I cannot tell you guys how happy I am about the Bryan/Punk feud. Maybe they'll finally get to have a match that doesn't end in a disqualification. All I know is that, like their other matches, it will be awesome!
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Groaning a bit, Punk pushed himself up into a sitting position. John had left not too long ago and Punk had missed his match but he didn't want to miss the end of the show. Rock was supposed to be there.
He'd just gotten to his feet and forced himself to straighten up, his back to the door when it banged open. He had managed to turn around when Chris came at him. The shove threw him off balance and his already screaming back hit the edge of the table he'd just gotten off of.
He fell, a gasp escaping him, and the agony in his back flared once again. The kick that Chris landed next, right on the small of his back had him crying out and then Chris was pushing him over onto his back.
Chris' fingers wrapped around his wrists in a bruising grip and he sat on Punk's hips, effectively holding him to the floor. He tried to draw back when Chris pressed close, his face inches from Punk's.
"Get off me," he growled through gritted teeth, trying to buck Jericho off even though it caused the pain to hike up another few notches.
"But I'm having so much fun," Chris said with a grin. His eyes were lit up and he looked psychotic in that moment, and obsessed. "I just wanted to send a little message."
"Fuck you."
Chris laughed and leaned even closer. "I wanted to tell you that you got your wish. I'm not going to be going after Cena after all. From now on, my attention is focused solely on you."
"Lucky me. More attacking me from behind? You're a fucking coward." Punk glared up at him. Chris squeezed his wrists harder in response, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to cut the circulation off to his hands but Punk kept going, rage fueling his words.
"You've always been a coward, haven't you? You were a coward before you left and you're a coward now."
Chris only smirked at that, his lips inches from Punk's. "You know, this does seem familiar doesn't it?"
Punk's eyes widened and he started struggling harder against Chris' hold. The smirk widening on Chris' face let him know exactly what Chris was thinking. Before anything else could happen, however, Chris was pulled off him and thrown to the floor. Punk sat up immediately.
"You might want to leave." The newcomer's voice held a warning and the thick Irish accent told Punk exactly who it was before he looked up to see Sheamus standing there. Chris scrambled up and, with one last glare in Punk's direction, he fled the room.
"Alright there?" Sheamus asked, offering a hand.
Punk nodded, and let Sheamus pull him to his feet. "Yeah. Thanks." But he almost slid right back down to the floor when he tried to straighten up. Sheamus' hold on his arm was the only thing that kept him standing in that moment.
Chris had been trying to scare him, he knew that. That position had been familiar from the time they'd been together. They'd often ended up in some pretty vicious fights before it turned into something else.
Sheamus ended up pushing him back towards the table until he sat down again. "What's going on?"
Punk glanced around Sheamus to see John standing in the doorway and Sheamus looked between the two men. "Good luck with all that," he said, patting Punk on the shoulder before leaving the room.
"Something happen?" John asked, stepping closer to him.
Punk slumped a little where he was sitting, both attacks and a week of barely sleeping catching up to him. He had to struggle to stay upright. John saw it and reached for him, steadying him. Punk knew that he was probably still pissed but he leaned into John anyway.
"Tell me what happened," John requested quietly, wrapping one arm around Punk.
"Chris-" He started but as soon as the name left his lips, John began to pull away from him and he cut off. "Wait, don't go."
"Why not?" John asked angrily. "This has to stop. This is the second time he's attacked you backstage…"
"I know…I just…" He tried to pull John back to him. He was hurting and so exhausted he could barely see straight and this was the closest he'd been able to get to John in weeks. He needed it to last, needed John to stay.
John's expression shifted at the look on Punk's face. "Come on," he said softly, and helped Punk off the table.
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John helped Punk all the way back to the hotel. Neither one of them spoke on the way there and when they made it to Punk's hotel room and he dropped face first on his bed, John stood hesitant beside the bed, unsure of what he should do.
They needed to talk. They needed to get everything out into the open but bringing it up when Punk was dead on his feet and hurt didn't seem like a good idea. He considered leaving the room then, going back to his own hotel room and attempting to sleep.
Punk turned his head in John's direction. "Are you going to stay?" There was insecurity in that question that John had never heard in Punk's tone before and John sighed. He got into the bed and, after a moment, pulled Punk to him until the man's head was resting on his shoulder and he had his arms wrapped around Punk.
"I know we need to talk," Punk started, his eyes closed.
"We'll talk tomorrow," John said, settling down. "Just…go to sleep, alright?"
There was a silence for a minute. "I love you," Punk whispered just as John was sure he was asleep. His breathing did even out a few seconds later and John held him a little tighter. It took him a lot longer to drift off to sleep.