Cooking Up a Storm. First WWE fic
I finally stopped stalling and began writing, this isn't my first time writing slashfic, but it's my first time writing WWE slashfic. I kind of liked how this came out and I hope you do too.
Title: Cooking Up a Storm
Author: Nadia, whowatchesnadia
Pairing: John Cena/Randy Orton
Rating: R, for swearing and adult themes.
Summary: Randy tries and fails to cook dinner in his hotel room and calls his good friend John to help out.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I do, I do not own WWE, Randy Orton or John Cena. I am also not claiming association with them or any other parties.
Randy groaned in desperate frustration as he threw away his third attempt at preparing grilled cheese.
"Honestly, Randy," he taunted to himself, "should grilled cheese be that hard to make?"
He hung his had in defeat, hoping the floor would have a clue as to how to fight off the evil that was the oven.
At first he thought about giving up and calling for take-out but then the stubborn voice inside his head cried in protest.
No! I can't let this trifle of an oven stop Randy Orton!
Randy sighed heavily and looked at the phone.
Maybe it won't be cheating if I have someone cook for me - Aha!"
He picked up the phone and dialed the number to John Cena's hotel room.
"Hello?" the man on the other side answered, he pleasant greeting not hiding the fact that he was puzzled as to why anyone would call.
"Hey, bitch. Come over to my room and cook my dinner," he dead-panned, grinning when he heard the unhappy huff.
The grin fell from his face and it was his turn to huff when John countered with: "What's wrong Orton, grilled cheese too difficult?"
Randy huffed even more as he heard a sound that also coaxed him to roll his eyes: laughter.
John has always laughed at his own jokes as long as Randy could remember.
"Shut up" he muttered, but still more laughter. "Hey, fuck you! That wasn't even funny. And, hey! Grilled cheese isn't as easy to make as cereal, you know."
At this, there was louder roars of laughter. "Sure it isn't as easy as cereal, but you fucked that up too!"
Randy pouted and didn't answer, he only messed up once on cereal; and on top of that, he was drunk. He pondered whether he should just give up on John and call it a night, but the older man interrupted the train of thought.
"Hey, man. Randy, I'm sorry," he apologized, no trace of laughter in sight. "Now, I'll stop joking around and you can tell me what you called for, OK? And don't just nod at the phone like a dummy. I may have super powers but I can't see through telephone wires.
At that Randy pursed his lips into a thin line, annoyed that John could tell what he was going to do.
"Oh, fuck you for trying to lighten up the mood failing, Mr. Super-Powers. You're definitely getting forgiveness from me," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Hmm. I try," John retorted steadily in mock sarcasm.
Randy just sighed idly and rubbed his head with his unoccupied hand and went straight to the point.
"You know what: Yes, I failed three times at making grilled cheese and I am pretty much starving right now: and yes! I called your miserable ass to help me, so just tell me: will you or will you not help me make dinner?"
There was a short silence before John responded to Randy's snap and Randy could tell that the little fucker knew what buttons to push.
"Yes, I know that's what you wanted, I just wanted to hear you admit it," he said, with a hint of smile at the end. Before Randy could retort, John had already said his goodbyes and hung up the phone.
-------
About three minutes later, John had arrived with a bag full of vegetables, pasta, bread, meat, and a case full of Jack Daniels. He smiled warmly at Randy's look of both puzzlement and surprise and walked straight to the small kitchen area, avoiding any snarky and pleased comments that would be directed to John's quickness.
In fifteen minutes John already had the pasta pot beginning to boil, vegetables steamed, and the chicken prepared and ready to be cooked. He had also rebuffed Randy's offers to help only six times.
"Randy, if I thought you could help, I wouldn't be here," he had joked, smirking at Randy's eyeroll.
"That wasn't nice, I think my feelings are hurt."
"You poor thing. How about you occupy yourself with some beer?"
Even though Randy didn't want to give in to John, he couldn't say no to beer, and flicked through the channels and settled on a movie.
--
"You must've really been hungry!" Jon noted, watching with knitted eyebrows while Randy wolfed down his pasta; John didn't even finish his chicken leg yet.
"Well, yeah. Haven't really had a real meal in a while."
Randy swallowed the last of his chicken and put the plate on the bedside table next to the bed that they were sitting on. He grabbed two beers and handed one to John, who happily accepted.
"You know," Randy began, the slur in his words giving away that he was tispy, "you're a great friend. If I didn't call you, I think I might've starved!"
John just giggled and squeezed Randy's right shoulder, eyes shyly looking into the younger man's blue ones.
Randy looked at the hand on his shoulder that was now rubbing circles; and looked at the eyes that were boring into his, a new emotion darkening them.
He licked his lips quickly, eyes locked onto John's glazed ones, leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man's.
John tensed, then slowly relaxed when Randy brought a hand to his neck, massaging with light pressure. The other hand went down to the hem of his shirt, snaking under and caressing the muscles.
John took control and licked along Randy's bottom lip, darting his tongue in when the younger man let out a moan; letting out a pleased whimper himself when the two tongues explored each other. The only time they came apart was when they came up for air, lips coming back together as quickly as they had parted.
During all the excitement, Randy had John below him, coaxing whimpers whenever his hips ground onto his fully-clothed ones.
The whole clothes thing, Randy decided, was a MAJOR setback. So he quickly removed all of John's clothes.
When he was done, his eyes took in the sight before him: the half lidded eyes, red fully kissed lips. His eyes moved down as stared at the toned body, growing hard. He took in the now hard dick, letting out a low moan.
"Hey, are you going to stop teasing me or are you going to fuck me?" Randy's eyes snapped open and realized he had been palming himself through his jeans the whole time while John lay exposed and flustered.
He grunted softly and got up to get some vaseline of some kind. When he had came back into the room, John was already in a comfortable on his back on the pillows, ready to be taken.
"But, hey, Randy. I ain't a fag, okay?" Randy just shrugged and knelt onto the bed, removing his own clothes.
Randy froze for a second, he knew he wasn't gay. But he had always wanted this with John, fag or not. He could tell he was wasting too much time thinking about it, and thought quickly of a response.
"Yeah, I know. And neither am I, so just shut up and take it, bitch."
-------
When Randy had woken up, squinting against the sunlight that shone through the window, he turned and noticed the other side of his bed was empty.
What was I expecting, a full spooning in the morning? John isn't gay and you aren't gay. It was just a drunken one time thing. No need to be a girl about it.
Even though he said this to himself, he still felt the inevitable drop in his stomach and tug at the heartstrings.
He padded into the kitchen area slowly to make some cereal and was met by something he didn't expect: John. And John was scrambling eggs and frying bacon. He cleared his throat to make his presence known.
John looked up at the intruder and smiled at the confusion etched across his features.
"What, you thought I was going to let you cook yourself breakfast? Be a help and get out something to drink, will you? After breakfast we can talk, yeah? I promise you it'll be only good things," and this he smiled warmly, the dimples that Randy had watched for ages coming to surface.
Randy couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face.
FIN
So how did you like? Love and some con-crit will be well appreciated.
Title: Cooking Up a Storm
Author: Nadia, whowatchesnadia
Pairing: John Cena/Randy Orton
Rating: R, for swearing and adult themes.
Summary: Randy tries and fails to cook dinner in his hotel room and calls his good friend John to help out.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I do, I do not own WWE, Randy Orton or John Cena. I am also not claiming association with them or any other parties.
Randy groaned in desperate frustration as he threw away his third attempt at preparing grilled cheese.
"Honestly, Randy," he taunted to himself, "should grilled cheese be that hard to make?"
He hung his had in defeat, hoping the floor would have a clue as to how to fight off the evil that was the oven.
At first he thought about giving up and calling for take-out but then the stubborn voice inside his head cried in protest.
No! I can't let this trifle of an oven stop Randy Orton!
Randy sighed heavily and looked at the phone.
Maybe it won't be cheating if I have someone cook for me - Aha!"
He picked up the phone and dialed the number to John Cena's hotel room.
"Hello?" the man on the other side answered, he pleasant greeting not hiding the fact that he was puzzled as to why anyone would call.
"Hey, bitch. Come over to my room and cook my dinner," he dead-panned, grinning when he heard the unhappy huff.
The grin fell from his face and it was his turn to huff when John countered with: "What's wrong Orton, grilled cheese too difficult?"
Randy huffed even more as he heard a sound that also coaxed him to roll his eyes: laughter.
John has always laughed at his own jokes as long as Randy could remember.
"Shut up" he muttered, but still more laughter. "Hey, fuck you! That wasn't even funny. And, hey! Grilled cheese isn't as easy to make as cereal, you know."
At this, there was louder roars of laughter. "Sure it isn't as easy as cereal, but you fucked that up too!"
Randy pouted and didn't answer, he only messed up once on cereal; and on top of that, he was drunk. He pondered whether he should just give up on John and call it a night, but the older man interrupted the train of thought.
"Hey, man. Randy, I'm sorry," he apologized, no trace of laughter in sight. "Now, I'll stop joking around and you can tell me what you called for, OK? And don't just nod at the phone like a dummy. I may have super powers but I can't see through telephone wires.
At that Randy pursed his lips into a thin line, annoyed that John could tell what he was going to do.
"Oh, fuck you for trying to lighten up the mood failing, Mr. Super-Powers. You're definitely getting forgiveness from me," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Hmm. I try," John retorted steadily in mock sarcasm.
Randy just sighed idly and rubbed his head with his unoccupied hand and went straight to the point.
"You know what: Yes, I failed three times at making grilled cheese and I am pretty much starving right now: and yes! I called your miserable ass to help me, so just tell me: will you or will you not help me make dinner?"
There was a short silence before John responded to Randy's snap and Randy could tell that the little fucker knew what buttons to push.
"Yes, I know that's what you wanted, I just wanted to hear you admit it," he said, with a hint of smile at the end. Before Randy could retort, John had already said his goodbyes and hung up the phone.
-------
About three minutes later, John had arrived with a bag full of vegetables, pasta, bread, meat, and a case full of Jack Daniels. He smiled warmly at Randy's look of both puzzlement and surprise and walked straight to the small kitchen area, avoiding any snarky and pleased comments that would be directed to John's quickness.
In fifteen minutes John already had the pasta pot beginning to boil, vegetables steamed, and the chicken prepared and ready to be cooked. He had also rebuffed Randy's offers to help only six times.
"Randy, if I thought you could help, I wouldn't be here," he had joked, smirking at Randy's eyeroll.
"That wasn't nice, I think my feelings are hurt."
"You poor thing. How about you occupy yourself with some beer?"
Even though Randy didn't want to give in to John, he couldn't say no to beer, and flicked through the channels and settled on a movie.
--
"You must've really been hungry!" Jon noted, watching with knitted eyebrows while Randy wolfed down his pasta; John didn't even finish his chicken leg yet.
"Well, yeah. Haven't really had a real meal in a while."
Randy swallowed the last of his chicken and put the plate on the bedside table next to the bed that they were sitting on. He grabbed two beers and handed one to John, who happily accepted.
"You know," Randy began, the slur in his words giving away that he was tispy, "you're a great friend. If I didn't call you, I think I might've starved!"
John just giggled and squeezed Randy's right shoulder, eyes shyly looking into the younger man's blue ones.
Randy looked at the hand on his shoulder that was now rubbing circles; and looked at the eyes that were boring into his, a new emotion darkening them.
He licked his lips quickly, eyes locked onto John's glazed ones, leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man's.
John tensed, then slowly relaxed when Randy brought a hand to his neck, massaging with light pressure. The other hand went down to the hem of his shirt, snaking under and caressing the muscles.
John took control and licked along Randy's bottom lip, darting his tongue in when the younger man let out a moan; letting out a pleased whimper himself when the two tongues explored each other. The only time they came apart was when they came up for air, lips coming back together as quickly as they had parted.
During all the excitement, Randy had John below him, coaxing whimpers whenever his hips ground onto his fully-clothed ones.
The whole clothes thing, Randy decided, was a MAJOR setback. So he quickly removed all of John's clothes.
When he was done, his eyes took in the sight before him: the half lidded eyes, red fully kissed lips. His eyes moved down as stared at the toned body, growing hard. He took in the now hard dick, letting out a low moan.
"Hey, are you going to stop teasing me or are you going to fuck me?" Randy's eyes snapped open and realized he had been palming himself through his jeans the whole time while John lay exposed and flustered.
He grunted softly and got up to get some vaseline of some kind. When he had came back into the room, John was already in a comfortable on his back on the pillows, ready to be taken.
"But, hey, Randy. I ain't a fag, okay?" Randy just shrugged and knelt onto the bed, removing his own clothes.
Randy froze for a second, he knew he wasn't gay. But he had always wanted this with John, fag or not. He could tell he was wasting too much time thinking about it, and thought quickly of a response.
"Yeah, I know. And neither am I, so just shut up and take it, bitch."
-------
When Randy had woken up, squinting against the sunlight that shone through the window, he turned and noticed the other side of his bed was empty.
What was I expecting, a full spooning in the morning? John isn't gay and you aren't gay. It was just a drunken one time thing. No need to be a girl about it.
Even though he said this to himself, he still felt the inevitable drop in his stomach and tug at the heartstrings.
He padded into the kitchen area slowly to make some cereal and was met by something he didn't expect: John. And John was scrambling eggs and frying bacon. He cleared his throat to make his presence known.
John looked up at the intruder and smiled at the confusion etched across his features.
"What, you thought I was going to let you cook yourself breakfast? Be a help and get out something to drink, will you? After breakfast we can talk, yeah? I promise you it'll be only good things," and this he smiled warmly, the dimples that Randy had watched for ages coming to surface.
Randy couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face.
FIN
So how did you like? Love and some con-crit will be well appreciated.