"Of all the crappy towns to have a pay-per-view in," Jeff complained, raising his hands to the dreary, cloud-filled sky, "why did it have to be one that likes rain so much? I kinda thought I was leavin' that back east."
He stood and waited as his companion took his own sweet time climbing from the limousine they had shared from the Rose Garden through the winding Portland streets to the Hilton downtown. It had been a short ride, but longer than it should have been for the traffic around the arena. They still had time for a nice romp before they had to part ways in the morning, at least.
Despite the darkness of the sky, Jeff still wore his blue-tinted shades, hiding behind the thin layer of separation they offered from the peons. Pausing to wipe them free of splattered raindrops with the hem of his shirt, he scowled when the thin drizzle spotted them back up almost instantly. "Are ya comin' outta there or do I hafta pry the dang belt outta your arms and lead ya like a stupid donkey after a carrot?"
Then, the man put in his appearance, leaning out the door to raise a glare at Jeff above his own dark glasses, smoothly groomed honey locks falling around his broad shoulders. "I'll have you know, Jarrett, that I'm not going to take offense at that comparison simply because I feel like a good lay tonight."
"A good lay?" Jeff snorted. "I s'pose it's better than last time when I was just a decent lay. Or the time before that when I was a somewhere-to-shove-it lay."
"Watch it or you won't be a lay at all," Hunter replied, his smirk clearly belying statement. True to form, he climbed out of the limo with the shiny gold of his newly regained belt slung over his shoulder. "Someone like me can pick up anyone he wants with a snap of his fingers, you know."
Jeff had to admit that was likely very correct. His eyes strayed over that championship gold, then. It looked so very nice against the neatly pressed suit of navy twill. The pale blue dress shirt underneath with its open neck made for a great combination, at least in his eyes. Of course, he would be the best to make that assessment, having a golden belt of his own to sling over a willing shoulder. "Now do ya think I could give up the pretty music those belts of ours make when they're ringin' against one another?"
The smirk on Hunter's face deepened. "It's been a long time since we've had our babies strapped around our waists at the same time. Let's not waste any more, hm?"
"Then get your damn bag 'cause I ain't carryin' it this time. Grab mine while you're at it." With a cheeky grin to answer Hunter's sudden loss of smirk, Jeff swung around on his heels and made for the hotel lobby. He wasn't worried about having his behind handed to him it was nothing more than an act, after all. While Hunter's mouth had flatlined, his hazel eyes had been a-sparkle with good humor. And why wouldn't they be? It wasn't every night they got to celebrate getting one of the babies back from a snot-nosed brat.
Jeff sent a nod in the direction of the bored young woman behind the desk, too smug in his...no, Hunter's latest victory over the unworthy to care that all he got in return was a less than enthused roll of her eyes. He pressed the button for the elevator and waited, sparing a glance to his left when Hunter finally joined him. The belt was still slung over his shoulder, cradled closely for fear of it sliding off. Jeff's small travel bag was supported over the other shoulder, the carry handle of Hunter's own bag clutched in his right hand.
"Got the key?" Hunter grouched suddenly. He was obviously getting impatient.
"Yeah, I got it. Don't worry yourself none," Jeff assured him, pulling the card from the pocket hidden inside his jacket. He flipped it over in his fingers then slid it back, smoothing the front of his open jacket down. His hands looked so dark against the creamy off-white hue of the fabric. Off-white, white, eggshell, ecru...they had become favorite colors of his all over again, though he'd always had an affection for them. Nothing better represented his purity and messiah-like gift to the world of professional wrestling.
It made perfect sense that he would be drawn to his polar opposite in Hunter, really. One dark, the other light. Both with fabulous blond hair and magnificent tans. And both with a whole lot gold to sling around their waists. There was a ding and Jeff blinked out of his thoughts to see the elevator doors sliding open before himself and Hunter. He stepped forward, brushing past Hunter to make it in first. He turned to find Hunter dangling his folded sunglasses from his unbuttoned collar and frowning at him.
"Somethin' wrong?" Jeff asked, leaning against the back wall. He set his hands on the polished hardwood handrail to either side of himself, fingers curving around the circumference. Hunter did nothing more than continue to glare. With a laugh and a toss of his chin, Jeff invited Hunter to join him. "C'mon, get in here before the doors close and I hafta ride all by my lonesome."
They were already sliding out to cut him off as Hunter finally stepped forward. Jeff was amused at the way Hunter used those broad shoulders to muscle the doors back open and out of the way. He was so careful to avoid damaging his baby, too what a man.
"What floor is it again?" Hunter muttered, not yet forgiving the cut off from Jeff.
"Tenth."
The button was pushed and Jeff fell silent. Hunter followed. A random sniff from Hunter broke the stillness before too long, but neither spoke. Jeff watched as Hunter appeared to inspect the woodwork, then tilted his head back and eyed the elevator ceiling. As the car rose through the shaft, climbing higher in the building, Jeff enjoyed the tingle of having his innards sink with the pull of gravity. Even better was the jumping jumble they became when the car eased to a stop as they reached their floor.
Tightening his belly against the flutter, Jeff's lips curled up in a smile. Oh yes, the sensation was so easily transmuted into that of being lifted and carried about the ring on the shoulders of his loyal midcarders, well above the realm of the lowly jobbers... Which reminded him, he needed to find another "maineventer" now that he'd destroyed that Hardy kid.
"The doors are open, dingbat."
Jeff jerked out of his fantasy to find Hunter already out in the hall and leaving him behind. In a rush, he shoved out of the elevator just before the doors closed on him, mirroring the entrance Hunter had made into the car back down in the lobby in a vague sort of way. "Would ya wait up? Ain't like we got someone we're tryin' to avoid 'n all. If somebody really wanted to get somethin' incriminating, they'd have it already."
The quirk of Hunter's lips foretold the return of his smirk. "You afraid of getting your picture in the paper with me? Don't want your name smeared?"
"It wouldn't be in the papers. Those assholes would put it up on the internet and we'd be roasted from here to next Sunday around the globe!" Jeff was unable to stop the tint of anger that filled his voice. "What're ya gonna do then?"
"Say it's lies, faked photos, compensating for a small dick," Hunter answered, stepping aside once they reached their room to let Jeff get the door open. "Spread a few good rumors about how the idiot that started the whole thing is either trying to make a name for himself or cover up his own inadequacies, most likely both, and we're home free. The usual way of dealing with those punks."
The bags Hunter carted were settled carelessly halfway across the room, Jeff's falling from his shoulder to bounce upon hitting the floor. Jeff's eyes widened and he raced over, snatching it up and cradling it close. "Why the hell'd ya do that?!"
He heard Hunter sit on the bed theirs was a simple room as there was no need for a suite when they weren't staying but a few hours. "What's the problem? It's just your stupid bag."
Jeff scowled and turned on him, ripping the bag open to pull out his own championship belt. He did everything but stomp on his way over. "This is the problem! You dumped the N-dubya-A title on the floor like it was nothin'! Do ya realize the history ya just shit all over?"
"Like I knew it was in there."
"You ass, ya knew perfectly well that it was in there. Save your lyin' for the internet folks." Jeff was livid. His face was red, he could feel the heat radiating his cheeks. He turned his belt, his baby, over in his hands, searching from end to end for any sign of damage. His voice low, Jeff murmured soothing words to it. "It's all right, precious, I won't let the bad man hurt you again. He doesn't appreciate that you got fifty-some years of the business all stored up in your pretty shine, unlike that ugly thing of his..."
From the corner of his eye, Jeff caught Hunter giving him an indiscernible look. He pivoted his head to return it, his scowl tightening. Hunter was lifting his own title belt to his face, nuzzling his cheek against it. Then, with his hazel eyes meeting Jeff's, he spoke to it. "Don't listen to him, snoogie woogums. That loser doesn't know what he's talking about. You're the one with the long history he's talking about. You and only you."
Jeff sneered and again spoke to his baby. "That shithead is vastly uninformed, precious. You're the one that has the N-dubya-A written on your beautiful face. The history is yours."
Hunter was quick to counter. "It's yours, snoogie woogums. The NWA title went to WCW and that's where you came from, following the buy out of that shitcan of a promotion by the man with a real genius. The man that's easily wrapped around my finger for every little thing I want just because I'm banging his daughter and making her snuggly wuggly happy."
That was it. Jeff hated being reminded of Stephanie. The war was on.
"That man is a big, fat liar and nothin' more. The dubya-C-dubya belt lost that N-dubya-A history the moment the people in charge broke affiliation with the N-dubya-A. It's all in you, precious," he said, his lips pressing a kiss against the cool, golden-hued metal. "Besides, that's not even the original belt that belonged to dubya-C-dubya! It says dubya-dubya-E! That right there negates any chance of that belt havin' a claim to N-dubya-A history."
There was a pause and then Hunter fired back again. "You're bigger and recognized by more morons on the street, snoogie woogums. That's all that really matters. That and all the money you make me."
Jeff's scowl fell into a lopsided grin. Setting his belt to one side, he prodded, "Now who's the one compensatin' for a small dick, Hunter? Ya feelin' inadequate lately?"
"...inadequate?" Hunter asked. "Me? Inadequate? Get your ass on this bed and we'll see who's inadequate."
"Is that all the invitation I'm gettin'?"
Hunter paused, looked him over, then gave him a lazy, vulgar grin. "How about we both get naked, you put on that belt of yours, I put on mine, then we decide which one of us gets buried this time?"
"Oh, that was awful," Jeff complained. "Ain't nothin' to discuss, though. You're pretty keen on no one gettin' buried in the bedroom besides youself. I just lie back and take it up the ass like any plain ol' run of the mill floosy."
"Just like you should, Jeff, just like you should." Hunter's grin had grown more lascivious and his pose had become more blatant. Those thick thighs had spread, the bulge at his crotch enhanced by the folds in his slacks. He was shrugging off his jacket, too, leaving one less layer of clothing in the way. "Until you're legitimate competition, you always lay down for the big man."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Jeff was quick to set his expression to offended, though the comment had sent a fervent twitch of want through him. "Did I just hear somethin' outta your mouth about not bein' legitimate competition?"
Now Hunter had laid his own belt down beside him and was working his shirt out of the way, opening the buttons and tugging the blue cloth off. The muscles uncovered were dense and pumped, coated in a pudgy softness that spoke of a man comfortably in a position of power. No longer did he sport the finely chiseled frame of a god, maintained by less than savory means. "Would I say something like that?"
"We both know ya would. And we also know low house rates, saggin' pay-per-view buys, and plain ol' record low ratings don't make a company worth bein' legitimate competition for, either." Jeff was struggling valiantly against simply throwing himself at Hunter, raising a sharp point of contention to throw Hunter off track. Neither one of them was piqued enough to make a tumble in the sack worthwhile just yet. It had to be angry, growling, and snarling or they risked disappointment. They were the Savior-champions of rivals companies, they were supposed to be at each other's necks. Never mind if they put on a better match in bed than they did in the ring.
Hunter was on his feet, then, staring Jeff down with a nasty glare, a pointed finger almost shoved up Jeff's nose and jerking with the angry tension that roared through that massive body. "Shut your goddamn mouth, you glorified redneck."
That was a thrill of lust zinging straight into his abdomen, the result leaving his cock pressed hard against the front of his jeans. Not falling back even a single step, Jeff pulled his shades off and met Hunter's glare eye for eye. "At least this glorified redneck ain't workin' for a sinkin' ship. Tell me the product you and your buddies are puttin' out ain't suckin' a big, stinkin' pile of horse shit, Hunter."
"It's not. It's still drawing in ratings higher than your piece of crap show will ever get, even if you do manage to land some kind of big deal with that second-rate network," Hunter growled, leaning in closer.
Jeff finally found a smirk of his own now that Hunter's had been firmly lost. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seeking a brief respite from the constricting grasp of denim. "Better workin' our way up than down."
The following silence was deafening. It didn't last long, though. "Well, you'd better get used to going down again," Hunter rumbled, eyes dark and sordid, "because that's what you're about to do."
Arching his brow, Jeff questioned the comment, though he was hardly in any doubt as to what Hunter was ordering. However, he was not about to go through with it without some sort of challenge, despite the instant flow of saliva. It was so Pavlovian, his response. If he'd thought about it, it would have disgusted him, definitely. Maybe. Okay, no it wouldn't have, but he would have acted like it did! "And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know what I'm talking about." It was matter-of-fact, nothing more, nothing less, and Jeff was expected to obey.
"Naw, really, I'd like an explanation. Better yet, why don't ya give me an example of what you're lookin' for?" He knew it wouldn't work, but he never failed to try.
Hunter's gaze narrowed to heated slits, his brow hanging heavy and intimidating over his nose. "I don't suck dick, Jarrett. I'm the Game, top of the majors in this business. The cream of the crop, the cream that'll be in your mouth as soon as you do what you're told. There is no one better. Losers like you and everyone else suck me off for the chance that maybe it might turn them into me someday. And frankly, considering the crap your precious is representing, I think you need another brush with greatness."
Jeff lowered his chin, turning his eyes down to watch as Hunter worked open the fly of his pants. A pair of boxer briefs, mottled grey in color, were revealed. Then, as Hunter eased the dark blue slacks down his thighs, Jeff noticed something odd about the bulging package held so lovingly close by the underwear. It somehow it didn't jive with what he recalled from their last clandestine meeting. "Oh, don't tell me you're stuffin' your shorts again-"
The response was swift, as anticipated. Thick fingers wrapped around his throat were a bit more than he was expecting, though. They accompanied the growl nicely. "I have never stuffed a day in my life. Now get busy."
Shifting from a grip around his throat to cup the back of his head, Hunter's hand forced Jeff down onto his knees. Although, it wasn't entirely Hunter's strength that got him there. Surely, had he resisted, Jeff would never have found himself kneeling like this before Cock Almighty awaiting communion. Jeff, showing the truth of his eagerness, lifted his hands and caught the black band of elastic riding around Hunter's waist and peeled the cloth downward.
Hunter wasn't exactly standing firm and ready to go as had been indicated earlier, but Jeff would take care of that. There was enough lift to the mostly flaccid piece that Jeff saw no reason to use his hands. Placing them one on either hip, thumbs rubbing over the thin flesh stretched across his hipbones, Jeff leaned in, tilting his head to capture the rosy pink tip of Hunter's cock between his lips. He slowly opened his mouth to accept the bulbous, mushroom cap head, pulling it in past the ridge with a gentle suction, a low grunt from above signaling Hunter's appreciation. It sent another round of lust crackling through him.
Jeff pushed over the length, taking Hunter deep into his mouth, tasting warmth and the salt of skin on his tongue. Hunter had less than he liked to claim, giving Jeff an easier time blowing him than he imagined. Not that Hunter was tiny or anything, of course not. He was just nowhere near the likes Dupree or Orton and, truthfully, Jeff was thankful for this. His mouth was big, yes, but not that big.
The years of Hunter's roiding became immensely evident, as they did every time, when Jeff slipped a hand in to run his fingers over Hunter's balls. They were smaller than they should have been, decreased in size by the drugs Hunter had taken into body in his quest for highly obscene and marketable mass. A dribble of spit slipped down Jeff's chin as he pulled back with a long slurp at the end. As he sucked the length back in, hands touched his head and fingers curled tight into his hair. The flesh in his mouth had filled and grown heavy. Longer and thicker, Hunter's cock was reaching a peak of readiness.
Knowing what was coming, Jeff prepared himself for it. A stiff dick shoved down his throat by a horny bastard like Hunter was not fun when taken unawares. Before it happened, though, Hunter stopped, letting him go for no more than a minute. Jeff frowned and watched as Hunter snatched up his title belt again, snapping it around his waist. He sighed this was going to hurt. Jeff could only hope he wouldn't end up with a broken nose again.
"There we go," Hunter rumbled, a low chuckle sliding out after the words. He turned and waved his bobbing shaft in Jeff's face, the wide golden plate fronting the belt hanging ignobly right above it at the base. "Get that mouth back where it belongs, Jarrett."
Jeff got a smear of spit and precum across the bridge of his nose before he could comply, possibly even a bit into his moustache from how the sucker bobbed and swayed. A swirl of his tongue around the head and then it was gorging his mouth. Hunter's grip was tight on his hair once again and, moments later, Jeff found himself on the wrong end of a pummeling, Hunter's cock ramming hard past his lips.
He came perilously close to a splattered nose more than once, but somehow avoided the actual contact that would have caused it. The feel of Hunter bumping against the back of his throat was pure sex, though. Almost better than Hunter's dick up his backside. Okay, maybe not that great, but it was still a very good thing.
Before he was ready to give it up, Hunter pushed his head away, circling his fingers around the base in a ring. He bounced the tip against Jeff's nose then backed away to lay across the bed, his thighs open, but not inviting. Hunter wasn't about to give him that. Of course, the fact that his pants were still in the way, as well as his shoes to hinder their easy removal, kind of put a damper on that happening. What he was giving, a twist on the usual, was more than acceptable, however.
Mr. Ultimate Top was going to let him take a ride.
Winning back the belt this time must have really left him in an astoundingly good mood. After all, not only had they dethroned Lesnar as the company's youngest champion, Orton's career had been soundly trounced. He wouldn't recover from it for years.
"What are you waiting for?" Hunter purred. Purred. Hunter never purred. Not for him, anyway. His eyes were burning slits of speckled hazel, his mouth parted and pouty, snoogie woogums bright and gleaming across his soft middle. His hand stroked a lazy path up and down his cock, the whole of it glistening with the drying remains of Jeff's spit.
Jeff gulped and promptly started tearing off his clothing. "Did ya bring any KY?" he asked in a rush, a shoe flying across the room. "I'll check the bathroom if ya didn't."
"Me? Unprepared for any eventuality?" Hunter snerked. "Are you kidding? In my bag."
Kicking his jeans off along the way, Jeff more or less dove toward the bag. The zipper flew open with the barest touch, Hunter's clothes tumbling to the floor as Jeff dug through for the elusive little bottle. No matter where he searched, he couldn't find it. "Where the hell?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hunter said, looking smug, fingertips dallying over the wet tip of his cock. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip. "It's in my pocket."
Jeff swung around to glare at him. "You son of bitch, ya knew it was there the whole time!"
"Oops?"
The smugness on Hunter's face dug down deep into Jeff's gut, grabbing his insides in a fist and yanked them in a twist. Inside his boyish briefs, Jeff's cock was rigid and straining against the stretch of the white cotton. The way Hunter infuriated him to the hottest boiling point he'd ever been at time and again was insane. It was probably the bitter rivals thing coming into play, he had to guess. Not that his brain was in any shape to guess at that point.
He paused by the chair where he'd rested his precious, stripped to briefs and slouching socks. A glance down showed him the ruddy tip of his cock peeking over the waistband. Licking the pad of his thumb, Jeff swiped it across that peeping flesh, sending a quiver into his belly. His knees wobbled a very little, but it was not without notice. "Ya sure ya don't want some of this?" he asked Hunter, gesturing. "He's all ready for ya, if ya feel like changin' your mind..."
"Don't push your luck," Hunter snapped in quick reply. "And don't make me wait all damn night."
Jeff took the hint and shoved down his underwear, leaving on his socks for the sake of warding off chilled toes. He followed Hunter's lead and grabbed up precious, strapping the belt around his waist so it hung as backdrop to the proud curve of cock rising before his belly. Climbing onto the bed, Jeff straddled across Hunter's lap and made his dick dance against Hunter's, relishing the feel of skin on skin. "There's all sorts of things we could do, y'know."
A growl met the comment and Jeff was swift to backpedal.
"Course, I know what ya like, too, so who'm I to go against the status quo, right?" He bit down on his lower lip, aiming the head of his cock along the underside of Hunter's. Both of them were forced to catch a breath before Hunter could answer.
"Shut the fuck up and get to it before I do something you don't like." The look on Hunter's face was absolutely feral, reminiscent of the steroid-induced rages he'd undergone before landing the boss's daughter had changed his circumstances.
Quick to save his hide, Jeff popped open the bottle making a face at the gooey residue clinging around the opening from previous uses and squeezed a good dollop onto his fingers. Reaching behind himself, he smeared the slippery substance between the waiting cheeks of his posterior. His fingers sought deep, pushing past the tight ring of muscle to get every little bit he could slicked and ready. The boys in the locker room would have been amazed at the flexibility and dexterity he was showing. When he was done with the task, Jeff wiped the remains across Hunter's thigh and twisted back around to face him.
"You could have found a better place for that," Hunter frowned, giving Jeff's own thigh a hard smack.
"Yeah," Jeff agreed, "but that woulda gotten ya a hell of a lot more ticked off."
"...shut up and sit on it." His voice was low and gruff, his frown turned ruthless. Hunter was done playing games, obviously.
Jeff like nothing better. A loose smirk sprawled across his own lips as he slinked forward, letting Hunter's cock slide under him. The tip left a wet trail between his legs, striking against his hole then slipping swiftly past to jut out behind Jeff. He scooted a little more before reaching back again, this time to guide Hunter right on home.
It was a novelty, sinking down onto Hunter rather than having Hunter slam into him with a fast, hard thrust. There was a sense of power in it...and any power over Triple H was definitely in his favor. Especially when it was freely given.
The groan he drew from Hunter was gratifying, to say the least. With Hunter buried to the hilt, Jeff found his own cock laying across the cool metal of Hunter belt. A shiver zipped along his spine and a quiet moan fell past his lips. It didn't mean anything to him, WWE gold, he would swear to anyone that asked, but somehow having it touch him so intimately made him crave it. Even knowing he'd never get a chance to wear anything of the sort again, what with the setting up of the name Jarrett as the anti-McMahon, he couldn't deny the unbidden desire to sling some more of that northern gold around his hips.
Fearing emasculation, Jeff pondered for a second before tucking his dick up underneath his belt and easing the edge down to protect his nuts from pinching. Then, he leaned forward, metal plate meeting metal plate between their bellies. There was a small slip as the change of angle pulled Hunter from him just a bit. It wasn't a bad thing, though.
"Mmm," Jeff purred, "let's get us a little more of that. What ya say?"
Hunter scowled at him for an extended moment. "I'm not here for the talking shit, Jarrett. Either ride my cock or go home. There's plenty of rats outside waiting to take your place."
"As long as they aren't already all off comfortin' that Orton kid," Jeff prodded, rocking his hips just enough to get a little in and out action going. Yeah, he was going to like this having Hunter at his mercy. However, it didn't last long.
Soon enough, Jeff was relieved that he'd taken the time to protect himself. With the way Hunter had flipped them over and was now laying heavily on top of him, growling and eyes angry once again, his manmeat would have been mincemeat between the highly decorative front plates of their belts.
"You bring him up again and TNA will be looking for someone else to put your belt on," Hunter sneered, practically slobbering all over Jeff in his vehemence. He pulled back and started in on a hard pounding, body-splitting series of thrusts that had Jeff crying out like a chick in a b-grade porno. "Orton is dead and buried, just like Benoit. Just like Jericho. Just like-"
He was cut off by a loud grunt, his head falling forward, hair spilling over Jeff's chest. Much more strenuous than the run around either of them gave in the ring by far, both men were slick with sweat. Between them, the belts clashed and clanged, ringing out a cacophony of chimes and gratings and squealings. A regular chorus of tortured, gold-plated brass.
Jeff could feel the build of orgasm in his balls, tight and heavy, explosion imminent. The squeeze of being trapped under his belt was painful, but in the very best of ways. Being the champion was supposed to be so good that it hurt. The intensely physical reminder was as welcome as the stiff cock filling his ass.
And, suddenly, it was gone. Hunter, groaning as he pulled out, shoved Jeff aside and yanked off the belt strapped around his waist. It fell in a rather sensual sprawl across the bedcovers, the gold shining bright and submissive.
"You're mine, baby," Jeff heard him murmur, hazel eyes locked on the object of leather and metal. He watched as Hunter's hand curled around his now free cock and stroked for all he was worth. "All mine..."
Jeff was quick to pick up on the idea and, boy howdy, did he like it. In no time, he had his own belt whipped off and spread across another section of the bed. The hasty release of his cock had it bobbing and waving in the air before him. It raised a cool breeze around the firm flesh, reeling him away from the breach, adding a few luscious seconds of pleasure to his escapade. He rested on his knees on the bed, hips pumping forward, driving his cock into his busy hand.
Groaning in a delightful haze of triumph, Jeff ogled the scene. Hunter was close his labored breath was proof of that. Then, Hunter grunted and, with a tense and body-shaking shudder, spurted strands of pearl-like cum across the golden surface of his belt. With slacks fallen around his knees and underwear caught not far above that, Hunter gasped for breath and pitched forward onto the bed. One hand planting down on the blankets to stop his fall, Hunter hunched over his baby and rubbed a few more drops out over its shining face, murmuring sweetly all the while.
Jeff joined Hunter in a glorious, masturbatory finish not long after. His fingers thrilled to feel the throb that traveled the length of his cock, he relished the sensation of cum shooting forth in a rush from his slit. Grinding his teeth over a moan, Jeff forced his eyes to remain open despite the urge to squeeze them shut. He watched as his release splattered across the gleaming prestige that was the NWA championship, the TNA's most prized possession, his precious, stroking until the aching sweetness was past.
He collapsed over the top of the belt, less concerned than Hunter with gracing his baby with more of a libation as he had spent everything. Instead, he lay there and idly caressed the cool metal with swirls of his fingertips, listening to Hunter's strained whines as he strove to instill his essence into the title. He was like some kind of wild animal marking his territory.
With a sated chuckle, Jeff asked, "Tryin' to wash away the taint?"
Hunter merely grimaced and continued his endeavor, much to Jeff's amused dismay.
Jeff grabbed his own belt and headed for the bathroom, intent on showering the stink away before he laid down for a nap. He had a long day of travel ahead of him and wasn't going into it smelling like he'd just stepped out of a gay whorehouse.
As he closed the door, all he heard from Hunter was an unending litany of, "Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine..."
Thankfully, the roar of water was enough to drown him out. Not even Jeff, despite the Triple J branding, was that bad.
Maybe.
END
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