Title: Beg Me
Summary: Randy has his eye on a certain someone and rejection isn't even in the picture.
Warning: F-bombs and arguments.
Disclaimer: Oh boy, do I wish I owned Randy Orton, Cody Rhodes, Ted Dibiase, and John Cena.
A/N: I really don't know if some of the parts in this chapter make since. I wrote this one at 4 in the morning.
John was a having a terrible dream. He was running, running, yet getting nowhere. It was a white screen and he screamed. No words, just screaming. He awoke with a start and looked around the room. He was hoping it was his home, but it wasn't. Sadly.
More footsteps climbing the stairs, made him jerk again. Cody and Ted entered all to smugly and they each sat on different sides of him. "We're going to un-tie you, and we suggest you not make any racket, while your downstairs eating. Randy won't be to happy." Cody said, leaning over John's legs to cut off the rope. He did the same to his wrist and John sighed happily, scrubbing at his wrist.
"We also advise you not try and run away this time."
John responded with a simple, "Yes, sir." Cringing inside.
John stood and allowed Cody and Ted to lead him downstairs, seeing Randy sitting at the dining table, already food on the table. "So nice of you to join us. I hope you're hungry." Almost robotically John said, "Yes sir, I am."
He sat right next to Randy, where Cody sat across from John and Ted sat next to Randy as well. They were doing this as if it felt . . normal? John was about to burst out laughing, but covered it with a cough. That turned into fits and he fell to the floor gasping for air.
"Holy shit dude, is he choking?" Cody asked, wide-eyed.
"Certainly not." Randy growled, kicking John from underneath the table. Hard.
John grunted and bolted up into the chair, hitting his chest. "Sorry sir."
"Much better, now dig in." Randy said, eyeing John in the process.
They were having lasagna. He hated lasagna. What was he suppose to do? He wasn't going to consume something, he was allergic to. He looked up from his plate and coughed. Everyone dropped their forks into their plates and all eyes were on him, again.
"What now!" Randy said, becoming paranoid.
John opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "I'm allergic to lasagna, sir."
With no remorse, Randy responded with, "Well I guess you have to wait for morning. Are you also allergic to pancakes?"
John bit the inside of his cheek, knowing Randy was being sarcastic and that it was a rhetorical question. While everyone continued to eat, John eyed around the rooms he could see, sketching it into his mind.
No conversation was being held and John was becoming aggravated by the silence. He was not known as a 'quiet' one, and it was beginning to show. He fumbled with the glass, with the knife, with the place mat, with his pants, and they certainly noticed.
Slamming his balled fist onto the table, Randy yelled, "Do you want to be tied up again!"
What was John suppose to say? He was having the worse time of his life, all due to Randy kidnapping him against his will. He would probably wind up getting himself raped, if he didn't figure out a plan soon enough to escape, and how was keeping him here, making Randy feel any better?
"Randy, sir . . what do you want from me? Why are you keeping me here?" John asked, much emotion filling inside his eyes.
Randy swallowed the piece of lasagna, he had chewed to pieces, and replied, "We are not to discuss that at the table. Now if you feel like bringing it up again, come visit me upstairs in my room."
What was wrong with him? Why was he treating John like he was some type of child?
Cody and Ted sat their in silence, probably already knowing the rules. They excused themselves to go to bed and that gave John and Randy some alone time. Which John did not want at all.
Randy dragged John upstairs and entered a door across from where they had put John before. This room was much more darker, but it had more lamps. Randy clicked one on and sat down on a cushioned chair. He ushered John to sit on his lap.
John was not so much fond of this idea, but he did not feel like being slapped again. Randy noticed how easily John sat into his lap. He slid in, putting his legs through the arm rests openings.
"You're question now." Randy said. "I told you at the bar. I pretty much asked you out and you rejected me. What was I suppose to do? Move on and accept it?"
"Uh . . Yeah. Pretty much. Randy, what didn't you get? I don't like you. You're way to cocky, smug, and reckless for me. Randy, I'm scared to death of you."
Randy didn't bring up his attitude. "You shouldn't be. If you would have just accepted one date John, we wouldn't be in this predicament."
"What about after that date Randy? What would happen next?" John cried out.
"Then you would be able to understand the real me, and we could get along fine."
"But that's just it Randy! I don't want to get to know you. I was perfectly fine at that fucking bar, till you came along. You're the fucking Legend Killer for Christ sakes. I don't want to like, what you've done."
Randy was becoming pissed by the second. John was blowing every single rule off, but Randy wasn't going to jump on him for that. It would come, oh boy, would it come.
"You don't have to like what I've done. I want you to like who I am."
John looks at him quizzically. "That's the same thing pretty much. It doesn't make any difference. What you've done, reflects on who you are."
"Nothing is coming out right! Everything I say and do, it doesn't go how I planned. I just want you to like me. Just get to know me." Was Randy being resounded to begging? Karma baby.
"Randy, I want to go."
"NO!" He shouted, pushing me to the floor. I sat up and rubbed my back.
"I want to go and I never want to come back. Take me the fuck back!" John demanded.
"NO!" Randy shouted again.
Should John make a run for it? He was contemplating whether he should, before he noticed his legs were beginning to grow numb. "Randy, no, no! He reached for Randy's hands to shoo them away, but it was too late. There was already a knot tied, and his hands were being tied in front of him once again. He could only stare in horror, as he was thrown in Randy's bed this time.
"Good fucking night. I better not hear anything from you. I have a lot to think about." Randy turned off the light and crawled into bed, pulling John close to him, in a tight grip. He certainly was not letting go anytime soon.
As he was forced to sleep, a single tear fell from his eye, before falling into non-too peaceful dreams.