You’re addicting…

I can’t believe it. He actually admitted it. He said what had only entered my mind five minutes before.

You’re like a drug to me…

A drug? What did that mean? A drug? Drugs are addicting; people using them do seem to crave them; they can’t get enough of them. Is that what Taker means? Does he really…crave me? Me?

It’s the next day, and I’ve been walking around the arena in a stupor. I had a match—against…somebody—but I’ve had the rest of the night off. It’s a house show, so there’s no need to worry about cameras. All I’ve been able to focus on are the last real words the Undertaker spoke to me.

I want you…I desire you…I need you…You’re addicting…You’re like a drug to me…

I’d wanted to stay, but after the Undertaker had growled for me to get out, I’d been so stunned that the only thing my body could do was follow orders. I’d gone to my own room after getting a spare keycard from the lobby, knowing that Christian would be nice enough to bring the rest of my stuff back with him.

I go into the makeshift buffet room and slow, scanning for Taker. While it’s pretty full of wrestlers, he’s not there, and I allow the pinch of disappointment to tug on my heart. I want to talk to him; I want more about this “like a drug” thing. No one has ever thought of me in that; at least, no one’s ever told me they considered me their drug.

Does he really want me like that? I lean against an empty table. It sure seems strange. I didn’t think Taker needed anybody like that, let alone want anything like that. But, he admitted it last night…almost like he was angry. But, angry at who? At me? I was a bit rude. At himself? Why would he be mad at himself? At the situation? Why would he be mad about wanting me? It’s not a bad thing to want me…is it?

But I know that it is, especially with the fact that he’s him, and I’m me. We’re definitely not two peas in a pod…but that’s what makes me like him. Maybe even…want him. Desire…him. Need…need him. Need him…to need me.

I slump for a second as I let the thought roll through my mind, but then I smile and straighten. Why am I feeling depressed? The biggest, baddest man in the WWF wants me! Everyone in the Federation vies for his attention; even Mr. McMahon and Ric Flair are fighting over him. Heck, Kurt, you just admitted yourself that you were attracted to him, so…

I nod triumphantly. I’d do it. It’d begin a whole new chapter of our lives. We’d both benefit from it, hands down. I get up and march out the buffet room towards the locker room. Even if he’s not there now, he’ll have to be in there sooner or later.

I push open the door and step through—and a blond flame of hair flies into my eyes as I slam into the wall. My back’s still sore from yesterday’s attack, but luckily there are no barrels to land on me. I keep consciousness and only gasp as I slide to the floor.

Edge stands up straight and grins down at me. “Hey, Kurt! Fancy meeting you here!”

I squint at him through the pain. “Oh, cripes, Edge, you couldn’t think of anything more original?”

“Gee, I’m sorry, Kurt. I didn’t have any time to write new material!”

“You were a lot funnier when you were with Christian.” I grunt and double over when Edge buries his boot into my midsection.

He kneels in front of me and jerks my chin up. “You know, Kurt, I was trying to finish you off yesterday—you know, give you a few weeks so you’d be outta everybody’s hair, but you just gotta keep that whole ‘unstoppable Olympic gold medallist’ persona, don’t you?” He shrugs, then stands and walks over, picking up a folded metal chair. “Well, being the pal that I am, I’m gonna keep on working at this until you do get the time off that you deserve. Trust me; you’ll thank me once you’re out of the coma.” He lifts the chair over his head.

“Unless you intend to swallow that thing whole, I suggest you put it down.”

I look up in shock as the Undertaker sways into the room, his hands buried into his vest’s pockets. His eyes remain locked on Edge as he stops right beside me.

Edge lowers the chair, but he glares straight on at the Undertaker. “What’s it to you?” he snaps. “You hate this guy more than I do!”

Taker cocks his head and scratches the side of his nose, as if deep in thought. “The Olympic punk grows on me like a weed,” he finally responds. “That, and the time at the end of a show is sacred to me, and I don’t like noise coming from anywhere.”

Edge sizes him up, then shifts the chair in his hands and turns back to me.

“You even think about touching him again, and I’ll beat your boy toy into an Undisputed pulp.”

The chair clatters to the floor, and Edge storms angrily out the room, grumbling, “This so totally reeks of bogusnocity!”

“Boy toy?” I mumble as I lean back to stare up at Taker.

Taker shrugs, but a smile is growing on his face. “Edge and Triple H have more in common than the blond hair.”

“Oh.” I think about that, and my eyes widen. “Ohhh.” I glance up at him again. “Hey, how’d you know I was in here?”

He opens his mouth, shuts it, then sighs and looks away. After several seconds, he looks back, stares at me some more, then extends a hand.

I blink at it. Is he trying to hit me in slow motion? “What?”

“It’s called a helping hand. Take it.” It’s an order, so I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. I hunch over, trying to force out the pain, and I can see Taker watching me carefully. Finally, he nods. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I straighten up and stumble back, but his hand on my side stops me, and I manage to gain a bit of balance and begin to catch my breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me; I’m—”

His mouth on mine shuts me up. The force of it almost causes me to fall back, but I grab at his shoulder to keep upright. He pulls his lips back a second, but only to murmur, “Thank God,” before pressing them back on mine.

I’m still out of breath from Edge’s spear, let alone the intensity of the kiss, and I finally get enough of my senses to push Taker away. I pant out, suck in a breath, and say, “Taker—”

But Taker holds up a hand. “Don’t say it. Body language says it all. I guess I just wanted to try one more time.” He steps back and turns to the door.

“No, I—” I reach out and grab his wrist, then slip it into his hand. He starts and stares down at it, then back at me. His eyes are wide and more than bewildered.

I take in a breath. I’m ready to try my plan; I just hope that I get the response I’m hoping for. “I don’t want you to leave. I just…well…I was wondering if you wanted to try, like…going—um—out, or…or something…” I see his eyes widen even more, but at least the confusion leaves. “It wouldn’t even have to be anything big. We could just…you know, um…get something to drink. A beer, or something like that…”

Taker turns around, and I prepare for the worst. To my surprise, he smirks and nods at me. “Sure. Why not? It won’t kill me. Besides, you left last night before I could get the rest of my words out.”

“Oh.” I’m so shocked at his answer that I keep talking without thinking. “Well, I didn’t want to leave, but you seemed really upset. I really did care to know what else you had to say.”

His smirk melts into a genuine smile. “Did you?” He backs up several steps and seems to be sizing me up—or maybe even leering at me—before speaking again. “Well, then, next time, you should stay until you know I’m done. After all,” he adds, and I can hear the mocking tone, “if one of us is upset, we should be able to talk to each other about it.”

My heart leaps, and I grin as Taker leads the way out of the locker room. This strange new companionship is bound to teach us both something, and I can’t wait to learn.

The End.