Angel Dust

A/N: This chapter's a shortie, I know, but combined with the next chapter, it was all too long. Hopefully I'll get the next one up some time tonight. As a caution, this chapter contains sexual content. I don't own Randy or Dave - Courtney's my creation. Enjoy!

"Dude, I don't get this shit," Randy complained, his brow knitted in confusion as his eyes focused on the television.

Dave grunted from his place on the couch. "Don't get what?"

Nodding to the television, Randy shook his head again. "This movie. It's bull shit." Searching for the logic, he just shrugged. "I don't know what the fuck is going on," he finally conceded.

"Does it fuckin' matter?" Dave laughed easily, resting his head against the back of the sofa and allowing his eyes to drift shut.

With a smirk on his lips, Randy looked back to the television. "Apparently not to you."

Dave glanced down to his lap where Courtney had his shaft enveloped deep between her lips, her head bobbing up and down as he brushed her hair from her face and smiled at her. "Are we offending you, Orton?" Dave laughed.

If he was honest, he would say "hell yes." But Randy knew that Dave was serious about his "It's my house and I'll do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want" philosophy. "Nah, man, it's whatever," he shrugged again, trying to regain his focus on the confusing film before him.

"Are you blushing?" Dave taunted, a satisfied smirk on his face. "What's wrong, Kid? You haven't seen a beautiful woman suck your cock in awhile?"

"Fuck you," Randy shot, his gaze trained on the film while he tried his best to focus on anything but the erection building in his jeans.

Dave chuckled slightly and then groaned deeply as Courtney moaned against him. "No worries, Orton," he managed to say. "Maybe I'll share someday."

Bolting upright in the bed, Randy flung the blankets back and ran a hand over his face. Something had to give, and soon. Over dinner, Courtney had agreed to think about returning to DC with him, much to his surprise.

She had chewed her food slowly as he read her the letter Dave had left him. Watching him with unsure eyes, she had listened carefully. Her expression said that she hadn't really considered moving back to the States, but that she wasn't ruling it out.

"When do you need an answer?" she asked finally.

Randy sat the letter to the side and leaned back in his chair. "Whenever you're ready to give me one. I mean, I want you come home, no doubt. But if you don't really want to be there, I don't want you to ever feel like you're being forced into anything."

She smiled and nodded. "I'll think about it."

Unfortunately, the only thing he could think about now was having her in his home. And his dreams kept leading him to something more than a symbiotic caregiver role. He had always wanted that, at least in part, and now he could have it. He could show her he was more than her husband's punk assistant. Now he had the opportunity to be her provider, and her protector. Maybe more.

Determining that he would worry about Courtney tomorrow, Randy padded down the hall toward the kitchen. Get a drink of water, clear your head, you'll be fine. And he had almost convinced himself, until he rounded the corner and saw her.