It was Wednesday night, and Randy Orton found himself sitting alone at a bar.

Tuesday had been uneventful; he'd lain around in bed practically all day, his body too sore to even consider anything requiring physical effort. Randy had half expected Cena to come checking up on him, but Tuesday came and went without a visit from the Champ. He'd been a little disappointed, to tell the truth. Tuesday had been incredibly boring; he felt terribly lazy for sitting around all day, but the thought of getting up had been too painful.

Most of Wednesday had turned out to be just as disgustingly dull. Randy had almost resorted to banging his head against the wall, he'd been so damn bored. When the boredom got so bad he even considered calling Adam or Ted or Cody…it was then that he knew he had to get out of his hotel room. He wasn't on the best of terms with Adam, Ted, or Cody anymore, and the fact that he was even considering contacting them was proof enough that he had to do something, lest he go berserk from sheer boredom. As night fell, he'd finally decided that a trip to a bar was in order—after getting attacked by the Nexus and confused as all hell by John Cena, Randy definitely felt like he deserved a damn drink. Luckily enough, there was a good sized bar not far from the hotel.

Dragging himself out of bed, he'd hurriedly showered and dressed in a tight black t-shirt—one that showed off his slim waist and clung to his biceps nicely. He'd matched the shirt with tight, dark denim jeans that clung to his ass in an indecent way—he told himself he wasn't dressing up to attract attention, but the truth was he'd been rather lonely the past day or so. Randy had sat around in his room, not making contact with anyone, and—despite his natural dislike for most other people—Randy had found that being alone constantly was getting old. He had decided that he wouldn't be opposed to some attention at the bar…and he knew he'd attract attention. Call it arrogance, but Randy knew he caused heads to turn, and he hadn't expected tonight to be any different.

After an hour or so, and over six shots of rum, Randy found himself sitting on a red leather stool in front of a polished wooden bar, chatting with the bartender. His name was Daniel, and he was a large guy (even by wrestling standards), with spiky blonde hair and several metallic piercings in both ears. He'd been friendly to Randy since he entered, and—as Orton threw back shot after shot—he found himself very much enjoying Daniel's company. It was nice to have someone to talk to, and—since it was a Wednesday night—Daniel didn't have many other patrons, so he didn't seem to mind standing around and talking with Randy all evening long.

The bar wasn't really all that nice. There was the stench of alcohol and sweat in the air, and the thin smoke of cigarettes lightly floated through the room, permeating the bar with its thick scent. It had been pretty empty from the start—a few girls barely old enough to drink had been obnoxiously loud in the far corner, but they'd left not too long after Randy's third shot. Other than them, there hadn't really been that many people. A black haired man with a nice smile had been winking at Randy from across the room. He was sitting with two or three of his friends, all of them throwing back beer after beer. His friends weren't anything special to look at, but the brunette had slowly but surely grown more attractive to Randy with each passing gulp of liquor.

It was sometime after shot six—or maybe seven? Eight?—that Randy swiveled around in his stool and smiled stupidly at the black haired man, pursing his lips in the sexiest smirk he could manage. He was successful; the man perked up, cocking an eyebrow towards the sky as his brown eyes traveled up and down Randy's body, soaking him all in.

"Alright sugar," Daniel leaned forward, placing both hands at the bar, his hazel eyes narrowing at the Legend Killer, "I think you've had enough."

Randy swiveled back around, his hazy eyes trying their best to focus on his newest friend, "I'm fine, I'm fine. Get me some more rum, actually."

"I don't think so," Daniel shook his head, reaching forward and wrapping his fingers around the empty shot glass in front of Orton, "If you're seriously starting to think about leaving with that guy, you've definitely had enough."

He drew his hand back, pulling the shot glass away.

"Aw what the fuck do you care if I leave with him anyway? You just met me." Randy grumbled loudly, leaning back and forth, swaying slightly in his chair. The floor had begun to swim beneath his feet, and the walls around him seemed like they were rotating, spinning around. Damn, maybe Daniel was right…maybe he had had a little too much.

"Listen sugar, I ain't new to this, I can tell when someone really wants to spend the night with a stranger and when they just think that's what they want." Daniel said smoothly, crossing his arms across his chest. He was wearing a dark red shirt that was making Randy's eyes hurt as he stared at it.

"Yeah, like you know what's good for me." Randy snorted, drunkenly pointing his finger at the blonde bartender, "You just met me. Who knows, maybe a good fuck is all I need."

"Sure, maybe you do need a good fuck, but not from him. Not from his type." Daniel shook his head, his earrings blinking in the dull, hazy light of the bar.

"Oh yeah?" Randy leaned back, bobbing in his chair, his blue eyes flashing, "Then what type do I need? I haven't had a boyfriend in almost nine months…this being single shit sucks."

"You know what, Randy?" Daniel replied reasonably, this time pointing his own finger at the Viper, "You need to get yourself a nice guy. You seem like the type who needs a good guy to keep you in line."

Randy laughed darkly, scowling deeply as he finished, "Yeah, right, I've tried being with nice guys. That shit don't work for me." What he said was true; he'd tried being with nice guys before, but that just wasn't his style. He was too confrontational, too ready to fight if it came down to it. His lovers all told him the same story: he was too much to handle, too much anger and aggression in a single person. That was why he'd slowly drifted away from the nice guys…they just couldn't deal with his fiery nature. Maybe that was why his past few relationships had turned out so shitty…he'd given up on the good guys and started messing around with the bad ones, and they proved pretty quickly that they weren't any better. One cheated on him relentlessly, another made the mistake of trying to punch him in the face, and another just up and disappeared one day.

"Ok then…maybe you need a nice guy who's not afraid to break the rules." Daniel nodded evenly, gesturing towards Randy with his hand, "Either way, do yourself a favor, head home alone tonight."

"Why the fuck should I listen to you?" Randy growled, pouting slightly as he shook his head, trying to calm his drunken thoughts. Fuck…what had he been thinking? Six shots? Maybe more? Damn…he was going to feel like hell in the morning.

"I can't really give you a good reason to listen to me, Randy," Daniel sighed, rubbing his amber eyes tiredly, "All I can tell you is that in the morning you'll be very glad you did."

Randy fell silent, considering what the Bartender was saying. His thoughts were moving all slow like, and he was having a hard time stringing together one concept after the other. Somehow he managed to come to the conclusion that sleeping with the black haired man wouldn't make him feel better…sure, for maybe an hour or so he'd actually feel like he had someone who cared about him, but that would come and go quickly, and then he'd be left alone just like before. Randy wasn't a sap, wasn't weak, but the loneliness had been biting at him. Not to mention that the black haired man had bright blue eyes just like a certain someone who had been on Randy's mind all day…

"Alright Daniel, I've decided I'm going to listen to you." Orton said triumphantly, puffing out his chest.

"Good." Daniel smiled, revealing straight, white teeth, "Do you need me to call a cab for you?"

"Nah," Randy waved him off with an inked arm, "I'm walking."

They said their goodbyes, gripping each other's hands in a fierce handshake. Daniel told him to come back anytime, Randy readily assured him that he would, and then Randy stood up and made for the door. He stumbled slightly, feet catching on the floor, but he walked with such confidence that he somehow managed to make his stumble look sexy, like he meant to do it. The black haired man stood up like he was going to approach Randy, but one stony look from the bartender caused him to sit back down, an unhappy scowl crossing his handsome face. Randy made his way to the door pretty quickly, his mind a swirling mess of drunken thoughts.

Pushing the door open, he strode outside, heading towards the left. The hotel was only a few blocks down; it would take him less than ten minutes to return. Cars zipped by, the flashing whiteness of their headlights making Randy's head pulse. Stuffing his tan hands into his jean pockets, Randy tried his best to walk quickly and confidently. He didn't want to appear drunk, didn't want to attract any attention from some cops or thugs. His black shoes scraping across the dirty concrete sidewalk, Randy suddenly looked down, noticing the dark black shadow of a person behind him. Turning his head, his icy eyes scanned over his shoulder, looking for whoever it was that was causing the shadow.

Nothing. Not a single person behind him.

He shrugged slightly and then turned, still continuing his shaky walk.

It'd been nice getting out. He'd made a friend in Daniel, and something told him that he'd made the right choice when he decided to listen to the blonde. Daniel had reminded him a lot of Hunter, what with his massive body, thick blonde hair, and unnecessary protectiveness over Randy Orton. Hunter had always been a mentor to him. Sure, they'd fought, especially when Hunter stopped seeing Randy as a student and more as a threat. And then Randy had gone on his rampage, punting all of Hunter's loved ones in the head… Randy bit his lip, cringing noticeably as he kept walking, legs pushing forward relentlessly. He and Hunter had reconciled since his time with the Legacy, but he still didn't like to think about all the terrible things he'd done to Hunter. Sure, Hunter probably deserved it, he was no saint, but now that they were at least civil with each other again, Randy found that his previous actions left a bad taste in his mouth.

As he approached the hotel—a large, pinkish tan building at least ten floors tall—he quickly pushed open the door. Luckily there wasn't any people in the lobby; nobody there to get angry at a drunken man barely able to walk to the elevator. Feet padding against maroon carpet, Randy approached the machine. He reached out a hand, his skull covered biceps flexing as he pushed the button for the fifth floor. A soft pinging sound rang out as the shiny, silvery elevator doors opened, and Randy stepped in, hoping nobody would follow in after him. He was in luck; just as the doors shut he heard the sound of the hotel doors swinging open. Orton's blue eyes narrowed as he peered out, trying to see who it was that entered the hotel after him. After all, there was a very good chance that it was another WWE employee, probably someone he knew. But the doors slid shut before he got a chance to get a good look at the person entering.

Randy could feel his drunken brain go into a frenzy as the floor beneath his feet suddenly rose up, and he nearly fell over from the sudden motion. Reaching out, he gripped the golden handle that ran along the walls of the elevator, catching himself just in time to stop from falling. Damn, he really had drunk a lot…

He'd never really been all that smart with his alcohol…he always blamed that on Evolution. The team always went out drinking their faces off whenever they were successful in their matches—and that had been pretty often. Hunter had always kept a watchful eye on Randy, always trying to stop him from consuming too much. But Dave Batista had been the opposite: he always egged Randy on, encouraging him to sneak drinks behind Hunter's back. Randy later learned this was because Dave wanted to get in his pants—something that would eventually cause a rift between Hunter and Dave. But that was history; he couldn't remember the last time he'd drunk with Hunter. He did somewhat miss their mentor/student relationship…it'd been a long time since he'd been close like that with someone, and he and Hunter clicked so well together. Hunter was like a much older brother to him; someone full of wisdom, yet still fun to hang with. Sure, Randy had been close with Ted and Cody, but he always felt like a third wheel to them—especially after he found out they were dating.

The elevator finally rested at the fifth floor, and Randy stepped out, turning to his right and heading to room 512. He stopped in front of his door, the walls and floor swirling in his vision, and reached into his back jean pocket, fingers groping around for his keycard. He eventually gripped the thin plastic and pulled it out. Just as he was about to slide it through the lock, he heard that soft pinging sound again as another elevator stopped on his floor. Maybe if his mind hadn't been churning from the rum he would've realized that that meant someone was coming onto his floor. But he didn't, he simply swiped his card through. The locked clicked open loudly, and Randy reached forward, placing a hand on the door. He pushed it open gently, getting ready to step in…

"Hey."

Randy turned at the sound of the voice behind him, his liquored brain extremely confused and surprised.

The punch came so fast he didn't have time to react. A fist shot forward, catching him in the cheek. Randy cried out, falling to the floor, his left hand reaching up and grasping at his face. It hurt so much…like his face had run into pure concrete… God, who the fuck had punched him? Why the hell would they— Before Randy had time to comprehend what was happening, he was punched again and again, both times in the stomach, both times sending explosions of agony through his body. He roared out in pain, rolling over to his side, curling up in a fetal position. He clutched at his ribs pathetically, his teeth grinding roughly against each other. Pain filled his body, all the way down from his cheek bone to his ribcage, pulsing through his arteries and veins. He opened his eyes eventually, but the man was gone.

Groaning in pain and anger, Randy reached into his pocket and drew out his cell phone. His mind was screaming at him not to, that he would probably regret it, but he didn't care. He hurt so, so bad…fuck, he needed someone to take the pain away. Fuck, he hoped he wouldn't regret what he was about to do…

Laying on the scratchy carpet, Randy scrolled through his contacts before he finally found John's number.

Ok...so I have a quesiton for all my readers, and if you could take the time to answer it in a review, I'd really really appreciate it! Who do you guys see as the top and bottom in Cena/Randy? Thanks a lot guys, your reviews keep me going!