AN: I do not own the WWE in any way, shape or form. And even if I did, I couldn't be trusted with it, obviously.

Punk sat down in his window seat, buckled himself in and stared out the window. It was going to be a long flight, he wasn't sleepy at all and he had finished his last comic the night before. Punk felt someone settle into the seat next to his and turned his head.

"Ah, hell!"

"What?"

"It would be you, like we don't already spend entirely too much time together as it is. I would kill to wrestle someone other than you for once at these house shows," Punk said, staring at Ziggler with exasperation.

"Why? You have something against winning?"

"I don't win. I merely overcome the clusterfuck around me. It's not winning when Laurinaitis interferes or sends out Otunga. I've got Vickie grabbing at my ankles and Laurinaitis' newest scheme is to send fucking text messages assigning Jericho as the guest referee. A win like that doesn't really mean much."

"Using that logic then my losses don't mean that much either. You just improved my win-loss ratio considerably."

"I also wiped a couple of wins off your record when you consider Laurinaitis interfered in all your matches against me."

"Great, now you've demoted me to getting my ass kicked on NXT."

"It's not a judgment on you, it's just the fucked up way of the WWE."

"Aww, Punk, was that a compliment you just threw my way?"

"It was not. It was a neutral observation of your skill level. What are you angling for exactly?"

"For you to admit that I'm just as good as you."

"No one is as good as me."

"Do you know how much of an asshole you sound like when you say that?"

"Not when it's the truth."

"You're lucky the fans like their guy to be a bit of a jerk or we'd be wrestling each other…on Superstars."

"I'd be surprised as hell if you were even capable of having a match that didn't include some sort of interference on your behalf."

"What would you give me if I delivered on that promise?"

"You want to be rewarded for doing the thing you're already being paid to do?"

"Yes. What will you give me?"

"What do you want?"

"Your undivided attention for the rest of this flight."

"Fine, you're at least somewhat entertaining."

"I'm very entertaining, you have no idea."

"Now that we've agreed on the terms how do you intended to deliver on your promise?"

"Easy. I'll leave Vickie backstage, if Laurinaitis comes out I'll accidently barrel into him and if it's Otunga or Jericho we'll beat them senseless together and then get on with the match."

"You're basically suggesting that we work as a tag team and then transition into a singles match? Don't you think the fans will find that odd?"

"We'll do it on Smackdown. The matches over there never make much sense anyway."

"Fine. You're on."

"Now that we're friends…"

"Excuse me."

"Your Vickie impersonation needs work, but now that we're friends…"

"A little civilized conversation with no violence is your definition of friendship?"

"In WWE terms it is. So about this rumor that you're fucking Cena."

"Excuse me!"

"You've got the volume down but the tone still needs some work."

"Why would you even think you could ask me that?"

"Everyone wants to ask you that, but since we're friends I thought you might enlighten me."

"We're…I'm not…if I tell you will you promise to tell everyone else and kill this rumor dead?"

"I was hoping for tales of hot man on man action, but I think I'm going to be disappointed."

"You are. We are not fucking, not in the past, not currently and there are no plans for fucking in the future."

"Then why is he constantly around you?"

"We're friends."

"Oh, the type of friend that salivates while staring at your ass? Can we upgrade our friendship so that I get the leeway to ogle you as well?"

"He does not."

"Oh yes he does."

"Great, now I'm going to be paranoid as hell around the guy. You've just fucked up one of my few friendships."

"But you've got me now so it all comes out even in the end. Why are you friends anyway? There seems to be an extreme personality mismatch there."

"He's entertaining at times. And when I can't stand his cheerfulness one more second I pass him to Randy and then ten minutes later he passes him on to Kofi. They're both so nice it makes my teeth rot. Those two should probably hook up and every time they come an angel would get its wings and rainbows would paint the sky."

"Very poetic."

"I'm the poet laureate of the WWE. Unfortunately that does not come with a belt."

"If there were it would be completely gay."

"Funny."

"Oh that touched a nerve. So that rumor is true then? And whose bed are you gracing these days?"

"No one's."

"Excellent."

"Why is that excellent?"

"Because we've been talking for at least fifteen minutes since our last friendship milestone so I think it's time to upgrade our friendship to friends with benefits."

"Excuse me!"

"Oh now you're getting it. You sounded just like Vickie there."

"By your estimation if we keep talking for the rest of the flight we'll be married before we even deplane."

"Whoa, I just want to strip you down naked and lick every inch of your body and you're talking marriage? That's a little too much of a leap for me."

"I am ceasing speaking to you."

"Oh fine. The next time we stop in Canada I'll marry you. I'll even take your name."

"Of course you would. Dolph Ziggler is the silliest name I've ever heard."

"That really isn't my real name you know."

"You mean you picked that name willingly. Good thing you didn't get drug tested or you would have a wellness violation on your hands for being that motherfucking high when you came up with that."

"It's Nick actually."

"Don't ever expect to be called anything but that from now on."

"Fine. That means I get to call you Phil."

"No one calls me Phil."

"On account of our close personal friendship I will be the exception to that rule. Good thing that you're stuck on calling me Nick because I want to make sure you're screaming out the right name when you've got those pretty thighs wrapped around me again while I'm banging the hell out of you."

"The plane must be decompressing and we're losing oxygen for you to say something like that. And what do you mean by again?"

"Do you want to hear some more poetry? I've written a few sonnets on the subject of your utterly mind melting thighs. You have a host of pretty provocative submission maneuvers so I've been between your thighs on multiple occasions; I'm just suggesting we do it naked next time."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"No, but I can help you take leave of yours. Even been fucked so hard that you're so hazy afterward that you can barely even recall your name?"

"Nick…"

"Oh, I like that. So, you wanna join the mile high club?"

"There is nothing about air flight that turns me on."

"So you're saying you want me, just not in the airplane bathroom. That works for me. Tell me what does turn you on and I'll do my best to feed your exhibitionistic tendencies."

"I'm not an exhibitionist."

"Really? Because your gear says something entirely different. Do you have any clue how obscenely low your trunks ride on your hips? How you don't have a wardrobe malfunction every other match is beyond me. You must have to shave…"

"Stop. Stop. Let's leave the topic of my groin out of this conversation."

"Groin?" That's so impersonal; our relationship is past that point. How about dick…cock…"

"Oh My God, please stop."

"It's just a bit of dirty talk. You've got quite a vocabulary yourself. I'm sure you're very prolific with the right sort of inspiration. Your mouth is probably beyond filthy. I bet you're turned on like hell right now. Let's see, hmm?"

"If that hand goes down any further I'm going to twist it off."

"Oh, you like rough. Aren't you just full of dirty surprises?"

"Will you put the armrest back down and get back in your own seat!"

"I like your seat, and by seat I also mean your luscious ass."

"That's obvious from the hard on you're grinding against my hip. There is a plane full of people around us."

"So let's give them a show. What will it take for you to get down on your knees and suck me off? No response, hmm? I'll take that as a yes."

"That was not a yes. That was abject shock."

"Come on, the chicks would love it. It's live gay porn, much more interesting than the in flight movie."

"Attention passengers, we are beginning our initial descent into Los Angeles. We should be landing in the next fifteen minutes. Please discontinue use of portable electronic devices at this time."

"Oh hell. I was pretty sure you were going to let me get to second base before we hit the runway."

"Oh well, there goes your master plan."

"This wasn't the master plan. That involved the handcuffs from TLC."

"So what? I'm just supposed to lay back and spread my legs for you?'

"You can do that, or maybe ride me until my eyes roll back in my head and you can fuck me as often as you like. I like taking it on my hands and knees. I especially love to get tongue…"

"Oh thank you god we've landed. I can't exactly go down the aisle with your hand in my back pocket, do you mind?"

"I do, actually. I like my hand on your ass. I'm thinking of stapling it there."

Punk walked out the jet way and followed the crowd to the waiting cars outside the airport.

"Why are you following me through the airport?"

"Well the view is captivating and we're going to the same place aren't we?"

Punk finally made it to the pickup zone, only having to slap Ziggler's hand away twice to prevent him from being groped in a crowded airport.

Punk slid into the backseat with John next to him and Randy in the front next to the driver.

"Scoot over Cena."

"Why the hell is Ziggler in our car?"

"Well, Randy, Phil and I were seated next to each other and we are now friends, of a sort. Isn't that right Phil?"

Punk didn't respond, just stared at Ziggler heatedly. Punk sucked his lip ring into his mouth and smiled coyly before vaulting over John and crawling into Ziggler's lap, kissing him like the world was getting ready to come to an end.

"John, am I hallucinating…"

"…"

"Did Punk just hurdle over you into Ziggler's lap, start kissing the hell out of him and start dry humping like teenagers?"

"…"

"That must have been one hell of a plane ride."

"It's not fair! I had to sit next to Mark Henry! Punk and I were supposed…"

"Supposed to what, John…be sweethearts, go steady? I think Punk needs someone a little more in touch with their perversions that you."

"I'm in touch with my perversions."

"You're about as perverted as a marshmallow peep. Kofi's available. I think he's more your speed."

John reached out to touch Punk's shoulder when Randy reached across the backseat and slapped John's hand away.

"Don't you dare interrupt this; it's starting to get good."

"But Punk was supposed to fall in love with me, not jump over me to get to someone else."

"John, you never stood a chance. Holy fuck, did you just see what Punk did with his hips. That boy has some moves. I didn't realize someone could have hyper flexible hips. John, did you see that?"

"How could I not, I'm sitting right next to them while they're practically getting it on!"

"Stop pouting John. In fact, why don't we switch places because it looks like you're on the edge of a crying jag."

"Fuck…Phil…"

"Oh yes please."

"Randy!"

"Do you think they'd be up for a threesome? I wouldn't mind getting in on that action."

"Randy! Aren't you supposed to be my friend!"

"Sure John, whatever. Can you scoot closer to the door? I want to see what Punk's doing with his hand."

"I can see perfectly fine!"

"Well, I can't. Move over I'm coming back there."

"I am not going to become threesome adjacent. This is like a nightmare."

"Or the hottest wet dream ever."

"Holy fuck…Nick!"

"Wait, who the hell is Nick?"

AN: Okay, so I wrote this for my own benefit and not you my dear readers but feel free to enjoy it as much as I did!