Note: Shout out to Jack for helping me decide who to have in the band with Punk and what they all play. Song is "Blood in the Water" by Layup.
Blood in the Water
At the end of the show, Punk is preparing for the long drive back to Chicago when Ace, their drummer and sort of unofficial big brother of the band, follows him out to his car. They used to all ride in a van until the motor finally shit the bed, so gigs have gotten kind of expensive with needing to take multiple vehicles. "Hey, Punk!" Ace calls out, at a half-jog to get to Punk before he makes it out of the parking lot.
"What's up?" Punk asks, slamming the trunk with his guitar and amp safely tucked inside.
"That bar we played last night? The one in Brooklyn? They called me and told me they had a last minute drop out for tomorrow night, and they wanted to know if we wanted to play it to make a little extra money out of this trip. I told them we'd be there. Kofi and Colt are down. You cool with another night in New York City?"
Punk's smirk is the dangerous one Ace knows all too well. The one that usually signals somebody's about to get their ass beat, and almost always with good reason. Almost. Unbidden, Punk's tongue seeks out and finds his lip piercing, working the metal back and forth. "Another night in New York City, huh?" Punk says, playing at thinking about it as if he hasn't already made up his mind. "I mean, I guess I could make time if I had to."
"Don't put yourself out, Punky," Ace replies with a roll of his eyes. "Would hate to force you back into proximity with last night's piece of ass if you really didn't want to go."
"Really sweet of you to think about me, Ace," he says, running his hand absentmindedly through his messy hair. "I think I can make myself go back if it means we get another decent paying gig."
"Right… Decent pay," Ace says with a sarcastic nod. "That's what it's all about. The pay."
"Always," Punk replies, his tone oozing with sarcasm. "There's a lot of ways to get paid… and you know I'm a businessman at heart."
Ace shakes his head. How he manages to do the job of big-brother-turned-road-parent to these idiots who are altogether too old to be being parented anyway, he'll never know. Thank fuck for Joe, who usually rides with them when he can to help with equipment, function as a bouncer, and also manage the bullshit when Punk and Colt go at each other a little too hard. Kofi's pretty easygoing, luckily, so when Joe's not around, Ace at least isn't left on his own with Dumb and Dumber. Colt and Punk have a relationship that's somewhere between sworn enemies and brothers who will kill for each other, mostly depending on how much sleep they've had, and how low their blood sugar is, but it's a battle dealing with their craziness on the bad days.
"I swear to god, I'm gonna leave you in Chicago next time," he says. "Please do keep in mind that I'm the one your sisters are gonna kill if I don't bring you home in one piece, so don't go home with a serial killer."
"Pretty sure if I knew someone was a serial killer before I went home with them, they wouldn't be a very good one, now would they, Ace?" The smug smirk makes Punk look like an even bigger asshole than he actually is… Which is pretty impressive given the levels of achievement he's reached in the field of assholery.
"You're a dick, Phil," Ace says, but Punk grins at him, his face instantly transformed to innocence as if he's offended at the very suggestion.
"I think Uncle Ace needs a nap," Punk replies before hopping in the car and firing up the engine. He's going to need his rest for tomorrow if his luck plays out the way he wants it to, and standing here talking shit isn't getting him any closer to that rest.
Max's phone buzzes, and he grabs it from his pocket. The club where he and Cody have found themselves tonight is much more in line with the places they usually go, and they've both had at least a few drinks. Loosened up and feeling good, just the way Max likes it. He takes a look at the device, and it tells him he's received a text message from a number he doesn't recognize… But as soon as he opens it, he's grinning.
[Unknown Number]: Miss me, Maxwell?
[Max]: Dr. Phil, I presume?
[Unknown Number]: Fuck that. My hair is way better than his… mostly because I still have it.
[Max]: Definitely you, then… Couldn't go 24 hours without checking in? That's cute
He goes to the number and saves it as Punk with the nickname set to "Dr. Phil," because if there's anything that pisses someone off, or annoys them, Max is going to do his best work to make sure that he brings it up early and often.
[Punk]: I could have. But I'm going to be back in NYC tomorrow night unexpectedly and I didn't want you to miss your opportunity to relive the best night of your life.
[Max]: Selfless man of sacrifice. That sounds JUST like you
[Punk]: Yep. That's me. Saint Punk.
[Max]: That must be where your terrible band got their stupid name
[Punk]: Just because you don't get it doesn't make it stupid. In fact, I think it makes YOU stupid.
[Max]: Don't freeze your balls off in Buffalo. LMK when you're around tomorrow. I've got shit going on, but I might be able to squeeze you in for an hour or so
[Punk]: NOW who's a selfless man of sacrifice?
I don't know what you've been told
But this here is not your home.
If you want some trouble, you want some.
Max grins in amusement as he types his response.
[Max]: Exactly. I'M the selfless one, because I'm giving up my valuable evening for your entertainment
[Punk]: You can always come to the club for our show, too.
[Max]: One night of auditory torture was enough thx. I'm pretty sure you guys have a future working in terrorist interrogations for the government if the whole music career thing doesn't work out for you
[Punk]: It's not my fault your taste in music is older than my grandfather.
[Max]: Says the dude old enough to BE my grandfather
[Punk]: I'll show you how old I am when I see you tomorrow. Better do your stretches.
[Max]: Don't flatter yourself, Phil. Your name is Phil. You're not impressing anybody
[Punk]: You could've fooled me.
He looks up to find Cody looking at him with an amused smile. "What?" he asks, trying to play it off like he hasn't been grinning like an idiot ever since he picked his phone up.
Cody shakes his head innocently. "Nothing at all, Max. It's not like I just watched you go from zero to a hundred in seconds flat. Got something to share with the class, Maxy? Who's texting you got you all excited that way?"
"Nobody," Max replies. "I'm not all excited. It's just that dude from last night."
"Just that dude, huh?" Cody asks. "You look like a high school girl who just heard from her crush."
Max gives his best friend a look, like Cody's just said something incredibly stupid that anyone on earth would laugh at him for. "I don't have a crush," Max says. "I just happen to appreciate a good time, and despite being ancient? Dude was fun."
"Whatever you say, Max," Cody replies. But his face makes it very clear that Max can say what he wants… Cody isn't buying what he's selling.
The next morning when Punk wakes up, in a cheap motel with Joe fast asleep in the other double bed, he reaches for his phone a little quicker than he usually would. He's never been one of those people who is glued to his phone 24/7, but he's hoping for a text from Max – which he will never admit… Not even under Guantanamo Bay treatment. They can waterboard him. He's not spilling the beans. But he would definitely be lying if he said he isn't really looking forward to spending more time with his new favorite flavor of trouble.
Come on in and I'll take hold,
These hands will break your bones.
If you want some trouble, you…
Joe wakes up from his own sleep, and rubs his eyes. He's fucking exhausted. "Coffee," he grunts and Punk, who is already up and grabbing his things to get ready, just laughs at him. Joe is cranky in the morning, and to be fair, Punk is, too.
Usually. Not so much today. Because at the other end of a long drive and a long show, Max will hopefully be waiting for him. The younger man did seem excited about the possibility, and it had been his idea to give Punk his number in the first place. Still, Punk's been stood up enough times to not count on anything. But this time more than usual, he's really hoping he gets the follow through he's hoping for.
When I see you
I see, I see blood in the water
Ooooh
Run deep, it runs deep
This blood in the water
Joe, somewhat out of it from sleep, but still 100% Joe, gives Punk a suspicious scowl. "What the fuck are you so happy about?" he groans. "It's way too early to be smiling."
Punk's smile can't be defeated this morning though. He's actually annoyed at himself if he's being honest. He has a fucking reputation to uphold, and he's over here grinning like the Cheshire cat. But fuck it. It feels good to be excited for something that isn't a show. Though he'll never admit to being excited in the first place. He doesn't have to though… not with Joe and the guys around. Loud music in the car to shut everyone up should do the trick.
You
I see, I see blood in the water
Ooooh
Try me, try me
You'll see blood in the water
True to his word, Max doesn't show up for the show, having absolutely no interest in hearing the Second City Saints play again. Punk rock is, as far as Max is concerned, trash, and most rock in general is mid at best. It doesn't matter, though. Punk hadn't expected to see him at the club anyway, and when he leaves the stage and pulls his phone from his pocket, Max's name lights up on a text alert. He unlocks the screen and immediately scrolls to the text message from the reason for his undefeated smile. It just includes the address to Max's place, which is a plus considering he'd followed Max there before. On his way out the door, he tosses Joe the keys to his car and calls an Uber. He's not paying for parking again in the swanky NYC neighborhood where Max lives.
I'll let you know, I break down slow
I decompose like styrofoam
You want some trouble
Oooh, come and get some
He sends Max a text to let him know that he's on his way… then shares the Uber ride so Max will get an alert when he arrives. He denies, even to himself, the flutter of excitement in his guts at seeing the younger man again so quickly. Just a good hookup getting an encore. That's all.
It fails to explain the way Punk is feeling, the way his eyes keep flicking to his phone screen to check if Max is texting back, or how much longer the ride is to his place. But he'll deal with that at another time… or maybe never. For right now, he's going to have a good time with someone that he's already very much enjoying his time with, consequences be damned – at least until he's back in Chicago.
He'll worry about all this then.
Max would be lying if he said he wasn't watching the Uber icon move down the street toward his place. His dark brown eyes have been locked on the screen since he got the alert from Punk that he was headed over, and the driver's making good time, but to Max it might as well be 5 o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon for the amount of time it's taking to get his latest plaything to his place from that godawful club.
When he sees the Uber arrive at the entry to his place, Max waits with the camera on to see Punk at the door, buzzing him in as soon as he's close enough. Max is still in a pair of black slacks he'd worn earlier that night to a club with Cody and Wardlow, but he's stripped out of his button down shirt and wears a white tank top alone. He works hard on his body – staying in shape, being cut – and he's damn sure going to use what he has for his benefit.
If you're here to shake my home
I'll knock you down like dominoes
You want some trouble
Ooooh
When Punk gets to the door, Max is standing in it, leaning against the door frame with his muscular arms crossed over his equally muscular chest, and Punk has to actively focus on not staring. How the fuck is it possible to forget how fucking hot the guy you hooked up with was in a matter of two nights? Because Punk knew all the time between their first meeting and this second one that he couldn't wait to see Max again – in part because of how fucking hot he is. But somehow, the image he's been carrying in his head seems to have already faded to a weak imitation of the real thing that is standing here in front of him. From his perfectly styled curls to his predator's smile, to the thick ropes of muscle in his arms, Punk is looking at a young man who is altogether out of his league.
And he loves it.
When I see you
I see, I see blood in the water
Oooh, run deep, it runs deep
Blood in the water
Max can feel the vibes in the room as he steps aside to let Punk inside. "I have leftovers from dinner if you need food," he tells him. "I know how you old people get really weak if you don't eat on a schedule, and I'd hate for you to run out of energy at an inopportune time."
Punk smiles at Max, the dangerous sort of smile where his canine teeth almost look ready to tear Max apart all on their own, and the younger man smirks at him. "It's um… Chicken piccata. My specialty."
You
I see, I see blood in the water
Oooh, try me, try me
You'll see blood in the water.
"Maybe I'll have some later," Punk says, his tongue running over his teeth before settling at the piece of metal in his lip for now. "I didn't come here for dinner."
Max's smirk becomes that little bit more evil, and Punk knows without a doubt that he's in for a good night.
You
I see, I see blood in the water
Oooh, run deep, it runs deep
Blood in the water
In the comfort of Max's apartment, it isn't quite clear who is the predator and who is the prey, but the bottom line is? It doesn't really matter to either of them. Their time together is limited, and neither Punk nor Max wants to waste a moment of it.
You
I see, I see blood in the water
Oooh, try me, try me
Closing the space between them, Punk gives Max a searing kiss, wrapping his arms around the younger man and pulling his body flush against Punk's. "I'm glad you were free tonight, Maxwell," he says to him when their lips have parted, and Max gives him the most sarcastic smile Punk thinks he's ever seen outside of a mirror.
"I did try to find something else to do, but you're not terrible for a backup plan," he replies, the challenge in his eyes daring Punk to respond.
When he does, its by pushing Max against the wall and holding him there, eyebrows raised. "I can always get lost if I'm not up to the standards you have for an evening," he says, slowly loosening his grip on Max and backing away.
When Punk's hands have loosened enough, Max pushes back against him and manages to turn them so Punk is the one pinned against the wall. "Don't even think about it," he growls. "I'm just getting started."
You'll see blood in the water.