What Dreams May Come
Mike found Randy in the locker room. He'd waited until after the matches to make his move because… Well, because… It wasn't like he was scared or anything. Mike had other things on his mind, as did Randy. No point getting sidetracked right before show time.
The coward Kofi was nowhere to be found. Probably for the best. This wasn't junior high. Mike didn't need moral support for this sort of thing.
He needed a full suit of armor and a good luck potion.
Time to bite the bullet. Better to get it over with quickly. If Orton was feeling kind, he wouldn't drive Mike's head into one of the metal lockers.
"Randy, there's something I need to ask you. Now, I don't want you to say or do anything until I'm finished. Do you understand?"
Pinning Mike to the spot with an emotionless stare, Randy slowly sat down on the wooden bench. "Alright." The man barely blinked. "Go ahead."
Mike's mind went blank. No, that wasn't exactly true. Quite a number of things ran through his head as the seconds ticked by. The leanness of Randy's body. The tweak of muscle when Randy flexed his thigh. The firm set of Randy's jaw. The fullness of Randy's lips.
Oh, yes. Mike had a lot of interesting thoughts. Not that he was dumb enough to express them out loud.
Just get it out, then run like hell.
"I was thinking maybe you and I could go out sometime. Coffee, maybe."
Randy rose to his feet.
"Hot chocolate, then," said Mike, voice only slightly wavering. Belatedly, he realized that Orton stood between him and the exit. "Hot chocolate is better with whipped cream and marshmallows. Maybe a drizzle of caramel on top."
Randy took one menacing step forward. Then another. Mike retreated, inch by inch, until his bare back met the cool metal of a locker door.
"Caramel is overrated. What are your feelings towards green tea with a twist of lemon?"
Randy Orton stood close enough for Mike to count his upper eyelashes. Close enough that Randy's hot breath burst across his skin. As far as The Miz was concerned, too motherfucking close. If Mike was not already dead and in hell, he was surely about to meet his maker.
"You want to go out for coffee?" Randy raised his eyebrows. "With me?"
At that moment, standing nose to nose with a man who took great pleasure in inflicting pain on his opponents, Mike's coffee proposal seemed about as sound as a ladder to the moon.
"Obviously the coffee point is a no-go, so let's move on." Fleetingly, Mike considered kneeing Randy in the junk and flying out of the locker room like his ass was on fire. Stupid Kofi and his stupid ideas. "How about breakfast? Lunch? Brunch? Hot dogs in the park?"
Randy grinned. Never a good sign. "Mike, are you asking me out on a date?"
Honesty might have been the best policy in most cases, but Mike failed to see how it could help him now.
Leaning impossibly closer, Randy asked, "What do I get if I say yes?"
Blinking rapidly, Mike reran the question through his brain. The words, on their own, made sense. Once they were assembled in that particular order…
Does not compute.
"What?"
Randy licked his lips. Slowly. Mike's eyes tracked the movement of his tongue. "If I go out with you, what do I get in return? I know you probably think your company should be pleasure enough, but I need more, Mike. What are going to give me?"
How had his life come to this? Where did he stray? When did he falter? More importantly, why the hell was Randy Orton looking at him like he was a free steak dinner?
"Well, what do you want?" The most loaded question ever uttered in the history of mankind.
Before walking into the locker room, Mike had envisioned the proposition scenario playing out in a number of ways. None of them involved Randy reaching around and grabbing his ass. Nor did he imagine Randy thrusting forward and the two of them grinding groin to groin. The noise that came out of Mike's mouth was not the least but decent.
"I want you at my beck and call. Available wherever I want, whenever I want, for whatever I want. No questions. No discussions. No refusals. What do you say, Mike?"
After mulling over the terms and conditions, it seemed only in his best interest to accept.
"Mike?"
After all, what did he have to lose? He'd check his pride at the door if it meant Randy thrusting and grinding some more.
"Mike?"
"Mike, wake the hell up!" The voice did not belong to Randy, but it was familiar.
Mike surged forward, escaping from the apparent dream world and into reality. Binding across his chest stopped his momentum. Flailing, he fell backward. It took a moment to recognize his surroundings.
The interior of a car.
Kofi's rental car.
Memory came rushing back. Mike, too tired to trust himself behind the wheel, had asked Kofi to give him a lift to the arena so they could get the Orton confrontation over and done with. On the way, Mike must have fallen asleep.
"Man, do not tell me you were having one of your freaky sex dreams. Not with me sitting right next to you, less than two feet away."
Mike was more annoyed than embarrassed. "Nothing happened… yet." He'd been woken up before the "freaky" stuff started.
Kofi could only stare at his passenger. "Get out."
"It was different this time," said Mike. "The dream. Usually, Randy is more gentle. Almost sweet. This time, he was more aggressive. I wonder what it means."
"Don't care." Kofi unlocked the doors. "We're here, get out. Let's get this over with before I start having nightmares."
The dream had been different. Was it possible that his decision to act had altered the nature of the dream? That version of Randy had behaved more like the real one. And still Mike had been attracted. The prospect of doing anything Randy desired certainly piqued his interest. While it was nice to dream of champagne laced kisses and making love in front of a roaring fire, a bit of necessary roughness every now and then wouldn't hurt.
They found Randy with surprising ease, as soon as they rounded the first corner. He'd knelt down to tie his shoe; Mike tripped over him. Nearly fell flat on his face. Luckily, his knee broke his fall. The vicious shock of pain told Mike that this was a fall not easily walked away from.
"Shit! Mike, are you okay?" Randy offered him a hand up. Once he saw Mike putting weight on only one leg, he got the answer to his question.
Gritting his teeth, Mike shook his head. "Afraid I didn't stick the landing."
A small smirk on his face, Randy draped one of Mike's arms around his shoulders. "Come on. We'll get you to the med staff. Hopefully, you won't need more than some pain pills and an ice pack." Three steps forward, he looked back at Kofi, who hadn't moved an inch. "You gonna help me or just stand there like some rusted up Tin Man?"
Hanging his head, Kofi muttered, "Will my responsibility for this man ever end?"
A member of the medical staff immediately saw to Mike's injuries. The pain had lessened a bit on the way, but he continued to hobble. If Randy minded supporting much of Mike's weight, he never said a word. Ice pack applied, aspirin administered, Mike sat and waited to be able to walk on his own.
Kofi and Randy stood on either side of him. No one spoke. The definition of an awkward silence.
"So…" started Kofi, drawing the word out for several seconds too long. "Guess that means Orton owes you dinner."
For once, Mike was too shocked to speak.
Randy immediately objected. "Like Hell, I do."
"You're the one that caused the accident."
"Mike should've watched where he was going."
Kofi actually got in his face. He poked a finger into Randy's chest. "And you should've known better than to be crouched around a corner like that. Unless you planned on someone getting hurt."
Jaw clenching, dark eyes turned menacing, Randy growled, "It was an accident."
Kofi prodded Randy again. Probably not the smartest move he'd ever made in his life. "And why should I believe you? Like you're suddenly above sneak attacks. That lying in wait just isn't your thing anymore. A kinder, gentler Orton."
"Believe what you want. I don't care."
In about thirteen seconds Mike was going to have to call that medical professional back into the room. There were far too many objects at hand that could be turned into weapons. "Kofi, chill. It was an accident. I'm fine."
"You might need x-rays."
"I can move it just fine."
"Could be a career-ending injury."
"It's not even throbbing anymore," said Mike. "Just a dull ache."
Randy snapped, "Shut up, the both of you!" He continued to glare at Kofi. "Lunch. One o'clock. Hotel lobby. Don't be late."
Confused by the turn of events, Mike asked, "You mean me? Or are you and Kofi still having a moment?"
"You, Mike." Date made, Randy left the room. Not before purposefully ramming his shoulder into Kofi. "Leave your chaperone."
Once the sound of Orton's footsteps receded, Kofi deflated. He let out the breath he'd apparently been holding and slumped back against the wall. "Damn… For a minute there I thought he was gonna kick my ass." He slapped Mike hard upside the head.
"What the hell, man?!" Now he was going to need another aspirin.
"Don't you ever, ever say I never did anything for you."