Bray Wyatt knew, for he was far too intelligent not to be aware, that he had to maintain his, well, not too-calm and perhaps not very well collected image if he was going to look …. Not out of the ordinary - his own twisted version of ordinary, anyway.
Emotions. That was a hard one. A loaded word. What unknown desires that the forsaken Husky Harris might have felt for some other nimrod of his own type would not have been any match for the refined tastes of the man now in possession of a Ferrari-Army tank - or whatever the former miscreant had unwittingly dubbed himself. Husky Harris had loved once, in a woman and savior now passed; enough to change his entire life over, to give up everything. He was nothing to start with, and that made it so much easier for her. Bray Wyatt seldom had feelings of romance, the idea was an afterthought to his Abigail, though he has figured he may have a think for "saviors." The thought makes him chuckle aloud. While Harris chased after everything as dimwitted as he, Wyatt's thing nowadays became intelligence and liberation, a match for the, albeit, fanatical set of emotions he harbored for the Savior of the locker room.
It was not as if The Eater of Worlds was completely devoid of a softer side; he had allowed so much as his own adored follower to fall for some pesky green-eyed, chicken-legged and blonde ECW bimbo, for lack of a better term for the man six years The First Son's senior. It was a slip up, of course, he had been far too concentrated on his own goals in the squared circle to cut it off when the very thought of affection even crept up into Harper. His own actions now felt perfectly redeeming.
He stalked.
He lurked.
He protected.
Bray Wyatt obsessed.
He had broken away from Harper; and The Big Rig was more than happy to be left to his own devices and drool after his own blonde-fixation. Luckily, he could keep Rowan in tow, as they had not been allowed to witness the way that Wyatt had felt for a one Intellectual Savior.
Harper could trip over his own towering frame trying to make Christian fall for him by any forcible means - or the legitimate ones, by chance, that he had tried. Bray, however, was not one for the embarrassment of showing emotions and being belittled. The romantic affliction may have rubbed off on him, but it would absolutely not cloud his better judgment. His "Son" could be as foolish as he wanted to - and God knows he looked like a fool with that ridiculous smile plastered on his face that pretty much let the world know that he had fallen for someone.
Truthfully, Wyatt had been worried - though not too much…. He was eyeing a future-champion, after all - Harper was just toddling after a leggy-blonde. There was a simple downfall in the fact that a simple broken friendship had landed him two stalkers, one too many, which made it a problem for The EATER OF Worlds. The town bike, Cody Rhodes, the man you couldn't go a country mile without bringing to a roadside motel; Sandow had made an awful mistake in screwing over the lover of the Apex Predator at Money In The Bank.
Sandow was on edge, and rightfully so, with nothing more than a glorified psychopath stalking him - an untamed one at that. Orton was one public-snap away from being tossed back into the mental institution he had been continuously released from just because he had been a company asset.
A few treatments here and there at the hands of unwitting doctors did nothing compared to what a few days with Bray Wyatt could have done to a simple garden snake. However, he was not about to go poking his head into a situation that made things more difficult for his little game. Wyatt could have simplified things, simply stating that something about watching a man so intelligent, and so flawless - his own mind wanders for a moment, he squirms. The feeling of affection makes him shudder, his body quaking with uneasiness.
Sandow himself was nervous, and rightfully so at being destroyed at the hands of his ex-best-friend's very, very territorial lover. Orton was not something to be waved off by a to-be-crowned Champion. He was slow to gather up his gear and head back to the hotel, he exit's the locker room, eyes meeting the gaze of Wyatt's just outside. They stare at each other for a moment, and Bray can only assess from the look on Damien's face that it's a once-over of aversion. He smirks. Damien turns, walking off rather curtly and giving Wyatt all the opportunity to slip into the locker room and assess his own future toy.
Wyatt settles in, counting on being "caught." A few items of personal possession had left him interested, a book here and there, and a pair of underwear that he resists stealing… he was determined not to fall into the same level of idiocy that Harper was consumed by. He does, however, grab a nearby shirt and composes himself with a mere breath as he takes in the scent.
He walks about the room for what seems like fifteen minutes; reading, observing, making mental notes. For a man of his intellect, it does not take long to figure that Sandow was not returning for a reason. His eyes narrow and he sets a book in hand down, pacing himself as he exited the room.
He stops at a noise and turns back, quick to find a pile of askew body parts on the ground. He stands, staring from under the shadow that was provided by his straw fedora. This would have been the moment that Luke would have burst forth and professed undying love and affection. There is no nonsense, no magic movie moment that was about to seal Sandow to him - and Lord knows there wasn't any luck in that happening to his "Son" either… The difference was in the idiotic fact that Harper would wait an eternity if he had to. Wyatt simply stands, a smirk on his face and his sharp, keen eyes scan over Sandow's aching body, a soft, beautiful moan escapes the victim's lips, in both pain and mental frustration. The sound rings hot in Wyatt's ears. He would love to step on that unskilled throat and force those elegant vocal chords into producing it once more… though a part of him, perhaps, did actually want to show a bit of affection for how glad to see the Intellectual Savior had been left breathing after an attack from an unstable Viper.
His breath was heavy, heated as he bent down to the man on the ground and took in he sight much closer. He spoke, soft and direct; and again he was met with the same curtness and a rude reply. His lips twist into a smile; Damien really was his perfect match, the attitude was admittedly some type of twisted turn on for him. Wyatt minds himself that he is in control of his feelings, unlike Harper. Everything about Christian, from his blonde hair to the way he scratched the back of his head had the poor ex-trucker in the damnedest haze. Wyatt would not stammer over emotions, nor would he openly present them so quickly. Showing weakness is completely absurd.
He offers help to the victim before him, never before had Bray felt love for another man, and he was certain the devotion to his own mentor had turned to undeniable love. Husky had loved her enough for himself to be completely destroyed. Sandow was under her, however; he could never overthrow him… Desire however, was certainly a start.
Damien Sandow had something about him; and possibly it was the elegance of a
person who knew his self worth. It was refreshing. The way he carried himself
was as delectable as the idea of his slick, black hair a mess and matted to his
face with sweat beneath his own heavy body… brown eyes half lidded as they stared into
his own blue ones... Bray Wyatt began to understand what kept Harper acting like
a brainless nut.
Sandow's manicured hands are everything scholars could not express in theory or
practice. The soft skin of a man who never worked hard a day in his life, and
the only blemish they had ever seen had likely come from his sharpened wrestling
skill. Sandow stands, retracting his hands that had been held far too long for
his low-tolerance comfort level and brushing them on his dress-pants.
Bray had planned the kidnapping of Christian for Harper so thoughtfully that he had actually wasted brilliance of the plan on the blonde instead of the man of his own desire.