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Everyone’s pretty much gone home but Sami just can’t bring himself to leave. Fact is, he can’t bring himself to take his boots off, so he’s just sitting there, alone in his locker room, still slick with sweat from that fucking career-maker of a match he just had with Cesaro. That match that he lost. That guy he couldn’t beat.
Fucking Cesaro. And he just had to be the honorable man… had to hug him after that match, had to… say those words. Those words that were repeating now, in his head, in that accent, with his soft voice and warm breath right next to his ear. Fuck Cesaro.
He’s muttering this to himself aloud, because no-one’s around, because he’s got no-one to talk to, because no-one really understands what just happened, what he went through tonight. How could anyone? The only one with any semblance of comprehension at this point in time would be—
“You’re still here.”
—him. Sami looks up and Cesaro is standing in the doorway. Should have fucking closed the thing, he thinks to himself.
Sami chuckles softly and stands up, though he’s not sure why. “Yeah,” he shrugs, “Guess I am.”
Cesaro takes a step inside but continues to lean against the wall next to the door, arms folded, like he’s not really committed to being there. “Why?” he asks.
“Why are you?” Sami shoots back. He ran out of politeness all of about two hours ago.
This time Cesaro makes a little shrug. He hasn’t gotten changed either, Sami finds himself realising. He’s just wearing his trunks, his thigh strapping pushed down to the top of his boots. His legs look weirdly naked, apart from all the hair.
“One of those nights, I guess,” Cesaro says finally. Sami cocks his head and Cesaro adds, “The ones you don’t want to be over.”
“We put something great out there, didn’t we?” Sami walks over to him, slowly, not even quite steady on his own two feet. His body aches and his muscles are crying out for an ice bath or just… bed, really, at this point.
Cesaro nods in agreement and unfolds his arms, revealing the broad expanse of his sculpted chest. Sami’s head is already down, so he just darts his eyes a little further and follows the fine trail of hair down from his stomach until it disappears into his trunks.
There’s so much adrenaline in his system right now he doesn’t quite know what he’s thinking when he walks right up to Cesaro, looks him in the eye—Cesaro looks back, curious amusement on his face—and then all he wants to do is kiss him.
So he does. He plants his lips right on Cesaro’s and their faces mash together for a moment and it’s kind of hairy and sweaty feeling but soft in the middle where their lips come together and all of it together is kind of perfect. And then fear rushes through him and he stops, and pulls back, and Cesaro’s expression is no longer amused.
“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing he can think of to say. He’s afraid now, afraid he’s going to get his ass handed to him for a second (or technically third) time tonight, but more than that he’s afraid of what Cesaro’s going to say as he does it. Not that it’ll be anything he hasn’t heard before—queer, faggot, you name it—but he knows how much more it’ll hurt coming from… him.
He flinches as Cesaro takes hold of both his arms, vice-gripped, enough to hurt, and turns him around 180 degrees, slams him against the wall. Cesaro’s eyes are like fire now and Sami is being almost lifted from the ground.
Sami begins to stammer out, “Listen, I don’t—”, before Cesaro shuts him up, and the force of his kiss is a million times more powerful than any European upper cut he’s ever been on the receiving end of.
Cesaro completely captures Sami, creates gorgeous friction and unravels him, and it’s just like he’s always thought Cesaro would kiss. He dominates and presses him to the wall with the hulking mass of his body, and then brushes Sami’s bottom lip as softly as he’s ever felt with his tongue, and Sami opens and lets him in.
And Sami’s conscious of the fact that he was the instigator in this, but is now a passive partner, and seeks to remedy that by flicking his tongue up against Cesaro’s as it darts into his mouth. Cesaro growls and delves deeper, and Sami quivers. He’s never quivered in his life, but Cesaro can do things to his body that nobody else ever has before, as if that wasn’t evident enough from their match tonight—but this is better, so much better, it’s the best Sami’s ever felt in his fucking life.
He’s kind of just waiting, anticipating what Cesaro’s going to do next, and at this point Sami feels like he could just about go for anything. And all this time, as Cesaro’s just been ravishing him, Sami realizes that he’s been moaning and gasping, and Cesaro has let go of his arms and they are now wrapped around the larger man’s back, holding him against him, and Sami can’t let go—doesn’t want to, because he gets the feeling that once the kiss is over, it’s all fucking over.
Cesaro pulls back and Sami pants for breath, feels that joyful post-kiss tingle on his lips, feels an uncomfortable tightness in his pants, feels finally like he might be able to take off his boots now, if Cesaro would let him out from against this wall.
Cesaro chuckles looking at Sami, must see the pleading lust evident in his eyes. “You’re a mess,” he says, and runs a hand through his ginger crop of hair. “You got someone to drive you home?”
Sami shakes his head.
“Come on, get your stuff,” Cesaro says. “We probably need to talk.”
Sami nods and rushes to get his bags and brings them back to where Cesaro stands. Sami looks up at him once more, searching for something affirmative in his face. Cesaro pushes him through the door with a strong but affectionate hand on the nape of his neck, into the cool corridor, causing a shiver to run down his spine. The hand stays there, safe and secure, as they walk all the way out to the parking lot.