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Entry tags:
Not So Humbug
Title: Not So Humbug
Author: slashburd
Pairing: CM Punk / Colt Cabana
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not know of any of this to be true, I don’t know or own these people (but I'd secretly love to!).
Summary: M/M Slash, festive silliness etc.
Written for the WWEGirls Secret Santa
*
If there was one thing Punk hated it was Christmas. If there was another thing he hated it was parties. It wouldn't therefore take much figuring out to establish that the things he hated the most were Christmas parties. The entire season was a pain in his ass; a holiday surrounding something he didn't believe in celebrated by the kinds of excess he despised about humans. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been called a humbug, a misery, an asshole; the list went on but he didn't care as long as hypocrite was never in there.
Conversely there was Colt. Colt was the personification of Christmas cheer. When given the chance he would go the whole hog of open fires, a huge Norwegian tree, candy canes, hand strung popcorn and presents aplenty for everyone he knew. Bookings tended to dry up at that time of year and it should've helped him to slow down his spending but it never did. He also loved the mass get togethers of his family and friends, rarely turning down an invite when the reluctant Punk was out on the road.
This year was panning out different to most. The family Colton were witnessing the presence of their other more prodigal son and that gave Colt a pass to go and do what he wanted to do rather that be the guy that passed the gravy and took the leftovers home as part of a care package. Instead he and Punk would be going to Punk's family for the big day together for the first time. It promised to be a far cry from what he'd been used to in the past and right up until Christmas Eve he hadn't been sure if that was a good thing or not. His late evening call home to his own mother had left him feeling terrible, the tremble in her voice as she wished him a Merry Christmas drove the pointed end of Rudolph's antler straight through his heart. He'd had a bit of a quiet sniffle for himself, glad that Punk was still around an hour away at the airport while he was doing so. He never thought he'd miss the ritual and routine as much as it turned out he did.
After pulling himself together, and telling himself a few bad jokes to lighten the mood, he'd got the house back into some kind of order and sat waiting with the television turned down low so he'd know when the car pulled up outside. He didn't have to wait long for Punk to get home and after a warm reunion of bear hugs and rib poking they'd had a catch up while the washer got loaded and finally sloped off to bed just before midnight.
~~x~~
Christmas Day was going off without a hitch. The dinner though was certainly unconventional. Gone was the turkey and cranberry sauce and in it's place was an array of global fayre comprised of dishes hot and cold, from Italian to Mexican and back around the world again. It had been a free for all accompanied by arguments and debates ranging from whether or not they should even be bothering to celebrate Christmas right through to who had brought with them the best dessert of the day.
Punk had worried after seeing the look on Colt's face, one that could've easily been confusion or gas. He was sure that his family's way of celebrating was as far from a traditional Christmas as it was possible to be. That said he was tired of spending one of his rare days off apart from Colt, particularly the ones that he had actually at home. Halfway through the afternoon he slunk off to the yard and got out his phone, flicking through his numbers list and making several calls. From where he stood he could see the kitchen window and leaning against the counter top just inside it was the guy who he was looking forward to growing old with. The one thing he had some certainty about was that to do that would take compromise and considering how easy going Colt was, there was a high chance that he'd be the one giving in.
~~x~~
The afternoon wore on and Colt found himself missing the family film they'd all sit and pretend to watch after dinner when Gramps would fall asleep in the chair, snoring loudly all the while. The women would congregate in the kitchen to do the dishes and complain about the barrage of annual letter-cards they'd received that were always full of gross exaggeration. This year though he was caught in the middle of a debate about how capitalism killed Christmas for the masses. All the things he loved were getting trashed in near alphabetical order. All he could hope is that they didn't get down as far as Scrooged or he'd be forced to interject.
He was saved around the time that Muppet's Christmas Carol was declared blasphemy when Punk came back in and asked if he wanted to get going. Expecting raised eyebrows around the room he was somewhat surprised when there were none. Punk's mother waved her hand in acknowledgement, his sister came to kiss them both goodbye and then went straight back to the heated argument that burned like a wildfire between her and Uncle George. Minutes later they were in the car and heading back towards town, the roads and paths deserted as the rest of world took time to have whatever constituted festivities to them.
A half hour ride through the city had seen them pulling up outside Colt's old apartment block, the home of his studio that he'd left the year before. The area was beginning to look even more run down than it had before, the walls covered in graffiti and the waste bins piling up ever unemptied in the alley that ran between the two neighbouring complexes. They both thought it best to stay in the car, parked up on the side of the road and facing in the right direction for a quick getaway if needed.
“It's getting rough around the edges but it was home. I mean, it's never that bad when you're actually living here, just now we got someplace better.”
“Colt, this is a shit hole. Your place got robbed twice in the month before you moved in with me. We didn't even need a U-Haul tricycle to get your stuff over.”
“Yeah. Okay, I'll give you that one but this area was pretty good to me too. It was cheap but kinda nice once.”
“Once. That's the word you need to focus on.”
“So, what are we doing here anyway? Did we really bail outta your Mom's place to come sit here like two undercover cops?”
Punk smiled and rested his hand on the steering wheel of the car. He didn't know what to say to that. He thought about saying that he was trying to prove to Colt that Christmas wasn't about where you were or what you had decorated the house with. If he could see any merit to the season it was that it brought people together who didn't make the effort to talk the rest of the time. He remembered his Dad being sober enough to go to Christmas morning mass but spending the rest of the day getting wasted. He cherished even now the few lucid hours one day a year when his dad would help him play with whatever cheap toy lurked under the tree, call him 'Kiddo' and make their family really seem like one. Sure, they had those days back again now but that in itself didn't heal the deep scars he sustained as a child.
“I was just thinking about some of the good times we had at your place around Christmas time. You know....”
Although he killed a few seconds by gesturing wildly with his hands Punk couldn't think anything up. There was no way he could muster up a lie that quickly that would convince the rather too sharp Colt that he meant it. All he could remember about that apartment was cold days when the heating didn't work and they didn't have the cash to call a plumber on Christmas, the time the dinner was so badly burned they could've donated it to an art college as their charcoal supply for the year and then the incident involving the late night trip to the emergency room that they no longer talked about. All in all, their memories of there had every right to be forgettable or forgotten already.
“Punk, what's going on? Why are we really here?”
“I don't know. I just felt like I had to come here but we're done now. Let's go home.”
“You sure you don't wanna go back to your Mom's? I mean, she did go to a lot of trouble.”
Colt hid his crossed fingers in his lap. The thought of going back to the Haus of Grinches was doing nothing for him at all. What he really wanted was a bowl of popcorn, some bad films to watch and hopefully a hot chocolate if Punk felt in the mood for making them one. Their sofa, their stupid cat and the twinkling lights on the first real tree they'd been at home over Christmas to enjoy together for years. It was tiny and about all the trimmings he'd dared to put up but it was something, it was festive.
“You hated it. Why would I want to put you through that? She looked okay about it but she's going to give you hell about it in the New Year. Just so you know.”
“But I didn't want to leave. Okay, well I did want to leave but I didn't say anything to let her know that. You were the one that said we were leaving!”
It was the laugh that met his panicked comment that annoyed Colt the most. The silver ring twisted slightly in the skin of Punk's lips and no matter how inviting it looked he promised himself that no amount of smiling would get his lover out of making an apology.
“She won't mind. Much.”
“Punk, I didn't do anyth-,” With a scowl on his face Colt looked away out of the window. “Let's just go home. Man, I'm sick of sitting here, especially with you being such an asshole.”
Scraping the blonde tuft of hair back from his forehead Punk nodded and started the car again. In silence they sat as he pulled away and back out onto the road. For ten minutes the journey was tense but otherwise fine, that was until they hit the only diversion in town that was still in effect over Christmas. An unexpected fifteen minute diversion was the last thing Colt would want but it suited Punk perfectly. He was already stalling for time so they didn't get home before the instructions he'd given in his calls had a chance to be followed. He would much rather that they'd been chatting to or ribbing each other to pass the time but he'd gotten used to the occasional bout of silent treatment and thought nothing of it. Eventually Colt would defrost and they'd be good again.
~~x~~
Pulling up outside their house was a blessing and a curse, depending on which one of the car's occupants you were. Colt was glad to be home, safe in the knowledge that there were plenty of rooms he could put between them until his asshole boyfriend decided that he could be more civil, less cryptic and certainly less of a douche.
Punk however was dreading what would be going on behind the front door, noting that a wreath had appeared on the middle of it, the look of the driveway completed with a 'Santa Please Stop Here' sign. The tackiness of it all was too much for him; the twee, saccharine and insincere sentiments of the season his reason for never sending cards out. Whatever had happened on the outside was sure to be a marker for what had happened inside and, after grabbing the hoodie that acted as his secret safety blanket from the trunk, he grabbed a confused looking Colt by the arm and dragged him inside.
Once in the hall the aroma of mulled wine filled their nostrils, Punk hoping it was non-alcoholic, his only stipulation during the calls he'd made. Their journey through into the kitchen was stalled by Colt stopping to admire the fresh ivy and holly that had been woven into the spindles of the staircase, turning to look at Punk with a wide grin on his face. It was clear that the efforts made so far were met with approval and that's all Punk could hope for. He had no festive inclinations and had no idea how the rest of the world celebrated it. When he'd put out the call to the guys and girls from the roster that were in local hotels because of the supershow in town the day after Christmas, he hadn't known what to expect. These people were single, bored and wrestlers so his hopes were not high.
Luckily enough they'd been able to convince the local store owner to interrupt his lunch to open for an hour, the amount they wanted to spend and promised to tip him had been sufficient enough a bribe to drag him from the bosom of his loving family. They'd bought every decoration, treat, cheat food and boxed chocolate the guy had in stock. He made it clear he wasn't licensed to sell them liquor on a religious holiday but they'd been warned not to bring anything with them along those lines. Instead he could sell them the non-alcoholic stuff along with as much grape juice, orange juice and soft drink as they could carry to the convoy of cars.
After using Mike's GPS to find their way to Punk's place and scouting the key under the rock he'd mentioned the work began in earnest. The call had made it clear that he'd stall Colt for as long as possible but that it wouldn't be easy or for too long. Inside half an hour the house was decorated bar the remaining few streamers and the oven warming to heat the party food through. A final touch of the sign outside was as much as they'd had time to do and on hearing the car crunch up the drive they'd all gathered in the kitchen and hidden there until it was time to leap out.
Colt pushed the kitchen door back, wondering why the deserted room would be so warm and where the sound of giggling was coming from. The gang of giddy adults crouched and cramped into the recess of the back door were soon spilling forth, their arms around his shoulders and wishing him more Merry Christmases in five minutes than he'd heard in the last five hours. Some he knew, some he only recognised but every single one was a welcome sight. Turning around he saw that the door was closed behind him and Punk was nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to see a bad host to the guests of his surprise party but he felt compelled to go and see where Punk had gone. He made an excuse about bags in the car and headed back into the hallway.
Hearing the door creak back open Punk ducked into the reception room at the front of the house, preparing himself quietly for the evening he had ahead of him. His social skills were a little rusty and seeing as one of the guests was going to be his opponent tomorrow night he thought it best not to tell them all to fuck off in advance of that. He knew at least half of them well enough to have invited them to his home by choice, the rest less so and only one or two notables would be allowed to stay just because they were part of the layover group. He pulled his hood down and looked in the mirror, wasting time adjusting his look and deferring the actual moment he had to go and pretend to be pleased about the impromptu party. After taking a deep breath he turned around only to find Colt in his way.
“Punk, you didn't have to.”
“I know. But I did. It's for you, go enjoy your party.”
“My party? You did all this just for me?”
Punk gestured to his head before tilting his head to one side.
“You see a Santa hat here? I just... I know you were having a horrible time at my parents place so here we are. Now go eat some pie or do some shots of eggnog. Whatever you Christmas marks do.”
He struggled to stifle the smile that was waiting to appear on his face when he saw Colt's high, pink cheeked grin. Putting his morals and anti-Capitalist beliefs aside he couldn't deny that seeing the person he cared for most in the world happy was worth the compromise. Moving forward he opened his arms and invited Colt into them with a quick backwards flick of his head. He would come to regret the gesture seconds later when strong arms wrapped around his ribcage and almost squeezed the life out of him. It was only when Colt let go rather suddenly and stepped back that he began to breathe again.
“I know what this is.”
“Me asphyxiating?”
“No, not that. Well, maybe that too but I know what you did. You can't fool me Punker! You do like Christmas.”
Struggling to get the breath back in his lungs Punk bent over, his hands rested on his knees. He shook his dipped head before looking up, his eyebrow arched sufficiently to ask the question before his words could.
“And how do you work that out genius?”
“This whole thing. It's how it is in the story.”
Looking incredibly pleased with himself Colt took a step forward and bent to grasp Punk's hands, bringing him back to a standing position as he looked deeply into his lover's eyes.
“A Christmas Carol. Christmas of the past, the present and the future. You took me back to the old apartment to show me how far we've come, that even if I don't really like it at your Mom's that we have it so much better than we did. And this,” Colt choked slightly as he tried to get the rest of the words out. “This is everything we can have in the future. Friends and laughter and all the good things about Christmas. I finally thawed out that swinging block of ice you have in your chest, right?”
Punk could do nothing other than nod, accept the hastily planted kiss on his lips and then watch as Colt headed off towards the people in the kitchen who were growing louder even with a closed door as a barrier between him and them. He hadn't wanted to upset Colt by saying that he'd not even thought about the classic story. He'd just been unable to think of anywhere else in the city to go on Christmas Day to buy their friends enough time to put a festive spin on the house. He would've been more than content to stay at his parent's place and eat them out of house and home.
For once he felt bad about what he'd done in lying to Colt, or at least not correcting him. It was all well intentioned but now he was left with a lover who thought he'd had some kind of Yuletide epiphany which couldn't be further from the truth. He just didn't want to be their equivalent of the guy that broke the news to the kids at Christmas that Santa wasn't real. Punk could happily agree that Christmases of the past hadn't always been the greatest and he'd never, ever want to go back to those days. The present was just fine for him but the future, especially if it carried on squealing and singing Jingle Bells badly in his kitchen, looked like it was going to be a real bitch.
Author: slashburd
Pairing: CM Punk / Colt Cabana
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not know of any of this to be true, I don’t know or own these people (but I'd secretly love to!).
Summary: M/M Slash, festive silliness etc.
Written for the WWEGirls Secret Santa
*
If there was one thing Punk hated it was Christmas. If there was another thing he hated it was parties. It wouldn't therefore take much figuring out to establish that the things he hated the most were Christmas parties. The entire season was a pain in his ass; a holiday surrounding something he didn't believe in celebrated by the kinds of excess he despised about humans. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been called a humbug, a misery, an asshole; the list went on but he didn't care as long as hypocrite was never in there.
Conversely there was Colt. Colt was the personification of Christmas cheer. When given the chance he would go the whole hog of open fires, a huge Norwegian tree, candy canes, hand strung popcorn and presents aplenty for everyone he knew. Bookings tended to dry up at that time of year and it should've helped him to slow down his spending but it never did. He also loved the mass get togethers of his family and friends, rarely turning down an invite when the reluctant Punk was out on the road.
This year was panning out different to most. The family Colton were witnessing the presence of their other more prodigal son and that gave Colt a pass to go and do what he wanted to do rather that be the guy that passed the gravy and took the leftovers home as part of a care package. Instead he and Punk would be going to Punk's family for the big day together for the first time. It promised to be a far cry from what he'd been used to in the past and right up until Christmas Eve he hadn't been sure if that was a good thing or not. His late evening call home to his own mother had left him feeling terrible, the tremble in her voice as she wished him a Merry Christmas drove the pointed end of Rudolph's antler straight through his heart. He'd had a bit of a quiet sniffle for himself, glad that Punk was still around an hour away at the airport while he was doing so. He never thought he'd miss the ritual and routine as much as it turned out he did.
After pulling himself together, and telling himself a few bad jokes to lighten the mood, he'd got the house back into some kind of order and sat waiting with the television turned down low so he'd know when the car pulled up outside. He didn't have to wait long for Punk to get home and after a warm reunion of bear hugs and rib poking they'd had a catch up while the washer got loaded and finally sloped off to bed just before midnight.
Christmas Day was going off without a hitch. The dinner though was certainly unconventional. Gone was the turkey and cranberry sauce and in it's place was an array of global fayre comprised of dishes hot and cold, from Italian to Mexican and back around the world again. It had been a free for all accompanied by arguments and debates ranging from whether or not they should even be bothering to celebrate Christmas right through to who had brought with them the best dessert of the day.
Punk had worried after seeing the look on Colt's face, one that could've easily been confusion or gas. He was sure that his family's way of celebrating was as far from a traditional Christmas as it was possible to be. That said he was tired of spending one of his rare days off apart from Colt, particularly the ones that he had actually at home. Halfway through the afternoon he slunk off to the yard and got out his phone, flicking through his numbers list and making several calls. From where he stood he could see the kitchen window and leaning against the counter top just inside it was the guy who he was looking forward to growing old with. The one thing he had some certainty about was that to do that would take compromise and considering how easy going Colt was, there was a high chance that he'd be the one giving in.
The afternoon wore on and Colt found himself missing the family film they'd all sit and pretend to watch after dinner when Gramps would fall asleep in the chair, snoring loudly all the while. The women would congregate in the kitchen to do the dishes and complain about the barrage of annual letter-cards they'd received that were always full of gross exaggeration. This year though he was caught in the middle of a debate about how capitalism killed Christmas for the masses. All the things he loved were getting trashed in near alphabetical order. All he could hope is that they didn't get down as far as Scrooged or he'd be forced to interject.
He was saved around the time that Muppet's Christmas Carol was declared blasphemy when Punk came back in and asked if he wanted to get going. Expecting raised eyebrows around the room he was somewhat surprised when there were none. Punk's mother waved her hand in acknowledgement, his sister came to kiss them both goodbye and then went straight back to the heated argument that burned like a wildfire between her and Uncle George. Minutes later they were in the car and heading back towards town, the roads and paths deserted as the rest of world took time to have whatever constituted festivities to them.
A half hour ride through the city had seen them pulling up outside Colt's old apartment block, the home of his studio that he'd left the year before. The area was beginning to look even more run down than it had before, the walls covered in graffiti and the waste bins piling up ever unemptied in the alley that ran between the two neighbouring complexes. They both thought it best to stay in the car, parked up on the side of the road and facing in the right direction for a quick getaway if needed.
“It's getting rough around the edges but it was home. I mean, it's never that bad when you're actually living here, just now we got someplace better.”
“Colt, this is a shit hole. Your place got robbed twice in the month before you moved in with me. We didn't even need a U-Haul tricycle to get your stuff over.”
“Yeah. Okay, I'll give you that one but this area was pretty good to me too. It was cheap but kinda nice once.”
“Once. That's the word you need to focus on.”
“So, what are we doing here anyway? Did we really bail outta your Mom's place to come sit here like two undercover cops?”
Punk smiled and rested his hand on the steering wheel of the car. He didn't know what to say to that. He thought about saying that he was trying to prove to Colt that Christmas wasn't about where you were or what you had decorated the house with. If he could see any merit to the season it was that it brought people together who didn't make the effort to talk the rest of the time. He remembered his Dad being sober enough to go to Christmas morning mass but spending the rest of the day getting wasted. He cherished even now the few lucid hours one day a year when his dad would help him play with whatever cheap toy lurked under the tree, call him 'Kiddo' and make their family really seem like one. Sure, they had those days back again now but that in itself didn't heal the deep scars he sustained as a child.
“I was just thinking about some of the good times we had at your place around Christmas time. You know....”
Although he killed a few seconds by gesturing wildly with his hands Punk couldn't think anything up. There was no way he could muster up a lie that quickly that would convince the rather too sharp Colt that he meant it. All he could remember about that apartment was cold days when the heating didn't work and they didn't have the cash to call a plumber on Christmas, the time the dinner was so badly burned they could've donated it to an art college as their charcoal supply for the year and then the incident involving the late night trip to the emergency room that they no longer talked about. All in all, their memories of there had every right to be forgettable or forgotten already.
“Punk, what's going on? Why are we really here?”
“I don't know. I just felt like I had to come here but we're done now. Let's go home.”
“You sure you don't wanna go back to your Mom's? I mean, she did go to a lot of trouble.”
Colt hid his crossed fingers in his lap. The thought of going back to the Haus of Grinches was doing nothing for him at all. What he really wanted was a bowl of popcorn, some bad films to watch and hopefully a hot chocolate if Punk felt in the mood for making them one. Their sofa, their stupid cat and the twinkling lights on the first real tree they'd been at home over Christmas to enjoy together for years. It was tiny and about all the trimmings he'd dared to put up but it was something, it was festive.
“You hated it. Why would I want to put you through that? She looked okay about it but she's going to give you hell about it in the New Year. Just so you know.”
“But I didn't want to leave. Okay, well I did want to leave but I didn't say anything to let her know that. You were the one that said we were leaving!”
It was the laugh that met his panicked comment that annoyed Colt the most. The silver ring twisted slightly in the skin of Punk's lips and no matter how inviting it looked he promised himself that no amount of smiling would get his lover out of making an apology.
“She won't mind. Much.”
“Punk, I didn't do anyth-,” With a scowl on his face Colt looked away out of the window. “Let's just go home. Man, I'm sick of sitting here, especially with you being such an asshole.”
Scraping the blonde tuft of hair back from his forehead Punk nodded and started the car again. In silence they sat as he pulled away and back out onto the road. For ten minutes the journey was tense but otherwise fine, that was until they hit the only diversion in town that was still in effect over Christmas. An unexpected fifteen minute diversion was the last thing Colt would want but it suited Punk perfectly. He was already stalling for time so they didn't get home before the instructions he'd given in his calls had a chance to be followed. He would much rather that they'd been chatting to or ribbing each other to pass the time but he'd gotten used to the occasional bout of silent treatment and thought nothing of it. Eventually Colt would defrost and they'd be good again.
Pulling up outside their house was a blessing and a curse, depending on which one of the car's occupants you were. Colt was glad to be home, safe in the knowledge that there were plenty of rooms he could put between them until his asshole boyfriend decided that he could be more civil, less cryptic and certainly less of a douche.
Punk however was dreading what would be going on behind the front door, noting that a wreath had appeared on the middle of it, the look of the driveway completed with a 'Santa Please Stop Here' sign. The tackiness of it all was too much for him; the twee, saccharine and insincere sentiments of the season his reason for never sending cards out. Whatever had happened on the outside was sure to be a marker for what had happened inside and, after grabbing the hoodie that acted as his secret safety blanket from the trunk, he grabbed a confused looking Colt by the arm and dragged him inside.
Once in the hall the aroma of mulled wine filled their nostrils, Punk hoping it was non-alcoholic, his only stipulation during the calls he'd made. Their journey through into the kitchen was stalled by Colt stopping to admire the fresh ivy and holly that had been woven into the spindles of the staircase, turning to look at Punk with a wide grin on his face. It was clear that the efforts made so far were met with approval and that's all Punk could hope for. He had no festive inclinations and had no idea how the rest of the world celebrated it. When he'd put out the call to the guys and girls from the roster that were in local hotels because of the supershow in town the day after Christmas, he hadn't known what to expect. These people were single, bored and wrestlers so his hopes were not high.
Luckily enough they'd been able to convince the local store owner to interrupt his lunch to open for an hour, the amount they wanted to spend and promised to tip him had been sufficient enough a bribe to drag him from the bosom of his loving family. They'd bought every decoration, treat, cheat food and boxed chocolate the guy had in stock. He made it clear he wasn't licensed to sell them liquor on a religious holiday but they'd been warned not to bring anything with them along those lines. Instead he could sell them the non-alcoholic stuff along with as much grape juice, orange juice and soft drink as they could carry to the convoy of cars.
After using Mike's GPS to find their way to Punk's place and scouting the key under the rock he'd mentioned the work began in earnest. The call had made it clear that he'd stall Colt for as long as possible but that it wouldn't be easy or for too long. Inside half an hour the house was decorated bar the remaining few streamers and the oven warming to heat the party food through. A final touch of the sign outside was as much as they'd had time to do and on hearing the car crunch up the drive they'd all gathered in the kitchen and hidden there until it was time to leap out.
Colt pushed the kitchen door back, wondering why the deserted room would be so warm and where the sound of giggling was coming from. The gang of giddy adults crouched and cramped into the recess of the back door were soon spilling forth, their arms around his shoulders and wishing him more Merry Christmases in five minutes than he'd heard in the last five hours. Some he knew, some he only recognised but every single one was a welcome sight. Turning around he saw that the door was closed behind him and Punk was nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to see a bad host to the guests of his surprise party but he felt compelled to go and see where Punk had gone. He made an excuse about bags in the car and headed back into the hallway.
Hearing the door creak back open Punk ducked into the reception room at the front of the house, preparing himself quietly for the evening he had ahead of him. His social skills were a little rusty and seeing as one of the guests was going to be his opponent tomorrow night he thought it best not to tell them all to fuck off in advance of that. He knew at least half of them well enough to have invited them to his home by choice, the rest less so and only one or two notables would be allowed to stay just because they were part of the layover group. He pulled his hood down and looked in the mirror, wasting time adjusting his look and deferring the actual moment he had to go and pretend to be pleased about the impromptu party. After taking a deep breath he turned around only to find Colt in his way.
“Punk, you didn't have to.”
“I know. But I did. It's for you, go enjoy your party.”
“My party? You did all this just for me?”
Punk gestured to his head before tilting his head to one side.
“You see a Santa hat here? I just... I know you were having a horrible time at my parents place so here we are. Now go eat some pie or do some shots of eggnog. Whatever you Christmas marks do.”
He struggled to stifle the smile that was waiting to appear on his face when he saw Colt's high, pink cheeked grin. Putting his morals and anti-Capitalist beliefs aside he couldn't deny that seeing the person he cared for most in the world happy was worth the compromise. Moving forward he opened his arms and invited Colt into them with a quick backwards flick of his head. He would come to regret the gesture seconds later when strong arms wrapped around his ribcage and almost squeezed the life out of him. It was only when Colt let go rather suddenly and stepped back that he began to breathe again.
“I know what this is.”
“Me asphyxiating?”
“No, not that. Well, maybe that too but I know what you did. You can't fool me Punker! You do like Christmas.”
Struggling to get the breath back in his lungs Punk bent over, his hands rested on his knees. He shook his dipped head before looking up, his eyebrow arched sufficiently to ask the question before his words could.
“And how do you work that out genius?”
“This whole thing. It's how it is in the story.”
Looking incredibly pleased with himself Colt took a step forward and bent to grasp Punk's hands, bringing him back to a standing position as he looked deeply into his lover's eyes.
“A Christmas Carol. Christmas of the past, the present and the future. You took me back to the old apartment to show me how far we've come, that even if I don't really like it at your Mom's that we have it so much better than we did. And this,” Colt choked slightly as he tried to get the rest of the words out. “This is everything we can have in the future. Friends and laughter and all the good things about Christmas. I finally thawed out that swinging block of ice you have in your chest, right?”
Punk could do nothing other than nod, accept the hastily planted kiss on his lips and then watch as Colt headed off towards the people in the kitchen who were growing louder even with a closed door as a barrier between him and them. He hadn't wanted to upset Colt by saying that he'd not even thought about the classic story. He'd just been unable to think of anywhere else in the city to go on Christmas Day to buy their friends enough time to put a festive spin on the house. He would've been more than content to stay at his parent's place and eat them out of house and home.
For once he felt bad about what he'd done in lying to Colt, or at least not correcting him. It was all well intentioned but now he was left with a lover who thought he'd had some kind of Yuletide epiphany which couldn't be further from the truth. He just didn't want to be their equivalent of the guy that broke the news to the kids at Christmas that Santa wasn't real. Punk could happily agree that Christmases of the past hadn't always been the greatest and he'd never, ever want to go back to those days. The present was just fine for him but the future, especially if it carried on squealing and singing Jingle Bells badly in his kitchen, looked like it was going to be a real bitch.