The Lies We Tell Ourselves
Have the British ever heard of sunshine? God damn miserable bastards.
Randy growled angrily to himself as he stepped out of his car into an ankle-deep puddle of rain water. Grabbing the material of his pants, he made an effort to lift them out of the water as he stepped up onto the curb, not that it made much difference. All he received for his efforts were saturated socks and water dripping into his expensive Italian shoes.
Grumbling obscenities, Randy shrugged his leather jacket onto his shoulders, fumbling with the zipper at the chest. High over ahead, thunder rumbled like a distant train. The sound seemed to shake free even more rain, as the down-pour continued in earnest. Who ever had booked the European trip for this time of year was going to get their ass kicked. As soon as he was dry, Randy fully intended on drop-kicking their ass out of the highest window in the hotel and let them take a dive in one of lake-like puddles on the street. That was assuming he wasn't drowned in the rain first.
Shuddering as water dripped down his neck, he hurried to the back of his silver rental car, ripping the trunk open. It had taken hours to get to the hotel, mostly because he had no clue where he was going. And of course, no one really spoke to him much so it wasn't as though anyone would give him directions.
Grabbing his bags, he hauled them out and swung them onto the curb. He glanced toward the hotel, and finally managed to lock the vehicle. A bellboy emerged from the building, finally deciding to brave the wet, cold London afternoon and actually do his job. Hands on his hips, a pile of bags at his feet, Orton simply glared as the royal blue jacket wearing hotel employee stationed just underneath the canopy of the hotel. Rain dispersed the hair gel in Randy's short brown spikes, sending trails of thick glue like liquid running in rivulets over his sculpted facial features. The bellboy didn't seem to notice Randy's volatile mood. Rather, he simply motioned Randy closer.
Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Randy marched forward, taking the few stone steps two at a time. Towering over the hotel employee, Randy aggressively suggested that he go fetch the bags before they got anymore wet. Shoving past the doorman, he finally made his way through the glass doors and into the hotel as the bellboy braved the elements to retrieve the bags.
He pulled his hands free of his pockets and ran both palms over his face. Moving from his chin to his forehead, long fingers brushed back through his hair. Unzipping his coat, he peeled it off, already knowing the water had gotten to his clothes. His pale blue shirt was soaked across the chest and further onto the stomach. The material clung to his body, feeling clammy and uncomfortable. Not to mention his jeans, which were welded to his thighs like a second skin.
Grumbling to himself, Randy wondered if his day could get any worse. That was until he noticed several female hotel workers practically drooling as they watched him. A cute blonde standing with mop and a bucket was particularly fascinated, obviously unable to decide whether or not to look at Randy's face or his wet shirt.
Randy winked in her direction, absently running a hand down his rock hard abdomen. She seemed to squeak, lowering her eyes back to her job, realizing too late she hadn't squeezed the excess moisture from the mop. As she lifted it from the bucket, a wave of water cascaded out across the floor. She flushed red, mostly from the own actions but also due to Randy's sympathetic stare.
Chuckling to himself he crossed the lobby, dodging the indoor puddle to reach the desk. A particularly snooty worker seemed less than impressed with his appearance, clucking about being late for check in.
Laying on the charm, Orton managed to chip away at the glacial attitude he received, until the receptionist seemed fairly friendly. It was a skill, Randy deduced, being able to get practically anyone to do anything he wanted. And it didn't always have to be a sexual request. People just gravitated towards him, and it didn't take that much effort to get them eating out of the palm of his hand. Men, women and children - age and sexuality didn't matter. They all went weak at the knees when it came to Randy Orton.
Still busily congratulating himself on his charm, Randy blinked when he realized the receptionist had spoken to him again. "Sorry, what?"
"I said sir that the other occupant of the room has already arrived. Should I make a telephone to call to let them know you have now checked in and will be making your way upstairs?"
Randy's mind ticked over the possibilities. Dave was already there. With the element of surprise on his side, there was no telling what Randy could catch Dave in the middle of. Obviously, the pervert in him wanted to catch Dave in the middle of a quick self-serving hand job - or maybe just emerging from the shower. Grinning at the thought, Randy told the receptionist the call wasn't necessary. If Randy was ever going to have his wicked way with Dave Batista, the element of surprise would be crucial.
Looking over the bellboy who staggered in with all his bags, Randy nodded towards the elevator. He was already having far too much fun, and he hadn't even seen Dave yet.
The room sat relatively quiet, save for the sound of toiletries being placed on the wooden dresser. Cream colored walls held no real emotion, but did give the space a peaceful feeling. A random replica of Seurat's Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte hung in the middle of the wall distracting the eye from the neutral tones that were chosen.
Directly below the painting on either side were two beds, both with matching mauve and cream comforters that played off of the colored walls and the bodices of the women in the painting. A television stand stood by the bed nearest the window, while the bathroom was closest to the other bed. The room guaranteed that if either occupant needed to relieve themselves or find entertainment, they would indeed have to cross into their companion's space to do so.
Dave Batista's eyes drifted back to the beds. Two beds. Two double sized beds for two men that were well over six feet tall and two hundred pounds. Two beds that were entirely too close to each other in the small room. When he laid down to sleep, the only thing that would separate him from Randy Orton would be the polished cherry wood night table with the room's only lamp on top of it.
If he were sharing this space with anyone else more than likely he would have thought it to be cozy. The idea of brushing hands with someone in the darkness while they both reached for the lamp was just the kind of thing that his innocent gay fantasies consisted of. But knowing that it could actually become a reality with Randy Orton? Dave wasn't so sure that this was such a good idea.
Lost in thought, he peered back into the brown and gold Louis Vatton bag and removed a white t-shirt. Not that he was aware of the action. He was too deep in thought, too suppressed in his own mind to pay attention to anything else but the plan that he had started to formulate.
It had taken eighteen hours to get from Tampa to London. Seventeen of which consisted of tuning out other passengers on the plane. Forty minutes was spent absently signing autographs in the airport and in the twenty minute taxi ride to the hotel he figured out that he had no idea how in the hell he was supposed to seduce Randy into helping him. And the more he thought about it, he wasn't so sure that he even wanted to anymore.
Dave wanted to explore what it was that he was feeling, but at the price of depending on Orton? Orton? He wasn't positive that he could even share the same space with the man, let alone rely on him for help. This was wrong. This was a nightmare waiting to happen. This whole idea was going to blow up in his face. And as soon as dared a glance in the mirror, he happened upon the figure of the man dressed in blue jeans and a black leather jacket watching him, he felt nauseous.
Randy Orton had been silently watching the larger man standing before him. There was a slow robotic rhythm to each movement he made. A ninety degree pivot then a slight bend at the waist, retrieve one item, hold it in the air, fold said item, pivot toward the original direction, place the item in a pile on the dresser, presumably to eventually place them in the drawer. There was an absent grace to his movements. His thick arms flexing each time he creased a garment, the way he held the folded items to his chest and smoothed them out, it was delicious. Then there was the careful way he placed all of his clothing in a neat little pile making sure they were all folded to the same size. Was he really that anal that all of his clothes had to fit into one dresser drawer?
Anal. The thought made Randy smile.
Dave was meticulous, so unlike him who probably wouldn't even unpack his suitcase. Randy stood there transfixed by the movements wondering just how and when he would be able to make Dave lose control long enough to get what he wanted. It wasn't enough to get him drunk and have a quick fumble - anyone could do that. Hell, he'd done that with half the roster. No, the trick would be to make the larger man fall for him to the point where he wanted Randy.
The smile eased its way onto his face before he realized it was there. Grabbing his suitcase, he pulled it in behind him, slinging it onto the bed. It connected with a loud thud, bouncing on the mattress before coming to a complete halt.
Sauntering into the room, Randy dropped the carry on to the floor before perching himself on the corner of Dave's bed. He watched as Dave fixed his lips as if to say something, but before words could formulate Randy had already reached into the big man's suitcase. It was pure ironic luck that he grabbed a pair of Dave's boxer shorts. Hooking a thumb into the waist band, he made a show stretching the material, both crystal blue eyes resting on his roommate's face for a reaction.
If Randy Orton were a man who felt guilt, he would probably have a twinge now as Batista looked like a deer caught in headlights. Randy softly nipped his bottom lip between his teeth at Dave's discomfort. His hand freed itself from the waist band, only to trace down the front of the underwear. Eyes fixed on Dave's face, Randy slowly began fondling the pouch of the boxer shorts. Randy would be lying if he said he wasn't fantasizing about Dave's actual manhood filling it, but for the time being, this was all about Dave. He'd let him know just how exciting the idea of seeing the champion in his skeevies was later.
Chuckling, Randy balled the underwear in his hand and tossed it at Dave. It bounced off his chest, and fell to the floor. As though it were a delayed reaction, Dave's hand touched the place on his chest were the boxers had hit.
"Hey roomie." Randy purred, shrugging out of his leather jacket. His shirt was still damp and clung deliciously to his hard pecs. Dave had flushed a deep fuchsia, eyes looking anywhere other than Randy.
Slowly standing from the bed, Randy began to unbutton his shirt. Taking each button between his thumb and forefinger, he undid each one in turn. Both ice blue eyes rested on the mirror as soon as Dave turned around. He remained calm, knowing fully well this was just a waiting game. He could wait Dave out. If Randy was good at anything other than the obvious sexual magnetism, it was manipulation. He would have Dave begging soon enough. It was just a case of patience. And contrary to popular belief, Randy could be the most patient man in the world.
Dave started placing his clothes neatly into the drawer fully aware that Randy was making a fool of him. But there was a part of him that was thrilled at the obvious game of cat and mouse. Dave reminded himself that Randy had a reputation. If he was going to survive the next few months of the tour, it was essential that he learned how to use it to his advantage.
The larger man realized it was a mistake to look up a second after he done it. His eyes rested on the mirror before him, catching the reflected gaze of Randy standing inches behind him with his shirt unbuttoned entirely. The sides of the pale blue material hung loosely about his torso, hinting that the muscles that were hidden beneath. "What are you doing?" Though he knew full well what Randy was doing he refused to believe it. He hadn't been in the room five minutes and already the nightmare was starting.
As soon as Randy was sure he had his roommates undivided attention, he smiled.
With a gentle shrugging motion, his shirt melted from his body, the material gliding down over his arms to fully expose his body. Tilting his head to the side, Randy pouted softly. "I'm all wet."
Swallowing his heart back into his chest, Dave forced his eyes down, but was powerless to stop them lifting to see Randy's hands playing with his belt buckle. In a deliberately slow movement, the young legend killer had removed his belt, sliding the leather from around his waist and tossing it onto his bed. Wetting his lips, Dave felt his chest rise and fall at an even faster pace than before. It wasn't so much the sight of Randy's naked torso that tortured him, as delicious a sight as that was. It was the feeling he was teetering on the edge of self-discovery. Everything he had secretly dared to dream about despite his fear of discovery and neurosis of a 'normal' life was apparently right in front of him. All he had to do was stretch out his hand and take it. But he couldn't. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't giving himself to Randy without getting something in return.
Was it wrong for him to want to use Randy as a stepping stone to self discovery? Probably. But Randy Orton had done far worse in his twenty-six years, and he personified the egotistical 'means to and end' rule. Even if there was some kind of irony to the whole situation, Dave decided that what he would get out of Randy was more valuable than Randy's feelings of being used.
But he wasn't a man without compassion. He would spare Randy's emotions as much as he could. But now more than ever, Dave's mind was made up. He was making the right decision. And it was a decision for himself. And maybe if he played his cards right Randy would be on the receiving end of what he so readily dished out.
Randy's hands rested easily on the button of his jeans. In a swift motion he undid it, exposing flesh Dave had no business seeing. With a smirk, he took a step forward. And another. Suddenly, he was right behind Dave, his naked chest pressed against Dave's back. For his part, Batista's entire body went stiff. His muscles clenched to stone, his spine feeling like a steel rod prostrating his back. His earlier resolve melted away in an instant. This was far too much, too soon. What is Randy doing?
Randy picked up on the tension gripping Dave's body and smirked knowingly at the big man's reflection in the mirror. There was a look of terror in his eyes, which Randy relished in.
There was nothing better than a straight man feeling violated.
Sliding his arm around Dave's waist, Randy feigned embracing the larger man from behind. Just when it looked as though his palm was going to rest on the flat of Dave's stomach, it stretched forward. Grasping the bottle of shampoo off the dresser, Randy nudged his chin onto Batista's shoulder. "Mind if I steal this?"
Mutely, Dave shook his head, his body overcome with sensation. Smiling, Randy released his roommate and moved away. Randy's breath on his neck sent a chill through Dave's entire body. Looking into those blue eyes through the mirror he got a glimpse of the power that Randy Orton held. It didn't have a name or even a description, but it was there. Something was definitely there. It had to be because Randy repulsed Dave, but for that brief moment, he felt like he was floating. The air felt thick in his wake, and Dave had to rest his hands on the dresser in order to regain his composure. This was going to be harder than he thought.
"Don't go too far man. I may need your help to get those hard to reach areas." Randy stopped at the bathroom door, glancing back into the room at Dave. "Isn't it great having a roommate, roommate?" With a chuckle, Randy headed into the bathroom not bothering to check the horrified expression he was sure was covering Dave's features. He'd gotten close to the big man without him lashing out. Maybe this was going to be easier than Randy had originally anticipated. Or maybe he was just that damn good. Either way, Randy was looking forward to just how much of an animal David Batista could be.
In a haste Dave grabbed his jacket and card key. He would deal with unpacking later, but for now he had to get out of that room. It was overwhelming. Randy was too much. The room was too small. The sound of Randy singing in the shower was too vivid. The thought of him being naked just a few feet away was too surreal. Dave had to get as far away from Randy Orton as possible.
But apparently it wasn't far enough.
Two hours had clearly been enough time for Randy to have left the room set to party for the night. The entire time Dave spent in the hotel's restaurant he had watched the front door for any signs of his roommate to exit the building. But in the time he sat there not a hide nor hair of Orton had been spotted. Maybe he went to sleep.
God if it would have only been that simple.
"Fucking hell." A shrill Cockney accent sounded from inside the room as a blonde woman pulled her head from Orton's lap. Desperately trying to wipe her mouth, but only succeeding in smearing her lipstick further around her face, she released Randy from her hand.
This couldn't have worked out better had he planned it. When Randy had emerged from the shower he was disappointed that Dave was no longer in the room. It took him all of two minutes to strategically place the towel to hang low on his hips and saunter out of the bathroom. But the show of getting dressed in front of Dave that he had worked on in the shower had been for naught. The room was empty and judging from the way that Dave's items were exactly had they had been before, Dave had left in a hurry.
And not being one to let a perfectly, good, empty hotel room go to waste, Randy decided to seize the opportunity. That brief encounter with Dave at the dresser had ignited something in his gut. If he couldn't get Dave to extinguish it, surely the cute blonde with the mop and bucket from the lobby earlier could. It didn't even take much convincing.
Randy's cool eyes stared directly at Dave without blinking. Stroking the blonde hair of the woman kneeling in front of him, he addressed her. "It's okay, Sweetheart." Only dropping his eyes for a brief second, he caught a glimpse of the look she gave him. The last thing he wanted was to hear her annoying voice again, especially since she hadn't even finished the job that she had started. The best way to shut her up was to make sure that she had her mouth full. Taking himself in his hand, he began to tap the head against her lips. "He doesn't mind. Do ya Dave?" His eyes connected with Dave's and a gentle hiss touched his voice as soon as he got what he wanted.
"Not on my bed." Dave's voice remained calm yet stern as he tried not to look as disgusted by the display in front of him as he actually was. It wasn't as if Dave had never witnessed his any of the guys hooking up with a groupie of sorts before. But to have the audacity to be on his bed, staring directly at him?
Pulling the woman's head back by her hair, Randy's eyes never left Dave's. A slow smirk danced across his features as he stood, pants falling to pool around his ankles and plopped himself down on his own bed. "Not a problem." Stroking himself he raised his brow at the blonde and motioned her over to his new location. It was only a minute before his heavily lidded eyes watched Dave as he walked further into the room.
Dave suppressed his nerves and started toward the bathroom which was located right next to Randy and his companion. Slamming the door behind him, he placed both hands on the sink and tried to catch his breath. It was only the first day. How in the hell was he supposed to survive this?
This plan of his needed to be revamped immediately.
