Rating: M for Mature.
Pairing: Punkena; Punk/Cena.
Warnings: Gay sex, cursing.
Disclaimer: I sadly own no one in this story, however I've bought enough WWE merch to have paid at least one jobbers weekly paycheck...so there's that.
A/N: Back with my fourth story! It would have been up earlier, but I've had a crazy week! Another story written at 4am, lol. ENJOY!
Local Bar in Austin, Texas:
John can't remember how many drinks he's had. In fact, he can't even remember when he'd gotten to the bar.
Or how, for that matter.
Maybe if he figures out when he got there, he can figure out how many shots of straight bourbon he'd had. The show had ended at 11:15. He probably left around 11:45. He caught a cab right? No, he took his rental. Did he even get a rental? Not important. It's 1:30am right now, or at least the last time he checked. When was the last time he'd checked? He can't remember. He tries to look up at the clock, but everything blurs. He guesses the time doesn't matter either. He can't have had that many shots, right? Maybe 4 or 5 at the most.
"Hey, buddy, you okay?" A blurred and distorted voice came from the bartender in front of him. If he's standing right in front of him, why does he sound so far? "You okay? You're on, like, your 12th shot. I'm glad you didn't drive here, you're definitely in no condition to drive." Well that solves two questions. He'd gotten a cab! Or someone dropped him off. Either way, he doesn't have to worry about figuring out how to get his rental back to his hotel. But wait. 12 shots? That makes sense, he guesses. That's why his throat feels like someone lit a match inside it.
"I-I-I'm f-fine. I'm fine! F-f-fine." He slurs as he gets off his stool. He looked for the door but everything seemed to dance around. Everything seems to be in pairs of 3. He tries the door to the left of his peripheral but it must be a table in all reality. "Hey!" A patron yelled out. "S-s-sorry." John slurs and tries the door in the middle of his peripheral. Cold air suddenly blasts against his skin. Must've been the correct door.
"TAXI!" He screamed out as he waved at what looked like a yellow, glowing circle, speeding towards him. The cab stops and he gets inside. "T-T-The H-Hilton, please." He asks and the cab takes off.
It wasn't John's intentions to get this wasted. It wasn't even his plan to get drunk! He just couldn't stop thinking about that pompous, arrogant, self-righteous, self-proclaimed Voice of the Voiceless. Who does he think he is? Who does he think he is to talk about John Cena the way he did tonight? The Second City Savior is well on his way to becoming a heel again but he's the one who's going to need a savior if he keeps talking about John Cena like that, John thought.
Earlier tonight, CM Punk came out at the end of the show and cut a promo about his current feud with Sheamus that he'd started earlier that night. He said all the things he knew would get heat from the crowd, while criticizing and ridiculing all the fan favorites. One of those fan favorites that he mentioned, just so happened to be John Cena.
Now John is morethan happy that CM Punk is becoming a heel again. This means he doesn't have to fake friendly with him for sake of the fans anymore. He can stop taking part in dark match favorites with him. He can stop acting like he doesn't hate his guts. But that doesn't give CM Punk the right to start that shit talking again! Not after the Money in the Bank debacle. John Cena has had just about enough of CM Punk's mouth.
I mean, who does he think he is? Who does he think he is to talk about John Cena the way he did tonight?
He already thought about that. Now even his mind is spinning in circles.
"Here you are, sir. That'll be $14.12." The cabbie suddenly pulled John out of his thoughts. John groans and pulls a $100 bill out of his pocket, slaps it in the man's outstretched hand, and climbs out of the cab. The cab took off with the swiftness and John face-palmed himself, realizing the amount of money that he'd given the man. It'll be okay. Be a Star. The man probably deserved it. He's probably a struggling man with a hungry family. John did the right thing. He always does the right thing. But CM Punk? CM Punk can get away with murder. And not only will he get away with the murder, he'll be praised for it over John Cena who would try and save the man.
Fuck CM Punk.
Hilton Garden Inn Austin Downtown:
John stumbles into the hotel and quickly makes it to the elevator, remaining unseen to any fans. Before he can hit the '6' button that'll take him to his hotel room, he stares hard at the '4' button.
CM Punk is staying on that floor. John has a good mind to go tell him just what he thinks about him.
Besides, Punk is never sleep at this time of the night. He's always awake watching Law & Order or other junk like that.
John's thumb stabbed the '4' button over and over till it finally let him off on that floor. He stomped his way to CM Punk's room and banged, harshly, on the door.
"Who is it?" John hears a grumpy CM Punk ask. "It's Cena! Open the door!" John yells out and his demand is quickly followed. The door opened to show a very amused CM Punk with sarcasm slick on his lips, "What brings your lovely, bright and shining face here at this time of night?"
John doesn't have time for CM Punk's games. John pushes his way into the room and CM Punk closes the door before turning his attention to John, who stands in the middle of the room, looking completely lost. "So what do you want?" Punk asked, amused but irritated as well, to John coming and disturbing him while a very interesting episode of Leverage is on. "I-I-I came t-to…" John mumbled, forgetting what he'd been rehearsing in his head. "Yes?" Punk has to hold back a chuckle. "I c-came to tell y-you that…I c-came t-to…I hate you." John finally spits out and Punk can't help but laugh at him, "That's nice."
Punk isn't reacting how John wants him too. "Fuck you, asshole!" John yells as he grabs Punk by his shirt collar and slams him against the wall. He holds him in place as he breathes heavily against him in silent frustration. "Ugh, you're drunk. No wonder." Punk rolls his eyes and pushes John off of him. In a real fight, John wouldn't have given up so quickly. But John is drunk, and in his drunken state, no matter how angry, he's very obedient. John pushes Punk back and Punk groans in irritation, "Quit putting your damn hands on me, Cena!" Punk demands. "Y-You don't tell me what t-to do!" John quickly spat, resembling a child. "Sit down." Punk simply says and John squirms a bit in confusion before sitting on the bed. Punk laughed out as he folds his arms, "You're pathetic, John."
John doesn't take to that too kindly. That's what he came here for. Because CM Punk and his big mouth has pissed him off. He stood from where he'd just sat down and yelled some more, "S-Stop calling me names!" He yelled out, resembling a small child even morenow. "No. Fucker." Punk said in response. If he has to deal with an idiotic and drunk John Cena, he's at least going to have some fun with it. "Stop!" John yells out. "Bitch." John stomps his foot a bit, "Quit!" Punk stays silent for a moment before continuing, "Pussy." John's eyes go wider, "Stop it!" He yells. "Dumbass." He continues on. "Quit calling me names!" He demands, but Punk isn't going to stop now. It's too amusing. "Super Cena."
John hates being referred to, or compared to Superman. "Phil!" John spat back.
No matter how drunken John is, it's pretty hard to forget that Punk despises being called by his given name. "Jonathan!" Punk calls back, not even choosing to care that John called him by his birth name. "That's n-not even my r-real name!" John whines. "So." Punk shrugs and smirks. "Look! I don't like you and I want y-you to stop talking about me!" John yells out.
He's slowly coming down from his drunken stupor. Things still aren't that clear, visually, but the current speech impairment is slowly coming to a halt and his brain is slowly starting to work again. "I'll talk about you all I want." Punk retorts. "No, you will not! You're going to keep my damn name out of your fucking mouth or I'm going to punch your fucking skull in!" John yells but Punk isn't taking the threat; not with knowing the state of mind John is in.
"Do it, John. Hit me." John goes to take a swing but it doesn't connect. The Punk that his drunken state of mind is allowing him to see is in fact much closer to the one that really stands there. John tries one more time and another time, but the blows still aren't connecting. "Stop moving!" John yells and Punk only chuckles. "Truly pathetic, Cena, you're truly pathetic. What were you even drinking for?"
John forewords his eyebrows, not really sure how to answer the question. "Because. Because I…I wanted you out of my head. I wanted to stop thinking about what you said about me earlier!" John tries to explain but he isn't really sure if it came out right. In fact, a mere 30 seconds later, he isn't even sure what he'd just said. "I hate you, Cena, face it. That's never going to change." John doesn't care about that, "I don't care, I hate you too!" John quickly screams back. Punk smiles. He's happy about that, for whatever reason. "That's good."
John groans in frustration. Things just are not going how he wants them to, the least bit. He tries to take another step towards Punk, but his knees give out and he stumbles forward, falling into Punk who gets pinned between John and the wall. "Woah there, big boy, get off me! You're crushing me!" Punk yells out, trying to struggle out of a wall and a hard place. "Good! Die!" John yells out, pushing his body against Punk, trying to crush him even more. In all reality, though, he's barely even cutting off Punk's air supply. He's simply just dead weight, holding Punk into place against the wall. "John! Get off me!" Punk screams out. He doesn't like not being able to get a swing in if need be.
John only stares at Punk's face, a soft smile spreading across his lips. The lip ring that's pierced into Punk's bottom lip has captivated John. The piece of jewelry seemed to bling in the light, and sort of blind John. He doesn't care. He just keeps staring at it. "Get off, John! Now!" John wants to touch the piece of jewelry, but his arm doesn't seem to want to work correctly. "JOHN!" John has never noticed that Punk is kind of attractive when he's mad. He seems to have a gravitational pull when he's mad. What's he so mad about? What's he even saying? John can't hear the words coming out of Punk's mouth for his fascination with the lip ring. He wants to touch it. Feel it! …Lick it?
He leans up and presses his lips to Punk's, silencing him. He kisses him for a moment, just feeling the lip ring press against his lip before sucking Punk's bottom lip into his own and running his tongue over the piece of metal. Once satisfied, he pulls away and smiles wide, happy that he'd gotten to feel the fascinating piece of jewelry. "What the hell, John?" Punk asked, softly. Where'd that even come from, Phil wondered. "I like your lip ring, Phil." John leans up a bit and licks across it before touching it with his finger. "John, stop crushing me!" Punk yells and with a hard shove, he sends John flying onto his ass in the middle of the floor.
John had kissed him. Why? He doesn't buy that lip ring shit for a second. Then again, John is drunk off his ass. Well either way, John asked for it. He's going to get it. Whether something real and good comes out of it, or it's just another chance to make John Cena his bitch, he's going to give John exactly what he just asked for.
"Get up!" Punk yells as he takes John's hand and yanks him up. The moment John is on his feet, Punk pushes the bigger man backwards and John lands on the bed with a thud. Punk quickly climbs into bed too, and climbs on top of John. "I really like your lip ring, Phil." John mumbles again before pulling Punk back into a kiss. Punk grabs John by his shirt collar as he shoves his tongue down John's throat. John moans out and runs his fingers through Punk's hair as Punk works on getting the bright green Hustle, Loyalty, & Respect shirt that he hates so much, off of John's big body. Once John's brain starts functioning right, it clicks that Punk is kissing him back. He's really kissing him back? Or is he being punked? Punk pulls away from John, who groans at the loss of Punk's lips, and struggles to get John out of his shirt. Once the shirt and beater is gone, he pulls off his own Colt of Personality t-shirt he's wearing in honor of his best friend Colt Cabana. "Look at all the colors." John mumbles to himself as he raises a finger to trace across Punk's chest and arms.
Punk took a moment to stare at John, second thought creeping into his mind. John has lost the child-like demeanor he had when he first arrived in the room. Now he just seems…lost. He seems so fragile, hurt, and breakable. "Can you help me get my pants off?" John asked, pulling Punk out of his thoughts. Punk nods and pulls off the jorts after John un-buttons and un-zips them. Seeing John so fragile softened Punk's heart. Whatever is going to happen between us is no longer about making John my bitch, Punk thought. He's always seen John so in charge and energetic. John is always like a little retarded, lost puppy that won't leave you the fuck alone. Seeing John so broken makes him…so much more attractive. It makes Punk want to take advantage of the moment and…savor it.
Punk got John completely stripped before stripping down himself. He doesn't want to risk getting his dick bit off by a clearly unstable John, and he sure as hell isn't sucking John off, so he decides to skip that part entirely. He pushes John back on the bed more before positioning himself on top of John. He grabs John's strong, powerful legs and wraps them around his slim waist.
"John?" He calls out. "Hm?" John responds, a lazy smile on his face. That and...what? A look of shame? Guilt? What? He's so damaged and broken; it's too hard to tell. "You sure you want to do this? Are you too drunk for this?" Punk asks, feeling a bit bad about taking advantage of the vulnerable man beneath him. "No, I'm sober enough. I know what I'm doing. It's okay, Punk." John replies.
The tone in John's voice has changed and lets Punk know that John in deed is sober enough for this, but the demeanor still has not changed in John. He's still in a lost state and that's almost enough to break Punk's heart.
Punk quickly steals a kiss before deciding to start the penetration of John's virginal hole. The minute Punk enters inside John, John arches his back and hisses out. It's a hiss of pleasure, though. John likes the feeling. Oddly enough, John also likes the fact that it's Punk that's giving him the feeling.
"You okay, there?" Punk asks, slightly worried that he's hurting John. "Yeah. It feels good. No pain. The alcohol kind of numbs all that." John chuckles in shame. Punk nods, deciding not to throw out an insult, and continues further inside of John. Once deep inside, Punk leans down and kisses John. John goes straight for the lip ring, running his tongue across it before intertwining with Punk's tongue. "You're so damn tight." Punk groans in pleasure. John's constricting muscles are giving Punk such painful pleasure. "Faster. Please, faster." John begs, with a soft voice.
John's usually the one calling the shots and running the place. It's one of the qualities that Punk hates most about him. But now, in this lost manner that John's in, it seems to Punk that John's almost too scared to even acknowledge the fact that he's involved in the sex. It's not that John doesn't want to admit that he's having sex with a man or anything; John accepts that and even wants and likes it. It seems to Punk that John's voice indicates that he's too scared to speak for fear of being punished or unaccepted or something. Punk has never been one to conform to the demand of Cena, but at this moment, he just wants to pleasure him and make him not seem so damaged.
He gives in to John's command and increases the speed of his thrusts. "Fuck, God, yes." John moans out and Punk smiles, happy that John is enjoying himself. He notes how John's staring up at him with a bitten lip and Punk leans down and kisses John yet again, sucking John's lip into his mouth and lapping his tongue over the abused flesh. "God, it feels so good." John announced then takes his own flesh into hand and begins pumping.
The pleasure from the sex, the aphrodisiac of the fact that his sex partner is a man he hates, along with the burn of the alcohol that's slowly leaving John's body, he feels his end coming soon. Punk isn't far behind. Punk has never felt such pleasure in what is John's tight heat. He watches John's facial expressions and listens to John's increasing moans. He makes sure he hits John's bundle of fuckwith each thrust to help John's orgasm come along. "Shit, Punk, yes!" John yells out as his essence spills out onto his stomach. The constriction becomes even tighter around Punk with John's orgasm and the sight of John cumming sends Punk's head swimming into orbit. He gives one last deep thrust before releasing his load into John, giving a few more pumps as he rides out his high. Punk pulls from John's body and gives into a request that his body was for some reason sending him. He takes John's spent dick in his hand and licks around the head before taking his cock in his mouth, sucking the last little bit of cum from John's body.
Once John is completely drained, Punk pulls away and collapses next to John, creating a bit of distance between them. "That sex was fucking amazing." Punk states, trying to get his breathing in tact. "It was great." John replies, his voice back to an almost inaudible whisper. Punk rolls his head to see John staring at him. Punk smiles a bit and John leans in and kisses him, getting his last shot at the lip ring that had been driving him crazy.
The minute he pulls away, things quickly go back to normal, only, with a feeling of compassion hanging over it. "Ugh, you taste like alcohol." Punk rolls his eyes, but gives a smirk. "You taste like my dick, so shut the fuck up." John hisses, but with a dimpled grin. "Touché. So, I hope your cuddly care bear ass doesn't think this makes anything different between us." Punk states as he reaches over the bed to grab his boxers. "I know. And stop calling me names." John replies while pulling on his clothes, making Punk chuckle. "Y'know. The sex wasn't bad though, Cena. You can always come back to my room when you need a good fucking." John just laughs and rolls his eyes as he pulls on his last article of clothing. "Yeah, whatever. Bye, Phil." He says as he walks to the door, his walk a bit funny, which gets a smile out of Punk. "Bye, Jonathan." Punk replies.
Yes, things are definitely back to normal, just, with a feeling of compassion hanging over it.
UPDATE: This story was turned into a series. Please check out the sequel: Who Would've Thought? The third installment: Welcome to Chicago, Motherfucker! And the fourth installment: Somewhere in Chicago: Good Morning Heartache.