004: heated

CHAUNCY NOTTINGHAM WAS angry, but to simply quantify the level of his emotional heat in such terms would be like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch— he was livid. He sat on the patio of the house he shared with his partner, watching Lawrence swim laps in the pool. His fingers idly tapped against his biceps— the left one was discolored in varying shades of aubergine and chartreuse. Their discussion concerning the upcoming rematch LG had for the Pride Championship had stalled several hours earlier, or rather; Lawrence had simply stopped replying and had instead thrown himself with much gusto into several thousand laps across the pool. When his head finally broke the surface, Chauncy was waiting for him. The scowl on his face spoke volumes as Gowan pushed up from the water, his arms trembling slightly as he levered himself up onto the patio.

"Lawrence," Chauncy began in a stern voice. He'd been rehearsing the words in his mind for the last two hours. Unfortunately, as soon as he looked upon the face of his lover, every intelligent point he'd come up with fled and he was left with nothing more than the desperate need to protect him. "You're being ridiculous."

With a groan, Gowan flopped on his back, his chest and sides heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Please, tell me more about how I'm in the wrong. You that's definitely my absolute favourite topic of conversation!"

"Explain to me why you think going into the arena alone, knowing that the Suicide Sisters will be even more angry now that I defeated Chloe-"

"Extreme Prejudice," Gowan said softly, shaking his head. "Need I remind you of what happened last time? I was otherwise occupied in the ring, and those sadistic bi—" he censored himself out of habit; "wenches jumped you backstage and taunted me with the footage. Do you recall that moment, Chauncy? I do. I recall quite vividly making a complete and utter fool of myself by walking away from a match I had in hand to stop what should have never been happening in the first place. I didn't do that for the crowd or for the ratings. I did that because I love you and there was no realm of existence where I could have done that any differently."

"Lightning rarely strikes the same place twice," Chauncy stammered, unable to come up with a coherent counterpoint, "do you truly believe they'd do it again?"

"Is water wet?" Gowan sighed, rolling his eyes, "of course they will. Because they can and it's easiest and they're lazy. You forget, I've been dealing with people like this far longer than you have. Despite how you want to rip Brad apart in public for the things he's done over the years, the man has been quite an example of what to expect. They'll do something, and if you're not there, we can keep that damage to a minimum. I know you've got this burning desire to take a bullet for me-"

"I had a dream last night," Chauncy blurted, instantly flushing crimson as he shied away from making eye contact. "It was so vivid. You were broken in the middle of the ring and I was watching it from a million miles away. I was powerless to stop it and when I finally reached your side, you had bled out on the canvas while the crowd screamed for more."

He reached out, laying his hand on his partner's knee, "Chauncy, it was just a dream. It wasn't real. They won't kill me. I won't let them. The referee won't let them. Sure, they've broken a few rules, but they haven't-"

"WHY ARE YOU DOWNPLAYING THIS?!" Chauncy shot to his feet, apoplectic in his fury as he stood over Gowan. "What possible reason do you have to put your head in the sand and carry on like some imbecile?!"

Slowly, Gowan got to his feet. Ignoring the fury on Chauncy's face and his fisted hands that rested on his hips, he stepped right into Chauncy's personal space. His arms wrapped around the larger man, holding him close. "Please understand," he said quietly, those cerulean blue eyes beseeching, "I need you to do this for me, Skippy. I don't ask much from you, do I? I need you to stay away from the arena tomorrow night. Can you do that for me?" He let his fingers trail up the flat stomach to the hard swell of Chauncy's pecs, placing his hand over his lover's heart. "I love you so much. I can't stomach the thought of you being used as a punching bag again. Promise me. Please?"

He sighed, closing his eyes. "I cannot make that promise, Lawrence, and you know it."

Bowing his head, Gowan withdrew and turned towards the house. Just drop it, that voice in his head whispered. He didn't bother to turn around and see if Chauncy was following. He didn't care. Moving through the patio door, he felt the adrenaline start to fade as his muscles started to ache. That wasn't the worst pain he felt as he moved through the house and then climbed the stairs. For some reason, the worst ache seemed to be centered deep in his chest. Once inside the bedroom, he sat down on the bed and rested his head in his hands. When he looked back up, Chauncy was standing over him. There was a strange and subtle shift in the air and it suddenly felt inevitable what would happen next.

The kiss was soft, gentle, more a greeting than any sort of advance. Gowan held still, hands at his sides, and just kissed Chauncy back. Mouth, lips, a slight touch of tongue. They explored in a leisurely way that denied the rising heat between them. Gowan clenched his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out and ruining the moment— it was Chauncy's fingers that tangled in his hair and pulled him deeper into the kiss. He whimpered when Chauncy pulled back. His hands locked behind that narrow waist, keeping him from fleeing.

"What?" Gowan asked softly, clearly puzzled. In all their years together, Chauncy had never been the first to back down from an argument. He was never the one who made the advances.

"I am so sorry," Chauncy's voice was a hoarse whisper, "that wasn't fair. This isn't the time or the place… I simply wanted you to stop looking so forlorn."

"I don't want to fight with you, Skippy. What kind of tag team can we be if we don't trust each other? What sort of future do we have when all we do is butt heads over the stupidest things? We're no better than Brad and his endless stream of interchangeable wives." He could hear the acid in his tone, but didn't make the effort to change it.

"Lawrence," Chauncy's eyes were bright with emotion, "you know that you have my support. Unflinching, unfailingly… you always have. If you think that it's best that I remain here and watch the drama unfold on the television screen then I shall do that, despite my misgivings."

Larry looked chagrined as he peered at his bare feet, wiggling his toes. "Maybe I'm being stupid, but I appreciate that, Skippy."

Chauncy stepped back and put the bed between them— they needed to talk this out and he feared if Gowan kept staring at him with that wounded puppy look, he was going to drag him down on the mattress and there would be very little room in his mouth for conversation.

"I'm sure you do," he said slowly, "and here's what you're going to do to appease me. For starters, you're going to speak with security when you arrive at the arena. You're going to have them on high alert. And if something happens and those two odious women lay a hand on you, there will be hell to pay, Lawrence. I am not inferring that I will challenge them to a match. I will hunt them down and I will make them pay personally for having the audacity to touch you. Do you understand?"

Gowan nodded. "Yeah, I understand." The air between them sizzled with the heat of Chauncy's anger.

Step away from the crazy person. Slowly.

Instead, Gowan took three steps around the bed towards his husband. "So you're the crazy one now?" He said the words with a little laugh, "you, the responsible one, the level-headed one? How did this happen?"

Chauncy stared at him. He might have seemed unmoved, but Gowan could clearly see the rapid rise and fall of his chest as Chauncy's hands curled into fists at his side. He should have been worried about that but he wasn't the least bit afraid of this man— he knew him inside and out, after all. He took a step closer, daring Chauncy to do something.

"Bloody hell," Chauncy ground out, shaking his head, "I love you! You, Lawrence… you make me crazy."

"We've got all the time in the world for you to tell me all about it," Gowan whispered, "it's not like it's a long trip to San Francisco."

"No more talking," Chauncy snapped, rounding the bed and almost tackling him— the fight, for the moment, was completely forgotten as they embraced like their survival depended on it. Perhaps on some level it did.