Same old stuff, John's a bad, bad man!

Title: The Three B's (see if you can guess them?)
Disclaimer: There's no ownage happening here, sorry! Maybe some bondage later, but definitely no ownage.

Big thank you for those who reviewed. We appreciate it SO much, and it makes us giddy as school girls!

Author Note: So yeah, the taking forever to be written is totally my fault ( this being the once 24, but now 25 yr old speaking, and not to get too much off topic but can you believe Sheamus has the same bday as me?! Totally not cool.) and yes, there was plenty of pulled punches, yelling, and not so pulled punches from my sister as she.. erm, persuaded me to get this done. So enjoy, while I go put some icyhot on the bruises!

The crowd roared out over the two men, as the camera zoomed in on the pure, horrified, terror that had formed on Randy's face as John's words made his heart stop for just a second.

Which would have been all fine and dandy, had Randy only been acting. Unfortunately, he wasn't. In his own little world of unadulterated horror, he completely forgot about the microphone in his hand, and it fell limply at his side, as he continued to stare—slack-jawed—at John. As though he had just publicly said he was going to rape him.

Oh wait, he had!

Then, abruptly, John let out a huge, boisterous, laugh that seemed to last for hours, but—in reality—was only a few seconds. "Oh man, Randy! Look at you! Did you honestly believe that? Hmm. I don't know, it makes me wonder… I, for one, can't believe he fell for it. What do you guys think?" He asked the crowd with a knowing smirk.

The voices blended together in an indecipherable yell, as once again the camera moved to capture the expression on Randy's face as his earlier terror slowly morphed into confusion and embarrassment.

It was then—when the camera was still latched on him—he saw it. John pulled the microphone to rest at his cheek, blocking his mouth from the camera's view—while the crowd eyed Randy—his penetrating gaze nailed the taller wrestler to the canvas as he mouthed in a nearly soundless whisper, "Oh yes, I AM serious."

As the audience crowed with laughter at the 'joke' Cena had played on him—unawares to the comment John had made—Randy felt his stomach drop straight through the ring mat. John raised the microphone, his gaze still locked with Randy's as he continued with his signature 'golden-boy' smile, "Wow, someone's a little slow tonight. I guess I'll just have to hope you're this easy to catch when we have our match, I know I'm gonna be looking forward to it." John gleamed, as he wriggled his eyebrows in Randy's direction.

Randy frantically tried to pull out his own evil smirk, as the camera once again shifted over to him and he realized it would probably be a good idea to actually use the microphone hanging in his limp hand.

"…It doesn't matter whatever your so-called 'terms' are. Do you know why, John? Because I'm. Going. To. Win. So your childish games have no affect on me." As far as ass-kicking lines went, it wasn't much, but it was all he could come up with under these conditions. And by 'these' he meant, being threatened with rape by a thirty-two year old male wrestler.

He could feel the sweat sliding down in drops along his body, as he tried to concentrate on what John was currently saying, while the microphone trembled slightly in his hands.

"Whatever you say, Randy. I'm sure your delusions will help you sleep at night. So lets just shake on this, so I can get on with my day," John commented lightly with a blinding grin as he held out his hand.

Randy slowly stepped forward, his muscles tensed with caution and fear, as he gradually extended his hand to John, who eagerly clasped it, gripping his hand tightly in his. Randy gulped once he realized that not only was he holding on too long, but Randy could have sworn he felt John's fingers lightly rub the sensitive skin on the inside of Randy's wrists, seeing as how he was in such a hurry earlier, he was currently sans his usual wristbands. And the feeling was anything but pleasant, making Randy's spine tingle in fear.

After this realization, Randy instantaneously jerked his hand back and stepped away so quickly, his boots made loud thumping noises on the mat. He stared, wide-eyed, as John's gaze twinkled knowingly, and he chuckled with amusement, turning on his heel to leisurely make his way out of the ring, walking with the swagger of someone who'd just gotten what he'd wanted.

Once he was a respectable distance up the ramp, Randy—looking a bit shell-shocked—began to follow. Hurriedly trying to pull out his signature 'viper-glare' at John's now immensely intimidating back.

Meanwhile, his mind felt like it would explode from the stress at any given second, as he tried to come up with plans to get himself, and his butt cherry out of this situation intact.

A few days earlier…

At the time, he had to be the most bored man walking the planet. That's what started this for John. 'This' being the fact that he tended to find immense entertainment in teasing the more vulnerable of his co-workers. And by teasing he may/may not mean the act of sexual molestation. But he wasn't telling. At least not out loud.

It was all about the challenge—the hunt, he thought, as he wondered who his next victim could possibly be, ticking off the many possible co-workers he could choose from. The first to enter his twisted mind was Shawn… him being old and unable to defend himself. Or perhaps Cody, small and not very smart… or, or what about Randy? Strong, cunning, and with the muscle structure of a Greek God.

Yesssss.

Randy Orton.

He would be the perfect choice. Besides, Shawn really was too old. And, of course, Hunter wouldn't be too happy about it, and Cody wasn't enough of a challenge though he certainly wasn't dismissing him completely.

John giggled like a school girl at the prospect of claiming Randy for his own, as he began to formulate his devious plot. Speaking of which it was time to remind a certain wrestler that while he was conquered, he was not forgotten.

John pulled out his cell phone and searched through his contacts, "Butt Teaser," he mumbled aloud as he began to text: "Don't forget, anytime you need a victim for your Batista Bomb, make sure you give me a call… or else!" With that done, John leaned back as a dreamy, euphoric smile formed on his falsely innocent face.

Randy didn't understand—yet—that what Cena wanted, he got. And the getting was always soooo good.

Present day:

Randy made sure to walk as slowly as possible back up the ramp, partly because that's just what he did, but also partly because he was hoping not to run into Cena.

Like, ever.

Once out of view of the crowd, he began to lengthen his strides until he was almost running, in frantic need of his fellow Legacy cohorts' comfort as he tried to control an almost unbearable urge to scream and cry like a 4 year old girl.

He needed to get back to the safety of the locker room where Ted and Cody would help him find a way out of this. It only took him a few seconds of intense anxiety before he was finally in the locker room, and just as he had hoped, Ted and Cody were already there, waiting for his arrival with open arms.

--

Ted just could not believe what John had dared to say to their esteemed leader. The moment he heard it, apprehensively watching the small monitor backstage, he'd quickly pulled Cody down to the locker room where they could be out of sight of the rest of the Raw roster to discuss this horribly wrong outrage.

Cody would open his mouth to say something, but would think better of it, put his hand back over his mouth and resume his agitated pacing. After a few moments in this tense atmosphere, Ted finally grabbed his arm and tugged him to his side.

"Chill out man. I'm sure Randy's already got a great plan all figured out," Ted consoled soothingly, using his unoccupied hand to rub Cody's back in small, comforting, circles. Cody shot him an irritatingly anxious glance, eyebrows pulled together in desperation. Worried, for his mentor and friend.

He looks so cute when he's all concerned, Ted thought, before quickly brandishing the notion, with a violent shake of his head. How the hell could he think his best friend—who happened to be a guy—was cute?! That was absolutely ridiculous.

But just as Ted opened his mouth to say something more to his fellow Legacy member, Randy suddenly burst into the room—the door he'd flung open slamming against the wall with a bang.

At the sight of their leader, Cody immediately dashed over to him, his voice an almost wail, "Randy what're we gonna do?! You can't let John have your butt cherry!"

DiBiase walked over to them at a much less frenzied pace, ignoring the way Cody was clutching at Randy, and said what had been on his mind the past ten minutes, "I just always knew there was something seriously wrong with John. But I never thought he was this messed up." He sighed. "I mean, there's always been weird rumors, but I always assumed they were just a joke!"

Ted paused a moment, recalling the many times Randy and John had wrestled in the ring, and what exactly had transpired during those matches. "Though, now that I think about it… he does do that thing where he climbs up your thighs—his face practically in your trunks. And he sure does like to let his hand fall in questionable places when he's supposed to be knocked out and then—"

"That's enough Ted!" Randy shouted, immediately halting the young DiBiase's recount of John's many perverted happenings as he clutched Cody's shoulder, like a stress reliever toy. For he realized Ted was right. The signs had all been there and he had just never truly noticed it until now.

The miniscule amount of hope that had been lurking in the back of his—supposedly—wicked mind went poof as he came to terms with the fact that this was definitely not some elaborate prank.

He felt frozen in place as panic and paranoia slowly began to claw their way into his mind. And he inwardly began to wondered: Who else might have John victimized in this way? Had there been any others? Was John actually gay, or was he just pretending to be, in order to throw Randy off his game, and take the championship when he was distracted? Would John stop at just him, or would he even go after his own Legacy too? There was so much Randy didn't know.

With a determinedly uncertain air, he decided he needed knowledge to win this battle. And the gears in that—supposedly—wicked mind of his, slowly began turning.

The information gathering was where Ted and Cody would come in handy. He could send them out to gather any junk that could they could dish up on John himself, as well as any wrestler who may have been a victim of his… pursuit before Randy, himself.

But what Randy really needed to know, was why the hell John would put this pursuit of himself so public, when it didn't seem like John had ever done so before. Something had brought Randy to John's perverted attention and he intended to find out whatever it was— in order to stop it immediately.

Maybe it was the Speedo… it did show off his amazingly defined thighs and, occasionally, his butt cheeks, when it rode up, which was, apparently, quite distracting—as Cody had kindly informed him—but perhaps it did so, too well?

It did end up wedged half way up his butt in more than half his matches, he realized with a cold flush of anxiety. Why don't I ever wear those damn Spankies underneath? Randy wailed silently in his mind.

As Randy became quiet and withdrawn—distracted by his chaotic planning—Cody had noticed a gleam of something in the cubby above where Randy's Speedo's hung. His eyes never leaving the peculiar object, Cody slowly eased himself away from his frantically plotting Randy, and reached to pick up the weird shaped bottle—Ted watching him curiously.

Cody's icy blue eyes scanned the aforementioned bottle with a cocked head, as he turned it over and over again. Then those very same eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, the instant he realized just what it was he held in his hand.

"Uh.. Randy?" He murmured, slightly unsure of his voice. Randy didn't move—he didn't even blink—at the sound of his name. Cody tried again. "Randy?" Again the man remained lost in his own morbid thoughts, a fierce frown on his face. Cody scowled, irritated. "RANDY!" He shouted, frantically waving the bottle in the air like a hobo on crack.

"What?! Cody, What?!" Randy growled back, "I'm trying to plan here, hello?! Do us all a favor, and shut the hell up!" Cody instantly retracted his hand, holding the bottle to his chest protectively, a pout forming on his lips.

"But, but…" Cody stuttered, lower lip trembling—after all, Randy had never been angry with him before. Randy, noticing the younger male's obviously distressed expression, spun around to face the door with a huff, determined to be an ass. At least, that's how Ted saw it.

With gradual slowness, Ted gently slipped a protective arm around Cody's shoulder, tugging him to his side, and rubbing his upper shoulder comfortingly. "I found this," He mumbled, tentatively holding out the bottle for his best friend.

Ted raised his unoccupied hand to carefully take the bottle from Cody as the young man sniffled, like a child who'd been wrongly scolded by his parents. Ted turned the bottle over in his hand to locate the label, and read out loud, "Lick Me Lemon Body Oil."

Randy turned around so fast, his poor brain had to be suffering from whiplash, as he snatched the bottle from Ted, who'd immediately gotten a horrified look on his face, the instant he realized what he'd read.

Randy held the bottle of flavored body oil as if it was the snake and would bite him at any given second. He knew for sure, that this body oil was definitely not his, he'd never buy anything as… vulgar as this. And it sure as hell wasn't Ted or Cody's…

It took a little more gear turning for Randy to make the obvious connection, gray eyes growing as huge as ring posts. "Oh my God, he was here!" Randy instantly dropped the bottle and sank to the floor, gently rocking back and forth as he whimpered softly, coming to terms with the fact that his supposed 'safe-haven' was no longer safe.

Ted sighed at the sight before him. Orton—the man he'd revered as one of the greatest of his time—was crouching on the ground, holding himself, and whining like a baby who'd lost its mother! This was a downright disgrace, to himself and to Legacy as a group. How could he and Cody possibly continue to call this man their leader, if he couldn't even stand up for himself in his own time of need?

"Snap out of it, Orton!" Ted demanded, taking on his army-general voice. "We need to get angry! John is not going to win, you're the Viper! For hell's sake, no one is shadier than you! No one is more fierce than you are! No one can destroy legends the way you can! No one can lead Legacy like you can! And no one—absolutely no one—can faze the Viper. Not even John Cena."

Fortunately, Ted's little pep talk had the desired effect, as Randy slowly stopped rocking and very slowly got to his feet, a sort of fire beginning to gleam behind his gray eyes. Ted grinned. As long as the thumb didn't go into the mouth, then DiBiase knew there was a chance of making Randy return from his happy place, and get down to the dirty business of fighting off John.

As all this was going on between the two, Cody had slid out of Ted's hold and stepped back over to the cubby to see if there was anything else interesting there. Sure enough—because Cody was secretly psychic—almost completely hidden against the painted wood, there was a small piece of paper, folded in half. With a satisfied smile, Cody grasped the note between his fingers and dashed back over to Randy, like a dog begging for forgiveness by offering a treat to its master.

Randy tentatively took hold of the paper, silently shooting Cody an apologetic glance, as he unfolded it and read the one short sentence scrawled across it, aloud, "You're in my wet, sticky, dreams."

Ted recoiled from the piece of paper, taking a disturbed step back, as Randy's eyes glazed over once more with the beginnings of full blown panic attack, at the image of John having any dreams about himself Especially the wet ones.

Both men were slightly distracted when Cody suddenly piped up—holding the forgotten body oil bottle, "I wonder what it tastes like." Why did Cody seem to be the only one unaffected by John's perverseness?

Randy and Ted gawked at their youngest member, as if he'd just grown two heads, which caused him to defensively shoot, "What? I was just wondering! I mean, I just don't see how they can make body oil taste good, that's all!"

Randy and Ted frowned at him, before, suddenly, the peculiar image of Cody licking body oil off his abs, popped into Ted's wandering mind… Signal simultaneous gulp.

Ted felt uncomfortably warm as Randy abruptly barked out, "Can we stay on topic please?!" Cody furrowed his brow.

"Uh, we use a lot of body oil?" He asked confusedly, and when Randy narrowed his eyes dangerously at him, he continued rapidly. "What? That's on topic, right?"

Ted quickly came to Cody's rescue before the Viper could blow up like a Voltorb, "He means we need to figure out what we are going to do about John, Cody."

Cody made an 'O' with his mouth in realization. "Oh! That's what you meant…" Ted sighed. Sometimes Cody could be a little out there…

Or maybe it was all just an act.

They would need back up plans for their back up plans, Randy had decided after much deep thought. After all, considering the stakes, one couldn't be too careful. There was no way in Hell Randy was going to let John come within a ten foot radius of his butt cherry. Legacy was going to put an end to John's sick games once and for all.

The first step would be the safest one. All they needed to do was to gather all the Intel they could get their hands on, which—Randy decided—Cody would be perfect for seeing as how everyone just sort of assumed he was kind of lost all the time—due to his age—and would then willingly open up to his disarmingly cute, little pouty face.

Plus he had played his fair share of video games growing up and would jump at the chance to pretend he was a spy, hopefully. Randy debated whether or not he should send Ted to keep an eye on Cody—after all, the kid could be a little out-of-it at times—but he decided against it, after all, Randy didn't want to be alone.

"Okay, put that frickin' stuff down and get over here! Ted, your with me, if John shows up, you throw yourself at him while I run for the nearest exit or door that'll lock. Got it?" Randy ordered, taking on his own Marine Corp Persona. Ted was none to pleased with how this plan was going, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Good. Now Cody, I need you to quietly ask around and see if you can find out why John picked me, and if you can find any other victims he might've had. You can't let anyone know that this is anything more than a big hoax, okay? I can't have my reputation tarnished by this, this… grossness." Randy finished, intelligently, eying Cody with a desperate stare.

"Don't worry, Randy, I won't let you down!" Cody saluted, a grin on his face as he rushed forward to give Randy a quick squeeze of a hug, and marched determinedly out the door, his chest puffed out in front of him.

Ted, meanwhile, was worried he was coming down with something, because he'd been feeling very strange lately. He was just so damn concerned and worried for his tag team partner, like a mother hen or something. He felt like, if he let the boy out of his sight, it was like throwing him into a lion's den.

Cody needed Ted—he was sure of it—and Ted didn't like the idea of Cody being anywhere without him…

And he most definitely wasn't too thrilled with the idea of throwing himself at Mr. Lick Me Lemon. Shaking his head, he once again attempted to banish the rapidly circling thoughts as he stood beside Randy, who was still staring at the door Cody had vanished through.

Cody strode down the hallway feeling very important as he hummed the theme song from Mission Impossible under his breath. Randy had graced him with a task that was not only extremely vital to their mission, but also very important to Randy himself. And the thought that Randy trusted him enough to give him this extremely important task, made Cody's heart swell with pride.

Then Cody shivered, John could be seriously scary when he wanted to be. And it was now he and Ted's job to protect their mentor from the fiendish ways of Cena, like gathering information. Which is exactly what Cody should've been doing by now. But where to start?

Cody halted at a corner in the hallway, glancing back and forth in careful thought as to which way he should go. But before he could make up his mind, however, The Miz strode around the corner, saw him, and came to a stop in front of the younger wrestler, his traditional smirk gleaming on his face and the U.S. belt slung over his shoulder.

"Well, well what do we have here? What's little Codykins doing away from his handlers? Decide to distance yourself a bit have you? I don't blame you a bit of course." Miz paused, as if thinking over his next words carefully, before grinning like a business man who knew something. "Tell ya what, I'll let you be my errand boy if you ask me realllly nicely!" Miz said in his trademark annoyingly arrogant voice, walking in a calculative circle around Cody, as if he were making sure the boy was fit to be his errand boy.

Cody growled. "Why don't you shut the hell up, Mike! Just because no one wants you around, doesn't mean I'm not wanted. Besides, I'm just getting a bit of fresh air. Intense planning session," Cody stated, his voice quieting, as if he were relaying something no one was supposed to know about, while shooting the Miz an attempted copy of Randy's signature Viper glare, which didn't work as well as he'd hoped, what with his pouty lips, and not-quite-made-for-evil face.

"As long as it takes you guys to think, you'll be planning all night, so I guess you do need some air. Might even make those half dead hamsters run a bit faster in their wheels, also known as your brains, if you know what I mean!" Miz finished with a loud laugh at his own wit.

Cody was extremely annoyed at this comment—no one insulted Randy, out of story-line—but attempted to brush it off, since he was currently in the process of trying very hard to think of a way to subtly complete his mission—gathering info.

It was even tougher to think, thanks to the anger Miz had caused, as well as the Mission Impossible theme song that was still playing in the back of his mind. He glanced up to see Miz staring at him strangely and then, at once, realized he was swaying slightly to the beat of the song.

Cody quickly stood up straight, adjusting his Speedo, and crossed his arms across his chest. "So… that John Cena's kind of a freak, huh?" He commented lightly, feeling more than a bit lame.

Miz didn't seem to notice the—complete and utter—lameness, as he was always interested in insults and gossip—almost as much as he was interested in himself—and he quickly said, "Oh yeah! You wouldn't see me joking the way he did with Orton earlier, what a dick. I mean, I haven't been here as long as some, but it doesn't take a genius to know that guy isn't all okay up here." Miz indicated with a jab at his temple.

And Suddenly it hit Cody like a brick wall.

An idea! And it came from The Miz, who would have guessed?

"Yeah, completely," Cody agreed as he moved to lightly slap The Miz on the back, appreciatively, "So, uh, I'll see you around. Later dude." And he hightailed it out of there.

Cody had no time for pleasantries, he was on a mission! To find some old guys, unfortunately, but hey a mission was a mission, right? After all, the longer they'd been in the business, the more they'd know. Now… who would know the most about Cena?

A few minutes later Cody was standing outside one of the doors to one of the private locker rooms, taking a few deep breaths. Inhale… Exhale…

He had to prepare himself, these two always seemed a bit not-all-there, probably due to spending so many years in the business. One could never tell what they'd do or what they'd come up with in their batty little minds. At least, that's what Cody thought.

So, one more deep breath and then Cody quickly raised his fist to knock on the door, only to have it jerked open the second his knuckles made contact with the wood. He hurriedly pulled his hand back.

"I'm so glad you finally knocked. I was getting a bit afraid you were making out with my door, or having some solo action in the hall. Seriously. The creepy breathing needs to go," Shawn Michaels said with an easy smile as he looked around the hallway quickly.

Behind him you could see the colossal form of Triple H leaning against the wall, half in the shadows, with his usual frown on his face. "So since we've established you're not having a special moment in our hallway, whad'ya want?"

Cody stood there for a second with his mouth in its trademark open position, as he scrambled to get his thoughts together and make his, suddenly dry, mouth into action. "I was just, uh, wondering about something—about John—I mean. And you guys just seemed like the right guys to ask." he finished weakly.

Shawn's smile dimmed a bit, "Well Cody, you've got a part of that wrong," He informed as Hunter suddenly moved away from the wall to stand behind Shawn with his arms crossed over his chest. And Cody felt the atmosphere suddenly take on a secretive, spy mission, information exchange. He gulped.

"Now if I was a little bird, then I would tell you to talk to Dave Batista. We don't actually know anything, you see? If something was actually known… Well, then something might have to be done about it, you understand?" Shawn wiggled his eyebrows at the younger man. Cody raised one of his own eyebrows in reply.

"So, wait… you're a bird?"

Hunter growled and threw his hands in the air. "Have you been drinking all that baby oil or actually putting it on?"

Cody still looked a bit lost, tilting his head to the side. "Well, we do have some lemon kind now… but I don't think you're supposed to actually drink it like that. Maybe the bottle has directions that'll say something?" Hunter scrunched up his brow, positively furious.

"YOU ARE AN IDIOT!" Triple H bellowed, finding his patience wearing thin, as Shawn doubled over in a laughing fit, struggling to find his voice so that Hunter wouldn't maul the hopeless boy. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop the guffaws that danced from his mouth in time, and Hunter continued.

"Just go talk to Dave, you dumbshit! And if I see you anywhere near Shawn or I again, in the next twenty-four hours I'm gonna make you wish you'd never knocked on this door! I swear. I'm gonna start getting grey hair from you buncha retards." He punctuated this statement with a door-slam to Cody's face.

Said boy stood there positively baffled for a moment, before deciding he'd better check in with Randy before he went to visit Batista. Just to make sure he was doing this right.

Ted walked briskly behind Randy back into their locker room, closing the door behind him and letting out a relieved sigh.

Randy had decided he needed some sustenance for his empty stomach—lest he puke up his stomach acid—and as Ted followed him out to find some, the only thing going through his mind was: Please no John, please no John, please no John!

Luck—for once—was on their side and they didn't have any run-ins with any deviant wrestlers. They did, however, run into Evan Bourne. Literally.

They'd been on their way back to the locker room when they turned a corner, and Ted collided with the smaller man. DiBiase was still getting disappointed glares from Randy, because of the—completely—accidental girly, squeaky, screech he'd let out when it happened.

But hey, he'd take a mentor-ass-whooping any day over having to throw himself at—the newly found pervert—John Cena. Hopefully, Evan wouldn't mention his unmanly 'eeping' to anyone else. Besides, he had a perfectly reasonable excuse. He'd thought Evan might've been Cena, and he really wasn't in the mood to get butt-raped.

Ted sighed, turning tiredly to see Randy, sitting on the bench and leaning against the wall, posture so tense he could've been a statue, and gray eyes closed as if he were only sleeping—and not pondering the many escape routes he had. Just in case. Ted felt just as anxious as Randy looked, and he inhaled deeply in an unsuccessful attempt to calm his jumping nerves. As he did so, he found himself thinking, if only Cody was there, then maybe Ted could actually relax a little.

Abruptly—almost as if his thoughts had called the youngest member of Legacy—the door was swung open and in walked Cody, still decked out in his ring gear, with a strange expression on his face. Somehow, he managed to look both dumbfounded and elated at the same time. That took talent.

The instant Randy'd heard the doorknob turn, his eyes shot open in alarm and an unhealthy dose of adrenaline and dread began to pump through his veins. But he immediately attempted to calm his, suddenly pounding, heart as he saw it was only Cody. Of course, the relief was not enough to override his wired jitters, so his, "Well?! What did you find out?!" came out as a kind of hissing growl.

Cody, on the other hand, was practically bouncing in his Triforce boots as he answered Orton, seemingly unaware to the older man's paranoid irritation. "Well, I figured I would ask Shawn and Hunter since, ya know, they've been around for, like, ever." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, as he though about what he should say first.

Ted hurriedly stepped forward—once he realized Cody wasn't continuing—and patted Cody on the back appreciatively, painfully aware of Randy's expression as it steadily grew more and more impatient by the second. "Wow, great thinking Codes! So what'd they say?"

Cody opened his mouth to reply full-heartedly, but then faltered, recounting what the two older—slightly senile—men had told him. "Um, I think Shawn said something about being a bird and Hunter was asking about drinking body oil." At this Cody frowned, finger to his lip. "Which can't really be all that healthy… especially if it's not flavored like most isn't. I mean I didn't know, until a little while ago, that it even could be flavored. So maybe we should see about getting him to a doctor or—"

Randy instantly jumped to his feet, slapped his hands on Cody's bare shoulders—squeezing tightly to cease the young man's rant—and interrupted with an impressively long growl, "Coooody!"

Cody gulped. "Uh. Oh yeah, he just told me to talk to Batista. So, I just thought I'd check in first, before I went. Which is why I'm here now," His voice was hardly discernable, as he attempted to finish as soon as possible.

Ted let out the breath he'd been holding, once Randy released the young Legacy member, and took a step back. He really needed to have a talk with Cody about his habit on rambling on and on. Randy was going to lose it on him one of these days.

After glancing at Randy and noting his thinking face on plastered on—which looked as if he were in pain or something, though, given the circumstances Ted supposed, if anyone was overworking their brain at the moment, it was Randy.

DiBiase gradually placed himself down on the bench and did some leaning back himself, as he prepared to wait however long it took Randy to tell them what would be done next. It was during this waiting, that he noticed something on the wood of the bench at his side.

It looked like little black pieces of… of something, like large chunks of dirt, maybe. Which was strange since the locker rooms were always kept completely immaculate. Ted squinted his eyes, examining the odd pieces.

It was upon closer inspection that Ted realized that the small bits were actually bits of cloth and thread. With slow and careful movements, Ted slid back on the bench, blue eyes following the short trail of pieces, dreading what he just knew he would see.

And yes, it was just as he feared.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for an instant, before reluctantly reaching for one of the Speedos hanging on the wall. Ted could already tell with a quick glance at the polyester trunks, that something wasn't right, but it was much worse than poor Teddy had feared.

"Randy, we've got a problem…" Ted's voice was low and husky with anxiety as he stared, wide-eyed at the Speedo in his hand. Randy slowly turned towards his Legacy cohort, instantly registering the implications of Ted's statement, and he faced him with a pair of tortured gray eyes that begged him—pleaded with him—to tell him that it was nothing, that he didn't mean what he'd just said.

But the only thing Ted did, was, very slowly, lifting up the trunks and turning them around, revealing the backside. Showing the completely cut away material.

Cody stood there, once again looking like a demented goldfish, as Randy ran to the other speedos hanging on the wall. A quick inspection of each showed him that they were all like that. Randy was practically panting as he quickly threw them into the middle of the locker room as though they were on fire and would burn him. It was Cody, surprisingly, who had the idea of checking their duffel bags which had been stuffed under the other bench in the room. He quickly tore through the 3 bags only to find, to his horror, that every speedo, and every bit of underwear the three of them owned, had all been given the same treatment!

So there they sat, a pile of ass-less underwear and trunks piled in the middle of the floor, as they stared at one another from across the room at a loss for words and actions. Ted had his hands on his head as he thought about the uncomfortable thoughts that kept invading his mind, and that John was obviously a master at his game and they were all so screwed. Cody was thinking about sneaking a taste of the body oil when the others weren't looking and how uncomfortable buttless underwear was going to be on his poor little behind. And Randy, well he was having trouble thinking any coherent thoughts. A thousand evil plans flew through his mind as he frantically tried to think of a way to defeat John. He kept shaking his head from side to side and then rubbing his face with his hand. There had to be a way..

They all three did have one thing in common, they had just realized that they might not make it out of this as well as they had previously hoped.

Dun Dun DUH!

Reviews are always appreciated, feel free to throw out ideas, I may not use them, but it's fun to see other people's craziness! Expect some shout outs as well =D

Don't forget to look at the title and guess (it's not hard, trust me!)

And tune in next time for some more dastardly deeds, which at this moment will include surprise attacks, really dumb ideas, and nakedness!

Cause I'm evil like that.

Rody DiBiOrton