Author: Snarkcasm
Rating: Teen, there's a few swear words; Christian won't stop swearing, the potty mouth. Also pre-slash eventually turning into slash.
Summary: Jay's struggling with losing his belt and a Viper he cannot shake. Eventual Randy/Jay, Jay POV.
Warnings: This is a blend of kayfabe and (totally make-believe) real life. I use the wrestlers' real names and the character names when appropriate, like during ring segments. This is about Christian and Randy's current dance-around. Honestly, with all the eyesex they do, they should have wild sex. Trufax
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the WWE or the wrestlers mentioned in the story. Anything recognizable is also something I don't own. I also do not own the concept of food. This is a story of fiction and I make no money from it.
Author's Note:I want to thank everyone who looked at my first attempt at Wrestling fanfiction. And, I want to doubly thank those who left such wonderful reviews. You guys made me grin so hard that my cheeks are still hurting days later. This chapter is for you (my Peeps)!
Bryan Danielson is adorkable. I will not apologize for mentioning something so blatantly obvious. For all those potential Randy/Christian shippers, I have complied their complete feud starting with the tag-team match against Del Rio and Clay with youtube clips and inspirational pictures! Just PM me for details. I hope to see more Randy/Christian stories! Un-beta'd :)
Room to Breathe, Chapter Two
A quick jog to his room to grab Adam's room key and Jay was off to Room 305 like a shot. Adam didn't say how long he and Charissa were going to be in town, but he wanted to see them off. He had been a huge dick about the whole thing and he didn't want Adam to leave without doing the manly thing and shot-gunning a few brewskis. And, maybe, if Bro Code allowed, he could squeeze in a manly apology hug.
He slipped the card into the lock and opened the door. A petite blonde with hazel eyes and freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose looked up from where she was zipping up her luggage and dragged him down to her level for a hug. They broke apart and she slugged him in the arm. He clutched his wound in—mostly—feigned hurt. For such a small woman, her hits packed a punch.
"Jay, it's been too long! I missed you like hell. Why haven't you called?"
Charissa avoided the WWE like the plague; her lack of letting Edge's stardom get to her head was part of the reason why she and Adam were still together. "Busy with work."
"Are you going to kick that title stealer's ass?"
So she had been keeping track! After a year of trying to get her involved, he finally did it! Adam owed him fifty dollars and he planned to collect soon. "I'll try my damnedest."
"You better, Jay." She dug another, smaller bag from under the bed and began shoving toiletries into it. "I'm glad Adam talked me into leaving Shannon's house a few days earlier to come up here. Of course, Shannon's a drunken bitch, so I was glad to—"
Jay held up a hand to stem the vitriol. "Wait, what?"
"Shannon's an alkie, you know that. She tried hitting on you that one time at the family reunion, remember?"
How could he forget? Having a middle-aged woman with three kids try and seduce him in broad day light was enough to make him wish his dick could retract completely into his body. He shuddered at the memory. "You guys were nearby?"
"Yeah. We managed to get some tickets and, well, after I saw that tag-team, I was ready to spear that spray-tanned, overly-tattooed bozo!"
As touching as her support was, Randy could probably break her in half, no sweat. Even so, Jay had to give her props for her insults. "Randy's not that bad. He's a talented wrestler." 'Talented wrestler'? He might as well have told her Randy liked breathing for all the good that statement did. "Um, and a good person."
Charissa rolled her eyes but didn't comment further as she torpedoed around the room, hunting down stray items. Jay watched her in her frenzy, stretched out on the only made bed in the room. He propped himself up on his elbows when she got close. "Where's your boyfriend?"
She made a vague hand motion. "Off catching up with some other wrestling buddies. Our flight for Asheville leaves tonight."
Puppyish, he sat up and hovered over the gap between the beds. "Wanna go out to eat before then? Now that Adam's retired, I barely get to see you guys."
She took out her phone and tapped on the keyboard furiously. After a few seconds, she put her phone in her pocket and tucked back a piece of stray hair. "He'll be here in a bit."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I said if he didn't get here in fifteen minutes, I was withdrawing sex for a week."
Jay winced. Charissa was not to be messed with; noted and filed. They sat side by side, counting down the minutes.
Nine minutes passed and Adam flew through the door, eyes wild. Charissa's all-too-smug smirk sent Jay into peals of laughter. Adam stood there, confused. She tugged Adam to her and kissed him on the cheek. "Let's go to dinner, hun. We missed you."
Dinner was a comfortable affair, almost too comfortable. There was laughter, tears, more wine than a wino could (or should) shake a stick at, and Jay didn't want it to end. All too soon, he was seeing them off at the airport, hugging the both of them and promising to call at every stop.
"Let me know how things between you and Randy play out," Adam had whispered in his ear and Jay promised; although, there was going to be nothing to talk about, not if he had any say in the matter. He waved them off and took a cab back to the hotel. Adam and Charissa's departure just served to remind him of A) his loneliness and B) the fact he needed to get his ass moving and pack up soon. Most of the SmackDown roster was leaving for Corpus Christi tomorrow and as an Opener, his ass needed to get up early and pack for his eleven AM flight.
He ran into Cody and Ted on the way back to his room and he apologized for his behavior last night, blaming his head injury for any rudeness. From the look on his face, Cody didn't believe that bullshit, but Ted did. That was plenty for Jay. He reassured Ted that all systems were a go and the man left, led by his irate lover. Those two were strange, Jay decided firmly.
For the rest of the night, he dead-bolted the door because he wouldn't put giving Randy a spare key past Adam and holed himself up in his room playing Robot Unicorn Attack on his Droid and mouthing along with Erasure. The life of a pro wrestler was enviable, man. Right in the middle of a run, his phone bleeped 'Adam' with a text message.
"(781)Her boyfriend was wrestling another girl. But, she said she was okay with it because she kept checking for boners-w the back of her hand like she was checking for a fever."
He snorted, brought up his web browser, and painstakingly typed in in the tiny site bar. And, thus, the text war began.
Around eleven Charissa chimed in with:
"(440):Any time you start making pro wrestling references before 10 PM I know that I'm breaking up a fight between you and some muscled up frat boy you call Hogan," which sent Jay into a spasm of cackles. He sent a couple more gems to both of them before his yawns and itchy eyes begged him to stop. His lack of decent sleep yesterday was kicking his ass right now. He pecked out goodbyes to both of them before getting ready for bed and falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
/
He was never playing Robot Unicorn Attack and trolling through drunken texts before bed ever again. It led to fucked up dreams about robot unicorns wrestling in Jello. Wiping the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, he took care of his hygiene (forgoing shaving because Creative told him to keep his patchy beard fuzz) and hunted for his missing sock. How it landed between the bulb and lampshade, he would never know. Everything packed and ready to go, he made sure to grab his manila folder containing his script, tickets, hotel information, and itinerary.
There was also a customary list of dos and don'ts that every wrestler had memorized already. Do be kind to each fan. Don't break kayfabe. Do be respectful and courteous to the citizens, your hotel staff; your fellow wrestlers; you are part of the WWE brand. Don't be a prick.
Easy.
Shoving sunglasses on, he shouldered his duffle bag and grabbed his roller luggage, wheeling it down to the shuttle bus. Another bad thing about Robot Unicorn Attack was that the damn song got stuck in your head like no one's business. So, there he stood, shuffling his feet and absentmindedly humming the words to "Always".
"And live in harmony, harmony, oh love." The new voice, a surprisingly lovely tenor, had him throwing his hands up in a ninja pose. Bryan Danielson. Jay relaxed at the American's broad grin, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Late night playing Robot Unicorn?"
"You play?" Then Jay thought about it; of course Danielson played. He was a self-proclaimed nerd. Even though the announcers made a big deal over the fact the man didn't own a TV, which he didn't, Danielson still had a phone and a laptop. It was the twenty-first century, after all.
He liked Danielson—had liked him ever since the tag-team match against him in ROH a few years back—and, consequently, hated what the WWE was doing to him. WWE never really accepted ROH alumni and that was a shame; Danielson had the moves and the heart to become something great in the Company. Anyone who was trained by the Heartbreak Kid, the legend himself, should have a break in Jay's humble opinion.
They spent the time waiting for the shuttle just chatting about nothing in particular and picking at the sticky-sweet doughnuts the hotel had for continental breakfast. It was too early for sweets and Jay's stomach wholeheartedly agreed. Danielson was just shredding his doughnut for fun; doughnuts weren't Vegan apparently. Jay learned something today.
"How can they, in any way, shape, or form, call doughnuts continental?" Jay said as he tossed the shredded pile of carbs away and scrubbed icing off with a cheap napkin. "Have the dignity to have some Canadian bacon at the minimum for God's sake."
Danielson waggled his eyebrows. "Was that your nickname in high school?" Jay knocked his shoulder against the other man's for that perceived insult. "Y'know what—me, you, and Sin Cara should tag-team. We can call ourselves 'Continental Buffet'."
"Or NAFTA."
"North American Alliance."
"Three Countries' Worth of Pain, shorten it to Thekawooop."
"Wait, wait-I got it. Breakfast Club!"
"Oh, man, I like that. Our symbols could be, like, uh, real Canadian bacon—I'm talking about back bacon because the stuff they sell here is atrocious, some weird-ass Vegan pancakes, and huevos rancheros! Wait, are huevos rancheros Mexican or Tex-Mex?"
Someone's stomach growled and both men made a face. "No more talk about food." Jay agreed, and they shook on it. When the shuttle pulled up, Bryan and Jay were joined by several other wrestlers like Stephen "Sheamus" Farelly, Mark Henry, Yamamoto "Yoshi Tatsu" Naofumi, and the Uso brothers. Mark Henry had greeted Jay with a clasp of the shoulders before throwing his luggage into the shuttle and getting into his rental car. Stephen also clapped him on the shoulder.
Far from his in-ring persona, Stephen was a great guy to hang with; he could drink anyone under the table and his pool (or snooker as the redhead demanded after the first three whiskey shots) was just as deadly as his Irish Curse. His darts sucked, though, and seeing his pale face purpling in blotchy rage was well worth the morning after hangover.
"See ya in the ring bright and early, fella," the Irishman called. They were the first ones out of the gate. Jay shook out his arms in anticipation and sent the other wrestler an easy smile. Wrestling Sheamus was not unlike going toe-to-toe with a bulldozer; Christian was going to have some fun taking him down. Speaking of Christian, Jay had to get warmed up. The flight to Corpus Christi would only take a few hours, so he'd have plenty of time to stretch out his sore legs before the show. Adam was right; running into the ground was a stupid thing to do.
He waved Bryan off at his gate and hurried to his own. Before liftoff, he received a good luck text from Adam and another text containing the chorus of "Always" by Bryan. Smiling, he powered down his phone and curled into his window seat, drowning out the noise with his iPod and leafing through the book he just purchased from the gift shop.
The flight touched down in Corpus Christi mid-afternoon and the first thing he did was send a text to Adam. In all honesty, he wouldn't put it past his long-time friend to call someone to check up on Jay if he didn't respond in a timely fashion. He quickly checked into his hotel room and deposited his junk on his bed. The rest of the day floated by as Jay prepared for his match tomorrow.
He had an early dinner with Paul a few hours before the show. Jay always admired the giant of the Industry. The huge man was a veteran like him, and also like him, kayfabe was important but not all-encompassing. They didn't hole themselves up like Calloway or ham it up like Cena. If fans came up to them (unavoidable when one was with the Big Show), they would politely field questions and sign autographs. They weren't scripted together or feuding, so Creative couldn't complain if pictures popped up. All and all, Paul was the perfect person to hang out with.
"What's wrong, Jason?"
The only thing bad about the Big Show was that Paul was too damn perceptive.
Jay fiddled with his empty coffee cup. "We both know why I'm upset."
Paul shook his head and took up his cutlery, comically dwarfed in his meaty paws. "This goes deeper than your title loss, as regrettable as that was."
"Adam visited me yesterday," Jay found himself blurting out.
Paul's eyebrow rose at the unexpected news. "And who called him?"
"That's the thing—Randy did!" Jay said, leaning in to keep their conversation from being overheard. He didn't need the Universe getting a hold of his personal life.
Paul blotted the corners of his mouth and set the napkin down beside his empty plate. So fraught with nerves, Jay didn't even touch his house salad and had to cancel his main order.
Fuck, if this thing with Randy was tearing him apart already, it was going to be a tough feud.
"Let's go for a walk. This town has a lovely little park down the block." Paul wasn't accustomed to suggestion; when one was seven feet tall, other people tended to do as asked. Jay was no different as he followed the towering mountain of a man out of the restaurant.
A Peep came up to him and asked if he would mind taking a picture with his baby girl. Always happy to oblige a fan, Jay gingerly held the tiny toddler and flashed his signature charismatic grin, years of being in front of flash bulbs had curbed his reflex to wince. He then signed a slip of paper for his Peep and Peep-to-Be.
"Thank you so much. You have no idea how much you made my day," the fan gushed, jiggling the now-wriggling child in his arms. "And you totally deserve that title back. They cheated ya, even my wife agrees and she's hardcore Team Viper." Spirits lifted, Jay bade the man and his daughter good bye, glowing as he sauntered up to a waiting Paul. It was so good to hear support from fans, especially in the place he was now.
Paul clapped him on the shoulder and, wholly unprepared for it, Jay's knees buckled a little. He waved off the apology, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "So, where's this park?" He had no doubt the park was good; Paul always arrived a day or two ahead of schedule because he had to travel via tour bus. He was notorious for scouting the local flavor and giving the other wrestlers pointers on the nightlife.
"Just one more block."
Awesome. Jay stopped by a hot dog cart and paid for a dog with all the trimmings. His appetite was returning and he was grateful. Licking his lips, he sunk his teeth into the loaded dog, scooping up the ketchup oozing down his chin and licking it off his finger.
"Glad to see your appetite returned," Paul remarked blandly and Jay scrunched up his nose. He wasn't as health conscious as most of the employees in the Company, but he exercised regularly and took his vitamins like a good little wrestler. Hell, he earned this hotdog! He spitefully bit off more hotdog in response.
"Yeah," he mumbled through a full mouth before he swallowed. They walked along the riverside trail for a while in companionable silence before he exploded. "So, Adam, he wants me to talk to Randy. I don't get it. Apparently, from what I heard from Adam, Randy bitched to Creative about my storyline with Mark Henry and Khali and they dropped him and Stephen into the mess. Yet, he's going out there all SuperFace with my title while I'm turning Heel. How fair is that?"
"Life's not fair. You know this. Don't go off complaining to the Internet or the first reporter you see. Stick to the storyline, you'll have a better chance of a shot at winning back your title that way. As for your supposed heel turn, you have a fan-base, Jay. Your Peeps will love you no matter what side of the fence you're on."
Jay scratched the back of his neck. "When you put it that way, I feel like a self-conscious pre-teen. 'Oh em gee, I don't know what I'm gonna do!'" he mocked himself bitterly, crushing the hotdog wrapper into a little ball and tossing it in a garbage can. It rebounded off the rim for a sweet bank shot. LeBron had nothing on him.
"Well, in this franchise, if you're not talked about, you're not pushed. Heel, Face, it don't matter. You are getting plenty stage time, don't worry about it."
"I know, I know. I just…it's a huge blow and it's taking its toll. I miss doing my job without commentary about my character's state of mind. It's distracting." They settled down at a bench and Jay spent most of his time outside of bitching trying to entice one of the geese to come closer with the rest of his hotdog.
Paul looked at his watch and groaned, getting up. Jay craned his neck up to look at the man. "Have fun with it, Jay. You always made an interesting Heel."
Talking with someone completely uninvolved did wonders for his mental health and Jay practically skipped back to the hotel. Too bad that Paul was leaving right after the show in order to reach the next city in time for the next SmackDown or Raw—wherever the whole reunion with Kane went; Jay really liked talking to him.
Still riding the natural high of fan appreciation, he psyched up for the night's action. Tugging up his elbow guards he bounced a little on his feet. He was the greatest, dammit, and he was going to prove how deserving of the World Heavyweight Title he was. Christian lingered just below the surface, longing to come out and play, and he slipped into his ring persona as easily as he slipped into his ring boots.
"Good luck, Fella." Jay gazed up and acknowledged Stephen with a tiny wave.
"Thanks, man. That means a lot." He hooked his feet under the iron-wrought, bolted bench legs and did some crunches.
"How d'ya think this storyline will shape up?"
Jay paused in mid-crunch, face thoughtful. "Me with my belt back."
Stephen leaned in, caging Jay in his arms, eyes as flat and manic as his Celtic character. "Are ya sure about that?"
What the hell was going on? Jay gripped the bench and unhooked his feet with a bit of difficulty. His left foot snagged and he swore, throwing his hands up to act like a buffer between him and Stephen. "Okay, I get the whole method acting thing, but it's just a storyline, dude, no need to get all psycho on me."
"Back away from him now." For the love of Pete. Jay freed his foot, pushed Stephen away, and got up, getting into Randy's personal space and glaring at the man.
"Is this going to be a thing, now? You skulking in the corner, doing whatever you're doing—" Jay didn't even want to imagine what Randy was doing prior to interrupting him and whatever the hell was going on with Stephen. "And being a general pain in my ass? Leave it for the mat, Orton. That goes double for you Farelly. Piss me off again, and I'll conveniently forget to pad my Killswitches next time we meet in the ring."
He left the general locker room area for his own dressing room, never more thankful for locks in his life.
"Match soon. May kill Orton l8er. Ttyl if not arrstd," he texted Adam before tossing his phone in his personal bag. He had a Universe to satisfy tonight, and he was bringing his A game.