Star Gazers
A/N: So, I was about to put this story on the shelf - consider it done after the last chapter, because it was only supposed to be a short story in the first place. But someone pointed out that Trish and Randy never did the deed, and apparently this story needs some smut. So, as a word of warning, there's some sexual content in this chapter. Hope that doesn't offend you - and if it does? I guess just don't read this installment - it's not really vital to the plot or anything. Also, in the beginning, I said this story was only three chapters long - I've changed it to five. But ONLY five, Jhanelle. I've got other stories to think about, too. Anyway - on with the smutty fluff. Enjoy!
With Raw and Smackdown going head-to-head at Survivor Series, Randy felt like a kid in a candy store. All of his friends were always around and his girlfriend shared his hotel room every night. He would spend an hour or two on the roof with the boys, and then endure their teasing as he slipped away to be alone with Trish. They could all laugh, call him whipped, whatever – it didn't phase him one bit. He was in love, and he could care less what anyone else had to say about it. All talk inside the ring and on television might have been about Team Raw v. Team Smack Down, but behind the curtain, all anyone could seem to discuss was how Trish Stratus had managed to "break" Randy Orton.
They could talk about "taming" all they wanted, but Trish knew the truth. There was nothing docile or well-behaved about Randy. Sure, he was no longer three-waying with Brazillian strippers or Swedish bikini models. But his attention, once divided between two or more women at one time, was now solely focused on Trish, and she was not complaining. She had been seduced and gently handled, and it hadn't been enough. Randy's exuberant, youthful, animalistic desire was exactly what her body craved, and he seemed to realize that without being told.
Their relationship was serious in that they were committed fully to each other, and only each other. But there was a sense of playfulness between them that kept things from getting monotonous or ponderous. It was always exciting, always thrilling, and always hot. Of course, they had only been dating for six months, but neither showed any signs of "growing up" the relationship any time soon.
The atmosphere backstage at the final house show before Survivor Series was electric – both brands ready to put on a show the fans would never forget. An hour before show time, Trish sat on a couch in Randy's dressing room, an internal conflict brewing in her chest. Dressed only in her panties and the corseted top that would serve as her shirt for the evening, she cast a sidelong glance at her boyfriend. He was beside her, in only his trunks, staring at her while she read a magazine. She was loving the attention, but the professional side of her brain said that they should both be preparing for the matches they would take part in later that evening.
"Randy," she finally groaned, pushing him away and attempting to put a little distance between herself and her boyfriend on the couch.
His lip curled up into that Legend Killer smirk, and he watched as a pink tint crept into Trish's cheeks, seemingly of its own volition. "What?" he asked, feigning innocence.
"We both have matches tonight," she tried to scold. But the longer he shot that glance at her, the harder it was to hold her ground. Damn his impish grin and his glinting blue eyes.
With a shrug of his muscular shoulders, he flopped back on the couch and sank against the soft leather arm. "So?" he asked, sticking his lower lip out slightly.
"So," she started, tossing her magazine to the side before standing and stretching her arms over her head. More than anything, she wanted to grab that lip between her teeth and suck it until he moaned and writhed beneath her. But there would be time for that later – after the show. Sure, she was madly in love with the man, but she couldn't let her job suffer because of it. "We should be getting ready."
"Baby, look at me," he winked, casting an appreciative glance over his own form. "I was born ready." With another smirk, he looked her over as she stood before him. "And you. . ."
She watched his eyes float over her figure and laughed. "I don't think we're talking about the same thing," she chuckled.
When he looked back into her eyes, Randy saw what she wasn't saying. Of course they were talking about the same thing. She would never admit it out loud, but wrestling was the furthest thing from her mind – and it was obvious in her hazel stare. "Oh, I think we're on the same page," he growled, reaching a long arm out.
She just watched as he wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her closer. "Randy, I'm serious – we can't afford to be distracted." Narrowing her eyes, she raised a sculpted brow and shook her head. "Remember last time?"
He did. And he also remembered the subsequent fine that followed their tardiness after a pre-match "session." But it didn't keep a sly smile from creeping in before he could try to cover it. "Come here," he whispered, pulling her tiny form into his lap. "We don't have to do anything, baby – but if I don't kiss you right now," he took a dramatic breath and looked at her through thick lashes. "I might die."
This time, she didn't try to hide the laughter bubbling up in her throat. As her giggle filled the room, she threw her arms around Randy's neck and rested her head against his. "Well, I wouldn't want to kill you," she sighed. As his lips found her neck again, his fingers fumbled with the laces on the back of her top. Smacking him lightly, she pulled back and pointed a manicured nail in his face. "Just kissing."
He rolled his eyes at the warning and then leaned back on the couch as Trish straddled his lap and slid her tongue into his mouth. He wasn't entirely sure she understood what she did to him. She could insist that they only kiss, but she couldn't possibly know that the feeling of her lips against his was enough to make him hard instantly. She couldn't be aware that her tongue in his mouth was just as erotic as her naked form sliding against his. If she had the slightest inkling, she wouldn't have asked this of him.
Trish sighed contentedly and pushed her body against his, forcing him back further into the couch, her hands in his hair as she plunged her tongue further into the recesses of his warm mouth. Her hands trailed from his hair to his neck, her nails scraping gently against his smooth skin, as she automatically started grinding her hips into his.
Taking her motions as an invitation, Randy flipped them over, lying comfortably over her on the couch. With one hand, his thumb stroked her cheek as he tore his lips from hers and moved them down to her throat. The groan he elicited from deep within her made him harder than he had been previously, and he knew this was going to be more than kissing.
With her head thrown back, Trish arched her back against his body, rubbing her foot up the back of his bare leg as he dipped his head to caress her collarbone with his hungry lips. His tongue ignited tiny fires all along her collarbone as she grasped his shoulders and felt her self-control slipping. "Kissing" my ass, she thought as he sat back and shot her another grin.
"Someone's breaking the rules," she managed to chide with a soft smile, brushing a handful of her thick locks away from her face.
He gave another shrug. "Someone's not complaining," he pointed out, looking her over before boldly lowering his hand and rubbing it over her panties. "In fact," he licked his lips and met her eyes again, "I think someone kinda likes it."
She knew that denying it was pointless – clearly, he could feel just how much she liked it. But she wasn't about to admit it in words. Raising her leg, she brushed her knee against his raging erection and shot a smirk of her own in his direction. "Oh, look," she leered, "I'm not the only one enjoying the kissing game."
There was nothing to do but surrender, in Randy's opinion. It wasn't like he could hide how much he liked laying on top of her. Instead of speaking, he merely held her gaze in his and slid a finger into her wetness without warning. The tiny gasp she emitted was all the encouragement he needed.
"Stop," Trish sighed, closing her eyes and allowing her head to fall onto the arm of the couch behind her.
"You mean it?" He was fairly certain he knew the answer, but he wasn't about to risk it. If Trish didn't want to do this – if she really wanted him to stop – he would stop. He wouldn't like it, but he would stop.
She shook her head and gasped again as he added another finger and slowly slid them further inside her heated core. "No," she whispered over another gaping breath.
After a few more deep thrusts, Randy withdrew his fingers and waited for her to open her eyes. When she did, he shrugged slightly. "We have matches to prep for," he reminded her, sitting back on the couch.
Trish groaned and wiggled on the couch, managing to pull herself into a half-seated position while glaring at him. There was something so cocky, so indescribably sexy, about her man. It was, quite possibly, the one quality that turned her on, and pissed her off, more than any other he possessed.
With a nod of concession, she sat the rest of the way and leaned toward him until her chest was pressed against his. His body heat penetrated the thick fabric of the corset and Trish found herself caring less and less about whatever show the fans had paid to see. The performance she was about to put on was far more exciting, in her opinion.
Randy felt his skin begin to tingle as she wound one hand around his neck and pulled his ear close to her lips, while the fingers of her other hand made their way down his chest and over his toned abs. Those touches alone were enough to make him crazy, and he was fairly certain she was well-aware of that fact as his lips parted and enveloped the soft skin of her shoulder.
Sliding her hand around his back, she tugged on his trunks and groaned a slight grunt of frustration into his ear. "We should be working," she reminded him.
Barely paying attention to her words, he covered her hand with his and slid it around to the front of his trunks. "So work," he stated, his voice edging with the slightly hint of a command.
She pulled his trunks down, at least enough to free his erection, and then wrapped a tight fist around him as he returned his ass to the couch. Already on her knees, she felt her entire body relax, as if holding him was some sort of sedative. She sank to the couch, sort of sitting and sort of kneeling, as she smiled confidently at him. "This isn't what I had in mind."
Rolling his eyes, Randy hooked his thumbs in the sides of her panties and tugged on them. When she didn't budge, he narrowed his eyes. She could tell he was doing everything in his power to stay in control. And she also knew that he was failing miserably. Finally, he sighed. "Move your ass, Stratus."
She rose up once again as he yanked on her lacy panties, pulling them down to her thighs. Letting go of him, she stood and kicked the underwear on the floor before giving him another grin. "You want this?" she asked, seeing the answer staring back at her in his lap.
With a childish huff, he nodded to the evidence in question before returning the smirk and sliding his trunks to the floor. "Ya know, we wouldn't be late every time if you didn't insist on being so damn difficult," he pointed out.
Moving toward him slowly, Trish shook her hair and straddled his lap, lowering herself onto him. All thoughts of witty retorts dissipated for a moment as he filled her completely. Even after six months, she still found his size somewhat of a shocking invasion, something to get used to every time they were together. But she wasn't complaining.
"Ya know what I think, Orton," she said thoughtfully, draping her arms around his shoulders as she squirmed around on him for a second.
If he'd had an answer, there was no way he could have given it at that moment. Surrounded by Trish's tight, wet heat, his brain went numb. Not that he wasn't used to that. It had been his custom for years to let his dick do the thinking, to let it feel for him when his head just wasn't in the game.
But Trish was different. Not just because she was the hottest woman he had ever fucked. But because, for the first time in his life, it wasn't just his body that sprang to life when they came together – his soul felt like it was on fire, ignited by the deafening thump in his heart that her presence always brought.
"I think," Trish interrupted his thoughts again, leaning forward to kiss him briefly. "I think if you spent half as much time on everything else in your life as you do on wrestling and fucking, you might be surprised at how well-rounded you could be."
The twinkle in her eyes meant that she was expecting some snappy comeback. He nodded and set his hands on her hips as she began riding him in a slow rhythm. "Maybe you're right," he conceded through clenched teeth as he slid a little further down in his seat, and further up into her. "But what else do I need," he stopped as his hips began to move with her, a slight mumble accompanying his motion, "to be good at?"
A loud, whining cry of pleasure flowed over Trish's lips as she dug her fingernails into his back and sped her pace slightly. "You could read," she gasped and sank harder against him, "or you could, I don't know," another gasp escaped her throat, "take up a hobby."
A small smile tweaked his lips as he opened his mouth to speak. "I'll take," a desperate grunt interrupted his words as he drove upward again, watching her close her eyes and mutter something from the 'Oh God' family. "Stamp collecting," he sighed, knowing it probably didn't make much sense.
And therein laid the dichotomy for Randy. Being with Trish never made sense – he could never quite help feeling like he didn't deserve her in the least, that she was just too good for him. But, at the same time, she was the only thing that made sense – he could no longer imagine a world, either before or ever again, that didn't have her sweet smile and lilting laugh. She made him feel complex, like he had more than one side, and that the complexity was a good thing.
"Ahhhhhh," Trish moaned, though she hadn't meant to. Her intention was to agree with him, but the angle at which he was hitting her spot forced any other intelligent conversation out of her head. The smirk on his face told her he knew exactly what he had done, but her pride wouldn't allow he to admit the truth. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and tried to hold on a little bit longer.
They were no longer teasing, and Randy realized that he was having to forcibly hold Trish's hips in place as she bounced on him, sweat beginning to drip from her golden skin. They were both gasping, panting, grunting, and groaning. Every now and then, Trish would let out a little yelp, and Randy would mutter "fuck" under his heavy breath, but their playful banter had subsided, it seemed.
No other man had ever managed to make her feel cute, silly, sexy, and completely desirable all at one time. No other man had ever convinced her to fuck in a dressing room before a show, let alone every show for the last six months. And no other man had ever gotten that look in his eyes when he was with her, sexually or otherwise.
The way his gaze bore into her all of the time was enough to make her a little horny. But the way his bright eyes clouded, darkened, and narrowed in unadulterated lust every time he was buried inside her was enough to make her come undone.
And sometimes it was just too much. As she felt her climax building, she reached a hand out and covered his crystal blue stare, shielding it from her view. She feared, quite frankly, the violent tenacity of the orgasm she would unleash if she was forced focus on that stare much longer.
Randy lifted one hand from her hip, wrapped her hand in his, and lowered it from his eyes. "Come on, baby," he encouraged with a grin. "Let me see you."
Since she wasn't sure how to explain that it was more for her benefit than his, she just plastered on a smile. What followed was a sudden, body-shaking sensation as Randy wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face to his. Instead of kissing her, he leaned toward her shoulder and sucked her earlobe between his lips.
She could feel his heart beating against her chest, his breath on her face, and his body tangled with hers. Placing tiny kisses along his neck and jaw, she moaned in his ear and knew that it wouldn't be much longer now.
Randy felt enlightened, as if a light had been turned on inside his head, and in his soul. He was more sure now than he had ever been about anything in his life. It was as if, in that moment, the secrets of the universe had been revealed, just for them.
Trish let her lips hover over Randy's ear, just as he moved his to hers. There was no hesitation, no 'you go first,' though it was clear they both had something to say. Without thinking, or waiting, Trish mumbled "You make me feel alive when you're inside me," at the same time that Randy whispered, "I feel like I'm only alive inside you."
And then they came.