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To say that Joe Hendry was having a bad night would be the understatement of the century.
Everything had been set up to perfection, everyone had believed in him tonight, and still…
All because of that stupid low blow.
He wanted to believe he would’ve gotten up from that Ego’s Edge, had it not been for that low blow.
He should’ve expected something like that from All Ego, but it felt like an especially cheap move, even from him.
And Trick had been looking away at just the wrong time.
Trick.
How was he going to be able to face Trick after this?
He’d promised him a chance at the title if, when he won.
And Trick had believed in him so much. So, so much.
So much that he’d called the match right down the middle. Because he’d believed that Joe wouldn’t need his help.
Never before had Joe Hendry felt so utterly pathetic.
How many people had he managed to completely let down, in just one night?
That he’d made it this far, just to fall back down so hard…
So hard, why…
…
…Why was he hard?
With a mixture of detached curiosity and utter bewilderment, Joe observed what he could only assume was his body’s confused reaction to the abuse it had suffered earlier.
It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d managed to pop a stiffy after a match, it wasn’t even an uncommon response; adrenaline rush, physical contact, the sweat and pressure and heat of it all, it was almost a guarantee that everybody on the NXT male roster had dealt with this issue at one point or another.
But that was what was so…confusing about all this. Because Joe Hendry wasn’t new to any of this. He’d thought his body and mind had gotten used to it by now, he hadn’t dealt with this since his time at the ICW.
Why…?
He tried to listen to his body, to locate the source of this, and he found-
Agony.
Pure physical misery pressed against his spine like a glove, an aching only two hits from an Ego’s Edge could provoke.
His every muscle on fire from exhaustion, the exertion of fighting his way out of too many pins to count.
And then…
That fucking low blow.
Just remembering the hit seemed to reactivate his nerves, sending a new shock of pain up his system that had him wincing and squirming in place on the bench.
Oh.
Ohh no.
This was too far.
He couldn’t…get off on his own pain.
His own loss.
The look of disappointment on Trick’s face when he counted-
He felt himself twitch involuntarily.
Before he had time to collect his thoughts on…whatever this was, the man he wanted to see the absolute least decided to show up.
“He-heyy, buddy, great work out there! You’ve done an excellent job proving my point: you TNA losers just aren’t ready for the WWE universe. So glad we could clear that up for everybody watching.”
With as deep a sigh as he could manage, Joe turned to smile at Ethan Page, already gathering his things and getting up, ignoring the way the pain immediately intensified when he did.
“Ethan! Congrats on the defense. Now, if you don’t mind, I think it’s time for this TNA loser to wander back to my home brand-”
Ego’s hand immediately found its way to Joe’s chest, effectively stopping him from walking out of this entire nightmare of a night.
“Wait, just wait one second. I’m not done rubbing it in!”
Exasperated, Joe whipped his head back to his opponent, frustration now plainer than he’d ever let it be during his time at NXT.
“What, Ethan? What more do you want from me? You’re an insufferable brat who got to keep his little toy, just leave me alone, yeah?”
He’d made a mistake, turning back around.
His typical tight, white jeans didn’t exactly work to conceal his current predicament.
Ethan cocked his head to the side slightly, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m guessing that’s not for me, is it?”
Joe felt himself flush red to the tips of his ears. He could’ve hit Ethan. He would’ve had the element of surprise on his side in that.
Instead, he pushed his way past Ethan, only to be caught by the man again, this time by his wrist.
The champion’s voice had gained a strange, unexpected layer of desperation as he spoke.
“W-wait, wait! I know, it’s for Trick, right? It’s because he saw you- Because you let him down, right? Have I got your number on that?”
“Why...does that matter? Just what the hell are you getting at, Page?” He growled, but his voice broke at the end.
Of course it wasn’t enough for this bastard to humiliate him in the ring, of course he had to do it outside of it too, just for good measure.
What was he even getting out of this? Out of forcing Joe to all but admit that he had some kind of thing for disappointing people, for letting people down.
He was once again debating the benefits of punching the man.
But this time, Ethan blushed. Averted his gaze. Bit his lower lip slightly, shook his head as if deciding something.
“I won’t tell him. Williams. I won’t tell him. If you let me…help.”
The words surprised an actual laugh out of Joe.
“Ego, what? Are you- Are you seriously asking if we can fuck right now?”
“Shut up, shut the fuck up! Keep your fucking voice down, and just-” Ethan sighed heavily, dragging his hands over his face.
Joe was just beginning to forget about his own embarrassment in favor of observing the champion’s strangely endearing flustered state, when Ethan suddenly snapped back to the present, and threw Joe against the bench.
The sudden impact made him gasp, pain blooming once more against his spine as it hit the bench.
Ego was upon him like a hungry wolf, pinning him to the floor.
By now, Joe had distantly registered that Ethan was pitching a tent of his own, pressed up against Joe’s overly sensitive cock, still fighting a losing battle against the fabric of his pants.
“Just…answer my fucking question, okay? Let me grind on you now, or I’ll tell Tricky exactly what disappointing him does to you.”
Joe only really had to consider it for a moment.
For every humiliation he’d suffered tonight, he would not let that be one.
Trick couldn’t know.
“…Alright. Alright, yeah. Go for it.”
Ethan didn’t need to be told twice.
His movements were harsh, desperate- Impatient as he moved erratically, creating friction between their clothed cocks.
He was pretty vocal too, which didn’t surprise Joe- Constant gasps and pants, whispered “Yeah”s…not that he had any right to talk. He was sore and sensitive from Ethan’s low blow, and couldn’t hold back the whimpers that escaped him at the rough contact.
“Yeah, yeah, unh, shut up, bitch…”
Ego pushed against him again and again, lost to his own version of a victory lap.
His hands pushed down on Joe, one on his chest, the other on his bladder, as his hips snapped back and forth.
That’s when all the water he’d forced into himself to rehydrate began to hit him.
His entire body weakened from the match, he knew he didn’t have a lot of time.
“Ethan- Page, fuck, stop for a second, I have to piss.”
To his utter dismay, Ethan moaned, dick twitching against Joe’s.
“Fuck, yeah, fuck yes, c’mon, c’mon-”
“Jesus, man, you’re gross, get up.” Joe tried to complain, but a particularly sharp twinge from his bladder twisted his voice into a whine.
“Why should I? I’m the champion. Tonight, you’re my bitch. And if I say you’re gonna piss yourself for me, that’s what you’ll do.” Ethan insisted, voice hoarse and desperate from arousal.
“You know I could easily just shove you off, right?” Joe grit his teeth.
“Sure you could. Go on, try it.” Ethan actually had the gall to chuckle.
“Fuck you. I’m telling everyone you have a piss kink.” Joe groaned, squirming against Ego, but he was right. The match had worn him out too much.
It was taking an abnormal amount of effort to just hold it, in the state he was currently in.
“Why would they believe you? After the state you’re gonna be leaving this building in, they’ll just think you’re projecting…”
The sheer implications of that statement chilled Joe to the bone, and he began to struggle even harder against Ethan.
Slowly but surely, his already trembling body began to give up, the first few drops of his inevitable failure hitting the inside of his boxers.
“Fuck- Fuck- LET GO OF ME!”
It was the hardest he’d screamed in the vicinity of any of his NXT peers, and maybe because of that, Ethan flinched, and scrambled off of him.
“…Shit, man, okay, I got it.” All Ego mumbled, genuinely flustered, as if he hadn’t realized what he’d been doing, and almost wanted to apologize by instinct.
Joe was speechless by this point, only managing an exasperated stare at the champion, before his exhausted bladder let a much larger leak pass through his underwear, into his pants.
No way around that now.
He watched, despondent, as Ethan’s eyes widened from where he sat sprawled on the floor in front of him.
“…I know you’re not going to look away, but the least you could do is try to look like you aren’t enjoying this as much as I know you are.”
Those were the last words Joe Hendry managed, before his bladder gave.
The relief almost made up for the utter humiliation.
Ethan was failing horribly at the frankly incredibly easy task Joe had given him, eyes still locked onto the on-going accident, face flushed, mouthing “Fuck…” to himself in something like awe.
After what felt like an eternity, the hissing died down to a dribble, and finally to a few last drops.
Joe let his head fall slightly from sheer exhaustion, all fight having left his body with this final failure.
His jeans were soaked through; incredibly obvious.
He didn’t want to get up. Then he’d have to think about what to do now.
“U-unh- Fffh-”
His spiralling was interrupted by a pathetic grunt from Ethan, who was desperately humping against the air, and-
“…That’s all it took, huh? Cheers. Glad you got to cum from making me piss myself, I guess.”
The champion, deflated from his unexpected, untouched climax, lay on the floor, equally as worn as his opponent.
With incredible mental and physical effort, Joe finally pulled himself up.
The sheer absurdity of the situation he was in was almost more staggering than the shame.
He could deal with the shame later, maybe take a cold shower or sleep it off.
Right now, he had to worry about cleaning the floor.
“You’re a freak, Page. And a fucking mess too.” He announced.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go get a towel, change back into my shorts, and leave you here to be found by the others. When they start asking why you’re laying on the ground with a cum stain on your pants, don’t expect me to come back and bail you out.”
And he did exactly as he’d promised, hastily shoving the towel he’d used into the nearest washing machine. Despite the intimate and incriminating situation the two of them had already been in, Joe opted to change in the bathroom, eternally grateful for his own foresight to bring a plastic bag with him, just in case.
Sure, it was a bit embarrassing to walk out into the parking lot in the decidedly abnormal combination of his shirt and wrestling shorts, but significantly less embarrassing than his blatantly pissed in pants.
He was going to need a good, long break from NXT after this.