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Shawn only has a limited number of strategies for dealing with interpersonal relationships. Seeing as how this is one of those mushy feelings things and also they both have to work tonight, it's probably best he doesn’t go with number one, i.e. beating the shit out of everyone in the immediate vicinity. So when Hunter finally comes clean to him, starts talking a little wide eyed and blushing about the company princess, Shawn goes with his number two method for success.
He hops on top of Hunter and straddles his lap.
“You can’t date Vince’s little girl.” He says this emphatically, like it's his decision. Sometimes if he says things to Hunter with enough conviction Hunter just believes him.
Hunter’s hair is falling in front of his face and Shawn works to push it back. Hunter shrugs. “I think she’s charming.”
Shawn’s skin goes cold. ‘Charming,’ is the kind of word Hunter would have used before, back when he signed his name with more than three letters and wasn’t embarrassed about the shape of his vowels. He grinds his ass down on Hunter’s lap. “I’m charming,” he says, nonsensically.
He is the goddamn Heartbreak Kid and that is a verb, not an adjective.
One of Hunter’s hands goes to Shawn’s ass and that makes him feel a lot better. “No offense, Shawn,” Hunter quips, “but you lack one or two attributes that I enjoy fooling around with.”
He’s talking about tits, Shawn knows that flat, but part of his brain is conjuring up everything that could possibly apply. Hunter may be dumb as a bag of hammers, but he’s still got all that fancy private school education bouncing around his brain. He still knows what makes wine good and which fork is for fish and loads of other stuff besides. He can probably sail, or some shit. He can probably play tennis. The stream of dirty jokes and cheap beer Shawn’s been feeding him for the past few years hasn’t erased any of that.
Shawn can’t play tennis. He can ride horses, but he has the feeling they ride a different kind of horse in Connecticut.
“She’s a McMahon,” Shawn says meaningfully and then when his voice breaks a little too much, he obfuscates. “She’s the enemy. You can’t date the enemy.”
Hunter rolls his eyes and pulls a smirk. “Uh huh.”
Shawn wants to specify that he never actually dated Vince, but on second thought, decides he doesn’t really want Hunter fucking this chick either. And anyway, Vince was different. Vince is just a carnie barker with a satellite truck. Vince isn't dangerous.
Vince wouldn’t remind you you’re better than me.
Shawn squashes that thought down so far he slids off Hunter’s lap all together, finding the floor under his knees. Hunter’s skintight jeans are close to his face. They unbelt, unbutton, and unzip easily.
“Shawn…”
“I’m bored,” Shawn says. “You’re boring.”
“My apologies.”
Shawn really wants Hunter to stop talking like that. He wets his lips and goes with strategy number three.