"That Don't Impress Me Much"-by Lizzie
Title: That Don't Impress Me Much
Author: Lizzie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: Oh, I don't know, maybe PG-13? Better to be safe than sorry,
I guess.
Content: Language, a Shania Twain song, some silliness and m/m
alluded to.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and unless I wake up one morning having
mysteriously become Vince McMahon, I doubt they ever will be. Oh, and
the song was written by Shania Twain and Mutt Lange - it's got as
little to do with me as the wrestlers do.
Distribution: Not that you're likely to want it, but if you do, just
tell me where.
Summary: Response to Val's Songfic challenge (on the
slashfic_requests list), using Shania Twain's 'That Don't Impress Me
Much' with Matt Hardy and Triple H. Except I'm not sure this counts
as a real songfic - I used the song as Karaoke :)
***
That Don't Impress Me Much
***
"You're a bastard, Hunter. A complete bastard. You *do* know that,
right?"
"I know, I know - I'm the bastard son of a bastard's bastard and I
ought to be ashamed of myself".
"You bet your ass you are. How the hell could you do this to me? God,
Hunter, you devious bastard son of a bitch!"
"Oh stop complaining and get up there, Matt. Just 'cause you don't
want to sing".
Matt Hardy rolled his eyes, downing what was left of his third beer,
glaring at Hunter over the bottle-littered tabletop. They were
sitting in a dim corner of a crowded karaoke bar, flicking peanuts at
each other while a large leather-clad biker croaked his way through a
truly abominable rendition of Trisha Yearwood's 'How Do I Live', his
bleary-eyed girlfriend peering up at him adoringly. Matt had to
wonder how he'd been talking into this - Hunter may be good but he
wasn't sure he'd call him good enough for him to agree to sing in
public.
"Easy for you to say", Matt grumbled, grinning as the peanut he
flicked hit Hunter directly between the eyes and fell into his beer
with a satisfying plunk. Hunter growled mock-threateningly and Matt
hauled himself out of his chair. He was up next, after the biker guy,
and he had a song to choose before he went on.
"So, what can we do for you?" the host asked him when he'd finally
made it across the packed, smoke-filled room. He looked like a
fifties lounge act, dressed in head-to-toe silver sparkly stuff that
Matt guessed was a suit, and he was smiling despite the look in his
eyes as he eyed Matt. He could tell what the guy was thinking - early
twenties, long hair, dressed in black, oh my God please don't let him
ask for Metallica - and Matt felt like telling him to shove it before
he thought up the perfect song.
"I'm sorry, you want to do *what*?" the host asked, wide-eyed, as
Matt told him his choice. He smirked, scribbling it on an order pad
and handing it to him. "Oh". The host's eyes lit up. "Oh great. Well,
that's different. Another minute or so and you're on".
Matt nodded, not really paying attention as the guy went to find the
music; he was watching Hunter as he sat alone at the table, knocking
back another beer, grimacing at the tuneless singing being pumped out
mercilessly by the biker. He'd make him pay for this one way or
another, if it was the last thing he did. The bastard knew he hated
to sing. He was just doing this to watch him squirm. Oh well, he'd
just have to find a way to make him squirm in return.
"A big hand for Merv and his *unique* rendition of 'How Do I Live',
everyone!" the host cooed into the microphone. There was a polite
smattering of applause, probably more to do with the fact that he'd
finished than the quality of his singing. "And now, put your hands
together for Matt Hardy and a very unlikely choice of track".
Matt's stomach lurched as he made his way up to the stage, passing
the host on his way who gave him a wink and a pat on the back. God,
there was no way he was drunk enough to do this. Given half a bottle
of tequila, a few more beers and a complete personality transplant,
maybe� Hunter would have to pay, big time.
He took a deep breath as the music started up, immensely grateful for
the strong lights shining down on him so he could only see the first
few tables closest to the stage. He'd never understand how he could
go out every other night and put on a show in front of thousands of
people and a television audience but couldn't get over singing in
public. Probably something to do with the fact that out there he was
Matt Hardy, WWF Superstar, ex-WWF Tag-Team Champion, and here he was
Matt Hardy, awkward singing guy. He'd kinda always thought singing
was baring a little bit of your soul, whereas when he wrestled he had
a person to hide behind. Plus, in the WWF he had his little brother
to back him up.
But he was there now, up on stage in front of people, Hunter watching
from the corner, the music already started. It was too late. Now he
had to go through with it. He opened his mouth, took another deep
breath, and as the words appeared on the monitor he began to sing.
"'I've known a few guys who thought they were pretty smart
But you've got being right down to an art
You think you're a genius -- you drive me up the wall
You're a regular original, a know-it-all
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else
Okay, so you're a rocket scientist'"
Oh hell yeah Hunter thought he was smart. All those snide remarks
about his grammar or his diction and watching game shows with the man
was a bloody nightmare that usually ended with an argument, a punch-
up or Matt leaving the room in a huff. Hunter Hearst know-it-all
Helmsley.
"'That don't impress me much
So you got the brain but have you got the touch
Don't get me wrong, yeah I think you're alright
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don't impress me much'"
Matt grinned. Goddamnit, he was getting into this� And it seemed like
the audience was, too. He might not have had the voice to charge off
on a second career as a rock star, but at least he was hitting the
notes and not sounding a complete ass. And his enthusiasm counted for
a lot.
"'I never knew a guy who carried a mirror in his pocket
And a comb up his sleeve -- just in case
All that extra hold gel in his hair oughtta lock it
'Cause Heaven forbid that it should fall out of place
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else
Okay, so you're Brad Pitt'"
Yup, that described Hunter to a tee. Jeez, the guy could spend hours
in from of the mirror, fluffing with his hair and stressing over
laughter lines. If he asked Matt if he thought he was getting fat
just one more time, he swore he was going to snap. He always looked
great, for fuck's sake! He guessed Hunter was just vain.
"' That don't impress me much
So you got the looks but have you got the touch
Don't get me wrong, yeah I think you're alright
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don't impress me much'"
Now he was actually enjoying it. There were a few people in the
audience clapping along, the host grinning off to his left, and he
was getting an incredible buzz, not to mention the frustration-
venting.
"' You're one of those guys who likes to shine his machine
You make me take off my shoes before you let me get in
I can't believe you kiss your car good night
C'mon baby tell me -- you must be jokin', right!
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else
Okay, so you've got a car'"
Yeah, so that last bit made virtually no sense if you took it
literally� But when he thought about it, you could apply it to things
other than a car� like Hunter's hotel rooms that always had to be
kept spotless. Or Hunter's bathroom or Hunter's clothing or� Hunter!
The guy was a neat freak and it drove him nuts. Just once he'd like a
night of passion that didn't end with a) a bath, b) making the bed or
c) cleaning the fucking room.
"' That don't impress me much
So you got the moves but have you got the touch
Don't get me wrong, yeah I think you're alright
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don't impress me much
You think you're cool but have you got the touch
Don't get me wrong, yeah I think you're alright
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don't impress me much'"
Matt wound up the song to a substantially more than polite applause -
the host bounced up on stage like a demented grinning leprechaun and
the audience applauded some more - Matt grinned and bowed then
bounded down off-stage. A couple of lighting techs and a waitress
told him he'd done good, then when he went for a beer the barman told
him it was on the host. As a girl got up to sing some mushy Sinead
O'Connor, Matt made his way back to the corner, and to Hunter.
"So what did you think?" he asked, dropping down into his seat,
swigging from the bottle.
Hunter just frowned slightly, his face basically unreadable. Matt
dropped the grin.
"Hunter? Hunt?"
"God Matt, you really do hate me, don't you".
Matt frowned. "What?"
"I said, 'you really do hate me, don't you'", Hunter repeated. "I
made you go up there and sing and you actually meant every single
word of that fucking Shania song. I never realised how much you hate
me".
"What the hell? I don't� How could you�? What the hell?"
"You think I'm vain, arrogant, obsessive� Matt, you fucking hate me".
Matt sighed, downing his beer. What a night this was turning out to
be.
"Yeah, Hunter, I hate you", he told him, setting down his bottle with
a bang. "I hate how you think you're always right and how you correct
me and how you're looking in the mirror every six seconds, and I hate
your compulsive neatness and how most of time after we're through
fucking you make me shower like I'm dirty and it'll rub off on you or
something. God, Hunter, I fucking *loathe* you".
"Wow, be honest won't you", Hunter muttered. Matt rolled his eyes.
"And I hate interruptions. Look at me". Hunter's glistening, wet eyes
flickered up to meet Matt's gaze. "But you know what? Y'know why you
get under my damn skin so damn much?" Hunter shook his head slowly.
"It's 'cause I fucking love you, Hunter. You drive me nuts, but
there's so much other stuff about you that I fucking love you for
it".
A slow smiled spread across Hunter's face, his eyes getting a shade
or two wetter. As Matt took a swig of Hunter's beer to steady his
nerves, Hunter was actually beaming.
"Do you mean that?" Matt nodded, smiling a small smile. "God, Matt, I
love you too". Now Matt was beaming. "I'm sorry, you know that,
right? I don't mean to make you crazy it's just how I am but I can
try to stop it and I don't mean to make you feel dirty I just like
things clean and that gel you use smells great and we don't have to
be so neat if it bothers you and oh God I love you Matt and I'm�"
"Oh shut up, Hunter", Matt said with a smile, enjoying the look of
surprise. "Enough talk. If you love me, just take me back to the
hotel and show me".
Hunter smiled, grabbing his coat.
"Now that I can do".
***
End!!
***