Scar Tissue

A/N: So my mind has been in overdrive today, and I got a bunch of new ideas for this story. Originally, it was only supposed to be eight chapters, but now it's going to be twelve. I think that's a good thing, and I hope you agree. As another word of warning, there's some explicit stuff in this chapter, but I don't think any more so than the last one. Enjoy Randy and Trish together like this because the "happy" can't last. Don't hate me - y'all knew bad things had to be coming. So - I don't own 'em, I just let 'em fuck around for my own amusement. Enjoy!


"Bull shit!" Trish sat naked against the headboard, a challenging look in her eyes as Randy stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips.

He licked his lips and cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow in response. "I'm serious!" he insisted.

She crossed her arms over her chest and considered his handsome features. Their first night together had been about making a statement. She wanted him to know that she was worth every second he had spent in fantasies with her, and that the real thing was a hundred times better than anything he could have dreamed. Her pride wanted to show the kid that he wasn't the only one who had earned the props he was given.

She had grown so accustomed to being who she was with Carter, to feeling how he made her feel, that she hadn't even noticed how anesthetized she had become. Sure, they had been good together, and he had brought her great pleasure. He loved her, and sex with him made her feel needed and appreciated. But 'good enough' had become the standard with him, and she had settled for it, nearly forgetting what anything else felt like.

Fucking Orton made her feel alive. There was no love, no affection, in his actions. He wasn't interested in making her feel like she was the center of his universe. He wanted to make her face twist with pleasure she had never known, to make her scream things she had never said out loud. He just wanted to set her on fire and make her remember the best night of her life.

And he had. Not that she would ever tell him that. She knew once he was satisfied that she had never been with anyone like him, he would lose interest. The flirtatious innuendos at the arenas would stop. The seductive dances and kisses at the clubs would stop. And the agonizing foreplay on the way back to the hotel would stop. He would move on, find someone else's inner vixen to awaken, and she would go back to being dead inside.

Fortunately, Orton was so much like her, that Trish had no trouble pushing his buttons and keeping him around. At least for the eight days that followed their encounter so far. He was enthusiastic, and determined to find the one move, the one position, that finally forced her to give herself over completely. And she was using his competitive spirit to her full advantage. The longer she made him think that he wasn't the best, the harder he tried to prove her wrong. The harder he tried, the higher her inner flames stretched. And the more the fire was stoked, the closer she came to being the complete Trish Stratus of old once again.

"You don't have a wrestling move in your arsenal that could get me off, Orton," she insisted, finally answering the challenge he had thrown down moments ago.

Randy huffed and stared her down, fighting like hell not to let his eyes drift over her bare form. Not that she was trying very hard to keep her eye contact high, but he wasn't about to lose this argument. He'd lost enough of them over the last week. "I've got, like, ten of 'em," he insisted.

But Trish just laughed, rolling off the side of the bed. With her hands on her own hips, she nodded to the mattress, which they had stripped down to its fitted, white sheet. "Show me, if you think you can," she challenged. "But your moves are high impact. They're fast and they're about take downs and knock outs. Even if you slow 'em down, there's nothing that's going to last long enough to get me off," she insisted.

Crawling onto the bed, he faced her on his knees and rolled his eyes. "Just turn around," he commanded, his tone saying that he was tired of talking. They never talked as much as they had that night – daring each other to a sexual game of 'Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better.' He glanced at the clock. It was almost four in the morning already, and he was thankful that they didn't have a show later in the day.

Trish turned toward the wall, her back to him, and crossed her arms again. It wasn't that she was just goading him into giving her something she really wanted. She had gone over his normal, in-ring routine, and honestly couldn't think of anything that he could use to send her over the edge. He was all about drop kicks, the cross body, clotheslines, and the RKO. There were a few submission holds, but they weren't going to make her feel anything but uncomfortable.

She was deep in thought when she felt his large hand wrap around her thigh, his thumb barely brushing against her as he pulled her backward with a great force. Trish landed on the bed with a 'thud' and Randy flipped over her, his hands on her hips as he drove her knees toward her chest with his shoulders.

With the "modified" inside cradle applied, her legs up, and her shoulders pinned, she waited to see what he would do. Surprises were a given with him, and when three of his fingers plunged deeply inside her, she felt her body cringe. Her eyes squeezed shut at the sudden invasion, and she realized that he was waiting – and watching.

Opening one eye, she let out a sigh of resignation. "You win." She tried to shrug, but her shoulders weren't moving with the grip he had. He nodded in agreement, and continued to watch her with that cocky-ass smirk she just wanted to smack off his face. "Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" he asked, biting his lip to keep the laughter from pouring out.

"Are you gonna finish or not?" It took everything inside of her not to start grinding against his hand before he moved. Everything was a power play between them, and neither gave in to the other before they were damn good and ready. She wasn't about to start now.

After another few seconds of just sitting there, Randy started to pump his fingers in and out of her, enjoying the sight as she tried to writhe and wiggle while he had her pinned. The more she struggled, the more her hips moved. And the more her hips moved, the louder she screamed. He was barely doing anything, barely moving his wrist, and she was going to lose it in a matter of seconds. I am a fucking god, he congratulated himself when Trish finally tightened around him and then released with a deep, contented sigh.

With a satisfied wink, he raised his hand to his lips and ran his tongue over his fingers. Trish groaned and waited for the twitching to stop. He could pretend that it was no big deal, that she was the only who had enjoyed that, but his body wasn't helping with the lie. At least, one part of his body wasn't. "Get on your knees," she pointed to the bed and struggled to stand on the soft mattress. "Lean against the headboard."

"What?" Randy's shoulders fell in disappointment. "You can't possibly think you're going to beat that," he insisted. If she thought she was the only one playing this 'I'll let you think I've had better' game, she was sadly mistaken. He wasn't used to being with the same girl this many nights in a row, that was true. But he wasn't used to finding one who could make him feel like she did, either. It was a fair trade off in his mind, for now.

She just pointed to the pillow and told him to sit again. When he was situated, Trish measured her distance and turned her back, praying that the mattress wouldn't give and cause her to break her neck. It would have been a maneuver better attempted on the floor, but she wasn't about to tell him to move now.

Randy studied her for a second. She was only a few feet away, and he could see her shoulders rising and falling with a nervous sigh. Her hair clung to her skin in sweat-soaked strings. Tiny beads of perspiration coursed down her back and gathered at the base of her spine. But before he had time to appreciate the perfect curve and tightness of her ass, she started to bend.

Trish dropped backward as slowly as she could, performing the move she'd never named. It was known only as "the Matrix thing" and it kind of hurt her back a little bit. But as she gripped his thighs for support, and came face-to-face with RKO Jr., she licked her lips and smiled to herself. He had let out a tiny gasp, one she was sure wasn't meant for her ears, as she folded herself nearly in half for him.

It wasn't at all unlike trying to drink from a bottle while hanging upside down, but she managed to hold the position and continue. He wasn't sure if he should touch her, or if that would send her crashing to the bed, ending his fun and injuring her beyond any usefulness for the rest of the night. Instead, he gripped the pillows at each of his sides and tried to keep his eyes open. Once again, he reminded himself of how much he loved flexible women.

Trish felt him tightening in her mouth and she pulled out before he could unload on her. Of all the ways she could think to go, choking to death on his 'essence' was the least sexy. Returning herself to a standing position, she turned and raised an eyebrow, wiping her lips and watching him fight for breath. "I win," she finally giggled, clapping for herself as she sank to the mattress and hugged her knees to her chest.

"What?" Randy looked incredulous. He would have agreed, but it wasn't in his nature to admit defeat. "What do you mean, you win? How the hell do you figure that?"

Trish guffawed, her eyes wide with indignation. "How can you not think I won?" she challenged. "Come on, Orton, that move could have been played a hundred different ways. It's totally the more useful of the two moves." She raised an eyebrow and then added, "Plus, it looks cooler."

With a slight pout, he shrugged and rolled off the bed, gathering his clothes from the floor. "I need a shower," he stated simply.

Trish stretched out on the bed and watched him slip into his jeans. "What? Now you're just gonna take your balls and go home?"

With a smirk, he shook his head. He didn't know much about Trish Stratus. In fact, in all the time he'd known her, he couldn't remember ever having a conversation that involved anything remotely non-sexual. But he couldn't bring himself to think about the day when she might be his Girl B. He wasn't ready to bend the rules for her, or to even think about the word "girlfriend," but he was damn sure now that she was his Girl A, no matter where they were or who else was vying for the position. At least for another week or so.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he repeated firmly, his voice tinted with just a hint of amusement, "and then I'ma get some sleep," he responded, slipping his tee shirt over his head. "You wanna catch breakfast tomorrow or what?"

Trish looked at the ceiling and shook her head. "I can't. I'm eating with Lita and Stacy before we head out," she answered. Randy groaned. Lita and Stacy – the two women who could tell Trish more about him than anyone else in the company. "Oh, relax," Trish answered the fears he hadn't voiced. "I don't talk about you with them."

Inwardly, he was relieved. Outwardly, he just pocketed his wallet and grabbed a condom box from the floor. Tossing it into the bedside trash, he shrugged. "I'm not worried," he lied easily, turning for the door.

"Hey, Orton," Trish called after him. He turned and raised an eyebrow. "You were alright tonight."

He laughed and winked again. "Not so bad yourself, Stratus."

Once he was gone, she rolled over and grabbed a pillow, burying her face. She didn't like him, didn't want to be with him outside of this room, and certainly didn't want to think the word "boyfriend." He felt the same way, and she was okay with that. They were two adults having a consensual relationship. There was nothing wrong with it.

So why was she thinking about Carter now? Why was she seeing his face and knowing that he would be so disappointed in her? And why the hell couldn't she just get over him and move on?

Because fucking is easy. Love is hard. Being in love fucks everything that's supposed to be good, and not in a good way. You can't fall in love again, Trish. You get over Carter, and that's it. No more. You never let anyone else in. At least, not until you're, like, fifty. Or until you're done with Orton.