Author's Note: This came to me randomly after Elimination Chamber, it's being posted now, if you like it, great, if not, I can't please everyone. Hope you all enjoy.

Disclaimer- I own nothing but an interesting imagination

Phil stood in the locker room and stared at his title, lying on the bench in front of him for what seemed like hours.

He kept running his hand through his hair, he hadn't even taken his gear off yet.

The match had been over for at least half an hour, maybe more and Phil stood rooted to the spot.

He'd fucked up royally. Sure the move was convincing, half the fans didn't realize that what had happened with Chris wasn't supposed to happen, but that didn't mean that Phil didn't blame himself.

He felt awful.

Nobody would tell him if Chris was ok or not, nobody would tell him anything and it was eating away at him. He couldn't bring himself to do anything except stand there and stare at the title.

The title that wasn't his, not really. He'd beaten everyone in the chamber, save for one man.

Phil was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear the locker room door open.

When he was grabbed and shoved up against the wall by his throat, Phil realized that he wasn't alone anymore.

He stared into Chris' eyes, hurt and anger clear in them.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Huh? Were you trying to end my career? Afraid to face me? What the fuck was that out there Punk?" Chris demanded.

"I'm sorry." Phil managed.

"You're sorry? Sorry doesn't change the fact that you could have broken my neck out there. Sorry doesn't change the fact that my career could have been ended. Sorry doesn't fucking cut it Punk." Jericho snarled.

"I said I was sorry dammit, there's nothing else for me to say. You wanna hurt me? Go ahead. You wanna take me on at Mania? You're on. I don't know what else I can do to say I'm sorry." Phil yanked Chris' hand away from his throat.

"You wanna make this up to me?" Chris smirked. "Get on your fucking knees."

Phil didn't move immediately, angering Jericho even more. The older shoved him to his knees and Phil was glad he still had his pads on.

"When I tell you to do something, you listen, are we clear?" Jericho demanded.

Phil looked up at the blond, smirking at him. "Yes sir Mr. Jericho."

He wasn't expecting the slap that landed across his cheek, rocking his head back.

"Don't be a smart ass Punk, it's not cute." Jericho growled.

Phil was pissed. Nobody treated him like this. "Listen here Jericho, you-"

Another slap rocked Phil's head back, and he watched as Jericho shoved his trunks down.

"Don't speak again, the only time you open your mouth is to suck my cock."

Phil wondered what would happen if he bit Jericho. He really didn't like the guy.

Jericho fisted a hand in Punk's hair, pushing his cock against the pierced lips. "Suck." He ordered.

Phil opened his mouth, taking Jericho as deep as he could. He wanted this to be over with.

Jericho groaned as Punk sucked him, his grip in Punk's hair tightening.

Phil let Jericho control the pace, still wanting this to be over. He could tell when the older man got close, he felt his body tensing.

Jericho shot down Punk's throat, finally releasing the younger, shoving him back into the bench. "Thanks for that Punk. I've got better things to do then sit around here with a wannabe champion. See ya tomorrow bitch."

Phil got to his feet once Jericho left the room, going to his bag and fetching the mouthwash he kept in case he bled during a match.

He drank a few gulps before gargling and spitting into the small sink.

Jericho was going to get his, Phil was sure of that.