Warnings: 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash (Colt/Punk), Smut, Profanity.
Punk in his gear, in the ring, glistening with sweat is one of the times, your best friend looks ridiculously hot. There are times when honestly you wish he wrestled in tiny trunks that showed off his gorgeous legs and pretty little ass and then there are times when you wish he'd wrestle in some kind of formless overall. Your match was earlier in the night, you're not really needed anymore so you've already showered and changed. You're still hanging around though, waiting for Punk, with him in Philly these days, you don't get to see him as much as you'd like and so you take advantage of the time you can spend together.
Tonight is one of those nights you wished he at least wore a shirt in the ring, the guy he's in there with is handsy. You know damn well that you don't need to fucking fondle a man's ass to pin him, you sure as hell don't need to make it so obvious that you're copping a feel of him at least, which is what this guy is doing. You're not jealous per say, you're just mildly annoyed that Punk will chalk it up to the guy having an off night but this guy is definitely molesting your best friend and honestly it's pissing you off. When Punkers makes it to the gorilla position, you grab his wrist, a scowl on your face. It's amusing to watch people flee from you, you rarely look pissed off and when you do, people tend to head for the hills. It's a rather gratifying aspect of being seen as the cheerful, happy-go-lucky one of your friendship with Punkers, if you're looking pissed off, there must be something wrong. You drag him down an empty corridor and pin him to the wall, kiss him fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair, holding his head still, dominating him.
"The fuck, Cabana?" He says, breathless and panting when you break the kiss. You catch his hands and raise them behind his head, tug his gear down enough to expose his cock and take it into your mouth, sucking him hard.
"Fuck!" He gasps, overly loud and really, that won't do, the locker room is close, you don't need someone deciding to come and investigate.
"Quiet!" You let his rapidly hardening cock go and hiss at him, he nods vaguely and thrusts his hips towards you. You follow his prompting, take his cock back in your mouth, licking and sucking him. He bucks his hips towards you and you gag slightly, pulling back with a scowl. "Quiet and still, Punkers." You press his hips to wall and go back to bobbing your head up and down his length, tonguing the slit, letting him slide as deeply into you as you can manage. You glance up at him and stare, his eyes are half-lidded looking down at you, sweat that had been drying on his skin from his match is forming once more, making him glisten. His hands neatly folded behind his head, mouth open as he pants softly. You move one of your hands from pinning his hips to roll his balls, holding him still by resting your forearm against his abdomen. You feel his balls tightening in your hand, he's close to coming, incredibly close. You pull down on them slightly, staving off his orgasm and stand quickly, kissing him frantically and try to remember which of the doors opened to Gabe's office for the night, third from the left, you think. You remember that there was a sofa in there, unattractively green and slightly threadbare but sturdy enough to fuck him on.
You open the door and usher him in, feeling like a child playing the quiet game, nipping kisses along his throat and collar bone, stroking his skin, trying to get him to make a noise first, only the last thing you want is for someone to come along and see you both. Once he's through the door, you lock it then grab him, pull him close to you and kiss him, all tongue and teeth. He pulls back from you and wearing an odd mix of a scowl and a smile.
"The fuck is this about, fucker?" His hands cup your face and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, an odd contrast to the way you've been kissing him so far.
"Nothing, want you." You mutter, kissing him fiercely, groping his ass, the memory of that guy's hands on it flashes through your mind and you slide your hands under the waistband to kneed his bare flesh, stupidly feeling like your marking your territory.
"Uh-huh, not buying that, fucker. The hell are you molesting me for?" He pulls away from the kiss, his thumbs gently stroking your face, the scowling smile still on his lips.
"Nothing, really." And it is nothing, you do want him and you're not in the least bit jealous that some other guy was feeling him up in the ring, not in the least bit jealous you don't get to do that anymore because you tag together, nope not jealous at all. You push him slightly and he stumbles, landing on the sofa. "Just want you." You kiss him more gently this time but soon gentle descends to hard and fast, your hands straight back to squeezing his ass.
"Hmm." He moans as you break the kiss; you rest your forehead against his, meeting his slightly hazy eyes easily. "Quick then." He mutters and turns around so he's on his knees, chest and stomach against the back of the sofa. You tug his shorts down to the middle of his thighs, baring his ass, the urge to spank him is strong but it'd be too noisy and take too long. You're grateful for the fact you've gotten into the habit of carrying a couple of the little sachets of lube you bought for sounding in your pocket, if only because they're much less conspicuous than a bottle of the stuff. You tear one open and cover your fingers, sliding one into him quickly, he makes a low noise and you press your lips to his bare shoulder.
"Quiet, Punkers, unless you want someone to come investigate." You ease a second finger into him quickly, stretching him open with ruthless efficiency, time is of the essence, you've no idea if Gabe's gone for the night or if he's just gone for a smoke, he could be back any minute. Punk's body tenses as you speak, gripping your fingers tightly; you smirk slightly and pull your fingers from him. You open your pants just enough to free your cock and take it in hand, stroking it to full erection and coating it in the remaining lube at the same time. You almost slam into him; the stroke you use is hard and fast, close to merciless. You want him to remember this fuck, not for any particularly reasonable reason, you just want your overly molest-able best friend to remember who gets to molest him and who doesn't. He moans, just on the wrong side of too loud and there's a sound from outside the office door, his body clamps down around you and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a noise. Whatever the sound was, it isn't repeated so you put it from your mind and begin to fuck him, hard and fast. Little noises, soft moans, harsh gasps, keep escaping him. "You do want someone to catch us, huh?" You almost whisper in his ear, he shivers slightly in your arms. "You want someone to see you on your knees, my cock in your pretty ass, huh, Punkers?" He shivers again and rests his head back against your shoulder.
"Shut up and fuck me." He hisses through clenched teeth, you give a particularly sharp thrust, jabbing his prostate and he makes another too loud moan. You clamp your hand over his mouth, pressing it there firmly, feeling his breath puffing from his nose over your knuckles.
"Quiet, Punkers." He nods slightly and you keep fucking him at that angle, pressing against his prostate, making his shiver and writhe slightly against you, his soft noises muffled by your hand. "Make yourself come." You whisper in his ear and he takes his cock in his hand, stroking quickly, his orgasm making him quiver in your arms. You pound him even harder as you seek out your own end, you're mildly concerned that the hand clamped to his hip is going to leave bruises but his gear will cover it and well, a little visible reminder that you're the one he turns to for groping won't do any harm. You come as quietly as you can, head thrown back, pulling him tightly against you, your hand still covering his mouth, the other clutching his hip. You slump forward against his back, panting in his ear. His tongue swipes over your palm and you yank your hand away from his mouth, wiping it on his gear. You pull out from him and step away from the sofa and fixing your clothes. You should probably take another shower, you're sweaty again but it can wait till you're in the hotel, right now you should focus on getting out of here without being caught.
"C'mon, Punkers." You kneel on the sofa beside him and shake his shoulder, rousing him from his post-orgasm stupor, he blinks lazily at you and smiles. The urge to shake him more vigorously comes over you but this is your own fault, you should never have practiced reducing him to a grinning mess so many times. You hear footsteps approaching the office and panic, jumping to your feet and not quite knowing how to explain what you're both doing in here should anyone open the door. At least you locked it behind you but to Gabe that'd be no great obstacle. You hear more sounds, banging, rattling, off-key whistling; the cleaner. You sigh with relief, wait for them to leave the corridor and then turn to Punkers, only he's not there. There's another door to this room, one on the other side, one that as you recall opens near the showers, one that he's already gone through, leaving you panicking. You leave through your door. By the time, you're at the locker room he's showered, changed and clearly waiting for you.
"You get lost, Cabana?" He smirks, the remaining few of the boys glance between you both, they're not used to you two, this isn't a locker room you're in together often enough yet so they have no idea how the dynamic between you works, how quickly you can go from looking like you're going to kill each other to laughing and joking.
"Asshole." You snap, grabbing your bag, his too, out of habit and turn to leave the room.
"Bitch." He snaps back, getting to his feet, stretching and grinning. "Let's go, fucker, I'm hungry. Feed me, Seymour!" He drapes himself over your back and squeezing you tightly, before letting you go and taking the lead, he probably has no idea where he's actually going, you think with a shake of your head, he's got the worst sense of direction. You can feel the eyes of the locker room on you both, you're pretty sure that these people would have good the first time I met Punk stories. You catch up to him and nudge him with his bag; he takes it from you and throws his arm around your shoulders. The guy he wrestled looks at you both, an odd expression on his face. You wrap your own arm around Punk's shoulders, squeezing him slightly, an overly smug smirk on your lips.
"Yeah, yeah, Audrey. Let's go, I'm sure I saw a Waffle House down the block."
So yeah, from Monday (2014/01/13), my time, I'll be gone from writing for a month. I don't think that there will be anything posted before then but then again my flight is quite late and I'm doing nothing till I fly out...
littleone1389 I hope you realise this is all your fault :) You and you glorious stash of .gifs!
Reviews are always nice, so if you enjoyed it or if you hated let me know. Requests or smutty prompts are always cheerfully accepted. :3