Disclaimer: I'm not Mr. McMahon. I'm not even a Mr.! I don't own anything except my jeans, and they're probably too small on you anyway.
A/N: So, this is my first fanfic. I saw a picture of Randy Orton holding a towel, and this kinda came to me. Read it, review it, please!! Flames are to be used for warming my toes and popping popcorn. On to the story!!!
Hypothetically
"Ow. Ow. Ow."
I had just had an amazing match; my body didn't agree. Every muscle pounded, sending a mixed chorus of pain to my head: "Ow. Ouch! PAIN!" Wincing, I grabbed my bag without even changing out of my gear, and headed towards my beautiful rental, a clean, shiny, iridescent blue pickup truck. Skull pounding, I climbed in and drove to the Best Western. "Ow, ow, owowow!"
After a long, miserable ride of Britney Spears, Jason Derulo, and the Black-eyed Peas playing over and over on the radio, I made it to the hotel. Grabbing my stuff that seemed to weigh thirty tons, I drug myself inside.
"Sir? Sir! You can't… Oh, nevermind, have a nice night!" The receptionist had gone from tyrant to terrified as she caught the full anger of my blue-eyed glare. Thankfully, my ring gear made me recognizable, or I'd be punching some security guards. Silently singing praises for elevators, I hit the up button. Nothing happened. I cursed, finally noticing the "Out of Order" sign hanging on the silver doors. Glaring again at the receptionist (like it was her fault), I walked up the three flights of stairs that would take me to room 318.
Panting, I slammed my key card into the door. The little light turned green, and I went inside. "At least one thing's working today," I muttered, dropping my bag on the floor by my bed. Sighing, I removed my shirt, grabbed a towel, and went toward the bathroom. Instantly, as my fingers touched the doorknob, I noticed something that should have been obvious: the water was running. I remembered that we had to have some sort of a partner sharing the room with us, and I remembered that I had someone here, but I didn't remember who. With a devilish grin, I opened the door and stepped into the steamy mist.
I did not expect what I saw, though. Instead of a beautiful diva, I saw someone else. My astonished brain took in bits and pieces of him, instead of the whole man. Close-shaven brown hair. Blue eyes, like my own. Hard, rippling muscles. Tattoos. A humored smirk.
"Like what you see?" teased my best friend, Randy Orton. I gulped, muttered "sorry". (Though it sounded more like "mrory", my brain was still acting funny.) I quickly stumbled backwards and slammed the bathroom door, falling onto the bed, my heart pounding. Glancing up, I saw myself in the dresser mirror. My hair was short, but still looked messy. I had sweat on my face and neck, from a combination of the match, the hot shower, and my wild emotions. My new rhino pants, to match the orange T-shirt I wrestled in, looked wet and wrinkly. All in all, I looked like a teenage boy that got caught spying on the girl next door, and wanted to do it again.
I'm not gay with everyone, but I had always wanted to try something with Randy. We were perfect together, but I never had the guts to do anything. Suddenly, I heard the water cut off. Every noise in that bathroom seemed to be magnified so I could hear them perfectly; his footsteps, the swish of a towel. I took a deep breath to try to steady my emotions. It did me no good, however, because he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving swirly steam behind him.
"John, are you ok?" Concern was etched into his gorgeous blue eyes. I allowed my eyes to travel along his body, and took in everything I saw. His hair, still damp from the shower, looked about three shades darker. I watched a drop of water trail down his chest, across the flat plane of his stomach, then be soaked up by the white towel that was wrapped around his waist. His legs were long, lean and muscular.
"John?" I looked back up at his face, realizing how creepy I must look. I stood up, and walked over to him.
"Randy…" I began.
"Yeah?"
I took a deep breath. "What would you do if, hypothetically, you loved someone. And you thought that there might be a slim, tiny, barely-there chance that they liked you back."
"Uh-huh…" I thought I saw a smile playing at his lips.
"And, um, you wanted them to know that you loved them, and you wanted to try to be with them, even though other people would say crap? But you love them so much, you don't care." I paused, and looked at Randy. "Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically?" he smirked.
"Yes." I blushed, which made him grin.
"Well," he said, coming closer to me; he still in a towel, me sill shirtless, a beautiful glimmer in his eyes. "I would go up to this person, and put my hands on his sides-"
"Like this?" I asked, placing my hands on his ribs.
"Exactly, but without the cold fingers." He smiled. "Then, I would tell this person exactly what I was feeling, and hope that he loved me, too, and we could be a beautiful, blue-eyed couple. Hypothetically."
I grinned, and said, "Randy, you are my best friend, and I love you. I want us to be a … what?"
"Beautiful, blue-eyed couple?"
"Oh, yeah, that's the words."
He grinned and gave me a hug. "I love you too, John." He leaned back, and said, "This is the part where couples, you know, kiss, right? Hypothetically?"
I laughed. "Hypothetically, yes."
It was the best kiss of my life.
The End, please review!