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"Or I could just call you feels, since you didn't like your given name."

"Sounds like a winning idea to me."

"When I call you, I want you to like it."

"I like you calling me, no matter what the name is, just don't call me Johnny. My mom on the show calls me that and it gives me chills."

"Oh, Johnny!" Punk only heard the tail end of the conversation, and strode in confidently, calling Cena in a sing-song tone.

"And Punk, apparently. My fake mom and CM Punk. "Cena whispered to the champion, which told her that Cena still had not told him everything about himself.

The champion gave punk a disapproving expression of slight amusement, and Punk plopped down on the floor beside them, crossing his legs.

"Sooo?"

"So what?" the champion

"Are we gonna eat or what? I am starving. Make me a sandwich, woman!"

"Would you rather have a sandwich, or your favorite baked fish?"

"Can we have broccoli?"

"Yeeeessss." The champion squinted, speaking slowly.

"Then of course I want the fish."

"Then quit telling me what to do, before I decide to forego dinner altogether, and leave you to the mercies of chef Boyardee here." She pointed to Cena. Even though corporate had changed almost everything about him, they had been unable to teach Cena how to cook.

"I would be offended if that weren't so true." Cena muttered, dimples popping.

Punk bounced slowly as he sat, staring at the champion as she and Cena lay on the couch together.

Punk started rocking back and forth humming, then started singing Black Night, by Joe Bonnamassa, at the top of his lungs, and sounding oddly good. The champion sighed, and rose wearily from the couch, knowing Punk would keep bothering her until she cooked.

"BLACK NIGHT IS FALLING; OH I HATE TO BE ALONE!"

Punk sat in the living munching on the floor in the living area of the hotel, chuckling softly as the champion sat on the couch, sucking readily at Cena's tongue. Although their mouths didn't touch, she caressed his tongue with her own. Soon they were panting and rolling their hips, sighing as Punk trotted wearily to the kitchen area to toss his plate. When he returned, Cena and the champion were both naked, except for Cena's harness and the champion's shades. Punk simply shook his head and trotted to the bed, wearied both physically and emotionally by his conflicting emotions.