Author's Notes

I DON'T OWN THE WWE AND I KNOW NOTHING OF THE PERSONAL LIVES OF ITS EMPLOYEES.

I DO NOT OWN COMBICHRIST, ANDY LAPLEGUA DOES (And God bless him! He makes awesome music...).

IF I OFFEND YOU, ITS NOT IN ANYWAY MY INTENT AND IM SORRY.

This is a kink meme done for some anonymous person on a website... Tee-Hee!

The pairing here is actually something I should have thought about myself! (SHAME ON ME!!!)

Anyway, the pairing here is Randy Orton x Sheamus O'Shaunessy and if you want to know what's in it just read the stuff below:

THE MEME

"How about some mad man-loving for my man Sheamus (since I didn't really see any here...).

If any of you would be so kind:

Sheamus O'Shaunessy/Randy Orton

with a side of cock worship, plenty of blood (bags of it, if you will), torture with a branding iron, a cock ring, ball torture, black leather harnesses, sex while one is half-asleep, pins (think Hellraiser!), voo-doo, a hospital, the use of catheters & I.V.'s and any other terrifying means of mischief your mind can come up with.

[And before you say "Ugh, that's DISGUSTING!" remember, this is a Kink Meme, it's meant to be a little disgusting; besides, being a little disgusting is good for business :P]

Because Sheamus is 6ft 6in and Randy is 6ft 3in I think it'd only be fair for Sheamus to top.

So... PLEASE WRITE THIS FOR ME? :)" [If you want a link, PM me!]

Okay, but only because you asked so politely and with such a pretty little smile.

WARNING IN CASE YOU DIDN'T READ WHAT THE PERSON ASKED ME FOR:

-This will get DISGUSTING.

-I'm not entirely sure about the blood thing. (I know that a person can survive on 2 pints...)

-DON'T TEST WHAT I SAID ABOUT THE USE OF UNDILUTED POTASSIUM CHLORIDE. You shouldn't be playing around with that stuff in the first place.

-I paraphrased lines from the song "I Want Your Blood" by Combichrist.

-If you don't like the idea of blood, save yourself and don't read this, I'm not here to torture you.

-This is SLASH.

-I'm not here to hurt you.

-A note on absinthe or 'The Green Fairy' if you prefer: THIS IS DANGEROUS. The drink is made with WORMWOOD (if you take it raw, this stuff can kill you). THERE ARE TWO WAYS TO DRINK ABSINTHE. You can try the Bohemian way which in itself can be more harmful than the drink (Randy is going to drink it the Bohemian way) OR you can go with the French way which is safer, although you won't get quite the same kind of drunk feeling that you will if you go Bohemian. The difference between these two methods is the use of alcohol and fire in the Bohemian way (you'll make the drink a Flaming Green Fairy). The drink itself has only recently been deemed legal again in the United States, but it has been available in Europe for several years now. Drink responsibly.

-I don't own the WWE or Combichrist.

-YAY FOR THE WINTER OLYMPICS!!! I'm so excited!!! My brother's there right now (No... Not as a competitor...)!

Without any further yammering, please enjoy what I've written, as well as the Winter Olympics!

"So, uh… Randy, uh… Since we're going to be seeing a lot of each other I was thinking maybe you and I" Sheamus began with a sheepish flush staining his cheeks.

"Wait, back that up for a second; you had a thought?" Randy ribbed, sniggering to himself "I didn't think that was possible for a dumb-fuck like you!"

"That's not funny…" Sheamus murmured, persistent, though his temper was beginning to flare "anyway, as I was sayin' I figure since we're both gonna be workin' together we could go out for dinner together tonight and get to know one another. Waddo'ya say?"

"What do I say? Golly-gee… Well… That's a very nice offer Sheamus, but I'm gonna have to pass. You see, I don't date sheep-shaggers" Randy replied, pushing Sheamus out of his way and sweeping past "and next time you talk to me, try to keep your mouth off my dick"

"Now wait just a minute there Randy!" Sheamus bellowed, pulling him back by his shoulder "I may not be a copy of John Cena, but you still gotta give me the time o' day"

"You can't tell me what to do! I'm not your wife! You can't force me to love you, let alone like you!" Randy spat, slapping away his arm and shooting him a glare of pure venom.

"You will regret that Randy, mark my words, you will regret that."

He couldn't think.

The blood was pouring from his open wounds. Slashes had been dug into his back, carved carefully into his palms and knees, delicately laced around his nipples and to finish, a crescent shaped gash had been engraved on his left cheek, five centimeters below the eye. The immense flood of crimson blood which had previously been seeping out of him had quieted, diminishing to little ruby droplets here or there. It had grown sticky and slick, clinging to his back like a second skin.

Sweat mingled with the blood that encased him, all the more disgustingly tight around his body.

He couldn't move.

His hands were secured behind his back by metal handcuffs, blood staining the wrist area from the struggle he'd made an hour before when he'd tried to undo them. They didn't budge; they only cut through his skin.

He couldn't breathe.

The black leather strap constricting his throat held him tighter by the second, forcing him to stand on tip-toe just to stop from hanging himself. It was connected to some contraptions hooked to the wall above him, though he couldn't see what in the world they were. The ceiling turned into a black abyss about mile above his head, and it didn't allow him to see where the strap started or ended.

He strained to hear, and found himself deaf.

The only sound being his heartbeat, a gentle hum that was slowly, ever so slowly becoming softer and softer. It served as a lullaby and he felt compelled to doze off while listening to it.

But he knew he couldn't fall asleep.

If he fell asleep he would fall and suffocate. Then he surely would never wake up.

So Randy stood, and waited, exhausted.

A bead of sweat fell from his brow, collecting blood as it trickled down the corner of his mouth. He flicked out his tongue and collected it, sickened by the taste.

Salty, sweet, metallic and repulsive.

He felt the urge to vomit, to bend over and empty his stomach of the foul mixture, but remained standing.

He counted down from a hundred to one in his head, took a deep breath and repeated.

No Sheamus.

He tried to whistle himself a song, but his lips were chapped. He wet them with his dry tongue and tried again. His tune echoed throughout the chamber, serving as his only companion in his misery. If only he could whistle his way to freedom.

Footsteps. An echoing down the hall, gradually increasing in volume.

Sheamus?

Randy's heart skipped a beat.

They stopped inches behind him, sending an icy shiver down his battered and beaten spine.

It wasn't Sheamus, just as it hadn't been the last three times he'd hallucinated footsteps. He was just going insane (not to mention, hanging by your neck for hours on end would make anyone a little lightheaded).

He fluttered his eyelashes as his eyelids slid down. He was too tired to support himself any longer, life be damned.

When he'd finally convinced himself to sleep, a forearm shot out from behind him, curling around his throat.

Now,it's Sheamus.

Randy's eyes opened wide and he struggled against his attacker, thrashing like a puppet dancing on invisible strings.

His exertions were fruitless and only provoked Sheamus to hold him tighter.

Emitting garbled gasps for air he kicked his legs backwards, digging his heels into Sheamus' abdomen. This served him no better as instead of moving away from him, Sheamus closed the gap between their bodies and while one arm compressed his neck, another arm held his torso in place.

Randy wriggled his body from sideto side, despite the intense pain he felt every time his wounds brushed against Sheamus' skin. Every square inch of his body writhed against Sheamus, in an effort to dither the strangulation process.

"Gh… T… Fck eff mm!" Randy hissed, using more of the precious oxygen that he should have been conserving.

Sheamus laughed, the first indication that Randy's hypothesis was correct, that Sheamus was the one squeezing the life out of him.

"Come on now Randy, don't be so difficult" Sheamuswhispered, too close to him for comfort.

He felt Sheamus' beard tickling the nape of his neck and strained even harder, he was rewarded with the rough side of a tongue grazing the back of his left ear. Despite the desperation of his situation, Randy couldn't help but tremble in abhorrence.

A hand clutched him between his legs and to his own unease he bucked into it.

Sheamus laughed again, even louder and he began to stroke Randy's growing erection, maintaining his grip around the Legend Killer's neck.

Though Randy wouldn't have admitted it in a million years, Sheamus wasn't all that bad with his hands.

He wrapped his fingers securely around the younger male's dick, pumping up and down the shaft, dragging his thumb along the slit. He squeezed tightly, causing Randy to leak precum onto the floor. Randy thrust against his hand, willing Sheamustogo faster, to rub him harder. The friction from his impulsive jostling about sent his mind to fireworks and he moved faster, impoverishing himself further.

"Sh… T…!" Randy wheezed, tossing his head back to rest it on Sheamus' broad shoulder. Fuck it, he needed this. After what Sheamus had put him through earlier, he deserved this.

Randy exuded profusely, struggling from the apprehension of an orgasm mixed with lack of oxygen flow throughout his desolate body. Droplets of sweat formed from nearly every pore on his body, making him suddenly self-conscious of how close he was to his captor.

Sheamus kissed his cheek, licking at the dried blood that had remained attached to him, serving as a candied shell. He fondled Randy faster, milking repressed grunts and gagged sighs.

"See you on the other side, my little bitch" Sheamuschortled in a seductive rasp, stifling any reply by smothering him further.

The room started to become blotchy looking, with black dots clouding Randy's vision. He was going to faint, of that much he was sure.

But he needed to come.

He gyrated his hips faster as the shadows approached him, threatening to swallow him whole.

The next thing Randy saw was a blinding white light before a sea of darkness engulfed him, leaving him to question whether or not he'd climaxed after all.

"I'll 'regret that'? What are you, the fucking Highlander?" Randy cackled as Sheamus' face glowed scarlet with rage "I bet you can even speak Scottish too!"

"I'm Irish, Randy…" Sheamus muttered through grit teeth.

"They're the same thing! Both have that stupid red hair" Randy retorted with a casual yet dismissive flick of his wrist "I bet you don't even know the difference!"

"Now you're just talking out of your ass! You're not better than me!" Sheamus castigated "you're just a brat whose daddy got him anything he wanted; you're not even a man! You're a little bitch! And one day you'll come crawling to me and I'll screw you over worse than you did me!"

"Oh please! You suck so much dick you're getting an under-bite! You're out of your mind if you think I'm ever gonna be coming to your for anything! I've got Ted and Cody; you haven't got one fucking groupie! And F.Y.I. being pale as a ghost isn't 'in' so go get a fucking tan!" Randy jeered.

Sheamus walked away.

When Randy awoke next he was lying nude strapped down tightly to a stainless steel cot.

The freezing metal stung him as he lay flat on his back, his injuries exposed to the unforgiving surface of the operation table.

A quick survey of his surroundings drove him to the conclusion that he had been moved far away from the harness room. This meant that Sheamus had planned this all out very carefully. Now, where was he exactly?

Upon looking up at the ceiling, his eyes were met with a blinding light from what seemed to be rows and rows of light bulbs specifically aimed at him. To avoid their harsh glare, he decided to shift his head's position on the bed.

He lifted his head as best he could, craning his neck from left to right to scan the room. His straps pinned him down right at the area where his armpits were, making any shoulder movement easier thought about than done.

A heart monitor was to his left, the languid beeping coming from a wire attached to some part of his body (he couldn't see very well over the strap on his shoulders). Also to his left, there was an I.V. drop with some kind of clear solution pinned into his left arm. To his right was a matching I.V., except this one was filled with blood. His bed was kept private by a white and pink striped linen curtain that surrounded him.

He was in a hospital room. At least, from all he knew that's where he was.

Maybe Sheamus had realized that he'd lost too much blood and grown enough conscience to take him to a hospital.

Randy exhaled loudly, wishing he weren't strapped down.

It was probably for his own good; after some consideration, he figured that the experience he'd endured might have rendered him a little catatonic at first. He must have been babbling like an idiot when he first got there, going on and on about a harness room and about how he'd been hanging for so long. They must have thought he was a lunatic!

He wondered to himself who his doctor was and if his nurse was attractive or not.

"To take care of me she'd better be a looker" Randy thought to himself with a smug grin "don't they know who I am? I'm Randy fucking Orton. I get all the hot chicks. All of 'em… Oh geez, I hope she's got big tits… Mmm yeah, big tits and she wears her shirt halfway open…"

"Getting a little excited there?" that all too cocky Irish bastard strolled in, a cart of tools in tow. It was covered with a white sheet, and the fact that Sheamus was keeping it a secret from him unnerved him. He strolled it in so that the right side of the cart was facing the foot of the bed, while the left-hand side was facing the curtain.

From all that he could see, Sheamus was wearing a shamrock colored turtleneck accompanied by a dull lime sweater vest and dark swampy green dress pants.

"What are you doing here?" Randy flared, anger coiling in the pit of his stomach, like a cobra ready to strike.

"Me? Why, I am your doctor!" Sheamus exclaimed heartily, touching the tip of his finger to Randy's nose after uttering the word your.

"Don't touch me!" Randy snarled, shaking his head from side to side to relieve himself of that dreaded index finger.

Sheamus didn't waver.

"Oh now, Randy… You still don't want to be in my good graces? Well… That's too bad…" he clucked his tongue, reaching around his cart to the side that Randy couldn't see. Randy heard the moving around of some objects; finally Sheamus produced the desired items of torture.

A cock ring, a fuse-box and various electrodes.

"So tell me… Legend Killer…" Sheamus purred, rolling the words around his tongue in that sickening way that he did "haveyouever dipped into the dark side of sadism?"

Dark side? Had there ever even been a light side?

Sheamus approached Randy, stopping just at his waist. Placing the torture devices in between Randy's feet for the time being, he reached upwards to Randy's penis and began to move something around between Randy's legs.

A strange sensation passed through Randy, like something was slithering out of him through his urethra, except it wasn't urine.

When he felt it almost leave his body, Sheamus ripped it loose, causing Randy to jerk upwards and yelp in agony. He felt as though something had torn through his dick, and he knew that he had to be either bleeding or really sore there.

"What the fuck?!" Randy shrieked, aiming his burning eyes at Sheamus, whose green eyes were dancing with glee at the fact that they'd witnessed Randy in a moment of shock.

"There you go again, all profane and nasty… When will you ever learn, eh Randy?" Sheamus chuckled, holding up what he had removed from within Randy's genitals: a catheter connected to a bag of marigold colored liquid that Randy knew to be his own piss.

"You… Sick… Bastard…" Randy gasped, awestruck at what Sheamuswasholding. This time he couldn't suppress the urge to vomit, and he turned his head to the side Sheamus was standing on, burping up chunks of partially digested food mixed with bile and stomach acid.

Thankfully most of it fell over the side of the bed without touching Randy.

"Finished?" Sheamus grilled sarcastically, his attention then shifted from Randy to the bag of excretion he was presently holding in his right hand. "… I should make you drink this for throwing up all over my floor…" Sheamus mused, but he must have seen the look of nausea in Randy's eyes and decided against it.

"No matter! We've got better things to do anyway" Sheamus assured him, gently patting Randy's leg closest to him. It was an action normally meant to soothe, but for Randy it did the exact opposite, causing him to tense his entire body.

"I'd like to think of this…" Sheamus began, stroking Randy's dick and then slipping the cold metal cock ring onto him "… As my way of inculcating to you the difference between Scottish men and Irish men"

Randy raised a brow in confusion, but did nothing to interrupt Sheamus as he continued.

"You see…" he orated, connecting one electrode to each of Randy's ball sacs "there is a difference between us, and I think it's fair that you acknowledge it. So, here's how this game is going to go: I'll give you a word and you tell me if it's associated with an Irish man or a Scottish man. If you get six out of ten right, I'll let you go on your merry way; sound alright?"

"What happens if I---" Randy protested, silenced by Sheamus verbally shushing him.

"Shh! Just answer, okay?"

Randy nodded, allowing Sheamus to place a wooden device into his mouth for him to bite on to.

"Presbyterian" Sheamus said with his emerald eyes hooked expectantly on Randy.

"Irish" Randy answered, without taking a second to think about how wrong he really was.

"Wrong, sweetheart" Sheamus grinned, pressing a button on the box and sending electricity coursing through the box straight to Randy's groin. His body thrashed about violently underneath the straps as he reacted to the sensation, but it didn't bother Sheamus.

He simply waited patiently for Randy's hassling to cease before continuing.

"Loch" Sheamus said, generously offering Randy an easy one.

"Scottish!" Randy groaned, not wanting to get electrocuted again.

"Good, good, you got one!" Sheamus praised "Eejit"

"What?" Randy panted very much perplexed.

"Is the word 'Eejit', Scottish or Irish?"

"Irish!" Randy answered again, to which Sheamus tskedhim, once again throwing the switch for Randy to receivea wave of electricity to his groin.

He howled in anguish, convulsing as much as he could, though Sheamusdid little to express sympathy other than shaking his head from sideto side and mourning the loss of any correct answers that might have been.

"The uilleann pipes" Sheamus said, his hand already hovering over the button to shock Randy.

"Scottish!" Randy cried, his eyes watching Sheamus' fingers, wary of how quickly he could press the button and shock Randy into oblivion.

"Nope, wrong again. And you were off to such a good start too… Pity…" Sheamus lilted, once again pressing the button.

Randy's eyes rolled back into his head as he groaned and lurched and rocked against the table. He must have wanted those straps removed in the worst way imaginable. Sheamus smirked.

So much for there being no difference.

"Whisky spelled 'w', 'h', 'i','s', 'k', 'y'" Sheamus demanded, knowing full well that at this point Randy was in no condition to answer a question as simple as "what is your first name?".

"Ugh… Irish…" Randy whimpered as drool slid down the side of his lip, collecting in a pool on the operation table.

Sheamus sighed, brushing it away with his thumb "I wish it was sweets… I wish it was"

"You sheep-fucker!" Randy screamed to high heaven, wailing with such a volume that it was likely for his lungs to bleed.

Just for the insult Randy had added, he gave him a double dose, though it pained him to see a fellow human being suffer in such a fashion (especially at his own hands).

"Alright Randy, this is your last chance here, you've gotten it wrong four times, and if you strike out again you're done…" Sheamus warned, though deep down he knew Randy would get it wrong regardless of how easy he made it.

"What am I? Am I Irish or am I Scottish?" Sheamus asked, half of him wanting Randy to be successful so that he could spare him, and half of him wanting Randy to be wrong so that he could continue to torture him.

Randy paused, taking in to consideration everything he'd learned about Sheamus in the time that he'd known him.

Highlander.

"You're Scottish!" Randy cheered, proud of himself for remembering something from so long ago in his current state of madness.

"No Randy. I'm Irish"

Another shock was sent rattling down Randy's spine, shaking him in a way that was comparable to an epileptic going through a seizure. He screeched, but his sound was muffled by the wooden stopper in his mouth. He clamped his teeth down and felt his gums bleeding in protest, his teeth aching from the strain of biting down. He dug his blunt nails into the steel table but it did him no use. He banged his head up and down in an attempt to block out the torment, but all it did was cause him to see two of everything aside from making his brain vibrate around in his delicate skull.

He finally quieted down, his body going limp from his grappling against the machine.

"Randy, Randy, Randy…" Sheamus breathed, removing the fuse-box, the wooden block, the cock ring and the electrodes "you lose"

"F… F… Fuck you…" Randy rasped, straining to look at the Celtic warrior through half-lidded eyes "I h-hate you! Your mother hated you! Your father fucks goats in hell! I'm go… I wa… I'mmuna fucking… I'll kill you…!"

Sheamus reached down and caressed his cheek lovingly, even with Randy snorting out obscenities left and right. "You don't mean that…" Sheamus trickled softly, his voice syrupy and oozing with honey.

"Yes I do! I hate you!" Randy blathered on, even though Sheamus was right and he wasn't thinking clearly "when I get you in my hands I'm gonna fuck you up!"

"Oh, really? You're gonna fuck me up? … I'd like very much to see that sweets…" Sheamus scoffed, leering down at him with verdant green eyes of fire.

There was something strange about his eyes, the way they glowered down at him, and stung him to the core. They injected him with pangs of trepidation and for a brief moment paralyzed his senses. Then he realized that these eyes weren't looking at him. They were poisoning him.

Sheamus affirmed with himself what he was going to do next, nodding as he trudged back over to the cart, messing around with the cart for a while before returning with a pair of electric barber shears.

"I'm going to give you something Randy…" Sheamus insinuated, turning the shears on and letting their foreboding drone ring throughout the room "just a little something to remember me by, something that'll keep you in your place for good…"

His green eyes traveled down Randy's nude form, stopping at the area where his cropped pubic hair began.

"You givemea hickey and I'll kill you" Randy glowered in an attempt to dissuade him. Sheamus gave an enthusiastic laugh before continuing.

"No sweets; what I'm going to give you is a little more permanent than a hickey…" Sheamus connoted, gently shaving off most of Randy's pubic hair.

"You fucking cut me and I'll kill you!" Randy bayed, trying to undo himself from the table once more.

"Shh, don't move so much, I don't want to mess up…" Sheamus quieted him, trying to assuage him by tenderly rubbing his stomach in a circular motion.

When he'd felt satisfied, he brushed away any lingering hairs with a sweep of the underside of his left hand, walking back to the cart and placing the shears back in their place, this time retrieving an item that scared Randy half to death.

A branding iron.

His blue eyes broadened in terror and he struggled even harder to inch as far away from Sheamus as his current position would allow him.

"Stop it! Stop it! God almighty put that fucking thing away!" Randy cried, quaking from his hysteria "you can't do this to me! I'm a fucking human being, not some kind of animal! You can't fucking do this to me! Get the fuck away! Don't fucking come near me with that! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!"

"Randy, Randy, shh! Be quiet, you're making too much commotion, if I slip up, you'll be scarred for life, do you understand me? I need to concentrate on what I'm doing otherwise I could really hurt you" Sheamus tried to pacify him, edging closer and closer, branding iron in his right hand, the steaming end of the rod glowing a red so menacing that at a distance it rendered Randy petrified.

"Sheamus don't do this" Randy pleaded genuinely, his eyes shining with crystalline tears "please don't do this. I'll do anything you want. I'll suck your dick. I'll kiss your feet. I'll even drink my own fucking piss, but please don't do this to me"

"Anything I want?" Sheamus inquired, interest seemingly peaked.

"Yes, anything in the world. Oh God, anything. Please, just put that thing back and let me go. Please, I'll do anything" Randy continued.

"Randy… What's the one day of the year in America that is the most dedicated to the Irish?" Sheamus asked, looking quizzically at the iron in his hands.

"Easter?" Randy asked hopefully.

"No sweetheart. St. Patrick's Day"

He edged even closer, though Randy squirmed and cried and prayed to all the powers that be, he came closer and closer and closer still.

"You're gonna know the difference between Scottish men and Irish men" Sheamusavowed, raising the branding iron towards the light like a sword, he turned it upside down with the greatest ease, pointing the blazing insignia at the end towards Randy's soft, tender flesh.

"Don't do it!" Randy roared, smashing his balled fists into the cot and grinding his teeth as he strained once more to escape.

"Adh mór ort" Sheamus whispered, before turning his head away and pressing the iron into the area he had just finished shaving clear of hair.

Without even a sedative, Sheamus had burned him.

At first he almost couldn't comprehend that Sheamus was really going through with this. At first everything moved slowly, minutes being dragged sideways and the earth coming to a complete halt. Then his world sped up faster than a racecar running on rocket-ship fuel pushing past light-speed.

Searing pain overtook him, immobilizing every nerve in his body. He hissed and groaned and screamed under the scorching heat pressed against an area so sensitive to him. The only part that made it worse was the grotesque crackling sound of his skin being practically melted away. It sizzled and popped and sounded worse by the second.

Randy cried as tears continued to flood his eyes with no way to console them. He was on the brink of delirium.

He craned his head to see what it looked like and almost threw up a second time. His eyes were met with swollen red skin, bubbling grotesquely, steaming and abused, looking absolutely inhuman. Sheamus had mutated him, he'd ruined him. And he'd done it all by whim.

For the second time that night Randy fainted, although this time, he was glad to be rid of the world.

Something was wrong, his hotel room door was already open; it was the slightest crack, wedged just enough for him to see what appears to be liquid splashed upon the floor.

Blood?

No, thank God. It's just his imagination creeping up on him. It's just a shadow that looks suspicious, that is, until he flickers on the light switch.

The room is illuminated and contrary to his original belief, he is indeed alone and everything is where it should be. Almost everything.

There's a strange green bottle on the nightstand with a note underneath.

"Mr. Orton,

It is our great pleasure to have you join us tonight during your stay at the Four Seasons hotel. It is our hope that you will enjoy your stay here, as well as your complementary bottle of absinthe. Please note that it is an extremely potent and sometimes lethal beverage. For your own safety when drinking this, you should read the directions on the bottle and only take the recommended dosage. Thank you for your time and business!

We hope to see you again soon,

The Four Seasons Hotel Co."

His eyes glance at the three glasses and the lighter next to the bottle; one empty, with a spoon containing caramelized sugar on top of the rim and the other two being empty shot glasses. The lighter is what really throws him off: it says it's from the MGM grand, which he stayed at just last week. He raises an eyebrow, mystified by how extraordinary the drink must really be.

On the back of the bottle the instructions read that he should first fill his glass no more than halfway full with the absinthe. Then he was to pour a shot of water and an alcoholic beverage of his choice into the glasses. Next he had to light the sugar on fire and wait for it to turn a golden brown color. Finally he was to put the fire out and pour the sugar, along with the shot glasses into his absinthe. All that would be needed after that was for him to stir it a bit to make sure it was properly blended.

Although this too was befuddling, he did as the instructions told him, supposing to himself that the drink was French and that if he wanted to feel the way the French felt when they drank it, he'd better do as he was told.

With a hand shaking from excitement he removed the spoon and began to pour. He stopped a little over a fourth of the way, now scrambling over to the mini fridge to find himself two tiny bottles of Jack Daniels. Once he had returned he poured a shot of Daniels and one of water, then setting off to work on burning the sugar.

When he felt it was golden enough, he drowned it in the absinthe along with his shot of Daniels and his other shot of water. Afterwards he stared at the drink in his hand deciding that for him, one simply wouldn't cut it, and he added another one.

"Bottoms up!" He lilted, tipping the entire glass of the green devil down his throat and relishing the taste of it as it swept over his tongue. He immediately decided to himself that he would have to do this again.

The taste was better than any he could have imagined, it was as if he had drunken the same growth drink Alice had in Lewis Carroll's trippy Alice in Wonderland novel (that silly little girl must have had some absinthe herself…!).

He was practically tripping over himself with the insane high feeling he felt. The drink lifted him up and smothered him with warm kisses, sunbathing him with affection. His skin tingled under the heated caress of the drink, as it flitted around his body.

Oh Absinthe! How could he ever live without you?!

Somehow he'd managed to shimmy out of his pants and he lie clad in a white dress shirt, his boxers and socks on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Only, it wasn't the ceiling he was looking at, it was a beautiful green maiden with long silky emerald hair and eyes that glued him to the spot.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he lay there, adrift in one of his most intense drunken stupors to ever befall him.

He doesn't even realize someone is carrying him out of the room. He just giggles and lolls his head back as two strong arms guide him out of the hotel down the stairs and out the fire exit.

He's gently laid down in a van but he doesn't mind it. He thinks he's just seeing things; he's dreaming with his eyes open. And boy is it a vivid dream!

The drink should have mentioned on the label that it was a hallucinogen. What the fuck was in that shit anyway? Crystal Meth?

Finally he is carried into some weird dark room and is told to stand in line, to be a good soldier. He does as is expected of him and stands with his feet shoulder-distance apart, his hands behind his back, his wrists crossing over one another with his palms facing behind him.

It's only when a pair of handcuffs are slapped on that he realizes this is not an illusion. Someone has kidnapped him.

"What the fuck is going on?!" he quiets when he feels the yielding and aggressive presence of a butterfly knife pressed firmly against his neck.

It's itching to kill you, Randy, don't you feel the way it's pulsing against your throat? Look at how it shivers in excitement before you. Can you hear that pounding drum, exploding in your ears? The knife is telling you what something. It wants you dead boy, it wants you dead as dirt.

He thinks to himself for words that will cajole his captor into freeing him.

"What do you want? I can get it for you! No need to use a knife…"

"You're not going to smooth talk your way out of this one, Randy my boy"

A slash is cut along his cheek, it burns; this fucking prick dunked the blade in lemon juice. He makes an awkward type of smile to absorb the stinging sensation, it contracts the skin surrounding the wound and causes blood to seep out and trickle to the corners of his lips.

Fingers slide up to his cut from out of nowhere and rub themselves into his cheek. He growls and tries to shy away but it is to no avail. His captor laughs and he grinds down on his teeth to block out the obnoxious sound of their laughter.

"What are you trying to achieve here by cutting me?"

That's a stupid question.

"I want your blood…"

Randy hadn't expected to be treated so cruelly, and it was because of his naivety that he was such an easy target. He should have understood that he was perhaps the most vulnerable of any man alive. He was cocky and this was his weakness.

Your weakness is your defeat.

He awoke in a half-dream state, his thoughts unfocused and dangerously asunder. He felt as though he'd drunken another glass of absinthe.

He was sitting tied up in a swivel chair with his third degree burn propped upright by a black leather studded harness. This harness itched and burned where his untended wounds met the unforgiving leather. His ankles were bound down by heavy steel chains, making any movement difficult to say the least.

His weary eyes tried to make out the room through the fog, but there was only one light, and it was blaring from the T.V. screen sitting three feet in front of him. His eyes felt as though a tissue was lightly draped in front of his eyes. He could barely make out the words on the screen.

Your life belongs to Sheamus.

Bright white letters emblazoned the message into his skull forcing him to embrace the words. He subconsciously mouthed them to himself. His brows furrowed as he repeated the action, wetting his chapped lips with his dehydrated tongue.

"Awake yet?" Sheamus' voice rattled about. He spun Randy around so that they were face to face, his grin blaring like an overly bright insect lamp.

Randy looked at him through half-lidded eyes. He didn't dare say anything; he was too exhausted even for that. His eyes glazed over almost seductively as he locked eyes with the crimson-haired warrior. He didn't know why (though he felt brainwashing had a great deal to do with it), but he felt a strange attachment to Sheamus.

"I think it's time we discipline the state of mind you're in"

He muttered to himself an anesthetized answer, something that only crazies do.

Sheamus then produced something that earlier on in the night would have induced vomiting for Randy. It was a used and abused ragdoll haphazardly meshed together with a disgusting black coil and two beady black eyes. When his eyes began to adjust more, he saw that it was filthy, covered in stains of God only knew what. What struck him as the most disgusting was that Sheamus had bonded Randy's pubic hair to the doll's waist.

"What is that?" Randy droned weakly; his throat had become very sore and scratchy, it seemed as though it would close up at any second.

"Your soul, Randy dear" Sheamuspurred, showing off his other hand that contained at least a hundred five inch long pins used for carpentry "we'll try something else now, and don't you worry, there is no winning or losing anymore. Now no matter what, I win!"

Randy watched him skeptically as he waved the doll a final time before beginning his witchcraft.

At this point in time, Randy wasn't frightened by this, because now he knew that Sheamus was losing his grip. Voodoo isn't real. He smiled up at Sheamus who was chanting in a language he couldn't understand. Go ahead you big lug; play pretend all you want, this bullshit can't hurt me.

Sheamus' emerald eyes hook themselves onto Randy, like a harpoon into an animal. He places a pin at the base of Randy's head and smiles sweetly; a warm summery smile that Randy knows is secretly a smile from hell.

Every breath you take belongs to me.

He can barely hear those words as the pin presses through his skin, embedding itself in his scalp, he screams and Sheamus squeezes the doll tightly in his hand. Randy feels his ribs choking him and closing in around him, but he knows it isn't real. None of this is real.

I'm in complete control now.

Another pin is pushed through the skin of his head and he desperately tries to escape. He can't even lift his feet. He feels so helpless and stupid. He feels so innocent and used. He feels angry and flustered at his helplessness and stupidity. Why is he doing this to me?

Your body will never refuse me.

A third pin and he squeezes his eyes shut. He hates this feeling, he hates everything and everyone. And he can do nothing to express it as his brain throbs in agony; Sheamus is going to destroy his beautiful head. He's going to die here, he's going to be mutilated beyond repair and then he's going to die. I fucking hate you.

All the moans that you gasp are only for me.

Fuck you, fuck your mother. A fourth pin. Fuck all your ancestors. He wanted to bite his tongue and end it all, but that would make him a coward like everyone else. And he knew he wasn't a coward, he was a martyr and one day people would acknowledge that. You did this to me.

You will obey without question and love unconditionally.

He hates Ted and Cody the most. They are the ones who really abandoned him; they are the ones who left him for dead. He can't blame Sheamus for being the sick bastard that he is, but he can blame his teammates for being the spineless shits that they are. No, they did this to me and I hate them the most.

You are my dog.

He was a dog; he was just a little dog. Nobody really liked him, he was too arrogant. In the end he was just an animal. He deserved to be punished. Save me God.

You want to be hurt.

That he did, and why was Sheamus moving so slowly? He wanted it; he wanted it in the worst way possible. He needed it. God bless Sheamus, he needed it now. At that very second he had to be hurt or surely he would die. There is no use putting up a fight.

I win.

Yes, yes, yes of course! Of course you won Sheamus! You had been winning since Randy drank the absinthe. You win Sheamus, you always do, you always will. He'd been so ignorant and defiant beforehand! Yes, Sheamus you win. I do love you.

"How do you feel now, Randy?" Sheamus asked still smiling, only now his smile was pure, it was angelic and Randy loved it.

"I… I feel fine…" Randy answered in awe. He was so happy and he didn't know why. Maybe he was insane. Well, if he was insane, at least he had Sheamus to care for him. Yes! Sheamus would certainly care for him.

"That's good to hear, sweets" Sheamus' grin broadened and he glanced quizzically at the doll for a while.

Then suddenly he ripped off the right leg and crushed it under his heel.

Randy groaned as his leg pulsed and he felt the nerves stinging, his thigh felt as though someone had cut halfway through it with a meat cleaver. He could feel the tendons snapping, he felt the crushing of his bones being ground into a fine paste and bit down hard on his cheek to stop from screaming.

Sheamus then ripped out the dolls right arm and swept that under his heel as well.

A tingling started at the base of Randy's shoulder and went down his arm. Someone had replaced his blood with gasoline and lit his veins ablaze. It felt as though the walls of his veins were corroding by acid eating away at their walls. It felt as though some asshole had put undiluted potassium chlorideintohis veins causing them to vaporize while he was still alive.

He squirmed and groaned and shook his head rapidly from side to side, but the pain in his arm and leg did not go away. They followed him and dragged him down trying to outweigh each other.

Sheamus watched him tiredly, after hearing the sound of his screaming for so long it ceased to appease him.

His eyes loomed to his other hand, and another idea sprung him.

Holding the doll up to the light he stabbed all of the pins through its stomach and slammed it onto the floor, watching as it lay there, decrepit and dying. The cotton that had been so lazily stuffed into its engorged stomach flowed out like the blood from a murder victim stabbed in the kidneys and left to die on the street.

Randy lurched and swayed as he felt the stabbing happening to himself a thousand times over. Just how many pins were there? His head rocked back and forth and his stomach writhed on its own accord, as if it weren't attached to him anymore. He felt that any second it would explode and his innards would fall out of him in a bloodied heap onto the cold, dirty floor.

He clenched his mouth shut and his gums began to hurt him again, he growled furiously baring all of his teeth, all of which had turned a slight coral pink color from when his gums had bled out onto them.

Sheamus watched him quietly. He was generously giving him a moment to breathe, since Randy had begun to hyperventilate and it seemed that any other torture might have caused him to have a heart attack.

Randy flashed back to Sheamus words from earlier, though it seemed like an eternity since he'd said them, and he experienced epiphany thinking on them.

You're not better than me.

He was right. Randy wasn't better than him, not nearly as evil or creative. He wasn't anything compared to him and he deserved to be humbled. Sheamus was better than him in every way possible. He was taller, he was fitter, and he was smarter. Most of all, he was pure evil, and Randy had to admit it was something to be jealous of.

Randy had thought of himself as a cool cold-hearted son of a bitch, but he really wasn't.

He dared look up at Sheamus, now that his breathing had regulated itself to gentle panting and wet his lips as though to say something.

At first his voice faltered, but afterwards he managed to speak:

"You know… I always thought I was bad… But you… You're something else…"

Sheamus raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest "beg pardon?" he asked, stepping forward "did you just say something without checking yourself?"

"I'm not tryin' to insult you here. I gotta say; I'm pretty jealous. I want to be like you. Would you… teach me?"

"Well… That's really lovely of you to say sweets… And you know that I would love to help you…"

Sheamusbentdown and knelt beside him, caressing his cheek. Randy smiled at him, his eyelids still weighing down on him. It seemed that they would finally reach a consensus.

He sighed, suddenly changing his demeanor.

"But it's really like Highlander; there can only be one!"

An open palm came from out of nowhere and cracked Randy on the other side of his head. Sheamus stepped back and laughed vehemently, his voice causing an earthquake in Randy's mind. Of course he would just laugh it off, what sadist in their right mind wouldn't? Why havea side-kick when you can havea slave!

Randy whined while the Irish Marquis de Sade continued to openly mock him.

"You're a very funny man, Randy…!" he heaved in between his laughter "I can't say that anyone's ever said that to me before! Now tell me, do you tell this to all the Irish men you meet who give you a good dose of your badly-needed medicine, or am I just that 'special someone'? Honestly! 'I'm pretty jealous of you', you sound so ridiculous…!"

The bastard wiped his eyes, he was laughing so hard that he was crying.

Randy's eyes bore holes into him, but he still laughed on, only stopping when he had dragged out his laughter to the point where it wouldn't have been funny even if it were mentioned again several years later.

"Are we done saying silly things that make no sense?" Sheamus asked, padding towards Randy whose lips curled down into a disinterested frown.

He walked around Randy, off to the side to a table Randy hadn't noticed before and returned with a syringe in hand. He held it up before Randy's eyes to show him what it was, though Randy both didn't want to know and wouldn't have been able to tell.

"This here…" Sheamusmumbled flicking the tip twice and pressing the plunger once so that the liquid inside it flowed out of it in a small spurt landing on Randy's nose and his cut cheek "is a little something to help you relax…"

He untied Randy's hands and brought forth his left arm.

Randy would have fought back, but he knew that Sheamus wasn't lying to him, and if anything it would have been wiser to let Sheamus kill him than to go on living like a mutant.

He bound Randy's arm tightly with a tourniquet and then injected the serum into a vein on his arm.

Instantly everything became blurred beyond recognition. Randy squinted and tried his hardest, but he couldn't see, he could barely feel. His body felt as though it was made of flowers and each one of them was undergoing pollination. It felt good and best of all, he could feel no pain.

"You're drooling Randy…" Sheamus' voice bubbled about as he wiped spittle from Randy's lips.

He heard Sheamus sigh and felt his ankles being undone as well.

Free at last, he was forced to stand, though his body was in no condition to stand, let alone move from its seated position. He tumbled forward and landed face-first on the stone floor. It felt freezing up against his oversensitive skin, but he relished it nonetheless.

His face was manually turned to the side so that his unmarred cheek was pressed flush alongside the freezing stone floor. It was almost crippling to lie this way, unable to move his body. Suddenly he realized something was gushing out of his nose, it was blood. Had he broken it?

A hand reached down to place his hands on the floor so that they were parallel to each other, each five inches from his face. He tried to do something, anything, but his body didn't function. He just lay slack on the ground.

He was then forced to situate himself with his knees and shins tucked into his chest and flat against the floor so that he was presenting his bottom to Sheamus. In an almost complete fetal position, he realized what was going to happen.

Sheamus roughly entered his puckered hole, without the thought of preparation ever crossing his mind. He groaned as Randy's warmth engulfed him and slowly began to thrust in and out of Randy.

His hands ghosted over Randy's as he pinned him down and rocked over him, ever-powerful and in control. Randy groaned and ached, wishing that Sheamus would jack him off, and knowing that he wouldn't.

Please touch me… He thought in desperation, trying to curl his fingers underneath Sheamus' hands. They didn't move, they only moved with Sheamus' rhythm as he continued to fuck Randy into the floor.

His body remained still and unfazed, save for his erection, while his mind raced and over-loaded and fatigued him further. Please touch me, just touch me, you wouldn't even have to stop! Just touch me, God I need it so badly…

His heartbeat pounded in his eardrums, though underneath the sound h could hear Sheamus moaning, but never to him. He would just groan out his approval here or there and clutch Randy's hands harder and force him to accept that he wasn't in control.

With Sheamus' engorged dick fully sheathed inside him, his only hope was that after he came he would show that generosity that simply had to lie somewhere within him and pump him for a release.

He felt his prostate being hit and felt something bursting out of his throat, he parted his lips slightly to let loose what he realized was a moan.

Sheamus had to hear that, he had to see that even though he was drugged to the point of falling asleep in the middle of their sex, Randy was indeed hot and bothered and needed a little help.

Though Sheamus continued to strike him in his special spot, he didn't dare touch him; he just kept going, ignoring Randy's moans and the way that he tried to fidget under Sheamus.

Randy drooled again, with his mouth being open for too long, but this time Sheamusdidn't care, he let the oh so proud Legend Killer lie there with a pool of spit collecting out of the side of his lips. He moved faster and harder, forcing Randy's face into it.

"Fuck yes...!" He roared (Randy knew he didn't moan this, otherwise it would have been lost under the sound of his heart jumping around in his lifeless body).

He ejaculated hard into Randy, pulling out and lying next to him on the floor. He looked out of the corner of his eyes and saw that Randy's fingertips twitched; he was starting to get some feeling back in his body.

Sheamuschuckledto himself as he sat up and rolled Randy onto his back, his nose had stopped bleeding, but the excess blood ran down the side of his face and a plum colored bruise was beginning to form around his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

Randy was drowning in his own spit and blood, and for the first five minutes of this, Sheamus let him sit there. Only when his hazy eyes started to search out help did he prop Randy upright and let him breathe.

His eyes went from his cock straining against his stomach back to Sheamus, insinuating as innocently as possible what he needed most.

"You're being generous today, Sheamus" he sighed to himself, giving in to those helpless eyes. He wrapped his hand around Randy's hardened cock to give him his orgasm that he knew Randy needed.

THE END.

I really hope I didn't spoil your vision, whoever you are, I tried my best to include everything you mentioned (well, the half-asleep one was kind of difficult because I didn't really think that after everything Sheamus did he would just let Randy sleep it off, you know?). I'm sorry if you don't like it. I'm really just dipping into the torture scene...

If you're feeling generous then you write a Sheamus/Randy fic yourself!

Thanks a bushel and a peck for taking the time to read it!

Much love from Molly.