So, guys and gals. A new story. Just an experiment for now to see how people like the idea. If I get enough reviews, this will become a lot more. It's called 'A day in the life of...', being just that. Any wrestler, one day with him. In his mind. Meaning it's 1st Person POV. I'm open for any suggestions considering characters AND situations for future chapters.
While I'm at it, don't forget to check out my Josh/Randy story. The 'SmutFest'-part that's gone completely wrong :D
Now, no more rambling, here it is:
Title: A day in the life/mind of CR
Characters: Mainly Cody and Randy, but also mentions of Wade, Sheamus, Santino and others
Warning: Hints of Slash, some obscenities, cursing, fluff, angst, bla... EVERYTHING included
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I don't own Cody or anyone else (hell, if I would, I'd surely NOT spend my time writing). I've no idea about those guys travel-arrangements nor how they spent their days. As said, FICTION :)
Another day, another city, another show, another lonely night.
I'm rudely awakened by that nerve-wrecking sound of my alarm. I fumble, still sleep-drunken and blindly for my phone but I cannot reach it. Sure, I'd put it out of arm-length when I went to bed. At 2 am. In order to GET up to shut it off. Clever, Cody, really clever. I decide to just ignore it for another 5 minutes, turning around on my other side and pressing the pillow harder onto my head.
I CAN'T ignore it. Great, just great. I blink my eyes open, slowly, very, very slowly, adjusting to the... there is no light. Of course not, at this unholy hour of the day. Good. I open my eyes wide and finally make out my phone in the semi-darkness, half-rolling, half-stumbling out of my bed to angrily stop the alarm. You guessed it: I'm not a morning person. But it's my job.
After activating the coffee-machine, I've somehow managed to make my way into the bathroom. I'm lucky the hotel-room this time is quite big and luxurious, usually it's not even half this good. Then again, who cares? I don't use it for more than 5 or 6 hours and then I'm gone again. And most of that time I'm asleep anyways. Never mind. I blink a few times as I watch my sleepy image in the mirror. Not very attractive if you ask me. This will take a while today. Thanks god, I've a little over an hour before the bus to the airport leaves.
I'm finally moving. My hand at least, as I brush my teeth. I still regard myself in the mirror. Closely. I'm conceited, so what? It's one of those days where I can abandon the shaving. I'm still smooth as a baby-ass. Some take it as a curse, I take it as a gift. Tomorrow I won't be able to ignore it though. Together with the rest of my body. I inwardly gringe at the thought of getting up even earlier just to... look the way I do. Damn it. But I have to. For my job. For myself.
Cold water. I hate it. I usually prefer a long, warm, HOT shower, but today isn't the day for it. I'm tired, ultra-tired and a very cold shower is the only solution. This and the strong, hot coffee hopefully waiting for me in the kitchen-area already. If I shared my room with someone, I'd have to share my coffee, too. Then again, that someone would save me a lot of time, making the coffee for me. Handing it to me the second I step out of the shower. Geez, I'm really lonely. And desperate. Yeah. That's what Orton called me yesterday. Bastard. Correct bastard, though.
Out of the shower again. Naked as I am padding over to the mirror once more. Hmmm, maybe I should really shave. Then again, it's not as if anyone's going to see me down there. Or touch. So... I continue my way out of the big bathroom and into the kitchen to finally get my well-deserved cup of coffee. Still naked as I am. Hey! I like my body. You already guessed that by now though.
Hot coffee. One cup. Done. Now on to more important things. I already feel a lot fresher as I walk back into the bathroom, taking out all the little utensils that help me look the way I do. Tweezer, lipgloss, some make-up for those pretty damn dark rings under my eyes. What? I'm not a woman, no, but I like to look good. Some call it metrosexual, I call it 'being me'. The coffee-machine is running again while I do all the work that is needed, plucking, dabbing, powdering. Oh hey, there's a nose-hair that is definitely WAY too long already. Not as if anyone would notice. Besides me. One tuck and it's gone, too. At least now I feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin.
Done. Just as my cell-phone rings, I'm out of the bathroom, still naked but completely ready to start the day. I jog over to snatch it of the night-stand, groaning inwardly when I risk a look at the display. I already know where this is going before I even answer. As I listen to Randy ramble, I make my way back over to the kitchen-area to grab my newly-filled cup of coffee, first taking a long, deep breathe to let the aroma fill my nostrils. Yepp, NOW I am ready to start the day. Of course, he's trying to lure me into some breakfast again, but... I'm not only NOT a morning-person, I also dislike food, in the morning that is. Well, maybe I'd like it more if a beautiful, naked woman... or man would surprise me with it in bed, but that hasn't been the case in a long, long time. Never actually. Now that I think of it.
Randy's still babbling on and on, me only murmuring a "Hmmm" or "Yeah" every now and then as I sip on my steaming-hot coffee. I've 10 minutes left to get dressed and throw my stuff back into my travel-bag before I definitely have to leave and face him. Downstairs. In the restaurant. I'm not in the mood for it, not at all. No food. No Randy. No Ted. Not this early in the morning. And that's what I tell him in the end, before I hang up and throw my phone carelessly onto the bed. Well, not that last part, only the 'still need to get dressed and packing'-stuff. He doesn't need to know that I've no interest in small-talk this morning, nor in food. Though I guess he's figured that out already. He knows me better than anyone else, better than myself, I swear. Sometimes it's creeping me out.
Hair done. Dressed. Packed. Now Check-Out. I'm 5 minutes late. On purpose. This way Randy won't be able to force me into eating. I'm more for an early lunch. 11 am, give me a steak, scrambled eggs, a huge portion of Pasta and I'm happy for the rest of the day. But no, the man calls it 'unhealthy' to only eat twice a day. I'm a wrestler, damn it, tell me about living 'unhealthy'.
I'm sitting in the bus. And randy right next to me. It's beyond me, why he doesn't drive with his own, seeing it was parked at the hotel all night long. Probably because he wants to annoy me a little longer. Everyone else avoided to talk to me this morning, besides a few nice greetings from my co-workers. That's because everyone else knows I'm not a morning-person. So does Randy, but the fucker doesn't care. Then again, he stopped talking to me 5 minutes ago, too. Just after I'd told him to shut the fuck up. Guess that sat. I just stare out of the window and watch all the buildings passing by as we leave town. Nothing new, nothing interesting. Never. Other's enjoy the traveling, for me it's only one more reason to feel lonely. Damn me.
Airport. Check-In. The flight goes in 30 minutes and hopefully I'll be able to catch a bit more sleep then. From the looks of it, pretty much everyone around me is hoping the same. I look into two dozen of tired faces, sleep-laced eyes and yawning features. And still, most of them look comfortable, some smiling, some even laughing. Sure, they all have someone at home waiting for them when the work-week is over. Or they have someone here to keep them company. No matter if open or secretly. God, I should really stop thinking about it.
We're on the plane, on our seats and ready to start. Randy still hasn't talked to me again. And I don't know if this is good or bad. I'm slowly getting a guilty conscience. I poke his side just to see his reaction and watch as he turns to face me, smiling. Well, good, at least he isn't mad at me. That's all I wanted to know. I rest my head against the window as we slowly set off, my eyes already fluttering shut as sleep overcomes me. Not that I'm fighting it.
We're still on the plane. Surprise, surprise. Not even close to landing and I'm awake again. Wide awake. I turn to my side to see what Randy's doing, watching him type away on his iPhone. Twitter probably, or one of those other social network things that I'm not very fond of. I like my private-life to stay private. Not as if I have one at the moment, but yeah. He glances over at me as he realizes I've woken up from the dead and sends me a small smile before concentrating on the bright screen again. He doesn't look tired at all. Maybe he's writing with Sam. Yeah, that sounds a lot more reasonable. A lot more like him. Happy family-father, and damn good at it, too. I sometimes wish we could switch roles.
Since I'm not able to go back to sleep, I decide to do some reading. One of the older editions of the Green Lantern will do for the next two hours. Though I'll probably be done long before we land. But it's not as if I have many other choices. Randy's still busy with his phone and by the smile on his lips I now believe it is really Sam he's texting. And pretty much everyone around us is still asleep. I don't blame them. Even Ted has his eyes closed, the one person who's usually wide-awake on flights, entertaining everyone else. Or chatting. Must have been a long night for him, too.
I sigh as I place the comic aside. It's ridiculous that I can't even concentrate on reading anymore. A short glance in Randy's direction shows me that he's fallen asleep now, too, leaving me even less choices to entertain myself. Then again, I feel the two coffees pushing against my bladder anyways. Guess it's time to... well, you know. As carefully as possible I climb over Randy's lap, unable to hide a small smirk as he mutters something incoherent in his sleep, shifting around a little just as I lean above him, straddle-legged with my hands on either side of his head. If we weren't on a plane, I'd probably use this position to my advantage. And if it weren't Randy. Ugh. No. Just no. I manage not to wake him, stretching my numb limbs a little as I finally come to stand, my eyes drifting over the crowd surrounding me. Mostly co-workers, barely strangers. 90% of them asleep. I send a small smile into Justin's direction before I make my way to the bathroom, or what they call bathroom up here.
You really thought I'd take you with me when I take a leak? Oh boy. Nothing's changed as I return to my seat, Randy still fast asleep. But a few around us have their eyes open now, one or two smiling at me, the other's staring out of the window or reading a book. Who would've guessed that wrestlers can read, too, huh? Seeing that Randy doesn't budge as I poke his arm, an idea comes to my head, one that instantly brings a smirk to my lips. Heh, I barely have any fun anymore, don't spoil the bit I still DO have. I look around, that smirk still on my lips, seeing a few eyes now glancing in our direction. As lascivious as I can, I swing one leg over his lap again. Still no reaction. I dip my hips a little lower so that I am almost straddling him. Still no budging. My smirk widens. And we have a few more sets of eyes now on us. I sit down, feather-like, on his lap and lower my head to his own until our cheeks touch. I can't believe the guy's still fast asleep. My lips travel over the shell of his ear, my hips slowly rocking against his and just as I whisper 'Wake up, sexy' to him, his eyes fly open in shock and his hips buck into mine. I immediately pull away from him, but not before I place a big, wet smooch on his cheek and only then it seems, he does realize the situation he is in. Those around us who've witnessed my actions are now either laughing, applauding or doing both while Randy's turning a nice shade of red, sinking deeper and deeper into his seat.
Randy's glaring at me and has been for the past 4 minutes, while I'm rubbing my nuts. Yes, he's really gone as far as to hit me there. Not hard, but... ouch. I've only send him a slight grin then, my eyes begging for forgiveness, but I think he already has. He's just playing with me. His lips are twitching. He wants to smirk. And there... a few seconds later and he does it. At least now he's awake again and I have some entertainment for the next hour.
We're on the ground again. Randy indeed stayed awake for the rest of the flight, keeping me company by indulging me in some conversation about our upcoming matches, feuds and storylines. I like talking business with him because he always says what he thinks. Never keeps anything to himself, no matter if good or bad. I think that's also the reason why we've clicked right from the get go. And why we're best friends. On the road anyways. I'm kinda sorry now that I've woken him, seeing that he's constantly yawning for the past five minutes. But hey, he could've just said a thing and I would've let him go back to sleep.
I've my luggage and am waiting for the bus to the hotel. Just like everyone of my co-workers. By now everyone seems a lot more awake, fresh and energy-loaded, most of us chatting about the show tonight. Already bumping ourselves up. Drew's suggesting us a gym close to the hotel which he's been to twice already, recommending not only the clean facilities and tons of machines in best shape but also the sexy trainers there. Tons of hot females, he says. Yeah, he would know. Well, at least I'll have something to stare at while mindlessly getting my body as bumped up as my brain.
Lunch. And my plate's fuller than full. What did you think after I haven't eaten anything all day? Thank god, the hotel offers some sort of acceptable menu. I'm not the only one with this idea, at least six of my co-workers keeping me company, though not at my table. Here's only Ted to entertain me, enough I guess as I'm not the biggest talker while having my mouth stuffed anyways.
I swallow down the last of my meal with some Red Bull before getting up, closely followed by my companion. He's obviously not in a hurry though as, a few seconds later, he stops again to sit down at Drew's table to join their conversation. About god knows what. I roll my eyes before I walk on, straight towards the elevator without stopping. Only when I bump into quite a hard chest my flow's broken and I wonder when I'd stopped paying attention to my surroundings. Luckily, Wade only grins at me and pats my shoulder before making his way over to the hotel's restaurant, not giving me any heat at all. Nice guy, even though he can be a bit annoying at times. Though I think he's thinking the same about me.
My gym-bag's packed and I'm on my way, not even asking Randy if he wants to join. We're sharing a room today, god knows why, and he seems too damn focused on his phone than to even notice when I'm leaving. And once again, I catch myself being jealous of him and his marriage. Or rather Sam. Sometimes I wish I had someone like him, too, spending each spare second of his chatting with me, talking to me, making me smile. Damn lucky woman I must say.
Drew's been right. The gym is really good. New machines, clean, and sexy employees. Thing is: it's stuffed. Tons of sweaty, muscle-packed guys running around, staring shamelessly at the ladies working here. Even more distraction for me. Not the women, no, the guys. I swing myself onto the treadmill first, letting my eyes travel through the huge room to take everything in. My gaze lands on a few of my co-workers, just as shamelessly drooling over the girls as other customers are, and I can't help but to shake my head with a smirk. So blunt.
I'm not as blunt as my co-workers or half the other customers in this gym. nope. I'm doing it secretly. Though I'm sure I must be drooling already, staring at this fine... ass. For the past 10 minutes. Hell, what am I doing here? Focus, Runnels! Nope. Impossible. He's invading the treadmill right ahead of me, would probably have taken the one next to me but it had been occupied already when he arrived. Randy. Seriously, I'm drooling over my best friends ass. And his back. BARE back, mind you. Fucker has taken off his shirt five minutes ago when he started to sweat a little too much. Not that I mind, but... damn. This isn't good. Thanks god I'm wearing some pretty tight shorts underneath my track-pants this time. Keeping my little friend in check. We all know what happens if I don't wear anything underneath in the gym. Hint: Video, Hard Nock's. Why did he have to come here anyways? Couldn't he've said a thing when I left? Was Sam done with him already? I'm groaning, audibly, and instantly his head snaps back and he sends me a wary smile, hopefully not seeing the black lust that I'm sure has invaded my eyes by now.
Machines. Yeah, this is a good idea to calm down again. To focus on something else. Heck, it must be the sex-withdrawal. Though I've always found Randy attractive. Very, VERY attractive. It's not as if I've ever made a heal out of my sexual orientation. Bi. Men, women, as long as they are sexy, firm and... never mind. That's a bit too much information for you here. So yeah, I'm at the legpress when he's walking past again. Wife-beater on, rubbing his shoulder. And I instantly imagine him on his stomach and me massaging him. How fucking desperate am I?
It's impossible for me to stay in this gym any longer. For today I'm done. No more work-out. I don't even shower as I just grab my stuff out of the locker and vanish, making my way back to the hotel one block down. Five minutes of fresh-air. And a cigarette. You ask when I started smoking again? The day I realized that I'd like to fuck my best friend. So much for that topic.
I step out of the hotel-shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist. A far too small towel I might add. Seems as if this hotel doesn't own anything more... hmm... fitting. Or they never have guests the size of us. I've no idea. What I do know though is that the cold shower helped. For now at least.
After I've put on some lotion, I decide that some TV might distract me a little more, stumbling out of the bathroom, still only with that tiny towel wrapped around me, and bumping right into Randy. Yeah. my luck today. Not only that I'm obviously unable to keep my eyes open, but I also need to share my room with him. I'd almost forgotten. I only mumble a quick 'Sorry' before I walk over to my bag, not even waiting for him to say anything. I get dressed as quickly as possible, only throwing the towel away when I've pulled up my boxer-shorts. Which is completely ridiculous. We've seen each other butt-naked a hundred times in the showers already. But as I turn around, he's gone anyways. Probably using the shower himself as I've noted that he was still in his gym-clothes, too.
He IS showering. And, god, do I wish to just join him. I'm laying on my stomach, completely absentmindedly zapping through the TV channels, my eyes wandering over to the bathroom-door every... two seconds or so. And by now I'm hard again. just by the images in my freaking mind. If Randy ever finds out, I'm never going to hear the end of it.
The shower has stopped 2 minutes ago and I've finally managed to focus on the TV, though my mind's still going crazy. I wonder if the towel will look just as ridiculously tiny on him as it looked on me. Or if he'll even be wearing one. Wouldn't be the first time he's flannelling around me butt-naked. In our room. Though I can count the occasions on one hand. It's not that he's an exhibitionist, neither am I, he's just so used to it by now. And so am I, that's what he thinks at least. fact is, I'll never get used to it.
I try not to stare, I really do. Instead I'm just sending quick glances into his direction every now and then, hoping that the towel will drop. God, Cody! It doesn't even look as if he's planning to dress anytime soon. He's rummaging through his bag, looking for some fresh clothes but only to throw them onto his bed and then plop down onto it right next to them. Only now I realize that he's looking at me with a raised brow. Has he said something? Should I have listened?
Thanks fuck that I have a signing at 4. And then I'll head to the arena right afterwards. I've completely embarrassed myself by zooming out while Randy's talked to me about his talk with Sam. That's why he'd looked at me like that. Though he'd just laughed my irritation off. He hasn't talked since then though, not even about Sam and their phone-talk and now I keep wondering and wondering what I've missed. He's not looking happy now. He hasn't looked happy back in the gym either. Or when he'd returned. I'm only realizing that now.
I'm thinking, and thinking, and thinking, while I stare at the screen ahead of me. No idea what I am watching there. And the silence between us is slowly killing me. Until I can't hold it back any longer and turn to look at Randy. Who's asleep. Or at least, it seems like. He has his eyes closed, leaning against the headboard, breathing slow and even. Just wearing that tiny towel. I'm in hell. Not in heaven, but in hell. because in heaven, I'd be able to touch him right now. To kiss him. To wake him up the way I want to. This way, this way all I can do is set my alarm to 5 and place my cell right next to him before throwing over a jacket and leaving for my signing. Rather now than later. Else I might do something stupid as fuck.
Marker in hand and a smile on my face. I don't know if it looks as fake as it feels, but the fans that start to stream in don't seem to notice. They all look quite happy, some even giddy to meet me. I'm shaking hands for the next hour, smiling for pictures, signing autographs. All the while my thoughts on Randy. I can't help it, really. I feel wearier every minute, tiredness slowly overcoming me again. Not surprising, but I manage to keep the smile in place. It's not hard to do when you see all those happy faces, especially the kids. Always my favorites, though I don't want any myself. But they are just so... so real and honest, their eyes shining at me with sheer excitement. An excitement that's addicting.
Last person in the line. Finally. I'm ready for an Energy Drink or a coffee or both. And some sort of snack. I wonder if I still have an Energy Bar in my bag. I check as soon as the last person's left, rummaging through my stuff only to find nothing. I sigh and rub a hand over my face before letting my head fall back and closing my eyes for a second. My neck feels stiff and I'm tired as heck, and still I have a show to attend. A match in less than two hours.
I arrive at the arena early, earlier than most of the other's. The only people I meet on my way to my locker are staff, ring-crew and all. The first thing I notice when I walk into my locker is a small couch right there in the corner and I thank god for the opportunity he's giving me here. At least a few minutes of shut-eye. Throwing my bag into the other corner, I let myself sink onto the couch. Not too uncomfortable, not at all. And five minutes later I'm already dozing off.
I slowly blink my eyes open as I hear my voice being whispered and a hand caressing my shoulder. Caressing... wait... WTF? My eyes widen as I take in my surroundings and the situation, not immediately registering everything. It takes me a few seconds to make out Randy standing right above me, smirk on his lips and cell-phone in his hand. Nokia. Must be mine. I sigh and manage a small smile, nodding my head at him in a silent 'Thanks' before reaching for it and... he pulls it away. I can hardly make out the 'What do I get in return?' slipping past his lips, instantly thinking that this must be a joke. But there's no one else around. So, he wants to play... 'What do you want?', I wriggle my brows at him, still partly laying, partly sitting on the small couch, my lips quirking up into a smirk of my own. But there's no scowl on his face this time. Nothing. His smirk doesn't falter. 'A kiss.' Now I KNOW I'm still asleep and dreaming. I must be.
I was dreaming, obviously. And I'm awake now. Wide-awake, sweating and panting. Fuck, this has been the best damn kiss of my life. Well, my dream-life anyways. I scan the room for any signs of life, but no one's there yet. Of course. the show doesn't start before 6:30. Most people won't be here before 6. Especially not Santino, Randy and Stephen who're sharing the locker with me today. They're famous for turning up late. And that's the only reason that I close my eyes again. That and the hope that my dream will continue.
This time I wake up to the door slamming, a sound that almost makes me jolt of the bench. Damn it, Stephen. I blink a few times as I swing my legs over the couch to place my feet on the floor, rubbing a hand over my hair and my face as I listen to him talking. To Santino. So Randy still isn't here. Doesn't surprise me, really. I just hope he heard my alarm.
While chatting to my two co-workers, I get changed into my ring-gear, doing some stretching in-between jokes and easy conversation. I like those two, really, they're great company, though quite loud at times. Always entertaining me no matter how. But my focus falters as Randy walks inside. Frown on his lips, eyes cold as ice. And instead of greeting us, he's walking straight to his locker, throwing his bag inside before plopping down on the still unoccupied bench. Neither Santino nor Stephen open their mouths. Nor do I.
The show started. Santino's out for his match already and Stephen's waiting for his segment. Soon I'll be alone with a grumpy, reticent Randy, his match being the last and mine... well, we're fighting each other in the Main event. Tag Match. So yeah.
Stephen's left for his segment and Santino still isn't back. So... we are alone. And he still hasn't talked. I never know when to say something around him or when to keep quiet. I don't have a feeling for such things, really, but since I guess the chances are small that he'll hit me so close to our match, I'm risking it. 'You okay?' It's not much, but it at least gets Randy's attention as he looks up from the floor and over at me. And those icy-blues are making me gulp. He hasn't even changed into his ring-gear yet and still he's in full Viper-mode, or so it seems. 'Trouble with Sam, is all.' It takes me a while to process his words, too surprised that he's answered me at all with the mood he is in. But... well, that explains a lot. I just nod at him before I turn back to lace my boots -even though they ARE already laced-, knowing if he wants to say more, he will. But he doesn't.
Santino still isn't back and I'm slowly wondering if he's bailed on us. Probably, since he knows how Randy can get in such a mood. Said person hasn't spoken since... 10 minutes ago, not one word, but at least he's changed into his ring-gear now. And I've somehow managed NOT to look. Can't risk a boner in those trunks, really. It'll be hard enough to control myself in our match, NO pun intended.
'Your cell, before I forget.' I hadn't even realized that he'd moved into my direction, now holding my phone right into my face with the slightest of smile shining on his lips. It's enough to make me smile back, though, nodding my head in appreciation as I take it from him. 'Just don't think about your dream now' is pretty much all I can think as he plops down on the couch, right next to me. Our thighs touching. I'm in hell, officially in hell, I mean.
And for the next five minutes I am listening to him spill his heart.
He looks at me as if he's expecting something. But I have absolutely no idea what to say. I'd have an idea what to do, but I doubt he'd like it. Actually, I believe he'd hate it even, hate me. But yeah. So I do the first thing -and the only- that comes to my mind, patting his shoulder and giving him the most convincing 'It'll work out.' I can muster. I even sound strange to my own ears. He musters me for a while longer before he sighs and raises himself off the couch again, muttering a short 'yeah' and retreating to one of the corners to do some warming-up.
Santino and Stephen are both back. Thanks fuck. Because I wouldn't have survived this tension one more second. They're still a bit wary of Randy's mood, but latter is the one who actually speaks first, congratulating Santino on his match. And suddenly it seems we're all back to normal. Still I can't help but to glance at Randy every now and then, watching the smile that doesn't at all reach his eyes and those icy-blue eyes that are filled with sadness.
Match-time. Gorilla-position. Wade and Show are already waiting for us as we join them, together. Short warm-up and our music hits first. Well, Wade's, giving Randy enough time to pat my back and wish me luck. Yeah, I'll probably need it tonight but not for the reasons Randy has in mind.
My music starts and I'm out, soaking it all in. The boos, the cheers, the whistles. Now I know again why I love this job so much. It's still overwhelming each time you step into that ring, no matter if the fans love you or hate you.
I've survived the match. No boner, no useless touching, perfect timing. I haven't fucked up. Thanks goodness. I'm on my way back to the lockers, Randy right behind me, some people clapping our backs and congratulating us for a 'Good Job'. I feel a warm, sweaty palm on my shoulder and turn around just to stare into the sparkling eyes of my best friend, waiting for him to say something, to snap at me for the Moonsault on Show as I know how much he hates that move. Or me doing it. Must have something to do with the risk. But... all I hear is 'You've done great. Nice moonsault.' and he's passed me. I stand there for a while longer, looking completely dumbfolded. Just the way I feel. Something is damn wrong here.
He doesn't say a word while he slips out of his trunks and into the shower, not even when I follow him and step into the cubicle right next to him. I keep my eyes forward on the wall, soon closing them as the hot water cascades down my sore muscles and tense flesh. I swear I can hear a sharp intake of breathe right next to me, but I'm too far away in my own little world, taking my time to rub the shower-gel all over my body, massaging my tense flesh a little. My cock's hard as fuck now, straining against my belly, but I don't care. The shower-walls give me enough privacy and the images of Mark Henry I force into my head are slowly helping me regain my senses and softening my little friend. I don't know how long my eyes are closed for, the water blurring my vision anyways. Only when I look up again from my feet I do realize that the cubicle next to me is empty again, Randy nowhere in sight.
He's gone already when I step out of the showers. like... not even in the locker anymore. That's really weird. He always waits till I'm finished. Well, maybe he wanted to call Sam again to make up and all. Whatever. I slowly get dressed in some loose track-pants and one of my older shirts, knowing already that I won't go out tonight and also knowing that I don't want to change AGAIN. If a fan sees me like this, so be it.
After the quick interview wanted to make -and which I had no idea about, seriously-, I'm on my way back to the hotel. Only two fans stop me for autographs and I quickly sign them just to get rid of them. I'm fucking tired and sore. Next stop: my bed.
Randy's not in our room. I scratch my head as I listen to any noises that might indicate his presence, maybe in the bathroom or the kitchen, but nothing. I shrug as I plop down on my bed and immediately sink back into the hard mattress, letting my eyes fall shut. Only a few minutes, only to let all the activities and happenings of the day sink in. But all I see is Randy.
I sigh and sit up again, deciding that a tea would do me some good. Or maybe a Scotch. I check the mini-bar and reach for the bottle, not even bothering for a glass as I take a long, very long swig. Usually not my style, but today... I feel like it. It's the only swig I take, though, placing the bottle on the counter in the small kitchen-area again and turning the water-kettle on. I'm hungry, actually, but neither in the mood to leave the room nor in the mood to talk to anyone. That's why I decide for room-service. Also something I do rather rarely. Only on special occasions. But you could say that today is one. The first day that I can't get Randy out of my head, even though he's been spooking around in there for quite some time already. Until now, I'd always been able to shut those thoughts off. Today, I failed.
Room-service: Check. Tea: Check. TV: Check. Randy... still not here. I start worrying. Not that I have any right to. He's grown-up, he's married, he's not mine. And it's not even 10. Just... he left before me. I shake the thoughts aside and try to focus on the TV again, nomming on my Sandwich. Not much, but it will do for today. I've kicked off my shoes and slithered up the bed to lean against the head-board as I watch the latest episode of 'Dexter', but for the first time ever during this season, I can't concentrate on it. I glance at the watch, then at the door and back at the TV again for what feels like a million times. Every 10 seconds.
I must have napped off somewhere between finishing the Sandwich and taking the last sip of my tea. It's cold now but before I get up to carry it back into the kitchen, I check my phone again. Not for any messages, but for the time. While I'm at it, though, I see the small envelope in the corner of the screen blinking. I sigh again -another habit I must've picked up around the time I realized my feelings for Randy-, as I open the message, from Ted, to Cody. 'Randy's down at the bar and getting shit-loaded'. Well, that explains his absence. What it doesn't explain is 1) Why's Ted writing ME, 2) Why's Randy getting shitloaded, and 3) Why do I have such a bad feeling. I ponder for not even one second and then get out of bed, not even bothering to put some shoes on.
The elevator took its time on its way down. giving me enough time to think. I'm not in the mood to baby-sit, especially not for Randy, but... he's my best friend. And maybe the booze has loosened his tongue a bit. Though I've no idea how to get him back to our room. And why. It's not as if I'm his mom. Let him get drunk, right? He can take good care of himself, right? Knows what he's doing, right? Wrong.
90 minutes. That's what I keep telling myself on my way through the foyer. If he went to the bar right after arriving here, he's there for 90 minutes now. He can't be that drunk by now. There's quite a few fans down here in the foyer, but none of them is stopping me as I head straight to the bar, Randy already in my line of vision. Just like a few of my fellow co-workers. Ted, Stephen, Drew, Wade... maybe even more, but my eyes are focused on the man right at the bar. Glass of Whiskey in his hand, starring straight ahead. As I pass Ted, I ask him how much he's had and my only answer is a sway of his hand towards... 6 or 7 empty shots and 2 beer-bottles. Yeah, so much for my 90-minutes-theory. This fight with Sam must've been really bad. 'We tried to talk to him already, but he shoved all of us away. Like, literally.' Stephen's words ring in my ears as I take those last few steps towards my best friend, considering my first -and hopefully not last- move.
With a nod into the bar-keepers direction, I plop down next to Randy. Only now I realize how cold my feet are. I should've probably put on some socks at least. Bare-feet in a bar. Smart move, Cody, really. I don't dare talk. And he doesn't either, just downing the shot in his hand in one long swig. Slamming the glass down onto the table and instantly ordering another one. Before I can even say a thing.
He's glaring at me. Icy-blue eyes, glassy, clouded, glare at me. The reason: as soon as the shot was in his hand, I'd taken it away. Out of his reach. Now, I HAVE to talk. That or I have to die. First option sounds safer. 'What's wrong with you?' Not the best question to ask, really, but... his eyes are killing my brain-cells. Literally. 'Give me...' He's growling, slurred voice be damned, but he's growling as he reaches for the glass, my hand only pushing it further away. Until he's almost falling off his stool. I manage to somewhat catch him, one arm under his and around his waist, hoping those fans in the foyer don't have any cameras with them. Or at least enough sense NOT to use them right now.
'I think you've had enough', I hear my voice and two seconds later his groan as he tries to right himself again, shaky and without any grace. But he manages to sit up straight again only to bore a hole into me with that burning gaze of his. That COLD, burning gaze. 'Leave me 'lone.' An idea pops to my head and my lips instantly quirk up into a sly smirk. Leaning forward, I level him with my own gaze, though mine's a lot warmer and amused. 'We've a whole bottle of Scotch upstairs. How about we empty it together?'
I've somehow managed to drag him into the elevator. One arm securely wrapped around his waist. And damn it, even though he's reeking of alcohol, his scent is still intoxicating. So is his body-warmth. He's not said a word for the past four minutes, just let me drag him through the foyer and in here after he'd stumbled off his bar-stool, almost collapsing once again. Mind you, I'm not the strongest in this business and his body feels like ten tons of brick at the moment. That's why I push him off a bit as soon as I hit the button to our floor. He rests his head against the cold steel-wall, has his eyes closed, and for a second there you could think he's sleeping, but he isn't. He's muttering some incoherent things into his scrubby beard, things I'm unable to understand. Probably for the best.
We stumble out of the elevator after stopping twice to let people in, me barely able to hold up his slick weight. Not that he's heavy. Now that I've come to think of it, he hasn't really eaten since breakfast. At least, I haven't seen him do so. He'd only picked at his meal at lunch.
I fumble for the keycard that is somewhere in my track-pants, feeling kind of glad that I haven't forgotten it. Me fumbling in a drunken Randy's pants would be awkward, really, REALLY awkward. As I open the door to our room, Randy's more or less leaning onto me for support, no more muttering coming from him but instead he's munching. It's kind of cute, even though I'd never say that out loud. Because, well, Randy Orton isn't cute. I manage to lead him inside without either of us stumbling, his body radiating with a heat I've dreamed of so very often before. Just not in this context.
He's laying on his bed now, just where I've dropped him, in a position I barely deem as comfortable. And I don't know if to feel sorry for him, mad at him or... just stare at him for a while longer. He's perfection, even now in his drunken, slurring state. Before I think any further, I walk over to my bag to rummage through it, taking out a bottle of Tylenol. I take out one and place it onto his night-stand, disappearing into the kitchen to fill a glass with water. He'll need it in the morning, I'm sure of that.
After taking another long swig of the Scotch I'd forgotten in the kitchen, I make my way back into the room only to see Randy has rolled onto his side. He's sleeping. If the slow breathing isn't any indication, then the soft snoring is. I shake my head as I make my way over to the night-stand, placing the water next to the little white pill. I'm not sure if he wants to sleep in his clothes, the tight jeans and button-up shirt looking quite uncomfortable, but... there is no way I am gonna undress him. Cause, even if he doesn't realize it, I'd still get a boner. Just by touching him. And just as I finish my thought, there's a heavy, sweaty palm firmly grabbing my wrist. 'I love you, Codes'. It is muttered under heavy breathing, Randy's eyes still closed, his body looking rather numb, but... the word's have been damn clear. Then again, it's not the first time he's saying that. Has numerous times before. That's what friends say to each other, right?
I lay on my back, starring at the ceiling, into the darkness. I can't sleep, Randy's words repeating themselves over and over in my head. Like a mantra. And suddenly I remember all those times he's said them. Always when he's been drunk. Always when he's been vulnerable. Always the truth. Cause that's what alcohol says... the truth.
I'm still awake. Wide awake, thinking that maybe I should have been the one drinking me into oblivion. At least I could sleep then. Just like Randy. Soundful but heavy on the other bed. My eyes drift over to him once again, have done so every few minutes for the past hour, checking on him. But this time, this time he stares right back at me. Cold, blue eyes breaching the darkness. My heart stops beating for a moment there and I screw my eyes shut, taking a long, deep breathe. And when I open them again, his are closed, the look of love he's send my way all a part of my fucked up imagination.
Yeah, just another normal day.
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