He Wears A Tarnished Crown - fic
Feb. 25th, 2010 09:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slashburdTitle: Title: He Wears A Tarnished Crown
Author: slashburd
Subject : Randy Orton with mentions of various others
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not know of any of this to be true, I don’t know or own these people (but I'd secretly love to!).
Summary: M/M Slash, violence, implied/attempted ?non-con, bad language
*
A/N: I have done my research for this fic but I've also used a little bit of artistic licence given the timing of this match and the brand extension so please don't go all wikipedia on my ass if you can help it ;)
*
Pulling on his ring gear that night seemed like the biggest challenge Randy had faced so far in his short career. His hands shook almost uncontrollably and he knew that if he carried like that the chances were he'd have to go out in his sweatshorts having ripped his tights to shreds. He took a deep breath and paused for a moment, desperate to calm the nerves that were making him so twitchy. In his mind he heard echoes of comforting and reassuring words his dad had said to him on his last night at home; platitudes about not worrying and just taking it all in his stride and how he was good enough to beat them all. Randy shook his head to try and clear it, realising that the only person who could get him out of this state of panic was himself.
He stood and gave himself the once over in the mirror, hair perfectly gelled down and sporting just enough body oil like the make up lady had told him. His boots were laced just as his dad had taught him all those years ago. A wave of nostalgia washed over him and he remembered being like this but as a small boy many years ago with his dad stood behind him, his massive calloused hands pressed down on young shoulders. In his mind he heard the familiar call of “Go and get 'em, son!” which had geed him up from his first win to his last one over in OVW just over two weeks ago.
A few of the guys had been around to shake hands and introduce themselves, including his opponent for tonight, Bob Holly. Despite having been warned about Hunter's gruff nature Randy found that he'd had nothing but kind words to offer, empathising nostalgically about his first night on a taping and reassuring him that Vince must see something good in him if he was going over on his first night out. That kind of endorsement made Randy smile wider than it maybe should've done and he'd chastised himself for being so giddy about the whole affair.
The last people he'd been introduced to before coming out of the locker room were the commentators, Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler. Although he'd seen them in attendance at some of the OVW end-of-year bashes he'd never actually spoken to them before and found himself a little starstruck, especially knowing that these guys knew his dad only too well and would be expecting to see a little of the Old Cowboy in him.
Randy knew he'd have to be prised away from Jim who was busy telling him all kinds of facts and fascinating stories about his dad, thankfully though not things that had happened in the 'what goes on on the road, stays on the road' vein. King however was a different kettle of fish. Randy didn't take to him as he'd hoped he would, having spent his adolescent years watching the guy wrestle and then commentate animatedly. He felt King's eyes staring into every inch of his flesh and it made goosebumps come up all over his arms.
One of the last lectures he'd had from his dad before going away to OVW was about the special stares that young newbies got from some of the more established guys. The warning was that in a business where it was all about being able to handle yourself it didn't matter how buffed you were if someone slightly bigger fancied their chances. One or two had tried it on with him in OVW but so far Randy had always managed to put them in their place either physically or verbally.
Now he was stood within two feet of one of the veterans of the industry and wanting nothing more than to scream in his face to stop staring, to look somewhere else. Glancing back at King he saw a wet tongue sweep across the thin lips and a narrowing at the corner of his eyes as they made their way down his toned body, lingering a little too long at his midriff before making their way back up to lock his stare.
He was saved by one of the production staff who had come to usher Jim and Jerry out to the commentary position and as they turned to walk away Randy wiped the thin veil of sweat away that had formed across his brow. He knew that he was bound to be nervous but that had been made all the more intense by the lascivious way that Lawler had so openly leered at him.
The good thing was that as the first timer his match was on first so he'd be able to run on the adrenaline that coursed through him and get it over and done with. He was excited that he'd been booked to win and that made him feel better about going out there. After a few more minutes of hanging around the same producer came and escorted him to the gorilla position where he shook hands with Bob and they wished each other a good match and good luck. Before he knew it he was hearing his non-descript music playing and pacing down the ramp towards the ring with a false confidence he hoped at least the crowd and television audience thought was real.
It was only a short match but it seemed to be over in the blink of an eye to Randy. He'd felt the elation of having his hand raised into the air and getting a smattering of cheers from the capacity crowd. He was sure then that he wanted more of the same for years to come. Heading backstage he was whisked off for a debrief with Vince then to a meeting with the creative team where he was reassured that he'd done a great job. Next were some interviews for the website and finally he cut a promo about how he was going to be the next big thing.
Before he knew it the night's events were over and he was making his way back to the locker room to shed his ring gear and get a shower. Most of the other guys were just heading out to their cars, shouting and laughing as they made their way to the stage door of the arena. He however was just rooting in the bottom of his bag for some shower gel and the towel he preferred to bring with him than risk the sandpaper ones provided at the arenas. Randy stripped off and wrapped the towel around him, not yet feeling comfortable enough yet to wander around naked.
As he stepped into the showers he turned the water on to full blast and the heat right up, washing the smell of the mat and the oil from his skin. He worked the shower gel all over his body, the sweet and spicy smell flooding his senses as he closed his eyes and allowed it all to be forcefully rinsed away. A noise behind him interrupted the pleasant light headedness and he turned to see a naked Lawler entering the shower room. Randy felt the panic rising and froze on the spot, acutely aware of his own nakedness and the lack of other people around. He shut the water off and grabbed for his towel, determined to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Lawler opened his mouth to speak but Randy just barged past, hearing the almost mocking laughter echoing behind him. He found himself glad to be back in the cool quiet surroundings of the locker room and started to towel himself off roughly, taking off what he considered to be just enough water to comfortably get his clothes on and leave. He piled his clean clothes on the bench and shoved his boots and tights into the holdall, not caring what might rip or spoil as he did. His haste caused him to fumble and it was taking far longer than he wanted to get himself into an acceptable state of dress.
Dropping the sodden towel to the floor he reached for the boxer shorts on top of the pile and stepped into them, almost breaking his neck after he tripped as a result of his big toe getting caught on the hem. Stumbling backwards he felt himself collide with a solid mass and he was grateful that he'd fallen back far enough for it to be the wall and not the floor. The cold dampness of the water against his drying skin however told him that it wasn't the wall or the floor that had saved his fall. Randy quickly yanked up the underwear that had tripped him and went to step forward but the forearm that quickly looped around his neck and pressed against his throat made it impossible.
“Well hello there you pretty young thing. Just what are you running from King for? I'm not gonna hurt you Randy, in fact, that's the last thing I want to do....”
The low growl in his voice made Randy shudder, the closure of his airway starting to show its effects as the arm held him tighter. He felt another hand sliding down his torso and heading for the waistband of his underwear. He struggled and writhed against the unwanted touching but the combination of the heat of the shower, the shock of the restraint and the lack of air was starting to make his head spin.
“I meant to say to you earlier that I knew your daddy back in the day. He and I...well, we'll just say that we had our ups and downs but I'm sure you're better than him in a lot of ways....”
Randy felt his blood heading towards boiling point but his legs were starting to buckle beneath him and his flailing limbs were growing tired. He thrust his whole body backward to try and shove Lawler away but to no avail.
“Hey, you better tame that wildcat temper of yours if you're gonna make it big here kid. You've got to learn that there's a way to get on in this industry and it ain't by carrying anybody's bags. Now just stop fightin' me cos its just a waste of your energy and besides, I like 'em feisty. You're going to give it up to me just like all the other little 'wet behind the ears' bastards do.”
He felt Lawler's hand tugging at the boxers, starting to ease them down over his hips. The fingers dug into his flesh and no matter how Randy wriggled there didn't seem to be any prospect of escape. The weakness had begun to consume him and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it.
“Hell you've grown boy from when I was last down at OVW. You're real nice. Now you just let King take care of you and we'll all get along just fine.”
The sliding of the wet and hairy chest against the tender flesh of his back made the nausea wash over Randy and his knees finally gave way as his skin was pawed and mauled He felt the arm drag away from his throat and as his body slid to the cold floor his head connected firmly with the bench. The last thing he clearly heard was a sharp bang and colourful cursing that registered in the distant part of his mind as it zoned out.
Everything in front of his eyes went fuzzy and his only working sense sent the scuffling sounds behind him to his brain. Muffled cries of “Stop it King.” and “You bastard!” echoed in his mind but he wasn't sure he was even saying it out loud as the tears welled in his eyes, his traumatised body preparing for the worst and slowly shutting down. Randy felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder all he could do was to curl into a ball, drawing his knees to his chest, unable to function further and praying hard for it to be over quickly.
Another distant bang and a cool breeze along his skin broke lifted some of the trance he'd descended into and he felt the chubby fingers of a hand curl around his wrist. The gentle tugging motion was accompanied by a warmth around his hips, the soft brushing of fabric against them almost alien in comparison to the clammy hands that had been there only minutes earlier. More fabric fell loosely across his upper body and his hands automatically reached out for it, pulling it around him, doing anything to shield himself.
“Randy? Orton, son? It's ok, I took care a' that sonofabitch for you son. You get up now and put your clothes on, y'hear before you die your death of the cold.”
Randy slowly turned over and unscrewed his eyes, knowing the voice was familiar and definitely not that of his assailant. Rubbing roughly at his eyes he winced as his hand caught the lump that had started to form on his forehead. He took several deep breaths to let the air flow back into his lungs and the mist obscuring his vision gradually began to clear. He saw a figure clad in black on the far side of the room, bent over and retrieving something from the floor. Slowly rising to his feet Randy saw the ten gallon being dusted off and plopped back onto a head he'd never been happier to see.
“I got your back son, I made a promise to your daddy I'd look out for you. Now what say when you're decent we grab a minute with the medics and get that head o' yours looked at. Then you can tell me 'bout how you thought your match went over somethin' warm t'eat?”
A large hand clapped him on the back and then the man strolled away to go and take a seat at the end of the bench, facing towards the door to give Randy a little privacy while he dressed. He watched as the man sat down, assuming an austere pose with his hands on his knees, looking every bit the grandfather immortalised in an inherited oil painting. Reaching for his clothes Randy threw them on as quickly as he could, desperate to get out of the room and feeling more than a little thankful for the protection of a man he would forever be grateful to.
Good ol' JR.
A/N: Yeah, so this invaded my mind after the MNR when King kept calling Cody Rhodes 'Randy Orton' by mistake. I really don't like the creepy old man so I just had a brain!spew and out this came. Hope its not too disturbing and I'll always have much love for JR – a total legend and I can't wait for him to come back :)
Author: slashburd
Subject : Randy Orton with mentions of various others
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not know of any of this to be true, I don’t know or own these people (but I'd secretly love to!).
Summary: M/M Slash, violence, implied/attempted ?non-con, bad language
*
A/N: I have done my research for this fic but I've also used a little bit of artistic licence given the timing of this match and the brand extension so please don't go all wikipedia on my ass if you can help it ;)
*
Pulling on his ring gear that night seemed like the biggest challenge Randy had faced so far in his short career. His hands shook almost uncontrollably and he knew that if he carried like that the chances were he'd have to go out in his sweatshorts having ripped his tights to shreds. He took a deep breath and paused for a moment, desperate to calm the nerves that were making him so twitchy. In his mind he heard echoes of comforting and reassuring words his dad had said to him on his last night at home; platitudes about not worrying and just taking it all in his stride and how he was good enough to beat them all. Randy shook his head to try and clear it, realising that the only person who could get him out of this state of panic was himself.
He stood and gave himself the once over in the mirror, hair perfectly gelled down and sporting just enough body oil like the make up lady had told him. His boots were laced just as his dad had taught him all those years ago. A wave of nostalgia washed over him and he remembered being like this but as a small boy many years ago with his dad stood behind him, his massive calloused hands pressed down on young shoulders. In his mind he heard the familiar call of “Go and get 'em, son!” which had geed him up from his first win to his last one over in OVW just over two weeks ago.
A few of the guys had been around to shake hands and introduce themselves, including his opponent for tonight, Bob Holly. Despite having been warned about Hunter's gruff nature Randy found that he'd had nothing but kind words to offer, empathising nostalgically about his first night on a taping and reassuring him that Vince must see something good in him if he was going over on his first night out. That kind of endorsement made Randy smile wider than it maybe should've done and he'd chastised himself for being so giddy about the whole affair.
The last people he'd been introduced to before coming out of the locker room were the commentators, Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler. Although he'd seen them in attendance at some of the OVW end-of-year bashes he'd never actually spoken to them before and found himself a little starstruck, especially knowing that these guys knew his dad only too well and would be expecting to see a little of the Old Cowboy in him.
Randy knew he'd have to be prised away from Jim who was busy telling him all kinds of facts and fascinating stories about his dad, thankfully though not things that had happened in the 'what goes on on the road, stays on the road' vein. King however was a different kettle of fish. Randy didn't take to him as he'd hoped he would, having spent his adolescent years watching the guy wrestle and then commentate animatedly. He felt King's eyes staring into every inch of his flesh and it made goosebumps come up all over his arms.
One of the last lectures he'd had from his dad before going away to OVW was about the special stares that young newbies got from some of the more established guys. The warning was that in a business where it was all about being able to handle yourself it didn't matter how buffed you were if someone slightly bigger fancied their chances. One or two had tried it on with him in OVW but so far Randy had always managed to put them in their place either physically or verbally.
Now he was stood within two feet of one of the veterans of the industry and wanting nothing more than to scream in his face to stop staring, to look somewhere else. Glancing back at King he saw a wet tongue sweep across the thin lips and a narrowing at the corner of his eyes as they made their way down his toned body, lingering a little too long at his midriff before making their way back up to lock his stare.
He was saved by one of the production staff who had come to usher Jim and Jerry out to the commentary position and as they turned to walk away Randy wiped the thin veil of sweat away that had formed across his brow. He knew that he was bound to be nervous but that had been made all the more intense by the lascivious way that Lawler had so openly leered at him.
The good thing was that as the first timer his match was on first so he'd be able to run on the adrenaline that coursed through him and get it over and done with. He was excited that he'd been booked to win and that made him feel better about going out there. After a few more minutes of hanging around the same producer came and escorted him to the gorilla position where he shook hands with Bob and they wished each other a good match and good luck. Before he knew it he was hearing his non-descript music playing and pacing down the ramp towards the ring with a false confidence he hoped at least the crowd and television audience thought was real.
It was only a short match but it seemed to be over in the blink of an eye to Randy. He'd felt the elation of having his hand raised into the air and getting a smattering of cheers from the capacity crowd. He was sure then that he wanted more of the same for years to come. Heading backstage he was whisked off for a debrief with Vince then to a meeting with the creative team where he was reassured that he'd done a great job. Next were some interviews for the website and finally he cut a promo about how he was going to be the next big thing.
Before he knew it the night's events were over and he was making his way back to the locker room to shed his ring gear and get a shower. Most of the other guys were just heading out to their cars, shouting and laughing as they made their way to the stage door of the arena. He however was just rooting in the bottom of his bag for some shower gel and the towel he preferred to bring with him than risk the sandpaper ones provided at the arenas. Randy stripped off and wrapped the towel around him, not yet feeling comfortable enough yet to wander around naked.
As he stepped into the showers he turned the water on to full blast and the heat right up, washing the smell of the mat and the oil from his skin. He worked the shower gel all over his body, the sweet and spicy smell flooding his senses as he closed his eyes and allowed it all to be forcefully rinsed away. A noise behind him interrupted the pleasant light headedness and he turned to see a naked Lawler entering the shower room. Randy felt the panic rising and froze on the spot, acutely aware of his own nakedness and the lack of other people around. He shut the water off and grabbed for his towel, determined to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Lawler opened his mouth to speak but Randy just barged past, hearing the almost mocking laughter echoing behind him. He found himself glad to be back in the cool quiet surroundings of the locker room and started to towel himself off roughly, taking off what he considered to be just enough water to comfortably get his clothes on and leave. He piled his clean clothes on the bench and shoved his boots and tights into the holdall, not caring what might rip or spoil as he did. His haste caused him to fumble and it was taking far longer than he wanted to get himself into an acceptable state of dress.
Dropping the sodden towel to the floor he reached for the boxer shorts on top of the pile and stepped into them, almost breaking his neck after he tripped as a result of his big toe getting caught on the hem. Stumbling backwards he felt himself collide with a solid mass and he was grateful that he'd fallen back far enough for it to be the wall and not the floor. The cold dampness of the water against his drying skin however told him that it wasn't the wall or the floor that had saved his fall. Randy quickly yanked up the underwear that had tripped him and went to step forward but the forearm that quickly looped around his neck and pressed against his throat made it impossible.
“Well hello there you pretty young thing. Just what are you running from King for? I'm not gonna hurt you Randy, in fact, that's the last thing I want to do....”
The low growl in his voice made Randy shudder, the closure of his airway starting to show its effects as the arm held him tighter. He felt another hand sliding down his torso and heading for the waistband of his underwear. He struggled and writhed against the unwanted touching but the combination of the heat of the shower, the shock of the restraint and the lack of air was starting to make his head spin.
“I meant to say to you earlier that I knew your daddy back in the day. He and I...well, we'll just say that we had our ups and downs but I'm sure you're better than him in a lot of ways....”
Randy felt his blood heading towards boiling point but his legs were starting to buckle beneath him and his flailing limbs were growing tired. He thrust his whole body backward to try and shove Lawler away but to no avail.
“Hey, you better tame that wildcat temper of yours if you're gonna make it big here kid. You've got to learn that there's a way to get on in this industry and it ain't by carrying anybody's bags. Now just stop fightin' me cos its just a waste of your energy and besides, I like 'em feisty. You're going to give it up to me just like all the other little 'wet behind the ears' bastards do.”
He felt Lawler's hand tugging at the boxers, starting to ease them down over his hips. The fingers dug into his flesh and no matter how Randy wriggled there didn't seem to be any prospect of escape. The weakness had begun to consume him and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it.
“Hell you've grown boy from when I was last down at OVW. You're real nice. Now you just let King take care of you and we'll all get along just fine.”
The sliding of the wet and hairy chest against the tender flesh of his back made the nausea wash over Randy and his knees finally gave way as his skin was pawed and mauled He felt the arm drag away from his throat and as his body slid to the cold floor his head connected firmly with the bench. The last thing he clearly heard was a sharp bang and colourful cursing that registered in the distant part of his mind as it zoned out.
Everything in front of his eyes went fuzzy and his only working sense sent the scuffling sounds behind him to his brain. Muffled cries of “Stop it King.” and “You bastard!” echoed in his mind but he wasn't sure he was even saying it out loud as the tears welled in his eyes, his traumatised body preparing for the worst and slowly shutting down. Randy felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder all he could do was to curl into a ball, drawing his knees to his chest, unable to function further and praying hard for it to be over quickly.
Another distant bang and a cool breeze along his skin broke lifted some of the trance he'd descended into and he felt the chubby fingers of a hand curl around his wrist. The gentle tugging motion was accompanied by a warmth around his hips, the soft brushing of fabric against them almost alien in comparison to the clammy hands that had been there only minutes earlier. More fabric fell loosely across his upper body and his hands automatically reached out for it, pulling it around him, doing anything to shield himself.
“Randy? Orton, son? It's ok, I took care a' that sonofabitch for you son. You get up now and put your clothes on, y'hear before you die your death of the cold.”
Randy slowly turned over and unscrewed his eyes, knowing the voice was familiar and definitely not that of his assailant. Rubbing roughly at his eyes he winced as his hand caught the lump that had started to form on his forehead. He took several deep breaths to let the air flow back into his lungs and the mist obscuring his vision gradually began to clear. He saw a figure clad in black on the far side of the room, bent over and retrieving something from the floor. Slowly rising to his feet Randy saw the ten gallon being dusted off and plopped back onto a head he'd never been happier to see.
“I got your back son, I made a promise to your daddy I'd look out for you. Now what say when you're decent we grab a minute with the medics and get that head o' yours looked at. Then you can tell me 'bout how you thought your match went over somethin' warm t'eat?”
A large hand clapped him on the back and then the man strolled away to go and take a seat at the end of the bench, facing towards the door to give Randy a little privacy while he dressed. He watched as the man sat down, assuming an austere pose with his hands on his knees, looking every bit the grandfather immortalised in an inherited oil painting. Reaching for his clothes Randy threw them on as quickly as he could, desperate to get out of the room and feeling more than a little thankful for the protection of a man he would forever be grateful to.
Good ol' JR.
A/N: Yeah, so this invaded my mind after the MNR when King kept calling Cody Rhodes 'Randy Orton' by mistake. I really don't like the creepy old man so I just had a brain!spew and out this came. Hope its not too disturbing and I'll always have much love for JR – a total legend and I can't wait for him to come back :)
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Date: 2010-02-26 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 06:03 am (UTC)