About Damn Time - Jade and Kate
NC-17 - language, m/m slash
Characters: Colt Cabana/CM Punk, Samoa Joe, Homicide
Summary: CM Punk says goodbye to old friends after his farewell Ring of Honor show in Chicago.
Disclaimer: We own neither the characters nor the individuals who portray them. Written solely for our own entertainment.
Joe swallowed hard as he pushed himself out of his ringside seat, heading up the steps and between the ropes. He had promised Punk that he wouldn’t cry, but the man of the hour was already in tears himself, so fuck it. Of course, it didn’t stop Punk from whispering “Pussy” into his ear as Joe pulled him into a bearhug. Joe glared through his tears at the smaller man as he shoved Punk away and reached for Cabana.
“It’s OK, Joe,” Cabana soothed, patting the big man’s back. “Bigger and better things, right?”
Joe snorted, then bit back a retort as he looked at Cabana. The kid was shaking a little harder than he usually did after a match, even a fairly long one like this. “You OK?”
“Sure,” Cabana grinned at him. Which was probably a lie. But screw it; any possible injury of Cabana’s could be dealt with later, preferably when Joe was not in the process of saying goodbye to one of his best friends. His eyes watered again and Cabana smoothly stepped away. “I’ve got to grab the Pepsi,” he explained as he ducked out of the ring.
Joe started to move toward the champagne flutes that had been stashed under the ring for the celebration, but decided to let one of the other wrestlers who were suddenly filling up the ring grab them. He’d probably drop them and make a mess. Instead, Joe mingled with the people in the ring, hugged Punk’s parents, and glared at Homicide, who was lurking back by the curtain, too chickenshit to come out and say goodbye to his friend in front of the audience.
Someone forced a glass into Joe’s hand. Pepsi in a champagne flute might be appropriate for Punk, but Joe intended to make up for the lack of in-ring alcohol consumption with the afterparty later that night.
"Punk…Hey, Punk…” CM Punk rolled his eyes at Samoa Joe’s slurred speech as he watched him finish his latest glass of God-knows-what.
“Punk, I gotta tell you something, man. I know you don’t want to hear it because you’re all CM Punk, straight edge and angry…” Joe tried to cross his forearms in the straight edge X but failed horribly, much to Punk’s amusement. “Whatever. But I love you, man. You’ve always been there for me and you’re my best friend and I love you so much. You’re the light at the end of the tunnel. You’re the sunshine of my life. I don’t think you know how much you mean to this company or to me…did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re like the wind beneath my wings, you know? Now you’re leaving. Didn’t we almost have it all? Remember those nights we held on till…wait, nevermind. That’s a song. Shut up, Punk. It’s not funny. I fuckin’ hate you.”
Turning away from Punk, Joe spied James Gibson on his way to the bar. “Hey, you! Get me a drink!”
“What are you drinking?”
“Everything!” Punk yelled back, laughing.
Stumbling to his feet, Joe headed towards the bar with a “Fuck it! I’ll get it myself.”
Sipping his Pepsi, Punk relished the momentary break in the steady stream of well-wishers. He’d already stayed longer than normal because a big part of him wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but the night was catching up to him. Punk was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. Punk was ready for OVW, it seemed like the next step, but ROH had been a big part of his life and he would miss it and all of his friends and coworkers. Speaking of whom, Daizee Haze came up to the table with a smile.
”No, I do not,” Punk emphatically declared. “I have seen you dance and I value my life. I’m going somewhere I will need both my feet in working order.”
“If Cabana were here, he’d dance with me,” Daizee replied with a pout as she walked away.
“Where the hell is Cabana?” Joe shouted over the music.
Before anyone could answer, Joe spotted Homicide at the end of the bar and headed over.
“Yeah, where is Cabana?” Punk muttered to himself, looking around. That little prick must have skipped out early. He didn’t even say goodbye. He’d been acting weird all night. Maybe he was sick or something. He’d call him later and find out.
“Fuck you, ‘cide!” Punk heard Joe yell and turned as Homicide leaned towards Joe and planted his hands on the bar.
“I kill you, Joe. I kill you!”
Normally, Punk would have watched in amusement as his two drunken friends fought it out, but he’d caught a ride with Joe and didn’t know where the keys were. Getting to his feet, Punk stepped between Homicide and Joe.
“Time to go, Joe. Where’s the keys?”
Joe tried to answer the question, but all that came out was an unintelligible mutter. Rather than asking again, Punk reached into Joe’s pocket and grabbed the keys. Putting Joe’s arm around his shoulders and his arm around Joe’s back, Punk hefted Joe off his barstool. He waved goodbye to those left and headed out the door supporting Joe’s stumbling body.
“You fatass,” Punk gasped as he finally settled Joe into the passenger seat.
Punk took a moment to catch his breath and by the time he got into the driver’s seat, Joe was already snoring. Shaking his head, Punk put the car in gear and headed for Cabana’s, where Joe was staying for the night.
Colt Cabana sat on his couch with a bowl of popcorn watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance across his TV in black and white. He knew he’d catch hell for sneaking out of the party without saying goodbye, but he’d deal with that later. Right now, he just wanted to be alone. Just as the thought floated across Cabana’s mind, there was a pounding on the door. Cabana’s first instinct was to ignore it, but that was quickly squashed as he heard Punk yell, “The lights are on, motherfucker. Open the door!” Apparently, hell was going to be caught sooner rather than later. Cabana sighed, paused the movie, and went to open the door. As he pulled it open, Punk grabbed the front of his shirt and tried to pull him out the door with a “You gotta help me.” Grabbing the doorjamb to stop his forward movement, Cabana asked, “What?”
“Joe’s staying with you, right? Well, he’s passed out in the car and I need help getting him out.”
“Well, wake him up,” Cabana suggested, not budging from the doorframe.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. I yelled, I slapped him, I even tried to stick his head out the window. He’s out cold. Help me out, Cabana. He’ll squash me.”
Cabana grinned but shook his head. “Take him back to your place or something. I’m watching a movie.” Jesus, learn to take a hint, Punk.
Punk looked exasperated, then brightened. “Maybe he’ll wake up by the time it’s over.” Shouldering his way past Colt, he headed straight for the couch. “What are we watching?”
Colt sighed as he shut the door. So much for wallowing alone. “Top Hat,” he muttered, sitting on the other side of the couch.
“Can I change it?”
“No.” Colt moved the popcorn bowl between them on the couch. “Have some popcorn.”
“You mean some salt floating in butter?” Punk pushed the bowl closer to Cabana. “No, thanks.”
Ten minutes later, Punk snatched a handful of popcorn, shoving it all into his mouth at once. “I’m such a fatass,” he declared angrily. “Why did you let me do that?” Cabana shook his head and continued munching. “This movie isn’t that bad,” Punk continued. “Someone needs to die.” He paused for a moment. “Not really anything I’d stay home for. You missed the good part of the party. Homicide was gonna bust a cap in Joe’s ass. It was awesome.”
“Oh, yeah? What happened?”
”Nothing, really. Joe looked like he was going to puke on him, so I brought him here. Where were you, man? You love parties.”
“I was here.” Cabana turned back to the screen, but Punk kept staring at him. “I wasn’t in the mood.”
”Well, maybe I should’ve scheduled my goodbye party around your moods,” Punk snapped sarcastically. “I guess I was just being selfish—“
“Shut up, Punk,” Colt cut him off. “Just watch the movie, OK?” Please?
Punk was silent for a minute, but Cabana’s hopes were dashed again when Punk asked, “Are you pissed about me leaving? Is that what this is?”
Shit. “No, I’m not pissed. I think it’s a great opportunity, and you should go.”
“I am going,” Punk insisted. “I have to. I have to give this a shot at least once, right?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Colt muttered, reaching for the popcorn bowl.
Punk was a little quicker, though, moving the bowl to the coffee table and turning so he could face Cabana. “You know what I think? I think you’re jealous of my opportunity.”
“I’m not,” Colt answered. His voice sounded dull, even to him.
“I think you are. But you know what? You’ll just have to get over it. I can’t pass it up. I would take you if I could. You know that. You’ll get your opportunity. I know you will. So suck it up.”
“I am not jealous!” Colt growled.
“It’s OK. You’ll get your turn and…” Punk tried to reassure his friend but was cut off when Cabana yelled, “Maybe I already have!" Shit! Cabana put his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he’d said that. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Punk’s retort was swallowed as Colt’s words registered. Very slowly he asked, “What do you mean you already have?”
“Nothing. It didn’t mean anything. I’m just angry and not making any sense.” Please, Punk, let it go. Cabana chanced a look at Punk. He was sitting very still with a suspicious look on his face as he stared at Cabana.
“I don’t believe you.” Punk stated very deliberately.
“It doesn’t matter if you do or not. Let’s just forget it.” Cabana’s gaze pleaded silently with Punk to drop it but Punk ignored it.
“Tell me what you meant, Cabana. Now.” The look on Punk’s face was one Colt knew well. It meant that Punk wasn’t giving up until Cabana explained himself in a way that satisfied Punk. He would have to tell him. He’d never wanted Punk to find out, but now he would. Colt sighed.
“Fine. It’s not a big deal, Punk.”
“Now,” Punk growled.
“I kind of already got offered a developmental deal.” Cabana glared straight ahead as he answered.
“What? When?!” Colt could hear the surprise in Punk’s voice. Here was when it would get ugly.
Colt closed his eyes and sighed. “A few years ago.”
“A few years ago?” The edge in Punk’s voice kept Colt resolutely staring ahead.
“Yeah. They approached me about the time we were starting to work together in ROH. I turned them down.”
“Why?” The edge was still there.
“I don’t know.”
“I guess…promise me you won’t be mad.” Cabana looked pleadingly at his friend, who dropped his eyes to the throw pillow between them.
“I won’t,” Punk promised quietly, visibly bracing himself for the explanation.
“I just thought…I knew some of the guys in Ring of Honor, and it seemed like a good time. I wasn’t ready for the WWE. I wanted to see different companies before I went there.” A slight pause. “And I knew you were going to ROH. I wanted a chance to work together; I thought we could put on a pretty good show. Do something kind of special here.” He broke off as he saw Punk’s jaw tighten. “You’re mad.”
“No,” Punk stated deliberately, raising his eyes to meet Cabana’s. “I’m fucking infuriated. How dare you, Colt Cabana? I can’t believe this shit. You make the dumbest fucking career move in the history of wrestling, you lie to me about it for years, and now you have the nerve to throw it in my face? To make me into the bad guy for trying to make a damn career out of this? To try to—“
“Wait a minute here,” Cabana interjected, his own voice rising in volume to match Punk’s. “I never said you were the bad guy. Hey, I didn’t even want to talk about this.” He paused, trying to regain some of his composure. “Punk, I think you’re exactly right to do what you’re doing. There’s nothing more for you to do here and—“
“That’s right!” Punk jumped in, startling Cabana into silence. You could pretty much set a clock by Punk’s temper tantrums, but the hysteria in his voice was something Cabana couldn’t recall ever hearing. “I should go. Because I can hang with the best, and it’s time to prove it. We always said we wanted it all, and now I’m going to take it. I’ve learned everything I can learn here. There’s not one damn reason to stick around, because you’re never gonna…fuck it.”
“No, what?” Cabana pressed. Punk shook his head and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Please, Punk. Don’t leave it like this. Let’s get it all out. I won’t be mad.” Cabana hesitated, then took a stab at trying to lighten the mood. “I told you mine…”
Punk turned his head to meet Colt’s eyes. He looked exhausted, and sounded it when he started to speak. “I’ve got to go, Colt. I don’t have a choice. Because I can’t handle another missed opportunity. For years…for fucking years I’ve been trying to talk to you about this, and every time I miss a chance it gets a little harder. So I did all my little dumb shit, hanging out and talking and all the teasing in the ring, hoping you’d maybe pick up on it and I wouldn’t have to say it. I mean, ‘Hey, you wanna go out sometime?’ How lame is that? So, whatever. Either you didn’t notice because you didn’t care, or you did notice and just wanted to be friends. And I was never going to work up the nerve to do anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.” Violin music began to swell as the movie’s ending credits started to roll. Punk stared vacantly at the screen for a second, then snatched the remote and turned the TV off. He kept his eyes locked on the blank screen as he matter-of-factly concluded, “So I hope that clears everything up for you. You and the boys can laugh about it if you want. I’m going to go home. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
Cabana blinked as Punk tossed the remote onto the coffee table and stood up. He should say something. Punk was silent, waiting, giving Cabana a chance to stop him. To do anything. But it was all Cabana could do to keep his mouth shut. If he opened it to talk, his jaw might drop all the way to the floor.
Part of him wanted to laugh. This had to be some kind of joke, right? Punk was a pretty funny guy…but he wasn’t laughing now. Was Cabana supposed to take this shit seriously? That Punk had been really interested in him, and he’d chalked it up to wishful thinking? And now it didn’t matter because Punk was leaving? What kind of bullshit was that? No, it had to be some kind of misunderstanding.
The front door slammed before Cabana even realized that Punk was leaving. “No way,” he whispered out loud. He could deal with not saying goodbye, he could deal with fighting, but there was no way he was going to let Punk leave like this. He’d follow Punk to his house if he had to.
Cabana vaulted the back of the couch and raced to the door. He grabbed his car keys as he stepped out onto the porch, jerking to a stop just in front of a returning CM Punk.
“I forgot about Joe,” Punk admitted, red eyes focused on the ground. “I can just roll him out onto the lawn if you can take it from there.”
And again Cabana’s mouth was failing to form words. Thinking quickly, he settled on a Plan B. Grabbing two handfuls of purple-streaked hair, Cabana pulled the taller man down into a passionate, if slightly clumsy kiss. Punk seemed dazed as Cabana maneuvered them backwards through the doorway. He even managed to kick the door shut while maintaining the kiss, partly to prevent shocked phone calls from nosy neighbors and party to have something solid to press Punk up against. Hey, at least his mouth was working again.
Well, that was unexpected. Not that Punk was complaining, of course. He briefly considered breaking the kiss and discussing the situation with Cabana, but rejected that idea in favor of, well, not breaking the kiss. Ever.
Cabana’s back stiffened as one of Punk’s hand slid under the hem of his shirt, though, and Punk inwardly groaned as his mind started racing. Was Colt not ready for this? Maybe he was drunk or something. There could conceivably be an alcohol that tastes like buttered popcorn, right? Maybe Cabana was just trying to be nice. Maybe Punk should make sure.
Maybe he should get that last little shred of decency removed, Punk decided as he reluctantly pushed Cabana away. “Wait,” he gasped, holding Cabana at arm’s length. “I don’t …are you sure this is what you want?” Confused, Punk watched as Cabana started shaking with laughter. “What?”
Pushing Punk’s arm away, Cabana stepped closer to him. “I’ve wanted this for years,” he explained, raising his eyebrows, “and we’ve got one night before you leave. Do you really want to spend it talking?”
Punk’s eyes’ widened. “You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you do anything? Why are we both still dressed?”
"My thoughts exactly." Colt flashed Punk a grin as he grabbed the hem of Punk's T-shirt and pulled it over his head.
"You could have said something, too, you know. I mean, here I was thinking only I felt that way and you didn't say a word. We wasted so much time..." As he was speaking, Colt's hands were roaming over Punk's chest and stomach. A glide here, a pinch there, a scratch of nails down his abdomen.
"Talk later. Sex now," Punk growled. Not that he wasn't determined to talk this out, he had some bitching to do after all, but his control was sorely being tested and he just didn't care to use his mouth for talking. Colt flashed a smile, and Punk was momentarily blindsided by a flash of tenderness. Just a flash and then he was grabbing at Cabana's face, kissing him as he removed Cabana's shirt. Punk's hands roamed over Cabana's skin wherever he could reach and Cabana gave a moan.
"That's it!" Punk's control snapped and he reached for the button of Cabana's pants. Colt apparently had the same idea because Punk felt Colt's hands at the zipper of his baggy jeans. The kiss broke and each man worked to rid the other one of his clothes. Shoes were kicked off, pants pulled down, and underwear removed. As the clothes disappeared, Punk grabbed Colt and gave him a hard kiss. The kiss deepened as their tongues fought for control and Punk became aware of Cabana's hard length straining against him. When he reached down to wrap a hand around it, Cabana broke the kiss and gasped, "Couch. Now." Punk followed when Cabana grabbed the hand wrapped around him and led Punk over to the couch.
"Wait a sec. I gotta find something," Cabana said as he pushed Punk down onto the couch.
Punk's jaw dropped as Cabana headed down the hallway and through the bathroom door. "Uh...found it?" he suggested hopefully, looking pointedly at his crotch. What was this, a fucking treasure hunt?
Unfortunately, his wit was wasted on the empty room. Punk scowled at the blank TV screen and tried to think of nonsexual things. Like Joe. Who was probably throwing up in his car. Damn it.
He jumped as a small jar of Vaseline landed on the couch next to him. Before he could fully process the strangeness of that event, Colt had climbed over one arm of the couch and leaned over him. "I'm back," Colt announced unnecessarily.
"No kidding," Punk noted, shifting to a more comfortable position on his back and pulling Cabana down on top of him. Pressing his lips to Cabana's, he parted his legs to let Cabana's knees slide between his.
Cabana broke the kiss and sat back on his heels, giving Punk a slightly shaky grin as he picked up the Vaseline. "Last chance to back out. Are you sure you want this?"
"No," Punk snapped, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "How about we have some sex while I figure it out?"
"Works for me," Cabana laughed, opening the jar and scooping some Vaseline onto his fingers.
Screwing the top back on, Cabana dropped the jar onto the floor next to the couch. He leaned forward to kiss Punk as he pushed Punk's thighs a little further apart.
Punk squirmed a little as he felt Cabana's cool finger enter him and broke the kiss. "You know," he stated matter-of-factly, "It's pretty damn arrogant of you just to assume that you'll be the one doing the fucking in this encounter."
Cabana's probing stopped instantly. "Oh. Really?"
"Uh-huh," Punk rocked his hips forward impatiently. "It's true, of course; I just wanted to let you know that it was pretty damn arrogant. I ain't no cheap whore."
"I see." Cabana paused in thought, his fingers resuming their slow thrusts. "Technically, I guess you were free tonight, huh?"
"You are a smartass," Punk informed him tersely. "I don't care for that," he added, closing his eyes and letting his head roll back as Cabana's thrusts went deeper.
Hearing Punk's breathing quicken, Cabana removed his fingers, slicked the rest of the Vaseline on his erection, and positioned it at Punk's entrance.
With barely a pause, Cabana buried his length inside Punk's tight heat as he buried his face in Punk's neck. When Cabana went still, Punk wrapped his arms around him and tried to breathe through the flash of pain. "You OK?" he asked after a few heartbeats.
Cabana laughed soundlessly. "I think that's my line."
Punk grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the dull burn slowly fade into a quiet tingle that reached the soles of his feet. Suddenly realizing that Colt was still motionless, Punk unwrapped his arms, laying his hands on Colt's shoulders. "You're crushing my ribcage."
"Sorry," Cabana murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Punk's neck. "You just feel good." Planting his hands on the couch to either side of Punk, Cabana pushed his upper body up, pulling out slightly as his did.
Punk shivered instantly, wrapping one leg around Cabana's hips to prevent any further loss of contact.
"It's OK," Colt soothed, brushing his lips against Punk's forehead, tasted the sweat beginning to form. "I'm not going anywhere."
He pushed forward again, keeping his weight on his hands, and Punk saw streaks of white light behind his closed eyelids.
Cabana built his rhythm slowly, preceding each thrust with a shaky gasp that echoed in the otherwise silent room. Punk's painted nails dug into the arm of the couch as Cabana's fingers found his shaft, stroking in counterpoint to his forward motions. Punk's chest started to shake as Cabana increased the tempo. He fought hard to maintain control, but eventually the stimulation was too much. "Fuck!" he shouted as he exploded, the back of his head bouncing hard off the soft couch cushion. By the time he had regained his breath, Cabana had come with an inarticulate moan and collapsed on top of him. "Warm," Punk mentally noted, "...nice..." before his sluggish thoughts ground to a halt.
Cabana's mind, on the other hand, was humming along quite happily, trying to recall the rules of being a good host that his mom had tried and failed to teach him. He was pretty sure this specific situation was never discussed, but it seemed that cleanup was generally the host's responsibility. With this in mind, he rolled off the couch and padded off into the bathroom, returning quickly with two washcloths. Probably should've thought of that earlier.
Punk was in the same position Cabana had left him in, sprawled bonelessly and staring blankly at the white ceiling. Taking a seat between his legs, Cabana carefully started wiping at the sticky mess on Punk's stomach. "You better say something mean soon," Cabana joked lightly. "I'm starting to worry."
Punk's eyes focused on him uncomprehendingly for a second, then he bolted upright, wrapping his arms around Cabana with surprising speed. Cabana let the washcloth drop to the floor as he hugged back. "I'm sorry," Punk whispered, his grip almost painfully tight.
"About what?" Cabana forced out, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
"I still have to leave tomorrow."
Colt stiffened for a moment, surprise filtering through him at the uncharacteristic show of affection from Punk. After the frozen moment, Colt closed his arms tightly around Punk and lowered his head to press a kiss to the top of Punk’s head. Hearing the echo of Punk’s spoken words still lingering in his head, Colt had to blink the moisture out of his eyes as he snuggled Punk close. After a quiet minute, Colt carefully disentangled himself from Punk’s still tight embrace and met his eyes.
“I know,” Colt stated with a bittersweet smile, “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
Punk blinked and dropped his eyes, “It’s not that I don’t WANT to stay. And after this,” A big sweeping hand gesture and Punk finally raised his eyes, “I want to stay even more, but I can’t. I just can’t.”
Unable to help himself, Colt reached up and brushed Punk’s purple streaked hair out of his eyes. He’d never seen Punk this subdued. He had always been a ‘this-is-how-it-is-and-if-you-don’t-like-it-fuck-you’ type of guy. This side of him was new and left Colt floundering just a bit.
Following his heart, Colt sighed and said, “You don’t have to explain, Punkers. I understand, I promise. I am so proud of you and would be disappointed if you didn’t go. I want this for you. Please believe me.” His tone had taken on a note of pleading by the end of his speech.
“I do believe you. It’s just…that was before tonight. Now things are different and…,” Punk trailed off with a “Dammit!”
Colt grinned, hearing the Punk he was used to returning. Leaning forward, Colt pressed his lips to Punk’s and opened them quickly for the questing tongue. He was unsurprised when the kiss heated and lasted far longer than he intended. They did, after all, have much time to make up. When Punk finally broke the kiss, Colt leaned his forehead against Punk’s while trying to catch his breath. Then he grinned.
“Yeah, things are definitely different.” Hearing Punk’s answering chuckle, Colt leaned back. He grabbed Punk’s hand and intertwined their fingers still somewhat surprised at the lack of resistance. Deciding it was time for complete honesty, Colt took a deep breath and forged ahead. “I’m not saying I won’t miss you. Even before tonight, I was going to miss you more than you know. Man, we’ve been in each other’s pockets for year and it’s hard to imagine it changing, but we both know it has to. So, this isn’t the best time for starting this, but I wouldn’t change what just happened for anything in the world. We can make it work…if you want to,” There was a slight pause as Colt’s voice dropped, “I love you, Punkers.”
CM Punk’s eyes, which had been steady on Colt Cabana during the almost eloquent speech, widened. Somehow, the admission of love surprised him. Not that he didn’t feel the same, he’d known for a long time that he did, but it was just so fast. Just hours before, he’d been resigned to leaving as nothing more than friends and now, he was naked on Colt’s couch after incredible sex listening to Colt saying he loved him. Talk about different. Apparently, Punk let the silence stretch too long because he saw Colt drop his eyes and try to pull his hand away with a quiet “Look…”
“I love you, too,” Punk blurted out while refusing to relinquish his hold on Colt’s hand. Colt’s look of wonder was replaced by confusion as Punk kept talking. “But you’re an asshole. Waiting all this time to tell me?! Waiting until now of all things?! Dammit, Cabana…”
“Well, you never told me, either,” Colt’s annoyed voice broke in. “You could have opened your mouth just the same. God knows it’s big enough!”
Punk tried to look angry and intimidating, but he was naked and holding hands with Cabana so being the bigger person, at least in his estimation, Punk simply let it go with a diplomatic, “Ok, so we both wasted time. Happy now?”
“Do you mean it?” Colt’s ire was quickly replaced with wonder.
“Of course I do. I love you, Cabanaramma. And, we will make this work.”
Heartened by the conviction in Punk’s declaration, Colt nodded. “Yeah, we will. I love you.”
“Of course you do.” Punk haughtily replied with his trademark arrogance.
Laughing, Colt leaned in for another kiss. Breaking the gentle affirmation, Punk said with a leer, “How about we talk details in the morning? Because right now, you’re naked,” A wandering hand made itself known, “I’m naked,” a gasp was heard as it hit its intended target, “And Joe’s still passed out in the car.” Colt never got a chance to answer as Punk pushed him onto his back, climbed on top, and met his lips hungrily.
CM Punk was stretched out on top of Colt Cabana wrenching all kinds of interesting sounds out of him when the door swung open with a squeak. Lifting his head, Punk saw the silhouette of a 200+ pound still slightly drunk Samoan.
As Joe stumbled in, he loudly proclaimed, “Ok, who left me in the car?!”
Dropping his head with a groan, Punk heard an answering one from beneath him. The sounds drew the scattered attention of Joe. Blinking a few times to clear the hazy vision, Joe slowly deciphered the scene. Punk naked with Cabana under him naked. Hands in places he didn’t even want to think about. Stuff touching…stuff. Finally the picture registered in his alcohol-muddled brain.
“MY EYES!” Joe slapped a hand over said eyes. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Joe put his hand out and began trying to feel his way out of the room…to any other room.
“Well…” Punk drew the word out as he could feel Colt shaking with silent laughter.
“SHUT UP! I know what you’re doing! FUCK!”
“Pretty much.” Colt helpfully supplied.
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! My eyes! My poor eyes. Did you have to be all up in the middle of the room naked?! SON OF A BITCH!” In his haste in trying to feel out an escape route, Joe had run solidly into the wall. “My head! Ow! My eyes! My head!”
Punk and Cabana broke into peals of laughter as Joe sniped, “Dammit, put some clothes on!” Having found his way into the bathroom, Joe added in a threatening tone, “I have to puke now, but I swear, you BETTER be un-naked when I come out of this bathroom!”
When the door clicked shut, Punk met Colt’s eyes as their laughter died off. With a smile, they went right back to what they were doing. By the time Joe walked out of the bathroom having sufficiently rid himself of the alcohol in his system, they barely registered his offended “For the love of God, I better not hear ANYTHING,” as he hastily walked into Cabana’s room and shut the door. Thinking it was better safe than sorry, Joe turned the lock. As he started to climb into bed, Joe thought twice, turned the covers back, and inspected the sheets closely. Satisfied they remained unmolested, Joe climbed in and closed his eyes. Sighing once, Joe allowed a little grin.
“About damn time.”