"Penance"
By Melissa
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Distribution: ask first
Rating: R
Characters: Shawn Michaels, Undertaker
Content: some dark, twisted stuff - mentions of m/m sex, BDSM, prostitution.
Author's Notes: Written (in January) for penumbren, in answer to her prompt of Taker/Shawn and leather. I just now realized I hadn't posted it here yet.
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Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The sound of leather hitting skin is a mesmerizing one, in a dark, terrible, but ultimately fascinating way. He'd always believed it to be, and that belief hadn't changed even now that the tables had turned. He winced as the belt bit into flesh, making a mental note to clean the cut thoroughly after he got home. He didn't need to get infected. Glancing up into the mirror on the wall, his eyes locked with bright, if hazy, blue. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The boy was just the latest in a series of many, all of them slender, with honey blond hair and blue eyes. He insisted on the physical resemblance, it reminded him why he was doing this in the first place. This one was closer than most, skimming just under six feet tall, with long, perfectly shaped legs and slim hips, and high, sharp cheekbones. His hair was even the right length, falling almost to his elbows with a wild tangle of waves at the ends. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. He closed his eyes again, nodding when the boy asked hesitantly if he should continue. The voice was wrong, though, higher, younger, with a faint New England accent instead of that low, musical Texas drawl. He sighed softly as he remembered the sound of that voice, screaming in pain, murmuring words of love, laughing over some new plot to drive Vince into an early grave. He missed hearing that voice. Missed seeing that smile, missed seeing those bright, ocean-blue eyes glazed with tears. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. He'd caused Shawn so much pain over the years, both in their matches against each other and in private. Shawn had been the most natural submissive he'd ever known, he seemed to have been made for the role. They'd first met three years before, and it had been an instantaneous thing, the relationship between them. Shawn had been fond of saying that their souls had recognized each other, and in his lighter moments, Mark had been inclined to agree. Their matches against each other had only added fuel to the fire between them. Except this last one. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. They'd fought a few days before the match, which, in itself, was nothing new. Two passionate individuals who spent nearly all their time together were bound to clash every once in a while, and neither of them had thought anything of it. Until they'd gone to their separate homes after the show on Monday. Mark had gotten home in the wee hours of Tuesday morning and gone straight to bed. He hadn't given Shawn's absence more than a passing thought until Thursday, since Shawn was famous for needing a few days to cool off and calm down after an argument. But when Thursday night came and Shawn hadn't called, then Mark began to worry. He'd been unable to sleep and had ended up making the 40-mile drive out to Shawn's ranch at one in the morning on Friday, only to find Hunter and Joanie there. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. He'd been frantic when Hunter had told him Shawn was in the hospital, that there was something wrong with his back but the doctors weren't sure what just yet. Hunter'd also told him that Shawn was still angry with him, that Shawn blamed him for what had happened. He'd gone home in a daze, had stayed that way until he'd gotten a call from Vince Saturday morning, as he was preparing for his flight for the next show. Shawn was hurt. His fault. Badly hurt. His fault. He was going to be dropping the title at WrestleMania. His fault. Retiring from in-ring competition. His fault. Mark had mumbled some apology and raced to Shawn's before he headed to the airport. But Shawn hadn't been there. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Things had continued like that for the next month and a half, with Shawn avoiding him at every turn. WrestleMania had come and gone with the two of them still not speaking a word to each other. Mark had gone home from a show shortly afterwards to find two large boxes on his back porch, packed full with all the assorted things he'd left at Shawn's place, with an envelope and a letter. He'd torn the envelope open, hoping for a note from Shawn, but had instead found one from Hunter, asking him to send any of Shawn's things back the same way. He'd done it, for the most part, except for one. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. He lifted one hand to the collar around his neck, tracing one fingertip over the silver studs. They'd been bright and polished at one point, but from his near-constant touching, the luster had faded. He'd have to remember to polish them. The collar didn't fasten all the way, instead of locking it shut, as was customary, he had to tie the rings in back together with a long, thin strip of leather. He wouldn't have let the collar go for the world. It was...symbolic. Shawn wouldn't let him apologize in the way he wanted to, so he'd found a different way. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. He could tell from the decreased strength of the blows that the boy was tiring, and no surprise. It had been nearly a half hour this time. He held up a finger and straightened, with some difficulty, motioning the boy to him. A flick of his fingers had the leather cockring off the boy, and a second later his small, tight ass was in the air, long, slender legs spread wide. Mark reached to the rickety wooden nightstand for a condom, rolling it on with quick motions, lubing himself almost mechanically. The sex was only because it was expected, it gave him no pleasure, it was simply a release of tension. As such, it was over in just a few moments, and he nodded when the boy asked if he was free to go, watching him dress quickly before picking up the envelope on the dresser and high-tailing it out into the night. After the door to the seedy little motel room closed behind the boy, Mark discarded the condom, hobbling into the bathroom to examine the damage. Not too bad, he decided. A lot of welts, bruises, but only a few cuts that would have to be tended. He rinsed them quickly, splashed water over the rest of his body. He'd shower when he got home. He was too fastidious to shower in a place like this, but he'd never dream of bringing one of those boys home. That was Shawn's place and always would be. After he'd dressed, he flipped on a light, carefully untying the knot that held the collar together, slipping both the piece of leather and the collar into the small velvet bag he kept it in. He knew Shawn would never want it back, but keeping it in good condition was just part of the penance he was paying, that he would continue to pay until the day Shawn forgave him. ~ finis ~ |