DISCLAIMER: WWE and all related logos and copyrights do not belong to me. Superstars belong to themselves.

A/N: Comments and/or constructive criticism is always appreciated. Mild slash ahead, of the Rated RKO-variety ;D Not sure if this will sit as a oneshot, debatable. "Dialogue", (thoughts). Enjoy


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Fighting Me Fighting You

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He was pushing him, he knew it. He was punching his buttons, trying to make him crack--he needed to see Randy break. He needed it the same way he needed oxygen. Unconsciously, without thought, without any feeling attached to this need, except maybe desperation, except maybe exhilaration, lunacy, fear.

(come on randy, hit me)

But Randy refused and was content with choking the life out of him using the steel grip he had on his shirt collar. Adam was being pushed against the wall and hoisted up off the floor. He was subject to Randy's unrelenting, burning stare. Randy looked insane; truly, genuinely insane.

"What's the matter, Legend Killer, huh? What are you so afraid of?"

Adam's smile was wicked, something close to a snarl when Randy still refused to speak. He didn't make any indication of hearing, concentrating only on the blond's face. Randy's eyes were crazy. Adam gulped and gritted his teeth painfully.

"Come on!" (don't let me down, randy) "Is it the suspension you're afraid of? What, the idea of a few weeks off work reduces you to chicken-shit?"

Nothing—no scoff nor smirk, nothing but the look in his eyes and yet that was enough to keep Adam talking. Despite common sense telling him to back off, he continued, with the thought that he had already gone this far and he wouldn't be satisfied until Randy cracked (into thousands of pieces), anyway. More than this, however, Adam needed (wanted craved desired) to know that he was greater than everyone. He needed to know he was better, worth more--no, he needed to be more important to Randy Orton. He wanted to be first, no one held above him; no one more significant. It was common knowledge that Cena was Randy's best friend, but Adam wanted to go further; from Randy, he wanted everything.

"I guess you're just not man enough to deal with your problems, huh? Well if you're not, put me down. I don't have time for this…or for you."

The day Randy came back from his ("Last chance, Orton") suspension, John had a talk with him in the emptied-locker room. Adam heard, of course, Cena's conversation with Randy. You need to clean up your act, Orton. Well maybe I'm not cut out for this business all filled the room and neighboring hallways. Passing by was enough to understand the gist of things; Cena wanted Randy to stop causing problems, stop provoking authority, and, stop fucking up, man. Randy had walked out pissed beyond belief, but he had changed if not a little and Adam couldn't help but lose his mind. He was jealous.

"Besides, won't Cena be disappointed if you get in another fight? God forbid you let him down."

Adam was mocking him maliciously now, with a grin to match; Randy had to choose. It simply could not be both.

"Come on, Orton…I'm waiting."

It worked. Randy was breathing through his teeth. He was seething and Adam's eyes widened with his grin, as the moment arrived. (who's it going to be, orton?) His hold on Adam's collar tightened briefly before it relaxed completely and Randy stood back to watch the blond fall to his feet. He coughed when a too-much rush of air was inhaled too quickly, but that wasn't enough to distract him from the burning thunder in his chest, sending flares to his head.

"So that's it, huh?"

Adam was digging his nails into his palms, trying to keep his voice in check. The last thing he needed was to start screaming, but he didn't know of another way to get rid of the ringing in his ears and the frightening sound of his heart crashing against his chest. It was empowering him, hearing his heart beat so forcefully and yet he was immobilized completely, with fear, as he weighed the pros and cons in his head. Adam wasn't stupid. But he was reckless.

"After all of that…I guess you really did…change for the better. Good for you, Randy. Heh, it's not like refusing to defend yourself makes you any less of a man."

He was mocking him again, watching Randy pace next to the bench in the empty locker room and suddenly strike a nearby locker with a powerful punch. They were supposed to share a ride to the hotel; then again, they were also supposed to lose their match. Rated RKO versus the Hardy Brothers for the World Tag Team Championship, and they were supposed to lose. But Edge had fought back when it wasn't intended, had kicked out of every pin meant to take him out, and had reversed every move aimed for his person. Mr. McMahon was furious.

"Actually, it's quite the contrary."

Adam commented with a forced smirk. He remembered the way the chairman of the WWE had chewed them out because of their impromptu win, "If I can't expect you two to do as you're told, then you can't expect to keep your jobs! I'm the one who makes the rules around here; not you—got that?!" Misconduct, noncompliance, attitude, and the ice Randy walked on was only getting thinner.

"I'm proud of you…partner."

Randy whirled on him then, already passed his breaking point the moment Adam started speaking, and shouted, "Why do you have to get under my skin like this, huh?!" He was clenching and unclenching his fists with his face a violent red. Adam feigned innocence and frowned uncomprehendingly, but Randy wouldn't have any of it and grabbed Adam's arm, squeezing it with enough strength to stop blood flow. "And while you're at it, explain to me what the hell was going through your mind out there?! The fuck are you trying to pull--are you trying to get us fired?!" Adam grinned sickeningly while Randy jerked him left and right with his hold like steel.

"Maybe."

Randy narrowed his eyes. "Bastard," he hissed.

"What, aren't you happy? We're World Tag Team Champions now--Rated RK…where are you going?"

Adam's eyes followed Randy as he walked away and grabbed his gym bag from the bench, "Out of here before I do something I'll regret." He didn't even look at him as he threw random objects from his locker into his bag. Adam rubbed his arm; how dare he walk away from him. Turn his back on him as if Adam wasn't worth the time--wasn't worth the effort.

"Don't turn your back on me, Orton. Come face me, you coward!"

He swung. Randy stood back stunned, his gym bag held limply in his left hand, staring at Adam with his hand still in midair. Before he knew what he was even doing, Randy's fist made loud contact with Adam's face, cheek, air, chest, and air again. Adam's head was spinning and the only thing he knew for sure was that he was on the ground because he could feel the cold, level floor below him. It felt like a headache was blooming from the back of his head, and yet, he was grinning. Grinning and it was all he could do to stop himself from outright laughing. I won, he thought, when he could make out Randy's form above him, straddling Adam's sides and making it a little harder for him to breathe.

I won, he almost said but clicked his mouth shut.

Randy wasn't moving. His chest was heaving breaths faster than normal but he wasn't moving, nor did he lower his fist which was still raised high in the air, threateningly. Don't fuck with me anymore, please, he seemed to be saying, but it was hard for Adam to hear thanks to the headache he was currently dealing with.

"Alright, get off me."

His eyes were closed and his voice was groggy. Randy didn't move.

"Are you deaf? I said, get off!"

He repeated with more force but Randy refused and said instead, "What's going on, Adam?" He lowered his fist (finally) and spread it out on his thigh slowly. Adam kept quiet. He was sure he was going to experience cardiac arrest if his heart didn't fucking slow down, at least for a minute. Randy started murmuring something about Amy, and then went on to talk about the business, every once in a while stopping to look down at Adam (who wasn't listening). Finally fed up with Randy's useless talking, he growled out,

"Orton, get the hell…off of me…now."

Randy chuckled dryly; "Why, so you can run off? Not this time, asshole, you got yourself in this shit so now…we're going to talk about it." Adam mimicked Randy's chuckle and finally opened his eyes, wincing from the harsh lights hitting from above. His headache was still in full bloom, thanks to the idiot currently sitting on him.

"There's nothing to talk about."

He insisted calmly. Randy raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and Adam scowled, giving him away. Randy had a firm grip on Adam's right forearm, preventing any movement, but his left arm was free. Without a second thought, the blond took a free shot at Randy's face, making the taller wrestler fall back onto Adam's legs. Great, well that didn't work, he thought miserably, now unable to move his legs freely. Randy leaned forward again, and before Adam could get a word in, he had both his arms pinned above his head. Painfully, he noted, as Randy stretched his arms out. He tried thrashing and shuffling out of his hold but Randy was stronger, and currently had the upper hand.

"Now, is this really necessary Orton?"

He asked, wincing when Randy stretched his arms out further. "You tell me," he replied with a glare. What the hell was this? All he wanted was for Randy to hit him--to react to him--to act like he did before Cena, before his transformation, before all of that shit. He wanted Orton to…betray Cena, because then, that meant…well…that meant Randy didn't care about the champ—at least, not the way Adam feared he did. This meant…this meant…what? This means Randy isn't Cena's.

"No--" (what the hell is wrong with me?!) "--this is all wrong. I—get off of me! Get off!"

Adam tried to get free, bucking his hips in order to force Randy to release his grip, thrashing with an edgy desperation. He was scared. Terrified, of Randy and what Adam was thinking (feeling). He couldn't--

"Stop! Calm down, asshole! What—what the hell is going on with you?!" the younger wrestler shouted, trying to keep the blond still but with little success. "Is it Amy?"

"Amy and I are done."

He was panting now, and his shoulder was throbbing from having his arms above his head for so long. Damn it. "I'm sorry," Randy muttered uncomfortably, keeping an eye on Adam's arms to make sure he wasn't trying to slip free. They weren't done speaking, yet. Adam wanted to laugh.

"Don't be. That's the least of my problems."

The younger wrestler gave him a curious look. "Is it?"

"Yes. Now will you get off?"

Randy snorted. "Not until you tell me what's bothering you, Copeland. So just spit it out already. I don't want to be here all night."

I do, Adam thought and would've punched himself if he could. Perfect, I'm a fag; really, just what I needed, he concluded and his smile turned sour. It was especially great that his body was just now noticing how close Randy was. This wasn't good. He really, really, really needed to get out of here. Really.

"If I tell you, do you promise not to say a word of this to anyone else? I'd appreciate it if you'd let me go, too."

Randy nodded, ignoring the icy threat in Adam's words. "Yeah, yeah, I promise. I'll let you go and everything--so, what's up?"

Adam grumbled before letting out a shaky sigh. Randy pretended not to notice.

"Alright…I'm in…love. There. Off."

"Wait—what?" Randy released the blond's arms without thinking, and Adam took the opportunity to sit up and push the younger wrestler off his person. He almost tripped on his own two feet as he moved to his locker, hoping Randy would just drop the subject so Adam could leave and die somewhere. Preferably, alone, and then, he'd roll into a ditch so no one would find his faggot body. Sounds like a plan, he sneered mentally and began stuffing random shit into his bag much like Randy was doing earlier. Only, Randy was doing so out of anger, while Adam…Adam was just scared shitless. He regretted everything. He should have just left, and none of this would've happened—and—and he wouldn't have to admit anything he wasn't ready to admit—and he wouldn't have to be here—and he wouldn't have to—damn it, he was panicking now.

"In love?" Randy repeated, looking confused as he stood up, "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. First you want me to open up to you, and then when I do, you think I'm lying."

He hissed out and closed the locker harder than he had initially intended. The bang made him jump but Randy wasn't looking at him to notice. "Alright, alright, drama queen. So, you're in love. That's not that bad, I guess—well, it depends really," Randy shrugged, facing his locker.

"Yeah, that's nice."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on the younger wrestler, who just glared at Adam when he closed his own locker for the night. It was hard to imagine them fighting earlier after everything that's happened. Neither knew what to say as they stood there in the empty locker room, in the (probably) empty building. "So…who are you in love with?"

"That's none of your business."

He snapped and he forced a scowl on his face. He hoped it wasn't trembling. "Fair enough," Randy conceded with a somewhat confused-looking smirk, like it didn't know whether it was supposed to be there or not, "Umm, well is she at least hot—blonde—short? Or, none of the above?" He tried to play it off as joke but Adam was too tense, and it was unnerving.

"None of the above." (first off it's a he!)

He managed and Randy whined, "Aw, c'mon Adam! Tall?"

"Tall."

Adam confirmed with a knot in his throat. "Okay, umm, redhead?" Randy tried with a thoughtful look.

"Brunet."

Well at least there was a practically-nonexistent difference between 'brunette' and 'brunet'. Randy nodded, still wearing a pensive frown. "Hmm…brunette, huh?" he repeated, and Adam confirmed it with a slight nod. This was getting dangerous.

(oh no…don't do it) "You'll never guess."

Damn it, he did it. Randy, predictably, raised an eyebrow in challenge, "Really—that so? Well, I'll just have to prove you wrong." The younger wrestler grinned, feeling more at ease. "Eye color?"

"Brown."

Randy smirked, "I see. What's the first letter of their name?"

(adam, just shut the fucking hell up!) "R."

Adam tried to keep from running away. Randy blinked,"Are you joking? It's not me, is it?" He looked hesitant and a little disturbed.

"Maybe."

He replied cryptically, but he couldn't handle it and forced a smirk on his face. Randy glared irritably and frowned, "Funny, Copeland…asshole."

"Aww, Randy, were you hoping it was you?"

It was a joke, a little sneer to throw him off but his eyes were trained on Randy's face, waiting anxiously for a response. Randy looked annoyed as he rolled his eyes, "Oh yeah, Adam, with all my heart." He grabbed his bag and walked towards the door. "Let's just get the hell out of here already. I'm ready for some sleep after this…heart-to-heart," he jeered, and walked out without waiting for Adam's consent.

Yeah, fucking sleep.

He replied to the empty locker room. Sleep—after this? Hah, fat chance.