Author's Notes

This is SLASH, so if you don't like slash FanFictions, I implore you to close this page; don't say I didn't warn you.

I DO NOT OWN EVEN A SMALL PORTION OF THE WWE.

Here's a story requested by a close friend of mine (who prefers I not reffer to them by name).

This takes place after Mike's split from Tuesday Night ECW and his moving on to Monday Night Raw; note that it gets very angsty...

I hope you enjoy this! You know I spoil you darling...

The pairings here include:

ChristianxKane

Mike MizaninxKane

Mike MizaninxJohn Morrison

Chris JerichoxKane

If I get a thumbs up from my requester I'll be adding another chapter; we correspond weekly so if things go well, this should be recieving weekly updates.

I DO NOT OWN THE WWE and I AM NOT WRITING TO OFFEND ANYONE

This part is told in Kane's point of view....


Mike Mizanin was a very angry little boy.

But he wasn't angry because he was mad at someone, no, he was angry because he was confused.

He was confused and cornered and upset, but alone; so alone.

I could see that he was lonely; that he needed someone.

No; not a friend. Mike had already tried friends, they didn't work out, they abandoned him; they hurt him.

He had tried so hard to play their game, but in the end, the rules were rigged and he lost.

Oh, how Mike hated to lose.

It rather drove him wild, to be deemed defeated.

When it was announced that he would have to leave John, his best friend in the entire world, his heart broke.

But Mr. Morrison wasn't disappointed in the least; on the contrary, he was pleased!

He laughed at him, he mocked him.

So Mike did the inevitable; he gave the self-proclaimed "shaman of sexy" the treatment all of his rotten friends got and he eliminated him as an ally.

Then I made my move, I followed him out after his tirade against John and I connected with him.

I gave him a pat on the back and a reassuring smile; I told him he was a good boy. He accepted this new attention, he accepted it the way a stray dog accepts scraps tossed at it by wandering school children.

And to add to that, he wanted more.

This I knew, but nothing more I gave.

Instead I let him drink it in; he would come crawling back to me within a matter of days on his hands and knees, begging for more, and then and only then would I give it to him.

I waited nearly a week and a half's time before our next encounter; he was desperate.

But he was desperate for the affection I had offered and not me, as I had hoped and so I turned him down, tail between his legs. Bad boy Michael, bad boy.

He didn't like this teasing, this torment.

He didn't like it at all.

It confused him evermore, made him feel deprived.

And of course, all work and no play made Michael a very dull little boy indeed.

He began to pursue me, thinking he could control me and force me to give in to his craving. Hah! What a pathetically dim-witted notion it was; as if I could be controlled.

I am a monster, a machine; I am a towering being of gargantuan strength, and what of him? He is nothing compared to my supremacy.

Yet he still thought himself better than me, and so he continued his absurd mission to subdue me.

I waited like a spider in her web, weaving an entryway for my little fly to come bounding in.

It took another week, but when the time finally came I knew I had him.

I lured him into my lair; a little torture chamber I had in my basement, from the occasions upon which I would have my lover, Christian dress up as an evil nurse and help me seek victims for a "check-up with the doctor" as it were.

But that was time past and this was now.

When I had locked us in, he knew he had made a mistake and he beseeched I release him, sniveling miserably at my feet.

"Why, my dear? To spoil all of the fun we're going to have? Never!" I cackled, pulling him up to his feet and slamming him down against the wooden torture table of the room for a powerful kiss.

He screamed and cried out, but it was to no avail, nobody would hear him; it only allowed me to deepen our kiss and slip my tongue into his mouth.

His flavor was especially delectable, the roof of his mouth being a mix of honey, beer and watermelon, his teeth were raw and smooth like peppermint candies while his tongue was shying away from me, afraid of me.

I wanted more, I had to have more and so in my voracious desire I bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood from his lip.

Oh, there is no sweeter taste on thy tongue than Mike's blood. It is salty and thick, but still retains a robust tanginess.

His lips would become bruised and red, but by God I could no longer help myself.

His blue eyes begged me to stop; they were frightened, gloriously wide, and all the while focused on my lips and so very gleaming they were; pools of excellent cerulean.

You must pardon me, my sick pleasure; I love the terror in the eyes of those I chose to share bed with. It's the reward of me going through all of the trouble.

I began to strip him naked of his flimsy clothing, ripping the fabric as I went.

I didn't care if he would be walking out in the streets in shambles when I was finished; I only cared about getting my hands onto that supple boyish skin.

He tried with all of his might to resist me, to keep his meager covering; but there is nothing in the world that can stop me once I am motivated.

Even divine powers cannot obstruct me.

I shred away his shirt within moments, ripping the sleeves from his arms, but wait! What is this?

I pull his arm closer for careful examination to find that it is wounded, severely mangled; but not from me ripping his shirt off. This is a form of self mutilation, of self hate.

Scratches run along the arm down to the wrist, made by him clawing at it in anger, in frustration, in pain.

"Michael, my poor sweet little darling; what has John done to you?" I clucked my tongue thoughtfully; he responded with a shocked glance.

Was it not obvious that he did it to himself and not John?

Yet I still did not blame him, I let him be the victim while I held the world accountable as the culprit; the world had wronged him, meanwhile he was an unfortunate innocent child, barely able to defend himself against such a treacherous villain.

"John didn't do that…" he remarked, slowly coming to find courage in his fear of me "I did"

"Oh, but John did do this to you Michael. He did it all" I assured him, running my index finger along the scrapes down him arm; he winced as I did so.

It was a strange face he had made; he ground his teeth slightly while shutting one eye and by doing so it seemed he was winking at me.

I reveled in it and wanted to see it again. With a sideways glance and a devilish smirk coating my face as I did so; I ran my tongue along his healing wounds, I stopped a few inches before his elbow and the midpoint of his arm.

His face contorted once again, this time both eyes squeezing shut as his arm twitched agonizingly; but I hadn't hurt him, I was tickling him. It was the tingling sensation of my tongue grazing along his skin, and it felt good.

"Can you see it now?" I asked, digging my thumb's nail into his palm, causing him to writhe further and in addition emit a small whimper "this wasn't your fault, none of it ever was. You are the victim Michael; you are the one who is suffering"

He sees me for a bleeding heart, and I can tell he wants to give in; he wants to believe that's what I am. But no doubt my reputation precedes me; my past offences have made him wary of me.

"I don't know if I can trust you…" he grumbles, sucking on his lower lip, tasting the blood that has dried there.

I cease my thumb's pressing on his skin and instead bring his hand to my face, allowing him to caress my features; I gently place a kiss on his wrist, just above where his injuries are.

"I'm not asking for your trust Michael" I replied, holding his hand firmly on my face.

"Then what do you want from me?" he asked, withdrawing himself from me and knotting his brows in a puzzled stare.

Surely he knew.

"You're distraught, my dear; John did something to you, didn't he? Well, don't worry, because I'm going to make you better" I answered, giving empty promises to his willing ears.

Yes, that's right. John Morrison was the one person who had wronged him the most, the one person he couldn't help but stay mad at; the one person I could use as a scapegoat.

He breathes softly, scrutinizing me, trying to catch me in a lie.

But I have been playing this game for years, I will not be caught, and if I am then it won't be by a young runt like him.

I smile warmly at him, placing a hand on his knee "I'm here to help you Michael"

He shakes his head "no"; he dares to call me out on my fabrications?!

"I don't believe you" he says, hopping off of the table and trying to maneuver his way around me and escape.

It's no use; I'm far too big for the likes of him to be prevalent over. I grip his wrists and hold them above his head, swooping down to once again claim his mouth; but the little rascal commenced to trying to head-butt me!

A quick rotation of my knee to his genitals put an end to this, as Mike fell limp in my arms.

Perhaps I hit him too hard? No. He deserved it for turning down my generous offer. Call me a savage or what you will, inhospitable behavior will not be tolerated.

I release him and let him slump to a heap on the floor, massaging his sore balls and groaning wretchedly while doing so.

"Oh darling, look at what you've made me do…" I muttered, once again picking him up and placing him on the table "let me have a look at that"

It was time to play doctor.

He immediately rejected me, crossing his legs firmly over his groin, still covering it with his hands. It was another feeble effort to prevent me from reaching him, and this too would fail.

I ripped his legs open, pried away his hands and gripped his delicate area in my palm; too tight for comfort I assumed, as he let out a loud whine once I had done so.

I eased my hand along the bulge of his pants, willing him an erection.

He sat completely immobile, his eyes somewhat glazing over as I continued to knead the area where I had harmed him.

Years of practice do pay off and he began to pitch a tent pointing outwards, I gathered that at about now his pants were becoming uncomfortable due to being stretched by his penis' stiffening.

As carefully as I could, I began to undo his pants, first the button that clasped it together, then the zipper, the head of his manhood popping out, a wet spot visible on his white briefs.

"Oh my" I chuckled, running my finger in a circular motion along the head, his hips buck almost wildly as I do so.

He must have his climax now and not a second later.

I bring my lips to his nipple and suck; rotating my tongue around his hardened nub as a result I draw a barely audible moan to pour forth mouth.

"Mike, you will not escape my prison by keeping it all inside…" I say, pulling away from him to stare him in the eye.

He glances down at me with sad eyes, begging me to release him from his incarceration.

Not on your life, my sweet little lamb; I am enjoying myself far too much.

I trail my tongue along his torso, pausing at his navel, where I place a tender kiss, his length is so brutally hurting beneath me and I have no choice but to oblige.

I remove his briefs, gently sliding them off of his legs, the material tickles his skin as I do so; he flexes his toes as the tingle passes down.

Finally they reach the end of his feet and I drop them to the floor, caressing his inner thighs as my gaze meets his hard manhood, leaking from my sexual advances.

I will admit I was taken aback; his penis only measured a mere six and a half inches, give or take; while I myself am the proud owner of a full twelve inch penis. He was quite small compared to the men that I usually prefer.

His cheeks flush; he's self conscious.

Obviously he's embarrassed for me to have seen him in such a state; but I will not allow him to shirk from me, not after coming so far.

I take him in to the hilt and commence to sucking him for all he is worth, I wasn't going to fool around anymore, no more games; just straightforwardness.

He groans as he feels himself succumbing to me, his hands gravitating to my head.

Yet, he did not touch my head.

At this point in time Michael was definitely befuddled; should he enjoy my little treat for him? Or, should he disdain it and refuse to pleasure in my conduct?

Satisfied breaths of air wheeze their way free from his throat, but his hands wouldn't dare touch me.

I began to massage his balls as I give him the oral gratification he so desperately needs.

I know he can feel it coming soon; his orgasm.

Michael began to pant wildly, bucking his hips to get himself further into my mouth; there was no need for such added force, but I welcomed it nonetheless, running my tongue along the underside of the shaft, promoting his release.

He released a loud incoherent grunt as his peak grips him, shaking him like a rag doll and scrambling his mind in a blissful haze.

He ejaculates down my throat and I swallow it all, having no problem in doing so after practicing so many times with Christian, who happens to have an eight inch member.

He passed out after, falling backwards to lie upon the table, his arms lying limply spread at his sides.

I removed him from my mouth and stepped back to observe my work.

It was quite the sight to behold, him lying nude upon my examination table, asleep with a small smile on his face from having climaxed.

I turn and leave him there, walking up the stairs that extend from this chamber to the upper level of my house; I expect Christian should be waking up from his sleep soon.


There we are, the deed is done.