When Jeff retired to his hotel room, he was expecting to sleep the second he hit the mattress. Being a wrestler, this is one of the few things you hope for. If you weren't an insomniac zombie, you were out on your feet. And bed was the first thing you looked for as soon as you clocked out of work -- if you didn't go out for a few drinks, which some of the boys have been known to do.

He sighs with annoyance at the unexpected knock on the door. His annoyance fades quickly when he sees who it is. A tingle shoots through him. Part fear, part surprise and part something else entirely. He can't quite put a name to the feeling.

"Wasn't very nice of you to slap that restraining order on me, Jeffrey."

His ex. Mark Jindrak was not allowed to be within 1000 feet of him. It had been three weeks since Jeff had seen him. Three weeks since Jeff'd put the restraining order on him. So much for that.

He's eating comforter right now. Dirty comforter that probably has more come in it than loads he's shot or had shot in him combined. The first thing Jeff plans to do when he's moving on his own is to run to the bathroom and brush his teeth. Oh, that's right. He won't be doing much running after Mark is done with him.

Jeff struggles to free himself. It doesn't help that Mark's strong enough to restrain him with one arm. This is what he gets for hitting the bars more than the gym lately. When Jeff was 23, he would've had enough strength to push Mark off. Okay, probably not. He would've had enough speed and agility to squirm out of the giant's hold. Now? Not so much.

Let me the fuck go loses much of its effect when you have a mouthful of dirty hotel comforter. If Jeff had enough time to really think about it, he'd probably laugh that his OCD is just as prominent in his mind as his predicament. He's waiting for the standard line -- oh there it is.

"I'm your fucking boyfriend. Can't you see that we should be together?"

Jeff does laugh this time and Mark, of course, fails to see why, given the circumstances, Jeff is actually finding amusement in this.

"What the fuck is so funny?!"

Jeff laughs some more because hello. If you are expecting an answer, you don't keep the person's face pinned to the mattress. It's just common sense. To Mark, this is like trying to solve the most complex astrophysics equation on the planet. Naturally, it pisses him off when Jeff doesn't answer.

"Are you deaf or something?!"

Jeff manages to turn his head. He sputters before anything else comes out of his mouth. "You had my face buried in the comforter. How did you expect me to answer you? Telepathy?" Jeff knows that's just asking for it, but come on. It needed to be said.

Mark's reply is swift. When you're that big and strong, clothes might as well be perforated paper. Jeff's shirt is torn with ease. The only reason his pants don't suffer the same fate is because of his belt. He has to remember to thank that ugly fat girl who gave it to him. At least it's buying him some time.

He turns as Mark is trying his best to pull off his pants. Jeff kicks him in the chest, but he doesn't get as much of Mark as he wanted to because of his position. It's enough to free him though and he bolts to the door. He forgets Mark has the reach of an orangutan and Jeff eats floor faster than Shannon used to drop trousers for him whenever he pulled out his cock. Jeff barely gets his arms out in time to protect his face and almost breaks his nose. He's woozy, but the worst's been averted. A concussion is the last thing he needs.

"You're not getting away that easily, Jeffrey." The edge in Mark's voice tells Jeff he's going to have to renege on his vow to leave the Vicodin in his bag alone when this is all over.

Mark wrestles Jeff's pants off and stops when he sees the neon yellow thong. Like he hasn't seen Jeff in one of those before. "HEY." Jeff slaps Mark to snap him out of it and Mark rightfully glowers. "Stop gawking!"

Mark says nothing and rips the thong off Jeff's waist. Jeff hisses. The material bunched against his skin before giving way. The friction burn is going to leave a nice mark.

Jeff is frozen as he watches Mark undress. The logical part of his mind is screaming at him to get up and escape while Mark has his pants around his ankles; he'll lose a few steps and the door is right there. Unfortunately, Jeff's body isn't responding. Synapses don't seem to be firing -- something won't let him move.

Jeff feasts his eyes upon the main reason he's been dating Mark since Vince bought WCW. Call him shallow, but the bulge in Mark's tights doesn't lie. Jeff knew he'd hit the jackpot when Mark had first asked him out to lunch -- Mark is a size queen's dream. Want a bone? Think of a beer can. Now imagine it about twice as long. Getting the picture yet?

It took Jeff a long time getting used to just being fucked by Mark. Judging from the look in Mark's eyes, Jeff knows he may never recover from what's about to happen.

"For no fucking reason..." Mark mumbles this like he's delirious. "You didn't even break up with me; nothing. Not even a word. Out of the blue you slap me with a restraining order and stop talking to me..." Jeff would explain himself if not for the lump he's trying to swallow down. Mark's hovering above him all muscular and sweaty and rock hard. Honestly, did Mark expect an answer looking like that?

"Three fucking weeks, Jeff. I haven't smelled or tasted or touched you..." Mark emphasizes this by nuzzling and licking him. Jeff knows where this is going. His goddamn limbs won't cooperate with him. His body's reacting to Mark like it always did. Stupid, traitorous horny fleshbag.

There's usually foreplay involved before they have sex. A round of 69 involving cock-sucking or rimming or both. Right now Mark's desperate for what all that leads to. He spreads Jeff's legs and pushes him open. Jeff can only weakly say no before Mark is spitting at his hole. Wantonly, it opens and closes around the bubbly wad like a parched mouth. Mark groans at the sight of Jeff's exposed pink flesh. It's been too long.

Eventually Jeff has control over his hands again and they come to Mark's shoulders in an attempt to push the much larger man off. Mark ignores it as he guides himself to Jeff's entrance. He spits in his palm and rubs it all over the head before he pushes, meeting incredible resistance. Jeff's doing his part, struggling to keep his anus from allowing Mark entry. It's a futile effort. Mark eventually breaches Jeff and the first thing he notices beside the familiar tightness is the overwhelming heat inside Jeff.

Jeff's head begins to swim as he struggles to process the amount of pain he's in. Trying to quantify it makes him feel like his brain is literally breaking in half. Oh no, wait. That's his body feeling like it's splitting in half. Because of Mark and that... whatever that is he's pushing inside Jeff's body. For all intents and purposes it shouldn't even be called a cock.

Mark growls against Jeff's lips and Jeff barely notices he's still pushing at Mark's shoulders. It's so pathetic he should just stop, but it's the fucking principle, man. NO MEANS NO.

Jeff thinks he had the wrong idea; Mark is actually gentle until he's balls deep. Spit was always Jeff's favorite type of lube, and it did help ease the penetration a bit. He's just thankful Mark practically drips precome -- it helped more than saliva ever did. The stretch however was something that couldn't be helped. It always feels like he's being fisted by a five-year-old every time Mark fucks him. Always painful at first.

And then Mark started to move.

Pain ripples through Jeff's body like a pebble thrown into a lake. His nerve endings scream with each vicious thrust from Mark, and for a while, Jeff sees nothing but hot white. Mark pushes into him hard enough that Jeff starts to see three of him, and it feels like his body is on the receiving end of a battering ram. It becomes so much that Jeff has to clench his eyes shut. Gnash his teeth so hard they click with every pump of Mark's hips.

The mildly pungent odor of sex makes Jeff more incoherent. Almost like a psychedelic drug that makes Jeff see colors so vivid they're almost tangible -- not that Jeff knows anything about taking psychedelic drugs, of course. He briefly wishes he was laying on something. Rug burn, even suffered at the hands of Mark, is never pleasant. He also becomes aware of a metallic taste in his mouth. Was that his own blood? Jeff doesn't even remember biting his lip. He sees Mark's swollen bottom lip and realizes that's the source. When did they kiss?

Jeff manages another strangled no please, stop. He regrets it the minute the words leave his lips because it seemed to drive Mark into a frenzy. The sound his ass is making around Mark's cock is a little more obscene and louder than usual. And wet. Fucking bastard tore him open. The slip and slide of the shaft is followed by stinging slaps, each one making Jeff's ears ring.

"So fuckin' tight, baby..." Mark manages to growl. He's not his porn dialogue spouting self tonight. Probably because he's mostly concentrated on fucking Jeff through the floor. "Ungh... you fuckin' asked for this..."

The pain eventually fades, but Jeff's already at the point where he stopped counting the minutes waiting for it. He's way too incoherent to notice it now. He feels dried streaks on his face and is surprised he doesn't even remember shedding tears. The only constant thing throughout has been the consistent power of the pounding Mark is delivering. Jeff can hear Mark jabbering, but it sounds really far away. It's probably the standard fare -- baby your ass is so tight... God, I love fucking you... gonna fuck you so hard you forget your name own name, Jeff... Jeff's heard it all before. But, Mark's right about that last part, unfortunately. Jeff forgot his own name until he heard that part of Mark's spiel. Bastard always did that, anyway.

Jeff somewhat regains his bearings when he feels Mark paw at his cock. How considerate. It's sloppy and out of synch with his own thrusts, but really, even Jeff can't blame him at this point. The shallowness of Mark's breaths and the lack of rhythm in his thrusts must mean he's close and he's always had a thing for them coming together. Any fight Jeff had left was redirected to focusing on Mark's hand. He thrusts and he hears Mark encourage him. "Yeah baby, that's it... fuck my hand... I want you to come with me, Jeff..."

Mark's erratic thrusts come to an abrupt end when he pushes all the way into Jeff. And fuck, that actually hurts, Jeff's certain he almost feels that thing tickling the back of his throat and Mark starts to come. He feels the first spurt like a small deluge filling him, and it's soon followed by harsh thrusts as Mark empties out. The feeling of Mark's semen practically sizzling against his inner walls pushes Jeff over the edge, his muscles clamping around Mark as he bucks. Jeff beats his fists on the floor as he sprays himself and Mark with thick ropes of semen, his voice hoarse as he looses a pained grunt. Mark is growling and continuing to thrust, the extra tightness driving him to push into Jeff.

Jeff's body goes limp as Mark dips to kiss him. Jeff just looks at him and doesn't kiss back and Mark frowns for a second. "What? You just raped me."

"You didn't leave me a choice," Mark says.

"I know, it's a good thing I know how you think." Jeff smirks. Poor Mark gives him a puzzled look. "You followed my plan to a T. I'm sorry for manipulatin' you, baby."

"Wait... you wanted this to happen?" Of course he still doesn't get it. "Why didn't you just ask? We could've role-played it."

"That's too boring. It wouldn't have felt as real." Jeff smiles and inches up to peck Mark on the lips. "I'll have that restraining order lifted tomorrow."

"You're fucking crazy," Mark chuckles.