A Cold Day.

Summary: Dean claims it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets Randy touch him. Little does he know that Randy takes that as a challenge.

Takes place shortly after Dean's appearance on Art of Wrestling, then goes AU.

Chapter 1

"So I hear that you like watching me?"

Dean Ambrose's head popped up. He stopped lacing his wrestling boots for the time being. He eyed Randy Orton leaning against the door jamb, arms folded across his chest. He noticed Orton wearing his latest t-shirt, as well as being dressed to wrestle.

"What?"

"Your interview with Cabana. You said you liked watching me."

Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "No, I said I liked watching you wrestle. There's a difference."

Randy shrugged and sauntered into the room like he owned it, now leaning against the wall opposite Ambrose.

Dean resumed lacing his boots. Looking down, he continued. "If you'd listened to the whole thing, you would have also heard me mention I enjoy watching Punk as well. I don't see him here being a smarmy ass."

Orton smirked at the insult. "Dean, Dean, Dean..."

"What, what, what."

Randy pushed off the wall and neared the US champ, until he was standing right in front of him.

"I know how to read between the lines. You don't just like watching me wrestle."

Dean looked up at Orton, feeling a little uncomfortable at how close the man was to him.

"You like watching *me*."

Dean slid from the bench and moved away from the Viper, wishing Roman and Seth hadn't gone to the cafeteria.

"I said I like watching you wrestle. If you read more into that than I meant, that ain't my problem, man," Dean said, hoping the older man would take a hint and leave.

No such luck as Orton sat down, straddling the bench. Dean looked through his bag for tape to wrap his hands, unaware that Randy's eyes were all over him. Ambrose found the tape and started wrapping his hands, not realizing that Randy was nearing him again. Suddenly, Dean was pushed towards the wall, his hands in front of him being the only thing that saved him from a broken nose.

Randy pressed his muscular body into Dean's, his hands roaming down the man's body. He leaned into Dean's neck, taking a deep sniff, savoring the scent.

"Hmm, you smell delicious."

Dean's eyes widened at what was going on. He was able to push back and move away from Randy, putting two benches between them, the hand-wrapping tape long forgotten on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean's eyes were like saucers, his hands clenching and unclenching as Randy slowly moved towards him again. "Stay the fuck there!" Ambrose thundered. "Don't come near me!"

Randy's face changed from arrogant to sweet, but Dean could still see the malice in his eyes. His face might appear appeasing, welcoming, but Ambrose had learned, growing up the way he did, to spot those kinds of looks. He knew a false platitude when he saw it.

"And why shouldn't I come near you? Sooner or later, we will be feuding over something. Be it a title or some other issue. I'll have to come near you then. And my hands will be all over you, baby."

Dean's eyes filled with fury, his teeth grinding. "Don't. Ever. Fucking. Call me that. Again. I will beat you into the fucking ground. I am not your 'baby'. And it'll be a cold day in hell before you ever touch me."

Randy's face when stony. His own fists clenched and he started towards the smaller man but stopped when the door popped open.

"Hey man!" Seth Rollins called. "Oh, hey Randy." He turned back to Ambrose. "Our segment is up next. Gotta move."

Dean let out a slow, shaky breath. He would not admit it, not to anyone, that he was actually afraid of Randy in that moment. He had a look in his eyes that was unfamiliar, yet appeared lethal. As he left the room with Rollins, Dean's mind wandered a little. Just what had Randy had been planning? He shook his head, it was probably nothing.

As Dean and Seth met up with Roman, he set the little scene aside and focused on the camera. He couldn't lose his focus now. Not because of Randy fucking Orton. He didn't care at all that Randy was the so-called face of the WWE. No way. If Dean had his way, his face would be stomped into the ground.

Segment finished, the trio headed to the outside of the main arena. They still had about 20 minutes to kill. All Dean wanted was to get it over with so he could sleep. He suspected though, that sleep would elude him tonight. Randy's actions were playing havoc with his thoughts. Maybe he could just picture Orton's face over one of the Usos faces tonight. Glancing at Roman, he reconsidered. Maybe not. The big man wouldn't forgive him if Dean hurt one of his cousins. Guess it was up to Ziggler to take the brunt of his anger.

He smiled briefly as he heard Special Op start up. He fixed the US title in his pants like he'd been doing recently and headed down the stairs, Roman and Seth in tow. He put forth the image of disinterest as he glided over the barricade. His eyes focused on the men in the ring.

Dean sent a glance to Roman. He knew Roman didn't like fighting his cousins, but when tag teams were few and far between, what could you do.

****

Backstage, slate-gray eyes watched the screen of the match, lingering on Dean Ambrose whenever possible. He crossed his arms over his chest, his lip curling in anger. Just who did he think he was? No one rejected Randy Orton. No one.

He noted that Ambrose was quite good, he had to give him that. Really good. He'd wrestled the brat before, found him to be very capable, willing to dish out anything he took. Guess his years in the indies did him well.

"Whatcha watching?" came a voice behind him.

Orton turned, eyes going back to the screen after seeing who his companion was. "Miz."

"So you wanted to see me?"

"Hmm-mm. Feast your eyes on the screen."

Miz looked at the screen, seeing Dean Ambrose tag into the match, his fists wailing the living tar out of Dolph Ziggler.

"What about him?"

Randy made a noise in his throat. "Dean needs to know who's the top dog around here."

Miz looked from the screen to Orton, not liking the expression on the Viper's face. "What'd he do?"

Randy slowly turned his head and levelled a pointed look at Miz.

"Turned you down, did he?"

"Fuck you, Miz."

"Come on then."

Miz's shit-eating grin annoyed Randy. He rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. Miz looked at the screen a moment longer before following Randy to his dressing room. He closed the door behind him before joining the WWE World champion on the couch.

Miz glanced down before taking a deep breath. "Can I ask you something?"

Randy took a swig of water, nodding once.

"I've heard rumors over the years, of other guys getting out of line, and you putting them back in line."

Orton was silent a moment, pondering Miz's statement. "And?"

"Just wondering if it was true."

Randy sat back, drinking his water, thinking of a reply.

"And just what exactly do you think happened?"

Miz remained silent but sent Randy a knowing look. After several moments, Randy smiled, telling Miz that what he thought happened, actually had happened.

"Are you in?"

"Am I the only one?"

"What do you thing?"

"So who else?"

Randy smirked and stood. "You'll find out later. This is going down very soon. You need to be ready to go on very little notice. You have a specific ring for my call, correct?"

Miz nodded.

"Well, you'll get that call within the next week. Mark my words, Miz, it's going down in a big way."