Summary: This is kind of a companion piece with my Randy Orton story, Best Kept Secret. You might want to read that, so this will make more sense. Things in the piece get pretty intense, so if you're easily offended don't read this.

Disclaimer: I only own Mckinley Carter. The lyrics referenced in this story are a part of Avril Lavigne's song "Hot."

I wanna drive you into the corner, and kiss you without a sound.

Randy was a desperate man who wanted a fraction of his sanity returned to him. He would have given God his left foot if it were enough to get her off of his mind. He stumbled through the threshold and into his empty house. He placed his luggage by the door and turned on the hall light. Randy sighed. His lonely footsteps echoed across hardwood floor as he made his way to the kitchen.

He opened the door to his refrigerator and glanced over its contents rather discouraged when he saw that there wasn't anything to eat, except for some Chinese take- out that had probably been in there since March. He had drunk enough alcohol for one evening, yet he settle for an unopened bottle of red wine. He grabbed the bottle, shut the refrigerator door, and took a wine glass from the cabinet above his head. He rummaged through several kitchen drawers until he found the bottle opener. He then went to the living room to drink in solitude.

Randy lit the scented candle on his coffee table. The tiny flame of it cast a dim glow about the room. With his glass in one hand and the wine bottle in the other, he took a seat on the couch. He filled his glass to the top, took a sip, and closed his eyes.

The scent of Mckinley seemed to linger within his mind. It was a near suffocating smell. Randy growled with frustration. He couldn't grasp the reason for his fixation with her. He had blown any chance he had with her seven years ago, so he was a fool for believing Mckinley still cared for him. She had made it pretty clear that she despised him.

"Yet, she makes me so…" he sighed, being interrupted by a knock at his door.

He groaned, setting his drink on the table. The knocking became heavier.

"Knock it off. Damn it," he yelled, his tone deep. "I'm coming."

He rose stiffly from his position and walked toward the door. It took several minutes for him to adjust to his double vision long enough to steady his hand on door. He opened it with a violet swing.

"Great, just great," he mumbled when he saw Mckinley standing in front of him. "What the hell do you want, Miss Carter?"

Mckinley laughed slightly. "It's nice to see you, too."

She stared at him a moment with that familiar look of innocence, and he almost forgot that he was supposed to pretend to look at her as if she was the devil incarnate.

She smiled, "So, aren't you going to invite me in?"

"No," he spat, attempting to slam the door in her face. To his surprise, she shoved the door back open.

"We need to talk," she grinned, placing her hand on his chest and shoving him through the doorway.

"Whatever," he grumbled and made his way back into the living room.

Mckinley turned on the light as she entered behind him. Looking annoyed, Randy flopped back down on the couch. She stood in front of him and it almost seemed as if she were taunting him with that low cut top that she wore, which he considered it unusual for her to even show a hint of cleavage.

She directed her attention to the almost half-empty bottle on the table. She picked it up, glanced at it, and then to him.

"Don't you think you've drank enough tonight?" she asked, taking a sip of wine.

Randy swallowed hard as he watched droplets of sweat drip from the bottom of the bottle and roll down her neck to the curves of her creamy breasts. He quickly turned away and forced down his own glass of wine. He wasn't in the mood to be toyed with.

You make me so hot. Make me wanna drop.

He snarled. "Cut to the chase. Why are you here?"

Mckinley walked around the table and sat next to him.

"I don't even know," she sighed, staring into the candle's flame a moment. "There's so much I have to say and have no idea how to say it."

"Well, that clears everything up," he laughed coldly. "You have called me everything under the sun, so I can't see what else you have left to say."

Her eyes scanned his body and stopped at his lips. She inhaled a deep breath.

Randy cleared his throat—aware that she was checking him out.

"Randal," she began, her voice soft and low. "I've been fighting these feelings for a while now, but I can't anymore. You turn me on something furious. In fact, if I can't have you anytime soon, I think I might lose it."

Randy's eyes widened. "Excuse me, could you run that by me again? I think I'm a little bit drunk because you couldn't have said what I just thought you did."

You're so ridiculous. I can barely stop. I can hardly breathe.

"You heard me loud and clear," Mckinley said, straddling his lap.

He found himself dumbstruck as he stared into her beautiful green eyes. She ran her fingers through his thick brunette hair.

"I…uh…" he stammered, unable to complete his sentence as he became overwhelmed by the sensation of her hips against his pelvis.

"Randy," she whispered, "shut up and kiss me before I change my mind."

He placed his hand at the base of her neck and pulled her forcefully toward his body. Their lips met with a surge of passion. After a moment, Mckinley broke free. Her chest was heaving as she stared at him with a lust-filled gaze. He was powerless and under her guidance.

Randy only stared, sedated as Mckinley tore open his black, silk, buttoned, shirt. The buttons flew through the air and scattered across the floor.

"Thank you, God," he whispered toward the ceiling as she removed her shirt also.

She kissed his lips briefly before traveling down his neck, across his chest, and then down his abdomen. She stopped at his pants line and began to unhook his belt buckle. She threw the belt to the floor, and she stood to her feet.

With her back to him, Mckinley slowly began to unzip her denim skirt. He watched in awe as she shed each article of clothing one-by-one. Before long, she was standing before him completely naked. She positioned herself back on his lap. Randy's gentle hands moved along her hips and back.

"Randy," she hissed, her breath hot on his lips. Mckinley moaned as her breasts pressed against him. She ran one finger along his firm jaw.

"Yeah," he mumbled weakly…

"What in the blue hell are you doing, man? Get the hell off of me!"

Randy's eyes shot open. He saw John Cena, who looked horrified, lying beneath him. Randy shrilled. There he was in John's bed, not only in his bed, but sitting on top of John with his lips puckered, ready to kiss him.

"Get the hell off of me, you freaking douche bag," John roared again, throwing Randy to the floor. "I don't swing that way, bro."

"I-I'm sorry, dude," Randy stammered, scrambling to his bed. "I was having a dream… and there was this girl… and we were…."

"I don't care who it was," he intervened. "Quit taking those whacked-out sex dreams of yours out on me. I swear to God. The next time I wake up with you on top of me, and you're about ten seconds away from trying to get some, I'm tossing your ass into the hall."

"I'm sorry, man," Randy offered once more. "It won't happen again. I swear."

"Yeah, yeah," John grumbled, rolling back over. "You said that the last time."