The tall Texan laid across the couch, an arm propping his head up and his hand occasionally rubbing at his eyes to stay awake. He couldn't really figure out what the movie he was watching was about in the slightest bit. His other arm wrapped around Chicago's star, not so sneakily stealing the popcorn from the bowl he was holding, and other times gently resting pieces of it in his jet black hair to watch him fuss and shake it out, or throw it back up in his face. He placed a few kisses on his head before finally closing his eyes, the sound of the television fading away and his arm dropping his head to the arm rest.
CM Punk squirmed out from John Layfield's hold, careful not to wake his new boyfriend up and stealthily making his way up the stairs like a James Bond scenario. With a glance over the balcony he headed into John's bedroom and into the walk-in closet, he tossed his band tee aside and slipped into the crisp white dress shirt and cleverly tossed his panties so that Layfield would notice them, but in a slightly more tasteful way, if there had been any tasteful way to tell someone you really weren't wearing anything underneath.
John's eyes fluttered open, a rush of panic going through his mind, as he found Phil to be gone. He stood up quick, dizziness hitting him like a ton of bricks. He cussed under his breath, glancing around and always first to be the one to jump to the worst conclusions. Everything had been going very well, so he thought, and he had gotten his most prized possession in life, could he really have not noticed and let the relationship slip so far?
He set off to search the house, having to keep repeating to himself that searching through the place was the first thing he should do – even if they'd been together for two moths, and he'd gotten him to move in, Phil still didn't even sit on the couch with out permission.
Nearly stumbling back into the wall, seeing Phil sitting cross legged on the bed, leaned over his flawless limbs, his jaw resting in his palms with his elbows resting in a pillow. His crooked grin appeared when John sighed with relief, replaced immediately with an innocent one when John began to chuckle and crawl into bed beside him, having eying the undergarment on the floor, and nothing could have been a bigger turn on than Punk in his good shirt ...even if he needed to wear that in the morning.
Punk blinked a few times, blankly staring at the wall before turning around, just why wasn't get getting pounced on, he wondered. He turned around, slinking beneath the sheets and cuddling up close to Bradshaw, one powerful leg draping across his waist, his expression turning into a more seductive one as he felt the fabric of the shirt exposing himself beneath the sheets, and John's arm wrapping just around his waist, he purred leaning in to kiss his neck before his lips met John's lips instead. He blinked a couple more times, and sighed, fixing his arms around his neck and resting his head on Layfield's chest, closing his eyes as the blankets were fixed over him.
"I can wait," John whispered.