WIP: As of yet untitled fic: Sequel to "Promises In Sleep..." (Tentatively titled "The Box")
He stormed back from the ring. 245lbs of raw anger and frustration made his way back to the locker room, silently fuming. With his jaw clenched and muscles bunched up tightly under smooth, tan skin, the tension radiating off his body was practically visible. Tattooed arms hung quietly at his side, but the tendons and muscles were coiled like springs, ready to attack anyone who got in his way.
Randy Orton was in a bad mood.
It had been three weeks, twenty-three and a half days, 576 hours, 34,559 minutes, and 2,073,599…600…601 seconds since the 2011 Draft. Randy knew. He had counted. And it had been exactly that long since he had last seen John. Sure, they talked on the phone or texted nearly every night, but talking was not the same as seeing. Randy wanted to see John, to wrap him in his arms, run his hands over that strong body. Randy wanted to touch, feel, taste his Johnny, and watch those beautiful baby blues light up with happiness. Randy’s heart ached when he thought back to their last morning together.
The sun had just risen, and John had been curled against Randy’s side. Randy had been thinking, and as John muttered Randy’s exact thoughts in his sleep, Randy had contemplated getting up to pull out that tiny black box he had so carefully hidden, and waking John back up to ask John to marry him.
But then a shrill noise had broken the peaceful stillness, and John had groaned, rolling over and answering his phone to the request of getting his “sleeping ass out of bed because the RAW roster was leaving in half an hour and if John didn’t want to walk to the next city, he had better get moving.”
Randy’s opportunity had slipped through his grasp.
He shut his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face at the memory. They had both dressed quickly and when they said their goodbyes, it had been far too soon for Randy’s liking. A thick Irish accent pulled Randy back to the present.
“’Ey Randy, guess wha’?”
Under normal circumstances, Randy would have indulged Sheamus and tried to figure out exactly what “it” was. But the Viper was in no mood for games, and roughly shoved past Sheamus into the locker room.
“Wha’ the hell, Randy!” He spun around and grabbed Sheamus by the shirt, fist cocked back and ready to let loose.
“I swear to God, if you so much as open your mouth one more time, I will punch you so hard you’ll be seeing stars for weeks,” he seethed. He let go of Sheamus, grabbed his towel and bag, and headed into the showers.
The rest of the locker room stared after Randy’s retreating form, some grabbing their own things and leaving quickly, others pretending they hadn’t seen anything at all. Someone off handedly told Sheamus not to take it personally, that it had just been a while since Randy had seen John. In all honesty, Randy could care less if Sheamus took it personally or not. All he wanted to do was get clean, and get going to the next city. As the water poured from the shower head filling the showers with steam, Randy stood there, letting the scorching hot water run over him and turn his skin pink.
He thought about the rumor that had been swirling around all day: Smackdown! was supposedly going to be in the same city as RAW Monday and Tuesday night. Randy prayed to the high heavens the rumor was true. If it was, that meant…
Stop. No point in getting your hopes up Orton. There’s a reason those things are called rumors. It’s probably not even true.
Randy sighed and tried not to think of all the different ways the next few hours could go. He couldn’t help it though. He missed John. He missed him so bad, it was an actual physical ache in his heart. It was as if someone had his heart and his lungs in a vice grip, and he was just barely getting enough oxygen to get by. Any energy Randy might have had left over from the show was drained in his feeble attempts not to miss John.
By the time Randy stepped out of the showers, the entire locker room was gone. Not that Randy had been in a talking mood anyway. He dried himself off and pulled on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt he recognized as John’s. As he pulled it over his head, he breathed in deeply, letting the smell wash over him. It made his heart swell with happiness and ache with longing all at once.
There was a loud banging on the door Kofi stepped in, spotting Randy immediately.
“Hey man, you almost ready to go? It’s getting close to midnight, most of the other guys are gone already.” Randy nodded, pulling his bag over his shoulders, which were stiff with unresolved tension. It was going to be a long ride to the next city.
Randy Orton was in a bad mood.
It had been three weeks, twenty-three and a half days, 576 hours, 34,559 minutes, and 2,073,599…600…601 seconds since the 2011 Draft. Randy knew. He had counted. And it had been exactly that long since he had last seen John. Sure, they talked on the phone or texted nearly every night, but talking was not the same as seeing. Randy wanted to see John, to wrap him in his arms, run his hands over that strong body. Randy wanted to touch, feel, taste his Johnny, and watch those beautiful baby blues light up with happiness. Randy’s heart ached when he thought back to their last morning together.
The sun had just risen, and John had been curled against Randy’s side. Randy had been thinking, and as John muttered Randy’s exact thoughts in his sleep, Randy had contemplated getting up to pull out that tiny black box he had so carefully hidden, and waking John back up to ask John to marry him.
But then a shrill noise had broken the peaceful stillness, and John had groaned, rolling over and answering his phone to the request of getting his “sleeping ass out of bed because the RAW roster was leaving in half an hour and if John didn’t want to walk to the next city, he had better get moving.”
Randy’s opportunity had slipped through his grasp.
He shut his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face at the memory. They had both dressed quickly and when they said their goodbyes, it had been far too soon for Randy’s liking. A thick Irish accent pulled Randy back to the present.
“’Ey Randy, guess wha’?”
Under normal circumstances, Randy would have indulged Sheamus and tried to figure out exactly what “it” was. But the Viper was in no mood for games, and roughly shoved past Sheamus into the locker room.
“Wha’ the hell, Randy!” He spun around and grabbed Sheamus by the shirt, fist cocked back and ready to let loose.
“I swear to God, if you so much as open your mouth one more time, I will punch you so hard you’ll be seeing stars for weeks,” he seethed. He let go of Sheamus, grabbed his towel and bag, and headed into the showers.
The rest of the locker room stared after Randy’s retreating form, some grabbing their own things and leaving quickly, others pretending they hadn’t seen anything at all. Someone off handedly told Sheamus not to take it personally, that it had just been a while since Randy had seen John. In all honesty, Randy could care less if Sheamus took it personally or not. All he wanted to do was get clean, and get going to the next city. As the water poured from the shower head filling the showers with steam, Randy stood there, letting the scorching hot water run over him and turn his skin pink.
He thought about the rumor that had been swirling around all day: Smackdown! was supposedly going to be in the same city as RAW Monday and Tuesday night. Randy prayed to the high heavens the rumor was true. If it was, that meant…
Stop. No point in getting your hopes up Orton. There’s a reason those things are called rumors. It’s probably not even true.
Randy sighed and tried not to think of all the different ways the next few hours could go. He couldn’t help it though. He missed John. He missed him so bad, it was an actual physical ache in his heart. It was as if someone had his heart and his lungs in a vice grip, and he was just barely getting enough oxygen to get by. Any energy Randy might have had left over from the show was drained in his feeble attempts not to miss John.
By the time Randy stepped out of the showers, the entire locker room was gone. Not that Randy had been in a talking mood anyway. He dried himself off and pulled on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt he recognized as John’s. As he pulled it over his head, he breathed in deeply, letting the smell wash over him. It made his heart swell with happiness and ache with longing all at once.
There was a loud banging on the door Kofi stepped in, spotting Randy immediately.
“Hey man, you almost ready to go? It’s getting close to midnight, most of the other guys are gone already.” Randy nodded, pulling his bag over his shoulders, which were stiff with unresolved tension. It was going to be a long ride to the next city.