Untitled story. (not slashy)

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Untitled story. (not slashy)

Post by Shell on Wed Sep 01, 2010 2:13 pm

A story I wrote from a dream I had. This is the first facfic thing I ever wrote, so please be kind :3


Sitting alone in a dingy bar in the arse hole of Mexico was not how I planned this trip. I wasn’t supposed to be fending off advances from slimy guys and slapping bugs from the back of my neck. I wasn’t even supposed to be coming to this part of the city. This trip was supposed to be very different indeed. This was supposed to be a trip with my boyfriend. We were supposed to be a pair of young lovers, enjoying the sights, the culture, the ambiance.

But then, things never work out the way they should, do they? Your boyfriend isn’t supposed to decide he’s gay and dump you for his best friend is he? That’s not how the fairytales work. That’s how reality works, and I found that out the hard way. That left me with 2 tickets to Mexico and nobody to go with. There was never any question of me cancelling this trip; I’d been saving the money for it for years. But should I have come here alone? Did I even want anyone to come with me anymore? I just wanted to be left alone, not be given sympathetic looks by people who didn’t understand how I was feeling, didn’t have this feeling of utter betrayal eating away at them.

So I refunded his ticket, took the money and flew to Mexico. Was it the right thing to do? Possible not, but…what doesn’t kill me, blah, blah, blah. I still wanted to do all the things we’d planned to do, even if he was curled up in bed with somebody else in a damp flat in London. That’s what led me to the arena in the first place.

He loved wrestling and was especially fascinated with the Lucha Libre style, by the fight between good and evil, the heroes and the heels. He’d spend hours watching videos of matches, commenting on their speed, their agility, their acrobatic ability. So when we started planning the vacation, I knew that we’d have to go to a show. He’d even managed to get tickets right next to the ring. I admit, spending 2 hours watching guys fly through the air, struggling to understand the taunts they would throw back and forth between each other (thanks to my very basic understanding of Spanish) didn’t seem like my idea of a fun night out, but I was determined to make the most of this trip, and if I could do something to make him insanely jealous at the same time, then to the wrestling I would go!

An hour and a half into the show, I’d had enough of the cheers and jeers coming from the over enthusiastic crowd. I was leaving. As I rose to my feet, a pounding beat followed by a sexy bass line and a squealing guitar exploded out of the arena’s speakers. The crowd behind me erupted into screams and cheers as the hero appeared. The Hero was dressed rather…eccentrically, to put it politely. Heavy black boots, perfectly toned legs covered in fishnets, leading to a kind of black shorts/bin liner skirt combo. Moving upwards, his torso was covered by a fetching yellow, blue, orange, green and red body warmer, which revealed his perfect arms. Covering most of his face was the traditional Lucha mask. His was a work of art compared to the others I’d seen so far tonight. It was covered in sequins with stripes of colour at the sides and lined with black around his eyes. It cut away around his mouth to reveal a strong jaw line and full lips crudely smeared in purple lipstick.

As he made his way towards the ring, I realized that he was heading in my direction. Not to look out of place, and to be polite, I started clapping. I smiled as he high-fived the children in the crowd. He was playing the hero card well. As he came nearer to me, I could feel a flush building inside my body. Everything seemed to slow down, the cheers of the crowd became a drone and I could feel my hear pounding in my chest. Now he was in front of me. He reached for my hands and encased them with his own callused palms. He drew my hands to his chest, so close I swear I could feel his heart beating too. I raised my head to see him calmly watching my reaction. I gazed into his icy blue but incredibly warm eyes. All too quickly, he realized that he had somewhere else to be. He whispered to me “Hasta que la próxima vez nosotros encontremos.” He raised my hands up to his mouth and gently kissed the back of my hand, leaving a purple mark in the shape of his lips. As his hand drifted away from mine, reality suddenly screamed back into life. I sat down on my chair in a daze. What had just happed? I felt like a ditzy clichéd blond you’d find in any bad romantic movie. Unfamiliar emotions rushed over me. The crowd seemed too loud, my head was spinning and my lungs were crying out for fresh air. I stood up, my legs shaking, and blindly made my way outside.

Stepping out into the humid night, I took a deep breath. I wondered along until I found a bench, and sat down. I waited until my legs stopped shaking. I stood, preparing to make my way back inside, but people were already filing out of the arena. My throat felt dirty and dry. I’m not normally a drinker, but dammit, I needed a beer.

And so, here I sit nursing the beer I brought when I came in. I’m trying to listen in on the conversations around me. It sounds like the hero won. Good. Thinking about him is bringing on that sensation again. My head is going fuzzy and my heart is aching. How can a man I’ve never spoken to, only met briefly, have so much power over my body already? I don’t even know his name.

A commotion behind me pulls me away from my thoughts. The excited chatter has given way to shouts and cheers as he enters the bar. I turn around on my stool to see him, still dressed in his ring attire. He’s smiling and chatting to his fans with an easy confidence, as if it comes naturally to him. They must love what he’s saying to them, they’re hanging on his every word. I’m trying to hear what he’s saying, but his soft, fluid voice keeps getting drowned out by the roars of laugher coming from those around him.

I turn back to the bar. I haven’t got a hope in hell of talking to him at the moment. I guess it’s just a case of waiting. If he even wants to talk to me that is. He might do this every night for all I know, I was just in the right seat at the right time. I glance at the purple stain on my hand and lower my head. He’s probably got a wife and kids anyway. And why does that thought make me want to scream until I suffocate? My eyes feel sore. I need to rest them for a bit.

The bar has gone deathly quiet. I raise my head to see that the bartender has disappeared. I turn around to see The Hero alone, standing before me. He’s even more handsome than I remember. He starts to speak quickly in Spanish, but I think I can detect an American accent. My head is still too fuzzy to make out much of what he’s saying.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak much Spanish” I mumble, desperately hoping that he speaks some English.
“Ha ha ha! That’s good; I was running out of ways to tell you how beautiful you are!” His laugh is pure filth and it sounds like music to my ears. My mind takes in what he said and my body responds by turning my face the colour of a ripe tomato. He walks up to the bar and hops over it with little effort. I watch in a stupor as he scans the shelves for some alcohol. He plucks a bottle of tequila from the shelf, grabs a bottle of tonic water from the tiny fridge and a lemon from the bowl on the counter. He takes two glasses from the shelf and pours a hearty glug of the tequila into each glass. He halves the lemon and squeezes some of the juice into the glasses, then fills them to the top with the tonic water. He drops a slice of lemon into each of the glasses and passes one to me.
“It's good for you!” he pauses only to take a gulp. “Try it, you’ll love it!” I look at the glass, not really knowing what to do. I lift the glass to my nose and take a sniff. The scent of the lemon is intoxicating, so I take a sip. I utter a low groan of delight as the bubbles dance across my tongue, the lemon hiding the full kick of the tequila until the very last moment.
“Oh my God…what is this?” I’m celebrating on the inside, pleased that that was a semi-coherent sentence.
He laughs that filthy laugh again.
“Another person converted to Cheech then?!” He walks around to my side of the bar and sits next to me. I try and make another attempt at a sentence.
“Who are you?”
“My name…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “…Is The Snoo!” I can’t help but laugh like a maniac. I turn my head slightly to face him and raise an eyebrow. He laughs and mirrors my actions “ok, ok, my name is Tré…Tré Cool.” I laugh again as he smiles (which makes me melt a little inside) “no, seriously! Everybody calls me Tré! They have since I was a teenager!”
“Nice to meet you, Tré!” I say with a grin.
“And you! But what are you doing here by yourself? I take it you are here alone…”
I grimace as I recount my tale of woe. It feels strange but it’s so easy to talk to him. I finish with a sigh. Yep, despite the devilishly handsome man next to me and more alcohol than I have drunk in a while inside me, betrayal is still a bitch.
“He must be mad to dump such an amazing girl. Was he dropped on his head as a child?” I laugh gladly at that, but Tré looks serious, he gently places his hand over mine. I scan his hands quickly. No wedding ring, SCORE! I try to compose myself.
“What about you? Why are you out here?”
He replies with a look so sad it nearly breaks my heart in two.
“I’m going through a divorce at the moment. This is my vacation from all the hassles back home.”
“Oh, I’m sorry…” I can’t think of anything else to say. I lower my head. He turns to me, so I look up into those eyes. I could get lost in his eyes. I turn to turn to face him properly, but I lose my balance. The stool tips backwards, taking me with it. Tré makes a late grab for my hand, but my momentum just ends up pulling him down with me. We land in a giggling heap. He rolls on to his side, so I do too. He closes his eyes as he leans in to kiss me. My heart skips a beat as our lips meet. His kiss has me addicted immediately. There is only one thing bothering me. I pull away.
“What's wrong?” he says, propping himself up on one elbow. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, which is still slightly stained purple. I sit up and reach for the mask. He moves his head forward and allows me to remove it, revealing a flash of copper hair, as well as his handsome features.
“Much better” I murmur, pulling him into my embrace.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be, I think to myself with a smile. But then, I’ve never been one for convention!


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Shell

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Re: Untitled story. (not slashy)

Post by PunKZ on Fri Sep 03, 2010 4:00 am

Wow... Honestly, I'm really impressed. I came into this thread, I was really tired, it's even a pain in the ass to keep my eyes open. I see a wall of text and goes thinking "meh...too fucking tired to read all this".. But for some reason, I read the first line, and couldn't stop til' I was finished.

I've read many, many, many books, thanks to my mom actually. And you're a good writer, no kidding. I think that you should sit down and write more often to be honest. Was a really good read. Loved it <3
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PunKZ

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Re: Untitled story. (not slashy)

Post by Shell on Mon Sep 06, 2010 4:14 am

Wow... Thank you. The last few hours or so, I've been feeling really low and close to tears. I came on here, just to see if anyone had posted anything new, saw that this had a reply and wasn't even sure I could deal with any comments, or even worse criticism. I'm glad I clicked it anyway. You've just made my night. I'm honestly stunned that anyone would like my writing.

Thank you <3

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Shell

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Join date : 2009-07-12
Age : 33
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Re: Untitled story. (not slashy)

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