Locker room lights hum too bright, fluorescent and harsh, but I barely notice. My focus should be on the match—Triple H, tonight, three falls, every move calculated—but I can’t stop watching him. He’s stretching, muscles rippling under the sheen of oil, every tendon and vein a map I could get lost in.I pace, trying to rehearse counters, planning the flow, but the lines blur. I imagine the first lock-up, his chest pressing into mine, the sheer weight of him. My mind wanders—what if I let him take control? Just for a second. To feel the press, the leverage, the force of him on top of me, like we’re not performing at all.I shake my head. Ridiculous. Dangerous. But the thought lingers, teasing the edge of every calculation I’ve made. Strategy fights for attention, but the rest of me is already distracted, captivated, and strangely willing.The bell will ring soon. I’ll fight. I’ll wrestle. I’ll execute the plan. But part of me… part of me is already imagining the weight, the closeness, the collision that isn’t in the script. And that part isn’t ready to let go.Did he actually say this ?
did the summer of punk 2 really culminate in a nash vs hhh match?!?!?!?
Triple H was backstage, loosening up before his match, when he reached for his usual bottle of wrestling oil. In the chaos of a hectic night, he didn’t notice he’d grabbed the wrong one.A few rubs later, he realized the unmistakable scent—it wasn’t his signature pine-and-citrus blend. It was… John Cena’s.“Oh, no. Cena’s… oil?” Triple H muttered, horrified. “I’m so sorry, John!”Cena, who had just walked past, sniffed the air and raised an eyebrow. “You *used my oil,* huh?”“I… I didn’t mean to!” Triple H stammered, dabbing at his shoulders. “It was an accident! I swear!”Cena’s grin was mischievous, almost theatrical. “Well… accidents happen. But since you used it… you owe me a little… repayment.”Triple H’s brow furrowed. “Repayment? I’ll do whatever—just tell me what you want, I’ll—”Cena leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “I think… a massage. One hour. You, kneeling, working out every knot and stress point. With the lights dim, some music… you know, romantic vibes.”Triple H blinked. “Romantic…?”“Exactly,” Cena said, smirking. “Consider it… a bonding experience. And a little lesson in respecting other wrestlers’ scented products.”Triple H groaned but couldn’t help laughing. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to smile the whole time.”Cena winked. “Oh, I *expect* it.”And so, for the first time in their careers, two of wrestling’s fiercest competitors found themselves in a very unusual kind of ring—one where scented oils, dim lighting, and a little forced romance ruled the match.
>>19787657interesting
>>19787657preparing for HHH>Preparation Hheh.
>>19787657
>>19787657guys is this real? im shaking
>>19787657>>19787734i chubbed up.....
>>19787734I remember this
>>19791247I popped
>>19787734wow
