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redfiona99) wrote2017-06-05 07:32 pm
redfiona99) wrote2017-06-05 07:32 pm
Entry tags:
Fic - Curiosity Killed The Cat (1/1)
Title: Curiosity Killed The Cat
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: WWE Wrestling
Characters: Randy Orton/Dave Batista
Prompt: 12. Fear play
Word Count: 2788
Rating: 18 - explicit sex, knife play, sex of dubious safety, breathplay
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they themselves and the WWE do. No money is being made from this. This is complete fiction and doesn't resemble real life in any way.
Author's Notes: For those who don't watch wrestling, this is Randy Orton and this is Dave Batista
Summary: Never mind the cat, curiosity might kill Randy.
~~~~
Randy thinks it hilarious that, after all of everyone's attempts, and goodness knows he's been the victim of Vince's plans in this area, it's Dave and the Rock, the guys who walked away, who actually made it as Hollywood stars. The Rock's rise was inevitable, Randy's not the compliment-giving kind, but the man had it, whatever it was. Dave though, Dave was not the Rock, and it was completely inexplicable. Could Randy have done with that kind of money? Yeah. But he never wanted to be an actor, he wanted to be a wrestler, the best there ever was, or at least the most successful, and he was working on that.
Mostly Randy got a kick out of how much it pissed Hunter off, because Hunter wanted to be the guy headlining films and never managed it. Yes, it was childish, but it made Hunter's endless production meetings easier to sit through.
Anyway, Dave was back for another run for whatever reason, maybe he had unfinished business, he hadn't given Randy a reason. And despite everything, Vince had rolled out the red carpet for him. This was a very nice hotel room, and Randy didn't think Dave was paying for it, although Dave always had a thing for the nicer things in life. See his suits. Which meant Dave fit right in with the Authority. Randy, meanwhile, wished that John would get the smart gimmick next time, because while Randy knew he looked good in a suit, and this kind of bad guy required it, he was sick of the dry cleaning bills. The jorts might have been stupid, but they took less looking after.
He was getting bored of waiting round for Dave, who must have been held up by Hunter, and one of his 'just one minute' half an hour talks. The hotel room seemed to be designed to induce sleepiness, with the peach walls and beige carpets almost blending into each other. Sitting on the bed, leaning back with his arms stretched out behind him, Randy could feel the low mood-lighting lulling him to sleep.
Randy got up off the bed and shook himself back awake.
He didn't want to sit back down, because he really would fall asleep and that wouldn't do. There wasn't anything else to do though.
Well, there was one thing. Randy couldn't help himself, and Dave knew that and still he gave Randy a keycard for the room. It's more curiosity than paranoia that drives Randy's urge to know about people, but both of those reasons are present when it comes to Dave. He's got to know what Dave's planning so he can make plans of his own.
Going through Dave's things in the wardrobe, seeing the number of shirts, Randy felt reassured that Dave was planning to see out this stay. Either that or he'd become even more of a clothes horse since he left.
Randy didn't find anything else of interest as he searched. Dave had even changed the password for his Kindle so Randy couldn't see what he was reading nowadays. Or he'd got the top secret script for his next movie on there, which could also be the case, and was exactly the kind of information Randy wanted to have about Dave.
Randy had looked through everything that was just lying around openly. He limited himself to that sort of thing because wrestlers might not quite remember how they'd hung their suits, but they remembered how they packed their luggage because shit like that saved your life sometimes.
But he was still bored, and still couldn't help himself.
The thing he was kicking himself over later was that he hadn't heard Dave come in. Dave was not a quiet person, in old places with wooden floors, you could feel him coming down the hall. But somehow, Randy was so engrossed in his searching that he didn't notice Dave coming into the room. He didn't hear Dave picking up the prop knives from that film. It wasn't like Randy had damaged them or anything, just taken them out of Dave's suitcase so that he could have a thorough look-see.
He did notice Dave spin him round, slamming Randy's shoulders against the hotel wall with that dull thud that not-so-solid walls make when you hit them. It would have taken up all of his attention, he would have shoved Dave back for doing it, but instead his attention was focussed on the knives that Dave was holding against him.
Randy had assumed they were just fake props, but now, with the edges of one digging in to his neck just below his Adam's apple, and the other uncomfortably below his belt, he was definitely questioning that assumption.
"What have I told you about touching my things?" This was not the first time that Dave had caught him prying. "Don't touch my knives, don't touch my johnson."
There's a whole list of things Randy could have done at this point, things he knows would have been better options, but Randy never knew when to shut up, or when to back down.
"I could do both."
He could feel Dave's breath catch, never mind hear it.
Carefully, Randy reached out his right hand to where he guessed Dave's crotch would be. He moved smoothly enough, hoping to hide the way he touched Dave's abdomen first as part of the same move. He felt something metallic, which had to be Dave's belt buckle, so he slowly moved his hand down. He palmed the front of Dave's trousers, firmly and slowly. He would have been freaked (okay, he was freaked but more freaked) at the hardness he felt, solid and heavy, what kind of weirdo got turned on by holding a knife to someone else's throat, except he could feel the other knife pressing against his own erection, so there were two weirdoes in the room.
Randy tried to find the top of Dave's zipper. It would have been easier if he could bend his neck to look down but every time he did, the knife at his throat dug in deeper. All he could see from where he was was the silver-gold glimmer of the knife with its iridescent turquoise inlay. He'd thought the knives had looked pretty cool on screen and sure he would have liked a closer look, but he preferred them when they weren't pressed against his neck.
The zipper slid down smoothly once Randy had found it with his searching fingers. He doesn't need to see to know that Dave is wearing grey cotton boxers, because that's all he ever wore. He must have had hundreds of pairs. They didn't feel the way Randy had expected them to feel, not that he ever would have admitted to even thinking about it or how often he did it.
Dave's dick felt different too. Randy didn't know if it was because he'd always used his dick as what he imagined Dave's to be like, or if it was the angle or what, but Dave's dick was thicker, and responded to different things than Randy's own. It liked short, slow strokes, at least if the way it twitched and throbbed in his hand was any evidence.
Randy took a deep breath, which was a mistake, because it caused the knife to dig into his Adam's apple. It only made him breathe more frantically, eventually causing him to take a big gulp. That time he felt the knife scrape skin from his throat.
Somehow, working on some animal instinct, Randy had kept on jacking off Dave while all that was going on. He'd been opening and closing his grip as well as sliding up and down.
"God, Randy," Dave's voice was breathy when he lifted his head. He'd been focussing on Randy's hand on his dick, but now he looked up. Without removing the knives, Dave stepped in and kissed Randy. Randy could feel the knife pressing against his throat, he was going to end up on one of those stupid deaths programmes, and he didn't care.
Dave moved the knife, tracing around Randy's balls and up, past the waistband of his trousers. Carefully, Dave flicked the shirt buttons of Randy's shirt open, somehow managing not to damage a single one, or so Randy thought, he couldn't see past the blade that was still at his throat. Once he'd done that, Dave ran the reverse of the tip down Randy's chest. Randy could feel the cold of thin steel tracing a slow, winding path down, down, down, left just inside his navel, slightly catching the soft skin there. Randy knew where Dave was headed, where he had to be going, and he was almost shaking with anticipation. Not just for this, although Randy felt like he was going to scream if Dave didn't do something more than tease and terrify him, or scream if he did. No, this was payoff to hundreds of roughhousing sessions where they suddenly stopped, because, or times they'd crashed after a show and one of them had leapt up to get a drink or something, because. The knives were only the second most terrifying thing in the room.
Dave twirled the knife against the skin of Randy's abdomen. His very much lower abdomen, coming far too close to Randy's dick, as far as Randy was concerned, even though Randy was still wearing his suit trousers. And yet, not close enough because Randy would do anything to feel Dave's hand, anything really, but preferably Dave's hand, on his dick. He would have used his own but his right hand had been busy jacking Dave off, and he didn't dare move his left in case it jogged the hand that Dave was using to hold the knife to Randy’s throat. The butt of the knife came to rest at the base of Randy’s dick. Dave moved the handle back and forth, jacking Randy off with the handle. Randy could feel the ribbing on the hilt through his suit trousers. It felt good, and he wanted more. He tried to move his hips so that he could get it. But when he did that, the blade at his throat dug in. Randy’s body was trapped, bending between the knife at his throat that he was trying to move away from and the knife hilt against his dick which he was trying to move towards. Randy’s sure he’s never had to bend quite like that before.
Dave was still jerking into Randy’s hand, even if Randy had stopped moving it because all his attention was focussed on what Dave was doing to him. Dave’s jerking became more frantic, as he kissed his way down Randy's jawline, mouthing along the line between his ear and the knife. "I ...", "oh ...", "I ...". Dave gave up on trying to say anything. Instead, he stepped away. Randy had been bending against the pressure Dave brought for so long that he stumbled forward, falling onto the bed.
Randy was surprised, and Dave took advantage of it, taking the condoms and lube out of the chest of drawers that Randy had noticed and mentally catalogued earlier. Dave was back behind him, knife at the back of his throat, before Randy was together enough to react. "You know what I'm gonna do?" Dave said, undoing Randy's belt and letting his trousers fall to the floor.
"Uh huh."
"You okay with it?"
"Uh huh." Like Randy wouldn't have been. Like anyone wouldn't have been.
Dave slowly drew Randy's white Calvin Kleins down, freeing Randy's dick when it caught in them. It had to be slow, Dave was doing it one handed, but it should have been more uncertain, more halting.
But then anything less than excellence was neither of their styles.
There's a pause then, where Randy could have moved, could have left all this if he'd wanted to but hadn't felt like he could say it when asked, because Dave moved the knife from his back, giving him an out if he'd needed it. Randy didn't need it, he wanted this, so badly. What he did do was brace his legs more firmly against the bed, and use his left hand to finally get a hand on his erection. He helped Dave roll a condom onto his dick.
It was about half a minute after he should have thought of it that he started to wonder if it was his dick that Dave was lubing up. Even with everything, Dave wouldn't go that far, right? Randy decided that the thrill in his stomach was fear, not anything else. He wasn't imagining Dave taking his time with the lube because he was going to slowly fuck Randy with the hilt of one of the blades.
He wasn't disappointed, not really, when the thing that penetrated him after Dave had prepped him was definitely fleshy. Dave's cock, thick and hard, felt even more so as he thoroughly fucked Randy, mixing long, slow thrusts with shutter-snaps of his hips that drove Randy forward onto the bed. He was glad he'd taken the time to brace himself.
Randy could only imagine what they looked like, Randy wearing only his opened shirt, while Dave was still fully clothed, only his dick sticking out of his suit trousers. The image was intoxicating. And went straight to Randy's dick.
Dave dropped the knife he had been holding to the back of Randy's neck on the bed in front of him. It glinted and glittered even in the hotel room's low lighting. His hand freed, Dave wrapped his left arm around Randy's neck, bicep squeezing Randy's throat. Dave's right hand smacked Randy's hand away from his dick, replacing it with his own. Dave held Randy tight, trapped between his arms, Randy's hands bracing himself against the bed, for all that helped when Dave was basically shoving him further and harder against the bed each time.
Randy barely had enough breath to make any sound. What breath his did have puffed out with each of Dave's thrusting shoves.
Jelly-legged, Randy gave himself over to the feeling of it all, sight going after-flash-bright dim around the edges and all but collapsed against the bed. In and out and Dave's grip tightening and loosening as his hand slipped over Randy's dick. Dave was muttering something against Randy's back, breath hot and wet in the crook of Randy's neck.
Randy was already coming, more or less, heat in his dick and his gut turning into shivering as it spread through to the rest of his body, as Dave came, thrusts becoming heavier as they became less co-ordinated.
Randy was too spent, gasping for breath, to help Dave remove the condom, which was tied and joined by Dave's in the trash.
He lets Dave wrap him in the covers, which was the last thing he remembered before he fell deeply asleep.
~~~~
Randy woke up slowly the next morning, coming too as Dave busied himself doing something at the bottom of the bed.
His first thought was that his own hotel room had been a waste of money, but there was no way of knowing that this was going to happen. He and Dave had danced around *this* for so long that it had started to feel like nothing would ever happen.
The knife had fallen to the floor somewhere along the line. Randy picked it up. Now that he could actually see it up close, rather than having it against his neck, only able to see it with the edges of his vision, he could tell that it wasn't a real knife.
"This is a fake." He said, pointing it at Dave.
"Yeah. Of course it is. I've got to go through airport scanners with them."
"They feel solid though." Not just the way the blade felt against his neck, but also the weight of the knife in his hand.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be practising for the next film."
"Oh." Which answered the question Randy hadn't wanted to ask, even if he'd known how to. Dave wasn't staying. Randy had suspected that, maybe, underneath the hope that Dave would. Although he had got the answer he’d needed, Randy’s not going to pretend that this was the plan when he’d rummaged through Dave’s things. Maybe that was why Dave had given in, instead of batting his hand away when Randy started all this, because he knew that anything between them could only be temporary.
Randy still had no idea why Dave was back but at least he knew that there wasn't going to be this for much longer. He might as well lie back and enjoy the naked tai chi and any extras while he could.
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: WWE Wrestling
Characters: Randy Orton/Dave Batista
Prompt: 12. Fear play
Word Count: 2788
Rating: 18 - explicit sex, knife play, sex of dubious safety, breathplay
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they themselves and the WWE do. No money is being made from this. This is complete fiction and doesn't resemble real life in any way.
Author's Notes: For those who don't watch wrestling, this is Randy Orton and this is Dave Batista
Summary: Never mind the cat, curiosity might kill Randy.
~~~~
Randy thinks it hilarious that, after all of everyone's attempts, and goodness knows he's been the victim of Vince's plans in this area, it's Dave and the Rock, the guys who walked away, who actually made it as Hollywood stars. The Rock's rise was inevitable, Randy's not the compliment-giving kind, but the man had it, whatever it was. Dave though, Dave was not the Rock, and it was completely inexplicable. Could Randy have done with that kind of money? Yeah. But he never wanted to be an actor, he wanted to be a wrestler, the best there ever was, or at least the most successful, and he was working on that.
Mostly Randy got a kick out of how much it pissed Hunter off, because Hunter wanted to be the guy headlining films and never managed it. Yes, it was childish, but it made Hunter's endless production meetings easier to sit through.
Anyway, Dave was back for another run for whatever reason, maybe he had unfinished business, he hadn't given Randy a reason. And despite everything, Vince had rolled out the red carpet for him. This was a very nice hotel room, and Randy didn't think Dave was paying for it, although Dave always had a thing for the nicer things in life. See his suits. Which meant Dave fit right in with the Authority. Randy, meanwhile, wished that John would get the smart gimmick next time, because while Randy knew he looked good in a suit, and this kind of bad guy required it, he was sick of the dry cleaning bills. The jorts might have been stupid, but they took less looking after.
He was getting bored of waiting round for Dave, who must have been held up by Hunter, and one of his 'just one minute' half an hour talks. The hotel room seemed to be designed to induce sleepiness, with the peach walls and beige carpets almost blending into each other. Sitting on the bed, leaning back with his arms stretched out behind him, Randy could feel the low mood-lighting lulling him to sleep.
Randy got up off the bed and shook himself back awake.
He didn't want to sit back down, because he really would fall asleep and that wouldn't do. There wasn't anything else to do though.
Well, there was one thing. Randy couldn't help himself, and Dave knew that and still he gave Randy a keycard for the room. It's more curiosity than paranoia that drives Randy's urge to know about people, but both of those reasons are present when it comes to Dave. He's got to know what Dave's planning so he can make plans of his own.
Going through Dave's things in the wardrobe, seeing the number of shirts, Randy felt reassured that Dave was planning to see out this stay. Either that or he'd become even more of a clothes horse since he left.
Randy didn't find anything else of interest as he searched. Dave had even changed the password for his Kindle so Randy couldn't see what he was reading nowadays. Or he'd got the top secret script for his next movie on there, which could also be the case, and was exactly the kind of information Randy wanted to have about Dave.
Randy had looked through everything that was just lying around openly. He limited himself to that sort of thing because wrestlers might not quite remember how they'd hung their suits, but they remembered how they packed their luggage because shit like that saved your life sometimes.
But he was still bored, and still couldn't help himself.
The thing he was kicking himself over later was that he hadn't heard Dave come in. Dave was not a quiet person, in old places with wooden floors, you could feel him coming down the hall. But somehow, Randy was so engrossed in his searching that he didn't notice Dave coming into the room. He didn't hear Dave picking up the prop knives from that film. It wasn't like Randy had damaged them or anything, just taken them out of Dave's suitcase so that he could have a thorough look-see.
He did notice Dave spin him round, slamming Randy's shoulders against the hotel wall with that dull thud that not-so-solid walls make when you hit them. It would have taken up all of his attention, he would have shoved Dave back for doing it, but instead his attention was focussed on the knives that Dave was holding against him.
Randy had assumed they were just fake props, but now, with the edges of one digging in to his neck just below his Adam's apple, and the other uncomfortably below his belt, he was definitely questioning that assumption.
"What have I told you about touching my things?" This was not the first time that Dave had caught him prying. "Don't touch my knives, don't touch my johnson."
There's a whole list of things Randy could have done at this point, things he knows would have been better options, but Randy never knew when to shut up, or when to back down.
"I could do both."
He could feel Dave's breath catch, never mind hear it.
Carefully, Randy reached out his right hand to where he guessed Dave's crotch would be. He moved smoothly enough, hoping to hide the way he touched Dave's abdomen first as part of the same move. He felt something metallic, which had to be Dave's belt buckle, so he slowly moved his hand down. He palmed the front of Dave's trousers, firmly and slowly. He would have been freaked (okay, he was freaked but more freaked) at the hardness he felt, solid and heavy, what kind of weirdo got turned on by holding a knife to someone else's throat, except he could feel the other knife pressing against his own erection, so there were two weirdoes in the room.
Randy tried to find the top of Dave's zipper. It would have been easier if he could bend his neck to look down but every time he did, the knife at his throat dug in deeper. All he could see from where he was was the silver-gold glimmer of the knife with its iridescent turquoise inlay. He'd thought the knives had looked pretty cool on screen and sure he would have liked a closer look, but he preferred them when they weren't pressed against his neck.
The zipper slid down smoothly once Randy had found it with his searching fingers. He doesn't need to see to know that Dave is wearing grey cotton boxers, because that's all he ever wore. He must have had hundreds of pairs. They didn't feel the way Randy had expected them to feel, not that he ever would have admitted to even thinking about it or how often he did it.
Dave's dick felt different too. Randy didn't know if it was because he'd always used his dick as what he imagined Dave's to be like, or if it was the angle or what, but Dave's dick was thicker, and responded to different things than Randy's own. It liked short, slow strokes, at least if the way it twitched and throbbed in his hand was any evidence.
Randy took a deep breath, which was a mistake, because it caused the knife to dig into his Adam's apple. It only made him breathe more frantically, eventually causing him to take a big gulp. That time he felt the knife scrape skin from his throat.
Somehow, working on some animal instinct, Randy had kept on jacking off Dave while all that was going on. He'd been opening and closing his grip as well as sliding up and down.
"God, Randy," Dave's voice was breathy when he lifted his head. He'd been focussing on Randy's hand on his dick, but now he looked up. Without removing the knives, Dave stepped in and kissed Randy. Randy could feel the knife pressing against his throat, he was going to end up on one of those stupid deaths programmes, and he didn't care.
Dave moved the knife, tracing around Randy's balls and up, past the waistband of his trousers. Carefully, Dave flicked the shirt buttons of Randy's shirt open, somehow managing not to damage a single one, or so Randy thought, he couldn't see past the blade that was still at his throat. Once he'd done that, Dave ran the reverse of the tip down Randy's chest. Randy could feel the cold of thin steel tracing a slow, winding path down, down, down, left just inside his navel, slightly catching the soft skin there. Randy knew where Dave was headed, where he had to be going, and he was almost shaking with anticipation. Not just for this, although Randy felt like he was going to scream if Dave didn't do something more than tease and terrify him, or scream if he did. No, this was payoff to hundreds of roughhousing sessions where they suddenly stopped, because, or times they'd crashed after a show and one of them had leapt up to get a drink or something, because. The knives were only the second most terrifying thing in the room.
Dave twirled the knife against the skin of Randy's abdomen. His very much lower abdomen, coming far too close to Randy's dick, as far as Randy was concerned, even though Randy was still wearing his suit trousers. And yet, not close enough because Randy would do anything to feel Dave's hand, anything really, but preferably Dave's hand, on his dick. He would have used his own but his right hand had been busy jacking Dave off, and he didn't dare move his left in case it jogged the hand that Dave was using to hold the knife to Randy’s throat. The butt of the knife came to rest at the base of Randy’s dick. Dave moved the handle back and forth, jacking Randy off with the handle. Randy could feel the ribbing on the hilt through his suit trousers. It felt good, and he wanted more. He tried to move his hips so that he could get it. But when he did that, the blade at his throat dug in. Randy’s body was trapped, bending between the knife at his throat that he was trying to move away from and the knife hilt against his dick which he was trying to move towards. Randy’s sure he’s never had to bend quite like that before.
Dave was still jerking into Randy’s hand, even if Randy had stopped moving it because all his attention was focussed on what Dave was doing to him. Dave’s jerking became more frantic, as he kissed his way down Randy's jawline, mouthing along the line between his ear and the knife. "I ...", "oh ...", "I ...". Dave gave up on trying to say anything. Instead, he stepped away. Randy had been bending against the pressure Dave brought for so long that he stumbled forward, falling onto the bed.
Randy was surprised, and Dave took advantage of it, taking the condoms and lube out of the chest of drawers that Randy had noticed and mentally catalogued earlier. Dave was back behind him, knife at the back of his throat, before Randy was together enough to react. "You know what I'm gonna do?" Dave said, undoing Randy's belt and letting his trousers fall to the floor.
"Uh huh."
"You okay with it?"
"Uh huh." Like Randy wouldn't have been. Like anyone wouldn't have been.
Dave slowly drew Randy's white Calvin Kleins down, freeing Randy's dick when it caught in them. It had to be slow, Dave was doing it one handed, but it should have been more uncertain, more halting.
But then anything less than excellence was neither of their styles.
There's a pause then, where Randy could have moved, could have left all this if he'd wanted to but hadn't felt like he could say it when asked, because Dave moved the knife from his back, giving him an out if he'd needed it. Randy didn't need it, he wanted this, so badly. What he did do was brace his legs more firmly against the bed, and use his left hand to finally get a hand on his erection. He helped Dave roll a condom onto his dick.
It was about half a minute after he should have thought of it that he started to wonder if it was his dick that Dave was lubing up. Even with everything, Dave wouldn't go that far, right? Randy decided that the thrill in his stomach was fear, not anything else. He wasn't imagining Dave taking his time with the lube because he was going to slowly fuck Randy with the hilt of one of the blades.
He wasn't disappointed, not really, when the thing that penetrated him after Dave had prepped him was definitely fleshy. Dave's cock, thick and hard, felt even more so as he thoroughly fucked Randy, mixing long, slow thrusts with shutter-snaps of his hips that drove Randy forward onto the bed. He was glad he'd taken the time to brace himself.
Randy could only imagine what they looked like, Randy wearing only his opened shirt, while Dave was still fully clothed, only his dick sticking out of his suit trousers. The image was intoxicating. And went straight to Randy's dick.
Dave dropped the knife he had been holding to the back of Randy's neck on the bed in front of him. It glinted and glittered even in the hotel room's low lighting. His hand freed, Dave wrapped his left arm around Randy's neck, bicep squeezing Randy's throat. Dave's right hand smacked Randy's hand away from his dick, replacing it with his own. Dave held Randy tight, trapped between his arms, Randy's hands bracing himself against the bed, for all that helped when Dave was basically shoving him further and harder against the bed each time.
Randy barely had enough breath to make any sound. What breath his did have puffed out with each of Dave's thrusting shoves.
Jelly-legged, Randy gave himself over to the feeling of it all, sight going after-flash-bright dim around the edges and all but collapsed against the bed. In and out and Dave's grip tightening and loosening as his hand slipped over Randy's dick. Dave was muttering something against Randy's back, breath hot and wet in the crook of Randy's neck.
Randy was already coming, more or less, heat in his dick and his gut turning into shivering as it spread through to the rest of his body, as Dave came, thrusts becoming heavier as they became less co-ordinated.
Randy was too spent, gasping for breath, to help Dave remove the condom, which was tied and joined by Dave's in the trash.
He lets Dave wrap him in the covers, which was the last thing he remembered before he fell deeply asleep.
~~~~
Randy woke up slowly the next morning, coming too as Dave busied himself doing something at the bottom of the bed.
His first thought was that his own hotel room had been a waste of money, but there was no way of knowing that this was going to happen. He and Dave had danced around *this* for so long that it had started to feel like nothing would ever happen.
The knife had fallen to the floor somewhere along the line. Randy picked it up. Now that he could actually see it up close, rather than having it against his neck, only able to see it with the edges of his vision, he could tell that it wasn't a real knife.
"This is a fake." He said, pointing it at Dave.
"Yeah. Of course it is. I've got to go through airport scanners with them."
"They feel solid though." Not just the way the blade felt against his neck, but also the weight of the knife in his hand.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be practising for the next film."
"Oh." Which answered the question Randy hadn't wanted to ask, even if he'd known how to. Dave wasn't staying. Randy had suspected that, maybe, underneath the hope that Dave would. Although he had got the answer he’d needed, Randy’s not going to pretend that this was the plan when he’d rummaged through Dave’s things. Maybe that was why Dave had given in, instead of batting his hand away when Randy started all this, because he knew that anything between them could only be temporary.
Randy still had no idea why Dave was back but at least he knew that there wasn't going to be this for much longer. He might as well lie back and enjoy the naked tai chi and any extras while he could.