Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Attempted Non-Con, Heyman Bashing, Based off of RAW 6-3-13, etc.

Chris, agitated, rolled the contract in his hand, rising to his feet and informing the WWE Universe, "I have a really good idea about where this contract belongs." Crossing the distance between himself and Heyman, "Stand up." And upon receiving no answer, "Get out of that chair and stand up - now."

"I'm simply an advocate for CM Punk, standing in for my injured client." Paul Heyman, ever the smooth talker, forced out. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face, and it was obvious that he was becoming incredibly nervous. "Just an advocate. Not a wrestler. I just advocate for my client."

"Shut up." Quick to obey, Heyman shut his trap. Meeting Heyman's eyes, Chris demanded, "Unbutton your jacket."

Heyman's eyes flickered with momentary confusion. "Excuse me? What's wrong with you? I'm not unbuttoning my jacket."

"Unbutton your jacket before I rip it off." The threat was clear, and the dark look in Chris' eyes made it more than obvious that he was completely willing to cross that line on live television. He would humiliate Heyman, like Heyman had humiliated Phil.

As Chris slowly began to advance upon the 'walrus', Heyman raised his hands in defeat. "Okay. Okay. Just... stay over there."

Once the jacket was unbuttoned, Chris offered, "Like I said - I know exactly where this contract needs to be filed." Flattening out the contract as best he could, he promptly stuffed it down the front of Heyman's pants. As Heyman looked on in disbelief, Chris picked up the mike again, "See ya in Chicago."

Chris' music hit, and he made a smooth exit from the ring. Slipping between the ropes, he jumped down to the floor, basking in the glory of his momentary win. Heyman was running a hand over his face, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he tried to re-button his jacket over the contract that was sticking out of his pants. Once Chris made it to the back, his music cut. The breath, which he hadn't even realized he was holding, rushed from his lungs. What he'd done, he'd done for Phil. And that, that made the possible repercussions of his stint a little less overwhelming.

Heyman was mumbling to himself as he slowly trudged down the hallway, crumpling the dishonored contract in his hands. He steadfastly ignored the stares and laughter of the ignorant superstars, knowing that their jests were merely meant to get a rise out of him, and he wouldn't allow them that satisfaction. Finding the nearest trashcan, he tossed the contract inside. This was absolutely ridiculous. He couldn't believe that he was being subjected to such humiliation by the higher-ups in the WWE corporate ladder. Did they enjoy watching him suffer? Did they take pleasure in his pain? Most likely. No - almost certainly.

That's when he heard laughter... familiar laughter. Peering around the corner, Heyman saw the familiar forms of his client, CM Punk, and the man who had just caused his utter humiliation, Chris Jericho. They were watching the playback of the contract signing on the television and laughing over it. Chris had his hand on the slightly smaller man's shoulder, fingers squeezing the flesh there gently. Heyman felt a surge of jealousy flush through him, knowing that that hand would never be his. He knew that he had lost his chance with Phil less than a week ago, when he'd made the mistake of confronting his client in the shower...

"So, what do you say to dinner? Just me and you? We can ease back into things, take them as slow as you want. You've got the wheel here, Philly." Chris assured, smiling easily at the slightly smaller man. The sentiment was returned, albeit a little shakily.

"You're funny." Phil said, turning back just in time to see Chris shove the contract down Paul's pants. "Admit it, you just want to get into my pants again."

Again? What was this business about 'getting into his pants again'? Heyman returned his attention to the scene before him, just as Chris offered, "And, really, would that be such a bad thing?" Both chuckled at what Chris was insinuating. "You have such a lovely ass, after all."

"Keep your hands to yourself, lover boy, and I might just consider letting you get to second base. Might." But Phil was smirking, and his tone was easy.

Chris' smile never faded. "Heh, that's farther than I got on our actual first date." It was a fond memory, even if he hadn't even gotten a kiss.

"I had to give you a reason to keep coming back for more, didn't I?" Phil teased. Both knew that the relationship building between them was much stronger than a common fling, but it wasn't above some gentle teasing. "And you got your kiss soon enough." And a lot more, too.

Chris chuckled, gently pulling Phil in for a soft, teasing kiss. "It was a pretty good kiss, too." Chris pressed their foreheads together, "So, how about that date?"

"You just never give up, do you?" Yet again, there was no malice behind it. "Sure. Just let me get changed and shower quickly. I doubt you want to go out with me sweaty and sticky." Chris' smirk turned dark and lusty, "Get your damn mind out of the gutter, idiot."

"Aww, but a sweaty and sticky Punk is one of my favorite kinds." Chris said. But finally, he relented, "Go and get changed. I'll be waiting for you right here."

Heyman felt yet another roll of disgust wash over him as they kissed again. It was a messy clash of teeth and tongue, with Chris' fingers edging beneath the hem of Phil's shirt - Heyman feared that he was about to watch a live sex show. The connection between them was practically electric, holding their bodies together even as Phil broke the kiss to take in gasping breaths of air. Chris' arms were hooked around Phil's body, holding him close and pulling him back in for yet another kiss. The display was absolutely deplorable. Phil belonged with Heyman, not this monstrous rock star. Phil was Heyman's, in every conceivable way.

Chris knew it. If he didn't, would he have reacted so violently to Phil's claim that Heyman had 'sexually harassed' him in the shower? Heyman had done nothing of the sort, having more respect for the business and for his best friend, his client, his everything, but he'd certainly paid the consequences for a misconstrued accident. He could still hear the laughter of the WWE Universe as the wonderful men and women delighted in his misery. Chris knew that Phil belonged to Heyman, and that was why he was acting in such a crude manner. He'd pretend to be Phil's knight in shining armor now, when, in reality, he meant nothing to Phil.

Phil made his way into the locker room, the door swinging shut behind him. And Chris, ever the dutiful 'boyfriend', waited patiently outside. Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, scaring him beyond belief. "You wanted to see me, Paul."

"Yes." Paul turned to him slowly, his eyes dark with malice. "There's something that I need for you to do..."

Phil peeled off his shirt and stepped out of his shorts, discarding them in the general direction of his gym bag. Even if he hadn't actually participated in a match that night, he'd participated in a dark match and felt stiff and sweaty. Once he was entirely naked, he walked over to the shower and turned it on. The hot water traced over all of his muscles, coaxing them into a warm state of relaxation. Soon, all that he could hear was the gentle pulse of the water as it sprayed from the faucet and poured out over the tile floor. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the water wash away all of the pains of the day... and making it near impossible for him to hear the door to the locker room opening.