Title: Backlash

Author: Crimson Coin Crimson_Coin@yahoo.com

Rating: PG13

Summery: Randy Orton recovers after his Backlash match against Mick Foley.

Timeline: April 11, 2004 aftermath of Backlash

Pairing: A new one for me. Randy Orton/ your favorite Blonde.

Disclaimer: The WWE and all mentioned superstars are not my property and belong solely to themselves. This story is entirely fictional.

Archiving: Just ask first.


Randy Orton hissed, his face contorted with pain as he leaned heavily on Dave Batista. Dave's arm wrapped securely around the smaller man's waist, helping him walk down the corridor of their hotel. "Are you sure you're ok?" The big man asked, his voice gruff and deep.

Randy nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He ducked his head, smiling slightly. "Uh ... thanks, Dave ... you know for uhm ... helping me with the uh ..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "The shower."

Dave chuckled, shaking his head. "No problem. But if anyone finds out about it ... it's your funeral."

Randy snickered. "Don't worry. I don't want it getting out either."

Dave sniffed, releasing Randy and straightening his shirt. "Well, if you're ok. I'm gonna go back to my room and reaffirm my masculinity." He winked, nudging his friend. "Lillian's waiting for me."

Randy laughed as Dave walked off. "All night, Baby!"

"That's the plan!" Dave called back and turned the corner.

Randy shook his head, opening the door to his suite. Easing inside, dragging his duffel bag, he dropped the strap just inside the door. Walking carefully to the large fridge, he looked inside the freezer.

No ice.

"Shit." He swore, raking a hand through his short hair before scratching his chest. Grabbing the large ice bucket, he staggered to the door, walking out.

Using the wall for support, one hand on his lower back, he moved slowly down the hall. Step by step, inch by inch. Damn it, where was that icebox? Finally finding it, Randy leaned heavily against the large freezer, throwing open the lid.

Reaching inside, he winced as his muscles pulled taut and he slowly filled the bucket with ice. "Good Lord." He hissed and his back cracked. Ducking his head, woozy all of a sudden, he reached up, holding his head steady.


Jumping slightly, he glanced to his left. "Ah, shit!" He chuckled then. "You scared me, Sweetheart. Don't do that."

"Are you ok?" A soft-spoken Stacy Keibler asked, stepping further into the lobby, cocking her head, sweetly though her lips were down turned with concern.

"Of course I'm ok." Randy lied, forcing a smile. "I look fine, don't I?"

Stacy smiled, shyly, ducking her head a little. "Actually, you look to be in agony."

He smiled, leaning heavily against the icebox. "Yeah, I guess I do."

She took a tentative step closer. "Do ... do you want me to help you back to your room?"

He gently shook his head. "You don't have to, Hun. I'm ok." Odd. Odd that he was being so kind to her, so gentle. He was never gentle. He was a sarcastic son of a bitch and everyone knew it. What the hell was getting into him?

But Stacy stepped closer again, reaching out a tiny hand and touching his forearm, ever so softly. "Let me help." And she took the ice bucket from his hands then slipped her arm around his waist. "Come on."

Randy chuckled. "Sweetheart, you can't support me." Jeez, his tone was still soothing. What the hell?

Stacy cracked another smile, simple and sweet. "I can try."

He nodded, standing mostly of his own support. "Well, I'm not going to lean on you, Hun. But you can still walk me back if you like."

"I'd like that." She answered.

They walked in silence and Randy couldn't help but take some side-glances in her direction. She was treating him so sweetly, like she cared. Why would a girl like Stacy ever care about a guy like him? He was rotten, and self-centered, and egotistical and selfish and a jackass.

Stacy giggled, softly as he stumbled then gripped the wall for support. "Easy," she hushed. "Take your time. You've had a rough night."

Randy smiled, nodding and keeping his head low, slowing his pace. She cared. That boggled him. He couldn't conceive of a reason why Stacy Keibler would care about him. He was a horrible person. He never concerned himself with others and if he did, it was for a rare few. So if he was such a horrible person ... why didn't he act that way around her?

"This is your room, isn't it?"

Randy wobbled to a stop, glancing at his door then smiling, almost shy in his reaction. "Uh ... yeah. Yeah, it is."

Stacy pushed open the slightly ajar door and helped him inside. Taking her time, she led him to the bed across the room and sat him on the edge. "You sit here. I'll put this ice in a plastic bag."

Randy kicked his sneakers and socks off with much difficulty, his eyes glued on her thin form as she walked across the suite and into the little kitchenette. She really was a pretty thing, so lean and long. He always thought she was pretty; if he were truthful, he'd say she was the prettiest diva. Maybe not the sexiest but most certainly the prettiest, the most naturally beautiful. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, ducking his head with a heavy sigh.

He felt his stomach flutter when she cupped his chin, raising his eyes to hers. She only shook her head, delicately placing the Ziploc bag of ice on the back of his neck, holding it there. "Your match was scary." She said, softly, almost a whisper. "I watched it from backstage and I had to close my eyes for half of it."

"Man," he nodded. "I wish I coulda done that."

She giggled, reaching up to stroke his brow a moment before catching herself and quickly pulling her hand back. "I ... I just hate to see anyone bleeding or hurt. And ... and everything just looked so painful."

"Oh yeah," he answered. "I will be pulling tacks out of my ass for weeks."

"Oh God, I hope not."

But he smiled, reassuringly. "Don't worry, Babe. I've been to the trainers and they took all the tacks out and my head wasn't that bad. I didn't need stitches. See?" he pointed to the big bandage. "I'm fine. Just really ... really sore."

Stacy frowned at his words, her lips turned downward in the sweetest of expressions. "I wish I could do something. I don't like seeing people in pain." She shook her head, accusingly. "All those people always say that wrestling is fake. But it's not. People get hurt all the time with these stupid stipulation matches."

"I'm ok, Doll." He cooed, gently running his fingers up her arm then down. "The tacks weren't that big, it was all flesh wounds. There's no scarring on my back. Only some bruising on my ribs. Ok, so the barbwire bat to my groin was real painful and I'll be feeling that in my sleep. And the barbwire to the head ... and to the stomach ... you know, we'll just say the barbwire was the worst part."

Stacy's eyes widened, soft and worried as her hands abandoned the ice to touch his abs. "Oh God, I forgot about the barbwire. Are you sure you're ok? Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?"

Randy smiled, sweet yet sexy and he cocked his head at her. "Well ... a back rub would be really nice."

"I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"You couldn't hurt me, Sweetheart." He soothed. "Don't worry about that. Plus, it'll help me relax."

"Well," Stacy chewed lightly on her lower lip. "If ... if you're sure."

Randy's smile widened, his lips curling in the most beautiful of ways and he eased himself further up onto the bed. "I'll just lay on my stomach, ok?"

Stacy nodded, smiling back at him. "Ok. Do you have any Icyhot or muscle balm or anything?"

His look almost mischievous, he licked his lips, rolling onto his stomach. "I have massage oils in my duffel bag." He sighed, relaxing into the bed as she padded across the room, and he heard her scuffling through his belongings.

"Is this it?"

Randy licked his lips. "What does it say?"

"Uhm ... Aphrodite Herbal Products ... oh ..." she giggled. "Yeah, it says massage oil right here on the side."

Randy hummed. "That's the stuff."

"Ooo," she cooed.

Randy shivered as he felt the bed sink and she carefully straddled his butt, staying on her knees.

"This smells wonderful." She breathed. "It's so ... mmm, I don't know. Stimulating."

"That's the point, Baby." He answered in a deep stroking voice.

"I guess that's why it says 'Aphrodite' huh?"

He could hear the smile in her voice and only chuckled himself. "What can I say I'm a ... mmmm," He squirmed as her lubricated hands pressed into his shoulders. "I'm a lover ... not a fighter."

"Well, you seemed like quite the fighter tonight." She said, softly, pouring a little more oil onto his skin before continuing to massage the tension from his overexerted muscles.

Randy shrugged, nuzzling further into the mattress with a sigh. "Eh? Whatever. I was paying my dues tonight." He licked his lips, his eyes fluttering closed. "A lot of people kept saying I never earned my place. Well, that's just what I'm trying to do now."

"Well ..." She said, gently, running her hands a little further down his back, working at his shoulder blades. "I think you've more than earned it."

"Thanks." He hummed, his voice dropping and laced with satisfaction. His breaths deep, his body relaxing, he settled comfortably into the bed. Her hands ... those small delicate feminine hands working wonders on his back, his skin. The tension drained from his body, the pain and discomfort almost gone and all he could focus on was the feel of her touch.

She was maddening; only her touch, her most gentle of touches, surged every nerve and he desired her more than imaginable. But he wouldn't interrupt her yet. No, no. He enjoyed this massage far too much to stop her. He could feel her thin legs clamping his sides as she steadied herself over him, those hands caressing in the most beautiful of ways that pumped his blood and raced his heart. It felt so good. Just so very good. The smell of Jasmine and Sandalwood invaded his lungs; God, he loved that oil. No kidding, that stuff really was an aphrodisiac.

If her hands felt so good on his back, what would they feel like on his chest? If he were to roll over, letting her sit on his hips as she massaged his pecks and abs. And then, as she sat on his hips, and could feel his reaction to her, to only her touch, he'd bolt up, wrap his arms around her delicate figure and drag her to his side. His lips would find hers, kissing her hard, passionately, yet gentle and affectionate.

He could picture her, lying underneath him and just that thought was enough to make him moan. Catching himself, he silenced a moment. But Stacy didn't react, as if crediting the emission to her relaxing touch. Oh, Stacy, if only she knew.

Randy licked his lips again, resisting the pulsating urge of his groin and his heart, the urge to turn violently and lustfully capture her lips, her body, claiming her in a night of endless passion that she would never forget. Yes, that is what he'd do. When she finished, when she spoke next, he would take that opportunity to silence those pretty moist lips. That would be his moment. That would be the time.

The relaxation settled more and Randy yawned, easing as far into the mattress as he could while she continued massaging down to his lower back. Stacy smiled at the sight of him. He really was a beautiful man. So muscular and tanned and tight, his skin was silken and smooth, his face absolutely gorgeous. He was sculpted perfection, as if some god had reincarnated himself in the form of a man. And that man was Randy Orton. She could see no flaw, no problem.

He was the sexiest man she'd ever seen. And he was even sweet. Stacy found that odd, that a man who made it his business to appear to be a womanizing monster was actually so sweet. He never raised his voice at her, despite being in pain. His smile was always bright and sweet ... he was just so well ... sweet.

Stacy smiled when he hadn't moved in a few long moments. She stilled her actions, leaning to the side slightly to look on his face. Sleeping like a baby.

Her smile ever so sweet and amused, she eased off of him, sitting on the bedside as she cocked her head, just looking at him. So sweet and innocent he appeared, sleeping soundly. His head pillowed on his rippled arms, his back rising and falling gently with his deep breaths. She shook her head. "Oh, Sweetie." She cooed, reaching over and running her fingers along his brow then over the side of his head.

Giggling softly, she leaned towards him, her eyes focused on his dozing face. "You must be so tuckered out." Petting him, she brushed her fingers along his ear then through his hair. "Goodnight, Sweetie." She licked her lips, pressing those soft lips to his temple, her eyes fluttering closed with her kiss – a kiss extending far longer than necessary.

Pulling away from him, she gently caressed his cheek with her fingertips and when he sighed, she ran a single finger over his lips, just feeling them a moment before getting off the bed. Padding silently to his bag, she placed the oils inside the far pouch and walked to the door. Her hand hovering over the light switch as her eyes scanned the room, making sure everything was ok. Her eyes skimmed the walls, the kitchenette and then fell onto his form, and his barely clad legs ... his shorts hanging loose so she could see right up his legs and the darkened shadow of his most intimate region.

That soft sweet smile never leaving her face, she ducked her head, a little blush rising to her cheeks as she flicked off the light, turning out the door and quietly closing it behind her.


*** AWWWWWWWWWW. Come on. Wasn't that sweet? You know it was. Maybe ... just maybe if you're extra nice and review me lots, I'll write a sequel. Just maybe.***