Hot Mess

Based on the song "Hot Mess" by Cobra Starship

Phil never thought this would happen to him. He was straightedge. He was always of sound mind. How could he manage to get involved in this so deeply? This was just…it was insane. He shouldn't have let things get so out of his control. Gabby was his best friend. She was the one person in the entire world that she could depend on. Sure, she wasn't straightedge. She wasn't even the type he normally went for. Hell, if Phil was going to develop these types of feelings for anyone, it certainly wasn't going to be her. But somehow, it happened.

Laying in his hotel room bed, Phil could only think of one person. And that was Gabby. He was waiting up for her. The two always shared a room when they were on the road. They also traveled together, even since she began working as ring announcer for the WWE. She was out tonight, hitting up the bar scene with some of their other co-workers.

It was 3:23 AM, and he was still restless waiting for her to come back. Odds were that she was drunk. She loved her alcohol. And Phil was always put off by it. He didn't find the obnoxious behavior of a drunk to be of particular attraction to him.

A jingle of the doorknob, followed by some clumsy fumbling caused Phil to practically jump out of the bed. He flew to the door, throwing it open. Gabby looked up at him, a guilty, drunken smile on her face.

"My Punky!" she greeted.

"Hey Gabs," he spoke. "Come on in." He gently took her in his arms and brought her into their room, kicking the door shut behind them.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked, her words slurring slightly.

"No. I was up, waiting for to come back."

Gabby ran a hand through his new-ish, shorter-styled haircut. "My Punky, you're so cute." Her arms quickly flung their way around her neck.

"And you're drunk," he commented.

She frowned, her eyes catching his. "Are you mad at me?" Phil gave her a smile. "No. Of course not. You know that I love you regardless of how you spend your free time."

Gabby pressed her lips to his cheek. "I love you, my Punky."

"I love you, too. Now come on, let's get you ready for bed," he said, sitting her on the edge of his bed. She kicked her heels off and laid back on it.

"I can sleep like this," she insisted.

"Well, it'll change you, if you'll stop being so difficult," he bargained.

She shrugged. "Be my guest."

Phil pulled one of his t-shirts out of his suitcase. He sat next to Gabby. "Sit up," he instructed her. She did so. He pulled her clingy, red, off-the-shoulder top up and over her head, dropping it on the floor. He climbed on top of her, shirt in hand, maneuvering the shirt on her, with minimal cooperation from the drunken woman in his bed.

Once it was on, he reached underneath the shirt, behind her back, masterfully unsnapping her strapless bra and pulling it out from under the top. He pulled her onto the bed and unbuttoned and unzipped her short denim skirt. He slid it over her hips and down her thighs, before tossing it onto the floor, on top of the rest of her clothes. She situated herself underneath the blankets. Phil climbed in next to her. She cuddled up against his body. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

"Night Punky," she murmured.

"Goodnight Gabs."

"Love you."

"Love you, too," he reciprocated, knowing she was unaware of how much he meant the words. Gabby may have been a hot mess to anyone that might have seen her, but she was his hot mess.