trick: Balintyre + touch starved
~⭐
This was fun - I need to write more of this pairing!
Trick - 'Touch Starved' (Drew McIntyre/Finn Balor)
(Read on A03)
Words - ~2.2k words
Rating - Mature
Warnings - Kidnapping, non-consensual bondage, drugging
Finn was taking too long to come round!
Drew leaned against the edge of the table, impatiently rubbing his large palms together as he eyed the Irishman right in front of him, slumped in a wooden chair. The ropes binding him were knotted tightly - Drew had checked and checked and checked them again until he was satisfied that his prisoner would not be breaking out of them any time soon.
But first, the stupid, smiling fucker had to wake the fuck up!
Drew snorted an exhale loudly through his nose, contemplating whether he should splash some water into Finn's face or ring the hotel reception to see if they had any smelling salts (although he quickly dismissed that idea, he didn't want anybody prying into his business for that evening) when to his immense relief, a small groan sounded and Finn started to move.
Drew watched carefully as the head of short dark hair began to slowly rise up, thick eyelashes fluttering as two bleary blue eyes attempted to focus. Then one hand jerked, probably an attempt to rub his aching head but the ropes held it fast. Blue eyes blinked down at the immobile arm, contemplating the reasoning behind it and then the rest of the body followed suite. Arms, legs, chest wriggling back and forth, struggling against the bonds, their pace growing more frantic as the peril Finn found himself in fully revealed itself.
The Scot had to chuckle at his prisoner's pathetic display. Finn lifted his head fully, finally noticing his captor standing before him. His eyes were now wide with panic, his arched brows raised high on his forehead. 'Drew!' Finn cried. 'What's going on? Untie me! Now!'
The Scot sneered back. 'Nah, I don't think so.'
Finn narrowed his eyes at the much larger man, trying to make sense of this bizarre situation. Drew had only just returned to the WWE after being let go by the company some years earlier. Finn didn't know him back then and even though the pair of them had travelled similar roads on the independent circuit, their paths had never crossed until only a few hours ago.
But he'd heard the rumours about the Scot. That he was a changed man. That he'd returned from the indies bigger, stronger. And meaner. Gossip that proved to be true when McIntyre rushed in to save Finn from an post-match assault by his opponent only to turn and knock the Irishman out himself.
But that didn't explain why was he was currently trussed to a chair in dingy hotel room. Finn needed some answers. 'What do ye want wit' me?'
Drew shrugged his shoulders, scratching his fingernails through his thick dark beard. 'Well, truth be told, Finn, it's not really you I'm interested in?'
He knew it! It was always the same. Men (and occasionally women) came gunning for him but rarely for Finn himself. He was merely a vessel, a gateway to what they truly wanted.
'The Demon,' Finn guessed correctly with a cocky smirk on his face. 'Got to hand it to ye, Drew, it's a brave man who comes to pick a fight with him, but... also a stupid man.'
'Pfft!' Drew scoffed loudly. Clearly Finn had hit a raw nerve. 'I think I can handle a skinny little twink in fancy face-paint.'
Finn chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. 'You have no idea.'
'Then let me prove it,' Drew crossed his arms over his chest. 'Bring him out.'
A large smile split the Irishman's lip, his blue eye twinkling impishly. 'I'll do ye a favour here, Drew,' he said. 'No.'
He expected the other man's short fuse to light up and unleash his wrath, however, Drew remained calm, giving a sly chuckle. 'I was hoping you would say that.'
Pushing himself away from the desk, he walked across the room, into the fringes of Finn's line of sight. The Irishman couldn't see him but he could hear the sound of a bag being unzipped, hands digging inside, rustling around for something.
'What are ye doing? Drew? Answer me! Tell me what-?
Something sharp dug into the skin on his neck. Finn froze as pressure was applied and an icy liquid was plunged into his veins.
'There now,' Drew tugged the syringe out and calmly placed it into a biohazard zip bag. 'That should start working in a few minutes.'
'What in the hell did you just-?'
'Oh this?' The Scot shook the bag playfully. 'Oh this is just a nifty new experimental drug a friend of mine told me about. He gets paid to have scientists inject all sorts into him for pharmaceutical studies and he said this one was like viagra on steroids. Really potent stuff apparently.'
Viagra? Finn's heart jumped at the sound of the word. So this was all... sexual? Drew's big bad plan was to, what fuck him? Or, most likely considering he had injected Finn with the drug, he was hoping Finn would be the one doing the fucking.
The idea was so ludicrous that the Irishman began to laugh.
'Something funny?' Drew cocked an unamused eyebrow.
'It's just-' Finn choked out through giggles. 'Ye do realise that in order for viagra to work, you have to be actually 'excited', right? It doesn't just magically pump up a flaccid dick like a feckin' balloon.'
'So ye're saying ye're no attracted to me?' Drew placed his hand on his chest with mock insult.
Finn merely shrugged back. Perhaps it was just the Irishman's imagination, but it was suddenly quite stuffy in the room, his skin growing uncomfortably hot under the suffocating fabric of his leather jacket.
'Careful Finn, don't go lying to me now.' The Irishman rolled his eyes at the Scot's barb and was about to retort when Drew beat him to the punch. 'We all know you like them tall, dark and handsome. Ah, but it's the eyes isn't it? You prefer them dark, more... doe-like, don't ye?'
Finn flinched at that taunt, shooting a poisonous look at his captor, who had returned to his spot by the table directly in front of him.
'How is Rollins these days?'
Finn was struck dumb, a bead of sweat travelling down his temple. Had Drew cranked the heat up in here all of a sudden? Because his skin felt like it was on fire, hot and prickly. He subtly tested his bonds again. They didn't budge.
'Your silence speaks volumes,' Drew leered triumphantly. 'Can't say I blame ye either - Seth's a bonnie lad, eh?'
A slurred gasp fell from Finn's lips, meant to be a 'shut up' but sounded more like a 'shurrp'. Drew, noting the Irishman struggling, bent in close, eyeing him closely.
'What's the matter with ye there, Finn? Are ye feeling ok?'
'Leevmelone...'
'Ahhh,' the Scot smirked with glee, 'that wee jab I gave ye is kicking in now, isn't it?' He grabbed the collar of his own T-shirt and began to fan it. 'Ooft, is it me or is it getting hot in here?'
Then he yanked his shirt off! Finn glanced up at a broad chest made of pure muscle, a pair of gloriously heavy pecs and washboard abs, coated in thick dark hair. He remembered watching Drew on TV his first run in WWE and it was a far cry from the clean-shaved, slender frame he had back then. The Scot had filled out.
As were Finn's trunks at that moment. Becoming too tight and constrictive - which was a worry considering they were already ruthlessly form-hugging. Hissing through his teeth, he lowered his gaze to the floor, tried to focus on safe things like giraffes or what Lego set he was going to buy next or... his next art project...
But all he could picture in his mind was a hairy chest. Not thick, like Drew's. Softer, fluffier, skin several shades darker than his own pale Irish hue.
His trunks grew tighter.
'Jaysis!' Finn cursed under his breath.
'You know, I think ye have the right idea there, mate,' Drew said, and to Finn's horror, his large hands moved to the ties of his gym shorts. 'Why half-arse it, eh? If we're gonnae strip, then let's strip.' The shorts were yanked down chunky, thick thighs, past a pair of black knee pads, down his bare, hairy shins and his wrestling boots then off. Drew was now dressed in only his ring gear, same as Finn, ready to grapple.
And oh dear god, did Finn want to grapple him! So badly!
'Untie me,' he whined, despising how much it sounded like begging.
Drew, however, only cocked his head to the side. 'Excuse me?'
'Let me go. Please!'
'Why the fuck would I do that?'
Finn moaned feebly in protest, trying to twist out of his bonds. Something was slithering beneath his flushed skin, squirming just out of reach. A itch that needed scratched or else he would go insane.
'Please!' Finn whimpered.
'No!'
'Then...' Finn gulped, momentarily stopping the words leaving his mouth. It wasn't enough. The sensations flooding his senses were too strong, too potent. He felt the shame before his lips even parted. 'Then touch me?' He hiked his hips up as far as the ropes would allow to make his meaning clear.
His jailor merely scoffed. 'Christ, are you this pathetic with Seth? Do you whine like a little bitch for him too?' Please stop speaking about Seth! 'Truth be told, I always expected Seth to be the pathetic one. Everything about him screams 'pitiful bottom' to me.'
Stop! Please!
'Do you grab his hair when you fuck him? I've always wanted to do that. Just grab a fistful of those thick locks and pull back until he squeals.'
STOP!
'Either that or just fold him up like an accordion until his knees are pressed against his fucking ears.'
'Stop!'
'Does he spit or swallow? Suppose it doesn't make any difference. I know for a fact he gives good head, he's an attentive lover isn't he? Always so eager to please.'
Finn was aching all over. Not just the heat and discomfort, something more visceral. Painful. Like hot spears plunging into each of his joints. One through his chest, stabbing right into his side and through his galloping heart. He had to end this torture somehow, break free from this terrible spell.
He needed help!
Drew enjoyed the view of his victim being tormented like a worm under the glare of a kid's magnifying glass. He had to admit that the drug was far stronger than he had expected judging from the look of his prisoner who's pale skin was flushed a deep red and his ice blue eyes squinting with agony, yet the Scot didn't even lift a finger to help.
That wasn't the plan, after all. He had to bide him time, wait until...
Suddenly, a change came over the Irishman. Quick, like a flicker. At first, Drew thought he had imagined it. When it happened again. Fast, like a glitch in a video game. Floating pixels of red and black.
The Scot stood up straighter, paying close attention.
Before him, Finn, now bulging painfully in his trunks, his veins popping out of the muscles of his neck and temple and arms, threw his head back and let out an anguished wail.
And for the briefest of moment, Drew saw him entirely.
The Demon.
'Jesus fucking shhhh...'
In all honesty, he had imagined it to look like Finn in his war paint. Slim, toned. Human. He hadn't imagined that the monstrous mouth often scrawled on Finn's chest was an actual gaping maw full of row upon row of sharp teeth and an anaconda tongue as thick as his own leg, impossibly long and serpentine. Sniffing the air for its prey.
And the tendrils upon his head. Not a manufactured crown made of ribbons and old belts but an actual nest of red, black and white tentacles, thrashing through the air. Talons on his claw-like fingers, talons on his claw-like toes, skin as black as soot and as red as flame.
But it was the eyes that made his quake like a child facing the monster under his bed. Ice blue and piercing. Finn's, but not Finn's. Not anything like he'd ever seen before. Glowing through the dingy light of the hotel room, finding him. Locking on tight.
A few more flickers and the being came into full focus. Remaining.
It was here. Just like he's hoped.
And it was huge. Larger than Drew in every sense.
It flexed its impressive muscles and the ropes snapped as easily as worn elastic, freeing the terrifying entity from its cage. As it found its feet, the shreds of Finn's clothing, torn and tattered from the beast's sheer size, fell away and revealed the rock hard column standing tall between the creature's legs, red hot and thick. So very thick!
Drew stood frozen with awe and terror as it advanced towards him. In that moment, he reflected on the words that Finn had said to him at the beginning of their encounter that night. You have no idea.
He was right. Drew had been so naive. He should have taken Finn's advice. He shouldn't have poked the beast.
But now, as the Demon King closed the gap between them he realised with bone-chilling terror that it was too late!
