Chapter Text
"We're gettin' counted down. Let's rock n' roll, baby."
Straightening up, the Diamond Studd gave up on trying to fix his hair. His reflection wasn't clear enough in the dark CRT anyway, but preening was almost a compulsion; every week he went without a personal stylist, he hounded Dallas about finding a valet more. Brushing off his annoyance, he flashed Dallas a smile that put his canines on full display. pleased that his reflection was a hell of a lot clearer in his proprietor's shades. He stared himself down as he pulled his own sunglasses from the waistband of his overalls, flipped them open, and mindfully slid them on. Someone murmured something to Dallas from the other side of the curtain behind him, but Studd didn’t have to hear it to know what was said. The opening sting of Iron Rock drowned all the noise out, before it, too, was lost in the cacophony of the crowd.
“Accompanied by the chairman of the board of the Diamond Exchange, Diamond Dallas Page-'' Dallas swept his arms, motioning for his Studd to exit ahead of him, and they shared matching smirks as the Studd swaggered by. Oh, they hated him. Exhilarated, the Studd walked from the darkness of gorilla position into the smoky arena’s limelight, flashing that same smirk at everyone from the front row to the nosebleeds. It didn’t matter if they cheered or booed, if they reached out and screamed when he came within centimetres of their fingertips and red-painted nails or if they tried to throw their drinks on him from eight rows back. They were all looking at him, watching his every move, spurred into action by his mere existence. “-At two hundred and ninety-eight pounds…”
Behind him, Dallas hyped him up, calloused hands slapping him on the back and brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders. Guy could argue with an audience for hours and never get bored. Scanning the crowd, Studd tried to guess which lucky cat Dallas had chosen for the Studette audition of the night. Thus far, he was zero-for-six, and the game was starting to get old. He wanted his valet now, yesterday, a week ago, whatever. Climbing the steel steps to the ring, every woman still looked the same as ever to him, not a single one standing out enough to catch his eye. “The Diamond Studd!”
“Kill that music!” Wiping his feet, the Studd didn’t bat an eye when Dallas secured the microphone, content to let his manager do all the talking for now. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath when Dallas snapped at the guys running audio to cut his music before barreling on, still determined to make his guess of the night. There was a busty broad front and centre under the hard camera, gaudy bracelets stacked halfway up her forearm and costume jewellery dripping from everywhere she could squeeze, clip, or hang it on herself. Blonde. Big, dark eyes. Pretty, sure, but homely. “Diamond Dallas Page here, with the man who is chiselled stone and b-a-double d, badd to the bone. Where’s that girl who applied earlier? C’mon up here, honey!”
Right before Studd spotted the busty broad already sneaking around ringside, he realised his front-row girl couldn’t possibly be auditioning - How the hell did he expect her to jump the barricade with a chest like that? She’d knock herself out if she didn’t get hung up like a fox in barbed wire.
“That’s right, we’re looking all over the country and around the world for a Studdette to handle this man on the road,” Dallas was saying, refraining from mentioning that he only needed someone else to help with his Studd because he was becoming much more than a one man job, and the Diamond Dolls were all sick of him. Hell, they hadn’t even taken time off from Norma Jean’s to accompany them to the ring in weeks - Hence the search. Removing his sunglasses, Studd winked at his homely, bleach blonde, off-the-mark selection and promptly forgot about her the second he looked away. The ring rat speed walked towards the Studd with her hands out, no doubt having already seen the act enough to know what it was all about, and the Studd stared her down until Dallas threw his arm between them and stopped her, explaining exactly what he wanted her to do. “I want you to slowly, and sensually tear these pants off him.”
Studd was already disinterested, but he still put his hands behind his head and let the woman rip his overalls off like her life depended on it. Immediately, he threw Dallas a dissatisfied look - That wasn’t slow nor sensual, but Dallas was already showering him with compliments and shooing the woman away. Studd rolled his eyes right before the camera guy caught his face and flicked his toothpick at him, not bothering to watch the failed auditionee exit the ring. He already forgot what she looked like by the time Tommy Zenk’s crappy entrance theme hit and tried taking a closer look at the people seated opposite the entrance ramp, squinting through the dimmed lights. Something- Someone was glittering in the lowlight like a diamond in the rough. The lights came up as bright as they were going to, just enough for him to read the glittery pin decorating the audience member’s denim vest.
It said “Studd Time!”. It was a fucking Studd Time pin decked out with the shiniest glitter he’d ever seen outside of his and Dallas’ closets and, without taking his eyes off that pin, the Studd yanked his manager over by the white leather jacket and pointed. It was the first time he bothered to look at the person wearing it, and the startled, utterly baffled smile on the guy’s face was already winning Studd over. That, and the literal diamonds he had the balls to stick in his ears before attending a wrestling show.
“What’s up, baby-”
“You find that guy,” Studd said, lifting his chin in an upwards nod to the Studd Time guy before turning around and fixing the Z-Man with the least impressed expression he could manage. He muttered to Dallas out of the side of his mouth, shaking his arms out and waiting to hear Dallas’s cowboy boots hit the apron on the other side of the ropes. ”You bring him in.”
“You got it, babe,” Dallas raised his voice for the camera circling around their corner, the bell finally ringing, “anything the Studd wants, the Studd gets! And the Diamond Studd wants another win tonight- Woo!”
The venue was well outside his usual stomping grounds, but worth it. The card was spectacular, his seat great, production value high, and the sea of humanity around him amped. Getting to see some of his favourite wrestlers in the flesh was always unbeatable and, man, no one would believe him when he told them the Diamond Studd pointed and nodded at him - What'd it even mean? By the time he was able to get his heart to settle down, the match was half over. It was a great excuse to try for another ticket for the next show the Diamond Exchange was at, at least.
Giddy from adrenaline and his ears still ringing from the crowd half-screaming Rebel Yell when someone decided to crank their boombox post-show as everyone filed out, Slater bounced on the balls of his feet in the parking lot. A few wrestlers, event staff, and production crew members had already come creeping out from the door beside him. Hands in his pockets, head down, and melting into his waiting-for-my-cue-in-the-wings stance as best he could, most of them ignored Slater. He obviously wasn't a ring rat or journalist, he wasn't jumping down anyone's throat, and he wasn't a teenage girl sneaking away from her friend group, lying in wait for the guy she was teenybopping over to just try to make it home after a long night. Actually, he was getting pretty cold. The moon shone bright overhead, the air just as damp as it was inside the building but lacking the near unbearable heat, and his sweat was cooling him off a little too much. He loved autumn but, man, what he'd give for a warm breeze. The denim vest and threadbare Van Halen cut-off tank were doing nothing to protect him from the elements.
Hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to bring his body temperature up, he rubbed his hands over his arms, wondering - not for the first time - what he was doing. All the guy did was nod at him. What was he planning to say to someone like the Studd? 'Great stuff, chief'? 'I love your muscles'? 'Nice rack'-
The door creaked open slowly. Propping it open with his shoulder as he walked out backwards, hands up in a placating motion, Diamond Dallas Page didn't notice Slater immediately. He had two bags slung over his shoulders, shades pushed up into that wild blonde mane, and the Studd's voice rang clear from inside the building. "I mean it, Page, you get out there and you look. You turn every one of those marks around and-"
"Alright, okay, okay, slow your roll, Studd," Dallas kept his voice down and motioned for his asset to do the same. Studd responded by throwing another duffel at him, one Dallas caught so smoothly the act betrayed the obvious weight of it. The thing was so overpacked it was ready to burst at the seams. "We'll find 'em, right? You said the guy's been following you town to town, what's so special about him this time? Look, wouldn't you prefer a pretty girl, someone like Tonya G-"
"Look," Studd's tone mocked Dallas' as he marched up, turned sideways to fit through the doorway and corner his manager, and jabbed his thumb at himself, "listen to me. Whatever the Studd wants, the Studd gets. And I want that chico with the Studd Time bling-"
"Uh." Oh, no. Slater realised too late that he'd said anything, too tuned into the argument to notice he'd stopped moving altogether and started staring at the two wrestlers outright. The Studd rounded on him, squinting through the dim light. He was wearing leather pants and an unbuttoned white dress shirt, decked out with the same rhinestones Dallas's leather jacket sported. The watch on his left wrist looked expensive. His rings glimmered even more brightly up close. His body hair was so thick, it curled over the high waistband of his jeans. Wow. Dallas sidling out from behind the Studd to let the door close behind them knocked Slater out of his short stupor. "Hey. You can have me?"
Real intelligent. Nice. Smooth, cool. Cool. As Slater willed himself not to say anything else that made him sound like a complete dork, or blush, or fidget, or vibrate out of his skin, he realised he was probably smiling really awkwardly. Or he was smiling awkwardly now, because he realised he was smiling, and he was so worried it looked awkward he made it look awkward. It only took one step with his long legs for the Studd to clear most of the space between them, looking Slater up and down, scrutinising him closely. Slater could smell the clinging scent of sweat under the cloying smell of his conditioner mixing with his earthy, musky body wash. His hair was still a little wet from the shower, shining in the yellow light buzzing above them, casting a halo around his head. Made it real easy for Slater to believe he'd died and gone to heaven, especially when the Studd started fussing at his vest: Pulling it open to look at his shirt, popping the collar up then back down, touching every single pin and patch. Most of them were homemade, representing bands he liked, and the Studd raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded in approval more than once. Instead of grabbing the fabric below the rainbow pin he'd punched out from a gay 'zine and slipped inside a domed button, the Studd let his hand hover over it, looking at Slater's face for the first time.
Awash in more self-consciousness than Slater had felt since coming out to his parents, he tried to keep the dreamy expression off his face. He felt like he did the first day at wrestling school, only allowed in the ring so he could get bodied and made to realise he wasn't ready to be in the ring yet - and how hard those mats actually were. Seemingly content with his outfit, the Studd grabbed his chin with a surprising amount of gentleness, calloused fingers turning his head side to side. One finger brushed over the beauty marks on his left cheek, tracing the triangular shape. Slater could have fainted, was this even real? By the time the Studd released him and turned back to Dallas, Slater's heart was racing, pulse thrumming in every part of his body. Had he been staring at the Studd's chest? He might've been staring at his chest.
"I want him. He starts tonight, Dallas. My Studette, your dime." Leaving no room for argument, he mimed flicking a toothpick in Dallas's face, pulled all three bags from his arms, and sauntered off towards their car. Dallas watched him leave with his hands on his hips and whistled quietly, then turned his brightest smile to Slater.
"You're in, kid. My bank account weeps but my heart sings, you got no idea what a queen he can be," Dallas snorted, shook his head, and stuck a hand out. "You prefer cash or check?"