Empty Spaces
Apr. 18th, 2012 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slashburdTitle: Empty Spaces
Author: slashburd
Pairing: CM Punk / John Cena
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. If that offends, please don't read it!! Only other warning is for some silliness and that this isn't very long. Just something that came spilling out of my brain :)
*
A weird falsetto broke the silence of the empty corridor and Punk felt his heckles go up immediately. There was one sacred space to him and that was the one between his ears. When he was busy enjoying the peace and quiet always happened to be the time it was most likely to get interrupted.
“Hey, I heard you were a wild one... ooooohhhhhh... if I took you home I'd be a home run...”
That song had haunted him for weeks since it started blaring out at every house show, chat show, signing and media day; in fact it was everywhere in his life that had speakers apart from his bus. Kofi had been threatened with disembowelment when following through on a bet with the guys to make it his ringtone. The 18 calls his friend's phone had received during one unpleasantly long highway trip had seen them nearly come to blows and the phone forever silenced by a trip down the toilet.
“Show me how you dooooooo-ooooooohhhh....”
“Shut the fuck up whoever you are. Or get a better taste in music.”
“Hey I heard you like the wild ones.”
Incensed by the refusal to obey his wishes Punk rose from his spot cross legged on the storage crates for the lighting gear and began to wander, looking for the moron that was causing his blood pressure to rocket and fantasising about their untimely end. After only turning one corner he found the culprit.
“John, hey John, knock it off.”
“I wanna shut down the cluu-ub, with you hooooo....”
“Hey, fucker, cut it out.”
Still nothing. He looked at his colleague who was sprawled out on a yoga mat, one knee clutched between shovel-like hands and pulled up towards his chest. Punk glanced around and soon spotted the iPod that was guilty of piping the equivalent of raw sewage into John's ears. Much as he wanted to walk over and stamp on John's face for his taste in music it was almost as amusing to watch 240lb of muscle not only singing along to a shitty song but just to the woman's part.
“So much for the badass rapper dude, huh.”
Muttering under his breath was one of Punk's favourite pastimes and there wasn't anyone around who made him do it as much as John did. Whether it was cursing out the guy who was stealing the spotlight years ago to the guy who was now laying down for anyone Vince could convince to sign an overblown one time deal, Punk struggled to find a moment when he wasn't cursing John for something.
He leaned against the cool concrete wall and watched the same meticulous stretching that he saw every night they were on the same card. After the main event was over, after the go-home and handshakes were done John always stretched out and showered before leaving the arena. It had long been the case that being in the main event meant missing the bus back on European tours or the invites to go along on the late night IHOP and Denny's runs. The last eight months had taken their toll on Punk as he started to realise that it was lonelier being lonely as the champ than it ever had been when he was considered nothing more than an unapproachable and arrogant asshole. Kofi had told him in no uncertain terms that he'd changed lately and not for the better. Their travel time was getting more strained and ironically it was the ringtone incident that had brought about their post-Mania parting of the ways travel-wise.
“Now John I know you can't hear me but I'm gonna tell you now that you won't like this tomorrow.”
Quietly Punk rumbled through his hoodie pockets until he found his phone, flicking it to video as quickly as he could and starting to record. On and on went the bad singing accompanied by the softest of grunts when a resistant muscle was put back into place. For a moment he was worried about getting caught when he sensed John was about to get up but his filming went on uninterrupted when John did nothing more than heave himself over onto his front.
“I am a wild one, break me in. Saddle me up and and let's begin...”
Punk found himself struggling to stifle a belly laugh and nearly choking as he tried to keep it down. The video would be gold around the locker room although he knew John would do his usual act of dealing with it with good grace. He was also sure that the backstage street cred John would lose by being compared with Otunga's wife would get enough mileage to make enduring the horrible singing worthwhile. It wouldn't be the first time he had tried to shatter the nice guy persona but it might just be the first time he managed it. To Punk it wasn't right that anyone should be able to laugh off just about anything thrown at them. The only real trigger was stirring shit about the endless charity work John did but Punk found no fun in that, he could only give props for it.
Eventually it appeared that the painfully awful and badly performed song was over. That gave Punk a perfect and extended shot of the plentiful and cotton clad ass up in the air as John leaned over to grab his iPod and play with the controls. It wasn't long before it was tossed back onto the mat and the slow stretches began again but Punk found his attention was concentrated on something more than the renewed singing.
He was fixated as John moved to prop himself up on his palms, slowly moving his feet to bring his body up into an arch and then back down again. It was something Punk had learned to do after his hip injury but he knew that his ass wasn't half as entertaining while he did it. Colt had made sure to inform him of that. As the routine continued he stopped watching the happenings as footage on his phone and instead looked over it, not minded to care if the video was capturing anything more than concrete flooring.
The singing had stopped and was more of a breathy hum as he watched John dip his hips low and push his shoulders back, forcing his body into the mat and his ass tightly together within the confines of the soft grey cotton. The position was unnaturally graceful for someone of John's size and from nowhere Punk felt a twitch in his groin. He couldn't help but wonder when a bland guy with a bad haircut had started to float his boat so much though.
Although Punk knew he wasn't much of a porn fan there was something about what he was seeing that made the hairs stand on the back of his neck. Usually he preferred to go out and find his own entertainment or just draw on memories to get the job done if he was alone. That said, in all aspects of his life he did like to watch people that were willing to give him a show and they usually got the best of his performance in return. His tongue worried his lip ring as he imagined the sheer thrill of pinning John to the floor and finding out whether or not his advances were welcome.
The corridor was quiet and empty enough for them to get away with whatever they wanted and the thought of yanking down those grey shorts and grinding their bodies in unison against the thin mat and the cold concrete floor was enough to start the formation of small beads of sweat across his top lip. As John rested briefly, his head propped on folded arms, Punk fought the urge to go and straddle the pert ass and reach around to hold those arms where they were, all the time whispering obscenities and sleazy promises into the bigger man's ear. Something told him that John Cena was likely to be an easy and grateful lay that would let him do whatever he wanted. With one deep breath for Dutch courage he made his move forward, intent on finally getting some answers.
~~x~~
“You okay man?”
John's words bounced back off the bare walls and echoed as they faded.
“Punk, hey buddy. You okay?”
With a start Punk opened his eyes wide, surprised to see the smiling face directly in front of his.
“Hey there John, Thanks for the wake up call. What time is it?”
“It's late. I just got done with the medics and they're looking for you so they can close the arena up.”
“And how did you know where....?”
“Man, I know a lot of things. I know you were having a good dream and I sure as hell didn't want to wake you up.”
With a pointed glance John looked directly at Punk's crotch and the taut tent of material quite literally stood out as the dead giveaway.
“Shit, I... well, I guess I.... You know what Cena, I'm not ashamed. Not at all.”
Punk hopped off the storage crate he'd been curled up on and stood with his hands on his hips making the obvious even more obvious.
“I'm not saying you should be. Not at all. We all have needs. Even you.”
“What's that meant to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. All I'm saying is that if you have needs and you want to, well, be less needy then maybe I can help out. You know me, apparently I'll lay down for anyone.”
With a wink John let the grin on his face turn into something more high-eyebrowed and provocative, knowing that what he had heard on the grapevine might well be true but hoping he'd hedged his bets by being just a little bit sarcastic.
“I had heard that, you're right and let's face it, It's got to be better laying down for me than for Dwayne. If you feel like putting your money where your busted mouth is then come find me back at the hotel. See you later, Johnny boy.”
With that Punk walked away with John's footsteps tapping as they followed at a polite distance. He felt a little flustered but primarily glad to be on his way back to his bus. The dream had seemed so real that he could literally taste the anticipation in the air and he needed to do something about the way it left him feeling. Seeing as he wasn't one for small talk or romance it seemed fitting that narrowly avoiding a very public wet dream had given him the in that he needed to make a move. It was all he could do to fix on the notion that all he needed was to get the fascination out of his system for good. Maybe then it would be time to move on to someone more on his level in a lot of different ways. That, he decided, or at least to find a ball gag big enough.
~~x~~
A/N: So for some reason that's been running around my head since last week. That song just lends itself to stupidity and I'm always grateful for whatever inspiration I get lately!! All reads and reviews appreciated as always and I hope you enjoyed the little read!
Author: slashburd
Pairing: CM Punk / John Cena
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. If that offends, please don't read it!! Only other warning is for some silliness and that this isn't very long. Just something that came spilling out of my brain :)
*
A weird falsetto broke the silence of the empty corridor and Punk felt his heckles go up immediately. There was one sacred space to him and that was the one between his ears. When he was busy enjoying the peace and quiet always happened to be the time it was most likely to get interrupted.
“Hey, I heard you were a wild one... ooooohhhhhh... if I took you home I'd be a home run...”
That song had haunted him for weeks since it started blaring out at every house show, chat show, signing and media day; in fact it was everywhere in his life that had speakers apart from his bus. Kofi had been threatened with disembowelment when following through on a bet with the guys to make it his ringtone. The 18 calls his friend's phone had received during one unpleasantly long highway trip had seen them nearly come to blows and the phone forever silenced by a trip down the toilet.
“Show me how you dooooooo-ooooooohhhh....”
“Shut the fuck up whoever you are. Or get a better taste in music.”
“Hey I heard you like the wild ones.”
Incensed by the refusal to obey his wishes Punk rose from his spot cross legged on the storage crates for the lighting gear and began to wander, looking for the moron that was causing his blood pressure to rocket and fantasising about their untimely end. After only turning one corner he found the culprit.
“John, hey John, knock it off.”
“I wanna shut down the cluu-ub, with you hooooo....”
“Hey, fucker, cut it out.”
Still nothing. He looked at his colleague who was sprawled out on a yoga mat, one knee clutched between shovel-like hands and pulled up towards his chest. Punk glanced around and soon spotted the iPod that was guilty of piping the equivalent of raw sewage into John's ears. Much as he wanted to walk over and stamp on John's face for his taste in music it was almost as amusing to watch 240lb of muscle not only singing along to a shitty song but just to the woman's part.
“So much for the badass rapper dude, huh.”
Muttering under his breath was one of Punk's favourite pastimes and there wasn't anyone around who made him do it as much as John did. Whether it was cursing out the guy who was stealing the spotlight years ago to the guy who was now laying down for anyone Vince could convince to sign an overblown one time deal, Punk struggled to find a moment when he wasn't cursing John for something.
He leaned against the cool concrete wall and watched the same meticulous stretching that he saw every night they were on the same card. After the main event was over, after the go-home and handshakes were done John always stretched out and showered before leaving the arena. It had long been the case that being in the main event meant missing the bus back on European tours or the invites to go along on the late night IHOP and Denny's runs. The last eight months had taken their toll on Punk as he started to realise that it was lonelier being lonely as the champ than it ever had been when he was considered nothing more than an unapproachable and arrogant asshole. Kofi had told him in no uncertain terms that he'd changed lately and not for the better. Their travel time was getting more strained and ironically it was the ringtone incident that had brought about their post-Mania parting of the ways travel-wise.
“Now John I know you can't hear me but I'm gonna tell you now that you won't like this tomorrow.”
Quietly Punk rumbled through his hoodie pockets until he found his phone, flicking it to video as quickly as he could and starting to record. On and on went the bad singing accompanied by the softest of grunts when a resistant muscle was put back into place. For a moment he was worried about getting caught when he sensed John was about to get up but his filming went on uninterrupted when John did nothing more than heave himself over onto his front.
“I am a wild one, break me in. Saddle me up and and let's begin...”
Punk found himself struggling to stifle a belly laugh and nearly choking as he tried to keep it down. The video would be gold around the locker room although he knew John would do his usual act of dealing with it with good grace. He was also sure that the backstage street cred John would lose by being compared with Otunga's wife would get enough mileage to make enduring the horrible singing worthwhile. It wouldn't be the first time he had tried to shatter the nice guy persona but it might just be the first time he managed it. To Punk it wasn't right that anyone should be able to laugh off just about anything thrown at them. The only real trigger was stirring shit about the endless charity work John did but Punk found no fun in that, he could only give props for it.
Eventually it appeared that the painfully awful and badly performed song was over. That gave Punk a perfect and extended shot of the plentiful and cotton clad ass up in the air as John leaned over to grab his iPod and play with the controls. It wasn't long before it was tossed back onto the mat and the slow stretches began again but Punk found his attention was concentrated on something more than the renewed singing.
He was fixated as John moved to prop himself up on his palms, slowly moving his feet to bring his body up into an arch and then back down again. It was something Punk had learned to do after his hip injury but he knew that his ass wasn't half as entertaining while he did it. Colt had made sure to inform him of that. As the routine continued he stopped watching the happenings as footage on his phone and instead looked over it, not minded to care if the video was capturing anything more than concrete flooring.
The singing had stopped and was more of a breathy hum as he watched John dip his hips low and push his shoulders back, forcing his body into the mat and his ass tightly together within the confines of the soft grey cotton. The position was unnaturally graceful for someone of John's size and from nowhere Punk felt a twitch in his groin. He couldn't help but wonder when a bland guy with a bad haircut had started to float his boat so much though.
Although Punk knew he wasn't much of a porn fan there was something about what he was seeing that made the hairs stand on the back of his neck. Usually he preferred to go out and find his own entertainment or just draw on memories to get the job done if he was alone. That said, in all aspects of his life he did like to watch people that were willing to give him a show and they usually got the best of his performance in return. His tongue worried his lip ring as he imagined the sheer thrill of pinning John to the floor and finding out whether or not his advances were welcome.
The corridor was quiet and empty enough for them to get away with whatever they wanted and the thought of yanking down those grey shorts and grinding their bodies in unison against the thin mat and the cold concrete floor was enough to start the formation of small beads of sweat across his top lip. As John rested briefly, his head propped on folded arms, Punk fought the urge to go and straddle the pert ass and reach around to hold those arms where they were, all the time whispering obscenities and sleazy promises into the bigger man's ear. Something told him that John Cena was likely to be an easy and grateful lay that would let him do whatever he wanted. With one deep breath for Dutch courage he made his move forward, intent on finally getting some answers.
“You okay man?”
John's words bounced back off the bare walls and echoed as they faded.
“Punk, hey buddy. You okay?”
With a start Punk opened his eyes wide, surprised to see the smiling face directly in front of his.
“Hey there John, Thanks for the wake up call. What time is it?”
“It's late. I just got done with the medics and they're looking for you so they can close the arena up.”
“And how did you know where....?”
“Man, I know a lot of things. I know you were having a good dream and I sure as hell didn't want to wake you up.”
With a pointed glance John looked directly at Punk's crotch and the taut tent of material quite literally stood out as the dead giveaway.
“Shit, I... well, I guess I.... You know what Cena, I'm not ashamed. Not at all.”
Punk hopped off the storage crate he'd been curled up on and stood with his hands on his hips making the obvious even more obvious.
“I'm not saying you should be. Not at all. We all have needs. Even you.”
“What's that meant to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. All I'm saying is that if you have needs and you want to, well, be less needy then maybe I can help out. You know me, apparently I'll lay down for anyone.”
With a wink John let the grin on his face turn into something more high-eyebrowed and provocative, knowing that what he had heard on the grapevine might well be true but hoping he'd hedged his bets by being just a little bit sarcastic.
“I had heard that, you're right and let's face it, It's got to be better laying down for me than for Dwayne. If you feel like putting your money where your busted mouth is then come find me back at the hotel. See you later, Johnny boy.”
With that Punk walked away with John's footsteps tapping as they followed at a polite distance. He felt a little flustered but primarily glad to be on his way back to his bus. The dream had seemed so real that he could literally taste the anticipation in the air and he needed to do something about the way it left him feeling. Seeing as he wasn't one for small talk or romance it seemed fitting that narrowly avoiding a very public wet dream had given him the in that he needed to make a move. It was all he could do to fix on the notion that all he needed was to get the fascination out of his system for good. Maybe then it would be time to move on to someone more on his level in a lot of different ways. That, he decided, or at least to find a ball gag big enough.
A/N: So for some reason that's been running around my head since last week. That song just lends itself to stupidity and I'm always grateful for whatever inspiration I get lately!! All reads and reviews appreciated as always and I hope you enjoyed the little read!
