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  • Writer's pictureHenry Cavanaugh

WrestleMania Revenge

This story is part of a collaboration with my good friend Bizz. You can read his part of the story over on his tumblr blog!

It was no secret that despite Randy Orton being one of the most tenured men in the locker room he was still also one of the most disliked. Outspoken when it came to both his staunch political opinions and his judgments of his colleagues’ wrestling ability, he had made a number of enemies over his seventeen years on the WWE roster. He’d instigated fights and spread malicious rumors but never receives any more than a slap on the wrist from his superiors simply because he was a major merchandise mover and popular with the fans. He was a thirteen-time world champion for a reason; he was basically untouchable and he both knew it and was willing to take advantage of it.

While most other occupants of the locker room simply rolled over and accepted Randy’s crude remarks and scathing jokes in silence there was one who seemed to fire up whenever the veteran wrestler started upon him. Finn Bálor had been with the WWE for almost half a decade but they had been kept apart for the most part on separate show rosters. The few moments where they crossed paths backstage were tense though; the two men couldn’t be more different if they’d tried. At five-foot-eleven and a hundred-and-ninety pounds, Finn was easily dwarfed by Randy’s six-five and two-hundred-and-fifty pounds body and the older man hadn’t been shy about expressing how easy it was for him to look down on the Irishman.

Bálor was the rare breed of man who wasn’t afraid to bite back at the much larger Randy though with thinly-veiled insults spat right back at him from behind a broad smile. The seeming ease with which the other man was able to verbally spar with him only irritated Randy even more, although there was one main point of contention between the two men that only seemed to get uglier every time it came up in conversation. It was no secret that a good portion of the WWE’s fanbase were gay men and with muscular male athletes competing in skimpy briefs and tights it seemed only logical but that didn’t mean that Randy had to be okay with it. His father had raised him with traditional values after all and he was confident in his belief that no man should lay with another. The younger guys coming through the locker room didn’t seem to share his opinion though but none had gone out of their way to argue with him over it than Bálor.

The other man’s public acceptance of the homosexual lifestyle was bad enough but when the WWE began to promote him as a “gay-friendly Superstar” Randy seriously lost his cool. All of the rainbow-themed Bálor Club merch brought a new tirade out of him, prompting many individuals in the SmackDown men’s locker room to suffer through a number of “filthy fuckin’ faggots” and “disgusting queers”. Perhaps the most aggravating thing about the whole ordeal was that the other man was clearly a homo himself and couldn’t even admit it because he was a coward.

Randy was certain that Bálor was infatuated with him and could even swore that he had caught the other staring at his body, particularly what he was packing in his trunks, during the few times they had previously shared a locker room. He had every intention of confronting Bálor about it and there was no better opportunity than at the ‘show of shows’ Wrestlemania. It was one of the only events of the year where the whole WWE roster was together and there would be nothing to stop Randy from giving the other man a piece of his mind. The anger he felt towards the Irishman had multiplied over time and he soon sought to put Finn out of commission so he wouldn’t be able to compete in his scheduled match. Sure, his bosses might be mad but it present some more pro-homo propaganda being shoved in everybody’s faces so really Randy was doing them a favor.

It took him some time to come up with the perfect method with which to put his adversary out of action but the answer eventually dropped itself into his lap in a wonderfully ironic fashion. By happenstance he overheard a couple of the lower card guys who had recently come into favor with the bosses and received more television time talking about a trip to a warlock they had made. He had cast a spell to grant them more success and they were adamant that the magic he had used was real. Randy was doubtful - he was a rational man, after all - but opted to investigate. Much to his chagrin he discovered that the warlock in question was a homo to boot but he was easily intimidated into doing as Randy instructed considering how weak and timid he was in comparison to the professional wrestler. He even got the other to agree to putting a curse on Bálor without him having to pay a single cent!

The morning of WrestleMania rolled around soon after and for once Randy was actively looking forward to butting heads with the cruiserweight who had caused him so much grief in recent months. The warlock had given him a temporary tattoo for his palm and all he needed to do was make contact with the other man’s skin to begin his much-deserved punishment. No doubt the company would presume that Finn had pulled a vanishing act on them and would sour on him immediately, maybe even going as far to drop him from his contract. Getting the other’s smug smile out of his life for good would certainly be a fitting conclusion to their feud in Randy’s eyes at least.

It didn’t take much for Randy to get alone in the locker room with his rival - the other wrestlers were more than happy to stay out of his way, especially presuming that another explosive argument was about to follow. Once he was certain that there was nobody else snooping around, Randy clicked the lock behind him and rounded on the smaller man. Rolling his broad shoulders and advancing on the other like the viper the commentary team so often toted him to be, he savoured the confusion and perhaps even fear that he detected on the other’s face. Prompting such reactions out of lesser men had always been one of Randy’s favorite things to do but from somebody he had grown to actively loathe it was simply delicious.

“Why’d you look so nervous, dude? I thought you’d crave the opportunity to be alone with me,” Randy purred, his dangerous gaze doing little to hide his dark intentions. “A fruitloop like you and a real man like me… that’s what your dreams are made of, right?” He could only imagine how many times Finn had fantasized over such an event, although it was highly unlikely he could have anticipated the veteran wrestler’s intentions. It wasn’t as if he was going to give the other what he wanted - not even if there was a gun to his head. He’d rather die than even consider locking lips with another man, he was that steadfast in his beliefs.

“What jackass game are you trying to play now?” Finn challenged in response. Randy elected not to grace him with a vocal reply, instead he lunged forward and grabbed the other by the wrist. A burning pain shot through his palm at that instant and he pulled his hand away sharply to see that the tattoo had left a burn mark on the other’s skin. “What the hell was-- oh fuck me, I feel… weird,” Finn stammered while Randy watched curiously. He had been more than a little doubtful that the supposed curse could really have any effect but it soon became clear that the magic was no joke, as the smaller man began to change shape in front of his very eyes.

The pale skin of the Irishman quickly began to darken as he lost some of his height, dropping further and further to the ground. He appeared weak on his own legs and eventually fell entirely to the cold floor of the locker room, flailing around like a fish out of water. Randy enjoyed the panic in the other man’s eyes as he tried to comprehend what was happening to him. A kinder man might have at least explained Finn’s fate to him but Randy was quite content to let him struggle in confusion, helpless to actually do anything about his transforming state.

Once the man’s human body had vanished entirely and he was left as a pair of black spandex trunks sporting the name Orton in gothic lettering and two decals of a viper either side. Finn Bálor wouldn’t be missing WrestleMania after all - he’d just be witnessing the whole event while wrapped around Randy’s cock, balls and ass cheeks. There was no doubt in the veteran’s mind that the homo-lover would probably have the time of his life in such a fashion, finally getting to experience a real man’s cock!

Satisfied with the other man’s fate, Randy stripped out of all of his clothes and stepped into the other’s new fabric body, pulling him up and around his waistline where Finn snapped tight. Randy had to admit that the other man felt much better than any other trunks he had worn in recent memory and his cock was even starting to stiffen as he thought about how cruel his punishment was for the other man. Nothing quite got Randy in a good mood like a sick joke.

Before he could really enjoy his victory over his long-time rival, Randy felt a familiar rising heat spreading from the garment. It spread through his limbs and down to the ends of his digits, almost burning him from inside. He inhaled sharply and stumbled on his feet for a moment before collapsing back against the lockers. His body began to jerk and writhe uncontrollably, prompting the wrestler to grit his teeth and growl in frustration. What the hell was happening to him?

As the heat became almost uncontrollable, Randy was similarly plagued by a strange tugging sensation that came from inside of him. His world flashed a brilliant white for a moment and then the next thing he knew the warmth was gone and he was instead stretched out around something hard. The perspective with which he viewed the locker room had changed as he seemed to be viewing it from closer to the ground but the reasoning why didn’t become clear until he heard a deep rumble from above him. He recognized that rumble instantly. It was his own deep voice - and he most certainly hadn’t made the noise himself.

What’s going on? He’d attempted to speak but the words remained a mere thought as Randy slowly came to understand that he no longer possessed any means of vocal communication. What should have been his mouth instead was spread across the hard shaft of his own cock, a torturous twist of fate for the arrogant alpha male. He wanted to scream and yet all he could do was savour the taste of his own cock and the salty pre-cum that was beginning to soak into his new fabric body.

“Oh Randy, you really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” his own Southern voice drawled from above him. Hands reached down to grope at the hard shaft and the round globes of his ass cheeks through him and Randy knew precisely who his tormentor was. The very men he had sought to take off the WrestleMania card would now be stepping into the ring in a high profile match - only as Randy Orton rather than Finn Bálor! Even as he raged there was little the original Randy could do to escape his newly imprisoned state. At the very least he hoped that Bálor wouldn’t use his body to get up to any homo shit and make people think twice about his sexuality…

Then again, weren’t all bets off when it came to WrestleMania?

Read Finn Bálor's side of the story here!
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