CURSE YOU, NO PAPER-NESS.
It's the middle of the night, I'm dead sleepy, I need to wake up early tomorrow, I'm waiting for laundry to finish (ONE MORE HOUR WTFFFFFFF), and I suddenly get hit with a hankering to write fic. WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. But seeing as I am paper-less ATM in the US, I can't write fic. Probably snippets of could-be fics. Maybe.
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John's giving me The Eye again, and I can't help withering under it. I really don't appreciate the fact that he can make me feel guilty just by looking at me like that.
Oh, wait, crap. I think he's coming over.
Please, God, don't make him come over here. Please. Not now. Not. Fucking. Now.
...Well, shit.
"You got a minute?" he asks me, his tone low and pleasant, his expression passive but friendly.
I try to steady myself with a deep breath. It doesn't work. I turn my head a little sideways, but I can barely meet his gaze. "Yeah, sure," I stammer, "I guess so."
"Perfect," he says, and when does John Cena ever say Perfect like that, "Walk with me."
"...Where?" I ask, and realize immediately that the filter between my brain and my mouth is going to need some maintenance work again.
John laughs it off, and those damn dimples nearly disarm me. Nearly. "Just walk with me," he says, "Grab your beer, we'll go bond or something."
Right about now, there's a strong urge in me to turn 16 again, and start running around, yelling, "OH MY GOD, SOMEONE HELP ME, A GIANT MUSCLED MAN IS TRYING TO BOND WITH ME AND RELATE TO MY FEELINGS!" Pushing the fucked-up image of that little tirade out of my head, I take my Coors Light with me and follow him out the door.
The night is a little chillier than it had been half an hour ago, and darker than I had thought. The streets on this side of the pub are quiet for the most part, and John sits himself on the edge of the curb. I do the same thing, wondering silently what happened to the "walk" part of this. I know I'm tense; something is lodged in my throat, and my left hand is clammy. I think I know what this is about, but I'm not going to be the first to say anything about it.
"Nice night, huh?" John says, swigging from his fresh can of Coors Light.
"Uh...yeah," I reply, uncertain, "Chilly, and...starry."
John chuckles, taking another swig before addressing me again, "I'm pretty sure you know why I brought you out here. What I wanna talk about," he says calmly.
I swallow with some difficulty. Ted had warned me. Hadn't he warned me? He had warned me. Damn. Now he gets to tell me "I told you so."
"I do know," I manage to reply, "Look, John, I'm so--"
"There's no need to apologize," he cuts me off, putting up a hand, "It's not entirely your fault. And neither is it Randy's. These things just happen, I understand that."
"...He's still with you?" I ask, not sure if I'd like any answer he's going to give me.
John takes his time to answer. "It's not quite the same," he confesses after a while, "Sometimes, he just looks so...distracted. There are times I catch him with this look on his face like his thoughts are way too deep or way too out there. You can just imagine what - or who - he could be thinking about."
"I didn't mean--" I try to say.
"I know you didn't," John interrupts, still calm, still pleasant, still friendly, "I don't find a need for you to explain. It's very clear what's happened here. He's traded up for...I guess you could say a younger model. I can't say I blame him, really, I mean, what are the chances he'd stick with me for as long as he has?"
"I never set out to get between the two of you," I tell him truthfully, "There's something about him...I can't put my finger on it. I worship the ground he walks on. I'd jump off a cliff if he told me to. I'd take a hundred bullets for him if he wanted me to. And I don't quite know why. He knows it, and he loves it."
"It?" John asks, raising an eyebrow at me. It's not a perverted question. We both know what I meant.
"I hope you're not jealous or anything," I say to him, "Because you've no reason to be jealous. Me and Randy...I don't know what it is we have, but whatever it is, it's not what you have with him. He enjoys my company - obviously - and he tells me things that I'd like to believe are true, but...you know..."
"Do you love him, Codes?" John asks me, and I find myself wishing he wasn't looking at me like he could see right through me.
"...I think so," I answer after what feels like an eternity, "I think I do. I don't know for sure." I find myself unable to not look at him, and when I do look at him, I flush guiltily. "Please don't hate me."
With a chuckle, he reaches out and ruffles my hair. "That's a little hard to do, kid," he says, "Even with our present...circumstances."
"Look, I know where I stand," I tell him, "You should see the way he looks at you when you're not looking. He loves talking about you, whether to bash you or tell some joke that you told him, or share stories about you guys going way back. If anybody here is going to be jealous...it's me. I know you think you needed to talk to me about him, maybe tell me to back off or whatever, but I've never thought there was competition between you and me. He wants me, but at the end of the day, it's you he comes home to."
John drinks from his can silently, and I can't tell what his reaction is. His face is unreadable, and not just because it's dark. All of a sudden, he gets up, offering me a hand up.
"I better get you back inside," he says with a tiny grin, "He doesn't like to be kept waiting long."
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"What are you thinking?" Cody asks, looking down at Ted with his head cocked to one side.
"I'm thinking about sleep," Ted replies, "Which is hard to do, given the fact that you keep bouncing on my bed to keep yourself from getting bored."
"Ugh, I can't believe you want to sleep," Cody says incredulously, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes, "Especially tonight, of all nights."
"Codes, you are the only one who thinks tonight is special," Ted replies melancholily, still refusing to open his eyes.
"Tedz, it is our LAST night on the road together," Cody points out, "I'm taping my first Smackdown! tomorrow. After that, we go our separate ways. Doesn't that mean ANYTHING to you?"
"Yeah, it does," Ted answers, "It means no more slow driving."
Cody whacks him hard with a pillow across the stomach. "You heartless bastard," he mutters, "You realize that after tonight, it's gonna be a while before we see each other again."
"I know that," Ted answers, becoming more morose with every second that passes, "But I'd rather not think about it."
"WHAT?!" Cody exclaims, "Why the hell NOT?!"
"Because, Co-DY," Ted replies aggressively, a little irritated now, sitting up against the headboard, "That would mean I have to think about driving ALONE, booking hotel rooms ALONE, going to work ALONE, leaving shows ALONE, going home ALONE. Are you sensing a pattern here yet? I do NOT want to think about the fact that you and I are separating after tonight. It is NOT a pleasant thought, since I've spent all my WWE career WITH you, and what the HELL is it all going to do to the US part of the equation? You REALLY want to think about that?"
Cody's expression is unreadable, but his eyes skim Ted's face quickly. Before Ted has anytime to react, Cody closes the gap between them and kisses Ted fiercely. Ted lets him, an arm wrapping around and behind Cody's shoulder until he has a hand in his hair.
"You love me," Cody points out smugly when the kiss breaks.
"I don't think there was ever any question of that," Ted says.
"Do something about it then," Cody murmurs, a hand finding its mark between Ted's legs as his lips attach themselves to Ted's once more.
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"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW."
John rolls his eyes as he once again invades Randy's hotel room. "That's like the 150th time, Randal," he says, "Aren't you feeling better yet?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Randy complains, "He Speared me. HARD. In the STOMACH. Unexpectedly."
"I will question that last part," John says, raising an eyebrow at Randy.
"Fuck you," Randy says, "I'd throw a shoe at you if I wasn't hurting."
"Yeah, because throwing a shoe at me would make everything feel better," John answers with a nod, "Genius."
"Fuck you twice, shut up, get over here and do something about it," Randy demands, clutching at his abdominal area.
"Do I say 'WOOF' too?" John says, wrinkling his nose, but he walks over to the bed anyway, "You know I'm not sure what to do about you."
"Emo," Randy says, and John sticks his tongue out at him.
"Not THAT, kumquat," John says, "Your 'owie.'"
"My 'owie?'" Randy asks, snickering.
"Shut up," John says, "That's what my niece calls it. I think it's adorable."
"You are SUCH a woman," Randy remarks, "You do know I could use just a rub on it or something."
"Now you know I can't do that," John says with a tiny grin in the corner of his mouth.
"And why, praytell, can you not?" Randy asks.
"Because doing that would present a circumstance wherein the situation could degenerate into more interesting, less clothed happenings," John points out, "Duh."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Randy says, laying back on his pillows, "Make with the healing hands, slave."
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AAAAAAAAND just as I typed out that last line, the dryer finished its cycle. So I will leave y'all with this. Good night from Modesto.
Love Lots And God Bless!
~ MARCIANA ~
http://twitter.com/marciana86
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John's giving me The Eye again, and I can't help withering under it. I really don't appreciate the fact that he can make me feel guilty just by looking at me like that.
Oh, wait, crap. I think he's coming over.
Please, God, don't make him come over here. Please. Not now. Not. Fucking. Now.
...Well, shit.
"You got a minute?" he asks me, his tone low and pleasant, his expression passive but friendly.
I try to steady myself with a deep breath. It doesn't work. I turn my head a little sideways, but I can barely meet his gaze. "Yeah, sure," I stammer, "I guess so."
"Perfect," he says, and when does John Cena ever say Perfect like that, "Walk with me."
"...Where?" I ask, and realize immediately that the filter between my brain and my mouth is going to need some maintenance work again.
John laughs it off, and those damn dimples nearly disarm me. Nearly. "Just walk with me," he says, "Grab your beer, we'll go bond or something."
Right about now, there's a strong urge in me to turn 16 again, and start running around, yelling, "OH MY GOD, SOMEONE HELP ME, A GIANT MUSCLED MAN IS TRYING TO BOND WITH ME AND RELATE TO MY FEELINGS!" Pushing the fucked-up image of that little tirade out of my head, I take my Coors Light with me and follow him out the door.
The night is a little chillier than it had been half an hour ago, and darker than I had thought. The streets on this side of the pub are quiet for the most part, and John sits himself on the edge of the curb. I do the same thing, wondering silently what happened to the "walk" part of this. I know I'm tense; something is lodged in my throat, and my left hand is clammy. I think I know what this is about, but I'm not going to be the first to say anything about it.
"Nice night, huh?" John says, swigging from his fresh can of Coors Light.
"Uh...yeah," I reply, uncertain, "Chilly, and...starry."
John chuckles, taking another swig before addressing me again, "I'm pretty sure you know why I brought you out here. What I wanna talk about," he says calmly.
I swallow with some difficulty. Ted had warned me. Hadn't he warned me? He had warned me. Damn. Now he gets to tell me "I told you so."
"I do know," I manage to reply, "Look, John, I'm so--"
"There's no need to apologize," he cuts me off, putting up a hand, "It's not entirely your fault. And neither is it Randy's. These things just happen, I understand that."
"...He's still with you?" I ask, not sure if I'd like any answer he's going to give me.
John takes his time to answer. "It's not quite the same," he confesses after a while, "Sometimes, he just looks so...distracted. There are times I catch him with this look on his face like his thoughts are way too deep or way too out there. You can just imagine what - or who - he could be thinking about."
"I didn't mean--" I try to say.
"I know you didn't," John interrupts, still calm, still pleasant, still friendly, "I don't find a need for you to explain. It's very clear what's happened here. He's traded up for...I guess you could say a younger model. I can't say I blame him, really, I mean, what are the chances he'd stick with me for as long as he has?"
"I never set out to get between the two of you," I tell him truthfully, "There's something about him...I can't put my finger on it. I worship the ground he walks on. I'd jump off a cliff if he told me to. I'd take a hundred bullets for him if he wanted me to. And I don't quite know why. He knows it, and he loves it."
"It?" John asks, raising an eyebrow at me. It's not a perverted question. We both know what I meant.
"I hope you're not jealous or anything," I say to him, "Because you've no reason to be jealous. Me and Randy...I don't know what it is we have, but whatever it is, it's not what you have with him. He enjoys my company - obviously - and he tells me things that I'd like to believe are true, but...you know..."
"Do you love him, Codes?" John asks me, and I find myself wishing he wasn't looking at me like he could see right through me.
"...I think so," I answer after what feels like an eternity, "I think I do. I don't know for sure." I find myself unable to not look at him, and when I do look at him, I flush guiltily. "Please don't hate me."
With a chuckle, he reaches out and ruffles my hair. "That's a little hard to do, kid," he says, "Even with our present...circumstances."
"Look, I know where I stand," I tell him, "You should see the way he looks at you when you're not looking. He loves talking about you, whether to bash you or tell some joke that you told him, or share stories about you guys going way back. If anybody here is going to be jealous...it's me. I know you think you needed to talk to me about him, maybe tell me to back off or whatever, but I've never thought there was competition between you and me. He wants me, but at the end of the day, it's you he comes home to."
John drinks from his can silently, and I can't tell what his reaction is. His face is unreadable, and not just because it's dark. All of a sudden, he gets up, offering me a hand up.
"I better get you back inside," he says with a tiny grin, "He doesn't like to be kept waiting long."
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"What are you thinking?" Cody asks, looking down at Ted with his head cocked to one side.
"I'm thinking about sleep," Ted replies, "Which is hard to do, given the fact that you keep bouncing on my bed to keep yourself from getting bored."
"Ugh, I can't believe you want to sleep," Cody says incredulously, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes, "Especially tonight, of all nights."
"Codes, you are the only one who thinks tonight is special," Ted replies melancholily, still refusing to open his eyes.
"Tedz, it is our LAST night on the road together," Cody points out, "I'm taping my first Smackdown! tomorrow. After that, we go our separate ways. Doesn't that mean ANYTHING to you?"
"Yeah, it does," Ted answers, "It means no more slow driving."
Cody whacks him hard with a pillow across the stomach. "You heartless bastard," he mutters, "You realize that after tonight, it's gonna be a while before we see each other again."
"I know that," Ted answers, becoming more morose with every second that passes, "But I'd rather not think about it."
"WHAT?!" Cody exclaims, "Why the hell NOT?!"
"Because, Co-DY," Ted replies aggressively, a little irritated now, sitting up against the headboard, "That would mean I have to think about driving ALONE, booking hotel rooms ALONE, going to work ALONE, leaving shows ALONE, going home ALONE. Are you sensing a pattern here yet? I do NOT want to think about the fact that you and I are separating after tonight. It is NOT a pleasant thought, since I've spent all my WWE career WITH you, and what the HELL is it all going to do to the US part of the equation? You REALLY want to think about that?"
Cody's expression is unreadable, but his eyes skim Ted's face quickly. Before Ted has anytime to react, Cody closes the gap between them and kisses Ted fiercely. Ted lets him, an arm wrapping around and behind Cody's shoulder until he has a hand in his hair.
"You love me," Cody points out smugly when the kiss breaks.
"I don't think there was ever any question of that," Ted says.
"Do something about it then," Cody murmurs, a hand finding its mark between Ted's legs as his lips attach themselves to Ted's once more.
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"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW."
John rolls his eyes as he once again invades Randy's hotel room. "That's like the 150th time, Randal," he says, "Aren't you feeling better yet?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Randy complains, "He Speared me. HARD. In the STOMACH. Unexpectedly."
"I will question that last part," John says, raising an eyebrow at Randy.
"Fuck you," Randy says, "I'd throw a shoe at you if I wasn't hurting."
"Yeah, because throwing a shoe at me would make everything feel better," John answers with a nod, "Genius."
"Fuck you twice, shut up, get over here and do something about it," Randy demands, clutching at his abdominal area.
"Do I say 'WOOF' too?" John says, wrinkling his nose, but he walks over to the bed anyway, "You know I'm not sure what to do about you."
"Emo," Randy says, and John sticks his tongue out at him.
"Not THAT, kumquat," John says, "Your 'owie.'"
"My 'owie?'" Randy asks, snickering.
"Shut up," John says, "That's what my niece calls it. I think it's adorable."
"You are SUCH a woman," Randy remarks, "You do know I could use just a rub on it or something."
"Now you know I can't do that," John says with a tiny grin in the corner of his mouth.
"And why, praytell, can you not?" Randy asks.
"Because doing that would present a circumstance wherein the situation could degenerate into more interesting, less clothed happenings," John points out, "Duh."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Randy says, laying back on his pillows, "Make with the healing hands, slave."
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AAAAAAAAND just as I typed out that last line, the dryer finished its cycle. So I will leave y'all with this. Good night from Modesto.
Love Lots And God Bless!
~ MARCIANA ~
http://twitter.com/marciana86