Characters: Randy Orton, Hunter Hurst Helmsly, John Cena and a small appearance by Justin Gabriel and Trish Stratus.

Rating: R

Randy yawned behind a small Styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee, hiding behind it in his seat, tired and frustrated from lack of sleep. He rolled his eyes, of course he was tired. He hadn't slept well. Dashing had been on his mind all fucking night.

He'd tossed and turned for hours, growing angry with himself as he tried desperately not to think of Dashing grinding against his groin and failed over and over. It was alarming, he'd only seen Dashing once and he'd only spoken to him for all maybe twenty seconds but already he was so infatuated with him and those beautiful eyes of his. He just couldn't help it, there was something about Dashing that just...well he was just...he just...fuck, he didn't know. But there was something about him that he couldn't get enough of.

Dashing was just so fucking gorgeous and graceful and, oh god, his perfect skin and those fucking hip lines! Fuck he'd licked and kissed them a hundred times last night. He rolled his eyes again, 'don't get yourself all worked up Randy' he told himself as he had several times already that morning as he'd gotten ready for work. It didn't help then either. He wanted Dashing and he wanted him bad.

If he wasn't so tired he'd have frowned at himself but instead blinked hard, already fighting another yawn and took a slow sip of hot coffee in hopes to draw his body out of it's lethargic state and distract himself from the beautiful stripper once again. He was trying to forget him but so far he was his own worst enemy, his fucking brain just wouldn't cooperate! Some how just about every few minutes or so images of the gorgeous stripper tried to flash over his minds eye and tease him! His morning really sucked and it was his own fault! He was torturing himself and he couldn't stop!

He sighed and lowered his cup, carefully peeking around it to see the case room to distract himself as more and more officers filled in and took their seats at the long table he'd been lucky to grab an end seat to. He hated these stupid case meetings, they were such a bore and accomplished little but were entirely mandatory. John, the captain of the homicide department and obviously his boss was a hard ass when it came to communication. Every other day they had a case meeting before everyone started their shifts and every day it was the same thing, THEY HAD NOTHING.

They could communicate all they wanted but when they had nothing, they had nothing. And all the talk did little to help.

Everyone was in their hideous tan police uniforms except for himself and Hunter, both of them dressed in black slacks and long sleeve button up shirts, his being dark gray and Hunters being a dark blue and both had them tucked it neatly. And of course they both wore their guns tightly holstered against their chests, something they both preferred doing over having a gun stuck on their hips.

The room was full of white and tan now, the white being the walls and tan of course his colleagues who were starting to tease him about the night before and his encounter with the Dashing one. His "friends" were such assholes. Already several of them were throwing napkins at him from down the table, some even making cat calls like the drag queens had done to him a couple of nights before.

He gave them all the finger with a nasty glare. Jesus Hunter had a big fucking mouth! How in the hell did he manage to tell everyone when they'd only just arrived themselves! He cursed under his breath as he looked over at his partner across the table and saw his attention was focused of his lap.

Shit! Damn cell phones! Damn fucking text messaging!

He deepened his glare as he heard someone call out fag magnet and slammed his fist down on the table. God for bid any of them miss the chance to make fun of a fagot! He scowled and huffed at them, fucking bigots, he hated the lot of them, especially Hunter. Chatty fuck!

He forced himself to ignore his other colleagues who were laughing at his reaction and looking for more napkins to throw. Fuck them. He glared at his partner long and hard until Hunter finally looked up from his phone with an eyebrow raised questioningly, "You trying to bore a hole threw me Orton?"

Fuck yeah he was, and he'd punched the hell out of him too if he could get away with it. Why couldn't Hunter, a guy almost twice his age, just grow the fuck up? So what if another guy had felt him up? It was none of Hunter's goddamn business and Randy sure as hell didn't find his "jokes" about it amusing in the slightest!

He scowled and let out a hiss threw gritted teeth, "Why did you have to tell everyone about what happened last night?" He asked in a sharp whisper as he lent over the table towards him, fuck he was shaking he was so pissed, "I told you before that that shit's NOT funny!"

"Calm down Orton, don't get your panties in a wad," Hunter said with a dismissive wave and chuckle, "It's not like we think you're gay."

"I don't give a shit Helmsly!" He dared to growl over the table at his partner with a serious scowl, his eyes narrowing rapidly, Hunter was about to get the black eye he owed him from last night, and another one for just then! He didn't give a fuck if they were calling him gay, he just wanted the harassment to stop! "Give it a fucking rest would you?" He watched the amusement leave Hunters face, his smile and laughter fading into a serious frown, "You know, you've been an asshole ever since I picked you up this morning," Hunter snapped and met him over the table, their noses almost brushing they were so close, "WHAT is your problem?"

He didn't budge, not at all intimidated by his partner and growled again, "You're my problem." Fuck Hunter, he had good reason to be an asshole to anyone there, but especially to him! He hadn't but maybe three hours sleep and besides being as horny as a fucking teenager he was incredibly frustrated with everything else. Not only was the stress of the Mizanin case getting to him but so was the loneliness, the horrible emptiness of his bed and arms every goddamn night for the past three hundred and sixty five days. That was staring to wear on him the most. And Hunter's bullshit wasn't fucking helping! But fuck how could he explain that to him? How could he tell the ignorant bigot that he just wanted him to drop it so he could forget about the beautiful stripper who'd unknowingly spent the night with him in his dreams? He couldn't. But he sure as hell wasn't going to sit back and and let everyone call him a fag-magnet when there was NOTHING true about that statement! If it were he wouldn't be so god damn lonely! And even if it WAS true then his partner nor anyone else would ever have the right to call him that!

"Just fucking drop it Hunter."

"Or what?" Hunter antagonized but his tone wasn't threatening, "Come on man don't be like that, we're just messing with you."

"How would you like it if I called you a fucking fag-magnet?" Randy really wanted to know his answer to that because he honestly felt if the shoe was on the other foot Hunter would be fucking furious.

"That would never happen," Hunter replied and his eyes narrowed harder as a smile returned to his partners face, "I don't have trashy gay strippers throwing themselves at me, or drag queen wanting to take me home and play dress up!" He laughed, they all did, even Randy too after a moment.

"Yeah that's right, you don't." He laughed at him, "Because none of them want to wake up next to your ugly mug in the morning."

"Ouch! Getting a little personal there Orton-"

"Oh and fag-magnet isn't?"

"Jesus dude remind me not to let you go with me next time we have to go there because apparently you getting felt up by some trashy stripper-"

"He wasn't trashy!" He raised his voice slightly, clenching his hand tight around the cup of coffee still in his hand and almost forcing it to crack and split, "He was just doing his job! Like you and me, we got a job to do and so does he." Fuck now he was defending him? Fucking hell he really needed to get a fucking grip on himself! He didn't even know Dashing!

He tightened his jaw, Hunter's eyes were wide, his expression startled and he noticed his other colleagues had grown awfully quiet as well. In a slight panic he flicked his eyes around the room quickly. Shit, everyone was staring at him. Fuck fuck fuck! Why had he done that? What was wrong with him? "Look," He quickly blurted out and tried to recover, "I just don't think it's funny."

"Yeah we know," Hunter thankfully chuckled and took some of the tension out of the moment as he used his finger to gesture to himself and the other men down the table from them, "That's why WE think it's funny."

Oh how wonderful-fucking pricks! He wanted to pistol whip every last one of them!

"Whatever." He was forced to grumble and back down as he spotted the captain coming through the door behind him and plopped back into his seat, careful not to spill his coffee. He felt like such an idiot. How could he just openly defend the gay stripper he only knew as Dashing? And fuck how could he be so captivated and stuck on a guy he didnt even know? Was he really so desperate for human contact that he was latching on to the first man who'd touched him intimately in over a year?

He blinked hard again, shaking his head slightly and trying to get a hold of himself. Jesus he needed to get a fucking grip! Dashing was just a STRIPPER! He was suppose to rub up on the customers, that's how he made his money! Dashing wasn't hitting on him, he DIDN'T stand a chance with the beautiful god and to bring it home, he didn't even know his real name!

He shuddered as he let himself get lost in his thoughts, ignoring a glare from Hunter who although looked angry had returned to his seat too. His groin threatened to twitch as a provocative image of Dashing suddenly flashed over his vision and he almost punched himself for it. Fucking hell why did he torture himself so much? Why did he always want what he knew he could never have?

Fucking hell he must have liked the misery he put himself through because he kept doing it! He kept going for the impossible and getting his heart broken time and time again. But fuck, a stripper? Really? He was hung up on Dashing after meeting him, a fucking stripper, ONE time?

He frowned. He never should have let himself fantasize about him, he never should have let Dashing sleep beside him in his dreams. That was a HUGE fucking mistake! Because he could have sword he actually felt him there! And from when he'd woken up till now he'd actually fucking missed him. What. The. Fuck?

"We need to step it up around here guys, the chief is really riding me about the fact that we haven't made ANY arrests for the Mizanin case." The captain spoke in his deep smooth voice, starting the meeting and startled him back to reality, his eyes immediately settling on his superior whom he knew would question his absent attention. And he knew he'd better give it to him, no matter how BORING this meeting was about to be.

John stood tall behind a short brown podium at the other end of the long table, looking clean shaven and well dressed in dark gray slacks and a button down shirt to match them, his piercing blue eyes and sharp jaw line were focused, serious, and somewhat angry as they stared out across the long table of police men and detectives. "We NEED to bring someone in for the Kelner murder-"

"How can we?" Hunter spoke up and interrupted in a bitter tone, "We don't have enough evidence, Mizanin and Jericho made sure of that. And now, hell, we can't even find the guy to bring him in for questioning! What the hell are we supposed to do other than what we already are?" He shook his head with a tactless huff, "Shit Orton and I both nearly got mauled at a gay strip club last night when we went looking for him! I think we're already doing more than our fair share for this case! Tell the chief to chill the fuck out."

After a moment of tense silence John sighed heavily and lent against the small brown podium and didn't look at all pleased with Hunters reply. But that was fine with Randy, he wasn't pleased with it either-Hunter just had to fucking mention the club, he just fucking had to! And his disrespect was so appalling! "You really want me to take that little rant back to the chief Helmsly?" John asked with another sigh, "Honestly do you really want me to tell him that you two got felt up instead of working on the case, and that he should 'chill the fuck out'?"

"No-" Randy spoke over his partner quickly as he lowered the cup from his lips, about to take a drink but stopped. Hunter was not going to drag his name into his rant to the chief, he'd never be so disrespectful to a superior and he wasn't about to let anyone think he would either! "Tell the chief we're tracking Mizanin down to bring him in for questioning and that we'll have more answers for him in a few days." Everyone turned and stared at him, all looking dumbfounded as if he'd never before uttered some much as one word in their presence.

He frowned, what the fuck?

"Thank you, Orton," John finally said and flicked his eyes to Hunter for a second and was oviously fighting a smirk, "That's all I needed to hear."

He nodded and resumed hiding behind his coffee, pretending he was trying to cool it down between quiet sips while really just wishing everyone would stop looking at him and get on with the meeting. What was the big deal? He'd spoken in a meeting before, maybe not as much as everyone else but still...

"Sir!" The gentle feminine voice of John's secretary suddenly echoed through the room, a short blond woman bursting into the meeting without so much as a knock, "I just got word from someone on the tip line that Mizanin was spotted entering his strip club on Tropicana Avenue!"

"Right, thank you Trish." John cut her off, his eyes growing wider and serious as he looked towards he and his partner and nodded, "Orton, Helmsly-"

"We're on it."

They were both already standing, having shot up from their seats the second Trish had said that bastards name. Randy's stomach was flipping and fluttering with excitement as all else was forgotten. Finally they'd get to bring the son of a bitch back in for questioning! They wouldn't get a confession from him but every second Mizanin was in their custody he was off the streets and incapable of reaching his people who helped carry out his evil deeds.

That meant for a short while he and everyone else could relax and take a break from worrying about when the sadistic bastard was going to strike next. At least for a short while they'd know where the fuck he was!

"Keys." He held out his hand to Hunter and meant it, they could argue about who the better driver was some other time. Right now they NEEDED Randy's led foot.

Hunter tossed them into his hands as they jogged down the hallway towards the side entry to the building where they'd parked and neither said another word until Randy was peeling out of the parking lot, the tires screeching and burning terribly loud against the asphalt.

"Jesus Orton slow down! You're going to fucking kill us!"

He kept his eye on the road, his mind too focused on one thing and one thing only now, bringing that fuck Michael Mizanin in to the precinct. Even if they were going to have to release him at the end of the day he was fucking STOKED to get his hands on that retched bastard. "Calm down I know what I'm doing." His tone was flat but he smirked at Hunter's distress and sailed the car through traffic, moving in and out of tight spaces between other cars gracefully and nearly giving his panicky partner a heart attack.

Hunter was glaring at him, his hands clutching the dashboard so hard it was surely marked with nail imprints and was starting to look nauseous. His smirk widened. Good, fuck Hunter, he hoped he puked just as soon as they parked.

It took Randy all of twenty minutes to reach Tropicana Avenue and all of five seconds to jump out of the car as soon as they parked in front of the strip club.

He reached the entry way first but despite Hunter's battle with carsickness and fear of crashing it was he who pounded on the currently closed strip club door, the solid black metal door wide and shut tight, "Las Vegas police open up!" But there was no immediate answer and he pounded again, "LAS VEGAS POLICE!... OPEN UP!"

A few seconds passed and Hunter went to hit it harder, stopping just before his fist hit as the door finally opened and before whoever was on the other side could appear Hunter forced his way inside.

Randy sighed, he had no choice but to follow even though he hated when his partner pushed people around like this. There was no need to be hostile with the employee who opened the door but again that was just Hunter's way though. And again he just went with the flow.

Once inside he was startled as he heard a sharp yelp and seconds later his partner apologizing and rushing straight to the point, Jesus Hunter had no fucking tact! He just ran in and threw his weight around like a fucking BULLY.

"Where's Mizanin?"

"I'm-I'm sorry!" He heard a small voice whimper and eyed the small muscle bound man who'd apparently been the poor unsuspecting sap who'd answered the door. And the poor little guy was cowering before Hunter and rubbing his elbow where he'd obviously whacked it against a wall of the short hallway they were standing in. "You-You just missed him." He was incredibly cute, whoever he was, and needless to say Randy took more than a couple of seconds to look him over. The manager, Randy assumed, was short but not unattractively so, his light brown hair neatly combed to the side and barely long enough to brush against his ears and damn was he tan.

Randy wanted to smirk. He liked a body with tan, he liked it a lot when it was done right and the smaller man's was flawless. He took a deep breath and had to tear his eyes away. Damn he was CUTE, very much so but, he wasn't dashing.

"FUCK!" Hunter swore furiously as he stuffed his badge back into his inner pocket and nearly scared the smaller man away completely. He had to frown at him. What was Hunter trying to do? Scare off the only person around who could possibly tell them more about Mizanin? Fucking idiot!

He scoffed and stepped between them and gave his partner a quick knowing glance before turning his full attention to the cute manager who looked ready to fucking bolt. Shit hopefully he could still smooth this over.

"Did he say where he was going?" He kept his voice gentle, soft, "Mr...?"

"Mr. Gabriel, and yeah," The smaller man visibly relaxed now that Hunter was out of his face and scratched his temple with the end of a pen he was clutching tight in his small slender fingered hand, "Um, I think he said he was going out of town to Los Angeles. Honestly you JUST missed him by like, two minutes. But he'll be back soon though, the T-strip has a big show this weekend and he's supposed to be there."

"We didn't just miss him." Hunter broke in with a growl. "He took off because that bastard knew we were looking for him!"

"Doesn't he always?" Randy asked over his shoulder with arched brow. And it was true, Mizanin was ALWAYS one step ahead of them and today had proved to be no different.

He heard Hunter growl again and didn't have to look back at him again to know he was rubbing his goatee aggressively, Hunter always did that when he was frustrated. "I fucking HATE L.A. I'm NOT flying to there just to track him down for questioning. We'll have to wait until he gets back on-" He paused, flicking his eyes to Mr. Gabriel who quickly realized it was his cue and filled in the gap, "Saturday."

Hunter nodded a thanks, "I'll put a call in to the squad over there and have them keep an eye on him for us, other wise we're back to square one."

Randy frowned, turning to face him and already had a bad feeling about where his partner was going with this, "So, what, we're going to meet him at the air port when he gets back on Saturday?"

"Nope," Hunter replied, his lips twitching slightly and Randy could tell he was fighting a smirk, "Afraid not."

He closed his eyes and cursed softly. Shit! He fucking knew it!

T-Strip here they come.

"Why can't we just meet him at the airport?" He asked, biting back a groan. He wasn't worried about the guys at work and the possibility of them obtaining more ammunition for their "jokes" in their visit there. No he was worried about having to be around the Dashing one when he'd pleased himself to the so vivid thoughts and images of his gorgeous body and those perfect, pouty lips...Not just once but four times...

Fuck!

"And camp out in the terminal all day?" Hunter scoffed, "No way, he'd just slip passed us again. Unless, princess here thought to ask his flights times?"

Mr. Gabriel's cute face scrunched into a scowl, obviously offended and DONE with Hunter's presence. Poor thing, Randy knew how that felt. "No, I didn't. And you can leave now you stupid dick. You're done here."

Randy was glad he was between them because he was able to stop Hunter from charging when he did and pushed his partner towards the door, "Come on Hunter it's not worth it man." He got him to turn around and forced him outside.

"That little bitch!" Hunter fought verbally, "Who the fuck does he think he is? Let me go I'm going to arrest him!"

"No you're not." He argued and he seriously wasn't going to let him. Mr. Gabriel was only responding to the degrading remark Hunter had made and his partner was lucky the smaller mad hadn't decked him like he thought he was going to. "Just let it go man, we're not wasting the time to bring him in because he called you a stupid dick." He paused as he tossed the keys to the car at him, smirking, "Besides, you are a stupid dick and you can't arrest him for telling the truth."

"Oh ha ha," Hunter laughed sarcastically but seemed to be a lot calmer as he toyed with the keys slightly, "You're so fucking funny Orton."

Randy chuckled as he opened the passenger door and went to climb in, "Come on now stupid, I'm hungry, take me to get something to eat." There that should do it, Hunter HATED it when he treated him like his own personal scoffer so his attention should be on him now...Hopefully.

He smirked and was relieved as he watched his partner head towards the drivers side of the car and thankfully forgot all about the little Mr. Gabriel who he eyed standing in the entry way, arms crossed with his eyes still ablaze with fury. Poor kid, he'd probably never been so offended, he'd probably never instantly hated someone so much in his entire life.

He sighed and shook his head as he watched the smaller man through the window. He could truly sympathize with him, he knew what that felt like too.

Hunter got in and slammed the door, grumbling under his breath as he fought the seat-belt into place, "As I was saying before that little fagot got dramatic," He brought the car to life and took forever to pull the car out on to the street as he continued, "We aren't going to waste our time waiting for Mizanin at the air port all day, we'll just corner him at your favorite place, the T-strip."

Randy jerked his head away from the window and gave his partner a hard glare. He really hated him right now.