Pairing: Cm Punk/Cena
Summary: He's so addicted, he can't stop. Even as his world falls apart
Warnings: Male x male lovin!
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimers: Not mine
Notes: OMG. I've been lagging in the writing world. XD Enjoy this! :P
I can't escape this love
I want it the way it was
Forever and always
Don't you leave me here
Alone in all this fear
Forever and always
-Skillet "Dead Inside"
It had started a few months ago. Back when it had been innocent, a game of that they'd immersed themselves in, falling so fast that they could barely understand it. Maybe they should've. Maybe if they had, it wouldn't have gone so far. Now, it was dark. Dirty. They contradicted their feelings; love and hate. Envy and pride. Intertwined by a lust that went above and beyond anything mentally or physically healthy. They were addicted to each other, a poison that was destroying them.
John wondered where it all went wrong.
He rested his head against the cool wall behind him, drowning out the noises of Ted on his cellphone, the saccharine sweet conversation between Ted and Cody sickening. No, not sickening. Irritating because John didn't have any more. They rarely spoke. Phil preferred sarcasm and insults. John resorted to violence. He couldn't escape that Hell because it was the closest to Heaven he'd ever been.
He blamed it on Vince.; his constant meddling in the story lines resulted in his current feud with Punk. It was inevitable that it would leak into their personal lives. It always did. He'd seen too many relationships torn apart by it. Funny, how he thought that he and Phil would be the exception.
He blamed it on Randy. Orton had gotten too close, wanted something that John couldn't offer. Phil had always been a notoriously jealous person (Jeff Hardy, anyone?) and he must've read between the lines. Believed that John's friendship with Randy was more than just that.
He blamed it on Phil. The older man led him on, made him believe he was worth more. Then crushed his spirit, devoured his heart, ripped his soul to shreds.
He blamed himself. He'd fallen too hard, too quickly. He'd had his blinders on. He hadn't listened to his friends warnings about Phil, about what kind of person he was, about the long string of past relationships that had ended bitterly. But he hadn't seen that man that first date. He'd seen a side to Phil that was different from the stories that made him out to be an manipulative bastard.
John was glad no one said 'I told you so.'
"Cody sends his love," Ted was frowning, phone in hand. "John, I'm not stupid. Man, what's goin' on?"
"Nothin', ok? I'm fine," he started lacing his shoes, not wanting to meet Ted's worried blue eyes.
"Bullshit! John, I've been there. Through it all. I think I deserve to know when my best friend's hurtin'. Come on, John. You listened to me cry and blubber when Cody went to Smackdown. I think it's your turn to use my shoulder."
John glanced up to see Ted smirking, "John Cena does not cry and blubber."
"Look, the offer's there. I'm not gonna push you into telling me. I gotta parade around like a goddamned peacock," Ted winked, stretching his arms above his head, "Don't let anyone stare at this priceless ass, alright?"
"Never!" John pretended to be affronted, watching as Ted put a little extra bounce in his steps, hips sashaying with each step out the door. John snorted, shaking his head. Sometimes, he wondered who the gayer of the two were; Cody or Ted.
The door latch opened, "You forget your belt or something?"
John flinched, shoulders bristling. "What do you want?"
A finger trailed down his spine. A month ago, he would have been arching into the touch, a shiver winding it's way down his back. Now the touch was a mockery, "You know, I always knew you were a slut. But Dibiase? Isn't he fucking that Cody kid?"
And the cycle started again.
"Just fuck off," John sighed, standing, meeting those brown eyes that reminded him of melting pools of chocolate.
"Ouch, harsh," Phil held his hand to chest in mock hurt, "I don't think I'll recover from that."
"What do you want! I don't have time for your fuckin' games tonight. I don't get you. One second you're being a dick and the next you're tearin' my clothes off. You need to make up your mind. Either tell me what's up your ass or get outta my life for good. I'm tired of this dance, Phil. I can't do it anymore. McMahon's considering my request to change brands." John thought he saw a flicker of emotion in those eyes he adored.
"He'd never allow that."
"It's that or I quit and he isn't willing to let his biggest face leave the company. You've left me no choice. The harassment, the insults, all of it. I'm not gonna let myself be degraded into your personal whore and verbal punching bag. I'm through."
"So long then. It was fun."
John didn't imagine how Phil's hand lingered on the door knob, how his shoulders sagged, as he left.
But did it even matter?
What did love have to do with it?
Different city. Different bar. Same scene.
Club bunnies that couldn't have given two shits about his career were swarming him, rubbing provocatively against him. If it hadn't been for Natayla's intervention, well, John honestly didn't want to know the outcome. He wasn't in the mood to engage in flirtatious conversation or dance. He wanted to get trashed, drink himself into a coma, and not wake up for several days. No, months. Maybe he'd wake up from this dream, from this nightmare, and discover that everything was back to normal. That he and Phil weren't speaking, weren't doing anything; he almost missed the fights. What kind of sick fuck was he?
"Hey there little boy blue, wanna dance?"
"As cute as you are, Mike, I'm not interested," John smiled wanly, eyes roaming the tight jeans and polo, the turquoise hue making those baby blues pop, the blonde hair stand out. Maybe, in another life, he and Mike would have been more than just colleagues. But Mike wasn't brunette, didn't have smoldering brown eyes, wasn't covered in tattoos, didn't have a tongue ring. Didn't know how to calm him down with just a caress. Didn't know- "And aren't you spoken for?" John gestured towards Alex Riley, the rookie looking stiff and uncomfortable.
"I don't think I want to discuss that. It's… complicated," Mike shrugged, inviting himself to join John. "Alex, relax."
"Yeah, sorry. Just… I don't like how he looks at you. Hey, sorry, John," Alex grinned uneasily at him, eyes constantly roaming the crowd, "I'm just a little edgy tonight."
"I know," Mike pursed his lips, "He seems to think he has to protect me from the big, bad wolf."
"It isn't funny, Mike," Alex scowled, shoving his hand away from Mike's, "I take it very seriously when someone fucking gropes you, like that goddamned bastard thinks he still has claim to you! He lost his chance, Mike, and I'm not going to let him back into your life. Into our life. You just don't understand what you're worth."
"Now this, this, is nauseating," Randy scowled, Ted next to him nursing a rum and Coke. "I know you're fags but can't you be manly?"
"Oh, that's the pot calling the kettle black," Alex snapped, "At least I don't get on my knees for-"
"Finish that sentence and I'll shove my fist down your throat."
"Wow, too much testosterone at this table," John raised his hands, "I'm callin' it a night. This Jersey Shore crap is too much for me."
"John, don't go," Ted was almost whining; a trait obviously picked up from Cody. "I'll make the kids behave."
"My point. A drunk Randy isn't fun for anyone. And don't call me wantin' to come nurse your hangovers."
John ignored their protests, waving them off as he headed towards the back door, not daring to wade through the sluts and lushes. Funny, how he knew where every back entrance was in every club or bar they went to. It was kind of depressing that he spent most of his life in a bar or in the ring. When was the last time he'd actually had time to himself? Not that he wasn't grateful for his life. He enjoyed his job immensely. Loved meeting people but just once, he'd like to have a vacation from it, where no one knew his name.
He paused, nearly tripping over his own feet, gazing in shock at Phil leaning against the rental. The street lamp above bathed Phil in a soft light, the dark circles underneath his eyes more prominently displayed. Faint stubble was across his jaw line. A cigarette was dangling in one hand, the cherry blazing red, the smoke drifting on the night wind. "When'd you start smoking again?" he blurted out, regretting it instantly, breaking the silence, spoiling the moment where he could just gaze at Phil, to remember that this was the man that he'd fallen so much in love with.
"I guess about two weeks ago."
The amount of time that had passed since they'd lost spoken outside of the ring.
"Phil…" John clenched his hands into fists, pride outweighing his need to just go to Phil, wrap him in his arms, tell him how sorry he was, that- "I don't know where it went wrong. I don't know why. But I do know that I still care about you. But if I all I am to you is someone for you to abuse… You need help, Phil. Help that I can't give you."
"I know. I'm pretty fucked up. Just ask Hardy." Phil scuffed the cigarette out underneath his heel. "Ask Copeland. Ask Serena. I'm not going to explain my reasons for the way I acted. And I'm not going to blame some kind of mental disorder in order to excuse my actions. I'll answer for them. And I completely understand if you hate me. I hate me too," Phil shrugged. "I accused you falsely. Tormented you. I don't deserve your forgiveness."
"You don't. And I don't think I ever can forgive you. You hurt me. More than I think anyone has ever hurt me." Finding the woman he'd been intent on marrying in bed with another man… Dave's abrupt departure from the WWE and from John's life… Chris promising him a life, only to return to his wife. He trusted so easily but never forgave. "What do you want from me?"
"A second chance."
"You think you're entitled to that?" John scoffed.
Phil ran a hand through his hair, "I'm a wreck. I can't sleep. I can't-. I'm not going to become a sappy woman and get on my hands and knees to beg for your forgiveness. Just know that I'm sorry and I'll spend as long as I have to making up for it. It's your choice to let me back in or not."
John considered it. Having everything return to normal? It seemed like a distant dream. How could they return to it when so much had happened between them? If Phil snapped again, if the green monster of envy reared it's ugly head… John wasn't so positive that even he could deal with a second round. But John knew there was a different side to Phil then what he showed the rest of the world; he'd experienced it before. That the monster was only a façade to keep himself from getting hurt. Maybe Phil was just as terrified as John himself was. Maybe it was easier to hide behind that mask then offer himself so freely to another human, another man. "I don't know if I trust you."
Phil nodded, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the wind blowing shortly cropped brown hair, "I don't trust me either," he sighed, looking away, "Do you even miss me?"
Miss him? John didn't think it was possible to miss one single person as much as he missed Phil. Wouldn't have imagined that he would become so dependent on the other man in only a few months. They just got each other, no words or explanations necessary. They didn't have a mushy, sweet romance that consisted of cards and flowers and other shit. They didn't call each other pet names. They didn't say 'I love you' like normal couples; it was rarely spoken but surely felt. In fact, John couldn't recollect if they'd ever said those three little words. There were times that just a hand on his face, caressing his cheek, gazing into chocolate brown eyes, that John just knew and that's all he needed.
"Don't worry. I miss you too," Phil said quietly, reading John's face like a book, "Come on, when haven't I been able to tell what you're thinking?" Phil chuckled at John's disbelief. "My skills in ESP aren't solely for the bedroom."
Goddamn, that was true. Phil knew how to play his body, to toy him, to get him hot and bothered in seconds. Those rough hands massaging him, that oh so talented mouth on his cock doing things that he'd only heard about. The way Phil would pound into him. How he'd- "I do."
"But that's not enough," Phil stated.
Was love the fix and cure for everything? Sometimes, John wasn't sure if love made the world go round. It was easier not to feel anything. Because devoting yourself meant potentially setting yourself up for heartbreak. And John didn't want to go through this pain again. But wasn't it killing him to be alone, to be away from Phil? "If you ever humiliate me, hurt me, or degrade me again, I won't give you a third chance." Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Phil's eyes widened, "You're not joking?"
John rolled his eyes, "Don't give me time to second guess it. I'd rather fight with you then make love to anyone else."
"Did you really just quote the Wedding Date?"
Laughing, those damnable dimples on full display, John closed the distance between them, "You're the idiot for knowing what that line's from. But I'm serious. Don't make me regret this. You have a lot of making up to do."
Phil's eyes danced in the pale moonlight, "Oh, I intend to. Repeatedly," his voice was husky, teeth nibbling at the sensitive lobe of John's ear, "You'll be begging before the night's over."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Hmm, both," Phil's grin was feral, lithe body molding against John's.
John breathed in the scent; sweat, cigarettes, and something uniquely Phil's. He was hooked on Phil, in every way, shape, and form. He was John's drug. His heroin. His cocaine. He craved that man like an alcoholic craved liquor. But John decided, leaning against Phil, that it was alright. This was a drug that John wasn't ashamed to be addicted to.
I guess this doesn't make me Straight Edge.