Size Doesn't Matter (1/2)
Author: Rkowhore79
Title: Size Doesn't Matter
Pairing: Centon..with a few mentions of Codiasi here and there I guess:)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Somewhat non-con, there might be some blood spilled, some screaming...you know, the usual;)
Disclaimers: No beta, yada yada...all these mistakes are mine and mine only. And of course it is AU, as always. I do what I please with mah boyz. I always do;)
Word Count: 12,406
Feedback: Yes PLEASE!
*Author's Note: I started this fic a year ago this June, forgot about it, just found it a few weeks ago and have been struggling to finish it ever since. It was originally supposed to be for my lovely twin, Erica's, birthday (last year lol) but it has since evolved into something bloody and brutal and I know she isn't really into all of that sooo....it is now just a fic for my archives.
*Edit: I absolutely hate breaking up fics that aren't supposed to be in parts, but I just tried to post and LJ is telling me it's too big sooo...gonna have to cut it up. There's no way I'm going to go back and read this sucker again trying to find stuff to axe. I'm sick of looking at this!
Size Doesn't Matter
"Mine's bigger than yours," John teased loudly, holding up the World Heavyweight title and practically smacking Randy in the face with it. He was panting loudly and dripping sweat profusely having just come off of a grueling match with Chris Jericho where he had successfully won the gargantuan belt off of the smaller man.
Randy stopped and turned slowly towards John, arching an eyebrow in typical, un-amused Randal Keith Orton fashion. "Is that so?" he drawled, running his long fingers along the length of the black, belt strap that was currently hanging over one bare, bronzed shoulder. He tilted his head to one side and licked his lower lip, his eyes narrowing and lowering to dangerous levels.
John grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically, his dimples practically sinking his entire cheek inwards. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Much bigger," he beamed. He loved enticing and aggravating his lover; it made for some of the hottest, wildest sex that he had ever had in his entire life. Although, right now they were both standing in the hallway a few doors down from the locker room, so that mind blowing sex was going to have to wait. Even still, John couldn't resist getting a few digs in, using Randy's cocky, crazy streak to his full advantage. The more he taunted, the harder Randy would give it to him later on that night in their hotel room.
Randy had defended the WWE championship earlier that night against Triple H, for what seemed like the billionth time, and once again came out on top; a position that John very much approved of. Randy eyed John's belt, the large gold center looking childlike on his boyfriend's impressive form, and gnawed on the inside of his lip. "I'm gonna hit the shower," he grumbled, turning on his heel and stalking off towards the locker room.
"Awww, Randy, don't be like that!" John shouted after him. "I'm just messing with ya! C'mon! You know size doesn't matter!" He shot this last line down the hall at Randy's retreating form to the smattering of laughter from a few wrestlers passing through.
"Yeah, Orton. Don't worry!" Teddy called in that languid drawl of his as he and Cody made their way through the curtain, once again belt less, catching the tail end of the exchange. "You know John'll ride any cock, big or small!" Cody smirked, and struggled not to laugh, as he followed Teddy to the lockers. He did have the good sense to clap his hand quickly over his mouth, though, as Randy swiftly turned to face them right before pushing his way into the locker room. Both men stopped short before they crashed right into his solid chest.
"Excuse me?" Randy said in that voice. That low, menacing voice that warned you that he was just warming up and that you had better get the hell outta Dodge before he really laid into you. He had his head cocked to the side and all of a sudden the atmosphere changed and went from light hearted and teasing, to tense and downright scary in the span of ten seconds.
Cody's eyes widened and he slowly backed away, leaving Teddy to face Randy's wrath all on his own. Ted had his hands tightly dug into the sides of his bright red trunks and he showed no signs of backing down anytime soon. He was just joking with Randy and if he couldn't take a joke, well then, fuck him. The man had to learn to lighten up, shit.
John read the look in Randy's eyes, a look he knew all too well. "Woahh," he called out, hurrying the rest of the way down the hall, his hands held up in front of his body, surrender style. That was John for you; ever the peacemaker. "No need to go all Vickie Guerrero on him," he joked, nodding once towards Teddy before turning to Randy. "I'm sure the little guy didn't mean anything by it. Didja?" he asked, tilting his head in Ted's direction and drilling him with sparkling baby blues.
"Who the fuck you calling 'little guy'?" Ted responded, growing angrier by the second. Just who the fuck did Orton and Cena think they were? He turned to look at Cody but he was nowhere to be found, apparently figuring that he'd rather wait in the car in his God damn ridiculous Legacy trunks than get in the middle of another spat involving Randy. Ted shook his head slightly and turned up his lips. Sometimes Cody could be quite the little bitch.
***
Cody reached for the spare key under the mat and turned the car on, shrugging his shoulders from his seat in the rental, almost as if he could hear Ted's thoughts. Whatever. He could think what he wanted, but he knew that Teddy would still get his bags for him, too. Of course it'd come with a price, a price of being called a little bitch and a pussy, but Cody could live with that especially since Teddy would take all of his earlier frustrations out on him that night. So really, it was win win for him. Let Ted deal with Orton's insane behavior, he was just fine right here. Sure, he was a little chilly but that was nothing a good crank of the heat wouldn't fix. Let Ted bitch him out for that one, too. Shit, he didn't care. He sat there and pouted waiting for Ted to either let it go and hurry up and join him, or to dig his heels in and not let go until he had either A, punched Randy in the face or B, gotten his ass kicked right there in the God damn locker room by both Orton and Cena. Cody heaved a sigh, hoping that he would just let it go so that they could get the hell outta there; even though at the same time a small part of him secretly hoped that it was B. The small, devilish part of him.
***
Ted turned back around to face the two men currently blocking his way into the locker room. "I got your "little guy" right here," he leered, grabbing at his crotch and squeezing it. The red trunks left little to the imagination and both Randy and John could see that there was nothing little about him.
John laughed, trying to diffuse the whole situation. "You got balls alright," he snickered at Ted before patting Randy on the ass. "Lemme in, baby," he said in annoyance, shoving Randy out of the way lightly so that he could enter the locker room. "This belt weighs a God damn ton!" He winked at Randy, trying to draw him away from Ted and to bring the focus back onto him. "I might, ya know, need help taking if off." He winked again, finally getting Randy's attention. "Unless ya know, you got better things to do." He let the words hang in the air, hovering over Randy and Ted, as he sauntered off towards his locker.
"Go find your shadow," Randy sneered at Ted, hefting his belt higher up over his shoulder. "He seems to have scurried off somewhere being as how I can see that he isn't in his usual place." Randy nodded once down towards Ted's groin area. "Ya know, attached to your dick." Randy chuckled low in his throat and turned to follow his boyfriend into the locker room, leaving Ted fuming out in the hall.
"Stupid prick ass mutha fucker," he grumbled, kicking the wall with the toe of his boot. He didn't even feel like going in the room to get his gear; Orton and Cena acted like they owned the whole God damn place. "Bitches," he said a bit louder, his fury boiling over again. Fuck them. He'd go and get his shit right the fuck now if he wanted to. Ted gritted his teeth together and stormed into the locker room, staring straight ahead, and headed towards the back of the room where he and Cody had stowed their gear earlier that night. He could hear Cena's loud ass mouth coming from somewhere to the left and around the corner. Laughing with Randy about what a pussy they both thought Cody was for leaving Ted to deal with both of them on his own.
"I'd never do that shit to you," John was telling Randy. Ted turned his lip up and shook his head, rapidly yanking off his trunks and boots and pulling on a pair of jeans and a somewhat wrinkled and suspicious smelling shirt. He didn't care, though. He'd shower once he and Cody were back in their hotel room. The faster he got out of that room, the better, because he was two seconds away from rounding the corner and punching John Cena in his big, fat mouth. That'd shut him up for at least a minute or two. He didn't even know why he was so riled up, but he was definitely heated. And add to his anger the fact that Cody had just left him standing there by himself like a God damn idiot well then...yeah. He was mad. Ted finished throwing his and Cody's bags together, slammed the locker shut with enough force to wake the dead, and stomped out of the room, letting the door bang against the wall behind him. John Cena and Randy Orton could just go fuck themselves. He had other matters to attend to.
Randy gave John one of his trademark looks. The narrowed eyes and slight half smile. The smile that you weren't quite sure if it actually was a smile or if he was just getting ready to open his mouth and swallow you whole like a venomous reptile stalking its prey.
"Someone's in a bitchy mood," he chuckled softly. "Wonder why? Think it could have anything to do with you calling him 'lil guy'?" Randy asked, taking his time removing his black trunks from his long, tanned thighs. John licked his lower lip from his position on a low bench as he looked up and enjoyed the show.
"Hmmm?" he muttered, suddenly forgetting all about Ted and Cody and their childish behavior. Randy leered again, nodding his head up and down softly this time. He always knew just how to get John's attention. "Yeah, well..," John mused, his sentence trailing off. "He should watch his mouth." Randy just gave him a look. "What?" John asked, suddenly aggravated. "You know the only dick I ride is yours." Randy just raised an eyebrow and whipped off his trunks, tossing them into John's lap.
"What're you giving me these for?" John asked, perplexed. He lifted the sweaty trunks from off of his legs with the tip of his forefinger and thumb, and held them out in front of his face; his nose crinkled.
"Smell them," Randy ordered his hands on his now naked hips.
John snorted, still holding the trunks out as far as he could. "What the fuck you smokin', Orton?" he laughed. "You smell them."
"I don't need to smell them," Randy informed him, his voice deadly serious. "I already know what they smell like." He continued to watch John turn his nose up in disgust at the offending pair of trunks.
"Oh yeah? And what's that?" John snickered. "Ass? Sweat? Balls?" He laughed and tossed Randy's shorts down onto the floor where they landed at his still boot clad feet. He was standing there like some sort of naked Rambo, with nothing but his knee pads and black wrestling boots on. The sight made John laugh and he started shaking his head as he reached around his waist and started to take off his championship belt.
Randy nodded. "Alla that," he answered. "And ya wanna know why?" he asked. John just raised an inquisitive eyebrow and continued to gather up his things. "Because that's what a real man smells like," Randy went on. "Remember that. Cody, that little twerp, well he probably smells like Fruit Loops and hair gel and his sidekick, DiBiase? Yeah well, he probably smells like mangos or some shit. He probably sprays himself down with shit from Bath and Body Works or something," Randy sneered.
John was getting all worked up now; the corners of his lips cracked, his mouth threatened to open in full blown laugher, and his eyes were sparkling like so many blue Christmas lights. The more serious Randy got, the more it made John laugh. "I'm glad you find me so amusing," Randy muttered, yanking a pair of jeans on without bothering with underwear. John nodded his approval at Randy's choice to go commando. "Niiice," he managed to sputter.
"Oh fuck you, Cena. We're just gonna come right out of our clothes once we get back to the room so what's it matter?"
"Is that why we aren't showering either?" John asked devilishly.
"No use wasting perfectly good water, right?" Randy shot back, packing up the last of his stuff.
John agreed, following suit, packing up his belt and the rest of his things, anxious to get out of there. There was no need for him to change just yet. What he wrestled in was what any typical twelve year old boy would wear out to the movies or to the mall.
"Hey," John said all of a sudden, following behind Randy. "What was up with the olfactory lesson?" he asked as they made their way out of the room.
Randy didn't even bother to turn. He just kept walking, answering John as he strode down the hall.
"Nothing was up. Just wanna make sure you know the difference between a real man and a funboy," he drawled, making his way out into the parking lot. "Ya know, since you seem to think that size doesn't matter or anything."
John was totally not following Randy's logic or his train of thought. "Shit, I was just joking before," John laughed. "But now I think you really have been smoking something. What the fuck are you talking about?" he went on, throwing his bags into the trunk that Randy had just unlocked.
Randy spun on his heel and pushed John up against the side of the car just as John was about to open his door. "You had better stop fucking making fun of me, Cena," he growled, his mouth inches from John's. He was breathing heavy and panting all up in John's face, practically foaming at the mouth. "I'm the fucking WWE champion, you got that!? You're just the wannabe. Second rate. The Minnie to my Mickey. The Daisy to my fucking Donald Duck!"
John was trying so damn hard not to just bust out laughing right in Randy's face. What the fuck was he talking about?! He had lost it. He really and truly had. John struggled to contain his laughter but it was right there, bubbling at the surface and threatening to spill past his lips. Mickey Mouse?! Donald Duck?! What the fuck was Randy on?! 'Shit, whatever it is,' John thought, 'I want some.' He swallowed as much as he could of his laughter and shoved Randy out of the way.
"C'mon Mickey," he chuckled, opening up the passenger side door. "Let's go before you start comparing us to Alvin and the Chipmunks or some such shit." He shook his head in amusement and slid into the seat, slamming the door behind him and leaving Randy fuming outside by himself. "Donald Duck," he chuckled. He could hear Randy stomping around to the driver's side and two seconds later and irate Randal flung himself into the car, practically foaming at the mouth. Maybe he was one of those cartoons because shit, John could have sworn he saw steam coming out of Randy's ears.
"I don't know what you're getting so worked up about, baby," John cooed, trying a softer tactic. He reached over and stroked the side of Randy's tightly clenched jaw. "It's just a belt; I was just messing with you and the Nancy Drew boys are just horny. You know that. Cody's probably got that little ass of his clenched so tight tonight that even Ted's crowbar won't be able to pry it open. Must make for some serious sexual tension and a severe cases of blue balls over there, I'm sure. So lighten up and stop taking shit so personally." He watched Randy's face for any semblance of a reaction, or at least a flicker of resignation, and exhaled loudly when he finally saw that granite jaw relax some.
Randy shoved the key into the ignition and twisted it hard, bringing the rental purring to life. "I'm in a mood tonight, Johnny," he whispered in a predatory, gravelly voice. He didn't even bother to glance over at John, he just kept his lids lowered at half mast and chewed on the bottom of his lip as he swung out of the arena parking lot and headed back towards their hotel. They didn't have another show for two days so they had planned on staying in the city for an extra day and spending some time together before the upcoming house show.
John now realized that that extra day would be spent with them holed up in their hotel room while he recovered from whatever sexual tortures Randy was about to unleash on him tonight.
"I know you are, baby," he whispered, shifting slightly in his seat and dropping his fingers from Randy's cheek. He turned and looked out the window, watching the buildings and cars fly by in a blur of light, his mood no longer jovial, but apprehensive to say the least. "I know you are."
***
John watched while Randy methodically placed his bags in one corner of the hotel room before setting one of them on the offered suitcase rack and unzipping it. He drew out his toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, face wash, body soap and about ten other bottles of varying size and color while John just looked on from his spot on the bed. John had already showered and changed into a clean pair of boxers while Randy was on the phone for the past twenty minutes, muttering under his breath at someone; who that someone was, John had no idea.
Randy was being Randy. His demeanor since they had entered the room was cool, detached and downright scary and yet, at the same time, still sexy as hell. John's foot tapped incessantly against the sheets. He just wished Randy would hurry up with his primping and get the hell in the bed already. But there was no interrupting Randy's "routine". And if there was, well, John might as well get out the first aid kit now because Randy would tear him a new one.
And then proceed to fuck him in it.
Randy looked over at John. "Can't wait to fuck you, baby," he said, matter of factly; although it sounded more like a warning than a declaration of attraction to John. Randy had all his supplies loaded up in one tatted arm and was about to make his way over to the bathroom when he stopped. He arched an eyebrow John's way, asking, no demanding, with that one facial twitch, John's reply.
"I'm counting down the minutes," John whispered to Randy's satisfaction.
Randy graced John with a bone chilling "smile" and continued on his way. John breathed a huge sigh of relief as Randy disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. His stomach was churning with anticipation, as well as a heavy dose of dread. He was unsure as to just what Randy was going to bring into play tonight. His whip? His belt? His..toys?? John shuddered and listened to the tell tale signs of Randy finishing up in the bathroom. When he heard the toilet flush his gut tightened. This was it. D day. Fuck.
Randy rounded the corner and just stood there, leaning against the door jamb wearing no more than he was the day he was born. John's swift intake of breath could be heard in the next room. "Fuck," he swore as his ass involuntarily clenched at the sight of Randy's massive erection. It had barely recovered from the last time Randy had worked him over and John had to mentally, as well as physically, prepare himself for what was about to come. That is unless he could get Randy to calm down some.
.
"Size doesn't matter my ass," John muttered, eyeing Randy's lower body.
"You say something, Cena?" Randy inquired, still lounging against the side of the entryway in all his naked glory, his drawling voice washing over John like a midnight tide softly lapping at the shore.
"No," he squeaked out, inching farther up onto the bed as if he could escape Randy's wrath just by being closer to the headboard. If anything, Randy would thank him for doing most of the work for him. That way he wouldn't have to wrestle John down and struggle with him, fighting him tooth and nail to secure him to the bedposts. Randy chuckled in only that way that he could; that way that sent an electric charge sizzling down John's spine.
"Where ya going, Johnny boy?" he breathed, stepping one foot forward, the act sending John into a mad dash for the back of the bed. He was a flurry of arms and legs as he backpedaled as far as he could and still Randy advanced on him, foot by agonizing foot, until he was looming directly over him, his tanned, powerful body coiled and ready to strike at any moment.
John whimpered and the pitiful sound sent shock waves of lust throughout Randy's already turned on body.
"Don't do that, Johnny," he warned, shaking his head slowly from side to side, his voice setting John's teeth on edge. "You know your cries only make me hotter." He reached down and stroked the side of John's cheek, bringing his finger down to caress the outside of John's lips.
John hastily licked them; even he could feel the dry parch-ness before Randy had even laid a finger on him. He was scared; and rightfully so. He never should have egged Randy on, never should have teased him like that before in front of Rhodes and DiBiase. Oh well; water under the bridge now. Isn't that what they say? ‘Don't start nothing, there won't be nothing,’ John reasoned with himself. Because oh, was there about to be something. John's eyes darted about rapidly, searching the room for Randy's little black bag. He breathed an inward sigh of relief when he failed to spot it, only to have that same breath sucked right back into his body and back out again as he witnessed the look of complete evil that crossed Randy's face.
"Don't worry, baby," Randy breathed, running his long fingers through John's short hair now and reading John's thoughts so well he might has well have said them out loud. "I didn't forget it. I've got it right there with me." He nodded towards the corner where his luggage was stacked and John realized that it must be hidden within one of the larger bags. He started to breathe rapidly, his breaths coming out in short, heavy bursts.
"Randy," he pleaded, holding up his hands, palms out. "Please. Lay down, baby," he cooed, reaching up to pull Randy down to the bed next to him, "And I'll suck you so good you'll forget you ever heard the name Ted DiBiase." He was grasping at Randy's arms now but Randy just shook his head. The look in John's eyes heightened his senses, while the only thing heightened in John was his sense of doom; Randy could practically taste the fear emanating off of the older man.
"Uh uh," he whispered softly as if he were speaking to a newborn baby rather than a grown man. "Don't wanna lay," he grinned, his Cheshire like countenance sending a fresh round of chills down John's spine. "Wanna play." He reached one hand out and started caressing the front of John's boxers. The thin material was no match for Randy's long, groping fingers and John could feel, and see, himself rapidly begin to harden until he was practically busting through the flimsy cotton.
"I see someone else wants to come out and play, too," Randy whispered, slithering onto the bed until he was positioned between John's sprawled legs. The fingers of his right hand continued to ghost over John's groin, sliding and rubbing, pinching and grasping, pawing at him until John was a panting mass of boneless skin. Randy snickered as the front of John's shorts began to darken, a small wet spot appearing in the material and spreading an inch or two. "Ain't that right?"
"Randy, please," John begged. "Not tonight. If you don't take out the bag tonight, I'll let you use anything that's in it on me all night long next time, okay?" His bright blue eyes were shining wide with terror now, pleading with Randy to go easy on him tonight as he breathed hard in and out. His chest heaved as he struggled to calm his rapidly beating heart.
Randy slowly dragged his hand down the front of John's boxers until it fell onto the bed and then he sat back onto his heels, his eyes boring into John's with an intense and heated passion along with something...else. Something scary.
"Okay?" John asked again, his fingers curled so tight around the sheets his knuckles were turning a ghostly shade of white. Randy's head cocked.
"Anything?" he asked, drawing the single word out until John couldn't take it anymore.
"Yes, yes! Anything!" he promised. "Just not tonight. No black bag. Not tonight. Please." He was practically in tears as he continued to try and persuade Randy to leave his bag of tricks right where they were for the night. Randy eyed him for a moment, the wheels in his calculating mind turning, until finally he nodded.
"Sure, Johnny," he acquiesced. "Not tonight." He gave John's trembling thigh a swat and then swung himself up off the bed. "You want a drink?" he asked. "I need a drink." He ambled over to the mini fridge and pulled out the small bottles that they had accumulated over the past few days and set them down on the table. He glanced over at John and raised an eyebrow. "What's your poison, Cena?" he drawled, nodding towards the bottles.
John sighed heavily and started to visibly relax as he began to come down from his fear induced high. "I'll take a vodka on the rocks," he answered. "And don't try and slip me anything either," he winked, a bit of his jovial attitude returning.
Randy tsk tsked. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," he muttered, shaking his head back and forth as he filled two glasses with ice from the bucket in the freezer. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked, pouring some of the cold, clear liquid over the ice. The ice crackled in the glass as the freezing liquor washed over it. "I'm hurt," he pouted, ambling over towards the bed and handing John one of the glasses. "I had hoped that you had a little more faith in me than that," he winked, sipping on his drink, his face showing very little expression besides the quick close of one eyelid.
John looked up at him warily as he accepted the chilly glass. "Yeah, well...," he muttered, taking a tentative sip and keeping one eye aimed up at Randy. "It's not faith in you that I lack. It's trust. I have plenty of faith in you. Faith that you'll always get your way. Faith that you won't ever show your true emotions. Faith that you'll be the WWE champion for a long time...but most of all I have faith that you're going to fuck me through this mattress so god damn hard tomorrow night that I had better get my credit card ready now. Because I also have faith that you'll make me pay for whatever damage you cause. Too bad I won't be able to fix my broken, bloody and burning asshole with just a wave of the 'ol American Express." John sneered up at Randy and knocked back the cool vodka. "Ain't that right?" he mumbled, waving the glass slightly in front of Randy's face, indicating that he'd like a refill.
Randy eyed him for a moment, holding his stare before taking back the now empty glass. "How 'bout you just hold off on another right now?" he said finally, backing up and setting both empty glasses on the table next to the bottles. "I'm not that insensitive, Johnny baby. Am I?" He cocked his head to one side, his hands on his hips.
"I don't even know how it turned into alla...this," John mumbled, waving his right hand around half heartedly. "I was just excited about winning the title," he explained. "You know how I get, joking around and all with you. Shit, it's not my fault DiBiase had to stick his huge ass where it didn't belong." He flopped back down on the bed. "I was really just looking forward to some hot sex tonight. Ya know...champion vs. champion." He peered up at Randy from underneath lowered lids and licked his bottom lip, a hurt puppy dog look on his face.
"Hmmm, is that right? Well Johnny," Randy started, reaching for John's glass and refilling it again despite his previous unwillingness to do so. "I take it back; maybe you should have another; and another. Because you're right; you can't trust me. And you also forgot one more thing that you can always have faith in; the fact that just because you cry, and beg, and plead, and implore me with those big, blue eyes of yours, doesn't mean that I’m going to give in so easily. No, matter of fact, you're going to be the one giving in because I lied. I'm not going to let you off the hook like that, who do you think I am? I am going to fuck you tonight and just because you thought you could play me for a fool, I'm gonna fuck you twice as hard tomorrow night," he stated in a cold, menacing voice.
John's eyes widened as the bottom fell out of his stomach and the contents within threatened to bubble up and spew forth. "No, Randy...come on. You can't be serious!" His voice had started to reach little girl like decibels, the screeching annoying, like a pesky buzzing mosquito, to Randy's ears.
"Oh, I'm dead serious, Cena," he replied, his voice low and monotone, void of any emotion whatsoever. "So go on and drink up, Johnny boy. You're gonna need it."
***
The liquor burned as John downed his fourth vodka, straight up. The alcohol would at least dull the pain, and for that he was thankful. His mind raced as he wondered what sinful acts Randy had in store for him later on. He had gone back into the bathroom and John was thankful for the reprieve, no matter how short. He twisted the cap off of a fifth mini bottle of vodka and didn't even bother with the ice this time, opting instead to just swig it. He threw the empty bottle in the trash can beside the mini fridge and wiped at a few stray drops that clung to his lips as he perused the remaining inventory of liquor. There was one more vodka, six Jack Daniels, and three Bacardi Superior bottles peering back up at him from the fridge.
"Fuck it," he muttered out loud, and gathered them all up. He ripped the cellophane off of one of the complimentary plastic cups and proceeded to empty the remaining vodka bottle and all of the Bacardi into the one cup. 'It's all going to the same place anyway,' he told himself, downing the vile concoction in one gulp. His large frame shuddered.
"Ahhhhh, shit!" he growled, as the fiery liquid burned an icy path down his throat and into his stomach. He was really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol that he had just consumed in such a short period of time. Normally John wasn't all that heavy of a drinker, but desperate times called for desperate measures and John was desperate. Sure he was still going to feel some pain, some kind of uncomfortable....horrors, maybe, but at least his body was somewhat prepared and anesthetized.
He could hear Randy rummaging around in the bathroom. John knew what he had in there; he had seen him unzip one of his suitcases and remove the small, but deadly, black bag from within its recesses. Randy was forever collecting different sex....toys, John relented to even call them toys. When he thought of toys, he thought of something that brought joy, and fun, and laughter; not pain, and cruelty, and horrifying screams. But he had to hand it to Randy, when the screaming was over he sure knew how to make him scream again, only this time in pleasure.
Pain comes before pleasure. That was Randy's motto, and he lived up to it all the way. He made sure he brought John to the peaks of gut wrenching, soul twisting, mind screaming agony before he would ever bring him back down and allow him to feel something other than the pain; something good. And good with Randy was extraordinary. Good with Randy was something...alien, something not of this world, and it certainly wasn't like anything John had ever experienced with anybody, male or female, before. John was positive that there weren't even words made up yet that could describe just how astonishingly good it was with Randy. You could gather up all the great writers of the world, past and present, and challenge them to come up with something and even they would be at a loss for words.
John shook the thoughts from his head and took the wrapper off of a second plastic cup before pouring all of the Jack Daniels into it. He knew Randy would want his drink when he returned from the bathroom and John made sure to have it ready for him. Why ask for unnecessary pain? He heard the water run and the sounds of scrubbing come from the other room. It took a second before what Randy was doing registered with John's already foggy brain.
He was washing off the dried blood from what sexual device, John had no idea. But he did remember Randy not taking the time to clean them, like he usually did after one of their...escapades, the last time he used them. He was so exhausted from struggling to pin John down, from the toll the endless hours of rough sex took on him, and from about fifty other things, that he just said the hell with it and threw them in the bag; blood and all. John guessed he had forgotten all about it because he could hear him in there cursing under his breath as he hurriedly cleaned and disinfected them. Teeth chattering chills coursed up and down John's spine as he thought about what horrors lay ahead of him. The trick though, was not to think about it, not to dwell and speculate on what might happen, but to think instead about what would happen when it was all over. It might not happen right away; it might not be that night, or the next night even. Hell, it might not even be until next week, but when it did happen, when Randy came for him again, he'd mend every cut, every bruise, every wound, with his incredulously gentle touch and the tortures from tonight would be but a distant memory.
This was John's cross to bear and he'd grit his teeth and succumb, just as he had countless times before, in the name of true love. He slowly opened his eyes; eyes that he only just now realized had been closed, and recited softly to the empty room the short poem like he did every night the black bag made a cameo. It was his way of reminding himself why he stayed, why he let himself be brutalized in such ways; and it reminded him of the simple fact that he loved Randy, loved him with all his heart. What Randy was about to do to him wasn't written anywhere in any love stories that he had ever seen or read, so in order for his body to be in sync with his brain he had begun to recite a poem, either aloud or in his head, right before Randy started in on him.
You are the light that brightens even my darkest hour
You are the music that plays in my heart
You are the fury that makes me cower
You are the bitterness that leaves my mouth tart
You are the sun that warms my skin
You are the air that gives me breath
You are my happiness, you are my sin
You are my life, you are my death
You are my delight, my sorrow, my king
You are my everything.
As he uttered the last syllable in a hushed breath, he heard the water abruptly stop and a calm washed over him. It was going to be okay; he was going to be okay. A few more noises made their way from the bathroom into the bedroom, sounds of Randy packing his bag back up and wiping down the counter, and before John knew it he was there. He was standing there in the room, his bag dangling loosely from his long, dangerous fingers, and; He. Was. There. John gulped hard and fast. From here on out, Randy wasn't going to waste anymore time, this John knew. He was all sex, and hardness, and pure malice as he strode swiftly over to where John still sat, motionless, at the small table, his plastic cup of liquor long since drained.
John swirled his finger nervously around in the condensation the icy liquid had made on the table, all the while peering up at Randy through lowered lashes. So this was it.
"I made a drink for you, baby," John whispered softly, nodding to the chilled cup on the table. Randy grunted his approval and reached for the cup, knocking it back in one noisy swallow. John's drunken lids closed briefly and then opened again. To his shock, when they opened two seconds later, it was to the sight of Randy's looming cock right in front of his mouth. That Orton, man; he was a quick one.
"Give me your hands," Randy ordered, the Jack working its magic quickly on his inhibitions and sex drive; as if he needed any help. John obliged immediately, holding his wrists out for the bondage that was sure to attach itself to them. Sure enough, Randy reached into his bag of tricks and produced a thin, nylon rope; a rope that John was quite familiar with. A rope that, should John die horribly in a fire, had enough of his DNA on it to identify him without a single shred of doubt. In fact, John could still see spatters of his blood dried on the frayed ends. He shook his head. The things he did for love; it was unimaginable.
True love endured these kinds of suffering, though; true love endured suffering such as what John was about to go through, and oh so much more. John tried to keep positive thoughts like that in the back of his head, at least for the first twenty minutes or so; after that his mind kind of detached from his body and no longer listened to anything he had to say. He was on his own; on his own, dangling over a cruel precipice of seduction, lust, and torture.
Randy twisted his lips up towards John as he wrapped the unforgiving rope around John's wrists. "Chin up, Cena," he chuckled diabolically. "A little pain never hurt anybody." John's gut churned at Randy's sinister words.
'Easy for you to say,' he muttered to himself as Randy gave the bindings one final tug. 'It's not your body about to go through the pounding of a lifetime.'
Randy gave a little smile and John's stomach put up even more of a fight. Randy's smile was not like normal people's smiles. Randy's smile was little more than that of a snake, coiled and ready to strike at any given opportunity.
We smile and we feign happiness.
We laugh and we feign joy.
We joke and we feign lightheartedness.
We love and we feign emotion.
We cry and we say goodbye and we die.
That was Randy's outlook on life in fifty words or less; and even though John could pretty much tell since day one that Randy was different, he'd need the whole English dictionary to ever explain just how complicated Randy really was.
He could tell you, though, that it all began with a smile.
"On your knees," Randy ordered, practically kicking the chair out from underneath John. John's stomach flipped with the chair.
It was starting.
We're a long, long way from nowhere
With a long, long way to go
Where these black tides have carried me before
Delivered into darkness,
The center of the sin
It's the middle of nowhere
And I'm goin' back again