======================
Sean Waltman's Ass
======================



 One hand in a bowl of easily accessible 
popcorn - lightly buttered - and the other 
wrapped around a cool can of Mountain Dew, 
Debra sighed in content as RAW went off the 
air for that week.  It had been a good show,
and - this was the clincher - Sean Waltman,
(whom she liked to call X-Pooky), had been in
the main event.  He had looked even yummier 
then normal, and Debra giggled to herself in
thought of all the wonderful dreams that 
would come from the memory of seeing his 
tight little ass on television that night. 
The fanfic potential alone was enough to make
her dash to for her computer, inadvertently
leaving a trial of popcorn kernels behind.

 Her room was a shrine to the WWF.  Off
of every wall hung posters, calendars, and 
cardboard cut outs of her favorite WWF
wrestlers.  But mostly, they were of Sean
Waltman.  She had all FIVE of his action 
figures, including a special one where the 
eye was not fully painted in, causing the 
mini-Sean to look like he was winking.  She 
had an exact replica of his green bandanna,
all the DX and X-Pac shirts, and a huge 
collection of magazines and newspapers that
had any mention of the WWF superstar.  She 
was obsessed.

 Booting up her computer and staring
dreamily at her giant clay bust of Sean 
Waltman's head, which she had made herself
in art class, Debra smiled a little 
wistfully. All twelve times the WWF had been 
in Texas she had tried to meet him, but it 
was always to no avail.  She'd either miss 
him by a few minutes coming out of the 
back, or only get a glimpse of his raven 
head bobbing into a limo or car.  It was so
frustrating!  Here she was, his biggest 
fan in the whole wide world, and she 
couldn't even shake his hand to tell him so.  
It was as if some unspeakable force was 
keeping them apart.

 Her screen came to life, revealing her
Sean Waltman/DX wallpaper, and Sean's voice,
in WAV format piped up over her speakers:
"Bring it!!"  

 Maybe I'll update my site, she thought,
but then decided against it.  No, she would
rather just check her mail and go right to
sleep, it was getting pretty late.

 Opening up Outlook Express, and 
watching in delight as her mailbox filled 
with e-mails from the [XPAC4LIFE] mailing
list, Debra did not notice that her Sean
Waltman bust was teetering towards her.  
Didn't even have time to gasp when it fell on
top of her, knocking her flat on her back and
leaving the glowing of her computer screen
staring down blankly at her as letters from
[XPAC4LIFE] continued to arrive.

 "YEEEEAAHHH!" Sean Waltman's voice 
proclaimed when the mail was finished.  But
Debra didn't hear; her eyes closed tight in
unconsciousness.





 "Hey, hey - "

 Oh, leave me alone, Debra thought,
turning away from the hand that was roughly
slapping her face.

 "Dudes, I think he's coming around,
come on, make room for the paramedic."

 Debra moaned as intrusive fingers
suddenly started to poke and prod what felt
like a very painful lump on her head and she
flinched back quickly against whoever it
was.  "Quit it, already!" she complained, 
"Ow!  I'm fine!"

 "He's fine!" the same voice that had
been talking the whole time proclaimed.

 Frowning, wondering who the jackass
was that kept calling her 'he', Debra 
blinked open her eyes for the first time,
and squinted against the blaring light.  It
hurt, this light, but she kept her eyes open
anyway, trying to focus on one of the 
several blurry heads that floated over her.

 "Who - wha...?"

 "Don't try to talk," a blonde and blue
smudge soothed.  "That bastard Hunter really
knocked you for a loop out there."

 "Hunter?" Debra frowned in confusion,
what the hell was going on?  Where was she?
"What's..."  Finally, the face came into 
focus and she gasped in surprise, jerking up
on the gurney she found she had been placed
on and edging back up against it.  "Rodney?
From the _Mean Street Posse_?"

 The blonde posse member cast her a 
confused look, and then turned his head to
draw attention to two others she had not 
seen before.  Pete Gas and Joey Abbs stood
behind him, both staring at her as if she 
had grown a second head.

 "Well, yeah," Pete said, an uneasy
smile on his face, "Who the hell were you
expecting, Shane-O?"

 Debra let out a squeak and promptly
fainted once again.





 "Eeep!"

 The posse watched, mouths open as 
Shane McMahon fell back in an unconscious 
heap of black and purple Armani.  

 "Whooooaa...I think maybe Shane was 
hit harder then we thought," Abbs said, as
he poked Shane in the side with his finger.

 "He did seem kinda confused," Pete
acknowledged.  "Why don't we put him back
in his dressing room, when he wakes up 
maybe he'll feel better to find himself in 
a more familiar place, without a bunch of
people hovering over him like a carnival 
freak show."

 Nodding in agreement, Rodney grabbed
one end of the stretcher, as the two other
posse members hung off the sides.  Shane
didn't move for the entire ride.





 
 Debra was relieved to find that when
she opened her eyes this time that she was
alone, and in what appeared to be her own 
room.  It was dark but she could 
distinctively make out the wrestling posters
on her wall (the ones her mother always 
shook her head disapprovingly at) and her 
computer on the desk.  Her head still hurt,
but it was ebbing away into a dull, 
manageable throb.

 "Mom?"  She froze, slammed her hand
over her mouth.  No, no, that wasn't right 
at all.  That voice had NOT come out of her
mouth.  In the noisy hallway before, among
all the disorientation and confusion, she 
hadn't noticed, but now - alone - it sounded
all too clear.  

 She didn't know what was worse:  the
fact that her own voice didn't belong to her,
or the fact that it was a voice she 
recognized.





 
 Munching on an Energy bar and absently
drying his hair with a towel, Sean Waltman
walked down the halls of the Waylon-Dublin
arena, his body pleasantly numb from an over-
all good match with Al Snow.  The man was as
nutty as they came, but he was a good 
wrestler, and with Steve Blackman in his 
corner, no easy opponent to defeat.  But he
had done it, and he was feeling good.

 Turning the corner to get to his own
dressing room, he stopped short when 
another door opened and a dazed looking Shane
McMahon came out, a hand holding his head as
if he feared letting go would cause it to 
roll off his shoulders.

 Sean smirked, couldn't help but rag on 
the other man just a little.  "Hey, Shane-O,
Hunter didn't knock loose any screws there,
did he?  Ha - at least it can't make you any 
dumber then you already are."

 The other man froze at the sound of
Sean's voice, turned slowly and then his 
large brown eyes widened in disbelief as he
saw Sean in front of him.  He stood, frozen,
with his mouth hanging open and his chin 
trembling.

 Taken off guard by the reaction, Sean
shifted uneasily on his feet.  "Hey, come
on, Shane - don't take it so - "

 "OH MY GOD IT'S YOOOOOOOUUUU!!!" Shane
let out a loud shriek and ran towards the
other man at full speed, and before Sean 
could move out of the way, Shane had him in 
a steel lock around his waist, his head
against Sean's stomach.  "I can't believe 
it, oh my gosh wait 'till I tell the girls 
on the list, I actually met Sean Waltman!"  
Shane pulled back and beamed up at the other 
man, eyes wet and face blushing a furious 
red.  He seemed to be having trouble forming 
sentences and he talked in a high-pitched 
exuberant tone.  "I have almost ALL your 
matches on tape!" he gushed, jumping up and 
down while holding Sean's hand, "Even from 
the WCW!  And - and, I have your t-shirt, 
and your hat, and your bandanna, I have ALL 
the X-Pac and Syxx stuff, and I'm even 
bidding on E-Bay for your 1-2-3 Kid stuff!  
And now I'm meeting you for real!!  Eeeeek!  
I can't believe it!"  

 Shane moved in for another hug but 
Sean, who had been listening in open mouth 
disbelief bolted back.

 "Gagh!  Jesus fucking Christ!  Don't
come near me you FREAK!  I make one little
joke and...you take things way too far,
man."

 Wide eyed and innocent, arms still
extended for a hug, Shane stared at him with
a tilted head and confused pout.  "What do
you mean?"

 "What do I _mean_?" Sean sneered.  
Then, waving his arms and bouncing around in
a mock impression of the other man, Sean
mimicked, "'Oh Sean, I'm your biggest fan, 
oh I love you, oooh oooh ...'," he stopped
and jabbed a finger in Shane's direction.  
"That's not funny."

 His shoulders slumping noticeably, 
Shane sniffed, looked away, then - much to
Sean Waltman's horror - broke out into a 
fit of sobs.  "You don't have to be so 
MEAN!" Shane stamped his foot and rubbed
stubbornly at his eyes, "Is this how you
treat ALL your fans?!" he wailed, and 
broke into a fit of new sobs, attracting
the attention of several passerbys as he
did so, and Sean flinched at the wilting
looks he received.

 As Shane continued to wail, tears
streaming down his face, Sean felt his
uneasiness grow.  How hard _had_ Hunter
hit him with that chair anyway?  Geez. 
Sean waved his hand helplessly, trying to
get Shane's attention without actually
touching, or getting closer, to him.

 "Hey, come on, man...aw hell...
don't - don't _cry_..."

 "I'm _not_ a man!" Shane stamped 
his foot again and wiped his nose on his
sleeve, "I'm a 18 year old girl from 
Texas and I don't belong here!"

 Oh boy, Shane's lost it, Sean
thought, reluctantly reaching out to
put his hand on the other man's shoulder.
It seemed to comfort him somewhat, his
tears dying down to an occasional hiccup
of misery, and with sigh, Sean pulled him
into a hug.

 Sniffling, Shane sighed and relaxed
into the embrace, finally stopping all
together after a while and smiling 
lightly in content.

 Sean pulled back and smiled 
uneasily at Shane, "Er...are you okay?"

 Shane nodded, his eyes still wet
and his cheeks flushed.  Sean was 
immediately taken by the fact that 
Shane suddenly DID look like he was 18.
Not an 18 year old girl, not by any 
stretch of the imagination, but still
very young.

 "I am your biggest fan, you know,"
Shane said, his voice misty, "and I've
wanted to meet you forever.  This is
probably a dream, and I get the feelin'
I'm going to wake up soon."

 "Yeah?" Sean asked, getting 
increasingly uncomfortable with the 
fact that Shane was not making any move
to break out of the hold anytime soon.
"Why?"

 "'Cause in a dream...you always
wake up at the best part."  Shane 
leaned in, and kissed him.

 Sean froze, his body going 
tense, and his lips freezing in shock.
Holy shit!  Shane McMahon is kissing me!
he thought, even as he slowly started to
return it, dropping deep into the touch.
His lips were soft, his mouth a little
inexperienced as it moved over his, and
Sean moaned deeply in pleasure.  This is
way too good to be true, Sean thought
distantly, his head buzzing with 
arousal, maybe _I'm_ the one that's
dreaming.

 Shane, meanwhile, had pulled back 
and Sean opened his eyes to meet the 
other man's gaze.  

 He did not look happy.

 "Sean, you want to explain to me
what the fuck it is you're doing?"





 Debra awoke once again, a light
cloud of dizziness hanging over head as
she opened her eyes and tried to get a
grasp on where she was.  This time she
had no doubt that it was her room:  the
water bed, the desk and lamp, Mr Snuggles
in the rocking chair.  And, she gave a
slight pout of displeasure, her Sean
Waltman bust, in pieces all around her.


 Still, she couldn't quite bring
herself to be too upset about it, she
had, after all, had a wonderful dream
while knocked out.  It had seemed so 
real too!  Getting to her feet and 
making her way to her desk, Debra 
briefly wondered if she should make a 
fanfic out of it, but shook off the 
idea with a laugh. 

	No, it was far too out there, 
even for her.





***END