The Emancipation of Trish Stratus

A/N: More than anything, I want this story to feel real. So be sure to let me know if it gets too sappy and "fairy tale" for your liking, okay? Sometimes the cynic in me loses to the hopeless romantic, though. This chapter is what is left in the wake of their most recent battle. I don't own them, I just use them to do naughty things to each other. Enjoy.

She heard Randy shut the door as she fought to get a comb through her tangled, blonde locks. The adrenaline rush from the last two days was wearing off and she found that every part of her body was aching from the punishment she had inflicted upon herself. The Vicoden she had swallowed weren't helping the fire in her back at all. Her shoulders and thighs were thumping with a dull ache each time she tried to move them. And her feet felt like they were encrusted with glass each time she took a step. It was supposed to be the happiest night of her life, but her body hadn't gotten the memo.

The reflection of Randy's concerned gaze stopped her breathing in the mirror as she laid the comb aside and put a hand over his on her shoulder. "Hey," he said in a hushed voice. "Did the bath help at all?"

She shook her head, but the pain in her neck caused her to cringe again. "A little," she finally answered. "I feel bad," she smiled, turning slightly in her seat. Any movement seemed to remind her that she was broken, and just craning her neck to look into his eyes, hurt.

He stepped around to the side of her chair and squatted down, meeting her at eye level. With a hand on her cheek, he gave her a sweet grin. "Did you take the pain killers?" he asked.

She nodded a little and then sighed. "I mean I feel bad because this was supposed to be our big night. I was gonna give you the ride of your life, Orton, and now I just wanna lay down and die." She was disappointed, and she knew he was, too. Not that he would admit it.

The sexy grin that stretched across his lips went all the way to his eyes as he picked up her comb from the vanity and sat on the bed. With his knees bent and apart, he patted the bedspread in front of him. "Come here," he said.

Trish stood, limped to the bed, and crawled up. She turned her back to him and he slowly began to comb the knots out of her hair. It was gentle, his touch, as he worked with the mass of locks she sported. "You don't have to do this," she said.

He laughed and put a hand on her arm. "Baby, if I don't do this, do you know what you'll look like in the morning?" She swatted his thigh weakly and then rested her hand there, her fingers running over and under the hem of his shorts.

Once he had finished with her hair, he secured it on top of her head with the band she had given him. Pulling her robe back, he exposed her shoulders and began to knead the tense muscles there. "So, I thought we could go to St. Louis for a few days," he spoke, his lips close to her ear.

Trish closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his hands on her arms. "So you wanna hide now?" she asked, hoping she sounded less accusatory than she felt.

"No," he defended quickly. "Just rest." She wiggled away from his grasp, her robe falling open slightly to reveal the bare expanse of her chest and the valley between her breasts. "For a couple of days. Maybe a week or two?"

Trish's eyes narrowed and she felt her heart rate increase. "Randy, hiding isn't gonna do any good. I didn't just put myself through hell so we could run away until everything blows over," she demanded.

The peaceful look on his face was supposed to calm her, but as her face reddened, he could tell it wasn't working. "Sweetheart, I don't want to run away," he assured her, moving to his knees on the bed and crawling to her. He knelt above her, taking her face in both hands to hold her attention. "But I have gone along with your plan from the beginning, and it's time you listened to mine." He shot her a classic, Randy Orton "you know you want to do whatever I want you to do" smile.

She hated, more than anything, that she could never stay mad at him for very long. She hated that he had some kind of mind-control power over her. Sighing, she took his hands from her face and wove her fingers through his. She was too tired to fight. "Alright, fine. What's your master plan?"

There was a triumphant and arrogant smile on his lips as he moved toward the headboard and pulled her, without much effort, into his lap. "First of all, I want you to know how proud I am of everything you've done over the last month, okay? You have made some really hard decisions because you believe in who you are and what you want – and I think that's pretty fuckin' cool, baby," he winked, kissing her neck before pulling back and continuing. "You have done things in that ring that I didn't even know you could do, and I, quite frankly, think you can do anything." She beamed at his compliment. "But even the most high-performance vehicle needs maintenance sometimes, and you are going to ruin your whole fuckin' career if you don't slow down and take a few minutes to regroup."

She started to argue, but when she looked into his baby blues, she saw a concern that overwhelmed her. She wasn't sure that anyone, in all of her life, had ever cared that much about her well-being and her health. "You know you're a hypocrite, right?" she smiled. "You're the jack ass who got in the ring with Batista after you knew your shoulder was fucked all to hell. If anyone should be telling me about taking care of myself, it's probably not you."

Randy conceded with a nod and loosened his grip on her waist. "True. But I was stupid, and I admit that. And now I'm learning from my mistakes and I'm not letting you get back in the ring until you've had some time."

Trish's eyes grew wide as indignation rose in her chest. "You did not just say that you're not going to let me get back in the ring, did you?" She huffed. "Like I need your permission?"

Randy's eyebrow raised and he watched as she tried to put distance between them, succeeding only in running into the leg that was positioned behind her back. "Rephrase?" he asked and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I would really like it if you would appreciate that I love you, Trish," he searched his brain quickly for words that would correct his previous faux pas. "And respect that this is something that's really important to me. I just wanna be sure that you're okay, baby," he pouted his lower lip slightly.

And she was gone. She couldn't stay mad, no matter what the confession, when that lip came out. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make him think that she was making a decision. "I appreciate that you love me, Randy," she started. "And I love that you want to protect me," she sighed.

He held a finger up. "Also, I'd like to have sex with something other than my own hand in the next month. And I'm just really afraid that you're not gonna be up for the challenge if you don't get some rest. And then it's back to strippers and groupies," he started, but she put her hand over his mouth.

She couldn't control the laughter that bubbled up from the back of her throat. "Alright, fine. But let me make it very clear to you, Mr. Orton, that I'm only agreeing to this for the sex thing, too," she warned him.

He sucked her index finger into his mouth and gave her his best "puppy dog" eyes as his tongue swirled around her knuckle. When he released the digit, he licked his lips. "Yeah, but you having sex with your hand?" he asked. She smacked at his stomach, but he grabbed her and flipped her over, resting his weight on his elbows above her. "Baby, I think that image might sustain me during this "I'm too sore to fuck you" diet you're putting me on," he winked.

Trish felt the pain in her back as his lips met hers, but she tried to forget it. Raking her nails down his chest and into the waist band of his pants, she smiled up into the shocked look on his face. "You said you were tired of sex with your own hand, right? You didn't say anything about mine," she added mischievously.

She wanted to feel him inside her, but the aches and ailments in her body were constant reminders that it wasn't a good idea. Maybe when they got to St. Louis? By the time she got him off and they rolled over to sleep, Trish was dreaming of the last time they'd stayedat his house together. That was the weekend they had locked all the doors, turned off their cell phones, and tried to catch up on all the time they had missed while trying to hide their relationship. The last thought Trish had as Randy's arm fell across her body and rested on her stomach, was that they didn't have to hide anything anymore. And that her shoulder was now killing her from thejerking movements she had just made. Damn him and that sexy groan.