Warnings: 7Sins Continuity, 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash (Colt/Punk), Smut (anal), Profanity.
"So... Wanna play a game?" You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and he turns to you, an incredulous look on his face. It's not much of an improvement over the sullen expression he's been wearing all weekend, but it's a start.
"We're in the fucking car... What the hell games do you think we could play, Cabana?" You're not sure if he sounds bored or just apathetic, and that almost worries you, because apathetic Punk isn't something you have to deal with very often. He's a driven, motivated kind of person, apathy isn't something he wears regularly or well.
"I dunno... I spy?" You shrug, there aren't too many games that you can think of to play in a car, but anything is better than watching him sit and brood. You've no real idea what's wrong with him, which honestly worries you a lot more than it probably should. You're not psychically linked to one another, but sometimes you think it would make being his friend a whole lot easier.
"No." He's focussed on his cell, texting quickly, a tight little scowl on his face, and there's a part of you that wants to pull over and demand he tells you what's wrong, because this is getting all kinds of annoying.
"Uh... Twenty questions?" You're getting close to the end of your meagre list of road games, having already discounted any that involve other vehicles because despite this being the freeway, it's horror movie-esque deserted.
"No." His answer is distracted, and he's still texting. He's not usually such a bad road partner; he's generally at least more willing to be entertaining.
"Never have I ever?" You're scraping the barrel now, and are pretty much at a loss for what to suggest next.
"Just focus on getting us home, for fuck sake." He taps the back of your head, and you sigh, feeling dramatic and annoyed. Sulking Punk is perhaps one of the most annoying incarnations of your best friend, and you hope he gets out of this mood soon, otherwise you'll start sulking too, if only to see how he likes being sulked at.
"I'm bored." It's whining and you know it, but you are bored, driving with a miserable Punk as your only source of entertainment is the worst thing in the World, and if not the actual worst, it's damn high up the list.
"You're driving! Concentrate on the road." He snaps, turning back to his phone, ignoring you once more.
"It's a freeway, Punkers... There's nothing but straight fucking road, and it's fucking boring." You almost want to demand that he tells you what's wrong, despite knowing it'll set him off in a rant that'll be followed by even more sulking, at least a rant would be entertaining.
"Yeah well, suck it up and get me home, asshole." He mutters, finally stashing his cell in his pocket, and turning to look out the window.
"Pff..." You huff, and keep staring at the endless stretch of road in front of you, devoid of other vehicles. You're sure you could start speeding and there'd be no cops to catch you. It's disconcerting, like you're driving after the apocalypse or the rapture, it's certainly not normal for roads to be this empty. He's quiet for a long time, staring out the window, the atmosphere in the car growing heavier with each passing minute. You're truly considering pulling over, and dragging him to the back seat. Fucking him asleep would be infinitely preferable to this murky air of maudlin bullshit. He sighs, and starts fiddling with the radio, static filling the car.
"It doesn't work, remember?" You mutter, hearing him swearing under his breath, and silently you curse the fact that the stupid radio is broken, it would have at least broken up the heavy silence.
"So... Game?" He turns to you, a hint of almost hope in his voice. Either he's over brooding, which is unlikely, or he's sufficiently bored to want something to distract him from said brooding, which is more than likely.
"What game? You shot down everything I suggested." You mutter, flicking the lights on, it's dark enough that you need them to see the endless empty road in front of you.
"Fuck, I dunno..." He toes his shoes off, pushing the chair back to rest his feet on the dash, his wriggling sock clad toes are surprisingly distracting, and you have to keep the urge to swat or tickle them in check. "Truth or dare?" He says after a long time thinking, and you nod, not entirely sure how he expects you to engage in any dares what with driving and all, but what ever gets him out of this mood you're all for.
"Sure, away you go." You wave a hand at him, knowing he'll be glaring at you, and mentally telling you to keep both hands on the wheel. He doesn't trust anyone but himself driving, not even you, for various mostly reasonable reasons. He sighs, fidgeting in his seat, and you glance at him.
"I'm thinking." He huffs, folding his arms over his chest. "Truth or dare?" He asks, and you're mildly concerned as to what he could have been thinking about for so long.
"Uh... Truth?" You think it might be safer to go with truth, because you're sure his dares will be terrible, and you need to at least to somewhat pay attention to the road.
"Truth? Pussy." He scoffs, and is quiet for a while. "Have you ever fucked a dude that's not me?" You turn to him, and you think the expression on your face answers his question far more eloquently than any words ever could. He starts laughing, the sound loud and genuinely amused. You can feel the look of incredulous shock melt from your face and you smile at the empty expanse of road in front of you.
"No, Punkers. I've never fucked another guy. I'm a faithful Colt." You laugh along with his continuing chuckles.
"Fuck, you should have seen your face, it was priceless. I should have taken a picture." He's still laughing, and you're relieved, anything is better that sulking Punk.
"Truth or dare?" You ask him, you hear him shift in the seat, but don't look over. You're pretty certain he'll pick dare, it's what he usually chooses, and you've not entirely sure what would make a good dare, you're kind of limited by the car.
"Dare. I, unlike you, am man enough to face what ever you can come up with." He folds his arms, and grins over at you, looking the very picture of arrogance.
"Strip." You smirk, at the odd choked noise he makes.
"What?" He croaks out, and you turn to him with a grin.
"I dare you to strip, and ride naked to the next service station." It's a rather selfish dare, but watching him squirm and wriggle out of his clothes, is more interesting than the World's emptiest road. Though him being naked does mean that you're not going to be able to flout the speed limit, explaining why you've got a naked man riding shotgun might be difficult.
"Perv." He mutters, once he's naked, his feet back up on the dash, his hands laced on his stomach. You leer at him, he looks mildly ridiculous, but you were right, the view is greatly improved. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare?" You know this is going to be a bad idea, you can tell by the grin on his face. He sits up straight, and roots through the glove box, producing a barrel of toxic waste.
"As many as you can fit in that big mouth of yours." He grins, and you scowl at him. You hate these things, and the grinning asshole knows it, but a dare's a dare, and you stuff a handful in your mouth, your face contorting as the overwhelming burning of something too sour and sharp fills your mouth. "You alright there, Cabana?" He laughs, and you ignore him in favour of focussing on the empty road, resisting the urge to start spitting the awful candies out at him. Eventually, the sourness passes, leaving only the bland sweetness in its place and you're grateful for it, sucking them till they're gone. He's still laughing at you, it might have been a horrific dare, but at least sulking Punk has gone for now.
"Truth or dare, Punkers?" You ask him, not turning to look at the laughing bastard, the toxic waste candy burns are still painfully fresh. He makes a considering noise, stretching out some more on the passenger's seat, his toes still wriggling every now and then.
"Dare." You can hear the smirk in his voice, can hear him clearly thinking that there's no dare worse than the one he just made you endure.
"Dare? You sure?" You ask him, stalling for time, trying to think up a good one for him. You've some ideas, but you think they might be a little hazardous to you both, but really anything to break up the monotony of this empty road. "Jack off." You smirk at him, and he stares back at you.
"I'm already fucking naked, now you want me to jerk off?" He sounds surprisingly high pitched, and you can't help but laugh at him.
"You can pussy out if you want, Punkers." You shrug, it's going to be kind of torture listening to him jerk off, and not being able to watch, because knowing your luck if you did turn to watch him touching himself, you'd ram into the back of a truck. But it'll be a fine revenge for trying to dissolve your mouth with awful candy.
"Asshole." He mutters, and you can see him out the corner of your eye, stroking down his chest, his eyes closed, clearly trying to focus on something other than the fact he's naked in a car, being driven down the World's emptiest road, masturbating. He tweaks a nipple, and slowly rolls his balls, arching into his hand, but his cock doesn't seem the least bit interested, and he huffs in frustration. One of his fingers sinks into his mouth, and he shifts, spreading his legs. He groans quietly when his finger sinks into him, a low guttural sound that has you looking over at him. His eyes are still closed, and he's fucking himself slowly, but he really doesn't seem to be getting into it.
"Another one." You tell him, and he cracks open an eye. "Just trying to be helpful... I don't want to have to think up a forfeit." You laugh at the brief look of horror that crosses his face. He pulls the finger from inside of him, and grabs the little bottle of lube that's in the glove box for entirely non-innocent reasons. Two slick fingers ease into him, and he shifts again, spreading his legs further. "Eyes on the road, fucker." He snaps, and you turn away, cursing the part of you that thought this dare was a good idea. It takes him five more minutes to give up, an annoyed sounding sigh escaping him.
"I'm not in the mood." He thumps his head back against the headrest, and glares at you.
"You forfeiting?" You ask him, stifling a laugh at the squawk he makes.
"No... Yes, dammit." He snarls, smacking your arm, and you pull over to the side of the road, sticking the car in park. He raises an eyebrow, and you lean over kissing him. "My forfeit?" He asks breaking the kiss, and you lean down, chasing a second one from him.
"Lie there and take it." You mutter, kissing him again, your hands skimming down his body, your lips on his neck. He moans softly beneath you, and tries to arch his back, but your press against him more firmly, forcing him against the seat. You kiss his collarbone, aiming to take your time with him, to explore him fully, but he sounds demanding, and the sooner you finish this, the sooner you can get back on the road. "You in the mood yet?" You ask, pulling away from him, smirking as his cock is half-hard already. You wrap your hand around it, and jack him slowly.
"Getting there." He murmurs, smiling at you. "C'mere." You oblige him, and lean back down for a kiss, jacking him more quickly, feeling his cock firming up in your hand.
"Back." You move off him, and smack his ass as he clambers inelegantly to the back of the car. You right the passenger seat, and consider your options, you don't think he's fully understood what his forfeit is yet, but that's okay, it'll be more entertaining to tell when he's caused an infraction of rules of this game. He's settled on his back, his back resting awkwardly against the door, one leg stretched out, the other at a weird angle, his foot on the floor.
"This is fucking uncomfy... I'm gonna-"
"Bitch? I guessed." You toss him the lube, and open your pants before joining him in the back of the car, poised over him between his legs.
"I do not bitch." He sneers, reaching for you, and you laugh, pulling out of his range, taking the lube and beginning to finger him.
"Nuh-uh, Punkers." You prep him quickly, not really wanting to draw this out, especially with the conditions being more cramped than you'd expected. You thrust into him, rocking into his body slow and easy. He moves beneath you, his hands resting on your back, his hips moving with your own and you still inside of him, glaring down at him.
"Lie there and take it. Which part didn't you get, Punk?" He stares at you, and snorts.
"Seriously, you want me to lie here and do nothing?" He legs wrap round your hips, and you nod.
"That's your forfeit. You couldn't get yourself off, so now you don't get to do anything." You smirk at him, at the slow horror spreading through his eyes, as he unwinds his limbs from around you.
"That's evil." He sounds incredibly impressed, and really you think with good reason, you're rather proud of how devious this forfeit is, it doesn't sound like much, but Punk is a tactile creature, just lying there will be torturous for him. You start fucking him, slowly at first, and he seems to be handling it just fine, staring at you from his awkward slump against the door, moaning quietly as you thrust into him. "Still, right?" He gasps as you move one hand and start stroking him.
"Huh?" You ask dumbly, not really paying attention to much other than the tightness of his body, and the breathy quality of his voice.
"I only gotta stay still right? I can talk, can't I?" You really wish you'd made a proviso against him talking, because you already know he's going to start demanding things from you, like harder, faster, jack me, you can hear the litany of things he's going to start saying, and you start fucking him harder, faster, stroking his cock more in line with how he touches himself to stave them off. He moans, low and deep, and you can see his fingers twitch, like they want to touch you.
"You still wanna talk?" You mumble in his hear, smirking when all you get is a soft rumble of a moan from him.
"This hurts." He gasps after a while, his moans subtly tinged with pain as you thrust into him firmly, his back colliding with the door's armrest. "Digging right in my kidneys... I'm gonna be pissing blood at this rate." How he can manage to mix complaints, and desperate pleading, whimpering moans you've no idea, but he's a multi-talented man, your best friend.
"Punkers." You start mouthing at his neck, your hand abandons his cock, and you haul him up, so that he's draped over your lap. He gasps at the changed position, it's awkward and cramped but somehow you manage to not lose your pace. "There, that better?" He's slumped forward against you, clearly trying to resist the urge to move with you, trying to keep himself still. You can feel the tension in him as he tries to refrain, as he tries to stop his natural urge to raise and fall with your thrusts, to ride you like he wants to.
"Lemme move." He gasps in your ear, and you shake your head, laughing at his plaintive little whine.
"Nope... That's the forfeit." You mouth at his shoulder, biting it lightly when he whines again.
"Touch me then." You run a hand down his back, and smack his ass lightly, hearing him almost whimper in pleasure.
"Nope. You bitched about your back being sore, and now my hands are busy." You thrust up into him, your hands tight on his waist, pulling him down onto your cock. You can feel his hard cock rub against your shirt, and a grimly aware that you're probably going to need to change shirts before you get out the car next.
"Then let me do it myself." He bites your shoulder and you snort, smacking his ass again.
"Nope." You thrust up into him firmly. It would be a lot easier if you'd just let him help, but easy wasn't the point of this, a forfeit shouldn't be easy, and the way the muscles in his thighs keep tensing shows that this is far from easy for him. You're getting closer, and closer to coming, and his moans are getting more and more desperate, he wants to get off, and you're a sympathetic soul when it comes to this idiot best friend of yours. "Gonna give you a choice."
"What?"He sounds so needy, so very close, almost as close as you feel.
"One, you can stay like this and ride me to get off, or two, I'll jerk you off, but you gotta be against the door." A mean choice really, but you think you know which he'll chose. He might be a tactile creature, but when given the choice between doing it himself and having you do it for him, he can be incredibly lazy. He sighs, and you laugh at him.
"If I'm pissing blood, I will bitch." His irritated snap is utterly ruined by you shifting position, and taking his cock in your hand. "Faster." He pants, and you busy yourself with concentrating on stroking his cock and fucking his tight ass, ignoring the pleading demands he issues. You're surprised when he tenses beneath you, his orgasm overtaking him quickly, it doesn't take you long to follow him, trembling slightly, cradling him close as you come. "Oww." He mutters quietly after awhile, and you pull out of him, flopping over to the other side of the back seat, gathering him up so he can rest against your chest.
"So..." You stroke your hand lazily down his back, feeling him nuzzle against your throat, all softly sleepy and contented. "Truth or dare?" He snorts slightly, and stills in your arms.
"Truth." He murmurs, his breath warm and damp against your neck, you glance down at the bare expanse of his back, and can't see any bruises for all his earlier complaining.
"What's wrong with you?" You tilt his face up to you, and smooth his hair back, holding his chin so he can't turn away.
"It's not your turn." He says quietly, and you frown at him. He sighs, blinking at you rapidly; you shake your head at him, silently telling him that even without playing this stupid game, you'd want the truth. "I got offered a deal with the Fed." He tries to glance away, and you squeeze his chin lightly, drawing his attention back to you.
"You're sulking because of that?" You laugh, and he tries to pull away from you, a scowl on his face, but you hold him fast, flicking his ear and getting a half hearted smack for it.
"Not sulking." He mutters under his breath, and you laugh at him again. He sulks over the oddest things really, this is something he should be celebrating, not acting like his dog died over.
"Sure... Definitely not sulking, Punkers." You squirm beneath him, getting him to move off of you so you can retake your spot in the driver's seat, at this rate you're never going to get home, and you to get there eventually, there's some kind of party or something else to plan for him after all. "So you're gonna take it, right?" You watching him grab his clothes from where he tossed them earlier.
"I..." He looks at you, something almost forlorn and worried in his eyes.
"You are going to take it, right Punkers? That's the goal, isn't it... Working in the WWF." You watch a wryly-fond smile cross his lips.
"E, Colt. I'm an employee of the WWE." He smirks at you, and pulls his shirt over his head.
"Ahem... I believe I dared you to ride naked, Mr WWE." You remind him with a smirk, hearing him curse and clamber in the front beside you, his shirt removed once more, an odd, if happy smile on his face. You grin over at him, and start driving once more, trying to decide the best way to celebrate his new job.
Inspired by a request by Sub-Pion: I hope it somewhat meets expectations! :3
Reviews are always good... So you know, leave one in the box! Thanksss
Something you've always wanted someone to write for Punk and Cabana, or someone else even, PM me and I take a stab at it. ;)