Wake-Up Call - Kate
R - implied m/m slash, language
Characters: CM Punk/Christopher Daniels
Summary: CM Punk gets bored. That's never a good thing.
Disclaimer: We own neither the characters nor the individuals who portray them. Written solely for our own entertainment.
Daniels' eyes opened as a chair suddenly scraped against the thin carpet, but it was only Eric Young standing, beginning to pace nervously. He offered Eric a reassuring smile, and the younger man sat back down. There was no reason to be nervous. Just another "team meeting," a glorified TNA pep rally led by Jeff and Jerry Jarrett.
"I don't see why we have to wait," Raven muttered resentfully, glaring at the far wall. "Couldn't we have done this before the show?" Daniels glanced at his wristwatch and sighed. 12:30 in the afternoon, and it felt like 3:00 in the morning.
His cell phone trilled. Grabbing the small gym bag off the floor in front of him, Daniels yanked open the zipper of the small front compartment. Nothing. It took two more tries before he found the phone hidden in the corner of one of the pockets.
"Hey. Took you long enough."
Daniels laughed softly. "Have a little patience, kid. I had to find the phone."
"Yeah, right," CM Punk snorted. "You were probably in bed asleep already, Grandpa."
Daniels decided to ignore the insult. "I wish. What are you doing up already? What time is it there?"
"9:30. Got an early flight."
"Ah, the life of a superstar. How many wake-up calls did it take to drag your ass out of bed before noon?"
"Ha! Shows how much you know. I never went to bed."
"Wow," Daniels intoned. "Clever. You sure showed me."
Punk laughed. "I do what I can."
"Seriously, you should get some sleep." Mild concern crept into Daniels' voice. "If you're going to get tossed around the ring like you were last night, you at least need to take the time to heal up properly."
Punk didn't respond.
"What? Too Mother Hen? I'm not allowed to worry about you anymore?"
"No, I'm just surprised you saw the show. I figured it was on past your bedtime. Get it? Because you're oooolllld."
Daniels shook his head as Punk laughed maniacally. "Jesus, kid, you're wound up tonight."
"Too much caffeine," Punk admitted, calming only slightly. "I was trying to match Sandman beer for Pepsi last night. It didn't work out too well."
"You lost a drinking contest sipping Pepsi?" Daniels snorted. "No wonder they put you in ECW. You're hardcore."
"I had to pee, man! And in any case, at least I'm not...I mean, at least TNA doesn't...aw, fuck it, you're old."
Daniels didn't even try not to laugh at the weak insult. "Oh, that's right. I forgot all about those vaunted promo skills of yours."
"Shut up." Daniels could hear Punk's rueful smile in his voice. "I've been awake for almost 28 hours now, and I've got a two-hour plane ride ahead of me."
"Sleep on the plane."
"Hell, no. You remember when I fell asleep in the car a couple years ago and Joe and Cabana drew little pink hearts all over my wrist tape? Dreamer and Sandman are worse, and they're on the same flight."
"My sympathies," Daniels murmured, stretching his legs out in front of him and yawning. "I could use some time for R&R as well. I went with Joe to the ROH show last night, and they threw him a nice little party."
"Oh, God. So were you bailing Homicide out of jail at 3:30 in the morning?"
"No, it was an amazingly enjoyable night. No one was arrested or vomiting blood or hit by a car or anything."
"Wow. Might be a first."
"Mm. I wound up talking to Jimmy Rave about his girl problems all night."
Punk laughed. "I imagine it would take all night to list out Jimmy Rave's problems with girls."
"You really are tired," Daniels noted, straightening up in his chair. "Your insults are normally way better than that."
Punk's sigh and half-hearted "Fuck off" did nothing to disprove Daniels' assessment. "I mean it," Daniels pressed. "You need to ask for some time off or something."
"Sure, let me just check my vacation quota first," Punk mocked. "It's WrestleMania season, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I think the WWE will be able to endure one week without you getting squashed by Gene Snitsky. Tell them you need just a week off to heal up and get ready to tear it down at 'Mania." Daniels knew Punk wouldn't, of course. This was old ground already. Even so. "Have a little patience. You don't have to conquer the world all at once, you know."
Punk surprised him by not responding immediately. "I'd love to," he admitted, after a few moments of consideration. "Thing is...if I took a week off, I'd come back more tired than I left."
"Why is that?"
"Because," Punk explained patiently, as if it should be obvious. "I'd want to spend every second of it down in Florida with you."
Daniels blinked. "I...thank you. Doesn't bode well for our lack of sleep issues, though, does it?"
"Not at all," Punk agreed, his voice lowering slightly. "I bet I'd have to come up with some pretty imaginative ways to keep you awake, what with you--"
"What with me being so old and all?" Daniels interrupted.
"Exactly. But that's OK. You're still pretty hot, you know...for an old guy."
Daniels glanced up, catching Rhino's quizzical glance and breaking into what he hoped was a nonchalant smile. "We should talk about that later. Maybe sometime that I'm not in the middle of the TNA locker room."
"Not a chance, old man. I need something to keep me awake on this plane ride."
Daniels chuckled softly. "You're insane. And aren't you in public as well?"
"I'm in the middle of a fucking airport!"
"Shh...people are going to hear you."
"Oh, no!" Punk gasped in mock fear. "Not...people. Whatever will they think? Relax, nobody important is around. You want me to put it on speakerphone?"
"Don't you dare," Daniels warned, grinning in spite of himself.
"Their loss. So. What are you wearing?"
"Punk!" Daniels exclaimed in exasperation. "What is wrong with you? I'm ten minutes away from a meeting with the Jarretts."
"So...leather pants? A cheerleading skirt? A white bunny suit with a pink scarf? You have to give me a hint here."
Daniels rolled his eyes, accidentally meeting Raven's gaze, who slowly smirked as Daniels turned the speaker volume of his phone down. "Knock it off," he growled softly, praying Punk would take the hint.
"Why? We're not doing anything, are we?" Punk paused, then continued more seriously. "Are we? I mean, this isn't really turning you on, is it? In front of the whole locker room? Where everybody can see?"
"I wish you were here right now," Daniels seethed. "So I could punch you in the face."
"Because that would probably be really embarrassing," Punk continued, intentionally oblivious. "I mean, how would you explain that? You've already said my name, so they know you're on the phone with me. How would you explain getting hard just from the sound of my voice?"
"Stop." It occurred to Daniels that he should probably just hang up the phone. He didn't.
"I guess it's probably not just the sound of my voice," Punk casually observed. "It's probably more like a muscle memory thing. Pavlov's dogs and all that. You've probably just gotten used to associating my voice with the type of mind-numbing orgasms that our sweaty, red-hot, toe-curling, earth-shakingly good sex usually leads to."
Every muscle in Daniels' body was on edge with his effort not to shift and draw more attention from his coworkers than he already had. His eyes closed, he concentrated on stating, slowly and steadily, "I hate you so much right now."
Even through the phone's lowered volume, Punk's laughter was loud. "You're going to hate me more in about ten seconds, old man."
"My plane's about to take off; I gotta run."
"Son of a bitch."
"Jesus, have a little patience," Punk mocked. "I'm sure we'll get together eventually."
Daniels growled as menacingly as possible, but Punk was still laughing as he hung up the phone.