Firstly, I am not making any promises that this is the start of something ongoing. Right now, I'm just happy I managed to get this little idea down on paper. There is potential for it to go further and I do set it up like that just in case. But no promises. Although I'm obviously open to encouragement, bribes etc.

Secondly, I feel the need to explain the thinking behind this. Essentially, this is a Cody/Randy story. At first anyway. If it continues, who knows what will happen. However, I'm kinda out of ideas when it comes to writing it from their POVs and I ain't so good with 3rd person. So I decided to tell it from an outsider POV. Now, I toyed with the idea of writing it from a female POV, but then I couldn't see that going anywhere. I then thought about writing it from another wrestler POV, but the only person who popped into my head was Cena. I've never really written anything clear cut from his POV, so I was bit a unsure, but writing it from an OC POV just seemed a bit weird. So you can either a) read it from Cena's POV or b) from an OC of your choosing. I'm sort of writing it from both a) & b), so it's up to you how to perceive it.

Lastly, this won't be a straight-cut slash fic. If it continues, there are ideas to make it a mixture of het and slash, so you have been warned.

Enough from me. I hope you like what I have so far and all feedback, advice, encouragement, good-will gestures are all appreciated.

DISCLAIMER: Everyone belongs to WWE.

DISCLAIMER 2: Song lyrics quoted at the beginning belong to Laura Marling and are the main reason for this idea bouncing around my head for the past god knows how many months. Also the title comes from the Florence & The Machine song of the same name.

WARNING: Slash, language. The usual.

Hope you like x

Eye to eye
Nose to nose
Ripping off each others clothes in the most peculiar way
Devil's Spoke - Laura Marling

There are some that say you never know what goes on behind closed doors.

And there are some that say closed doors are meant to be opened.

And then there are others who disagree, who say a closed door is closed for a reason.

I truly wish I agreed with the latter. Unfortunately, my curiosity got the better of me.

Or did it?

Maybe it wasn't curiosity. Maybe it was just chance. A coincidence. An unfortunate series of events that lead me down this path.

I should have looked the other way.

But it's too late now. What's done is done and I, we, us have to live with that.

I close the hotel door behind me and survey the room. Neither bed has been touched and the only bag in view is my own which sits at my feet like a faithful mutt. An empty room means one thing. A drunk room-mate will inevitably return.

I feel old. Gone are the days when I could fight, shower, throw shots down my throat, pick up women, grope, tease and fuck them until the early hours and then roll into the gym fresh as a daisy. These days tiredness over-comes me the minute I step out of the ring. I switch onto auto-pilot and don't dare regain control of my senses until I'm safe and sound in a hotel room.

I feel alone. No-one else seems to feel the same way. And if they do, well, they don't dare show it. Competition is stiff and it's foolish to show weakness. I'm beyond caring. If my time is up then so be it. I'm all talk in the ring, but I ain't fooling myself. I know deep down what I want – an easy life. I'l take it no matter how bad the house, the wife or kids.

I feel pushed to the wayside. I only have a few years on some of these kids, but man do they make me feel past it. The girls too. They don't even look my way anymore. Perhaps one or two will make conversation, but the second someone younger turns up, their attention span soon wanes and within minutes they're pressing their titties up against the new boys.

I walk straight past the bed and into the bathroom. A shower at the arena is always quick and can never be enjoyed. It's a quick scrub under the arms and around the balls, nothing more, nothing less. A one minute job max.

Unless you're him. An egotistic son of a bitch, who clamours for every drop of attention he can get. He'll stand there, legs apart, hands on the wall, head down, letting the water pound his back. Eyes closed of course. As if he doesn't have a care in the fucking world. As if he doesn't give a shit that every pair of eyes in the room is flickering nervously between the bare walls and floor and his Greek-like body. He'll give it a good three or four minutes before he'll turn, daring them to meet his eye. And then he'll smirk, pick out a face and blow them a kiss before stalking away, leaving who ever his chosen victim is a quivering wreck.

Some might say I'm jealous. I beg to differ. His arrogance grates on me. His cockiness makes my skin crawl. But on some days he can be the greatest buddy a guy like me could ask for. Back in the day it was me and him who ruled bars and clubs – together we picked off the girls one by one, two by two. We shared hotel rooms, bathrooms, cars, locker-rooms, drinks, stories.

The only thing we don't share is maturity. I moved on. He remained where he was. The new boys crave his presence. They hang on his every word, worship his every move. They want everything he can give them and more. Never mind that there are many others who know the business, who would quite happily take someone under their wing and show them how it's done.

Okay, okay, maybe I am just a little bit jealous. But only a little. And I would never go to the same lengths as him just to satisfy my ego.

I turn on the shower and strip. I step under the hot stream and let it burn my skin until I can't stand it. My own little shower ritual. My skin turns red raw, but the pain feels good on my aching muscles. I twist the knob towards cold and slowly the torturous heat ebbs away into something more sedate. I lather up, rinse and upon noticing a few stray hairs on my chest, debate shaving but decide against it. My body is screaming for it's bed and who am I to deny it?

Shutting off the shower, I reach for a towel and wrap it around my waist. Reaching for toothbrush and toothpaste, I vaguely note the muffled voices coming from outside the hotel room. Soft moaning accompanies it and my only passing thought is that it's been a while since I've made anyone moan like that.

Something bumps against the hotel room door. Hushed voices now. Whispers. I debate telling them they've got the wrong room. Or if it's my unknown room-mate, he's going to have to find somewhere else to do the deed. There are few people I'll let get their rocks off in my presence and the new boys don't quite make the cut just yet.

Securing the towel, toothbrush in mouth, I start towards the room. I've almost formed the words in the correct order, a disgruntled look already placed upon my face when the door clicks open. My hand is on half-closed bathroom door, my face is plain view.

But they don't care. They don't see me. Don't want to see me. Eyes only for each other. I can't help but smirk. One day, whoever this young punk is, will realise that ring rats only have eyes for two things – glory and cock. Nothing more, nothing less. They'll suck you dry before you even know it and then it's onto to the next one.

I decide to take pity on the poor sod, so I move to close the door and begin to count down the minutes until she screams, he groans and she leaves.

A male voice cries out. Begs.

This is new.

And then a cold wave washes over me as another voice murmurs something I don't quite catch. But I know that voice anywhere.

My hand is on the doorknob but I can't quite bring myself to push it to. I'm rooted to the spot, as I watch two shadows grind against each other. I want to re-treat, to cover my ears, to give them some sort of privacy, but I can't help but listen to the grunts and groans.

The sound of a zipper only makes my heart beat faster. He groans his name, louder and louder. A shirt is almost torn open, and I stare in morbid fascination as one dark figure slowly sinks south.

I blink. But I still can't look away. And the more I look, the more I see as my eyes become accustomed to the darkness. I see his face, eyes closed, mouth half-open and my own mouth drops open as I realise who he is.

Not some random. Not a stranger picked up in a bar. The implications, the repercussions aren't worth thinking about.

And anyway, I've got bigger things to worry about.

Such as how my hand is wrapped around my cock, slowly stroking it to life as I stare fixated as Randy takes his latest protege into his mouth.

And how all I can think about is why it's not me.