John finally did it, he moved into Randy's apartment. It wasn't as though he had a lot to bring over there, anyway, so the move was a quick one. John tossed a full suitcase down on the floor and sat down hard on the broken-down couch with one annoying spring that constantly dug into the leg of whoever was sitting on it. "I better not end up regretting that I said yes to you."

"I better not regret asking in the first place. I really shouldn't be allowed to open my mouth when I'm drunk. It seems to get me into trouble more often than not."

"I thought Ortons didn't get into trouble."

"Shut the fuck up, ass hole," Randy said all while grabbing two beers from the small fridge. He kicked the door shut behind him as he headed to the counter where he kept his trusty bottle opener and popped the caps off both of the bottles. He walked over to John and handed him one of the drinks before sitting down himself. Randy raised the bottle in a small toast. "To new roommates."

John raised his own bottle and clinked the bottoms together. "To new roommates," he repeated. He chugged down half the bottle before bringing it down to his legs where he kept it rested on his knee. "Ya know, we gotta go out and celebrate this shit."

"Any excuse, right?"

"You know it." John scooted over closer to Randy, looking down at the couch as he did so, giving the evil eye to the rogue spring. "Do I wanna know what's up with the couch?" he asked, smirking over his shoulder at Randy.

"I actually don't have a clue. It just… came that way. You can find fuckin' everything at the recycling center."

"You went dumpster diving for a couch?"

Randy shrugged. "I guess…"

"I'm surprised Ortons don't do dumpster diving."

"Go fuck yourself. Ortons can be thrifty, thank you very much," Randy replied, a grin playing at the corner of his lips.

"So, Ortons like playing in the trash," John summed up.

"Like you've never done it."

"I'm not saying that at all. My dad used to take me and my brothers down to the recycle center all the time. It was like our lil' hangout. My dad would meet his friends there, we got all our bikes there; it was the social event of the week," John recalled.

"That the cool thing to do in West Newbury?" Randy asked.

John gave a small nod of his head and answered, "Yeah. What's the cool thing to do in St. Louis? Chill by the Gateway Arch? Swim the Mississippi?"

"Right, and then you can grow a third arm from God knows what's in that water."

"Sounds like a grand ol' time."

"Don't I know it?" Randy replied sarcastically.

John once again looked down to the offending spring as he found himself thinking about it once more. "So, I really gotta sleep on this shit?"

"Well, you're not sleeping with me, I can tell ya that much. So, while I go make us some dinner," Randy said, standing up from his spot on the couch, placing one hand on the arm rest and the other on John's leg to push himself up, "you can make your bed."

"Looking forward to it." John slung his arm over the back of the couch and looked over to where he was looking in a cabinet in the mini kitchen area. "Whatcha makin', anyway?"

"What do you think?" Randy asked with a quirk in his brow.

John sighed and replied, "Ramen again?"

"What else can a man ask for?"

"Try something that's not loaded with a week's worth of sodium packed into that."

"Well," Randy started, "we could splurge and get some chicken wings or some shit like that over at one of the bars. Trophy's sound good?"

John stood up and was almost instantly by Randy's side. "Are you joking? Trophy's sounds like a God send right about now. Besides, we're celebrating my housewarming, right?"

"Right. Let's go, then, before it gets too busy and we don't get a table, which we'll need for us to pass out on later."

"That sounds great. We callin' anyone else up?" John wondered.

"Fuck that. It's just you and me tonight."

"I guess I can put up with you by yourself for a little while. Cuz, ya know, it's not like we don't see enough of each other."

"Hey, if you don't wanna go—"

"Now I never said anything like that. Let's get the fuck outta here."

The two left the small apartment, Randy pausing only briefly to lock the door behind them, and they were down the stairs and out the door. Trophy's was a small sports bar located on the other side of town on the second story over some pawn shop with damn good chicken wings and whatever major baseball or basketball or football game was on up on the TV.

They entered the building and were greeted by the bar tender who recognized them, even though their visits there were few and far between. "Hey there, guys," he said as the two slid up to the bar, "what can I do for ya tonight?"

John glanced at Randy, who shrugged and answered, "Whatever you got on tap. And your chicken wings."

Grabbing their drinks, they headed towards a table where they could talk in relative peace while still watching the game. Tonight it was a football game at the request of John, who knew the Pats were playing. Not too long after they sat, their wings were delivered to their table, and they began to eat.

"These guys are shit," Randy said around the final wing after 30 minutes of watching John's favourite football team get squashed by the Dolphins.

"Fuck you. We're going all the way this year, bitch. Watch 'em wind up having to face your precious Rams."

Randy glanced up and saw Tom Brady get sacked. "Don't think so," he said with a smirk. "So far the Rams are actually winning. Maybe your boys should take a lesson from a team that's, you know, won the Super Bowl."

"Screw you, Orton. Brady's just what this team needs. You'll see. It's gonna happen, I'm tellin' ya. It's only a matter of time."

"Last time your team even made it to the Super Bowl, they got their asses handed to 'em on a silver platter by who? Oh, right, the Packers. They wear fucking cheese hats, Cena."

"Now you're just trying to provoke me. I think you should back the fuck off of the Patriots right about now. This is the year, man," John stated with a sharp nod of his head. He then cringed when the ball was fumbled and a foul was called on one of the Pats.

"Oh, yeah, this will be your year for sure," Randy agreed, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

"It's just the beginning of the season, man, we've got a lot of time to make it up… And it's only the first quarter, they're still working out the kinks is all…"

"If the first quarter is any way to judge the rest of the game, it looks like you're once again gonna get your ass handed to you."

"Fine, let's put something down on it."

"On this game?" Randy asked, casting his eyes up to the screen once more.

"No, I mean on the whole kit and caboodle. If my guys make it to the Super Bowl, you get to buy me all the alcohol I can drink. No matter what I want. If I want ten shots of Jäger, you pay up. And the same goes for you; if the Rams can even get to the Super Bowl, I'll pay to get you wasted."

Randy ran the idea over in his head, and it sounded like a sound idea, but he had to add, "What do I get when they win?"

"We'll decide that when we get there. You better pray that your guys can even make it there in the first place. HA!" John said as he kept his eyes on the screen. "Touchdown, muthafucka!" John shouted as he jumped up from his seat to further rub it in Randy's face.

"They got lucky. The Dolphin's defense was wide open. My little sister could have run that one in."

"In your fuckin' dreams, dude. This is the beginning of the end, Randy, and you're gonna get owned." John sat back down, a smug look on his face.

"You're damn lucky the Rams are in a different division, Cena, because you'd have to sit through an ass whooping every season."

"Fuck that. You know you're just talkin' outta your ass now."

They continued to trash talk one another as the game continued and more people began to file in. When some little blonde girl walked in, she set her eyes directly on Randy. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked him as she stood at his side.

Randy's eyes were glued to the TV as he silently begged whatever gods were out there to crush the Pats. When it registered with him that he had been asked a question, he just waved his hand over the seat and said, "Yeah, sure."

"Shit!" she yelled when the Pats regained control of the ball.

Randy and John both looked at her in surprise. John's look was more of a glare, where as Randy's was shock. He was always one to appreciate an attractive female sports fan. "And you are?" he asked.

"Noelle."

Randy and Noelle talked through the rest of the second quarter and into the start of the fourth before Randy stood up and winked at John before heading out the door with her. John shook his head and focused his attention back on the TV. At least he should have the apartment to himself tonight.

Slightly drunk, John headed back to the apartment after the game ended. He remembered the code to the front door and made his way up the stairs. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key and when he opened the door he was stopped dead in his drunken tracks.

Directly in front of him on the couch that was meant to be his bed was Randy. And Noelle. Or, to state it better, there was Randy in Noelle. His lips were attached to hers as his hips drove his dick back and forth in her body.

Neither one noticed the intrusion until John slammed the door behind him and started shouting at them. "What the fuck is this shit, Randy?!"

He stopped moving and glanced over towards John. Noelle scrambled around looking for anything to cover herself up with. "Do you mind?" Randy asked.

"Uh, yeah, I do, actually. I thought you'd be going back to her place," he said, pointing right at Randy's guest.

"She has roommates. And I thought the game would be going on longer…"

"Your fuckin' bed is another fuckin' twenty fuckin' feet away! You couldn't hold out anymore? You just had to hit that right then and there where I'm supposed to be sleeping?!"

Randy groaned and stood up in search of his clothing. Noelle was already dressed and was looking extremely pissed off as the two men continued to shout about her as though she weren't even in the room. She pushed out past John and made sure to slam the door as she left.

"Great," Randy said as he put his pants back on. "Thanks a lot, John."

"Well, how the fuck else am I supposed to react to that?! Shit, it's not something I'm expecting to see when I come back here."

"Get the fuck over it, shit! It happened one time."

"Randy, this is my first fucking night staying here!" John shouted back. "You've got a fucking bed, so goddamn USE IT! I don't give two shits about you walking around naked or anything, but I don't wanna come in and see you fucking some chick on the couch I'm supposed to sleep on! Plus, I don't think she would appreciate getting walked in on."

"Well, I really didn't think you'd be back so soon. You know football, it usually takes forever…"

"And tonight it didn't. Go fucking figure."

"I'm sorry, ok, but it is gonna take some time before I'm totally adjusted to this whole… you being here thing. And what the fuck are you gonna do when you bring some chick home, huh? Cuz you sure as fuck aren't taking it to my room. Am I just supposed to walk in on you?"

John paused. He had to admit he hadn't thought about that. "I'll just go to her place, that's all."

"What the fuck ever. I'm done with this," Randy said before walking off to the bedroom, leaving John alone with the couch.

John looked down at it and sighed. Of course he was sure that Randy had made use of the couch before, as had, he assumed, the people before him, but actually seeing it take place with someone else… His entire thought process froze. 'Take place with someone else,' he repeated to himself. What had he even meant by that? That he wanted to be the one it was taking place with? He shook his head, no, that couldn't be right. Seeing Randy have sex, that's all he meant by that. Right, he didn't like the fact that he saw Randy fucking some chick where he was sleeping. That's it, there's no reading further into that comment that his own drunken brain came up with.

He grabbed his Patriots blanket and laid it out over the couch and sat down. He said he'd do anything to become a wrestler, and if it took putting up with Randy 24/7 and sleeping on his banged up second hand couch after watching Randy bang some random chick on it, he'd do it all over again in a second.

Standing back up, he walked over to the light switch and flicked it off and sat back down on the couch. He spread himself out over the couch, making sure to avoid that one spring that would not stay down. And he let himself fall asleep.

After another week of working out, training and shows, everyone's beloved weekend rolled around. "Callie's?" Randy asked that Friday night.

"Hell yeah, dude. I swear, I'm gonna go broke spending money on cheap beer."

"Is there a better way to go broke, though?" Randy questioned.

"Maybe on strippers," John thought.

"Strippers and cheap beer," Randy amended.

"Now there's an idea." They both grabbed their wallets and headed out the door in order to head over to Callie's where they were meeting Dave.

"And now that the two of you are living together, are you sick of each other yet?" Dave asked when he saw the two men enter the building.

"He's Randy, there's not much more I can say."

"Oh, please, you love being around me."

"Not as much as you love being around yourself."

Dave could only shake his head and laugh at the two young men in front of him. "Remember a couple months back when I said you two acted like an old married couple and you called me crazy? Well, I'm sticking by what I said. You two epitomize an old married couple."

"Why's that?" John asked him. "Is it because we're always arguing?"

"Always arguing yet still going back to each other. I'm surprised you didn't leave him after you saw him cheating on you."

"What the fuck are you even talking about?" Randy wondered looking at Dave then over his shoulder towards John who shrugged.

"You were fucking someone that wasn't John," Dave told them quite bluntly.

"Why do I care who he fucks?" John questioned. It wasn't as though he cared if Randy was having sex. He was a young, very attractive man, and who was to stop him from picking up girls from bars. He just happened to walk in on that, and that was not appreciated. Not that he hadn't stopped to admire Randy's perfect ass as it bobbed up and down… "And what the fuck do you mean by he was fucking someone that wasn't me?"

It was Dave's turn to shrug. "Hey, feel free to turn a blind eye to the situation at hand. It's cool. Denial happens."

Randy was completely thrown by what Dave was saying. John was his best friend, and they weren't sleeping together, so what made Dave even think that they were? Not that Randy hadn't let the thought cross his mind, but most of the time they were just bullshitting around. It was time, Randy felt, for a major change of subject. "Hey, I don't know what you've been smoking, but you should try laying off it, because it's obviously fucking with your brain. So, John, how are your Patriots doing?"

"They're looking great, thanks for asking. Someone's not gonna be too happy when their team doesn't step up."

"You'd know. Your team gets out there and chokes big time when it counts." Randy turned his head to Dave and began talking to him before John could reply. "You got a football team? You could be part of our betting pool."

"You just want someone to split the costs with when I beat everyone out."

"Fuck you. I just wanted to give him a chance to witness you get crushed is all."

"Sure," John replied, not buying that for a second.

"I do, actually," Dave cut in. "The Redskins are my team of choice. What're you wagering?"

"If my team makes it to the Super Bowl, he's buying me all the booze I can drink. Same goes for him," John answered.

"Alright, so if I join in and my team makes it, you'll both buy me drinks?"

"Yup," Randy replied.

"What if two teams make it?"

"Then the loser buys both of them drinks," John said.

Randy shot back in defense, "Hey! That's not fair! If two teams make it, yours has to be one of them! That means you wouldn't end up buying anyone drinks. No, if the Rams or Skins make it with the Pats, you're still paying. The odd man out just has to split the difference for both people."

"That works for me," Dave said.

"Done."

The three men shook on the terms of their wager, having no idea this would be the start of some crazy bets John and Randy would partake in over the years. Needless to say, each man followed the NFL particularly closely that year.

"So, are you two the type that'll cheer for whatever team is playing the other's team?"

"Yeah," the two answered at the same time.

"I'm sure baseball will be wicked bad," John added.

"Lemme guess, you're a fan of those loser ass Red Sox." John punched Randy's arm, resulting in an immediate, "Hey! What the fuck was that for?!"

"You were being a fuckin' asshole and you know it."

Randy rubbed his arm, not because it hurt, it was just out of habit. "When am I not an asshole? Christ. Anyway, your guys playing tonight?"

"They are, actually," John answered. "I suppose I should go start begging the bartender to play the game, shouldn't I?"

"Probably, yeah. I just wanna see them lose."

"They're not gonna lose. You walked out early last time, so you didn't even get to see their amazing comeback in the 3rd quarter."

"I think I'm gonna let you two have some alone time," Dave told them. "See you guys later."

"Later," the two said to him at the same time.

"Is he ever gonna realize that the two of us aren't fucking each other? Jesus Christ," John muttered before drinking down some of the beer sitting on the table in front of him. He had lost track of all the beers he had consumed so far that night as time went on, the conversations taking a far more important role than the number of beers he downed.

"I know. Like I'd ever wanna fuck you."

John turned his head slightly to the side and raised his eyebrow. "Was I just insulted?"

"Wait, what?"

"I think you just insulted me. What do you mean you'd never wanna fuck me? Am I not good looking, is that what you're saying?"

"Dude, no, what? That's not it… You're plenty good looking, but I'm. Not. Gay… Ok, so maybe back in the Marines I gave a couple hand jobs, maybe got one or three, but that's—"

"You jerked a guy off when you were in the Marines?"

"So what? Don't ask, don't tell, right?"

"What the fuck are you gonna tell me next? That you constantly stare at my ass when I'm walking." The lack of response from Randy meant one of two things: he was so drunk he had completely zoned out and didn't hear a word he just said or it was actually true. And the way Randy was staring at him, he couldn't help but think it was the later of the two. "You stare at my ass?"

"It goes on for miles; how could I not?" Randy asked, his words slurring together and his voice raising as more booze entered his bloodstream.

"Fuck you."

"The truth finally comes out."

"Wasn't there some rule about you not talking when you're drunk?

"I dunno. Like I'd even remember. Shit, I gotta piss," Randy blurted out rather loudly, causing a few people to turn and look in their direction.

"I'm not stoppin' ya."

Randy stood up and fumbled his way over to the bathroom leaving John alone at the table. He was slightly shocked by the new revelations he had in regards to Randy. Did Randy really stare at his ass? Did he actually want Randy in, well, a sexual kinda way? He took a deep breath and shook his head deciding that it would probably best if he didn't think about that right now. As he caught eyes with a girl across the room, he decided that he found just the thing to take his mind off of Randy for the time being.

He headed over towards her and introduced himself. And she followed suit. And his groan was audible when she introduced herself as Randi. "Sorry, I just remembered I gotta go meet a friend to watch the Pats game," he told her to get out of there as fast as he could. When he saw Randy leaving the bathroom, he grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the bar. "We should go."

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Let's just go back to your… our apartment… and finish watching the game there."

Randy shrugged and followed, starting the walk back towards the building. "Why couldn't we just stay in there? Failed pick up lines leave you too embarrassed to stick around?"

"I just hit on a chick named Randi…"

Randy couldn't help but laugh. "Damn, man, I think the stars are tryin' to tell ya something."

"Shut the fuck up, dude. Just shut the fuck up."

"Don't you think it's a sign, or something?" Randy continued. "Look, you can't deny that I'm a good lookin' guy, right? I think anyone in their right mind would want to have a go at this," he said as he waved his hands around his body.

"Ego much?" John asked with a grin.

"Ortons only speak the truth. Come on, Johnny, you gotta admit it. You wanna tap my ass."

"No, actually, I don't. I think we should actually go back to enforcing that no speaking while drunk rule."

"Come on, man, I'm joking. Shit, I thought you had a sense of humour."

"I do, I do…" They continued to walk in silence until they reached the front door of the building where John punched in the code. They headed inside and to the apartment where John switched on the TV to try and find the game. Once he had it on, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Randy. Naturally it was right on that fucking spring. "No trying to scoot in closer or resting your head in my lap," John warned him, a teasing tone evident in his voice.

"But what if I just happen to pass out in your direction?" Randy quipped back, grinning.

"Who knows what'll happen…" Contrary to his own words, John couldn't take the constant prodding of that spring and scooted over closer towards Randy.

"Oh, I see how it is. You're the one that's gotta make the first move."

"Just shut up and watch the game."

"Pats are gonna lose," Randy told him.

"What part of shut up don't you understand?"

"All of it."

As the two continued to talk about the game, their earlier conversations were briefly forgotten in their drunken haze. They jokingly flirted with one another from time to time, but nothing came from it, each one assuming the other was only joking, neither knowing that there were indeed real feelings blossoming between the two young men.