Archive of Our Own

At times, it feels like the entire corporate structure has turned against him.

Being packed off to Smackdown was bad enough. He’s rather sure Pearce had had a hand in that one, a precautionary measure to ensure that Drew’s… particular obsessions didn’t mutate fully beyond control. (In that respect, Pearce had irrevocably failed.)

The ache was bad. Every night, lacing up his boots, unsure of what town he was even in. But RAW - Drew still knew. He always knew where they were; watched the blue dot representing his car draw a long curve around Buffalo as he drove beyond, heading toward Philadelphia...

The streetlight turns red, and Drew rumbles to a stop. This far outside the city, and at this time of night, few other cars are out on the streets. 

Thankfully, it’s only Monday. Plenty of time for Drew to make it to his destination and back again. Plenty of time to do what needs to be done. 

The light turns green, and Drew resumes his drive. If he keeps this pace, he’ll be arriving at the Hyatt by 3 AM.

This separation wouldn’t be such a problem if they didn’t keep crossing paths, if Drew were truly allowed to make a clean break. Maybe some of it is Drew’s fault, for not throwing that Elimination Chamber match. Or for not turning off notifications for Punk’s Instagram stories. Or for not deleting Rollins’ number from his phone -

No, no. It’s them, it’s always them, throwing themselves right in his path and expecting him not to pounce. Like a wolf in an enclosure wouldn’t eat the first two rabbits he found. 

Elimination Chamber…perhaps they were being opportunistic, taking advantage of one of the only moments they’d be in the ring together for the foreseeable future. If Drew didn’t know better, he might have thought that they missed him. He might have read into the way Seth took his hair like reins, plowed the crown of his skull into the plexiglass chamber before Punk’s sight, or into the way Punk goaded Seth to keep using Drew however he wanted, as long as it was for him to behold. Drew wondered if it would have been different then, if there weren’t three other men to intrude on them in that moment; if that chamber pod had been a headboard and there were just the three of them in a hotel room.

Drew didn’t get the chance to find out. Because of Seth’s romantic gesture (or at least, that’s how Drew chooses to interpret it), he ended up in evaluation for more than an hour as doctors fussed over the top of his head. By the time he managed to get free, both Seth and Punk were long gone. Between the simultaneous sting of defeat and his temples, Drew wasn’t in the mood to try to corral them into his room again. He spent the night alone, with nothing but a throbbing head and his own right hand for company. And he said goodbye to them both in his solitude.

That should have been it, if Punk and Seth were playing fair. But they didn’t, they never do, as Drew somehow continually finds himself surprised to learn. Tonight was the final straw. 

Drew had never told them he would be watching RAW, but he always does, of course. Just because they’re contractually separated doesn’t mean Drew has any intention of letting Seth or Punk run around unchecked. It’s become a ritual for his Mondays; he travels hours ahead of any other Smackdown member, even production, to make it to the hotel early. He’s worked out, eaten and showered by 7:30, just to ensure that all his attention can be focused on his two subjects when they’re on screen.

Granted, he’d been running a bit late this evening after housekeeping kept his room hostage for over forty-five minutes (“Best” Western, his ass). The entire schedule was thrown off. By the time Drew had settled into the hotel mattress, he only caught the last few rage-soaked words of Punk’s speech - just barely able to relish in their sound, and remember when he was able to wring such sweet fury out of him. Then Seth struck.

“Struck”, Drew thinks, really is the word for it. He descended on Punk with the abruptness of a bolt of lightning, knocking Punk off his feet. Punk rose up quickly, returning the blows, and the two of them were soon enveloped in a glorious spectacle of hatred, tangled in knots, punching and kicking and yanking and scratching. 

Each second that passed only seemed to stoke their mania. They went out of the ring. They went down the aisle. They were backstage. They couldn’t separate from each other, twisting together until they were two intermingled shapes, just a fuzzy haze of violence glowing in Drew’s TV screen. He felt as though 400 volts were sent straight through his heart.

Two emotions arose immediately. Of course, there was that nagging hunger. It’s always there when Drew watches Punk and Seth, a sleazy gleam of pleasure whenever they do what they were born to do. Whether they’re spasming together in bliss or in wrath hardly makes any difference to Drew.

But what does make a difference is the distance. Drew couldn’t reach through that screen and step into Buffalo. He couldn’t slip in between them, feel the ridges of their muscles working against him as he split them from each other, turning their focus to more important things (himself, of course). All he could do is watch, and wish he was there.

And how dare they do that to him?

With the arousal growing in Drew’s stomach, so too was there a hard pit of anger. Resentment. Perhaps even a bit of betrayal. Maybe this is what Punk and Seth had wanted. This is what they’d always planned on doing as soon as a certain Scottish roadblock was finally out of their way. Every muscle contracting, every clenching fist is a mockery of Drew.

With hollow eyes, Drew checked the time on the clock. Only barely past 8:30. 

He knew immediately what had to be done. Drew grabbed his keys off the nightstand with one hand, the other rezipping his jeans. Once assembled, he goes to his suitcase lying open on the floor and grabs two of his leather belts; one he threads through the loops of his pants, the other he carries in his fist. 

He knew it would be a long trip from Philly to Buffalo, but if he got started now - if, by God’s grace, he could stay awake the whole time -

“IN A QUARTER OF A MILE, KEEP RIGHT TOWARD WILLIAMSPORT, US-15 NORTH.”

The computerized voice of navigation jerks Drew back to the present, to the long highway before him. He shakes his head and takes another sip of the coffee he grabbed from the hotel coffee maker. It’s cold as the March night by now, but it gets the job done. 

He’s not going to sleep tonight, and he will be damned if Punk and Seth do, either. 

/

Seth turns out to be relatively easy. 

When he opens his hotel door at the sound of a knock, he squints with exhaustion at the yellow light flooding the halls. He doesn’t even have a chance to recognize Drew’s hulking shoulders before the black blindfold is forced over his face. 

For a minute, of course, there’s sharp panic. Seth swings blindly in the new dark, not even realizing how close his fists come to Drew’s jaw. Then, the shouting. Get the fuck away from me this, let me fucking go that, his nasally little whine rising up and climbing over the walls. 

Drew can hear other doorknobs turning, latches coming undone. Quickly, he slaps one hand over Seth’s mouth and shoves him backward into his own room, hastily kicking the door shut behind them. 

For a moment there’s a murmur outside, other guests wondering what the hell it was they just heard. Drew holds his breath as he listens to slippered footsteps in the hall, keeping Seth pinned under his frame. 

After a few minutes the sound subsides. Hesitantly, Drew sits up on his knees, hand still clenched around Seth’s mouth. For Seth’s part, his demeanor has changed - he murmurs two soft sounds, lying still and docile in Drew’s arms. He may not have recognized Drew’s shape in the hallway, but he sure as hell could recognize his hands. 

Still cautious, Drew drops his hand from Seth’s lips.

“D-Drew?” Seth sputters. Drew grins, carding his fingers in Seth’s hair. 

“Miss me much?” Drew stands, pulling Seth up with him. 

“W-what the hell…” Seth stops and gulps hard. His breathing grows heavy as fear is replaced with a growing curiosity, excitement. “What are you doing here?”

“What needs to be done.” Drew’s answer is simple, and the weight of his hand in Seth’s hair is ominous. But Seth flutters toward him like a moth to deadly flame. 

“Where we goin’?” Seth asks airily, fists blindly clutching at Drew, feeling them grasp at a tight shirt (black, he imagines, a skintight tank top). “Where we goin’?”

“Have some patience,” Drew purrs soothingly, switching to cradle Seth’s chin. “You’ll like it. But do what I say…or…”

There’s a threatening edge to Drew’s final word that thrills Seth’s sick sensibilities. He tugs at Drew’s shirt needily. 

“Or you’ll hurt me?” Seth asks, almost hopeful. Drew can’t help but smile at the shameless display. 

“Yeah, babe…”

Seth feels Drew’s touch fade as he steps back. There’s the sound of something twisting and clinking, then the distinct sensation of leather being bound tightly around his wrists. Seth feels like crying, like crawling forward and humping Drew’s leg. 

“Now, stay quiet for me.”

/

Punk, of course, is far more difficult. 

For the first minute, he doesn’t even respond to the knocking at his door, and Drew begins to wonder if he’ll have to ram straight through. Eventually, though, it cracks open, and Drew holds still for Punk to present himself. He doesn’t - the space before Drew is black and empty. 

With caution, Drew pushes his head in through the open door. Then, as if from nowhere, a fist appears in the light and snags the collar of his jacket, dragging him in and thrusting him down onto the floor. Drew chokes as something hard and heavy strikes his ribs, knocking the breath out of him before raining hard, fast blows against his face. 

“Fuck…” Drew gurgles as he tries to break free, but Punk isn’t budging an inch, squatting over his chest and drilling him with punches. He thrashes helplessly until his legs finally cooperate, managing to kick himself upright and knocking Punk off balance. He tumbles. Drew almost winces, hearing Punk strike his head awkwardly on the dresser drawers, but doesn’t waste a moment to pin him down with a hand around his throat. 

“You!” Punk cries out. Even in the near darkness, his hazel eyes are wild, the gaze of a caged rat. “I knew it, I knew it was gonna be you, you big bitch.”

Drew, somehow, feels amused. It’s like no time has passed at all between their little feud and now. He conceals his emotions with a sneer, however, lightly closing his hand over Punk’s throat. 

“Astute as ever, aren’t we?” Drew says, trying his damnedest to sound indifferent. “Tell me, though. Were you expecting me?”

Punk writhes, looking to escape; Drew squeezes his windpipe with just enough pressure to discourage that, and Punk stills. 

“I— gck— s-sure fuckin’ did…heard Seth’s donkey voice yelling downstairs a few minutes ago, and I knew just the obsessed jackass that was probably responsible.”

Drew smirks. “Smarter than I give you credit for.”

Punk swallows dryly. Drew watches his Adam’s Apple bob. 

“Well…? What did you do to him? Seth, I mean.”

Drew’s tongue traces over his lips slowly. Punk shudders and tells himself he’s disgusted. 

“Don’t worry your old head about it, Punker. Seth’s having a nice time.”

Punk’s brow creases. “I fuckin’ bet.”

Drew’s grin is foreboding. Punk watches as his free hand goes down to his pocket. 

“You would like to see him, wouldn’t you…?”

“Like shit.”

Punk swipes, clawing at Drew’s face. Drew hisses, recoiling and clutching his eyes.

“Goddammit!”

Punk stumbles onto his feet, almost tripping himself twice as he dashes gracelessly for the door. He’s about to lunge for the handle when he feels a hand nab his ankle and yank, sending him falling face-down into the floor again. Before he even has the opportunity to groan in pain, Drew drags him back across the carpet, seething and snarling. 

“Stay. Still.” His words are sharp as he presses his knee down into Punk’s lower back, pinning him in place. Punk groans - although, the feeling of pressure on his sore lats is not totally unpleasant.

“F-fuck you, McIntyre.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.”

Punk hears the sound of a belt buckle being picked loose, then leather tracing through denim. He wishes he felt more shocked when Drew knots the belt around his wrists, keeping them bound behind his back. 

“I hate you,” Punk snarls in his throat with all the bile he can muster. “Jesus fucking Christ, I hate you.”

Drew raises an eyebrow. He tugs on Punk’s short hair and pulls him upright, relishing in the sob it draws from him. He forcibly turns Punk to face him. 

“Is that so, Punk? You still think you just feel that in your heart, deep down? Nothing but hatred?”

Punk breathes through his teeth, both from the stinging in his scalp and the frustration. No, he isn’t sure of anything. As far as Drew’s involvement in his life goes, Punk has never been less certain of what he feels or why. All he knows is that when Drew went to Smackdown, this magnetic compel-repel cycle should have been a thing of the past. 

“Just get your hands off…”

Drew’s blue eyes almost glow at Punk’s uncertainty. “You know the truth, Punk …I know the truth.”

He draws Punk’s face closer. Punk’s breath staggers; he squeezes his eyes shut, fully expecting to be hit. 

It doesn’t come. Instead, he finds Drew’s lips pressed to his own, and Punk instantly feels it all shatter: his train of thought, his personal space, his façade. 

It can’t have been long enough for one kiss to absolutely destroy his willpower. Punk makes a feeble effort to wrench away, but Drew is too warm - and too insistent, following Punk as his body shifts and pressing a hand to the back of his neck. Fuck , that’s not helping either. Whether it was beating each other’s skulls open in the ring or just rolling in bed…Punk has missed Drew’s touch, desperately. Seth’s own brand of eroticized violence, for all its thrills, isn’t the same thing. 

We were in that fucking chamber together and he never even touched me.

When Drew breaks the kiss, he and Punk both know it’s finished. He sits still for a moment as Punk catches his breath, almost taunting him with the knowledge that he won’t lunge again. 

“Well?” Drew asks, drawing the blindfold from his pocket yet again. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

Punk barely manages to hesitate before nodding, his whole head leaden. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. Sure. Fine.”

Punk’s own acquiescence arouses the hell out of him - and makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

Drew ties the cloth around Punk’s eyes almost proudly. The world goes black, and all Punk can hear is the rumble of laughter in Drew’s chest. 

“Alright, Punk. Let’s go for a ride.”

/

It’s a long and aimless drive, made all the worse by the total darkness. Not to mention the fact that Drew had bid neither of them speak until they reached their nebulous destination. 

Neither Punk nor Seth can believe they made it out of the hotel without suspicion. Apparently, under hoods, sunglasses and coats, the late night hotel staff isn’t likely to notice if a huge slab of a man like Drew escorted his two willing captives off the premises. 

Punk considers himself. Is he a willing captive, or is he just too sunk in Drew’s mire to act on what’s right and wrong? He knows Seth probably started to drool as soon as he realized it was Drew whisking him off. But what the hell is Punk to do when they get to wherever the fuck they’re going? Will he come to his senses, or will he remain in his little rat cage?

Against Punk’s back, Seth squirms. Before they left, Drew had adjusted and re-tied the belts so that they locked together, each man’s wrists bound to the other’s as they sat back-to-back. It made sitting in the backseat of Drew’s car even more awkward than it had to be. But not nearly as awkward as it feels to have Seth thrashing blindly against him, shoulder blades grinding into Punk’s spine. His fingers flex and grasp at nothing, irritating Punk - they both know perfectly goddamn well that Seth has no desire to escape. And then the mewling . Occasionally, softly, drifting through the air and right into Punk’s eardrums. If he could just turn his head a bit more, he might tell Seth to knock it off, Drew’s stupid rule be damned - 

“Punk.”

The so-addressed feels his back stiffen at Drew calling his name.

“You’re breathing too hard. Now give it a rest. Unless…” A smile tinges Drew’s tone here, though Punk only sees darkness. “You’re that excited, are you?”

Punk swallows, and ignores the hook Drew has dangled out for him. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t speak after all.

The car proceeds mostly in silence for the next few minutes, until they feel it careen sharply right and then stop. Punk wheezes as he’s pressed against the car door, flattened by Seth’s weight.

“Wh–” Punk halts himself, and bites his lip shut. Drew notices; he rewards Punk’s reticence with a light pat on the cheek.

“Alright, boys. We’re not there, yet, but I’m gonna stop inside here for just a minute.” The door clicks open, and a gust of cold air strikes Drew’s passengers. “Now, be good.”

The door shuts again, and Punk and Seth are left with the sound of crickets, the pulse of the wind, the low screech of the heater slowing to a stop.

Punk knows the coast is clear, but he keeps his voice hushed regardless. “Will you stop with the fucking whimpering?”

“F-fuck off,” Seth answers in a breathy huff, again wriggling into Punk’s spine. “You hypocrite, like I can’t hear you panting like a dog over there…”

Defiantly, Punk jabs his elbows into Seth’s back. “Fuck off, yourself. You don’t think I actually like this, do you?”

Seth winces with pain, but isn’t the least bit deterred. “Don’t play good and righteous with me…I know you, Punk. And I know if you really didn’t wanna be here, you wouldn’t.”

Punk goes still. He mulls over the proper response in his mind for a while before settling.

“You mean you want this, then?”

Seth chuckles at himself. “To tell you the truth…”

There’s a pause that makes Punk’s skin itch. “Well?”

“I’ve been fucked up since the Chamber. I…” Seth takes a shaky breath that Punk feels echoed in his own body. “I-I didn’t get enough. My hands on Drew, humiliating him like that, and looking at you, that whole time…but it wasn’t enough . I literally haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

Punk swallows, and realizes that his throat is dry. He has several thoughts at once - so when you chant “die”, does that really mean “fuck me”? When you started beating the piss out of me tonight, was that mostly about me, or was that mostly about him? - but he finds himself unable to ask any of them. And besides, Punk is pretty sure he knows the answers anyway. 

The inside of the car is suddenly sweltering, and Punk feels his shirt sticking to his skin beneath his coat. 

“So…after all that, you’re just gonna let him humiliate us, instead?”

Again, Seth laughs. Punk almost jolts as he feels a head resting in his shoulder - Seth is craning his neck back and invading Punk’s space. 

“I don’t mind facing a little punishment from him…do you?”

Seth’s fingers brush over Punk’s knuckles in a way that feels too deliberate. Punk shudders. 

“C-cut that out, you’re gonna…”

He bites his words off as footsteps approach. The driver’s side door clicks open, and the car settles as Drew slides back in. The air is icy, but the low hum of his voice is warm and welcome. 

“Did I leave you waitin’ long?”

For a second Punk thinks he missed him. 

The key is turned and the engine rumbles back to life. As Seth and Punk feel the car turning out of wherever-the-hell, something heavy strikes the floor between them with the rustle of a plastic bag.

“Bought a gift for you both.” Drew grins at his own face, reflected faintly in the frost of the windshield. “I think you’ll really love this one, but you need to promise to behave. Will you promise me?”

In his rearview mirror Drew can see them together. As a streetlight passes their forms are lost in yellow before fading back into sight, the same every time: slumped together, backs flush and perfectly fitted as one. 

As if they were carved as one art piece, crafted by hand to slot neatly into one another. Drew has seen it for a while now, and wonders if either Seth or Punk have noticed the same. 

But more importantly, neither of them speak; not even Punk, who just sits there with his jaw working left and right - even Seth, who still breathes through his teeth, situated on the edge of a knife. Each seems like they’re about to explode, and each is holding that energy up tight in their chests. Because Drew hasn’t told them otherwise. Because they’re good boys. 

Drew smirks. He adjusts the rearview and speeds on down the highway. 

“That’s what I thought.”

/

Whatever expectations Seth and Punk have, Drew seems hellbent on shattering them.

Firstly, the blindfolds stay on. When Drew opens the car door, Punk and Seth have to do their ungraceful bound-together shuffle out into the cold in total darkness. They each try to stand still as Drew untangles the belts knotted around their wrists, but neither can keep from fidgeting - partially from the frigid air, partially from the trepidation rising in their  blood.

They’re both guided up a flight of stairs that groan unsettlingly underfoot. Drew takes control at the front, his heavy, warm hand wrapped around Seth’s. Punk is humiliated to have to hold Seth’s hand and stumble along at the back. Eventually they find themselves at a level place, listening as Drew fiddles with a key and lock. A door creaks open, and they’re both guided inside.

For a moment they’re quiet. Seth and Punk shift uncomfortably, listening to the odd creaking and hollow sounds emanating from whatever room they’ve found themselves in.

“W…” Punk clears his throat, finally daring to speak first. “Where the hell are we?”

Drew smirks at his two captives. “Binghamton. Just a little town near the border.”

If Seth and Punk weren’t blindfolded, they probably would exchange a glance.

“Well?” Drew gives the two of them a gentle push backward. “Sit down.”

They do - they discover a soft mattress underneath them. Punk all at once realizes that he’s exhausted; that his brawling with Seth is still heavy in his muscles, and trying to resist Drew has only worsened it. He feels an unbearable temptation to collapse backward into the bed and let it swallow him. 

Evidently, Seth is already ahead of him. Instantly he falls back, nuzzling into the pillows he finds at the head of the bed. He lets out a low, sultry moan that feels specifically rehearsed to make Punk’s flesh crawl. 

Drew is drawn closer by the noise, purring as he strides to the bed. “There you go…I like seeing my boys comfortable…”

Punk feels the pressure of two pairs of eyes on him - one eager and warm, the other implacable and all-knowing. They’re both waiting for him. 

Begrudgingly, Punk reclines into the mattress. He immediately feels Seth’s breath against his cheek, and realizes just how little this bed Drew’s put them in really is. 

“See?” Drew touches Punk first, hand skimming across the zipper of his coat (even fully clothed, it makes Punk’s breath hitch). “It feels so much better, now, doesn’t it?”

Punk gives a curt nod, unable to bring himself to speak. Seth has no such issue. 

“Fuck…” Seth exhales, in that voice that makes every word sound pornographic. “I feel fucking amazing…get your hands on me, please …”

Drew clicks his tongue. “Not just yet, pup. There’s something I need you both to do, first…”

He steps away suddenly, withdrawing his hand from Punk’s chest. At once, Punk feels cold. 

“W-what the hell do you want us to do, creep?” Punk stumbles over his words, too focused on sounding indignant. He hears Seth huff a laugh in his throat, and realizes that he probably failed. 

Drew doesn’t buy it either. He lowers himself to sit in the armchair across from the bed. 

“Strip each other.”

Punk wants to protest, but doesn’t have the chance. In an instant Seth’s weight is on top of him, hands urgently fumbling over his body until he finally finds Punk’s hands, which he then places on the lapels of his coat. Then he sets back to work until he finally locates the right zipper - Seth pulls it down and Punk’s jacket slinks off. It isn’t even off his arms yet before Seth jerks up the hem of Punk’s t-shirt, desperately searching for his skin. Punk remains frozen.

Seth pauses, too. He traces over Punk’s body with his fingertips - even under his clothes, every line in Punk’s flesh is familiar and fresh to him. He’d spent most of their fight just enjoying the map of his skin. Eventually he finds Punk’s jaw, and presses it until Punk’s pretty sure they would be looking into each other’s eyes right now; he feels Seth’s warm breath cross his lips and realizes that they’re close .

“Didn’t you hear him?” Seth asks against Punk’s mouth. “He said strip me.”

In synchrony with his words, Seth pulls Punk’s shirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. Punk shivers in the cold air, and finally his hands catch up with where his mind is. With a strong yank Seth’s coat is torn open, then cast aside on the floor. Punk’s roaming hands find the soft hair of Seth’s chest - Drew hadn’t even let him put a shirt on before escorting him out of the hotel - but he barely spares a thought for it as his hands race down Seth’s sides and find his waistband.

Now, Punk is on the same page as Seth - he was right about earlier. It wasn’t enough.

Drew watches on in silent approval. Punk and Seth are as violent in lust as they are in anger; it looks like they’re practically fighting each other out of their clothes. One article drops to the floor - then another - until they both find themselves with their hands on each other’s thighs, tracing slowly, realizing that there’s nothing but flesh beneath them.

Their faces turn to each other, as if even beneath the blackness of their blindfolds, they can sense each other’s gaze. 

Drew reaches down, undoing the button and zipper of his own jeans. He gently runs his palm across the clothed bulge, patiently waiting for what comes next.

Punk and Seth seize each other. Even their kiss looks like a fight, not just lips but tongue and teeth, searching for dominance, for something warm and soft to bite, for blood. Fingers thread and clench together, legs lock - perfectly knotted, fused as one. It’s as though their brawl from earlier had been allowed to go on indefinitely, and in time devolved into their most base of instincts. 

Punk is faintly aware that his hips are moving. He wonders for a moment before he feels Seth rocking back, and realizes that they’re both achingly hard and grinding their cocks together. He hadn’t even thought of it; his body had acted without his permission. And he’s already close.

But then something comes between them - Drew’s hands, forcefully pushing their bodies apart. He smiles as he watches their petulant reactions: Seth whines like a dog, squirming and kicking; Punk actively tries to surge forward, chasing the rush of Seth’s warmth.

“F-fuck off!” Punk sobs as he thrashes. “What the f-fuck was that for?”

“Still.” Drew’s voice is commanding as he presses Seth and Punk down flat into the mattress. “Now.”

They growl, they gasp for breath, their brows knit together sullenly - but they both obey. Without question, they go still, and remain so even as Drew stands upright. He smirks.

“You know, you two got to have a lot of fun for yourselves, earlier. Pulling each other’s hair and beating the shit out of each other…I thought you were about to fuck on live TV.”

Seth makes a noise in his throat, and the corner of his lip flickers. So, the idea has crossed his mind.

“But…” Drew’s tone darkens. “You did it without me. I had to sit alone, all by myself in fucking Philly, while you two got to play. Do you know what that did to me? How that made me feel?”

Seth and Punk hear Drew stepping back, then the familiar rustle of a plastic bag. 

“Frankly, it made me feel like I’d been forgotten.” Now Drew has returned, standing overhead, staring down over his prey. “And we just can’t have that, you see? That’s why I had to drive you two out here with me. To remind you…”

Drew digs for something in the bag. Then, Seth and Punk each feel something close around their wrist with a ‘click’.

“You two don’t get to move on that easily.”

Now their bodies are forcibly rolled onto their sides, each facing the opposite wall. Another handcuff clicks, and Punk and Seth are lying back-to-back with their wrists locked together. Already, Seth is sobbing for breath.

“Oh, fuck…”

A little gasp is wrenched from him as Drew dives down, snatching up a handful of Seth’s hair. He ‘tsks’ chidingly.

“Watch your mouth, Seth…or else I might have to…” Drew pauses to tug harder, sending delicious pain through Seth’s scalp. “Hurt you.”

Seth shudders, and crosses his legs just to keep his throbbing cock under control. Drew then turns his attention back to Punk, who has been lying still and silent this whole time.

“You’re awful quiet…” Drew muses, tracing a thumb across Punk’s cheek. Punk staves off the urge to turn his head and bite it off. “God, it’s been a while since I saw you so scared of me, Punk…”

Punk answers through his teeth. “I am not fuckin’ afraid of you, McIntyre.”

Drew smiles, undeterred. “I know. It’s a complicated emotion, isn’t it? But don’t worry…”

Punk spasms. A warm hand wraps around the shaft of his prick and pumps slowly. In an instant, Punk’s thoughts melt to static, an indecipherable fuzz - and Drew is right there, whispering in his ear, replacing those thoughts with his own words.

“See? This is it, Punk…this is what you want…you’re not angry, you just want someone to take care of you…you just need to be fucked…”

Punk’s breathing slows as he feels Drew’s words wrap around him. Subconsciously, he starts to buck into his fist.

“Just want to fuck…fuck, and come…”

The words circle through Punk’s head. Fuck and come. Fuck and come. With each repetition, Punk feels himself slipping away;  in every thrust of his hips he loses just a little bit more of the fight. 

Drew waits until he sees Punk’s shoulders slump. Still stroking him, he turns to Seth.

“Don’t worry, pup,” Drew purrs as he gently grasps Seth’s swollen dick. “I haven’t forgotten you…you always behave, you’re always so good, so ready to be used by me…”

Seth purrs back. He searches for Drew’s shoulder, burying his face into it as he fucks into his fist.

“I need it,” Seth pants. “Oh my god, I need it so fucking bad…”

“Tell me what you need,” Drew says, nuzzling softly into Seth’s hair. Seth hisses, screwing up hard into Drew’s warm hand.

“Fuck me, daddy, please…”

Behind him, Punk chokes on a gasp, bucking hard as he hears Seth’s words. Drew makes an amused sound in his throat. Just as he’d hoped, they’re feeding into each other again, an endless loop. They couldn’t be more predictable if they tried.

Drew listens for their breathing; marvels at the way it falls together, almost in perfect synchrony. Then he squeezes, giving each of their shafts one sharp stroke with his next command.

“Come.”

Seth plunges over easily, makes a real show of it. His back curves gorgeously as he thrusts forward, drenching Drew’s hand, moaning shamelessly until the room echoes with it. Punk, however, tries to hold back, swallowing a whimper as he bounces his cock in Drew’s grasp. But it’s heavy, warm and thick; Drew’s hand is coated with it and Punk’s still breathing brokenly, dick barely fucking through his loose grip. His face is flushed red, and he seems embarrassed. 

Drew sits back and lets them catch their breath, looking over his soaked hands. He licks his lips. 

“Now…don’t you both feel so good?”

Seth and Punk both nod - Seth is eager, Punk can scarcely move his neck. But they both nod. 

Drew grins. “Good. But we aren’t done yet.”

Seth feels the breath punched out of him as Drew suddenly drills two of his slicked fingers deep into his entrance. 

“Feel that?” Drew whispers into Seth’s ear, twisting slowly. “That’s Punk inside you, getting you all wet and ready for me…”

Punk stirs, hearing Seth crying in rapture beside him. “What’s that?” He pants. “W-what the fuck are you - “

He’s silenced immediately by the feeling of Drew’s fingers thrusting into him. 

“And this,” Drew breathes, “is Seth fucking you, too. I know you two…you were just dying to fuck each other all night, weren’t you?”

Punk opens his mouth and makes a sound that’s too broken and hoarse to really be called a cry. Drew leans down, pressing a sympathetic kiss to his cheek. Seth seems to sense Drew’s action and whines needily; Drew chuckles and turns to Seth, giving him a kiss of his own to calm him.

“See…daddy’s gonna give you both what you want. So…”

With one deliberate thrust, Drew’s fingertips dance over their prostates. He watches their conflicting reactions - Seth throws his head back, screams his name; Punk bites down on the edge of his pillow. Drew smirks.

“Make sure you remember daddy the next time you’re out there, together.” 

Drew takes his time. He’s deliberate as he works them both, slowly flexing and spreading his fingers apart, making sure they’re open and ready for what comes next. It isn’t long until Seth and Punk are keening, already stiffening again. Drew pulls his fingers free, sits back and looks at his work. Between their thighs their entrances are glistening, each wet by the other’s cum. 

“Alright,” Drew hums, sliding backward off the bed; Seth and Punk hear his boots hit the floor. “I bet you’re both ready for more, aren’t you?”

Seth moans, legs stirring up the bedsheets. Even mere minutes after orgasming, he’s fully ready and impatient for another. “F-fuck, yes, please, god, give it to me…”

Drew stands still at the other end of the room, hand dipped into the same plastic bag. He looks to Punk, who lies on his side, curled-up - compressed. His lips are still bitten shut; his legs are curled in front of his body as if to shield himself from view.

“Punnnnk…” Drew says. “I’m waitinnnng…”

Punk presses his chin to his chest. If he could just will himself to fold into a ball, keep shrinking, vanish from view…

But - dammit. He can hear Seth, gasping, writhing in the sheets; can feel him tugging at the chains between them and can feel the heat rolling off his skin. And he can feel Drew’s eyes, blue and implacable and irresistible, every bit as vivid in his mind even in the darkness surrounding him. And above all, Punk feels his cock, so full and hard that it’s starting to sting.

At last, Punk lifts his head and nods. 

“I…I-I…f-fuck, just hurry up and do it… ”

Drew reapproaches, and though he tries to hide it, his heart is beating through his ribs. However excited Seth is - however excited Punk pretends he isn’t - Drew has been anticipating this more than either of them.

“Well, boys…” Drew’s voice is unsteady as he crinkles something that sounds like a wrapper. “I…actually have to leave…for a minute.”

Punk and Seth both shift, craning in Drew’s direction with dismay.

“W-what? Now?” Punk asks. Seth is a bit more direct with his feelings.

“Bullshit!”

Drew kneels down and delicately runs his fingers through Seth's long hair, now a tangled mess.

“Shhh…now, Seth, you trust me, don’t you? You know I wouldn’t leave you cold…don’t you want to see what I got you two?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Seth nods, and Drew smiles. 

“I thought so.”

Drew settles back, and it’s quiet for a moment. Then - Seth and Punk both gasp. 

It’s something firm and heavy and wide. Smooth to the touch, gliding easily inside them (even moreso thanks to Drew’s ministrations). And, judging by how deeply it drives inside each of them before settling, long. 

They both recognize the texture immediately. Silicone. 

Drew licks his lips as he stands, taking in the full image: Punk and Seth, lying back to back, captured. Both exhausted but still pulsing with energy, and between their legs their cocks are aching and red. Their bodies are flushed, lightly coated with a sheen of sweat. And each one trembling as they try to adjust to either end of the curved toy inside them. 

Drew swallows, raking a hand over his face. Part of him - a very small part - hates to do this. But a greater part of him needs to do it. “Well?”

“Mmmmhh…” Seth exhales, trying to adjust to the stretch. “I-I’ve done bigger…”

Punk swallows hard, sweat trailing down his neck. “M-m-me too,” he lies.

Drew traces his tongue over his dry lips. “Alright, alright. Before I go…”

He presses his fingertip against the base of the toy.

“Let me show you what it really does.”

Drew flicks the button. In an instant, the room is filled with a deep buzzing. Punk and Seth both seize up as their senses all fade into nothing, into the same blackness that covers their vision. 

No sight, no sound. Just vibrations - through their spine, every twitching muscle, the pulse surges through them; devastates them. 

Punk pulls at his chains, choking for air. He fights to keep his thoughts straight, fights to breathe - keep it together, for the love of god, don’t be weak. But the buzzing waves keep crashing over him, burying him deeper. 

Burying itself deeper, too; with every pulse, the toy plunges its soft head further into Punk’s trembling heat. Each time it gets closer and closer to the point where Punk knows he’ll shatter. 

He jerks his hips, trying to urge the toy to slide loose, just enough to hold the inevitable wave at bay. But the fucking thing won’t be denied; every move only serves to make it sink deeper, throb more vengefully. All Punk succeeds in doing is jostling the thing until it almost hurts , and in making his swollen dick bounce against his stomach. He moans, ashamed of the ribbon of precum he can feel bouncing free from his tip against his own abs. 

There’s no escape, and he knows it. And even more than that, Seth knows it, too. Seth knew long before Punk did, knew it when he first saw Drew’s eyes in the dark of the hallway. So he came willingly, threw himself over the edge. And what he found as he hit the surface is this: a vibrator, slammed deep and hard up his twitching, needy little asshole, buzzing inside him so loudly that it overwhelms every other sensation and thought. He’s been left cold by Drew - abandoned to moan like a slut, blinded and confused in the middle of nowhere. 

But fuck if that isn’t hot enough for Seth. And even better, Punk is still here. Still bound to him, still aligned with him in every throbbing sensation, every tidal wave of pleasure crashing over them. Seth pulls hard at the cuffs linking his wrists to Punk’s, trying to draw their bodies together, force their skin to touch. He needs it. He needs to be united. 

“Seth…” Punk wails, but is startled to find his voice immediately evaporates into the endless, droning buzz. 

“Punnnnnnk…” Seth draws the name out in a purr, despite knowing it won’t reach him. It still feels just right rolling off his tongue. Especially now when he’s rocking his pelvis, letting the toy glide wonderfully deeper inside them both. He senses Punk kicking in the blankets, and knows he’s felt the same thing. 

Punk finds the edge of his pillow and grinds it between his teeth. The tip of the vibrator is gliding dangerously close just the right nerve. For fuckssake, he can barely think. 

But Seth, as always, doesn’t think. He feels the wave cresting and just lets it, moaning immodestly, obscenely through his orgasm. He bucks feverishly, fucking the toy inside him and letting it wring every drop free from his cock. His own cum is hot, sticking to his chest, and it’s everything he hoped tonight would be. 

And of course - every move, every vibration travels, echoing from Seth through Punk. One move of his hips sends the vibrator right into Punk’s prostate, and that finishes it. Behind the black, Punk sees stars, and everything fades. No body, no thoughts . Nothing but pure bliss surging through him. He’s lying flat on a strange mattress, but he’s sure he’s flying, spurred on higher by the pulse of the vibrator and the low buzz of Seth moaning against him. For the second time tonight, his chest is coated with his own seed, and he’s starting to feel almost glad that Drew abducted him.

And yet one issue remains. Punk and Seth’s flushed faces, trembling legs, their softening erections and chests soaked with their own seed all indicate that they’re finished. But the toy isn’t . Somewhere, between the fade of the coital glow and the trickling-in of their senses, both Seth and Punk realize that it’s still there and still alive inside them. The buzzing is more than ever-present; it’s everything, swallowing up every sensation and replacing it with an insistent pulse. Even now, with their cum cooling on their tips and their nerves all still sparking at the ends, the vibrator is alive inside them. And neither of them can stop it.

Punk’s reaction is to panic. He jerks hard at the chains locking his and Seth’s wrists and cants forward. It doesn’t work any better than before - frankly, Punk isn’t acting out of escape, but instinct as his brain overloads from the endless electric hum rolling through his body. It’s not just pleasurable; it’s starting to become almost painful on his overtaxed system. But it still feels fuckin’ good.  

And Seth can sense this; he feels every move Punk makes behind him as he tries to resist. But Seth - he can’t get enough. He won’t, if he can help it. So he reaches back blindly, tangling his fingers gracelessly but tight with Punk’s. He drags Punk close until their bodies are touching, shoulders to shoulders, spine to spine, and their warmth intermingles. 

Punk gasps. Even over the haze of the vibrator, the sense of skin against him persists, and sends that molten ache building in his stomach down deeper. He feebly tries again to twist away from the toy, but Seth clings to him and holds him close. 

Punk feels his hold weaken. The loss of his senses as he’s absorbed by something greater, some overwhelming outside force taking over his mind and body…it’s as if the brawl in the arena earlier had never really ended. And as much as he’d loved it earlier, there was one thing missing. One person.

Elimination Chamber…I could see you, I could fucking see you. But I never got to touch you.

Gradually, his body settles into a rhythm, rocking in time with Seth’s. The toy glides back and forth between them, and they’re both in the ebbing tide. The beautiful ache within them deepens. But Punk’s mind isn’t there, and neither is Seth’s, entirely.

I only had you for a minute. You were gone before we could even get fuckin’ started.

The vibrator drags just right, once again. It brushes over their prostates - first Punk’s, then Seth’s. They cling on until each grip bruises the other, and plunge into another orgasm, one different than before - it feels almost weightless, a sudden shot of ecstasy overtaking their overstimulated forms. In a tangle of flashing lights there’s suddenly only the color red.

And somehow each of them has the same thought. As they both thrust up in the air, seed spilling onto their chests, there’s someone on their mind.

“DREW!” Punk chokes into his pillow, his voice splintering in his throat as his orgasm washes over him. He’s dimly aware of Seth crying out behind him, can feel the buzzing in his lungs against him - he knows that he’s calling for the same name. Because this is all about Drew, isn’t it? It had been Drew all along, who’d dragged them out here, who’d had the gall to barely play with them at the Chamber before and then head off to Friday nights. First he’d left before he could even fuck them. Now he fucks them and leaves. 

That bastard, that brilliant, beautiful son of a bitch. This was why Punk nor Seth can never get over Drew, why just saying his name makes the whole world turn bright for Punk. Because they’re all bastards, deep down -

Wait.

Punk stirs, lifting his head slowly. The high of the orgasm fades sharply as he discovers it isn’t light in his mind. He’s staring at a lamp. In his throes, he’d managed to work the blindfold up over one eye, exposing him to the motel room he’s been sealed in.

Moreover, he can see a chair by the side of the lamp, and the man currently seated in it, with his boxers around his ankles and holding his own drenched cock.

“Drew!” Punk starts. Drew returns a weak smile, a little embarrassed, mostly amused.

“Took you a while, huh?”

Punk snarls, face hot, pleasure replaced with shame. He tries to tilt his body up, but the cuffs drag Seth behind him. Seth groans, lifting his own head.

“W-what the fuck’s…going on?” He asks groggily, still disoriented as the vibrator continues to thrum inside him.

Punk gives Drew a sharp look. He rises from his chair and reaches for the vibrator, clicking the button to turn it off. Seth’s body melts into a puddle, and at last he has a chance to steady his breathing.

“Punnnnk? Wuzzat…?”

“No, babe,” Punk exhales, stern eyes still trained on Drew, who doesn’t look nearly sorry enough for his satisfaction. “Guess who never left?”

“Hi, there,” Drew says softly. He wears an irritating grin, lightly bashful, but largely smug.

Seth stares in the direction of Drew’s voice, mouth slightly open. He processes for a moment, then speaks.

“Get this fuckin’ blindfold off me!”

/

“Jesus, Drew,” Seth sighs, rubbing the sore red rings where his wrists had been cuffed. “We knew you were lonely without us, but this is a lot.”

Drew shrugs his shoulders.

“Well…I had to know you two would still think about me, even if I wasn’t in the room. What can I do?”

Punk gives Drew an incredulous look as he presses his hands on either side of the night table, arching and popping his sore back. “What could you do? Are you tellin’ us you got a little insecure and your solution was to kidnap us? That was plan A?”

Drew smiles, flagrantly unconcerned. “You two seemed to get a lot of enjoyment out of it, didn’t you?”

“I could’ve been asleep!”

“Zip it up, girls,” Seth interrupts the argument between Punk and Drew before it has an opportunity to get good. “Look, it’s only Monday night…well.” Seth casts a glance over at the digital clock in the corner, boldly flashing 6:00 AM time. “It’s Tuesday, I guess. But when we’re done Drew can drive us at least to Goshen, and then he can get his ass back down the road.”

Drew exhales through his nose. “Gonna be a hell of a drive on three hours of sleep…”

Punk and Seth both pause, craning their heads to look at Drew. They both squint.

“Sleep?” Punk says. “Who the hell said you’re gonna sleep?”

Drew sighs. He’d figured, when Punk had pounced and placed the cuffs on him, that this would probably be coming. He considers asking one of them to get him some coffee, but he assumes that Seth and Punk are, understandably, in a less than giving mood. So he resigns himself to staring up at the strange, mildewy spots on the ceiling, and wondering if maybe they all deserved a better location for their conscripted rendezvous than a Motel 6.

“Alright, then. What do you propose we do?”

“We,” Punk begins, kneeling on the mattress by Drew’s side, “aren’t gonna do anything. You’re gonna lay there and think about what you did, and I…”

Drew’s stomach seizes up as he feels Punk’s fingers dance across his skin, moving downwards. His dick reacts immediately, drawing a smirk from Punk.

“...I haven’t decided, yet. But it’s gonna keep you awake.”

Drew swallows a hard lump in his throat. Despite the time, he suddenly no longer feels exhausted.

“W-what about Seth?” He asks, hurriedly. Seth purses his lips, settling down into the plush armchair across from Drew’s view.

“I dunno, yet. Perfectly good seat, here. Maybe I’ll watch. I mean…” Seth’s brown eyes gleam in the yellowish lamplight. “If you don’t mind.”

No, of course fucking not, Drew wants to say, but finds himself too disoriented to make any noises other than a few stuttered gasps. Punk laughs as his other hand reaches up, caressing the side of Drew’s neck with something close to tenderness.

“Of course you don’t mind, do you?” Punk says, doesn’t really ask, as his hazel eyes gaze into Drew’s blue. “We know how much you love the attention.”

“I-I…just…” Drew inhales dryly, wetting his lips with his tongue. He starts again. “J-just…please…will you…”

Both Punk and Seth tilt their heads, listening, but Drew trails off again. Punk jostles Drew gently with his knees, placed on either side of his torso.

“Come on, big man, finish,” Seth encourages.

“W-will you say my name? While you…you know.” Drew finally says, voice surprisingly meek, almost lost in the dawn hour.

Punk hums, scratching at the beard on his chin. “Mmmmm…I don’t know. What if I yell Seth’s name instead?

Drew feels his face turn hot. Beside him he hears Seth, barking out one sharp, nasally note of a laugh.

“Go ahead, babe,” Seth encourages, spreading his thighs apart as he sits in the armchair (Drew tries not to stare too obviously at where his eyes are naturally drawn). “And I’ll keep my eyes on you, and not the piece of meat underneath you.”

“N-no, wait, please…” Despite their joking, Drew’s plea is soft-edged and pathetic. Somehow, it cuts through the darkness straight into Punk and Seth’s chests. In that moment, they don’t see a predator, but a small, shivering dog.

Punk’s shoulders relax, and he lifts his hand up to cup Drew’s cheek. Seth lifts himself up from his chair and kneels by Drew’s bedside, carding his fingers through the length of his dark hair.

“Tell you what,” Punk says, calm and measured. “I’ll take you for a ride, Seth will be right here. And we’ll have our eyes on you, just you. Nothing else. Okay?”

Drew’s breathing evens out almost immediately. His bound wrists, placed above his head, flex at nothing; Seth quickly grabs his fingers and squeezes comfortingly. He breathes out a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re unbelievable, Drew, you know that?”

Drew smiles faintly. Hazel and brown eyes, both trained on him, just him. As if there were nothing else in this world but him and his gravity, and everything were pulled irresistibly toward him at the center.

“Th-thanks…thanks for coming, you two.”

Seth laughs; Punk scoffs, lightly tugging Drew’s cheek to scold him even while he straddles his waist. 

“Oh, shut up.”