#Jinder Mahal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thlayli-ra · 1 year ago

Text

Succubus!

(Sequel to 'I Prayed For This...')

Characters - Drew McIntyre, CM Punk, Jinder Mahal, The Undertaker, Frankie Calaway (OC)

Pairings - Drew McIntyre/CM Punk, Drew McIntyre/Jinder Mahal, CM Punk/The Undertaker

AU - Valetverse (created by Syreina)

Rating - Mature (18+)

Warnings - Male slash, dom/sub undertones, non-con elements, forced kissing, forced bondage, gagging, abduction, choking, masturbation, mentions of past abuse, strong language, mild violence

Words - ~4,800 (yeah, it's long, sorry!)

Background Info - In a world where women no longer exist, society is split into two; dominants (the ruling class) and valets (who possess the 'inualidus chromosome' that allows them to bear children). Stripped of basic human rights, valets are expected to be entirely subservient to the dominants that claim them and few are prized higher than the valets of the WWE.

Summary - The rot takes hold...

From the moment the bell rung it was sheer brutality. The combatants had gone to war, firing every weapon in their arsenal and while there had been advances on both sides, there was only ever going to be one winner. When Drew McIntyre landed the devastating Claymore that almost decapitated CM Punk, he knew it was over. Throwing himself across Punk, he pulled his leg back to deepen the pin while the referee counted the one, two, three.

And it was all over! He had won!

Standing up, he yanked his wrist out of the ref's grasp - he didn't give a damn about posturing to the crowd. All he cared about was the battered, broken and bloodied valet lying crumpled at his feet. Punk groaned as he slowly turned onto his stomach, curling an arm around his bruised ribs. From above, Drew watched the tattooed man manoeuvre his leg out to the side to steady himself, the way he usually did whenever he found himself face-down on the canvas.

Completely oblivious to the danger lurking above him.

Stepping closer, Drew nudged his boot between Punk's open legs. The valet jerked with shock as the dominant's toe bumped him through his trunks. One dazed eye creaked open to plead silently with the victorious Scotsman but Drew only sneered back.

The referee scuttled over with the papers and Drew snatched them off of him, signing his name on the dotted line before there could be any interference. The very second that the deed was done, he crouched down, bending his entire frame over his fallen foe and presented the contract to him.

'Look at this, Punk,' he taunted, grabbing up a fistful of the valet's dark, damp hair and pressing his face flat against the paper, smearing the fresh ink with Punk's blood and sweat. 'What did I tell you? I said I'd make you my bitch and I have. Your arse belongs to me now!'

A taped palm connected with the middle of Drew's chest, shoving him back. The Scotsman chuckled menacingly at the weak retort, throwing the contract aside so that he could grab his newly won prize by the ears.

'You can fight me all you want, it doesn't change a damn thing,' he yelled in the valet's face. 'In the eyes of the law, you are mine and there's nothing you can do about it. So if I want to do this-' he pulled Punk towards him, ramming their lips together harshly. The fighting spirit inside his beaten opponent flared up, and Punk got his fingers in between their foreheads, pushing Drew off but the Scot was not to be denied, cackling as he pinned Punk's wrist to the mat and kissed him again. Forcing his tongue between Punk's pursed lips and swirling it around obscenely, forgetting his own warning of 'PG, brother'.

Yanking him up by his snagged wrist, Drew tossed the weary valet over his shoulder before retrieving his papers then walking up the ramp with both of his prizes, grinning from ear-to-ear despite the ungodly blare of boos from the crowd.

The dominant ignored the looks and frowns that awaited him in gorilla, striding right past them with an iron grip on Punk's legs, squeezing them tight to his chest. His body was so warm and wet from the ring, the bare skin of his thighs sticking to Drew's sweaty pecs. He couldn't wait to shed the rest of his new pet's gear and see what delicacies lay underneath.

'Now then, Punky,' he sang, marching down the hallways of the backstage area. 'Where's your private locker room? Big star like you, gotta have your own locker room, right?'

Eventually he found the door with the name 'CM Punk' taped to it and went inside, making sure to snap the lock shut behind him before dumping his prize onto the floor. Punk let out a weak cry as his battered body collided with the unforgiving concrete.

'You know, when you make such sweet sounds like that it's hard not to bend you over that bench and claim you right here, right now.' Drew dug the toe of his boot underneath Punk's chin and tilted it back. 'But luckily for you, I'm a patient man. I can wait. Now, let's get you packed up and take you back to your new home, shall we?'

Without warning, the wounded wrestler fought back. Grabbing Drew's ankle, Punk flung his arm up, aiming for a brutal low blow but the dominant was able to step out of harm's way before the taped fist hit its target. The shock on Drew's face dissolved into rage and he savagely smashed his boot into Punk's side, kicking him again and again, all while laughing maniacally.

'Haven't you learnt yet? Didn't I make myself clear in that ring?' Drew tossed back his mop of sweaty hair as Punk curled in on himself, coughing feebly with pain. 'You can't beat me, Punk so stop trying. Just accept that I am your new dominant now. You belong to me! Did you not see your nice new name on your papers. You're no longer Phil Calaway, you're now Phil Galloway. Not that different, really, if you think about it. You should get used to that easy enough.'

From down on the floor, Punk rasped something out, the words choked by another harsh cough.

'What was that?' Drew said, bending in close to the beaten down valet.

'Fuck... you!'

Drew went silent, gritting his teeth behind pursed lips. His fingers tensing into tight fists. He took in a sharp breath to calm himself before he beat the defiant valet black and blue.

'You want to do this the hard way, Punk?' He couldn't hide the snarl in his voice 'Fine, then we do this the hard way.'

Leaping up to his feet, he went to Punk's bags, ransacking his belongings until he found exactly what he was looking for. He chuckled menacingly as he grabbed up a roll of the valet's wrist tape. 'This'll do nicely,' he smirked, yanking the end loose with a loud ssrrrrkkkk. 'Let's start by shutting up that big mouth of yours.'

The second Drew grabbed his jaw and forced the tape over his lips, Punk yelled out, but it was too late and his protests were soon muffled by layers and layers of white tape being wrapped around his lower face. Once firmly gagged, Drew thrust his newly acquired prize flush against the floor and straddled the small of his back, capturing both of Punk's frantically flailing wrists. Despite the valet's struggles, his hands were soon bound together with tape, snaring them behind his back. His ankles were next to follow until the tattooed valet was entirely restrained. Defenceless.

It didn't seem to matter to the older man, however. Once Drew got up off of him, he began to thrash against his binds, desperate to loosen them and break free, all while spitting stifled insults from behind his gag.

Drew wasn't finished with him. Amongst the valet's belongings, he spotted a bundle of faded black fabric. Punk's hoodie! He lifted it up to admire the weathered garment, even going so far as to press it against his nose and take a deep breath. It reeked of Punk. That same alluring scent that permeated the very air of his private locker room, the same aroma that had hung around them in the ring, the intensity becoming too hard to bear whenever they were pressed together in close contact. Drew had enjoyed the first taste of his new pet and he looked forward to becoming more intimately acquainted with it later.

For now...

He grabbed the off-white tie of the hoodie and pulled the entire length out. This, he used to fasten Punk's taped wrists and ankles together, a nasty final insult to the defeated valet. Gagged, hog-tied and exhausted, his semi-nude body bruised and bleeding, Punk finally surrendered to his immediate fate. Placing his sticky cheek against the cement floor, he went quiet and still, focusing on conserving his energy for later.

For he would need it, Drew would make damn sure of that!

Stuffing Punk's belongings into his bags, he packed them into his rental before retrieving his biggest prize of the night. Opening the trunk of his car, he carefully placed the fettered valet inside, stepping back to admire the breathtaking sight of the fear in Punk's wide hazel eyes. No shiny golden belt, no jewel-encrusted crown, no title, not even a Wrestlemania moment, could ever rival the status of the trophy he currently had in his possession, quivering in the confined space.

'A word of advise?' Drew said, tilting his head to the side. 'Enjoy the drive. Because once we reach our destination...' he sneered viciously, '..I'm going to make your life a living hell.'

He slammed the trunk shut.

'HAH!'

Drew shot awake, beaded in cold sweat. He glanced around him, recognising his bedroom back in his apartment. It was early morning and the first soft rays of light were drifting in through the drapes. Little dapples of spring sunshine danced onto the man beside him in bed. Jinder, his husband. The man he loved.

The Scot scrubbed a hand over his damp face. A dream. It was all just a fucked-up dream. His shoulders stooped when he spied the tented bed covers at his hips. He had an impressive case of morning wood.

But why? Because of CM fucking Punk?

Checking that Jinder was still asleep, Drew slipped out of bed and tip-toed into the bathroom. The first thing he did was splash his face in ice-cold water, try to cleanse away the rot from his brain. It was getting harder each day, like mould left untreated in the shower tray, it kept coming back worse and worse.

CM fucking Punk!

He didn't even like Punk. He didn't even like valets! Yes, he had been married to one once but that had been a marriage of convenience. Dominants weren't meant to love other dominants, least not without a hot piece of valet ass sandwiched between them, but Drew had never felt anything for the gentler sex. Not even for Curtis, who had been nothing but sweet and caring to them both, even though he knew there was no love involved in their set-up.

When Jinder was defeated by Ryback in the match that lost them Curtis, Drew wasn't upset. He'd went to his husband's side and held his cheeks in his large hands. 'I'm sorry,' Jinder had said, on the verge of tears.

In reply, Drew kissed him, in plain sight, in front of the WWE Universe, in front of the cameras, in front of everybody. 'We don't need him,' he replied. 'Now we can be us. Who we really are.'

They had paid dearly for their true selves; both of them were fired by the company. But times had changed and attitudes had softened and the pair had eventually been welcomed back with open arms. The atmosphere was certainly less tense with Hunter running things.

So why was Drew suddenly so... unsatisfied? And why was CM fucking Punk of all people harassing him in his sleep? Haunting his dreams. More than his dreams, he was afraid to admit. The past few weeks, he had never strayed far from the Scotsman's thoughts even when awake.

The cold water did nothing to cool the solidness between his legs so Drew stood over the toilet bowl. Grabbing hold of his massive shaft, he began to pump it with his fist, pulling his foreskin back over his leaking head as far as it would go then folding it back again. A groan sounded in his chest, almost like a tiger's growl. He thought of Jinder, thought of his big hands roughly pushing him down onto the sheets, kissing his neck, fingers grasping the hair of his chest.

The pumping hand quickened.

Those calloused fingers pinched tight around his nipples, teasing them up into stiff peaks before sucking them into a warm mouth. Drew screwed his eyes shut, imagining the soft tongue soothing his swollen skin. Envisioning the coolness of the metal ball flicking against his dusky-

Wait...

The head lifted and he saw his lover's face. It was not Jinder!

Paler skin, softer features. Eyes shining olive green in the hazy morning light. Thin lips broke out into a lop-sided grin, climbing up its right cheek to crinkle the crow's feet at the corner of its eye. The tongue, that had moments before been teasing Drew's nipple, flicked out, rubbing the ball stud against the metal ring pierced through its bottom lip.

Drew gave a strangled gasp, perfectly capturing Punk's face in his mind's eye, blurring his image from both past and present. His cock was screaming for more and he indulged it, pumping vigorously.

The succubus stared down at him from on high, an angel with burnt wings. A demon.

'Come on, Drew,' it scoffed, the tip of its pink tongue rubbing the lip ring back and forth. 'You know by now, I'm not a demon.' The pale skin deepened to a blood red, fire burning in its eyes as two boned horns grew out of its forehead. 'When pushed, I'm Satan himself.'

The harder Drew jerked himself to his climax, the tighter he grit his teeth, hoping against hope that no noise spilled from his lips for Jinder to hear.

He reached out his hands, wrapped them around the devil's throat. And squeezed. The pierced grin widened, hazel eyes rolling into the back of its skull as Drew pressed his thumbs in deeper. Gasping for air, the demon howled like a cat in heat-

'Urrrggggffff,' Drew came hard, strings of his seed spilling out of him into the toilet bowl. Post-climax exhaustion hit and he steadied his wobbly arms against the wall, pressing his flushed cheek onto the cool tile.

Knock, knock, knock. 'Hey Andrew? You ok in there?'

Drew straightened up with a grunt, quickly shoving himself back into his boxer shorts and flushing his sin away. One last glance into the mirror, he shook any thought of Punk from his mind and went to the door. Jinder looked half-asleep but worried. They'd been married over a decade and yet he still cared so much for the Scotsman.

It made Drew's heart ache to lie to him. 'Yeah, fine,' he said with a shrug. 'Just needed a pish.'

Jinder snorted a laugh. He knew he would and it did the job, breaking the tension immediately. 'Oh good,' his husband smiled, running a hand over his face 'I was worried it was the chowder I made last night.'

'Hah, no,' Drew flopped onto the bed and scrubbed his fists against his bleary eyes. Jinder snuggled into his side, wrapping his arm around him.

'What are you thinking about?' he asked out of the blue.

'How did you know I was thinking?'

'It's your eyebrows. They're like two drunk caterpillars when you've got something on your mind, and you get that faraway look in your eye.'

'Hmm, I'm that transparent, am I?' Drew didn't like that. He hoped that Jinder was the only one who could read his secrets so easily.

'So?'

Drew took in a deep breath. 'I was thinking about... Curtis.'

Jinder opened his eyes and frowned up at his husband. 'Do you miss him?'

'Do you?' Drew shot back.

The Canadian thought for a moment. 'Sometimes. I miss the mornings like this where we would all wake up together in each other's arms. I miss having somebody to complain about you to.' Drew's chest heaved with a chuckle. 'I do miss having a valet's touch around here - our place is such a dominant's pad.'

'It's not that bad.'

'No, but, it was nice, you know.' Jinder lifted his head in order to look directly into his husband's eyes. 'Why? Has somebody caught your eye?'

Drew felt a sharp pain in his chest. A pang of panic before spilling his darkest thoughts.

'No,' he said. 'Nobody. Except you.'

The pair kissed sweetly and Jinder snuggled back into his side, falling into a peaceful sleep. But Drew's mind was wracked with alarm.

He hadn't lied. Not technically. Hearing Jinder reminiscing about their time with Curtis had made Drew deeply uncomfortable. He didn't want that, he didn't want sweet, domestic fluff. Not when it came to him.

Drew didn't want to share.

He wanted Punk all to himself!

The Calaway Residence, Texas

'Urgh!' Phil grumped as he flopped onto the chair.

Mark glanced up at his husband over the top of his newspaper, noting his gym wear which confirmed his suspicions that the valet had gotten up early to do his physio therapy exercises. 'I made you some breakfast.'

Phil looked down into his bowl of oats and dried fruit. 'Why do you hate me so fucking much?'

'Would you rather I made you a stack of pancakes dripping with syrup?'

'YES!' Phil shot back, then scrunched up his nose. 'No. Not like I can work it off cause of this fucking arm.'

'You're getting there.'

'Not fast enough. Doc says it's still not one hundred percent.' He stared forlornly into his bowl. 'Just when I had finally worked all the baby fat off too.'

'I like you with a bit more meat,' Mark replied warmly. 'Especially your cute little gopher cheeks.'

'Well say goodbye to them,' Phil scoffed. 'Them, the stomach rolls, the muffin tops. It'll all be gone by the time I'm done with them.'

'Pity,' Mark noted, turning the page of his paper.

Shoving his oats around the bowl, Phil moped. 'Maybe I'll stop by the bakery later and stare in through the window. If I look pathetic enough then maybe one of the guys will let me lick one.' His eyes was suddenly drawn to the door leading to the hallway and a shadowy figure trying to sneak past. 'Hey! HEY YOU! Get your ass in here right now!'

With a theatrical roll of his eyes, a young valet aged around nine years walked in. 'What?' he huffed.

'Don't 'what' your mother,' Phil scolded his son. 'The hell are you wearing?'

'A shirt.'

'Well I can see it's a shirt. Where'd you get it? Was it from Uncle Sting?'

The boy looked at his mother like he was an idiot. 'It's yours.'

Phil paused. Looking again at the faded black T-shirt, he read the words CM Punk. Welcome to Chicago, motherfucker.

'Huh...' he hushed out, feeling a small lump in his throat. He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling with pride. 'Well ok then,' he grinned, ruffling the boy's hair. 'Go get 'em, Frankenstein.'

'You do know that Frankenstein was the name of the scientist?'

'Exactly! And you're the monster I created.' Before his son could protest, Phil planted a kiss on his forehead.

'Urgh, you're so embarrassing!' The boy wriggled out of his mother's grasp and grabbed up his skateboard.

'Love you, Frankie,' Mark called out to the boy as he left.

'Love you too, Dad.'

'Aww, he's a good kid,' Phil beamed.

'He's gonna get called up to the principal's office about that shirt,' Mark warned.

'Principal Mendoza doesn't talk to me anymore, you know that.'

Mark let out a ragged sigh. 'Fine,' he grunted, 'I'll swing by after my meeting later.'

'Thank you, honey!' Phil teased, grudgingly picking up his spoon to eat his breakfast as he swiped through his phone. Moments later, he let out a loud snort of laughter. 'Can't believe this, he's at it again.' Mark cocked an eyebrow at his husband. 'Drew McIntyre,' Phil explained without being asked. 'Guy can't post a single thing on social media without mentioning me. Must be desperate for traffic or something.'

Mark put down his paper and eyed his husband warily. 'Should I be concerned?'

Phil's brows shot up his forehead. 'About Drew McIntyre? Pfft! God no! He's harmless.' Mark looked unconvinced, however. 'We go way back, believe me. I know him and well... let's just say I'm not his type.' Getting the hint, Mark lifted his paper back up. 'Nah, I'm not worried about him. Seth on the other hand...'

'Still having problems?'

Letting out a long breath through his crooked nose, Phil pursed his lips irritably. 'Guy's still pissed with me, not really sure why. Think it has something to do about me leaving the way I did.'

Mark's furrowed his brows. 'He knows why you did, right?'

'Kinda,' the valet returned, his face turning sad and pensive as he finished off his bowl. 'About the same as everybody else does. I dunno... we weren't really speaking at the time after all that shit went down with Dean and Roman. Maybe that's why he's pissed, or maybe it's because Dean (or Jon, whatever he's calling himself these days) and I had our little falling out at AEW.'

'He was hardly innocent in that fiasco either,' Mark pointed out, flatly, making Phil smile; his husband liked to play the tough guy but he always had the valet's back.

'Yeah, well, neither was I,' Phil said, grabbing up his husband's plate and cutlery to take to the sink. 'You know, Dean was the only guy back then who tried to help me out. He really put his neck on the line for me. And look how I repaid him. Can't blame Seth really, if he only knew what really happened, how bad it got...'

Phil went quiet.

Mark looked up and found his husband staring into the middle of the table, as if lost in a trance. It was then that he spotted his inked fist wrapped tightly around his discarded fork, blood dripping from where he was squeezing the prongs into his palm.

Throwing his paper down, Mark reached across the table, placing his large hand over his husband's quivering digits. Phil flinched at the touch, his frightened eyes finding Mark's soft greens.

'Phil, look at me,' Mark said, his voice gentle but firm. 'You're ok, you're here with me.'

'I'm ok,' the valet repeated. 'I'm here with you.'

'You're here with me.'

'I'm here with you.'

'I need you to breathe, ok? In.'

'In.'

'Out'

'Out.'

They continued this pattern until Phil's breathing steadied. Shaking his head, he flickered back to his surroundings, finding his husband's concerned face. 'I'm good,' he said at last. 'I'm ok.' Slowly, tentatively, Mark let go. 'Shit, haven't had one of those for a while.'

His husband watched him silently. 'You know, if it's too much for you, Phil, going back to WWE, you don't have to-'

'It's not,' the tattooed valet assured his husband. 'It's really not. It... feels different there now. Now that they're gone. I dunno how to explain, it's just... different. And anyway-' Punk shook out his neck and shoulders, hardened his features. 'I've got to go back. I've got something to prove. It's just like it was with Cody, I have unfinished business there.'

Mark only nodded, letting his husband get his thoughts out. Listening closely.

'I'm sick of holding on to all this... shame! The way people look at me, the way they look at Frankie. I fucking love my kid and I'm sick of people using him against me all the time, like he's some kind of, I dunno, punishment for what happened to me. He deserves better than that. We both deserve better than that.'

'I understand,' Mark said solemnly.

'And if I don't go back? Then he wins. Again! It's just yet another thing that he took away from me. And I'm fucking sick of him controlling my life.'

Mark lowered his head, unable to hide his guilt. 'I understand,' he said again, 'and you know that I'm here for you, no matter what. If you need to do this, then I'll support you but if it gets to be too much and you want to leave, I'll support that too.'

'I know,' Phil smiled softly, reaching over to place his hand over Mark's, caressing the large knuckles with his thumb. 'I love you.'

'I love you too. So much. You have no idea.'

'Oh, I do, believe me,' Phil teased.

'And you promise me, at the first sign of trouble-'

'There won't be any trouble.'

'Phil...'

The valet sighed. He couldn't deny that he had a long storied history of getting on the wrong side of the wrong types of people. But that was back then, when he was young and reckless. Well... more reckless. He was also prettier back then. These days there were too many wrinkles on his face and greys in his beard, the skin hung looser on his frame and his C-section scar was clear across his lower belly. He loved that scar, it was his favourite one of them all, for it gave him his precious son, but a lot of dominants looked at it with disgust. Like he was spoilt goods, well passed its sell-by date.

Not that he gave a single shit. For once in his life, he didn't have to worry about dominants. He could finally allow himself to relax, finally allow himself to be happy. He was fulfilled with his home life and now, he wanted that same satisfaction with his wrestling career, which had been stopped all too abruptly, both when he left WWE and at AEW.

It was time for him to finally carve out the legacy he was destined for.

* * *

It was obvious that the manager recognised Drew by the way he lavished him with a full escorted tour of the self-storage lot. Drew had rejected the first three options, finding them too close to the centre. Made sense that most people preferred the units on the inside - it was more secure there - but Drew wanted one as far away from prying eyes (and ears) as possible.

'Ah, here it is,' the manager said, inputting the code on the number pad. Drew liked the look of this one. On a corner, right at the edge. Beyond the chain link fence there was nothing but empty wasteland for several miles. The door slid up and the manager held out his arm for Drew to go inside. The Scotsman scanned the interior of the storage unit, his imagination hard at work.

It needed some work done. Sound-proofing mainly. There was a lot of wall space to cover to ensure that not even the smallest peep escaped to the outside and alerted a suspicious passer-by. He would have Punk gagged most of the time, but considering the activities he had planned for the pair of them, it seemed a shame to not be able to hear him. To hear those delightful moans and whimpers and cries. To hear him pleading for Drew to stop before howling for more.

Walking around the unit, he looked for the best places he could install either a bar or a ring into the wall to attach chains that he could tether to Punk's wrists or ankles. Perhaps, some kind of dog collar. Aye, leash the bastard like the dog he is. He'd probably like that. Maybe he could affix a hook to the ceiling that he could use to dangle the little shit when he misbehaved.

Everything else was easy enough to get. A mattress, a bucket. They'd be the only home comforts Punk would be allowed. Drew could envision it so perfectly. Imagining the tattooed valet huddled against the wall, stripped completely bare, his pale skin filthy with grime. Chains softly clinking as he shivered with the cold. If he pleased his dominant, then he may earn himself a blanket to keep himself warm.

But Drew knew it would take a long, sustained effort to tame the wayward valet. He was notoriously fiery, rebellious and stubborn. Even nearing middle-age, he had a short-fuse, as his time at AEW proved, and he wasn't afraid to lash out.

But he already had a plan in mind. Everybody, be they dominant or valet, had a breaking point, and Drew was determined to find Punk's. He'd start by starving him, wear him down physically. He'd withhold water from him too, and if he swallowed some of his pride and submitted to his new master, Drew would satiate him. But only by his own hand. Drew would hold the water bottle for Punk to suckle from, spoon feed him one bite at a time, like a babe, until he learnt who held his very life in his hands, who was responsible for his welfare and imprinted on him as his one true dominant.

And when Drew had finally exorcised the demon from the man, he would be left with a flawless angel, the vision of perfection.

'So what do you think?'

The manager's voice snapped Drew from his dark thoughts. He wobbled for the briefest of moments, doubting himself and his cruel intentions...

... then sharply shook them off.

'I'll take it,' he said.

#Thlayli-writes #valetverse au #cm punk #drew mcintyre #the undertaker #jinder mahal #punkintyre #underpunk #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction #request fic #for anon #drewpunk

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