I am not a coward. I'm not. I'm not hiding, I'm recuperating, recovering, healing, definitely, not hiding.
It's easy, scarily easy to lie to myself sometimes. Hiding is exactly what I'm doing, I know I am but I can't face the world right now, I can't even face myself. I'd never really considered how many things in my place are reflective, but it's far more than I want it to be. Reflections, photographs, these are all we ever see of ourselves, we never see our true selves, never see the person other people see us as; all we have are our perceptions of ourselves. I've always thought I knew myself well, better than most people know themselves, better than most people know me, and yet, how wrong I am. Vince plays me like a flute, like a theremin even; he doesn't need to touch me to make me do what he wants. Vince, as miserable as it is to admit, knows me better than I know myself, or rather, he knows a facet of me that I've never considered, so never learnt. For this agreement, I've compromised so much of myself, my morals, my ideals, myself in general. In the beginning it was almost okay, a martyr complex, self-sacrificing for the good of those I love, but now, there's not martyrdom to hide behind. This weekend was for me, no one benefits but me, I get out of this aimless feud and I get the ECW title. It's a win-win situation for me, only it's not. Professionally, I win, but personally... Personally, I lose, I lose so much, but that's only on one hand, because on the other, personally I gain too. And what do I gain? The knowledge that I fucking like being treated like some kind of kinky sex toy, whips, blades, blood, toys, being bound, being fucked... I like it. I don't want to, but how long can you deny something to yourself? Under Vince's ministrations, I came, I came hard, there's nothing I can do to deny that physical reaction. I like being played with, but I don't like Vince. Even that isn't quite true either, because Vince, in and of himself, isn't that bad, the Vince that strokes my hair and talks to me is pleasant, he's not a monster. The Vince that raped me, the Vince that holds everyone I love's careers in the balance, the Vince that takes from and abuses me, I hate, I despise with a burning passion, but other Vince... He's not so bad, except when he is.
The bored look he sometimes wears is something I've grown to fear and dread. It means he's unimpressed with me, it means he's going to do something to me that's going to hurt, and there'll be that damn fool part of me that enjoys it hurting. Sometimes I feel like a pet seeking kind words from its owner with him, but the truth is, that's exactly what I am to Vince. I'm hardly ever Punk, it's always Pet, and as much as it pisses me off, there is something comforting in that. Pet is a role; it's a gimmick, something I have to be to get through this agreement with Punk intact. There's security in knowing my role, in knowing what to expect, I just wonder when that'll be ripped away from me. I've seen the looks he sends me when he thinks I'm not paying attention, seen what looks almost like affection on his face. Those looks are more dangerous to me than anything he could ever do to me in his playroom; those looks will spell my ruin, my downfall, long before anything else, because I have enough problems with affection, enough difficulties with love.
One night, the idea keeps coming back to me. One night of love, rather than this jumbled mess of hatred and ambivalent coercion. One night with Colt, because if I'm gonna picture anyone making love to me, it's him, and that's the next major problem in my itinerary. Colt loves me, I love Colt. Sounds so simple when I say it like that. Colt loves me, I love Colt... But nothing in this mess is simple. Colt loves me with the most pure perfect form of love, unselfish, uncaring for flaws, a total completely perfect love, and my love for him is a shifting thing, stunted and wizened, uncertain of itself and its intent. Before all of this, before I fell this far down the rabbit hole, I was certain my love for him was nothing more than philia, nothing more than the love of brother, of friends, but now, I can't be sure. I know it can't be agape; it can't be something so pure, not when on my mind is that video, not when on my mind is his smile, his stupid jokes, his inability to remember the word province, his deep brown eyes, his strong thighs, his wide hands. Yet, he's the one thing in this whole situation that makes it bearable, he's my sanctuary, and I need him, but my thoughts on my best friend stray so far from friendly when I'm alone, just me, my dildo and my churning perverse mind, wondering if Colt would take control, if he would punish me, play with me. This agreement I have with Vince is opening me up to all kind different needs and desires that I think Colt could meet. One night... Could that ever be enough because I am beginning to think that if I gave into Colt, if I gave him one night, I'd never let him go.
Besides, I couldn't have that one night whilst I'm still tangled up with this agreement. To have Colt and then to have go to Vince would be far too much for me to endure. Yet at the same time, the idea of breaking Vince's stupid rules appeals to the rebel brat in me, but I'm not the cheating kind and in truth, that one night would be cheating.
I can admit that I am in a relationship of sorts with Vince. I don't sleep with anyone else, I drop everything when he calls, when I'm on the road I spend more nights in his room then my own, that's something like a relationship. The anniversary of the agreement is coming up, as he so helpfully reminded me not too long ago. A one-year anniversary... I'm not sure I've ever had an anniversary before... Do I buy him a gift? But, what do you get the man who takes everything he wants?
I need to force my mind to shut off, so despite my aching body I go on a run. When I run, I can shut out everything else, focus on pounding the sidewalk, but not today. Instead, I find myself wondering about his reference to my blond hair. How long had he planned all of this? Did he sign me to make me his pet? Did I ever have a choice in the matter? Was this really all he ever planned to use me for? The more I think about it, the harder I run, and the more anger washes over me. Does he not think I have talent? Does Vince plan on firing me the moment I refuse to keep playing with him? The foolhardy rebel in me wants to say to hell with it, he stopped actively threatening the people I love months ago, this isn't about the outside world to him anymore, it's about me, has more than likely always been about just me, so I could walk away. I could go somewhere else, anywhere else, go back out on the Indys, reclaim my crown as king, but could I walk away and not feel guilty? Could I throw away everything I've ever worked for? I've worked so hard to make it to the WWE; I've proved myself time and time again. I can't just walk away from that, from this... It doesn't matter why Vince hired me, he did, and I'm going to prove to everyone that I belong here, I belong and I will claim this crown. Fuck king of the Indys, I'm gonna be king of the WWE.
Bravado and I aren't particularly good friends. As soon as I'm showered and back on my couch, my thoughts start spiralling down the same familiar path, and I need respite, I need comfort, I need reassurance. I need Colt.
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
I hang up, not comfortable with the idea of leaving a message. He must be busy, no time for me and my being my own worst enemy, no time to give me the reinforcements I need if I'm going to win this very personal war.
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
I hadn't even noticed I'd redialled his number. I sigh and hang-up again. This is pointless.
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
"Cabana, call me."
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
"Colt, please when you get this... Call me."
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
"I went into his creepy room... We played. He still has no jungle gym."
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
"I need... I... Please call me."
"The customer you are trying to contact is unavailable. Please leave a message."
"... Scott, please." I'm not even really sure what I want him to say, if he calls me back. I just know, I need backup on this, I need my best friend, I need my sanctuary, I need him to tell me that this is going to be okay, that I'm still the me I always was, that being with Vince, that enjoying what Vince can do to me hasn't changed me on some fundamental level. Unfair desperately unfair, but he offered.
("I want to be your sanctuary, I want to be where you're safe, where you can smile.")
I want him to be these things, and I want them now, only he's not answering, not acknowledging me in the least, and the walls are closing in, my own mind spiralling, leaving me casting about for distractions, but in my city the clouds are too thick for stars, the carpet in my apartment is plain, my walls are mould free. I could watch TV, but there's no way it'd hold my attention, so there's only one other option, facing the rest of my friends.
"Ace!" False enthusiasm and cheer suffuse my voice, keeping up the appearance of everything being fine.
"When did you get back?" All for nothing though, Ace isn't the type of person to let you pull the wool over his eyes, his tone is set low, and unimpressed.
"Yesterday..." I clear my throat, switching hands with my cell so it's pressed against my other ear., picking at a loose thread in my couch. "Uh... Have you heard from Cabana?"
"What? Trouble in paradise, Punk?" He all but growls at me, he sounds annoyed, and then sighs. "He's in town... Going on a date."
"A date?" Something catches in the back of my throat, Colt and dating aren't things that go together well, he panics, he gets flustered, he over-thinks and decides that the guy is all wrong for him before they've even finished eating the appetizers.
"A date... The stupid bastard... I swear, my fucking life was much easier when you pair were attached at the fucking hip. None of this moping nothing's wrong bullshit from him." Ace's ire seems to be entirely directed Colt, the guilt I feel is incredibly, there would be no moping bullshit if it wasn't for me, for Vince, for this agreement. "And you! There used to be a time you'd call me, there used to be a time I'd not have to rely on second hand information from the dirt-sheets to see how your career's going." I had hoped to get away without hearing Ace's annoyance directed at me, but it's not that harsh, not as scathing as I thought it could or should have been.
"I'm sorry... I've been busy." I tell him lamely. It's true but so far from the truth, it's laughable.
"Hmm... It's not a date-date, and well, I'm going... You wanna come too?" I close my eyes, being the fifth wheel sounds so painfully unappealing, knowing Colt is going on a date and witnessing it for myself are two different things. He might love me, but I can't expect him to do nothing but pine for me forevermore, he has to move on, but I am horribly unfair.
"Who's he going on a not date-date with?" I aim for nonchalant, and the bark of laughter Ace gives over the phone tells me, I might have missed the mark considerably.
"Joe's set it up... I figured you'd know... He seems think it'll put a spring in Cabana's step. Bastard idiot's been doing a fine Punk impression whenever anyone sees him. I'm guessing Developmental ain't too much fun." Ace laughs, and I'm more than grateful that he's pinning Colt's mood on being in Developmental and nothing to do with me. "Anyways, it's some relation of Joe's so should be up our boy's alley." One of Joe's relatives, they'll be big and dark, everything I'm not and everything Colt looks for in a partner. "C'mon Punker, I've not seen you in an age, come out?" He rattles off a place and time, and I think about it.
"Yeah, yeah... I'll meet you there." So horribly unfair.
In honesty, I came here for very much the wrong reasons. Jealousy, even when misplaced is an ugly emotion. I don't want Colt to be unhappy, I don't want him to be worried over me, for me to be like a festering wound on his mind, but, I don't want anyone else to have his attention when I need it. Unfair, I'm always so unfair. Hypocrisy might be just as ugly as jealousy. I spot them easily enough, Colt sitting toying with his drink more than talking to the guy he's been set up with, which is surprising because he's exactly his type, big and buff, dark features, everything I'm not. I head to the bar and order a Pepsi, scanning along it, seeing if anyone catches my eye. Some drunk little woman, all dark hair, tan skin and bitter chocolate eyes does, and she winks at me, starting to come over.
"I didn't think you owned a pair of jeans that actually fit." Colt's voice breaks me from watching the woman, and I turn to him. The jeans I'm wearing are ones Vince bought me. I own a thousand random things he's bought over these months, they cling to my legs in a way I'm not used to, but I'd not done any washing in a while, they were the only clean pair of pants I had. "Drink that, we're leaving." He nods to the glass I've been nursing, and I look up at him, the woman utterly forgotten. His tone is heavy, commanding almost, there's no room for argument with him, but that doesn't stop me.
"You're on a date... Go be on a date." I wave him off, and he scowls at me, something ugly settling in his eyes. Jealousy, it looks startlingly like jealousy, and it's then that I feel someone else's eyes on me. There's another man just up the bar staring at me, staring at my ass, staring like he was in a desert and I was an oasis. Colt's eyes narrow and he grabs the glass from me, downing it quickly.
"Let's go." His hand wraps round my bicep firmly and he starts marching for the door, that dark heavy note in his voice. "C'mon." He mutters, I follow along behind him, meeting Ace's eyes as I'm dragged out the door, some odd expression on his face. "Sorry... I..." Once outside Colt lets go of me, and sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, normal Colt duty have resumed it seems, nothing of the dark possessive Colt who marched me out of the bar, nothing of that heavy commanding tone, and I miss it.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here. Look, go back inside, I'm gonna go home." I don't look at him, turn my back to leave. I shouldn't have come here; I should have stayed home, done my laundry or something.
"Punk!" I hear him call from behind me. "Punkers! Wait up." He jogs up beside me and bumps into my shoulder. "I figured you wanted to talk to me." His tone is light, gentle almost. He catches my wrist and plants his feet, forcing me to stop. "Stop... Just stop for a minute." He steps closer to me and envelopes me in hug. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath on my skin, one hand resting on the back of my head, keeping my face pressed against the side of his neck, the other around my waist, holding me close. He's talking, I can hear words trickling into my ears but I can't make them out, because all I can think of is that porno I can't delete, all I can think of is two men who could be us standing like this, moving apart slightly, kissing, soft and slow, kissing like lovers, kissing like there's nothing they want more than to kiss till the end of time, kissing like I want Colt to kiss me. I push away from him, my thoughts turning to somewhere I don't want to go, somewhere I only think about when I alone in the depths of my own pitiful despair, a place where all that matters is the hold I just forced my way out of.
"I need to go... I shouldn't have come here... Was for the wrong reason... I..." I shake my head and start walking away again, only for him to grab my wrist once more.
"Stop." That dark heavy tone once more and I stand still, waiting for him to speak, the little hairs on the back of my neck on end. "I've been waiting for you... Ace said you were coming so I was waiting... Waiting to see the damage." His thumb moves over the inside of my wrist, stroking over my veins. "Let's go, okay?" I nod, but can't bring myself to look at him, merely fall into step, my head bowed.
By the time we're in my apartment the air between us is thick like corn syrup, but nowhere near as sweet. Colt kept his hold on my wrist the whole way here and now we've arrived, he doesn't seem inclined to let me go, kicking his shoes off, and untying his jacket.
"I'm not going anywhere." I mutter, trying to shake him off. He snorts but does let me go, taking my coat and hanging them both up. I can feel him staring at me, can feel the weight of it on me, but I force myself to ignore it as I stoop to untie my shoes. "Your cell went to voicemail." I start, it feels like I'm explaining, justifying myself, my actions, to him. He snorts again, squatting down, his face level with mine.
"It went swimming... It's in a bag of rice at my parents." I nod, straightening up, well that explains why he didn't answer me, and I'm sure that the story of how Colt's cell went swimming is amusing. I definitely want to hear it more than I want to hear anything else that's going to be said tonight.
"I'm sorry I ruined your date." He raises an eyebrow at me, and catches my wrist again, leading me into my living room, gesturing at the couch.
"It wasn't a date. It was some guy being forced on me cause he's gay and I'm gay and Joe's an asshole who seems to be offended by things not being in pairs. If I get the chance I'm burning one sock from each pair he owns." Colt laughs and flops down beside me, a smile on his face, his arm over the back of the couch, without thinking I move closer to him, my head resting on his shoulder. I catch his arm, and wrap it around me. Safe, right now, in this very moment, I'm completely and utterly safe, nothing, no one can touch me here, not even my own thoughts can get me when I'm in Colt's arms.
"I was at Vince's again." I start, and the arm around me tightens, I know is whispered against my hair. "Went into his playroom." Colt's cheek rests against the top of my head, his hand stroking shoulder. "I liked it." A quiet little admission I don't really want him to hear, but it's something I need to say, I need to lighten the burden on my shoulders just a little.
"Punk?" He sounds painfully awkward, like he really doesn't want to be talking about this, like my admission has made him uncomfortable. I close my eyes, swallowing back something that tastes horribly like disappointment. I'm not sure what I was expecting, to make this little admission and have him tell me it was all okay, for him to tell me that it doesn't make him think less of me.
"I liked it, I liked being helpless, liked how it made me feel." His hand squeezes my shoulder again. "And that's not the worst of it, Colt... Oh no, the worst is that I did it for me... I wanted out of this feud. This was all for me, all for myself. I'm a whore, prostituting myself out so I can get better storylines." No matter how much I fight it, a sob wrenches free from my throat. "This wasn't supposed to be for me, it was for everyone else... It was for you." Another sob, and as stupidly childish, as painfully pubescent as this feels, I'm choking back sobs against his chest, his hand rubbing up and down my back, aggravating the still healing wounds there, the spikes of bitter pain making me feel slightly better about this all.
"Shh... Shh... It's okay." His voice is pitched low and soft, like he was talking to a frightened animal. "Some people like being submissive, there's nothing wrong with liking it. You're not a whore, Punkers, never a whore." He presses a kiss to my hair, and I swallow heavily, relaxing slightly. "Despite the gimmick, neither of us are saints." He laughs softly, another barely there kiss to the top of my head. "You're in a shitty situation... Makes sense that you'd try and make the best of it, right?"
"Colt?" It's a glib cover, it means nothing, I'm sure plenty of other people wouldn't resort to doing this pitiful shit. Everything I've accomplished in this company so far has come from the end of Vincent K McMahon's dick, dozens of other guys have gotten so much further than I am without going anywhere near it, but me? I'm just whoring myself out for gold.
"Punk..." He leans back from me, taking my chin in his hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Punkers... If it wasn't for this agreement, and he told you to suck his dick to get out of the feud, would you?"
"Fuck no!" I snap, and Colt grins at me, pulling my back down to hide my face against his chest, and laughing softly.
"There's the salty asshole that's my best friend." He squeezes me tight, and something in my chest clenches. Best friend. Colt is my best friend, my best friend who I keep thinking of fucking, whose life I keep making worse by throwing all my shit at him. Agape not eros, but it feels like I'm reminding myself of that more than ever.
("You could show me how to enjoy it, what it's supposed to feel like, teach me shit.")
I said that to him so long ago, in this very room, in a similar state to the one I'm in now, only things are very different now. Now, I don't need him to teach me anything, I know how to enjoy being fucked by a man, I know how much I like a cock in my ass and the answer is far, far, far too much, but there is one thing he could show me, one thing he could teach me, and that's what it's like to be made love to, what it's like for the hands on me to belong to someone who loves me, for the cock inside of me to belong to someone I love back. Philia, agape, not eros, Punk... Never eros I need to remember that.
"You should go back, Ace'll be worried, your not date'll be pissed..." He snorts and lets me go. Then gets off the couch, I sit still, my eyes closed, head bowed, waiting to hear him leaving, but instead he pulls me to my feet, leading me to the bedroom.
"Fuck 'em." He mutters, switching on the light and turning down the bed covers. "Lemme see the damage." I shake my head. There's no way I'm letting him see it, I've not even really seen all that Vince did to me, but I can feel it, can feel my healing skin stretch and pull when I move, and that's more than enough to convince me it's bad. He steps forward and catches the hem of my shirt, I move, my back colliding with the wall behind me, and a startled yelp of pain escapes me. "Off, lie on the bed." That dark heavy tone in his voice again, I nod vaguely and pull my shirt over my head, moving to lay face down. "Oh fuck..." He sounds horrified, I can feel his eyes on my back, but I keep my face pressed against the sheets. "Have you seen this?" One finger touches my back, carefully stroking the undamaged skin around my wounds. "He whipped you... Cut you... Hurt you."
"I liked it... I told you." My voice is muffled by the bed, and he stands, leaves the room, leaves me there alone. I can't say I blame him, its one thing to say you're fine with your friend being treated as a whore, but seeing the evidence of it is another matter entirely. I lie there waiting to hear him leave but it never happens, instead he comes back to my bedroom.
"Did he look after you at least?" He sits back down, something cool and soothing is dabbed over my back, by the smell of it, it's some kind of antiseptic cream from my bathroom. I nod vaguely, Vince cleaned me up and coated me in cream, it was as much looking after as I needed, I guess. "Is this it?" He asks, his voice tight, controlled, brimming with something barely restrained and so very angry.
"Lower." I mutter. I'm not sure I've ever really felt more shame than I do right now, burning miserable shame, laced with a tiny glimmer of contentment at having Colt tend to me.
"Lift your hips." He says softly, pulling my pants down and off, then easing my boxers lower. He sucks air in through his teeth and exhales long and slow, keeping all that anger in check, keeping his touch gentle as he applies the cream. "I don't think they'll scar."
"Will you stay with me tonight? I... Please?" I hear him sigh, his hand lingering over my wounds, stroking over them carefully. I'm unfair, I know I am.
"... I will... Just, go to sleep, Punkers." He rights my boxers, his hand brushing over my ass, and I have to fight the urge to press back into his gentle touch. I've lost all sense of right and wrong when it comes to him, I want more, I want what I can't have, denied by Vince, denied by myself for years, denied by Colt. Agape not eros. Pure unconditional love, not desire, not the want to fuck me. Perhaps all of the times over the years he's hit on me have been nothing more than crude attempts at keeping me safe, if I was his lover he'd be better able to protect me from myself. He gets off the bed, shaking me from my thoughts, to shuck his pants, and switch off the light. When he lies back down, it's on his back, lying rigid and as far from me as he can.
"Do you think one night would be enough?" I'm not sure why I asked, I'm not sure what the point of this question is, and he looks over at me, sighing again.
"What?" His tone is dull, like a butter knife, I move a little closer to him, my head resting on his pillow; close enough that I can feel his body heat easily. I want so badly for him to pull me closer, but I know he won't, I know this is as much as he'll let me have right now.
"If you love someone, if you truly love them, do you think one night would be enough? Vince... He says it depends on the night... But I... I dunno." Sleep is creeping over me, now that I'm settled, now that I'm safe, I can sleep easily.
"Never, one night with you would never be enough." Colt's voice soft, in that talking to sleeping Punk tone, and he wraps his arms around me tightly, pulling me close. The very last thing I'm aware of before I fall fully asleep is his lips brushing over mine and a lifetime wouldn't be enough for me whispered against them.
Going back to work isn't something I look forward to anymore. I used to love my work, used to love wrestling. It was my one true passion, but since this agreement with Vince, it just means he has easier access to me. Vince made good on his promise, the ECW title sits on tables in various hotel rooms mocking me as my ill-gotten gains, my fifty pieces of silver, my reward for being a good boy. This Championship title isn't something I've earned, my name being marked down in the history books feels tainted, and it's all for nothing. I have my belt, but the original deal, getting me out of this aimless feud with Morrison, it's not happened. Alls I wanted from my whoring myself out was to move on from this feud, and alls I've gotten is a title belt. Nothing's changed, nothing. A reminder, perhaps, that at the end of the day, Vince is in charge here, what he says goes, and if he feels like it, he can have me feud with John Morrison for the rest of my career.
Eventually, though Vince decides to let me out of this feud, not on to bigger better things for me though, no. It's Morrison that's called up to the main roster. I love John, he's a great guy, but well jealousy is an ugly emotion. It doesn't matter how much I train, how long I spend in the gym, or on my back for Vince, I'll never fit the mould, I'm not a WWE guy, my position is tenuous. Once this agreement is concluded, and we're so very near the halfway mark, the position I'm in then will be the position I'm in forevermore, well until July seventeenth twenty-eleven. That's the date my contract expires, the date I'm free of this company. After this agreement ends, I've two years to endure, and then I'm free.
Losing the title was a surprise, being pinned after Edge speared me was not something I was expecting, no one told me what would be happening, no one saw fit to share the plans with me, and I raged inside, fumed and boiled with anger. It was foolish but I called Vince afterwards and he laughed, said he wanted to make sure my reaction was as honest as possible. It shouldn't have, but that stung. I've been doing this for a long time, since I was fifteen in a backyard in Chicago. I know how to act shocked; I know how to do my job. Alls this proved to me was that no one here has any faith in me, no one, not even Vince.
I think he tries to placate me with what he calls our anniversary gift, an old beautiful translation of Don Quixote, elegantly illustrated and with pages so delicate, I'm afraid to touch them. He'd laughed at me as I sat staring reverently at the book, and tossed me a cheap modern paperback version, so I could read the story instead of staring at it. I didn't tell him I already had, didn't tell him that I loved this story, loved the ending, loved that it was a tale that you can read a thousand times and still not understand it fully. The third part of my gift was my time, he wanted me for the day, told me to board a plane, and then get in a car, which took me here, to the Museum of Modern Art in New York, which is a surprise, I'd honestly expected to be chained to a bed somewhere and fucked senseless all day.
"Happy anniversary, Pet." I don't acknowledge him, don't notice him in the least. I stand and stare in awe. I'd always meant to find time, but I couldn't. Time slips away from me, but at this moment, it stands still, as still as I do and it waits. Reproductions, prints, photographs, none of them have ever done it justice; the reality is so very beautiful. A painting created by a man trapped by his madness , trapped in a cell in an asylum, being stared at by a man trapped in a cell made of the arms around his waist, trapped by someone else's madness. Starry Night, the moon glowing vibrant over the little sleepy village, the cypress tree huge, looming and dark, the stars bright and comforting. It's everything I wanted it to be and I'm in awe. As far as presents go, this is perhaps the most precious to me, a private viewing with this painting. I wonder what Vince sees when he looks at it. Does he have his own theories, or does he go with one of the interpretations given to it by scholars. I almost want to ask, but I don't want to ruin my staring, instead I just stand there, lost in the swirling sky. I could have stood there for days and been contented, even if I'll hate Vince for the rest of my life, I will always be grateful for this. Eventually he pulls me away, nodding to the curator, as I take one last glance at the painting, burning it to my memory.
He'd booked the penthouse of some fancy hotel for us to stay in. We'd eaten together in silence. I didn't have anything to say, still awestruck and grateful, and he'd seemed to sense that words wouldn't be welcomed, instead he played something soft and classical over the sound system. Haydn, I think, over these last few weeks I've been brushing up on my composers, but I'm still not confident in my assessments. After we ate, he sent me to the shower, and now I'm debating going out onto the balcony, where he's sitting sipping a drink.
"Pet, come here." He doesn't look behind him at me, merely expecting me to comply. I take a deep breath, and brave the cool night air in nothing but a bathrobe and damp hair.
"Thank you, sir." I say quietly, my eyes down cast. "It... It was beautiful, thank you." It surprises me how much I mean this, how genuinely grateful I am to him for letting me have Starry Night all to myself for a while, I'd have never had that if it wasn't for him, and my gratitude is immense. He shakes his head and pulls me to him, laughing in my ear as I straddle his lap, one of his arms wraps around my waist, and his other hand tucks my hair behind my ears.
"You're welcome, Pet, more than welcome." His lips are pressed against mine in a slow kiss, his fingers tangle in my hair as he deepens it, and I run my tongue along his, my arms wrapping around his neck. It feels far too intimate for a kiss between a cell and its captive. He breaks the kiss almost roughly, and starts sucking on the mark on the side of my neck. There are times I think that mark will be there permanently like one of my tattoos. "I want you to ride me." He says softly, a shudder works its way up my spine, and my hand dropping to the pocket of the robe, checking that I remembered the lube. I'm such a good little boy scout these days. "I love watching you ride me." He mutters against my throat. "The way you move... It's beautiful." I make a show of moving to stand, I already know he's going to want it out here, wouldn't have booked the penthouse, wouldn't have been out on the balcony if he didn't want to have outdoor sex, and he pulls me back to his lap. I lick my lips, and start undoing his tie, pulling it from around his neck slowly, his hands rest on my hips as I undo the buttons of his shirt; it seems he's in no hurry, letting me control what's happening so far. Once he's naked, he pushes me back from him and unties the robe, pushing it off my shoulders, raising his eyebrow as it falls with a soft thud. He fishes the lube out of the pocket, and kisses me fiercely, pressing my back against the wall. "Turn around." His voice is rough, demanding, and I do as he asks, turning my back to him, spreading my legs. I stare out at the lights of New York focusing on nothing but the pleasure of Vince prepping with his tongue and fingers slick with lube. His tongue sides along my hole and I shiver, not hiding my moans as he opens me up, plunging inside of me. I'm sure I could come from this alone, his gentle playing of my body. When he adds a finger, I find myself pressing back, wanting more, wanting him inside of me. I close my eyes, the sensations of him playing with me overwhelming everything else, my thoughts drift along, flitting like a butterfly from flower to flower, settling nowhere long. Vince pulls away from me and sits on the chair once more, his legs spread slightly, cock standing hard, and he looks at me. I drop to my knees, taking him into my mouth without hesitation, sucking on him, using my own salvia to lubricate him, the lube bottle I notice has been tossed into the suite, the lube he gave me, and this blowjob is all I'm getting. Far too soon, his hand is in my hair, pulling me up and off his dick, kissing me hard and demanding. I stand and straddle his body, guiding his tip to my entrance, lowering myself down slowly not wanting to rush this. He never takes control back from me, allows me to set the pace, his mouth on my skin, his fingers digging into my hips as I work my body. We come together, our mouths pressed against each other, tongues tangling in a slow kiss. I stand almost too soon after coming, sweat trickling down my back despite the cold. Vince looks at me oddly, his eyes narrowed slightly. That night I listen to him sleep, listen to his breathing and I lie awake, I lie awake cataloguing every night like this against every night like the first. I come to a strange realisation, more often than not, Vince is like this with me, gentle, careful, kind. I lie awake and I think of lying in bed with Colt's arms wrapped around me, how safe I feel there, and how painfully aware that for all his kindness, I'm no more safe sharing a bed with Vince than I would be sharing one with an anaconda. As I lay there, I realise I have no idea what's going on in my life any more, if I ever did at all.
On the plane ride back, Vince clears his throat loudly, dragging my attention from the paperback of Cervantes. The beautiful old copy id stashed in my luggage. I'm not sure where it'll go, it's probably worth more than every other book I own, putting it on a shelf next to cheap paperbacks and comics seems almost sacrilegious. I'm hoping he doesn't want more aeroplane sex, I'm tired. I barely slept last night, my mind buzzing incessantly, longing for sanctuary, aching to taint my closest friendship with eros. Vince gives me an odd little smile and holds his hand out; I put my book down and cross the plane, and I'm pulled into his lap.
"Did you enjoy our anniversary, Pet?" His tone is contentedly smug.
"Yes, Sir... Thank you, but I didn't know what to get you." I mumble, it feels like the sort of submissive shit he'd want to hear, and it brings an indulgent smile to his face, as his lips brush over my neck.
"I've got what I want, right here." His hand grabs my ass, squeezing lightly. "I do have a proposition for you though... Something to think about... Mania's coming up, another Money in the Bank match... You wanna win this one, Pet?" I nod vaguely, trying to work out what the catch will be, what weird shit he'll want, and worse still, how much will I enjoy it in the end. "Another weekend away." He finishes, squeezing my ass again. Another weekend, it's not that much, I survived one, I enjoyed one, another won't be so bad. I'd be crazy to turn this down, but my mind is a mess right now, between Vince and his agreement, Colt and his agape, and me and my shit. There's no chance for me to think clearly.
"Can I think on it?" He smirks at me, and leans forward catching my lips with his own; I open up to his kiss, allowing him in. It's always much easier to concede to Vince, always much easier to let him take what he wants.
"As long as you need, Pet... Now would you like to go back to your windmills, or to get on your knees and please your master?" I'd rather Quixote, but it's not really a question. I sink to my knees, undo his pants, draw out his cock, wrap my lips around it and let him take control. I'm tired, confused, and nowhere near in the mood for sex. So I let him fuck my throat, his hands moving my head back and forth at his whim, me sucking lightly to help him get closer. When he comes, I swallow, and quickly fix his pants, but before I can go back to my seat, his hand wraps around my wrist. "Did you come, Pet?" I shake my head, clearing my aching throat.
"No, sir. It was about your pleasure, not mine." I hope that'll pacify him, but the hard look in his eyes tells me it doesn't in the least.
"I expect you to enjoy yourself, Pet." His hand tightens on my wrist, I can feel bruises forming under his fingers, and I'm glad I tape my arms so well. "You'll be punished for this." He lets me go, staring at me with that horrid bored look. "Not now though, later tonight." I had been hoping to go home to regroup a little, but it seems that plan has been scuppered.
He leaves me in a hotel room alone with my thoughts. Winning the briefcase would put me in the position to cash in for a title, with the way Vince plays me it'd be the ECW one again, but any title is better than no title, in long term at least, but agreeing means selling myself out again. Colt's words come back to me, making the best of a shitty situation, sweetly glib words to cover the fact his best friend is nothing more than a whore. I know I'm going to agree, I've no doubt in my mind that I'm going to agree to Vince's proposal for three reasons. Reason one, I want a title, by my own admission I'm a belt mark, even if those words were said in jest on a sofa sat by Joe, there's a painful amount of figurative, if not literal, truth to them. Second reason, the higher up the totem pole I get myself, the harder it'll be for Vince to chop me out when this year is up. Then, the third reason and that's the worst, the third reason is I want him to play with me again, and I hate that.
"Bedroom, Pet." Vince snaps when he returns, his eyes hard, fury bristling from him. I scramble to comply with his order. I've never seen him this anger before, and I can't pretend it doesn't intimidate me a little.
"Bad show, sir?" I ask, quiet, timid almost. I'm curious what could have put him in such a mood, but not willing to risk my neck to find out.
"Shut up." He opens his bag, and starts searching through it. I stand there, nervousness making me want to fidget, but the desire to not be the object of his ire keeps me still. "Strip, get on the bed." He doesn't look up, and I do as he asks quickly, laying down, staring up at the ceiling, hoping I make it through this encounter. He crosses the room to the bed, a length of rope in his hand, which he knots around the slats of bed frame, then around my wrists, binding together, drawing them tight over my head. He takes another length of rope out and binds my ankles together, but doesn't secure them to the other end of the bed; instead, he stands over me, staring down. "Good boy." He mutters, and goes back to the bag, returning with a cock ring, a plug and some lube. He reaches out and strokes me roughly, continues until I'm hard and places the ring on me. A moan of thwarted pleasure escapes my throat, and he chuckles at me, his anger drained away, replaced with amusement at the predicament he's placed me in. "Lift your legs." I raise them up over my head, my toes touching the headboard, my ass on full display to him. I desperately hope he doesn't tie the rope so that I have to stay like this, it'd be torture. He caresses my ass gently, and then shoves the plug into me. I can't help the desperate little whimper, there was nothing gentle about the penetration or the few rough plunges it takes into my body. He presses the plug into me firmly, and it starts vibrating, rubbing over my prostate. "Down." His hand skims over my legs as I lower them. "I've a meeting. They'll be here soon, so stay quiet or I'll tell them exactly who's back here." He tells me, tying the end of the rope around my ankles to the footboard. He straightens up and stares at me, something burning in his eyes. "It won't be long, Pet." He comes round the bed and brushes a kiss over my forehead.
I hear his guests arrive, and try to listen in, a few times I think I hear my name, but I am so distracted by the constant vibrations to my prostate, that I can't follow the conversation. I bite back moans and whimpers, staying as still and as quiet as possible. When he finally enters the room, I'm on the verge of begging, I want to come but I have a feeling this is far from over. I watch him strip and sit beside me on the bed, it's then that I notice, I'm bound so that I'm only on one side of the bed, there's plenty of space by me. His fingers stroke my leg, and he stares at me.
"Sir?" I p3ant, staring back at him, and he gives me a small smirk.
"Budget discussions..." He mutters, still staring at me. "I'd to fight to keep you around... There are some of my advisors who don't see anything in you." His thumb trails over my bottom lip. "Beautiful..." His voice is so very quiet as he leans down to kiss me. "Maybe I should have taken them back here, let them see something in you." He laughs and presses on the end of the plug, making me moan as it pushes up against my prostate. "Of course, it's much harder for them to get rid of a champion, don't you think, Pet?" He chuckles, and strokes my sweaty hair back from my face. I nod frantically, the vibrations, and that he's taken my dick in his hand and is rubbing over the head like he was polishing an apple, are too much for me. I want to come, I want this over with, and agreeing to let him play with me is the best way I can think of to achieve that.
"I'll go." I gasp, my eyes tightly closed. "To win at Mania, I'll go back." He flicks the plug off, and stops touching my aching cock, I'm hoping I'll get my release now, but he does nothing else, just starts getting ready for bed, leaving me tied up and panting, trying to twist over to rub my cock against the comforter.
"Hmm, I'll arrange it. Good night, Pet." He flicks the light off, and settles under the covers beside me.
"Sir, please." I'm desperate, so fucking desperate and so fucking close that the pathetic whimper I just made isn't all that embarrassing, but all he does is laugh at me, stroking my cock once more.
"You don't appreciate your pleasure, Pet, you said so on the plane." Another slow stroke to my cock, his hand polishing the head again. "So, until we're in the play room, you won't be coming." He laughs and turns his back to me, leaving me to my suffering.
Thank you all for reading and sticking with this story, let us know hat you think.
littleone1389- Thanks for the awesome review! Vince is being very indulgent with Punk for now, who knows how that will change in the future. Punk is learning a lot about himself and you are right he has changed a lot through the story.
Guest- Thanks for the review, we are glad you enjoyed the gentle making love and the rawness of the playroom those can be the hardest scenes to capture the balance with. I think Colt will always be the place Punk finds solace in his life.
Brokenspell77- Yes it was lots of smut, this chapter was actually much longer and had more smut but we decided to separate it as it was going to be a terribly long one if we didn't. Punk is learning and it is affecting him and I hope we captured the inner turmoil for him in this chapter.
AshJovillette- Hope the wait wasn't too long, glad you are reading, thank you for the review.
Rebellecherry- So glad you enjoy this, glad you like it enough to read it more then once. Thanks for the review!
