GETTING BURNED

SMACKDOWN, JUNE 7TH, 2001

Angel slowly, carefully wound the chain, trapping his ankles but trying not to wake him. His hands were already restrained - one with her handcuffs and the other with a deceptively strong elastic bandage. Finally, she was done, securing the chain with one of the padlocks from her luggage.

Nodding with satisfaction at her efforts, her gaze traveled the length of his body, which was only partly concealed by the sheet. That was pretty typical. They tended to just fall into an exhausted sleep, wherever they finished. Two days, three nights. They couldn't keep their hands off one another.

'He's gonna love this,' Angel thought with a grin.

Benoit sure was a kinky bastard. Straight sex with him was fantastic, but weird sex? Absolutely mind-blowing. He loved to play - it didn't matter what with. But most of the time it was just his body - his body was a weapon and he got off on the power it allowed him. Benoit in bed was like Benoit in the ring - systematic, methodical and technically brilliant with just enough imagination and high risk thrown in to keep things exciting. Usually he liked to be in control, telling Angel what to do and when to do it, but the master of submission could never really force Angel to submit because, like this morning, like the very first night, no matter what he threw at her, no matter how hot things got…and they got hot…she always had some tricks up her sleeve. This morning, whether he liked it or not, Angel was boss.

Smiling to herself at this thought, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his body, then bent her head to kiss him savagely on the mouth. He wasn't yet awake, but he responded, slamming his mouth against hers, kissing her hungrily, aggressively. It was incredible, but just kissing was completely erotic. Yet as good as it was, it was never enough. Never enough.

Angel tore her mouth from his, her fingers still pressing strongly into his shoulders. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

"Keep going."

"Oh don't worry," she breathed, lowering her mouth to the base of his neck. "I intend to."

"Mmm yeah," he murmured sleepily, relaxing as she went to work. "Argh!" he cried suddenly.

Angel smiled against his cheat. "Too hard?"

"No. Harder."

She didn't need any other encouragement, licking him, nibbling him, moving her mouth down his body. She lingered on his stomach, at his navel and then started moving slowly, frustratingly slow.

"Lower," Benoit murmured.

Angel stopped. "What?" she asked, though she'd heard him clearly. Her hand slipped down onto the inside of his thigh and then moved slowly upwards.

"Lower," he repeated, voice a little huskier.

Still she moved - her hands, her mouth. He was moving against her and yet he somehow didn't realize he was tied up.

"Suck me."

Angel almost burst out laughing. She started attacking him even harder, getting more and more physical, but still only concentrating on his stomach and legs. He had a phenomenal body. All muscle, not a single piece of superfluous flesh. She couldn’t say that about anyone else she'd been with…or almost been with…not even Test. Benoit's strenuous and seemingly over the top health and fitness regime sure did pay off. Big time.

"Suck me."

But still Angel ignored him, biting him, caressing him.

"Suck me now!" he cried, suddenly wrenching his arms forward so he could force her head down. His restraints caught and he fell helplessly back onto the bed.

"What the hell?" he demanded, trying to move again but finding the same result.

Angel grinned maliciously and pressed her legs against his.

"Something wrong?"

And then she went back to kissing him again.

"Bitch!" he screamed, straining against the bandage and cuffs. "Goddamn little bitch. What the hell do you think you're…mmmph!"

Angel kissed him roughly and he tried to jerk his head away and continue his spiel, but Angel leaned down on him, refusing to break the kiss. Still straddling him, she moved her body on his, pressing down, moving. Then, with her hands clawing at the sides of his face, she pulled back, just a little.

"Want a blowjob, Benoit?" she breathed into his face. "Is that what you want?"

Benoit groaned as her movement, the weight of her, the temperature in the room sent him out of his mind.

"That's not an answer," Angel murmured, beginning to suck on his neck, still moving her hips against his. "How 'bout it, Benoit? Do you…want me…to go down…on you?"

"Yes!" he cried, unable to take her teasing a moment longer. "Oh yes. Suck me. I want you to suck me."

Angel grinned and climbed off him. "Yeah, I thought you did."

"What?" Benoit yelped. "Get back here!"

"Can't," Angel smirked, her own breathing still ragged. "I've gotta go meet Jericho for training."

"What?" he screamed again, desperate now. He struggled to get free, but it was never going to work.

"Oh, don't worry," Angel consoled him, cocking her head slightly. "I haven't forgotten about you. When I get back I have big plans that include you, me, a candle, some ice and…oh yeah, this." She reached into her pocket and held up her Swiss army knife, flicking out the blade to show him. "Sound like fun? Yeah, I thought so. So, you sit tight…" She broke off to lean down and give him one last rough kiss. "And I'll be back soon."

She patted him on the chest and headed for the door.

"Get back here!" Benoit boomed, struggling in vain against his restraints. "Get your ass back here!"

"Patience…" Angel purred. "Never was one of your strong suits."

And then she was gone.

"Slut!" Benoit screamed after her. "Goddamn piece of shit slut bitch!"

He pulled at his restraints over and over, using all his strength, but it was no use. She had him. He was trapped.

* * * *

"So, which tights do you want to wear tonight?" Angel asked as she calmly paced the room, wearing only her Stone Cold Steve Austin T-shirt. She'd thought Benoit would get a kick out of that and she was right. It had gotten him hot. Really hot. Plus, the fact that he was still strapped to the bed and it was all good.

"Let me the hell out of here," he scowled.

Angel ignored him. "The purple ones? 'Cause I really, really hate them. Not sexy. Not sexy at all."

"Let me go!" Benoit snapped.

"Cool your jets. I'll do you again in a minute. I just thought you could use some down time."

Benoit just glared at her and spoke through clenched teeth. "I need to train. I need to go to the gym."

"You need to shut the hell up. You can handle one day off. Trust me. You'll still be the best 'wrestler' in the WWF. Now, which tights? Those black ones with Wolverine down the sides?"

"I need to train," Benoit growled insistently.

Angel picked up a strawberry from the room service tray and shoved it into his mouth.

"Now, don't make me put the gag on you again. 'Cause I'll do it, as well you know."

"You're loving this, aren't you, slut?"

"Yup!" Angel cried happily. "So, are you ready to go again or what?"

"Let me go," Benoit snapped again.

"Let me go, let me go, let me go," Angel mimicked, climbing onto him. "You're as bad as Austin and his 'I'm Stone Cold Steve Austin and I am the World Wrestling Federation Champion' shit."

She bent to kiss him but found him strangely unresponsive.

"Oh, are you sulking? Maybe this'll make you feel better."

Keeping her eyes locked on his, she grabbed the sides of her shirt and ripped it over her head. Benoit gasped audibly at the sight of her naked body. Angel grinned maniacally, still barely believing that he found her as sexy as she found him - that it was even possible to turn him on this much. Chris Benoit, the cold, unfeeling, unaffected machine, who'd shown no interest whatsoever in Trish, one of the sexiest women alive, no matter how she threw herself on him, was getting hot over plain old Angel Torres. Incredible.

"You see this?" Angel asked huskily, running her hands down her firm body. "You made this. You made me. You might never control my mind, but my body belongs to you."

Benoit breathed heavily, trying to get his hands free again, but to no avail. "Let me free."

"No," Angel replied softly. "I don't think so."

She was kissing his chest again, sucking him, biting him. He writhed against her, trying to still his movement, trying to control the small moans coming from his mouth.

"It's not funny anymore."

"Relax. Just lie there and be my bitch."

"Let me free."

"Soon," she murmured, going lower and lower. "We have to go soon anyway."

"Why…" he gasped. "What...time…what's…holy shit!" He thrashed against the restraints, trying desperately to loose the hold they had on him. He didn't like this. He wanted to be in control. Had to be in control. He'd spent his whole life working so… "Oh God, princess…" So he could keep…she pissed him off, the goddamn little slut…keep control…keep…working…control…so good…slut…he hated her…hated her with a…passion…a passion…God, she gave great head…control…no way…couldn't…moving…keep moving…she was trying…trying to…"More, please…" What the hell? He'd said please? What the… He was no longer him. No longer Chris Benoit. He was a vessel, a tool, a goddamn…oh, God! A noise, a pure beam of sound, seeded within him, spread and spread and exploded, splintered along with his body. A sound, a roar, a scream. Not him. Not Chris Benoit. He was terrified, absolutely terrified. And then she was kissing him, her tongue wrapped around his, her legs haphazardly tangled with his own. And it was so strange, because he kissed her just as hungrily, moved against her body. What had started as…well, why the hell had it started? He didn't even know that. He didn't know anything anymore. Who was he? Who the hell was he?

Her mouth was gone from his and he almost let out a pained moan…in fact, he might have. Who the hell knew?

"It's six o'clock, something like that."

He stared at her, absolutely bewildered. Six o'clock. So what?

And then she was moving. He raised his head to watch her. She was working on the chain around his legs, undoing it. His ankles were killing him from where he'd strained against the chain and he knew when she removed it they'd be red and raw - just like the rest of him. Finally, he was free and flexed his feet to check them.

She was speaking.

"As much as I'd love to just leave you here all night, you have a job to do."

She'd moved onto his hands now and had untied the knot in the bandage, letting it slowly unravel.

"What?" he cried suddenly. "What did you say?"

Finally, she reached the cuffs. "I have to get you out of here, so you can take a shower, 'cause frankly, you stink like someone who's been getting laid all day."

"Did you say it's six PM?" Benoit demanded.

"Yup, so you'd better get moving if you want…"

Bam! The second his hands were free he grabbed at her and threw her onto her back, slamming her into the bed. He bore down on her, glaring right into her eyes, eyes of green and grey and blue and brown.

"You listen to me, you little bitch. If you ever try anything like that again I am going to end your life. Do you hear me?"
She said nothing, so he went on.

"Wrestling is everything to me. It is my entire life. Title belts mean more to me than your damn life does. Is that clear? You are nothing to me and I'm not going to let you take that away from me. Do you hear me, you piece of shit slut? Well, do you?"
His hands were on her throat. He was trying to choke her out. Still, she tried to reply.

"Yes, I already said…"

"Shut up!" Benoit screamed. "Just shut the hell up!"

With that, he slammed his body into hers, taking control of her mouth, taking control of her whole body. He was in control. In control. As it should be. As it had to be.

* * * *

Angel ate silently, not looking up, not looking over at him for fear that she might…that he might… They were in public, in the catering room. They had to show restraint. It was hard enough just knowing he was sitting across from her; she didn't need to look at him as well. She didn't want to look at him anyway. He was a rough, violent, brutal asshole. That last time, when she'd set him free and he'd attacked her, it had hurt. It had hurt a lot. That wasn't to say the sex hadn’t been good - it was absolutely phenomenal. Still, there was such a thing as going too far. She felt used and cheap. Okay, so it was probably her own fault for what she'd done to him all day. She hadn’t exactly been merciful. But he was a hell of a lot stronger than her and he knew it. She had to use restraints and weapons, just to even things up. Oh well, there was always tonight. Tonight she'd get him back. She'd show him.

"Hey Angel. How's it going?"

Angel raised her head and broke into a small smile. "Hey Jeff. What's up?"

"Nothing much," he shrugged. "I was just wondering you that Swiss army knife's working out for you."

Angel's smile grew at the memory. "It's really useful, Jeff. Really useful."

"Well, good," Jeff nodded. "I'm glad you like it. Hey, I was wondering," he went on smoothly. "There's not that much to do in North Dakota, but tomorrow me, Matt and Lita are going to take a road trip, see some of the scenery. We were wondering if you'd like to come along. We don't get to come up this way very often, so it might be nice for a change."

Angel nodded thoughtfully. "What time are you leaving?"

"I don't know. Early. I guess it all depends on what time I wake up."

Angel shared a smile with him. Jeff enjoyed his sleep and they both knew it.

"Well, it depends on how I'm feeling tomorrow," Angel told him coolly. "Come find me in the gym and we'll see, okay?"
What she really meant was, 'if the choice is between road-tripping or screwing Benoit all day, sorry, Jeff, but I know where I'll be'.

"Okay, so I'll see you tomorrow," Jeff smiled. "See you later, Benoit. Good luck in your match tonight."

Benoit's eyes shot up. "What match?"

"Your tag title defense," Jeff explained. "Against Austin and McMahon."

"What?" Benoit cried again.

"You didn't know about it?" Jeff frowned. "They granted your match. I thought Angel must have set it up, it has her name written all over it."

Benoit glared accusingly at Angel. There was no lust in his eyes at all. Just anger.

"Hey, don't look at me," Angel protested. "When could I have done it? We both know I was in the hotel room all day."

"Let me get this straight," Benoit scowled, rising up to refocus his glare on Jeff. "I have a title defense tonight against Austin and McMahon?"

"Yeah," Jeff nodded.

"Bullshit!" Benoit snapped, storming off without another word.

Jeff turned to Angel, eyebrows raised, and she couldn't help smiling back at him.

"Don't worry," Jeff told her, taking a seat. "I'll keep you safe 'til Benoit gets back."

Angel frowned. What did he mean by that? Did he want her to remind him that she could look after herself? But Jeff went on.

"You look good, Angel. I'm just saying this as a friend, but you're looking real hot. Like more than usual. I don't mean anything by it, I'm just sayin'…"

She smiled uncomfortably. "Thanks Jeff."

"Hey, you're welcome. Like I said, I didn't mean anything by it…"

"So, Jeff," Angel cut in, deciding to change the subject. "What are you doing tonight?"

He frowned. "I uh…I don't know yet. Matt's got a title defense, I think, so I guess I'll just go valet or whatever."

"What?" Angel cried disbelievingly. "Haven't you gone to get yourself a match?"

Jeff just shrugged. "Nah. I mean, I prefer tag, but with Matt getting all this singles exposure, it doesn't seem to be happening much. I guess it'd be okay if Eddie hadn't got injured…" He trailed off. "I don't mind. I mean, I'm glad for Matt. It's good that one of us has a belt. And hey, I'll get my turn. He's got three years on me. I'll get there."

Angel frowned at the man she used to know so well. Now he was so used to lying to her that he did it all the time. He covered everything.

"Why are you lying to me, Jeff?"

"What?"

"You're lying to me. I know you're not that selfless. No one is."

Jeff let out a deep breath. "Okay, you got me. What do you want me to say, Angel? Do you want the truth? The truth is I wish with all my heart that me and Matt had won the tag titles in that TLC match the other week. 'Cause then, you know, we'd still be the Hardy Boyz again. Right now and since right before Backlash, it's been like I don't exist. Like, here's Matt Hardy, twenty-six years old. He's got it all, man. He's got a title belt, he's got a gorgeous girlfriend and he's got a little puppy for a brother. Isn't that nice for Matt? I got nothing, Angel. All I've got is an official backstage pass to hang out with Matthew Moore Hardy, man of the year. So I guess I should count my blessings, don't you think? I wish…man I wish I had a belt. Then I'd have a name. Then I'd be someone. Right now, I'm nobody. But if I got a belt, well, all I'd need is the gorgeous girlfriend, and then I'd finally be as good as Matt, just like Pops always wanted."

"Okay, Jeff," Angel said at last. "This might seem completely obvious, but why don't you get a belt?"

Jeff formed a self-deprecating grin. "Yeah, I heard they sell replicas at WWFShopzone.com for two hundred bucks. Which should I get? Women's title?"

"Jeff, I'm serious. If you want a belt, you should win a belt. Go visit Regal and tell him you want a title match. That way, it doesn't make a difference what Matt's doing, you can still have a life of your own."

"You mean tonight?" Jeff frowned.

"Tonight, Heat, Raw, whatever. Just go do it."

"So, you think I should challenge Kane for IC? I'd love to get the IC title back, but you know I don't see it happening. I mean, Triple H was tough enough, but Kane? He's something else, Angel."

"No, I don't think you should challenge Kane. I think you should challenge Jerry Lynn."

"What?" Jeff cried. "Lightweight?"

"How much do you weigh, Jeff? Two fifteen? They'll let you challenge for light-heavyweight. Now, don't discount Jerry Lynn. He's a hell of a fighter. But I think, if you want it enough, you can beat him. The question is, how much do you want it?"

Jeff stared at her. She was so beautiful, so smart. And tonight, if it was possible, she seemed even sexier than usual.

"I want it, Angel," he nodded. "I want it real bad."

"Good," Angel smiled. "So now, all you gotta do is go see Regal and ask, no demand, he gives you a title match against Jerry Lynn, Well, you gotta win it too, of course."

"You're right, Angel," Jeff nodded, getting to his feet. "You're absolutely right. Man, I'm gonna go right now. I'll see you later, let you know how it went."

"Oh, don't worry, Jeff. Once I see you holding that belt above your head, I'll know."

Jeff grinned and held out his hand, pinkie and forefinger extended. "Friends, right?"

Angel linked her fingers with his and pulled back quickly. "You bet."

* * * *

Angel walked down the hallway towards the locker room, feeling quite pleased with herself. No matter what anyone said, she'd done her good deed for the day. She wanted good things for Jeff, she really did.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her and dragged her from the hallway into a dark room. Her back slammed against shelves. A small room. Janitor's closet. He was all over her, kissing her, touching her, grabbing at her breasts, her ass. She leaped at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his head and neck, attacking him with her mouth. His hands were holding her up, but one crept around to the front of her pants. He got them undone and violently yanked them down. Angel followed his lead, trying to reach around her own body and take his pants off while still holding herself to him. Their bodies moved wildly, crashing into shelves, knocking things down, but still somehow remaining upright themselves.

Suddenly, the light was on. Benoit immediately threw Angel off him but, like a cat, she somehow landed on her feet. She urgently did up her pants, too humiliated to look up and see who'd caught them in the act. It might have been an intern or whatever but still… And then the voice rang out.

"Kitties have yarn balls so they can learn macramé. You're welcome."

Angel was speechless. Perry freaking Saturn. For all she knew, he was a close personal friend of Benoit's wife…or at least knew her.

"Perry," Benoit gasped, frowning at his former friend.

Saturn just cocked his head, a goofy expression on his face.

"You're welcome," he repeated. And then he flicked the light off again and was gone.

Angel burst out into the hallway. Benoit tried to grab at her and pull her back but she arched away from his touch.

"Get off me. You're disgusting. You disgust me."

How could he be so nonchalant about it? What if it hadn't been a total headcase like Perry? What if it had been Jericho? Benoit simply shrugged and followed her down the hall.

"Angel. Guess what?"

Angel broke into a smile. "You got your match?"

Jeff nodded happily. "I got my match. And I owe it all to you." He threw his arms around her and clutched her head to his chest.

"Arrgh!" she cried out.

Jeff drew back, a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she cringed, rubbing the back of her head. "I took a superplex from Jericho this morning, straight onto my head. I guess it's still a bit tender."

From behind her came a low evil laugh.

Angel scowled and spun accusingly. "Oh, shut up, Benoit."

He just smirked. "Poor little princess."

"Hey!" snapped Jeff. "She's hurt!" He put a protective arm around her shoulders and she almost pulled away, surprised by how much even that killed her. "Do you need to see the trainer, Angel?"

"No, I'll be fine. Just don't worry. You go get ready for your match. I'll be cheering for you."

She had to get him away. What if he could smell Benoit on her? Right now he didn't suspect a thing. She knew he didn't, because if he did, he'd be on the ground scuffling with Benoit right now. Hmm…

"Angel?" Jeff's voice startled her from her daydream.

"You bet, Jeff," she replied helplessly, hoping that it was the right answer. Apparently it was because he gripped her hand fondly, then walked away.

Angel let out a deep breath, possibly her first since Benoit had grabbed her. And then Benoit's voice cut deep into her brain.

"You lied to him. That's interesting."

"I didn't lie," Angel argued, spinning around to glower at him again. "Jericho did superplex me this morning."

"Onto your head?"

Angel formed a scowl. "What did you want me to tell him? That I bumped my head while you were screwing me in the closet?"

Benoit's gaze was steady and cool. "I never screwed you in a closet. Not yet, anyway."

Angel glared at him. He obviously didn't get it.

"Me and Jeff used to be together," she informed him.

"I know."

"He wants me back."

"I know."

"He's in love with me," Angel insisted.

"I know," Benoit repeated, no more forcefully than the first time.

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?"

Angel scowled. He was right. She was sleeping with Benoit, not Jeff. Why should Benoit be bothered?

"If he knew, he'd kick the crap out of you."

Benoit nodded, a smirk on his face. "So, why did you lie to him?"

Angel's eyes froze on his. That was a damn good question. She didn't give a crap about Benoit. If she told Jeff the truth, he'd tell Matt and Lita, then the three of them would all kick Benoit's ass together. That was just fine with Angel. In fact, it was perfect. So why had she lied? Simple. She might not have given a shit about Benoit, but she did care about Jeff…even if she didn't want to be with him anymore. He'd always been her first friend in the WWF who she wasn't related to and they had had some good times together. He was sweet and thoughtful and completely un-Benoit in every way. When Jeff had though she was sleeping with Jericho, he'd been hurt, really hurt. Imagine if he knew the truth. It'd probably kill him. She couldn't do that to Jeff. Not now, not ever.

Angel just gave Benoit one last glare, then turned abruptly and stormed off towards the locker room.

Jericho wasn't there, but he had been. There was a gym bag open in one of the locker areas and a silver shirt hanging from the railing. And, on the bench where Angel would have perched herself, was a package.

"My shirt!" she cried joyously, tearing at it. There it was - an exact replica of her 'Shooter' top; same color, same everything. But that wasn't all. There was also a 'Jerichoholics 12-step program' T-shirt and, wrapped up inside that was a tiny red halter top, the tie-on kind, barely bigger than a bikini. It too bore a slogan. 'Rogue' in funky wavy letters that would look incredible when she was wearing it.

"Oh my God," she breathed, holding it up before meeting Benoit's gaze. "Can I wear this?"

He just stared at her. "No."

"Why the hell not?" Angel frowned.

"I said no."

"Fine," she muttered, scooping up her other shirts. "I'll wear the 'Shooter' one instead."

'But I'm damn well gonna try it on,' she thought, marching off towards the women's locker room.

* * * *

By the time Angel returned, she was in a good mood again. Trish had helped her into the halter-top and it was the hottest piece of clothing she'd ever seen. Trish had agreed, telling Angel she just had to wear it. Angel had shrugged off the suggestion, although she seriously wished she could take it up.

When she returned to the locker room, no one was there, which was weird, it being close to show time and all. Talking to Trish had made her feel great. She felt strong, she felt sexy. She felt like kicking the crap out of her punching bag. So she did. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. She was getting good at this now, testing her combinations, throwing in new moves like a sidekick, bam! Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. Punches, kicks, knees. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. She danced around, pretending it could fight back, perfecting her timing. Bam, bam, bam…wait…bam, bam, bam. She concentrated hard, never taking a real break. Real opponents didn't let you rest. You had to be ready…on your toes…prepared for anything. An attack could come from anywhere, anytime. You had to be…

Suddenly, she spun around in a martial arts kick. It missed connecting with his eyebrow by less than an inch, just as she'd planned it. She eyes him coolly, inquisitively, catching her breath after her mini-workout.

"Don't sneak up on me when I'm doing this. Next time I won't miss."

He held her gaze, trapped her so she couldn't look away. And then he reached up, grabbed her foot and violently threw it down, pressing against her in the exact same second. Her legs buckled against the bench as her back hit the wall and she almost fell, but he had her too tightly - he was too strong. His kisses were intense, overwhelming. She could hardly stand…especially when he did that…drawing her tongue into his mouth, sucking on it, grinding his hips into hers, clutching her so she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She stumbled and her backside slammed heavily onto the bench as he still kissed her and grabbed at her. He pulled away from her mouth and his teeth grazed the side of her face, headed up towards her ear.

Damn, he was hot. He'd changed into his ring gear and already he was sweating. He was ready for battle, ready for anything. Angel's arms slid around his waist, grabbed at his ass as she savagely kissed his stomach. His tights were right in front of her face…right there.

"You want a fight, Benoit?" she whispered against his skin as she eased his tights down. "Take me on. I'll make you tap out. You will submit."

And then she launched her attack.

* * * *

Benoit collapsed, clutching her to him, spinning her off the bench, onto his lap. He kissed her forcefully, hungrily and she responded in kind, their bodies oddly melded together. His fingers found their way into her pants, unbuttoning them, reaching inside. And still she kissed him, gripping his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

"Well, it's nice to see the two of you finally getting along."

Time froze. Benoit roughly pushed Angel off his lap and pulled his tights up as she hit the ground with a thud.

Jericho was standing with his hands on his hips and a very pissed off look on his face.

"Junior," he spat at Benoit. "Go take a shower. And you…" He glowered at Angel. "We need to talk."

Benoit rose to his feet, eyebrows up. "Did you just tell me what to do?"

"You got it, jerky," Jericho snapped. "Now, go take a shower."

Benoit eyed him coolly. "Careful, Y2J. Nobody tells me what to do. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Chris, I hear you. And I know you hear me when I say hit the showers! Now!"

Benoit approached him, maintaining eye contact, staring him down until they were nose to nose. Then he spun around and, with his eyes still locked on Jericho's, left the room.

Jericho took a deep breath and turned to Angel. She was on her feet, ignoring him, attacking her punching bag. He scowled and stepped up behind her. She didn't stop her routine; didn't even pause, but she knew he was there because she started to speak.

"Like I told Benoit, just a while ago. Don't sneak up on me when I'm doing this. Unless you want a blowjob too, in which case, go right ahead."

Jericho grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and spun her around, forcing her to look at him.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

She shrugged casually, wiping the sweat from her face. "What exactly do you want me to say?"

Jericho glared at her. "He will never…ever leave his wife for you. You know that, don't you?"

Angel shrugged again. "I don't want him to. I'm just in it for the sex."

Jericho slowly shook his head. "Can you honestly say it's worth it?"

"Yes," Angel replied with surety, holding his gaze. "I'm having the greatest sex of my life."

"I thought we talked this though," Jericho said sadly. "And yet you still threw yourself at him? What's going on in that head of yours? He's married, yes, but look at you. You're gorgeous. And he's human. You must have known he wouldn't resist you if you offered to suck him off."

Angel's eyebrows shot up incredulously. "He wouldn't resist me? So, I was supposed to be the one to say no? You knew how much I wanted him. I was just supposed to let him throw me up against the wall, stick his tongue down my throat and start dry rooting me? I was just supposed to say, 'You know what? You better stop that, 'cause you've got a wife and it's not me, so I'm the voice of reason. Get your hands off my tits and your groin the hell away from mine'. Is that it, Jerky? Is that what you wanted me to say?"

Jericho frowned at her. "That really happened?"

Angel nodded. "I'm human too, you know."

"But you were blowing him in the locker room!" Jericho protested.

"And I'm sorry you saw that," Angel told him.

"But you're not sorry you did it," Jericho prompted.

"No. Can't say that I am."

"You're not remorseful at all?"

"No," Angel shrugged.

"Then I'm sorry," Jericho told her. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

Angel scowled at him. "Can't you just be happy for me? I got what I wanted. And it's everything I imagined and more. The best sex ever."

"Sex that you shouldn't be having."

"Oh, here it comes," Angel mused. "Here comes the gospel according to Saint Jericho."

Jericho ignored her and went on. "He's not yours. He's never gonna be yours…"

"I don't wanna hear it, Jerky," Angel cut in.

"He's someone else's husband…"

"And we're both adults. We can make our own choices," Angel snapped, barely able to believe she was sticking up for Benoit.

"You're not an adult!" Jericho cried. "You're twenty. You have to cross the border into Canada if you want to drink legally. Benoit's thirty-four years old."

"I don't give a shit," Angel snapped.

Jericho drew back, a disgusted look on his face. "I thought I understood you. I really did. This isn't just your life you're messing with. It's not even just you and Benoit. There are other people involved here. Innocent people who don't deserve to be hurt, just because you had an urge."

Angel pouted, her eyes steely. "I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm simply exercising my right to have consensual sex with whoever I choose. If you want to preach to someone about morality, go find Benoit because I don't give a shit."

Jericho glowered at her. "I guess I was wrong," he said evenly. "You are a slut."

"Kiss my ass, Jerky," Angel growled. "'Cause I don't care."

With that, she spun and started attacking the punching bag again. This time, she didn't turn back around.

* * * *

Minutes later, Angel heard male voices and spun around. Now Jericho was chewing out Mick Foley, who'd come to make peace for the chair shot on Raw. Angel watched and listened carefully, slowly shaking her head, before turning back to the punching bag.

"Angel Torres. That's a good sounding name."

She stopped mid-punch and looked up at Mick, breathing heavily.

"Hey Mick. What's up?"

"Hmm, well they didn't heed my advice for a Test versus Al Snow match, so I guess I'm not."

Angel actually gave a grin. "Sorry I asked."

"Hey, that's okay. It's not your fault my little buddy Al's been so busy on that Tough Enough show I haven't been able to see him. And speaking of tough enough and Al, if they'd known when they were casting about Al and…" He cut off, noticing that Angel was attacking the bag with renewed vigor.

"Okay," he chuckled. "Too much, I got ya. I actually wanted to talk to you about a match. After what I saw you do to Austin on Raw I think I'm not alone when I say I want to see what you can do against an opponent of your own. I think the fans want to see it too, and they deserve to see it, right here at the University of North Dakota."

Angel gave a smile. "I've already had a match. I beat William Regal by DQ."

"Just one match?" Mick asked her. "I think the fans want to see more of you than that, don't you? In fact, did you see the bra and panties match between Trish Stratus and Terri Runnels on Raw Monday night? I was very impressed by Trish's skills and I think she'd be quite a proving ground for someone like you."

"I'm not gonna fight Trish," Angel replied coolly. "She's my friend."

"Okay," Mick went on. "How about a tag team bra and panties match? You and Trish versus…Lita and Jacqueline. I think the fans would really like that."

"Uh, Mick? Lita's my cousin. I'm not gonna fight her either."

"Oh," Mick said thoughtfully. "You don't have any connection to Jackie, do you?"

"No," Angel smiled. "I'd take on Jackie, although she is tough."

"That she is," Mick nodded.

Suddenly they were interrupted as the door flew open and Benoit stormed in.

"Foley," he said darkly, giving a half nod.

"Hey Benoit," Mick replied, before turning back to Angel. "So, how about it, Angel? What better place for a bra and panties match against our former women's champion than right here, in the University of North Dakota?"

"She's not contracted," Benoit snapped, before Angel could respond. "She can't fight. Now, if you don't mind, I have a tag title defense tonight and I'd like to talk strategy with my partner. If that's okay with you."

"Hey, that's fine with me, Benoit. Keep what I said in mind, Angel. Remember. It's not what the WWF can do for you that counts, but what you can do for the fans. I'll see you later. And have a nice day."

"See you, Mick," Angel smiled, turning slightly so she could watch and eavesdrop on Jericho and Benoit.

They were talking about their match and only their match. Apparently Benoit was being spared from the preachings of Father Jericho. Which was really quite funny, considering he was the one who'd done something wrong. All Angel had done was sleep with someone she was attracted to. Benoit was the cheat, not her. And besides, he'd started it. He'd started it all. He'd kissed her. He'd told her he wanted to do her. And then he'd started doing it. What was she supposed to do? Jericho could judge her all he wanted but that wouldn't change who was really to blame.

Finally, they were done talking and started their separate warm-ups. Angel stepped calmly past Jericho and picked up her water bottle.

"So," she said casually. "You managed to climb down from your high horse long enough to talk about what you're supposed to."

Jericho glared at her. People just didn't talk to him like that. "You’re a fine one to be talking about doing what you're supposed to."

"Kiss my ass, Jericho. You have no right to judge me. No right whatsoever."

"I don't need to judge you," Jericho sneered. "You're doing a good enough job of that for the both of us."

Angel glowered at him. "You know what? I don't need this shit. You can take your little holier than thou attitude and shove it because I don't care."

And with that, she stormed back over to her little corner of the locker room.

No one was speaking and the air was thick with tension, but Benoit seemed immune to it. He was stuck in the zone, his wrestling world, a place where it didn't matter what Jericho said or did, as long as he played his part; a place where Angel barely existed at all. The only thing that mattered was keeping the tag titles. So that was what he was going to do. He was so far in the zone that he didn't even hear the insistent knock at the door. Angel glared over at Jericho then stepped up to answer it.

Jeff Hardy was standing there, sweaty and disheveled, wearing a huge grin.

"Were you watching?" he asked eagerly, following her into the locker room. "Did you see it?"

Well, she'd already lied to him once tonight. "Yeah, I saw it. You did great."

"Check it out!" Jeff cried, holding up his new title belt. "I'm the light-heavyweight champion and it's all thanks to you, Angel."

"Oh, no, Jeff," Angel smiled. "You did it yourself. You got the match, you won the match. It's all you."

"Still, if you hadn't suggested it…" He suddenly broke off by reaching out, grabbing Angel by the back of her head and kissing her right on the lips.

Angel immediately panicked and shoved him away. "God, Jeff, no!"

Jeff's mouth dropped open. "Oh man, I'm sorry, Angel. I just…I was excited. I got carried away. Dammit!"

"It's okay," Angel sighed. "It's alright. Just…tomorrow? That road trip? I don’t think it's such a good idea."

"Angel…" Jeff cut in, but she held up her hand, telling him to let her finish.

"And right now?" she added uneasily. "I think you should leave. Go find Matt and Lita and go celebrate. Okay?" She gave a weak smile.

Jeff nodded slowly and headed for the door, hoisting his title belt onto his shoulder. "Okay. I'm sorry, Angel."

"I know you are," Angel replied quietly. "I'll see you later." She shut the door after him and stood heavily against it. "Shit. Dammit, Jeff."

She turned and immediately met Benoit's gaze. He stared at her intently, dark blue eyes powerful, searching. Her chest rose and fell as she let him inside her mind, where he could turn her on without even trying. He didn't even have to say it. She could hear him, loud and clear.

"You belong to me. Jeff Hardy is nothing. He's not even in the picture. You are mine."

She nodded slowly as he still stared at her, shoulders heaving, face just as flushed as hers was.

"Jeff's a good guy," Jericho piped up. "He doesn’t deserve that."

Angel tore her eyes away from Benoit and glared at Jericho. "Deserve what?"

"You playing him for a fool like the little slut you are."

"Excuse me?" Angel cried. "I'm not playing anyone. I've told him over and over that I'm not interested, that I just want to be his friend."

Jericho shook his head. "Men and women can never be just friends."

Angel glowered at him. "Then I guess that was my first mistake, huh?"

"Maybe," Jericho mused. "But it sure wasn't your last."

Angel gave a sarcastic nod. "You know what. Jericho? You can suck my dick. 'Cause this? I'm done with this." She gave him one last glare and sat herself heavily on the bench, refusing to look up again.

* * * *

Angel walked calmly by Benoit's side as 'Shooter' heralded their arrival. He looked incredibly sexy, having decided on the black tights after all. And then there was his tag title belt, hanging low around his hips, reminding her of all the things he could do with those hips. Because of his skillful hips he was master of every different kind of suplex known to man, but that wasn't all he was master at. Angel's skin tingled with a searing heat. She wanted him. She wanted him right now. But first of all he had a match - against Austin and McMahon. No matter how it turn out that'd get him going so much that by the end he'd be more than ready - it was just a matter of how quickly they could get back to the hotel.

They climbed silently into the ring. Benoit didn't signal the crowd - that was for after the match. He had to win it first. He met Angel's gaze and he must have seen the lust blazing in her eyes, but his own were steady and focused. He was back in the zone, a place where she didn't belong.

Still holding her gaze, he removed his title belt and handed it to her. She couldn't resist running her hand over its shiny gold surface as her eyes drifted down his body. Oh shit. So that was why he'd been wearing the belt so low. Angel may not have belonged in the zone, but apparently she was there anyway.

Jericho's countdown began and Benoit sniffed and loosened up his muscles, trying to concentrate, hoping his willpower could save him from a potentially embarrassing situation. Still, black tights were better than blue tights, which were better than patterned tights, which were better than shiny tights. Really, there wasn't anything else he could do.

Angel gave a superior grin. Jericho's pyrotechnics hadn't gone off properly. That'd piss him off. Well, good. He deserved to be pissed off. The paragon of virtue was a damn judgmental asswipe. She didn't need a friend like that. He could just go to hell, or heaven, since he seemed to be the only one pure enough to make it there. Jackass. Still, Angel gave a sad sigh as he met her gaze and muttered something. It hurt to think he couldn't find it in himself to be happy for her. He hadn't even wanted to know what had happened, he'd simply thought that it was all because of her, because she'd wanted Benoit so she must have thrown herself at him. If he'd known the truth, maybe…well, there was really no maybe about it. He'd still blame her. Asshole.

He tore his eyes away from hers to climb onto the apron and pose for the crowd and then refused to look at her again, standing by Benoit's side away from Angel, staring at the stage and waiting for the opponents to arrive.

But when the music changed, neither Austin's nor Vince's was playing. Instead, it was William Regal's. Apparently, he had something to say.

"Now hold on Chris Jericho and Chris Benoit. Before your title match against Vince McMahon and Stone Cold Steve Austin, it is my duty to inform you of your non-title match, which will take place right now, against your opponents, the APA."

"What?" screamed Benoit.

"Commissioner Assclown is a dead man," Jericho growled.

Angel frowned. The Acolytes, then Austin and McMahon? The tag titles didn't look safe. Not by a long shot.

"Good luck, guys," she murmured, before climbing from the ring. The last thing either Chris needed was the distraction of Angel being in the way when they had possibly the most difficult set of matches of their lives. It didn't take a genius to work out what the plan was. The Acolytes had been paid to soften up the champions so Team McMahon could come up with the easy win.

"Let's go, Jerky. Let's go, Benoit!" Angel cried, glad the crowd was on her side. Tonight, they needed all the help they could get.

* * * *

"Yes!" Angel screamed, leaping excitedly into the ring. All the drama the three of them had suffered in the trio of matches (three, because after the APA, they'd been surprised with yet another non-title match…against Rhyno and the Big Show) was forgotten. All that mattered was that they'd won. Angel grabbed for Jericho and Benoit's hands and launched them into the air. Jericho waited just long enough to give the crowd the appearance of happy families and then pulled away. He was still pissed at her. The look on his face brought all the anger back again. How dare he? Piece of shit judgmental hypocrite, refusing to listen, applying his sexist double standards wherever he saw fit. He was supposed to be her best friend but he didn't even want to know the facts. As far as he was concerned, he knew exactly what had happened; he was right, she was a slut and that was all that mattered. And to think that earlier in the match…

It had been a horrible moment, one on a par with what Lita must have faced back in Jeff's IC loss to Triple H. Jericho was the victim of a gore or three, lying flat on his back outside the ring. Benoit was out cold on the canvas, courtesy of two Big Show chokeslams. They were both down. They were both in big trouble. She had to check them, see if they needed the EMTs, find out if she could do anything to help. In the ring was the man she was sleeping with. She didn't give a crap about him but just the sight of him, the sound of his voice made her hornier than should even be possible. Outside the ring was the man she cared about more than any other - but strictly platonically - and he was furious at her for getting down and dirty with guy number one.

There was no choice, of course. She went to Jericho. She'd helped him up and he'd accepted her help, but then, just as he was about to step out on his own, he'd turned to look at her and it had broken her heart. She had never before seen someone look so digested, so disappointed, like if she was the last person alive he'd still spit on her and kick dirt in her face. All because of…because of Benoit. Damn Benoit for forcing himself on her, for not giving her a chance to refuse. Damn Benoit. Damn him to hell. He always ruined everything. He had a talent for it, just as he did everything else he deemed worthy of attention.

After Jericho ripped his arm from hers, she found herself glaring at Benoit. He wasn't looking, too preoccupied with grabbing for his title belt and smirking at Stone Cold and Vince. Then, suddenly, his eyes were on hers and she almost passed out. His mouth hung open as he sucked air into his lungs and his gaze was so intense, so hungry that a bolt of desire shot right through her and lit up her entire body. She was on fire with electric heat and it was all because of that look he was giving her. He wasn't just undressing her with his eyes; he was tearing off her clothes, throwing her to the ground and devouring her. Hard, fast and mind-numbingly intense. Angel's eyes filled with fear and she fled, as fast as she could.

'Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go,' she kept telling herself, propelling her body along, away from the ring, away from Benoit.

She was almost to the top of the ramp before she regained the ability to breathe normally.

"Damn," she muttered, making her way through the backstage area.

That had been really, really close. That look in Benoit's eyes should be illegal. It was pure sex, that's what it was. One second longer and she would have jumped him, right there in the ring. She wouldn't have cared who was watching. Jericho, the tech crew, the announcers, thousands of fans. Too bad the cameras had stopped rolling or it could have been millions of fans. She wondered if they would have started one of those chants. A little bit of "let's go, Benoit" probably wouldn't have gone astray. Just so long as they didn't give her the Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley treatment of "slut! Slut! Slut!"

'Because I'm not a slut,' she thought. 'Benoit's the first guy I've slept with in four months. The first since Tim. How am I a slut?'

Then suddenly, his voice was in her ear, hot and low, an animalistic growl.

"Go to the janitor's closet. Take your pants off. I'll be there once I get rid of Jericho. Now, go."

Her thoughts were muddled. She couldn't think straight. His hand was on her arm, his grip tight, digging in, squeezing her. She spun to face him as his words darted around her mind, refusing to get themselves into a sensible order so she could understand them.

"What?"

She shouldn't have looked at him. His eyes were wild, full of desperation, need. He was still panting, he was drenched in sweat. In fact, he looked like…he looked like…

"Go now!" he ordered, his voice urgent.

He was right, she had to go. She ran off, as quickly as she could. Janitor's closet. Where was it? Not too far away. Near their locker room. There. There it was. She burst in and slammed the door, leaving the light off as she hastily removed her pants and stood back to wait, hoping he wouldn't be too long. Jericho was completely forgotten. All that mattered was getting a release for her lust. She wanted Benoit on her, in her, and if he didn't come soon…

Then finally he was there, all action, as usual, his whole body working in perfect coordination as he threw the door shut, yanked his tights down and grabbed her by the back of the head, by the hair, slamming his mouth onto hers. His hands rubbed furiously down her body, grabbing at her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Benoit tore his mouth away from hers and attacked her neck as he drove her back against the shelves. She cried out, gripping him tightly, trying to get her mouth back on his again. He was speaking, his voice low and thick with lust, vibrating against her skin, sending her out of her mind.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is…" He broke off, moaning softly. "Oh God, princess…"

"Mmm, yes," Angel whispered.

What had he been about to say? Was it about the match? Of course it was. With Benoit, it was always about wrestling. He loved talking about it. It got him going, made him so, so hot. She decided to try it now, despite her own excitement.

"Stone Cold…" she gasped. "You pulled his…oh God!"

Benoit had grabbed her roughly by the hips and was now guiding her movement as he tore at her neck with his mouth. Her back was slamming into the shelves and it hurt like hell, but she didn't care. She was never going to tell him to stop.

"Don't stop," she panted, digging her hands into him, grabbing him forcefully around the head, trying to bring his mouth onto hers, where it belonged. "Please don’t stop. Please…please."

And then he drew her tongue into his mouth and started sucking on it, silencing her. She'd been begging, she knew it, but he loved it when she begged, it made him lose all control and just…just…

He wasn't speaking…couldn't speak. He was moaning, low and sexy, right into her mouth. His movements were becoming more urgent, harder, faster.

"Oh Benoit!" she squealed. He loved that, loved to hear his own name during sex.

"Say my name, bitch. I want you to scream it. Scream it to me. Who owns you? Tell me who owns you. Scream my name! Scream it! Now!"

"Benoit!" she shrieked as it hit her like a freight train, bowled her over, drowned her in more beautiful pain and intense pleasure than she even dreamed possible, even though she'd been here before and would be again. He roared his own ending into her mouth and it just went on and on; so beautiful, so intense.

He was a drug and she was hopelessly, helplessly addicted. He'd invaded her system and that was the end of it. She knew he was bad for her, but she didn't care. Her best friend told her it wasn't right, but she didn't care. Jericho didn't understand. He'd never been here. Never experienced what it was like to be high on Benoit. And, once her fix was over, she was ready, desperate for the next one. It didn’t matter where or when. She needed it and she needed it bad.

He was speaking to her, pulling up his tights, getting himself back to normal again.

"Put your pants on. We're going back to the hotel."

Angel nodded brusquely and then he was gone.

She breathed heavily, hunting down her pants and underwear in the dark, not even thinking that it'd be easier to turn the light on. Her mind was on other things. They were going back to the hotel. She wondered, as a delicious jolt ran up her spine, whether they'd make it without having to stop the car. Probably not. She'd need her next hit and he'd be only too happy to provide it…at a cost, of course. He was expensive, but God, he was worth it. And he was ruining her life. She knew it but didn't care, not in the slightest. She was his slave, completely at his mercy, but it was so good, so intense, so everything. Benoit was right. He did own her. She was his. She belonged to him. If he wanted to keep her as his sex slave, that was fine. He was the best lay ever. None of the others even compared. Ben, Luke, Josh and Tim. It was a short list, true, but she was only twenty. They were all boys. Benoit wasn't. He was an animal - intense, brutal, overpowering. He was her drug of choice and she wasn't yet ready to give him up. Not by a long shot.