Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel of sorts to Growing Flowers


Do I need to make up spare rooms? - Punkin 3.14

"That the woman?" Colby's draped over Jon's shoulder trying to read the message before Jon can reply. He possibly should dissuade his former Shield brother from referring to Punk as his woman. Punk definitely doesn't approve, but it seems to amuse both him and Joe, and Jon doesn't have the heart to take easy amusement away from them. About ten months ago, he'd have kicked up a stink about it, but things were very different then. Then, Punk had just walked, left with no explanation, no reason, no nothing. Now, well the situation on Punk leaving WWE is pretty much the same, but the relationship he has with Punk has changed. They have a relationship for a start. It's so far and beyond the ill-defined, mutually beneficial thing, it's something that's slowly building, slowly growing, slowly getting stronger, and more important to Jon. Punk has all but cemented himself into Jon's psyche as a necessity, up there with breathing and wrestling, and Jon's certain he's as high up Punk's list of necessities, though perhaps wrestling isn't on it anymore, he's retired after all.

The WWE has been back to Chicago a few times since Punk left, and each time it's been a little easier, each time the crowd chant his name a little less, a fewer CM Punk signs are confiscated, a few less people told to change their shirts. People seem to be slowly accepting that Punk is gone, but they truly are taking their time, they're still clinging to hope, there's still the incessant bleating about Punk in the dirtsheets, but there's nothing much to be done there. Slowly Chicago seems to be letting their saint go, but to placate them the WWE always puts on a good show. The last time the WWE had been in the Allstate, the Shield had triumphed over Evolution, and the Hawks had been knocked out of the Stanley Cup, the two events not really connected beyond Jon and Punk's relationship. Celebration and commiseration for both of those events had been pizza and a sleepover at Punk's, and it seems that Punk is expecting an influx of WWE roster members once more, only Jon has no intention of letting Colby interrupt his time with Punk. It's been madness since he got back on the road, madness that is comfortable and familiar, but completely awful. When he'd been filming, Punk had come to him, had braved his distaste for the WWE and come to Jon because he was lonely. It's still something that makes Jon stupidly proud. He'd be worth risking having to deal with the WWE for, he'd been worth leaving Chicago to go and sleep in a hotel room for, he was worth that to Punk. It's been far too long since he's had sex with Punk, been far too long since they've kissed, or lain curled up around each other, and there's no way Colby is getting to impinge on Jon's domestic time with his Punkin Pie.

"It is." Jon nods, shrugging Colby off, and finishing getting ready to go. "You want to come have another sleep over?" He might not want the answer to be yes, but he'll still ask. Colby is his friend, his brother, and to not extend the offer of a comfortable bed, and the opportunity for him to fanboy at Punk would be rude.

"Nah..." He laughs, and ruffles Jon's hair. "Your face says that this isn't going to be anything I want to witness." Jon snorts, and hefting his bag to his shoulder.

"I dunno... My woman is damn pretty. Everyone should want to witness what I'm gonna." He laughs, and Colby shakes his head, groaning and scrubbing his eyes.

"I'm sure your woman is charming and delightful when in the right mood. Say hello for me." Jon nods to Colby, and leaves at his words, ignoring the few questions sent to his Shield brother about who Jon's mysterious woman is. Its luck more than anything that no one seems to have figured out that Jon spends so much time in this hole of a city for its favourite retired wrestling son.

"I'm calling him on gimmick infringement." Jon can't say he's overly surprised at Cabana being over. Punk's been clingy over him since he got back from the UK in August, and with him going to Japan in October, it seems like Punk is trying to gorge himself on his best friend's company. It's not something Jon's complaining about though; anything that keeps Punk's occasional bouts of insanity from him is a good thing.

"I didn't see any gimmick infringement." Punk sounds more than a little indulgent, but Cabana merely scoffs, clearly, he's convinced that someone somewhere has infringed him and his gimmick.

"Colt-merch dot table." Jon gives up trying to follow Chicago bred bastard logic at that. This is clearly one of those strange conversations that will lead to the Saints having a semi-squabble that'll spill into something more along the lines of the reasoning of children or a tickling match. How the pair of them are considered adults sometimes eludes Jon, but it's fun to watch. There's nothing quite like seeing how childish, and ridiculous Punkers is compared to Punk and even to Phil. It kind of makes him wonder which one is closest to the truth of the man Jon loves, though honestly, he sees more and more of what he supposes is Punkers, so that must be the real one. The Sphinx bastard is a confusing and contradictory man, in both word and deed sometimes.

"I'd like to think of it as more of a tribute, seeing as your cardboard head wasn't allowed to stick around for too long." Jon flops down on the couch, getting a peck on the cheek and a lapful of Punk quickly.

"Yeah... I think cardboard me has gotten more WWE TV time than real me ever did." Cabana laughs, tossing the remote to Jon. "I should get going. I'll see you later, Punkers. Make sure he sleeps sometime to night, Chipmunk."

"That one's out, bastard." Jon sneers; he really doesn't want anything linking him to Alvin, Simon or Theodore. He can already hear the moment that occurs to Cabana, can hear the moment he decides that Colby is Theodore, and Joe's Simon. It's not something he wants to have to put up with, he's more than certain a bastard like Colt knows the theme song for the damn TV show. A smirk spreads over Cabana lips, and he leaves the living room, humming. Jon has the terrible feeling the next nickname that's fired his way really will be Alvin at this rate.

"You don't have to." Punk is up and off Jon, trailing along behind Cabana, talking low and soft. Jon shakes his head, he's not jealous of their friendship, not any more at least. It's hard to be jealous of something so utterly special. It's a relationship to be admired, but not one to covet, having to deal with Punk in the way that Colt does isn't something Jon's envious of in the least. The role of Punk's best friend is very different, and far less enjoyable than the role of his lover. It would be far too difficult to have to resist the lure of kissing Punk whenever he has a particularly cute pout on his face, far too difficult to resist cheering him up with sex and snuggling if all Jon was, was his friend. Colt Cabana is a man of immense and considerable self-control in Jon's mind.

"When's your mom off to Japan?" Jon asks as Punk comes back, settling on the couch beside him, all warm and soft. It's ridiculous how much Jon misses just sitting together like this when he's on the road. For all that snuggling on the couch was something he'd been terrified of when cuddly Phil had first made his appearance, he's certain that now if all he had was the Punk he had first fucked, he'd miss this. On the road he misses sex with Punk, he would be lying if he said he didn't, but he craves having Punk's body next to him, longs to feel Punk curled up at his side, safe and warm, just content being with Jon.

"October sometime... Don't remember when exactly." Punk mutters, he sounds slightly miserable, and Jon doesn't quite have the heart to call him on his lies. Jon has no doubt Punk knows exactly when and for how long his best friend is going to be gone.

"Will he be back for your birthday?" Jon squeezes Punk tightly, feeling him tense up beside him.

"Why the sudden interest in Cabana's travel plans?" Punk squirms out of Jon's hold, and curls up on the opposite side of the couch, looking as tense as he'd felt. Jon sighs and pulls at his ankles, drawing his feet into his lap.

"I'm just wondering when I'm going to get treated to more crazy texts is all." Jon rubs absently at Punk's toes, feeling them wriggle.

"I can just as soon not text you." Punk pulls his feet back, curled into himself, seeming to be in some kind of mood. Something's bothering him, but Jon isn't in the mood for an argument, certainly not the kind of bitter, snipey one he knows Punk is capable of.

"I like getting the crazy texts..." It's a timid attempt at placating Punk, but it seems to work well enough, the tension seeping from him, his posture relaxing. "I just wish you weren't in the position to have to send them, Punkin." Punk looks over at Jon, shock on his face, and Jon laughs at him, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. "What? You think I don't know that I'm second on the list for getting crazy Punk messages?" Punk snorts in amusement and winds his arms around Jon, pulling him to rest on top of him.

"I'm sorry... But me and Colt, it's-"

"I know." Jon grins up at Punk, kissing him again. "He's your best friend, and fuck knows I want nothing to do with that."

"You don't want to be my friend?" Punk sounds offended, something stricken in his eyes. The urge to laugh at him is strong, but Jon settles for a soft little smile and another kiss, crawling up slightly, to pin Punk against the arm of the couch. Being Punk's friend really isn't something Jon wants, he wants to be more, he wants what he has, being Punk's lover is infinitely more than being his friend, but clearly, Punk is taking this the wrong way.

"Fuck no... I've absolutely no designs on being a replacement for your mom." Punk stares up at him, his expression layered and confusing. He looks torn between disappointment and elation, and really Jon's certain it's an expression only a Chicago bred Sphinx bastard is capable of wearing. "My designs are on something a lot less... Familial." Jon smirks, lapping at Punk's throat and tickling his ribs, getting an odd mixture of a quietly aroused moan and a giggle.

"I'm glad... Incest is definitely illegal." Punk squirms beneath him, and Jon leans back, staring down at him. "What?" Jon doesn't have the words for what, he's not really thinking of anything, just staring at Punk's face, staring at his eyes, at the little smile on his lips, the tiny little blush on his cheeks, staring at how stupidly cute and happy he looks. "Seriously, what? This staring thing is kinda creepy." Jon shakes his head, his hand resting on Punk's cheek, his thumb stroking under his eye, the bags there smaller than Jon's ever seen them. He looks good for an unemployed layabout. "You gonna say anything..." Jon moves from being braced over Punk and pulls him with him, rearranging their positions so that Punk is resting against Jon's chest. "You're fucking weird sometimes." Punk mutters, settling himself so that his arms are pillowed on Jon, his cheek resting on them, letting him stare at Jon's face. The strange silent staring contest lasts for far longer than he was expecting, Jon almost wants to think of something to break the silence, but it's not uncomfortable, for all Punk's stare is unblinking, it's not hard to sit still under it. Once it'd felt like being under a microscope that honed in on all of Jon's flaws, but now, he's pretty sure that Punk knows those flaws and has accepted them as necessary parts of who Jon is. "You're lucky the fact I love you cancels out the weird." Punk breaks the staring contest, and turns to the TV, Jon had honestly forgotten it was still on.

"Hmm, I'm not that weird." He ruffles Punk hair, getting nothing but a haughty snort in response. "C'mon compared to some people I'm normal." Jon laughs, and Punk turns back to him, a smirk on his lips.

"For a given value of normal, I guess." He leans up and kisses Jon, a languid slow kiss, the sort of kiss that's completely meaningless, but utterly momentous. "You watching this shit?" He jerks his head at the TV, the remote in his hand.

"Nope." It's true enough; Jon's barely watched anything that isn't Punk since he got home. It should be more alarming that he thinks of Punk's house as home so easily, but it's just another aspect of being domestic, it's another jolt of that unfamiliar but beloved electricity.

"C'mon then." Punk stands, despite Jon's ardent clinging, letting Punk get too far from him isn't something Jon wants, he wants to hold Punk fast and firm until he has to let him go. "Bed." Punk holds a hand out to Jon, laughing when Jon uses it to pull him back down, holding him tightly as he kisses him, one hand straying down to squeeze his ass. "C'mon, bed." Punk breaks the kiss, a grin on his face, and Jon smirks back at him, his hand slipping under Punk's pants to knead at his ass.

"I'm not tired." Jon laughs, and Punk squirms out of his arms, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Didn't say we were gonna be sleeping, did I?" He leaves the room, and Jon clicks the TV off, following along behind Punk, collecting the clothes he's taken off and left behind him like a little trail of breadcrumbs.

When he gets to the bedroom, Punk is naked and prepping himself, his legs spread, knees bent, his feet on the bed, rocking down onto his own fingers, jacking his cock with his other hand.

"This what you get up to when I'm gone, Punkin?" Jon dumps the clothes Punk left behind him in the laundry basket and quickly adds his own, not wanting to tear his eyes away from watching Punk playing with himself. "You lie in bed like this, playing with yourself when I'm away?" Jon perches on the end of the bed, his eyes roaming over Punk's body, trying to decide where he wants to watch.

"Uh-huh." Punk moans, moving a third finger inside of himself. "I think bout you when I do... Think bout you being with me, watching me." Jon lets his fingers trail up Punk's shin, to his knee, then back down to his ankle. "About how much better your hands feel." Punk moans again and Jon presses a kiss to his knee.

"Lemme then." He catches Punk's wrist and stills the hand on his cock. Punk takes his fingers from inside himself and gazes up at Jon. "Let me get you ready." He opens the lube and coats his fingers, easing one inside Punk. He feels about ready from his own actions, but Jon did say he'd get Punk ready himself. He stretches and teases Punk's body, working up to three fingers, with many detours to caress and place little kisses on his thighs. There's no speed in Jon's actions, there's a slow deliberateness behind them. He wants to savour this time with Punk, he's no guarantees on when he'll get another night like this, so he wants to cherish each gasp, each moan, each little movement of Punk's body beneath him as he preps him.

"Enough, enough." Punk eventually tires of being teased and toyed with, his hair is already damp, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with arousal. Jon grins at him, keeping the desire to tease him just a little more at bay, his own cock is painfully hard, and he wants to be inside Punk as much as Punk wants it.

"I miss this." Jon murmurs when he's fully sheathed inside Punk's body, cradling him close, his hands under his shoulders holding him tightly against Jon's chest.

"This?" Punk's voice is soft and close to his ear, his arms wrapped just as tightly around Jon. "Fucking me?"

"Yeah... I miss you when I'm on the road." It's slightly embarrassing to be so very honest about how he feels, but a lack of transparency was what caused them to dance around each other in the first place. If this relationship is going to work, and Jon so wants it to work, they're going to have to be open with each other. It'll run the risk of being too sappy and scaring one or both of them, but so long as they're scared together, it'll be okay.

"I..." Punk sighs, and presses his head back against the pillow, meeting Jon's eyes. "You remember, when you asked me if I missed you the first time you came here after I retired?" He looks desperately serious, like this is something that's been weighing on him since then.

"I remember." Jon pecks him on the tip of his nose, chasing that miserably serious expression from Punk's face.

"I didn't answer you, not really at least." Punk says quietly, squeezing his ass muscles around Jon's cock, dragging a low groan from his throat. "But if I had..." He closes his eyes and sighs again. "I've missed you since the day I walked." Jon stares down at Punk, watching a dark blush spreading over his cheeks that's nothing to do with his arousal. He's being painfully brave in this moment, Jon knows it must have taken a lot for him to make that tentative confession, and he's grateful for it.

"I'm sorry." Jon leans down and kisses him, trying to make the kiss say what his words sorely lack, he can't really think of the words to say what he wants. He wants Punk to know that he bitterly missed him when he left, the questions he'd asked that day had been in earnest, every one of them from are you coming back to you miss me? Every question Jon had, and in most cases still does, want an answer for, but not if it's too much for Punk, not if answering him hurts. There's nothing Jon wants more than for Punk to be happy.

"What?" Punk's voice is tiny, so very soft, riddled with something close to pain, and Jon draws back from him, withdrawing his cock, resting the head just inside of him.

"I'm sorry you've missed me. I'm sorry I'm not here more. I'm sorry it took your mom so long to make me realise this is where I should be. I'm sorry I took so long to realise how much I love you." With every apology, he slides a little deeper into Punk, until he's fully buried in his body, whispering I love you against his lips.

"Love you too." There's a smile in Punk's voice, something warm and light, something that sends sparks of electricity down Jon's spine. "Enough of this talking bullshit." Punk squeezes him tightly, his legs wrapping around Jon's hips. "I want you to fuck me with that big, fat cock of yours. Want you to pound my little ass, make me limp for days. Fuck me, fuck my little ass-pussy hard, babe."

"Oh god... I don't sound like that do I?" Jon scowls, and pulls back, thrusting into Punk firmly.

"Exactly like that! It's the worst." Punk moans, his nails digging into Jon's back.

"Alright you win." Jon kisses Punk deeply, his hips working smooth and steady, fucking him with powerful but unhurried thrusts. "I'm never talking dirty to you again." Punk laughs, a note of triumph that dissolves into a moan as Jon angles his thrusts to rub against his prostate. He keeps that slow steady pace, building up to his orgasm slowly, enjoying the quiet gasps and low moans of Punk as he fucks him. He can feel Punk's cock between them, hard and leaking pre-cum, but he makes no move towards touching Punk, he's got an idea in mind for how to bring Punk off. The thought brings his orgasm closer, and he speeds his thrusts up, coming with a muffled gasp, his face buried against Punk's neck, feeling his cock still hard between them.

"Move, I wanna come." Punk almost whines in his ear, and Jon ignores him in favour of nibbling at his throat, putting a delicate little mark there, feeling strangely proud that it's going to be there for long after he's back on the road. Every time Punk sees that little bruise, he'll remember Jon over him, putting it there. "C'mon." Punk's writhing beneath Jon, trying to come by rutting against his stomach. "Touch me, fuck me some more, do something." Punk mutters, still moving beneath Jon, his hard cock rubbing on Jon's abdomen. He pulls out of Punk and slumps on the bed beside him.

"There, I did something." Jon smirks at him lazily, and Punk thumps his fist on the bed, scowling at Jon.

"Not that." He moves to straddle Jon's hips, his cock in his hand, jerking quickly. It's a nice image, and one that one-day Jon's going to want to see, but not tonight. Tonight he wants to feel Punk fucking his throat and to drink his cum down.

"C'mere." Jon's hands move to Punk's hips, dragging him forward, until his cock in range for Jon's mouth, and he wraps his lips around Punk's weeping head. A strangled little moan is wrenched from Punk's throat as he shallowly fucks Jon's mouth, his hips barely moving.

"Can I?" His face is flushed, his hair damp, and his expression is as ripe with trepidation as his voice. He's clearly not sure how much Jon's willing to take, but the truth is Jon wants all Punk can give. He wants Punk to fuck his throat as hard and as fast as Jon's fucked his in the past. Jon lets Punk's cock drop from his mouth, and smiles up at him.

"Go on, baby." Punk scowls down at him, and Jon keeps a firm grip of his hips, stopping him from moving. The sleazy dirty talk might be something Jon intends to give up, but baby will probably never be exorcised from his vocabulary. "Fuck me as hard as you like, Punkin."

"Hmmph, you asked for it Cabbage Patch." Punk smirks at the unimpressed look on Jon's face, and thrusts between his lips, not as hard or as far as Jon can take it, but certainly more that he was expecting. He'd expected Punk to tentative, cautious, at first at least, but Jon's not complaining, not when this was exactly what he wanted. Punk stills, letting Jon compose himself, and then starts fucking Jon. It's not brutal, it's not as much as he could give, but it's rough and fast enough for Jon love it. One hand strays from Punk's hip, down to his asshole, a finger pushing inside him, trailing through the cum drying in and around his tight little hole. "Ah...Fuck." Punk moans, his head falling back, his hips stuttering. His bared throat, the taut lines of his body, the trickles of sweat running down his chest, the sight draws a moan from Jon, making Punk's hips falter in their fucking once more. "More." Jon slides another finger into Punk, fucking him roughly, pressing against his prostate, trying to match the pace of his hips, trying to snatch a breath when Punk lets him. When Punk comes, it's with his balls firmly against Jon's chin, and three of Jon's fingers in his ass. He seems almost frail when he pulls his cock from Jon's mouth, weak, shaky and soft like a newborn kitten.

"You okay?" Jon's voice is rough, and his throat feels like it's been well used. It's a feeling he's going to cherish tomorrow as he sits on the plane that'll be taking him away from this hole of a city, and his Sphinx bastard.

"No..." Punk curls up at Jon's side, his head on his chest. It's not the answer Jon was expecting, and he tenses beneath Punk, his hands stilling in their gentle petting of his skin. "I'm better than okay." He smiles up at Jon, and nuzzles against him, his voice softly sated.

"Good." They lay silently together, bodies cooling in each other's arms, another one of those gloriously domestic moments Jon misses far too much when he's away from Punk.

"Where you off to tomorrow?" Punk shifts beside Jon, slightly restless, his fingers absently drawing on Jon's skin. It's almost like there's something not quite right with him, and as much as Jon wants this soft, comfortable domestic feeling to remain it's probably not.

"Uh... Somewhere else? I'm not sure. I'll just show up and get on a plane. Why?" Jon presses a kiss to Punk's hair, squeezing him gently. He can feel something in air between them, something weighty and unexpected. It's a feeling Jon doesn't like, he can't stand how dark it feels, it's something that has no business being between them, not now, not after everything they've been through to get to this relationship. "You okay, Punkin?" He asks again, tilting Punk's face up to him. There's an odd distant look on Punk's face, and he shakes his head, glancing away. "C'mon, don't start with this... Talk to me, or I'll call your mom." Punk snorts, and settles himself back against Jon's side. He isn't joking when he threatens Punk with Colt. He's not willing to engage in another round of dancing around each other, so he's not afraid to use Cabana as a rod to beat Punk's stubbornness into submission, forcing him into talking about what's bothering him.

"I miss you." He says quietly. "I think I need to find something to do. I'm... Not bored, but I need something to do with my time. You're away, Colt's busy... Everyone has their own lives, and I'm just..." He sighs, and Jon strokes his back gently. He's not sure what to say to that, bored and lonely is the worst. It's not something he wants for Punk, not something he should have to experience, even if he put himself in this position. If he didn't already know that Punk would refuse, he'd genuinely offer to have Punk come with him on the road, the idea of him needing Jon, but Jon being away to be there for him is too miserably awful to consider.

"You could get a new hobby? Some other flowers, maybe? Orchids are indoorsy. You could grow those like some creepy serial killer on TV." Punk laughs at him, and catches one of Jon's hands, lacing their fingers together.

"I could... I could be a breeder, try and make a new species." He yawns against Jon's shoulder, and presses a soft kiss there. "I'd name it after you." Punk sounds sleepy, like before long the only sounds he'll make are the soft snuffling ones of sleep. The air between them feels lighter, like whatever dark mood Punk had slipped into has passed as quickly and as suddenly as it had appeared.

"You'd call it Jon?" Jon kisses Punk's hair once more, feeling just as tired, just as desperate to close his eyes and dream. It's rare he gets a night where his sleep is warmed by Punk's presence, rare and glorious; he wants to revel in a good night's sleep with his arms wrapped around a sleeping Sphinx bastard.

"No... Gerbil Cheeks." Punk murmurs as he falls asleep, and Jon's last thought before he joins Punk in sleeping is how pissed Punk would be if he murdered Cabana.


Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:

Rebellecherry, Johncenapunkjericholic, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.

As ever I don't intend there to be more of this... But my Dean does like to spring things on me, so there might be... Who knows!

Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.