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slashburdTitle: One Round
Author: slashburd
Pairing: John Cena / CM Punk (Yes, you did just read that properly!)
Rating: M
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, bad language, smut.
A/N: This was inspired by and is dedicated to a friend who shares some of the same tastes I do and for that allegiance I am truly thankful. She knows who she is ;) Longer than I ever thought it would be and maybe slightly cracky but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it!
*
The chatter between the last few guys in the locker room fell quiet as the two men burst in through the door, the sound of their voices echoing loudly in the corridor having already been an advance warning to those left quietly packing up their gear after the show.
“What the fuck is wrong with you Cena, huh? What the fuck was that?”
Punk had entered the room behind John but soon got in front of him, stopping the bigger man in his tracks by blocking his path forward. His anger levels were about to cause his head to explode and the red mist had descended. As far as he was concerned there was no way their non-conversation was going to end amicably.
John on the other hand simply stood in the middle of the room. He'd said his peace on the way through the backstage corridors and had no intention of justifying himself any further. Why a guy was so pissed about the end of a dark match was lost on him. It wasn't as if he'd even beaten Punk so the problem was really lost on him. Instead of replying he chose to stand and smile sweetly as if he hadn't a care in the world.
“No Cena, you're not going to fuck me over like this and expect me just stand here and take it. You knew the drill, knew the ending. Instead you run off backstage just because you don't want to get pinned? What, you scared the kids are gonna go home crying because SuperCena took a bump and got beat? You're a fucking joke Cena and not a fucking funny one.”
“Punk, let it go man. You sound like a on old woman.”
Shaking his head dismissively John turned away and headed towards his corner of the room where his gear bags sat awaiting his return. His clean clothes were piled up ready for after the shower and given the way things were panning out he'd be grateful for a quick getaway. If he cared to admit the truth to Punk he'd have to admit that the hip problem he was carrying had flared up and that he didn't need to eat any more finishing moves that night but he would never reveal that. His pride wouldn't let him.
Punk on the other hand didn't feel like letting it go. He didn't feel like being cannon fodder for yet another guy's overblown ego. For a while he'd been tired of the way he was being used but this new storyline had given him something to go at and gunning for the most overexposed guy in the business seemed like a cool thing to do. He was also the guy that had turned into a thorn in Punk's side in a different way.
~~x~~
Two years ago on a tour of Europe they'd all been out together for dinner and drinks. Most of the guys were pretty wrecked by the time they landed back into the hotel bar at 2am except for Punk and a couple of others who were on the right side of being able to stand. Whereas usually he'd have left the drunks to sort themselves out he'd been recruited into a group of the less inebriated who were charged with getting those worse for wear back to their rooms before any of the road agents got wind of the commotion and came downstairs.
As his luck would have it he got Cena who was also staying on his floor of the hotel. The bigger man had sung country music all the way up in the elevator and carried on while he he was half escorted, half dragged back to his room door. Once there Punk turned to leave him but a drunken request to help him find his room key made Punk turn around and go to help. Half of the contents of John's pockets were already on the floor but the key wasn't with them. Instead he'd had to go through the remaining pockets until he found it.
Everything had been fine until he looked up at John. His intention had been to make some smart comment and walk away, leaving John with the card in his hand. Instead he caught sight of the piercing blue eyes that seemed to catch the faintest of glints from the dim overhead lighting. The card was brandished in his hand, raised at the side of his head but he couldn't summon up a movement if he tried. He stood there like a rabbit caught in the headlights, not moving a muscle until John's lips fell into a lopsided smile.
“You're a good guy Punk, no matter what they say.”
“Cena, I don't care what they say. Never have.”
“S'at so? What else don't you care about them sayin'?”
John hand leaned one arm on the door frame for support and stooped forward, looking for all the world that he was leaning in for a kiss. That's when Punk had smelled the alcoholic spirit on his breath and the spell was broken. Too many memories of bad times were enough to bring him back down to earth.
“Night Cena.”
After slotting the card into the top pocket of John's casual shirt he'd walked away, eyes closed and counting his blessings that he'd only come close to making the biggest mistake of his life. The last thing he needed was baggage and John was one pretty big bag even if he did have nice eyes.
~~x~~
“Fuck you Cena. Who do you think you're talking to? I'm not some snot nosed kid straight out of FCW. I don't worship the ground you walk on like those dumb fuckers.”
John had opted to go and sit on the bench where his stuff was, figuring that he might as well take a load off his feet if he was going to have an equally heavy one dumped on his brain. He stared up at the angry figure before him and shook his head.
“I'm not getting into this with you Punk. What's done is done, just deal with it. Man up a little.”
In his brain the statements sounded innocuous enough but he realised they hadn't come out like that. The anger had turned to fury in Punk's eyes and he was sure that there was going to be another burst of fireworks before this was settled. He busied himself kicking off his sneakers and knee pads before turning to Otunga, one of the guys on the other side of the locker room who appeared to be packed and ready but intent on listening in.
“Dave, can you guys give us some space? You look good to go and I'm sure this isn't going to get sorted while we've got a paying audience. Let the travel guys know I'm driving myself back to the hotel, a'ight?”
Otunga, despite being disappointed that he wasn't going to get to stay and watch the two guys come to almost inevitable blows, nodded and followed the instruction, leading the other four other guys out with him. The door swung shut and the click of the mechanism was the first thing to penetrate the silence that hung heavy between them.
“Man up? Man up,” Punk gestured into the air. “Man up said the great John Cena. The man universally loved by all. The guy who can do no wrong. The man who walks away from a fight despite all his verbal bullshit. You can't think I'm going to listen to such pearls of wisdom from a broken down guy like you Cena?”
“Do what you want Punk, do what you want.”
John's words were flat and emotionless. He wasn't prepared to be baited into an argument that he wasn't interested in. A thought went through his mind that it was pretty rare for a guy from the indies to be so upset about the end of a match not going to plan but he decided not to push the point or even ask the question.
“So you think you're clever getting counted out like that? Not man enough yourself to hang around and finish the match properly. You make me sick Cena. You think you're too good to wrestle the darks now you've made your name and made your money?”
As Punk turned away he could feel eyes burning into him. What he couldn't see was the glower that had overtaken John's expression, one not unseen by millions when he was out in the ring. Punk waited for the smart retort, the witticism, the guaranteed comeback but there wasn't one forthcoming. Instead, as he reached his own bags across the other side of the room, all he could hear was the sound of rummaging and then feet slapping quietly on the tiled floor as John crossed it and went into the shower.
Once the water was running John was able to put some of his aggression aside and just get on with the task of getting cleaned up. He loved the feeling of the water hammering at his skin, rinsing the sweet smelling soap off and leaving him clean and refreshed. He never took long in the shower but since hurting his hip it was a little tougher to go as fast. The area was tender and he tried not to twist around too much. Given a couple of the bumps he'd taken he'd still be calling at reception for a bucket of ice when he got back to the hotel.
At the back of his mind was the reminder to stay alert. He knew Punk was angry but he'd no idea just how angry the unplanned ending would make the younger man. The pitfall of the injury was that he hadn't had time to call it. Once he recovered from being thrown out through the ropes he'd scraped himself up off the mats and made his way up the ramp. He knew the bruising would have started to show pretty quickly and when he took a glance down to his side the deep purpling was already happening beneath his skin. One tentative sweep with his hand had been the limit of his washing of the area and he shut the water off once the last suds were gathered in the gully.
John had just started to towel himself off when he saw Punk appear through the saloon doors. He opened his mouth to say something but he was shushed back to silence and got no further before Punk walked up and took a closer look at the markings.
“What the hell were you doing out there with that?”
“I wasn't out there with this. I took the slam then you put me through the ropes. I couldn't turn my hips fast enough to land right and I landed on it. It's no big deal. They'll just keep me off live shows.”
“So that's why you ended the match. You could've just told Chioda you were hurt. Cena, you do the stupidest things. Why didn't you get back in and we could've just reworked it. I mean, isn't that what you and Orton did in the past,” Pausing to cross his arms across his bare chest Punk couldn't keep the sly grin from his lips. “Or don't me and you share the same special working relationship yet?”
Everyone and their mother knew about the most acrimonious breakup in their company since Adam and Lita. Randy and John had gone their separate ways some three months before and ever since John had walked around with a face like thunder. It was rumoured that the break up wasn't his idea but nobody dared to ask. Instead it was easier to avoid the subject and avoid the man. Unless you were CM Punk.
“Yet? Punk, I don't trust you any further than I can throw you and although that may be some distance, trust me, I don't have your back just like you don't have mine.”
With a shrug John wrapped the towel around his waist and started his walk back into the main locker room but made it no further than an arm length away from Punk when he felt his right arm being grabbed.
“Now John, that's not very nice. I'm told that whoever you pick as your next bedtime butt buddy will probably get gold quick so why shouldn't I throw my hat in the, sorry, your ring.”
Punk knew he was pushing his luck and that John had the best of him in weight and strength but there was something about the older man and the feelings he'd stirred up all that time ago that just wouldn't allow him to let go.
“You think you're clever kid? Everything I got I worked for. Randy was the same. Whoever told you that my bed was like the yellow brick road couldn't be more wrong.”
Pulling his arm free of the vice like grip around it made John wince visibly, a mark of weakness he could've done without. Again he tried to leave but this time he found the fingers wrapped around his wrist. He kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to look at Punk and felt his muscles begin to tense up, readying himself this time to throw a punch if he had to. All he wanted was his clothes, his car, some ice and some sleep. He didn't see that as a massively unreasonable list of demands.
“I'd suggest you get that checked out before you go back tonight.”
John turned his head, a look of confusion on his face. His eyes met with Punk's and something flashed between them. He didn't know what it was or what it meant but it saw his wrist being carefully released as Punk headed to the shower and he headed out of it, ready to get dressed and leave.
~~x~~
As Punk walked out into the service area he saw John stood there, leaning against the ostentatious orange Mustang that was a regular fixture of the superstar parking area. Not far from it was his car, a four wheel drive Jeep that was suited to all weather conditions and running over demented fans if need be. He couldn't quickly fathom a reason why John had waited for him so he carried on walking by, deciding it was in his best interests to express no interest.
“You might be straight edge but does that mean you have to stop using manners too?”
Against his better judgement Punk took the bait, turning on his heel and swinging his gear bag from by his side to over his shoulder. He took the few steps back towards John and gestured towards John's car.
“I suppose you want me to say how nice it is. Or ask you why you're still here. Maybe you want to fight it out out here, I don't know. All I do know is that I'm not interested in your games John. Well here's a newsflash. Friend or enemy I don't get my kicks out of being given the run around by morons.”
“It won't start.”
“And?”
“Well, I was wondering if I could get a ride back to the hotel. Otherwise I gotta wait for these guys to get done packing up here and it could be a while.”
What John really meant was that he needed his bed. The dream of ice and sleep was getting further and further away and that in turn made his temper shorter and shorter. After the verbal battle he'd already had with Punk asking him for a favour was the last thing he wanted to do but there wasn't much choice.
“Magic word?”
Punk took great delight in making his colleague uncomfortable. He chewed on his lip ring to keep the smile off his face, determined that he was going to make it at least seem like he'd leave Cena there if he didn't ask nicely. Truth was that he'd give him a ride anyway, it wouldn't be worth the telling off he'd get from the powers that be if word got out that he'd left him at the arena. That said, the squirming he expected wasn't going to happen quite as he'd expected.
John bent down to pick his two bags up and covered the short distance to where Punk stood. At first he flashed a grin wide enough to swallow the moon and then moved his head to one side and leaned in close, his lips ending up no more than two centimetres from Punk's ear.
“Please.”
The whispered word had a deliberate tone to it. One that went past polite and into something much more suggestive. Punk could still feel the word ringing in his ear and a heat rising up his body that he'd not felt for a long time. John on the other hand knew he was pushing his luck with the kid but had chanced it anyway. He still occasionally thought about that night back then too but had written it off as nothing more than a drunken error, Punk's reticence having given him two more precious years with Randy. He wasn't sure what had gone down that night other than it had made their working relationship distinctly more difficult. That said it wasn't as if he didn't play on the tension between them from time to time.
With a sharp and assertive shove Punk sent John stumbling backwards, the push not hard enough to dump him on his ass, just sufficient to get the message across.
“Jeep's over there. Put your bags in.”
~~x~~
John found his attempts at starting conversation quickly shot down. Punk didn't talk sports so that was out. He certainly didn't like country and western or rap. He wasn't a big fan of cars other than for practicality. Apart from business that left John dry on things he had any knowledge of. Family was an off limit topic for both of them, Punk as he had little positive to say about his, John because he knew people weren't interested in his. Instead he just sat forward, his elbows on his knees and chin rested on top of his interlocked hands, staring out onto the dark open road ahead.
“Don't tell me you're praying for your car Cena. I know you're pathetic but that would take it to a whole new level.”
“Nope. I'm one, praying this journey is over quick and two, that one day I might find out just why you hate me so damn much.”
The frank statement caught Punk off guard. He didn't like not being able to answer questions but he didn't feel like explaining to John just what his beef was. It was too complicated, slightly embarrassing and an issue he had already tried to put to bed in his own mind on several occasions.
“I don't hate you. I just don't like you. There's a difference.”
John's snort abruptly punctuated the statement.
“The fuck there is. You're not the jealous type when it comes to business so it's not that. You're doing pretty okay for yourself financially now so it's not that. I haven't got anyone in my life that you're hankering after so I'm guessing that's not it either. You don't like my car, you don't wanna be in movies and you refuse to do endorsements. Considering that's the stretch of what we know about one another, I'm finding it real hard to see what I've done wrong.”
“Fuck you Cena. Just shut up and let's get back to the hotel.”
“So there is something but you're not man enough to say. I knew it!”
Sitting back in his seat John threw his hands up, gesturing wildly.
“How about you tell me what it is and we can go back to being normal folks. I don't want this shit with you Punk.”
“Just leave it Cena.”
“No, I won't just leave it Cena,” John's falsetto voice was coupled with a sing-song tone to the words. He paused to take a deep breath, recompose himself and try to find the reasonable adult he knew was within him somewhere. “I won't leave it at all. Every guy I stepped toe to toe with in this company knew I respected them and I earned theirs by the time they left. You might not like who I am in the ring, plenty don't, but if I've done something wrong to you personally then you might as well tell me so I can at least apologise.”
The saccharine Hallmark sentiment of John's words were too much for Punk and, seeing that they were just about to pass a rest stop, he pulled the car into the other lane and swerved into the stop, jamming on the brakes and in turn kicking up a dust cloud. It was deserted with nothing but a derelict diner wrecked to ruins in the corner and a toilet block that didn't look like it had been open, let alone cleaned, since just after Kennedy got shot. He unclipped his seatbelt and flung the door open, jumping down out of his seat and shouted at John to get out.
A little shaken up by the sudden manoeuvre off the main road John found himself complying without question. Given that he was the one getting a ride, had little idea where he actually was or how far he'd have to walk to get to civilisation if he chose to go it alone, it seemed by far the wisest idea. He took the decision not to close his door, thereby making it harder for Punk to jump back in and drive off without him and moved around to the back of the car. As he got there Punk grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the trunk, his eyes showing clearly the fury behind them.
“You want to lecture me Cena? You think I want to hear it or I'm going to actually listen to your bullshit then go ahead and do it now. I just can't concentrate on driving in a straight line listening to your acting school accent ringing in my ears.”
Unusually John found himself with nothing left to say. All he wanted was a reason and an explanation and he felt that they were heading towards another round of the same game of avoiding the question to avoid the answer. With one last sigh he tried to firm up his resolve to ask one more time. He turned his head to the side and swallowed hard, trying not to stumble over his words as his eyes registered Punk in the semi-darkness with only moonlight casting over the them and the car, the overhead lights likely long since cut off.
“I already told you. I just wanna know what I've done to make you like this.”
The words sounded as earnest as they could and Punk sensed that he'd gone as far as he could with the delaying tactics. He had to decide what to say, whether to spin a line or admit that he didn't hate John, only how John made him feel. He loosened his grip on the firm shoulders and took a step back. The incendiary anger he'd felt had died down and turned itself into the nauseous twisting in his stomach he'd become accustomed to. He toyed with the idea of getting it off his chest but chickened out at the last second, opting instead for a change of subject.
“Look, do you want to get back to the hotel or do you want to stand here all night? Nothing's going to change Cena. We're never going to go to Miami together for the-”
“Why Miami?”
“No reason. Well, it's warm.”
The moment of near humour between them helped to bring John's heckles back down and make Punk feel less conscious of who he was with. A few seconds passed where he stared straight into John's eyes, his fingers flexing just in case his hands were called upon to defend himself or quickly pluck the keys from the pouch on the front of his hoodie. He hoped he'd gotten away with not answering the previous questions until John tilted his head to one side and one of his eyebrows raised into an arch.
“Why'd you spend so long looking at me just then?”
Punk mimicked the raised eyebrow and shook his head.
“I didn't.”
“Yeah, you did. You were staring at me.”
John shot a thought out of his mind just about as quickly as it had entered into it. There was no way. No way at all. Was there?
“So you weren't looking at me then?”
All the emphasis was on one word. That word meant one thing in the dictionary but it's meaning was completely transformed by the way it was used in that short sentence. Shaking his head Punk stood right where he was, deciding that walking away would be the worst thing he could do. It seemed better to stand and brass it out and stop John thinking that there was anything tangible between them other than animosity.
“What the hell would I look at you for Cena? I mean, it's... you.”
“Damn right it's me.”
Standing upright after levering himself away from the car John found himself face to face with Punk, so close that he could hear and feel their out of sync breathing. He was on the bluff call, the mettle test and had convinced himself that he wasn't going to back down until he had a straight answer. What he hadn't accounted for was the way he got shoved back against the panel of cold metal and glass, the pierced lips clamped on to his like one of their lives depended on it.
To say that the kiss stole his breath would be an understatement. The spark that had passed between them never belied the fact that it could've easily lit the touchpaper for a rocket more suited to Cape Canaveral than a backyard at New Years'. John was shocked but found himself conceding to being kissed, unlike him as it was to take the back seat with anyone other than Randy. As an automatic reaction he found himself moving his hands to try and put them on Punk's back or shoulders but the moment he moved them they were pinned to the car. The sensation of being dominated so wholly made his body relax in a new way, as if he was finally prepared to go with the flow. It had been so long since he'd been physically close to anyone that it felt good whatever the deal was.
Driving his knee into the gap between John's legs and pressing himself against the uninjured hip Punk found himself stunned by his own actions. There was no doubt that it felt good but in the bottom of his stomach there was a nausea churning and he wondered what it meant. It felt somewhere between the rush of getting what he wanted and doing something he should never have entertained. The man on the other end of his lips was John Cena. The guy. The guy who's laugh and happy-go-lucky demeanour drove him crazy; the guy who's bad jokes and even worse singing made him scowl every time he encountered either of them. What he'd slowly been forcing himself to accept though was that John was also the guy who's blue eyes shot him right in the guts and who had a smile that made him think about doing terrible and debauched things to the thick lips that formed it. Over many late night self-love sessions Punk had come to realise that even if he could never like John he was desperate to fuck him, even if it was just to see if it would get the unwanted arousal out of his system for good.
He ground himself against John's hip forcefully, the pressure easily felt through his sweat pants. A groan which escaped from the back of his throat echoed into their conjoined mouths and Punk found himself fighting to keep John's hands pinned to the car. There was no way he was going to relinquish the power he felt he had. Banking on the fact that the fire in his belly was reflected in John's too he pulled out of the kiss and went for the smooth skin of John's neck, sinking his teeth into it and biting at the tense muscle. The reaction he got, which consisted of low toned pleading for more, confirmed that he'd done the right thing. If he wanted John then he was there for the taking and Punk knew himself too well. It wasn't about the thrill of the chase for him, that part was tiresome and usually a waste of time. He wanted to achieve what he set out to do and given the way John's chest was heaving he was well on target.
Feeling the hard bites surely marking his skin sent jolts through John, his preference for being treated roughly being met with no urging needed. The muscles in his legs were flexed as hard as they could to keep him stood firm, the rocking of Punk's hard cock against him coupled with the ravaging of his neck felt almost too good. He tried to manoeuvre himself to get more pressure on his own groin but to no avail. It was clear that what he thought was a random grope was turning into much more.
The teeth dragged clear of his skin and lips took their place, almost painfully hard kisses landed over the scar on his neck which made him fight the urge to push Punk away. Nobody ventured near the scar, not even Randy. It was off limits and a reminder of a dark period in his life. He made sure it was made up at all times. The cool evening air blew across his skin and and felt colder still once he felt a tongue darting over the scar, tasting it and tracing it. John screwed his eyes shut, the sensations of pleasure and lust mixing dangerously with his rising anger; anger that anyone would dare to go near the scar without his permission.
“Not there.”
“Fuck you Cena, don't tell me what to do.”
Punk pulled back and looked at John squarely in the eyes, determined that he wouldn't have anything but his own way. The look he received in return was a narrow eyed and flushed one; one that gave away absolutely just what he was doing to John whether he protested or not.
“Do whatever you want but not that. C'mon man, just not there.”
The needy tone in the bigger man's voice was like a red rag to a bull for Punk and he let go of one of John's wrists and moved his hand over to the tented denim of John's groin, rubbing roughly at first before slowly lowering the zipper. Once it was at the bottom and his hand had slipped inside the warm fabric he grasped the cotton clad erection that awaited him and moved his hand up and down as far as the jean shorts would allow. Watching John's eyes close completely and his lips part gave Punk enough confidence to go back to worrying the scar, something he'd found himself fascinated with. An imperfection in something considered otherwise flawless was his favourite part of everyone and everything.
This time John didn't care enough to protest. His ability to be self conscious about anything had evaporated as soon as the slender fingers had wound themselves around his cock. Now the sensation on his neck just added to the dwindling of his self-control and conscience. The hand down his pants could've belonged to anyone as long as it didn't stop making him feel good.
Punk found himself pleasantly surprised at how obedient John could be, his released hand still palm flat against the trunk. Taking a chance he released the other hand and slid his free one under John's ass, pulling him closer as Punk continued rocking his hips in time with the motions of his other hand. He leaned in close to John's ear as he had before and whispered again, making sure to keep the authority in his voice.
“On your knees Cena.”
Leaning back he saw John's eyes shoot wide open.
“Don't... don't stop, please.”
“On you knees now or I will stop and you'll be going back to your hotel room to sort this out on your own.”
A fleeting thought about it being a set up passed through John's mind but he was too far gone to truly care. He wasn't about the throw away a chance to see how much he was over Randy when it was being given to him on a plate. Punk's hands withdrew and slowly he descended to his knees, hands rested on his thighs and staring up into the face smiling down at him. He watched as Punk adjusted his pants and boxers, both pulled down just enough to expose everything John was interested in. He ran his tongue around his mouth once to make sure that he was ready and as Punk leaned forward, one hand resting on the car above John's head, he parted his lips and let his mouth be filled up.
He'd never been able to deep throat and that wasn't about to change but what he lost in that regard he made up for in enthusiasm and an ability to suck an orange down a hosepipe. Opting to keep his hands out of the way he relied on Punk to be at least a little merciful in his actions and, after ensuring he'd slicked up as much of the flesh as possible, began to bob his head back and forth at an up tempo rate, sucking as hard as he could for as long as he could each time.
“Shit, Cena. Why the fuck did Orton ever let you go? You're in the wrong business.”
Punk was unable to suppress his desire to ask the question, something he genuinely wondered as he watched himself disappearing into John's hot mouth over and over again. There was nothing amateur or inexperienced about someone who could give head like that and Punk damned himself for reacting to the alcohol fumes years ago. He could've been getting serviced by Cena rather than wasting his time on Jeff and latterly, Luke. Credit was given where it was due and he'd not had a blowjob that good in years.
He didn't need to worry about the comment bringing the experience to an end as it was lost on John. He could tell that from the older man's face as the slight frown faded. Knowing he was getting closer Punk used the hand that had been gathering his t-shirt around his navel to hold the back of John's head instead, not needing to force himself any further, just to make sure that John wasn't going to duck out of swallowing. He was sure that a guy who gave head like that wouldn't chicken shit out on him at the end but he wanted to make sure. If he was going to enjoy himself he was going to do it properly.
A few seconds later and he was about to find out. John had quickened the pace of his movements and with one slide of his tongue over the point at which the prominent vein disappeared it was over. Punk felt his middle section tense and then become concave, his hand dragging down the rear window with the force with which he came. The expletives came thick and fast, much like something else, as he felt the spasms peak and then subside, all the time buried deep inside John's mouth. Eventually he pulled out, unscrewing his eyes and looking down to see a pair of deep pink and puffed up lips smiling at him.
“You okay up there?”
John's boundless joviality hadn't been toned down one bit by the subservient way in which he'd been used.
“Cena, stand up and shut up.”
Shaking his head Punk hid his smile, seeing in John the same kind of energy that a new puppy has; adorable yet hideously irritating at the same time. Just like a puppy John obeyed the order.
“Turn around and face the car.”
John decided that he might as well do it, he'd come that far and at least he'd be able to see if Punk was going to run off around to the driver's side in order to leave him in the middle of nowhere. Instead all he got was a hand snaking around his body and deftly unpopping the button of his jean shorts. They fell loose around his hips and the same hand slid under the elastic of his underwear and continued what it had started before. This time he could feel the callous free skin on his, layers of fabric no longer obstructing the grip the fingers had around his cock.
This time John was the one looking for support from the rear window, his hands splayed out across it as he grunted and groaned towards a much needed release. Punk's hand worked him hard and fast but it was better, far better, than the over familiar feel of his own predictable ministrations. He couldn't help but to rock his hips to push harder through the hand around him and at the third time of doing it he was done, his head turned to stifle the loud moan with his arm.
Punk had the knowledge and skill to let go as he felt the twitching start, sneaking his hand just as the wet patch started to form on John's boxers. As he stood back and watched John ride out the last of his climax he wanted to feel smug and self-satisfied about John being so easy. He wanted the experience to feel like John had been nothing more than prey and that he was happy to wash his hands of his curiosities for good. He wanted it to, but it didn't. All it left him with was the question about what it would feel like to watch that body contort and comply underneath him. The plan wasn't quite going to plan.
Feet away stood John, trying his best to get his breath back and rationalise what had just happened. The sensation of the dampness in his boxers was distracting him from that slightly but he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He knew that him and Punk was an unholy union at best and what their encounter had meant was lost on him. It had come from so far left of field that he didn't know what to make of it. Eventually he reached down and fixed himself up as well as was possible, turning to lean on the car and look at Punk. His movement was met with laughter for no good reason he knew of.
“What's so funny?”
“You.”
“Oh really. Why would that be?”
Punk paused for a minute and stopped chewing on his lip ring.
“Because. That's why. Because you're John Cena. Because you're a lot easier than I figured you would be. Because I wanted to do this for so long and now... and now, fuck knows why, I want to do it again. What the fuck do you eat for breakfast Cena that makes people so, I don't know, addicted to the bullshit you peddle?”
“Hey, you finally spat it out! Well done there young Punk, we're making progress. If you wanted me you only had to say, no need to fake being all pissed at me.”
“Yeah, I wasn't faking that. I really do hate you.”
John paused, waiting for the punchline but it didn't come.
“Well I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that. Sure will be cheap at Christmas and Valentines.”
With a shrug John walked around to the passenger side and rested his arm on the door, staring at the startled man still firmly rooted at the back of the car.
“You comin'? I mean, if we're gonna go again we better get back to the hotel. Looks like I might need ice for my ass as well as my hip.”
Once John had hopped in and shut the door Punk spent a moment cursing out the twisted part of his soul that made the goof in the front seat of his car make his balls ache. Nevertheless he found himself going to start the car to head to their hotel, unsure if there would be a round two or if tiredness would ensure it was just the once around the block. All he did know was the he'd rather have twelve rounds of that than something else to put up with.
~~x~~
A/N: So, that was longer than I thought! It's done now and out of my head and that's all that matters :D All reads and reviews appreciated as always :D
Author: slashburd
Pairing: John Cena / CM Punk (Yes, you did just read that properly!)
Rating: M
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, bad language, smut.
A/N: This was inspired by and is dedicated to a friend who shares some of the same tastes I do and for that allegiance I am truly thankful. She knows who she is ;) Longer than I ever thought it would be and maybe slightly cracky but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it!
*
The chatter between the last few guys in the locker room fell quiet as the two men burst in through the door, the sound of their voices echoing loudly in the corridor having already been an advance warning to those left quietly packing up their gear after the show.
“What the fuck is wrong with you Cena, huh? What the fuck was that?”
Punk had entered the room behind John but soon got in front of him, stopping the bigger man in his tracks by blocking his path forward. His anger levels were about to cause his head to explode and the red mist had descended. As far as he was concerned there was no way their non-conversation was going to end amicably.
John on the other hand simply stood in the middle of the room. He'd said his peace on the way through the backstage corridors and had no intention of justifying himself any further. Why a guy was so pissed about the end of a dark match was lost on him. It wasn't as if he'd even beaten Punk so the problem was really lost on him. Instead of replying he chose to stand and smile sweetly as if he hadn't a care in the world.
“No Cena, you're not going to fuck me over like this and expect me just stand here and take it. You knew the drill, knew the ending. Instead you run off backstage just because you don't want to get pinned? What, you scared the kids are gonna go home crying because SuperCena took a bump and got beat? You're a fucking joke Cena and not a fucking funny one.”
“Punk, let it go man. You sound like a on old woman.”
Shaking his head dismissively John turned away and headed towards his corner of the room where his gear bags sat awaiting his return. His clean clothes were piled up ready for after the shower and given the way things were panning out he'd be grateful for a quick getaway. If he cared to admit the truth to Punk he'd have to admit that the hip problem he was carrying had flared up and that he didn't need to eat any more finishing moves that night but he would never reveal that. His pride wouldn't let him.
Punk on the other hand didn't feel like letting it go. He didn't feel like being cannon fodder for yet another guy's overblown ego. For a while he'd been tired of the way he was being used but this new storyline had given him something to go at and gunning for the most overexposed guy in the business seemed like a cool thing to do. He was also the guy that had turned into a thorn in Punk's side in a different way.
Two years ago on a tour of Europe they'd all been out together for dinner and drinks. Most of the guys were pretty wrecked by the time they landed back into the hotel bar at 2am except for Punk and a couple of others who were on the right side of being able to stand. Whereas usually he'd have left the drunks to sort themselves out he'd been recruited into a group of the less inebriated who were charged with getting those worse for wear back to their rooms before any of the road agents got wind of the commotion and came downstairs.
As his luck would have it he got Cena who was also staying on his floor of the hotel. The bigger man had sung country music all the way up in the elevator and carried on while he he was half escorted, half dragged back to his room door. Once there Punk turned to leave him but a drunken request to help him find his room key made Punk turn around and go to help. Half of the contents of John's pockets were already on the floor but the key wasn't with them. Instead he'd had to go through the remaining pockets until he found it.
Everything had been fine until he looked up at John. His intention had been to make some smart comment and walk away, leaving John with the card in his hand. Instead he caught sight of the piercing blue eyes that seemed to catch the faintest of glints from the dim overhead lighting. The card was brandished in his hand, raised at the side of his head but he couldn't summon up a movement if he tried. He stood there like a rabbit caught in the headlights, not moving a muscle until John's lips fell into a lopsided smile.
“You're a good guy Punk, no matter what they say.”
“Cena, I don't care what they say. Never have.”
“S'at so? What else don't you care about them sayin'?”
John hand leaned one arm on the door frame for support and stooped forward, looking for all the world that he was leaning in for a kiss. That's when Punk had smelled the alcoholic spirit on his breath and the spell was broken. Too many memories of bad times were enough to bring him back down to earth.
“Night Cena.”
After slotting the card into the top pocket of John's casual shirt he'd walked away, eyes closed and counting his blessings that he'd only come close to making the biggest mistake of his life. The last thing he needed was baggage and John was one pretty big bag even if he did have nice eyes.
“Fuck you Cena. Who do you think you're talking to? I'm not some snot nosed kid straight out of FCW. I don't worship the ground you walk on like those dumb fuckers.”
John had opted to go and sit on the bench where his stuff was, figuring that he might as well take a load off his feet if he was going to have an equally heavy one dumped on his brain. He stared up at the angry figure before him and shook his head.
“I'm not getting into this with you Punk. What's done is done, just deal with it. Man up a little.”
In his brain the statements sounded innocuous enough but he realised they hadn't come out like that. The anger had turned to fury in Punk's eyes and he was sure that there was going to be another burst of fireworks before this was settled. He busied himself kicking off his sneakers and knee pads before turning to Otunga, one of the guys on the other side of the locker room who appeared to be packed and ready but intent on listening in.
“Dave, can you guys give us some space? You look good to go and I'm sure this isn't going to get sorted while we've got a paying audience. Let the travel guys know I'm driving myself back to the hotel, a'ight?”
Otunga, despite being disappointed that he wasn't going to get to stay and watch the two guys come to almost inevitable blows, nodded and followed the instruction, leading the other four other guys out with him. The door swung shut and the click of the mechanism was the first thing to penetrate the silence that hung heavy between them.
“Man up? Man up,” Punk gestured into the air. “Man up said the great John Cena. The man universally loved by all. The guy who can do no wrong. The man who walks away from a fight despite all his verbal bullshit. You can't think I'm going to listen to such pearls of wisdom from a broken down guy like you Cena?”
“Do what you want Punk, do what you want.”
John's words were flat and emotionless. He wasn't prepared to be baited into an argument that he wasn't interested in. A thought went through his mind that it was pretty rare for a guy from the indies to be so upset about the end of a match not going to plan but he decided not to push the point or even ask the question.
“So you think you're clever getting counted out like that? Not man enough yourself to hang around and finish the match properly. You make me sick Cena. You think you're too good to wrestle the darks now you've made your name and made your money?”
As Punk turned away he could feel eyes burning into him. What he couldn't see was the glower that had overtaken John's expression, one not unseen by millions when he was out in the ring. Punk waited for the smart retort, the witticism, the guaranteed comeback but there wasn't one forthcoming. Instead, as he reached his own bags across the other side of the room, all he could hear was the sound of rummaging and then feet slapping quietly on the tiled floor as John crossed it and went into the shower.
Once the water was running John was able to put some of his aggression aside and just get on with the task of getting cleaned up. He loved the feeling of the water hammering at his skin, rinsing the sweet smelling soap off and leaving him clean and refreshed. He never took long in the shower but since hurting his hip it was a little tougher to go as fast. The area was tender and he tried not to twist around too much. Given a couple of the bumps he'd taken he'd still be calling at reception for a bucket of ice when he got back to the hotel.
At the back of his mind was the reminder to stay alert. He knew Punk was angry but he'd no idea just how angry the unplanned ending would make the younger man. The pitfall of the injury was that he hadn't had time to call it. Once he recovered from being thrown out through the ropes he'd scraped himself up off the mats and made his way up the ramp. He knew the bruising would have started to show pretty quickly and when he took a glance down to his side the deep purpling was already happening beneath his skin. One tentative sweep with his hand had been the limit of his washing of the area and he shut the water off once the last suds were gathered in the gully.
John had just started to towel himself off when he saw Punk appear through the saloon doors. He opened his mouth to say something but he was shushed back to silence and got no further before Punk walked up and took a closer look at the markings.
“What the hell were you doing out there with that?”
“I wasn't out there with this. I took the slam then you put me through the ropes. I couldn't turn my hips fast enough to land right and I landed on it. It's no big deal. They'll just keep me off live shows.”
“So that's why you ended the match. You could've just told Chioda you were hurt. Cena, you do the stupidest things. Why didn't you get back in and we could've just reworked it. I mean, isn't that what you and Orton did in the past,” Pausing to cross his arms across his bare chest Punk couldn't keep the sly grin from his lips. “Or don't me and you share the same special working relationship yet?”
Everyone and their mother knew about the most acrimonious breakup in their company since Adam and Lita. Randy and John had gone their separate ways some three months before and ever since John had walked around with a face like thunder. It was rumoured that the break up wasn't his idea but nobody dared to ask. Instead it was easier to avoid the subject and avoid the man. Unless you were CM Punk.
“Yet? Punk, I don't trust you any further than I can throw you and although that may be some distance, trust me, I don't have your back just like you don't have mine.”
With a shrug John wrapped the towel around his waist and started his walk back into the main locker room but made it no further than an arm length away from Punk when he felt his right arm being grabbed.
“Now John, that's not very nice. I'm told that whoever you pick as your next bedtime butt buddy will probably get gold quick so why shouldn't I throw my hat in the, sorry, your ring.”
Punk knew he was pushing his luck and that John had the best of him in weight and strength but there was something about the older man and the feelings he'd stirred up all that time ago that just wouldn't allow him to let go.
“You think you're clever kid? Everything I got I worked for. Randy was the same. Whoever told you that my bed was like the yellow brick road couldn't be more wrong.”
Pulling his arm free of the vice like grip around it made John wince visibly, a mark of weakness he could've done without. Again he tried to leave but this time he found the fingers wrapped around his wrist. He kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to look at Punk and felt his muscles begin to tense up, readying himself this time to throw a punch if he had to. All he wanted was his clothes, his car, some ice and some sleep. He didn't see that as a massively unreasonable list of demands.
“I'd suggest you get that checked out before you go back tonight.”
John turned his head, a look of confusion on his face. His eyes met with Punk's and something flashed between them. He didn't know what it was or what it meant but it saw his wrist being carefully released as Punk headed to the shower and he headed out of it, ready to get dressed and leave.
As Punk walked out into the service area he saw John stood there, leaning against the ostentatious orange Mustang that was a regular fixture of the superstar parking area. Not far from it was his car, a four wheel drive Jeep that was suited to all weather conditions and running over demented fans if need be. He couldn't quickly fathom a reason why John had waited for him so he carried on walking by, deciding it was in his best interests to express no interest.
“You might be straight edge but does that mean you have to stop using manners too?”
Against his better judgement Punk took the bait, turning on his heel and swinging his gear bag from by his side to over his shoulder. He took the few steps back towards John and gestured towards John's car.
“I suppose you want me to say how nice it is. Or ask you why you're still here. Maybe you want to fight it out out here, I don't know. All I do know is that I'm not interested in your games John. Well here's a newsflash. Friend or enemy I don't get my kicks out of being given the run around by morons.”
“It won't start.”
“And?”
“Well, I was wondering if I could get a ride back to the hotel. Otherwise I gotta wait for these guys to get done packing up here and it could be a while.”
What John really meant was that he needed his bed. The dream of ice and sleep was getting further and further away and that in turn made his temper shorter and shorter. After the verbal battle he'd already had with Punk asking him for a favour was the last thing he wanted to do but there wasn't much choice.
“Magic word?”
Punk took great delight in making his colleague uncomfortable. He chewed on his lip ring to keep the smile off his face, determined that he was going to make it at least seem like he'd leave Cena there if he didn't ask nicely. Truth was that he'd give him a ride anyway, it wouldn't be worth the telling off he'd get from the powers that be if word got out that he'd left him at the arena. That said, the squirming he expected wasn't going to happen quite as he'd expected.
John bent down to pick his two bags up and covered the short distance to where Punk stood. At first he flashed a grin wide enough to swallow the moon and then moved his head to one side and leaned in close, his lips ending up no more than two centimetres from Punk's ear.
“Please.”
The whispered word had a deliberate tone to it. One that went past polite and into something much more suggestive. Punk could still feel the word ringing in his ear and a heat rising up his body that he'd not felt for a long time. John on the other hand knew he was pushing his luck with the kid but had chanced it anyway. He still occasionally thought about that night back then too but had written it off as nothing more than a drunken error, Punk's reticence having given him two more precious years with Randy. He wasn't sure what had gone down that night other than it had made their working relationship distinctly more difficult. That said it wasn't as if he didn't play on the tension between them from time to time.
With a sharp and assertive shove Punk sent John stumbling backwards, the push not hard enough to dump him on his ass, just sufficient to get the message across.
“Jeep's over there. Put your bags in.”
John found his attempts at starting conversation quickly shot down. Punk didn't talk sports so that was out. He certainly didn't like country and western or rap. He wasn't a big fan of cars other than for practicality. Apart from business that left John dry on things he had any knowledge of. Family was an off limit topic for both of them, Punk as he had little positive to say about his, John because he knew people weren't interested in his. Instead he just sat forward, his elbows on his knees and chin rested on top of his interlocked hands, staring out onto the dark open road ahead.
“Don't tell me you're praying for your car Cena. I know you're pathetic but that would take it to a whole new level.”
“Nope. I'm one, praying this journey is over quick and two, that one day I might find out just why you hate me so damn much.”
The frank statement caught Punk off guard. He didn't like not being able to answer questions but he didn't feel like explaining to John just what his beef was. It was too complicated, slightly embarrassing and an issue he had already tried to put to bed in his own mind on several occasions.
“I don't hate you. I just don't like you. There's a difference.”
John's snort abruptly punctuated the statement.
“The fuck there is. You're not the jealous type when it comes to business so it's not that. You're doing pretty okay for yourself financially now so it's not that. I haven't got anyone in my life that you're hankering after so I'm guessing that's not it either. You don't like my car, you don't wanna be in movies and you refuse to do endorsements. Considering that's the stretch of what we know about one another, I'm finding it real hard to see what I've done wrong.”
“Fuck you Cena. Just shut up and let's get back to the hotel.”
“So there is something but you're not man enough to say. I knew it!”
Sitting back in his seat John threw his hands up, gesturing wildly.
“How about you tell me what it is and we can go back to being normal folks. I don't want this shit with you Punk.”
“Just leave it Cena.”
“No, I won't just leave it Cena,” John's falsetto voice was coupled with a sing-song tone to the words. He paused to take a deep breath, recompose himself and try to find the reasonable adult he knew was within him somewhere. “I won't leave it at all. Every guy I stepped toe to toe with in this company knew I respected them and I earned theirs by the time they left. You might not like who I am in the ring, plenty don't, but if I've done something wrong to you personally then you might as well tell me so I can at least apologise.”
The saccharine Hallmark sentiment of John's words were too much for Punk and, seeing that they were just about to pass a rest stop, he pulled the car into the other lane and swerved into the stop, jamming on the brakes and in turn kicking up a dust cloud. It was deserted with nothing but a derelict diner wrecked to ruins in the corner and a toilet block that didn't look like it had been open, let alone cleaned, since just after Kennedy got shot. He unclipped his seatbelt and flung the door open, jumping down out of his seat and shouted at John to get out.
A little shaken up by the sudden manoeuvre off the main road John found himself complying without question. Given that he was the one getting a ride, had little idea where he actually was or how far he'd have to walk to get to civilisation if he chose to go it alone, it seemed by far the wisest idea. He took the decision not to close his door, thereby making it harder for Punk to jump back in and drive off without him and moved around to the back of the car. As he got there Punk grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the trunk, his eyes showing clearly the fury behind them.
“You want to lecture me Cena? You think I want to hear it or I'm going to actually listen to your bullshit then go ahead and do it now. I just can't concentrate on driving in a straight line listening to your acting school accent ringing in my ears.”
Unusually John found himself with nothing left to say. All he wanted was a reason and an explanation and he felt that they were heading towards another round of the same game of avoiding the question to avoid the answer. With one last sigh he tried to firm up his resolve to ask one more time. He turned his head to the side and swallowed hard, trying not to stumble over his words as his eyes registered Punk in the semi-darkness with only moonlight casting over the them and the car, the overhead lights likely long since cut off.
“I already told you. I just wanna know what I've done to make you like this.”
The words sounded as earnest as they could and Punk sensed that he'd gone as far as he could with the delaying tactics. He had to decide what to say, whether to spin a line or admit that he didn't hate John, only how John made him feel. He loosened his grip on the firm shoulders and took a step back. The incendiary anger he'd felt had died down and turned itself into the nauseous twisting in his stomach he'd become accustomed to. He toyed with the idea of getting it off his chest but chickened out at the last second, opting instead for a change of subject.
“Look, do you want to get back to the hotel or do you want to stand here all night? Nothing's going to change Cena. We're never going to go to Miami together for the-”
“Why Miami?”
“No reason. Well, it's warm.”
The moment of near humour between them helped to bring John's heckles back down and make Punk feel less conscious of who he was with. A few seconds passed where he stared straight into John's eyes, his fingers flexing just in case his hands were called upon to defend himself or quickly pluck the keys from the pouch on the front of his hoodie. He hoped he'd gotten away with not answering the previous questions until John tilted his head to one side and one of his eyebrows raised into an arch.
“Why'd you spend so long looking at me just then?”
Punk mimicked the raised eyebrow and shook his head.
“I didn't.”
“Yeah, you did. You were staring at me.”
John shot a thought out of his mind just about as quickly as it had entered into it. There was no way. No way at all. Was there?
“So you weren't looking at me then?”
All the emphasis was on one word. That word meant one thing in the dictionary but it's meaning was completely transformed by the way it was used in that short sentence. Shaking his head Punk stood right where he was, deciding that walking away would be the worst thing he could do. It seemed better to stand and brass it out and stop John thinking that there was anything tangible between them other than animosity.
“What the hell would I look at you for Cena? I mean, it's... you.”
“Damn right it's me.”
Standing upright after levering himself away from the car John found himself face to face with Punk, so close that he could hear and feel their out of sync breathing. He was on the bluff call, the mettle test and had convinced himself that he wasn't going to back down until he had a straight answer. What he hadn't accounted for was the way he got shoved back against the panel of cold metal and glass, the pierced lips clamped on to his like one of their lives depended on it.
To say that the kiss stole his breath would be an understatement. The spark that had passed between them never belied the fact that it could've easily lit the touchpaper for a rocket more suited to Cape Canaveral than a backyard at New Years'. John was shocked but found himself conceding to being kissed, unlike him as it was to take the back seat with anyone other than Randy. As an automatic reaction he found himself moving his hands to try and put them on Punk's back or shoulders but the moment he moved them they were pinned to the car. The sensation of being dominated so wholly made his body relax in a new way, as if he was finally prepared to go with the flow. It had been so long since he'd been physically close to anyone that it felt good whatever the deal was.
Driving his knee into the gap between John's legs and pressing himself against the uninjured hip Punk found himself stunned by his own actions. There was no doubt that it felt good but in the bottom of his stomach there was a nausea churning and he wondered what it meant. It felt somewhere between the rush of getting what he wanted and doing something he should never have entertained. The man on the other end of his lips was John Cena. The guy. The guy who's laugh and happy-go-lucky demeanour drove him crazy; the guy who's bad jokes and even worse singing made him scowl every time he encountered either of them. What he'd slowly been forcing himself to accept though was that John was also the guy who's blue eyes shot him right in the guts and who had a smile that made him think about doing terrible and debauched things to the thick lips that formed it. Over many late night self-love sessions Punk had come to realise that even if he could never like John he was desperate to fuck him, even if it was just to see if it would get the unwanted arousal out of his system for good.
He ground himself against John's hip forcefully, the pressure easily felt through his sweat pants. A groan which escaped from the back of his throat echoed into their conjoined mouths and Punk found himself fighting to keep John's hands pinned to the car. There was no way he was going to relinquish the power he felt he had. Banking on the fact that the fire in his belly was reflected in John's too he pulled out of the kiss and went for the smooth skin of John's neck, sinking his teeth into it and biting at the tense muscle. The reaction he got, which consisted of low toned pleading for more, confirmed that he'd done the right thing. If he wanted John then he was there for the taking and Punk knew himself too well. It wasn't about the thrill of the chase for him, that part was tiresome and usually a waste of time. He wanted to achieve what he set out to do and given the way John's chest was heaving he was well on target.
Feeling the hard bites surely marking his skin sent jolts through John, his preference for being treated roughly being met with no urging needed. The muscles in his legs were flexed as hard as they could to keep him stood firm, the rocking of Punk's hard cock against him coupled with the ravaging of his neck felt almost too good. He tried to manoeuvre himself to get more pressure on his own groin but to no avail. It was clear that what he thought was a random grope was turning into much more.
The teeth dragged clear of his skin and lips took their place, almost painfully hard kisses landed over the scar on his neck which made him fight the urge to push Punk away. Nobody ventured near the scar, not even Randy. It was off limits and a reminder of a dark period in his life. He made sure it was made up at all times. The cool evening air blew across his skin and and felt colder still once he felt a tongue darting over the scar, tasting it and tracing it. John screwed his eyes shut, the sensations of pleasure and lust mixing dangerously with his rising anger; anger that anyone would dare to go near the scar without his permission.
“Not there.”
“Fuck you Cena, don't tell me what to do.”
Punk pulled back and looked at John squarely in the eyes, determined that he wouldn't have anything but his own way. The look he received in return was a narrow eyed and flushed one; one that gave away absolutely just what he was doing to John whether he protested or not.
“Do whatever you want but not that. C'mon man, just not there.”
The needy tone in the bigger man's voice was like a red rag to a bull for Punk and he let go of one of John's wrists and moved his hand over to the tented denim of John's groin, rubbing roughly at first before slowly lowering the zipper. Once it was at the bottom and his hand had slipped inside the warm fabric he grasped the cotton clad erection that awaited him and moved his hand up and down as far as the jean shorts would allow. Watching John's eyes close completely and his lips part gave Punk enough confidence to go back to worrying the scar, something he'd found himself fascinated with. An imperfection in something considered otherwise flawless was his favourite part of everyone and everything.
This time John didn't care enough to protest. His ability to be self conscious about anything had evaporated as soon as the slender fingers had wound themselves around his cock. Now the sensation on his neck just added to the dwindling of his self-control and conscience. The hand down his pants could've belonged to anyone as long as it didn't stop making him feel good.
Punk found himself pleasantly surprised at how obedient John could be, his released hand still palm flat against the trunk. Taking a chance he released the other hand and slid his free one under John's ass, pulling him closer as Punk continued rocking his hips in time with the motions of his other hand. He leaned in close to John's ear as he had before and whispered again, making sure to keep the authority in his voice.
“On your knees Cena.”
Leaning back he saw John's eyes shoot wide open.
“Don't... don't stop, please.”
“On you knees now or I will stop and you'll be going back to your hotel room to sort this out on your own.”
A fleeting thought about it being a set up passed through John's mind but he was too far gone to truly care. He wasn't about the throw away a chance to see how much he was over Randy when it was being given to him on a plate. Punk's hands withdrew and slowly he descended to his knees, hands rested on his thighs and staring up into the face smiling down at him. He watched as Punk adjusted his pants and boxers, both pulled down just enough to expose everything John was interested in. He ran his tongue around his mouth once to make sure that he was ready and as Punk leaned forward, one hand resting on the car above John's head, he parted his lips and let his mouth be filled up.
He'd never been able to deep throat and that wasn't about to change but what he lost in that regard he made up for in enthusiasm and an ability to suck an orange down a hosepipe. Opting to keep his hands out of the way he relied on Punk to be at least a little merciful in his actions and, after ensuring he'd slicked up as much of the flesh as possible, began to bob his head back and forth at an up tempo rate, sucking as hard as he could for as long as he could each time.
“Shit, Cena. Why the fuck did Orton ever let you go? You're in the wrong business.”
Punk was unable to suppress his desire to ask the question, something he genuinely wondered as he watched himself disappearing into John's hot mouth over and over again. There was nothing amateur or inexperienced about someone who could give head like that and Punk damned himself for reacting to the alcohol fumes years ago. He could've been getting serviced by Cena rather than wasting his time on Jeff and latterly, Luke. Credit was given where it was due and he'd not had a blowjob that good in years.
He didn't need to worry about the comment bringing the experience to an end as it was lost on John. He could tell that from the older man's face as the slight frown faded. Knowing he was getting closer Punk used the hand that had been gathering his t-shirt around his navel to hold the back of John's head instead, not needing to force himself any further, just to make sure that John wasn't going to duck out of swallowing. He was sure that a guy who gave head like that wouldn't chicken shit out on him at the end but he wanted to make sure. If he was going to enjoy himself he was going to do it properly.
A few seconds later and he was about to find out. John had quickened the pace of his movements and with one slide of his tongue over the point at which the prominent vein disappeared it was over. Punk felt his middle section tense and then become concave, his hand dragging down the rear window with the force with which he came. The expletives came thick and fast, much like something else, as he felt the spasms peak and then subside, all the time buried deep inside John's mouth. Eventually he pulled out, unscrewing his eyes and looking down to see a pair of deep pink and puffed up lips smiling at him.
“You okay up there?”
John's boundless joviality hadn't been toned down one bit by the subservient way in which he'd been used.
“Cena, stand up and shut up.”
Shaking his head Punk hid his smile, seeing in John the same kind of energy that a new puppy has; adorable yet hideously irritating at the same time. Just like a puppy John obeyed the order.
“Turn around and face the car.”
John decided that he might as well do it, he'd come that far and at least he'd be able to see if Punk was going to run off around to the driver's side in order to leave him in the middle of nowhere. Instead all he got was a hand snaking around his body and deftly unpopping the button of his jean shorts. They fell loose around his hips and the same hand slid under the elastic of his underwear and continued what it had started before. This time he could feel the callous free skin on his, layers of fabric no longer obstructing the grip the fingers had around his cock.
This time John was the one looking for support from the rear window, his hands splayed out across it as he grunted and groaned towards a much needed release. Punk's hand worked him hard and fast but it was better, far better, than the over familiar feel of his own predictable ministrations. He couldn't help but to rock his hips to push harder through the hand around him and at the third time of doing it he was done, his head turned to stifle the loud moan with his arm.
Punk had the knowledge and skill to let go as he felt the twitching start, sneaking his hand just as the wet patch started to form on John's boxers. As he stood back and watched John ride out the last of his climax he wanted to feel smug and self-satisfied about John being so easy. He wanted the experience to feel like John had been nothing more than prey and that he was happy to wash his hands of his curiosities for good. He wanted it to, but it didn't. All it left him with was the question about what it would feel like to watch that body contort and comply underneath him. The plan wasn't quite going to plan.
Feet away stood John, trying his best to get his breath back and rationalise what had just happened. The sensation of the dampness in his boxers was distracting him from that slightly but he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He knew that him and Punk was an unholy union at best and what their encounter had meant was lost on him. It had come from so far left of field that he didn't know what to make of it. Eventually he reached down and fixed himself up as well as was possible, turning to lean on the car and look at Punk. His movement was met with laughter for no good reason he knew of.
“What's so funny?”
“You.”
“Oh really. Why would that be?”
Punk paused for a minute and stopped chewing on his lip ring.
“Because. That's why. Because you're John Cena. Because you're a lot easier than I figured you would be. Because I wanted to do this for so long and now... and now, fuck knows why, I want to do it again. What the fuck do you eat for breakfast Cena that makes people so, I don't know, addicted to the bullshit you peddle?”
“Hey, you finally spat it out! Well done there young Punk, we're making progress. If you wanted me you only had to say, no need to fake being all pissed at me.”
“Yeah, I wasn't faking that. I really do hate you.”
John paused, waiting for the punchline but it didn't come.
“Well I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that. Sure will be cheap at Christmas and Valentines.”
With a shrug John walked around to the passenger side and rested his arm on the door, staring at the startled man still firmly rooted at the back of the car.
“You comin'? I mean, if we're gonna go again we better get back to the hotel. Looks like I might need ice for my ass as well as my hip.”
Once John had hopped in and shut the door Punk spent a moment cursing out the twisted part of his soul that made the goof in the front seat of his car make his balls ache. Nevertheless he found himself going to start the car to head to their hotel, unsure if there would be a round two or if tiredness would ensure it was just the once around the block. All he did know was the he'd rather have twelve rounds of that than something else to put up with.
A/N: So, that was longer than I thought! It's done now and out of my head and that's all that matters :D All reads and reviews appreciated as always :D
