I struggled internally trying to decide if I should publish this story and finally decided that you guys can handle it. Sheamus is my fave but I put him through HELL in this story. It is an S&M fantasy. WARNINGS: Date rape drug (GHB) use, Bondage, Punching, Slapping, Ball Busting, Forced Oral, Forced Anal, Degradation & Humiliation, Clothespins (yes, I said clothespins haha), Blood, Puke, Cum - if ANY combo of the proceeding bothers you, DO NOT READ.

"I'm cold," Sheamus mumbled, barely awake. He tried to cover his bare chest with his arms but couldn't move them. He slowly came to his senses and realized that everything was wrong.

He lay in a dimly lit small room. The walls were lined with shelves that were filled with boxes that sat neatly against each other. It seemed like some kind of storage room.

He was lying on a cold metal table, wearing only his gym shorts. His arms were stretched above his head and were bound with thick chain to the table. The cold metal binding was so well executed; he had zero chances of getting free. His legs were restrained at the ankles with more chain but not as strictly as his arms. He started there and began trying to pull free. The chains dug into his skin at both his wrists and ankles and nothing came close to budging.

The door of the room slowly swung open and a large imposing figure stood in the frame. Bright lights suddenly flooded the room and he closed his eyes slightly, shielding them from the unexpected brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the man was wearing a dark cloak; he had no idea who this shrouded person was. The next thing he noticed was a shiny knife in his hand. Sheamus started yelling at the top of his lungs and the large man was suddenly upon him and a gloved hand covered his mouth.

The man ran the knife down Sheamus' pale chest, barely grazing him and leaving no marks. He continued downward and slipped the knife from the waistband of Sheamus' shorts to the hem. He stopped there and began slowly, carefully slipping the knife up the inside of the shorts against Sheamus' inner thigh. Sheamus was panting fiercely but lying completely still, afraid the knife would cut him at the slightest movement.

"I trust that if I remove my hand, you'll be very quiet now," a very familiar voice said. In his state of panic and an odd feeling still making him dizzy, he just couldn't place it at that moment. Sheamus nodded his head emphatically and the man removed his hand.

"Please don't cut me," Sheamus begged, keeping his voice low. "Just let me go. I'll never tell a soul. I don't even know who you are."

"Oh, don't you, Sheamus?" a gentlemanly English accent spoke. "I think you do. You're just a little fuzzy from that special cocktail you drank earlier."

Sheamus searched his memory hard for this detail but only remembered the show and being in his hotel room and then waking up here, in hell.

"I honestly don't remember any cocktail and I don't know who the hell you are. Let me go," he tried to remain calm.

The man pulled the knife from under Sheamus' shorts and sat it down. Sheamus breathed a deep sigh of relief. The man began to pace the short distance to the door and back. "You certainly can't count on people remembering you in this business," he said while removing his gloves. "One little injury and a little time off and you're suddenly a nobody."

Recognition dawned in Sheamus' eyes. "Wade?" he whispered in disbelief.

Wade pulled his cloak back. "Very smart, Sheamus, and I was always taught Irishmen were big, dumb brutes. You proved me wrong, I suppose."

Sheamus was more confused than before. "Wade? What the fuck is this? Why am I here? This is not a funny."

"Oh it's not meant to be funny, I assure you," Wade removed his cloak and tossed it aside. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans and didn't look as imposing.

Sheamus was absolutely perplexed, "But why?"

Wade pondered a moment, "Revenge. Payback. Punishment. Reminding you the world shouldn't be handed to you on a silver platter." Wade suddenly punched Sheamus hard in the gut, knocking the wind from him.

Sheamus tried to catch his breath and winced in pain, twisting from side to side. Wade grabbed Sheamus' face tightly in his hand, contorting his features. "That's just one punch in the gut. If I gave you one for every guy you stepped on to get where you are, you'd die on this table." He released Sheamus' face and slapped it roughly.

"I remember when we were all in IWW together. You were nothing special. Just a big, clumsy brawler with a finisher that was a kick to the nuts," Wade laughed. "The Irish Curse, they called it. What's that now? A big backbreaker? Nice improvement. Do your fans know that the Irish Curse used to be kick to the nuts?"

Sheamus was silent. He knew where he came from and he knew how his career started. Everybody looks back and cringes sometimes. Why was Wade rubbing his past in his face?

"I certainly know," Wade continued. "And so does Drew and every body you left behind to become be a big WWE star."

Sheamus barked at him, "You both came, too! Fuckin hypocrite."

"Oh we came," Wade said calmly, "and how many titles do Drew and I have? And how many have you had, Mr. current World Heavyweight Champion?"

"I don't dictate how things will go in this business but I'm very proud of my accomplishments and I make no apologies. You and Drew can just fuck off."

Wade smacked Sheamus hard in the face and quickly regained his composure. "You were pushed because of this," he grabbed a hand full of Sheamus' red hair and used it to bang his head on the table. "And all of this," Wade ran his hands down Sheamus' pale chest. "That's it. You look different and that's it. You have zero talent." He gave Sheamus a hard chop to the chest, leaving a bright red handprint there.

"Okay, Wade, you proved your point. Okay. Let me go. This is insanity."

Wade sneered, "Proved my point? I haven't even started."