Warnings: 7Sins Continuity, 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash (Colt/Punk), Smut, Profanity, Liberal and inappropriate use of Gold Bond medicated powder.
"I don't believe you." He mutters, pacing back and forth in his living room.
"Trust me! I swear it's true! I tried it." You watch as he reaches one wall, turns and walks to the other.
"Don't care, don't believe you." He grabs the bottle of nail polish remover from the table in front of you on his way past, setting it back down on the return.
"Would I lie to you?" Your neck is getting sore watching him pace back and forth.
"Frequently." He pauses by the trash and drops the piece of cotton he's using to scrub at his nails in it, grabs another ball from the bag and walks back across the room, snagging the remover, wetting the cotton ball and continuing to pace.
"I'm hurt." You press a hand to your chest. "The fuck you pacing like you're in the delivery room for?"
"Knee." He says shortly.
"Knee?" You shake your head at him.
"It popped out; now I'm trying to pop it back in." He sound mildly exasperated, now that you look at him more carefully, he does seem to be limping a little.
"Go to the hospital!" Honestly, your best friend is an idiot, if he'd get things looked at sooner he wouldn't have these problems.
"With my awesome medical insurance? Yeah, right." He mutters, still pacing.
"Get some fucking medical then." You sigh; your best friend is an idiot.
"Fuck that, it'll sort itself out." He changes cotton again, pausing briefly, in his pacing to look at you.
"Don't come bitching to me when your thirty-five and can't get up to the top rope." You shrug at him and he returns to pacing.
"Fuck that, at thirty-five, I'm gonna live in a mansion and be banging the hottest chick you've ever seen." You laugh at him and he looks mildly offended. "Still don't believe you about this Gold Bond shit."
You're not sure, why that conversation came back to you then, there's nothing particularly important in it, well other than he's just turned thirty-five and whilst his place isn't quite a mansion, his girl is ridiculously hot so perhaps he is half a prophet.
"Vanity, vanity, Punkers." You smirk as he jumps and turns to face you. It's was a very strange sight to see him regarding his reflection quite so intently. "You asking it who the fairest one of all is?" You sit on the edge of his bathtub, still smirking. He laughs and shakes his head.
"I look fucking old, Cabana." He says, his voice oddly grim.
"Well, you're an old man, hell, you die at seventy and you're middle-aged." You laugh at him and he scowls, turning back to his reflection, pulling at the bag under one eye.
"I die tomorrow and I'll still look fucking old." He mutters.
"And fat." You nod sagely and don't bother ducking the washcloth he throws at you, you let it smack you square in the face.
"You come here to piss me off, you can fuck off again." You remove the cloth and start folding it in half, as many times as you can manage. He looks at you expectantly and you shake your head, standing.
"Came to check up on you, old man." He scowls and turns back to the mirror, tongue poking at where his lip-ring used to be. "I still resent you taking that out." You mutter as you stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder.
"Too old." You almost sigh, maudlin and pensive Punk, good times. You let him go and grab your phone from your pocket, opening the calendar app.
"What?" He turns to look at you.
"Marking down the day Punkers grew up. You want me to start calling you Phil and buying you slippers for Christmas?" Your smirk back on your lips.
"Fuck off." He swipes at your head and turns back to the mirror.
"So, you gonna get a Ferrari or a Harley?" You ask him, dropping your cell back in your pocket and leaning against the wall.
"What?" He sounds miserably tired and you start looking around the room for inspiration, maudlin, pensive Punk is a pain in the ass and around far too often these days. You want rid of him for a bit so you can have Punkers back.
"You traded in the girlfriend." His eyes narrow, you've not met the new one yet, what does he want from you, you liked Amy. "May as well go the whole hog and mid-life crisis toys to go with her."
"Seriously, fuck off." He says dryly and you grab his chin before he can go back to playing at the Evil Queen. "What?" He snaps and you laugh at him.
"You look fine." He sighs and looks away.
"I feel old." You pull him close, wrapping your arms around him, as he rests his chin on your shoulder.
"Hmm." You cast your eyes around the bathroom looking for something, anything to shake his mood. A big green bottle finally catches your eye, half-hidden on the shelf by the sink, extra-strength Gold Bond medicated powder. You can't help the snort of laughter that escapes you.
"What?" He sounds ever so slightly annoyed and you shake your head.
"Why do you have that?" You ask him, squeezing him tighter.
"What?" He steps back from you, out of your arms and looks confused. You go grab the bottle and hold it up; it feels maybe half-full.
"Huh, forgot I had that." He smirks slightly, eyes on the bottle in your hand. "Must be half-empty, probably been there since I moved in." You shake the bottle and grin at him.
"Yup, I'd say bout still half in there. C'mon." You grab his wrist and drag him to his bedroom.
"And we're doing what exactly?" He asks you, eyebrow raised, a smirk on his lips.
"Nostalgia, Punkers, nostalgia." You tell him and pull your shirt over your head.
"Nostalgia?" He mutters, tone vaguely scornful but he does start getting undressed, pants then shirt. You nod, finish getting undressed and sit on his bed, back against the headboard.
"C'mere." You pat the bed and he sits by you. You take the bottle and sprinkle a little of the powder over your balls. You've never been quite able to describe the feeling of Gold Bond on your balls; it's a unique experience; tingling, warming and cooling all at once. Different to anything else and not something you've felt for a long time. You can't help but grin over at him, his own balls far more covered than your own. Punkers always did enjoy the damn powder far more than anyone else ever did, his hands clawing at the bedcovers slightly, toes curling in the fabric, the bottle forgotten between you.
"Want a hand?" You ask him, slowly stroking your own cock. He shakes his head and squirms a little more, before finally taking a hold of his cock, stroking at a far quicker pace than you.
"First?" He glances at you, a smirk on his lips.
"Only cause you'd win." You smirk back at him; he scowls and slows his hand.
"Last?" You laugh and shake your head; with the hand not on your dick, you turn his face to you, catching his lips in a soft kiss.
"No contest, just enjoy it, Punkers." You tell him, brushing his lips with your thumb. He strokes himself slowly, eyes half-closed, watching you. It becomes a contest anyway, some kind of unconfirmed game of trying to match each other's pace, stroking faster and slower in time with one another.
"Bottle." He moans after a while and you pass it to him, watch him as he sprinkles more white powder over his balls, sucking air in through his teeth. He offers it to you, you shake your head, his eyes narrow, and he sprinkles some over you anyway.
"Ah fuck!" Your head flops back against the headboard of his bed painfully, the burn in your groin not exactly entirely unpleasant. He laughs at you and blows at the powder that landed on your cock head. The sensation of his breath blowing on the Gold Bond clinging to your pre-come is well, you're certain you don't have words. Once you have yourself under some semblance of control, you snatch the bottle from him and liberally return the favour. He makes an oddly strangled moan and his toes curl once more. You stroke him a few times, twisting your wrist, rubbing the Gold Bond in at the head of his cock, making him pant and almost whine.
"Asshole." He hisses at you, eyes narrowed.
"You started it." It's childish but you can't quite help but sticking your tongue out at him.
"Gonna finish it too." He grins and wraps his hand around your cock, handling you with firm, steady strokes. You take a hold of his cock, determined to bring him off first. It's a close thing and you honestly can't say which one of you comes first, alls you can say is you're both left backs against the headboard, panting and smiling at nothing in particular.
"Gonna stink of Gold Bond for weeks, you know that, right?" You mutter as he looks at you sleepily. He grins, childishly bright, as he wriggles down the bed to rest his head on the pillows. He makes grabby hands at you and you sigh, lay down properly and pull him close, feeling one of his arms squirming under you, the other settling at your waist, his head beneath you chin.
"Well, you know, us old men, we smell of Gold Bond."
Inspired by a suggestion from littleone1389 , I can only hope it doesn't disappoint too much, PunkSis. :3
Reviews are always good so you know, leave one in the box!
Something you've always wanted someone to write for Punk and Cabana, or someone else even, lemme know and I take a stab at it. ;)