Revenge of the Rock Chapter 3
Quote – "Ain't nothing like a good cry." – Dwayne Johnson
Hard to believe I started this series 22 years ago and never completed it. I don't even remember who the guy was that asked for this, but if he's still out there, sorry for the delay.
As always, the characters mentioned herein are trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.
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hurricane_helms_1@yahoo.com ©2024 Jason Marks-Iliesque
Revenge of the Rock
Part 3
The Rock pulled up to the swanky Orlando hotel in his rented SUV, a sly smile tugging at his lips. Two down, one to go. Shane McMahon. The thought of what he had planned for the boss's son sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. Shane was going to learn what happened when you messed with the People's Champion.
Stepping out of the SUV, The Rock took a moment to soak in the humid Florida night before striding purposefully into the hotel lobby. The cool blast of air conditioning was a welcome relief as he headed straight for the elevators, ignoring the curious glances from other guests. Let them stare.
The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected the ghost of a smirk on The Rock's face. He wasn't smiling, not really. This wasn't about amusement. It was about retribution. About etching a lesson onto Shane McMahon's soul with the searing point of pure, unadulterated payback. He'd tasted first blood with Angle and Jericho, but Shane... Shane was the architect of his misery, the puppet master pulling the strings that had nearly cost him his shot at the title. And tonight, the Rock was going to cut those strings and watch Shane dance.
His pulse quickened as he reached the top floor, the plush carpeting muffling his footsteps as he stalked down the hallway. He knew which room was Shane's, knew it with the same certainty that a predator knows the scent of its prey. He stopped in front of the door, the number '2300' mocking him with its gilded ostentation. Raising a fist, he considered knocking, considered giving Shane a moment's warning, a chance to beg.
He snorted. Mercy had no place in the symphony of vengeance he was composing tonight.
Instead, he took out a small, metallic card from his pocket, a glint of malicious intent flashing in his eyes. It was a master key, obtained through means he wasn't going to question – not when the key to Shane McMahon's downfall was literally in his hand. The lock clicked open with a soft, almost apologetic sound. The Rock pushed the door open, the hinges sighing in protest.
The suite was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from a muted television screen flickering with some mindless infomercial. Shane was sprawled on the king-size bed, face buried in a pillow, his snores a discordant counterpoint to the saccharine tones of the salesperson extolling the virtues of a miracle blender.
The sight of Shane, so vulnerable, so utterly oblivious, ignited a primal fire in The Rock's gut. He stalked further into the room, each step measured, deliberate. He was a panther closing in on its kill, savoring the anticipation, prolonging the inevitable.
"Shane-O-Mac," he growled, his voice low, laced with a dangerous calm, "Rise and shine, sunshine. Daddy's not here to protect you now."
Shane stirred, his head lifting groggily from the pillow. His eyes, still blurry with sleep, focused on The Rock, and his jaw dropped open in a soundless gasp of horror. The Rock allowed himself a cruel smile. Fear. It was an intoxicating aroma.
"R-Rock?" Shane stammered, scrambling back against the headboard, his eyes wide with terror. "W-what are you doing here?"
"What's The Rock doing here?" The Rock chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. He sauntered closer, the predatory gleam in his eyes intensifying. "The Rock is here to show you what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong. When you try to play God with The Great One's destiny."
"Rock, listen," Shane's voice cracked, his bravado evaporating faster than water on a hot griddle. "I... It was just business, you know? No hard feelings, right?"
"Business?" The Rock scoffed, his voice laced with venom. "You call what you did business? You think you can cost me my shot, humiliate me in front of the entire world, and then waltz in here and dismiss it as 'business'?"
He was in Shane's face now, his massive frame casting a long, menacing shadow over the cowering figure on the bed. The air crackled with unspoken threat, with the promise of violence about to be unleashed.
"N-no, Rock, I..." Shane stammered, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.
"You what, Shane?" The Rock pressed, his voice dangerously soft. "You thought you could break The Rock? You thought you could keep The Great One down?" He shook his head, disgust twisting his features. "You made a big mistake, Shane. A big, big mistake."
He grabbed Shane's throat, his grip tightening just enough to cut off the other man's air supply. Shane's eyes bulged, his hands flying up to claw at The Rock's unyielding grip.
"You're nothing, Shane," The Rock hissed, his face a mask of cold fury. "Nothing but a spoiled little rich kid playing games with forces you don't understand. You wanted to play? Fine. Let's play."
He flung Shane away from the bed with a contemptuous shove. The smaller man landed heavily on the floor, a whimper escaping his lips. The Rock loomed over him, his eyes burning with a cold fire.
"Now, let's see how you like being the one on the receiving end of some payback."
Shane scrambled back on the floor, fear contorting his features like a funhouse mirror. He was a man accustomed to wielding power, to dictating terms, but now, stripped bare before The Rock's wrath, he was just another terrified soul facing a reckoning.
"R-Rock, please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse, choked with a terror he'd never known. "I... I'll do anything. Just... just let me go."
The Rock laughed, a humorless sound that echoed off the walls of the opulent suite. "Anything?" he repeated, savoring the raw fear he tasted in the air. "You'd do anything?"
Shane nodded frantically, his eyes wide with a desperate hope that The Rock might actually be considering his plea. He clung to it like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood, his mind racing, searching for any way out of the predicament he'd gotten himself into.
The Rock crouched down, his face inches from Shane's. He could smell the fear, acrid and sour, clinging to Shane like a cheap cologne. It was pathetic. But it was also... exhilarating.
"You see, Shane," The Rock said, his voice low and dangerous, "that's the problem with you people. You think you can buy your way out of anything. You think money is the answer to every problem. You think it makes you untouchable."
He pressed a heavy hand onto Shane's chest, right over the heart that was hammering against his ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
"Well, let me tell you something, Shane-O-Mac," The Rock continued, his voice a guttural growl. "Money can't buy you respect. It can't buy you talent. And it sure as hell can't buy you out of this."
He stood up, towering over Shane, who looked smaller than ever cowering on the floor. He was a puppet whose strings had been cut, his fate now entirely in The Rock's hands.
"No, Shane," The Rock said, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Tonight, you're going to pay a different kind of price."
He reached down, grabbing Shane by the hair and hauling him roughly to his feet. Shane yelped in pain, his eyes watering, but The Rock wasn't done. He dragged him across the room, ignoring his whimpers and pleas, until they reached the luxurious bathroom.
It was a testament to Shane's wealth, with its marble countertops and gold-plated fixtures. The Rock surveyed it with a sneer. This bathroom, like everything else in Shane's life, reeked of unearned privilege. Tonight, that privilege was going to be stripped away, replaced with a harsh dose of reality.
He shoved Shane towards the large, freestanding mirror, forcing him to look at his own reflection. Gone was the smug, self-assured smirk that usually adorned Shane's face. Now, all that stared back at him was a scared, broken man.
"Take a good look, Shane," The Rock said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Because this..." he leaned in close, his breath hot on Shane's ear, "This is the face of consequence."
The Rock's hand snaked out, ripping open Shane's expensive shirt, buttons scattering across the marble floor like fallen teeth. Shane flinched, his entire body trembling, but he made no move to resist. The fear had rooted him to the spot, rendering him helpless before the storm that was The Rock's wrath.
"You see, Shane," The Rock continued, his voice a low growl, "you made a choice when you decided to mess with The Great One. You stepped into the ring, so to speak. And now, it's time for you to face the consequences of your actions."
He leaned closer, his lips brushing against Shane's ear. "And trust me, Shane-O-Mac," he whispered, his voice a menacing purr, "this is just the beginning."
Shane whimpered, his eyes darting around the opulent bathroom as if searching for an escape route, a miracle that would make this nightmare disappear. But the only escape was the one The Rock would allow, and the only miracle on offer was the one Shane wouldn't survive.
The Rock watched Shane's pathetic attempts at defiance crumble, the fear bleeding through his carefully constructed facade. He had seen it a thousand times before, the bravado of bullies melting away when faced with true power. It never got old.
"Beg, Shane," The Rock commanded, his voice a whip crack in the silence. "Beg for your forgiveness, and maybe, just maybe, The Rock'll consider making this quick."
Shane hesitated, a flicker of his old arrogance trying to ignite, but it was a dying ember in the face of The Rock's overwhelming presence. The truth was, Shane was out of his league, swimming in waters far too deep for someone used to the shallow end of life's pool.
"Please," Shane choked out, the word strangled by his fear. "Rock, I'm sorry. I... I messed up. I won't do it again, I swear."
"Sorry?" The Rock scoffed. He grabbed a fistful of Shane's hair, yanking his head back to meet his gaze in the mirror. "You think sorry is enough? You think words can erase what you've done?"
He saw the answer reflected in Shane's terrified eyes. He saw the realization dawn that this wasn't a negotiation, wasn't another business deal to be brokered. This was about power, about dominance, about teaching a lesson that wouldn't soon be forgotten.
"Tonight, Shane," The Rock growled, "you learn that actions have consequences. Tonight, you learn what happens when you FUCK with the People's Champ!"
He shoved Shane away from the mirror, sending him sprawling onto the cold, unforgiving tile floor. The impact stole what little breath he had left, leaving him gasping like a landed fish.
The Rock watched him for a moment, a predator savoring the fear that rolled off his prey in waves. He could have ended it right there, could have unleashed the full force of his fury and been done with it.
But where was the fun in that?
No, The Rock had something far more... creative in mind for Shane McMahon. A special kind of humiliation that would leave an indelible mark, a brand of shame that no amount of money or power could ever erase.
He stalked towards Shane, who was struggling to sit up, his eyes wide with a terror that was almost... beautiful.
"Get up, Shane," The Rock ordered, his voice laced with a cold amusement. "We have work to do."
Shane whimpered, his gaze flitting towards the bathroom door as if he could will it open with the sheer force of his desire to escape. But the door remained stubbornly closed, a silent testament to the reality of his situation. He was trapped.
"Don't even think about it," The Rock growled, reading Shane's thoughts as easily as if they were printed on the man's sweaty forehead.
He hauled Shane to his feet, ignoring his feeble struggles.
"You wanted to play games, Shane?" The Rock asked, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Then let's play."
He dragged Shane towards the shower stall, the glass doors reflecting their distorted images back at them like a scene from a horror movie.
"Time to get you cleaned up, Shane-O," The Rock said, his voice dripping with a cold, merciless amusement. "Time to wash away that smug sense of entitlement, that silver-spoon arrogance."
He shoved Shane into the shower stall, the impact sending him sprawling against the slick tile wall. The Rock reached for the faucet, turning the water on full blast.
The cold water cascaded down on Shane, plastering his expensive clothes to his body, stealing his breath. He shivered, his teeth chattering, his eyes pleading for mercy that he knew wouldn't come.
The Rock watched, a flicker of dark satisfaction dancing in his eyes as the icy water battered Shane, stripping away his composure along with the remnants of his expensive cologne. Shane was a canvas now, prepped and ready for The Rock's masterpiece of retribution.
He stepped into the shower stall, the confines immediately feeling smaller, more oppressive, as if The Rock's presence had displaced the very air Shane needed to breathe. Shane cowered back, pressing himself against the slick tiles as if trying to disappear into the grout.
"Don't you dare shrink away from The Rock," The Rock growled, his voice resonating with a power that transcended muscle and brawn. It was a command that went straight to Shane's core, bypassing all reason and lodging itself like a primal fear.
He reached out, his hand closing around Shane's throat, not with the intent to choke, not yet, but to hold him captive, to make him feel the raw strength that thrummed through The Rock's veins. Shane trembled under his touch, his eyes wide and glassy with a terror that was both pitiful and exhilarating.
"Look at you," The Rock murmured, his voice surprisingly soft against the backdrop of the pounding water. "So vulnerable, so utterly at my mercy." He traced a finger down Shane's cheek, the unexpected tenderness of the gesture sending a shiver through Shane's body.
"You have no idea what The Rock is really capable of, do you?" The Rock asked, his voice a husky whisper that seemed to wrap around Shane like a silken threat. "You have no idea what depths The Rock will plumb to make you pay. Kurt found out. So did Chris."
Shane shook his head frantically, his eyes pleading for understanding, for an escape from the storm that was brewing in The Rock's eyes. But there was no escaping the inevitable.
"You wanted to play with power, Shane?" The Rock asked, his voice hardening as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against Shane's ear. "Then let The Rock show you what real power feels like."
He pushed Shane back against the tile wall, the impact making Shane cry out, a sound that was swallowed by the roar of the water. The Rock watched the fear in Shane's eyes, the desperate scramble for control, and a primal urge, something dark and possessive, stirred within him.
Shane wasn't just an opponent, not anymore. He was a challenge, a puzzle to be unraveled, a symphony of fear waiting to be conducted by The Rock's masterful hand. And the music... oh, the music was only just beginning.
The Rock dipped his hand into the stream of water, letting the coldness flow over his fingers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out and cupped Shane's face, his touch sending a jolt through the trembling man.
"You belong to The Rock now, Shane," he murmured, his voice a hypnotic blend of threat and promise. "Every inch of you. And you're going to scream the Great One's name."
Shane's breath hitched, a whimper escaping his lips as The Rock's words, laced with a promise of both pain and pleasure, echoed in the small, steam-filled space. The fear in Shane's eyes, now tinged with a flicker of something else, something akin to fascination, sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through The Rock.
"That's right, Shane-O-Mac," The Rock purred, his voice thick with a predatory amusement. "You belong to The Rock. And The Rock always gets what he wants."
He moved closer, his massive frame pressing Shane further against the cool tiles. The contrast of their bodies, The Rock's hard and unyielding against Shane's trembling vulnerability, was not lost on either of them. Shane was trapped, both physically and by the invisible threads of fear and fascination that The Rock wove around him with each passing second.
The Rock leaned in close, his lips ghosting over Shane's ear. "You thought this was about the match, didn't you?" he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that seemed to vibrate through Shane's very core. "You thought The Rock wanted a rematch? That he craved that title shot?"
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the small space. "The Rock doesn't need a title to prove he's the best. The People's Champ already knows that. This," he pressed closer, his words a caress against Shane's ear, "this is about something else entirely."
He let his hand trail down Shane's neck, the touch sending a visible shiver through the trembling man. "This is about teaching you a lesson. About showing you that there are consequences for crossing The Rock."
Shane's eyes fluttered closed as The Rock's touch lingered on the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He was a symphony of contradictions, fear warring with a burgeoning desire he couldn't quite place, a yearning for something he instinctively knew was wrong yet found himself inexplicably drawn to.
"Open your eyes, Shane-O-Mac," The Rock commanded, his voice a velvet hammer blow that shattered the fragile trance Shane was falling into.
Shane's eyes flew open, meeting The Rock's gaze with a mix of apprehension and something dangerously close to longing. It was intoxicating, this power The Rock had over him.
"Good," The Rock rumbled, a predatory gleam lighting up his eyes. "Now, The Rock wants you to watch."
He moved with a speed that belied his size, his hand shooting out to grab Shane's chin, tilting his head up. Shane gasped, his eyes widening as he saw The Rock's other hand move to the waistband of his jeans.
The Rock felt a surge of raw power course through him as he unbuckled Shane's belt, the metallic snap echoing in the small, steam-filled space like a starting pistol. The fear in Shane's eyes, now laced with a spark of something darker, something akin to anticipation, was a heady aphrodisiac.
"You think you know what's coming, don't you, Shane-O-Mac?" The Rock growled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the shower stall. "You think this is just about The Rock taking what he wants?"
He leaned in close, his lips brushing against Shane's ear, feeling the shiver that ran down the other man's spine. "You haven't even begun to scratch the surface of The Rock's desires," he murmured, his voice laced with a dark amusement.
With a swift movement, he shoved Shane's jeans and underwear down, exposing him completely. Shane gasped, his face flushing crimson as he instinctively tried to cover himself, but The Rock was having none of it. He grabbed Shane's wrists, pinning them to the tile wall above his head, his grip unyielding.
"No hiding from The Rock, Shane-O-Mac," he growled, his voice laced with a dangerous purr. "The Rock wants to see it all. Every inch of your shame."
Shane thrashed against Rocky's restraining grip, his eyes pleading for mercy, but the sound of his own ragged breaths only fueled the fire that burned in The Rock's gut. This wasn't just about punishment anymore. It was about control. About breaking Shane down, stripping away his arrogance layer by layer until all that was left was raw, primal need.
The Rock lowered his head, his lips brushing against Shane's chest, tracing a path down his sternum, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Shane arched into the touch, a whimper escaping his lips that was both a protest and an invitation.
"That's it, Shane," The Rock murmured, his voice a hypnotic blend of encouragement and command. "Give in to it. Let The Rock show you what it means to belong, to be owned, body and soul."
He took Shane's nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, feeling the tremor that ran through the other man's body. Shane gasped, his head thrashing back against the tile, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to deny the sensations that were overwhelming him.
"Open your eyes, Shane," The Rock growled, pulling back just enough to look into Shane's face. "The Rock wants to see your surrender."
Shane's eyes fluttered open, glazed with a mixture of fear and a burgeoning desire he couldn't quite name. It was a heady cocktail, one that The Rock intended to savor.
He trailed his tongue down Shane's stomach, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Shane's breaths came in short, sharp gasps, his body arching involuntarily into The Rock's touch, seeking more even as his mind screamed at him to resist.
The Rock smiled against Shane's skin. He loved this game, this dance on the edge of control and chaos. It was a game he always won.
"You smell like fear, Shane," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the pit of Shane's stomach. "The Rock smells it, tastes it on your skin. But beneath that fear, there's something else, isn't there? A hunger. A need."
He reached out, his hand closing around Shane's erection, his grip firm. Shane gasped, his hips bucking instinctively against The Rock's touch.
"Don't fight it," The Rock purred, his voice a hypnotic whisper against Shane's skin. "Let The Rock take you there. Let The Rock show you just how good it can feel to surrender."
He began to stroke Shane, slowly at first, then faster, his rhythm echoing the frantic beat of Shane's heart. Shane moaned, his head falling back against the tile as waves of pleasure washed over him, erasing everything but the feel of The Rock's hand on him, the heat of The Rock's gaze burning into him.
"That's it," The Rock growled, his voice hoarse with a dark pleasure. "Let go. Let The Rock have his fill."
He continued to stroke Shane, the pace relentless, driving him higher and higher until Shane was a whimpering mess of need, his cries echoing against the tile walls. The Rock felt a surge of possessive satisfaction as Shane's release came, hot and desperate, coating The Rock's hand.
The musky scent of sex, fear, and surrender hung thick in the air, mingling with the steam that clung to their slick, sweat-slicked bodies. Shane sagged against the tile wall, spent but not broken. His chest heaved, his breaths still coming in ragged gasps, his eyes wide and unfocused. The Rock, however, was far from finished.
He watched Shane for a moment, savoring the other man's vulnerability, the way his body still trembled with the aftershocks of his forced climax. There was a feral beauty to it, a raw honesty that Shane, with his carefully constructed facade of control and power, would never understand.
"Don't look so surprised, Shane-O," The Rock growled, his voice rough with a primal satisfaction. "The Rock told you he always gets what he wants." He saw a flicker of fear return to Shane's eyes, a flicker quickly chased away by something darker, something hungry. The Rock smiled, a slow, predatory stretching of his lips. Good. He liked his prey to put up a fight, at least at first.
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over Shane's ear. "But The Rock is a generous god," he murmured, his voice a silken whisper against Shane's damp skin. "He's willing to give you what you need, even if you don't have the balls to ask for it."
Before Shane could react, before he could even process The Rock's words, he felt something hard and unyielding press against his entrance. Shane gasped, his eyes widening as he finally understood the game The Rock was playing, a game with rules only The Rock knew.
"What's wrong?" The Rock chuckled, his voice a low rumble in the close confines of the shower stall. "Didn't think The Rock swung that way? Didn't think The People's Champ had it in him?"
He pressed closer, grinding his steel-hard erection against Shane's trembling body. "The Rock is full of surprises," he purred, enjoying the way Shane squirmed beneath him, caught between instinct and something altogether more dangerous.
"Relax, Shane," The Rock commanded, his voice a velvet hammer blow against Shane's ragged breathing. "Fight it and The Rock promises, this will hurt a hell of a lot more."
He felt the tension drain from Shane's body, replaced by a reluctant acceptance. The Rock smiled against Shane's ear. Good boy.
He nudged Shane's legs apart with his knee, testing the waters, gauging his reaction. Shane whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut as if trying to deny the reality of what was happening. But there was no escaping The Rock. Not anymore.
"Look at The Rock," he growled, his voice laced with an undeniable command.
Shane's eyes fluttered open, meeting The Rock's gaze with a vulnerability that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The Rock saw fear there, yes, but also a flicker of something else. A dark, desperate hunger that mirrored his own.
"That's it," The Rock murmured, his voice husky with a need that was both primal and strangely tender. "Look at The Rock while he makes you his."
And with that, he pushed forward, entering Shane in one rough, decisive thrust.
Shane cried out, a raw, guttural sound torn from his throat as The Rock invaded him, filling him with an unwelcome yet undeniably potent force. His body, conditioned for boardrooms and power lunches, not this raw, animalistic invasion, rebelled. He bucked against The Rock's grip, his muffled protests swallowed by the pounding water and the echo of his own ragged breaths.
But The Rock was an immovable object, his grip tightening on Shane's hips, keeping him impaled, possessed. "Shh, Shane-O-Mac," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Shane's bones. "Fight it and it'll only get worse."
The words, laced with a promise of both pain and perverse pleasure, had an unexpected effect. Shane's struggles lessened, replaced by a trembling acquiescence. His body, though still tense with a primal fear, was beginning to betray him, responding in ways that both shamed and excited him.
The Rock felt the shift in Shane's resistance, felt the subtle clench of muscles around him, and a dark, possessive satisfaction coiled in his gut. "That's it," he murmured against Shane's ear, his voice rough with a need that was both brutal and strangely tender. "Give in to it. Let The Rock take control."
He began to move then, slowly at first, withdrawing until only the tip of his cock remained, teasing, testing, before plunging back in with a force that made Shane cry out again. This time, though, there was a different note in his cry, a desperate edge of something that bordered on... pleasure.
The Rock's hips moved with a primal rhythm, a relentless pounding that echoed the frantic tattoo of Shane's heart against his ribs. The water, no longer a source of cold shock, now felt scalding against their intertwined bodies, mirroring the heat that blazed between them.
Shane, caught in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, thrashed again, his hands fisting in The Rock's wet hair, pulling, trying to break free, but only succeeding in driving him deeper. The Rock welcomed the pain, the primal dance of dominance and submission, the way Shane's body, despite his best efforts, was starting to move in sync with his own.
"You like that, don't you Shane?" The Rock growled, his voice thick with the effort of holding back, of drawing out Shane's humiliation. "You like the way The Rock takes what he wants?"
Shane's answer was a choked sob, a desperate whimper that cut through The Rock like a shard of glass. But it only fueled him further, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more punishing, until Shane was a gasping, whimpering mess, his head thrown back against the tile, his eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of sensation.
"Look at The Rock," The Rock growled, grabbing Shane's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Look at The Rock while he makes you come undone."
Shane's eyes fluttered open, his pupils blown wide with a mixture of fear and something wilder, something that made The Rock's blood sing in his veins. He saw a reflection of his own hunger in Shane's gaze, a desperate need for something he didn't have the words for, something only The Rock could provide.
"Good," The Rock rumbled, a growl of approval rumbling deep in his chest. "That's it, Shane. Look at The Rock. See who's really in control."
He watched, his gaze unwavering, as a sheen of sweat bloomed on Shane's skin, slick and glistening under the harsh glare of the showerhead. He saw the way Shane's chest heaved, each breath a shuddering gasp, heard the way his name, The Rock's name, tumbled from Shane's lips, a litany of protest and surrender.
The sound, thick with a need that transcended words, sent a jolt of raw power through The Rock. He leaned down, capturing Shane's lips in a bruising kiss, tasting the fear and the forbidden longing that clung to his tongue like a drug.
Shane's initial resistance crumbled, his mouth opening under The Rock's insistent pressure. Their tongues tangled, a battle for dominance that The Rock had no intention of losing. He tasted Shane's fear, his arousal, the remnants of his pride, and swallowed it all down, making it his own.
He pulled back, just enough to see the flicker of defiance in Shane's eyes, a spark that refused to be completely extinguished. Good. The Rock had no use for broken toys. He thrived on the challenge, on the thrill of the hunt, and Shane, with his mix of fear and unexpected fire, was proving to be a worthy opponent.
He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, driving them both closer to the edge. Shane's whimpers turned into choked cries, his body arching off the wall, seeking more even as his mind rebelled against the sensations that threatened to consume him.
The Rock felt Shane's impending release, felt the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath hitched, and a primal growl rumbled in his chest. He wasn't done with Shane, not even close, but he wouldn't deny himself this, the heady pleasure of knowing he held Shane's release in his hands, the power to give and to take.
"Come for The Rock, Shane-O," he growled, his voice a guttural command. "Let The Rock feel you shatter."
And Shane, unable to fight the inevitable any longer, surrendered. His release came in a rush, a torrent of sensation that ripped through him, leaving him spent and trembling in The Rock's unforgiving grip. But even in the throes of his own climax, The Rock didn't let up. Not yet. Not until he'd etched his victory, his dominance, onto Shane's very soul.
The Rock rode Shane's release like a prizefighter working a heavy bag, his thrusts unwavering, relentless. He felt Shane convulse around him, felt the way his body tried to shy away from the intensity, the sheer force of The Rock's possession. But there was no escape. Not from this, not from him.
Shane was his, body and soul, for as long as The Rock decided.
He leaned down, pressing his lips against Shane's ear, whispering words that were both a taunt and a confession. "You see, Shane-O-Mac," he growled, his voice hoarse with a primal satisfaction, "The Rock doesn't just want your submission. He wants it all. Your fear. Your fight. Your goddamn soul."
Shane whimpered, his head falling back against the tile, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the reality of his situation. But The Rock wouldn't let him hide. He grabbed Shane's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze, the intensity of his stare burning into Shane's very being.
"Look!" The Rock commanded, his voice rough with a dark need. "Look at The Rock while he break you."
And in Shane's eyes, The Rock saw the truth reflected back at him. This wasn't just about humiliation, about revenge for a match gone wrong. This was something darker, something that spoke to a primal need for dominance, for control, for pushing beyond the boundaries of what was acceptable, what was sane.
He was lost in it now, lost in the feel of the slick heat of Shane's vice-like hole surrounding his throbbing shaft, the way Shane's body, despite its initial resistance, was starting to move with his, to anticipate his rhythm. And in that surrender, The Rock felt a surge of power that went beyond the physical. This was about owning a piece of Shane's soul, about leaving an indelible mark on his carefully constructed world that the young McMahon could never wash away.
His thrusts became more frantic, more desperate, fueled by a need that bordered on animalistic. He felt himself teetering on the edge, felt the pressure building, coiling tight in his gut, and he knew he was close.
Shane cried out again, the sound raw and ragged, as if each thrust from The Rock chipped away at something fundamental within him. And maybe it did. Maybe that was the point. To strip away the layers, to expose the raw, vulnerable core beneath.
The Rock's own release came in a rush, a torrent of heat and need that slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave as he unloaded volley after volley of his seed into his foe. He roared, the sound echoing against the tile, a primal scream of victory and something altogether more complicated, something he couldn't quite name.
He didn't pull back right away, not yet. He stayed buried inside Shane, his breathing ragged, their bodies slick with sweat and something more intimate, the evidence of their transgression. The shower continued to rain down on them, hot and relentless, almost obscuring the tears that streamed down Shane's face, tears he made no move to wipe away.
The Rock finally withdrew, the sound shamelessly obscene in the quiet aftermath of their shared release. Shane slumped against the wall, his body a canvas of abuse, marked by The Rock's touch. His chest heaved, his breath still ragged, his eyes closed as if shutting out the world, or maybe just the reality of what had transpired between them.
The Rock watched him for a moment, his own breathing slowly returning to normal, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his climax. He felt a strange mix of triumph and something akin to... regret? No, not regret. Not exactly. It was more like a sense of completion, of having finished something raw and necessary, something that left a hollow ache in its wake.
He turned off the shower, the silence that descended heavy and thick, amplifying the sound of their ragged breaths. He looked down at Shane, at the way his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, at the way his damp hair clung to his forehead, at the tearstains that marred his cheeks.
A part of him, a small, almost foreign part, wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, to soothe the sting of what he'd inflicted. But that part, the part that whispered of tenderness and compassion, was quickly silenced by the colder, more calculating voice in his head.
This was Shane McMahon. The son of his enemy. The architect of his humiliation. He didn't deserve The Rock's comfort. He deserved the pain, the humiliation, the utter stripping away of his pride that The Rock had so expertly delivered.
"Get dressed, Shane-O," The Rock growled, his voice rough but devoid of its earlier heat. "The Rock has a busy schedule and he doesn't have time to babysit a bitch."
He stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and roughly scrubbed at the dampness on his skin. He didn't bother looking back at Shane, not wanting to see the damage, the vulnerability that he knew lingered in those eyes.
Some debts, The Rock knew, could never be truly settled. Some scars, both physical and emotional, were meant to last a lifetime.
The Rock turned to leave, the expensive marble of the bathroom floor cold beneath his bare feet. He paused at the doorway, his back still to the trembling figure in the shower.
"And Shane?" he said, his voice low, a barely audible rumble.
Shane whimpered, a small, broken sound, but didn't turn around.
The Rock allowed himself a small, cruel smile. The message had been received.
"Don't ever forget who you belong to," he growled, the threat hanging heavy in the air. "Don't ever forget what The Rock is capable of."
And with that, he walked away, leaving Shane McMahon alone in the wreckage of his own humiliation, the ghost of their encounter clinging to the air like the scent of sex and power, a potent reminder that some battles leave scars far deeper than any championship belt could ever heal.