Because we all know, if John could. He would.

Title: Inappropriate Touching
Cenaton, Codiasi, Candy, CodyRanDiasi
Disclaimer: Rody DiBiOrton—while having a funny name—does not own anything. Trust us. You'd know if we did. You'd know.
If you read the summary, which we assume you did, then that was warning enough. If you get offended. Well, then perhaps you should not have read something with a summary like this. Seriously, that's just plain ignorance on your part. Thank you.

Oh. This story is Serious Humor. Romantical Humor. Feel free to laugh/gush. Whatever floats your boat.

"Uh! I'm—I'm sorry!"

Randy narrowed his eyes at the poor man, who had the unfortunate luck of bumping shoulders with the already agitated Orton. "Watch it," He hissed, through clenched teeth, his jaw muscle twitching. The staff member nodded his head vigorously, darting off down the hall and nearly colliding with Ted DiBias Jr. as he did so.

"How you feeling, Randy?" The younger wrestler questioned rhetorically, patting Randy on the back in a half-hearted attempt to be reassuring. He and Randy weren't close enough to comfort each other and not feel awkward about it. Cody on the other hand... Well, Rhodes was younger and smaller and just generally less masculine, so it wasn't as strange. Too bad Cody was in the middle of a match with Shawn Michaels, at the moment—in fact, Ted was just on his way to help the brunette when he saw Randy.

"I'm fine, Ted. Go help Cody, before he gets himself killed. You know, I don't like it when you leave him to fend for himself, he's only a kid." Ted noticed the way Randy wasn't bothering to even look at him, and decided the older man preferred to be left alone like most men did when in a dire situation—after all, Randy's dignity was at stake.

"Yeah, I was just on my way... Well, if you're okay, then I guess I'll see you later," Ted muttered a farewell, before jogging down the hall in the direction of the ring. He supposed he could understand Randy's trepidation. Tonight Cena was going to be challenging him for the WWE Championship, but Stephanie McMahon hadn't specified what the terms would be. Apparently she simply told John to think up an incentive on his own. The thing that worried Randy—Ted presumed—was the rumor going around the locker room, that Cena's terms for the championship were anything but pleasant. Unfortunately, Randy had to accept the challenge no matter what the terms were, so that they could have the pay-per-view match, they were scheduled for.

Ted sighed, he was worried about what John may do to Randy, the DiBiase couldn't have the leader of Legacy humiliated, that would only bring Cody and him down. Speaking of which... Ted paused at the opening to the stadium where the ring lay, and gathered his thoughts, forcing his expression into one of anger, before inhaling deeply and breaking into a run.

The surrounding WWE Universe gasped in unison, as they saw him dash by, which nearly made him smirk, and he heard a few insulting shouts thrown his way. Cody was grinning from ear to ear at the sight of him, as the blonde slid into the ring with as much ease as if he had been doing so all his life. Shawn scowled at him and lunged for him as soon as he was on his feet. Of course, before Shawn could reach him, Cody had taken advantage of the older man's distraction and grabbed his arm, jerking him towards himself. He nodded at Ted and said man rushed over to grip Shawn's other arm tightly in his.

And in perfect sync—as they always were—Ted and Cody raised their right legs to stab them into Shawn's gut, shoving HBK to the mat with a reverberating smack, his arms around his injured stomach. As he groaned, Legacy lifted their feet again to stomp on either side of him, his body wracking with spasms after each bruising kick. When—finally—Shawn stopped attempting to get back up Ted and Cody shared a triumphant grin, as the surrounding audience crowed hollers of indignation at them. Their hands to their bare hips, the two of them didn't bother to even pin Shawn Michaels, they weren't supposed to anyway. In a few minutes, either Hunter would come dashing into the ring with a steel chair and beat them over the head with it, or HBK would sneak up from behind and take them down while they distracted themselves with goading the crowd. It was all preplanned—or, at least, guidelined so that the wrestlers had something of an idea of what was going to happen.

Well, except Randy, of course.

"Hey, Orton! What's with the expression?" Randy spun around, jerked back into reality by the boisterous voice that sounded directly beside him. There, John Cena stood, materializing—seemingly—out of nowhere, his fists to his waist and a large—slightly creepy—grin across his face. Randy tried not to recoil, and glanced away from the older wrestler, to pull his face together and put on a mask of impassiveness.

"Cena." He muttered, in his low guttural voice, running his right hand over his championship belt absently—something he did, normally, in the presence of John. "What do you want?" Cena's ecstatic, 'happy-go-lucky' smile fell from his face almost instantly at the dismissive tone in Randy's words, and he shifted to throw an arm around Randy's shoulders, as if they had been friends for years. When, in reality, they hardly ever talked—or even saw each other—outside of work. Well, at least Randy never saw John.

"Aw, Randy, you don't have to be like that. Just because we're enemies on-screen, doesn't mean we have to be, off-screen, you know?" John tugged Randy closer, the hand around Orton's back patting his upper arm, as if that would somehow better acquaint the two. Randy suppressed the urge to tear himself from Cena's grip, the muscles in his arms tensing. John was in his man bubble. Nobody got in Randy's man bubble, except for Ted and Cody, it made him feel as if he were being invaded somehow, and he inhaled deeply in a failed attempt to rid himself of the queasy nausea.

"Whatever. What do you want?" He—again—tried to sound uninterested and annoyed, while, simultaneously, glaring at the wall in the opposite direction of Cena. He couldn't let John see his face, especially with the close proximity the two were in, the older wrestler would notice something was wrong for sure. And Randy wasn't about to admit to John Cena, of all people, that he was horribly anxious at the thought of what John's terms could possibly be, especially when they had every RAW wrestler in the locker-room buzzing with rumors.

"Well, I do have to challenge you for the championship in about five minutes… You nervous?" The underlying implications that laced through John's words—the 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' feel—made Randy want to double over and vomit all over the tiles of the hall floor. Of course, he controlled his rolling gut, and eyed Cena wryly. You could call Randy anything, but you couldn't call him a bad actor. He was actually quite skilled in hiding his true feelings. At a distance, anyway.

"I don't get nervous, Cena. Especially when I'm getting in the ring with someone as irritating as you. I'm just worried about Ted and Cody, that's all," Randy lied through his teeth, grateful for his intuitive mind when it came to excuses. John chuckled at his words, and lowered his arm to the middle of Randy's back—instead of his shoulders—in order to pat him in what seemed to be an attempt at a comforting gesture. Randy scowled, John was just as bad at this 'comforting' thing as Ted was. Where was Cody, when he really needed the comfort?

"Don't worry, Randy. I'm sure your boy-toys are doing fine. DiBiase can take care of himself and… Well, maybe Cody's slightly incapable, but, I mean, that's what Teddy's for, right?" John's arm tensed around Randy's back, as he laughed a little to himself, attempting to stifle it with his unoccupied hand, his eyes watching The Viper through the corners of his eyelids. Randy narrowed his own gray tinted orbs at Cena, subconsciously clutching his belt tighter to his chest as he did so, and silently wondered if John's last comment was a jab as his Legacy team's sexual orientation. Sure, Cody was slightly childlike and effeminate, but it was just because of his age, he was the youngest member of the RAW roster, after all. Randy was positive once the brunette reached a certain age, he would fill out and become as big in stature as his teammate, Ted. But for now, poor, innocent Cody would remain the butt of nearly all the gay jokes the RAW staff had to offer.

"Ted's just protective, alright? The two aren't gay or anything," Randy informed, after clearing his throat to gain the older man's attention. John eyed him calculatingly—his arm, infuriatingly still wound around Randy's back, lowered absently to Orton's waist as he studied The Legend Killer's face carefully. Randy didn't seem to notice John's stare or his arm, and simply returned to avoiding Cena's gaze, opting for staring at the tiles he had earlier wanted to puke on.

"Yeah, well… It's not like I'd have a problem if they were gay or not. I mean, I don't really care. You gotta admit, they'd make a good match, together," John commented in an off-hand sort of way. As if he hadn't just informed the WWE Champion that he thought his teammates looked good together—as in, together, together. Randy blanched, choking on his saliva, and he gaped, much like a fish, at John who had his head tilted to the side, in a thoughtful way.

"Are you kidding me?" Randy asked rhetorically, because he knew John wasn't joking, the man looked completely serious as he watched the wall contentedly, his arm still wound around Randy's waist in an absent gesture.

"Well, c'mon Randy. Every wrestler thinks they're gay at least once in their career. It almost comes with the job description if you think about it…" Cena trailed off, his blue eyes gradually finding their way back to Randy's disturbed face, as the man tried to comprehend what he was telling him. Randy twitched convulsively for several seconds, before finding his voice once again, his throat dry.

"I haven't." He murmured intelligently, his gaze boring into Cena's with a strange, cloudy glaze as he entertained the idea of Hunter, or Vince McMahon, ever thinking they were gay. Ah, what a sight to behold...

In fact, Randy was so preoccupied with the amusing—and slightly creepy—images toiling around in his mind, he didn't even take notice when John's hand dropped even lower than his Speedo-covered hips. Interestingly enough, he was so entranced he wasn't awakened from his reverie until Lillian Garcia's deep, exuberant voice filled the halls, announcing the arrival of, one "Randy Orton!"

But before the wrestler could move John off of him—get him out of his man bubble—and make a run for the ring he was late to, he felt something very strange. He swore he could feel his left butt cheek being absurdly manhandled, by a rather large hand. Yelping in surprise, he instantly pounced forward, in a primal instinct to get away from the violation. He abruptly jerked around, expecting to see a Diva smirking at him, or even a random fan girl who'd snuck in, but instead the only sight that met his eyes was John Cena. John Cena with a satisfied smirk spread across his pale face, and his right hand—previously around Randy and possibly having cupped his butt cheek—covering his nose and mouth, his blue eyes gleamed as they locked with Randy's and he breathed in, a look of pure, euphoric ecstasy roving across his face as he did so.

Randy's jaw dropped, but he didn't bother to question the older wrestler's sudden loss of heterosexual sanity. Reeling with sick nausea, he, instead, pivoted on his heel and made a mad dash for the ring. He had to get away from Cena, from the sinister tension that filled the air and from—well, from where he had just gotten groped, by a man. He shuttered violently, as he unwillingly relived the feeling of his poor abused butt being squeezed by none other than John Cena, himself. Randy swallowed down the puke that threatened to hurl itself out of his mouth, once again, as he came up to the entrance of the stadium, his song 'Voices' blaring loudly in his ear drums as he tried his hardest to rid himself of his completely mortified expression—he couldn't let the cameras see—unfortunately, he was finding the task ridiculously hard to accomplish.

But he had to go out there, whether he was prepared or not—definitely not—and clenching his toes, fingers, teeth and buttocks, Randy marched out with his usual air of dignity and his customary lanky gait. Or well, tried to. Instead, he looked more like an old man, who's spine was made of licorice. He heard the stifled giggles of the surrounding crowd, and the raised eyebrows of Lillian, and the others as they watched him stomp awkwardly towards them.

Randy inhaled deeply, as his entrance music stopped, attempting to slow his violently beating heart, he was nervous and confused and disturbed and—Today was just not Randy's day. Of course, his mind was so preoccupied with self-pity and fear and vomit-inducing thoughts, the fact that he was six seconds away from sharing the ring with the absolute last man he wanted to see at that moment, had conveniently slipped his mind.

And then, the music began. The tongue rolling R, and the soprano pitched beats of John Cena's entrance song filtered through Randy's ears. He nearly had a schizophrenic seizure on the ring mat.

A few minutes earlier:

"You did great Ted!" Cody's rambunctious voice reverberated off of the cavernous hall way, as he and Ted DiBiase made their way towards the medic-room, in order to get their minor injuries cleaned up. Ted flashed a grin in Cody's direction, dragging his forearm across his face to wipe away the layer of sweat that had formed.

"I did great? You did awesome, Codes! Just like always. If you keep this up, we'll be in the wrestling Hall-of-Fame in no time," Ted encouraged, throwing his arm—wet from perspiration—around his best friend's shoulders, smiling at the familiarity of the gesture. Cody snorted, shaking his damp hair in an attempt to rid it of its saturation.

"Yeah, right. You were way better than me, and you know it," He informed, as if the fact were the most obvious thing in the world. Ted narrowed icy blue eyes, and he tensed his arm around Cody's neck.

"You think you're funny, Codes? Don't disagree with me. If I say you were awesome back there, even better'n me, than you were, got it?" Ted expressed, irritated with Cody's denial, but too exhausted to berate the younger man with his fist. Cody pouted, a frown furrowed across his brow.

"Fine. If you just have to be worse than me, then whatever. I don't even care anymore," He muttered, exhaling harshly as he stumbled over his own boots due to the distracting conversation between him and Ted. His fumble caused the older DiBiase to nearly fall on top of him, as the two injured wrestlers struggled to keep their footing, warm rushed breaths washing over the napes of each others' necks.

It was quiet as they tediously supported each other's weight, and limped along. The silence was welcomed though, and Cody sighed contentedly. He enjoyed these moments of his career. When it was just Ted and him, carrying each other's burned out bodies, with nothing between them but the quiet hum of the crowd that twittered around the ring, like a bunch of overexcited children. It was calming.

"…I'm just worried about Ted and Cody, that's all."

The two Legacy members instantly jerked from the comfortable reverie they had been occupying, at the sound of their names, echoing hollowly from around the corner. Cody and Ted exchanged glances, before shuffling over to the aforementioned turn, and peering around. Cody—being shorter than Ted—acted as a support for the older, more battered and bruised—he'd been knocked upside the head a few too many times with the chair—wrestler, who, in turn, was grateful and allowed his hands to grip Cody's shoulders as they pressed as close to each other as humanly possible. In order to camouflage with the wall.

Their curious eyes met with the strange sight of John Cena and Randy Orton standing obscenely close together, John's arm wrapped comfortably around Orton's shoulders as they faced the opposite direction. To the young Legacy members' ultimate relief they saw that Randy didn't seem particularly happy with the situation, and they quirked their ears to be sure and catch the whole of the older wrestlers' conversation.

"Don't worry, Randy. I'm sure your boy-toys are doing fine. DiBiase can take care of himself and… Well, maybe Cody's slightly incapable, but, I mean, that's what Teddy's for, right?" John's comedic voice chuckled.

Cody huffed slightly at this. How dare John—of all people—insult his capability?! He was perfectly able to take care of himself! Ted only helped because… Well, Cody was positive Ted had a totally reasonable excuse for… It must be because…

Rhodes frowned. He couldn't think of any reason Ted would want to help him all the time when Cody never reciprocated such actions. Because he knew Ted didn't need his help, he knew Ted could fight his own battles.

Wait. But then, didn't that mean that DiBiase didn't think Cody could hold his own in a match without his help?! Cody's frown deepened, causing creases across his forehead and he shifted his attention away from the sight of Randy and John standing—strangely close—to glare up at Ted.

"Hey, Teddy!" He hissed under his breath, so as not to give way to their hiding place, Ted glanced down, slightly taken aback by the accusing, narrowed eyes being shot up at him from the slight form of Cody Rhodes. "Do you think I'm too weak to fight for myself?!" As Cody shot the accusation at Ted, his heated breath blew in short bursts up into the blonde's face, and said wrestler flinched, suddenly all too aware of how close the two were standing, pressed against the wall.

But before he could attest to what Cody had said, Randy's voice caused them both to return their gazes to the two more experienced wrestlers farther down the hallway. "Ted's just protective, alright? The two aren't gay or anything." The Viper's low, drawl growled, suddenly defensive. Ted raised an eyebrow. Were John and Randy questioning his sexual orientation? …Now that's just weird.

Cody scowled. What kind of sick conversation were they having? He and Ted never talked about they're homosexual tendencies! Not that they had any, but if they did Legacy wouldn't gossip about it. At least, not really. Besides, Ted and he were as straight as a ramrod! Cody nodded his head resolutely in assurance, his black hair tickling Ted's chest as he did so.

Ted cringed again, instantly flinching away, only to hurriedly press himself to Cody once more so as not to fall onto his back in his lopsided stance due to his current exhaustion. He really hated being this close to Cody. But before he could demand that the young Rhodes not move his head again, John's voice filled the quiet hall. "Yeah, well… It's not like I'd have a problem if they were gay or not. I mean, I don't really care. You gotta admit, they'd make a good match, together."

Abruptly, all of Legacy blanched simultaneously. Cody nearly smacked his head into the wall from the force at which he slammed forward, due to Ted's sudden loss of ability to stand, as the blonde all but collapsed onto the smaller wrestler, the two of them fell over and didn't catch Randy's reaction to the out-worldly statement—other than an abrupt wave of nausea—as they hit the tile as quietly as possible. Which was actually a lot harder than they had first thought, and Ted hurriedly wound his arms around Cody's head—barely preventing its imminent collision with the floor. They lay like that, for a couple seconds, wound in each other's arms with eyes squinted shut, for fear Randy and John would hear the clamor and come running.

"Are you kidding me?" Randy's voice, disturbed, but not in reaction to their fall.

Ted and Cody breathed a sigh of relief in unison. They hadn't—fortunately—been heard. Cody raised his hand to feel the back of his head, dangerously close to having smacked the tile, and grinned up at Ted with grateful admiration. He watched as Ted attempted to crack a smile in return, before his blue eyes widened and his face reddened. Cody, confused at the sudden change in attitude, opened his mouth to ask is he was alright, but Ted immediately released him—instantly retracting his arms and darting to the opposite side of the hall, his chest heaving. Rhodes cocked a black eyebrow, but before he could demand to know the reason behind Ted's odd behavior, they heard John's tumultuous voice.

"Well, c'mon Randy. Every wrestler thinks they're gay at least once in their career. It almost comes with the job description if you think about it…"

Ted and Cody eyed each other warily, Cody in suspicious puzzlement and Ted in fear of his own desires, before their curiosity of the happenings between John and Randy overrode their apprehensive stares and they hurriedly pounced over to the edge of the corner. Peering cautiously around the plaster, they saw Randy's rigid form, Cena's arm peculiarly wound around the Orton's waist, in a gesture that looked more like a hitting-on-you gesture than a friendly-comfortable man-hug.

Cody narrowed his eyes at the offending arm. How dare John Cena—the annoyance—touch Randy as if they'd been friends their whole life! Cody had known the older man for three years before he even let him in his man bubble let alone hug him! …Not that Cody wanted to hug Randy or anything, it just made his blood boil seeing the man accept John, when he'd been working his hardest to get his approval.

The young Rhodes obviously didn't notice the thickly tensed muscles that lined Randy's shoulders as he tried his hardest to get as far away from Cena as humanly possible without physically ripping himself from John's grasp.

"I haven't," Randy muttered, after a moment passed between the two, and Cody could practically see the distraction in his voice, as the Orton lost himself in his own inner musings, oblivious to the three wrestlers eyeing him, all for very different reasons. Cody fumed, once he caught notice of John's leer, his dark blue eyes boring into Randy's skull with a calculating air. …Okay, Cody was jealously protective. But at least he was man enough to admit it. Because really, who the heck did John Cena think he was, openly gazing at his mentor like that?!

As Rhodes inwardly seethed, his fingernails digging into the white plaster, Ted leaned over him attempting his hardest to ignore the way the younger wrestler's small back chafed against his own sweat drenched chest and trying to focus his attention on Randy Orton. He mentally cursed himself for being suddenly so distracted by his younger partner's presence, every time Cody inadvertently grazed against him it left a trail of agonizing fire in its wake that made his face grow red and perspiration instantly appear across his brow. Which was strange, because he'd known Cody since they were kids—they practically grew up together and he'd never had this sudden need to dash away, before he overheated.

It was peculiar, but the DiBiase found he sort of enjoyed the heat… Ted shook his head sharply, as if that would help to clear his head of the disturbing thoughts that plagued his mind.

Suddenly he felt Cody's elbow jab into his abs, and he flinched hoping to God he hadn't said anything aloud, but when he shifted his gaze to his teammate's face, he saw that Cody's eyes were staring with wide, astonishment, in the direction of John and Randy. Immediately, Ted jerked his head up to see what had caused Rhodes' slack jawed stare, and he looked just in time to hear Lillian's voice echoing throughout the hallway, his eyes raising to greet the image of John's right hand squeezing something that no man's hand ever should:

Randy's butt.

The tag-team watched in horror, as Randy leaped away from John, instantly and whirled around, with huge gray eyes as wide as dinner plates. And as Randy gaped, open mouthed and dumbfounded, Cody was about ready to slaughter something, his teeth grinding against each other so forcefully, he was surprised Ted couldn't hear. He was absolutely furious—oh-no, no—he wasn't furious, he was downright homicidal. What gave Cena the right to molest Randy Orton?! Randy was ten—no, six hundred times better than John could ever hope to be. The man had absolutely no business touching Cody's mentor, his friend, his Randy. Cody tensed; he was going to utterly destroy all that was John Cena. With a little help from Ted of course.

Ted, on the other hand, was just plain petrified. What the heck was going on?! John was gay?! Or was he just messing with Randy? No way, what kind of guy gropes another guy as a joke? No wait, let's revise that. What kind of guy gropes another guy who's wearing nothing but a tiny Speedo over his butt?! Were he and Cody being punk'd?

The two young wrestlers watched with a mixture of unnerving disturbance and enraged ire, as Randy pivoted on the heel of his boot and made a crazy sprint in the direction of the ring, not even bothering to glance back as he ran.

Once Legacy realized the horribly odd confrontation seemed to have been over—John having turned another corner and disappearing—they fell back against each other into the wall, their previous exhaustion washing over them again ten fold. Weak-kneed with anger and morbid confusion, the two slowly sank to the tiled floor, staring at each other with unbelieving eyes.

It was Cody who first gathered himself, controlling his—suddenly harsh—breathing. "Did you see that? Did you freakin' see that? Cena—Cena just touched Randy! Our—my—Randy!" The young wrestler exclaimed, finding himself struck breathless with rage as the image replayed again in his mind's eye. Ted stared at him, still slightly struck with incredulity, but as he processed the words that left Cody's mouth, he found a twinge of—of something tug at somewhere in his chest at the use of the possessive to Randy's name. He shook it off, and nodded his consent in Cody's direction, his hand to his mouth as he too remembered the cursed event that had just occurred. Cody continued his tantrum.

"God dammit! I'm gonna kill—"

"Whoa there Coddles! Such a small guy shouldn't make such harsh threats." Ted and Cody whipped around to see John Cena standing haughtily in the direction they had came from earlier. DiBiase instantly hauled Cody to his side, his arm around the younger man's shoulders in a protective instinct, he was shocked beyond words that John was there. He most likely knew that they had seen what he'd done to Randy. Ted wasn't going to let the military-obsessed broad hurt Cody, even if it meant fighting him off with such low energy reserves and a bruised body. "What? So scared to see me?"

Ted only gulped, and he felt Cody tense in his hold. John seemed to take pleasure in the sight of the roughed up boys, as they glared up at him with defiant anxiety. He opened his mouth to continue when they didn't reply, but he suddenly heard 'My Time is Now' begin to blare through the halls, he inwardly cursed before leaning down to crouch in front of the ragged Legacy. "I'll be back to take care of you two later, okay?" And with those ominous last words, he dashed off in the direction of the ring, a morbid smirk crossing his usually obnoxious face.

"And you think I'm actually going to sit back and let you take the championship from me Cena?"

Randy delivered the lines flawlessly, he was an accomplished wrestler after all, acting was in the job description. Yes, because Randy knew by word what exactly was in the job description and he could solemnly swear there was no mention of 'This job entails small bursts of homosexual urges and/or molestation' anywhere, at all. He was positive. He shook his head roughly, to clear away any thoughts that may betray his true feelings as John allowed his knowing infamous grin to spread across his face like liquid nitrogen.

"Oh, yeah. About that Randy. I've already become number one contender, so it's a little bit late for words like that. But don't worry, there's plenty of time for whining and complaining later when I take my championship from you." And of course, John's lines were also well done. Randy fought the extremely strong urge to turn tail and run once more, as Cena took a step forward to come face to face with Orton. The man was way to close for comfort, Randy could smell his breath washing over his face and he quickly jerked his head away, being sure to keep his stoic glare at the mat floor, his jaw clenching.

Randy gulped, praying his expression didn't change as he spoke, "What makes you think I'm going to agree to put my championship on the line, Cena?" John Cena looked way to pleased with the scripted lines, as he put the microphone back to his lips, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. This couldn't be good.

"Because I'm going to give you an offer you can't refuse." Literally, Randy mentally tacked to the end of John's lines. He knew he would have to accept the terms no matter what they were, now that he was sure was in the job description.

"And that would be?"

"If you win, you get to keep your championship and I'll never go after the WWE championship while its yours. I'll leave you alone Randy," John offered, with an air of nonchalance. Randy sucked in a deep breath, relishing in the feel of the air flowing down his throat and filling his lungs. He mentally prepared himself, tensing every possible muscle in his body, his fingers clenching white-knuckled around the Championship belt.

"I'm listening." He said—the written words, the two words nearly catching at the back of his mouth, as he bored his glare into the ring mat, unable to look John straight in the eye, for fear his body would override his mind and send him flying out the ring in order to get as far away as possible from John and his wondering hand.

"But if I win… If I win, I not only get the championship, I also get—" John smirked, his jovial blue eyes glinting, "Your butt cherry."

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Rody DiBiOrton