DISCLAIMER: This is fanfiction. This is NOT the real 'RAW'. Dave Batista, Randy Orton and all the other characters in this piece of writing are just that – characters. I don't in any way associate these characters with their real-life counterparts. (Yep, the names used are copyright of the WWE, but the characterisation sure as hell isn't.)

Don't read this if you're squeamish about same sex relationships or if you like to take your wrestling seriously – it's slashtastic and tongue-in-cheek throughout. Now, on with the show!

February 7th, 2003

It had been a tough match. Two choke holds, an Irish whip an even a chair shot. It was no wonder Randy Orton was bleeding in several places, and feeling like he'd just gone through four matches against Shawn Michaels; he'd won, but it had been at a cost to his body. God dammit, but he really fucking hurt! His faltering steps weren't exaggerated as he stumbled into the backstage area, giving a wave to Chris Benoit as he aimed for the dressing rooms, looking forward to a well-earned rest and some refreshments-

"Tough match, huh? You fought well." Randy looked up to see a large figure blocking his path, a towering hulk of a man over six feet tall, clad in a black T-shirt and jeans. He smirked as he leaned casually against the wall with one hand, regarding him with interest. Dave Batista. The newest member of Evolution and probably the biggest. "Never seen you pull off that move properly before. Pretty damn impressive."

"Uh… yeah. Thanks." Nodding, Randy took another step forward, trying to get past the large man in front of him. "Look, no offence, but could you – like – move? I wanna get cleaned up here."

"Maybe I'll let you get cleaned up, Orton. Maybe I won't." Batista gave a sly grin and stared down his nose at the smaller man. "Maybe I like you better when you're all cut up."

"What in the fucking…? I want to get changed, okay? Don't dick me around. You're supposed to be my team mate, not my stalker. Don't make me call security."

Frowning, Randy barged past the larger man, wondering what on earth was going on. Triple H wouldn't ever stand for this kind of shit. Sure, Evolution were supposed to be a tight-knit clique, but Batista was crossing the line here.

"Don't you ever turn your back on me, Randy." Suddenly, with a dangerous growl, Batista's hand clamped down on Randy's shoulder, spinning him around and turning him to face the huge man. His grip tightened, holding him in place as he leaned in to smile at him. "Don't piss me off. I'm not a man to be reckoned with. You got that?"

"Uh-huh." Randy nodded instinctively, paling slightly. Ric Flair had warned him that Batista could be an animal, ruled by his feral desires and extremely imposing, but seeing him up close really drove the point home. Batista was pretty scary when he wanted to intimidate. "No messing. Gotcha."

"Good. Then you'll come with me."

"What?"
"You'll come with me. Now."

Batista jerked his thumb in the direction of the locker room – which was where Randy had been headed anyway. For some reason, however, the thought of going there with Batista made him more than a little nervous. Orton had been warnedabout Dave's assertiveness,but the way the big man was acting right now wasn't like anything Randy had ever seen before. Maybe he wanted to talk tactics, or discuss how to pull off a certain move? He certainly hoped so. Still, his hands were shaking as he opened the locker room door, and he half-hoped that Ric would be in there, just so he wouldn't have to be alone with the imposing leviathan. He wasn't.

"There. You got your locker room. Happy now?" Batista closed the door behind the two of them and took a seat on one of the wooden benches, resting his arms on his huge legs, staring up at Randy. "Go on and have your shower, squirt. I don't have all day."

"Have my shower? Have my shower?" Randy spluttered, throwing his arms up in disbelief. "Batista – what the hell has got into you today? First you accost me in the corridor, then you tell me to get naked right here – is this a joke or something?"

"Hey, calm down, Randy. Did I tell you to undress in front of me, hmm?"

"Isn't that what you said?"

"Is it what you want?"

"I never said…"

"But you implied." The big man smirked again and gave a low chuckle. "If you're implying I asked you to get naked, then you're the one who must have thought of it. So go on, runt, strip."

"WHAT?"

"Strip. You never seem to have a problem showing yourself off to your fans. What about your own team-mate?" Batista sat back and leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "Come on, Randy, show me what you're made of - unless you're chicken."

"I am not chicken!" he replied indignantly, already starting to unlace his boots. Whatever this hulking brute had going on his mind, Randy badly needed a shower, so he needed to get undressed anyway. "I just – well – y'know. You're a guy! I don't get undressed for guys! Not like that!"

"Not even special guys, huh?" Batista cocked an eyebrow as he watched Randy, and the smaller wrestler couldn't help but notice that his eyes were glued to his crotch. His cheeks flushed a bright pink from embarrassment. This wasn't happening. This was just some weird dream; he'd wake up soon, wake up in the middle of the ring having been knocked unconscious, wake up in his own bed having eaten too much cheese. Yeah. That had to be it. "Come on, runt! Show me what you've got!"

Fine, then. If this was some crazy dream – or even if it wasn't – he wouldn't give Batista the pleasure of calling him a chicken, or a pussy, or a wuss. What was there to be scared of, anyway? It wasn't like they hadn't showered together before – sometimes the venues had had crowded changing rooms – and he did have a well-toned body. He didn't have anything to be scared of. Did he?

"There." With a defiant pout, Randy threw his boots to one side and yanked his wrestling pants down, exposing himself completely. He gave a snort and kicked off his skimpy underwear, planting his hands on his hips, staring at Batista with a look of triumph. That'd teach him to be so smug! To Randy's consternation, though, Batista didn't seem downheartened or disappointed with the smaller man's bravado. In fact, his smile had widened enough to expose a flash of white teeth, and in a few moments, Batista was laughing heartily.

"Oh, man! You did it! You actually did it!" he chuckled, shaking his head and staring at Randy's groin. "I didn't think you'd have the guts, rookie. I thought you'd freak out and flip on me."

"I'm not a kid!"

"Hell, I can see that." Batista smirked and indicated Randy's genitals, seemingly pleased by them. "But let's not stop there, shall we? Let's have some more fun, huh?"

Before Randy knew what was happening, Batista had hauled himself to his feet and was pulling his shirt off over his head, throwing it casually one side to expose his rippling chest and shoulders; then came his shoes and his jeans, the belt being cast down onto the bench, the jeans following soon after. He didn't seem to have any shame in completely exposing himself to Orton, and in all fairness, he had no need to to. His body was practically perfect. Randy found his eyes drawn to Batista's naked flesh, his toned pectorals, his elaborate tattoos; something inside him screamed at him to get out of there, to grab his trunks and run for the door before anything else happened. It was one thing to share a shower with your team-mate, it was something else entirely to stare at them as they stripped naked in front of you, watch them like a hawk, study the form of their chest and the line of every tattoo.

"Can I... can touch them?" Randy murmured, his voice seeming to come from a long way away, his mind detaching itself from his hormones. God! What was wrong with him today? Why did he suddenly find himself drawn to Batista, wanting to experience his team-mate in ways he never had before? He couldn't explain it; he just knew that right now, he had to be close to him.

"Go ahead." Batista smiled and worked his shoulders, grinning as the smaller man stepped closer. Gingerly, delicately, Randy placed a hand upon his massive chest, feeling the big man's heartbeat, feeling the way his shoulders rose and fell as his breathing quickened. His fingers traced a slowline up to his shoulders, squeezing at the hardness of Batista's muscles; why did his own heart have to beat so fast? Why was he so sudenly overwhelmed at being so close to the leviathan? He and Batista had had plenty of practice matches before, had worked on each others' moves, so why was it so different now? Orton gasped as he glanced up at the huge man, swallowing nervously.

"Dave..." His voice trembled, betraying the intensity of the emotions which threatened to overwhelm him. "Dave, I..."

"Don't say it, Randy. I know." Batista's reassuring grin was a great comfort, one of the brute's huge hands reaching out to rest upon Randy's shoulder. He had hoped Randy would feel the same way, had been watching him for weeks, ever since he had first caught a glimpse of him backstage. Even then, Batista had been captivated by the smaller man's delicious curves, his sculpted chest and lithe movements. To see him reacting like this - to see Randy Orton trembling before him, to have his fingers running over his flesh - it was almost too much for Batista to bear. Panting, his mouth opening, the leviathan took hold of Randy's smooth chin, drawing it to his mouth for a passionate kiss-

"Batista? Batista, are you in there? I want to talk about the match tonight." Ric Flair's voice shattered the moment as if it had been made of delicate glass. The oldest member of Evolution rapped on the door and called out again, hoping to find his enforcer. "Batista? If you're in there, I'm coming in now!"

With a terrified squeak, Randy sprung back and grabbed at his trunks, struggling to haul them on as the door opened; Batista merely sighed and folded his arms across his chest, planting his feet squarely on the locker room floor. As Flair stepped inside, he caught a glimpse of Orton fleeing for the shower, leaving a naked and mostly stern Batista to stare at Ric Flair with annoyance and irritation.

"Was I... interrupting something?" Ric Flair's brow furrowed as he glanced after a blushing Randy before turning back to the animal in front of him.

"Not really. We hadn't got started yet." Batista answered with a slight grin, which only served to confuse Flair further. Without skipping a beat, the huge man grabbed a towel from one of the hooks and wrapped it about his waist, setting himself down on one of the wooden benches and looking up at Ric Flair. Damn it! He'd been so close to finally getting a hold of Randy, and Flair had to come along and spoil it all! No matter; there'd be other venues, other locker rooms. He would just have to be patient. Whatever Ric Flair had to say to him right now, his thoughts would be on other matters, but it wouldn't hurt to try and learn something about technique. Sighing, Batista sat back and prepared himself for yet another lecture on pin falls.