Face Down - fic

Jun 11, 2010 23:07

Title: Face Down
Author: slashburd
Pairing: John Cena/Randy Orton
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I do not know of any of this to be true, I don’t know or own these people (but I'd secretly love to!).
Summary: M/M Slash, fluff

*


John laid face down on the bed, back aching from his neck to his ass, the swelling coming out now the hours had passed since the show. He had the ice pack on the back of his neck, the cold turning into pain that turned into heat and then finally the numbness that it was designed to. He knew that he'd gone one clothesline too far for the bulging discs the trainers and doctors kept warning him about but he figured that it'd all be worth it in the end. He also knew it was something that he'd keep on doing while his body was still inclined to recover relatively well from it.

He could already feel the bruise that was going to come out just below his ribs after the slam from Wade but he could deal with that. They'd been broken that many times before that a simple bruise shouldn't be too much of a problem, same as his right elbow he hoped. One awkward bump hadn't done the existing sprain to it any good but he could move it so not all was lost. He was almost relieved that he hadn't been expected to slam Khali or perform some other ridiculous test of strength that Creative always seemed so keen on. Right on the verge of falling asleep he heard the door open and the light thud of careful footsteps across the wood flooring which brought him round enough to realise how nice it was to be hurt but in his own bed for a change.

“Hey champ, how you bearing up? You took some real shit out there tonight.”

Randy's voice was nothing more than a rumble in the large room, his tone one of concern that reflected accurately how he felt. He'd waited up just long enough to take the bag of ice off when it got to body temperature, the one for morning already solid in the dedicated drawer of their freezer.

..........

He knew his own match had been little more than a crowd pleaser, it was certainly not going to make it onto his 'Best of' DVD. He too came out of the night worse than he went in, the slip of the sling making it hard for him to support his shoulder. As he'd sat backstage after and watched the beatdown taking place he'd fought every sinew of his body that tensed and tautened, painful or otherwise. He was desperate to go out and start pulling them off John one by one, to land punches as real as some of theirs had looked and as John's subsequent bruises told that they were.

Randy wasn't stupid. He knew most of them were wiser than to hurt John and risk his legitimate wrath. It was the kicks that were landing a little too true for his liking at first. He'd seen the security being called to the gorilla, one or two concerned production assistants watching as he rolled his shoulders and silently flexed his neck. He'd get through them easily if he had to. What got to him the most was watching John reach out, holding out a hand to nothing, to nobody. If people said John couldn't sell he could certainly act. It didn't matter that it was scripted, he'd challenge anyone to watch their lover in that position and not feel the human urge to go and help.

It was the glassy look in John's eyes that worried him the most. He knew then that it had gone beyond the simply acted beatdown it'd been sold to them both as. He, just like the rest of the world, laughed more than was appropriate at the way John oversold the fairy taps and hulked back from the beatings. This though wasn't one to get up from as if nothing happened, they both knew that. However Randy didn't see that as a mandate for some of them to see just how far they could go. Skip's clothesline nearly turned John inside out and a low breathy promise was made backstage to more than repay that in kind one day.

When they'd rolled John backstage he'd followed the stretcher to the treatment room, sitting with his legs splayed and arms crossed as he watched the trainers and doctors go about their checks, his presence setting everyone apart from the spaced out John on edge. He made steely eyed contact with one of the staff doctors and with one raised eyebrow made it clear that they'd better take good care of his man. God above wouldn't be able to help them if they didn't.

..........

“I'm okay. Sore neck, sore back; nothing too bad. How's the shoulder?”

“It's not about me John. You, you took it out there tonight. I was worried. When Slater got that rope....”

“Aw the kid's no harm. He was just getting a bit carried away. We've all done it. Look at the night you hit me with those kendo canes man, you made a real mess. We've all been young once, cut the kid some slack.”

“John, they could've busted you up out there tonight if they'd have gone another 10 minutes. Look at Justin, they nearly choked the fuck out of him, Danielson forgot to pull the knot slack first and the guy almost passed out. Its not acceptable John, they're too young to be pulling stunts like this. They don't know what they're....”

“Randy! Stop it, I'm ok. Take a deep breath and come sit on the bed. You read me a story tonight cos I ain't got much go in me at the moment. How about that one I like about you kicking Sheamus' head off? You need to work on the Irish accident but the rest of it's pretty good.”

John's ribbing and laughter was soon brought to an abrupt halt by the pain that radiated through the centre of his chest and drew a groan out of him instead. He shifted on the bed until he got comfortable again and settled back down, a half smile on his lips as he closed his eyes and felt the bed dip a little beside him.

“You... we both need to get some rest. Its only two weeks... I'm not sure I'm gonna make it there John, this isn't healing like it should. I thought I could hang on and then have the op but I'm not sure.”

Knowing that Randy never joked about things like that John realised what a pair they must look. Arch enemies in the ring, lovers in their real lives, both sprawled out on their bed in nothing more than boxers and bandages.

“You ever think about retiring? I mean, we don't need to do this anymore. I'm sure the world isn't ready for another John Fabulous right now but we could go set up a school, go backstage with Hunter and Pat - there's ways out for us Randy. We don't....”

“John, you've seen the mess its made of Shawn already. The guy is either hanging around with his face in a bible or he's trying to keep busy enough not to go crazy. We live this, we always have. What else is there for us? You think you can give this up? Not going out there every night would kill you, kill me and then kill us. I know it. You forget, I saw my dad and all the other guys after they hung their boots up. Doesn't work like a day job John and besides the last time you were away making that film you were climbing the walls to come back after just two weeks.”

Every word Randy spoke was the absolute truth for both of them. John was as addicted to the high of being loved, hated or somewhere inbetween almost as much as he was; the family ties to the business having rolled the dice of Rabdy's fate by the time he laced his first pair of boots up. That's why Legacy had done as well as they had in getting along together. They were three guys who knew what was on their shoulders, what was expected from them and how little any of them wanted to let their long-acquainted fathers down. Nobody wanted to disappoint in the business, let alone someone with generations of family before them loved by and sometimes lost to it.

The idea of having a school, a gym or something similar appealed to them both but Randy more than John knew it was too early for him. He'd get fixed up, get another two or three years out of the results and then go back and have it done again when it was needed. It was a familiar pattern for the entire roster. Nobody in their right mind would willingly walk away from the adulation and the glamour of the good parts of their lifestyle. The hours of travelling and being apart in hotel bedrooms cross country were the times when walking seemed like the most logical option in the world. The separation was the worst part for the ones in couples or married to people outside the business. Randy had come to know that there was a vast difference between having someone to warm your bed and maintaining something meaningful for years on end.

..........

The silence after his annoyed sounding tirade was soon overcome by the sound of a snore that he didn't hear all that often. The soft grumbling and blowing of the noise was gentle and rhythmic and to Randy sounded as familiar as his own heartbeat when he did hear it. John often slept fitfully if at all, the cold teaspoons in every hotel room fridge often grabbed in the hand that didn't have an orange t-shirt in it on the way to get into another waiting car.

Ignoring the tug on his own sore muscles he leaned over and rubbed his cheek against the close cropped hair just above John's ear, noting the warmth of the resting body radiating away into the air. Randy reached down for the bunched up comforter and pulled it up to John's waist making sure that it wasn't catching one of the developing bruises. He reached out and traced his fingers down the centre of John's back, the scar from his previous surgery more pronounced than it had been for a while. The rest of the skin was distorted only by the muscles that he'd never gotten tired of feeling against his fingertips.

Grabbing the melted bag of ice he lifted it and the thin towel it had been wrapped in off John's neck slowly. He placed a soft, seconds-long kiss where it had been, the skin a deep kind of cold against his warm lips. Randy turned to get off the bed, planting his feet firmly so he didn't have to put weight on his injured arm to get up. For a moment he closed his eyes and imagined a time when they could just wake up together without the ritual of ice packs, heat rub and physio. His head lolled forward as he let his mind wander to the future he hoped they'd share. It wasn't long before the smile crossed his face and he thought of tomorrow's less dazed John who would barely remember suggesting giving up doing what they both loved. Maybe he'd had a point and maybe it could wait. For now at least, they had time.

..........

A/N: Just a little bit of Centon fluffiness that's been sat at the back of my mind since Tuesday. All reads and reviews appreciated as ever :)

randy orton, john cena, centon, nxt invasion, slash, wrestling, fic, fluff, wwe

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