Chapter Text
I need a partner tonight and I need somebody that I’ve known for a long time. I need somebody that I believe in and I need somebody that I know I can trust.
I wouldn’t team with you if you were the last person on earth.
-
And I’ve got… Hangman Page.
-
Matt and Cody are in the Young Bucks’ EVP office, exhausted and beaten, too sore and tired to even be angry. Just sitting in some sort of defeated silence. Matt holds an icepack to the side of his face, feeling the bruise from the damn chair starting to form across his jaw. And yet, the sting of the steel hurt far less than the humiliation of Jericho sitting on him, pinning him to the floor while his vision blurred. And that doesn’t even come close to the absolute worry and panic in his chest about Nick.
What a damn mess.
The door opens, and Kenny shuffles in, grimacing, a bucket of icepacks from the arena medbay in his good hand. Kenny, despite the broken hand, is faring better than the rest of them. Which, still, isn’t anywhere close to good.
“More supplies,” Kenny groans, dropping the bucket in the middle of the room, before sinking back down next to Cody on one of the couches with a wince. Cody grumbles angrily at him, hoodie pulled down over his eyes to block out the light, and Kenny half-heartedly flips him off. Matt watches with detached interest.
“What a shitshow,” Kenny says, and Cody snickers like it’s funny, “What’s their problem?”
“Jericho,” Cody responds, voice muffled, “It’s always fucking Chris Jericho.”
Kenny snorts, “Why did we sign him again?”
“Because it’s fucking Chris Jericho.”
The room feels so much emptier without Nick, Matt thinks to himself as the other two bicker. Not having his brother is like missing a limb, and it hurts Matt like a phantom pain. When he gets his hands on the Inner Circle…
“Hey, Matt,” Kenny’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and he lifts his head to look at him, “Have you seen Page around?”
Matt immediately scoffs, taking the icepack off his face, “No. Not like I’m gonna go looking for the asshole.”
Kenny is predictably quiet, but Cody lifts the hoodie off his face for a second, “C’mon, man…”
“What? He’s an asshole. We all got effed by the Inner circle, Nick’s in the goddamn hospital, and where was he? Nowhere to be seen. Probably getting drunk off his ass somewhere.”
Kenny sighs, and Cody studies Matt’s face with an intensity that makes him squirm. He’s moments from telling him to fuck off when Cody puts the hoodie back down over his eyes and leans his head back.
“I’m worried about him,” Cody says, finally, his voice quiet and strangely sincere, “He’s not… okay.”
Matt doesn’t really have an answer for that. Kenny coughs, shifts, eyes darting between Matt and Cody. Matt waits for him to say something. Cody peeks out from under his hoodie.
“Spit it out, Omega,” he says, and Kenny frowns.
“Well, it’s not like he’s come to us for help or anything,” he says, haltingly, like he’s not sure of his own words. “I mean, I tried talking to him but…”
He trails off, unsure of where to go, and Kenny isn’t often unsure of what he’s saying, and that just makes Matt even angrier. He spends a lot of time these days angry, and it seems to all be because of Adam fucking Page. Apparently, whatever happened between them after Revolution a few weeks ago didn’t help. Not that he thinks about it. At all. He doesn’t.
“It’s not our problem,” he says, finally. Cody gives him a Look, capital L and all. It’s a patented Rhodes look, effective in it’s judgement and authority.
“You’re the one that saved him from eating a triple powerbomb, Matt,” he points out, not unkindly. Matt rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, and I wore a chair to the face for it. That’s the last time I help his ungrateful ass, that’s for sure.”
They fall into an awkward silence, because even to Matt’s ears, it sounds like a lie. It feels like a lie, and Matt shoves it down deep. Cody and Kenny are communicating something to each other with their eyes, making expressions that Matt can’t decipher, and that pisses him off. They seem to reach some sort of agreement, or disagreement, Matt can’t tell, but neither of them say anything for a stretch of minutes.
Matt tosses his icepack away, rubbing at the side of his face. His phone is silent, not a single text from Nick or… or anyone, and it’s gnawing at Matt’s insides. Nick had been awake when Matt had left the hospital earlier, had told Matt not to worry, but he’s Matt’s little brother. Of fucking course he’s going to worry. He’s been worrying about him for thirty years, and he’s not about to stop now.
His heart and head hurts with the weight of all the worry and anger and everything burning him alive right now. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him, why he’s not able to have a better handle on this. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe he’s finally going insane. It’s long overdue.
Kenny and Cody have gone back to talking about the brawl, about Blood and Guts, and Matt hears Hangman’s name being dropped a few times, but he zones out. He doesn’t have it in him to care right now, not while Nick’s in the hospital and the world’s going to shit and everything just feels off. He needs to keep icing his face, he needs to go and visit Nick, he needs to figure out how they’re going to take down the Inner Circle, needs to stop thinking about the fact that they’re most likely down two players, he needs to stop thinking about Hangman, he needs--
His phone buzzes, and he scrambles for it, thinking it’s Nick, needing something to take him out of his head right now. He swipes up to see Brandon’s name pop up--
Hey man, you didn’t tell Adam about Nick?
Matt stares at the message for a bit, not sure what to feel or think, and just answers it without thinking.
No? He doesn’t care, anyway.
Brandon answers back pretty much immediately.
Idk dude, I just ran into him and he’s pretty freaked out about it.
Matt rolls his eyes, and taps Brandon’s contact info to ring him.
“I’m just gonna step out,” he interrupts Cody and Kenny, and they barely look at him as he leaves the room. Whatever, they’ll be fine. Matt remembers when there were days they couldn’t even be in the same room as each other without throwing punches and insults. How the tides have turned, he thinks, and waits for Brandon to pick up as he jams the phone to his ear.
“Matt,” Brandon says, and his voice is kinda wary. Jesus, is that how people speak to Matt these days? Damn, he must be more out of it then he thought. “What’s up?”
“Why are you texting me about Page?” Matt spits out, even though that’s not what he wanted to say, really, but it’s the first thing that barrels out of his mouth.
Brandon pauses for a moment, “I mean, I just thought you’d tell him ‘bout Nick, man. He was--”
“I don’t care,” Matt interrupts, and Brandon goes silent, “Message Kenny about it instead. They’re the champions.”
“I--” Brandon begins, then stops. Matt waits him out, because he actually likes Brandon. “Look, I’m sorry, Matt. I just thought-- He’s in a bad way.”
“So? Tell Kenny.”
“Kenny wasn’t answering his messages,” Brandon says.
“So tell Cody. Tell literally anyone but me. Page made it very clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me and Nick.”
Brandon doesn’t say anything, and there’s a noise across the phone, like a car starting. Then he sighs.
“Look, I just. I told Hangman about Nick, cause I’m gonna go visit him right now, and yeah. He seemed pretty freaked out, and I just thought I’d relay it to you, okay? Sorry, man. ”
He sounds genuinely apologetic, is the thing, and Matt feels instantly bad. It’s not Brandon’s fault Hangman is an asshole. Brandon didn’t ask to get dragged into this entire mess.
“Where is he?” Matt asks, and it’s not as hard to ask as he thought. Huh.
“What?”
“Hangman? Where… you said you talked to him? Where?”
Brandon rattles off the location, somewhere between catering and the locker rooms, sounding worried- like Matt is gonna go and beat the shit out of Hangman. Which. Is a possibility. Matt hangs up and takes a deep breath. He leans his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, counts to three. Fuck it.
He ends up searching for a solid fifteen minutes, looking around the area Brandon had described, but the only sign that Hangman had been there was a crumpled up plastic cup sitting discarded on a table. Matt sighs, wondering why he even thought this was an idea, let alone a good one, and decides to head back to the EVP room. The place is almost empty now, most of their wrestlers either headed home or back to the hotel. Matt passes the men’s locker room, and pauses at the one light still on. There’s a soft, off-key singing coming from the room, and Matt would recognize that goddamned accent anywhere.
The locker room is empty, everyone already gone, except for the one person lying across a bench, hands folded over his stomach and head tilted up towards the ceiling. Matt can’t make out what he’s singing, it’s too quiet, but it’s he finds it... endearing. That makes him stop in his tracks, and he flicks on the rest of the lights in the room.
Hangman startles, and turns his head to look at Matt in the doorway, before groaning in obvious annoyance and squeezing his eyes shut. His plaid shirt is half unbuttoned, like he was in the process of getting dressed and gave up.
“God, you’re everywhere, aren’t you,” Hangman says, bringing his hands up to his face to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes, “Can’t get away from any of you.”
Matt walks into the room, slowly, very much aware of what happened last time they were in a room alone together. Hangman isn’t looking at him, but his body tenses more and more the closer Matt gets. He stops, a few feet from the other man, and suddenly doesn’t know what to say, or what to do.
He doesn’t really know why he’s here. And so he just stands there, staring, trying to parse whatever the fuck he’s feeling right now. God, he’s feels like such a mess.
I wouldn’t team with you if you were the last person on earth.
“Here to flip me off again?” Hangman asks, and then giggles like he told a funny joke. Matt frowns at him.
“You flipped me off first,” he points out, and Hangman scoffs. Whatever. “I’m here because Brandon was worried.”
That causes Hangman to open one eye and look at Matt suspiciously, “What did Brandon say?”
“That you didn’t know about Nick. That you were worried about him.”
Hangman blinks at him, like he’s trying to comprehend what Matt’s saying, and finally sits up. He leans against the locker stall, brow creased. Matt notices he doesn’t have a drink with him, but he can see an empty beer can near his bag.
“Is he... “ Hangman says, then visibly swallows, “He’s okay, isn’t he?”
Matt stares at him, arms crossed over his chest, and ponders what to say. It’s been a long, hurt-filled day, and Matt kind of wants Hangman to hurt too. Wants to take some of the soul-eating anxiety and worry and pain from his own brain and press it into Hangman’s. Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe it’s completely deserved. Matt doesn’t really care right now.
“He’ll be fine,” he says, finally, and Hangman’s head slumps with relief. It makes that ever constant anger flare in Matt’s chest, “No thanks to you.”
Hangman flinches, his shoulders tensing as his body tightens in on itself. That’s something Matt’s noticed, no doubt the others have too. Hangman used to be more open, long limbs sprawled everywhere, taking up more room. Now, it’s like he’s constantly trying to protect his vulnerable parts, curling in on himself, making himself as small as he can. Or maybe he’s just that way around Matt. It’s not like Matt pays enough attention to him to notice.
“You know,” Matt says, and his voice feels like it’s shaking, but it comes out steady, “When I looked up at the titantron and saw Nick, saw my brother, crushed under that door, do you know what I thought? Do you know what was one of the things that I couldn’t stop thinking about?”
Hangman looks up at him with wide tormented eyes, and Matt takes sick pleasure in the guilt and sadness reflected there.
“I thought, where’s Hangman?. I don’t know why, but all I could think was that you should’ve been there, you should’ve been helping us, but you weren’t. Where were you, Hangman?”
Maybe it’s unfair, maybe it’s almost certain Nick still would’ve been ambushed even if Hangman had been around, but Matt is angry, he’s always angry, and it’s not like Nick’s here for him to be angry at, and the Inner Circle aren’t here for him to be angry at, and that just leaves Hangman. Hangman, who was worrying Brandon with his big sad eyes and woe-is-me attitude that Matt really, really couldn’t give two shits about.
Because he looks at Hangman, who’s clearly warring between guilt and righteous indignation, and Matt wants a fight. To get the anger out, get the worry out, get the humiliation from being curb stomped by Jericho out.
“I--” Hangman begins, his back straightening up against the lockers. His mouth twists, and he looks pissed now. Good. Matt can work with that. “I told you… I told you. I said I wasn’t gonna help you anymore. I told you to leave me alone.”
His voice gets louder, heated, and Matt feels a warm rush of adrenaline that only comes before a fight. He keeps looking at the unbuttoned top of Hangman’s shirt, the small reveal of reddened skin and he swallows. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Adam shirtless a million times. It makes him annoyed.
“We both know you’re full of shit, Hangman,” Matt says, channelling that annoyance, and Hangman’s eyes narrow at him, “You were a jerk, yet again, and I still came to save your ass from getting powerbombed through that table like Mox did.”
Hangman stands up, and Matt stops himself from stepping back on instinct. The locker room is too warm, the air too thick with something, something ugly and painful. It’s been like that for a long time. Hangman runs a hand down his face, his mouth twisting.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he says, and his voice is so quiet that Matt almost misses it, “I didn’t…”
“But I did,” Matt says.
“Yeah,” and Adam looks. Angry. It makes Matt tilt his head in confusion. “You did.”
But that’s really the thing, though, isn’t it.
Because Matt saw Hangman, half unconscious, dragged up that ramp and about to be slammed through a table so far down below, and he didn’t even hesitate. He’d pulled Hangman away from them, that thrumming voice saying mine, mine, mine in his head, because like hell was he going to let the Inner Circle take another person from him. And yeah, he can argue that he would’ve done it for anyone, but he can’t quite figure out that overwhelming possessive feeling that set him alight when he saw Hangman, helpless and alone.
Maybe he wanted to feel justified, have something to hold against Hangman, something to show him, this is what you’re giving up when you keep trying to leave us. But it feels more complicated then that. Matt can’t figure it out.
Matt doesn’t really notice Adam moving until he’s right in his space. He’s always loathed that he was the shorter one, but it doesn’t matter right now when Adam ducks his head forward so that their foreheads are pressed together, eyes almost level. Adam’s eyes are so blue, which is a strange thing for Matt to be constantly noticing, and even though they’re slightly blurry from drink, they’re boring right into his soul. Matt can smell beer and spearmint gum, and it’s not as off-putting as it should be.
“Do you wanna fight, Matt?” Adam asks, underlying venom in his voice, something that makes goosebumps prickle all over Matt’s skin. “Is that what you’re here for?”
Matt doesn’t know what he’s here for.
Matt feels too hot, too overwhelmed all of a sudden. He can’t parse anything he’s feeling, can’t figure out anything Adam is trying to convey, and it’s leaving him feeling like he’s going to explode. Matt’s going out of his mind, and Adam is tipsy at best, and it’s all just a mess. He brings his hands up to the collar of Adam’s half-buttoned shirt, gripping the fabric tightly like he’s about to push Adam away as hard as he can. His fists are pressed so close to Adam’s skin he can feel the quick thumping of his heart. Adam looks down at Matt’s hands, and when he looks back up with a fire in his eyes, Matt pulls to close the distance between them. Their mouths meet in a kiss, wet and hot, and it’s exactly what Matt is looking for.
Matt bites down on Adam’s lip, forcing him to open his mouth with a gasp, and licks in. It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue and Adam’s hands digging into the sides of Matt’s waist. Matt’s bruised face hurts with every movement of their mouths, especially when Adam moves his hand to Matt’s face to change angles; too sweet for all the fury and hurt that’s being put into the kiss like a feedback loop, but it’s feeding the angry fire in Matt’s chest. It’s so fucking good. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you Matt chants in his head, and suddenly rips away. He takes in the sight of Adam’s gasping face, staring at Matt with wide blown eyes, and something in his gut snaps.
Matt twists his hands in Adam’s shirt, the fabric dangerously close to tearing under his knuckles, and then shoves the other man backwards without warning. Adam stumbles, falling onto the bench behind him with an oof, glaring at Matt. His curls are a messy halo around his face, lips swollen and bruised, a red flush running up his chest and neck. He looks so angry, and Matt wants to just ruin him.
Matt stalks over to him, and climbs up onto his knees, balancing over the other man. The back of Adam’s head knocks against the wall as he looks up at Matt, and his hands come up around Matt’s back, fingers digging into the material of his jacket. Their hips are pressed together through layers of denim, and when Matt rolls his hips down, hard, Adam jerks underneath him. His mouth falls open on a soft gasp, one hand dropping down Matt’s back until it’s pulling gently at the waistband of his jeans, and god Matt wants to fuck him so bad. Wants to fuck him up so bad. Keep him pinned under Matt like a butterfly, make him forget that he ever wants to leave him- them- the Elite- make him remember who saved his ass today.
“Fuck you,” Matt whispers, voice hateful, and then kisses him again.
Adam gasps into Matt’s mouth, and brings his hands around to unbutton the front of Matt’s jeans. He fumbles for a moment, trying to simultaneously get his hands down Matt’s pants and keep kissing him at the same time, and finally presses the palm of his hand against the front of Matt’s tight boxers. Matt moans, the sound muffled by the furious slide of their mouths, and he should be embarrassed, but the touch is like gasoline to the fire. He’s burning alive with how much he wants, how much he’s feeling, how much he wants to pry open Adam and make him--
In his distraction, he misses Adam’s hands gripping onto his waist, and Matt curses suddenly and loudly as Adam bucks his hips up to dislodge Matt, flipping the both of them over. He presses Matt’s back into the bench, crouched over him, and ducks down to bite into the soft skin on Matt’s neck. He sucks, long and hard, and Matt inhales sharply, tugging on his hair. One of his feet is trailing along the ground, his other leg forced up against the wall as Adam pushes himself into the v of Matt’s thighs. His teeth are biting at the pulse point of Matt’s neck, his hands running under Matt’s t-shirt, and his thumb brushes Matt’s nipple in a way that makes him jolt, knees coming up to knock into Hangman’s ribs. Matt realizes, trying to press their hips together again, that Adam could fuck him like this, from the way their bodies are aligned. He can feel the hardness at the front of Adam’s jeans, pressed against his ass, and the thought makes his dick pulse in his boxers.
So he knees Adam in the ribs, hard, tipping the both of them over the side of the bench, and they both fall onto the locker room floor with a heavy thud.
Matt lands on top of Adam, across his chest with a hard oomph, and a sick cold wave of panic washes through him when Hangman’s head collides with the hard carpeted floor.
“Holy crap,” Matt says, and reaches up to frame Adam’s face with his hands, “Are you okay?”
Hangman blinks up at him, eyes a bit unfocused, and then he just laughs. It’s a strangled, disbelieving noise, and it’s like a bucket of cold water being thrown over Matt’s head as he sits back from Hangman. His jeans are still unbuttoned, his shirt rucked up over his stomach, but the panic of seeing Hangman’s head bounce off the floor, because of him, has killed the arousal in his stomach. Adam looks over at him, and laughs again.
“What?” Matt snarls, the panic subsiding and making way for the consuming anger again.
“Nothin’,” Hangman says, sitting up slowly and raking his eyes over Matt. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, “Just a funny time for you to start caring.”
That makes Matt furious. After everything he’s done? Everything he’s tried to do? Every pass he’s given Hangman? What a joke.
“I care,” he spits, and Hangman just looks at him. It makes Matt want to kick his teeth in, “Fuck you. I care.”
Hangman snorts, a derisive noise that makes Matt’s hackles stand up. He’s angry, pissed off, and now has got blue balls that make the rest of his emotions feel way too heightened.
“You only saved me,” Hangman said, watching Matt’s face like he can see every inch of fury written on it, “Because you need that body for Blood and Guts, Matt. That’s the reason. Don’t pretend it’s not.”
And that- that’s not quite it. There’s truth to it, a harsh truth, but it’s not everything. It’s not all of it. It doesn’t explain the possessiveness that overcame him when he saw Hangman up on that stage. It doesn’t explain the fear.
It doesn’t explain whatever the hell this is.
“I gotta go,” Matt says, more to himself then anything, zipping his jeans up, and Hangman just laughs that humorless noise again, “I’ve got… I’ve got to leave.”
Hangman watches him leave, all the way to the door, eyes burning into the back of Matt’s head.
-
Nick is alert and laughing at something Brandon is saying when Matt finally gets to the hospital. He’s in one of the partitioned examination rooms, the sounds of a busy and bustling emergency room surrounding them. It sets Matt on edge.
“Still haven’t moved you to a room yet?” he says as a way of greeting, and Nick’s eyes light up when they land on him. He’s still in his jeans and t-shirt, but he’s hooked up to a few machines that make Matt feel nauseated.
“Keeping me here for observation and a few more tests,” Nick responds, “But they’re pretty sure I can leave in time to catch our flight.”
“Hm,” Matt says, because he doesn’t want Nick to push himself until he’s absolutely fine. He’s already battered enough from Revolution, and now this mess. This year is going to kill Matt at this rate.
Nick looks at him, and his smile fades into a concerned frown, like he can sense the mess Matt is right now. Considering that it’s Nick, that’s probably exactly what he’s done.
He doesn’t say anything until Brandon makes moves to leave, citing needing sleep and to call if there is anything either of them needed. As soon as Brandon’s back disappears through the doors, Nick whips around to stare at Matt.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands, because Nick is absolutely the epitome of quintessential middle child behavior, and never asks, only demands. Even when it’s something Matt clearly doesn’t want to talk about.
Matt fixes him with a look, “Nothing.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Nick scoffs, “You look like shit.”
“Big words coming from the person in the hospital bed.”
“You look like someone kicked your dog, Matt.”
“You got crushed under a door, Nick!”
“At least I don’t have a hickey on the side of my neck that definitely wasn’t there this morning.”
That shuts Matt up real quick. To his credit, he doesn’t immediately clamp his hand over his neck, because he’s a full grown man and not some sixteen year old kid trying to sneak around behind the church rec center. His face burns, and it’s confirmation enough for Nick.
“Matt,” he says, voice worried, “This was the same thing after Revolution. What’s going on?”
Matt forces himself to steel his face, keep it blank, and just clenches his hand on the side of the examination bed, “It doesn’t matter, Nick.”
“I—”
“Just,” Matt says, gritting his teeth, “Just leave it, okay. We have bigger things to worry about.”
Nick’s petulant look and what Matt would assume would be an equally petulant voice is cut off at the approaching sound of Nick’s doctor. Matt knows he’s not off the hook just yet, because Nick doesn’t let the things go easily, but it seems to fall to the wayside as the doctor talks to them.
Like Matt said, they have bigger things to worry about.
-
Hey, Hangman. I know things have been a little strange between the two of us these past few weeks, I get it. And I’m not saying we can fix this tonight or even in a couple of weeks, it’s probably not gonna happen but I’m asking you as a man... we’re asking you, we gotta know... tonight and at Blood and Guts.... will you stand with us?
-
Hey man, here’s the thing…
-
Adam keeps watching him with wide cautious eyes. Brandon had left not long after Matt sat down, apparently reassured that they weren’t going to start throwing punches the minute the camera was turned off.
“Thanks,” Adam says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. “For uh, um…”
He gestures to the bar and Matt just shrugs.
“No problem, man,” he says, even though it kinda is a problem, it’s a problem that they should be talking about, a problem that the Elite need to figure out how to fix now, because Matt just paid for close to two hundred dollars worth of alcohol and Adam, at most, looks mildly drunk. There’s only so many times Cody can make noise about bringing in an old family friend of his that is a recovering alcoholic, only so many times Kenny can stick his head in the sand about it, only so many times Matt can just ignore it because it’s not his fucking problem—
But that’s not why Matt’s here. And maybe he’s always been a bit of a coward.
“Listen,” Matt starts, and Adam keeps looking at him with that wary gaze, like he’s waiting for Matt to superkick him at a moment’s notice. “We. I mean. I meant what I said, earlier. In the ring. With Kenny and Cody, you know. And we… well, we worked well together, during the match, yeah?”
Adam scrunches up his nose, “I guess.”
“You— okay. Look, I just. Whatever is going on here. With us. It’s… I know it’s not gonna fix itself. But I need— we need you out there, Hangman. We need you to have our backs. And I don’t— you know me, yeah. I don’t beg for things. But I’m— god, I’m asking— I’m begging you now— for your word. For your help. For the Elite.”
Adam looks away thoughtfully, the caution gone, replaced by something else, and then chuckles to himself for a moment, “That’s an picture.”
“What?” Matt is so confused.
Adam’s eyes flick back to Matt’s, and they look… darker. “You begging.”
Matt’s stomach flips on itself, and the room feels much warmer all of a sudden. He can feel his face burn red. Adam smirks at him, bringing his whiskey glass back up to his mouth, and Matt watches the movement of his lips, the swallow of his throat. His mouth goes dry. Matt really doesn’t know how they keep ending up like this. This emotional whiplash, of going from angry to serious to this unbearable tension in the space of five seconds. It makes his blood boil. It makes his head spin.
It makes him feel fucking alive.
“Is that what you want, Hangman?” Matt asks, slowly, meeting Adam’s eyes over his glass, “You want to see me beg?”
He can see Adam’s jaw drop slightly, like he wasn’t expecting Matt to play along, like he expected Matt to tell him to go fuck himself, and his eyes track Matt as he slides off the stool to slowly stand in front of Hangman. The other man’s knees part slightly to accommodate Matt, their bodies much closer now, and it’s too much and nowhere near enough.
The chairs are low enough that Matt is almost completely eye level with Hangman. He keeps eye contact as he puts his hand on Adam’s hip, just above the cut of his jeans, where he can feel skin below his soft worn Dixie’s shirt, and just like that the dynamic in the room flips. Adam puts the glass down on the counter with a shaky thud, and Matt squeezes at his hipbone, fingers skating at the edge of his waistband. Their faces are so close, air intermingling.
“Because,” Matt continues, voice low, “If I recall correctly, last time I made you beg.”
He can hear Adam inhale softly at his words, a slight shudder go through him, and it makes Matt feel invincible. That he can make Hangman react like this, remind him who he belongs to, remind him—
“Last time,” Hangman interrupts Matt’s train of thought, “Last time, you left me on the floor. Like a coward.”
His words are heated, but not angry. More like Adam’s curiously poking at Matt with a stick, not pushing him away. Not that Matt would let him.
But it’s enough to make anger rush through Matt’s veins, and he reaches up with a growl to pull Adam forward by the back of his neck. They kiss like every other time, messy and angry and not a lot of finesse, just an uncomfortable clack of teeth that Matt eventually rights until it’s deep and fast, tongues clashing. He can feel Adam’s hand fist in the back of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, and Matt is trying to figure out the logistics of climbing on to this chair without sending them both crashing to the floor, somewhat distracted by Adam’s tongue in his mouth, when he hears Brandon’s voice echo down the hallway.
He has enough presence of mind to push himself away from Hangman, so quickly and roughly that Adam teeters on the stool for a second, and turns around just as Brandon walks back through the door.
“Hey guys, I just left my- woah, you okay?”
Matt’s breathing hard, and he can hear Hangman sound the same, and he wonders what they look like. He feels like a mess, like he’s this close to fracturing at the seams. He kinda wants to kick Brandon in the face for interrupting. He’s also eternally grateful.
Brandon looks between them with wide eyes, glancing around the room like he’s trying to find evidence of a fight. He raises his hands in a peace offering.
“Everything good?” he asks, voice wary, and Matt nods jerkily. He can hear Hangman behind him, the clinking of his glass on the counter, and Matt knows Brandon isn’t going to leave them alone this time- not when he thinks they’re going to kill each other as soon as he leaves again.
This is beginning to border on ridiculous.
“I’m, uh, I’m going to go,” Matt says, heading for the door. Both Brandon and Hangman watch him, and he steadfastly avoids Hangman’s eyes. He pauses for a second. “I’ll be at the hotel, if, uh, if anyone needs me.”
Brandon frowns for a second, then nods, “Yeah, sure, man.”
Matt still doesn’t look at Hangman as he leaves, but once again, he can feel his eyes watching him all the way out of the door.
-
Matt gets back to his hotel room, goes to the adjoining bathroom, and stands under the spray of the shower until he feels a bit more in control. He lets his head tip forward until the water batters around his ears, and whenever his mind starts wandering towards the feel of Hangman’s mouth or hands or the way his face gets all red when Matt touches him- he cranks the cold water handle until he doesn’t feel so hot and he starts shivering.
He sits on his hotel bed in his towel, staring out at the Jacksonville skyline from his window, and feels a bit sorry for himself. His brother is out indefinitely, wrestling might be cancelled for the foreseeable future, his group- his family- is in shambles, this company he helped build might not even last the year, and he can’t stop thinking about someone who acts like they fucking hate him. And he’s so angry, all the time.
A knock on his door, loud but quick, shakes him out of his thoughts, and Matt whips around to stare at the door. There’s a pause, then another short knock, and Matt quickly pulls on a discarded pair of sweat shorts before striding to the door, opening it without thinking about it.
It’s Hangman, because of course it is. He’s still wearing the same soft shirt and jeans from the bar, his hair loose and curled around his shoulders. He opens his mouth as if to say something, closes it again, and just looks Matt up and down. Matt can’t read him, can’t understand him, can only understand the flush of heat he feels under Hangman’s gaze. He feels a spark of anger, but Matt technically invited the other man here, he just- he just didn’t expect him to show up.
“I can’t,” Hangman begins, voice hoarse, and it jolts Matt, “I can’t stop thinking ‘bout you.”
Fuck.
Matt swears and grabs the front of Hangman’s shirt suddenly, pulling him into the room until he can shut the door. Hangman stays in his space, his eyes wide, and Matt takes a moment to lean against the door, eyes shut. His heart won’t stop thrumming in his chest. He can feel the heat from the other man near him, suffocating him.
“This is so stupid,” he finally says, because it’s the truth. It doesn’t change that he knows exactly how Hangman is feeling, like everything else in his life and in AEW is taking a backseat to whatever it is he feels whenever they’re together. It’s too much, all the time, but it’s nowhere near enough. It’s such a vicious cycle.
“We can’t keep doin’ this, Matt,” Hangman says, and Matt opens his eyes to look at him. He’s so close, only a breath away from Matt, almost like he’s about to push him against the door. “We gotta. I don’t know-”
“Get it out of our system,” Matt finishes, and Adam’s eyes are very wide. “Maybe it’ll… maybe it’ll fix--”
Adam growls, suddenly, and then he’s pressing Matt’s back into the door with a thud. It takes the breath out of Matt’s lungs for a second, and Adam holds their foreheads together, noses touching. He looks pissed.
“This isn’t going to fix things, Matt,” he hisses, and it’s the most coherent he’s sounded in a long time. Definitely the most coherent he’s sounded in his recent interactions with Matt. It makes a spark of arousal shoot through Matt’s body, “This. Doesn’t fix shit.”
Matt puts his fingers in the top of Adam’s waistband, under the shirt, until his fingertips touch soft skin. Adam exhales, his hands clenching at Matt’s hips, just above his shorts.
“Yeah, I know,” Matt says, looking Adam dead in the eye, “But it’s worth a try.”
He’s lying through his teeth, but Adam jerks against him and pitches forward to bring their mouths together anyway. There’s a desperation to the kiss, a hurt to the way their lips meet. Matt gasps, and Adam’s tongue immediately slips in, fighting for control. Matt lets him have it, let’s Adam pull him closer so he can trail a hand up his bare back, fingers tangling in Matt’s hair. Matt can taste whiskey.
Matt blindly fumbles for the top of Adam’s jeans, unbuckling the belt and trying to unbutton the clasp while being continually distracted by Adam’s mouth moving from his lips to his jaw, teeth grazing against the skin. He finally gets his hand down Adam’s pants, where he’s half-hard and hot, and starts stroking him. He’s not fast or firm enough for there to be any relief, and he laughs when Adam groans in frustration against his neck.
It does something, though, because then he’s pushing away from the door and both of them stumble towards the bed. Adam clutches desperately at Matt’s waist, and Matt pulls away to shove him backwards, letting Adam bounce onto the mattress.
“You always do that,” Adam says, conversationally, as Matt climbs on top to straddle his waist. He’s half-hard in his shorts, beginning to tent them, and he gasps when Adam rubs his hand on the outside of them.
“Do what?” he says, voice strained, and Adam laughs. It’s not a pleasant laugh.
“Push me around,” he says, and he brings his hand up to play with Matt’s bare chest, thumbing a nipple casually. Matt shudders, feeling less and less in control of the situation.
Adam must sense it, because something flashes across his face and he rears up to grab at the back of Matt’s neck, pulling him forward and turning them over in one clumsy move. They knock about, Matt’s legs tangled up in Hangman’s, and then Adam is hovering above him, a look on his face that Matt can’t decipher.
He shrugs it off, and pulls up at the hem of Adam’s shirt. It comes off with no argument, and Matt presses his hips up against Hangman’s. He gets more friction through his thin shorts then Adam would through his still open jeans, and he bucks up again. Adam tips forward, his forehead knocking against Matt’s, and there’s something desperate in his eyes. His hands clutch at Matt’s hips, tilting them up so he can grind down, and makes Matt inhalen. Adam’s hair is falling around their faces, tickling against Matt’s skin, and it’s a sharply intimate moment that makes something hot and angry flare in Matt’s chest.
He frees his hand and twists it in Adam’s hair, at the back of his head, pulling to the side. Adam gasps, instinctively following the pull of Matt’s hand, and Matt forces him to make eye contact.
“Are you gonna do what I tell you?” Matt hisses, because he’s angry again and taking it out on Adam is far easier then whatever he was feeling seconds before.
Adam grits his teeth, and his eyes flash in frustration and anger, “Your mood swings are getting real tired, Matt.”
Matt twists his hand again, and pushes Hangman down until he gets the idea, “It’s cute that you think I care.”
Adam doesn’t seem to care that much when he ends up on his knees beside the bed, hovering over Matt’s dick, and pulling his shorts down until it springs out and slaps against Matt’s stomach. Matt’s hand clenches in Adam's hair again, and Adam shoots him a cocky grin as he goes to mouth against the side of Matt’s dick.
It’s the first bit of relief, of touch, that Matt didn’t realise he so desperately needed until just the feel of Hangman’s mouth, pressing wet kisses against his cock, makes him moan out loud. It makes Adam’s eyes flick up to him in surprise, and then he moves to completely take Matt’s dick into his mouth. Matt chokes, the unexpectedness of it causing his free hand to fly to his mouth so he can bite down on his knuckle. The feel of Hangman’s mouth, sliding up and down, is driving Matt insane.
He’s never felt like this. Felt so desperate, constantly burning alive, where every touch just makes him angrier and more on fire. Hangman does something with his tongue that makes Matt see stars, and-
Adam goes down, suddenly, Matt’s dick slipping into the back of his throat, and Matt shouts. Holy mother of god, this may kill him.
He can hear rustling, hear Adam scrambling at his jeans to get a hand on himself, and Matt twists his hair again and pulls him down. He can feel Adam’s throat working and fluttering desperately around Matt, and watching Adam’s eyes roll into the back of his head at the lack of air makes every nerve zap in his body. He can feel his balls draw up, already, and he quickly pulls Hangman up. Adam gasps, coughing, and Matt pushes at him until he’s standing, wavering on his feet, staring down at Matt.
Matt wriggles the rest of the way out of his shorts, and Adam quickly pulls his jeans and underwear down as well. Then, they just stare at each other, breaths heavy. The atmosphere shifts with the lack of clothes, the lack of barriers, just vulnerable skin.
Adam’s hands are trembling when Matt sits up to reach for him, pulling him back down onto the bed until he’s pressed against Matt, held up above him with his elbows.
“Matt...” he says, hushed, and Matt doesn’t like the look in his eyes, the tone in his voice, so he pulls him down into an angry, rough kiss instead. As their tongues clash, Matt reaches down between them to grope at Adam’s dick. It’s hard and swollen, pressed into Matt’s hip and grinding in short jerky movements. Matt arches up, moves his hips until their cocks are aligned and thrusts.
Adam pulls away from the kiss with a groan, face falling into Matt’s neck, his breath coming faster with every slick movement of their dicks pressed together. Matt reaches down to grip Adam’s cock, squeezing tight on the upstroke, and Adam shudders in his grip. So he keeps stroking, occasionally bucking up so his own dick slides against Adam’s, but he mainly keeps jerking Adam. He can feel the coiled tension of muscles under his hand on Adam’s back, feel the wet press of his lips on Matt’s neck, the tickle of his long curly hair on Matt’s skin. He keeps stroking, feeling Adam grow stiffer and his moans becoming more high pitch, and suddenly pushes at Adam’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back.
“Matt, Matt, what-” Adam starts, as Matt climbs back on top of him.
“Shut up,” Matt hisses, and sits back on Adam’s thighs so he can line their cocks up again with both hands. It’s slick and hot and so so good, and it makes Matt a bit feral to see Adam fall apart so easily and so prettily for him. His chest is flushed red, his blonde curls a wild mess, and his eyes sharp and blown black.
Matt wonders what Adam would look like if he fucked him. Just lifting his legs over his shoulders, driving into him, making sure Adam knew exactly who he belonged to—
But he doesn’t have lube and he’s not going to last much longer the way he’s going anywhere, so he buries the thought and rubs his thumb over the head of Adam’s cock.
Adam makes a sound like he’s been punched, his stomach muscles stiffening, and Matt, on a whim, quickly moves down to take Adam’s dick into his mouth. It’s hot and heavy and tastes like sweat and precum, but Adam lets out a guttural groan and pulls at Matt’s hair.
“Matt, Matt, shit, I’m gonna—”
Matt pulls off with a pop just in time to angle Adam’s dick back towards his stomach. He comes in heavy spurts over his chest and neck, much to Matt’s amusement, his eyes squeezed tight and his red swollen mouth open and gasping. It’s such a gorgeous sight, it makes Matt’s stomach flip, and he climbs back up to kneel over Hangman. He strokes himself desperately, that fire burning back in his veins, every touch both gasoline and cooling water. He might burn alive, right here and right now, and he looks up into Hangman’s clouded blue eyes and Matt comes like a fucking shotgun.
His entire nervous system is alight, he can taste iron on his tongue, and his hips jerk involuntarily as he adds to the mess on Hangman’s chest. It’s kinda gross and so hot and it’s proof, proof that Adam is his.
It’s so much to process, and he flops onto his back next to Hangman. They lie there in silence, only punctuated by the sound of their breathing, and Matt knows they should talk, have a shower, do anything, but it just feels like too much.
Finally, he gets up to get a washcloth from the bathroom, doesn’t meet his eyes in the mirror, and comes back to wipe it over Adam’s chest. The other man just watches him with confused eyes, like he’s shocked by Matt’s act of kindness, and when he’s done, he falls back until they’re lying parallel again. Their arms are almost touching, just the heat of skin.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this to us.” Matt finally says, too quiet and too loud and kind of wrong- because it should be I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.
“I’m not doing anything to you.” Adam replies, his voice very quiet, and Matt scoffs, because the air is too hot and his chest is too tight and they always get back to this point- without fail.
It’s that realisation that makes Matt move his hand until he finds Hangman’s, and tangles their fingers together. Adam squeezes back just as hard, just as desperately. It’s the realisation that they might not be able to fix this at all. That they were broken beyond repair. Revolution had been the death blow for them, and now they were pulling apart Nick and Kenny while they were at it.
“I think,” Matt says, “I think we just need time. Apart. You and me. Us.”
Hangman’s hand jerks in his, like he’s surprised, but he asked for this, didn’t he? He pulls away from the bed, and Matt just watches as he gathers his clothes mechanically. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Adam won’t meet his eyes, suddenly.
Matt pulls his shorts back on and gets up to see Hangman to the door, for no reason other than it’s habit, when Hangman stops and pushes him against the door. He kisses Matt again, rough and hot, his hands clutching at Matt and his tongue licking deep into Matt’s mouth. It’s over before Matt can really even comprehend it’s happening, and then Adam balances his forehead on Matt’s again.
“Sometimes,” he says, and his voice is wrecked and hoarse. It makes a feeling spike in Matt’s heart. “Sometimes, I think I fuckin’ hate you.”
And then he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving Matt stunned in his lonely hotel room.
-
Matt gets a text when he arrives in California, from Kenny.
Page said he’s leaving for awhile? Something about living in the woods for a couple of months? Said he needed to be alone. Did you or Nick know anything about this?
Matt reads the text, turns his phone off, and heads home. He doesn’t respond.