and sympathy. Instead, he just shrugs. "Eh, it's whatever. She wasn't that great. I'll live."

You are sorely tempted to ask him why he felt the need to groan about it for the past fifteen minutes, but that notion goes out the window when his hand finds your leg, right above your knee. "What about you, Petey?"

Obligatory question. He and you both know the only person to touch you the past few weeks was yourself. Even if there was another person in your life, he doesn't want to hear about them. You can tell by the way his hand is creeping upward.

Keeping this conversation going would only make you think more about it, and that would just take away from something you've waited roughly two months for. And why sully the moment with thoughts and sense anyway?

You do the best thing for you and for Alex, just leaning in and finding his lips. May not have been the best judgment call, but you know it feels too damn good to pass up.

You wake up the next morning alone.

You don't even realize it at first; your head's kind of tender from last night—Alex really needs to learn not to pull your hair so hard—and your lower body's slightly sore, and all you want to do is sleep a while longer. You shut your eyes, in an attempt to lull yourself back into slumber, but when you're awake, you're not going to sleep until the day's done.

Fuck your internal clock right in the ass.

But then, you begin to realize something's off. You have space. There is no leg on top of you, elbow in your side, you have enough blanket… and you know. Alex is not here. You turn to his side of your bed and it's empty, and you begin to wonder if this is really what you've been reduced to. You half expect to look on your nightstand and find some bills on top.

You didn't think about it last night, but you're sure as hell thinking about it right now.

You think about it from the moment you walk to the bathroom until you get the water running, to take a shower and feel somewhat better. But before you can go in, there's a rough knock on the bathroom door.

"It catches you off guard. Up until that moment, you were positive that you were alone. You go to the door, opening it slightly, just enough to peek your head out. There's Alex, fully dressed and smiling at you, a half eaten donut in one hand, an untouched donut in the other

"How about we have breakfast first, and then the shower?" He asks, holding out the unbitten donut.

You smile, taking it. You've never known Alex to be the kind to buy breakfast, but then again, you're pretty sure it's occasions like this when you're just supposed to shut up and enjoy the pleasant surprise.

You leave the bathroom, and, as you go to get clothes from your room, he throws an arm around your neck and presses his glaze-covered lips to your temple. "I wouldn't mind if you ate naked, you know."

It's a relationship of convenience and you know it. You're a good friend; he can stand you more than most other people. You're loyal, you'll keep your mouth shut about it, and apparently, you're perfectly fine with having casual, meaningless sex with him.

It's just some fun; to tide Alex over until he starts another doomed relationship with a poor, unexpecting female. He's not gay, and you're not gay; you're both just horny and you're both right there.

But no matter what, whomever he decides to try to date next—no matter how different from the last one—he always comes back to you. And you'll be there, as always.

He'll leave you again, too. But that's something you'll think about later, when you get to it.

And this time, you get to it four months later. Casually, during a video game you're playing with him, Chris, and AJ, he throws out that he met some woman named Mary. Chris knows about this dance, so he just laughs and gives it three months. AJ, ever the optimist, congratulates him, shooting Chris a look and stating to give this a chance before he foretells it's death.

You, you manage out an "awesome!", before just continuing with the game. It's nothing to make a big deal out of, anyway. Alex will never have trouble-finding women; he's young, good-looking, and what else do they need?

You secretly hope Chris is wrong. Three months is too long to be left with only your hand. And sure, you're also young and good-looking, it should be simple to find someone else, but you won't.

Your mind is on moments like the morning when Alex held out a donut to him, wide, guileless smile on his face, and you know you're going to wait. Like always.