Scar Tissue
A/N: Thanks for all the awesome reviews again! You guys just keep sending me such "mad props" and I keep thinking I'm not worthy. Anyway, thanks for reading it, and loving it. I appreciate it. I don't own Randy, Trish, or any other person mentioned here. Enjoy!
As she reached for the door knob, she cast one last fleeting glance over her shoulder. In his sleep, he looked so innocent, so peaceful. There were no lines on his young face, and the faint traces of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. After ten minutes of watching him like that, she had decided he looked like the kind of man she could easily fall in love with.
If she was the kind of girl who fell in love. But she wasn't – not anymore. And as Trish left his room quietly, she reminded herself that this was what she wanted. No strings, no promises, and no commitment. Just straight up sex and fun. This is how it was supposed to be.
"You miss curfew or somethin'?"
The sound of his voice in the midnight stillness cause Trish to jump, holding her heart as she met his gaze. "Hey." Running a nervous hand through her hair, she giggled slightly and leaned against the wall, watching him limp toward her. "How are you feeling?"
Randy cringed and leaned his weight against the frame of his room door. "I been better," he admitted, grateful for the opportunity to stop hobbling for a second. The move he had tried against Kane was fairly routine. The grotesque angle at which he had fallen wasn't.
Trish nodded, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She wasn't doing anything wrong. So why did she feel guilty that he had caught her? "I guess," she conceded, trying her best to still her heart and catch her breath. "So, I thought they'd keep you overnight."
He swept his eyes over her wrinkled clothing and her tangled hair with a smirk. I can see that, he thought, and then shook himself of the unexpected emotion in his gut. Damn drugs. "They tried," he admitted, running his hand over his hair. They said only his knee was sprained, but the rest of his body wasn't feelin' so happy at the moment, either. "But I didn't really feel like trusting my recovery to a hillbilly hospital with three doctors on call, ya know?"
Finally calming down a bit, she cleared her throat and pushed off the wall. "So, do you need me to get you anything?" She looked up through thick lashes as she approached. "I could run you a bath? Put you to bed?"
When she finally reached him, resting one hand on his belt while the other walked up his chest, Randy let out a groan. "There's nothing I would like more," he smiled slightly, and then cringed. In an attempt to shift his body and pull her closer, daggers of pain shot through his knee and up his thigh, nearly bringing him to tears. "But, for the first time in my life, I don't think my body's gonna be up for it."
Biting her lip, Trish suppressed a giggle. He promised to never be too drunk, too tired, too grouchy, or too unprepared. Too injured had never made the list. "Alright," she scratched her nails back down his chest and threw a wink at him. "Well, I'm gonna head to bed, then."
"Looks like ya already been there." The words were out of his mouth before he could reign them back in. He wasn't in any condition to stand in the hall and tease her, but he just couldn't let her walk away without the last word.
Trish rolled her eyes. Like he had any right to talk. "Yeah, well, now I'ma get some sleep. In my bed. Alone," she informed him.
She turned, and Randy raised an eyebrow, his attention immediately drawn to her perfect ass in those tight jeans. "John wear ya out, did he?"
Turning, she raised an eyebrow, fighting like hell to keep the guilt at bay. Sure, she had every right to fuck whoever she pleased, but his best friend seemed a little cruel. Of course, it hadn't stopped him from banging Lita, Stacy, Victoria, and everyone else Trish considered a friend over the years, either. "I could use some rest," was all she admitted.
Before Randy could retaliate, his knee gave way, and he buckled. Trish was at his side in an instant, slinging his arm over her shoulder and holding out a hand. "Give me your key," she insisted.
Randy bit his lip, demanded that the pain subside, and tried to stand on his own. "I'm fine," he insisted.
Trish grabbed the key out of his hand and slid it into the lock. "Right." Once they were inside, she kicked the door shut and moved slowly toward the bed. She had felt him collapse on top of her more times than she could count, but tonight he seemed heavy. "You been hittin' the 'roids, Orton?" she asked with a grunt.
He wanted to tell her that the dead weight he was at that moment was a little different than post-orgasm weight, but he didn't answer, only lead her to the bed and fell to the mattress, trapping Trish under his left side.
"Jesus!" she shrieked. "Are you tryin' to kill me?"
Randy rolled his eyes, in far too much pain to find her remotely amusing. "You're the one who just had to help," he pointed out, grabbing his knee as the throbbing continued.
"Can you take you pants off?" she asked, her face twisted with concern.
And, even writhing in agony, he couldn't resist. "Probably. But I know how much you love doin' that."
She groaned and sank to her knees, tugging at the hem of his warm-up pants. "Fine. But you're the one who said you're not in the mood," she pointed out.
"I said I didn't think my body was up to fucking you right now. I would never say I wasn't in the mood," Randy corrected. "Because seein' you on your knees like that?" He dropped the statement when she shot him a "don't start" glare.
"You are unbelievable," Trish muttered, her tone anything but amused. She was tired, not feeling one hundred percent good about herself, and didn't want to put up with bull shit that would get her nowhere. "Now," she said loudly, standing and running her hands down her pants. "Do you need anything else? Honestly?"
Randy licked his lips and thought. He wasn't a guy who asked people for anything. Ever. If he had to drag himself down the hall on one bad leg to get ice or something equally miniscule, he would do it. He was not interested in being helped. But she seemed so intent on doing something. And he found himself wanting to make her feel useful.
"Um, can you get my portable dvd player out of my bag?" he pointed to the floor.
Trish went to his bag and slid the zipper open. His portable was right on top, along with several dvd's and even more condom boxes. All the essentials for an Orton road trip, she assumed. "Do you want anything specifically?" she asked, her back still turned.
Watching her, crouched low over his bag, Randy felt his gut rumble. Her pants were sliding down on her hips, and her back was perfectly straight, as though she'd practiced her posture for years. Her lines were flawless – she really was the perfect specimen of a woman.
"Randy?"
The butterflies in his stomach did somersaults when she said his name. She rarely, if ever, said his first name. Even when she came, she always called him Orton. "Hmm?" he asked.
Trish turned and held up three movie cases. "What do you want to watch?"
You. Like that. Don't move. He shrugged and pointed at all three. "Whichever. It's not like I'm gonna stay awake," he reasoned.
Carrying everything back to the bed, she dropped them at his side. "Do you want me to plug the chord in? Or is the battery charged?" He motioned for the power chord. The battery was fine, but in order to plug it in, she had to bend over him. Maybe he couldn't eat anything, but it wouldn't stop him from looking over the buffet.
Leaning her body across his lap, she stuck the chord into the wall. She knew full well what he was trying to do, and she was more than happy to give him a show. Sliding forward slightly, and then dragging her nails across the bed, she arched her back.. It was graceful, and all too stripper-like. Everything Randy loved.
Without hesitation, he slid his hands over the curve of her ass, groaning and biting his lip as she held it there for him. "You're killin' me," he finally admitted, smacking her lightly as she raised up on her knees and then crawled back to the edge of the bed. To make matters worse, she just put her index finger in her mouth, held his eyes seductively, and started backing out of the room. "Oh, come on," he whined.
Trish shrugged innocently. Maybe the only thing more fun than teasing Orton as foreplay, was teasing him while knowing he couldn't do anything about it. "What?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock naiveté.
Randy held a hand out to her. "Ya know what." He accused and sat the dvd player to the side. "Fuck the pain. Come here."
She wanted to hold out – to tell him that they shouldn't. She really didn't want him to hurt himself anymore. But the idea of him being willing to fight through it just to be with her made her ego swell, and she couldn't say "no." Truth be told, she was having a harder and harder time saying "no" to him about anything.
