TITLE: Listening In

AUTHOR: Simply-Cath

DISCLAIMER : Don't own the characters involved, this didn't happen, using the names without permission, etc.

DISTRIBUTION: WWFSML, here, if anyone would like to post it on their site, please get my permission first. Go ahead, ask, don't be shy.

RATING: M

CONTENT: m/m slash, implied m/m/m slash. You've been warned. If you don't like slash, don't read this.

NOTES: Takes place during season 1 of NXT.

CHARACTERS: Chris Jericho, Wade Barrett and someone else, revealed at the end.

SUMMARY: Time for some slightly unconventional pro-to-rookie advice.

Listening In

By: Cath

It strikes me that my rookie has stopped listening to me; and when the heavyweight champion is trying to give you advice, you'd better damn well pay attention. My hand lashes out, then burns after the contact. Barrett's head snaps to one side; he looks pissed. He's about two seconds from coming after me, but let him try. You don't rise to the level I'm at without knowing how to fell guys a hell of a lot bigger than you.

"Listen up, Barrett," the words calm him down a touch, but I'm not mollified yet. "I'm starting to think that you don't want this very much." That definitely gets his attention, but I continue before he can do more than open his mouth. "Here you are, you have the unabashed privilege of getting Chris Jericho for your pro. You have the world heavyweight champion giving you personalized advice on how to succeed in this industry, and how to be a champion... but you? You can't even bother to maintain eye contact. And that sort of distraction can cost you a match, cost you a championship and it will damn sure cost you this competition. So tell me, Wade, what in the hell is worth risking all of that?"

He doesn't answer verbally; instead, he glances over to the side again. This time, I look over to see what is so damned important.

Down the hall, it seems that a few other rookie/pro conferences are going on. Regal and his ox are there, so are Christian and the ginger, Miz and the twerp and Hardy and his midget.

Barrett's eyes are burning with something that isn't quite hatred, but I can't tell who he's looking at. All right, fine, if it'll get my rookie's eyes back on the prize, then so be it: Time for some slightly unconventional pro-to-rookie advice.

This time my hand goes on his shoulder, instead of across his face. Not as dramatic, but it gets his eyes on me again. "All right, Wade, listen up. I want you to do whatever it takes to get your head back in the game, do you understand me?"

That familiar smirk settles across Barrett's features. "You're right, of course. I think I'll get on it straight away."

He turns away from me and heads towards the others. I go in the opposite direction, satisfied that my problem will be solved in one way or another. The itch will get scratched or he'll get slapped for the second time, but hey, a pro can't prepare his rookie for everything, now can he?

(**)

I'm not sure who started the unofficial "rookies room with pro" rule, but it's certainly worked in my favour. Barrett's quiet, neat and respectful. Even if he were here, I'd be showering first.

As I open the bathroom door, I see the knob twist and Barrett comes in. He's smirking of course, but there's a little more to it.

I toss my towel back over my shoulder. "Did you take care of things?" Normally, I wouldn't give a shit, but I don't want to be saddled with a dud for a rookie.

"Oh yes," I didn't think that smug grin could get any wider, but here we are. "Yes, the situation has been more than handled."

"Good," I snap, brushing past him and heading for the bed closest to the wall. "Now I don't want to hear any more about it."

(**)

"Mmm, Wade."

What? What the hell? I start to say something, but more noises give me pause. I open my eyes, blinking a few times as I try to get my bearings. As I start to roll on to my back, there's another voice, one that is most definitely not Wade. Oh, that insidious bastard.

"What if he-?"

"He won't if we keep it down. And if he does, he'll get quite the show, now won't he?"

That seems to mollify Wade's bed partner. I can't place the other voice, but I really don't care. I open my mouth, ready to put an end to the little show the two of them are trying to put on. God help them both if it's another rookie, because I will beat the shit out of them both for this.

I can hear the rustle of cloth and catch a glimpse of something dark go flying towards the window, most likely a shirt. The mattress is squeaking and protesting a bit as the two bodies shift around, but I won't give them the satisfaction of looking. Fine, let them think their little show is so boring it can't even wake up the man next to them. Satisfied with this course of action, I close my eyes and try to get back to sleep.

"Mmm, Wade... there, right there." And the words end on a sharp gasp and a soft chuckle. I shouldn't be surprised that the big bastard has an ego in bed. It's only fitting.

Closing my eyes might have been a mistake. The sounds seem sharper now. The rasp of skin-on-skin, the familiar gasps and breathy moans and soft whispers are driving me to distraction. My blanket seems much heavier now and far too warm. I won't give them the satisfaction of reacting.

There's a soft growl and a muffled, "Fuck." Wade really isn't much for swearing, so his partner must be fairly talented himself. And going from the little chuckle that comes after it, Wade and I aren't the only egotists in the room. At least my rookie has good taste.

The noises are getting louder now. The rasp of nails is more insistent, the rustle of clothing is hastier than before. Wade's breathing harder now, it seems like he's getting impatient. Hell, so am I. But I won't give them the satisfaction. Chris Jericho is not a man who gets played easily.

I try and distract myself from their moans and gasps, from the slap of skin on skin. All I can focus on is the gentle thudding of the bedposts against the wall. Six, seven...

"Ah fuck, Wade. Right there."

"Mmm, like that do we?"

"Shut up and fuck, Limey."

Eighteen, nineteen...

More moaning, more gasping and a hell of a lot more filthy talk; can't these idiots tell I'm trying to count?

Thirty four, thirty five, it's getting faster now, and I lose count in a hurry.

A few more hard smacks against the wall, some soft murmuring and things finally go quiet. Sons of bitches, I should show them what it means to disrespect the world heavyweight champion. I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly, forcing breath in through the nose and out through the mouth, but it's useless.

The carpet is cool underfoot as I make my way into the washroom. In the darkness, I can't make out anything other than dim shapes. It doesn't matter who it is. Wade and his little playmate will pay dearly for this three a.m cold shower.

(**)

"Listen," Wade's voice is soft and I sure as hell hope he's not hoping for some kind of early morning con- oh right. The bastard isn't talking to me. "You should probably get a move on."

"It's a little late for that," I snap, sitting up, turning towards them. So it's the ginger... Sawyer? Slater. Right, Slater; Christian is going to get a few choice words about keeping his rookie in line. "Of all the unmitigated gall—"

Slater turns on his side facing me, his body settled against Wade's. A blanket covers him from his stomach to his thigh. Wade's hand is under the sheet; whatever he's doing with it makes Slater's eyes flutter and his body shiver.

"You listen to me." Getting their attention is proving a little harder than I expected. "Barrett, Slater, when I get through with the two of you-"

Slater doesn't open his eyes, but he tilts his head back. "Or you could join in."

I have to imagine that Wade looks only half as shocked as I do.

"Think about it," Heath flashes a grin and I take a step forward to smack it off his smug little face. "We could make it up to you for keeping you up all night, it'd be fun as hell..."

"Besides," Wade lifts his lips from Heath's neck just long enough to speak. "You are the only pro in the room. I'm certain you could teach us a thing or two."

"Are you two out of your damn minds?" I glare at them, trying to get their attention before they get too carried away. "The unmitigated gall you two have, trying to proposition me, Chris Jericho, the world heavyweight champion? To even presume that you have the necessary skills to satisfy me is laughable; so laughable that I will prove that you are as amateurish in bed as you are in the ring. Now move over."

I suppose it's never too early for a little pro-to-rookie wisdom.

THE END

Hope you all enjoyed reading this, it was a lot of fun to write.

This is going to be the first story in a series of Wade/Heath ones based on each of the five senses. Some will be a little longer, like this one, others may be drabbles.

Hope you had fun,

Cath