A simple Cenaton slash. What does John do when he can't sleep?

TWO AM Cenaton                                                                                                                    By Joel182

Two am. For three straight nights he hadn’t been able to get any sleep. It didn’t matter how much he tossed around beneath his sheets or count a million sheep – when two am came around he would find himself sprawled across his bed, uncovered, on his back and staring wide-eyed at the bland ceiling of the hotel room. He rose from the bed – almost Undertaker-like – and slipped his feet into a pair of sandals that sat near his bed.

//This is stupid.// He thought as he dragged his tired body to the bath room. He cupped some water into his hands and splashed it onto his face. The icy water immediately got the blood flowing as he was suddenly very much awake and conscious. His cerulean blues looked up at the small boring clock that hung above the bathroom mirror – two am.

//Fuck.// He walked back into the bedroom with a little more life in his steps. He looked at his already opened suitcase that was lying on the floor. Most of the clothes were already hanging outside the suitcase, so he easily picked off a shirt and three-quarter jeans. Once dressed, he realized just how automatic his actions were as he took a gander at his reflection in the mirror. The gaudy orange shirt and those tired three-quarters. //Where did my sense of style go?// he thought as he glared at himself under the dim room light. Now wide awake, clothed and ready to leave, he took the opportunity to take one last look at the clock. Fifteen minutes had already passed. He grabbed the door keys located in the same place he had left them - on the table beside the door – and exited the room.

No one else was up at this ungodly hour of the morning, but that made his travelling easier. Running into people he knew now wouldn’t be helping him any. There would be too many unnecessary questions asked by too many mouthy people. Like Edge. The slimy cretin was probably born with a hole for where his heart should have been. If he had come out now the entire floor would have known about it.

//Last door on the right.// He memorized the directions perfectly. He lived on the fifth floor and his destination was six floors up. He stopped at door number 60 and stared at it. It was only natural that a small smile would creep onto his face causing his large dimples to cave in and show once he knocked on the door. He straightened his shirt for no reason in particular and did a double check of the empty hallway – to make sure it stayed that way. He raised his hand to knock again, but the sounds coming from inside stayed his hand. The golden knob twisted and the door cracked open. His baby smile grew up fast as he gazed drunkenly into the icy blues that glared back at him.

“Cena. Listen, you can’t -”

“I can’t sleep.”

A long sigh escaped supple lips and the door opened wider. “Fine. Come in.”

He wiped his tongue over his lower lip; his eyes still fixed on the person beside the door, and strolled in to the room. “Thanks.”

He scanned the room quickly as the door shut behind him. He turned around – his smile still plastered on his face and his gaze still burning with intense lust and need. His shirt was already gone and his pants quickly followed. The other party looked at him – his icy blues simmering down as his gaze grew gentler rather than colder.

“Look, John, this has to stop. I need to sleep, and so do you. We’ve got a match coming up later on tonight. We can’t be half-asleep during the match!”

Cena strolled over casually, “I know.” He placed his warm hand on the side of the man’s cheek, his voice downing to mere gravel, “This is the last time Randy.”

Randy knotted his brow a bit in thought before caving in.

As Cena planted his lips onto Randy’s and the sweet taste of Randy’s lips began to slowly intoxicate him, his mind let out one last thought //Until tomorrow.//