Hunter’s POV

I want to punch him in the face.

Not really. Not even him so much as his fucking little pen-pal buddy. I mean, what kind of loser writes love letters to a grown man? More importantly, to my man. My Shawn. Let’s see how well he writes after I break every fucking finger in his hand. Both hands, maybe, just to be safe.

Maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll find this loser, break his hands, and then tell Vince that Shawn and I need some time off. And then I’ll take Shawn someplace no one else will find us, and we’ll curl up next to a fire, and we’ll kiss until he completely forgets about this other dude. And then we’ll make love until we both fall asleep and when I wake up, he’ll be staring at me with that perfect smile of his, waiting to tell me how much he loves me.

And then I’m going to punch him in the face.

“Hunter?”

I blink, and Shawn’s right in front of me. Smiling. Not being punched. “What?”

He shrugs. “You were doing the evil smile thing again. Whatcha plotting?”

“Nothing,” I grumble. He doesn’t believe me, but I don’t really care. “Anything interesting in the mail?”

“Nope,” he replies, and I hate that he can lie with a smile on his face. The smile turns into a smirk as he suggests, “Let’s get to the hotel already. I’ve got plans for you and me tonight.”

“Plans?” I echo doubtfully, but his smirk stays in place.

“Mmhmm.” And Jesus Christ, his voice is doing that sexy little growl that he knows kills me. I just forgot why I wanted to hit him. “Naked plans?” I ask, just to be sure.

He laughs then, unselfconscious and affectionate, and he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I grab my bag with one hand and his arm with the other. He’s still laughing, even as he breaks into a jog to keep up with me on the way to the car.

Shawn’s POV

Hunter manages to pull my shirt off and get us both into bed within 15 seconds of me unlocking the hotel room door. I love it when he does that.

Whatever was bothering him earlier seems to have been overruled by his sex drive, although to be honest, most of the things Hunter thinks about wind up overruled by his sex drive. I’m still a little amazed that he manages to focus long enough to make it through his matches. Not that I’m complaining, of course, especially since he’s touching right there and…oh, yeah. That’s nice.

He’s really aggressive right now, even for him, and I’ve got to wonder what brought this on. He was glaring at me earlier like it was something I did, but I don’t remember doing anything that might piss him off. And it’s kind of hard to think about right now, because he just threw my pants halfway across the room. God, he’s amazing.

I want a second or two to enjoy this, so I grab the back of his head as he strips off my underwear, pulling him into a kiss. He’s impatient, torn between melting into the kiss and pushing me away to get enough room to unzip his pants. I grind against him slowly, just to frustrate him a little more, and he makes a snap decision, shoving me down onto the bed. He uses both hands to pin my hips down, but my fingers are still free to roam, unbuttoning his shirt, sliding over his muscular chest. He pulls one of his hands away to shove down his pants, and I immediately wrap that leg around his waist, pulling him flat on top of me again. He growls and tries to glare at me, but the effect is diluted by the soft rasp of his panting and the heat of his skin under my hands. I grin up at him, and he abandons the glare with an overdramatic sigh.

I kiss his nose because I know it’ll annoy him and he can’t do anything about it, and he surprises me by tilting his head slightly to kiss me back. It’s slow and patient and amazing, and his hands slide off my hips. I relax a little as well, closing my eyes and luxuriating in the contrast of textures between his rough stubble and the silk of his hair.

And then I can’t feel either anymore because the bastard has flipped me onto my stomach, bracing one forearm across my upper back to prevent me from rolling over as he peels off his pants. I huff about it, but he just laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of my neck and grabbing a couple pillows to slide under my hips. I’m glad he always remembers my back problems, because at times like this I tend to forget. I lift my hips obediently, and he shoves the pillows under them, wrapping a hand around my dick right before I sink back down.

And man, he’s ridiculously good at this, sliding up and down, twisting his wrist on the downstroke. I whimper a little and he speeds up, pulling until I’m bucking into his hand, hips driving into the pillows. He stops suddenly and I yelp as cold grease slides between my ass cheeks.

Two fingers in and I’m ready to go, squirming as impatiently as he was a minute ago. He removes his fingers and I can feel him pressing up against me, leaning over my back to whisper something into my ear. I push back right when he opens his mouth, though, and what comes out is more a hiss than a word as the head of his cock slides into me.

It feels like liquid fire, and it takes almost half a minute before I realize that I had stopped breathing. I suck in a deep breath, lifting my head from where it had dropped to the mattress. Hunter’s talking, but it takes a significant effort to decipher the words.

“Jesus, Shawn, I love you so much. You’re so fucking hot. I need—ah, fuck!” Hunter bites back a moan as his hips move fractionally, immediately stilling. “You gotta relax, baby,” he pleads. “I gotta move.”

Well, when you put it that way…I push myself up on my hands, pressing back and moaning in encouragement as Hunter starts a slow thrust forward.

Finally, he’s fully inside me feeling as perfect as he always does. His hand goes back to my cock and I shiver, feeling the tingle all the way down to my toes. “Hunt,” I inform him as matter-of-factly as I can. “If you plan on fucking me, you better start doing it, because I ain’t gonna last much longer.”

He thinks about that one for a few seconds, relaxing his grip to slide up my erection, barely touching me. And they call me a tease. I twist halfway around to glare at him, but whatever I plan to say is completely obliterated by that first quick, hard, thrust. I fall back to my hands, arching my back to help him find that perfect angle.

A few sweaty minutes later, he finds it, slamming me over the edge and into a world of white-hot light. By the time I manage to open my eyes, he’s laying motionless on top of me. It feels nice, but it’s restricting my breathing a little, so I slide out from under him and roll onto my back.

Hunter shifts as well, automatically scooting close enough that he can wrap one arm over my chest and thread one leg between mine. His face is turned, pressed into the side of my neck. I hear him mutter, “Mine,” before drifting back to sleep.

I grin to myself as I snuggle in for the night. Whatever I did to upset him, I need to do again soon.

Hunter’s POV

The first thing I see when I wake up is Shawn lying half under me, hair tousled and smiling in his sleep. So fucking gorgeous.

I try to fall back asleep, but I'm sweaty and itchy and in desperate need of a shower. Finally giving up, I roll over and sit up in bed.

The second thing I see is Shawn's half-open gym bag, his mail still sticking out from the pocket he had shoved into during our rush back to the hotel. I look back at Shawn and idly consider suffocating him with his pillow. I decide to take a shower instead.

The cool water helps calm me down a little bit, at least enough that I can think of alternatives to killing Shawn in his sleep. I consider giving Kevin Nash a call. He's pretty good with advice on Shawn, but I'm pretty sure he's stopped taking my phone calls seriously after I called him when I thought Shawn was cheating on me when he was really just shopping for my Christmas present. And that time I was pretty sure we broke up because he wouldn't answer the phone, but it turned out he had the flu. And a long time ago when I was all excited because I thought he was throwing me a surprise birthday party, but he was really just cheating on me. Douche.

So scratch Kevin off the list. Maybe I should just start stealing Shawn's fan mail. He'd probably eventually notice that, though. Or he'd go through one of his "nobody loves me anymore" phases, and I hate those.

I really just want to go find the author and kick his ass, but I'm not sure who it is yet. I've got my suspicions, though.

The first letter I found in Shawn's bag was your fairly standard fan-boy letter: "You're the best, Shawn, I love your matches, blah blah, your promos are hysterical, blah blah." It was a little weird that he didn't sign it, maybe, but I probably wouldn't have signed drivel like that either.

The second letter was more of the same, really; the only thing that bugged me was that all of a sudden Shawn had a fucking binder for them, like he was fucking saving them or something. And he buried the damn binder way the hell down in his bag, like he was trying to hide it from me. In fact, I probably never would've found it if I hadn't been digging through his bag for completely different, totally justifiable reasons that I don't want to think about right now.

But it was around the third letter that things started getting really weird. First, there was that bit about how much prettier Shawn's hair is than mine, which is complete bullshit, but then the bastard added, "even though you two use the same conditioner." Now how the hell would he know that? No fans have been running around sniffing my hair or anything lately.

So I'm thinking it's got to be someone Shawn talks to, right? Probably somebody backstage, because some of these letters aren't even folded, like somebody just wrote them and handed them to Shawn, or slipped it under his door or something.

Speaking of doors, the one to the bathroom pops open, letting all the accumulated steam from my shower drift out. "You don't have to be rich," Shawn sings to himself as he steps into the room, "to be my girl. You don't have to be cool...to rule my world." Really, Shawn? Prince? At nine o'clock in the fucking morning? "Ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with," he continues obliviously, pulling back the shower curtain with a grin. "I just want your extra time, and your..." He leans in to kiss me just as I remember the Prince quotation in his last fan letter, and I can actually hear something in my mind snap.

He yelps when I turn the showerhead to spray him full blast, but he should probably be thanking me for not knocking him on his ass. He even has the nerve to look confused when I push my way past him and into the bedroom. Luckily, I manage to yank on some gym shorts and head out the door before he has time to ask any stupid questions.

Shawn's POV

Seriously. What the hell is wrong with him?

I get that Hunter's not exactly a morning person, but it's already time for RAW and he hasn't done anything but growl at me all day. Which is why I'm ignoring his cranky ass now, chatting about the show with Jeff Hardy. The kid's a little weird, but at least he's not biting my head off.

And surprise of all surprises, he's got some interesting ideas. He even mentioned some stuff he could bring up in a promo. "I didn't think you liked talking on camera."

He ducks his head a little, but doesn't back down. "I don't do it a lot, because...because it's a wrestling show, you know? But I think I could. I even wrote some stuff down, just in case."

"Really?" I glance at Hunter, but he still appears to be sulking. "Can I see?"

"Um, sure!" Jeff digs in his back pocket and comes up with a handful of receipts and scrap paper with notes scribbled on them. A few of them appear to be missing, but he helps me piece together what's there.

And what's there is pretty damn good. I tell him so, and he flushes a little. "Thanks a lot, man," he responds as Hunter rolls his eyes. "I mean, coming from you...you're so awesome at promos and--"

"Maybe you would be, too, if you took Shawn's balls out of your mouth before you talk," Hunter interrupts.

"Ignore him," I tell Jeff. "I really do like it. You should write more."

Jeff nods, still looking a little stunned from Hunter's outburst. "I like to write. Mostly poetry, but--"

"But sometimes creepy little fan letters?" Hunter snaps, standing up and moving toward Jeff. "Listen, you fruity little son of a bitch--"

"What is wrong with you?" I demand, slipping between the two before poor Jeff winds up a multi-colored grease spot on the floor. "Are you on drugs?"

Jeff shakes his head and answers, "No, I'm always like this," with an earnestness that would've been funny had Hunter not been reaching out to strangle him.

"Stop it!" I yell, grabbing his wrist. "We need to talk. Now." Hunter keeps glaring at Jeff, but doesn't resist as I start tugging him down the arena hallway in search of an empty room.

Hunter's POV

So maybe that accusation was a little premature. Sue me.

Then again, maybe it wasn't. The Hardy kid seemed surprised, but so did Shawn, and he of all people should know exactly what I'm talking about. Even if he is staring at me like I've lost my mind as soon as he closes the door. "What?"

His jaw drops. "Are you joking? You almost bit off Jeff Hardy's head out there."

I can't really think of anything to say to that, so I settle for a shrug. From the look on Shawn's face, that wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he explodes, not even trying to stay quiet anymore. "You've been pissing and moaning and throwing hissy fits for weeks now!" I glance at the door and he repositions himself in front of it, folding his arms and setting his jaw. "We aren't going anywhere until you explain to me what the fuck you're thinking."

"What I'm thinking? How about you tell me what you were thinking, crawling up into Hardy's lap like that?"

Shawn looks like he's getting a massive headache, which makes me feel a little better. "We were just talking, Hunter. About work. Writing promos and all that."

I snort. "Yeah, because he loves writing so much. Almost as much as you like it when he writes to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Give it up, Shawn. I've seen all those fan letters you keep."

He blinks, which I decide to interpret as a sign of guilt. "Fan letters? You're angry because I have...fans?"

"I'm angry that you're totally getting off on this random dude kissing your ass. And on top of it, you're trying to hide it from me."

He stays confused a few more seconds before his eyes suddenly widen. "Have you been going through my gym bag?"

Damn. "Don't try to change the subject," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Wait here." He slips out the door, returning with his gym bag before I can decide whether or not to lock him out. He closes the door and drops his bag on the ground, rifling through it and quickly coming up with that stupid binder. "These letters?"

I glare at him and he sits down on the floor, putting his head in his hands. "Hunter," he finally says, smoothing his hair out of his face as he looks up at me. "These aren't fan letters."

"Tell me about it," I grunt. "They're obsessive stalker letters."

He ignores that. "Do you remember," he asks slowly, "when I first cam back after retiring, and I wasn't completely sure I could still do this?"

I nodded suspiciously. This doesn't sound like the apology I was expecting. "I told you that you could."

"So did Kevin," he tells me. "In a very nice letter that he wrote me so that I could read it whenever I got nervous. So I wrote him one back, to say thanks. And it starting being kind of a game between us."

"Oh." By now, I'm pretty sure I don't like where this story is going.

"Yeah," Shawn continues. "But then Kev got busy in TNA, and I kind of missed the support, so instead of writing ridiculous letters to Kevin, I started writing ridiculous letters to myself."

"You write yourself fan letters?" Of course he does. Shawn's always doing shit like that.

He shrugs in response. "I like them. They're goofy, and they're fun to go back and read when I'm having a bad day."

I sit down next to Shawn, not sure what to say next. "So...you're saying that I maybe jumped the gun just a little with the Hardy thing?"

Shawn laughs, and it actually manages to relax me a little. "You're ridiculous. The way I see it, you've got a list of things to do right now, and I'll let you pick which one you start with. Number one, you need to apologize to Jeff. Two, you need to call Kevin and let him laugh at you for a while. And three, you need to explain to me why you were going through my mail."

"Um...does Kevin really need to know about this?" I ask hopefully.

"Absolutely," Shawn laughs.

"Damn. Well, how about I start by apologizing to you, and then work on the other three later?"

Shawn raises his eyebrows as I scoot closer to him. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"Well, I could write you a letter, but since we're already together...maybe I could think of something a little more direct."

Shawn's POV

The next morning comes far too early, and the noise of Hunter climbing into the shower wakes me up. I stretch slowly, rolling over to stare at the white ceiling. After letting my eyes adjust to the dim sunlight for a few minutes, I glance over at the bedside clock, which is obscured by a sheet of paper draped over it. I pick it up, frowning in confusion, but start laughing out loud as my eyes skip from the "Dear Mr. Michaels," in Hunter's careful script at the top to the "Your biggest fan, Triple H," scrawled across the bottom of the sheet. Kevin's going to love this.