Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel to In Bloom
"What the fuck is your woman playing at?" Colby hisses at Jon once he arrives at the arena, a scowl on his face. "Fucking asshole... Was he intentionally trying to piss me off?"
"I don't know, Seth... He's not talking to me." Jon sighs, and scrubs at his face. He's not in the right frame of mind to deal with Colby's annoyance. He's not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere near the WWE in general. They'd come so close to killing Punk, everyone one of these people backstage, even him, had all managed to kill a part of Punk, and if he hadn't left it would have killed all of him. He despises professional wrestling; he never wants to set foot in the ring again. He won't talk to Jon. There's a lot Punk doesn't intend to do, and Jon is desperate to know what he will do.
"Still?" Joe's voice is a surprise, and Jon turns to him, a miserable smile on his lips. "Fuck... Dean, you look like shit."
"Aren't you pissed about this? He shat on you as well." Colby snaps, and Jon laughs wryly.
"He only shat on me... He just tossed some shade your way." He scrubs his face again. He wants away from his not brothers. He feels itchy, and it's disconcerting. He's itchy to be away, itchy to be somewhere else; he's itchy to be in Chicago, and to talk to Punk. The smoked cigarette feels like a bad omen, and he wants to see if there's anything to salvage in his relationship with Punk, or if it's gone in ashes and smoke like the cigarette itself.
"I dunno... Who doesn't want to be made to look really, really strong?" Joe laughs, and Jon stares at him. "What? C'mon, he didn't say anything that he couldn't have phrased better. He was talking to his BFF... They know each other, know what isn't said. He wasn't shitting on me. He was shitting on the agents and bookers who didn't trust him to do his job. He wasn't really shitting on any of us. He was... Recanting the notches on his frustration badge." Joe is annoyingly calm, but Jon loves him for it. He sighs deeply, and then hugs Joe tightly. He's the big brother Jon's never had, and he's so grateful for that. "C'mere, group hug." Colby's caught and pulled into the hug, his chest pressed to Jon's back.
"I'm still slighted." Colby sniffs indignantly once Joe releases him. Jon pulls away from Joe, and smiles awkwardly at Colby. "Oh for fuck sake, stop looking so miserable, Jon." Real names, serious business, and Jon nods. He's not sure he looks any less miserable though, because he feels impossibly miserable. "I was thinking... The way he was talking... Do you think if they'd just called him, he'd have come back?"
"Yeah... I think so." Jon mutters. This arena feels too small all of a sudden. It feels like the walls are closing in on him, and he fobs his bag off onto Joe. "I'm gonna go have a smoke."
Outside he stares at the fresh cigarette in his hand, watching it tremble slightly. His hands are shaking; it feels like his brain is shaking too. He's no idea what to do, what to say, how to make this right. Punk didn't call him back, Cabana is incommunicado. There's nothing Jon can do, nothing short of going to Chicago, and he's not sure that's a great idea. He's pretty sure he'd not be welcomed into Punk's home. After this taping, he's been granted some time off, and he supposes the only thing for him to do is to go home to Vegas. He's not sure he wants to spend time there, but he's no other real options. Where he wants to be, he's more than likely not welcome.
"Ambrose, just the man I was looking for." Jon closes his eyes, and plays make believe that if he can't see Cena, Cena won't be able to see him. It fails miserably, and Cena stands beside Jon, a smile on his gorilla-like face.
"What?" Jon isn't in the mood to indulge Cena, isn't in the mood to indulge anyone. He wants to be left alone. He wants to brood in silence. The cigarette, the symbolic cigarette is smoked, and Jon fears that his relationship with Punk is too.
"How's your woman?" Cena asks, leaning against the wall, and the whole situation reminds Jon horribly of the night Cabana spoke to him in that dark alleyway, only Jon feels entirely different.
"Fuck off." Jon snaps, and leaves, heading back inside the arena. He's not talking to Cena; he's no desire to discuss anything with that repugnant Neanderthal.
Once inside he finds his brothers, and lets their chatter soothe the miserable voices swirling chaotically in his mind. There're so many thoughts, so many disjointed ideas in there, and the steady stream of Colby and Joe acts as the perfect white noise to drown them out.
"You're heading home?" Colby asks once the show's over. Jon nods, he's heading back to Vegas if nothing else, as home as home can be without being able to go to Punk. He wants to let Punk work this out for himself, wants Punk to make the decision on what to do himself. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to fight him.
"Yeah, back to Vegas." Jon mutters, stashing the last of his stuff in his bag.
"Come home with me." Joe offers, the big brother look of concern on his face. "The little one would be happy to see her Uncle Deano." He smiles, and Jon is tempted, sorely tempted, is about to say yes when his cell rings. The caller id surprises him enough to answer it straight away, leaving the locker room to find a quiet spot to talk.
"He's an asshole... And I'm sorry." Cabana sounds as horribly miserable as Punk had when he'd called, and Jon laughs slightly, feeling impossibly sorry for both the Saints.
"Don't be, man. It's..." Jon's natural instinct is to say its okay, but that's a horrible lie. It's nowhere near okay, but he hopes it will be.
"He'll get there... I'm just sorry it'll take a while... Look, Gerbil Cheeks, I'd understand if he was too much work for you." At this Cabana laughs, and Jon joins in. It's ridiculous how much Cabana acts like he's somehow tricked Jon into this, that somehow he's responsible for Jon and Punk being together. To a large extent, he is, but they're the ones in the relationship, they're the ones who should be talking, and sorting this out.
"Cabana, you okay?" Jon asks, and there's a heavy pause on the other end of the line, then a deep sigh.
"We're not talking. I'm pissed with him, he's pissed with me, and himself, and moping... He's a moper when it comes to his emotions, Jon... I'm warning you now. We fought, it was stupid, and we should know better, you know? Nothing good comes from us being mad at each other, but he's being ridiculous. I've been telling him from day one that he should talk to you, that he loves you, so he has to let you in, because you love him. You do love him, don't you? I've not been pouring poisoned honey into his ears?" Cabana's rant has a smile forming on Jon's lips. A miserable, Punk-less Chicago bred bastard best friend is ranty, sullen, and overly concerned it seems.
"I love him." Jon doesn't see the point in sugarcoating it. He loves Punk, plain and simple. He loves what he knows, and nothing Punk could tell will make him change his mind. "Why is he so scared of letting me in?"
"He's been hurt before... He's... Look, you remember the Cena thing, right?" Cabana sounds like this isn't something he wants to be sharing, but Jon's interest is piqued. "Fuck... I shouldn't tell you... This is something Punk should be telling you, not me... Jesus... This is why I'm happy being single. Life is way less complicated when you only need to worry about yourself..."
"And your Punkers." Jon can't resist adding it in, can't resist trying to prompt Cabana to go patch things up with Punk, because being apart is clearly bad for the Saints. When, if, Punk is brave enough, he'll be told this story, he'll be told all the stories. It's strange, but the man Jon is for Punk is utterly convinced that Punk will be a better man, a braver man for him in turn. It's the sort of faith in someone else Jon isn't used to having, and he's almost proud of himself for having it in Punk.
"Yeah... My Punkers..." Cabana trails off, and Jon takes a deep breath. He thinks he's going to have to do a little counselling himself for a change, but for Punk, and it is for Punk, he'll give it a shot. He can't make things worse between the Saints if nothing else.
"Cabana, I said that he needs you, but let's face it, you need him just as much. Make up with him, being apart isn't good for you two." Jon tries to make it sound firm but kind, but the truth is, he wants Cabana to go to Punk and make him happy, so it's probably a little desperate sounding, because Jon is desperate. Punk has to be beside himself with misery, and Cabana doesn't sound too much better himself. Jon needs the Saints to be happy, especially Punk to be happy for the sake of his sanity. There's an odd beeping noise from Cabana's cell, and some rustling, as he reads the text message.
"I... I'm gonna go. That... That was Punkers... You're right, Gerbil Cheeks, I do need him." Cabana chuckles, and Jon smiles, surprised that he doesn't feel any sting of jealousy, he's just happy that the Saints are on the road to a reunion. For Punk he truly is a better, more mature man, the Jon of his youth, the Jon of any other relationship would be trying to sabotage Punk and Cabana's friendship, but this Jon, the good Jon, Punk's Jon is a far better man. "You love him? You really do love him?" Cabana asks again, and Jon laughs.
"I love him. I love Punk more than I can tell you." Jon laughs, and Cabana chuckles down the line.
"Okay... I'll fix this for you. I'm trusting you, Jon, trusting you with my Punkers. You look after him, okay?" There's something heavy, but not threatening in Cabana's voice, and Jon can feel the weight of the responsibility that's been given to him, and as heavy as that weight is, he's more than ready to take it.
"I will... Now go make up with him. I'm trusting you with my Punkin Pie... You make sure he's ready for some whip cream when I see him next." Jon laughs at the noise of disgust Cabana makes at that comment.
"Oh god... Never make sex jokes about Punk to me again... Just never! I'm going. I'll do what I can... You're going where next?" Cabana sounds like he's leaving his apartment, and Jon's beyond grateful for that, beyond grateful Punk won't be on his own for much longer.
"Back to Vegas for a few days." He mutters, and Cabana makes a considering noise.
"Okay... Bye, Gerbil Cheeks." He hangs up before Jon can answer, but its okay, all Jon would have said was goodbye anyway. There's nothing else to say, Cabana is going to Punk, and Jon is going to Vegas. No matter how much Jon wishes his and Cabana's destinations were the same they're not, and nothing much, short of maybe Cabana, is going to change that.
When Jon finally gets back to Vegas, its dark, his apartment is black, and he doesn't care enough to flick the lights on. There're no trip hazards in his apartment, because there's nothing in his apartment in the first place. He'd eaten on the plane, and he already knows there's no food in his apartment, so he heads straight for bed. There's nothing much worth staying up for, it's not like he can expect a phone call asking after him, or missing him. There doesn't feel like there's any point in switching on the lights, there's nothing in any of the rooms that Jon wants to see, the only thing he wants is in Chicago, and he hopes he's being comforted by Cabana, he hopes the Saints have reconciled. Jon flops down on the bed, and there's a distressed whimper from beneath him.
"Punk!" Jon scrambles up, and stares at the man glaring at him, stares at Punk's messy hair, and frowning lips.
"Hello." Punk's voice is dry and cold, but his smile is warm, and his eyes are alive. He looks annoyed with his rude awakening, but happy to have Jon there. Jon reaches out to him, cradles his face, and can't stop staring. He came. For the second time ever in their relationship, Punk came to him, and it fills Jon with love. "You're back?" Punk grins, and Jon snorts, not sure why Punk has decided to state the obvious, but not objecting to hearing his voice not filled with misery.
"I am... I... Why are you here, Punkin?" Jon whispers. There's a part of him that's suspicious about this whole thing, a part of him that is sure he's asleep on a plane, or a bus, a part of him that can't believe that Punk would lay aside his much-lauded fear, and come to Vegas.
"I'm here to talk." Punk smiles, a strangely happy little expression that catches Jon by surprise. "I've been running long enough, Jon." Punk squirms slightly, turning his face to nuzzle at Jon's palm. "I'm sorry I've been so... Flighty. I'm not used to anyone other than Cabana not grovelling to make it up to me." He presses his cheek more firmly against Jon's hand. "You left me to it, I was trying to one up you, and you saw it for what it was."
"I wanted to give you space, Punk." Jon mutters. He's surprised Punk's being so honest about this, surprised but relieved. If Punk can be so honest about something so big, there's hope he'll be honest about everything else.
"In the morning, I'll tell you anything you want to know, anything." Punk looks so serious as he stares up at Jon, his eyes are so openly honest, and Jon can't help but stare at him some more. "One question now though, a starter if you will."
"You ever fucked Cabana?" Jon knows the answer's no, he knows it, but it was worth asking for the look of incredulous amusement on Punk's face.
"Oh god, no!" Punk laughs, and Jon leans down to kiss him. Their first kiss in far too long. It's as great and glorious as kissing Punk always is. There's never going to be a time when Jon's tired of kissing Punk, he's sure of it. The whole time they've been apart Jon's felt fractured, but now with Punk in his arms, and his bed, he's whole, everything is right in his world. "I was in love with him for a while though. He gets me in a way no one else does, not even you, but we're no romantically compatible." Jon hadn't expected that little extra bit of information, and he settles down beside Punk on the bed, his hand still on Punk's cheek.
"Oh?" He'd like more on this story, some extra information if only to have something on Cabana for the next time he's levelled with a failing science project stare.
"I think I started falling for him after I knew him for about a year... I don't get to make random drunk passes at people. Straight edge has downsides, so I didn't say anything. Over time, it became abundantly clear that one, Bana is my best friend, and dating him would be a horrible idea because I'd have no one to bitch about him to. Two, he's completely immune to my dubious charms, and three, he's straight, completely and boringly straight. He's quite happy to engage in manly snuggles, but dudes just don't rev his engine." Punk laughs, and Jon shakes his head. "We've slept together, shared a bed a million times, and we will a million times in the future. I love him, Cabbage Patch, but I'm not in love with him, and you aren't worried about me pining over Bana at all." Punk's eyes narrow, and Jon laughs, leaning over to peck the tip of Punk's nose.
"Not in the least." Jon chuckles as he settles back down. "You two go together like peanut butter and jelly, but I'm not worried about there being more between you. You're fucking adorable together though... Like puppies or something." Jon laughs, and Punk snorts, licking Jon's palm.
"There's other things you wanna know though, isn't there? You wanna know why I'm so closed off... Why I don't wanna talk about my past?" Punk's light mood fades, and Jon nods. "Tomorrow..." He sighs, and Jon moves a little closer to him, pulling him so he's lying flush with Jon's body, his bare skin warm under Jon's hands. "I'll be as open as you want."
"It's tonight though, Punkin, and I wanna see you come. I've missed seeing your face, your body... You." There's so much more to Punk than the physical aspects, so much more that Jon adores, but he wants to see Punk come for him, wants to see Punk's hazy, soft just come face once more. Punk's hand dives under the pillows, and he produces a little bottle of lube.
"Boxers off, then." He grins, and Jon obliges him, stripping quickly. Punk's fingers wraps around Jon's cock, the digits slick with lube as he moves his hand steadily up and down, making Jon's cock harden rapidly.
"Punkin?" Jon mutters, and Punk shakes his head, his eyes downcast as he keeps stroking. "Look at me." Jon whispers, and Punk's face cants up to him. There's something in Punk's eyes, something smoulderingly hot, something that makes Jon's breath catch, and his mouth water.
"You're staring." Punk mutters, and Jon nods. He's staring, there's no arguing with that, and he's going to keep staring as long as Punk keeps looking so good.
"Yeah... Gimme that lube, and c'mere." Punk takes up the lube once more, and hands it to Jon, but stays lying on his side by him. "Over me." Jon slicks Punk's cock, jacking him hard, and guides Punk to lie over him. "I wanna see if we can get off like this." Jon whispers in Punk's ear. "As much as I want to be in you, I don't think now's the right time..." Jon trails off, and Punk laughs softly, lowering his head to press his face against Jon's neck.
"You'll fuck me when I let you in?" He laughs, and Jon snorts in amusement, but it's true enough, that is his reasoning. When Punk's lets Jon in emotionally, then Jon will take him, but not before. "I told you, tomorrow... I'll talk tomorrow... I just." Whatever Punk was going to say is lost in a moan, his hips start moving restlessly, rubbing his cock against Jon's own. Jon's hands skim down Punk's back, and rest on his ass, squeezing it gently, pressing the cheeks together, then pulling them apart.
"You've lost weight." Jon mutters, and Punk moans breathily in his ear.
"Yeah... Losing more too." He murmurs, his voice soft and wispy. "You like it?"
"You're gorgeous, skinny, cuddly, doesn't matter, you're perfect." Jon moans, his hands moving up Punk's back to tangle in his hair, drawing him down for a kiss. It's like there's been no separation between them, like there's been no divide at all, in this moment, they're in tune, perfectly in sync, and Jon is more than grateful for that. He's missed his Sphinx Bastard so much, has missed the way he feels in his arm, has missed his scent, the way he sounds, him. They move against each other, their cocks pressed firmly together, and the sensation is more than Jon was expecting. He'd expected it to be difficult to get off like this, but as Punk moves, as Jon moves counter to Punk, it's far easier than he'd thought. The moment Punk's slim fingers wrap around their cocks, Jon can't help it, he clutches at Punk's shoulders, and flips them over inelegantly, bearing down on Punk, fucking the tight space created between Punk's hand and cock. Punk comes suddenly, his body quivering beneath Jon, and Jon takes hold of both his and Punk's cock, his fingers pressing against Punk's, fucking the tight channel until he finds his release swiftly. Jon manages to collapse on the bed beside Punk, rather than on top of him again, and watches a contented Punk lapping the combination of their cum from his fingers.
"You gonna get that?" There's a hint of greed in Punk's tone, and Jon quickly licks his own soiled hand. "Mean... You're supposed to share." Punk leans over and kisses Jon, a thorough probing kiss that chases every drop of their combined flavours from Jon's mouth. "We taste good." Punk smirks, and lies down once more. "So... Tomorrow... I'll talk, but when do I get to hear your story?"
"I'd tell you now if you wanted." Jon mutters, and Punk looks at him, his eyes narrowed, looking suspicious, but he does nod. He wants to know Jon's story as soon as possible, and that fact makes Jon's heart soar despite the bleakness of the upcoming tale.
"Okay, the cliff notes version." Punk murmurs, and Jon starts to talk as Punk lies there listening. He doesn't ask questions, he just listens to Jon soliloquy on his life. There are a few moments where Jon wants to gloss things over, where he wants to leave out some of the darker patches, but he ignores that part of him. He has to be honest with Punk. It's one of those facets of Jon that have changed, or rather been revealed, for Punk. In any other relationship Jon would never consider doing this, but for Punk, he will explain everything of himself in graphic detail. Once he finishes talking, and is given the softest, sweetest, most understanding kiss of his life, Jon can't imagine not telling every little thing to his Sphinx Bastard.
In the morning, Jon wakes up to find Punk stroking his hair, his head on Punk's thighs. They definitely feel firmer, and he's not sure how he feels about that. He had meant it though, no matter what the outside of Punk looks like, Jon will always think he's gorgeous. Punk starts to talk, starting from his first memory, and doesn't stop until he's told Jon all the way up to leaving the WWE, and what he's been up to since then. It's a strangely familiar but unfamiliar tale. A story that Jon's only heard the condensed version of before. It's a tale that makes Jon's fists itch, and long to connect with faraway flesh, but there was something missing from it. The tales of Punk's romantic exploits weren't glossed over, they were given in exacting and clearly painful detail, but Cena was, Punk had skimmed over what had happened there.
"Punkin... I wanna know about Cena." Jon says softly once Punk's been quiet for a while, and he sighs softly.
"Lemma have a shower first... I hate talking about my past... It makes me feel dirty." Punk slips out of bed, and is in the shower before Jon can argue. He dresses quickly, and carries his luggage to the bedroom, emptying the dirty clothes into a pile near the door. "Living room!" Punk shouts eventually, and Jon wanders through, taking a seat on an armchair. His mind is buzzing, filled with all of the information he's been given so far, and anxious to hear what else Punk has to say.
"So... Cena?" Jon asks, and Punk nods, his eyes focussed on anything but Jon. Whatever he has to say, it's clear he doesn't think Jon will like it.
"He's just the latest in a long list of men who've hurt me. We did become friends, so don't hate him, but... When I was red hot, he approached me, asked me out... And well, I was flattered. I mean, he's the face of the company, this Global phenomenon, and I was me, skinny fat, scruffy me." Punk smiles sadly, and Jon frowns.
"That offended you more than you let on, didn't it?" He says suddenly, and Punk sighs, a wry grin on his face.
"I'm gonna have a hard time keeping anything from you, aren't I?" He laughs, and Jon smirks at him, nodding. He's pleased he can read Punk so well, and even more pissed at HHH than he had been after listening to the podcasts. The man is bitter and petty, the sort of man who wanted power, and so should be kept far from it, the sort of man who barely deserves to walk the same planet as his Sphinx Bastard. "So... Anyway, I agree to go on a date him, and one date turns to two, and two to three. It never really goes beyond that, I kissed him one time, but then my booking changed. The Office claimed it was because I was a ratings killer, but then ratings didn't improve when Cena was closing the show. I mentioned it to Cena, and he shrugged it off, saying it was Creative's decision. I shifted more merch than him, then I was pulled back from closing PPVs, the Champion, but not the Main Event." Punk's smile takes a miserable little twist at this point. "I have a guardian angel in the office, I'm not giving you names, so don't ask. I got sent an email chain between Paul and Cena." Punk sighs, and scrubs at his face. "Cena is protective over his spot... He doesn't know that I know what he did. Don't tell him... It's useful to have it in my back pocket... One day it might help you out. I'm not going back there, but I'll be damned if I'm letting them do to you what they did to me, Jon." There's a fire in Punk's eyes when he looks at Jon, a fire Jon knows he returns. "You don't have the same philosophy as me, neither does Seth, you both accept help... I never did. If I have to, I'll use my leverage to help you. I'm never going back there, but it's your dream, I know that, and I respect that. I despise them, but I love you, I support you."
"Phil..." Jon isn't too sure what to say to that, it was earnest and raw, almost enough to make him forget the fact that Cena, a man Punk has referred to as a friend intentionally fucked with Punk's push to protect himself. It's no wonder Punk has such fears about letting people close. He's been betrayed, and lied to so often, it's not a surprise that he tries to keep people out, but once you're in, you're in, and Jon knows he's in now. This is everything he'd wanted, he can see the whys, the hows, the becauses of Punk, and he thinks Punk can see the same of him. "I don't know what to say... Thank you... I... Just thank you for trusting me... Thank you for letting me trust you too... Last night, I told you things no one else knows, and I know they're safe with you." Punk looks at Jon, and nods. There's an unspoken confirmation that every word Jon said is locked in Punk's brain and heart, every word is treasured, and memorised, because the past hurts, and it's not something Punk wants to make Jon relive again.
"One last thing... I have a new job." Punk smiles awkwardly, and Jon waits for the rest of this sentence. He's trying, but probably failing to hide the fact that he's quivering inside with anger over the rest of Punk's tale, over Cena, over how there really have been so few people who have had his Sphinx Bastard's back over the years. The people Punk loves are the best people in the World, Jon's sure of that, but he loves Punk, yet he supposes for Punk he is a good man, and as he loves Punk, he'll be on the list, though maybe pretty low. "It was my cover story for being in Vegas... If you decided to kick me out, at least I'd have a reason to be here."
"UFC?" It's out of Jon's mouth before he can stop it, and Punk laughs. The sound is heavy with an odd mix of contrite, surprise, and happiness. "Punkin, you've never had a professional, hell an amateur fight in your life."
"I got the shit kicked out me by Teddy Hart, if that counts." Punk laughs, and Jon shakes his head. "They offered, and I really want to do this... I want to do it before I can't, and this is the best opportunity for me."
"I'm dating a masochist." Jon sighs, and Punk chuckles sullenly. "The press, the fans, everyone will be waiting for you to fail." Jon watches as Punk turns to stare at the floor, his shoulders drooping, his hands moving over his biceps like he's cold.
"I know." He mumbles. It's really like Jon has stolen all of that happiness from the room at Punk's little announcement. He knows that the World will be waiting for Punk to fail at this, but Jon also knows that Punk doesn't care about failure so long as those he loves are proud of him. Jon smiles slightly, and reaches into his pocket. He's proud of Punk, proud to be his lover, proud to wear his ring.
"Hey... I got you something." Punk glances up from staring at the floor, and Jon smiles at him, moving over to sit by him, getting a lapful of a mildly trembling Punk. Jon's arms wrap around him tightly, his hands moving up and down his back. He understands. He gets why Punk's shaking, gets that this was an emotional conversation, one that Punk had walked into head on, and he's happy to be able to offer comfort. Punk needs him to, Punk needs this, needs Jon. "You want your present or not, Punkin?" Jon asks after a long time of doing nothing but holding Punk tightly.
"I don't need a present, Cabbage Patch." Punk mutters, leaning back so he can meet Jon's eyes. There's a tentative smile on his lips, and Jon pecks that smile softly. "You're not pissed about me getting punched in the face for a living?" Punk laughs sullenly, and Jon snorts, shaking his head.
"Punkin, this is something you've wanted for a long time, and you're going out there and doing it. I'm proud of you." At Jon's words Punk seems to light up, his eyes are filled with what can only be love. "I'd rather you avoid being punched in the face, though. It's too pretty to be damaged." Jon smiles, and Punk laughs again, but this time it's a gloriously happy sound, and a gleeful grin settles on his lips.
"C'mon. I'm not pretty. I've got this squint as hell nose, no lips, and ears that'd make Dumbo jealous." Punk's laugh is distressingly self-deprecating, and Jon scowls at him. "You're the pretty one in this relationship, Gerbil Cheeks." Punk squishes Jon's face, chuckling at the glare Jon knows is there.
"Don't argue with me, Punkernickle, you're pretty." Jon's fingers dance over Punk's ribs, drawing a surprised giggle from him. "Now, close your eyes." Punk sighs dramatically, but does close his eyes. "Hold out your hand." He does as Jon asks, and holds out his hand, letting Jon place his present in it. "Okay, open them."
"You got me a string?" Punk holds up the long red thread, staring at it in confusion.
"Yup. Turn round. Lemme put it on you." Punk slips from Jon's lap to sit on the floor, his back turned to Jon.
"It's a lovely string..." He mutters, and Jon distractedly agrees with a vague, mmhmm. He slips the real present on the string and knots it firmly, before letting go, letting Punk feel the weight of his gift. Punk's hand is up and twisting the string around quickly, turning it so he can see the little silver ring Jon had tied to it. "You got me a ring?"
"I got you a ring." Jon confirms, watching Punk's reflection in the TV. "It means as much, or as little as you like, Punkin." Jon echoes the words Punk had said to him when he'd given Jon the ring around his neck.
"So you got me a ring." Punk murmurs. He's turning the little loop of metal around and around. "It's very pretty... I feel like I should have got you a nicer one, but I don't know... I think gunmetal is more Dean Ambrose... Don't think I haven't noticed it when you're on camera, but not in the ring." Punk laughs. His reflection is still focused on the ring, still turning it over and over. "I like it... It looks like-"
"Your lipring? I wanted it to remind you of it... I miss that, but I get it's gone. You're not that Punk anymore." Jon slides down the couch, forcing Punk to scoot forward, and the couch backward, so Jon can wrap around Punk's back. "You're my Punk, right?" Punk laughs and shakes his head.
"No... I'm my Punk." His hands rest over Jon's arms, pulling them tighter around him. "I'm your other half, I'm your boyfriend, I'm your Punkin Pie, I'm your lover, I'm your friend, I'm your biggest supporter, I'm your rambling like a moron on the floor while being kinda cold and a lot hungry-"
"C'mon, I'll get you breakfast." Jon laughs, and stands, pulling Punk to his feet. He's not sure how to respond to Punk's ramble. He thinks he's just going to have to remember that when Punk's feeling particularly romanced, he rambles. It's a cute trait, one that Jon wants to see more of really, romancing Punk is more than enjoyable, and rambling Punk is utterly adorable.
"I didn't say anything on the podcast, because I don't want you to get into shit with The Office because of me." Punk says suddenly, as he sits on the couch. "They'll shit on you if they know you're with me, and before you say you don't care, I do." Punk levels Jon with a stare, and Jon bows his head slightly, I don't care had been on his lips ready to leave his mouth. "So, you're going to go get me breakfast takeaway food, and I'll make breakfast coffee. I brought stuff with me." Punk grins, and Jon smirks at him. He understands where Punk's coming from, and is grateful that him working for the WWE isn't the problem it could have been. It'll still be a problem, but Jon has faith that Punk will be able to handle it.
"This isn't home for me, you know that, Punkin?" Jon smiles, at Punk, at the cutely confused expression on his face. "Home... It's with you, but if you want to make this a second base... A home away from home, for your fights, I won't object." Jon smiles, and Punk nods. He walks over to Jon, kissing him gently. "You're gonna want something healthy, right?"
"I want something laden with calories... I intend to burn a lot of energy today." Punk laughs, and Jon smacks his ass as he turns his back to go to the kitchen. Once Jon's ready to go, Punk pokes his head around the kitchen door, his ring held in his hand. "Cabbage Patch?"
"Uh-huh? You got a more specified request?" Jon smiles at him, expecting Punk to do nothing more than narrow down his breakfast choice. He wasn't expecting to get the look from Punk, the look that makes Jon feel like the centre of Punk's universe.
"It means a lot to me too." He kisses his ring, and vanishes back into the kitchen. Jon's hand goes to the ring hanging around his neck, and squeezes it tightly. He'd been wrong about the cigarette being the symbol for their relationship, it was a symbol of the toxic parts of them that needed to be burnt away, a symbol of the worst of them. The loops of metal they both wear, those are the symbol of their relationship, something moulded, something pure, something solid, something that means a lot to both of them.
Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:
VKxXx92, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.
That's this one all done. (Why do I get the feeling I should be adding till next time on the end here? I also feel I should make it know I have no more suitable PunkBrose pictures... If you'd like to send me some, please do so! :3)
Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.