Characters/Pairings: Drew McIntyre/Serena Deeb, CM Punk/Serena Deeb
Warnings: Sex (but not smut, I wouldn't say), the usual Straight Edge Society creepiness
Summary: Punk sends Serena to room 217 of the hotel to help a friend out for him.
Note: I'd like to mention here that, although wrestling fic may seem like RPF (and some of it out there is), mine is NOT. I write wrestling fic as if Punk and Serena were characters in a movie. Instead of going home and becoming their normal selves, in my fics I pretend they walk out of the ring and remain their characters. Does that make sense?
Set after the episode when Teddy Long humiliates Drew McIntyre and when Punk forgives Serena for exposing her drinking.
When she knocked on the door of the room that Punk had directed her to, Serena had no idea what to expect. She trusted, though, that it would be nothing negative- he'd forgiven her only yesterday. This morning he had smiled at her, bending down to whisper in her ear that he wanted her to go to room 217 of the hotel, just for an hour or two. There had been no further explanation, no indication of what was to happen, of what she should expect.
One of the last things that she had expected, though, was for Drew McIntyre to open the door. His initial expression was disgruntled, the lingering trace of a scowl set on his face, but this soon turned to a look of confusion as he registered who it was. “Serena?”
Serena took a half-step backwards, beginning to say that she was sorry, that she must have the wrong room number, but she stopped herself before the words could come out. She somehow knew that this wasn't the wrong room, that this was where Punk wanted her to be. “Drew. Punk sent me.”
Something odd flickered across his face, but he stepped back, allowing her room to enter. “Come in, then.”
Although the experience so far seemed a bit out of the ordinary, Serena didn't feel truly befuddled until she took a look around her, taking in the details- or lack thereof- of the room. It was bland, ordinary: the bed neatly made, the curtains closed, the walls cream, adorned only with a single, unmemorable water colour print. With no luggage or personal effects in sight, it was your typical brochure-picture hotel room, ready and waiting for a guest. Her nose crinkled as she turned to look at him. “Didn't you bring anything with you?”
“This isn't actually my room. It's just where Punk told me to go. I thought I'd be meeting with him.” Drew paused, glancing briefly at her, then away. “Serena, listen. I think it'd be for the best if you leave. Just go back to Punk and tell him you did what he wanted you to.”
Serena's frown deepened at his words, and she shook her head, a faint flutter awakening in the pit of her stomach. “I'm not going to leave, Drew. Punk said he wanted me to be here, so here I am. You obviously know more about why I'm here than I do, so how about you let me in on this.”
Drew sighed, holding up his hands. “Serena, I'm telling you, I'm really not in any kind of mood for a conversation like this right now-”
“Just tell me.”
“Fine. Fine. You want to know what Punk said?” He ran a hand over his face and through his hair before letting it drop to his side once more. There was a sharp edge to his words, and she could tell that she had caught his temper, although it faded as he spoke his next words. “Punk told me that he saw what happened with me and Teddy yesterday, and that it wasn't right.” Drew stopped, displeasure etched onto his face at the memory of the humiliation he had been made to endure the other day. With a shake of his head, he locked eyes with her and continued, “He said that, as a friend, he didn't like to see me like that; said that he wanted to do me a little favour. He told me that there was something he wanted me to have, told me to come to this room and wait. When he said something, I didn't think he meant you.”
Serena felt the world freeze around her, felt her breath catch in her throat. At first she could comprehend nothing but that single, cold word- “something”. That word proved unerringly to her that Punk thought of her, in at least some way, as a possession, as something to be toyed with and used as he pleased. Part of her felt sick at that, at how far she had sunk into his control; part of her rebelled against the very idea of it. Yet she also found a shameless pleasure in that, in being used so. This part of her was convinced- no, this part of her knew- that Punk did not, could not, think of her as only a possession. The glimmer in his eyes when he smiled at her, the warmth in his voice when he praised her, the way he would touch her shoulder without even realizing it.... Some part of him, no matter how small, felt affection for her, felt the same way about her that she did about him.
As the feeling of shock subsided, the other implications of what Drew had told her finally sank in. Her gaze snapped from the nothing she had been staring at to him. He was dressed simply, in a button-down shirt and black pants, and she suddenly felt too open, too exposed in her tank top and jeans. The realization of what Punk had sent her here for, of what he expected her to do hit her full-force, leaving her feeling cold from head to toe. Although he was one of Punk's friends, Serena had never really had much contact with Drew. There had always, though, been something about him that intrigued her, a quiet kind of violence, an intense, underlying passion to everything that he did. But before today, she'd barely spoken a handful of words to him, and now Punk expected her to just give herself to this man like some whore he had bought?
“I know you're upset, Serena, but you cannae blame me for this. I wasn't going to come at all, but you of all people know what he's been like lately. The man's half mad! I'm not meaning to offend you, Serena, but I just wasn't in the mood for arguing with him. I decided it would just be easier to do what he wanted and come here.”
“Shut up.” Serena hadn't realized her hands had curled into fists, hadn't even felt her nails biting into her skin, until she looked down, seeing a neat row of red half moons on each hand. Her world and focus had shrunk down to Drew- Drew and what he was saying about Punk. “Don't talk about him like that.”
Drew stared at her for a moment, seeming almost taken aback by the suddenness and intensity of her demand. It quickly passed, though, and he dismissed her words with a spiteful laugh and a shake of his head. “I'm sorry if it offends you, li'l missy, but I'll say what I damn well please. And what I'm saying right now is that he's been acting like a right crazy bastard.”
At those words, Serena felt something angry, something heavy and cold shift and slither within her, spreading from the pit of her stomach to every inch of her body. Pushing herself away from the wall that she had been leaning against, she slowly walked over to him, drawing herself up to the full of her height and staring up at him. “I said not to talk about Punk like that.”
He looked down at her, and he seemed to almost consider her words, before his lips twisted into an even deeper smirk than the one he had had on previously. “Serena, trust me. You're only mad because it's true. You're mad because it's true and you don't want it to be true.”
Serena hit him then, drawing a fist back and bringing it forward to connect with that damned smirk of his, not caring about the consequences that might- that would- arise from what she was doing, only knowing that she had to do it, that he deserved it. She didn't really realize the extent of what she'd done until she felt a sudden, blunt force against her chest, knocking the breath from her- his hands, shoving her backwards, the heels of his palms connecting with her breastbone one, and once gain, sure to leave bruises. She stumbled back into the wall, and was about to launch herself at him again when he closed the distance between them, blocking off that option.
It wasn't until he was staring down at her- mouth bloodied from her punch and hair hanging in his face, eyes narrowed and his chest visibly rising and falling with each of his heavy breaths- that it dawned on her how much bigger, how much stronger than her she was, and felt her first flicker of fear. Something final clicked in her mind, and she decided she wasn't going to let that fear stop her, wasn't going to let it prevent her from doing what Punk wanted her to do. He wanted her to do it, and therefore, she wanted to do it.
She looked up at him, his face close to hers and his eyes darkened with rage. She saw the muscles in his jaw working as he struggled to maintain his anger, felt keenly the heavy weight of his hands on her shoulders as he gripped them painfully tight, as if he wanted to crush her bones to dust. She remembered what he had said about Punk, the smirk while he'd said it. She remembered, held onto her rage at his words, and then... she kissed him. She kissed him wantonly, open-mouthed, and to her surprise he returned the kiss in the same manner, without hesitation. Serena hesitated before threading her fingers into Drew's hair with a soft moan- it had been so long since she had been able to do that with Punk. She let herself relax, let herself get caught up in the moment, to pretend that he, that Punk was here with her, that-
No. No, she wasn't going to let herself do that; she couldn't let herself do that. She wasn't here for herself, for her own pleasure- she was here for Punk. She was here because Punk said that what had happened to Drew was wrong, because Punk wanted her to right that wrong however she could, as well as she could. She had gone against his word and his judgment recently, had failed him, herself, the Society, and still he'd forgiven her. Punk had forgiven her, and she was never, never going to fail him again.
Almost abruptly, she pulled away from him, pushing him back. Drew's eyes opened in confusion at her apparently sudden change of mind. “Is something wrong? Serena, if you don't-”
“Not. It's not that. Drew, I was just thinking... thinking about what happened yesterday.” She pushed him back another few steps, eyes firmly locked with his. “I was thinking how wrong it was for you to be on your knees for anybody.”
As she spoke, she dropped to her knees in one fluid moment, her gaze never leaving his. “I was thinking...”
Her slender fingers made quick work of the buttons of his pants, tugging them and the boxers beneath them down. “I was thinking that people should be on their knees for you.”
And then, sliding her hands up his thighs and taking him in her mouth, she did for him what she had only done for Punk, never for Gallows or Mercury, ever since he'd shaved her head. In the act of it she was almost worshipful, treating every movement as if it were holy, her gaze still raised to rest on Drew's face. The ritualism of it was clear to Drew, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly went on in that Society of Punk's, but no, he didn't want to, he couldn't think about that right now, Serena's lips and tongue and fingers weren't letting him, and her eyes never left his as she brought him closer and closer and closer to that teetering edge, and oh god-
But then, at that very last second, she stopped, pulling herself away from him and standing, tongue flickering over her lips. He was unable to contain his frustration this time, now that she'd chipped away at his facade of control. Pushing his hair away from his face, he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as he tilted his head back. “Damnit, Serena, if you're only going to tease me, just leave already. This is-”
Drew stopped mid sentence; as he returned his gaze from the ceiling to her, he saw that Serena had removed her tank top, dropping it to the floor beside her. She smiled at him, and her smile was so unassuming, almost innocent, that he felt compelled to return it.
“You've got a lot of passion, Drew.” Reaching back, she unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor. “A lot of passion.” Her fingers undid the clasp of her jeans, then the zipper, the fabric whispering against her skin as she stepped out of them. “That's an attractive quality in a man, in anyone.” She slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties, glancing down once at herself before looking back at him with another smile and removing them. “After all,” Fully unclothed now save for her bracelet and earrings, she stretched luxuriously, smoothing her hands over her shaved head before skimming them over her shoulders and letting them drop. “What are we without passion?”
Drew was wordless as he watched her close the distance between them- one step, two step, three steps. With her hands aiding his, the rest of his clothing was soon with hers on the floor. It wasn't long until she pulled back once more- but this time there were no words of frustration from him. This time, he knew she wasn't leaving, knew she wasn't replacing him with Punk in her mind, knew that she wanted to be here, to do this with him, and him alone.
Taking his hand, she led him to the bed, pushing him lightly down to sit on the edge of it and straddling him, her hands spread on his chest. “Take me, Drew. Do whatever you want with me.” Serena kissed him again, and he nipped at her lip, sharply, drawing blood, before rolling her back and onto the bed, reversing their positions. She felt him at her entrance, and her back arched, fingers curling into the sheets. “I'm yours.”
Stepping out of the shower, Serena took a brief moment to look at herself in the mirror. Her body was bruised and aching, but she felt satisfied, at peace; she had done what Punk had wanted her to do. No, she had gone beyond his merest expectation- after she had resolved to follow Punk's orders to the fullest, to give herself completely to Drew and to not fail Punk again, her focus had been entirely on Drew; Punk had not entered her mind even once until now. Brushing her hand lightly over a particularly livid bruise on her chest, she giggled, colour tinging her cheeks. Punk would be so pleased.
Grabbing a towel, she scrubbed it briskly over herself as she turned away from the mirror. Dropping it to the floor, she got dressed quickly, now eager to return to Punk, hissing through her grin as the fabric of her clothing settled over the still-tender spots where McIntyre's teeth and hands had left their marks. Opening the door to the bathroom, she stepped out, throwing a quick smile in Drew's direction as she bent, slipping on her boots and tying up the laces. Her fingers fumbled over each other, and she cursed, trying to steady herself. When she stood again and turned fully to face Drew, her eager expression wavered; he didn't quite look unhappy, but he certainly looked unsettled, troubled even, as he watched her scramble to return to Punk, to return to her saviour.
“He really has a hold over you, Serena.” Drew's voice was quiet, reflective, and there was no hint of a question in it. If Serena had listened more closely, had been paying more attention to his words, she might have heard a hint of sadness, of pity.
“Thank you for understanding, Drew.” Walking over to the bed where he sat, she bent, cupping his chin in her hand and tilting his head up, pressing her lips briefly to his. “Thank you for understanding that we had to do this.”
Turning away from him, she walked to the door of the room, opened it, hesitated for a moment, and then stepped out. She failed to catch the words that he spoke as she stepped into the hallway, “This, all of this with Punk- it's not going to end well for you, Serena.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Punk sat on the end of the bed in the room that he was sharing with Serena, the elbow of his good arm resting on his knee, chin cupped in that hand. After he had sent Serena out, he had sat down in this spot, in this position, and hadn't moved.
What he had sent her to do was her first test after her forgiveness, her first reminder. Serena had erred, and she had erred very badly. He had forgiven her, of course, in time; but today was to remind her that she was his, completely and absolutely. Punk had no intention of debasing or humiliating her- he simply wanted her to know that disobeying him was not an option, that everything he had her do, that everything he did to her, for her, with her, had a purpose. He was sure she would understand that, and if she didn't, he would through actions explain it to her again and again and again until she understood.
When he heard her knock on the door, he didn't move save for a smile. There was a long pause before she knocked again, lightly, hesitantly. Still unmoving, he called out, “Come in, Serena.”
The doorknob turned, and the door inched open slowly, until finally she slipped inside, closing it noiselessly behind her.
Serena did as she was told, turning the lock. As she turned back around to face Punk, she shifted nervously from foot to foot, wanting more than anything to be near him now, but knowing that that was not how this worked.
Biting back a grin, she obeyed, hurrying over to where Punk still hadn't moved from and sinking to her knees in front of him. Looking up expectantly, her shining eyes met his, and she couldn't hold back her smile anymore. Punk didn't reciprocate, and after a time her smile faded, and she swallowed drily, feeling her stomach turn, wondering if she had misunderstood what he had wanted her to do, if she had done wrong.
But then Punk outstretched his good hand towards her, and she froze, forcing herself to stay completely still, forgetting to breathe. His hand followed the curve of her neck, her shoulder, before trailing over the collar of her tank top, stopping in the centre. His fingers hooking the fabric, he stretched her shirt down, exposing the angry-looking bruise underneath. Punk stared at it without words for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“Did he do this to you?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on his face as he stretched his fingertips towards she still-tender skin, brushing them against it. As he did this, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, the corners of them crinkling in a smile. Serena's own grin returned, and as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her shorn head, his hand flattening, covering the bruise on her chest, she felt tears prickle her eyes, felt emotion overwhelm her. Still, she managed to speak, “Thank you, Punk. Thank you.”