Okay, so I wrote this because listening to Colt Cabana's latest podcast just reminded me yet again how incredibly adorable he and Punk are together.

I don't own anyone mentioned in this fic

One month. One month without a break, without a single day off. He hadn't been home in a month. It had been one month of media and house shows and signing autographs and a parade of strangers.

Punk was a bit of a workaholic. He'd always been, always liked having something to do, never done well with too much downtime. But even he had his limits. He'd do it, of course. He'd signed the damn contract and most times, he didn't feel any regret for that decision.

Still, he knew that he might have been driving some of the guys backstage a bit crazy. He'd been a bit more crabby than usual. It wasn't just because of the work, either. If it was just that, he would have been fine. It was more than that.

"Why do you look so happy?" He asked when he made it into the locker room on the last RAW before he would have to start on the Smack down circuit as well. He'd already been scheduled for the Smack down house shows, would be until Orton got back.

"Days off," Cena answered with a grin.

"What are those?" Punk asked with a groan as he started to unwind his wrist tape.

"I was beginning to forget myself," John said but the smile didn't leave his face. "But, looks like I might be able to catch up."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He was irritated and exhausted but it nothing to dampen John's good mood. Which, okay, he didn't exactly get. John had been walking around in almost as bad of a mood as him lately. Punk figured that was when he really knew it was bad, when John Cena was in a crappy mood.

"Three days, Punk."

Punk stared at him a moment before giving him a tight smile. "Good for you."

John's grin only widened. "Good for you too, asshole."

Punk raised an eyebrow. "You got us both off? How many asses did you have to kiss for that?"

John just shook his head. "Just…go home, man. Seriously. I think the guys are about ready to commit murder if you don't relax a little bit."

"Look who's talking. You know, I think I've heard you curse more over the last couple of weeks than I have since I've known you."

"Whatever." John stood, slapped Punk on the shoulder on his way out. "Go home. Get laid. I plan to." He wiggled his eyebrows just before he left the room and Punk rolled his eyes. It wasn't two seconds after John had left the room that Punk was digging in his bag for his phone, however.

He dialed the most familiar number in his contacts and waited impatiently while it rang. When the line was finally picked up, he knew from the groggy voice that he'd woken the other man up but couldn't find it in himself to feel any guilt over that fact.

"Dude, I know you don't sleep but other people would like to."

"Yeah, yeah. You got any plans for the next few days?" Punk asked immediately, ignoring the irritation in the man's voice.

"Uh…I just woke up. I can't remember what I did today."

"Try harder. I may have the next few days off and seeing as how I haven't had this many days off since after Money in the Bank…"

There was a long silence and Punk waited him out, pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear so he could sit down and pull off his boots and kick pads while he waited.

"Shit, man. The next few days?" There was regret in those words and Punk felt the disappointment settle in his chest. He shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like he didn't have a busy schedule too.

"Yeah…"

"I am sorry."

Punk ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Yeah, I know. It's not a big deal." Except he was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting this many days off in a row for a while, most likely not even after Orton and Jericho were back from suspension.

He closed his phone a minute later, his mood not improved at all. Well, he could go back home, sit on his couch and watch cartoon marathons for the next couple of days.

Xxxxxxxx

As soon as he walked into his house, Punk knew that someone had been there. The alarm was off. He frowned slightly at the darkened house. There were only three people that had keys to his house and the code to his alarm and he wondered if one of his sisters had been by. They usually sent him a message if one of them was going to be in his house without him there.

He had started into his living room when he got the answer to who had been there.

"Hi, honey. Finally home?" Colt's head popped up from the couch and he was grinning at Punk.

Punk stopped short and stared at him a moment before he dropped his bags where he stood and walked over to the couch, staring down at Colt.

"You're an ass, Cabana," he commented first, without any heat whatsoever in his tone.

"Sure." Colt reached for him, and dragged him over the back of the couch until Punk was lying on top of him. For the first time in what felt like forever, Punk stilled completely, letting that familiar warmth, that he hadn't been able to feel in too long, surround him.

After a few minutes, he even felt himself start to drift off to sleep, something that had been harder and harder to manage over the past month.

"We haven't seen each other in weeks and the first thing you do is fall asleep on me?" Colt's voice broke through but there was nothing but fondness in his voice. His fingers were smoothing down the hair on the back of Punk's head and Punk only smiled into Colt's chest.