FIC: What You Sell (hard R; one-shot)
Disclaimer: If I were a billionaire with one of the most recognizeable faces in all of sports-entertainment who recently received a star on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame, I'd also own John Cena and Randy Orton. But since I'm not, I don't.
Title: What You Sell
Fandom: WWE
Pairing: Centon.
Rating: hard R.
Summary: It's a boring night off. Something's got to happen. Something's bound to happen. And then it does. (Worst summary I've ever written in my entire life.)
Warnings: Slash smut, as usual.
Dedication: to raaraabear, as advanced payment for the layout she will make for marcianafics. And all the Centon shippers out there. Also written in celebration of Randy Orton's birthday (April 1).
X-posted to: marcianafics, lady_tavington, cenaortonmylove, rko_jfac and violentpretties.
====================================================
What You Sell
a Cena/Orton fic
Rated R
by MARCIANA (lady_tavington)
Wrestlemania is a couple of nights from now. You've been given the days off, being in one of the three biggest matches of the night and all that. You find yourself spending the third-from-the-last night holed up in the hotel room you share with him. You look over at him, and he's sitting up in bed, flipping through channels on the TV like there's no tomorrow, and dragging on a cigarette. It's his third of the night already.
"Put that away, Randy," you tell him, "You know I don't like it when you do that."
He inhales deeply, and lets the smoke go slowly. "Make me," he replies in that baritone of his.
There he goes again, you think to yourself, Acting like a child. Just because he's got the BELT and whatever.
But as you watch him take another long drag from the quickly shortening cigarette between his fingers, you figure he's made a very tempting challenge.
You leave your own bed and go over to the foot of his. He narrows his eyes at you as you lower your lips to his knee, giving it a tiny kiss. You progress down his thigh, to his boxers, letting your kisses linger on his cloth-covered cock just a little longer, and progress upward, kissing his stomach and chest through his shirt until you finally reach his smoke-dried lips. You run your tongue gently over his bottom lip before he accepts your kiss. You can taste the smoke in his mouth, and on his lips, but you choose to ignore them. It's not like you've never done this before anyway, kissed him while he's smoking.
"I've got a little game we can play, Ortz," you breathe into his ear as he runs a hand through your hair and sucks gently at a pressure point in your neck.
"A game?" he asks against your skin. You shudder slightly from the mixture of hot breath and cold air-conditioning.
"Yeah," you reply, "Because I'm bored and there's nothing on TV. It's called 'Seniority Is Superiority.'"
"Stupid name," Randy says smarkily.
"It's my fucking game," you retort, "I'll call it whatever the fuck I want to." You give his earlobe a not-too-gentle bite to let him know you're not playing around. "The game is simple: What I say, goes. The only rules that matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do. Dig?"
"Dig," Randy gasps when you give his neck a little nibble.
"Good," you say, "The game starts now. Put out that cigarette."
He glares at you, and you raise an eyebrow at him. He sticks out his tongue and puts out whatever's left of his cigarette on it. You feel a jerking in your nether regions at that. Insolent bastard. You take his tongue into your own mouth, soothing it with your own, never mind that you can taste the ashes.
As you kiss him, you take his hand, and lead it to your crotch. He knows what to do without you telling him. He works on you languidly with a tight grip, as tight as he can get it with your own boxers still in the way. You catch your breath as you pull away, looking down to watch his progress. You're hardening quickly in his hand -he has such a talent for that- and you stifle a moan behind your teeth.
"Faster," you command him, and he follows without question or retort. The heat in his hand combines well with the cloth of your undergarments, and he's just so good, too good at this.
You let him stroke you until you can barely take it anymore. You let him up. "Turn over," you tell him. He gives you a lazy, self-satisfied smirk as he gets up on his knees and obeys, his hands clutching the headboard of the bed, his ass up in the air for you.
You push his shirt up his back, exposing it to your mouth. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pull them down, hearing him hiss as his own impressive erection is brought out into the cold air. You drop gentle kisses on his back, trailing his spine. One hand wraps around the base of his cock, and you give him a long, slow stroke, twisting your fist as you near the head. He groans beautifully for you, shuddering a bit. As your mouth progresses lower, you start to use your tongue, leaving a glistening trail behind. Your grip tightens around him with every stroke, and he moans low in his throat for you. Your other hand is down your own pants, mimicking the ministrations of the other hand.
"Oh, good God," you hear him breathe as you roll the tip of his hard-on in your fist, making sure to give that throbbing vein some extra attention. He hisses through his teeth as your thumb rubs it, and it's music to your ears. But when he cries out and whimpers when your tongue drops between his cheeks, you think you're about to come undone as well.
You work him mercilessly with tongue and mouth and hand and fingers, and he's arching his back, head thrown back, mouth half-open in pleasure. He curses, and pants your name, and offers little prayers as you keep going. He begins to move backward against you, almost involuntarily, and it's about just too much for you again. You move upward, your head just above his.
"Wanna be inside you, Randy," you breathe into his hair, your erection, still trapped in your boxers, rubbing him in just the right place as you quicken the pace of your hands, "Need to fuck you...But first, I want your mouth on me. I need to feel you sucking me off."
"Fuck yes," he replies breathily as you finally let him go. You move back enough to give him space and finally rid yourself of your abrasive underwear and shirt. Without another word, he takes the base of your cock in one hand, flicking his tongue across the slit on the head. Your breath hitches as you watch him gradually take as much of you as he can in his mouth. He wastes little time, and hollows his cheeks as he begins to suck on you hard. He bobs his head, almost completely pulling you out of his mouth only to take you back in. The few times he does let go completely with his mouth, it's with a slight, erotic pop, and his hand works up and down your shaft hard and fast.
"That's it, Randy," you moan, "Show me...show me how you want me to do it to you."
Randy groans, the vibrations coursing through you as his tongue laves at the vein underneath the length. You're not going to last if he keeps that up.
"Ah, fuck," you curse as you push him away, "Gotta be inside you now...Gotta fuck you, Ortz."
You urge him up against the headboard, and place both of his thighs on either side of you. No lube, no condom, nothing to make this any easier on either of you. It's the way you like it. It's the way you've always liked it. Both of you.
You wrap a hand around his cock again, and watch his eyelids flutter close as your name escapes his lips on a breath. "Wanna hear it from you, Randy," you say in a low tone, watching him tense and relax and then tense up again with every stroke of your hand, "I wanna hear you say it. Beg me, Randy. Beg me for it. Beg me to fuck you."
"Bastard," he says through gritted teeth, "Sadistic fucking bastard."
"No," you reply simply, giving him a twist that hurts just the right amount, "Beg me. And be nice."
He looks like he's fighting the urge to obey, but he eventually relents. "Fuck me, John," he finally says, "Fuck me...Good God, John, please..."
"...Maybe a little," you tell him, pushing in but enough only for the head to enter. You pull out almost immediately. "Say it again. Tell me what you want."
"John, you know what I fucking want," he groans.
"I do," you answer, "But I want to hear you beg for it. It tickles me in all the right places to hear you begging me. Now beg me again."
"Fuck me, John," he says again, "Please, just...God, just friggin' do it already."
"...Eh," you say in mock discontent, giving him only half of you this time before pulling out.
"I want you, John," Randy says, finally understanding, finally relenting, "I want you, I want all of you. Give it, come on..."
"Better," you tell him, "Much better." This time, you push all the way in, excruciatingly slow, watching his face transition from surprise to pain to ecstasy.
"Hard and fast, John," he begs, "Like we always do."
"Like we always do," you echo, and you pull out completely, only to re-enter him roughly, making him cry out. You place both hands on either side of his hips as you move into him and against him. You give it to him exactly as he begged for it, and he keeps on begging. He begs for more as he curses and prays and moans, and you're scared to look at him because you know it'll undo you to see him coming apart beneath you.
He finds a rhythm of his own, and he moves against you as well. You grunt behind your teeth again, wishing he wouldn't do that, but loving it anyway.
He begs for you to make him come, tells you he wants to come so hard he won't be able to see for days on end. You take his cock in your hand again, pumping it up and down as fast as your hips are going, matching the rhythm of your hips and his. He's so hot and tight around you, it's dizzying. His hand joins yours, and together you work on his shaft, faster and harder until you're both crying out each other's names. When you find release, you find it with him. He comes right into your hand, and onto his stomach, and you finish inside his willing body, gasping for breath, waiting for your muscles and joints to relax. You watch his chest heaving as he too tries to catch his breath, sweat dripping down the side of his face. You're slightly tempted to lick it off, but have to admit to yourself that you've tired yourself out.
"Now, wasn't that so much better than a smoke?" you say as you let him go and head for the shower.
Just before the door closes, you hear him say, "A little bit." You peek out the door of the bathroom and watch him light another cigarette.
Bastard.
~ END. ~
========================================================
Author's Notes: Whoo, that took a lot less time than that first payment fic, and this one was so much more enjoyable to write. I hope you guys like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you do, please add marcianafics to your FList if you haven't yet! Thanks!
Author's Notes: Spot the line from "Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl," and once you've found it, tell me who said it! I love these games...
Title: What You Sell
Fandom: WWE
Pairing: Centon.
Rating: hard R.
Summary: It's a boring night off. Something's got to happen. Something's bound to happen. And then it does. (Worst summary I've ever written in my entire life.)
Warnings: Slash smut, as usual.
Dedication: to raaraabear, as advanced payment for the layout she will make for marcianafics. And all the Centon shippers out there. Also written in celebration of Randy Orton's birthday (April 1).
X-posted to: marcianafics, lady_tavington, cenaortonmylove, rko_jfac and violentpretties.
====================================================
What You Sell
a Cena/Orton fic
Rated R
by MARCIANA (lady_tavington)
Wrestlemania is a couple of nights from now. You've been given the days off, being in one of the three biggest matches of the night and all that. You find yourself spending the third-from-the-last night holed up in the hotel room you share with him. You look over at him, and he's sitting up in bed, flipping through channels on the TV like there's no tomorrow, and dragging on a cigarette. It's his third of the night already.
"Put that away, Randy," you tell him, "You know I don't like it when you do that."
He inhales deeply, and lets the smoke go slowly. "Make me," he replies in that baritone of his.
There he goes again, you think to yourself, Acting like a child. Just because he's got the BELT and whatever.
But as you watch him take another long drag from the quickly shortening cigarette between his fingers, you figure he's made a very tempting challenge.
You leave your own bed and go over to the foot of his. He narrows his eyes at you as you lower your lips to his knee, giving it a tiny kiss. You progress down his thigh, to his boxers, letting your kisses linger on his cloth-covered cock just a little longer, and progress upward, kissing his stomach and chest through his shirt until you finally reach his smoke-dried lips. You run your tongue gently over his bottom lip before he accepts your kiss. You can taste the smoke in his mouth, and on his lips, but you choose to ignore them. It's not like you've never done this before anyway, kissed him while he's smoking.
"I've got a little game we can play, Ortz," you breathe into his ear as he runs a hand through your hair and sucks gently at a pressure point in your neck.
"A game?" he asks against your skin. You shudder slightly from the mixture of hot breath and cold air-conditioning.
"Yeah," you reply, "Because I'm bored and there's nothing on TV. It's called 'Seniority Is Superiority.'"
"Stupid name," Randy says smarkily.
"It's my fucking game," you retort, "I'll call it whatever the fuck I want to." You give his earlobe a not-too-gentle bite to let him know you're not playing around. "The game is simple: What I say, goes. The only rules that matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do. Dig?"
"Dig," Randy gasps when you give his neck a little nibble.
"Good," you say, "The game starts now. Put out that cigarette."
He glares at you, and you raise an eyebrow at him. He sticks out his tongue and puts out whatever's left of his cigarette on it. You feel a jerking in your nether regions at that. Insolent bastard. You take his tongue into your own mouth, soothing it with your own, never mind that you can taste the ashes.
As you kiss him, you take his hand, and lead it to your crotch. He knows what to do without you telling him. He works on you languidly with a tight grip, as tight as he can get it with your own boxers still in the way. You catch your breath as you pull away, looking down to watch his progress. You're hardening quickly in his hand -he has such a talent for that- and you stifle a moan behind your teeth.
"Faster," you command him, and he follows without question or retort. The heat in his hand combines well with the cloth of your undergarments, and he's just so good, too good at this.
You let him stroke you until you can barely take it anymore. You let him up. "Turn over," you tell him. He gives you a lazy, self-satisfied smirk as he gets up on his knees and obeys, his hands clutching the headboard of the bed, his ass up in the air for you.
You push his shirt up his back, exposing it to your mouth. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pull them down, hearing him hiss as his own impressive erection is brought out into the cold air. You drop gentle kisses on his back, trailing his spine. One hand wraps around the base of his cock, and you give him a long, slow stroke, twisting your fist as you near the head. He groans beautifully for you, shuddering a bit. As your mouth progresses lower, you start to use your tongue, leaving a glistening trail behind. Your grip tightens around him with every stroke, and he moans low in his throat for you. Your other hand is down your own pants, mimicking the ministrations of the other hand.
"Oh, good God," you hear him breathe as you roll the tip of his hard-on in your fist, making sure to give that throbbing vein some extra attention. He hisses through his teeth as your thumb rubs it, and it's music to your ears. But when he cries out and whimpers when your tongue drops between his cheeks, you think you're about to come undone as well.
You work him mercilessly with tongue and mouth and hand and fingers, and he's arching his back, head thrown back, mouth half-open in pleasure. He curses, and pants your name, and offers little prayers as you keep going. He begins to move backward against you, almost involuntarily, and it's about just too much for you again. You move upward, your head just above his.
"Wanna be inside you, Randy," you breathe into his hair, your erection, still trapped in your boxers, rubbing him in just the right place as you quicken the pace of your hands, "Need to fuck you...But first, I want your mouth on me. I need to feel you sucking me off."
"Fuck yes," he replies breathily as you finally let him go. You move back enough to give him space and finally rid yourself of your abrasive underwear and shirt. Without another word, he takes the base of your cock in one hand, flicking his tongue across the slit on the head. Your breath hitches as you watch him gradually take as much of you as he can in his mouth. He wastes little time, and hollows his cheeks as he begins to suck on you hard. He bobs his head, almost completely pulling you out of his mouth only to take you back in. The few times he does let go completely with his mouth, it's with a slight, erotic pop, and his hand works up and down your shaft hard and fast.
"That's it, Randy," you moan, "Show me...show me how you want me to do it to you."
Randy groans, the vibrations coursing through you as his tongue laves at the vein underneath the length. You're not going to last if he keeps that up.
"Ah, fuck," you curse as you push him away, "Gotta be inside you now...Gotta fuck you, Ortz."
You urge him up against the headboard, and place both of his thighs on either side of you. No lube, no condom, nothing to make this any easier on either of you. It's the way you like it. It's the way you've always liked it. Both of you.
You wrap a hand around his cock again, and watch his eyelids flutter close as your name escapes his lips on a breath. "Wanna hear it from you, Randy," you say in a low tone, watching him tense and relax and then tense up again with every stroke of your hand, "I wanna hear you say it. Beg me, Randy. Beg me for it. Beg me to fuck you."
"Bastard," he says through gritted teeth, "Sadistic fucking bastard."
"No," you reply simply, giving him a twist that hurts just the right amount, "Beg me. And be nice."
He looks like he's fighting the urge to obey, but he eventually relents. "Fuck me, John," he finally says, "Fuck me...Good God, John, please..."
"...Maybe a little," you tell him, pushing in but enough only for the head to enter. You pull out almost immediately. "Say it again. Tell me what you want."
"John, you know what I fucking want," he groans.
"I do," you answer, "But I want to hear you beg for it. It tickles me in all the right places to hear you begging me. Now beg me again."
"Fuck me, John," he says again, "Please, just...God, just friggin' do it already."
"...Eh," you say in mock discontent, giving him only half of you this time before pulling out.
"I want you, John," Randy says, finally understanding, finally relenting, "I want you, I want all of you. Give it, come on..."
"Better," you tell him, "Much better." This time, you push all the way in, excruciatingly slow, watching his face transition from surprise to pain to ecstasy.
"Hard and fast, John," he begs, "Like we always do."
"Like we always do," you echo, and you pull out completely, only to re-enter him roughly, making him cry out. You place both hands on either side of his hips as you move into him and against him. You give it to him exactly as he begged for it, and he keeps on begging. He begs for more as he curses and prays and moans, and you're scared to look at him because you know it'll undo you to see him coming apart beneath you.
He finds a rhythm of his own, and he moves against you as well. You grunt behind your teeth again, wishing he wouldn't do that, but loving it anyway.
He begs for you to make him come, tells you he wants to come so hard he won't be able to see for days on end. You take his cock in your hand again, pumping it up and down as fast as your hips are going, matching the rhythm of your hips and his. He's so hot and tight around you, it's dizzying. His hand joins yours, and together you work on his shaft, faster and harder until you're both crying out each other's names. When you find release, you find it with him. He comes right into your hand, and onto his stomach, and you finish inside his willing body, gasping for breath, waiting for your muscles and joints to relax. You watch his chest heaving as he too tries to catch his breath, sweat dripping down the side of his face. You're slightly tempted to lick it off, but have to admit to yourself that you've tired yourself out.
"Now, wasn't that so much better than a smoke?" you say as you let him go and head for the shower.
Just before the door closes, you hear him say, "A little bit." You peek out the door of the bathroom and watch him light another cigarette.
Bastard.
~ END. ~
========================================================
Author's Notes: Whoo, that took a lot less time than that first payment fic, and this one was so much more enjoyable to write. I hope you guys like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you do, please add marcianafics to your FList if you haven't yet! Thanks!
Author's Notes: Spot the line from "Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl," and once you've found it, tell me who said it! I love these games...