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Title: Taker�s Hammer?
Author: Lizzie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: I�m guessing this is worthy of an NC-17!
Content: Hunter, Taker, a sledgehammer, lube and some kinky sex, mark two. lol!!
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and unless I wake up one morning having mysteriously become Vince McMahon, I doubt they ever will be. Damn, that's a scary thought.
Distribution: Not that you're likely to want it, but if you do, just tell me where.
Summary: Sequel to �Hunter�s Hammer�. Hunter trashes Taker�s bike� so whose turn is it this time?
Notes: The story this is the sequel to is the story behind the story from Dove�s �Sledgehammer Confessions�. You really oughtta read Dove�s Confessions series if you haven�t already. Then you�ll see why I wrote this, and the first one. And not only that, they�re a truly excellent series!! Oh, and thanks to Dove for letting me do this� And hope no one minds PWP�s, because that�s exactly what this is. If you can find even a smidge of plot I�ll be severely displeased. Hehe!!!
Oh, and despite the fact that this is supposed to go with the canon of the Confessions story it�s based on, this takes slight (okay, major) liberties with the end of Sledgehammer Confessions 2, because I forgot there was a sequel until after I�d written this damn thing. *grumbles*

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Taker�s Hammer?
(or, �My God! Didn�t that Hurt?! Mark 2�)
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There are, as I�ve found out over the past few years, some things that should definitely be considered truths of good sex. Like, the back seat of your rental car is *not* as comfortable as it looks. And that while it�s possible for conditioner to make pretty good lube, you should really be asking yourself whether or not you want your ass to smell like your hair.

Still, there are a few things you think ought to be truths, but they turn out to be completely false. Yeah, you have to actually persuade yourself that you wanna do something you think is slightly strange in the first place to find out that you�ve assumed wrong, but sometimes it�s worth it. I�m not saying you should test every theory � I mean, there are some things that man just� trust me, it�s not natural to bend that way. But sometimes you�ll find that in the heat of the moment you�re doing some fucking thing you never thought you�d be doing in a million fucking years, and more than that, it actually feels good.

At the time, trashing Taker�s bike seemed like a good idea. I mean, I hated the guy, right? And I knew he loved that bike. I�m never gonna understand the relationship that man has with motorcycles - not that I want to. Give me an SUV any day. Although I kinda have to admit that the thought of taking a ride on that thing, tucked up snug against his back, arms around his waist, my head on his shoulder, is a hell of an interesting thought. Interesting reality, too. One I�ve thought about more than a couple of times. Maybe that�s why it seemed like such a fucking good idea to trash his bike. Well, either that or because I knew what was going to come after.

I guess it happened a couple of weeks after I�d made a mess of him with my sledgehammer, and after he�d made a mess of me backstage. Not that he�d gone postal on me in the typical sense, but he *did* try to punish me. Not too many men take being hit with a sledgehammer all that well, and Taker definitely isn�t one of them, but the punishment kinda took a left turn at the lights and ended up being something else completely. I mean, I�m pretty damn sure that fucking me with the handle of my hammer was his idea of justice, not his idea of a good time.

Yeah, it hurt, but not exactly like you�d think it would. It�s kinda an odd sensation, being pushed up against a cabinet while someone fucks you with an inanimate object. So yes it hurts. But damn it hurt good. It probably shouldn�t do; hell, I was as shocked as he was that I wasn�t screaming and begging him to stop. But I didn�t. I just moaned and I think I might�ve told him to keep going a couple of times before I came and he came after me. Yeah, odd situation. Especially since he made it pretty damn clear that the next time that sledgehammer made an appearance around him, it was going to be his turn.

So I trashed the bike. It felt good, too, but then it always feels good to be swinging that hammer. It�s just the right weight to test my muscles a little without straining, just the right weight to swing through the air and feel powerful. And it always feels good to feel powerful. Strange how holding something heavy makes you feel powerful, but it does. Reminds you of how strong you actually are and what you could do if you felt like it. But it felt especially good to be trashing Taker�s bike. I was almost shivering in anticipation as I caught the look on his face. He�d just realised what I�d done, and while he was pissed at me there was also something in his eyes, something that told me I�d be seeing him.

I took off backstage and shut myself in my dressing room. I wasn�t sure how long I�d have to wait, and at ten minutes I was just starting to get nervous, but then the door swung open and in he walked.

I couldn�t decide if he looked like hell because of the match he�d just finished or because of what I�d done to his bike, and I didn�t feel like asking. He looked at me like he was gonna make a serious attempt on my life, and I don�t mind admitting that I was intimidated. Standing three feet away from a guy who�s over 300 pounds and who�s as near as makes no fucking nevermind seven feet tall would intimidate pretty much anyone, especially if that guy�s the Undertaker.

But even if he looked pissed as hell, there was something in his eyes that told me that wasn�t all he was feeling. He�s got fucking scary eyes. Not only does he look like he�s gonna kill me every time we meet but he looks like he�s staring right through you. And when he looks at you like he�s gonna kill you, like he�s staring right through you *and* like he wants to fuck you �til you can�t walk straight, it�s damned near terrifying. And that�s how he looked then. Totally fucking insane.

He pulled off the leather vest he was wearing and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. He peeled off his gloves and they followed. I watched as he set a foot on the edge of the vanity to untie his bootlaces one at a time, then he tugged them off and dropped them to the floor. I was just glued to the spot. Taker standing barefoot in a dressing room in just a pair of jeans and a bandana is a surprising turn-on. Then he nodded to my jacket.

�You�re gonna wanna take that off�, he told me. And for some reason I didn�t even think about objecting. I just pulled it off and tossed it onto the chair with all his stuff. He didn�t even have to tell me to take off my shirt � that followed a couple of seconds later. I toed off my boots, kicking them to one side. Then I looked up at him.

He licked his lips and looked me over. He has this way of looking at you like you�re some kinda prize he�s appraising, and even if it�s kinda awkward it�s also fucking hot. He licked his lips again as his gaze came to rest on the bulge in the front of my jeans and I could feel myself going red. Then he looked up at me again, smirking. I thought that smirk was something I did. It looked kinda foreign on him, the guy whose two expressions seem to be pissed and I�m-gonna-kill-you, and just made me blush even harder.

�You might wanna get those off, too�, he told me. So I reached for my belt buckle. But as I was fumbling with it I realised something and I stopped, frowning up at him.

�What?�

�What the hell am I doing? It�s your fucking turn!�

He smirked again. �Hey, you can�t blame me for wanting to get you naked�, he quipped. I rolled my eyes.

�Get �em off�, I told him. He frowned, but I cut him off just as he opened his mouth. �What? So you can give orders but you can�t take them? I said get �em off! Or do you want me to do that for you?�

When he smiled I knew I�d said the exact wrong thing.

I was going to curse or sigh or something but he must�ve seen the look on my face and the next thing I knew I was pressed face-first into the wall, his hand on the back of my head. He pulled the band out of my hair while he pinned me there with his other arm barred across my wrists across my back, just like he had done the last time. I sighed into the wall as he pressed up behind me, grinding his hips forward so I could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing into me through mine.

I rolled my eyes again. I really should�ve known that he had no intention of going through with his turn. After all, this was Taker. I�d heard of him topping but Taker as a bottom? Hell, it was fucking unheard of. But I had this image of him in my mind, naked and squirming, and I wasn�t going to be that easy to dissuade. I mean, it wasn�t like I was well-known for bottoming every guy I met. I�m usually the dominant one. I had no idea how Taker had managed to bring out that submissive side the last time we�d met, but I sure as hell wasn�t going to let him do it again.

I pushed back. Hard. And he stumbled backwards, breaking away from me and dropping my wrists. I turned and he was standing, barely, sort of teetering, before he caught his balance and glared down at me with this amusing look of complete shock on his face. Now I was smirking. I guess he hadn�t reckoned on my being able to break that hold. It was the same way he�d held me down the time before, and this time I�d been able to force him back? I could see exactly what was going through his head.

�You mean you could�ve�?�

I smiled. �Any time I wanted to, Deadman�.

He slapped me. Hard. Hard enough to snap my head round and make my cheek sting like hell. Fuck, I actually had a hand-shaped bruise there the morning after � nothing makeup couldn�t deal with but that�s not the point. He slapped me.

So I slapped him back. Harder. And while he was still reeling I grabbed him and shoved him up against the vanity, back in the position he�d had me the time before. I grabbed the sledgehammer from the counter and pressed it against his wrists behind his back as I rooted in the drawer, grinning at him in the mirror as I found what I was looking for. He didn�t see the handcuffs before I�d snapped them on and put the hammer back on the vanity. Unlike him, I wasn�t taking any chances.

He growled something at me about letting him go but I raised my eyebrows and I think he knew the look I was giving him was saying something like �oh, like you let me go?� He sighed.

He probably could�ve pushed me away if he�d really tried. But he didn�t. I leant forward and snaked my arms around his waist, fingers pulling first at his belt buckle then at the front of his jeans; you�d never really understand just how hard it is to open a pair of jeans when they�re fastened tightly onto Taker, but it�s fucking difficult. He just stood there, and for a guy with his hands handcuffed behind his back who was about to have his jeans pulled down and be fucked with a sledgehammer by someone he hates, the mocking laugh sounded pretty darn convincing. I guess he�d worn a button fly on purpose.

I was ready to hit him by the time his jeans were finally round his ankles. He was being a complete fucking pain in the ass. That made me smile � God, since when had I expected any different from him? But the problem was I couldn�t quite decide whether he was letting me do this or if I really had him trapped there. It made me slightly uneasy, though I couldn�t say whether that was the thought that I wanted to do this even if he didn�t want it or because he might actually want it as much as I had.

I grabbed the massage oil that was lying on the vanity and flipped off the cap. When I looked at the mirror he was looking at me expectantly, this look that was kinda between �what the fuck are you waiting for?� and �c�mon, I dare ya� on his face. I guess I was too busy working out which the look was closer to because the next thing I know I�ve dropped the bottle and it�s spilled all over the damn vanity. I rolled my eyes and he sniggered.

That was it. Without so much as a warning I dragged my hand through the oil and stuck my index finger in as far as it would go. That definitely stopped the sniggering. He gasped and cursed and I grinned up at him in the mirror. He scowled. I wriggled my finger around and his eyes widened.

His whole body was just completely rigid as I started to thrust my finger in and out. I just looked at that as a challenge. I added a second finger, stretching him out, then a third, and he was still standing there, almost bent over the top of the vanity, rigid like there was a fucking rod up his ass. I almost burst out with completely inappropriate laughter when I thought that. There definitely wasn�t a rod up his ass, but pretty soon there�d be something close to it�

I pulled my fingers out, grabbing the sledgehammer with my left hand while I swept them through the spilled oil, still pressing him up against the front of the drawers. I spread the oil over the handle of the hammer � which incidentally was looking a hell of a lot shinier since our last, uh, encounter � and I leant forward as I pressed it up against him.

The look on his face was indescribable as I pushed it in the first quarter-inch. I�d thought he was pretty tense before, but as it slid in every single muscle contracted so far it must�ve hurt like a son of a bitch. I remembered how it had felt when he�d done it to me � he�d been pretty damn brutal, just forcing it in kinda unceremoniously, and it was fucking agony. For some reason I decided to take it a little easier, not like he fucking deserved it, but it *was* fucking painful.

I inched it in, giving him time to adjust as I did it. Not like you can really adjust to the handle of a fucking sledgehammer, but eventually the pain dulls down a little so it doesn�t quite feel like someone�s trying to tear you up from the inside out. And eventually, after a couple of painstaking minutes, it was in as far as it would go. Looked fucking funny, too, not that I was going to tell him that.

I started to thrust it in and out. Slowly. Really fucking slowly. He was breathing hard already, and I guessed it was from the pain, but then I looked up into the mirror and saw something completely different. It was a pretty odd fucking look to see on the deadman�s face, believe me, like he wasn�t sure whether he was supposed to be yelling in pain or screaming in pleasure. Finally he just settled for moaning.

Until I angled it up and he just growled. I stopped � I wasn�t sure if I�d really done him damage or what � but one glance into the mirror and I realised what I�d done. I smiled. Yup, looked like I�d hit his prostate. And he was shaking under me, all his control lost. He wasn�t exactly rigid anymore, he was fucking quivering. He looked up at me with wild eyes, opened his mouth and choked something. I frowned.

�What?� I asked, shocked at how my voice sounded. Like I was fucking turned on. And I realised I was.

�Cuffs�, he coughed. I smiled and gave him a nod.

A quick dig through my pocket later and he was uncuffed and leaning heavily forward on the top of the vanity, head hanging forward as I pounded the hammer into him. He was moaning and gasping and I remember reaching forward to pull the bandana from his forehead so all that red hair just fell forward over his face. He flipped it back over his shoulders, tossing his head back, turning to give me a frustrated smile.

�Harder�, he choked out at me. I smiled and obliged.

But only for the next twenty seconds. Because looking at him there, all flushed and bucking back against the handle� I was fucking jealous. I pulled it out and tossed it into the chair on top of our clothes. He frowned, panting, turning as best he could to look at me.

�What the fuck?� The words were more of a rasp than anything else, completely raw.

�Shut up and turn the fuck back around�.

All it took was ten seconds to drop my jeans, scoop up some oil and coat myself. Then I leant forward, swept the hair from the back of his neck and pressed a kiss to the salty skin as I thrust inside of him.

I froze for a second, my chest against his back, my hand snaking around to rub over the muscles in his abdomen. He shivered and looked up at me, eyes wide and full of� lust.

�Oh God, Hunter!� he gasped, leaning down hard on his hands. His elbows looked like they were about to give out he was shaking so hard. �Fuck me!�

He was so tight and so hot, so fucking responsive� He was bucking back against me the whole time, groaning, moaning my name, staring at me in the mirror as I fucked him, thrust deep inside him. He looked perfect like that, so perfect that it was hard to keep from coming as I reached around him and took his cock in my hand, stroking him, pumping him fast and hard like he�d done to me. God, he was responsive. There was a warning light flashing somewhere in the back of my head that someone was bound to hear, but I couldn�t have given a good goddamn right at that moment. I guess you could say I was otherwise occupied.

�You�re so fucking� big� Hunter�� he was gasping under me. I was having a hard time hearing anything, but somehow that got through. �I�m gonna� Hunt� I�m gonna come� Hunter!�

Hearing him choke my name, feeling him coming over my hand and onto the vanity, feeling all his muscles constrict around me, it just took me over. I was already pretty close and that just did it. I was gone. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming, and I slumped down on top of him.

For a second I didn�t even know where I was. Then I took a deep breath, screwed my eyes shut for a moment and realised what exactly I�d just done. I�d fucked the Undertaker. That could�ve been a big mistake. I mean, fucking him with a sledgehammer was one thing � it was kinda impersonal in a very, very personal and almost distressingly or embarrassingly kinky way. But I�d fucked him. Me. I had visions of him ripping out my still-beating heart and shoving it down my throat or something like that.

�Dear God you�re hot, Mark�� I told him before I realised what I was saying. I couldn�t help myself. It was just so� true. He was amazing. I couldn�t believe what I�d just done. And I gave him a series of astonished blinks as he just gently pushed me back then pulled me into his arms.

�Then I�m not the only one�� And he kissed me. Fucking odd feeling, kissing and being kissed by the Undertaker. He�s fucking huge for one thing, and another, he�s got a tongue that can� well, I�ll leave that to your imagination. �C�mon, the bike�s out back. Get your clothes back on and I�ll take you for a ride�.

I just nodded mutely as I stared up at the fucking devilish smile he had on his face and started gathering my clothes. I think I was too stunned that he hadn�t killed me to argue. Not that I�m not glad I didn�t� Hell, I knew Taker loved his bikes, but I guess you could say that that night I found out why. Sure, you don�t wanna tangle with the back seat of your rental, but the back of a motorcycle is a totally different story.

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End
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