Warnings: 3nd person PoV, slash (Cena/Punk), profanity, curious play on kayfabe.
It's only been once that John's managed to be Punk's fuck buddy, and it's something that he's been desperately focussed on trying to work out how to repeat. Phil, however, seems to be desperately focussed on running himself ragged. Backstage he's constantly bundled up in heat pads and a bad mood, a carefully observed exclusion zone around him, no one willing to step too far into it for fear of not leaving intact. John, as much as he'd like to enter the exclusion zone, isn't exactly certain how to go about it, he's aware that there are few people who would be permitted in, and of these few, not one is actually employed by the WWE. So, Punk, and it is more Punk than Phil that's present these days, is generally left to his own devices, snapping and snarling, being even more of an ill-tempered addition to the roster than usual.
Arriving early to arenas is something John would rather not do more often than is necessary. He'd much rather be in the gym, or doing something more meaningful, the never-ending Make-A-Wish visits foremost, but his elbow is bothering him and he wants to see a trainer about it. So that means getting there before the rush of people wanting to be tended to, only he's not the first on the scene. In the trainer's room, is a surprisingly cheerful looking Punk, and a pretty, little Asian woman, sticking needles into his knee, laughing at his half-assed attempts at flirtation.
"John-Boy." It seems John was wrong in his assessment of Punk's presence, the voice that greets him is very much Phil. He smiles up at John from his prone position, something lazily content in his eyes. "You here to be a voodoo doll too?" He grins, and the trainer snorts.
"How many times, it's not voodoo." She shakes her head and smiles at John. "Have a seat, this one's nearly done." John watches her dainty little fingers, slowly inserting the needles into Phil's flesh, her touch light and quick. It's not something that should be quite so fascinating to him, but the sight of the thin slivers of metal penetrating Phil is depressingly arousing. He perches on a stool near the woman and smiles at her.
"Nǐ hǎo." It's kind of silly, but John does like to show off his Mandarin, the woman turns to him, confusion on her face.
"Cough, racist, cough." Phil mutters a smirk on his face. The woman shakes her head and swats his thigh.
"Quiet you or I'll stick some of these where the sun don't shine." Phil's eyes widen at the threat and he lies still, whistling something, playing at innocent. "I was born and bred in the US, don't speak a lick of Chinese." She smiles at John, still carefully inserting the needles, the light glinting off them drawing his attention.
"Yeah, and weren't you saying your grandparents were from Hong Kong, anyways? How's your Cantonese, Boy Scout?" John glances up at Phil, and meets the calculated gaze of Punk, that lazy I know something you don't smirk on his face. John fidgets beneath that stare and glances back down at the silver needles
"Hey, can I try?" John asks the woman, and she shrugs, fishing a pen out of her pocket and making a small dot on the side of Punk's knee. She hands John a needle and instructs him how to insert it.
"I get no say in this?" Punk scowls down at them, eyes narrowed. The woman swats his thigh again.
"Quiet you, like Super Cena's gonna mess up." John almost wants to protest but he doesn't see the point in it, not really, if Punk is here, The Champ may as well be too. His hand shakes slightly as he lines the needle up with the little dot, his eyes flickering up to Punk, then back down to focus. When it first punctures Punk's skin, he sucks the air in through his teeth, a little hiss of a noise that draws John's attention as he eases it a little deeper.
"Not bad." The trainer says, a smile on her face, she makes a few more dots and stands. "The queue's getting long... So I'll leave you in Super Cena's capable hands, Punk." She leaves the room, clearly intent on dealing with other people milling about outside, the door swinging closed behind her.
"I..." John starts, staring at the little dots on Punk's soft smooth skin, and the little needles waiting to be inserted into him.
"Get on with it, Boy Scout." Punk's voice is laced with utterly contemptuous boredom, and John nods, slowly repeating his actions of the first with the second needle. This time Punk doesn't hiss, instead he makes a soft quiet little moan. The third needle gets a louder one, more like the noises he'd made when John had fucked him. By the time all of the dots have a little silver needle in them, John's cock is half-hard and he's sure that Punk was making those noises solely for that purpose. John moves to stand by the head of the bench Punk's laying on, gazing down the length of his body, focusing on the thin delicate needles sticking out of his flesh.
"Something on your mind, Boy Scout?" Punk's lazy drawl drifts up to him, but John ignores it, instead, leaning over him and flicks at one needle gently. "Oww." He says dryly.
"That hurt, Punk?" John asks softly, painfully aware that his erection is so very close to Punk's smart little mouth.
"The pain is excruciating." Still dry and unimpressed sounding, John flicks the needle again, and this time Punk hisses. "Stop fucking playing with them, you'll fuck up the chi"
"Chi?" John pulls back, a smirk on his face. "What the hell do you know about chi, Punk?" His thumb brushes over Punk's bottom lip, swipes the little ring there the wrong way. Punk's tongue flicks it to lie properly, then suck his lip into his mouth before John can play with the ring again.
"Not a fucking toy." He sneers up at John, his eyes narrowed. John shrugs, and smirks down at Punk. "Open your fucking pants instead of standing there like a fucking idiot." He snaps, and John looks down at him in confusion. "Oh, please... You're rubbing your cock all over my face." John almost blushes at Punk's words, and gets nothing but an overly amused laugh for it. "C'mon, Boy Scout, we ain't got all day." Punk squirms up the bench, so his head is hanging over the edge and opens his mouth.
"You're sure?" John cradles his jaw, opening Punk's mouth a little wider. Punk rolls his eyes in response, and John shakes his head, opening his fly and drawing his cock out, rubbing the head over Punk's lips. He makes an impatient noise and takes the head into his mouth, sucking lightly, his tongue dabbing at the slit. John rocks carefully forward, easing a little more of his length into Punk. A sharp slap to his leg has John scrambling to pull back, staring down at Punk worriedly.
"Fuck me." His tone leaden. "Fuck my throat and come quickly, we ain't got long." John opens his mouth to speak, wanting to protest at Punk's demand. "Don't fucking argue with me, fuck me." John eases his cock back into Punk and feels hands on his ass, pulling him forward sharply. Punk's gag reflex is triggered by the rough thrust, and John moves to pull back, but the hands hold him firmly in place, and Punk seems to be relaxing around him. It doesn't take long before John gets a gentle swat to the ass, and he takes that as his cue to start fucking Punk in earnest. Soft gagging noises accompany almost every one of John's thrusts, Punk's chest raising and falling rapidly as he fucks the clenching throat harshly. He's probably going to regret this once he comes but he's lost in the moment, the desperate scratching hands of Punk, the feeling of his occasionally spasming throat, the noises he makes, they all conspire to drive John on, to make him fuck that little bit harder. He manages to come somewhat silently, feeling Punk's throat working to swallow his cum. He pulls back and stares down at Punk's face. His eyes are watering, his skin's flushed red, and he's panting for air. The trainer is going to know something's happened in her absence, it's obvious that something has happened between them.
"Hmm, you over sticking things in me now?" He croaks, his voice hoarse from the fucking John gave his throat, his eyes narrowed and calculating. John glances along his body, looking to see any sign of arousal, but there's none, the only thing sticking up are those little silver needles.
"You didn't..." John trails off, swiping his thumb over Punk's lip, catching the drip of cum resting there on his thumb and offering it to Punk; he snorts dismissively but does lap it from John's finger.
"I didn't what? Come?" He laughs, and shifts slightly; he looks restless, like he'd rather be anywhere but in this little room with John.
"Enjoy it." He mutters, staring down at Punk, another snort and John's saved from more ill-tempered complaining by Punk's phone going off, a text message diverting his attention.
"You owe me, Boy Scout." He mutters, not looking up from the screen as John flops onto a stool and stares at the sleek leg in front of him, focusing on its little silver forest of needles. Eventually, the trainer comes back into the room, looking at John strangely, her eyes narrowed, and he shrugs in response. Punk glances up from his phone, finished replying to his text message.
"Can we take these outta me now?" He nods down to the needles still protruding from his knee. The woman nods vaguely and starts removing the needles, John fidgets on the stool he's slumped in. "So, Boy Scout, what did you come here for?" Punk asks once he's unpinned. John flushes slightly, scowling at Punk's back as he leaves. He's not entirely certain what Punk will demand in payment for this incident, but he more than a little curious.
alizabethianrose:Finally got round to that needle prompt you gave me forever ago. ;) Hope it's okay. :)
I'm working on the various prompts people have given me, so hopefully if you've made a request of me, it'll be along anon. (Sorry for the wait!)
Reviews are always nice... Leave one? Please.