Matt / Andy / Tree

RAW had just wrapped up a couple of minutes ago. The heavy bass of the arena music and the distant roar of the crowd had still been bleeding through the concrete walls when you made your way down the corridors, headed for Steve’s dressing room.

When you slipped inside, you found him sprawled across the worn-out leather couch, looking almost too large for the piece of furniture.

He hadn’t bothered changing yet, he was still in full gear: wearing his heavy black boots and his faded denim shorts, along with the same shirt he had worn in the ring and his thick black knee braces still strapped firmly in place.

Steve looked roughed up from the night, but still imposing as he lounged back with his legs spread wide and one arm thrown along the back of the couch.

After the usual post-show chit-chat and Steve complaining about the nasty bumps he’d taken that night, you had finally settled on his lap, straddling one of his thick thighs.

The couch creaked under the combined weight of you and him, and you shifted a little to get comfortable on his lap, placing your hands over his broad chest.

"You were really good out there tonight," you murmured, your voice a mix of genuine admiration and a playful little tease. "Especially during that promo. The way you were talking shit on the mic... when you got all...," you paused, searching for the right word, "...intense."

Steve’s eyebrow lifted slowly.

His thumb began to trace slow, lazy circles on your thigh. "Oh yeah?" he rumbled. "You liked seein' me lose' my temper?"

"Mhmm...." you bit your lip, leaning in closer, drawn by the pull of his body.

"I liked it. I liked it a lot, actually," you admitted.

Steve settled deeper into the couch. His gaze was fixed on you with an expression that was half amused and half predatory.

"What part?" he asked. His voice had dropped into that familiar register: the one that could shut up a whole crowd or make them explode. "The yellin' ? The trash talkin'?"

You tried to hold his gaze, but the flashback of him in the ring was already doing dangerous things to you: jaw clenched, mic in hand, eyes heaving with anger while bossing everybody around.…

A shiver ran through your entire body.

Between the memory and the very real, very solid heat of his leg beneath you right now, as you were sitting on him, a hot wave of arousal crashed over you. It was almost too much to handle. You licked your suddenly dry lips, your pulse kicking up fast.

A slow, involuntary roll of your hips pressed you tighter against his quad, trying to chase that same intensity you had felt as you watched him in the ring.

Steve didn’t move, but you saw the slow, knowing smirk spread across his face the moment he felt that little tremor in your body.

All of a sudden, the air in the room was charged with a tension you couldn’t describe. 

"Ya gotta talk to me," he rasped. Steve's hand slid from your thigh to your lower back, pulling you even closer. His mouth brushed right against your ear. "Don't want me misunderstandin' what you're sayin' now, do ya?"

He paused, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"So, what did ya like exactly, hm? Me barkin' orders? Givin’ that sumbitch an ass-whooping for pissin’ me off?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The rough, commanding edge of his words sent a jolt of heat straight down your spine.

"Yes!!" you blurted out. "All of it—!"

Your eagerness only made him grin wider. Steve stiffened slightly as he felt you grind against him. You weren't just leaning on him now, you were clinging to him, lost in a haze of excitement you couldn't name or control.

His arm dropped lower, squeezing your ass once with his hand. He didn't stop you, but he didn't help either. He just watched you with that lazy, confident gaze, waiting to see how far you’d go.

You moved again, trying to find a better angle. As you shifted, you felt the layered friction of the fabric of your own clothes mixed with his denim shorts press into your core. It was a jagged, overwhelming sensation that stole the air from your lungs.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the heavy, delicious weight of him rubbed against your cunt…. but the feeling of the cold strap of his knee brace digging into your inner thigh made you jolt against him before you could stop yourself.

"Easy, settle down," he rumbled, though his smirk suggested he wanted the exact opposite. "I ain’t going nowhere."

But you couldn’t settle down. Your breathing had already picked up, a hot flush creeping up your neck. Your thighs clamped a little tighter around his leg, as your hips started rolling in slow seeking circles, just trying to relieve the sudden, nervous flutter in your stomach.

Steve didn’t push you away. Instead, he lounged back deeper into the couch, watching you rub yourself against his thigh on nothing but pure instinct.

"Gettin' all worked up for what, huh?" he asked, his tone shifting into a teasing drawl. "You tryin' to start somethin' with me? 'Cause your lil’ confession’s got me thinkin’ you wanna see me get pissed off again…"

You giggled at his words. That playful spark was still flickering in your eyes despite the heat building up between you. "Maybe..."

To prove your point, you rocked your hips harder.

Steve licked his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth momentarily and then further down, tracking the way you were shamelessly moving against him.

"Oh yeah? You plan on pickin' a fight, or what?" he challenged. "What's a lil’ thing like you gonna do when it gets on my bad side, huh?"

The sheer thrill of his words made you giggle again. You licked your lips and batted your lashes. "Hmm… I dunno. We could find out?"

Steve snorted. He spread his legs just a fraction more to give you better access and more of that pressure you were craving.

Then, with that cocky grin still plastered on his face, he flexed and started bouncing his leg upward in slow, teasing pulses. Each lift pushed the hard muscle of his quad up against you, dragging you over the rough denim seam and the bare, heated skin where his shorts had ridden up.

Every now and then, the cold sensation of his knee brace gave you goosebumps.

You flushed hot, a whimper escaping your lips as you pressed down harder. Desperate for something to hold onto, your hand shot down and curled tightly around his belt.

"Nah," he gloated, his voice thick with lazy, arrogant satisfaction. "Ya ain't pickin' no fights tonight, bunny…. you’re too distracted for that, ain’t ya? Too busy enjoyin’ yourself right here…"

Steve's hand wandered upwards your body. It trailed up your chest, his fingers brushing over your collarbone before settling loosely around the front of your throat.

You gasped at the contact, your eyes fluttering shut as you instinctively arched your neck into his hold, your groin picking up a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm against his leg.

"Feel that?" Steve asked. His thumb stroked a lazy circle against your pulse point, feeling how fast your heart was racing. "Heart’s goin' a mile a minute… just about ready to burst."

You couldn't even answer. You were whimpering now, your hands clawing at his shirt, trying to get closer to him. The heat from his body was the only thing you could focus on right now.

So you started grinding harder.

Steve’s free hand settled firmly on your hip, guiding your shaky movements. You were so lost in that hazy feeling that you almost forgot where you were.

"Mhm—feels sooo good… I don’t wanna stop—" you panted.

But then a sharp noise cut through the hallway, the distant sound of a crew member shouting something followed by the echo of footsteps.

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat, and you practically jumped in his lap. Your eyes flew wide with panic as you glanced toward the door. Your whole body went rigid, the magic of the moment shattered by a sudden, crushing wave of embarrassment.

Steve, however, didn’t even flinch. He just looked up at you with that lazy smirk still carved into his face.

"What’s the matter?" he drawled. "Worried somebody’s gonna walk in?"

You nodded frantically, too embarrassed to speak. Your heart drummed in your chest, as you started to pull back, desperate to get off him, but his hand tightened on your ass, holding you right where you were.

"Relax," he murmured. He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. "Ain’t nobody gonna walk in here. Ain’t nobody stupid enough to barge into Stone Cold Steve Austin’s dressing room while he’s unwindin’…"

His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "But if they did... oh boy. What would they see?"

He let the question hang between you for a second.

"You humpin' my leg…" he breathed against your ear, like a filthy secret just for you to hear, "…like a dog. Like a lil' puppy." He squeezed your ass again. "That what you are?"

The combination of his mocking tone, the hand around your throat, and the way he called you a puppy made something in your brain short-circuit. You let out something between a laugh and a groan and dropped your forehead against his chest, hiding your burning face before you could combust on the spot.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t stop. In fact, you pressed yourself even harder against him than before, wanting more.

"Oooh, ya liked that one, dontcha?" he sneered.

The hand that had been wrapped around your throat slid up, settling at the back of your head. While you were still hiding your face in his neck, muffling your frustrated whines, Steve began stroking your hair in slow, patronizing pets, like he was soothing a needy pet that just couldn’t help itself.

"Ya like me talkin’ to ya like that? Hm?" he observed.

You gave a helpless, dreamy nod, face still hidden. You were rutting harder now, pressing a string of feverish, desperate kisses along his neck.

"Y-yes," you mumbled into his skin. Your voice was all muffled and shaky, and your hands clutched at his chest, your fingers twisting in his shirt.

"What?"

Before you could repeat it, he tugged your head back by your hair to force you out of hiding.

"You like being treated like a lil' bitch?"

Your eyes went big and wide. A broken whimper tore out of you as you wiggled and ground back against his bouncing thigh, trying very hard not to cum just from the sound of his voice.

He laughed at your neediness. Steve tugged a fraction harder on your hair until your back arched and your ass pressed flush against his jeans.

Even though Steve had you pinned, with one hand still twisted in your hair, while the other one was gripping your hips, you couldn't stop squirming.

"Hell yeah, you do," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pulled you closer until his mouth was pressed right against the shell of your ear again. "You like it rough. Like gettin’ choked. Like gettin’ talked down to."

You could only manage a choked moan in response. He wasn’t wrong. Every word was true, and hearing him say it out loud hit you like a shockwave. With a desperate wiggle of your ass, you pressed your cunt harder into him.

"Ya caught all that shit-talking out there," he muttered, his hand sliding away from the back of your head and wrapping itself around your throat again. "And now ya wanna hear me talk to ya like that, hm? Wanna hear me tell ya exactly what a dirty lil' thing ya are?"

He punctuated the question by tightening his hold on your throat just a little more, cutting off your air for one delicious second before letting it flow again.

The words were filthy, but the low, intimate rumble of his voice drove you crazy. It was a perfect, intoxicating combination of degradation and adoration, and it made your head spin faster than the pressure on your throat ever could. You were completely gone, lost in the dirty promises he was whispering in your ear, your body aching for him to make good on every single word.

"Uh—huh, yesyesyes!!" you stammered. Your hands were pawing at his forearm and his broad shoulders like you needed to anchor yourself before you floated off completely. "That—I want that!!“

At this point, you were humping him shamelessly, your hips rolling faster with every bounce of his leg. Your whole body had started to shake. You were practically trembling against him like you were falling apart at the seams.

"Shakin’ like a damn leaf…" he commented, that smug, indulgent satisfaction you loved so much dripping from every word. "Can't even talk straight no more, huh?"

You shook your head frantically, unable to form a single word. Your fingers dug helplessly into his broad shoulders as you kept riding his leg, chasing a friction that was driving you absolutely insane.

"You’re like a lil’ animal right now…" He scoffed, "…so fuckin' needy…."

Steve let out a slow, arrogant huff of amusement, though he was absolutely fond and enthralled by your neediness for him. "You're really that desperate? Already?"

You were breathing in short, pathetic gasps, your body thrashing blindly against him. You wanted him. And you wanted to cum. So badly it hurt.

"Just from this?"

"Steve, p-please—" you sobbed, the broken sound only making his grin widen.

"Please what?" he mocked gently, his hand staying perfectly still and tight around your throat. "I ain't even doin' anythin'. You're the one doin' all the work."

You were so close. The way he looked at you, like you were the most entertaining little show he’d ever had on his lap, paired with that lazy drawl in his voice, was pushing you closer to the edge with every passing second. He was clearly loving every second, and it only made you press into him more, hips rolling on pure instinct.

Your body was completely out of your control. You were all over his thigh now, your thighs shaking violently around his quad, chasing release with pure, mindless desperation.

Steve let out a low whistle. He was almost in disbelief at the neediness unraveling in his lap. His eyes dragged over your wrecked face.

"…Jesus fuckin’ Christ," he said slowly, watching you melt. "I wish you could see yourself right now."

Steve tightened his grip on your throat, making your eyes flutter.

"You’re gonna cum like this? Right here? Right now?" he chuckled darkly. "Gettin’ off jus' from dry-humpin’ me like a horny lil slut?"

His mouth moved to your jaw, kissing and biting lazily along the sensitive skin while he kept talking, never shutting up for even a second.

"Goddamn, lookatcha... rubbin' that pretty lil' pussy raw all over my thigh without even takin’ your pants off. Can’t help yourself, huh?"

You let out a choked, broken sound, your body arching against his solid frame as another cool brush of his knee brace made your thighs tremble. The fact that he was talking you through it only made your need more acute.

Steve nipped at your jaw again before soothing the spot with his tongue, clearly reveling in the way he had you completely in the palm of his hand.

"Don’t get me wrong, baby… I love the enthusiasm." His thumb stroked over your racing pulse. "I really do."

He laughed again, the sound vibrating against your skin while he kept kissing and biting down your jaw.

"So damn needy ya can’t even wait till we’re in bed, huh? Had to jump me backstage in my dressin' room like a horny lil' ring rat…. That’s cute. Real cute."

You whimpered, your head lolling back as the combination of his words and the relentless friction drove you wild.

"I jus’ hope you’re still this fuckin' enthusiastic when I’m actually fuckin' you later…" he drawled. "You gonna be shakin’ and whimperin’ and moanin’ jus' like right now? Huh?"

He paused.

"Ya gonna sound this pretty? When I’ve got my dick buried inside ya? Ya better be… fuckin' love that shit."he snickered. "But ya know that 'bout me already…"

You were so far gone you couldn’t even form real words anymore: just needy, broken little babbles spilling out. "Mmh—uhuh—jus’…need you so bad— please— I— fuck—"

"You gonna ride me later? For real?" he rasped into your skin. "Sit on my cock and not jus’ my thigh?"

As he pulled back to look at your flushed, desperate face, he couldn't help but chuckle.

You nodded frantically, eyes all wide and sparkling, grinding back against his bouncing thigh with a desperate little wiggle of your ass.

"What’s wrong, bunny?" he murmured, tightening his hand on your throat, forcing you to look at him. 

He laughed lowly. "You close? You're really this easy? Goddamn… you're really about to cream your pants? Look at that wet spot you’re makin’ on my jeans...."

" 'M sorry…" you whimpered.

"Ain’t nothing to be sorry for," he rasped. Steve doubled down by gripping your hips with both hands now, guiding your movements and pressing you down harder against his thigh, giving you more surface to work yourself on.

"Please," you managed to sob out, your body moving faster, driven by a rhythm you could no longer control. "I— I have to— I—"

Your hands were clinging to his biceps, his chest, then to his wrist, like you couldn’t figure out what to bite or kiss or hold. You were twitching: searching for some kind of release.

"Fuckfuck—" you mewled. "Steve—"

"What? Not payin' enough attention to ya?" he teased as he pressed you down even harder on his leg.

The filthy words, combined with the pressure on your neck and the relentless friction against his thick thigh, finally pushed you over the edge.

You came. Hard. You buried your face in his neck to muffle the broken moans that tore out of you. Your hips jerked and stuttered wildly against his leg as the orgasm crashed through you, thighs shaking violently, fingers clawing at his shoulders while wave after wave ripped through your body.

You shuddered against him, your breath coming in uneven hitches as you slowly began to drift back to the surface. Your limbs felt heavy and your mind was left completely blank.

Lulled by the sound of his steady heartbeat and the familiar and comforting scent of him, you rested there for a long moment, your fingers still unconsciously clinging to the fabric of his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear.

After a couple of minutes, he caught your chin with his thumb, lifting your head so that you had to look at him.

A small, genuine smile flickered on his lips, devoid of any mockery.

“You okay there?” he rasped.

You nodded, but still feeling kind of dazed.

Steve’s smile widened, leaning in and pressing a short peck to your lips.

Michael is going to be very unfamiliar with the concept of being trans having been in the asylum most of his life, but it's really not a big deal to him!

If he meets you and you've been a man in his eyes since then then that's not going to stop just because you told him what you were born as, he's honestly confused about why you would have thought so.

He'd be even more unfamiliar with your age regression, but that too wouldn't seem like a big deal to him at first. When he first starts seeing you regress, he doesn't really know exactly what's happening but he can tell the instant there's a shift in your demeanor.

If he sees you possibly talking differently then you usually do, or playing with toys he's just going to assume you had a hard day and your brain was a bit scrambled, he'll treat it normally and would bring you anything you asked him for.

Once you do call him daddy, he gets a better sense of what you are going through and that you do feel like a kid right now instead of just being tired. He honestly would freeze up a bit at it, wondering first if you are okay, and probably puts his hand to your forehead for fever. After realizing you really are just feeling younger right now and looking to him for care, he doesn't mind the nickname, sometimes it really warms him to hear you say it but he'd never admit it to himself :')

He does get about 10x more protective once he learns more about your regression though. He was protective before but now he's going to insist he needs to go with you everytime you go out the house while big, because something could happen you could regress and then you could need him!!

Even if you explain and insist it's okay, or you're only going somewhere for like 20 minutes, Michael is still extremely adamant he goes with you. He promises to be walk far enough behind that you don't even know he's there, he's good at that!

He'll just stare at you until you relent or he'll be following behind without you knowing anyway. He worries about you and sometimes acts like an overprotective father 😅 he'd even watch from the windows if you're going to grab the mail

Whenever you are reggessed though he's hesitant to take you outside at all unless you want to go play in the backyard. He's content to just sit in the living room while you sit on the floor playing with your toys or while you sit on his lap, cuddling and watching cartoons.

At first Michael wouldn't even think about things like bedtimes or naps, he just takes you to bed as soon as he notices your getting tired while playing, but once you start getting especially sleepy in the middle of the day after all that playing he'd definitely start to arrange a naptime for you usually around the same time every day!

He can always tell when you're tired or not, he's very perceptive especially when it comes to you and so if you try to fight to stay awake during bedtime or nap he'll just try to coax you down with patting and rubbing your hair, and grabbing a story for bed. He can't exactly read it aloud himself of course but he points at the words as if asking you what they say, seeming proud always whenever you can read it right even in your little state.

If you get dysphoric while you are little he's going to try to do anything to make you feel better, because it makes him feel all weird in his chest to see you like this, especially when your little and looking to him for help with it all. He'd just hold you and pat your back, while bringing you water and snacks, and most likely in writing will try to tell you things to make you feel better.

He's still a man of very few words even when he's writing but he always lets you know your his sweet boy and you shouldn't doubt for a second how manly you are, he'll tell you how handsome you are to him, and once again, will be a bit confused on why you feel this way when in his eyes he's never seen anything but a man.

If you're feeling really really bad one night, he might let you wear his mask for just a few minutes. Because Michael keeping his mask on makes him feel confident, it's a part of him, and he thinks it might help you feel more confident if you wear it for a few minutes.

He'll bring you your favorite plushies and toys to try and cheer you up, and carry you to the couch or the the bed to watch cartoons. The instant you get upset, no matter what it's about, Michael can tell and he's already getting cups of juice to offer you and getting ready to scoop you up in his arms if he needs to comfort you with cuddles.

Your tongue flattened and dragged along the underside of his cock as you took him deeper, lips stretching wide around him until your nose nudged his stomach and he choked on a groan.

"Fuuuck—" Steve groaned. His arms jerked hard behind his back, the belt pulling tight around his wrists. "Jesus fuckin'..."

You moaned around him, your eyes locked on his, sinking down with a messy little gag. Spit was sliding from your lips on your way down.

His cock was throbbing against your tongue. Steve was right on the edge, barely holding it together anymore, and you knew it. 

So you pulled back and let him slip from your mouth with a wet pop. You watched the way it slapped back against his stomach. 

Flushed, leaking with precum, and twitching.

"Shit—!” he moaned. His eyes were half-lidded now, and his jaw was tight from all the pent-up frustration. 

"C'mon…." he muttered, "that—bunny, that ain't fair." 

Steve was clearly hanging onto his last shred of pride, trying his hardest not to start begging.

“You got me so fuckin’ worked up, I—Jesus—".

You dipped your head again, circling the swollen tip with your tongue teasingly, controlling the rhythm and denying his relief. 

He couldn't help the ragged moan that burst out of him.

Steve's bound hands flexed hard behind his back, the veins on his biceps standing out prominently as he struggled.

He couldn't take this anymore.

"Fuckfuckfuck," he slurred. "Feels so fuckin’ good—I—”

You pulled back to blow softly across the flushed head. He jerked. Hard.