This is a short chapter and the start of my reason for upping the rating on this fic. It's not too terribly graphic, in fact I'm not even sure if this even deserves an M rating yet, and I kind of suck at writing these kinds of scenes but I hope you guys like it. Happy Halloween!

"I can't believe Johnny took you," John repeated. He'd wrapped his arms around Randy's shoulders on their way into the hotel room and was staring up at Randy with glassy eyes.

"So you've said," Randy answered, maneuvering John over to the bed.

"He hates you," John insisted, sitting when Randy pushed him to. They'd given something to John for the bruised ribs after they'd made sure the concussion wasn't serious and he was still a little loopy from it.

"Maybe I changed his opinion." Randy reached for the hem of John's white shirt, carefully pulling it up John's body and coaxing the man into raising his arms. He grimaced when the bruises that had bloomed on John's chest came into view. Morrison had said John was a little banged up. Morrison had a screwed up sense of the word 'little'.

He didn't tell John that the ride to the hospital had been more than awkward. Morrison still didn't trust him and had even given Randy one of those warnings that he was expecting to hear from John's brothers if John ever told his family about them.

He had melted instantly, however, when John had clung to him the first moment he'd seen Randy and then had refused to leave with anybody else.

"I used to hate you," John said, bringing Randy out of his thoughts.

"I know." Randy knelt in front of him to take his shoes off. John reached for him clumsily, fingers finally curling around the sides of Randy's neck.

"Don't hate you anymore."

Randy smiled. "That's good to know." He pushed John until he was lying down and then kicked off his shoes and got into the bed himself. He pulled John close, wrapping his arms around the man. John buried his face in Randy's neck and one of his hands went to rest on Randy's hip.

The entire day had been awful. He never wanted to feel what he'd felt that morning, when he'd woken up without John there. He never wanted to feel that panic he'd felt after watching the attack John had suffered on RAW.

John was asleep in minutes but Randy didn't let him go. He ran a hand softly over John's hair.

"You scared the shit out of me today," he whispered after a moment. John shifted and his grip on Randy's hip tightened.

Xxxxxxxxx

John felt awful. He had to suppress a groan as he woke slowly. His entire body hurt, his muscles ached fiercely. He felt like he'd been run over by a truck, or maybe Big Show.

It wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last, that he'd woken up feeling like it.

Well, at least he was warm. He was surrounded by warmth, the kind of warmth that a comforter definitely couldn't generate. He vaguely remembered Randy coming to pick him up from the hospital and Randy was there when he opened his eyes.

John took a moment to appreciate the beauty before him. Randy's lips were parted slightly, his face smooth and untroubled. He was sleeping on his side, on his good shoulder and his arm was bent, fingers lax but tangled in John's, like he'd been gripping John's hand when he'd fallen asleep. The sweats Randy was wearing had slid low on his hips, his hipbone on full display.

John really needed to get up and work out some of his aches. The longer he waited, the harder it would be but he couldn't force himself to move just then. He untangled his fingers from Randy but didn't let go of him. He lightly traced the dark tribal designs that stained Randy's wrist, that overlapped the faded ink of the newer tattoos.

A small smile formed on Randy's face, giving John notice that he had woken at the touch. When Randy opened his eyes, however, the smile fell from his face and his gaze was drawn to John's torso, to the bruises he knew were there.

They didn't speak but somehow John found himself on his stomach with Randy hovering over him. Randy's hands were on his skin then, pressing down in certain places, deftly working out the knots in John's muscles while avoiding the bruised areas of his skin. He felt Randy's lips on his skin, his breath ghosting over the most sensitive spots.

Randy's lips worked their way down John's back, following his hands. Once he reached the small of John's back, he gently turned John over and he worked his way back up, his lips brushing over the bruises that had formed on John's chest.

John's eyes were closed during all of it, the feel of Randy's warm lips on his skin both relaxing and incredibly arousing, the ache of the bruises almost completely forgotten. John managed to crack his eyes open when Randy was level with his face and there was a question there in those gray eyes, a question in those skilled hands as one of them rested at the hem of John's boxers, a question John couldn't possibly say no to. As if he could ever say no to Randy now.

Randy, of course, saw the answer in his eyes and his hand slipped into John's already tented boxers. Then his long, thin fingers wrapped themselves around John, sliding up and down expertly, tugging at his most sensitive skin.

Randy lowered his head again, lips once again on John's skin.

It didn't take long. The combination of just how long he'd been waiting for something like this to happen, and of Randy's lips, of what Randy had been doing to him since he'd woken was a little too much.

Randy's hand twisted just right on an upstroke, his teeth grazed one of John's nipples and John was thrown over the edge.

"Wow, okay," was all he could manage when he came down from the high. Randy was at eye level again. "What brought that on?"

There was a fierceness; protectiveness in Randy's eyes that hadn't been there before. "You scared the shit out of me," he said.

Randy kissed him then, kissed him with a new sort of feeling. John melted into the kiss the same way he had Randy's hands.