FIC: Where The Heart Is (Centon; one-shot, PG-13)
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply.
Title: Where The Heart Is
Pairing: Centon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Not all the time they spend together is spent locked in a heated, sweaty embrace. They are each other's perfection, no matter the circumstance.
Author's Notes: ...Yeah, I've been stuck on my Punk/Cena fic for FOREVER, and all of a sudden, the Centon muses just attacked. I blame Randy's KMart commercial. WHO SITS ON A DINING TABLE WHILE PEOPLE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE DINNER ON IT? RANDAL KEITH OF THE ORTONS, THAT'S WHO. :: giggle. :: Marciana, the rambling fan(girl), at your service.
Dedication: To my dear sweet angrbooa, who doesn't forget me, and I know I will never forget; The Ficcers' Convention, aka my Enablers - killaqueen, oh_honeybee and imyourheaven; to My Cuddly Bunny xtremesage, the Jonathan to my Randal; Everybody at cenaortonmylove for their unwavering and continued patronage of a comm I never thought would grow as big as it has; anybody else who might enjoy Centon.
=============================================================================Where The Heart Is
A CENTON fic
by MARCIANA (lady_tavington)
Rated PG-13.
"...Ehem."
Randy looks up from his iPad briefly, only long enough to acknowledge the source of the voice. "Oh hey. Good groceries trip?"
John's eyebrow goes so high up on his head, he thinks he'll probably need surgery to bring it back down. "What are you doing?"
"Tweeting, as per usual," Randy replies, scrolling on his iPad and then snorting so hard, it probably would've taken his nose off, " I'm gonna 'kiss ass' at 'Mania? What in the name of... Whose ass will I be kissing at Wrestlemania? How come I didn't hear about this?!"
John sets down the paper bags in his arms on the counter. "That's not what I'm talking about, Randal," he says, slightly annoyed, "I meant, what is your ass doing on my dining table wearing nothing but a thin shirt and a pair of MY boxers?"
Randy grins up at him, and John mentally curses him for being so damn adorable - he'd like to stay annoyed at this lack of manners and propriety from the love of his life, thank you very much.
"It's kind of become my THING," Randy replies, "Sitting ON dining tables makes me look more bad-ass than I already am. You know I'm very superficial, and care VERY deeply about my outward image and reputation."
John stands there, blinking, as Randy just grins at him impishly, the sunlight hitting his face making him look deceptively angelic.
"...Fuck you," John answers monotonously, "Get your nasty ass off my dining table."
"I thought you LIKED my ass!" Randy feigns indignation, giving him an exaggerated pout and widening his smoky blue eyes.
"I LOVE it," John snorts, planting an arm on the table as he fixes Randy with a look, "But not when it's sitting on my dining table, where we EAT."
"Oh, come on, John-John," Randy replies in that husky tone he knows makes John weak in the knees, leaning closer and closer to him, "We've done MUCH messier and less hygienic things on this table than just sitting on it." He grins to himself as he goes in for a kiss, but John stops him with a finger on his nose.
"I love you," John says, "But you're a dick."
"I thought you loved me BECAUSE I'm a dick," Randy tries again, launching a nibble at John's finger.
"I love you because you have one," John answers, "Without it, I probably would NEVER have given you a second thought."
"Bitch," Randy says, eyebrow quirking momentarily.
"Up yours," John replies, squinting his eyes at his lover.
"Yes please," Randy chuckles, kissing John before he has a chance to reply. He pushes his tongue into John's mouth, and revels in the soft groan that he catches from John's throat. Heat is coursing through every inch of him, and all he knows is that he wants John. Badly. Right now. Right HERE. Yep. Good plan. AWESOME plan.
But John ends the kiss, and Randy finds himself mewling pathetically as John pulls away.
"Not. Gonna. Work," John says, "Get off my table."
"Hate you," Randy answers.
"Get off NOW," John replies, the sweetest smile on his face, "Get off, or I will MAKE you."
"Oh NOW I'm scared," Randy chuckles, "Big bad Barney's turd is gonna make ME get off his fucking dining table. Look at me, I'm shaking in my little cowboy boots."
"You asked for it," John says, winking. Without further warning, he grabs Randy around the waist and effortlessly throws Randy's protesting form over his shoulder and makes his way up the stairs to their bedroom, where he tosses Randy unceremoniously onto their bed.
"Now BEHAVE!" John admonishes playfully, "I'm gonna go fix the groceries, YOU stay here and think about what you've done."
But Randy is too quick for him. With a growled "NO YOU DON'T," Randy grabs John's waist and pulls him down onto the bed with him in an almost vice-like grip.
John laughs as Randy refuses to loosen his hold on him. "Lemme go, fucker," John chuckles.
"The groceries can wait," Randy answers, throwing one long leg over John to keep him from going anywhere, "I can't. Why did you even buy groceries, we're flying to Missouri tomorrow afternoon?"
"Well, if you didn't wanna eat for the next 30 hours," John says, "You could have just said so."
"You're right about this, but I won't tell you that out loud," Randy says, nuzzling John's shoulder.
"Look, this is our home, Randy," John says quietly, settling himself into Randy's embrace, "I'm just taking care of it."
"Home?" Randy echoes softly, "That's wherever YOU are."
"I don't think you would've slept in the grocery store, Randal," John replies, with a small laugh.
"I'm having a rare moment of true emotion," Randy says, "And you're snarking all over it. Well done, you bastard. See if I let you have a little something-something before we fly."
John chuckles more, and Randy can't help but follow suit. John half-turns in Randy's embrace and looks up at him.
"I love you," he promises, "But can I ask you something?"
"Anything," Randy says, a finger lazily tracing circles on John's abs.
"Never," John replies, "And I mean NEVER say 'something-something' like that EVER again."
It is Randy's turn to guffaw, and guffaw he does. John finds himself blushing at how he stares at Randy's pure, unadulterated joy.
"I'll try," Randy says.
John reaches up and kisses him deeply, sighing as Randy's tongue invades his mouth again, sweeping for every last inch of the taste of him. Randy's hand begins traveling slowly down John's body, and when it closes around the bulge in the front of his pants, John moans low, their lips parting.
"Greedy," John whimpers.
"Only for what actually belongs to me," Randy whispers huskily against his mouth.
"Well, when you find it, you let me know," John says, a devilish grin on his face, "I'm gonna go fix the groceries."
Randy lets out a disappointed groan and rolls his eyes as John pushes up off the bed, laughing as he does.
"I'll make you a salad later, I promise," John says.
"I won't eat it," Randy replies.
"Fine, I'll let you toss it," John says as he removes his shoes and puts on some slippers instead, "I know how you like tossing the salad."
"HAH," Randy lets out, "I see what you did there."
"That's coz you're a damn pervert," John says, smirking at him.
Randy raises an eyebrow at him and flips him off. John waves his hand in front of his face as he disappears out the door.
Randy smiles softly to himself, unaware that he's doing it. He removes his shirt and settles in for a nap, holding his shirt close, the scent of John still lingering.
~ END. ~
======================================================================================
Love Lots And God Bless!
~ MARCIANA ~
http://twitter.com/marciana86
Title: Where The Heart Is
Pairing: Centon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Not all the time they spend together is spent locked in a heated, sweaty embrace. They are each other's perfection, no matter the circumstance.
Author's Notes: ...Yeah, I've been stuck on my Punk/Cena fic for FOREVER, and all of a sudden, the Centon muses just attacked. I blame Randy's KMart commercial. WHO SITS ON A DINING TABLE WHILE PEOPLE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE DINNER ON IT? RANDAL KEITH OF THE ORTONS, THAT'S WHO. :: giggle. :: Marciana, the rambling fan(girl), at your service.
Dedication: To my dear sweet angrbooa, who doesn't forget me, and I know I will never forget; The Ficcers' Convention, aka my Enablers - killaqueen, oh_honeybee and imyourheaven; to My Cuddly Bunny xtremesage, the Jonathan to my Randal; Everybody at cenaortonmylove for their unwavering and continued patronage of a comm I never thought would grow as big as it has; anybody else who might enjoy Centon.
=============================================================================Where The Heart Is
A CENTON fic
by MARCIANA (lady_tavington)
Rated PG-13.
"...Ehem."
Randy looks up from his iPad briefly, only long enough to acknowledge the source of the voice. "Oh hey. Good groceries trip?"
John's eyebrow goes so high up on his head, he thinks he'll probably need surgery to bring it back down. "What are you doing?"
"Tweeting, as per usual," Randy replies, scrolling on his iPad and then snorting so hard, it probably would've taken his nose off, " I'm gonna 'kiss ass' at 'Mania? What in the name of... Whose ass will I be kissing at Wrestlemania? How come I didn't hear about this?!"
John sets down the paper bags in his arms on the counter. "That's not what I'm talking about, Randal," he says, slightly annoyed, "I meant, what is your ass doing on my dining table wearing nothing but a thin shirt and a pair of MY boxers?"
Randy grins up at him, and John mentally curses him for being so damn adorable - he'd like to stay annoyed at this lack of manners and propriety from the love of his life, thank you very much.
"It's kind of become my THING," Randy replies, "Sitting ON dining tables makes me look more bad-ass than I already am. You know I'm very superficial, and care VERY deeply about my outward image and reputation."
John stands there, blinking, as Randy just grins at him impishly, the sunlight hitting his face making him look deceptively angelic.
"...Fuck you," John answers monotonously, "Get your nasty ass off my dining table."
"I thought you LIKED my ass!" Randy feigns indignation, giving him an exaggerated pout and widening his smoky blue eyes.
"I LOVE it," John snorts, planting an arm on the table as he fixes Randy with a look, "But not when it's sitting on my dining table, where we EAT."
"Oh, come on, John-John," Randy replies in that husky tone he knows makes John weak in the knees, leaning closer and closer to him, "We've done MUCH messier and less hygienic things on this table than just sitting on it." He grins to himself as he goes in for a kiss, but John stops him with a finger on his nose.
"I love you," John says, "But you're a dick."
"I thought you loved me BECAUSE I'm a dick," Randy tries again, launching a nibble at John's finger.
"I love you because you have one," John answers, "Without it, I probably would NEVER have given you a second thought."
"Bitch," Randy says, eyebrow quirking momentarily.
"Up yours," John replies, squinting his eyes at his lover.
"Yes please," Randy chuckles, kissing John before he has a chance to reply. He pushes his tongue into John's mouth, and revels in the soft groan that he catches from John's throat. Heat is coursing through every inch of him, and all he knows is that he wants John. Badly. Right now. Right HERE. Yep. Good plan. AWESOME plan.
But John ends the kiss, and Randy finds himself mewling pathetically as John pulls away.
"Not. Gonna. Work," John says, "Get off my table."
"Hate you," Randy answers.
"Get off NOW," John replies, the sweetest smile on his face, "Get off, or I will MAKE you."
"Oh NOW I'm scared," Randy chuckles, "Big bad Barney's turd is gonna make ME get off his fucking dining table. Look at me, I'm shaking in my little cowboy boots."
"You asked for it," John says, winking. Without further warning, he grabs Randy around the waist and effortlessly throws Randy's protesting form over his shoulder and makes his way up the stairs to their bedroom, where he tosses Randy unceremoniously onto their bed.
"Now BEHAVE!" John admonishes playfully, "I'm gonna go fix the groceries, YOU stay here and think about what you've done."
But Randy is too quick for him. With a growled "NO YOU DON'T," Randy grabs John's waist and pulls him down onto the bed with him in an almost vice-like grip.
John laughs as Randy refuses to loosen his hold on him. "Lemme go, fucker," John chuckles.
"The groceries can wait," Randy answers, throwing one long leg over John to keep him from going anywhere, "I can't. Why did you even buy groceries, we're flying to Missouri tomorrow afternoon?"
"Well, if you didn't wanna eat for the next 30 hours," John says, "You could have just said so."
"You're right about this, but I won't tell you that out loud," Randy says, nuzzling John's shoulder.
"Look, this is our home, Randy," John says quietly, settling himself into Randy's embrace, "I'm just taking care of it."
"Home?" Randy echoes softly, "That's wherever YOU are."
"I don't think you would've slept in the grocery store, Randal," John replies, with a small laugh.
"I'm having a rare moment of true emotion," Randy says, "And you're snarking all over it. Well done, you bastard. See if I let you have a little something-something before we fly."
John chuckles more, and Randy can't help but follow suit. John half-turns in Randy's embrace and looks up at him.
"I love you," he promises, "But can I ask you something?"
"Anything," Randy says, a finger lazily tracing circles on John's abs.
"Never," John replies, "And I mean NEVER say 'something-something' like that EVER again."
It is Randy's turn to guffaw, and guffaw he does. John finds himself blushing at how he stares at Randy's pure, unadulterated joy.
"I'll try," Randy says.
John reaches up and kisses him deeply, sighing as Randy's tongue invades his mouth again, sweeping for every last inch of the taste of him. Randy's hand begins traveling slowly down John's body, and when it closes around the bulge in the front of his pants, John moans low, their lips parting.
"Greedy," John whimpers.
"Only for what actually belongs to me," Randy whispers huskily against his mouth.
"Well, when you find it, you let me know," John says, a devilish grin on his face, "I'm gonna go fix the groceries."
Randy lets out a disappointed groan and rolls his eyes as John pushes up off the bed, laughing as he does.
"I'll make you a salad later, I promise," John says.
"I won't eat it," Randy replies.
"Fine, I'll let you toss it," John says as he removes his shoes and puts on some slippers instead, "I know how you like tossing the salad."
"HAH," Randy lets out, "I see what you did there."
"That's coz you're a damn pervert," John says, smirking at him.
Randy raises an eyebrow at him and flips him off. John waves his hand in front of his face as he disappears out the door.
Randy smiles softly to himself, unaware that he's doing it. He removes his shirt and settles in for a nap, holding his shirt close, the scent of John still lingering.
~ END. ~
======================================================================================
Love Lots And God Bless!
~ MARCIANA ~
http://twitter.com/marciana86