Fic - Rough Cut (1/1)
May. 10th, 2017 12:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfiona99Title: Rough Cut
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: WWE Wrestling
Characters: Randy Orton/Ken Anderson
Prompt: 13. Blood play
Word Count: 1923
Rating: 18 - explicit sex, blood play, knife play, sex of dubious safety
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they themselves and the WWE do. No money is being made from this. This is complete fiction and doesn't resemble real life in any way.
Author's Notes: For those that don’t watch wrestling, this is Randy Orton and this is Ken Anderson.
Summary: If he called, Anderson might say no. Then again, Anderson might say yes, and that would almost be as bad.
~~~~
Randy turned the phone over in his hand. He had to be very sure that he wanted this.
There were so many things to consider.
The most important was that he really didn't like Anderson. They did not get on. They butted heads and got on each other’s nerves when they were both in the same company, and distance hadn't solved any of those things.
But Anderson was also the only person who would let him scratch this itch.
If he called, Anderson might say no. Randy preferred it when Anderson was the one that called him, it meant he had the power to say no. He was the one in control then, and that was how he liked it, especially when it came to Ken Anderson.
Then again, Anderson might say yes, and that would almost be as bad.
~~~~
Anderson had said yes.
Randy had settled himself down on Anderson's dick. He liked this position, and if Anderson wanted to make anything of it, Randy had audio of him begging Randy to fuck him harder. It was mutually assured destruction all the way.
He'd tied Anderson to the bed, hoping the rope would give out before they broke the headboard. Randy was done paying hotel room damage excess charges. He'd been tempted, as he always was, by the idea of gagging Anderson. He could think of nothing that would infuriate the man more and annoying Anderson was always a good thing, but he enjoyed the sounds Anderson made too much to do that.
The main advantage to this position was that he could look at the scars on Anderson's body. Anderson seemed to accumulate them. Randy didn't know if it was because Anderson wrestled in a lot of hardcore matches, or if he had someone else in TNA who did this to him too. Was there some inbred hillbilly in Orlando doing this to Anderson when Randy said no? It wouldn't surprise Randy, it wasn't like Anderson was secretive about his kinks. The idea that that was what was happening turned his stomach slightly. Given that he didn't even like Anderson it would be stupid to be jealous, but Randy was anyway. Anderson was his canvas.
Anderson's nipples were still red raw from the clamps Randy had taken off earlier. Anderson often begged him to keep them on while Randy was cutting into him, but Randy hadn't so far. Whenever he thought he might agree to it, Randy waited for the feeling to pass before he said anything. He worried that he'd hit the clamps as he was moving his blade around; hitting them always caused Anderson to squirm and buck, and that could end badly when sharp objects were involved. Sure, he hurt Anderson, that was the whole point, but he didn't want to cause any major damage.
Actually, the position that Anderson was in, Randy could take him to heaven and back without touching him with a blade. Anderson's lats were somehow even more fucked that Randy's shoulder, and one time Randy'd accidentally driven his elbow into just the right spot on Anderson's side and Anderson had groaned like he'd gone through a table, or was about to come - they both got pretty similar reactions from Anderson. It was fun, more fun than hitting him with a paddle ever had been, and it certainly got more of a response. Then again, anyone who'd ever had a sports massage knew they were the definition of hurts so good.
There was a pleasure in using your hands to make someone so utterly yours, Anderson's body following his fingers like it was magnetically attracted to them, but that wasn't what Randy wanted to do today.
Resting within arm's reach on the nightstand was the scalpel he'd already sterilised. Sometimes he was filled with this urge to carve his name on Anderson, the whole thing, Keith and all, but that would break the agreement they had that any scars that Randy left should be explainable as match damage.
He wiped Anderson's skin, in the cleft between his pecs. It was a useful place, the scars didn't show too much and every time Anderson sweat for a couple of days, it would sting and remind him of this.
Randy made sure Anderson could see what he was doing, and he could feel Anderson tensing underneath, waiting for the pain to begin. Because this was going to hurt, Randy had been in enough barbed wire matches to know that. He cut into the flesh, feeling it not quite yield under the scalpel and gently increasing the pressure. The cut wasn't deep, but it was enough so that there was already a hint of red as he finished his cut.
Sure enough little red droplets came to the surface of the cut. Randy couldn't help himself, he chased the drops away with his tongue, enjoying the sounds Anderson was making. It wasn't quite a whimper, it was something more forced, as Anderson's chest undulated trying to get away from the tongue and closer to it at the same time.
Randy licked the line of the cut, then carried on to mark where the next cut would go.
His blade went in again and again, and Randy knew the heavy breathing he could hear was coming from him. He could feel Anderson's dick twitching with each jagged sweep of an incision. Randy loved the feeling of power, the fact that he could do whatever he wanted and Anderson would agree to it.
Randy could feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach, tight like a spring that needed just one more twist to release. And he knew just the thing. He always kept disinfectant to hand because life on the road was hard enough without cuts getting infected. He likes iodine, for other people, mainly because it hurt.
He put enough of the iodine on a pad to thoroughly soak it. It meant that Anderson's reaction was almost immediate and Randy didn't need to wait for the iodine to seep into Anderson's wounds.
Anderson's whole body went taut, every muscle tight with agony, driving Anderson off the bed, driving him deep into Randy. It's not comfortable, but that's how Randy preferred it.
Anderson didn't relax, because that was the thing with iodine, the pain doesn't go away quickly, it builds and it builds. Randy held himself there, knowing that even the slightest movement on his part would set Anderson off. He waited, roughly tugging his dick, letting the heat build inside him some more.
There was something Randy was watching for, that moment where the wave of iodine-pain broke, a flicker of relief on Anderson's face. Then it would be straight back on with the cloth. That time Anderson nearly howled.
The next time, Anderson was waiting for the application of the cloth to the first cut, steeling himself the moment he felt relief because he knew Randy was waiting for that too. So Randy applied the cloth to a different cut. That cut was shallower, and either the iodine was starting to dry out or Anderson had got used to the pain, because Anderson barely grunted that time.
It wouldn't do.
Randy reloaded the pad, and went back to the deepest cut, careful to pinch and twist Anderson’s opposite nipple at the same moment. It was a difficult moment, because Randy had been using his other hand to balance when Anderson bucked, but he had a sportsman's co-ordination and he'd wrapped his lower thighs so tightly around Anderson that they'd both feel it tomorrow, and maybe longer, so he wasn’t thrown.
Randy hadn't thought of how good it would feel, Anderson slamming into him, hard and uncontrolled. He didn't think of anything else before he started to ride Anderson's dick, enjoying the feel of it, enjoying Anderson's frustration at not being to grab at Randy the way he wanted to. The ropes tying Anderson to the headboard were pulled taut as Anderson fought against them. The headboard itself was giving a worrying creak that Randy really couldn't bring himself to care about right now, not while Anderson was ramming into him, piston-hard.
Randy had meant to make this last, make Anderson beg to fuck him, 'cause Anderson hated to do it which made it feel even better when he broke and pleaded like his life depended on it, like Randy was God-king of the universe. Sometimes Randy dreamt of taking his time and taking Anderson apart piece by piece, because he knew Anderson would never let him, would fight him every step of the way. It was a large part of what made the idea so appealing. But right now, Randy wanted this, hard as he could.
Randy leant forward, making sure that every one of Anderson's thrusts hit just right. Anderson was pumping into him like a jackhammer, like he couldn't have stopped even if he'd wanted to, not that Randy wanted him to. Randy would have done something terrible to him if he had. He'd already done terrible things to Anderson's chest, not just the cuts, but the red marks his fingers had left as he'd clutched at Anderson. That was the thing about Anderson, his pale, pasty skin that never took a tan showed marks so well, marks Randy had made. That excited Randy, the knowledge that Anderson would be carrying this, for days.
That feeling made him do something wild. He bit Anderson, right where Anderson's neck met his shoulders. He knew it was against their usual boundaries but Randy couldn't help it. He wanted to leave his mark, he wanted everyone to know ... something, Randy couldn't explain it, not even to himself.
Anderson was infuriated. And deeply turned on, if the way he reacted was anything to go by. Anderson struggled against the ropes and growled, "if that's left a mark, I will kill you."
"Yeah, right."
"I will." There wasn't anything Randy could say to that, so he slapped Anderson instead. Anderson grunted and took a deep breath. Randy could feel a tension in Anderson, something he was keeping from Randy, so Randy twisted Anderson's nipple. Anderson jerked up, "yes!" He took another deep breath. "Again." Randy carefully, gently, drifted his hand over the nipple. He could feel it touching his palm, feel Anderson underneath him shifting to try to get more contact. He brushed it lightly. Anderson made a soft breathing noise. "Please, Orton. Please!" It was the broken tone of it that got to Randy, the way Anderson had left all of his pride behind if only Randy would just ...
Randy viciously yanked on Anderson's nipple, twisting it as he did so. He was halfway to coming anyway, and Anderson's last, desperate jerk was more than enough the send him over the edge.
His spunk looked fantastic on Anderson's chest, pearl white strands against Anderson's smacked-red skin.
Randy sat back, hands on his thighs, which were already starting to give the first signs of the way they'd ache tomorrow. But that was tomorrow. Right now he had this fantastic sight in front of him. Anderson red and breathless, still tied to the bedposts, which thankfully, if miraculously, hadn't broken. One of the deeper cuts on Anderson's chest had re-opened, and the exertion was making Anderson's blood drip out of the wound. Randy ran two fingers down Anderson's chest, smearing the blood in a trail down before putting the fingers in his mouth.
He was definitely grateful that Anderson had said yes.
~~~~
End notes: Anderson was the face of one of TNA's Lockdown tours to the UK. The big selling point was that it was going to have the first TNA cage matches outside of the US. And in the advert, Anderson said, "some times I just like to bleed". Once my brain recombobulated itself, my first thought was "could it not have been somebody, anybody, else doing that line", and then I realised that could be the hook for a fic.
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: WWE Wrestling
Characters: Randy Orton/Ken Anderson
Prompt: 13. Blood play
Word Count: 1923
Rating: 18 - explicit sex, blood play, knife play, sex of dubious safety
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they themselves and the WWE do. No money is being made from this. This is complete fiction and doesn't resemble real life in any way.
Author's Notes: For those that don’t watch wrestling, this is Randy Orton and this is Ken Anderson.
Summary: If he called, Anderson might say no. Then again, Anderson might say yes, and that would almost be as bad.
~~~~
Randy turned the phone over in his hand. He had to be very sure that he wanted this.
There were so many things to consider.
The most important was that he really didn't like Anderson. They did not get on. They butted heads and got on each other’s nerves when they were both in the same company, and distance hadn't solved any of those things.
But Anderson was also the only person who would let him scratch this itch.
If he called, Anderson might say no. Randy preferred it when Anderson was the one that called him, it meant he had the power to say no. He was the one in control then, and that was how he liked it, especially when it came to Ken Anderson.
Then again, Anderson might say yes, and that would almost be as bad.
~~~~
Anderson had said yes.
Randy had settled himself down on Anderson's dick. He liked this position, and if Anderson wanted to make anything of it, Randy had audio of him begging Randy to fuck him harder. It was mutually assured destruction all the way.
He'd tied Anderson to the bed, hoping the rope would give out before they broke the headboard. Randy was done paying hotel room damage excess charges. He'd been tempted, as he always was, by the idea of gagging Anderson. He could think of nothing that would infuriate the man more and annoying Anderson was always a good thing, but he enjoyed the sounds Anderson made too much to do that.
The main advantage to this position was that he could look at the scars on Anderson's body. Anderson seemed to accumulate them. Randy didn't know if it was because Anderson wrestled in a lot of hardcore matches, or if he had someone else in TNA who did this to him too. Was there some inbred hillbilly in Orlando doing this to Anderson when Randy said no? It wouldn't surprise Randy, it wasn't like Anderson was secretive about his kinks. The idea that that was what was happening turned his stomach slightly. Given that he didn't even like Anderson it would be stupid to be jealous, but Randy was anyway. Anderson was his canvas.
Anderson's nipples were still red raw from the clamps Randy had taken off earlier. Anderson often begged him to keep them on while Randy was cutting into him, but Randy hadn't so far. Whenever he thought he might agree to it, Randy waited for the feeling to pass before he said anything. He worried that he'd hit the clamps as he was moving his blade around; hitting them always caused Anderson to squirm and buck, and that could end badly when sharp objects were involved. Sure, he hurt Anderson, that was the whole point, but he didn't want to cause any major damage.
Actually, the position that Anderson was in, Randy could take him to heaven and back without touching him with a blade. Anderson's lats were somehow even more fucked that Randy's shoulder, and one time Randy'd accidentally driven his elbow into just the right spot on Anderson's side and Anderson had groaned like he'd gone through a table, or was about to come - they both got pretty similar reactions from Anderson. It was fun, more fun than hitting him with a paddle ever had been, and it certainly got more of a response. Then again, anyone who'd ever had a sports massage knew they were the definition of hurts so good.
There was a pleasure in using your hands to make someone so utterly yours, Anderson's body following his fingers like it was magnetically attracted to them, but that wasn't what Randy wanted to do today.
Resting within arm's reach on the nightstand was the scalpel he'd already sterilised. Sometimes he was filled with this urge to carve his name on Anderson, the whole thing, Keith and all, but that would break the agreement they had that any scars that Randy left should be explainable as match damage.
He wiped Anderson's skin, in the cleft between his pecs. It was a useful place, the scars didn't show too much and every time Anderson sweat for a couple of days, it would sting and remind him of this.
Randy made sure Anderson could see what he was doing, and he could feel Anderson tensing underneath, waiting for the pain to begin. Because this was going to hurt, Randy had been in enough barbed wire matches to know that. He cut into the flesh, feeling it not quite yield under the scalpel and gently increasing the pressure. The cut wasn't deep, but it was enough so that there was already a hint of red as he finished his cut.
Sure enough little red droplets came to the surface of the cut. Randy couldn't help himself, he chased the drops away with his tongue, enjoying the sounds Anderson was making. It wasn't quite a whimper, it was something more forced, as Anderson's chest undulated trying to get away from the tongue and closer to it at the same time.
Randy licked the line of the cut, then carried on to mark where the next cut would go.
His blade went in again and again, and Randy knew the heavy breathing he could hear was coming from him. He could feel Anderson's dick twitching with each jagged sweep of an incision. Randy loved the feeling of power, the fact that he could do whatever he wanted and Anderson would agree to it.
Randy could feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach, tight like a spring that needed just one more twist to release. And he knew just the thing. He always kept disinfectant to hand because life on the road was hard enough without cuts getting infected. He likes iodine, for other people, mainly because it hurt.
He put enough of the iodine on a pad to thoroughly soak it. It meant that Anderson's reaction was almost immediate and Randy didn't need to wait for the iodine to seep into Anderson's wounds.
Anderson's whole body went taut, every muscle tight with agony, driving Anderson off the bed, driving him deep into Randy. It's not comfortable, but that's how Randy preferred it.
Anderson didn't relax, because that was the thing with iodine, the pain doesn't go away quickly, it builds and it builds. Randy held himself there, knowing that even the slightest movement on his part would set Anderson off. He waited, roughly tugging his dick, letting the heat build inside him some more.
There was something Randy was watching for, that moment where the wave of iodine-pain broke, a flicker of relief on Anderson's face. Then it would be straight back on with the cloth. That time Anderson nearly howled.
The next time, Anderson was waiting for the application of the cloth to the first cut, steeling himself the moment he felt relief because he knew Randy was waiting for that too. So Randy applied the cloth to a different cut. That cut was shallower, and either the iodine was starting to dry out or Anderson had got used to the pain, because Anderson barely grunted that time.
It wouldn't do.
Randy reloaded the pad, and went back to the deepest cut, careful to pinch and twist Anderson’s opposite nipple at the same moment. It was a difficult moment, because Randy had been using his other hand to balance when Anderson bucked, but he had a sportsman's co-ordination and he'd wrapped his lower thighs so tightly around Anderson that they'd both feel it tomorrow, and maybe longer, so he wasn’t thrown.
Randy hadn't thought of how good it would feel, Anderson slamming into him, hard and uncontrolled. He didn't think of anything else before he started to ride Anderson's dick, enjoying the feel of it, enjoying Anderson's frustration at not being to grab at Randy the way he wanted to. The ropes tying Anderson to the headboard were pulled taut as Anderson fought against them. The headboard itself was giving a worrying creak that Randy really couldn't bring himself to care about right now, not while Anderson was ramming into him, piston-hard.
Randy had meant to make this last, make Anderson beg to fuck him, 'cause Anderson hated to do it which made it feel even better when he broke and pleaded like his life depended on it, like Randy was God-king of the universe. Sometimes Randy dreamt of taking his time and taking Anderson apart piece by piece, because he knew Anderson would never let him, would fight him every step of the way. It was a large part of what made the idea so appealing. But right now, Randy wanted this, hard as he could.
Randy leant forward, making sure that every one of Anderson's thrusts hit just right. Anderson was pumping into him like a jackhammer, like he couldn't have stopped even if he'd wanted to, not that Randy wanted him to. Randy would have done something terrible to him if he had. He'd already done terrible things to Anderson's chest, not just the cuts, but the red marks his fingers had left as he'd clutched at Anderson. That was the thing about Anderson, his pale, pasty skin that never took a tan showed marks so well, marks Randy had made. That excited Randy, the knowledge that Anderson would be carrying this, for days.
That feeling made him do something wild. He bit Anderson, right where Anderson's neck met his shoulders. He knew it was against their usual boundaries but Randy couldn't help it. He wanted to leave his mark, he wanted everyone to know ... something, Randy couldn't explain it, not even to himself.
Anderson was infuriated. And deeply turned on, if the way he reacted was anything to go by. Anderson struggled against the ropes and growled, "if that's left a mark, I will kill you."
"Yeah, right."
"I will." There wasn't anything Randy could say to that, so he slapped Anderson instead. Anderson grunted and took a deep breath. Randy could feel a tension in Anderson, something he was keeping from Randy, so Randy twisted Anderson's nipple. Anderson jerked up, "yes!" He took another deep breath. "Again." Randy carefully, gently, drifted his hand over the nipple. He could feel it touching his palm, feel Anderson underneath him shifting to try to get more contact. He brushed it lightly. Anderson made a soft breathing noise. "Please, Orton. Please!" It was the broken tone of it that got to Randy, the way Anderson had left all of his pride behind if only Randy would just ...
Randy viciously yanked on Anderson's nipple, twisting it as he did so. He was halfway to coming anyway, and Anderson's last, desperate jerk was more than enough the send him over the edge.
His spunk looked fantastic on Anderson's chest, pearl white strands against Anderson's smacked-red skin.
Randy sat back, hands on his thighs, which were already starting to give the first signs of the way they'd ache tomorrow. But that was tomorrow. Right now he had this fantastic sight in front of him. Anderson red and breathless, still tied to the bedposts, which thankfully, if miraculously, hadn't broken. One of the deeper cuts on Anderson's chest had re-opened, and the exertion was making Anderson's blood drip out of the wound. Randy ran two fingers down Anderson's chest, smearing the blood in a trail down before putting the fingers in his mouth.
He was definitely grateful that Anderson had said yes.
~~~~
End notes: Anderson was the face of one of TNA's Lockdown tours to the UK. The big selling point was that it was going to have the first TNA cage matches outside of the US. And in the advert, Anderson said, "some times I just like to bleed". Once my brain recombobulated itself, my first thought was "could it not have been somebody, anybody, else doing that line", and then I realised that could be the hook for a fic.
