Author's Note: A bit of a sequel to ReKindle the Flame. Again, I have left the narrator's slot empty. Choose whomever you like. Enjoy!

Wake

I am not a morning person. Never have been. Never will be.

If possible, I would like to be buried in the latter part of the afternoon just so my mourners can say their goodbyes at a reasonable hour. They've lost a loved one, so their day would already be shot to hell. Why punish them further by making them set their alarm clock for the buttcrack of dawn? Maybe they'd like to go to IHoP beforehand. Have a Denver omelet as they go over their eulogy.

I'm not trying to be pessimistic. Merely realistic.

Speaking of the buttcrack of dawn, that's what I'm dealing with right now. Along with someone else's butt crack.

It may be because I qualify as the warmest spot in the bed. Or because I have an extremely comfortable lap. Whatever the case may be, Chris Jericho is gradually burrowing backwards into my crotch.

The man is grinding away on my dick like a world-class lap dancer. The only thing keeping this from begin a completely Triple X-rated moment are the two layers of cotton between us. And even that is not enough to wick away the heat of Chris' backside.

Physiologically speaking, I have little control over the situation. Since puberty, nature has blessed me with a morning erection. It's as reliable as an atomic clock. It hasn't let me down yet.

Adding to what biology has already provided is the lush and firm bottom of my lover. A lover who insists on rubbing his boxer-clad cheeks against my shaft as if he is trying to start a fire. Which he has.

Chris moans. For a moment, I wonder if he is awake and playing some sort of game with me. His movements become more vigorous as he groans my name.

Gently, I rise up onto my elbows and lean across his body. Chris is definitely asleep.

A dilemma is born. Obviously, Chris' subconscious is working overtime. Sending him the sex dream of a lifetime. While Chris is, apparently, more than willing, I cannot claim to have his expressed consent. I'm not sure how he would react to finding me balls deep in his ass.

But I am about to find out.

My actions cannot be held against me because of what is currently being held against me. While I am no subhuman, ready to fuck anything with an available orifice, I am a hot-blooded, fully erect man sharing a bed with a person that loves me so completely that he won't mind that I've screwed him while he slept.

The boxers are tricky. Chris is resting on his side, pining part of the fabric beneath his body. With some subtle shimmying, I am able to work them loose. Around his knees are as far down as I dare take them.

Well, I've done it now. There's no turning back. It's not as if I could easily explain away the situation if Chris were to wake up right now. I have no idea how I intend to get his underwear back up again. I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

Chris is hard. Which is good. I don't know why it's good. Perhaps I don't want to be the only one involved with a stiff dick. Besides, it adds to the beauty of the picture. Tousled blond hair, underwear knotted around his knees, hard cock poking the mattress, bare ass waiting to be fucked and he's moaning my name.

It's the poor man's Viagra.

Time to test the waters.

A slick middle finger slides into Chris' hole. His muscles grip it tight, but let it pass. I bend my finger slightly. Searching for that magic spot. His sharp intake of breath tells me I've found it. He's always been sensitive to my touch.

"More…" groans Chris.

Not yet. Almost there.

Soon, a second finger joins the first. Sliding all the way inside, curving a bit. They rake across that sweet spot as they withdraw. By the time a third digit enters the equation, Chris has the bed sheets clenched in his fists. He rocks his hips back, gently riding my fingers.

"Give it to me," Chris begs to what I hope is the dream-me. "I want it…"

I risk waking him. Into his ear, I whisper, "What do you want, baby?" I need to hear him say it.

Chris does not disappoint. "Your cock… Gimme your cock… I've been a good boy…"

Yes, he has. An exceptionally good boy.

I rub the head of my dick across hole. While I have, in the past, fucked Chris into near unconsciousness, this will be the first time I've done it with him asleep. "I've got my cock right against your hole, baby. Can you feel it?" I'm certain that, on some level, he can. "Do you want me, Chris?" I kiss his shoulder, his neck, his ear. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yeah…" His fingers dig into the pillow. "Do it…"

No matter how many times we make love, Chris' tightness takes my breath away. His muscles grip my dick, pulling me in. Slowly, I sink. Chris' moans mirror my own. I will never get enough of this beautiful man.

Reaching bottom, I reverse. Pulling back until only the head remains nestled in Chris' body. "You're so tight, baby." Gravity wills me down into that velvet tunnel. "Like you were made for me, Chris. For me to fuck over and over and over…"

I slam down to the root. Pounding Chris with ever inch of me. His voice cracks as he cries out. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Relentlessly, my weight drives my dick deeper into Chris' ass. The springs of the mattress squeak. The headboard bangs against the wall with each downward thrust.

"Such a good boy," I growl into his ear. "Such a good boy to take this thick dick. Squeeze it for me, Chris. Squeeze my dick with your tight ass."

His moans suddenly change. Going from "Oh!" to "Oh?" I watch his blond head turn. Quizzical blue eyes gaze up at me. Slightly out of focus. I do not slow down. Instead, I lean forward, kissing his parted lips as I grind my dick deep.

"Oh, god…" Chris whimpers once I release his lips. "You're really fucking me… I can't believe… Fuck, that's good…" His head drops onto the pillow. "Don't stop… Slam that fucking cock into me… Just like that…Oh, god… Pound me through the fucking mattress!"

I do as I am told. Truthfully, I couldn't stop even if a SWAT team were to burst through the door and order me at gun point. That's how good Chris' ass is. I'm willing to take a bullet for it. "This is better than any dream, isn't it, Chris? A dream dick doesn't spread you open like this. Doesn't hit your spot. Like this." With merciless accuracy, I nail it again and again.

Chris has gone beyond words. Every thrust rips a wild scream from his throat. His hands lock around his pillow in a death-tight grip.

"Come for me, Chris." He's wound so tight around me; I know he's ready to pop. "Come on my cock like a good boy. Shoot your load in the sheets, baby."

Chris' body goes rigid. His head rears back. "Coming!" he cries. "I can't fucking stop! You're fucking me… Oh, god, that cock! ... I can't stop!"

That sweet squeeze becomes too much for me. Chris' muscles milk my dick. Drawing my spunk straight from my balls.

Chris gasps, "You're hot… Damn, I can feel it… Piping inside me… So good… So fucking good…"

Completely drained, I collapse on top of Chris. Careful not to crush him under my weight. I manage to roll to the side. He crawls into my arms. His head rests on my chest.

I glance at the clock. Five thirty-six. Too damn early. "Should I even ask what you were dreaming about?"

No response.

"Chris?" I look down. He's fast asleep. I guess it's too early for him, too.

END