Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this story, all characters belong to themselves and as the voices inside my head tell me, to one another.

A/N: I've tried to make this story work with other pairings but none of them seemed to work, but then I started to think on ways to keep it going and these two came to my mind immediately, so with some changes here it is. WARNING! This story will turn to be kind of dark, it will have some violence, foul language and other adult situations, so if that is not your cup of tea please turn around and run out of here. I don't think it will become like too graphic and the violence is not extreme, but I still need to warn you so here it is.

The Red

The first thought to cross his mind when he woke up was that his head was pounding. It was really bad, the pain strong enough to make him wince and he was sure that the reason he was hurting so much was because his brain had swollen and his skull wasn't providing the space it needed to grow. But what was his brain if not insistent? It needed the space so it beat unmercifully against the reduced space, menacing to crack his head open and spill all over.

For a wild moment of blind irrationality he was afraid for his brain, so wanting to act before it was too late he tried to place both hands over his head; he wanted to prevent a disaster and he wanted to keep his thinking machine safe and inside his skull. The only problem was that he failed in his attempt as his hands only came half the way, stopping abruptly before they could lift pass his shoulders.

Deeming it odd, the WWE superstar known as CM Punk blinked his eyes open, his olive green orbs finding his vision to be fuzzy and unfocused. The motion also sent a new bolt of pain right into his skull and he had to close his eyes again, waiting until the pain started to fade away into a dull throb.

But that dull throb was still bad, it felt as if there was someone behind him using his head as a personal tambourine, beating in a slow but steady pace…

Maybe he was going to need aspirin for this one, but first he needed to move his arms. With that in mind he drew in a deep breath and put all his might into lifting his arms once more, and just like before they stopped midway before they were yanked back.

He grunted in frustration and his head rolled to the side, feeling like it was too heavy for him to hold up. That only added to his list of nuisances, a killer headache, numb arms, sore throat… he hated feeling so bad.

Keeping his eyes shut, the Chicago native forced his mind to go back to the last thing he could remember. He has been at the arena for Extreme Rules, he remembered going out to the ring to have his match and he remembered going to the EMTs after it to check his battered back; after that he took a quick shower, grabbed his stuff and made it to the parking lot to head back to hotel… that was a far as he could remember…

He opened his eyes again and even when it hurt him to do so he forced them to stay open, he wanted to know where he was and most importantly, how did he get there.

Through heavy lidded eyes he spied before him a poorly lit room that would have been bare if it wasn't for a big wooden table standing alone in the middle of the room. It looked huge in the empty space and for a few minutes he just stared at the simplicity of it; it was only when the room stopped moving in circles that he began to scan the room more throughfully.

There were no windows that he could see and when he tried to move his head to the side to look for the door he couldn't move it, it hurt too much.

"It was about time you woke up."

At the sound of that familiar voice, Punk's head jerked up. There was pain in the motion but it was secondary to recognition. He knew that voice and he didn't like one bit that he was hearing it.

Squinting his eyes, Punk cleared his throat, his vision taking in the form of a silhouette standing in a corner of the room. He hadn't seen him until now and he deduced that he missed him because he was standing in the shadows, his face a dark mask hidden in obscurity.

Good thing that he didn't need to see him to know who he was. The question was what the hell was going on?

"What the fuck is this?" He asked feeling groggy as he looked down at his hands to find each one tied to a rope that disappeared somewhere behind him…

That wasn't good at all and he started to feel apprehensive. Whatever was going on, he was sure fucked up.

But he wasn't going to show to that other man the apprehension in him, so with a calm that he had to force on himself he yanked in slow motion at the ropes. Nothing happened, so he looked once more to the man, realizing maybe for the first time since waking up that he was sitting in the floor with his back resting against a cold wall while the other man was standing, his towering presence giving the appearance of being bigger than what he really was.

"Get this fucking ropes off of me." He said, his tone too demanding to his ears.

"And why… should I do that, Phil?" The man asked, his tone coming off as eerie and detached as he took three steps out of the corner to stand under the yellow flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Punk grinded his teeth and clenched his jaw, he didn't like that the taller man was taking the liberty of calling him by his given name and he didn't like that he had him tied up to a wall.

Where the fuck was his New Nexus?

"What? Punk with nothing to say, aww I'm disappointed, I was expecting more from you, I wanted more from you."

The older tattooed man blinked and took a deep breath, trying to think of a way out of the situation. But he came up blank, yeah, he was also disappointed with himself, after all he had always been proud of the way he could use his wits in any situation but that night his head was hurting too much for him to think straight.

"If you let me go now, I swear I won't beat you up too bad, Randal."

Just as the last word rolled out of Punk's tongue, the tallest of the two hurried to his side and kicked him hard in the stomach. The force of the blow knocked all the air out of his lungs and he had to double over, coughing and feeling more confused than ever.

"You couldn't beat me in the ring so what makes you think you can beat me up now?" The man said in a hiss, crouching down at his side to yank at his hair and thus forcing him look into the steel depths of his grey eyes. After saying that he slammed Punk's head back against the wall and got to his feet.

Punk groaned, his vision blacking out for a few seconds as confusion turned to pain and then to anger. What the fuck was going on? Did Randy attacked him after the show and brought him there? It seemed so, but what for?

With his head lolling to the side, the Straight Edge Superstar pulled at his arms as hard as he could, but as hard as he pulled they were still holding him in place and his need to retaliate was killed by impotence.

"Forget about beating you up, I'm going to fucking kill you, you stupid son of a bitch!" He yelled, lifting his head just in time to see the other man walk out through a door. He didn't close it so he opened his mouth and yelled after him once more. "Hey, untie me and try that again you, I swear you won't have the same luck you stupid fuck!" Yelling intensified his headache but he didn't care. He was seeing red now. "Come back here!"

There was no answer and the only sound was the one of his head cracking open… he could hear it…

"Shit." He hissed through clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than get his hands up to nurse his head, after that he would take care of Randy. "I told you to come back here, can't you hear me? Or is it that are you deaf as well as stupid?"

Anger overcoming pain, Phil stared intently at the door, waiting for the man to show up, but when the man he was waiting for finally crossed the door he couldn't help but to hold his tongue.

At the sight of Randy stepping into the room with a kendo stick in one hand, Punk felt an alarm clock ringing inside his head, there was something very wrong going on there and he didn't think he could easily escape it unscratched. Randy was obviously in full psycho mode and he was going to get off on him.

He swallowed hard, trying to untie his wrist from their bondage but unable to. There was no way, he was fucked and he knew it. Resigned and tilting his head to the side, the black headed man smiled a cynical smile, "I see you are giving up the pretense of being the Randy Orton the fans adore… wish they could see you now, using low tactics, being a coward sick fuck by tying me up as a way to get to me…"

Yeah, he wished the world could see the real Randy as he had always seen him. Unfortunately they couldn't, and as the taller man slowly walked towards him he couldn't help but to wonder what had triggered the detonator for Orton to go back to his old ways.

Was it him? For the last couple of months he has been working with Orton's psyche, trying to expose him as he really was, trying to tear down once and for all the wrong conception the WWE Universe had of him. But no one wanted to hear him out, the WWE Universe suffered from a short term memory and they decided to back up their beloved Viper until the very end.

And he thought that their end was that night, after all Randy was drafted to Smackdown last week and he remained on Raw, meaning that he had to cut off his intents too short and without getting the result he was looking for.

But no, apparently Randy was not done with him, he wasn't done with the intense match they had earlier that night and he wanted more.

"You know, you talk too much for a man that can't do anything other than getting his ass kicked over and over again."

"Yeah? Well untie me and I'll show you what I can do." He said because really, what else could he do when he couldn't even break free on his own? Both his wrists already felt chafed and raw with his efforts and he hadn't managed a thing.

While his mind tried to digest everything that was going on, Randy crouched down in front of him and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his face to his so he could press his forehead against the other man's. "I saw what you could do and I'm not impressed, Phil. As it turned out you are all talk and no action."

Punk snarled his lips, his olive colored eyes fixing on Randy's greys as the grip on his hair intensified. "I'll kill you, let's see how that suits you."

Pushing his nose against Punk's, Randy smiled, his teeth showing between his lips as he slowly moved his head from side to side. "And who are you going to do that?"

Phil thought that Randy was too fucking close, he could even feel the warmness of his breath against his face and he didn't feel comfortable about that… "Untie me, and I'll show you."

With the smile still on his lips and with his face inches away from the older man's, Randy snickered. "Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not one of your puppets that you can move around as you like; no, I'm fucking Randy Orton and your bullshit doesn't work with me."

Randy's voice sounded like a low growl stuck in his throat and Punk couldn't help but to swallow on dry. Randy fucking Orton… what was he doing now? Without tearing his eyes away, the Chicago native smiled a twisted smile and breathed in. "I would say that my bullshit is working, otherwise you wouldn't have me tied here. I made you lose your cool, so even though you got the best of me tonight, I'm still the real winner and you, Orton, you are the loser."

Taking him by surprise, Randy used the grip he had on Phil's head and slammed it against the wall. It was the second time he did that and he had no choice but to close his eyes and hiss his pain away.

"Still feel like a winner, uh?" With that said, the Legend Killer closed the short distance that separated him from his number one enemy and crashed his lips against his.

The act took Punk by surprise and his eyes immediately flew open as he tried in vain to lift his hands up to push the younger man away. But the ropes around his wrists were too tight and he couldn't do a thing but moving his head to the side, escaping Randy's lips for a few seconds so he could gasp in surprise. "What the fuck are you doing? You stupid piece of…"

Before he could continue, Randy grabbed Phil by the hair once again and moved him back against his face, capturing his lips one more time and forcing his tongue to break past the younger man's lips so he could invade the wet cave of his mouth.

It all happened too fast; Randy's minted taste filling him in, the sensation of his tongue moving like a snake bursting with sweet venom against his… his hand refusing to let go of his hair.

It was insane; Randy's kiss was not gentle or sweet, he was hungrily devouring the Straight Edge superstar mouth as he ravaged his lips, and as much as he tried to, Phil couldn't help but to react to the kiss.

It wasn't weird to him, he had always liked things a little rough and Randy was giving him rough. That he hated the man and all he represented? Yes, but he was only human and he had never denied to himself that Orton provoked more in him than repressed ire and frustration.

Besides, it has been such a long time since the last time someone got to kiss him like that…

But no, even though Randy was kissing him senseless and that his body liked it, he couldn't forget the situation he was in. He was tied to a wall, his body was beaten up by their match earlier that night and he didn't think that Randy was up to any good; so with that in mind, Phil used his teeth to bite Randy's tongue away from his mouth.

The younger man's reaction was immediate; he pulled away from Phil's lips with a groan and then smacked him across the face. Phil groaned as well and shut his eyes, the force of the impact Randy inflicted on him making him wince in pain. "You fucking bitch, you bit me!"

For a moment Phil remained like that, unmoving as his head throbbed uncomfortable; his lips swollen and his mind racing a thousand miles per second.

What was going on?

He wanted to ask that, but when he opened his eyes he noticed that he was alone in the room. Randy was gone with his kendo stick and he was left behind, tied up and feeling more confused than ever.

TBC?