Very short one shot about a surprise of Randy's.
Randy stared at the box before him. The box itself wasn't what you would call threatening. It was what was inside it that scared him to death. He couldn't even bring himself to look at it. The thought of what was inside made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and perspiration soak his neck. He had always prided himself on being what women thought of as perfect. Single; good-looking; perfect in everyway. Yet there. In that box. That was telling him he wasn't perfect. For most men, or even women; what was in the box wouldn't make them less perfect. But Randy Orton was no ordinary man. Standing in at six foot four; he had an Adonis like tan; an amazingly sculpted body and icy blue eyes that could turn even the straightest man gay.
Rubbing his middle finger back and forward over his lower lip he began to panic. If he opened it here, in the catering area, people would see what was in the box and he could never, never cope with the shame and embarrassment of others knowing what was inside that god awful box. Poking it with his finger, as though, should he take his eyes off of it for more than a second, it would be spilling it's secrets to the world. He bent forward; gripping the box off the table and forcefully ramming it into the large pockets of his cargo pants.
"What's that?" Randy jumped, his body colliding horribly with the table. Hearing the box connect with the leg of the table, he winced. He really didn't need that box, or it's contents to break. He actually needed it's contents. And badly; apparently. Randy glared at the ex-diva in front of him. At just under a foot taller than him, it was a strain for her to be so close to him and attempt to look into his eyes. She knew Randy hated having his "space" invaded and so being so close to him always left him in quite a strop.
"Nothing;" he said, standing back up straight and pushing the diva to the side. She may had more experience than him in the ring, but that didn't mean he respected her. Or at least, that's what he let her think. Truth was, he had always found her rather cute. Her button nose, hazel eyes, pointless tattoos that had no meaning whatsoever (much like his own) and her long red hair. Not to mention the fact that the woman had once been the proud owner of a tongue piercing. That alone got Randy's respect.
"Don't give me that bullshit Orton." she said, following him. Her feet moving too fast for her body as she attempted to keep up with his huge strides. "What is it?" She ran a few steps before gaining the lead and turning to face him. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine?"
Randy started laughing at this. She really was shameless, or at least in his opinion. "What'll you show me Red?" he said; famous smirk plastered all over his face.
"What's in my box." She said simply.
Amy produced a box; much larger than his, from the bag currently thrown over her shoulder. "This box."
Randy raised an eyebrow, not sure whether to go along with her little game. "Fine. But do I have to go first?" Amy nodded at that. Her smile evident on her face. "Right." He said, beginning to regret this little game of Amy's. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his "box" and sighed opening it.
Amy had known fine well what was in the box. He just hated having to admit something wasn't perfect about him and she knew it. He removed the contents from the box. A pair of black rimmed glasses. Amy smiled. She had known for a while he had needed glasses but he had always denied it fervently and after a while, she had given up trying to convince him. He pushed the glasses further up his nose and turned to face her. "So what do you think?" he said, an unusually embarrassed look on his face. Amy giggled, he looked somewhat Emo with his cargo pants, his shirt and his new glasses.
"I think you're cute." she said, smiling and running her hand over his hair. "You suit them." Randy smiled, a red hint in his cheeks.
He shook his head quickly and pointed at Amy's box. "So what's in that?"
Amy smiled and opened the box. A lot of tissue paper and plenty padding surrounded two tiny shoes. Baby sized shoes. "Cute aint they?" she asked, bending down to pick them up. "Mom sent them."
Randy laughed. "Looks like Grandma Dumas is slightly more practical than grandma Orton. After all; she sent condoms."