Chris Crossed

Kyra groaned softly, rubbing her sore neck and trying to focus on the papers that Mr. Bischoff wanted her to finish drawing up. At the thought of him she made a face. Not that she really minded doing this stuff, it was all a part of her job as his [somewhat invisible, at least camera-wise] assistant after all. But she'd already put in a long, action-packed day and had been heading home to the comfort of her warm cozy apartment for a nap, and a bath when he'd stopped her with this new task that couldn't wait- then he'd had to step out. And never returned.

'Must've been important, more so than his other calls at least,' she sighed to herself, 'Or he just wanted to head home for a break himself and didn't care,' some snarkier part of her added. Her eyes narrowed at that.

"Long day?" a low, husky murmur came from the doorway in an almost concerned, questing note. Looking up with a start (having thought she was all alone here), Kyra saw the leading light [the cause] of her most feverish, forbidden fantasies- Chris Jericho. He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed, head tilted enough for a few long golden locks to shade his face and the lips tipped up in a sexy smile.

Licking her own lips distractedly, she wondered how Trish could have ever turned her back on *that*, on *him*- for any reason. 'She must be a total fool behind that glittering surface.' Kyra cleared her throat. 'He's obviously here to see Mr. Bischoff about his upcoming championship match,' she noted mentally, dragging her errant gaze away from him and hoping he hadn't caught her eyeing him like that. The wistfulness in that thought surprised her.

Mentally shaking herself, the auburn-haired girl nodded with a rueful quirk of her lips. "You're a bit late though, Mr. Bischoff already stepped out for the night," Kyra replied to his silent question as he took his gaze from her long enough to sweep the room.

Chris shrugged almost carelessly with a wry smile of his own, "I guess I'll have to see him early tomorrow morning then. Real sore?" he asked, switching topics as his sharp eyes went to the hand now still kneading her shoulder.

She half- sighed, half-laughed with another nod, hand dropping, "But no more than usual. I just have so much to do...." Her voice trailed off and one of her shoulders lifted in a demi-shrug. "Not that it's anything compared to what you guys go through in the ring," she tried to downplay it, eyes luminous.

The bright, crystalline color of his eyes deepened, shone with a teasing light. "You mean playing around with those, nah. You got the tough part catering to Bischoff and being pushed around." His voice hinted maybe she was noticed after all as she thought of the push earlier by one of the angry athletes as they stomped through the halls, not looking where they were going, that had contributed to her aches.

He raised a brow, his heated smile kicking up a notch. "But I could help you out there?" His offer coupled with that grin temporarily robbed her of breath. "I've been told I give great massages," his voice took on a coaxing note. As if she need much coaxing!

Kyra swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and forced herself to act normally. She arched one perfect brow. "Oh really?" she teased. His lips curved further and her heart skipped a beat, her struggling not to think of those very lips moving hotly against hers, over her skin....

"You doubt me?" he queried wickedly, eyes dancing. "Come here and I'll prove it," he motioned to the leather couch adjacent to the door with the potted plants on either end. His look was decidedly sinful now. Her heart skipped another beat. Two.

"I dunno..." she hedged, "I'm kinda in the middle of all this paperwork...."

Chris grinned as if sensing the truth behind her excuse, "What have you got to lose? You've been working all day, longer than we have, and could use a break as much as anyone. Besides, I'm well versed in massage and relaxation techniques. I started them years ago and got into the practice myself."

His tone became more cajoling, seductive even, and she bit the inside of her lip, forehead wrinkling in thought. Could she trust him? Or better yet, could she trust herself? Could she still manage to resist his charm once he had his hands on her? Because God knows she's wanted long enough, legs weakening and skin quivering slightly every time he even stepped into the room. As he was now.

"Let me help. You have my word I'll be the perfect gentleman... unless you want me to be otherwise." The star wrestler and rocker smirked suggestively. Kyra laughed, she couldn't help it.

"Okay," she allowed, eyes holding a new sparkle. The words filtered between them, oddly tame to have such a bearing on her emotions, and on Chris. "You won't be sorry," he grinned. And she wandered what had made him take interest in the first place. But he was already speaking again, "Now let's get started."

Seeing him holding out his hand to her where she stood behind the desk, she rounded it to accept his lead and he sat them on the couch, positioning her so her back faced him. 'Was it too late to back out?' she wondered, quickly nervous again and biting her lip. 'Don't ruin this,' another voice in her head warned.

Her body already felt like it was wired with live currents, suddenly ultra sensitive and primed to react though she stiffened her spine out of habit, anxious and full of tension. Then drawing her legs up, she braced against the cushion to get as comfortable as possible without being *too* comfortable.

"Pull your hair up into that clip. Most of it's fallen out and I want to work with your neck muscles," Chris said, smoothing her hair back a bit with a light touch. Kyra found herself forgetting to breathe for a moment, anticipation taking hold without quite pushing her into the red zone, alarm was currently enough in easy range so she could just nod and do as he asked.

Slipping his fingers around her throat, he eased her forward until she circled her head in a slow, smooth motion that made her neck creak and her muscles pull- while she took a deep breath and he gently worked out the knots at her shoulder. "This is a handy trick to. Easy to remember and you can do it anywhere."

He sounded so pragmatic and professional, while the hint of teasing never left, that she almost smiled. Almost. There was something too pitifully desperate about the way she longed to be touched now. For a woman who'd sworn off sex (for good reason), she was playing with fire. Trailing his fingers beneath her chin, Chris directed her to deepen the motion until the muscles were pulling halfway down her back, a sensation that wasn't unpleasant. 'Okay, this is fine. This I've done a dozen times on my own,' she tried to school her thoughts.

"I'm going to let you go. Keep that up until I tell you to stop." She did again as Chris asked while his fingertips trailed down her throat, caressing the muscles there with a touch that was still slow, smooth, *safe*. A gentleman's touch. A very skilled touch.

'Wow,' her mind echoed. "You're very good," she murmured.

"Thank you."

A pause. "How often did you say you get these," the twenty-three year old asked, licking her lips subconsciously.

"Usually three times a week."

"Will you take me along?" He chuckled, a rich burst of sound that gusted over her hair, ruffling wisps against her cheek. "I plan to perform these services on you myself."

There seemed to be innuendo in that statement, but Kyra found she couldn't focus long enough to be sure. 'Oh boy.'

The simple sound of his husky voice was dulling her wits and the steady motion of his hands overwhelmed her senses. A soft moan slipped past her lips, past her rigid control, and, struggling to pull her wits together and save herself, she tried to cover it with a cough- straightening where she had relaxed into his massage.

"So... um... how 'bout them cowboys?" the redhead tried to joke, trying for casual and coming out a bit hoarse, nervous. She heard low laughter near her ear this time and suppressed a shiver.

"It's baseball season."

"Right," Kyra said breathily, "Then... uh... the Suns?" She tried to remember a team she'd heard about recently.

"That's basketball," he responded in whisper- tones, growing amusement in his voice. And, as if sensing what she was doing, what she was going to say/do next, Chris added before she could open her mouth again, "Shh.. just enjoy this." Her efforts useless, she closed her mouth again with an inaudible snap, back arching a bit [rather helplessly] when his thumbs pressed in, deep and strong, making her weaken further.

"You're so tense..." he noted in a tsking type of voice. The moving rhythm of his hands, the slow, smooth circles were making her head feel too heavy for her neck again- and the knots were loosening one by one. Kyra whimpered low in her throat this time. The man had magic hands, because she's never felt this way before in her life.

'Not that that meant anything,' she was quick to assure herself. Perhaps it was just a combination of the small meal she'd had delivered only an hour before or the wine she'd been drinking, or even the late nights spent working, too tense to sleep- but she could barely keep her eyes open now.

Finally, the pro wrestler of her dreams trailed his fingers back under her chin and brought her movements to an stop before probing the muscles of her neck and the juncture of her shoulder blades again. "Much better. How do you feel?"

"Drugged. I wonder if there really *was* something in the wine..." 'And oh my God, I can't believe I said that out loud! I really *must* be tired!'

Chris only chuckled again, continued moving those magic fingers along her throat, his skin warm against hers, exploring with a gentle, persistent demand to relinquish tension, to trust him. And she did suddenly, though no logic in that particular response. Then again, with her head filled with clouds, how could she possibly expect herself to think clearly? Not part of the plan, not with this languor pouring through her, stealing her senses, making her drowsy.

Her brain couldn't have been working right because she found her thoughts drifting to other women Chris might've used his magic fingers on.... with jealousy! Was massage part of his normal repertoire? Not that the man needed maneuvers. He was so completely personable, so handsome. A star, an athlete in prime condition, a rock musician with such a voice.... She'd bet he could charm a woman right out of her clothes without even trying...

So why her? Why now? Why should it even matter? The green-eyed girl sighed privately, biting one already ravaged bottom lip. She was attractive enough, and he wouldn't be the first WWE wrestler to hit on her, but after Trish Stratus? That dove home how little she actually knew about him, she supposed. Sure, she'd seen him around the arena- and had watched him on the show like everyone else (far longer than she'd been even working here, she admitted), and she'd fixed up contracts, profiles and such involving him.

But nothing she'd read or seen or felt had prepared her for the man himself. Even previous run-ins. Nor article or glimpse in the hallway, or polite chat here or there, could have ever warned her that all he'd have to do is smile at her a certain way and she'd turn to mush.

Or that his touch would melt away the walls she'd been building around her emotions since her all-important decision to give up men after her last boyfriend. She hadn't expected meeting Chris Jericho, couldn't have known how she'd react to him if she had. And she *was* reacting. With each skim of warm fingers across her bare shoulders, each caress down between her shoulder blades, each squeezing, manipulating press of hands, she responded.

'God, I'm easy,' the thought bubbled in her brain. 'At least where he's concerned.' Her senses were blossoming to awareness even as her body was slipping into a coma. Kyra couldn't resist, not when Chris shifted his position, shifted her, leaning against the sofa back, not when he spread his legs to pull her against him. 'And I don't mind that one bit.'

Some part of her brain warned her to protest, of course, but she could barely keep her eyes open, much less get a sound out. She roused only enough to do as he asked, to sink back into him until she could feel his steel thighs cradling hers, his tight stomach pressed to her back. All the while his hands continued to work, massaging, stroking, kneading. His touch was never intrusive, yet was solid enough to coax the tension from her muscles, to make her relax and prove that being curled up in the shelter or his hard body was exactly where she wanted to be....

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A/N: More coming soon! And stay tuned, it gets much hotter!

And to those who'd asked for sequels, I'll try my best, I just haven't had the... inspiration for them yet.