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Vanilla - Kate
NC-17 - language, m/m slash
Characters: Edge/John Cena, Batista, Christian
Summary: Edge is tired of the status quo.
Warnings: Explicit (and often unsuccessful) sex
Disclaimer: We own neither the characters nor the individuals who portray them. Written solely for our own entertainment.

"This cannot possibly be that hard," Edge muttered to himself, his cell phone perched precariously on one shoulder as he leafed through two daily planners simultaneously.

"I know," Christian commiserated. "How hard can it be to find one open night? I'm not even making up shit to avoid you, like I usually would."

Edge rolled his eyes without comment, hoping his expression would somehow be captured by the phone. Judging from Christian's amused snort, the message was received.

"Look, like I said, I'm free any time except Tuesdays, obviously. What works for you guys?"

Edge frowned, comparing notes on the two planners. "Well, Mondays are no good for John, and he's got a Sunday house show and I've got one Saturday, so..."

"So later in the week?" Christian suggested. "Thursday?"

"Uh-uh, I've got a photo-shoot and John has a guest spot on some stupid radio show."

"Friday? Come on, buddy, work with me here."

"Friday's our date night. How about--"

"Wait, what? Did you just say you had a date night?"

"Yeah, so?" Edge demanded, more defensively than he would've liked. "Lots of people have a date night."

And maybe that last comment had bordered on sulky, but there was really no call for the cacophony of laughter over the phone line. "Lots of old married couples have a date night," Christian finally gasped. "Did I miss the wedding while I was gone?"

"It's not a big deal," Edge mumbled, but Christian wasn't about to let it go.

"It obviously is a big deal if you won't cancel one to spend some long overdue quality time with your bestest friend in the whole world!"

"John and I are both busy, OK? We just like to make sure that at least once a week we have some alone time together."

"You're together all the time!" Christian pointed out. "You have plenty of other time to bump uglies."

Edge groaned, closing his eyes. "Please don't ever call it that again."

"Well, it's true," Christian persevered. "Fuck him an extra time after RAW and come out with me on Friday."

The image that flashed through Edge's mind at that point must have shorted out a few brain cells, because before he could stop himself, he had already blurted out, "He fell asleep."


"Last time we tried after RAW," Edge clarified, his horror mounting as confessions continued to tumble out. "And I work the tapings on Tuesdays, and on Wednesdays John does lower body work in the gym, and on Thursdays I do mine, and weekends are house shows, and you know what? I don't need to justify my sex life to you! We are extremely busy people, and I need Friday Date Night, because otherwise my balls are going to fall off and be swept up by the cleaning woman in some--" Thankfully, Christian's laughter finally cut through Edge's rising hysteria, and Edge rocked back in his chair, letting his head tip back. "Oh, God, when did I get so old?" he asked the ceiling.

"You're not old," Christian reassured him, although his attempts at comfort were somewhat undermined by the giggles breaking through. "You're just, um, busy. And a little bit vanilla."

"I am not vanilla!"

"Blue balls and date night sex? Sorry, man, sounds pretty vanilla to me."

"I...but we..." Edge couldn't think of a response to that, so he settled for swearing vehemently.

"It's not the worst thing ever," Christian soothed. "Do you still love him?"

"Of course," Edge responded instantly.

"So ask him about it. Hell, maybe he's been wanting to spice things up, too."

Edge chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. "Maybe. I just don't know. He's really...sweet, you know?"

"Dude, haven't you figured that out yet? The 'sweet' ones are always the freakiest in bed. He's probably got a soundproof room at home all decked out with leather swings and nipple--"


Edge jumped guiltily, slamming shut the phone as he whirled to face a concerned John Cena. "H-hey," he managed to stutter.

"Hey yourself," John returned, frowning at the phone in Edge's hand. "Something wrong?"

"Everything' s perfect, " Edge lied, inwardly sighing as John lifted his eyebrows skeptically. "I was just going to take a shower."

John nodded, his expression clearing. "Need some help?"

Vanilla, my ass, Edge gloated to himself, leaning forward to brush his lips against John's. "I could probably make some room."

"I like the sound of that," John murmured, wrapping both arms around Edge's waist and yanking him forward. Edge pressed against him, deepening the kiss when John flinched, stumbling backwards half a step.

"Your knee?"

John nodded and dropped onto the bed with a sigh, rubbing the muscle just above his left kneecap. "It was giving out on me a little at the gym tonight. It felt better after the steam room, but--"

"But it probably doesn't need any more heat," Edge pointed out. "You want an icepack?"

"Yeah, I guess." John gestured to his gym bag, where Edge found a travel first aid kit. John placed the icepack carefully on top of the muscle, then lay back across the bed.

"You need me to--"

"I'm good," John interrupted, flashing an apologetic smile. "I think I'm going to have to take a raincheck on that shower, though."

"No problem," Edge assured him. "I'll make it quick."

Not quick enough, as it turned out. By the time Edge had dried his hair and returned to the bedroom, John was fast asleep, TV remote still in his hand. Edge picked it up carefully, turning off SportsCenter before climbing into bed himself. John rolled towards him immediately, tugging him closer, and Edge melted into his touch. Knee still frigid, but Edge uses his body heat to warm him up.

If JR was right about one thing, it was that Edge knew how to take advantage of an opportunity.

The woman from the wardrobe department looked more than a little surprised when Edge volunteered to take the jersey to John himself, but he flashed her a wide smile that either mollified her or frightened her into acquiescing. Edge didn't particularly care which.

The shirt was gigantic and hideous, emblazoned with green and orange, which Edge assumed were the trademark colors of some local basketball team. Or football, maybe. Some boring, non-hockey sport, in any case. He nearly dropped it several times as he wove between the bunches of wrestlers and crew milling around backstage, but managed to make it to John's open locker room door with the shirt in tow.

The usual crowd in the room had vacated as usual to give John the privacy to prepare for his match. He was already wearing his ring shorts, which made Edge wonder if he had stripped in full view of the open door. Probably not, Edge decided, noting John's abandoned jeans on the floor of the adjacent bathroom. Their loss.

"Hey," John greeted, reaching up for the shirt. "Awesome, they found me a jersey."

Edge considered handing it over, but decided to admire the view a little longer instead. "Looks like it," he agreed, draping the shirt over his shoulder.

John grinned. "You gonna give it to me?"

Edge smirked back at him, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah, that was pretty much the idea. Or vice-versa. I'm not particularly picky."

"Um..." Edge waited for the double entendre to sink in, but John's expression remained confused. "You want me to give you a shirt? I don't even have--"

"Just stop talking," Edge broke in, turning with a sigh and closing the door.

John glanced up from his half-tied sneakers. "Dude, leave that open. I'm trying to stay accessible here."

"Maybe I want you accessible to me for a few minutes," Edge countered. A moment of confused silence later, he added, "As in letting me fuck you."

"Oh," John blinked, sitting upright in his chair. "Like...oh."

Laughing despite himself, Edge moved back to John's chair. "Yeah. Like that," he teased, tilting John's head back for a kiss.

"Yeah, we should do that," John panted breathlessly a few seconds later as his his slid up Edge's back.

"We should definitely do that."

" soon as we get back to the hotel," John finished, snatching the jersey from Edge's shoulder.

Edge's glare was hot enough to cut steel, but John just laughed as he stood up to tug on the shirt. "Sorry, babe, duty calls. I gotta be ready to go in 15."

"I can be done in 15," Edge protested. "We both can be done in 15."

John's response was muffled by the jersey sliding over his head, and on impulse Edge grabbed the waist of his jean shorts, tugging them down to his ankles. "Jesus Christ, babe!" John gasped, his head finally popping free of the shirt. "We can't--"

"I'm pretty sure we can." Edge grinned up from his knees, running the palm of his hand over the bulge tenting the front of John's boxers. John groaned, but made no move to stop Edge as he reached for his waistband. Edge's smile turned victorious as he yanked John's underwear down.

And then, because the universe hated him, the door flew open.

"John, I...uh..." Batista started, eyes widening as he took in the scene.

At any other time, John's horrified expression would've been funny, but Edge was too busy ducking to laugh as John dove behind the nearest piece of furniture. Unfortunately, metal folding chairs weren't built for coverage, and John wound up struggling to hide as much as possible while Batista studied the far wall intensely. "Didn't mean to interrupt," Batista continued, with the faintest possibility of a smirk twitching at one corner of his mouth. "I just wanted to ask you something quick before you went out there."

"What?" Edge asked calmly, refusing to rush as he got to his feet. His jeans were bunched uncomfortably, and he smoothed his hands down the sides, trying to straighten them out.

Batista's eyes followed the movement, and then he looked away quickly, unsuccessfully trying to hide his grin with one hand.

"You know, it must've slipped my mind completely." John stumbled as he tried to pull his shorts and underwear up simultaneously, collapsing onto the ground in a tangle of limbs and chair legs. Unable to stop himself, Batista laughed out loud. "I'm sure it wasn't as important as whatever you two were...discussing. "

"Fuck off, Dave," Edge snapped, smoothing his hair. John seemed to have his pants under control, so Edge decided to gracefully retreat. He was so focused on deliberately bumping Batista's shoulder as he squeezed through the doorway that he almost tripped over the wide-eyed little girl standing on the other side.

"Oh, yeah, I remember now!" Batista's laughter redoubled. "John, my niece wants an autograph. As long as you're not busy...?"

Edge manfully resisted the urge to flip off the little girl as he left.

"Should I even ask?"

"Umm," John hedged as he shoved a table up against the door. "What do you mean?"

"When I started my shower, you were doing sit-ups. Now you're redecorating the room. You wanna walk me through the thought processes in-between?"

"Yeah, well..." John froze as he saw the "Do Not Disturb" door hanger on the ground under the table. "Shit." Sighing deeply, John starting tugging the table back away from the door.

Shaking his head, Edge crossed the room, looking for his cell phone. He could've sworn he left it charging on the bedside table, but it wasn't there. "Hey, Martha Stewart, you seen my phone?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah," John called as he shut the door, sign proudly hanging from the doorknob. He bolted every possible latch before crawling back under the table and pushing it towards the door once more, effectively barricading them inside. "It's on the floor. Christian called right after you started your shower."

"Ah. I was hoping he got all the sex jokes out of his system at the tapings yesterday ."

"Yeah, well, I guess he thought of some more." It was the closest they had come to talking about the Incident from Monday, and John's ears were already turning red. Thank God he had decided to stay home from the ECW/Smackdown tapings; everyone there had a joke or, even worse, a sympathetic comment. Dave Batista, Edge had decided, was a giant gossipy whore.

"Sorry" was all Edge said out loud. "I'll tell him to leave you alone."

John frowned, coming over to sit on the side of the bed next to Edge. "Was I mean, are you really into being, uh, watched or--"

Edge narrowed his eyes. "Is that what he told you? John, how the hell was I supposed to know that Batista was going to come barging in with a kid in tow? I didn't--"

"No, he didn't say that," John assured him. "I just kind of wondered. Christian might have mentioned that you were looking for ways to," he paused, "kind of spice things up."

"Maybe," Edge admitted. "But half the locker room watching isn't the kind of spice I had in mind."

John exhaled, looking more than a little relieved. "Yeah, I kind of figured that. But, uh..." he glanced significantly at the barricaded door. "Nobody's going to walk in on us now."

"What did you have in m--"

Edge's question was answered as John leaned forward, grabbing his hair and pulling him into a kiss.

"You sure about this?" Edge panted, pulling back slightly. "You seemed tired from the gym and--" He choked slightly as John slid a hand between his legs and squeezed, then ripped the white towel from around his waist.

Between the two of them, John's clothes were stripped away almost as fast, and Edge had to step away from the bed to catch his breath, leaving John on his back, smiling up at him.

"You know, for somebody who tried to hide his junk in a steel chair, you're not looking particularly shy right now," Edge observed, and John laughed.

"Depends on the company," he admitted, his eyes sliding down Edge's body as he spoke. "Besides, I'm feeling kind of adventurous right now."

"Yeah? What do you want to do?"

John's eyes snapped up to meet his. "You're the one with the great ideas. You tell me."

"I can do that," Edge promised, a little breathier than he had intended. A few seconds of consideration later, he dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed, unzipping his gym bag quickly.

"You're not getting dressed again, are you?" John sounded concerned as he peeked over the side.

"Not quite." It took him a few seconds to find it, but when he got to his feet again, Edge had his new black leather belt in one hand.

John's eyebrows shot up, but his smile stayed in place. "What's that for?"

"You said I was in charge," Edge reminded him, crawling into bed on top of his prone boyfriend, dropping kisses as he worked his way up John's muscular body. "This is just a reminder." John didn't resist as Edge grabbed his wrists, pinning them against the brass column in the center of the headboard.

Tying John's hands with the belt was harder than Edge had anticipated, but he finally managed to get them securely bound, wrapped twice around the center post just in case John decided to showcase his genuinely impressive strength. The belt was new, after all, and Edge didn't want it snapped in two.

"Comfy?" he checked, letting his hands roam down John's exposed sides. John's biceps flexed experimentally, but the belt held firm and he nodded with a shaky grin. "Good." Crawling back down to the foot of the bed, Edge reached into his bag again for the lube.

Looking back later, Edge could easily pinpoint the moment the entire evening started spiraling downhill. Completely innocently, he had lifted John's left leg onto his shoulder to adjust the angle of penetration, and had been completely bewildered to hear something like "Arkansas!" shouted into his ear. He froze midthrust and John wrenched to one side, snapping the headboard post like a piece of straw. The remainder of the surprisingly heavy headboard frame came crashing down on them, catching Edge on the top of the head and opening up a huge laceration. In a belated attempt to protect him, John rolled sideways, trying to get on top of Edge, but failed to recognize that his bound hands would prevent him from stopping at the end of the roll, and wound up sliding off onto the floor with a heavy thump.

The first one to react, somewhat surprisingly, was the occupant of the next room over, who banged on the wall and asked if he should call 911.

"Are you OK?" John finally managed, wheezing slightly from the impact of the unprotected fall.

"What. In the fuck. Was that?"

More banging, and Edge finally snapped, "We're fine! Stay out of it!" in the general direction of the wall. He had just managed to extricate himself from the tangled bed frame by the time John got to his feet.

"Um...that was..."

"Did you say 'Arkansas'?"

"Oh." John thought about that one for a minute. "Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry." He sat heavily on the side of the bed.

"Do you have a hillbilly fetish I should know about?"

John looked about as confused as Edge felt. "No, I...Christian said if we were going to be a little, you know, kinky, we should have a safe word. So I figured 'Arkansas', because the Razorbacks play in cardinal red, you know? Like a stoplight?" He paused, then added. "Berkley would've meant 'slow down'. They're yellow and b--"

"I get how a stoplight works, John. You think it might've been helpful to run this code by me one time?"

"Yeah," John chewed his bottom lip and looked uncomfortable. "It didn't really come up in conversation like I hoped. Anyway, I also probably should have told you about my knee. I fucked it up doing squats today, and when you put it on your shoulder..."

"Yeah," Edge sighed, flopping onto his back. "I was there."

John disappeared momentarily, returning with a cool wet washcloth to wipe away the blood on Edge's head. Luckily, the hair would cover the cut, but it still stung. "I'm sorry," John offered sincerely. "Should we...uh...try again?"

Edge took a deep breath. "Maybe sometime when I'm not bleeding and you're not limping, John."

"Yeah, good plan," John agreed, curling up on the bed next to him. Several long moments later, he added, "Uh, do you think you could untie me now?"

"Hey. Are you pissed?" The question was so quiet, Edge barely heard it over the South Park episode on TV.

"No," Edge answered shortly, draining the double shot of whiskey in his hotel tumbler and reaching for the bottle. John sighed from the bed, and Edge paused, twisting in his chair to look at him. "I'm not pissed," he repeated emphatically. "I'm's been a stressful week."

"Yeah." John turned back to the TV, the back of his head resting against the wall. His legs sprawled awkwardly on the mattress in front of him, his left knee buried under white towels and athletic tape. They had run out of icepacks, so John was improvising now with a double handful of ice cubes wrapped in a damp towel. It had to be cold against his skin, but John didn't seem to notice. "I'm sorry I ruined the bondage thing."

Edge shrugged as he sat back in his chair, staring out the window. Leaving his whiskey momentarily untouched, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "It doesn't matter. I just wanted to try something new. Not that sex with you isn't already pretty great."

"'Pretty' great?" John repeated, his voice rising with mock anger. "'Pretty great'?"

Edge grinned at the night sky just outside the window. "That's what I said."

"If I wasn't the walking wounded over here I'd show you exactly how great sex with me is."

"Promises, promises," Edge taunted.

A short pause later, John continued, his voice dropping a fraction lower. "As it is, though, you're going to have to come over here. Or get me a crutch or something."

"Why, John Cena," Edge drawled. "Are you trying to lure me to join you in bed, knowing full well that we have to be up early to get to the house show tomorrow? I'm disappointed in you, young man."

"Just watching out for your safety. If you keep waving that cigarette around, you're going to light your drink on fire, and how am I going to explain it to Vince when you show up with 3rd degree burns?"

Edge laughed. "I think you've watched too many fire safety seminars. There's nothing dangerous about this." To prove his point, he grabbed his lighter, holding it close enough to the rim of his glass that the liquid blazed up, blue-hot and flickering.

"Show-off," John scoffed. The rest of his statement evaporated in a gasp as Edge slammed his hand down over the top of the glass. "Jesus, knock it off! You'll burn yourself."

"Relax." Edge pulled back his unscathed hand and swallowed the whiskey in one gulp. The fire had burned off the majority of the alcohol already, leaving the drink strangely sweet, with a caramel aftertaste. "It needs oxygen to burn, right? When my hand blocks the oxygen, it goes out immediately. "

John rolled his eyes. "Let me guess; you're a scientist for NASA on your time off?"

Edge grinned, grabbing the whiskey, glass, and lighter as he made his way toward the bed. "Nope, learned it on a tour of Japan. It's how fire cupping works."

"Fire what now?" John asked, moving his right leg to make room for Edge even as he eyed the lighter suspiciously.

"It's a massage thing. Wanna see?" Edge poured a half shot into the glass, swirling it around as he waited for John's answer.

"Are you going to set me on fire?" John demanded.

"Would I do that?"

John grunted. "If you do, no sex a week."

Edge laughed as he tossed the shot back. "A whole week? How will we live?"

"OK, four days." John's eyes widened as Edge touched the lighter to the glass again, burning the residue of the whiskey inside it.

Edge tilted his head to one side as he smirked, holding up the glass. "Trust me?"

John nodded, his mouth open to speak just as Edge flipped the glass upside-down, pressing it firmly into John's exposed thigh. "Hey!"

"You OK?"

John seemed to consider that a moment. The glass was warm, but not hot, and the fire had instantly been extinguished by the lack of oxygen. "Yeah. Now what?"

"Now you relax and let it draw the toxins out of your body."

"Is it supposed to look like that?" John asked curiously, tracing his finger around the edge of the glass. The skin inside had gone red and puffy, swelling up inside the glass.

"Uh-huh. It burned the oxygen away, remember? So now it's like a vacuum pulling at your leg. Gets the blood moving." Edge slid the glass down a few inches closer to the injured knee. "Feel that?"

"Yeah," John breathed quietly, his fingers brushing the rapidly fading red mark left behind by the glass. The skin tingled wherever the cup moved, and the sucking force stretched and relaxed the muscle beneath. "That's kinda nice."

Edge nodded. "I knew guys who would leave these on for hours." Peeling back the tape, Edge pulled the half-melted makeshift icepack away from John's knee before sliding the glass down further.

John gasped as the warmth of the cup hit his half-frozen skin. Edge hesitated, but John grabbed his wrist, keeping the cup in place. "Feels good."

Slowly, Edge began rubbing John's leg with his free hand, working out the knots in the muscle as well as the chill of the skin. He used his long fingers to press deep into the lower portion of John's quad, watching his face twist up into a cross between a grimace and a smile. As the tension started to fade, Edge slid the glass upwards to replace his fingers.

John moaned in appreciation of the change in sensations, peeling his eyes open just in time to see Edge smirking up at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Edge replied, grinning wider. "I just like hearing you moan."

"I wasn't moaning," John denied, covering his face with a nearby pillow. He never could lie with a straight face.

Edge had never backed down from a challenge, though, so he slid the glass up another inch as he insisted, "Yes, you did."

John laughed into the pillow, but didn't otherwise respond.

"You did." The glass crept further upwards, drifting towards John's inner thigh. "And I bet I can make you do it again."

To his credit, John managed to hold out until the glass was mere centimeters from the crease of the top of his leg. Even then, the moan may have had more to do with Edge shifting to kneel between his legs, pressing gently against his cotton-covered erection as he moved. "Cheater," John declared, and Edge didn't need to peek under the pillow to see the dimples deepening as he laughed.

"Shut up, I won."

"Your glass is getting cold," John pointed out, his hips pressing gently upwards into the heat of Edge's body.

"Hmmm...and what do you think I should do about that?" Without waiting for an answer, Edge leaned down, tracing the edge of the glass with his tongue. The sweet residue of the whiskey balanced the slightly salty flavor of the skin, and Edge hummed happily as he let the heat from his mouth warm the area.

John jerked unexpectedly then, unable to remain still, and the glass suddenly came loose with a wet pop. Laughing at the noise, Edge pulled his head back. "Damn, I had more plans for that."

"Yeah?" John lifted his pillow just high enough to let Edge see him raise his eyebrows. "It kind of seemed like it was getting in the way to me. What else were you thinking?"

"I'm sure I would've thought of something," Edge murmured, rubbing his fingers over the bright red circle remaining on John's skin.

"Maybe later. Right now I think all my blood is exactly where it needs to be." Grabbing Edge's hand, John moved it to the bulge in his boxers.

"Good point." Edge let his fingers explore, delicately tracing the outline of John's manhood. It had been a long time since they hadn't been rushed, and he wanted to savor the moment.

Less than 15 seconds later, Edge decided patience was overrated, and from the noise John made as Edge shoved his boxers down, he agreed. Edge didn't bother with finesse this time, sucking hard and deep from the onset, working out the stress from the past couple weeks. He had just come up from air when John reached down, pushing his head away.

Despite his good qualities, Edge thought to himself, John Cena was an idiot.

"Need..." John growled, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "Fuck...Edge. ..please. .." he added incoherently, providing further evidence of Edge's estimation of his mental ability.

"Your knee," Edge warned as John reached for him.

"Fuck it." In one move, John grabbed Edge and rolled onto his good side, pulling Edge down with him. Edge braced himself for John to roll on top, but he didn't, staying on his side to minimize the pressure in his knee, pulling Edge's back flat against him.

And it turns out John Cena was pretty smart after all, Edge decided.

The position gave them both the leverage needed to move against one another, and the mirrored closet doors facing Edge gave him an amazing view of John's face when he finally came. Edge watched dazedly, his concentration already broken by his own release.

When he had regained the feeling in his toes, Edge made a move to clean up, but John simply tightened the arm wrapped around him, refusing to budge. Edge struggled momentarily, but his heart wasn't in it and he quickly gave up. "You're a lazy cow," he announced as he settled back into the embrace.

John laughed, his breath warm on the back of Edge's neck. "Love you, too."

"Hey, John?"


"You got plans tomorrow?"

"Other than our date night?"

"Yeah. I was thinking we could go hang with Christian tomorrow night."

John propped himself up one elbow, looking down at Edge. "You're canceling our date?"

Edge smiled, shaking his head. "Not even close. I was just thinking we could move it up in the day a little. So we don't have to wait so long."

"I like the sound of that," John admitted, leaning down to steal a kiss. "How early do you think we could get away with?"

"Well..." Edge glanced at the clock. "Technically, it'll be midnight tomorrow in an hour, so..."

"Technically, " John countered, "it's already tomorrow in China somewhere."

"How can I argue with logic like that?" Edge laughed as he pulled John down on top of him.