"Punk!" Randy called out to the man's back as he continued hurriedly walking down the hallway. "Punk!" He called out again, still following after him. They passed fellow Superstar Tyson Kidd as they rushed through the backstage area of the night's arena. "Punk, I will make a scene if I have to," Randy said, raising his voice. He still got no response. "Come on, Phil, baby."

Punk turned at once. He stared through Randy with ice-cold eyes. Randy simply nodded to a door just next to them. Punk opened to find a bathroom and entered, Randy just behind him. The younger locked it and when he faced Punk his expression hadn't changed.

"You're an ass."

"I needed to talk to you," Randy replied.

"I told you last night: we're done. There's nothing you can say to change that."

"What if I told you you were right? I have a problem and I want to get better." When Punk didn't respond for several moments and his face softened, Randy continued. "I want to get better for you; to prove myself to you. It's what you deserve. And I can't think of anyone better suited to help me get better." Still no response came. "You can kick my ass and motivate me and not take any of my bullshit."

"You're serious?" Punk finally spoke.

"Yes, baby," Randy said, stepping in close to Punk and resting his hands on the elder's waist. "Please come back to me. Help me." Randy leaned down. He looked deep into Phil's eyes. His lips slowly closed in on Punk's. A strong push at Randy's chest separated the two at once.

"You're a fucking piece of work," Punk said.

"What?" Randy shook his head slightly. "What are you saying?"

"You don't want to get better! You just tried to use sex and your looks and your just… fuck—your unnatural temptation to try and get me back. You would say anything right now: anything you think I would want to hear."

"No—"

"And you've proved that you're a great fucking liar. I can't trust you, Randall."

"You can," Randy said, stepping in close to Punk who immediately took a large step back away.

"We are done," Punk said, emphasizing every word. "If you try to pull some shit like this again to get me alone, I will kick your ass."

Punk left the room as quickly as he could, speeding down the hallway, hoping Randy had not followed. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he needed to get far away from Randy. His feet slowed eventually. He was looking outside now, at the loading bay. He was surrounded by WWE trucks. He looked up at the one right next to him and it had Randy's large face plastered on the side of it. He walked towards the loading bay doors. The sun was shining bright high up in the sky. Punk knew it must still be fairly early in the day, meaning he wasn't going to be leaving the arena any time soon. He found a secluded stairway outside to sit on. He hung his head over his knees. It was quiet. The dull roar of a car driving off in the distance could be heard every once in a while. Punk thought he could hear the ocean slightly. He couldn't remember what town they were in. In the quiet he finally reflected on everything that had happened last night and just now. Last night he was more stressed out about finding a place to sleep and a way to get to Smackdown. Now he could replay everything that was said; let the events soak in; grieve. With his head hung, he finally cried.

…

Randy turned his frustration into energy. He was using an empty locker room to work out as much as he could without any weights. He found himself able to do far more reps and sets of each exercise than usual. He had been at it for at least an hour. He was starting to feel his muscles sore but ignored it and kept on. Cody came into the locker room and was taken back. Randy was drenched in sweat. His face was red.

"Hitting it hard today?" Cody asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah," Randy said, continuing with his push-ups.

"How long have you been going at it?" He asked while putting his bag on a bench.

"Don't know."

Cody cocked his head at the other man and stared at him. "Something's wrong."

"No."

Cody sighed and sat close to him. "Yes, there is."

"No."

"If you don't want to talk about it that's fine, but turning anger into blind exercise is dangerous. You could pull something."

"Shut up."

"Be as mean to me as you want, but I'm not going to let you do something stupid."

"Go away."

"Do I need to go get Punk?"

Randy froze and looked at Cody for the first time. "No."

"Oh. Is something wrong?"

Now that Randy had stopped he realized how out of breath he was. He rolled over to sit on the floor, panting. "You could say that."

"I'm sorry… I'm sure you all will work it out."

"I'm not," Randy said, still trying to catch his breath.

"It can't be that bad."

"He broke up with me."

The room was silent for moments, aside from Randy's heavy breathing. "I…" Cody started. "Wow. I'm sorry. What happened?"

Randy chose his words. "I told him that we kissed."

"Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, but I still feel bad."

"He's not being fair. I told him we stopped it, that I love him, that I was sorry. He didn't care."

"I'm sorry. He probably feels betrayed. Maybe if you gave it some time…" Randy lied back flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "Have you eaten? Catering got here not long ago."

…

The two sat down at a table alone with their plates of food and Cody again found himself at a loss for words. He didn't know how to comfort Randy, or if he even should. The only experience he had to relate to Randy was when he himself had broken up with him a year ago. If Randy felt anywhere near as bad as Cody did back then, he sympathized greatly. That didn't change the fact that Randy was the one who had done that to him, making their current situation perplexing and awkward. He thought back to how he coped right after the break up. His solutions were alcohol and Nick. Do I have to be Randy's Nick now? Can I even do that? Be his friend like Nick was mine?

"What are you thinking about?" Randy interrupted his thoughts.

"Me? Nothing."

"You have something face," Randy said, continuing to eat.

"I was thinking… Ha. I was thinking about what I had to do last year to feel better after… you know?"

"Oh," Randy paused. "And?"

"Liquor and friends."

Randy nodded. "I have more options than you did though."

"How do you mean?"

"You didn't have someone that you were already close with, that you cared for a great deal, that you had a history with…"

Cody waited to speak. He wanted to be sure he perfectly understood what Randy was saying. "Randy… You don't mean…"

"Why not Cody?" His voice was urgent. "You're the reason Punk dumped me. We still care about each other. You're not involved with anyone. It makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," Cody said emphatically.

"Why not?"

"For all the reasons I stopped you from going any further in that hotel room! I'm becoming my own person. I can't go backwards with you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"But…" Randy trailed off when he couldn't find an argument.

"You just need to cool it for a while. Not worry about being with someone. Find someone to confide in and pass time with—platonically!"

"Well can't you be that person? You already are basically."

"I don't think so."

Randy grunted unhappily. "Why not?"

"Because… Well if history is destined to repeat itself we'd just end up back together."

Randy paused as he tried to process. "Wait, what?"

"I ended up have not so platonic feelings for my friend."

"Oh…"

"Yeah…"

"Who was it?"

"Randy!"

"What? I just got dumped. Entertain my nosiness."

Cody sighed. "Nick Nemeth."

"What?" Randy said, shocked. "Really?" Cody nodded. "Wow… He's gay?"

"Nope," Cody said flatly.

"Awe, Cody. You like a straight boy? That's rule number one: never fall for a straight guy."

"Yeah. Must've missed class that day."

"So things didn't go well, obviously."

"No, they didn't. Now everything's just awkward between us."

"He is cute." Cody stared at him, annoyed. "Sorry," Randy shrugged.

…

Punk sat outside by himself for what seemed like forever. He knew he would soon have to start getting ready for the taping so he made his way inside. He realized he hadn't eaten anything all day and headed towards catering. He avoided looking around at his coworkers to dodge having to converse with anyone. He was successful. He found an empty table. He made the mistake then of surveying the room. It didn't take long to find Randy. He was sitting at a table eating; with Cody. Punk felt as if a knife had just gutted him. He immediately looked back down at his plate. He could've sworn he felt Randy's gaze on him but didn't dare indulge his curiosity. He kept his nose down.

"That plate must be really interesting." Punk didn't know who was talking to him and he didn't care. He didn't want anyone's company.

"Look," he said as he looked up. Dean Ambrose was looking down at him. "Jon."

"I bet you I can entertain you more than that plate." He took a seat next to Punk.

"Jon, I'm really not in the mood."

"The mood for what?"

"Whatever it is you're here for."

"I'm just here for you." He said it with a straight face as he very noticeably chewed his gum.

"I…" Punk got distracted as he made eye contact with Randy from behind Dean. Randy was still sitting with Cody, who was laughing. He looked back to Dean and chuckled. "Nevermind," he said with a grin. He could again feel Randy's eyes on him. "What are you doing here?"

"They've got me on the tour this week."

"Who are you working with?"

"Kofi."

"Kofi? He's on the Raw tour. Why are you at this Smackdown taping?"

"They wanted me to work it. Then I'm on Raw the rest of the week. Fortunately."

"Why's that?"

"You're on the Raw tour. I get to watch you… work."

Punk stared at him pointedly for a second before breaking out into a slight smile. "Are you always this big a flirt?"

"Yes. Completely. You just never indulge me."

"Well, I think you'll find things might be different now."

…

"Punkey," Dean called from behind him.

Punk turned, already knowing it was him. "Ambrose."

"I liked your match tonight."

"You've liked all my matches this week," Punk said, turning away from him and back to his bag on the bench in front of him. It was Sunday and the two had nearly the same conversation every night that week. Dean crossed the empty locker room to stand in front of him.

"You've noticed that? I like every single one of your matches. Doesn't matter the opponent, stipulation, crowd… so what's the common denominator there?"

Punk rolled his eyes at him and continued to pack his bag. "You're relentless."

"And you're intractable." Punk laughed and didn't respond further. "How much more forward do you need me to be?" Dean pleaded. "I've been coming on to you for months now, let alone every single night this week! Do you need me to just come out and say it? Fine! I want you, Punk! God, I want you so much that every fucking night is highlighted by me watching you and hearing your voice and feeling your eyes on me. You're all I fucking think about. You haunt me. You've crept inside of my being and taken control of my everything. I fucking need you at this point."

It was one of the rare times Punk was speechless. He looked down from the other man's intense gaze before speaking. "Look, Dean—Jon, I'm not in a place where I can give you what you want right now. I just got… I just can't commit right now."

"Fuck, I'm not asking you to commit to anything." Punk looked back up after he said it. "What about me makes you think I'm looking for hand holding, a pet dog and a white picket fence? I want you." His hand reached forward and began rubbing Punk's cock through his shorts.

In a second Dean was shoved hard against the locker with an echoing crash, Punk stepped over the bench separating them and their mouths collided with chaotic heat. Their lips moved together with ferocious speed. Their tongues fought a hectic battle. Both of Dean's hands clasped Punk's face. They couldn't get enough of each other. They continued nearly attacking each other's mouths for minutes. Punk was the one who pulled away.

"I mean it," he breathed, their lips barely separated. "This isn't going to be soft and sweet and affectionate. This doesn't end with us wrapped in each other arms and looking into each others eyes."

Dean grinned wickedly. "Quit yapping and give it to me then."

They kissed with even more fervor. Punk's hand grazed up under Dean's shirt to feel the skin of his sides. Dean was again coaxing Punk's covered cock with one hand while his other was working Punk's shirt off. They separated for only a split second to remove the shirt and resumed at once. Dean started to tweak Punk's exposed nipples.

"Fuck," Punk broke away to gasp.

Dean chuckled: deep and scratchy. He ran his tongue across Punk's jaw and down his throat while both his hands simultaneously continued pleasuring Punk. He kissed and sucked and bit at the pulse point on Punk's throat. Punk banged his fist on the locker doors. He grinded their clothed groins together. Dean was being grinded against the cold hard lockers but it didn't deter him. Both of his hands worked their way under Punk's shorts and massaged the elder's bare ass. His mouth had trailed down and was now biting Punk's nipple. Punk groaned again. He pulled the other off by his hair and kissed him again quickly.

"I'm assuming you have a condom," he said, his voice short of breath.

"Had to have hope you'd put out eventually."

"Get it. And take your pants off."

Both men made quick work of their shoes and pants. Before Punk had even looked up at the naked man in front of him, Dean's fingers were wrapped around his hard cock and pumping it fiercely while he held the condom in his other hand.

"Fuck, Dean."

"That's the point."

Punk spun him and pushed him face forward into the lockers. Before he could retaliate Punk's chest was pressed flush up against his back.

"This what you wanted?" He whispered into Dean's ear. He took the condom from his grip.

"Not yet, it isn't." Seconds later the head of Punk's condom clad cock was pressing against his entrance.

"Is this what you wanted?" Dean spread his legs wider.

"Fuck yes."

Punk grabbed Dean's waist painfully tight as he pushed all the way inside Dean with one, long thrust. Dean shouted. Punk pulled all the way out, to just to repeat with the same long thrust in again. And again. And again. Each thrust in was met by a gasp from Dean. Punk began to speed up. With his cock fully sheathed inside of Dean, Punk's hips frantically pistoned against Dean's ass. The rapid clap of flesh on flesh echoed off the lockers.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled. Punk grabbed his long hair roughly and yanked his entire head back.

"This what you wanted?"

"Yeah!" Dean yelled, his voice needy and flanked by moans.

"Yeah?" Punk yelled.

"Yeah!" Dean repeated.

Dean's arms were sprawled out on the wall in front of him. His legs were as open as he could make them. His ass moved down against Punk to meet every thrust. Punk's hands on his waist aided him, pulling him down against every thrust and burying his cock as deep as possible.

"Fuck—I—I—" Dean's words were cut off by a loud gasp as his neglected cock came on its own accord. That tightened grasp of his walls around Punk's cock tore his orgasm from him with only a few more quick thrusts. Punk moaned deeply as continued jutting into Dean until his cock had completely unloaded.

They dressed with heavy breathing being their only communication. Punk was sitting on the bench putting on his shoes when the now fully clothed Dean Ambrose walked into his line of vision.

"You were better than I could have imagined."

Punk smiled somewhat. "Glad I didn't disappoint."

"Hell no."

"You didn't either. Disappoint, I mean."

"Oh, I never do."

Punk chuckled. "Wow."

"I'll see you around, Punk."

As Dean was walking out of the room Punk reached for his phone. He had a missed call from Randy. He hung his head and sighed. What did I just do?