Kitten

Chapter Two: To Be Hers

Mox knew that she was too good for him. So her previous return, regardless of what she'd come back for, was...confusing at best.

He found himself thinking about her during fights. Sometimes afterward. Sometimes even when he wasn't doing anything at all. He wondered what her favorite food was. Whether she got scared of the dark.

Whether she was safe.

Fuck, I've got it bad, he realized ruefully one morning. Mox hadn't seen her for over a month and it may have been driving him batshit. He knew he was acting like a fucking idiot. She'd given him her contact information, her address. He just didn't really know how to approach the situation. He wasn't exactly. Normal. Wasn't really a man she could take home to her parents.

The other night he'd almost taken a guy's finger off with a pair of scissors when the guy had sneered 'good dog' and jabbed at the quietly-sitting Moxley.

Good dog. Mox shuddered, remembering how she had sounded when she said it. Made him almost believe it. Believe that he might be good.

He groaned, fisting his eyes and getting to his feet. Dammit Kitten, if you got in over your head somewhere I'm never going to forgive myself.

There was a screwdriver to fix the rickety dresser he and Sami shared and he swiped it, stuffing it into a lower pocket in his carpenter jeans without a second thought. Damage with his fucking forks almost took out Callihan's eye last week, sending him screaming to the ER. Mox wasn't one hundred percent sure what he would do with the screwdriver, but he had a few nasty ideas.

"Mox! Can you not hear them? Get your ass moving!"

His body felt like it was made of lead, and he tapped his fingers against his collar as he shuffled out of his room. It normally comforted him, made him feel like he belonged to someone. Even when he couldn't remember what he'd done the collar was always that one anchor, the familiar weight against his neck to bring him back down. The constant in the swirling chaos.

Mox came out to a chorus of boos, playing his role by mouthing off and snapping his teeth. Was it a role anymore? Some days he wasn't sure. Maybe he was Jon...maybe. It probably wasn't Jon that dug his teeth into ring ropes, slammed heads off aprons and rolled around in glass.

Probably wasn't Mox that wanted to keep the kitten safe, though. Probably wasn't Mox that tore into that ex boyfriend. Probably wasn't Mox that ate her out, that ripped those shorts and had his way with her.

Probably probably probably . Mox rolled his eyes at himself. This is getting me nowhere. I have a fight. Focus .

Brain Damage was in fine form tonight, wasting no time in stalking across the ring and grabbing Moxley's chain. He was ridiculously strong and Mox, while tall, was not exactly bulky like Damage. So he was stuck when Damage had a grip on him. "Heya', Puppy!" Damage grinned, his battered face inches from Mox's. Wisely just out of biting distance.

Mox snarled all the same.

"Aw Mox, I'm sorry about what I did to Callihan last week. I promise, you'll be seein' a lot more of him pretty soon." Damage's smile tended to make Moxley's stomach queasy, always followed by something absolutely shitty. The sound of a Skil saw revving was up with his father's voice on the list of noises Jon never wanted to hear again.

"You shut th' fuck up about Callihan." Moxley prided himself on being able to enunciate when the situation called for it. "Shut the fuck up, y' oversized shit bag."