Content: Mature subject matter, m/m slash, language, violence, non-con sexual situations.
Character/s: Shane McMahon, David Batista
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Inspired by the song "Paranoid Eyes" by Pink Floyd. Lyrics from same used without permission. No infringement is intended so please don't sue. All lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
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When will it truly be "my time?" I know that sounds like the worst possible joke but I ask it in all seriousness. Everyone has their own pre-determined image of who and what I am. I'm some trendy plaything that gets passed around among the ranks. I'm some kind of sounding board for everyone else, but I'm not allowed to have any problems of my own. I'm a person of boundless financial and political clout who doesn't mind getting hit up for favors all the damn time.
The truth is they've got it all wrong. They only see what they want to see. What I choose to let them see. Because this is really all my fault to begin with, planting these images of me in their heads. I did it intentionally because I wasn't quite sure how to fit in. So I became what they all seemed to need most.
But I fucked up. I let it go on for much longer than I should have, and now I feel like it's too late for me to try to correct the situation, clear up the misconceptions. So I made a conscious decision to keep that mask on, terrified that some day, someone would see through my disguise of casual amusement and spot the frightened boy inside.
It's already come back to bite me in the ass in more ways than I can count. I've been made to feel like it's all my fault that Hunter and Shawn didn't work out. The few times I tried to maintain a serious relationship with women, I could see the self-doubt in their eyes. And also the unspoken question, "When will I no longer be enough for him? When will he go running back to be where he probably wants to be anyway?" And that's exactly what I'd do. Every single time.
That whole slut image has been the biggest problem, I think. After a while, you kind of get used to being bounced around from person to person. And sometimes it's real easy to believe that those fleeting moments of pleasure are all you'll ever be capable of, all you deserve. Because you didn't try hard enough to break the mold, to change from what they'd made you become. Like maybe some part of you is happy and content with that kind of shallow existence. Tell yourself a lie often enough and damned if it doesn't start to sound like the truth after a while.
When David Batista first told me he wanted to hang out after a show, I didn't think anything much of it. We'd never really spent a whole lot of time around one another and I assumed he maybe wanted to make some more friends in the company or just wanted to get to know me better.
Get to know me better. Now there's an interesting way of putting it.
He invited me out to a bar for a few drinks. When I walked in the place with him, I found myself wondering when the last time I'd had a tetanus shot was. I think the bar owner must have given up cleaning for Lent. It was that filthy. The cleanliness, or lack thereof, didn't seem to be hurting business at all, though, as the place was packed. Most of the guys in the group were all David's size or bigger. The few women I saw would have made Chyna look like a paragon of feminine frailty. And they all seemed to know David.
I was feeling more than a little out of place, to say the least, so I tightened up that mask and tried to take it all in stride, leaning on the bar and laughing a little too loud at all their bad jokes. The whole time David was watching me. Like he was testing me. It was a little unsettling to say the least. Sure, I could've just called a cab to take me back to my hotel, but I'd be damned if I was going to let him get the better of me. I'd originally only planned on having one or two drinks but as the night wore on, I suppose I loosened up enough to feel more at ease, the drinks were coming fast and furious, and I quit worrying about David watching me.
Maybe that's where I fucked up. When I stopped casting wary glances over in his general direction to see if he was still observing me with a predatory eye. I told myself I'd finally proven to him that he couldn't win whatever game he was playing. I'd turned to ask him some question or other and his face was blank, expressionless, cold.
"We're leaving."
And like that, the cocky self-confidence was gone. The self-assurance I'd gotten from proving that I could hold my own in whatever situation I found myself thrust into. All gone. I found myself nodding my compliance, just as meek as you please, not knowing what to expect, really, but knowing I had no say in the matter. Not anymore.
And I was scared.
After he paid our rather sizable tab, he strode to the door without a backward glance at me, as if he just assumed I would follow along behind him like a puppy. Which, of course, is what I did. He led the way to the car, still not speaking to me. He opened the passenger side door, leaving me little choice but to get in. Still wondering exactly what I'd gotten myself into, I took my seat and kept my mouth shut, waiting for him to make the next move. We drove in silence for a few miles before I finally couldn't stand it anymore.
"Is something wrong?" I ventured, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer, but desperate to break the silence.
Without taking his eyes from the road, he made a quiet sound of amusement. "And why would you think something was wrong?" he drawled out, sounding bored out of his skull.
"I... I don't know. It's just that we left kind of abruptly, and... No reason, really... I was just wondering..." I listened to myself stammer like a child called upon to read out loud in class. I tried to psyche myself up, hating how weak my voice sounded.
"You don't sound too sure of yourself," David answered quietly, still not looking at me. "Do YOU think something is wrong?"
I sat there, perplexed. I didn't know how else to explain the feelings of disquiet that were coursing through me, causing my skin to pebble with goosebumps. There was definitely something not right about David, but I wasn't sure I wanted to be the one to find out what that 'something' was. At least not when I was alone with him and feeling more than a little helpless.
I felt rather than saw him turn his head to look at me. I cast a tentative glance out of the corner of my eye and saw him watching me with a frightening intensity, an unsettling smile on his lips. "Well, Shane? IS there something wrong?"
If I thought I was uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to what I was feeling now. I directed my attention to the road once more and drew my lower lip between my teeth, chewing it nervously. "I don't know..." I finally answered after a lengthy pause. The last thing I wanted was for him to see how scared I was, but I could hear the quaver in my voice, feel the fear and uncertainty radiating off of me in waves. He knew just how frightened I was and he was feeding off it, letting it fuel whatever dark wishes he had.
"You say that a lot, you know." I could hear the smile in his voice, and his obvious amusement at my distress was irritating, to say the least. "Let's try an easier question, then. Do you always do what you're told to do?"
Well, that was unexpected. Unexpected, uncalled for, insulting, infuriating...
...and true.
I lowered my head, the lack of a reply answer enough for him. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, braking gently to a stop. He turned to face me, but still I kept my head down, very ashamed of how much that one simple question had gotten to me.
He reached up and put a hand against my face, and I surprised myself by instinctively turning toward it affectionately. What the hell was I doing? He was just trying to fuck with my head, play games with me. Even as he gently caressed my cheek I was dealing with conflicting thoughts. How sweet. How annoying. Manipulation. That's all he was trying to do.
"You'll do whatever I tell you to do," he told me, his voice laced with scorn, "And you don't even know what I want from you, yet."
He stopped, turned his head away from me, and fell silent for a moment or two. When he turned back to me, he lashed out and backhanded me hard across the face. The shock of the sudden act hurt more than anything else, and I looked up at him with a pained expression.
He immediately leaned down so that his lips were close to mine. Disgusted, I found my own had parted in anticipation. "And you're willing to kiss me right now even though I just struck you, aren't you? Are you really that much of a whore?"
I opened my mouth to respond to that but nothing came out. I stared at him, and he stared right back at me. Testing me. Daring me to fight him. With my words, with my fists, with my mind. Anything. We were locked in a battle of eyes. Sweat poured so freely from my hair that it soaked my eyelashes, stung my eyes, and dripped steadily from the tip of my nose.
…and I lowered my head once more, in defeat.
"That's what I thought," he growled out, and for the life of me, I couldn't tell if it was lust or disgust I heard in his voice. He turned off the ignition and got out, walking quickly over to my side of the car and opening my door for me.
Against my better instincts, I got out and looked around. We'd stopped at what looked like an ordinary house along the highway. One he apparently had access to, as he walked up to the front door, unlocked it, and entered the house. I followed behind him, closing the door behind me, pretty much committed to whatever course of action he decided upon.
Once inside, I followed David into the kitchen where he poured himself a tumbler of bourbon from a decanter on the countertop. He drained the hi-ball in a few quick swallows, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, watching how the muscles in his throat contracted and loosened, the way he ran his tongue out across his lower lip. Embarrassed, I could feel myself getting hard just watching him, wondering what those lips would feel like against my own.
My God, what was wrong with me? Every sensible part of me kept screaming at me to get the hell out of there. I had no idea what he had in mind, what his ultimate goal was. Hell, I hardly knew him at all. And here I was, standing in the kitchen of a strange house out in the middle of nowhere with a man who quite frankly scared me half to death.
Almost as if he could hear my thoughts, he turned to face me, setting the tumbler back on the countertop. "So tell me, Shane, why would a reasonably intelligent man like yourself allow himself to be put in such a vulnerable position?"
I made a valiant attempt to stroll casually to the window, looking out at the night sky, pretending to be very interested in the landscape, the moonlight, the trees, anything but the man behind me. I didn't need to see him to know he was smirking at me from across the room.
"What's wrong, Shane? Cat got your tongue?" David's voice was lower, huskier, and suddenly very hypnotic. I tried as hard as I could to keep my gaze focused on the window and what lay beyond, but my eyes refused to listen. When I finally gave in and turned around, he was standing right at the edge of the kitchen table behind me. Suddenly all the demands I had thought to make of him, to call me a cab, to return me to my hotel room, they all vanished. I bit my lip once more, unconsciously coloring it with the pressure of my teeth.
He looked me up and down, that predatory look back once again. "I can taste it, you know." My mouth went dry.
He allowed an enigmatic smile to shape his mouth and approached me slowly, almost gracefully, like a cat. The expression on his face was pure unadulterated hunger. He moved around the table to advance on me gradually, every movement of his carefully calculated. I swallowed audibly because if he was the predator... Hell, I was practically his willing prey, wasn't I?
He was standing so close our noses were practically touching. Our eyes were locked in a staring contest and I couldn't look away. Whatever meager self-control I had was preventing me from reaching out and touching him. With my hands, my lips, my tongue. I was determined not to give in to him. I finally regained control of my voice, but it still sounded far too scared to my ears. "You can taste what?"
He leaned a little closer and I had to close my eyes. My heart was pounding in my chest and I was terrified that he could hear it somehow. His lips came within a hair's breadth of brushing my ear as he whispered, "your need."
I just HAD to ask, didn't I? What the hell do you say to something like that? Deny it? Oh sure, that would work. I couldn't feel him in front of me anymore, yet I was afraid to look. I should probably say something...
I pulled away to take a breath and he pushed me roughly, knocking me to the floor. I felt my back collide with the cold tiles with a loud thump. I groaned but not from the pain. He moved faster than I thought possible, and was almost immediately pressing down on me, forceful, unforgiving. I struggled slightly, not really wanting to escape, and that seemed to excite him further. He grabbed my wrists and held them firmly above my head as he devoured my mouth with his lips, kissing me ravenously. His mouth crushed itself against mine, forcing my lips to open under the assault. His teeth dug into my lower lip, breaking the skin, and I felt him lap up the droplets of blood that sprang forth under the pressure.
He wasn't gentle. He wasn't careful. He wasn't loving.
He was hurting me and to my very great chagrin, I realized I was loving every damned second of it. He pulled away abruptly, leaving both of us gasping for breath. His eyes were dark and glazed with passion, and his mouth looked just as swollen and abused as mine felt. I found myself fighting back a disappointed moan because I already missed the feeling of his mouth bruising mine.
He kept my wrists pinned with one hand as he dropped the other to caress my cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, teasing, but the dangerous glint in his eyes contradicted it and my breath caught in my throat, my body tensed with anticipation. I didn't have to wait long, as his fingers wrapped around the front of my shirt and with a quick pull, he yanked it open, tearing the fabric in the process. Before I could react, he was back on top of me and I gasped in shock as his skin pressed against my bare flesh.
His mouth fastened itself to my neck and I found myself straining upwards, trying to give him better access, not even trying to stifle the moans of pleasure. His free hand wedged itself between us and roamed over my chest, slowly trailing down to my stomach. I struggled to free my hands from his grip, but he only tightened his hold, growling low in his throat.
When he moved his hand lower inside my slacks I froze. I bit my lip as he started stroking my already stiff cock, tantalizingly slow at first. I was quite literally afraid to breathe, not because I was scared that he'd hurt me, because he probably would. Hell, he'd already hurt me several times tonight. I couldn't stifle the fear that if he stopped touching me now, I'd go mad. I'd turned some kind of corner and it was too late to look back now.
I'm not stupid. I realize now that he'd given me plenty of opportunity to run. I could go back to pretending that I didn't want to have my brains fucked out by him.
But I did. Oh, God, how I did.
I moaned loudly, the sound almost a name, a name spoken by a voice filled with desire and desperate need. I don't remember if I actually said anything else but I know damn well he heard everything I was trying to say. And not say.
He paused for a moment and sat up off of me, finally releasing my wrists, staring down at me for a few moments. His eyes were smoldering, scalding me almost as much as his touch did. No one had ever looked at me with such a need to own, to possess before. He gave me little time to wonder what to expect, as he grabbed hold of my upper arms and yanked me up off the floor, turning me around and thrusting me over the table. I struggled slightly, more from shock than anything else, and I felt his hand on the back of my head, slamming my face down on the table, re-opening the split in my lip. The message was pretty fucking clear.
"Stay," he growled and almost immediately, all thoughts of resisting him disappeared in response to his command.
I felt my slacks being undone and yanked roughly down and felt cold air on the backs of my thighs. Then he began peeling my boxers down with agonizing slowness, prolonging the inevitable. I'm not stupid. I knew he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted with me, and the shameless wanton inside me prayed that he'd get on with it, so that maybe I might find my own release, too.
As I lay face-forward, bent over the edge of the table, all I could think about was my need to be taken by him. God, what was taking him so long? If he made me wait any longer, I would absolutely die. I cast a glance in his direction, trying to follow him with my gaze as he moved to stand immediately behind me but was rewarded for my efforts by a sharp smack across my upturned backside. "Eyes front!" he hissed at me, and I obeyed immediately.
I knew I wasn't the only one looking starved. The expression I saw on his face before turning back around was one of carnal need. What a sight we must have been. Our bodies pressed tightly against each other, one of David's arms around my chest, another sliding down my hip. I felt him wrap his fingers around my cock and start stroking me again, occasionally rubbing his thumb over the dripping head. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass, not too insistent yet, but giving me some indication of just what I was in store for. Damn, the man was huge. Even as I worried that he was going to rip me in half when he finally penetrated me, my traitorous body arched against him in a desperate craving for release, my whimpers frantic with need.
I felt him running his free hand around to my backside before gasping as his finger teased my opening. Every nerve in my body was tingling with expectation. He continued to stroke and torment me until I was barely coherent enough to wonder what his cock would feel like inside me.
He didn't say a word as he finally slipped his finger inside. I moaned with satisfaction and moved my ass slightly, as his finger slid in and out of me. A second finger joined the first one, then a third, and for a moment I thought it was too much. It was bordering on being truly uncomfortable, the burning sensation from the sudden invasion was nearly too much for me. I stiffened and he slowed the tempo, but did not stop. I was too busy focusing on trying to relax and didn't notice that with every stroke he changed the direction a bit until with one thrust he brushed against my prostate and triggered a rush of indescribable pleasure that washed through my system. My entire body quivered and a groan tore from my lips.
Not giving me any time to enjoy the sudden change in sensation, he slipped his fingers out and pushed down on my shoulders so that I lay flat across the table once again. Briefly wondering when and if he would be courteous enough to use some kind of lubrication, I gripped the edge of the table, sensing that he was finally ready to take me. I felt David grab my hips hard enough to bruise, using his knees to nudge my legs even farther apart. My eyes squeezed shut and my teeth dug into my still-bleeding lower lip as he rammed himself inside me. God, it hurt. It hurt like hell. I had badly underestimated his size. But the satisfaction at finally feeling him inside of me was worth the pain.
He began moving slowly. I knew he was trying to throw me off balance, to counter the sudden, brutal invasion by making it as painless as possible but I didn't care. Fuck careful. Fuck gentle. I wanted more. I needed more. I needed everything he had to give me, no matter how hard, how fast, how brutal, how vicious.
I needed him.
I bucked against him, welcoming the sharp jabs of pain instead of fighting it. I couldn't control my muscles as they convulsed around his pulsating length. Our two distinct voices echoed off the walls, his guttural growls blended into a harsh symphony with my agonized whimpers and the creaking of the kitchen table. He carefully shifted the angle of his thrusts until his cock brushed against the right spot and I arched my back with a loud moan of deepest pleasure. The pain softened, melting into a pleasurable burning. I didn't have to see him to know that he was smiling at how easily he could control my reactions. He started rocking against me, gradually at first but picking up speed and force with every stroke.
David leaned forward and placed one hand on the small of my back, pressing down as he continued to drive himself into me, his other hand keeping a firm grip on my hip, jerking me back to meet his thrusts partway. Once he was satisfied that I was lunging back with appropriate force, he slipped his hand from my hip and snaked it around the front of my body to firmly grasp my throbbing cock, giving it a few hard, fast strokes.
A shudder twisted my body and I erupted almost immediately in his grasp with an ear-splitting cry. Spasms were still rocking my body when I heard him groan as he emptied himself inside of me, his cock twitching violently. My knees buckled and the only thing keeping me in place was the weight of him pressing me down across the table. I had just enough time to wonder at his stamina when I felt him jerk himself roughly out of me and let go. I sank to the floor, feeling inexplicably lonely without him inside of me.
He stared down at me as I lay slumped on the kitchen floor, exhausted, confused, and too weak to move. I finally gathered enough strength to look up at him. He arched a brow at me, a smug look of satisfaction gracing his mouth. I studied his face carefully, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. Completely shocked by my own reaction, I found myself wondering if he was pleased with me.
After a few moments, the realization dawned on me. He'd known this would happen from the very beginning. He'd known I wanted him to fuck me, probably before I even knew it myself. And when he'd decided that he wanted it, too, he went after me. He hadn't hesitated, because the possibility that I might refuse hadn't occurred to him even for a split second. He knew.
The arrogant son of a bitch.
He made no effort to help me to my feet. Instead, he yanked his pants up and moved to wash his hands in the sink. So done with me. Thank you, please drive through. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.
As I stood on shaky legs and tried to dress myself as calmly as possible, I noticed him staring at me, that enigmatic smirk back once again. I attempted to smile back at him, the expression somehow seeming false, painted on. There was no illusion of me ever having any semblance of control with David. I knew it then, and I know it now. And even more shameful was the knowledge that he could come to me at any time, snap his fingers, and I'd run to do his bidding.
Welcome to the shallow existence that is Shane McMahon's life.
And now as I sit at the bar, nursing my fifth double Blackjack of the night, I allow myself once brief face-to-face with reality. I know I am as much a fixture of this place as the wobbly stools that hold up the shattered dreams of the sad souls who make this their second home. People who committed no greater sin than having a dream. Just a simple dream to belong somewhere, to matter to somebody. And after those dreams were shattered, they found they didn't have the strength to try to rebuild. They have accepted their lot in life and they don't see the point in trying to change anymore. And now, neither do I.
And somehow, of all the masks I ever wore, this one fits the best, I think.
Character/s: Shane McMahon, David Batista
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Inspired by the song "Paranoid Eyes" by Pink Floyd. Lyrics from same used without permission. No infringement is intended so please don't sue. All lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
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When will it truly be "my time?" I know that sounds like the worst possible joke but I ask it in all seriousness. Everyone has their own pre-determined image of who and what I am. I'm some trendy plaything that gets passed around among the ranks. I'm some kind of sounding board for everyone else, but I'm not allowed to have any problems of my own. I'm a person of boundless financial and political clout who doesn't mind getting hit up for favors all the damn time.
The truth is they've got it all wrong. They only see what they want to see. What I choose to let them see. Because this is really all my fault to begin with, planting these images of me in their heads. I did it intentionally because I wasn't quite sure how to fit in. So I became what they all seemed to need most.
But I fucked up. I let it go on for much longer than I should have, and now I feel like it's too late for me to try to correct the situation, clear up the misconceptions. So I made a conscious decision to keep that mask on, terrified that some day, someone would see through my disguise of casual amusement and spot the frightened boy inside.
It's already come back to bite me in the ass in more ways than I can count. I've been made to feel like it's all my fault that Hunter and Shawn didn't work out. The few times I tried to maintain a serious relationship with women, I could see the self-doubt in their eyes. And also the unspoken question, "When will I no longer be enough for him? When will he go running back to be where he probably wants to be anyway?" And that's exactly what I'd do. Every single time.
That whole slut image has been the biggest problem, I think. After a while, you kind of get used to being bounced around from person to person. And sometimes it's real easy to believe that those fleeting moments of pleasure are all you'll ever be capable of, all you deserve. Because you didn't try hard enough to break the mold, to change from what they'd made you become. Like maybe some part of you is happy and content with that kind of shallow existence. Tell yourself a lie often enough and damned if it doesn't start to sound like the truth after a while.
When David Batista first told me he wanted to hang out after a show, I didn't think anything much of it. We'd never really spent a whole lot of time around one another and I assumed he maybe wanted to make some more friends in the company or just wanted to get to know me better.
Get to know me better. Now there's an interesting way of putting it.
He invited me out to a bar for a few drinks. When I walked in the place with him, I found myself wondering when the last time I'd had a tetanus shot was. I think the bar owner must have given up cleaning for Lent. It was that filthy. The cleanliness, or lack thereof, didn't seem to be hurting business at all, though, as the place was packed. Most of the guys in the group were all David's size or bigger. The few women I saw would have made Chyna look like a paragon of feminine frailty. And they all seemed to know David.
I was feeling more than a little out of place, to say the least, so I tightened up that mask and tried to take it all in stride, leaning on the bar and laughing a little too loud at all their bad jokes. The whole time David was watching me. Like he was testing me. It was a little unsettling to say the least. Sure, I could've just called a cab to take me back to my hotel, but I'd be damned if I was going to let him get the better of me. I'd originally only planned on having one or two drinks but as the night wore on, I suppose I loosened up enough to feel more at ease, the drinks were coming fast and furious, and I quit worrying about David watching me.
Maybe that's where I fucked up. When I stopped casting wary glances over in his general direction to see if he was still observing me with a predatory eye. I told myself I'd finally proven to him that he couldn't win whatever game he was playing. I'd turned to ask him some question or other and his face was blank, expressionless, cold.
"We're leaving."
And like that, the cocky self-confidence was gone. The self-assurance I'd gotten from proving that I could hold my own in whatever situation I found myself thrust into. All gone. I found myself nodding my compliance, just as meek as you please, not knowing what to expect, really, but knowing I had no say in the matter. Not anymore.
And I was scared.
After he paid our rather sizable tab, he strode to the door without a backward glance at me, as if he just assumed I would follow along behind him like a puppy. Which, of course, is what I did. He led the way to the car, still not speaking to me. He opened the passenger side door, leaving me little choice but to get in. Still wondering exactly what I'd gotten myself into, I took my seat and kept my mouth shut, waiting for him to make the next move. We drove in silence for a few miles before I finally couldn't stand it anymore.
"Is something wrong?" I ventured, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer, but desperate to break the silence.
Without taking his eyes from the road, he made a quiet sound of amusement. "And why would you think something was wrong?" he drawled out, sounding bored out of his skull.
"I... I don't know. It's just that we left kind of abruptly, and... No reason, really... I was just wondering..." I listened to myself stammer like a child called upon to read out loud in class. I tried to psyche myself up, hating how weak my voice sounded.
"You don't sound too sure of yourself," David answered quietly, still not looking at me. "Do YOU think something is wrong?"
I sat there, perplexed. I didn't know how else to explain the feelings of disquiet that were coursing through me, causing my skin to pebble with goosebumps. There was definitely something not right about David, but I wasn't sure I wanted to be the one to find out what that 'something' was. At least not when I was alone with him and feeling more than a little helpless.
I felt rather than saw him turn his head to look at me. I cast a tentative glance out of the corner of my eye and saw him watching me with a frightening intensity, an unsettling smile on his lips. "Well, Shane? IS there something wrong?"
If I thought I was uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to what I was feeling now. I directed my attention to the road once more and drew my lower lip between my teeth, chewing it nervously. "I don't know..." I finally answered after a lengthy pause. The last thing I wanted was for him to see how scared I was, but I could hear the quaver in my voice, feel the fear and uncertainty radiating off of me in waves. He knew just how frightened I was and he was feeding off it, letting it fuel whatever dark wishes he had.
"You say that a lot, you know." I could hear the smile in his voice, and his obvious amusement at my distress was irritating, to say the least. "Let's try an easier question, then. Do you always do what you're told to do?"
Well, that was unexpected. Unexpected, uncalled for, insulting, infuriating...
...and true.
I lowered my head, the lack of a reply answer enough for him. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, braking gently to a stop. He turned to face me, but still I kept my head down, very ashamed of how much that one simple question had gotten to me.
He reached up and put a hand against my face, and I surprised myself by instinctively turning toward it affectionately. What the hell was I doing? He was just trying to fuck with my head, play games with me. Even as he gently caressed my cheek I was dealing with conflicting thoughts. How sweet. How annoying. Manipulation. That's all he was trying to do.
"You'll do whatever I tell you to do," he told me, his voice laced with scorn, "And you don't even know what I want from you, yet."
He stopped, turned his head away from me, and fell silent for a moment or two. When he turned back to me, he lashed out and backhanded me hard across the face. The shock of the sudden act hurt more than anything else, and I looked up at him with a pained expression.
He immediately leaned down so that his lips were close to mine. Disgusted, I found my own had parted in anticipation. "And you're willing to kiss me right now even though I just struck you, aren't you? Are you really that much of a whore?"
I opened my mouth to respond to that but nothing came out. I stared at him, and he stared right back at me. Testing me. Daring me to fight him. With my words, with my fists, with my mind. Anything. We were locked in a battle of eyes. Sweat poured so freely from my hair that it soaked my eyelashes, stung my eyes, and dripped steadily from the tip of my nose.
…and I lowered my head once more, in defeat.
"That's what I thought," he growled out, and for the life of me, I couldn't tell if it was lust or disgust I heard in his voice. He turned off the ignition and got out, walking quickly over to my side of the car and opening my door for me.
Against my better instincts, I got out and looked around. We'd stopped at what looked like an ordinary house along the highway. One he apparently had access to, as he walked up to the front door, unlocked it, and entered the house. I followed behind him, closing the door behind me, pretty much committed to whatever course of action he decided upon.
Once inside, I followed David into the kitchen where he poured himself a tumbler of bourbon from a decanter on the countertop. He drained the hi-ball in a few quick swallows, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, watching how the muscles in his throat contracted and loosened, the way he ran his tongue out across his lower lip. Embarrassed, I could feel myself getting hard just watching him, wondering what those lips would feel like against my own.
My God, what was wrong with me? Every sensible part of me kept screaming at me to get the hell out of there. I had no idea what he had in mind, what his ultimate goal was. Hell, I hardly knew him at all. And here I was, standing in the kitchen of a strange house out in the middle of nowhere with a man who quite frankly scared me half to death.
Almost as if he could hear my thoughts, he turned to face me, setting the tumbler back on the countertop. "So tell me, Shane, why would a reasonably intelligent man like yourself allow himself to be put in such a vulnerable position?"
I made a valiant attempt to stroll casually to the window, looking out at the night sky, pretending to be very interested in the landscape, the moonlight, the trees, anything but the man behind me. I didn't need to see him to know he was smirking at me from across the room.
"What's wrong, Shane? Cat got your tongue?" David's voice was lower, huskier, and suddenly very hypnotic. I tried as hard as I could to keep my gaze focused on the window and what lay beyond, but my eyes refused to listen. When I finally gave in and turned around, he was standing right at the edge of the kitchen table behind me. Suddenly all the demands I had thought to make of him, to call me a cab, to return me to my hotel room, they all vanished. I bit my lip once more, unconsciously coloring it with the pressure of my teeth.
He looked me up and down, that predatory look back once again. "I can taste it, you know." My mouth went dry.
He allowed an enigmatic smile to shape his mouth and approached me slowly, almost gracefully, like a cat. The expression on his face was pure unadulterated hunger. He moved around the table to advance on me gradually, every movement of his carefully calculated. I swallowed audibly because if he was the predator... Hell, I was practically his willing prey, wasn't I?
He was standing so close our noses were practically touching. Our eyes were locked in a staring contest and I couldn't look away. Whatever meager self-control I had was preventing me from reaching out and touching him. With my hands, my lips, my tongue. I was determined not to give in to him. I finally regained control of my voice, but it still sounded far too scared to my ears. "You can taste what?"
He leaned a little closer and I had to close my eyes. My heart was pounding in my chest and I was terrified that he could hear it somehow. His lips came within a hair's breadth of brushing my ear as he whispered, "your need."
I just HAD to ask, didn't I? What the hell do you say to something like that? Deny it? Oh sure, that would work. I couldn't feel him in front of me anymore, yet I was afraid to look. I should probably say something...
I pulled away to take a breath and he pushed me roughly, knocking me to the floor. I felt my back collide with the cold tiles with a loud thump. I groaned but not from the pain. He moved faster than I thought possible, and was almost immediately pressing down on me, forceful, unforgiving. I struggled slightly, not really wanting to escape, and that seemed to excite him further. He grabbed my wrists and held them firmly above my head as he devoured my mouth with his lips, kissing me ravenously. His mouth crushed itself against mine, forcing my lips to open under the assault. His teeth dug into my lower lip, breaking the skin, and I felt him lap up the droplets of blood that sprang forth under the pressure.
He wasn't gentle. He wasn't careful. He wasn't loving.
He was hurting me and to my very great chagrin, I realized I was loving every damned second of it. He pulled away abruptly, leaving both of us gasping for breath. His eyes were dark and glazed with passion, and his mouth looked just as swollen and abused as mine felt. I found myself fighting back a disappointed moan because I already missed the feeling of his mouth bruising mine.
He kept my wrists pinned with one hand as he dropped the other to caress my cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, teasing, but the dangerous glint in his eyes contradicted it and my breath caught in my throat, my body tensed with anticipation. I didn't have to wait long, as his fingers wrapped around the front of my shirt and with a quick pull, he yanked it open, tearing the fabric in the process. Before I could react, he was back on top of me and I gasped in shock as his skin pressed against my bare flesh.
His mouth fastened itself to my neck and I found myself straining upwards, trying to give him better access, not even trying to stifle the moans of pleasure. His free hand wedged itself between us and roamed over my chest, slowly trailing down to my stomach. I struggled to free my hands from his grip, but he only tightened his hold, growling low in his throat.
When he moved his hand lower inside my slacks I froze. I bit my lip as he started stroking my already stiff cock, tantalizingly slow at first. I was quite literally afraid to breathe, not because I was scared that he'd hurt me, because he probably would. Hell, he'd already hurt me several times tonight. I couldn't stifle the fear that if he stopped touching me now, I'd go mad. I'd turned some kind of corner and it was too late to look back now.
I'm not stupid. I realize now that he'd given me plenty of opportunity to run. I could go back to pretending that I didn't want to have my brains fucked out by him.
But I did. Oh, God, how I did.
I moaned loudly, the sound almost a name, a name spoken by a voice filled with desire and desperate need. I don't remember if I actually said anything else but I know damn well he heard everything I was trying to say. And not say.
He paused for a moment and sat up off of me, finally releasing my wrists, staring down at me for a few moments. His eyes were smoldering, scalding me almost as much as his touch did. No one had ever looked at me with such a need to own, to possess before. He gave me little time to wonder what to expect, as he grabbed hold of my upper arms and yanked me up off the floor, turning me around and thrusting me over the table. I struggled slightly, more from shock than anything else, and I felt his hand on the back of my head, slamming my face down on the table, re-opening the split in my lip. The message was pretty fucking clear.
"Stay," he growled and almost immediately, all thoughts of resisting him disappeared in response to his command.
I felt my slacks being undone and yanked roughly down and felt cold air on the backs of my thighs. Then he began peeling my boxers down with agonizing slowness, prolonging the inevitable. I'm not stupid. I knew he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted with me, and the shameless wanton inside me prayed that he'd get on with it, so that maybe I might find my own release, too.
As I lay face-forward, bent over the edge of the table, all I could think about was my need to be taken by him. God, what was taking him so long? If he made me wait any longer, I would absolutely die. I cast a glance in his direction, trying to follow him with my gaze as he moved to stand immediately behind me but was rewarded for my efforts by a sharp smack across my upturned backside. "Eyes front!" he hissed at me, and I obeyed immediately.
I knew I wasn't the only one looking starved. The expression I saw on his face before turning back around was one of carnal need. What a sight we must have been. Our bodies pressed tightly against each other, one of David's arms around my chest, another sliding down my hip. I felt him wrap his fingers around my cock and start stroking me again, occasionally rubbing his thumb over the dripping head. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass, not too insistent yet, but giving me some indication of just what I was in store for. Damn, the man was huge. Even as I worried that he was going to rip me in half when he finally penetrated me, my traitorous body arched against him in a desperate craving for release, my whimpers frantic with need.
I felt him running his free hand around to my backside before gasping as his finger teased my opening. Every nerve in my body was tingling with expectation. He continued to stroke and torment me until I was barely coherent enough to wonder what his cock would feel like inside me.
He didn't say a word as he finally slipped his finger inside. I moaned with satisfaction and moved my ass slightly, as his finger slid in and out of me. A second finger joined the first one, then a third, and for a moment I thought it was too much. It was bordering on being truly uncomfortable, the burning sensation from the sudden invasion was nearly too much for me. I stiffened and he slowed the tempo, but did not stop. I was too busy focusing on trying to relax and didn't notice that with every stroke he changed the direction a bit until with one thrust he brushed against my prostate and triggered a rush of indescribable pleasure that washed through my system. My entire body quivered and a groan tore from my lips.
Not giving me any time to enjoy the sudden change in sensation, he slipped his fingers out and pushed down on my shoulders so that I lay flat across the table once again. Briefly wondering when and if he would be courteous enough to use some kind of lubrication, I gripped the edge of the table, sensing that he was finally ready to take me. I felt David grab my hips hard enough to bruise, using his knees to nudge my legs even farther apart. My eyes squeezed shut and my teeth dug into my still-bleeding lower lip as he rammed himself inside me. God, it hurt. It hurt like hell. I had badly underestimated his size. But the satisfaction at finally feeling him inside of me was worth the pain.
He began moving slowly. I knew he was trying to throw me off balance, to counter the sudden, brutal invasion by making it as painless as possible but I didn't care. Fuck careful. Fuck gentle. I wanted more. I needed more. I needed everything he had to give me, no matter how hard, how fast, how brutal, how vicious.
I needed him.
I bucked against him, welcoming the sharp jabs of pain instead of fighting it. I couldn't control my muscles as they convulsed around his pulsating length. Our two distinct voices echoed off the walls, his guttural growls blended into a harsh symphony with my agonized whimpers and the creaking of the kitchen table. He carefully shifted the angle of his thrusts until his cock brushed against the right spot and I arched my back with a loud moan of deepest pleasure. The pain softened, melting into a pleasurable burning. I didn't have to see him to know that he was smiling at how easily he could control my reactions. He started rocking against me, gradually at first but picking up speed and force with every stroke.
David leaned forward and placed one hand on the small of my back, pressing down as he continued to drive himself into me, his other hand keeping a firm grip on my hip, jerking me back to meet his thrusts partway. Once he was satisfied that I was lunging back with appropriate force, he slipped his hand from my hip and snaked it around the front of my body to firmly grasp my throbbing cock, giving it a few hard, fast strokes.
A shudder twisted my body and I erupted almost immediately in his grasp with an ear-splitting cry. Spasms were still rocking my body when I heard him groan as he emptied himself inside of me, his cock twitching violently. My knees buckled and the only thing keeping me in place was the weight of him pressing me down across the table. I had just enough time to wonder at his stamina when I felt him jerk himself roughly out of me and let go. I sank to the floor, feeling inexplicably lonely without him inside of me.
He stared down at me as I lay slumped on the kitchen floor, exhausted, confused, and too weak to move. I finally gathered enough strength to look up at him. He arched a brow at me, a smug look of satisfaction gracing his mouth. I studied his face carefully, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. Completely shocked by my own reaction, I found myself wondering if he was pleased with me.
After a few moments, the realization dawned on me. He'd known this would happen from the very beginning. He'd known I wanted him to fuck me, probably before I even knew it myself. And when he'd decided that he wanted it, too, he went after me. He hadn't hesitated, because the possibility that I might refuse hadn't occurred to him even for a split second. He knew.
The arrogant son of a bitch.
He made no effort to help me to my feet. Instead, he yanked his pants up and moved to wash his hands in the sink. So done with me. Thank you, please drive through. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.
As I stood on shaky legs and tried to dress myself as calmly as possible, I noticed him staring at me, that enigmatic smirk back once again. I attempted to smile back at him, the expression somehow seeming false, painted on. There was no illusion of me ever having any semblance of control with David. I knew it then, and I know it now. And even more shameful was the knowledge that he could come to me at any time, snap his fingers, and I'd run to do his bidding.
Welcome to the shallow existence that is Shane McMahon's life.
And now as I sit at the bar, nursing my fifth double Blackjack of the night, I allow myself once brief face-to-face with reality. I know I am as much a fixture of this place as the wobbly stools that hold up the shattered dreams of the sad souls who make this their second home. People who committed no greater sin than having a dream. Just a simple dream to belong somewhere, to matter to somebody. And after those dreams were shattered, they found they didn't have the strength to try to rebuild. They have accepted their lot in life and they don't see the point in trying to change anymore. And now, neither do I.
And somehow, of all the masks I ever wore, this one fits the best, I think.