Scar Tissue

A/N: Okay, so here's the new story. I was going to do a One Shot first, but this feels like the right direction. You know that I derive a lot of inspiration from my friends, and we've had no shortage of relationship drama around here for the last couple of weeks, so that kind of planted a seed in my mind. Also, music is a big muse for me, and Papa Roach's Getting Away with Murder album helped me form an outline and get an actual story together. I hope you all enjoy Scar Tissue, and as always, your reviews are much more appreciated than a simple "thank you" can express. I don't own any of the WWE Superstars mentioned here, just in case you are delusional or something. Enjoy!


The guys thought they were smooth, that their game was indecipherable, and that the girls were just sitting around, unexpectedly falling into their traps. But every WWE diva had done their own scouting of every male wrestler, and though the MO's changed from man to man, the end motivation was always the same.

Cena was the flirt – fun, innocent, and sweet. He was playful, and hilariously funny, and seemed safe enough at first. Going out with John was like going out with the high school quarterback. He liked to shower a girl with just enough affection to make her feel like the head cheerleader at the homecoming dance. More than one of the divas had learned, though, that once you made it back to the Doctor's room, class was in session, and you weren't leaving until you earned a degree in Thuganomics.

Batista was the veteran – sincere, experienced, and giving. He had been around the track more than once, and he had no trouble treating a woman like a queen. They called Dave the Animal, but most of the time he seemed tame, unafraid to be hopelessly romantic with whomever he was dating. Of course, when he locked the bedroom door, the leash came off, and 'unbridled passion' was the only way to describe the next few hours.

Orton was the frat boy – unabashed, unashamed, and uninhibited. He knew how hot he was, and he didn't try to deny it. To say that he had 'game' was corny, but if anyone possessed that certain something, that charm that could get him into any bed at an unguarded moment, it was Randy. Everyone knew his goal was to fuck every diva that came through the WWE before he retired, and he didn't try to deny, or apologize for, it.

Dating most of the wrestlers was really no different than dating any average guy. It meant that you stood a fifty/fifty chance of scoring a second date, maybe a relationship that turned into something serious. But "dating" Orton meant only one thing – you were gonna get one night of really great, mind-blowing, curl-your-toes, and turn-your-insides-out sex, and then you would be expected to act as though it had never happened. Unless, of course, you wanted to tell all of your friends how fuckin' great it had been.

"I don't get it," Christy Hemme sighed, resting her cheek against her palm as she stared across the club. Stacy Kiebler sat to the young diva's right, and Torrie Wilson was situated on the left, each sipping from fruity cocktails and taking a break from the annual WWE Christmas party festivities. "I bent over backwards for him. Literally," she nodded to where Randy was sandwiched between Lita and Trish on the dance floor. "He said it was amazing."

Torrie laughed in spite of herself, and then put a reassuring hand on the red-head's arm. "Sorry, Sweetie," she apologized quickly, shooting a quick look at Stacy. "Um, it's just that, in the Orton dictionary, 'amazing' doesn't exactly mean what it means to most people." Noting the girl's horrified expression, she quickly explained herself. "It's more of a 'good effort' than a 'wow' kinda thing."

Stacy cleared her throat and took another drink from the martini glass in her hand. "Christy, don't sweat it, okay?" When Christy's innocent gaze drifted to the older woman's face, Stacy winced. The kid had it bad, just like every other naïve rookie who stumbled into Orton's bed. "Look, you're not the only one who's ever been crushed out on the Legend Killer, okay?"

"You dated him for awhile, right?" Christy stated, sitting back in her seat and trying to pull her eyes off the man she had thought would be her next true love. "They said you were his last, real girlfriend."

Torrie rolled her eyes and let out an "oh boy" before excusing herself from the table. "I wasn't so much his girlfriend as," Stacy tried to think of the right word, "um, fuck buddy, I guess." Christy's eyes widened slightly. "Randy's not monogamous, ever," Stacy clarified. "But if he likes what you do to him, he might keep you around a little bit longer, if the groupies aren't to his liking or whatever."

"But why?" It baffled the Diva Search winner's mind to hear someone as together as Stacy talking like she had been Randy's whore. "I mean, why would you do it? Knowing that it doesn't mean anything to him, why would you keep going back?"

"Are you kidding?" Stacy laughed, setting her empty glass on the table. "Tell me you wouldn't," she challenged. Christy tried to give an indignant shake of her hair, but Stacy wasn't buying it. "Bull shit. You can't honestly tell me that he wasn't the best fuck you've ever had, Christy."

Christy's heavy sigh was enough of an admission. Turning her attention back to the threesome on the floor, she felt her heart sink. Lita was behind him, a shot glass in one hand as she ran the other down his chest. His fingers kneaded Trish's ass hungrily, and he was licking salt out of her cleavage. Once that was finished, he turned his head to suck the lime wedge that Lita was holding between her teeth. When she spit the rind onto the dance floor, he tilted his head back and rested it on her shoulder, allowing the red-head to pour the tequila down his throat. With his eyes tightly shut, he swallowed the unique body shot, and then resumed his bump-and-grind with both of the women.

Stacy stood, leaving Christy to her own musings. The leggy blonde had smiled and told everyone the same story about Randy: It's hard enough to find a man that can make you orgasm once in awhile, so why wouldn't she stay with the one that made her climax three or four times in one night? The truth, though, was that the hand-holding, and the massages after matches, and the soft way he called her 'Sweetheart' had fooled her into thinking that he was different, or that he wanted to be.

She had fallen into the same trap she used to make fun of her friends for falling into. She believed that Randy wanted to be a better person, he just didn't know how to be. She believed that she could change him, that he would stop wanting to sleep with everyone else if she could just love him enough. When it didn't work, and she finally came to grips with reality, her heart was already broken.

Sidling up to Cena on the dance floor, Stacy tried to ignore the giggles from the women behind her. Randy was grunting and groaning as the two most experienced divas showed him what "a good time really looks like." To see him with anyone else was hard, but with her, it was even worse.

"Looks like tonight's the night, huh?" John asked in Stacy's ear, his eyes reflecting with sincere understanding when she pulled back to meet his gaze.

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. There was only one who had been there since he entered the WWE, but had never given in to his advances. She was the only one that he couldn't get to cheat on a boyfriend, or a husband, and the only one that didn't seem fooled by his charm. She was the only one he really wanted, whether he admitted it or not.

But Trish Stratus was single for the first time in five years. And nobody at that party doubted, for a second, that Orton would be getting exactly what he wanted for Christmas.