#PLAY RANDY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

visceravalentines · 7 months ago

Text

sugar stuck in your teeth

They're grimy and tired and Benson's neck is sore. Randy gives him a shoulder rub and thinks hard about the allure of being a biological organism.

2.5k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. implied sexual content, nothing explicit. sweat and oil and general nasty. sharing of a toothbrush. so fluffy i'm spinning it up and putting it on a stick and selling it at a carnival. read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

They spend a full day on the road. Seven hours across Texas through scrub and sand. Nothing to see. No end in sight. Randy falls asleep in the dead-eyed sun of mid-afternoon and wakes up in the dark, dry air whipping through the car from Benson's window rolled all the way down.

"Hey." Randy sits up, disoriented, mouth gummy and tasting of bygone Mountain Dew, bladder fit to burst. "Why didn't you wake me up? You've been driving for hours."

"Didn't want to stop." Benson's voice is rough. Randy can read the exhaustion in his posture, the way he grips the wheel with both hands. "Besides, you looked like you could use it."

Randy shifts in his seat. He hasn't slept well all week. "Well…it's my turn now. Let me take over."

"Nah." Benson rolls his neck slowly. "Town's up here in like ten minutes. Figure we stop for the night."

Randy peers through the bug-splattered windshield and sees lights in the near distance. "You wanna find a motel?"

"I'd fucking love a motel. Gimme that lukewarm shower and a box spring mattress. Fucking luxury."

As it turns out, they get none of that. The only place in town has a sign that says Closed and no lights on in the lobby. Doors all locked, despite Benson's best efforts to rattle them open.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't even curse, just slumps defeated back to the car with Randy in tow. "You want the backseat or the front?"

"Benson, I slept for hours, I can–"

"There's not another town for forty miles and if I spend one more second on that fucking highway I'm gonna peel the skin off my face."

Randy doesn't argue. "I'll take the front."

"You sure?" Benson tosses a weary look at him over his shoulder. He squeezes the back of his neck and winces.

Randy nods. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The front sucks. You either have to fold your legs to fit around the steering wheel, or risk nailing the thing with your arm or your head. One time he hit the horn with his knee and scared them both so bad they ended up packing up and driving through the night because neither one could fall back asleep.

He's had plenty of rest. Benson should get the back.

They leave the car parked in the rear lot of the motel and pick their way through the scrub in the dark to take a piss, elbow-to-elbow. Randy barely feels self-conscious anymore. At the start he used to walk ten paces away and make Benson turn around. But that seems silly now. Benson's seen and touched every inch of him. This is nothing.

Benson zips up and takes off down the sidewalk with a haphazard sense of purpose. Randy has to jog a little to catch up. Benson holds out his arm and he ducks beneath it, the weight comfortable across his shoulders. By now Randy feels like he belongs there, pinned against his side.

He reeks. They both do. It's been three, almost four days since they last had a shower, been making do with baby wipes and clean underwear since they left Tennessee. Randy almost can't stand it. Back home, he showered every day, sometimes twice a day if work was rough. Right now, he could scrape the grime off himself with a fingernail.

He's adjusting to this level of awareness of his own body, like he's just now cognizant of the way his skin fits. It makes him sort of anxious. But he's coping. He doesn't really have a choice.

And it's funny–Randy doesn't mind Benson's stench at all. He's uncomfortable with his own stink, but he actually thinks Benson smells kind of…good, maybe. In a gross kind of way. It's such a foreign concept that he keeps inhaling a little too deep at this distance just to prove it to himself.

"What're you doing later?" Benson asks, oblivious.

Randy clears his throat. "Um…not much."

"Oh. Huh." Benson squints down the road towards the distant light of a gas station, the only thing in town that looks alive besides the two of them. "Well, how about I take you to dinner?"

A smile steals its way onto Randy's lips. He hooks his pinkie into Benson's pocket. "That might be nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Benson takes a deep, thoughtful breath. "There's this place…Seven-Eleven?" He casts a dramatic sidelong glance in Randy's direction. "You heard of it?"

"Yeah, I…I think so."

"It's just fantastic. The beer list? Unbelievable. And the atmosphere, well…there's really nothing like it." He's talking with his hands, throwing them off balance. Randy stumbles happily along with him.

"I don't know, um…I've heard they don't have Pringles. Like, the big can. Just the little ones."

Benson scoffs. "Well, now, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. You can get two of the little ones if you want. It's on me."

"Wow."

"I know."

"That's–that's really generous."

"Well, you're gonna have to put out."

Randy coughs out a laugh, looks at his shoes to hide the heat in his face. "Sounds, um…sounds fair."

"Randy, come on." Benson laughs, gives his shoulder a shake. "You're giving it up for two cans of Pringles? You gotta know your worth, man."

He'd give it up for less, but that's beside the point. "Maybe toss in some peach rings and we have a deal."

Benson gives him a squeeze. "Fuck yeah, alright. Now we're talkin'."

They pick their way through the snack aisles of the gas station, select a few staples they aren't sick of yet. Benson salutes the clerk behind the counter like he's an American hero. They make their way back down the road to the motel in silence save for the crunching of chips and cellophane.

It's a beautiful night, still warm from the sun, everything orange beneath the sodium streetlights. Not a soul in sight save for them. This town looks like every other one and Randy likes that, likes that it's starting to feel like coming home when they stop for the night in a new place with a single stoplight.

They lean against the trunk of the Chrysler and pass the Big Gulp back and forth. It's too late for caffeine so they got root beer, extra ice, because Benson likes to fish it out and chew on it. There's too many streetlights to really see the stars, but that doesn't stop Randy from trying. He sucks the sour off a peach ring and feels a little bit nauseous and a lot filthy and an overall, bone-deep sense of contentment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Benson twist his head, trying to roll out his neck again. It's not the sharp jerk of his familiar tic, not quite, but it makes Randy nervous. He's been doing it all night. He wonders if it was something he said, something he did. He still doesn't know what exactly he's trying to shrug off every time, but he knows enough to tread that ground lightly.

"You okay?" he asks, tries to make it casual. He swallows the peach ring whole and has to fight it all the way down his esophagus.

"Yeah." Benson nods, winces slightly. "Yeah. Just sore." He grips the back of his neck and stretches, lips hitched in a grimace.

Randy can imagine. Slumped in a car days on end, cracking the damn thing all the time. He sets the Big Gulp on the trunk, thinks, hesitates. Commits.

"Would you, um…would you want me to rub it out for you?"

Benson looks at him warily as he considers the offer. He's slow to answer, but Randy is patient. Doesn't push it. Lets him think about it.

Finally he nods. "Sure. Why not."

Randy clambers up on the trunk and sits behind him. Benson leans back between his legs, rests his elbows on Randy's knees, hangs his head forward. The space between them is awkward all of the sudden. Too close, not close enough. Too many clothes on. Too much skin exposed.

Randy is nervous and he's not sure why. He thinks fleetingly of their first time, his first time, and the way Benson's hands hovered an inch over his skin and shook a little bit. This isn't that, but it feels kind of the same. "You can…tell me to stop if you want. Whatever you want. It's okay."

"How about you start and then we'll see."

Randy brushes the curls at the base of Benson's neck hesitantly with his thumb before he wraps his hand around the muscle of his shoulder, gives an experimental squeeze. "Right…there?"

"Higher."

He moves his hand up and tries again. "There?"

Benson hisses through his teeth, cringes. "Yeah. Fuck."

Randy sets his hands on either side of his neck and squeezes gently.

"Yeah. Right there."

Benson's all tension beneath the skin, stiff and warm under his cold fingers. Randy thinks about the color of his muscles, the white of bone underneath them. He's pretty sure he's never touched anyone like this before, not even Benson, not like this. Not friendly or sexual, just…intimate.

"If you want me to stop, just–just say so, okay?"

Benson grunts an affirmative. His skin is oily and his muscles are taut as bowstrings, so riddled with knots it feels like buckshot lodged in his flesh. Randy presses his thumbs in deep and pushes up along his spine, again and again, feels a flush of satisfaction as Benson melts back against the car.

"Fuck," he moans.

"Hurts?"

"Yeah. Don't stop."

Randy's nothing if not good at taking orders. He falls into a rhythm, slow and steady, works over his neck and shoulders and back again. Benson swears up a storm and lets out a low whimper whenever he hits a sore spot.

"Sorry," Randy murmurs every time.

Benson never replies, but that's okay. He doesn't tell him to stop either.

At first his hands are balled into fists against Randy's knees, but after a while they go slack. He relaxes, finally, allows Randy and the car to support his weight. It's a selfish thought, but Randy hopes he's the first person to do this for him, or at least the first in a long, long time. Benson doesn't have a lot of firsts left. He wants this one.

Before long, his hands are cramping and he worries he's going to rub his neck raw but doesn't want to stop touching him, doesn't want to forfeit this new familiarity with his body. So he eases up, cheats a little bit, combs his fingers through his greasy hair and scratches at his scalp. It makes his chest feel tight, the way Benson leans into his touch with his eyes closed and groans under his breath.

When he finally pulls away, Randy tries to subdue his disappointment, until he turns around and reaches up to hook a hand behind Randy's head.

"C'mere," Benson mumbles, tugging him close and meeting him halfway for a kiss that tastes like peach rings and root beer. Randy grips his forearm and for a second, in his mind's eye, everything drops out and disappears into the void, save for them and the car and the stars.

When he breaks the kiss Benson doesn't let him go, holds him in place with their foreheads pressed together. Neither of them speak. Randy focuses so hard on Benson's breathing he forgets to breathe himself. There are words, but they creep by in silence like animals in the dark.

"We still got water in the back?" Benson says at last.

"Mmhm."

"I'm gonna brush my teeth. Change into my jammies." His jammies are a pair of basketball shorts made of more holes than fabric.

"Okay," Randy says.

Neither one of them moves. The crickets chat amongst themselves in the brush.

"You still want the front?" Benson asks.

"Sure."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Benson sighs softly through his nose. He lets go of him and steps back, shuffles from one foot to the other and stares at Randy for a long time, hair sticking up in all directions. Finally he goes to dig through the backseat for the water jug.

"Looks like a bunch of fuckin' raccoons live in here," he mutters.

Randy chuckles, looks at his hands palm-up on his lap. He's got Benson's skin beneath his nails, his sweat and oil worked into the whorls of his fingerprints. He's never been so close to another person. Spent his whole life maintaining a safe distance from everyone around him, treating his body like a blast zone. Now the idea of distance is laughable. They share everything but toothbrushes. Hell, he's been inside him. Randy always figured he would never reach that level of connection with anybody.

He brings his hand to his face and hesitates for just a second before he sticks his thumb in his mouth. The salt of Benson's sweat is familiar on his tongue. He tastes his skin on his skin. He knows him. He knows him. And Benson knows him right back.

He's craved this sort of intimacy his whole life. Laid awake alone countless nights and ached for it, mourned bitterly for what he never had and assumed he never would. But now he lies awake with Benson beside him and basks in how wrong he was. In how real he feels in his arms, wearing a second skin of grit and spit and whatever else.

He doesn't want to sleep in the front.

Randy twists to call over his shoulder. "Hey…um, Benson?"

"Yeah?" he says around his toothbrush.

"You think we could…both fit in the back?"

Benson spits on the asphalt. "No."

"Well…could we try?"

Benson snorts. "Fuckin' clingy, huh?" he says, but he sounds amused. Randy feels those dark eyes appraising him like a pair of hands fumbling at his clothes. He tugs absentmindedly at the collar of his shirt. Well, Benson's shirt. "Yeah. We can try."

Randy hops off the trunk and joins him in the evening routine, bumping shoulders, bumping elbows, their voices small and close in the night.

"Gonna sweat to death together back there," Benson says.

"That's okay."

"If you say so. Think I might skip the jammies. That cool?"

"That's–that's fine, yeah. That's good. Hey…is that my toothbrush?"

"No, yours is green."

"That is green."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is, the light makes it look weird."

Benson looks at the thing again. "Oh. Whoops. Does it really matter?"

Randy gives this serious consideration, thinks about his mouth and everywhere it's been. Thinks about the state of the rest of him. Thinks about pressing his body to Benson's in the backseat, sticky with sweat, breath on his neck.

He wants to say yes, it matters, but he doesn't feel it. He tastes salt on his tongue instead.

"I guess not," he shrugs.

Benson hands it to him.

"Your turn, then."

#i really do be dunking my barbies in mud and then playing house w them #and then posting at such odd hours #oh well. try and stop me. you can't #stockroom syndrome #the passenger #the passenger 2023 #the passenger fanfiction #ranson #randy bradley #benson the passenger #the passenger 2023 fanfiction

84 notes · View notes

thlayli-ra · 1 month ago

Note

Whump Prompt - Shock Collars, Gunther/Cody with references to Randy and background Cody/Randy, please? ❤

I'll give you some puppy eyes of my very own!

(Also I'd definitely owe you another fic in return 👀)

How could I resist (and YES! I'll definitely send another fic prompt your way at some point!) Enjoy! 😙❤️

I'm also tagging @paladinofmoonlight as this will tie in slightly with your request fic.

Trick - 'Shock Collar'

Characters - Cody Rhodes, Randy Orton, Gunther, CM Punk (cameo), Drew McIntyre (cameo), Ludwig Kaiser (mentioned), Giovanni Vinci (mentioned)

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Winner's Room, non-con/extremely dub-con (implied), shock collar, pet play, trauma

(This fic is based in my Winner's Room AU)

The only man that Cody Rhodes avoided in the back was Gunther. And that was because Randy himself told him to.

He could still remember the night after Crown Jewel had wrapped when he'd sat up waiting for Randy, growing more worried with each passing hour until at long last his husband returned. Cody knew something wasn't right the moment Randy shuffled onto the bus, noting how his hoodie was zipped right up to the neck, his head bowed and feet heavy, like they were dragging great iron chains behind him.

'Randy?'

His husband stumbled back with fright, suddenly realising that he was not alone. 'You're here?' he gasped, meaning to say 'awake' - he'd been hoping Cody would be asleep. The blonde rushed to his husband and cupped his face in both hands. Randy flinched at the touch and Cody's alarm spiked when he saw his husband's eyes. He looked... haunted.

'Where have you been?'

Randy turned his face away with shame. 'With Gunther,' he replied.

A stone sank into the pit of Cody's stomach. He knew, of course he knew. It was a PLE night and Randy had lost, of course Gunther would come to collect his winner's rights. Yet even so, hearing it drip like acid from his husband's mouth made it sting all the more.

But something didn't sit right. Usually it wouldn't take this long for a quick fuck or a blow job. A winner would only need maybe half an hour, an hour tops with their prize to reap their rewards. Why had Randy been gone for close to six? 'Tell me what happened?' He was answered with silence, not even a flicker of eye contact. 'Randy? What did he do to you?'

'I'm worn out, he'd replied and Cody's shoulders slumped with defeat. 'I need some rest. We can talk in the morning.'

But they didn't.

Cody thought it best not to pry. Until Bash at Berlin. He'd been as surprised as anybody when Randy had challenged Gunther for another match for the World Heavyweight Championship. In the weeks leading up to the event, he brought up his concerns with his husband.

'What if it ends up like last time?'

'It won't be like last time,' Randy protested as he knotted up the laces of his boots. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'I don't doubt that,' Cody sighed. 'It's just... when you got back, you were so... traumatised and I just can't stand to-'

Randy cut Cody off by slamming the heel of his boot against the bench, the wood colliding with the metal locker door with a great clang. Cody glared up at his husband, who refused to meet his eye. 'It won't be like last time,' Randy said again, except his voice was weaker than before. Fragile, like a whisper on the wind.

To his credit, Randy was right; the match was nothing like the last time. Cody watched it on the monitors in gorilla, cradling the aches and pains in his own body from his match with Kevin Owens, as his husband fought bravely against the Austrian behemoth. Two bulls battering one another in the arena, each taking turns to gore the other, their skin turning red and breaking from the brutal onslaught. Randy managed to disable Gunther's hand, his greatest weapon, then, when he dumped the Champion through the announce desk, a spark of hope shone bright. Cody watched his majestic husband pose to the crowd and began to imagine the gold belt glistening around his waist. The pride and glory of his victory.

But then, back in the ring, right when Randy was poised to deliver an RKO that would end it all, Gunther locked on a sleeper hold, and no matter how the Viper tried to snake his way out of his opponent's clutches, it was not enough. The blood drained from Cody's face as Randy's arm went slack, stopped breathing as the ref lifted up the lifeless limb and let it drop to the mat.

'No...' he shook his head at the screen, his bad knee almost buckling under him as he turned and hobbled towards the curtain. Just as he got there, it was tossed aside and the towering frame of Gunther walked through. He took one ice-cold look at his fellow champion and sniffed, walking past Cody towards the back. Shortly after, the curtain twitched again and this time, a ground down, exhausted Randy shuffled through.

'Randy!' Cody wrapped his arms around his husband, never heeding the sweat and grime of the ring as he held his husband close. Their moment was cut all too short by a shrill whistle and they both turned to find Gunther waiting on his trophy.

'I have to go, Codes,' Randy sighed, his voice breaking as he forcibly prised the blonde off of him.

'NO! No Randy, you can't!' Cody fought back, grabbing at any part of his husband's body and clinging on for dear life. 'Please! Don't go with him! I'm begging you!'

'Cody,' Randy lifted his lover's chin. His fingers were trembling. Cody choked at the sight of his husband's face, the fear and terror in his grey-blue eyes. 'Don't wait up for me this time.'

'Randy, please... no!'

'I have to,' he uttered and softly placed a kiss on Cody's lips. 'I love you.'

Then he left. Left with that monster, who leered at Cody when he wrapped his hand around the small of Randy's back and lead him away. And Cody just had to accept it. Just had to shower and dress and head back to the bus like it was all ok but the dread gnawed at the pit of his stomach and he felt like throwing up and he couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep but Randy told him not to wait up for him so what could he do? He sat on the bed and he tried to read and tried to look at his phone and tried to watch tv but he couldn't focus at all.

At some point in the night, the exhaustion of waiting took over and his eyes fell shut, only to be woken up again some time later to a strange noise coming from the living area of his bus. Shuffling off the bed, Cody limped over to the bedroom door and opened it, hobbling past the bunks and the kitchen area until he found a figure hunched over in a chair, its face hidden behind his huge palms as it wept fitfully.

He said nothing, just placed his arms around Randy's shoulders and held him tight. Once again, Randy flinched at the sudden contact but when he realised there was no danger, he coiled his own large arms around Cody's waist and cried into his chest like a scared little boy.

'I'm so s-sorry, Codes,' he hushed out between sobs. 'I'm s-supposed to be strong-'

'You have nothing to be sorry about,' Cody told his husband sternly, a spark of flame lighting up in his blue eyes. 'It's Gunther who's going to pay for this.'

'Cody!' The blonde was pushed back, Randy grabbing his upper arms in a vice grip. 'Don't you ever go near that bastard, you hear me? You stay the hell away from him. Promise me!'

'Randy, I can't just let him get away with what he did to-?'

'PROMISE ME!'

The once proud warrior's face was wet with tears, his eyes blood-shot and frayed by a thousand and one traumas. He suddenly looked so... small. So vulnerable. The snake had had his venom sapped from his body, his fangs yanked out with rusty pliers.

Cody shook his head from side-to-side sorrowfully. 'Just tell me what he did to you.'

The grey eyes shimmered with fresh tears, Randy's face scrunched up with despair. 'Please Cody,' his voice was hoarse, on the brink of falling apart again, 'please don't make me say it.'

His heart broke in two at that and he couldn't bear to torture his cherished lover any more. 'Ok,' he said and pulled Randy into another bruising hug, one that he hoped chased away the demons. 'You don't have to tell me. And I'll stay away from Gunther. I promise.'

He may not be able to ask The Ring General what had transpired, but there were other ways to skin a cat and one possible lead as to what had happened after Bash in Berlin was the very man that Cody found himself catching up with during Raw the following Monday. CM Punk should have been in high spirits after winning both his match and his bracelet back but he seemed a little on edge around the blonde. Cody's suspicions were confirmed when Punk, pretending to swipe through his phone, softly uttered, 'and how's Randy?'

Cody narrowed his eyes at his friend. 'What do you mean, "how's Randy"?'

Punk looked up, fidgeting in his chair. 'Well he lost his match on Saturday, right?'

The two men eyed one another, Punk feeling the noose tighten around his neck, Cody the one pulling the rope. 'You know something, don't you?'

The veteran cast his eyes down. 'I dunno what you're talking-'

'Punk,' Cody crouched down, not allowing the tattooed man to escape. 'If you know something then tell me. I need to know what happened, I have to know what Gunther did to him.'

The mere sound of Gunther's name sent a visible shudder up Punk's spine and his hazel eyes lost focus, staring away into the middle distance. Just like Randy's had done. 'That's not for me to say,' he replied at last. 'You have to ask Randy about that.'

'I tried but he won't talk to me,' Cody heaved a frustrated sigh, 'and he told me to stay away from Gunther.'

'Good!' Punk shot back. 'He's right! You stay the fuck away from him, Cody, you hear?'

The blonde scrunched up his face. He was getting real sick of hearing this. Like he was some withering flower, some princess in a tower who needed protected. 'You don't understand Punk, you didn't see the way Randy was afterwards. That rat bastard hurt the man I love! How am I meant to ignore that?'

'You have to,' Punk ordered him. 'It's for the best. Anyway...' Punk got to his feet, 'I'm the one gunning for Gunther next. Now that Drew is in my rear-view mirror, I'm gonna go out there and lay down the challenge.'

'And let me guess, did Randy put you up to that?' Cody caught the older man's eye, noting how Punk dragged his tongue along his bottom lip.

'We're only looking out for you, Cody,' he said before heading to gorilla.

Punk was a dead-end but Cody had one more possible lead. If Punk had been hanging around the arena on Saturday night, it was likely with his own winner's trophy. Cody found Drew McIntyre leaving the men's locker room, looking nervous as if he was running late, which was odd because he wasn't dressed for a match. In fact, his attire was a bit strange in general for Drew - blue jeans, walking boots and a black zip hoodie.

Cody called his name and the large Scot paused for a moment, glancing up at him. 'Drew, you got a minute?'

'Make it quick, Rhodes,' Drew warned, twitching impatiently.

'Why? You got somewhere you need to be?'

The Scotsman didn't appreciate being interrogated. 'Spit. It. Out.'

'Fine,' Cody didn't see any point in angering the already cantankerous Scot. 'I need to know what happened after Bash in Berlin.'

The blue eyes flashed, growing large for a split-second, betraying the startle at the mention of the PLE's name. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared again and Drew pulled his lips back, baring his teeth.

'Out of my fucking way,' he snarled, shoving Cody aside, and that was that. He had exhausted all of his leads and was no further forward in finding out what had happened to Randy. Slumping back against the wall, Cody bumped the back of his head against the hard brick and tried to fight down the disappointment.

There was one last witness he could try, one final lead. He knew for certain that Gunther would be there here tonight.

But he couldn't do that to Randy, not after seeing the fear in his eyes. He couldn't add to his pain. He had made a promise and he was going to stick to it.

However, in this business, promises are so frequently broken.

With Punk on the shelf after Drew's ambush at Raw and their subsequent Hell in a Cell match, Gunther was in need of a new opponent so Hunter made the announcement at Bad Blood, that Cody would be facing him at Crown Jewel. Randy went ballistic, but no amount of yelling and debating would change the trajectory. With a heavy heart, Cody was forced to break his promise to his husband.

And come the day of the PLE, he would discover the horrors that Randy had faced first-hand.

The only thought that ran through the blonde's head as he lay on his back staring up at the bright lights above was of his husband kissing him before the match, holding him tight. 'Win, you hear me,' he'd said, unable to hide the croak in his voice. 'You must win!'

Cody had fought hard. Had given the Austrian as good as he got. But Gunther was bigger, stronger and more sadistic. He had worn the blonde down to the ground and still kept on kicking. Cody was certain he had a cracked rib or two from the vicious chops, every breath he dragged in stung like a knife plunging into his chest. He was only vaguely aware of the ref's hand smacking the canvas for the one, two, three, hardly noticed the victor get to his feet to have his arm raised.

It was only when the boards swayed beneath him as two chunky knees crashed down beside him and a fat finger tenderly trace a line of sweat down his brow and cheek that the implications of his loss hit him.

'You are mine now, welpe.'

Gunther didn't wait for him to stand on his own. He hauled the dazed blonde onto his shoulder and carried him out of the ring, but instead of heading up the ramp to the back, Gunther marched towards the announce desk and left through the stunned crowd. Cody slumped like carrion on the hunter's back, trying to make sense of the pattern of strange hallways and doors. Through the lifting haze, he could hear something, a booming voice yelling his name over and over.

'Randy...?' He tried to lift his thumping head, finally shaking the cotton wool in his brain loose. 'Randy, where-'

He was dropped down from Gunther's shoulder and thrown into a dark room. The light was flicked on and he saw a couple of neatly packed bags on the benches realising that Gunther had not taken him to his designated locker room, but somewhere else instead. Bunching up his fists, Cody turned and found the Austrian locking the door tight behind him.

'Alone at last,' Gunther said, walking calmly across the room to lay the key to the door on a bench, easily within Cody's reach. A test, the blonde surmised, the games have begun already. 'No crowd. No officials. Just you and me.'

'Good, I've been hoping for a chance to talk,' Cody puffed out his chest defiantly. He was not afraid of the Ring General.

'Well then,' Gunther gave a wry chuckle, clanking his brand new, diamond-encrusted belt down pride of place for his defeated opponent to see. 'As you say, "what do you want to talk about?"'

Cody took in a steadying breath. 'Crown Jewel. Bash in Berlin. What did you do to Randy?'

'Hmm.' Gunther ran a finger along the gold edge of the championship then straightened up, Cody stepping out of harm's way as the Austrian moved past him towards his possessions. 'You want answers.' Glancing back over his shoulder, Cody saw the key, sitting right there on the bench, a fingertip away. He could grab it, rush for the door, get out.

But the pull for answers was too strong, too important. He stayed put.

Behind him, Gunther was rummaging through one of the bags. 'You see that beautiful belt, right there?' Cody's blue eyes moved from the key to the Crown Jewel Championship. 'That belongs to me, to prove that I am the better champion. A king of champions.'

Suddenly, something wrapped around Cody's neck and jerked him backwards, choking him. His hands went to his throat, fingers grasping at a leather strap and he tried to pull it away but it tightened even more, almost lifting him off his feet.

Then he was let go, landing awkwardly on his bad knee and almost crumbling to the floor. Both hands grasped the garrotte around his neck, finding what felt like a dog's collar.

'And as King of Champions,' Gunther went on, his voice booming directly behind him, 'you belong to me now too. You want answers? You want to know what I did to Randy?' Heavy footsteps thundered around him, Gunther walking into his line of sight. Cody spotted what looked like a remote in his large hand. 'I will show you, welpe.'

'What does that mean?' Cody hissed at the Austrian, but Gunther didn't seem to hear. Or care.

'Dogs don't talk,' he said, cryptically, confusing the blonde. 'Now, let's start with a simple command, shall we? Sitz.' He looked expectantly at Cody who glared right back, not understanding this bizarre situation at all. 'Sitz!' Again, Cody refused to move. 'I said sitz.'

'I don't under- AAAGHHHH!!!!!' A bolt of electricity screamed across Cody's head and down his spine. Every one of his muscles were momentarily paralysed and his legs fell out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the tiled floor. He sat panting on the ground, gasping with shock.

'That's it, braver hund.'

Cody's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. Shock collar, his mind cried out in panic. He put you in a shock collar!

'Let's try another,' Gunther's frame seemed even larger now as it loomed over Cody like a great, terrible beast. 'How about-'

But before he could finish, the moment was interrupted by the shrill sound of a cell phone ringing. Gunther went searching for it, allowing Cody a moment to draw breath and assess his dire situation. He could stall no longer, he had to get the key, it was right there and-

'Randy.'

Randy?!

'Yes, I have your bitch right here with me,' Gunther sneered down the phone, his cold eyes finding the fallen champion at his feet. 'A fine specimen he is too. A pure-bred pedigree, from a distinguished lineage, same as you, Randy.' The Austrian trailed his fingers up between Cody's shoulder blades, making the blonde shudder as his captor playfully ruffled the platinum bristles at the back of his neck. 'Such a beautiful creature.'

For the first time that evening, the fear began to claw at him. He looked up at Gunther, reaching for the cell in his hand. 'Please, let me-'

'Do you want to speak with him, Randy? Here.' Gunther held the phone close and the tears almost rushed in when he heard his husband's terror-laced voice.

'Cody? Are you there?'

'I'm here, Randy,' he said, swallowing down his anguish. 'I'll be fine.'

'I'm coming for you. Just hold on.'

'Randy...' Cody took in a quick breath, steeling himself. 'Don't wait up for me, ok?'

'Tell me where you are!' Randy's panic cranked up several notches. 'I'll come find-'

Gunther pulled the cell away, cutting the conversation off. The two men locked eyes as the Ring General took several steps back and placed the phone down on the floor. Cody could hear the small, tinny sound of Randy's voice calling his name frantically and it tore his hear to shreds.

But then, Gunther walked away to the other side of the room, leaving the cell behind. Cody sensed another game, feeling his skin prick with nerves when his captor brandished the control in his hand. A threat. 'No more distractions,' he boomed, his thumb hovering over the large red button on the remote. 'Let's continue with our training. Next command; steh.'

'You want me to stay?' Cody scoffed up at the huge gargoyle. 'Is that it?' Gunther said nothing, only stroked his calloused thumb around the edges of the red button. 'Well, I say, over my dead body!'

Cody leapt forward, arm stretched for the cell when another bolt shot through him, fiercer and longer this time. He fell on his side, his whole body turning as stiff as a board, stretching out like a piece of taffy on the hook.

Then it released him.

He was closer now, he just had to reach up and-

Another bolt, even stronger than the last. It went on for close to ten seconds before it let him go.

The pain was unbearable, his body felt like was being roasted from the inside out. But he gritted his teeth, lowered his brow and heaved his trembling hand from the tiles to grab the-

'AAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHH!'

He was on fire! His blood boiling in his veins! The pain convulsed through him, making his helpless frame judder like a fish caught on dry land. He screamed until his lungs collapsed.

Gunther released his hold on the button. Cody's tattered breaths filled the air, trying to breath through the agony.

'I expected you to be difficult,' Gunther muttered. 'What else could I expect from Randy's bitch. But I broke him eventually, and I will break you too.'

A pocket of bile threw up into Cody's mouth. He spat it out with contempt.

'I am nobody's bitch!' he declared, struggling up to one elbow, a feat which took every ounce of strength and spirit he possessed, 'and I am nothing like Randy.'

Tilting his head slightly, Gunther chewed over Cody's brave words. 'We'll see.'

He slammed his thumb over the button.

'AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!'

Droplets of tepid water broke Cody from his stupour. He found his face pressed down on the tiles and feared for a moment that the rivulets rushing down his face were piss but fortunately it didn't taste like it. It was only water.

'Wake up, Cody,' Gunther's deep, menacing voice vibrated into his skull. 'I didn't give the order to rest.'

His arms were numb, dead to any feeling. So were his legs. Only his neck creaked slowly up to allow him to turn his head and find his captor. He was settling back down onto the bench, taking a swig from the water bottle he had used to rouse Cody from unconsciousness. He looked tired. They had been at this for hours now.

'You are one stubborn little scheiße, I'll admit that,' Gunther said, leaning back against the wall, dribbling the last dredges of water on his brow. 'I had Randy fully trained by now.'

'M'said before,' Cody's clumsy lips tried to form words. 'M'nothing like... Randy...'

'Yes, I see that now.' The Austrian paused for a moment, sitting as still as a grim sculpture. After a while, he leaned over and reached into a bag beside him, pulling from it something long and strange, with a tangle of leather tails dangling from one end. A flogger! 'You actually remind me more of someone else.' He inspected the item, holding in his hand like a precious bar of gold. 'Of Ludwig. Or, to be more precise... of Marcel.'

Cody blinked at that. Trying to find the connection between himself and Gunther's snivelling lackey. Or why his previous name was so significant.

'Marcel was a difficult dog to train too,' Gunther went on, teasing the thick strands of leather though his fingers. 'Stubborn, resilient, intelligent. Too intelligent. Just like you, he absorbed all the pain I inflicted on him and gave me nothing in return.'

Some feeling finally returned to Cody's body. Merely a flicker, but enough for him to draw his quivering arms underneath him and push himself up. He slumped against the wall behind him, keeping his chin up to observe his captor as he spun his tale.

'But just like you, he had a weakness,' Gunther's cruel, evil eye found his and held on, like a locked jaw. 'He had Fabian.' Giovanni, Cody realised. Ludwig's long-time tag partner and another of Gunther's lackeys. Former tag-partner and lackey. Not anymore. Not after his teammates had turned on him and violently exiled him from Imperium.

'I made a bargain with him,' Gunther went on, 'if he submitted to me, then no harm would come to Fabian. He didn't care about his own welfare but the man he loved... that was a different story. He finally gave himself over to me, unaware that his lover had already sold him out for his own worthless life.'

Cody's chest tightened, overwhelmed with empathy for his fellow victim.

'You see, there is a certain finesse with dog training. It's not always about getting quick results. Sometimes, it takes a little time, patience. All it needs is a single break-through, one moment for a bond of trust to be forged between a master and his pet. And over time that bond grows, link by link.'

He had lost him. Cody couldn't follow the logic or why it related to him, but he could sense the danger growing closer every second. He flinched when Gunther stood up and took a step towards him, but he did not tread any closer. Instead, he placed the flogger on the ground between them then returned to his spot on the bench, his mammoth arms resting on his open thighs.

'From this day on, I promise never to claim my winner's rights over Randy again.'

Cody hitched a breath. Had he just heard him right? This couldn't be true. There had to be a catch!

'If...?' He locked his blue eyes onto Gunther's.

The Austrian smiled broadly, letting out a laugh like the rumble of thunder. 'You are a smart one,' he grinned, proudly. 'Letting Randy go means I have a space in my kennels that needs filling. Perhaps you know someone willing to take his place...?'

There it was!

Cody's gaze sank to the floor. He understood. The dog-catcher had the cunning stray cornered and had looped the leash slip around his throat. He looked at the flogger lying there, waiting.

And he knew what to do.

Letting out a wince of pain, he fell onto his hands and knees. His body was numb but he forced it to crawl on all fours across the tiles, grunting with each pain-filled, hard-fought inch, until he reached the flogger and bent his face down to it. Opening his mouth wide, he wrapped his tongue around it and pulled it in, his teeth crunching down into the worn leather of the handle to keep it secure as he lifted his head back up.

That was the easy bit.

Cody hesitated, fighting that last piece of him that demanded he drop the flogger and grab the key still sitting there on the bench and make a dash for the door. But he remembered Randy, remembered that haunted look in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks and he couldn't bear a repeat of his husband's torment.

So he crawled over to Gunther.

'Braver hund,' his master smiled triumphantly, putting out his palm for Cody to drop the flogger in. He was rewarded with a gentle ruffle of his master's hand through his hair, trembling at the touch. Discovering that he hated Gunther's tenderness far more than he hated his brutality.

'Now,' Gunther leered, stroking his hand all the way down Cody's bare back until it hit the waistband of his wrestling tights. Cody suppressed a gasp when the strange fingers slid right in. 'Let's see if you're ready for breeding.'

Randy broke his promise. He was waiting for him.

Cody jumped when he opened the door to his tour bus and found his husband there on the steps, on the brink of sleep. As soon as he saw Cody though, he jumped back to life and grabbed him up in a bruising hug.

'Cody! Are you-? Did he hurt you? Talk to me.'

But what could he say? How could he begin to explain?

'I feel dirty,' he said at last.

Randy understood. 'Let's run you a shower.'

His husband took great care with him, letting Cody strip himself then helped him into the small shower unit on the bus, turning the water up good and hot. Cody didn't have enough energy in him to stand, instead sitting on the floor with his knees bunched up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them protectively while Randy gently scrubbed away the filth of Gunther's winner's room with soap and a sponge. He asked no questions, knew better than that. Knew better than anyone.

Even now, Cody could see that trauma in his husband's grey-blue eyes and wondered if he now looked that way too. Now that he had endured the same torture. But he had only received it once, Randy had lost to that monster twice in a matter of mere months.

Cody reached out and grabbed his husband tightly by the wrist. Randy gave a start and stared wide-eyed at his lover who used his other hand to cup the Viper's bristly cheek.

'He told you you were weak,' Cody said, his voice steady as a rock in stormy waters, bashed and buffeted yet standing firm. 'You're not, Randy. Don't believe him. You are the strongest man I know.'

The Viper's jaw fell slack, hanging open as words tried and failed to come out. His brow furrowed and his eyes blinked, each time manifesting more spots of light which blurred out the grey-blue. He gave a wobbly nod and tried to look away.

But Cody grabbed his chin with both hands and lifted his head back up proudly. Pulling him in under the hot spray, he brought their lips together and kissed him passionately. And when the kiss was over, he rested his forehead against Randy's, drinking in the warmth and love from his husband, filling his empty soul back up to the brim again.

'We both are,' he said. 'We're both stronger. Together.'

#Thlayli-writes #cody rhodes #randy orton #candy #gunther #imperium #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction #fic request #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw torture #tw pet play #Thlayli's Trick or Treat #winner's room au

24 notes · View notes