Work Text:
Hunter doesnt make the trip down to Iron Mountain often, he almost never needs anything from there, and the place gives him the creeps. Yet he still finds himself in the calm of the glorified cave, driven by some instinct he's not sure he understands. It's dark, cold enough to give him goosebumps, maybe make his hair stand on end if he still had any.
A grinning man appears from one of many aisles, he looks to be at least 40 with greying hair. He takes of takes off his plastic gloves to shake Hunter's hand, seemingly unfazed to see a man who he probably watched growing up. When he meets Hunter's eyes, his face turned serious. Hunter thinks he must be concealing excitement to meet an idol.
"You're here for the tape I'm not allowed to watch, right?" The man asks
"You wouldn't be seeing me if I wasn't" came the swift reply from Hunter, who probably knew less about the tape then this guy.
The man nodded with all the seriousness of a man walking to the gallows, probably trying to impress his boss. It didn't take very long to walk at all, in fact is was a very anticlimactic 3 minute walk to what seemed like a normal spot on the walls of wrestling content. The young man put his gloves back on and picks up the tape like its some disgusting toxin, hastily giving it to his boss. Hunter has to hold back from rolling his eyes at the reverence this man was showing for wrestling archives.
The man then points down the halls of shelves and towards a room dedicated to watching these tapes, before swiftly disappearing into the maze of shelves. Hunter scoffed at the man's neurosis before finding the room the intern was talking about. It was much better lit than the main cave, but just as cold.
It took hunter a few minutes of fumbling to figure out which of the dozens of inputs this specialized file went into. the cables somehow cooled him down even more. Finally he got it to work, and focused his attention on the screen.
---
Punk on the ground, under Orton. He can’t fully see them because the camera is too high, but what he can see tells him that there is something strange about this tape. The two aren’t in the ring, makeshift or otherwise. The room is well lit, with a table and a couple monitors. Hunter can tell its one of Vince’s makeshift offices.
Punk makes eye contact with the camera for a split second, freezing for only a moment. As soon as he stopped he started up again, struggling with the newfound terror of some small prey animal. Strategy is lost as he focuses on pushing and scrambling ineffectively.
Looking back and smirking at the camera (the same smile he has when he gets the jump on some idiot with their guard down) Randy quickly lifts Punk up with hands under his armpits, turning to face the man whos shorter stature is being made obvious. From this angle Triple H can only see half of Orton’s face, just enough to see him lick his lips.
“Keep your hands to yourself when youre out of the ring. Im not your fucking girlfriend” Punk barks with all the false bravado he can muster.
Orton just chuckles in reply, maneuvering punk again. Only this time he’s not on the ground, hes bent over a table. Punks ass is sticking out against Orton, who’s hand is holding him in place. With the other hand he reaches for Punks wrestling trunks and-
---
Hunter quickly pauses the TV, resting on a frame where Ortons fingers are wrapped under Punk’s waistband. You can see Punk’s face turned towards the camera, his eyes are wide looking at Randy. His hair is still all sticky with blood. It shines in the dim light, injuries that are perfectly pink and wet.
He sits up in his chair, looking at the door to make sure that the intern wasn’t so starstruck that he was staring. There was nothing there, maybe this place was so busy the kid didn’t have time to follow him around asking for an autograph. Its a good thing though, he doesnt want anyone walking in on him watching this.
He has to watch the tape, its his job just as much as watching matches is a part of his job. There could be some information in this video that would be crucial to any matches between two of his biggest stars. Its just a video, so even if there’s nothing there its not like theres been any harm done.
Still, Hunter pauses for just a moment before pressing play again.
---
The camera man moves closer as Orton rips Punk’s trunks. His body is hairless, just as shiny and wet as he looks in matches, the sweat and body oil he had on earlier mixing with a new layer of sweat. He looks disgusting like some sort of dying animal.
When the camera pans to Ortons face, the man looks completely deranged, tapping into some sadistic urge. He looks back at the camera with that shitty smug grin that Hunter could never stand, and cocks his head at the cameraman, who points him to a desk drawer. Orton rolls his eyes before opening it and taking lube out, generously applying it on his hand and removing his own trunks.
Punk who was frozen just a second ago tries to squirm away, while Randy slowly strokes himself above him. Wet slapping fills the room for just a moment, before Orton suddenly stops suddenly. Punk only made it a few inches away, as Orton is pinning his legs to the desk. Any distance he did make is swiftly undone as Orton grasps his hips.
The sound Punk makes in ungodly, his shreak so loud its half inaudible, a wet noise makes Hunter think Punk’s pissed himself. Slow, wet slapping sounds replaced the high screech as Punk contorted face seemed to think he was still screaming. Ortons face is against his ear now, growing something the camera doesn’t hear. Ortons thrusts are speeding up now, theres less resistance from punks hole Hunter assumes, Randy’s thrusts maintain brutal power in a way that torment the man under him.
When Hunter looks from Punk’s face towards his ruined hole he sees Orton’s cock bloodied, looking back up Punk is biting his arm not to cry out, tears mixing into the sweat of his face. Randy again moves up to Punks face, this time licking a tear from his face, Punk responds in a muffled wail. Hunter has to admit he loves the lack of taunting from him. Randy is anything but silent though, his moans of pleasure audible under the squelch of Punks hole, getting louder in sync with Punks moans.
It only takes Orton a few minutes before his thrusts lose rythm and, with one final thrust, he buries himself inside the hole he destroyed, filling it, claiming it. The camera man moves around the desk and films Punk’s face head on, its what Hunter would have done in his place, seeing the glazed over look in Punks eye is the most beautiful scene.
Orton flips him over and the camera man quickly moves back to get the whole scene. The first thing everyone notices is that Punk is half hard and leaking precum. The second thing they noticed is that there is infact piss on his stomach. Orton is smirking taunting him for liking it, for pissing himself like a little girl, for crying. None of that matters as Hunter stares at Punks ruined body, even as the tape freezes on its last frame.
---
When he leaves his trance Hunter quickly zips up his fly and takes it with him. The intern wont mind, it is Hunters tape, having filmed it and all.