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O' Lover

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The Main Event match was over. Sure, they had won, but that was the only possible outcome. They were the fucking Revival. They couldn't lose against those uncultured entertainers. They were real wrestlers, the last of a kind in this industry. They weren't some glittered up asshole or small circus attractions. They were too talented for not being on Raw, but here they were.

Scott had given up sighing and fighting. If that was their fate, so be it. They'd just leave at the right moment, or after their contracts expired, and find success in the Indies. He was teaming up with Dash, and that was all that mattered really. Earning gold was important, but he knew how things worked in this promotion. Once they'd be on top, they'd get divided one way or another. Either by their greed or a shake-up. People liked drama, that kept them entertained.

Dash wasn't as calm about the situation. He was boiling inside, now pacing around in the locker room. They were done for the day, and the show hadn't even started yet. It was a disgrace to be treated that way. They should've had been on the WrestleMania main card, facing the Bar. That job had been taken by a 10-year-old. They had been put aside for a few laughs, to keep the people entertained.

The thought made him yell in frustration. He punched the nearby locker, leaving it dented. They'd have to pay back for it, but he didn't care. He was just mad, so mad. They deserved to be treated better, not to be forgotten and put as a stupid warm-up. He was about to hit the locker again, but Scott held his arm.

“Calm down,” he told him, irritated.

“Shut up.”

He jerked out of his hold, then paced around again without looking at him. They had to leave now. The real entertainers were taking the lead. Dash would've thrown up if he had to say that aloud. He exhaled loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. He was disgusted, frustrated, and felt like he couldn't do anything about it. They were caged with a contract and people above them that didn't know what they were doing anymore.

“Dash,” he called, trying to grab his arm again, “C’mon, let's go.”

“How are you not mad about this?” he snapped, slapping his hand away this time, “Do you see how they're treating us? Disgusting!”

“I know, I know,” he tried to keep calm, but Dash was getting on his nerves, “We can't do much about it, so just calm down and go take a shower. I just wanna go, alright?”

Scott was tired. He kept thinking all night long about their situation. He wondered if the money was worth it all, feeling like they were whoring themselves out. He needed to be the calm one, the rational one, else they'd do or say something they'd regret.

“Don't give me orders,” Dash spat, facing him angrily.

“Stop that, right now,” he warned, holding his gaze, unblinking.

“Make me.”

Their foreheads hit loudly, making them flinch on the inside with pain. Dash was too mad to react to it, Scott had a point to make. Dawson wanted to slap the frustration out of him, punch him until he wasn't conscious enough to keep on complaining. Maybe choke him until he begged him to stop, until he promised he'd behave. He just grabbed the back of his neck to crash their lips together, teeth hitting in the process.

Dash held his elbows to turn Scott against the lockers, pinning him with his weight. He bit his lower lip to break the kiss, holding his wrists above his head. He slid between his legs, pressing angrily as he attacked his neck. He nibbled at the skin strongly enough to leave marks.

Scott whined at the acute pain of his teeth, and their building erections grinding through their gears. He was trying to evade his grip, pushing back, but Dash was mad, and therefore stronger. His hold tightened hard enough to let his fingers mark his wrists. He huffed, and Dash lifted his face to meet his eyes. They were hungry, the anger giving way to lust. His tongue pressed against his lips to force them to part. It met with its twin and danced outside their mouths, making sloppy and indecent noises. Scott felt light-headed, and Dash finally stepped back.

“You're right,” he said, wiping his mouth, voice husky and raw, “Let's take a shower. Then, let's go.”

Scott was about to say something, but Dash grabbed his wrist to lead him to the shower room. Everyone was either getting ready to perform or watching the show on the numerous televisions throughout the backstage area. Wilder undressed shamelessly, always keeping one hand on Dawson. He was either caressing his hip, intertwining their fingers, grazing his fingertips against his sensitive sides. Scott was watching him, shivering with each touch. He loved Dash’s flustered face and naked body and could gaze at it for hours. His eyes fell onto his groin. His member stood proudly between his thick thighs, making him salivate.

“C’mon,” Dash pressed him, pulling his gear down eagerly.

By instinct, Scott covered himself and tried to grab his trunks, only to realize they were alone in the room, and that Dash had seen him naked enough times, from enough different angles, not to feel embarrassed. He kicked his gear across the room and pushed his partner into the first shower. He pressed him against the cold wall, smirking as his back arched to escape the chilling sensation. He gripped his jaw and kissed his cheek almost meekly, sliding an arm behind him to start the shower.

The freezing water hit them in an instant, making them yelp of surprise. Scott stepped back, pulling Dash towards him. The water quickly warmed up, and Dash pushed Scott again, strong enough to cut him on the white tiles. He hissed out of pain, but the sound was muffled by Dash's lips on his. He tried to push him back, but his wet torso was already pressed against him, hands on his hips.

“Don't move,” he murmured in his ear, before scraping his teeth against his lobe.

Scott shuttered, the feeling on his ear ghosting deliciously even when Dash had felt his sides. He closed his eyes to let the feeling linger even longer and opened them to see Wilder looking into their bag, taking a bottle of soap out.

He came back into the shower, smirking as he saw that Scott had complied. He nipped his lips as a thank-you gift. He opened the bottle as the water stopped, poured a generous amount of soap in his hands, then massaged Dawson’s torso. Their bodies were hot and close, Dash rubbing against him to wash his own body. Foam quickly covered their bodies, making them slippery and soft. A delight to the touch, for the both of them. Dash was caressing his hips. Scott was trailing his fingers along his spine. One grabbed the other’s cock, the other squeezed his ass. They moaned in unison, almost feeling what the other felt at the same time.

It was incredible, that link they had. They never fought it, they didn't have a reason to. Dash knew what Scott thought and felt, and the same went the other way around. Not only in the ring, but in each instant of their shared life. Even now, under the shower, hand moving along Scott’s shaft. Dash knew the rhythm, the pressure, the angle. He knew how to earn those soft grunts he loved so much, how to make him buck for more. He just wanted to tease him a little, but Dawson’s fingers brushed the crease of his ass, gliding slowly between them to caress his hole with his fingertips.

Dash jumped lightly, his hand immediately grabbing his wrist, stopping him. Yes, he wanted it. He needed it, almost. But not here, in the open, without more lubricant than soap or spit.

“We don't have time,” he warned, his knee still pressing against his crotch.

“Then, what are you even doing?” he said back, breath heavy against his ear.

Dash shrugged, his own dick rubbing against his thigh. Their eyes met, dark and wanton. They fell at the same time on each other's lips. They leant in unison, hurting their mouths with the intensity of their kiss. They pushed and shoved the other around the shower, trying to hold a wrist, or an elbow. Each time their lower half met, they'd hiss and groan, bucking towards the other. Their lips were kissing every patch of skin they could find, teeth marking it with red bruises if they could linger long enough.

Scott made the first decisive move. He held Dash by the side of the head, letting him try to shove him back against the tiles. He let him think he was dominating, that he had won. Dawson's lips found the crook of his neck, scraping his teeth alongside the vein. He began suckling the skin and smirked at the strangled sound coming from his partner.

Dash went almost numb in front of him. His hands found Scott's head and back, pulling him closer. He was breathing heavily near his ear, sucking air in at the same pace as Dawson was abusing his skin. Scott pressed the entire surface of his body against him. He forced him to step back, forced his back to hit the wall. He stole Dash's air out of his lungs, but offered the haze of pleasure cloaking his mind.

A simple act, but Scott knew everything about Dash. He knew how sensitive his neck was, how sensitive his anger made him. A simple act, but the only move he needed to take the advantage. Dash was still pushing his head deeper into his neck, grinding against his skin. With the soap, it made for such a delicious friction that Scott was losing focus as well.

The pleasure was building up quickly, burning in his veins, melting his brain. His hand was gripping Dash's short hair, tugging it possessively. He wanted it more by each muffled groan coming from his partner. His short nails were digging his back. His thick legs were squeezing one of his, humping it like a madman. They both needed it. They needed it so bad they couldn't care about being heard anymore.

Scott let go of his neck, lapping the hickey that had formed, before turning him around and shoving his torso against the wall. He nuzzled his hair, kissing him behind his ear. His dick was brushing against his fat cheeks, teasing and taunting. He could feel Dash tense up a little, still groaning in arousal.

“Scott,” he called, looking behind his shoulder, “Don't do that, a... alright?”

His voice was hoarse, but more importantly, he didn't move. He had asked Scott, but wasn't gesturing to actually stop him. He trusted him with all his heart. It made Scott smile wholesomely. He still teased him a little, leaning closer.

“Please?” he murmured, barely audible.

Dawson knew if he kept on pressing against Wilder, the tip would enter him. It would hurt, but Dash wouldn't fight it. If their positions were switched, Scott wouldn't fight either. It was almost scary, how devoted they were towards the another. They wouldn't refuse the other, never.

But they wouldn't force the other either.

“Close your legs,” Scott asked, still kissing his ear, “Wanna try something.”

Dash complied, still looking at him, confused. He pressed his thighs together and put a hand flat on the wet tiles. He was lost as for Scott's intentions, but still trusted him, biting his lips to help himself from questioning Dawson.

Scott rested one hand on each side of his hips, breathing the sweet scent of his sweat in his hair. He slightly bent his legs, kissed him once again, and slid his cock between the smoothness of his thick thighs. He pushed as far as he could, watching Dash looking down, blush spreading to his ears. He could picture the head of his cock poking underneath him.

He thrust slowly, experimentally. The feeling was odd, but really pleasant. His thighs were warm and strong, squeezing him exquisitely. He was brushing his balls, earning quiet grunts from Dash. Scott wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling his backwards to nibble at his jaw. Dash yelped in surprise, then in arousal when his teeth met his skin again. He pressed his thighs together more strongly, making Scott groan as well. His hand met Wilder's on the wall, palm against back, fingers intertwined. His nails were marking his hip, his mouth was marking his neck.

Dash's free hand traveled to his groin to stroke his painful erection. He thrust into his hand at the same rhythm as Scott trusting into his thighs. His head rested on his shoulder, mouth agape and eyes closed. His image of bliss went straight to Scott's groin, gripping his hip and hand tighter.

He thrust faster, grunting against his skin. He loved his thickness so much, but never expected he'd be so aroused. He was so soft, yet firm. He was perfect. They were out of breath, amazed by the pleasure they felt. Scott nested between Dash's thighs. Dash embraced by Scott's body. His hand was moving faster along his length, thumb circling the head. His knuckles were brushing against Scott's dick, sending more pleasure into his core. The foam was starting to tickle their skins, but they couldn't care when their mind was turning numb with arousal.

He attacked Dash's neck again, at the same place he had left the hickey. The skin had turned red with his attention. Dash tensed, legs pressing harder. He bit his lip not to let out a loud whine. He started bucking sporadically, focusing on his own pleasure with his hand stroking faster. He was breathing hard, hiccuping each time Scott's sank his teeth deeper. He wasn't trying to break the skin. He knew Dash's body enough to be at the edge of pain and pleasure without hurting him.

Dash let out a strangled grunt and froze. His hand squeezed Scott's. The orgasm hit him strongly. His come painted the tiled wall and his hand. His cock twitched for a long moment. His face stopped frowning to find a peaceful state. It was a beautiful image that made Scott thrust hard and fast. He held Dash's hips with both hands, going quick as he felt him going numb. He wanted the sweet feeling to last forever, but Dash was resting his head against the wall, barely reacting to him anymore. He buried himself in his thighs one last time. His seed mixed with Dash's on the wall, dripping to the floor.

He held onto Dash until he had caught his breath, trailing kisses on his neck and shoulders. Then, he turned on the water to wash them both roughly. One hand was always supporting Dash, though he was swearing he was alright.

“Feeling better?” Scott teased as they stepped out of the shower.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Dash replied, grabbing towels for the both of them.

They didn't need words to talk to one another, so Dash’s denial didn't matter in his eyes. His smile and blown-up eyes said it all. He needed to take the edge off, and he never looked more relaxed than at that very moment.