It was amazing how much things had changed in a few short months. A little more than a year ago, Dave Batista had been enjoying Evolution's reign on RAW with Triple H and Ric Flair, the three of them supposedly working together to secure a title belt at New Year's Revolution 2005 – but then it had all gone horribly wrong. Triple H hadn't been as caring as he'd claimed, Flair hadn't been the concerned father figure he always made himself out to be, and Batista had almost been screwed out of everything he'd ever worked for by the very team members who had pretended to help him.
The disheartening events hadn't ended there, either. It'd been hard last year when Eddie Guerrero had passed away, but thankfully the whole WWE roster had supported each other to get through that terrible time; even Edge and Triple H had managed to put aside their differences and give their heartfelt condolences in memory of their lost friend.
Difficult as it was, though, life had to go on. There had been good times as well as bad, and winning the Royal Rumble had been one of the finest moments of Batista's entire career. Not only that, he'd managed to see through Triple H's lies and gone on to win the World Heavyweight Championship for himself; and if that wasn't enough, he'd managed to patch things up with Randy Orton to such an extent that the younger wrestler now spent almost every night in his lover's bed. In fact, the Legend Killer was due to come for dinner tonight to celebrate the past few weeks of their re-kindled relationship. Batista only hoped that the cheesecake would defrost in time.
"More cheese?" Randy Orton passed the bowl to Batista, having already helped himself to a generous spoonful of grated parmesan. "Y'know what, Dave? I reckon this is your best bolognese yet - the sauce is just right!"
"Thanks, squirt." The bigger man smirked and tucked into the food piled on his own plate; he was more than hungry, having spent a good few hours in training before rushing home to prepare the food. Even though his shoulder wasn't fully mended, he still had to make an effort to keep fit. "It never ceases to amaze me just how much food you can pack away and yet stay so trim. You won't have so much of an appetite when you have to worry about middle-age spread!"
"Don't put yourself down so much!" Randy teased, throwing a stray pea across the table at his lover. "You already know I don't care how old you are! Besides, you know what they say - with age comes experience..."
"Maybe." Batista chuckled again, and the two of them were soon demolishing their spaghetti, enjoying the simplicity of home-cooked food. Scraping their plates clean, they wiped at their tomato-smeared faces with napkins, and the conversation soon turned to the current events in the WWE; even though he wasn't competing, Batista still followed the shows each week with a huge amount of interest, especially when the World Heavyweight Championship was involved. After all, he'd be back at some point to claim it.
What did concern the Animal, however, were Randy's recent attacks on Rey Mysterio, both verbal and physical. Had the Legend Killer really thought he could get away with saying such horrible things without Batista being bothered? The big man would have been displeased by anyone acting like that, never mind his own boyfriend.
"Like I said," Batista reiterated, jabbing at the air with his fork, "I'm sure the title belt is in safe hands at the moment; I'd rather Angle kept it warm for me than Mark Henry. You should go after someone closer to your own size, like Lashley - or even JBL. He's been nothing but trouble ever since I signed the SmackDown! contract."
"But I'm doing it for you, Dave!" Randy protested, a look of genuine hurt on his face. "You were devastated when you had to relinquish the World Heavyweight Championship belt! The least I can do for you is try and win it back!"
"Don't get me wrong, Randy." Batista gave a deep sigh and rubbed at his temples. "I know what you're trying to do for me and I really appreciate it, but you're coming down way too hard on Rey Mysterio, and I don't approve of that at all. We all had a hard time when Eddie passed away, but of all of us, it probably hit Rey the worst. Eddie was like a brother to him. How do you think he feels when you try and throw Guerrero's name in the trash?"
"I didn't know Rey would go psycho on me!" the younger wrestler whined, his bottom lip curling in a sullen pout. "It isn't my fault that he gets wound up so easily!"
"You shouldn't even be trying to wind him up!" Batista growled sternly. "If you want to go for the belt on my behalf, by all means, pull out all the stops and aim for that title shot – but I don't want you to do it if it means upsetting Rey Mysterio and insulting the memory of one of my best friends. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
"Who do you think you are, my father?"
"No, your conscience. It seems to me that you're in dire need of one right now."
"Fine. If you want to go all righteous on me, go ahead, but remember, it's your belt I'm trying to win back. I'm going to get that World Heavyweight Championship by any means, whether you approve of it or not."
"Well, I don't approve. In fact, I…"
"Okay, okay, I get the picture!" Randy threw down his napkin and shoved his chair away from the table, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "I'm going out of my way to please you, and all you can do is criticise me and tell me to play nice because you don't like the way I do things! Well, I've got news for you, Batista – I'm not you, and I don't always play by your rules, so don't expect me to start kissing Rey Mysterio's ass just because you tell me to!"
"Randy, I…"
"Don't patronise me." The tempestuous young wrestler got to his feet and glared down at his older lover. "Look, I've had a really enjoyable evening, and the food was great, but if you'll excuse me I'm going to go for a drive. Alone."
"Please don't be like this." Batista sighed and placed his own napkin on the table, desperate to diffuse the situation even though he knew full well that any argument he made would be futile in the face of Randy's headstrong sulk. "You want to win the belt because you want to prove your love for me – but you don't have to do that. You don't have to do anything like that at all. I know how much you love me; it's been clear ever since we started seeing each other. Even when things went sour, we couldn't keep away from each other; me and Triple H, you and Stacy Keibler, that whole dumb thing with Edge trying to get between us – we were made for each other, Randy. We don't need a title belt to prove that."
"I guess… I guess you're right…" Randy cast his eyes down to the floor and smoothed down an imaginary crease in his shirt before grabbing his jacket; his brow furrowed as he turned various thoughts over in his mind, only to be replaced with a look of hardened determination as his gaze met that of his partner. "But my mind's made up, Batista. I want that belt. I need that belt."
"And I need you." The bigger man ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ease the tension in his own body. "Randy, I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm lecturing you, but I just wanted you to know how I feel about the whole thing. I don't want you taking risks on my behalf. I'm worried about you, alright? How about we just forget this for now, and get on with celebrating the fact we're still together? God knows we've both been through enough."
"The voice of reason speaks again." The smaller wrestler shrugged, and although he wasn't smiling, the mirth in his eyes was clear as he placed his coat back onto his chair. "Okay, you've talked me into it... but I'm warning you, next time I won't be so easy to persuade."
"What am I going to do with you, Randy?" Batista smiled, shaking his head. "What am I going to do?"
"Well, here's a plan." Randy grinned and took a step towards the freezer. "How about we start off with a tub of Ben & Jerry's and see where it goes from there…?"