Jeff was the envy of every man and some women in the club. He was the subject to the attentions of the hottest girl to ever to step foot on this particular floor. And as the rainbow haired Hardy sat in the chair, his legs splayed comfortably out, Viluppo danced facing away from him, arms over her head, and hips rotating in a slow grind just shy of his hip bone, tauntingly close. The younger half of the Hardy boyz naughtily reached for the voluptuous curvy backside temptingly swaying to and fro.
Only to have his hand slapped away, Viluppo suddenly turned around, waving a disapproving finger in his face. Snapping his teeth at the offending digit in playful retaliation, the North Carolina native groaned as his girlfriend straddled him. Her 'dress' bunched further up toned thighs, barely stopping at the hem of her panties. It was an absurdly appealing idea to again reach for the little demon fixated at giving him a hard on. But Jeff recognized the same mercurial temperament in Viluppo as he did himself. She might revel in his defiance now, but Viluppo could just easily take a crochet bat to his balls.
And for a daredevil such as the pale tag team wrestler, it only added to the rush. Delia smiled down at her boyfriend. She couldn't recall ever having this much fun before. Jeff just knew what buttons to press, and when to not press his luck. 'Or at least most of the time,' she thought wryly of some of the more questionable stunts her boyfriend had pulled, both in and out the ring. The third born horseman couldn't decide whether or not she liked him less for that.
'Snap out of it, contemplation is Beebs area of expertise.' Covering for her slip, Delia used the armrests of Jeff's seat to support her as she leaned even closer into her captive audience's personal space. Rolling her belly in a purely sensual move, the honey skinned horseman's bosom was now level with the rainbow haired wrestler's chin, an effective distraction as Delia brought up her booted heel up, and around his hip while balancing with the other. Still, she managed not to touch him. "You're killing me Villi. I'm turn'n blue here," Jeff all but whined as she somehow maintained minimal physical contact.
She laughed, "The only thing you will be dying from tonight Tiger is exhaustion." Backing off the chaotic horseman got up from her eccentric lover's lap and finally placed her hands on his thighs. The poor boy's heart beat a couple hundred miles a minute as he watched Viluppo's fine boned digits inch upward. Still she continued to dance moving effortlessly with the tune blasting throughout the club. The hawk eyed anarchist threw her head back, causing her sun kissed mane to fall away and reveal some of the more stubborn bruising, which was unable to be concealed.
Abeebah wanted to groan in frustration as Mark held her pinned to the mattress. Even with their thighs, and more intimate areas were rubbed deliciously against each other, her elder bond mate would not be distracted. Not this time, as they were momentarily sated of their more primal instincts. She glared up at him, very much aware that she couldn't dodge his inquisitive gaze. "Come on, it's not that hard of a question to answer," he fought back the smirk that wanted to creep upon his thin mouth.
Hard-hearted and usually steady nerved, Undertaker's friend was becoming twitchy, and Abeebah was never twitchy. "What is with you and your obsession with my sex life?" Immediately the dark horseman bared her teeth in warning as she felt the echoes of his mirth, not to mention his unwavering curiosity. "At most sex is beneficial recreation Mark, which I have, at best, minimal desire to partake in." The eloquence didn't impress Deadman, even though he could only half understand what the dark woman trapped beneath him was saying, he latched onto what she was trying to sidestep.
Stretching her captured hands further above her head, the red headed wrestler pushed his pelvis firmly against hers. And watched with fascination and no small amount of lust as her back arched, eyes closed in rapture with the electricity sparking across their link. "But desire it you do, so why not indulge?" Abeebah's eyes snapped open and glared with enough heat to evaporate the Atlantic "What the fuck do you think I'm doing now?"
Mark didn't dare laugh, he might have the 'upper hand' as of yet but he had no doubt that his 'friend 'would find a way to hurt him. "You never blow off steam with anyone." Curiosity laced with worry filtered their link. Again the young woman seemed confused by him, "I thought a man would like the thought of having his woman all to himself." Mark's prick twitched, his libido spiking on a purely primal level. For all her lack of experience, and nature to the contrary, Abeebah was a surprisingly sensual woman. Sometimes the darkest horseman would say just the right things, in just the right tone, to get the just right response from those not so innocent subjects of attraction.
Even now Mark had to fight with every instinct in his body to not track the progress of the bead of sweat, which was gathering at the hollow of her throat. The red haired man's not so innocent bed partner had piqued his curiosity, not to mention niggling worry. "In some cases," he informed her gruffly, finally being able to speak passed the lump in his throat. Dark brows suddenly rose, "not in yours though?" The Deadman's features contorted and ripened with the images that accompanied that particular statement. If he didn't feel the discerning feedback from Abeebah's annoyance/amusement, the elder Calloway would think that she didn't know exactly what she was doing. "You can tell me what's got ya spooked, you know that right?"
Unconsciously a luscious bottom lip was tugged upon by not so bone white teeth. An awkward cant of dark eyes bespoke all too fluently the feeling behind the unusual gesture. A rising tide of warmth swept over the once cool comfort, and Abeebah became unnervingly aware of what Taker was really asking, but would not say. Do you trust me? The gem eyed woman couldn't honestly say that she did. And not for the first time, the first lady of the horseman wanted to curse the complexity of relationships to the deepest and darkest regions that her imagination could produce.
The steaming vernacular that that shot out of Evan's mouth was tactless, tasteless, and otherwise anatomically impossible to comprehend by anyone that wasn't Brandon. The youngest horseman quickly ducked his head and stared at the menu in his hand. His hunger suddenly dropped like a slab of solid bedrock into the pit of his guts. And although whatever apatite the young manager had died a suddenly violent death, he didn't dare get up. To do so would mean calling unwanted attention to himself, with no one to help him out of the pit of shit he was likely to fall into.
Using the menu that was already in his hand as a shield to hide his face, the youngest Johns turned his eyes heavenward. 'What have I done to possibly deserve this? Did I somehow drop kick Helen Keller and butt fuck Anne Frank in a previous life?' Sitting across from him, Kane visually cut a swath through the rest of the hotel restaurant. The big man had forgone his usual bandage method of covering his face, and had worn a thick hoodie instead. But even the most nondescript clothing in the world couldn't cover the brunette's signature posture which was almost as iconic as his red and black mask. The younger Calloway was alone which was surprising but no less dangerous.
"Sir?" Quickly snapping out of his funk the hazel eyed teen apologized to the server trying to get his attention. The waiter just smiled and placed a drink, presumably an alcoholic beverage in front of him, "the gentlemen over there wanted to buy you a drink." Evan's automatic response of being underage died from his lips as he looked in the direction the server was pointing. The willowy child never wanted to be so drunk so badly in his entire life.
Brandon knew he couldn't be 'that' drunk. Idly tapping the glass in his hand, the second born horseman dragged his eyes up to the woman now sitting beside him. Elizabeth Ann Hulette Savage Lubetsky was a southern belle in every sense of the word. Sun kissed skin somehow glowed under the clubs bad strobe lighting, as the woman easily adjusted her knee length a-line skirt. Elizabeth as always looked immaculate with her tightly done coconut colored curls and long pink acrylic nails, which matched her metallic pumps.
The second born horseman tried not to notice the almost translucent russet blouse that she wore over her very visible slip. Elizabeth was a beautifully curvy woman, much like his elder sister. And they had a similar inclination to the classier fashions, and regal turn of phrases, but that's where the similarities ended. The thirty eight year old was also trouble on two legs, a flirt with enough sass to give any man pause. And normally, Brandon would be one of those unfortunate males, but the added benefits of being near drunk as a skunk included not really giving a damn.
"What the ell' are you do'n ere?" She just smiled that sly vulpine grin that revealed her perfectly straight teeth. "Now come on boy, is that any way to treat your cousin." Even the haze of quality liquor couldn't stop the light skinned horseman's reflexive grimace. "Ya divorced Carey a long time ago woman. Besides I don't consider either of ya blood. He's a much a bastard as you are a bitch." Brown skin heated with a half embarrassed half furious blush. And in his inebriated state, Brandon was unable to completely dodge the slap that glanced off the bridge of his nose.
The light skinned wrestler dropped his glass, causing the bartender to struggle to catch the finely cut vessel before it could shatter on the floor. Brandon's teeth rattled just the slightest with the glancing blow, his intoxicated mind only somewhat registering the sting. "I hope you enjoyed that cause' that'll be the last time you ever hit me." He glared through the haze of alcohol currently clouding his judgment. Recognizing the thinly held violence that lurked in the boy barely man before her, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "I guess we can call it square, seeing as you offended my delicate sensibilities."
Though he had only met his relative by proxy few times, Brandon was hardly outgunned even in his near drunken state. "I ain't begun to offend you're sensibilities. Whatever you're game is I suggest ya drop it before I drop you. If ya lucky, I won't tell Abeebah. I think you have a clear remembrance of what she can do to family. I don't think you wanna contemplate what she would do to you." Brandon looked more sadistically giddy than he aught to be able to, "such a waste of a pretty woman." Elizabeth wasn't able to suppress her full body shutter. "Look I didn't know that you were here, but I guess I should warn ya anyway, you're family regardless of what you and ya siblings keep telling yourselves."
Mick "Mankind Maguire" Foley watched from afar with the rest of Vince McMahon's entourage as the multi millionaire planned out Kane's first address as the WWF champion. Since the newly minted title holder couldn't really speak for himself the sports entertainment tycoon would be doing it for him. The slightly psychotic wrestler knew that he should go warn the big man, but the bitter of defeat was a pill that he hadn't quite completely swallowed. The alter ego of Cactus Jack wasn't remotely ticked off enough to do more than to hurt his 'Cousin Kane' through inactiveness.
As insane as he might be, Mankind was not stupid. He knew who buttered his bread, and who could and most likely would clean his clock. What the Vince lacked in physical prowess and leadership skills, he could make up for in sheer conniving. The fifty two year old was not above making whipping boys out of those in his favor, and the schizophrenic New Yorker knew for a fact that he himself wasn't even close to that level of approval. And until Vince tired of having Kane as a champion, Mankind probably never would have even the slightest chance of obtaining the gold, let alone keeping it.
"We'll keep it straight forward enough, Margo I want that speech done by tomorrow morning no later than ten o' clock. Focus on the adversities and how far this new champion has overcome; I want him to be a poster boy for charity events for recovering trauma patients across the country." Margo, Vince's public relations coordinator didn't bat a lash as she took notes on her employer's wishes. Though she did furrow her brow at the new challenge of somehow making someone like Kane mainstreamable, the un-official polisher of the superstars of the WWF looked forward to the new challenge.
"Maybe we can donate a portion of his bookings from tonight into masks for burn victims? Maybe hire an instructor to improve his social skills, and soften up his image?" Vince's response was immediate, "no, I brought a monster to the WWF, and I'm going to get my money's worth. The donation however is a good idea." "Now ya'll hold it right there," Paul Bearer interrupted them, his grating voiced pitched even higher than usual. "I won't stand fer' anybody cutting ma boy's money even more thinly den it already is." And it was all anyone in the room could do not to scoff; Paul didn't give a damn about anything but his own cut of that after mentioned funds of Kane's paycheck.
The McMahon patriarch wasn't fool enough to try and get rid of the decrepit pit of wasted space, as he had iron clad custody of his new champion. The businessman knew he could get Kane proper therapy and clean up his image so that the brunette could break ways with Bearer. But that meant giving up control of the monster that brought in the fans, causing him to lose more money rather than gain. So no it was more beneficial right now to have the red demon under Bearer's thumb.
"Now Paul, you have to understand that in order for your son's prospects to increase, he himself has to invest." The former mortician, though not intelligent in the classical sense wasn't without his own brand of shrewdness. "He has invested Mr. McMahon, in endorsing merchandise that your company manufactures. In countless promotions and live events, are you now saying that my boy hasn't done all that?" The business tycoon fought the urge to grit his teeth. To lose control was to concede ground, and he knew that if anyone in this room saw any sign of weakness then that could be used against him by rivals within, and out of the business he built with his own two hands.
"Kane is WWF champion Mr. Bearer; this is part of the process as you should well know." It was a direct jab to his abandonment of the Undertaker whom went on to become the WWF without him. And everyone knew it. Bearer was all but silently frothing at the mouth at this point. He knew all too well what had happened once his Undertaker had gained control, and what would happen if his ward were to do the same. But he was determined not to let that happen again, or at least secure his own place before abandoning the emotionally abused giant.
"Of course Mr. McMahon I didn't mean to be rude, but ma son's well being is my only concern." Vince sucked hard on his tooth to stop the automatic disgusted response at the fat man's oily tone. The man had absolutely no good breeding and even less sense to know he was the scum of the earth not fit to breathe the same air as the millionaire his offspring was currently employed by. "Of course, now let's talk interviews; I already have a line of television show reporters lined up."