A/N: Okay, so this was supposed to be posted months ago, I actually started working on it in March, but it just didn't seem to happen. This is just a cute little follow up to Learning to Share Control. Just a word of warning, there is no where near as much angst in this story. If anyone remembers me mentioning an epilogue well, this is it. Hope it lives up to what everyone liked so much about the first story. Enjoy!
P.S. Of course, as always, I own nothing and no one, all the characters mentioned in this story belong to themselves and the WWE. No copyright infringement intended.
November 16, 2012
He must still be mad, Punk thought as he did his best to keep up with John who was storming down the hotel hallway. Punk had learned over the last few months about dealing with John's temper and remained silent, just taking in his lover's actions. Seconds after reaching their room, the larger man's quick and efficient movements had the door swinging open, but before Punk could make a step towards the threshold, John was through the entrance and slamming the door in his face.
"No he's not mad, he's flat out pissed." Punk softly said to himself.
Trying to remain as quiet as possible while he entered the room, Punk immediately sought out the man who held so much power over him, it still scared him at times. After looking at John and taking in his tense posture as he dug through the suitcase, Punk had to hold back another sigh. This was bad, no, he corrected himself, this was dangerous territory.
Deciding that he needed to say something, but knowing that he needed to tread carefully, Punk spoke cautiously. "I'm sorry sir, I got it back as soon as I could."
Still John said nothing, he didn't even look up at him.
Punk felt his temper rising at John's apparent indifference to his presence and words. "It's not like I wanted to lose my collar. I don't even like taking it off but I have to for matches. You should know that."
John's eyes flared when he heard the tone that Punk was using. Punk saw this and knew what was coming, but he wasn't given enough time to react. John immediately walked across the space dividing them, his finger's wrapping firmly around his sub's throat. Not tightly enough to cause him any harm, but just enough to remind Punk of the dynamic between the two individuals.
"Watch it boy, don't you think you're in enough trouble as it is?" John told him, his voice steady and deep.
Punk quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, knowing that the gesture told his master more than any words could ever say. Being faced with John's anger full force was enough to have the tears Punk had been struggling to hold at bay spring to his eyes again.
"Get in the bathroom and shower. We need to get to bed."
Finding a small bit of comfort in following the orders, Punk scrambled to obey. Once in the shower, he couldn't help but to continue pouring over the last few hours, reliving the shame and heartache that he had recently experienced at the arena.
His night shouldn't have been like this. He and John should have been enjoying the fact that they had put on yet another amazing match. They should have been just starting their night lying in bed together. But instead he was stuck in misery, anxiously waiting for what his master would do next, all because of some careless practical joke. Another sob filled the small area as Punk revisited the images of that evening.
At first, whenever Punk had to take his collar off, mostly only when he had to go out to the ring, John kept it safe until Punk could get back and he could place it back around his neck, where it belonged.
But lately, their storylines meant that John had to be in the ring with him, so Punk had placed the chain in his bag and left for his match like he had done on so many other nights. But on that night, thinking it would be funny, Kofi stole Punk's tags not understanding what it represented to the couple.
Punk understood on an intellectual level that his friend didn't actually know what he had taken. Both John and he had decided that the inner workings of their relationship didn't need to be public knowledge. Because of that, he had told people that he wore the tags by his own choice to feel closer to John. Although, Punk grimaced, after his breakdown at discovering the tags missing, Kofi and everybody else that happened to have been in the locker room had to know that the tags held more of an importance than Punk had previously let on.
Once Kofi saw Punk tearing apart his bags and flinging his possessions in his panic to find the collar, he had quickly retrieved it from the hiding spot and returned the chain with an apology and explanation.
But it hadn't been soon enough. A few of the roster members sought John out when Punk started throwing things around like a madman. The majority of people they associated with may not have any clue as to what their exact relationship was, but everybody knew that Cena and he were a couple, that they didn't hide. They all also noticed that John always seemed to have a calming affect on the sometimes high strung champion.
With one look, John had Punk spilling the entire situation out to him. Punk couldn't hold back another eye roll at himself as he reminisced. He may once have been a decent liar, but John had broken him of that habit quickly, at least when it came to lying to his master. When John had asked him what happened, he hadn't even thought of anything but telling the truth, no matter the consequences. But now, as he leaned against the tile wall sensing the water become cooler, he started to rethink whether or not the truth was worth those promised consequences John mentioned.
Finally, deciding that he had delayed enough, Punk climbed out of the shower and dried himself off quickly before returning to the main room naked but for his collar, just as his Master preferred him to be when they were in private. But what was waiting on him did nothing to sooth his frazzled nerves. After a quick once over that left him feeling colder than the frosty November air, John simply lifted one side of the covers, silently directing him to get into the bed. Once he was safely under the covers, John turned his back and went into the bathroom himself. Leaving Punk to do nothing but lay and stare at the door hoping that his Master wouldn't be too long and wondering what would happen when he did return.
After a tortuous few minutes where time seemed to slow, Punk heard the shower shut off. Shortly after that, a naked John entered the room not even glancing in Punk's direction. Soon, he disappeared from Punk's line of vision and Punk felt the bed dip down behind him as John slid under the covers as well. Punk waited for John to move closer and wrap his arms around him like he always did. But those arms never came. John just continued to lie on his side of the bed, the space between the two bodies seeming insurmountable to Punk.
The realization that John had no intention of holding him throughout the night, took away Punk's breath. Before he knew what was happening, his body started to shake with the effort to hold back his tears. Just as he felt on the verge of a total breakdown, strong arms encased his chest and pulled him across the bed to press against the warmth of his lover's body.
"Shh, love, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at the situation and I'm taking it out on you. I should never have done that, I was wrong to do so and I'm sorry. I hate that you can't wear my collar permanently even though I understand why you can't."
John continued rubbing Punk's back and muttering loving words in his sub's ear in an attempt to calm his lover. The minutes slowly ticked by, the night slowly creeping past, until both men eventually fell into a fitful sleep, Punk clinging to John, silently begging for reassurance and finding it in the strength of the arms that stayed wrapped around him all night.
After seemingly endless hours of laying in the darkened room, the horrible night ended and John and Punk were loading their suitcases, each preparing to go to opposite sides of the country with their respective tours. Both of the men could feel the aftershocks the previous night was leaving on their relationship, but neither knew how to broach the subject. Before long, John was standing at the door, suitcase in hand, summoning Punk to his side. He knew he couldn't leave with the situation as it was.
Once Punk was within reach, John shot his hand out, wrapping his fist in Punk's chain and pulling his man even closer. "I love you, you're mine. We're going to fight and were going to have blow ups with each other, we both know that, but this collar means we're in this forever. Right?"
"Yes Master." Punk replied, his sullen mood lifting at hearing John remind him that neither of them were going anywhere.
"Good boy." John told him before swinging Punk around and firmly pressing him against the door, his hand never leaving the collar as his other raised to grip Punk's head in a firm grasp. By the time the two men broke apart, both panting, Punk had raised his legs to wrap around John's waist. "I have to go." John quietly told him, almost against his will.
"I know." Punk told him, equally as quiet, as he reluctantly lowered his legs. With one final press of lips, John grabbed the handle to his case and left the room. Punk stared at the door silently before working his way across the room to finish his own packing.
Punk sat on his couch staring blankly at his comic. He couldn't seem to gain the energy it would take to focus on the story and find out what was happening. The scenes with John just kept playing over and over in his mind. It had been weeks since the whole thing had happened, but Punk could still see the images clearly.
The look of disappointment on his Master's face when he told him he couldn't find his collar, the anger coursing behind those bright blue eyes in the hotel room when Punk had raised his voice and the sadness he saw floating around those same eyes when John had admitted why the situation had upset him so. Punk understood, he wanted to have his collar with him at all times too, but their profession just didn't allow that.
And now, after weeks of these thoughts tormenting him, here he was, stuck at home healing from another injury, another surgery. And John couldn't even be here with him.
As much as that fact hurt, Punk couldn't help feeling like it just might be a good thing. It finally gave him the chance he needed to really sit down and rationalize everything. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was only one thing he wanted to do. He had been thinking about it for awhile, but the fight with John had finally just put everything in perspective and he knew that this was what he needed to do. Punk glanced at the time displayed above his television, before reaching for his phone and placing the calls to set everything in motion.
Cutting the engine after pulling into the garage, John rested his head back against the seat, allowing the silence and cool air of the night to ease some of his tension. He hadn't seen his lover in too many days. A fact made only more painful to him when he thought about the fact that Punk was injured, and if there was ever a time for him to need John, it was now. He took little comfort in the fact that Punk repeatedly told him he understood and that there was no reason for him to be upset. It didn't really matter, it was his job to look after Punk, to keep him safe, and he had truly failed at both of those lately. The way things were going, John wouldn't be surprised to find that Punk was tired of dealing with all this and was done with John.
Shaking his head to try to dispel those terrifying thoughts, John climbed from the car and rounded to the back to grab his suitcase. The closer he got to the door, the faster his heart started to pound. He tried to rationalize with himself, it was well after midnight. It was more likely that he would find Punk asleep on the couch with a comic book across his chest than awake and waiting for him. His lover might be an insomniac but since his surgery, Punk seemed to sleep more than ever. At first John was worried about depression, but none of the other signs fit. Multiple confrontations about the subject finally got Punk to admit just how bad the pain was and that sleeping was the only time he wasn't miserable with it. John accepted and somewhat understood Punk's aversion to drugs of any kind, even those meant to help, but that didn't mean he liked seeing his man in pain when he didn't need to be. He would never push the pills though, and if sleeping helped then John would personally see to it whenever he could that Punk never had to climb out of bed until it was absolutely necessary.
Stumbling his way through the door, John found himself in a darkened kitchen. He stopped for a few seconds to look around. He didn't see anything out of place and everything seemed very quiet. He was right, Punk must have fallen asleep before John made it home. With a sigh, John went to place his keys in the area unofficially designated for his them, and his hand fell on some paper that shouldn't be there. More specifically, a comic book that shouldn't be there. "What the hell is he up to now?" John mumbled quietly. Punk treated those things with more respect than he did most human beings, it wasn't like him to just leave one laying around, especially not in such a strange place.
Running his hand along the wall to find the light switch, John flicked the tiny lever and filled the room with light. Another look at this comic showed that a piece of paper was sitting on top. John was beginning to feel the corner of his mouth tugging up. One thing he had quickly learned over the last few months was that his boyfriend had some strange quirks and wasn't ashamed to pull John into his world as well. Closer inspection showed the paper filled with Punk's neat, small script.
"Got a surprise for you. I couldn't even begin to think of using something as dumb as rose petals to leave a trail, so just follow the comic books to your present."
"I don't know if I'm prepared for this." John mumbled to himself. He knew that Punk having this much time off due to his injury and being left without supervision would lead to something crazy, and now it had. He just didn't know exactly what Punk had planned, and he couldn't figure out if that made him more nervous or excited.
Leaving all his luggage by the door, John advanced farther into his home, keeping an eye out for the next comic and wondering where exactly this trail was going to lead. After making his way into the living room, media room and office, John found himself being directed up the staircase. He didn't know what exactly it was, but there was something about this that was making the blood rush through his system. He was on the hunt, his primal instincts were kicking in and coursing through his body. He was an alpha through and through, he knew this, accepted this and his mind was screaming at him to hunt down and claim what was his, and he planned to do just that.
Finally, he rounded the corner to his and Punk's shared bedroom, and found one of the most delectable sights he could ever remember. His lover was standing at the end of their bed, leaning over the mattress and offering his ass in the greatest fashion. To top it all off, Punk had found a set of handcuffs and applied them to himself. His lover was offering himself up on a silver platter and John couldn't keep the growl from escaping deep within his chest.
Unable to control himself any longer, John strode across the room in a few short steps, determined to take what was being willing given. He allowed his vision to roam over the sight in front of him, down one lean leg and up the other before settling hungrily on that perfect ass. But something wasn't quite right, and once John was able to slow down enough to take it all in, he saw what was off and his steps faltered and he all but fell to his knees behind Punk.
As gorgeous and perfect as John had always found Punk's ass, his vision was locked on something else, something new. Punk had a new tattoo, and the sight of it was leaving John speechless.
"When did you get this?" John asked in a hoarse whisper, still not sure he was really seeing the mark.
"A few days ago, I wanted it to be a surprise for you when you got home Sir. I, um, I know I probably should have asked your permission first Sir, but I…" Punk's voice faltered and eventually trailed off. John could just imagine him nibbling on his bottom lip as his nerves took over.
"Shh," John quickly cut Punk off when he realized where he was going with the statement. "It's perfect." John said, unable to keep himself from leaning forward and rubbing his lips lightly over the reddened area surrounding the new tat. John heard Punk's breath hitch just before a small, almost silent, whimper escaped the younger man. John knew what he wanted, but he also knew that wasn't going to happen. Even though it just might kill him to hold himself back from taking the pliant body on display for him and him alone.
"No sex, I refuse to inflict any pain on you that you wouldn't enjoy and I know there is no way for me to not touch that gorgeous marking over and over again. And I know that would hurt you, at least for a few days."
"But Sir, it's mostly…"
"No buts." John said with a sharp slap to the non-marked cheek. "Once you're fully healed we'll have a marathon session that will have you panting and begging for mercy, I promise." John told him in a breathy voice directly into his ear before trailing his lips down to bite his neck. John could feel Punk trembling beneath his hands as if he wanted to move but then realized there was nothing he could do but whimper yet again causing a shot of pure delight to run through John's body and settle into his cock.
"No sex until I'm completely healed means it'll be days sir, and it's already been so long." John could tell Punk was aiming for a sultry voice, and he pulled it off very well. Almost well enough to make John change his mind. Almost.
"I know sexy, just consider that your punishment for going and marking yourself without your master's permission." Not that John minded, but if it would make his boy squirm, there was no way he was going to pass up that opportunity.
"Yes sir, but that means you'll be going without too." Punk told him, the smugness in his voice shinning through. John's eyebrow slowly raised, it was obvious the boy thought he had backed John into a corner. And that just wouldn't do.
Moving quicker than anyone would expect, John had a hand wrapped around the back of Punk's head and the other grasping the chain holding the cuffs together. Licking a long stripe up his lover's neck, John finished up at his ear, running the tip of his tongue along the sensitive outer shell. He loved knowing all Punk's sweet spots, it just made him that much hotter and excited to get his hands on the slim body. With a soft whisper, John told Punk, "I didn't say I would be going without getting off also boy."
Using a slight amount of strength, John shoved Punk to his knees before pulling his hard and weeping cock out and presenting it to his sub. It was all John could do to hold back coming when Punk looked up at him with those deep brown eyes through long lashes before opening his mouth and allowing John's manhood to slide all the way back his throat. God help him, but this boy was good. And judging by the smirk John could just make out around his dick, Punk knew it too.
A/N: There is a second part, it's already wrote and I'll be posting it tomorrow. This was just a really long story for a one-shot, so I broke it up into two :) Can't wait to see what everyone thought of it!
