A/N: Song by Royal Blood
Little Monster
It's only by the grace of God (a god Punk very much doesn't believe in, he might add) that Max's fancy New York attorney places a call to the right person at the right time to get Max's DUI and reckless driving charges dropped. Must be nice to have money like that, but on the other hand, Punk's absolutely grateful that Max isn't in jail, and hasn't hurt anyone but himself. And that's bad enough all on its own. He could've been killed … or killed someone… and Punk has a hard time thinking about that, so he buries it underneath everything else. He's fucking straight edge… why the fuck he's so concerned and worried about what's happened to some idiot who got drunk and got behind the wheel, he'll never understand, but he hates himself for it… Hates how fucking much it hurts to think about Max just being gone from his life suddenly.
That's what he thought he wanted. Now that it's come so close to happening in a more permanent way than he had intended, he can't imagine it. He doesn't know how to deal with that – or with the fact that Lita, one of the people who knows him best in the world, has told him that he needs to look a little closer at his feelings for Max. He doesn't want to look at them closer. Right now, he just wants to take care of Max until he's able to go home. And he doesn't really want to think about why the thought of him going home – back to New York – causes a twinge of pain deep inside him, either.
Hey, Little Monster, I got my eye on you.
Where are you going? Where you running to?
Larry likes Max… which comes as no surprise to Punk, who would have been more surprised if Larry didn't like Max. The funny thing about it is that Max really doesn't like dogs, and Larry is weird looking even for a dog lover. It's what Punk loves about him. But it is in no way appealing to Max. However, by the end of the first day of Max being here, he has begrudgingly given in to Larry's insistent way of cramming his little ass into the spot where he wants to be, even when a human was previously occupying it. "Your fucking dog has no sense of boundaries," Max complains to Punk. "I can't even watch TV without him so far up my ass I need to send a search party."
Punk grins, reaching out to scratch the spot Larry loves — right behind his ears. The little dog rolls to the side, pressing even more firmly against Max's thigh as his tongue lolls out of his mouth behind his two protruding bottom teeth. Max gives a little huff of annoyance but when he looks over after a little while, he sees Max's annoyed expression soften as he looks at Larry. There's the slightest hint of a smile that quickly disappears when Max catches Punk's gaze out of the corner of his eye. He won't be caught finding a weird looking dog cute. "He suits you," Max says at one point, when there's a lull in the TV show they're watching.
Hey Little Monster, you know it's all okay,
I'm gonna love ya no matter what you say.
"He's a good dog," Punk says, eyes lighting up as he talks about Larry. "And he's a little offbeat, too…"
Max raises an eyebrow. "That's not what I meant. Like, at all. But good try."
"Then what did you mean, oh wise young oracle of the fucking pet owners?" Punk asks, his tone playful but mocking. If Max weren't injured, he probably would've already taken a swing on Punk for his smart-ass mouth. Or at least that's what he tells himself. At the moment, he's mostly just glad to have a safe place to land after the previous night's stupidity had damn near cost him a hell of a lot more than replacing a rental car and paying for repairs on a building.
I've got love on my fingers
Lust on my tongue.
You say you've got nothing
So come out and get some.
"I mean," says Max, his tone very similar to that of an exasperated parent trying to explain to their toddler why ice cream isn't dinner for the seventeenth time in an hour. "That he's sad and pathetic, and follows you around like you're the sun and moon and god and maybe a whole bag of dog treats at once. And you really seem to need that kind of adoration in all of your relationships. Larry does it naturally. Because he's a dog."
"Do you usually insult the people who are taking care of you when you hurt yourself, Maxwell? Or am I a special case?"
"I usually insult everyone," Max counters with a bored shrug. "You're just the unlucky bastard sitting beside me when I'm in pain and actually hate everyone and everything."
"Yeah, cuz the universe forced booze down your throat and put you behind the wheel, right?" Punk challenges. "You did it to yourself, sunshine and lollipops, so maybe next time before you do some god tier idiot shit like that again, you'll remember how bad it sucked."
"You'd think," Max says, giving Punk one of his dark-eyed glares. "Lucky for you, I don't learn from my mistakes very often."
"Oh?" Punk replies. "I'm lucky because I'm a mistake you keep making?"
"Something like that," Max says with a shrug. "I mean, it's obvious you aren't exactly my type. But you are hot and really fun when you wanna be, so. Mistake is probably accurate but also, a fun mistake, so hey. You only live once, right?"
Heartache to heartache,
I'm your wolf, I'm your man.
I say, Run, Little Monster,
Before you know who I am.
"Unless you're Hindu. Or Buddhist," Punk points out.
"Fuck, you're a smart ass," Max says, rolling his eyes. "Do you always do that shit, or is it special just for me?"
Punk glances at Max, then down at Larry, giving the little dog a belly rub. "It's just me. Larry seems to like it, though. No idea what your problem is."
Max is grateful to Punk for giving him a safe place to land, but fuck is the older man a pain in the ass know-it-all. Still… it's nice seeing this more caring side of Punk. Max only hopes it isn't just because he's feeling guilty or something. If it is, he's not sure he can blame him though. "I…" he pauses just a second. "I'm sorry, Punk. I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your time. Especially not when you had that chick from the show around… she seemed… nice."
Hey, little creature, tell me what's on your mind?
Where've you been hiding, and can I come this time?
The fact that Punk doesn't rise to the bait is a shock even to him, but somehow he keeps it together. He knows Max is looking for a fight, and usually, Punk's happy to give him one. But right now? He doesn't want to fuck up. Max is going to be here for a bit and if he is, Punk may as well at least try to smooth shit over as much as he can. "She is nice," Punk says evenly. "She's one of my best friends."
"I'll say," Max replies, clearly not convinced. "I don't have any friends who stick their tongues down my throat in greeting but you're really out here living the motherfucking dream." His tone is flat, but with a sharp edge that tells Punk this is definitely not his favorite topic. "Either that or my friends are just huge prudes."
So pleased to please ya, and rip that heart off your sleeve.
What we discover…
"It's not like that, Max," Punk tries to explain. "I've known Lita since we were kids. She's been an important part of my life and she will continue to be as long as I have a say in the matter. She's not… we hook up. But that's all there is to it. I love her. But we're not… we're not in love. Not anymore." He doesn't know why he's trying to explain all of this to Max… it wasn't his business when it happened and it's not really his business now, but Punk, always quick to start talking shit, is now trying to figure out why he can't put his relationship with Lita into words for Max. And even if he could, he truly doesn't know if it would be good enough for Max… enough to make him happy might be pushing it, but at least helping him see the whole history that was wrapped up in his meetings with his ex-girlfriend.
"Don't you have anybody like that?" he finally asks Max. "Like… friends you've had so long they feel like they just belong in your life. Maybe they're not the same part of your life that they used to be, but they're always some part of it?"
I've got love on my fingers
Lust on my tongue.
You say you've got nothing
So come out and get some.
Max doesn't speak right away… he's so lost in his own thoughts, in fact, that he starts absentmindedly petting Larry with his uninjured hand, which Punk can't lie… Is kind of the cutest shit he's ever seen. He'll take that thought with him to his grave though. God, what is wrong with him? He's not going to say he's never been attracted to men before or even never fooled around with men before, but the feelings shit… that's new. That's Max. That's something he hasn't been able to separate out, and it's driving him utterly insane, "No," Max says finally. "I guess I don't have anybody like that. I have friends, but they're not friends I ever had any kind of other relationship with. Cody… he's like the brother I never had… he looks out for me, And Wardlow's more like… I don't know… we just party together – go out to clubs and shit, but never thought about him as anything more than that. The rest of the people in my life are just kind of… people I know, I guess? There aren't many real friends you have in a life like mine. Most of the time, it's more just people who want something from me."
Heartache to heartache,
I'm your wolf, I'm your man.
I say, Run, Little Monster,
Before you know who I am.
Punk can feel that Max hasn't ever really had to think about this before, and it's hard for him to chew over. "I guess… I guess it's different for everybody," the older man offers, hoping he hasn't made Max feel like shit about his own friendships. That's not what he was going for. He thought there would be common ground here. Something that most people understood. But that didn't seem to be the case, and he didn't know what to do about it. "For me, I didn't… I never really had real family, you know? Like… Like people who shared my DNA and gave a shit about me.. So I had to sorta build my family on my own."
"But you said you have sisters," Max says, his face twisting a little in confusion.
"Yeah," Punk agrees. "But they're actually not legally my sisters. They're friends, but their family took me in when my parents didn't want me around anymore." Why is he telling Max this? It's certainly not helping his cool, mysterious rock star persona. In fact, it's probably just making him sound all the more like a sad, broken little boy. "My parents didn't want me around. Not unless I had something they could take from me. I didn't really have parents, even though I guess I technically did. If that even makes sense."
I've got love on my fingers
Lust on my tongue.
You say you've got nothing
So come out and get some.
He can feel Max's eyes on him, can feel the sadness and pity in the younger man's gaze, and it makes his blood boil. He doesn't want pity. He just wants to be understood a little bit – to have Max see why the people that Punk loves and holds onto matter so goddamn much to him. "I'm not your fucking poor person inspiration porn," he says, irritated but trying not to fly off the handle just yet. He's trying so goddamn hard to keep his shit together and not be a complete asshole to Max when he's sitting here with broken bones and none of his home comforts around. But fuck does it get under his skin. He hates the thought of anyone feeling sorry for him… looking down on him. Especially someone like Max, who was born with everything he ever could've wanted in his hands.
"Did I say you were?" Max asks, his thoughtful expression turning to a glare at Punk. "It's kinda cute how you get so bitchy about shit that didn't even happen. I thought that was a chick thing."
Heartache to heartache,
I'm your wolf, I'm your man.
I say, Run, Little Monster,
Before you know who I am.
Punk turns to Max, fully ready to rise to the bait, but… Max's glare has turned to a little smirk, and Punk knows he's being toyed with. That he knows how to deal with, though. That he can understand. He has to smirk a little bit. "Oh, yeah? Well, remind me never to talk about serious shit with you again."
"At least not when I'm on fucking pain meds," Max replies, with a look that quite clearly tells Punk who Max thinks is the idiot here. "I'm on percs and you want me to be all… what like… deep and meaningful with shit? Philly cheese babe, I'm way too medicated for that." And apparently also too medicated to restrain himself from throwing out the new worst nickname he's ever uttered. He can tell by the way Punk's eyebrows rise so fast they nearly shoot off his forehead… or at least that's the mental image Max gets, and he's suddenly snickering, and this is not a situation where he should be snickering, but fuck the meds are good. Not quite good enough that snickering doesn't hurt his broken ribs though.
Maybe it's for the best that Max likely won't remember most of this conversation in the morning. Maybe being doped out of his mind on meds is a good thing for once. "Alright, druggy… let's get you to bed before you say anything else stupid and piss me off any more."
"Or what?" Max asks. "You put me on the street?"
"Nah," Punk says. "First Chicagoan to meet you stoned out of your mind would bring you right back to me anyway. But it's bedtime. Can you stay here and manage not to get yourself into any trouble while I take Larry out?"
"I guess," Max replies, rolling his eyes. "I'll stay on the couch like a good boy until you get back," he adds, giving the most innocent look he can manage… which to Punk looks like the absolute opposite of innocent.
"I'll be right back," Punk says, reaching for Larry.
"Kiss me first!" demands Max, in a whiny voice that almost makes Punk snort.
"Christ," Punk says, shaking his head, but he leans over and kisses Max gently. "I'm gonna tell the doctors you don't get anymore percs," he tells him. "They make you the world's neediest little bitch."
Max doesn't say anything, but uses his good hand to flip Punk the bird. Because of course he does. Punk rolls his eyes, and turns to take Larry outside.