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John Cena Fan Fiction
3rd-Oct-2008 09:13 am
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I’ve never met them, and this is clearly only real in my delusional mind.
Title: Needs [3/4]
Pairing: Cena//Jeff Hardy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Every relationship progresses….where will this one lead?
Author's Notes: Companion piece to Lots to Learn and Lessons. You should probably read those first.

I had to go back to work eventually. And I knew it would be hard on our relationship, Simply because we wouldn’t be waking up with out tanned bodies tangled together. I had gone back under distress, but knew I had to, or be able to explain why. A part of me still didn’t want to tell anyone that Jeff was sharing more than just my personal space on a daily basis. I had admitted it to myself and that’s what mattered. I just didn’t know how to explain what had come over me.

It had definitely been a long road, and over those three weeks when we were sequestered in my apartment, we laughed, cried and created the bonds that relationships were built on. It was hard, holding his hand tightly as we drove to the airport in my orange GTO Judge. I knew that putting him on the plane would mean not seeing him for a while. I had gotten used to him being under my feet, and I liked taking care of him.

But he needed to be with his friends and family in order for his soul to fully mend, and I couldn’t stand in the way of that sort of healing. I clenched my square jaw tight as he walked through the boarding gates; the scuffed floor mirroring exactly how I felt. It was almost as if I was there every day to hold him up, and now…just being discarded for the comforts of home. I turned away once he was gone, and went to board my flight, which would take me to the PPV location. The location which would house one of the most dangerous matches I would ever take place in. I had no idea how it was going to go down, other than the fact that JBL and myself would most likely be injured in some way.

I didn’t want him to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone I cared about to see me put my body on the line like that. But I had no choice. What the fans want was what I did. I needed those fans.


Searing pain plunged from my neck to my lower back as I tried to hold up the microphone and say my piece. I struggled through my promo, and was confident that no one really thought anything was wrong. I walked backstage as my music blared into my eardrums, vibrating against my tensed nerves. I couldn’t focus, and the throbbing at the back of my neck was competing with the sound system.

Something hurt; like there was an evil little nymph playing the harp on my spinal cord and I knew that was never a good sign, right? The next place I sat down was in front of our trainers, in a worn plastic chair, which every wrestler dreads, but has sat in. Triple H sat there when he had torn his left quadriceps; Batista had done it when he had separated his shoulder. The trainers urged me to go see the specialist we had on retainer, the same specialist that had repaired my pectoral muscle after it had been ripped to shreds. I went to see him once again, and it was the diagnosis that every wrestler fears; a herniated disk.

I told him. The phone call was hard because I didn’t want him to worry, or return from Cameron if he wasn’t ready. He assured me that he was, and that he would be there as soon as he could. I didn’t want to be, but I was relieved, I needed him

His voice kept me steady, giving me all the hope back that I had given him when he had come to me that night, with nothing but despair in his eyes. His hands kept me strong, clasped against mine as my eyelids fluttered with anesthesia. And his kiss made my breathing calm, in post-op when that anesthesia was wearing off. I had no idea how comforting one person could be.

It was then, that I admitted that I needed him with me, always. His clothes needed to be strewn around my living room, leaving neon threads on my mircofibre couch. His cold body needed to be next to me in bed, robbing my of all my hard earned body heat. And his beard trimmer needed to be cluttering up my bathroom.

I talked to him several times over the next week, about getting serious and even moving in together. He said he wasn’t sure he was ready, and I needed to recognize that. I took lots of deep breaths and gave him lots of reassuring words, when really; all I wanted to do was kick myself. I gave my heart, but I was starting to think that my heart wasn’t enough.

After that, we remained almost inseparable, in between shows, and special appearances. I even went to Cameron to see what was left of his house. The self-depiction that stood in his backyard was a haunting reminder of how personal everything had been. I needed to see that he really had nothing left, and maybe someday, he would be ready to rebuild with me. It was difficult to see, an entire life charred and black, especially one so personalized. The only thing that was spared from the fire was his makeshift recording studio, simply a trailer that was spray painted similarly to the colorings of his hair.

We sat on the grass in front of the burnt remnants of his life, and kissed, softly and deeply. I touch his skin softly, like summer winds and he made quiet noises into my fingers. His eyes penetrated my own, and admitted that he needed me. My heart soared in a very unmanly way, but it didn’t matter. He held my rough hand in his, and smiled that beautiful crooked smile. He needed me.

And I needed him too.

11th-Oct-2008 11:09 pm (UTC)
love it! cant wait for more to thissss
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