Author's note: Yeah, I slash, and not in a frilly romantic way either for the most part... Sorry if that offends, and if it does, please go play in the gen fic or regular romance fic stories. While this is not explict in any manner, it does imply certian acts that some people find offensive.
Title: Pavlov's Dog
Disclaimer: No characters are mine... And I certainly don't make money off of them.
Wrestlers: Undertaker, JBL (formerly Bradshaw)
Pairing: Undertaker/JBL
Mentions of: Farooq (Ron Simmons), Randy Orton, Edge
Content: Slash, m/m relationships, implied S&M and bondage issues, implied smut.
Summary: nWo 4 Life ain't got nothing on the hold the Ministry had over its members... JBL gets a reminder of this one night during his long run as champ.
John was just getting into his rental car for the night (the limo was strictly part of the show), exhausted, but content with the match he'd had and in a greater sense his entire life at the moment. He had little, if any reason to complain. He was 'on top of the mountain' so to speak. He got to carry that big gold belt around, call himself champ, and even a "wrestling god", if only to infuriate the fans... He'd always been pretty good at that and delighted in playing the heel. Even his time as a 'face' with Farooq doing the APA thing had been rather heelish. Folks were just really high on anti-heroes at that time.
And while the APA gimmick had been a load of fun, it was also a lot of 'getting back to normal' for both John and Ron. It was recovering and exorcising their time in the Ministry, and learning how live normally again. Most importantly it was learning how to get along away from the Undertaker's considerable hold.
But despite everything, no matter how much John let his hair grow in as its natural colour, no matter how many suits he wore, no matter how much he dominated the rest of the roster on camera, it always sat in the back of his mind... And 'it' was the fact that the Undertaker still owned him on some level.
He'd subbed to Taker's top, and that helped somewhat get him where he was today... He might have regretted it on some level, but he didn't regret in the up in pay and backstage pull he had now. However, he also missed Taker's ability to both control and pleasure him at the same time. But he'd kept any remaining fondness for that part of his life real quiet... It was between him, Taker, and the walls of the rooms they'd been alone together in. Taker had been something of a walking incubus at the time, and he'd seduced all the members of his Ministry on different levels. He'd always had a hold over them mentally, and quite often held sexual power over them as well. It had gotten him off at the time... It sure as hell had gotten John off at the time too.
But Taker had gotten fairly normal of late as well. Like John, he was married, kids, big house, the whole nine yards... Even with his return to the 'dead man' aspect of his character, Taker had remained 'normal' to the folks backstage and in his private life.
Still though, John wasn't entirely surprised when he found himself suddenly and harshly pinned up against the still closed door of the car. From the scent of the cologne, John knew exactly who was behind him. "You know, you looked a lot sexier when you had your hair dyed and that goatee." A familiar voice sent shivers up and down his spine.
"Yeah, well I was thirty pounds lighter back then too... Things change, Taker. Besides, I'm a heel, I'm allowed to be ugly." John shot back.
"More things change, the more they stay the same, isn't that right? And it's Master, not Taker, remember?" Taker asked. "You still want me, don't you Bradshaw?" John gulped audibly. The use of his 'old name' was like a bomb going off in his mind. His entire being was given pause simply by the way Taker said his name.
"Y-Yes Master." John whispered. He could feel Taker's hot breath flowing down the back of his neck. Then he felt Taker shift slightly, and felt his assailant's tongue slowly lick the edge of his ear. John moaned quietly.
"You know, I've been fucking old Cowboy Bob's kid for about a month, to show him his place around here, and had to give it up mostly outta boredom... Let me tell you, that little turd is as lazy in everything he does, as he is in the ring. 'Rest holds' seem to be a specialty of his in so many aspects of his life... Of course Edge is always around, and can be good for a few hours worth of entertainment but that's it... Anyways, it got me thinking to those that actually do excite me, and while you were never the 'prettiest' of those at my beck and call, you and your considerable talents were always at the top of my list of favourites. That little punk example of nepotism in action can't hold a candle to what you can do." Taker said.
"But it no longer matters what I want, Master. Both you and I have other obligations now." John gasped. He was tense, but he wasn't fighting against Taker. Because he knew he would loose, and it would only anger his old Dom into more extreme action.
"Since when have you believed in monogamy? You used to let me fuck you, and then ass still sore, slink off to Edge's room for a little turnabout. You were one of the best 'switches' I ever saw, and I figure you haven't lost your taste for it... Going home to your wife to dominate her... Does she get off on it as much as you did back when you were subbing to me?" Taker's voice was surprisingly soft, but it was a taunt and a dare nonetheless.
"Not your business to know, Taker." John said in defiance of Taker's taunt, and finally struggled a bit. All his effort got him though was the renewed bulk of Taker's body behind him, pinning him against the car, and Taker's always sizeable erection pressing against his ass and lower back. Taker's voice turned to a harsh growl.
"Ya know what? I'm not going to make you tell me, because I don't give a shit either way. But you will do what I want. Simply because I know you still need it, as much as I want to give it to you." Taker further pressed him into the side of the car, and John felt him slip something into his jacket pocket. As quickly as his voice had become rough, it became smooth and seductive for what he said next.
"The time is now 11:24pm. Be at my hotel room in an hour, Pet. Come presentable." Taker's voice had softened and was the mental equivalent to caramel to John's ears. Taker had had plenty of affectionate nicknames for the other members of the Ministry, but only ever called him "Pet", and only when they were alone during an intimate moment. His reasoning had been that Bradshaw had been such a good "dog" for him... Retriever, guard, soldier, and loyal to a fault, that was Bradshaw's tenure in the Ministry. Taker presumed to be so bold now, mostly because both of them knew that John had liked such treatment on a deep, instinctual level.
All of a sudden the pressure vanished from behind John, and he was left sagging against the car, gasping for breath, and not surprisingly with a raging erection.
When he finally collected himself enough to pull away from the side of the car, Taker was long gone. John checked his watch. He had fifty-four minutes to get where he'd been told to be. He numbly looked around for his bag and put a hand in his jacket pocket. The keycard for Taker's room was there. Looking down, he saw that on top of his gym bag was a black velvet bag with a drawstring opening. He fumbled around for his car keys, hoping desperately that no one had seen the exchange.
He opened the driver's side door of the car, tossed both bags in on the passenger seat, got into the driver's seat, and quickly closed the door behind him. He was careful not to slam it and attract any unwanted attention.
With trembling hands, he reached for the velvet bag and opened the drawstring. He knew exactly what was going to be inside, but he had to see it in order to confirm that what he'd just experienced had actually happened.
In the low sodium orange lights of the arena's parking garage, he saw two objects he hadn't seen in years... One was a wide, but supple leather leash. Obviously it had been cared for well in the years that he'd been separated from it. More importantly attached to the leash by a clasp to an inset, thick metal ring, was a human sized leather dog collar. The collar was stiffer than the leash, thick and bulky with metal studs decorating it. Despite its taboo nature, it screamed quality, and had been made by an expert hand. It had an almost soft lining and an engraved brass nameplate that declared "BRADSHAW" in bold, capital letters.
John shivered again and stuffed leash and collar back into the velvet bad, which he then put carefully into his gym bag that held his ring gear. He started the car, knowing he had to hurry up. He now had less than fifty minutes to get to where he'd been told to go, and Taker was not kind when who he summoned was tardy.
"Christ, he could have just rung a bell and had the same damn result." John muttered to himself, put the car into drive, and pulled out of the parking garage.
-Fin