A/N: The song is "I Caught Fire" by The Used.
I Caught Fire
Punk and Max had both made it abundantly clear before Punk even got to Max's place that there would be no sleeping over. They've both come into this as a hookup and only a hookup. But the best laid plans and all that, because the sun is shining through the windows on Punk's face when he stirs and finds Max curled against him in a bed that's way too comfortable to be in a hotel room. For a moment, he just lets himself lie there, his arm tucked around Max's waist comfortably and his nose buried in the back of his neck, but then it hits him that the light on his face is from the sun, and he has most assuredly fucked all the way up.
Seemed to stop my breath
My head on your chest waiting to cave in
From the bottom of my…
He glances at the clock on Max's bedside table, and immediately springs out of bed. It's way past hotel check out time, which also means it's way past the time that he and the other guys were supposed to be getting back on the road to Chicago, and he knows the rules. If somebody misses the time, they get left behind to find their own way back… It's always served as a really good way to avoid people dragging ass and taking too long to get out of bed, or to get ready, or to get off one more time before they leave their latest conquest behind. Whatever it is, they have rules and understandings, and Punk has made the most rookie of rookie mistakes.
"Fuck," he swears, dragging his hands through his long hair, and letting loose with another string of expletives when his fingers catch in the tangled mess.
Max opens his eyes slowly, trying to get his bearings, and rolls toward where Punk is standing in his bedroom trying to get his shit together. "What the hell?" he asks, putting up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. Who the fuck was the dumbass who didn't close the blackout blinds last night?
Hear your voice again
Could we dim the sun and wonder where we've been?
Punk doesn't answer, so lost is he in his search for his clothes and shoes and where the hell is his fucking phone? This has happened before… usually to Colt, though. Punk has always been one of the responsible ones when it comes to being where he's supposed to be for shows and for traveling back home. He loves what he does, loves being in this band, but he loves being in Chicago more than just about anything else he can think of, and right now, getting back to Chicago is looking farther and farther away than Punk ever expected. "Please tell me that clock's wrong," he says, maybe to Max, but he's not looking at Max, so…?
Max doesn't reply, and after a moment, Punk raises his voice and stares at Max. "What the fuck, dude, tell me that clock is wrong!"
"I would, but it's not wrong," Max replies, unbothered. "You got a lot of balls standing in my house ordering me around, by the way. It'd be cute if you didn't sound like such a bitch."
"Not now, Max," Punk insists. He just isn't in the mood for additional bullshit. Where the fuck did he put his phone?
Maybe you and me, so kiss me like you did
My heart stopped beating, such a softer sin
"Whatever you say, Phil," Max says, sitting up in bed with the blankets draped over his lower half as he crosses his arms over his chest. If Punk wants to be an asshole? Max will show him a new level of asshole to aspire to.
Punk turns to look at him, standing there stark naked with his hands on his hips, and the juxtaposition of the heavily tattooed and pierced punk rocker with the peroxide blonde hair standing like he's one of the moms at the temple where Max grew up makes the younger man burst into laughter. Goddammit, he wants to play it tough, but Punk is so full of his own self-importance at the moment that Max can't help it. It's ridiculous, and hilarious.
"Jesus Christ, Grandpa," Max says, hopping out of his bed and putting on his bathrobe before he looks at Punk. "You stand like that too long and you're gonna start speaking in a Bronx Bubby's accent. That's the exact way my grandma used to stand when she was yelling at me and my friends for misbehaving at bar mitzvahs. Really, you're out here reaching new levels of sexy, Phil."
I'm melting
I'm melting
In your eyes
There is an overwhelming urge in Punk to punch Max right in the face, but he doesn't give into it. He charges out of Max's room to find his phone, which, as it turns out, is sitting on the coffee table in the living room in front of Max's holy-shit-they-make-them-that-big television. With over 50 notifications. Ace, Kofi, Ace again, Colt… even his sisters, and Lita, and Joe. He's in so much shit right now. He tries to call Ace first, stalking around the living room without a stitch of clothing on. Kofi answers, and it's pretty clear to Punk that his bandmates know pretty quickly what has happened, because they're all having a pretty hearty laugh at his expense.
The good news is, they did him the courtesy of grabbing his duffle bag from the hotel room. The bad news is that they're already three hours away, and Punk is shit out of luck. He doesn't even have his car. He wants to yell at everybody what a bunch of dicks they are, but the only person who has fucked up here is him, and he kinda hates himself for it. By the time he's off the phone with the guys, he's already trying to think of backup plans. And trying to make sure his sisters and Lita get texts that he's okay, just being a complete idiot for a hookup.
Max has made his way to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, and when he comes out of the kitchen, he pulls Punk's underwear out of the pocket of his robe and tosses them at him. "If you get ass sweat on my furniture, I swear to god, you'll never leave New York alive."
I lost my place
Could stay awhile
Punk catches the flying garment in mid-air and gets to work putting it on. "I can't believe I fucking slept this late," he complains.
"You were up really late," Max says with a shrug. "You didn't even get here til after 3."
"Yeah, but I usually stay up and sleep in the car on the way home. Whatever… I guess I have to figure that out now." He's still tired, and his mind is racing as he tries to figure out what he's gonna have to do to get back to Chicago. He sits down on the couch and taps a drum beat out with his thumbs on his knees as he tries to figure out the next step.
Max intentionally leaves out the part of the story where he woke up in the night to pee and realized Punk was still there. The responsible and smart thing to do would have been to wake the other man up and send him on his way, but Max hadn't known when the band was leaving, and even if he had… Punk had a phone that he could set an alarm on. It wasn't Max's place to get him up and out the door. He also leaves out the part where he had come back to bed and gone back to sleep next to Punk, with his head on the other man's chest.
And I'm melting in your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me
Lay with me now
It's not exactly that Max is really in the habit of falling in love or catching feelings, and certainly not for some dude old enough to be his dad, and not at all his type. It's more that he hasn't had an actual partner in a while… a long while… and despite trying to come off as completely detached, Max does occasionally miss the feeling of sleeping next to someone. In his head, he's really good at convincing himself that it doesn't mean anything and that CM Punk or Phil Brooks or whoever the fuck this asshole is has just been a warm body in the right place at the right time.
But the truth is? Max likes Punk. He likes him a lot. He likes the older man's quick wit and asshole sense of humor. He likes that Punk can keep up with him. He even kind of likes Punk's pierced lip and tongue and ears. And last night? He liked sleeping next to someone whose presence he enjoyed. Liked it enough to apparently fuck up everything for Punk today. Or at least to contribute to said fucking up. And it's probably shitty to say, but he's not sorry about it.
Never caught my breath
Every second I'm without you, I'm a mess
"I'm sorry, you missed your ride," Max lies, knowing that to say otherwise would not be his wisest move at the moment. "But I'm glad to help you get where you're going. You're welcome to crash here for a day or two if you need." Shut the fuck up, Max, you're sounding way too eager for this shit.
Punk arches an eyebrow at Max. "Yeah? And if I stay here for a day or two, what will I owe you?"
Ever know each other
Trust these words are stones
Everything in life has a some level of transactional nature to it as far as Punk is concerned. There are very few people in this world who have ever done something kind for him without expecting anything in return, and those people mostly consist of the handful of close friends he's allowed himself to have in life. He doesn't trust many people, doesn't let many people close to him, but here he is, stranded in New York City with a guy who is far too young for him, and the sick realization hits that he has no choice really at this point but to trust Max. And in the pros column for that, he is still alive after falling asleep in Max's apartment. That has to be a good start, right?
"Nothing," Max says with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing I need from you. I'm not in the market for t-shirts with the names of bands that nobody knows or likes on the front of them."
My cuts aren't healing
Learning how to love
The way Punk can't decide between laying Max out on the floor with a punch in the face or just thanking him for being nice enough to let him stay is kind of annoying, and it's in the process of that thought that he realizes that Max is looking at him thoughtfully. "Uh… do I look that damn good, or are you trying to decide whether to use my skin as a wall hanging or throw my liver in a smoothie when you kill me?"
I'm melting
I'm melting
In your eyes
"Definitely the liver thing," Max says. "You don't drink, so yours is probably in way better shape than mine. I might need it later." But that's not what he's thinking about, and while he could just leave it at that, he decides to take another step.
"You strike me as the kind of guy who likes starting shit," Max says finally, approaching this whole thing with a "I definitely just thought of this" vibe that is absolutely not true.
"What was your first clue?" Punk asks playfully.
I lost my place
Could stay awhile
Max rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "That," he says, pointing at Punk. "That fucking mouth of yours. You think I talk too much?"
Punk shrugs. "Okay, fair. Yeah, I like starting shit. It's kind of what I do. Piss people off, get under their skin, and fuck with them a little. Better entertainment than TV most of the time."
Turning to look Punk in the eye, Max says, "How about pissing off and fucking with rich assholes who think they know everything about everything? Specifically the rich assholes responsible for my existence." He pauses. "Don't let your gratitude for that one time the stars aligned and gave the world their perfect son come between you and your desire to piss them off. I know it's tempting."
And I'm melting in your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me
Lay with me now
Max won't be the first person Punk's ever gone on a date with to piss off their parents. In fact, he's pretty sure Lita started dating him back in the day because her dad hated the group of punk rock kids she hung out with, and that kinda worked for Punk, because being the pebble in the shoe of somebody who thinks they're better than him is and always has been one of his favorite pastimes.
"You want me to piss your parents off?" Punk asks, a little smirk playing at his lips. "I'm not really in the habit of meeting the parents after a second hookup, but hey… It's New York City, might as well live a little, right?"
"I think that's kind of part of the point," Max replies. "Bring you to meet them, act like I'm absolutely head over heels for you, which will piss them off more.
"Act?" Punk asks with a smirk. "Be careful with that. I've seen this movie before, and it always ends with the character in your spot falling in love with the character in my spot, and then it gets really weird and uncomfortable. And look at me. How could you not be?"
Max rolls his eyes so hard he's worried they may actually pop out of his head. "Yeah, that's a huge concern, obviously. Nothing makes me fall in love like a guy sitting on my custom leather couch in a pair of underwear that came from Target."
Punk snorts with laughter. Once again, Max is just that little bit too quick for him. He loves it and hates it at the same time. "Only thing is, I'm not expecting to be here long, so I'm not sure how much good I'll do terrifying your parents."
You can stay and watch me fall
And of course I'll ask for help
Just stay with me now
"Trust me," Max says, glancing over the older man. "You're old as shit and pierced and tattooed all over? They're going to flip the fuck out, and it's going to be hilarious. I'm supposed to go to dinner with them and my dad's business partner tonight. If I show up with you on my arm? They're going to shit themselves. What do you say, Punky? Wanna help me scare my parents to death?"
I'm melting
I'm melting
In your eyes
"I'm gonna regret this," Punk says, shaking his head. "But might as well. I suddenly don't have any plans until I can get a ride back to Chicago. But I doubt I have any clothes appropriate for a dinner with a bunch of rich assholes."
I lost my place
Could stay awhile
"Did you miss the entire point of this conversation?" Max asks, smirking at the older man. "Come in what you were wearing last night. You can throw it in the wash if you want, but the smell may add a little authenticity…"
And I'm melting in your eyes
Like my first time
That I caught fire
Just stay with me
Lay with me now
"You're such a bitch," Punk says, though he can't help laughing. "I smell coffee…" he adds, rising from the couch. "And I'm not figuring out shit until I have some of that."
A/N: If you're reading and enjoying, please let me know! Otherwise I feel like I'm shouting into the void. With wrestlers.