They always had separate hotel rooms. Randy hadn't exactly explained to his father why that was necessary; he had just mumbled something about needing his space. They had been on the road together for several months, and Randy was getting tired of pretending he was going 'out with the guys'. He really didn't have any friends in the WWE, and he had a feeling his dad was wondering how he really spent his nights. It was time to tell him.
Randy took a deep breath, then knocked at his father's hotel room door. Cowboy Bob opened the door wide, smiling when he saw his son. "Hey son. Boys ditch ya tonight?"
"I'm, uh, not going out tonight." Randy rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to say this. Naturally, he had thought about it before, increasingly over the past few months, but the words now seemed to be stuck in the back of his throat.
"Well, come in." Bob headed back into his room, Randy following slowly. Bob took a seat on the edge of the bed, gazing expectantly at his son. "You ok, boy?" he questioned.
Randy took a long, deep breath. "Dad, there's something I gotta tell you," he said softly.
Cowboy Bob looked at his son for a moment, then sighed. "You're gay, aren't ya?"
Randy's eyes bugged. "What? You - you know?"
Bob shook his head, sighing again. "Randy, you're 24 years old, and you ain't never brought home a girl. I ain't never heard you talk about girls. And I ain't blind; I see the way you look at them other boys in the locker room."
Randy swallowed, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. "So, you're ok with that?"
Bob shrugged. "You're my boy, Randy, and I love ya. Ya can't help what nature gave ya." He gave Randy a little smile, which he son mirrored. Bob hesitated just a second, then continued. "I don't suppose there's a man in your life?"
"Well - no, not exactly." Randy cleared his throat, hoping that his father's insight wouldn't extend too much further. There were some things he didn't need his dad to know.
Cowboy Bob gave a long, drawn out sigh. "I didn't think so, although I was hopin'. So you're too busy sleeping around to pick up a boyfriend?"
"Dad!" Randy flushed red, mortified that his father was actually aware of his promiscuous ways.
"Son, I was around the locker room for a lotta years, I know what some of the boys get up to." Bob snorted, a half smile curving his lips. "Hell, I roomed with Piper for a while, that man always had crazy shit goin' on! I seen it all, son." Bob stood up, putting a hand on his son's arm. "I don't care if you're gay, Randy. I love ya just the same. But you're a hell of a lot better than what I seen you up to lately."
Randy was a little too worried about where this was going to be happy about his father's acceptance. He cocked his head, trying not to look concerned as he met his father's gaze. "I don't know what you mean, pop," he retorted defiantly.
Bob took a long breath, looking down at the carpet, then raising his eyes to meet his son's gaze. "Randy, I don't wanna say this, but I think ya need to hear it. I gotta say first that I ain't got nothin' against casual sex, but too much of a good thing ain't always so great. And, well," he paused briefly, gazing directly into his son's eyes. "Randy, no one wants to buy the town bike."
Randy's brows instantly drew together, and he jerked his arm away from his father's touch. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" he spat angrily, turning on his heel and stalking towards the door. He yanked it open, slamming it shut behind him as he marched into the hall. He took off at a fast walk, almost a jog, speeding away from the door as if it were poison. He sped past the next door, his room, and headed right down to the elevator. His eyes were wet, and he blinked rapidly to push back that unwelcome moister as he jabbed the button for the next floor.
This was not at all how he'd pictured his coming out. He had expected curses, denials, and tiraids about how no son of Cowboy Bob Orton was going to be a fag. The idea of his father unquestioningly accepting his sexuality had never even occurred to him. His father had told him straight out that it made absolutely no difference to him; then, his own father had called him a slut. That hurt more than any of the scenarios he had imagined, because he was totally und utterly unprepared to deal with it. The only solution he could come up with now was the same one he used for all his problems: sex.
He had gotten his watery eyes under control by the time he reached the door on the next floor. He knocked quickly, and the door opened a moment later to reveal a familiar face.
"Hey Randy." Dave Batista smiled at him, his eyes flicking over Randy's tight t-shirt and jeans. "Thought you were busy tonight."
"Plans change." Without even asking, he strode into the room, summoning up every ounce of the arrogance he displayed in the ring to cover up the sting of his father's words. He was pulling off his shirt even as Batista closed the door. His hands moved to unbutton his jeans, sliding them off as he fixed the WWE champion with a smoldering gaze. "Do you wanna fuck or what?" he growled.
Batista grinned. "Have I ever picked 'what'?"
Sex was normally soothing to him. He didn't care if no one in the
locker room really liked him, because all he had to do was bend over
the right way while changing, and he could go back to the hotel with
anyone he wanted. It made him feel good to know that he could fill his
bed with whomever he chose. If the guys he slept with didn't want to
hang out with him the next day, he didn't care, because they were all
just cocks to him.
He had been sleeping with Dave, on and off, since the early days of Evolution. It was convenient, since they were always around each other, and the sex was good. They had never really done much outside of bed, but Randy had thought too much about that before.
Now he was. He was lying in bed next to Batista, sweaty and exhausted from their impromptu sex session, and he was running through the long list of men he had slept with. Cena, who he'd had a couple hot sessions with right after their arrival in WWE. Hunter, who had always wanted his ass, then asked him to leave the second he came, in order to discuss 'important' matters with Flair. Flair, who wanted to fuck him to feel young again. Carlito, who stared at his ass for weeks, then scrupulously avoided him after a night of hot sex. The list went on and on; Christian, Sylvan, Hardcore, Ken Kennedy, Matt Hardy, and so many more...they were entirely willing to go home with him, but he'd hardly exchanged a word with any of them outside the bedroom.
No one wanted to buy the town bike. It was true. All around him, he saw guys hooking up, and for more than just a night. Matt and Christian had spent the night together, and the next day, they were strolling through the arena holding hands, cuddling affectionately with each other. Heidenreich and Nitro had hooked up, and a week later were making out in the locker room. No one had ever tried to hold his hand or kiss him in front of others. What he usually got were slaps on the ass and murmurs of, 'Gotta get me some a that.' That was generally the only attention he got, beyond the basic pleasantries.
Randy's eyes were feeling unpleasantly wet again, so he closed them for a moment and took a deep breath. "Dave?" he murmured, opening his eyes to glance at the behemoth next to him.
"Yep?" Batista was lying in a relaxed position, his hands behind his head and his eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Randy felt stupid posing the question, but he wanted the answer badly enough that he was willing to say it. "Do you respect me?"
A snort of laughter was Batista's immediate response. "Randy, what kind of question is that?"
Randy was quiet for a moment, trying to keep the sullen expression off his face. "I came out to my dad tonight," he said at last.
"Really." Batista seemed interested now. "How'd that go?"
"Ok. Sort of." Randy sighed. "He's cool with it. He pretty much knew already."
A grin spread across Batista's face. "That's great, man! I'm happy for ya."
"That not all he said." Randy glanced up at Batista, and saw that the big man's happy expression was waning a bit. "I've really been thinking about what he said," Randy continued. "He pretty much said that he knows I sleep around, and that the reason I've got no fucking friends in the locker room is that no one wants to be associated with a slut who fucks everyone."
Batista's smile had been replaced by a sympathetic frown. "Your dad said that? That's really harsh."
"I'm afraid he's right." Randy turned pleading eyes on the champion. "Dave, tell me, seriously. Do you respect me?"
Batista opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Randy, I'm sorry, I don't quite know how to answer the question," he said finally.
"Huh." Randy looked away, again fighting his wet eyes. "It's true, isn't it? No one wants to own the town bike, they just want to hop on for a ride every now and then. I bet I could ask out every guy in that locker room, and they'd all give me some shit about how they 'don't want to get into a relationship', or how we're 'just not compatible like that'."
"Randy." Randy turned his eyes back to Batista as the big man set a hand on his shoulder. "You've been sleeping around for as long as I've known you," Batista continued, "and you've never had a problem with it before. Don't let your dad get to you."
Randy shook his head. "It's not just that. I'm not happy, Dave. I love being a sex object, and I love all the guys staring at my ass, but I don't want to be just a sex toy. I want guys to be interested in me. Even if it's not in a romantic way, I want them to be interested. I wanna have friends in the locker room. I wanna just hang out sometimes. I wanna flirt, and have it just be innocent. And don't tell me the guys are too macho for all that, because I see them do it all the time. They just don't want to do it with me."
Batista was looking considerably less relaxed, and considerably more uncomfortable with the entire conversation. "Well, Randy, you just don't put out the 'cute and innocent' vibe," he commented.
"Right." Randy snorted. "I put out the 'fuck-me doll' vibe."
"Maybe you should go talk this over with your father," Batista snapped, frowning at the younger man. "I don't know what to tell you. If you're unhappy, then stop sleeping around. That's the only advice I can give you."
"Sorry." Randy took a deep breath, trying to relax a little. "I just can't stop thinking about what he said. I know you haven't been there; you're known as a nice guy who's a good lay every now and then. I'm the village bike, and I'm the one who volunteered for the damn job. Maybe I just need to tone it down a bit. I could deal with sleeping around a bit less, and it'll make my dad a lot happier."
"Sounds like a plan." Batista gave Randy a reassuring smile. "Sorry I snapped. It's just too damn late tonight for me to deal with an emotional crisis."
"S'ok." Randy reached out, trailing a hand down Batista's cheek. "How 'bout I make it worth your while?" he purred, giving the big man a seductive wink.
"That I can deal with," Batista growled, rolling on top of Randy and capturing the younger man's lips in a passionate kiss.
Randy lost himself in the feeling of their flesh pressed together, pushing away lingering thoughts of his father and his future.
He could change, and he would.
A bit.
Maybe.