Gift fic slash for @rozettaswritingblog
Damn I put moderated comments when posted anonymously on AO3 and I regret it so much. :(
Hope you like this and hope anyone likes and reviews my work, gladly appreciate it.
Rating: Explicit
18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT READ/INTERACT!!
Tags: Smut, Slash, Threesome (M/M/M), Double penetration, Top Randy Orton, Top Sheamus, Bottom John Cena, Gift fic, light bondage, polyamory, cum shot.
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. All characters belong to their owners.
The arena had long since emptied hours after Raw ended, the crowd's shouting replaced by the hum of dying fluorescent lights overhead. John Cena stretched in the ring, alone, his blue denim jorts clinging to his muscular thighs as he gathered his gear. He didn't hear the footsteps approaching from the shadows.
"Easy now, Johnny boy," Randy Orton's voice slithered through the darkness, smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous.
The Cenation leader spun around, fists raised, but Sheamus was already behind him, thick arms wrapping around his chest, pale ginger muscle pressing against Cena's back. The Irishman's hot breath tickled his ear.
"We've been plannin' this for weeks, fella," Sheamus rumbled, his brogue thick with something that wasn't just menace.
"What the hell—" Cena struggled, but Randy stepped into the dim light, and his protest died in his throat.
Randy's wrestling trunks tented obscenely, a thick ridge straining against the black fabric. Beside him, Sheamus ground against John's ass, and John felt the hard evidence of the Irishman's arousal pressing insistently.
"See, John," Randy purred, circling like a predator,
"Sheamus and I got to talking. About you. About how you strut around here, all American hero, tight shirts, tighter shorts..." He reached out, trailing a finger down Cena's chest. "Teasing us."
"Fuck off," Cena growled, but his eyes betrayed him, dropping to Sheamus's trunks, where a wet spot had started to form, then flicking back to Randy's obvious erection. His mouth went dry.
"Ah, but you're not runnin', are ya?" Sheamus chuckled, loosening his grip just enough to spin Cena around. He produced rope from his gear bag: soft, professional-grade, the kind used for rigging equipment. "Hold still, champ."
They worked efficiently, Randy's skilled hands looping rope around Cena's wrists while Sheamus secured his ankles to the ring ropes. Within minutes, Cena was bent over the middle rope, ass in the air, helpless and exposed.
"Look at him," Randy breathed, running a palm over the denim-clad curve of Cena's ass. "Fighting so hard. But he's not telling us to stop, is he, Sheamus?"
"Not a word," Sheamus agreed, stepping close enough that Cena could smell his sweat, clean and masculine. "You want this, John? Want us to take what's ours?"
Cena's jaw clenched. "I don't—"
Randy's hand cracked down on his ass, the sound echoing in the empty arena. Cena bit back a moan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"Liar," Randy whispered, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Cena's jorts. "You're already leaking through your jorts."
It was true. Cena's cock strained painfully against his compression shorts, a dark spot of precome visible. He squeezed his eyes shut as Randy slowly peeled the denim down, exposing Cena's muscular ass to the cool arena air.
"Bloody hell," Sheamus muttered, palming himself through his trunks. "Look at that arse. Perfect fuckin' peach."
"Please," Cena choked out, hating how desperate he sounded.
"What are you asking for, Johnny?" Randy asked, stepping out of his trunks. His cock sprang free, thick, veined, heavy with need. He stroked it slowly, letting Cena watch. "Say it, John. Tell us you want it."
Sheamus followed suit, his own cock equally impressive, pale and flushed pink at the tip. He moved to Cena's front, tilting the bound man's chin up. "Look at us. Both of us are hard for you. Been hard since we planned this, watchin' you train, watchin' you flex and pose."
Cena's resistance crumbled. "Yes," he whispered. "Fuck, yes. I want it. Want both of you."
"Good boy," Randy praised, positioning himself behind Cena. He spat in his hand, working it over his shaft, then pressed the thick head against Cena's hole. "Sheamus, get that pretty mouth ready."
Sheamus knelt, gripping Cena's jaw and guiding his cock to his lips. "Open up, champ. Take me deep."
Cena obeyed, moaning around the Irishman's girth as Randy began to push inside from behind. The stretch burned, shit, it burned, but Cena pushed back, desperate for more.
"Fuck, he's tight," Randy groaned, bottoming out in one slow thrust. "Sheamus, you feel him moaning around you?"
"Like a fuckin' vibrator," Sheamus gritted out, thrusting shallowly into Cena's mouth. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."
They found a rhythm, Randy pulling out as Sheamus pushed in, Cena caught between them, drooling and gasping, his own cock untouched and leaking onto the mat below. Randy's hands gripped Cena's hips hard enough to bruise, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate.
"Ready for both of us?" Randy panted, slowing down.
John whimpered, the sound vibrating through Sheamus's cock.
"Gonna fill you up, Johnny," Sheamus promised, pulling out of Cena's mouth and moving behind him alongside Randy.
"Both of us. Stretch that tight hole wide."
"Oh god," Cena breathed, looking back over his shoulder. The sight nearly undid him: Randy and Sheamus pressed together, both cocks aligned, pressing against his entrance. "I don't know if I can..."
"You can," Randy soothed, reaching around to stroke Cena's thigh. "Relax, let us in. Trust us."
The pressure built, intense and overwhelming, and then Cena screamed, a raw, guttural sound as both men pushed inside simultaneously. The stretch was impossible, perfect, tearing a sob from his throat as they filled him completely.
"That's it," Sheamus groaned, his forehead pressed against Randy's shoulder. "Fucking hell, I can feel you against me, Randy. Both of us inside him."
"Move," Cena begged, tears streaming down his face.
"Please, fucking move."
They did, slowly at first, then faster, until they found a brutal pace that had Cena seeing stars. The sound of skin on skin filled the arena, mixed with grunts and moans and the wet slap of flesh. Cena's cock swung untouched, desperate for friction, but he was too overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the knowledge that Randy Orton and Sheamus were fucking him together.
"Close," Randy gritted out, his hips stuttering. "Sheamus!"
"Together," Sheamus agreed, his hand finding Cena's buzzcut hair and pulling his head back. "On three. One... two..."
They pulled out in unison, spinning Cena around roughly.
He landed on his knees, still bound, looking up at them with glazed, worshipful eyes.
"Three," they said together, and erupted.
Thick ropes of come splattered across Cena's face, his chest, coating his lips, chin and pecs in pearly white. Randy groaned, milking himself onto Cena's tongue, while Sheamus painted stripes across Cena's heaving chest. It was everywhere: dripping from his eyelashes, pooling in the hollow of his throat, sliding down his abs.
"Fuck," Randy breathed, still stroking himself. "Look at you. Covered in us."
"Beautiful," She agreed, sinking to his knees beside Randy. They bracketed Cena, their hands gentle now, wiping the come from his eyes, massaging it into his skin.
Cena licked his lips, tasting them both, and shuddered. "Untie me," he whispered. "Please."
Randy reached up, working the knots loose with surprising tenderness. As the ropes fell away, Sheamus pulled Cena into his lap, cradling him like something precious.
"Too much?" Sheamus asked quietly, his thumb tracing Cena's swollen lips.
Cena shook his head, leaning into the touch. "Perfect. It was perfect."
Randy moved in close, his forehead resting against Cena's. "We meant it, you know. The planning, the capture... it started as a game, but..." He paused, searching Cena's eyes. "We want you. Both of us. Together."
"Not just a one-time thing," Sheamus added, his hand settling possessively on Cena's hip. "We want to wake up with you. Want to be yours, and want you to be ours."
Cena looked between them, the Viper and the Celtic Warrior, both watching him with something vulnerable and hopeful in their eyes. He thought of the loneliness of hotel rooms, of the mask he wore for the crowds, of how these two men had seen through it all and chosen to claim him anyway.
"Yes," he said softly.
Randy smiled, rare and genuine, and leaned in. His kiss was gentle, tasting of salt and sweat, a stark contrast to the violence of moments before. When he pulled back, Sheamus took his place, the Irishman's beard scratching pleasantly against Cena's jaw as they shared a slow, deep kiss.
"Ours," Sheamus murmured against his lips.
"Ours," Randy agreed, pressing against Cena's back, sandwiching him in warmth and security.
Cena let his head fall back against Randy's shoulder, looking up at the dark arena lights, his body aching and satisfied. "Yours," he agreed. "Both of yours."
The new lovers stayed there on the mat, tangled together, until the janitor's cart rattled in the distant hallway and the three champions scrambled for their clothes, laughing like boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar, already planning whose hotel room they'd share tonight.
