“Do you trust me, Ed?” Chris asked softly, glancing over at the curled up form on the bed, the messy brown hair barely poking out from underneath the sheets. It was the same old cycle.
Eddie never changed.
The latino would come over after drinking, complaining about the women and men who would keep begging for attention, and seeking refuge in his room.
Every time, he would crash in the bed like it was his own and shut out the world.
“O’cor,” Eddie slurred, rolling over weakly and yawning, his mouth uncomfortably dry, but he was too exhausted to bother reaching for the cup of water that Chris was kind enough to put on the dresser next to him. “We’re hermanos.”
Chris stared down at his hands, the beer bottle in his hand and he sighed gutturally, taking a swing and downing the bitter liquid down his throat. It was the same old cycle. He didn’t even know where it started anymore. He dropped the glass, getting up and stumbling over to the only bed in the room, sliding out of his shorts he had been wearing and climbing on the used mattress. He could feel the lumps and dried crusts under his hands as he positioned himself over Eddie. He tugged the blanket down impatiently, trying not to scowl at the sleepy confusion on the weary face. He didn’t like it when the smaller wrestler drink, it made him look far too old beyond his years, but then again he knew better than to look at the gift in the horse’s mouth.
“Now?” Eddie whined, wanting to sleep, but then coarse fingers grasped his thighs and forced them apart with none of the gentle easeness he had grown used to from Vickie. He yawned, lifting his hips off the bed so the Canadian could take his pants off, rubbing his eyes and grunting as Chris tip another beer down his mouth, eagerly swallowing it just to make his head stop pounding.
“Yes, now,” Chris muttered, using the distraction to stroke himself a few times to coat his member with precum before pushing in the entrance until he was seated firmly inside. “You always do this….” his eyes fluttered as the tight heat welcomed him. He began thrusting at a punishing pace, their moans mingling in the small room as he buried his face in the crest of Eddie’s neck, letting the latino claw at his back and cry out his name hoarsely.
It was the same old cycle.
A few months later, they were at a friend’s party for some cookout. Like from all the get-togethers, Chris was off to the side, drinking his own beer while he watched Eddie downed several shots with none of the restraints. His icy stare focused on the way the adam apple bobbled as the younger man drank until the lips were faintly tinted blue from how fast he was going, the sweat rolling down the pale skin from the thick humidity choking the air around them. They were at a log cabin out in the woods in the midst of Alabama, overseeing a lake. A group went out to swim while the rest stayed around the house. Chris wouldn’t have to wait long.
Soon enough, Eddie came staggering over to him with that blasted grin and the hazy look in the chestnut eyes, oily fingers grasping the flannel shirt he was wearing and lips sloppily brushing against his. Chris knew the hint and he grabbed the nape of the neck to steer his friend over to the back of the cabin. “You really should stop drinking,” he growled out half-heartedly, both of them knowing it wasn’t ever going to happen and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he want it.
Within minutes, he had Eddie pinned against the log, ignoring how he was likely giving splinters with how hard the face was squished against it. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned, his chest red and hitching as he pounded into the smaller body. Eddie had been wearing a red tank top with denim pants until he ordered him out of them. Something in him, a dark part, craved putting Eddie in humiliating position. He told himself it was just punishment for the drinking.
“Joder!” Eddie yelled out, moaning and reaching down to curl his hand around his aching cock and stroking it in the same rhythm of the unforgiving thrusts. Each one sent him slamming against the wall until his face scratched up and bleeding from the shallow cuts, but he didn’t care. Chris was the only one to make him feel alive. There was Shawn, the two of them developing an odd sort of friendship after the rooftop incident, but it was near impossible to visit each other with their different schedules and being on separate shows. To make matters worse, Vickie had been ignoring him recently, telling him to get his act together or else he could forget seeing her and their daughters. He only came to this party after Chris called him about it just so he wouldn’t have to face his self loathing thoughts. “Pa-Papi, so bueno to me…” he panted, his voice barely coherent.
Chris growled, stretching his arm to grab a fistful of the hair and yanking until Eddie was garbling out Spanish pleas. He didn’t last long, pulling out and cumming all over the muscular back. He backed off, breathing heavily and combing his damp hair to smoothen it out, grunting as Eddie turned around and slumped against him with a throaty purr, a drunken “I love you” whispering out in the air, but he knew it wasn’t love.
It was never love.
It was just shared loneliness over a drink, two damaged souls trying to cope together.
It was the same old cycle.
Until one day it wasn’t.
Eddie had been in rehab for months, successfully sobering up and getting permission to leave. They hadn’t seen each other for close to a year when Chris got the invitation to come over to the new apartment. He didn’t know why he accepted it, things between them had grown increasingly awkward, but something about Eddie always captured him and he came over when called like an obedient bitch.
The place was tiny, a drastic change from the house that Eddie lived in with Vickie. The kitchen was essentially an efficacy, a gas stove with two burners, a cheap microwave, and a miniature fridge. There was a futon in the living room and a coffee table. The rest of the apartment was bare, hardly any furnishing or pictures for it to really be home.
“Hi, papi!” Eddie beamed, a cheerful smile on his face and Chris was thrown back by how different his friend looked compared to this time last year. The skin no longer had the horrendous yellow undertone to it, the latino tan and healthy looking. The stomach didn’t have that flabby beer-belly look to it, instead flat and toned. Eddie was lean and much more attractive than he remembered him being.
“H-Hey, so...uh, you like it here?” Chris greeted back lamely, finding his voice again and studying the kitchen more intently. He noticed that it was free of any alcohol and for a minute, disappointment rushed through him in a hard wave that nearly sent him down to his knees. He had no reason to feel this way. Eddie being sober meant they could actually have fun hanging out without the damn beer coming between them. Or bringing them together. He tightened the jacket around him, his hand brushing over the outline of the whiskey bottle he had snuck away in, stopping by a liquor sore on his way over.
Eddie shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as his smile faded slightly. “Well...I mean, it’s doable, ese. Not like I’m gonna spend much time here since I’m working in the independent scene until Vince takes me back,” he muttered, actually hating the apartment. It made him feel claustrophobic and lonely. So damn lonely. He glanced furtively at Chris before quickly looking away, shaking off the thought that crept up to his head. It was too soon, he had to wait until Shawn came over. The blond reached out to him while he was in rehab, the other man also cleaning up. It was really the heartbreak kid’s idea that they went to different cleaning centers since Eddie had to learn to heal on his own. During the long months, they became a lot closer, their relationship much more enriched than ever before.
Eddie actually felt happy for the first time he could remember. He felt more confident. He decided on a whim to bring Chris over to talk and also to reveal that he was dating. All of his friends thought that he and Vickie were still together when the two of them separated even before he got put into rehab, his firing being the last straw for her.
“Hm,” was all Chris said. He sat down on the futon, the latino following right after him. They were attached to the hips again, just like old times. “I’m glad you’re back,” he mumbled, meaning it unlike anything else he’d said today.
“Mhm,” Eddie echoed, scratching at his thighs nervously. How heavily did he rely on alcohol, that he was incapable of talking with his own best friend without it? “I missed you….I missed you a lot, papi,” he murmured in a soft voice, looking at Chris with a shy smile. Shawn didn’t like Chris, found the man to be a bad influence, that the other Canadian was too unpredictable, but Eddie knew that things would be okay.
The look sent a bolt straight to Chris’ cock and he zoned out, remembering all the moments they shared over the years. The year had been long without the warm body flushed against him. He didn’t know how much time passed, how much they had been talking, if they had been talking at all, until he was brought back to the present, finding himself leaning over a very startled Eddie. “Cherie….you trust me?” he rasped, reaching inside his jacket to bring out the bottle.
Eddie’s eyes widened, not understanding the sudden change in the mood. They had been discussing possibilities of Chris going to Vince and negotiating a return for him when his friend suddenly tackled him on the futon. “What?” he sputtered, his brows furrowing. “Where did you get that? You know I can’t drink anymore.” He struggled a little, starting to panic since he was no longer in denial that he was capable of having a drink and stopping at that.
“Come on, for old’s time sake?” Chris purred, popping the lid and pinning Eddie’s face so he could pour the whiskey. “You trust me?” he repeated, covering the mouth with his lips so that the other wrestler would swallow the liquor. It was the only way. Eddie would never want him sober and he had to soothe the raging fire under his skin somehow.
“S-Si,” Eddie choked, being forced to swallow the alcohol if he wanted to keep breathing. He felt fingers sliding under his grey buttoned-up shirt, nails scratching over the muscles and he moaned as old flickers of lust lit up again. “Fuc...Fuck,” he mewled, voice turning high pitched and he didn’t fight this time as Chris made him drink more of the whiskey. “Fuck me, papi,” he begged, lashing out to grab the collar of his friend’s shirt to bring him down, their teeth clashing as they kissed again. He wrapped his legs around the waist, their crotches rubbing together through the jeans, bruises patterning the skin as they fought for dominance. As much as he loved Shawn, he couldn’t deny the feelings he had towards Chris either. His thoughts over his lover slowly deteriorated away in the presence of the buzz.
“That’s my Eddie,” Chris smirked, undoing his pants enough to tug himself out, ripping a hole in the bottom of the denim Eddie was clad in to reveal the black boxers with cartoon bear decorations that he bought for the chicano last christmas. “Cute,” he muttered. sliding them aside so he could press in.
The burning pain was quickly forgotten as familiar pleasure cascaded over Eddie and he trilled, lazily picking up the bottle and downing the rest of the liquor. “S-Shut up,” he laughed, slurring again and he welcomed the dull throb that took hold of his head. He spread his thighs, scooping his scrotum and lifting his head up to watch Chris thrust into him. It was just like old times and it wasn’t long until a certain wrestler and his ambitions were being swept away altogether as his world narrowed down to what was happening right between his legs.
Chris closed his eyes, keeping a crushing grip on the hips as he pounded into the warm channel, sweat dripping off of his face as he pistoned himself erratically. He nearly forgotten how good Eddie felt, how compliant the man was once he got him good and wasted.
This time he didn’t pull out, emptying his seeds inside and crying out raggedly as Eddie came underneath him.
This time he didn’t clean up.
This time, he realized it wasn’t the same old cycle.
Chris reacted right when Eddie was going to give him a kiss like always, seizing the empty whiskey glass and hitting it over the head, the chicano blacking out and crashing back down as blood trickled out from the gash. The bottle had shattered upon impact.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Chris cursed. It was supposed to be like old times, dammit! None of this was right. He gathered up the broken pieces of glass, dumping them in the trash can and he emptied it, tying the bag tightly shut so he could take it with him. He groaned, tugging at his hair of what he could do to fix this. He cleaned Eddie up the best he could, wiping the blood off and dressing the man into different clothes since the jeans were ruined. He hoped that the latino wouldn’t remember any of this. He wouldn’t allow it. He carried Eddie out of the apartment to his truck, dumping the smaller man in and driving off.
It was cowardly, but Chris ended up going over to Vickie’s place, shoving Eddie out to the front lawn and getting back in his truck before anyone could see him. He would just say that Eddie’s brothers took him over here after a night out at the bar, it was believable enough with all the crap Eddie told him that the Guerreros did over the years. He drove off, not noticing the sleek motorcycle and its driver nearby watching him.
It was supposed to be the same old cycle.
Now things would never be the same again.