CHICK MAGNET
🎀 Chapter 1/1
🎀 CM Punk/Drew McIntyre
🎀 4k words
🎀 (explicit content, top!Punk, bottom!Drew, degradation kink, feminization)
Drew makes a crack at Punk for being the "chick" magnet. Punk decides to prove him right.
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“And all along, I thought you were a chick magnet.”
It was an innocuous joke, no matter how derisive. Borderline self-deprecating in this instance, actually, given that when Drew said it, the one who CM Punk was currently preoccupied with was…well, Drew .
He didn’t expect it to have much impact at all. Their sessions together are as thick with profanity and insults as they are with their own sweat and adrenaline. Punk had already told Drew tonight that the scar running from his forehead to his scalp made him look like a third-rate Abdullah; Drew, in turn, told Punk that he looked like a poor man’s cosplay of CM Punk from 2009; their clothes were shed somewhere in the interim.
Drew felt that he was damn clever, and he thought the “chick magnet” jab was rather precise. But he hadn’t expected Punk to halt mid-pump, suspended with Drew’s cock half-sunk inside of him.
“What was that?”
Drew groans as he jerks his hips upward, trying to submerge himself back into the warmth inside Punk. He’s already feeling cold without it.
“Punnnk…”
Punk’s thighs tense rigidly, and a hand on Drew’s sweat-slicked chest keeps him at bay.
“No, no.” Punk frowns, scolding Drew like he’s a mutt he caught humping a pillow. “You heard what I asked, so answer me. What did you just say?”
Drew’s nails claw at the sheets. The tingling of the approaching wave is already fading from him, and he’s desperate to have it back. “For fuckssake Punk, you know you heard me—“
He’s cut off by a hand surging forward, tangling in his beard and forcing him to gaze up into Punk’s humbling glare.
“Tell me what you said,” Punk says firmly, “Or you can ride this out alone.” And he pulls himself free of Drew’s cock, leaving Drew to whine petulantly, legs squirming and tossing up the already-tangled sheets.
“I-I said…I said that I thought all this time you were…” Drew catches his breath, feeling his body quake with the electricity of an imminent orgasm that had suddenly vanished. “Y-you know…a chick magnet…”
Punk’s hazel eyes now narrow; he tilts Drew’s face from side to side, inspecting him. “Do you think that’s funny? That I might see a pretty girl and want to fuck her the way I fuck you?”
Over my dead body , Drew’s mind leaps first to the defensive. But he can’t be that straightforward about what he’s thinking - even after all this time. It’s still CM Punk, after all.
So Drew forces himself to smirk. “O-oh, Punk, please…just think maybe you ought to be a little more… honest about your preferences.”
Punk’s jaw shifts from side to side, a gesture that Drew has come to know signifies deep thought, a hint of consternation. He keeps going, eager to see where it leads the two of them, to what corner he can back Punk into and how Punk can force his way out again. It’s a dance they’ve done many times before.
“Might want to change it, y’know? A bit more accuracy. Maybe Dick Rider Punk. Cock Sleeve Punk? Or what about DB -”
Before Drew can waste the 4 seconds required to explain the intricacies of Drew’s Bitch Punk, the man in question shoots upright and stands at the edge of the bed. Drew feels the last drops of his warmth fade from his bloodstream, and his desperation swells.
“Oh, come on! ” He whines shamelessly, dick blindly thrusting into the empty air of the motel room.
Three months. Three months for the long gash in his scalp to heal up properly, and Punk, absolute altruist that he is, refused to lie a hand on Drew until it was perfectly safe to yank his hair around. Three months of delayed release (Drew’d tried playing with himself before, drilling into his own loose fist and pretending it was Punk, but it hadn’t felt right ). And now, Punk’s holding it out of Drew’s reach just above the peak…
Drew feels his pelvis suddenly shoved back flat into the mattress. He peers down to see Punk’s hand on his hip holding him in place - he exerts little force, but Drew can’t find it in himself to fight when Punk glares at him with those haggard eyes.
“Quit it. I can’t think when you’re doing that shit.”
Drew grins. “I’ll bet you can’t.”
(But he can find it in himself to be a pest.)
Disdainfully, Punk flicks his fingers at Drew’s rigid cock, wrenching a sound from his throat. Punk watches it bounce heavily, jaw again jutting from side to side.
“Hm…”
Punk pulls away from Drew, striding up and down the length of the bed. Even without Punk’s firm hand on him, Drew remains still, watching as he paces, and soon feels his teeth grit together - fuckssake, Punk is as full and hard as he is right now. His dick bounces just so slightly as he walks, wordlessly taunting Drew with how effortlessly he carries himself. Certainly, at a glance Drew knows he’s got at least an inch on Punk; that’s not it. What it is is that Punk barely even seems to notice it, that he doesn’t even get the slightest bit out of breath as it just sits there pulsing between his legs. Drew, meanwhile, hasn’t felt Punk around him for about a minute now and is already groaning, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his face into sheets. It takes all the restraint he has to not begin rutting into the mattress. Goddammit, why can’t he wear it that well?
“Punk…get back here…” Drew gasps, feeling the ache start to metastasize. He needs touch, movement, something, anything, and he needs it now . “Get back here, or…I…”
There’s supposed to be a threat there, but it doesn’t materialize and Punk knows that it never will. When Drew has a hard on, a complex chemical reaction is set off in his nervous system that renders his brain effectively useless. That’s the trouble when you only think with your dick…
Wait.
Punk turns, gazing thoughtfully over Drew’s prone form. He’s lying with his face down in the bed, back curved, ass up. The sheet is clenched between his teeth as he tries to ignore his dick, ignore how badly he needs to be touched.
Punk thinks he might have an idea.
Carefully, he approaches Drew again and traces his fingers slowly down his back, watching his reaction. It’s instantaneous - Drew’s shoulders spasm, then the rest of his spine follows suit; every muscle twitches as if they’d leap off the bone to get closer to Punk’s touch. With a smirk, Punk draws his hand all the way back to Drew’s ass, the curve fitting into his palm like it was carved especially for him.
“Let me get this straight, then…” Punk says, drumming his fingers against the flesh of Drew’s ass (Drew feels it and is frustrated that it isn’t a smack, or even a squeeze.) “You think that if I’m a ‘chick magnet’, it means I should only go after girls, right?”
Drew squirms, impatient. “It’s your bloody nickname, not mine. Just another one of those things that makes you a hypocrite, isn’t it?”
Punk purses his lips. Drew is goading him, and he knows it - but into what is less certain.
No matter, though. Soundlessly, Punk slips in behind Drew on the bed, sitting upright on his knees.
“Alright then, princess. Spread ‘em.”
Drew lifts his head. A strange chill runs through him at the words that - did Punk just say that?
“W…what the hell was…?”
He’s cut off by a sharp slap on the ass igniting his nerves. Amidst the pain, he hears Punk behind him.
“Shut up. If you’re going to bitch about it, I can treat you like the stupid little girl you are.”
Drew’s throat feels dry. The blood rushes to his cock so fast his knees tremble beneath him.
“W-wait…I—”
Drew feels his ass stung again by Punk’s hard, calloused palm. The escalation is sudden, even by Punk’s temperamental standards, and it should frighten him.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Punk commands, “and spread your legs.” And Drew does. He lies there for a moment, no sound to reckon with but the disoriented thudding of his own heart against his ribs, but is shortly interrupted by something slick and cold suddenly pressing against - parting his entrance.
The abruptness, the piercing cold makes Drew gasp and shoot upright on his elbows; he’s shortly shoved face down back into the mattress as Punk glides two fingers down deep inside him.
“Didn’t I say to be quiet, bitch?” Drew feels warm lips nipping at his ear. “You could’ve gotten everything tonight. You could’ve had me bouncing on top of you like you wanted. But you had to go and piss me off…”
Sorry, I’m so sorry, an instinct within Drew wants to stutter out, an instinct that only seems to activate when Punk deigns to take control of him like this. But he can’t say it, because Drew isn’t sorry at all .
“So…” Punk spreads his fingers apart, tracing his tongue over his lips. Drew is a bit of a struggle to spread open - tight, even tighter than Punk had expected. “You want to be a bad girl so bad, I bet your little pussy wants some attention.”
Drew feels his stomach clench into a fist. He wants to argue. He needs to defend himself as a man, but…
Punk plunges his gel-coated fingers down deep into Drew, curling and twisting, back and forth and everywhere and alighting nerves that Drew didn’t even realize he had, each one setting off a flashbang behind his eyes. In seconds Drew can’t remember what the hell he was going to say. Fuck, he barely remembers how to speak .
“I-I’mm…Punk, n-n…”
Drew’s cock is ignored between his thighs, stiff and bouncing against the sheet every time Punk thrusts his fingers into him. Punk adds a third (how fucking unnecessary, Drew would think if he were properly cognizant, that arrogant prick knows he’s not that thick) . It draws up a wave of white hot pleasure that crashes over Drew, his untouched dick letting free a spurt of precum into the sheets below. He feels the desperation drawing tighter around him. “Punk…!”
Punk pulls his fingers free, leaving Drew with an emptiness deeper and heavier than he can bear. He pushes his hips back, frantically searching for some touch, any touch. He wouldn’t care if Punk just spit on him.
“Fuck me, Punk, please, fuck me…”
Punk drapes himself over Drew’s back - it’s massive, not one gap not packed with muscle, and he feels as though he’s about to mount a horse. But he tries his damnedest to keep Drew caged beneath his frame.
“You want it?” Punk breathes, again right against the shell of his ear. “You want me to fuck your pretty little pussy, Drew?”
Punk can feel the shock that sends through Drew’s system as he goes still and silent below him. But he’s not about to let him fade, so Punk reaches down and grabs a fistful of Drew’s long hair, pulling him back until those fierce blue eyes are gazing right into his face.
“You better make up your mind. I only fuck pretty girls when they behave.”
Maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s his rapid heart rate. But Punk swears that he sees Drew’s face grow red.
“I..y-yes. Please.”
Punk squints. “Please what?”
“Please fuck me. I-I’ll give you anything…”
He can feel Drew trembling beneath him. “Fuck you where, sweetie?”
Drew’s shoulders flex in a moment of terror that makes Punk grin.
“Don’t…please.” Drew’s voice comes out thin and splintered. “Don’t make me say it.”
Punk makes a display of rolling his eyes and sighing, releasing Drew’s hair from his fist. Just as he expected, there’s an immediate whine as Drew insistently presses his head into the crook of his shoulder.
“Punk! Punk, you l-little…” the insult dies in Drew’s throat. The ache within him is too deep, too vast, and pleading far too loudly to be savaged.
Punk stills his expression, looks as pitiless as he can. “Where do you want it?”
Drew’s throat bobs as he swallows. “I-in my…” his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice falls to near inaudibility. “In my pussy.”
It’s an injection of morphine when he feels Punk spreading him carefully open with his thumbs. “That’s right, baby girl.”
Drew feels pride swelling in his chest, and it disgusts him. But it isn’t nearly as disgusting as the rush of elation that sears through him as he feels Punk’s cock sinking into him - slowly, cautiously, like he’s taking the virginity of his blushing bride.
Fuck, but Drew already knows that he really is a virgin in that sense. Before now, it’s always been a matter of where he’s sticking his dick. He’s never been the recipient, so to speak - but Punk is giving him a fucking gift, or so it feels when his cock finally sinks down to its hilt, and Drew suddenly knows what it means to be full and warm and hungry. Endorphins flood his system so quickly he almost feels sick.
Drew moans as his body slinks back on its own, a spring preparing to fire - logically, he knows Punk’s cock is all there deep inside of him, but his body can’t help but search, craving more . That’s the only problem with Punk fucking him: it isn’t enough.
Then, Punk leans down to whisper, his hot breath curling around Drew’s ear. “Your cunt’s so fucking wet for me, beautiful…”
And that wasn’t helping either.
Drew doesn’t respond - not that there would possibly be a proper response to what Punk just said to him, but Punk just isn’t allowing him to, canting his hips forward and brushing something so deeply and powerfully within Drew that he can only lower his face into his folded arms and wail. Is it his prostate? He'd heard about it so much, is this what it really feels like?
Punk halts then, not battering whatever nerve it is deeply enough for Drew’s tastes. He feels a hand tangle gently in his hair.
“Are you okay, baby girl? Is it too much for you to handle?” Punk asks, his tone dancing on that line between concern and condescension.
Drew clenches his jaw and shakes his head from side to side. “N-no…I said fuck me…so fuck me.”
Punk smirks, the hand in Drew’s hair fastening to a stern grip as his hips drive punishingly forward.
“Hey, now…” he clicks his tongue, cock driving into that sweet nerve within Drew so roughly that it almost hurts. “That’s not the language for a young lady to use…”
Drew feels himself burning away from the inside, crying into and biting the flesh of his arms again. He doesn’t feel like himself anymore; his voice is wracked, broken and high-pitched, and it feels shriller and girlier with each stroke of Punk inside him. He feels as though his body is somehow smaller, more delicate than when he began (Punk is grabbing his hips and almost certainly leaving bruises). And Punk’s cock suddenly isn’t nearly as little as Drew tells himself it is.
Fuck, it’s as though Punk’s bending the universe around his will, from his lips to Drew’s ear, to Drew’s mind and body -
Drew breathes sharply in as he feels Punk’s hand clasp - firmly, not painfully, around his dick, which Drew now realizes has been neglected during this whole process and now is just throbbing . There’s a puddle between his knees where it’s been drooling precum for uncounted minutes.
“What’s this?” Punk hums, giving it a couple of lazy strokes, drinking in Drew’s frantic whimpering. “Did I find your clit, sweetie?”
“Yes!” Drew shudders immediately, feeling pathetic; his dick twitches being so misnamed. But what Punk says is true.
He’s making Drew his pretty girl.
Punk’s tongue traces over his lips, watching Drew falling apart under him. It’s always a little too easy with him; Drew responds so easily to a little manipulation and conditioning, it’s almost like he secretly wanted it anyway. But it’s fun having a toy that likes to be played with - fucking Drew is basically fucking a Greek statue (Punk knows that he’d never stop bragging about it if they weren’t keeping the “enemies-with-nightly-plus-twice-on-Friday-benefits” arrangement as discreet as possible), but the real thing Punk gets off on is seeing how far he can twist Drew around…physically and mentally.
Physically, for example, Punk wraps one arm around Drew’s muscle-laden thigh and pulls it slowly backward, locking it until his leg is just a bit too high and arched. Drew hisses with just a bit of pain, his tense ligaments trying to resist the pull, but takes it bravely like a good girl. The action forces his pussy to tense up, clench a little more around Punk’s pulsing cock. Punk moans even as he admires how tight and limber Drew is.
“Good girl,” Punk murmurs into Drew’s ear. He gets a little purr in response.
Now, to twist him up mentally.
Punk’s hips are rocking at a full clip, now; he’s starting to feel the ache in his core, knows that he’s not going to make it too much further. Judging by the way Drew’s shoulders are constantly trembling, a jolt sent through him with every thrust, he’s not going to last either.
So, Punk snakes a calloused hand around the front of Drew’s body, resting lightly over his stomach as the other continues stroking his dick.
“Baby…” Punk breathes, his own voice nails-rough and ragged. “I’m about to come inside you…do you know what that means?”
Drew gasps out a wordless sound that approximately conveys “no”. So Punk leans down until his chin is in Drew’s shoulder and his lips are against his ear.
“I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. You’re going to have my baby and you’re going to love it.”
Drew’s body almost collapses beneath Punk. “F-fuck…”
Punk tugs Drew’s hair, forcing him to keep his hazy eyes on Punk. He focuses every last ounce of energy on fucking Drew senseless.
“Drew, Drew, look at me,” Punk feels desperation creeping into his voice. By now, he’s numb from the thighs down. “Say it, beautiful, you want me to knock you up, don’t you?”
Wet blue eyes drift shut as Drew nods, lost completely. “Y-yes. Yes, yes.”
Punk feels the last strings tethering him snap. “Say it.”
Drew’s cock strains in Punk’s hand. “Come in me, Punk, please - fill me - get me pregnant - ”
Punk spine stiffens as he finally surrenders, crying out into the darkness and emptying himself out until Drew is more than full. Beneath, he feels Drew’s “clit” shudder in his hand and defile the bedsheets with his cum. It lasts seconds; it feels like forever and Punk would love for it to be, that’s his last clear thought as he loses all his strength and falls down right into Drew’s back.
“Good…such a good girl…” Punk says, a half-coherent murmur as he rapidly fades.
/
Punk is somewhat surprised to realize that he dozed off. He sits upright and peers around the bedroom - the sheets are wadded up and discarded near the foot of the bed; it’s still lightly cloudy outside and difficult to tell how much time has actually passed.
There’s one key difference, at least. Drew is sitting fully-clothed in the chair by the window, gazing distantly ahead into nothing. Punk can’t help but laugh - Drew’s head snaps to him, as though he’d forgotten Punk was there.
“What’s so funny?” Drew demands.
“You are.” Punk pushes a pillow behind his back and lays on it. “You act like you’ve never been kinky, before. You’re like a schoolboy.”
Punk senses Drew’s jaw tensing up. “School boy ,” he reiterates.
Drew snorts dismissively, averting his gaze. “That’s not what’s bothering me.”
Punk blinks, looking at Drew like he’s grown a second head between those massive shoulders. “McIntyre, how stupid do you think I am? Of course that’s what’s bothering you. I’m looking right at you and I see it.”
Drew sits still for a moment before sighing, shoulders slumping forward. “It’s just…why?”
“Why? Well, you got fuckin’ mouthy about me being a ‘chick magnet’, and - ”
Drew waves a dismissive hand Punk’s way. “Not that. Why do I let you do that to me? The…psychological stuff.”
Punk chews his lip, thinking. Drew had been through a few mind games with him in the ring, certainly. But perhaps, for a tough, “mannish” sort of guy like him, it was more disorienting for him - unnerving, to be put in a collar or called a girl without the prospect of being put in a headlock after. And to discover that it really did something for him.
“Well…” Punk finally speaks, cautiously. “You’re enjoying that stuff, right? When I fuck with your head, like that?”
Drew lowers his eyes to the floor, carefully considering the thought. It’s a while before he looks at Punk again.
“It’s not… right , is it? For a man…this big, I guess, to enjoy that type of thing.”
Punk’s brow wrinkles with amusement. “You haven’t fucked many other wrestlers, have you?”
Instantly, Drew becomes sheepish. “Not, uh…” he clears his throat. “Not men.”
Punk rolls his eyes with a flourish. Oh, Christ. Now he understands perfectly.
“Get over here,” Punk says, slapping the space on the mattress next to him. Drew approaches, sitting down by Punk’s side. “Now, listen. You’re a big tough dude, and - for all intents and purposes - we hate each other, as two tough, masculine guys. Right?”
Drew nods. “Oh, obviously.”
“However,” Punk lifts a finger as he postulates, “We fuck. A lot. We enjoy it.”
Drew’s cheeks redden a bit. “I…I guess so.”
“We do.”
“Alright, I know…we do.”
“And…” Punk’s hand creeps over, coming to rest on Drew’s thigh. “Sometimes, you wanna feel like you’re a beautiful, desirable little thing that another man might really want to take his time with. Even if you play a little… pretend.”
Drew’s eyes squeeze shut, ashamed. He stays quiet for a long moment; Punk gazes at him with anticipation before he finally nods. “I-I do, yeah.”
Punk gives an encouraging squeeze to Drew’s thigh. “And all that stuff is true at the same time. There isn’t anything wrong with you, yeah?”
Drew finally looks right into Punk’s eyes, searching for the hint of snide condescension, contempt, anything. They’re shockingly clear. Slowly, Drew begins to lean in.
“You know, I think you’re full of shit,” Drew hums softly against Punk’s mouth. Punk sighs, his eyelids falling shut, waiting for what’s about to come.
“No, I’m right. I always am, dumbass…”
Drew’s kiss is warm, full, heavy; so much so that Punk’s back hits the mattress, kept there by Drew’s full weight.
“Fuck,” Drew pulls back, breathing against Punk’s mouth, “I hate you.”
“Despise you,” Punk murmurs, taking Drew’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbling. He hears Drew’s breath hitch; feels his knee slide up against his crotch.
“I need you.”
Punk smiles smugly, feeling his cock harden against the fabric of Drew’s jeans. “I know you do… baby girl…”
His wrists are suddenly clenched in two strong fists, pinned up against either side of his head. Punk feels his pulse quicken.
“Now, wait a minute…” Drew’s voice comes as a growl against Punk’s neck. “You had your time, taking me apart. But what about you?”
Punk swallows a hard lump that’s formed suddenly in his throat. “W-what about me…?”
“You’re a tough guy, too,” Drew says, gently tracing his lips up the curve of Punk’s shoulder, contrasting starkly with the roughness in his voice. “Don’t you ever wanna just be pretty? Let a bigger man fuck your brains out?"
Punk feels his heartbeat quicken, his dick twitching. “You…you’re probably onto something, there.”
Drew leers over Punk, smirking. He releases Punk’s wrists, one hand going to the waistband of his own jeans, the other looping gently around the curve of Punk’s back. He hoists him up delicately, carefully - like the pretty little thing he is.
“Alright, princess. Spread your legs.”
