"So you think you can take me out?"
Mark Henry looked up from his bag, meeting the piercing eyes of Goldberg. He gazed at the other man in silence for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. "Yeah. I do."
Goldberg was leaning against the doorframe, half inside the otherwise deserted locker room. He was still in his wrestling trunks, his world title draped over his shoulder. "You know why HHH put that bounty on my head?" he murmured after a pause.
"Cos you took his title?" Mark supplied.
Goldberg chuckled. "There are things H cares about more than the title."
"I doubt it," Mark shot back.
"Oh, there are." Goldberg's eyes flicked over Mark's body appraisingly. "Guess you haven't been on RAW long enough to have seen him with Booker."
Mark frowned, eyes narrowing as he gazed at his opponent. "What you talking ‘bout?" he demanded.
A smirk settled over Goldberg's features. "H is head over heels for the Book, that's what I'm talking about. But Book's been out with a bad back, and H is a horny fucker. I've been fuckin' him while Book's been out. Book showed up to surprise him last week; caught us mid-fuck in his hotel room. Dissed H on the spot. H's been telling him all sorts of shit to try and get him back, but Book ain't stupid. H's convinced it's my fault he can't be loyal to his man."
"You're full of shit, man." Mark snorted, shaking his head, his dark hair swaying with the movement. "Hunter's been fucking that little bitch Orton for months, everyone knows that. He ain't no bottom, he'd never bend over for you or Book."
Goldberg shrugged. "They don't call him the Cerebral Assassin for nothing," he commented. "He's got all you saps in the locker room believing he's fucking Orton, but anyone who's paying attention will've noticed how he gets gooey eyed every time Book walks into the room. Boy's just too fucking ‘tough' to admit that he'd rather take a thick cock than plow some bitch like Orton. Damn stupid idea, really; if you ask me, it's a hell of a lot tougher to take cock than to give it to some little slut."
"Look man, I don't know what you're playing, but I ain't some gossip queen who wants to hear this shit," Mark growled, turning away and zipping up his bag. "You ain't gonna psych me out for our match next week, so don't bother." He looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder, tensing a little at the close proximity of Goldberg's body.
"I don't have that problem," Goldberg murmured.
Mark scowled at him. "What the hell you talking about?"
"I mean, I'm not afraid to admit that I like cock," Goldberg continued, his finger rubbing circles on Mark's shoulder. "I like it a lot, and I don't give a fuck who knows it."
"Good for you." Mark stood, frowning when his path was blocked by Goldberg's substantial body.
"Look," Goldberg stated. "I don't cuddle, I don't stay the night, I don't do pillow talk. But I do fuck. I've been watching you, and I haven't seen you with anyone. I've been tiding myself over fucking bitches like Michaels and Maven, but I'm hungry for some cock from a real man. I'm talking sex with no strings; we fuck, we go out separate ways, and whatever happens next week, happens." His intense gaze was focused on Mark; offering, but not begging by any means. His eyes demanded an answer.
Mark glanced over Goldberg's muscular body, well toned with a nice dusting of hair. "You a good fuck?" he questioned.
"Never had any complaints," Goldberg replied.
"I don't bottom," Mark stated.
"Why do you think I want you?" Goldberg rolled his eyes. "I'm sick to death of bottoms. Every little slut in this company's been bending over offering himself to me. It gets repetitive after a while. None of good tops ever come near me, ‘cept to talk about all the good ass around here. So we on or what?"
Mark hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head. "Yeah. We're on." He gestured to the door, picking up his bag as he headed in that direction. "Let's get back to the hotel."
"Perfect." Goldberg grinned, eagerly following the large man from
the room.