This is a new pairing from me, but one that I love so here is my first try at writing PunkBrose. It's set at Christmas time and I was hoping to have it finished sooner than this, but seeing as the idea came to me only a few days before Christmas it didn't leave me much of a chance to have it done it time LOL. But surely there's still some festive cheer, right?

I hope you like it. :)

He wasn't sure how long he had been sat staring. Watching the pattern the bright lights took as they danced and flickered. Blue, red, yellow, green. They all blended together in his unfocused vision, a blur of colour, like a kaleidoscope. He was staring, but never really seeing. He was detached. He was distracted. He was sombre. And he was lonely.

Punk was never the biggest fan of Christmas anyway, but this year he could muster no festive cheer. He had forced himself to put the tree up, decorate it with the lights and different coloured baubles, a star perched on top, with tinsel thrown around his home here and there. Yet for a man with such little excitement for the holiday, he found himself turning into a perfectionist about his tree. It became a welcome distraction from the usual destinations his brain inhabits. It kept his mind blissfully empty. Blissfully free.

There was a generous helping of presents under the immaculately dressed tree; gifts for his sisters, friends and a silly Hanukkah gift for that idiot best friend of his. But he knew that one gift would still be there, one gift would be sat alone and unopened come the twenty sixth. He wasn't even sure why he bought the damn thing in the first place. It wasn't anything special, just a leather jacket. Dean had mentioned wanting one just like Punk's during a late night conversation in bed all those long, long months ago. Before he had left. Before he had got fired. Before he was wrongfully branded a quitter from the very people who fired him.

Ever since that night before Raw he hadn't even seen or spoken to Dean. Many texts had been received, phone calls too and Punk had ignored every single one despite the overwhelming urge to hear that voice one more time. If anything now Dean would hate him. After all how could he expect Dean to be anything other than angry at his disappearing act? Not to mention his high level of avoidance. Eleven months had passed without him, and Punk missed Dean beyond that of what he expected. He had never before felt so intrinsically connected to someone, to be so in sync, never felt like he needed someone to complete him. But there had been a hole in his life for eleven long months now, and only Dean Ambrose could fill it.

Christmas always brought out a maudlin state in him. He would always feel down, get cranky and distant. This year however had been worse. This time he had pushed people away, determined to wallow in his own misery and it struck him as an odd thing to do seeing as he felt so lonely. But he knew only one person could cure his gloom and that was an impossibility. For the past fortnight he had came so close to contacting Dean, but he didn't think it would be welcome. After pushing Dean away, which wasn't with the force of a light shove, it had been the equivalent of being bowled over by a tank, he expected the man would do the same. He had probably already moved on without a single thought about him. He would have forgotten about him. He'd be nothing more than a vague, distant memory. Punk's thumb had hovered over the call button, but not once did he work up the courage to dial. Again he found he had subconsciously scrolled through his contacts; Dean's name illuminated. A million memories surfaced, both soft gentle quiet ones to passionate heated ones, his body shivered as it remembered, but eventually he cursed quietly and chucked his cell phone aside.

Their relationship, if you could call it that, was one that came out of the blue. It had caught them both by surprise, but the attraction was undeniable and mutual. Punk had never been one to have a crisis of identity so his attraction to a man was met with some surprise and shock, yet he wasn't irrational and accepted it. He became aware that in general the male form wasn't something that appealed him, it was simply just Dean's form. Dean's personality. Dean's body. Dean's everything. What started as friendship when Punk returned from his brief sabbatical from WWE in 2013, turned more affectionate in the fall of that year. They spent more time together, Dean occasionally travelled on Punk's tour bus, and then they were booked in a feud. Now more than ever they found themselves in each others company and staring their attraction in the face became too much. One night after they had squared off in a multi man tag match on Raw they boarded Punk's bus and succumbed to their attraction. Punk could feel the intensity of his feelings grow and that excited, nervous happiness was sadly marred by the constant battle he fought with Vince, Hunter and creative.

The deterioration in his relationship with WWE wasn't a rash of disagreements and arguments, it was a consistent stream of niggles and complaints over a three year span since he resigned in 2011. Complaints that were justified. He was putting his heart and soul into every match, putting on match of the night again and again, yet did he main event PPV's as Champion? No. Did he get an equal pay day to the other main attractions? No. Then factor in his injuries and now known staph infection he was not a happy man. He knew he needed an extended break from the company for almost a year before he went home that Monday night after the Royal Rumble. He had battled on, he continued to wage war against his naysayers, but now his body was giving up on him. He had been vomiting for months, his energy zapped. His body trembled and shook with every step and finally he couldn't take the strain any longer. Every time he stepped back behind the curtain he felt as though he had ran a marathon and he found himself hovering over a sink and dry heaving. And all the doctors gave him was more and more antibiotics. He left for his own sanity. His own well being. He walked without a word to anyone bar Vince and Hunter. Not even to Dean.

Punk was never a man to have regrets, but that was one regret he truly did have in his life. Looking back he knew why he said nothing to Dean. Originally he kept Dean in the dark due to the undefined nature of their relationship. They had been sleeping together for two months and they had never declared themselves to be exclusive, despite knowing he had no interest in anyone else. Male or female. He was certain Dean felt the same, but still he felt that their relationship was in this murky grey area and he didn't want to lay all this crap on Dean. He though he had no right to. Not to mention he didn't want Dean caught in the crossfire. Punk was well aware of how petty and vindictive the McMahon's and Hunter could be and he knew they would use Dean to get to him. So he left without word.

The sheer level of guilt and regret was unmatched and he deserved to carry its burden. But the more days that passed after his abrupt departure the more he felt he needed that distance from all things wrestling. A clean break. He needed the rest, needed the peace, needed to heal. If he made any connection to the business he would be sucked back into that vortex, he knew he would. So months passed. He was eventually fired. Ironically that brought relief. When he received that Fed Ex he couldn't help the smile that graced his face. For the first time in a long time he felt free and that morning was the first day he picked up his phone and nearly made contact with Dean. He stopped himself when the worry flooded in; would the man even want to hear from him? Since then he had wrestled with the decision, seemingly he could never quite cut the ties to the wrestling world even if it was just in his own mind. Shortly after things became messy. Lawyers, lawsuits and settlements. It was a welcome distraction. It kept his mind from straying to Dean as often as it was accustomed to, but the moment the dust cleared and he emerged victorious Dean was right back at the forefront of his mind.

The podcast with Colt was therapeutic. Getting it all off his chest, giving his fans answers to their questions was a relief. He hoped it would help him to move on, and to an extent it had. He felt like he had officially closed that chapter of his life as far as the connection with WWE was related, but it did nothing to alleviate his need for Dean. His hope transferred over to his UFC signing, that massive career change would surely bring an end to the void in his heart surely. It perked him up considerably, he felt incredible, he was going to cross off yet another dream off his list, but still the tearing in his chest remained.

WWE had arrived in Chicago and Punk was swept up in temptation. Dean was in his City. He was so tantalisingly close. He wanted to reach out. To have him back in his house. Back in his bed. Back in his arms. But again he talked himself out of making a move. Dean would want nothing more to do with him now he was sure of it, and he didn't blame Dean for that in the slightest. He had royally fucked up and now he paid the consequence. He had lost something that he believed had the potential to be great. Something he was sure was going to be special. He should be on top of the world right now, he almost had it all. But here he found himself miserable and alone on Christmas Eve because he was missing the thing he needed and craved above all else.

He heard the knock on his door intent on ignoring it. It sounded again, this time louder and more incessant. He mumbled some curse words as he reluctantly trudged out the door and down the stairs. He swung the door open fully intent on giving his visitor a rather vicious and curse laden tirade, but every word and breath got firmly lodged in his throat. There stood hunched trying to keep the bitter Chicago air at bay was a nervous and anxious looking Dean Ambrose. His hands shoved in his pockets, his black coat buttoned up high with a black beanie hat on his head and Punk was flooded with the need to grab him pull him inside and kiss him until they were both breathless. Yet he stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move or say a word. He couldn't believe he was here. On his doorstep.

'Can I come in?' Heating that voice sent tingles over his skin. He had longed to hear it for so long. A man usually so eloquent stood at a loss for words. 'Or did I make a mistake in coming here?' Punk was still in shock, still reeling, and Dean mistook his silence. 'I thought the whole way here it was a stupid idea. You made it pretty clear all those months ago and...' He tailed off, took a final glance at Punk and turned to leave.

'Dean!' He turned back and Punk jerked his head indicating for him to come inside. Dean was on his doorstep, and Punk couldn't allow him to go. The faintest smile arose, but was quickly hidden as Dean walked by him and climbed the stairs. Punk's nerves began to fray. For a man that was usually so confident and self assured he felt ridiculously pathetic at how much of a jittery mess he had descended into at Dean's arrival. As he followed Dean up the stairs he willed himself to calm and for the swooping eagles in his stomach to land. He closed the door to his house to see Dean shifting side to side, from foot to foot. Punk noted he looked as nervous as he felt. For a moment they just stared, both unsure of what to say. Or where to begin. 'Coffee?'

Dean nodded and followed Punk into the kitchen and in a short space of time they were sat opposite each other clutching their mugs of hot coffee. Barely a word exchanged and the silence was unbearable. A million and one sentences wanted to escape Punk, from asking how Dean was, to explaining himself, to saying how good Dean looked and how much he missed him. Punk took a sip, placed his mug back down and met those enchanting blue eyes.

'UFC, huh?'

'Yeah, it was now or never really. It was uh, an opportunity I couldn't pass up.' Punk explained, he knew the announcement was polarising, but as far as he was concerned he was accomplishing a long time goal. He knew he was a lucky man to live out his dream of wrestling, and now fighting in the UFC. Not to mention making strides in the comic book writing field as well. He had the world at his feet again, it was new terrain and it excited him, but still he was missing one vital element to feel complete. 'I always wanted to do it...'

'I know.' Dean cut in softly. 'I remember.' Dean had lost count of the times Punk and he had conversed about Punk's desire to at least try his hand in the Octagon. Dean knew Punk would do everything in his power to learn, to be great, to be a star in the UFC, and of that he had no doubt. If there was one thing he knew about Punk it was that once he set his mind on something nothing would or could stop him. 'I'm proud of you, you'll be great.'

Punk met Dean's eyes briefly with a grateful smile. It was amazing the effect of such simple words from Dean could do. Punk had heard all the negativity, and he was never one to care much about people doubting him, after all it was his job to prove the sceptics wrong, but to have Dean's support meant more than he could ever express. 'Thanks.'

'So do you know anymore details? Training camp? First fight?'

'No, it's all up for discussion at the moment. But definitely shooting for 2015.'

'Well I'll be watching.' Dean looked at him with a hint of promise in his eyes. He meant it. He'd be watching. He'd be cheering him on. Willing him to succeed.

'Wanna see me get punched in the face, huh?' Punk chuckled, and the sound of Dean laughing brought back a myriad of memories on the road together. For those shorts months they had spent together he had felt strangely happy, even in the midst of his trial and tribulations Dean was like this beacon of light in his dark days.

'You're a busy man these days.' Dean slurped more coffee, bringing Punk's attention back to the present. 'Training for UFC, comic book writer and single handedly breaking the internet with a podcast.' Dean smirked the amusement clear in his tone.

Punk smirked too. 'To be honest Colt helped considerably with the internet breaking. Anyway, enough about me, how have you been?'

Dean looked away, looked everywhere but at Punk. The misery he had felt hadn't weakened in eleven months. Losing Punk from his life without warning was hard, just when he felt they were on the brink of something incredible. The worse thing of all was losing Punk without an explanation. To have so many questions unanswered. Dean didn't know if he had done something wrong, all that time he had blamed himself for something he wasn't even sure he did. Somehow, someway he had made a mistake and Punk had left. He was desperate for answers, desperate to know what he had done, desperate to make it right.

'You're going to be a movie star?' Punk said, and Dean could see the smirk on his face without even looking at him. 'Let's hope it's a step up from the Chaperone.'

Dean couldn't help but chuckle, Punk could still be a sarcastic shit and throw barbs just as well as ever. It was just a shame Hunter wasn't there to hear it. 'Yeah, I'm doing okay. The movie was cool. A great experience, but I missed being in the ring.'

'Yeah you're seriously hot right now, you got the fans in the palm of your hands.' Punk was ecstatic to see the success Dean had achieved since the Shield split. There was always a risk of him getting lost in the shuffle, but at least thus far he had been a prominent piece of the WWE puzzle.

'You've been watching?' Dean asked.

'I've been watching you.' Punk replied pointedly. Dean caught his eyes, and Punk felt tremors from head to toe. 'I didn't watch initially. Not for a long while after I left. Too hard, ya know?' Punk saw Dean nod and it had been hard to walk away. To close such a massive and life changing chapter of his life was hard, but now he was in a much better place. 'But the last few months I've tried to catch you, see what you're doing. You're a crazy motherfucker for that bump at Hell in a Cell.'

Dean smiled at the stern protective tone in Punk's voice and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He couldn't help the rush of happiness in knowing Punk had been watching him. He had made a conscious effort to see how his career had progressed. 'Well, you've known for a while that I'm a crazy motherfucker.'

'True.' Punk nodded with a fond smile. 'I haven't seen so much in recent weeks. Got a little too angry with the bullshit booking they're giving you.' Dean tilted his head in confusion and Punk couldn't understand if it was naivety or just Dean's typical relaxed and care free approach to his life and career. 'They are wasting you. You see that right? You're the most over guy on the roster. You should have the rocket strapped to your back, but they're doing everything in their power to knock you down because you don't fit their mould. You know that right?'

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. 'Look I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm a wrestler because I enjoy it. It's fun. But I don't care if I'm opening the show or closing it. I just do it for fun. All the bullshit sucking up, the politics, getting into arguments and being in the doghouse I try to avoid. As long as I'm having fun, that's all that matters.'

Punk understood, maybe if he had such a care free attitude, wasn't so passionate he wouldn't have ran into so many battles in the WWE. Not that he didn't think Dean wasn't as equally passionate, he was just in a different way. Dean was only concerned with his own performance, only what was under his own control, but the outside forces Dean was remarkably nonchalant toward. Punk had mixed feelings on that. He was glad Dean would likely be spared the political bullshit he endured, but at the same time Dean wouldn't get all that he deserved. He didn't fit their prototype, they both knew that. His talent, his popularity, the fact he brought in money was irrelevant. If you're not their hand picked chosen one then there's a glass ceiling placed over your head and it's impenetrable. Punk could feel that familiar rage begin to boil. He may be removed from that environment, may be a different man, a better man, but the old wounds would still occasionally throb. 'Just don't let them walk all over you, okay?'

'Okay.' Dean could see the fire in Punk's eyes. Saw that the old Punk he knew all those months back was still in there. He loved to see the protective look in Punk's gaze, the righteous anger on his behalf, to see the care and concern for his career. Dean would never be a doormat, he never had been, and never would be.

Silence fell. They had said so much, and yet so little. They had conversed, but they could feel the real topic hanging over them like a black cloud. Punk knew it would come to this. He knew that sooner or later he would have to face the music. He decided the best place to start was at the beginning. 'I'm sorry I left without telling you.' He saw Dean's head shoot up and fixate on him. The tension swirled, boxing them in tighter, the air thick and heavy. 'There was a lot going on. Stuff that I didn't really tell anyone. But I needed to leave and get out of there.'

'I know.' Dean was quiet, his voice almost timid. So unlike what Punk was used to. So unlike what he expected. The confident, eccentric, bundle of energy was missing and this new side of Dean made Punk feel even more on edge. He didn't know what to expect from this more subdued and solemn man sat across from him. 'I listened to the podcast remember? You certainly know how to ruffle people's feathers.' The slightest of smirks crept onto Dean's face, but disappeared in a hurry.

Punk couldn't hide his own smirk. He naively didn't expect such a massive reaction to the podcast he had recently recorded with Colt, and he didn't expect such strong and vocal reactions either. He was merely telling his story and giving his fans the answers they had sought for months. No matter how hard he tried to hide it though, he couldn't help but feel pleased that he had gotten under the skin of the motherfuckers in charge of that toxic environment they like to call a company. Colt had relayed their comments and their efforts in damage control. He had even heard that incompetent steroid freak Ryback's lame attempt at a comeback. Outside of that world now, Punk felt nothing more than amusement in their retorts. He was free that was all that mattered now. They couldn't touch him. 'The truth hurts. But they can't have their precious image tarnished now can they?'

Dean nodded and took a sip of coffee, a quiet look of contemplation crossed his face. He knew whose side he was on in all of this. 'I'm sorry you went through all that.' Dean replied earnestly. 'You could have told me. I thought...'

He tailed off and Punk could see the tiniest flicker of hurt. The guilt inside him turned more ferocious. 'You thought what?' Punk managed to whisper, yet completely afraid of the answer. He was going to be confronted, he could feel it. Dean wanted answers and he deserved them. Punk knew that. He just hoped that what he said wouldn't drive Dean away. This was the road he was scared to travel.

Dean wouldn't look at him. Instead he raised the mug of coffee to his mouth and kept his eyes cast downward at the table, but finally in a barely audible whisper Dean spoke. 'I thought I meant more to you than that?'

It wasn't a statement. It was a question. And Punk wanted to run. He wanted to escape. He wanted to give Dean the answers he deserved, he wanted to make him understand, but a niggling thought in the back of his mind was that this conversation could only make matters worse and any hope he had would be dashed. He had lost Dean eleven months ago, but there would be a finality to it this time. No murky ending. It would be a crystal clear definitive ending of Dean walking out of his house never to return. 'You did. You do.'

Dean locked onto his eyes and Punk could barely hold them as the weight of the hurt and anguish stared right back at him. The heavy and tense conversation was almost too much to bear. Punk had always believed himself to be strong willed, never one to shy away from brutal honesty, but when something mattered so much to him his normal character traits seemed to abandon him. He retracts, he forces distance and pushes the people that matter most away. 'Why didn't you answer? Did I do something wrong?'

The question he dreaded. The one he knew he would have to face. The reasoning behind it was valid, at least in his own mind. But would Dean understand it. 'No! You didn't do anything wrong.' Punk replied firmly, he hated himself all the more knowing Dean had wondered all that time if he was to blame. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you in the dark, I never wanted you to blame yourself, but I needed to sever those ties from all things wrestling at least until I was in a better state of mind.'

'So I didn't deserve an explanation? You wanted to be away from me?' That look of hurt flashed up again, this time longer and the pangs of guilt increased.

'No! I just couldn't be in that world anymore. I was hurt, I was sick and I was frustrated and I couldn't take it anymore.' Punk spluttered, and he felt every word was making the situation worse. He couldn't find the right words and he could see it was all falling apart. It all had made sense in his head, but giving his thoughts a voice was incredibly hard.

Dean took a breath, he wanted to explode, wanted to shout in Punk's face that he deserved better than to be just left out in the cold. To be left hanging for months without so much as a goodbye. He held himself back though, he wouldn't get answers by screaming in his face. 'So what I was a victim of circumstance? Because I'm apart of the wrestling world you pushed me away?'

'It's not like that.' Punk sighed exasperated and stood up suddenly from his chair. He began to pace the length of his kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth. He had Dean in his home. The thing he had wished for, and he was making a right mess of it. He finally stopped. He hung his head as he leant over the sink. 'I pushed you away because you were all that mattered.'

Dean shook his head. 'I don't understand.' If he was all that mattered, why would he be pushed aside and forgotten about? Why did every effort of trying to get into contact with Punk get thrown back in his face?

'I knew that you were all that I cared about when it came to working in the WWE. The last few months you were the only thing keeping me going. The sole reason I got on a plane week after week was you. And I knew if I talked to you I'd feel the need to return. To return to the bullshit, to fight the losing battle against those fucks. You'd persuade me to go back when that was the last place I needed to be.'

'If you were that unhappy, if you had told me everything you were going through I wouldn't have asked you to go back.' Dean stated, and he truly believed he wouldn't. Punk's health, his happiness was what mattered most to him. In the months since Punk had left he had followed every public appearance he had made, listened out for any news. From the award shows, to Comic Con, to the Talking Dead, to his comic book gig and he was overcome with relief to see Punk looking so well, so rested, so healthy. He just wished he would have been that way whilst still being in his arms every night.

Punk shook his head. 'I know you wouldn't have asked me to go back. I didn't mean you'd actively persuade me. I mean I would have persuaded myself to go back because of you. Does that make sense?'

Dean tried to follow the thread, but Punk talked in riddles. He was hard to decipher and this was a time where Dean needed things to be clear. There could be no shades of grey. He needed Punk to clarify to truly know where he stood. Did Punk really forget about him? Did he even care about him? Or was he just someone to pass the time with? A mutually beneficial arrangement whilst out on the road? Their relationship had always been ill defined, never categorised, and as Dean thought about that he started to understand Punk's reasoning a little better. They had laid no claim on the other, and Punk didn't want to drag him into it when they weren't officially committed.

Punk looked into the sink. Got lost in his blurred reflection in the stainless steel. He drifted, forgetting the nerves, the guilt and instead he laid it all on the line. 'I knew the moment I heard your voice, the moment I saw you again that I wouldn't want to be without you and I'd get dragged back into that world. I'm sorry I should've said something or done something, but I couldn't go back there. If I did it would've brought back a person in me that I don't want to be anymore. What I said on the podcast was true, I'm a different person now. A better person. I hate that I hurt you, it was the last thing I ever wanted to do and I know I was a selfish fuck, but I swear there hasn't been a day gone by that you haven't been on my mind. I couldn't drag you into this for many reasons, so I thought I was doing the right thing. I realised quickly that I was wrong, but by then it felt too little to late. I thought I'd be the very last person you'd want to talk to.'

Once he started, Punk found he couldn't stop the words from coming out. It was cathartic. It felt like a massive weight had been released from his chest and he breathed a little easier. At least now Dean knew. They could both move on individually with their lives. He had finally told his side of the story and now he waited for the reaction. Silence fell, and Punk was certain the next noise he would hear would be Dean's footsteps getting fainter before the door to his house slammed closed. Instead he felt a hand on his shoulder. Punk's heart began to thud. Dean was still there. He was touching him. He was in front of him. The look in his eyes made Punk feel warm and tingly. And then he was kissing him. Dean kissed him tenderly, the softest gasp left his lips as he melted into Dean's arms. Dean parted and smiled, his dimples flashing before kissing Punk harder. Punk wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, pulled him tighter against his body and returned the kiss with eleven months of pent up passion and affection.

Punk whimpered as Dean broke the kiss. He was here. They were together. He wanted to say so much, but no words could do it justice. Words can be meagre, sometimes they just aren't enough, they fall so short, and they don't adequately describe the depth of your feelings, but the look in Dean's eyes said more to Punk than a million words ever could. And Punk hoped that Dean could see the very same in his own.

He guided Dean to his bedroom throwing his shirt off along the way. His bedroom floor was soon strewn in their clothes. Their naked bodies writhed together, a perfect synergy. Punk couldn't stop himself as he ran his hands over every inch of soft skin that was within reach. He couldn't help but take in and memorise every detail of Dean's body. Dean had brought so much change in Punk. He had never thought he could feel so attached, so clingy, so in need of Dean's presence. With him gone there was a giant piece of himself missing and an aching in his chest. That was only the emotional side of their relationship. The physical was maybe an even bigger shock to the system. To feel so sexually attracted to a man, for Dean to turn him on so much, the sight of his naked body and having Dean's hands on his skin to excite him to the levels previously never experienced with a woman was a stark difference. Even the smallest flicker of thought of being in bed with Dean caused his blood to rush and his pulse to race. His body would tingle and his dick would twitch with precious memories. But if it felt right to him then that was it. End of story. And nothing had ever felt more right than being with Dean.

He opened himself up for Dean, two fingers stretching himself with occasional brushes against his prostate. He was so hard, his dick leaking precum and the smouldering intensity from Dean only heightened his arousal. Dean was between his spread legs, fisting his own dick and watching enthralled as Punk fingered himself. The heat was pooling in his stomach and Punk needed Dean closer, needed him in his arms. He reached out and pulled him into a desperate kiss. Punk pulled his fingers out and rooted through the bedside drawer firmly placing the lube in Dean's palm. Dean fisted his dick, spreading the lube, he needed this just as much. He had missed this. Had missed Punk. He needed to feel that tight heat surrounding him again. He faltered and his plan got momentarily derailed as Punk sucked on his two digits and Dean almost growled a guttural moan. He dived back in for a kiss wanting to taste what Punk just had. Punk pushed Dean's hair back from his face and kissed his sweaty forehead. He pushed his fingers back inside himself before offering them back to Dean. Dean sucked and licked Punk's fingers tasting Punk in the most intimate of ways. He was so wet, his dick throbbed for release, he couldn't wait any longer. He leant over Punk and slowly pushed inside. Inch by inch he pushed into Punk's tight ass and Dean could barely contain himself as he became reacquainted with Punk's body. As his balls rested against the soft swell of Punk's ass he heart a contented moan leave Punk's mouth. Dean leaned back to see that hazy, lazy smile spread into a smile and he returned it. It felt so right. This was perfect.

Dean continued to watch, seeing Punk in the throes of passion, making the sweetest faces and the most amazing noises. Punk's face was flushed, his hair damp, and his eyes soft, but equally transfixed on Dean. Strong legs wrapped around Dean's waist, pulling him tighter, harder, faster and Punk's back arched with his head thrown back and throat exposed as he let out the most erotic moan. Dean knew he was hitting Punk's spot and he continued wanting to bring back that noise again and again as if it were a song stuck on repeat. Punk fisted his dick chasing his orgasm and set an immediate fast pace. Dean could feel his own end approaching, the frequent clenching of Punk's soft, warm ass around his dick every time he hit his prostate was dragging him closer and closer. He slowed, and Punk matched the pace on his own dick. Punk reached out for him, carded his fingers through Dean's messy hair and kissed him. Dean rocked his hips slowly, and retreated even slower, his dick now not just hitting Punk's prostate, but dragging over it and it was driving Punk insane. He was so close. His toes were curled, his fingers digging into the crisp white sheets beneath him and suddenly Dean pounded into him hard and fast again. Punk grunted, low and deep, the sheets now clenched in his fist as they were ripped from the mattress. Again Punk followed Dean's lead and increased his own pace. His dick was throbbing, twitching restlessly and he could feel it bubbling. He was on the verge and Dean knew, he could see it, he could heart it, and he could feel it. He whispered into Punk's ear to cum and Punk fisted his cock faster, harder, his whole body taut as he tipped over the edge and came with a delicious moan of Dean's name. Dean was torn over to whether to continue watching Punk's beautiful face or his dick, but eventually found his gaze flitting from one to the other as his lover released. Dean still moved though, Punk's ass was clenched tight as he was still in the midst of his powerful orgasm, but he snapped his hips hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin, he felt a hand run up his arm and curl around the back of his neck, urging him to come closer, he leant forward, felt a warm breath on his ear and heard the faint words leave Punk's lips. He came hard, whispering Punk's name, his arms gave way as he rested on top of Punk. Punk's legs twined around his own, an arm around his shoulders that ran up and down his spine, and a hand ran through his damp hair. He rested his head on Punk's chest listening to the racing heart beneath.

They led still for a moment, basking in the after glow. The reunion had been spectacular and neither wanted it to end. Dean finally pulled out and led beside Punk. They led on their sides looking at one another, still connected, still touching and caressing, still looking, still kissing. Dean nuzzled into Punk's neck and softly whispered; 'I love you too.'

...

Water rushed down upon him, a smile still etched on his face. He loved him. He truly did. He thought he did back then, but now he was certain. He couldn't live without Dean and on top of all that was Dean admitted he loved him too. The shower door slid open and arms encircled him as Dean stepped inside. Soft lips pressed to his shoulder. He turned into the embrace resting his head against Dean's. The water rushed down, arms full of warm, wet and glistening skin. They kissed in their cocoon of steam as it engulfed the room.

'I love you.' Dean whispered into his hair and Punk couldn't quell the shiver that ran down his spine. 'You cold?'

Punk raised his head and shook it. 'No.' He cradled Dean's face, stroking each cheek affectionately and kissed him slowly, deeply.

The steam increased, the heat making them sweat as their caresses grew bolder. Panting and hard, Dean slowly turned Punk around and ran his palms down his spine. His finger traced over the scar, he bent and placed the softest kiss over the mark. Dean stood and licked and nibbled at Punk's ear as he moaned in honest desire as he felt Dean's dick hard and wet sliding against his ass. Dean took a gentle hold of his hips, guiding him closer to the wall and Punk braced both hands on the tiles and spread his legs, arching his back and giving himself up wantonly to Dean. Needing to feel him again. Desperate to fell him again. Dean easily slipped inside his hole already slackened from the hurried more frenetic sex they had in bed that this time gave way to a gentler, slower, more loving encounter under the hot spray of the shower.

...

Punk smirked down at Dean. His face was flushed, his dimples easily noticeable, his dirty blonde hair an absolute mess from Punk's inability to not run his fingers through it, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Dawn had broke, the orange glow of the rising sun shone over them. Dean's skin had a golden tinge to it and Punk had never seen a more beautiful sight. Dean's eyes sparkled, focused fully on him. Punk was infatuated and lost in the throes of passion, caught up in Dean, the outside world had slipped away from them both, they were the only things in existence as they revelled in each other. Punk felt so thoroughly fucked, his body tired, his hole tender, but he couldn't keep his hands off his lover. His now official boyfriend. He had gone too long without him. He moved his hips riding Dean on the cusp of his climax. Dean sat up, keeping Punk in his lap, his hands gripping muscular thighs as he kissed Punk. Wet, lazy, sloppy and yet all consuming kisses. Punk held him tighter as he threw his arms around him, and Dean pulled him closer trapping Punk's hot and hard dick between their stomachs as they neared their earth shattering climax.

...

Punk ran his fingers through Dean's hair, it had already become one of his favourite things to do, something he didn't seem able to stop himself from doing and Dean hadn't voiced any objection only snuggled closer with a warm smile on his face. They had slept for a few hours, thoroughly exhausted and spent. Punk had been reminded in that time that he missed and adored these quiet special moments of just laying wrapped in and around his lover as much he did the more physical elements of their relationship. He felt so peaceful, so calm and sweetly attached in these moments. Punk had awoke with Dean sprawled over him, the weight of his head on his chest and with their fingers locked together. Punk felt complete. That ache in his chest had vanished. The void now filled to the brim. He belonged here. Dean belonged here. The grin still couldn't be removed from his face. He had everything now. He knew he was a lucky bastard and he wasn't sure he deserved all that he wanted and had successfully gained, but he wouldn't trade it in for a second. He stroked the dirty blonde locks free from Dean's face and feeling perfectly happy he just watched him sleep for a time.

'I can feel you watching me.' Dean eventually mumbled as his eyes crept open. He placed a kiss to Punk's chest as he sat up. He took a sip of water from the glass on the bedside cabinet and turned back to Punk meeting his smile. 'Morning.' Dean kissed Punk's thumb as it ran along his lips. He saw Punk had something on his mind. Deep in thought. 'What are you thinking about?'

'You're what I wanted most.'

Dean's forehead creased in confusion. 'What?'

'For Christmas,' Punk clarified, 'you're all that I wanted.' Punk blushed, feeling stupidly embarrassed at revealing such romantic emotions.

Dean chuckled and snuggled up beside Punk, resting his head on Punk's shoulder. His finger lazily tracing the patterns of the tattoos on Punk's chest. 'Maybe I should put myself under the tree for you.'

Punk rested his head on top of Dean's, breathing in deeply as the smell of their individual scents and sex hit his senses. He let out a sigh, he had never felt this content. This relaxed. This happy. 'Nuh uh,' He objected. 'I don't want to have to wrap you up, cos that will mean hiding this gorgeous body and face from view.'

'Want me naked, huh?' Dean smirked as he looked up at Punk. 'I guess we have got eleven months to catch up on.' He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively with a cheeky grin.

Punk laughed and shook his head at the dork. His dork, he quickly corrected himself. 'We made a pretty good dent in catching up last night.' He smirked, pecking Dean quickly on the cheek. 'But clothing in my house is definitely not optional for you.'

'What about a festive bow on my cock?' Dean joked. 'It's a very good present, at least I'm pretty sure it is from the moans I got from you last night.' Punk lightly punched him in the arm, then followed it with a tender kiss. 'I hope this rule is just for you and me by the way. I don't want to run into a naked Cabana one day!'

Punk laughed and shook his head screwing his face up. He loved his idiot best friend, but that would cause serious nightmares for him. 'The rule relates just to you.'

Dean shook his head, a scandalised look on his face. 'That's not fair. I want naked Punk.' Just to prove his point Dean ran his hand down Punk's abdomen to wrap his hand around Punk's already half hard dick.

Punk moaned against Dean's lips and raised his hips already desperate for more of Dean's touch. He had been from the moment he awoke. 'All right. You got a deal.' He practically moaned as Dean swiped his thumb over the the head of his dick collecting precum from the tip. He held it to Punk's lips who licked the digit and tasted himself.

'Good it can be your Christmas present to me.' Dean grinned as he got on top of Punk and rubbed his dick along Punk's drawing a breathy gasp from them both.

Punk's eyes fluttered closed. 'I've already got you a present. It's under the tree. But I was also thinking I could give you another gift.' He opened his eyes and smirked mischievously as Dean hovered on top of him.

'And what might that be?' Dean asked intrigued, as he nibbled and licked at Punk's throat.

Punk pushed him back and shuffled off the bed and walked over to the door, his dick still hard and with his ass swaying side to side enticingly. 'You could fuck me under the Christmas tree?' He laughed as he saw Dean leap off the bed, he was quickly scooped up in Dean's arms and they headed straight for the glittering, shimmering and twinkling tree.

...

To say I'm apprehensive and nervous about this story is an understatement. I hope my Ambrose isn't completely terrible as I fear he may be, and that the story isn't horrendous. I did learn though when writing PunkBrose neither Punk or Dean like to behave and they go off on tangents and make me write and write! So I hope this wasn't too long as I never expected it to have such a high word count!

And finally one writer really hooked me on PunkBrose and that is lamentomori. If you haven't read her PunkBrose series I definitely suggest you do as they are absolutely fantastic and she is such a superb writer. I put the blame on her for this story happening tbh...

Thank you for reading, and if you feel like it please let me know what you think and drop me a review. It's always appreciated. :)