Title: Freedom of Expression
Disclaimer: If I owned 'em, I can guarantee you stuff like this would be televised.
Rating: Strong PG-13 for innuendo, dirty talk involving m/m slash, and some slight language thanks largely to CJ.
Continuance Note: Remember the last Smackdown before the split, when Matt and CJ got into it? This is going on the idea that the WW...E *shudder* didn't just drop it like they did and went on with the feud. So no, the split hasn't happened, nor is it going to. Maybe some day we'll get that feud...*crossing fingers*

Notes: Hey, lookee! I think I've adopted me a CJ muse! Yeehaw. Matt muse is happy about that, but then again, he and Slashy!Edge are about the only ones. Anyway, that's my excuse for why he's probably so awkward in this one, since it's my first attempt writing him. If it's off...well, just hold your rotten fruit until later. I'll paint a big target on my forehead.

Second Note: Dedicated to Stasia, for suggesting the Matt/CJ pairing in the first place. *snap and head shake* You go, girl! If anyone actually likes this one, let me know. I'm thinking of working on a companion piece, a little prequel of sorts to show how things got to this point, and I'd like to know if Stasia and I are the only Matt/CJ shippers on the planet.

Oh yeah. Enough notes. There's a story in here somewhere, I promise!


There was no greater feeling in the world than to hear the first few notes of your entrance music and then the immediate reaction of the fans. Granted, they were booing and hissing violently and already waving their middle fingers and equally as colorful hate signs in the air, but a reaction was a reaction, and it ensured both fan recognition and a paycheck.

The way Chris saw it, he couldn't really ask for more.

He more or less bounced down the ramp on his heels, adrenaline provided by the source unknown to anyone but those who had gotten twenty thousand people in one place to either hate or love them as one. He made his way as slowly as possible, enjoying the way the fans booed his elaborate entrance. Sure, they weren't being very nice to him, but the world in general wasn't nice.

Somehow or other, he had gotten paired up with the two people he had been feuding with for longer than he cared to remember, Matt Hardy and the immortal Hulk Hogan. Their opponents were an equally eclectic trio, consisting of Edge, The Rock, and Triple-H. The powers that be had decided it'd be entertaining for the fans to see him get paired up with people his wrestling persona hated just to fight other people he was supposed to hate as well.

But whatever. Another night, another match, just a few minutes more and then he could go peacefully to bed. Theoretically, anyway.

Taking his place next to Matt on the ring apron, he glared at the younger man as their rivalry prescribed and leaned on the ropes, making it clear that Chris Jericho was much too good for Matt Hillbilly Hardy. Matt, however, was never one to easily take a hint, so he flashed the same impish grin that had never failed to make Chris want to melt into a little puddle.

He closed his eyes when he sensed Matt drawing closer, leaning over so that he could mutter in Chris's ear, words muffled slightly by Hogan's music booming through the speakers.

"Still sore?" Chris shot an angry look over his shoulder, surprised to see Matt's eyes lit with a mischievous glint that only increased at finally being acknowledged. "Ah'll jus' take that as a yes."

"Fuck you, Matt."

"Well, y'know, Ah don't have anythin' planned for tonight . . ."

"Shut up, you dumbass. We're supposed to be having a match here."

"Hey, Hogan's gotta showboat for a while. We've got lots o' time t'talk."

"And if I don't wanna talk to you?"

Matt shrugged, turning his head to show false interest in their opponents across the ring. "Too bad. We're gonna be stuck together." He smirked suddenly. "Heh. That's kinda funny."

"Shouldn't you be off screwing your brother or something?"

"Jeff's got the night off," Matt explained easily, grinning at the incredulous expression that crossed Chris's face. "Ah've still got some dignity, so Ah haven't done that yet."

"You say that like it's still an option."

"Y'never know."

Chris blinked. Twice. Three times. Then he shook his head and tried focusing on the match. That, however, was rather hard to do when he could feel Matt's breath falling heavily on his neck, hot and breezy.

"If it means anythin' to ya, Chris, you were good last night."

"It doesn't, Carolina. Sorry."

"Whatever." Matt started to say something else but was suddenly tagged into the match. He resentfully entered, received the obligatory beating from Hunter, and then scurried back to tag Hogan back in. "It meant a lot to me," he finished, breath coming in harder gasps than before. Chris unconsciously took a step to his left to keep from listening to Matt's panting at his side.

Everything about that boy was irresistably cute, Chris noted to himself with a mental groan. Sweet and harmless Matt. Sweet. Right. Chris snorted at the thought, receiving a confused glance for his effort. Matt was only sweet in comparison to his insane brat of a little brother. Matt was unbelievably manipulative and resourceful. Though he never used that particular part of his personality to hurt someone else, he wasn't above using it to get anything he wanted.

And last night he had gotten Chris.

In Chris's own bed.

"You're thinkin' about me," Matt pointed out suddenly, nearly making Chris lose his footing and fall off the ring apron. He stared up at the slightly taller Matt, caught in his place like a frightened animal being stalked by something much larger and deadlier. And it had a cute little elfish button nose.

Chris gripped the top rope tightly just to keep from slapping his forehead.

"You think awfully highly of yourself, Carolina."

"Nah. Ah can just tell where y'thoughts are."

"Really? Enlighten me."

"Well, since your eyes were on me, Ah can guess your thoughts were in the gutter," Matt answered with that infuriating smirk that made Chris indecisive about whether to punch him or take him right there in front of twenty thousand screaming fans. Matt, oblivious to his friend's inner struggle, shrugged and went on. "Bet you've never been the bitch before, have ya?"

"I was not!" Chris shot back defensively, looking around in his paranoia that a camara man had snuck up when he wasn't watching and was taping every embarrassing detail of his sex life.

Matt went relentlessly on. "You should try it more often, Chris. Ah'm not a genius or anything, but Ah'm pretty sure you enjoyed y'self last night."

"Matt --"

"Hey, people don't make those kinda noises unless they're havin' fun."

Chris blushed furiously, head bowing to let some of his hair drop into his face and hopefully obscure a full camera view of it. "What if some lip-reader or something's watching this and knows what we're talking about?"

Matt shrugged carelessly. "Then they're gonna be in for a surprise, Ah guess." He paused when Edge was thrown into the ropes right beside him, making a soft kissing noise at his ear and grinning innocently when Edge turned to face him. He didn't have time to do much by way of retaliation; Hogan threw him into the other ropes, but ducked when Edge attempted a flying clothesline.

"Missed!" Hogan exclaimed gleefully.

As a result, Matt went sailing to the ground after the clothesline caught him in the head. Edge flipped him off for good measure. "No I didn't."

Chris looked over his shoulder to see Matt picking himself up off the floor and crawling warily back onto the apron. It was his turn to smirk when Matt was once again standing next to him. "Moron."

"Ah, he's just jealous. His room's right next to yours, remember? He prob'ly heard what all went on."

"God, I swear you have a one-track mind."

"Yup." He fell silent, tapping his fingers idly atop the turnbuckle pad. "We should do it again sometime."

"You should get your head checked."

"You liked it. It's okay to admit it, Chris, Ah won't think any less of ya." Matt turned The Grin, as Chris had begun calling it, to his companion and moved closer, much to Chris's frustration. He leaned in so that even the camera man just behind them couldn't pick up what he was saying, and so that his breath came in warm trails across Chris's face. "Y'liked havin' me inside you, didn't ya?"

"Matt, I swear to God, if you don't --"

"'Cause Ah'll be honest. Ah liked bein' there. Wouldn't mind doin' it again, either. 'Course, if you wanna be inside me, Ah'm not gonna complain."

"Shut your mouth, you fucking perverted little --"

"Hey now, play nice, Chris. You were calling me nicer names last night." He hesitated, scratching behind his ear. "Well, okay, you were sayin' lots o' things last night, really. Which just goes back to the idea that people don't make noises like that unless they're havin' a good time."

Chris whimpered quietly, wishing he could just sink through the ring and the ground beneath it, not stopping until he hit Hell or the center of the Earth, whichever came first. "Matt, please . . ."

"There ya go. That's closer to what was really bein' said."

"You are *so* going to get us caught."

"It's a free country, man. Ah'm just practicing my right as an American to freedom of speech."

"I'm Canadian."

"And you're just enjoying my freedom of speech."

"Actually, I'm not, but I don't have much choice, apparently."

"Ah could talk dirty to ya if ya want," Matt suggested, eyebrows bouncing suggestively.

"I thought you were already doing that."

"Well, sorta. If Ah really wanted to get dirty, Ah could talk about how hot you are when Ah'm lookin' down at ya, an' how tight y'are, an' --"

"Okay, alright, you've made your point."

Matt chuckled quietly, grinning broadly when Chris was tagged in to finish the match. As the plans ordered, Matt ran in to attack Chris from behind, but was laid out with a chair for his trouble. He stared blankly up at the overhead lights, squinting from the bright light but not daring to watch Chris. He was probably going to kill him later anyway.

Before he could roll out of the ring, Chris was the recipient of a Pedigree and fell limp to the mat, right arm draped across Matt's abdomen and lingering precariously close to the waistband of his black jeans. When he spoke, his voice was low and carefully muffled to avoid being overheard by an eavesdropping camera.

"I want a word with you, Hardy. In private." He waited until Matt nodded vaguely before giving the slightest hint of his own smirk. "In my room."