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Chapter Text

"Answer your phone, dumbass!" Liz Cena anxiously bit her thumb nail as she waited for him to answer his phone. She sighed in relief when there came a "Hello" from the other end of the line, but that relief was quickly replaced with rage.

"What took you so fucking long to answer your phone, dumbass?" Liz all but screamed into the phone.

"I was working on putting our plan into action. These things take time. You need to trust me to get the job done." The man's voice had an annoyed edge to it.

"Trust you? Really? This is the third time that you have tried to kill that philandering little bastard. They say that the third time is the charm, but you should understand if I have my doubts. Do you realize how important it is that he dies? If he is able to divorce me, I'm going to be out on my ass without a single penny and do you know what that means? You won't get paid. We have to kill him before he changes his will so I can live in luxury for the rest of my life!" Liz panted in excited anger.

"Yea, I know. He's a hard bastard to kill, but I have a good feeling about this time."

Liz narrowed her eyes and then sat down in a chair next to her pool. "And why is that? What is your plan?"

"John has a Make-A-Wish event today, so he can't take the plane to Japan with the rest of the roster, so WWE has chartered him another flight. I've seen the plane and I almost mistook it for a pack of gum. This thing looks like a death trap. All I have to do is mess with a few things to ensure it goes down somewhere in the Pacific and no one will question why."

Liz's eyebrows rose for a moment before going back down. She thought over his plan for a few moments and came to the conclusion that it was brilliant. "How are you going to make sure the plane goes down?"

"Well, I've poisoned both the pilot and co-pilot with a poison that won't kill them until they're in the middle of the ocean. I've also messed with the plane's little black box, so all I have to do is press a button from here and then it will explode. They'll never be able to find John's sorry ass without that data."

Cackling to herself, Liz smiled an evil, twisted smile. "You are so brilliant, but make sure you get the job done, understand?"

"Yea, I understand. You just sit back and practice that fake cry of yours because you are going to need it." With that, the man hung up on Liz, so she ended the call on her end and placed the phone on the end table beside her. She glanced up at the sky and smiled. John was going to pay for filing for divorce, more than he ever thought he would.

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People often asked him if fulfilling these wishes ever depressed him. John could understand why they asked such a question because the Make-A-Wish kids were most of the time suffering from life-threatening illnesses. To John, fulfilling wishes was probably the best thing about being a WWE superstar. There was nothing that could uplift his mood more than making a child's life better and making them forget about their troubles if only for a few minutes.

Noticing that the SUV he had been riding in had just arrived at the airport, John moved to collect his shoulder bag before opening the door. The driver already had the trunk open and was working on getting his luggage out. John went over and helped him, which seemed to shock the poor man a great deal.

"Hey, thanks for driving me around today. You were a very good driver." John tipped his baseball hat at the driver and flashed him a dimpled smile before turning and walking into the airport.

The airport wasn't as busy as it could have been since it was getting into the late night hours, but John liked it that way. He loved his fans, but sometimes it was nice just to be able to get checked in and through security without being surrounded by fans wanting pictures and autographs. He needed time to breathe sometimes.

He checked in and was through security in no time. All he had to do now was find his gate and then he could catch a few minutes of sleep before having to board the plane. After about ten minutes, finding his gate was proving to be a bit of a problem. After being with the WWE for ten years, he was familiar with most of the airports in the country and some abroad, but he was having issues finding this gate. Tried and frustrated, John decided that he could part with his man card and stopped to ask an airport employee for directions.

The woman looked confused for a moment and thought for an even longer moment before realization dawned on her face. "It's been a while since I've seen anyone sent to this gate, if it can even be called that. I'm not even going to try and describe how to get there, so please follow me." John was a little unsettled by this statement. How were they sending him to Japan, by pigeon?

John silently followed after the woman and after going down many flights of stairs and twisting corridors, John honestly wondered if she was taking him to Narnia. He was proven wrong, though, when she stopped in front of a rickety looking door that had his gate number sloppily painted on it. "Good luck and have a nice flight." was all the woman said to him before leaving.

Staring at the door for a few moments, John wondered if she had somehow made a mistake. This door looked like it led to a broom closet, not a waiting area to board a flight. Gathering his courage John opened the door and surveyed what was inside. It was honestly about the size of a broom closet but had another door opposite the one John had just opened. From the window at the top of that door, John saw that it lead straight onto the tarmac. Looking around the small room, John took in the two small benches that were on opposite walls. One was occupied by a man with a scruffy beard, a dirty, torn Cubs baseball cap, and Beats headphones covering his ears. CM Punk.

John stood silently in the doorway, not moving a muscle. Everyone on the roster knew not to put him and Punk in the same closed space together unless they wanted world war three. Punk HATED John Cena with the passion of a thousand suns and took every opportunity that was afforded him to let John know that fact. Not one to take being treated as such, John would retort back, thus starting an argument of epic proportions.

There was one thing that no one on the roster knew, however. John Cena wanted Punk. Not his blood, not his painful death, but all of him; his luscious body, intelligent mind, and barbed personality. Some might call John's feelings pure masochism, but he thought of it as infatuation.

One of the reasons, a very small reason, why he had filed for divorce from Liz was Punk. He knew he would never have a chance with Punk, but his obsession distracted him and had harmed his marriage. It wasn't fair to Liz to have her husband be lusting and pining after someone else, especially another man. Liz didn't know about his feelings toward Punk, but she had often accused him of having someone on the side. He wished.

John was pulled from his thoughts when Punk looked up from his comic book. At first, his expression was shocked, but then his extreme dislike took over and he leveled a scathing look at John. "What the hell are you doing here?" Punk all but growled at John.

If someone could spontaneously combust from a look, John felt like he would be engulfed in flames at this moment. "This is my flight. What the hell are you doing here?" John dropped his bags in front of the other bench and then sat down.

Punk narrowed his eyes and his lip curled in an ugly sneer. "Wonderful. I have to deal with your sunny personality for 12 fucking hours. They fucking over sold the plane and the businessman who had also bought my seat got here before me. So, they stuck me on this flight."

"Gotta love airlines these days." John said absently as he moved his baseball cap lower on his forehead to hide his smile. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he relished the few moments that he could have with Punk alone, even if it meant being insulted the entire time.

All conversation halted at that point and the two men sat in silence. Punk continued to read his comic book and John messed with his phone. The room was completely silent except for the almost silent breaths of the two men. Not use to such silence, John began to fidget and became anxious.

Breaking the silence, John asked, "So what are you reading?"

Punk looked up at John with an annoyed look on his face. "Don't even try to make small talk, Cena. You just sit there like a good little boy scout and be quiet." Punk turned his attention back to his comic book.

'Well, I got told, didn't I?' John thought to himself. He had never understood why Punk hated him so much. He had always been nice and cordial with Punk when they had first met and then Punk had seemed to develop a deep hatred for him. Their relationship, if one could even refer to it as such, had deteriorated from there. What had he ever done that was so bad to Punk?

"Why do you hate me so much?" John couldn't keep the question from spilling from his lips. From the speed with which Punk snapped his head up to his surprised expression, John could tell that he had caught Punk off-guard.

Punk stared at John for a few seconds before he opened his mouth to reply. He was interrupted before any words could come out of his mouth, however. A man wearing a captain's uniform opened the door that lead onto the tarmac. "Hey, we're ready for you guys to board if you'll follow me please."

Both John and Punk gathered their things and followed the man. 'Punk may have gotten out of answering my question this time, but he'll have to answer eventually.' John thought to himself as he walked out of the little room. Punk was walking in front of him and John couldn't help but check him out from behind. He wasn't given many opportunities to do so and he wasn't passing this one up.

Punk was wearing his usual loose fitting jeans that made his ass look nonexistent, but John knew it was there. Punk's ring gear made sure that he was well aware of how perky and round and luscious Punk's ass was. There were many times in the last year that John had to sit on his hands while Punk was in grabbing distance to keep him for copping a feel. He honestly didn't understand why a man that made as much as Punk did, still wore jeans that looked he had bought them in high school. John supposed that it was beneficial to his sanity that Punk did wear those old jeans.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Punk's voice pulled John's attention from his ass to the sight that was in front of him. Upon taking in the "plane" in front of him, John had to reiterate Punk's statement. They were sending them to Japan by pigeon after all.

The plane was a jet, but it was very small. John quickly counted how many windows it had and he only counted 10. How in the hell was this plane going to be able to make a 12 hour flight. It looked like it only had a 2 to 3 hour range. "Umm, there must be some mistake. We're supposed to be flying to Japan." John said to the captain.

Not missing a beat, the pilot explained. "This is a global private jet, meaning it is a very small aircraft, but it has a large enough range to fly to Japan or Europe from the United States." With that, the pilot took both John and Punk's bags and placed them in a small compartment underneath the plane. "You can board now. We'll be leaving shortly. The co-pilot and I have to finish some last minute checks and then we'll be on our way. The flight attendant was not able to make this flight, but help yourselves to any beverages and snacks." The pilot dashed up the few stairs that lead into the plane and disappeared into the cockpit.

John looked over at Punk, who looked over at him and from the look on his face; John could tell that the pilot had convinced Punk of the range of the aircraft about as much as he had John. Not at all.

Both men hesitated for a moment before John moved to board the plane. His logic was that the WWE wouldn't put their two biggest moneymakers on a plane that wasn't safe and they had never put him in harm's way before. Punk seemed to come to the same conclusion when he followed John onto the plane.

The plane looked even smaller from the inside. There was a small kitchenette area where John assumed the aforementioned beverages and snacks were. The plane looked like it could comfortably sit 10 people and uncomfortably 15. The chairs were large, nicely padded, and covered tan leather. John sat down in one of the seats at the front so he had room to spread out, but Punk moved past him and sat at the very back of the plane. 'Typical' John thought to himself.

John watched out of the corner of his eye as Punk settled down into his seat and placed his headphones on his head. If John listened hard enough, he could hear the faintest sound of heavy metal music. Punk put his seat back and then returned to his comic.

John waited until after takeoff to get as comfortable as Punk. The takeoff itself went surprisingly smooth which helped to assuage John's lingering distrust of the plane's ability to fly.

John settled into the flight about a half an hour into it and began to feel sleepy. Not seeing any reason why he shouldn't pass the 12 hours it took to fly to Japan by sleeping, John closed his eyes and quickly dosed off.

About six hours later, John was awakened by the sound of violent retching. Startled, John looked behind him and saw that the co-pilot was bent over the small kitchenette sink vomiting. John quickly stood up and went over to him to try and help or do something for the poor guy. John only had time to touch his shoulder before the man collapsed as his feet and started convulsing.

"Oh my God! Shit!" John said in total shock. He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. Sure, he had his degree in exercise physiology, but that did nothing to prepare him for this situation. He needed help.

"Punk, get your ass over here!" John thundered at Punk. He made sure that he was loud enough so that Punk could hear him over his music. John heard a couple of loud stomps before he looked up into Punk's red-rimmed eyes. He must have been asleep, too.

"What the fuck do… Oh Shit! What the hell is wrong with him?" Punk said as he looked down at the co-pilot, who was now foaming at the mouth.

"I don't know. Help me get him into a chair." Both men hauled the co-pilot off the floor and into a chair that was across the aisle from John's seat. John looked over at Punk, who had a very concerned look on his face.

Punk turned his head and looked John in the eye, "I'm going to go check on the pilot and see if I can find out what's wrong with him. He's needs medical attention soon, so I hope there's someplace close were we can land." Punk left John with the sick, probably dying co-pilot.

Meer seconds later, John heard Punk scream, "Oh fuck!" from the cockpit. John left the co-pilot, there wasn't anything he could do for him, and ran into the cockpit. What he saw made liquid terror run down his spine. The pilot was already dead and it looked like he had died the same way the co-pilot was. He and Punk were on a tiny plane in the middle of the Pacific Ocean without anyone to fly said plane. How could this get any worse?

The fates seemed to have heard John's thoughts because at that moment, an explosion went off toward the back of the plane. This caused the aircraft to violently tumble in the air. The plane started to nose dive because the autopilot had shut off or was broken by the explosion.

Acting quickly, Punk grabbed the controls and pulled up hard. The aircraft protested before righting itself. John sighed in relief that emanate death had been temporarily averted. Punk turned to John with a terrified look on his face, "Go check on the co-pilot and I'll call for help." John turned and did as he was told.

The co-pilot was already dead when John checked on him. They were so fucked. Going back into the cockpit, John saw Punk throw the radio headset away from him. Looking John in the eye Punk said, "We don't have any form of communication left. The explosion must have taken it out and I'm losing power in both engines. We're not going to stay up for long. You best strap in a brace yourself.

Before John even had a chance to react, there was another explosion, which sent the plane into barrel rolls. John was knocked to the floor behind the chair Punk was sitting in. He had hit his head on the way down and the last image he had before blacking out was Punk struggling to regain control of the aircraft. John had never seen him so afraid before. His eyes were wide and he was gritting his teeth. John's last thought was that he wished he could make all his fears go away.

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The first thing John noticed when he came to was that he was wet. The sun was also bright behind his eye lids and it made his head hurt even worse. Did he get drunk last night? John opened his eyes and as soon as he saw his surroundings, it all came back to him.

The place had crashed, that was obvious, but how had he survived? John noticed that the water was tinged pink around him. Placing two fingers on the spot on his head that hurt the most, John pulled them away and saw that there was blood on them, but not enough to make the water pink.

Punk. Where was Punk? John thought to himself. John had come to facing the passenger area of the aircraft, so he had to turn his body in order to see the rest of the cockpit. Punk was in the seat John had last saw him and his eyes weren't open. Jumping to his feet, John rushed over to Punk to check and see if he was still alive. John's knees almost gave out from powerful relief when he felt Punk's carotid artery pulse beneath his fingers. John sent up a silent prayer, grateful that Punk was still with him.

John checked Punk over and that's when he noticed the source of all the blood. Punk had a huge gash on his left side that went diagonally from his bellybutton, across his left hip, and down to the middle of his outer thigh. "Shit," John said before taking off his shirt and pressing it to the wound. He heard Punk moan in pain at the pressure. John knew that Punk had already lost a lot of blood from the look of the water around them and he was losing more.

He knew that if he couldn't stop the bleeding, Punk wouldn't survive. "Don't you fucking die on me, Punk! I know you hate being around me, but I need you." John dissolved into tears as he applied more pressure to Punk's wound.

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Appling pressure to Punk's wound helped stop the bleeding. After a few minutes the blood flow had slowed down and John removed his shirt so he could get a better look at the wound. He had never seen a gash this long before, but luckily for Punk ,it wasn't as deep as it could have been. John guessed that it was only about three quarters of an inch deep. This meant that John could see the white bone of Punk's hip. He needed to get him out of this plane so he could treat the wound.

John hesitated before leaving Punk in the cockpit. He was pretty sure that his blood had clotted enough that Punk wouldn't start bleeding again if there wasn't pressure on the wound. Just to be safe though, John worked quickly.

Opening the door of the plane, John looked out and took everything in. They were on a beach on some island. It didn't look like there were any people here. The sand was pristine and lacked any tracks that would confirm human presence on this island. John didn't see any signs of civilization, like buildings or smoke either. This wasn't good.

Pushing his fears to the back of his mind, John focused on the task at hand. He put down the stairs and made sure they were steady before going back to the cockpit to retrieve Punk. As carefully as he could, John picked Punk up into his arms and slowly walked out of the cockpit and toward the door. The stairs were tricky to navigate because they were so narrow. It would have helped if he could have put Punk over one or both of his shoulders, but he was afraid that it would cause the bleeding to start again.

Upon reaching the ground, John looked around for someplace shaded to lay Punk down. There was a small tree on the beach that seemed like it would keep the sun off of him, so John walked over and gently placed Punk underneath it. John thought that Punk would have stirred by now, but he was still out cold.

John checked the wound again to confirm that it hadn't began to bleed again before going back into the plane for the first-aid kit. He found it in one of the cabinets of the kitchenette. He didn't look at it too long before going back to Punk. Kneeling down beside Punk, John thought about how he was going to go about this.

Punk's wound was long and stretched from just below his belly button all the way across his hip and partly down his thigh. He knew that he was going to have to take Punk's ripped jeans and underwear off, but he cringed when he imagined Punk's reaction to this when he woke up. Maybe if he worked fast cleaning the wound and bandaging it, he could get Punk's suitcase from the plane and put him in a pair of shorts before he woke up. Deciding that would be the best course of action, John opened the first-aid kit.

All things considered, it was a nice first-aid kit. It had a small pair of scissors, which John used to cut Punk's jeans and underwear off. Silently laughing to himself, John mused that he had hoped seeing Punk naked for the first time had been a better situation. After that was done, John looked through the kit for something to clean Punk's wound out with. He found a bottle of antiseptic, but noticed that it was both open and passed it's use by date. He couldn't trust it to be sterile. "Shit," John said to himself before looking through the kit again to see if there was another bottle or something different he could use. There wasn't.

He knew that he had to clean Punk's wound or he would get a horrible infection and possibly die, but he didn't have anything sterile to clean it with. John thought back to his Boy Scout survival training and what he had learned in his anatomy and physiology series that he taken in college. The Boy Scout training didn't help at the moment but he remembered something his anatomy professor had once said during a lecture.

John cringed when he realized what he was going to have to do, but it was better than just letting the wound fester and get infected. His professor had said that soldiers during World War II had done this on the battle field and it had saved lives, but it didn't make it any less disgusting to John.

Unzipping his pants, John took himself out and tried to relax. It finally worked and John used his own urine to clean Punk's wound out. Once that was done, John tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped them back up. Taking some antibacterial ointment, John put some into Punk's wound before using the dressings in the kit to cover the wound. After taping the dressings into place, John decided that that was all he could do for Punk for now, so he went back to the plane and started to salvage as much stuff as he could.

He first figured out how to open the baggage compartment under the plane and then took his own and Punk's luggage out of the plane. He placed the bags next to Punk and then opened Punk's suitcase and looked for a pair of athletic shorts that he could easily slip onto him without disturbing the wound too much. He found a black pair that would work and he put them on Punk before going back to the plane.

For the first time, John actually noticed how level the plane was. It looked as if it had been landed instead of crashing. Sure it was a crash landing, but it was a landing. The plane was a few yards from the ocean on the beach, but John could see that it had slid a ways before coming to stop at its resting place. Did Punk land the plane? John decided that he would ask him as soon as he woke up.

The first thing that John did before salvaging the rest of the things from the plane, was bury both the pilot and co-pilot before they both started to stink and make he and Punk sick. He used a few large rocks to mark their graves and then worked on emptying the plane. He gathered everything that had been in the kitchenette area. There was more alcohol than food and almost face palmed himself when he realized he could have used the alcohol to clean Punk's wound, but then again, would Punk have alcohol or urine put on his body? After seeing Punk's reaction to Jericho dumping Jack Daniels all over him, John thought that Punk would prefer what he had done.

There wasn't much in the way of food. Just packs of trail mix and crackers but no meals or anything substantial like that. He did find two dozen bottles of water, which he could make last for a week or two between he and Punk.

John found about fifteen pillows and blankets, which would probably be very helpful. That was all that was in the plane, but it was so much better than nothing.

After placing his findings around Punk, John checked on him and saw that he was still passed out. Not wanting to sit and be still, John went exploring the area near the beach. That's when he found a better shelter than the plane.

He almost didn't spot it there was so much foliage that had grown up around it. It was a small cabin, probably from the World War II ear. Luckily, the inside of the cabin looked just as it did around seventy years ago. There were two cots, a table, two chairs, a wood stove, pots, pans, a broken radio, blankets, an ax, and a rifle. John thanked his lucky stars. All he had to worry about now was finding food and a fresh water source. The gun would hopefully make it easier to get food, as long as there were animals on the island.

John quickly walked back to the beach. Punk was still passed out, so he picked him up as he had earlier and carried him to the cabin and laid him down on one of the cots. John then made trips until everything he had salvaged from the plane was safely put away in the cabin.

Grabbing the gun and sitting down at the table, John checked the gun over to make sure it still work. It was in amazing condition, but needed a good cleaning. John looked around until he found a cleaning kit and then carefully started cleaning the gun. After he was done, he put some ammunition in his pocket and then left the cabin to find water and maybe food along the way.

After walking around for about a half an hour, John heard running water. He followed the sound until he came upon a small waterfall and pond. Boy Scout training had told him that running water was usually safe as long as it was fresh. Kneeling down, John sampled the water and found that it was safe for them to drink. John walked back to the cabin to check on Punk.

He was just stirring when John entered the cabin, so he sat down and waited for Punk to come to. Punk opened his slowly before they were opened wide in surprise. John watched as he tried to sit up, but he stopped from the sharp pain. John thought it was time to make his presence known.

"I was wondering when you would finally come to." John said. Punk whipped his head to the side to look at John.

"What the hall happened?" Punk said before trying to sit up again. It was hard to ignore the pain but he managed it.

John quickly got out of his seat to help Punk sit up. When Punk leveled a nasty look at him, John stopped. "You are going to need help. You have a nasty gash and I don't want it to reopen." John said before putting more pillows behind Punk so he was in a more upright position.

John's words seemed to make everything come rushing back to Punk. "Oh, we crashed didn't we? The windshield broke on impact and part of it cut me." Punk lifted the blanket off of him and then looked down. He saw the bandage by his bellybutton, but then it disappeared into his shorts. He pulled them down as far as he could without revealing his stuff to John, but the bandage still went on. Punk didn't want to think about who had patched him up and put him in these shorts.

John broke the silence between them. "Did you land the plane? It came down remarkably level. It probably saved our lives."

Punk pulled his shorts back into place and then moved the blanket back on top of him before nodding to John. "I have my pilot's license. I had many odd jobs to support myself while I was in the indies and one of them was crop dusting. Those were just prop planes, though. I had never flown a jet before, but I must have done okay since we're still in one piece." Punk noticed that he felt a little lightheaded.

John seemed to notice because he removed some of the pillows behind Punk so he more horizontal. He thought that he should explain to Punk what he had done while he was passed out since Punk had done the same for him. "You had lost a lot of blood by the time I woke up and you were losing more. It took a while to stop the blood, but it finally did. I had to cut off your jeans to clean and dress your wound. I salvaged what I could from the plane, but we have clothes, water, shelter, and some other stuff, but I gotta say that we are some lucky sons of bitches. We were lucky to survive the crash, but then to have so many resources to live on is pretty insane."

Punk was fading fast. He was so tired. He couldn't remember being able to sleep this much his entire life. "Luck is for losers, Cena," was all Punk was able to say before he slipped into sleep.

John smiled at him before he shook his head. He didn't care what Punk thought. He had never heard of people surviving a crash over the Pacific in that small of a plane. And then they had all the resources to live on while they waited for help to come. That sparked something in John.

Their plane should have landed hours ago in Japan, so people would soon start looking for them. He needed to do something so they would be able see that they were on this island. John looked outside, but saw that the sky was already darkening. John knew that they wouldn't search for them in the dark and John didn't want to be outside in the dark either. He didn't know what kind of trouble lurked in the night on this island, but he didn't want to find out either.

Deciding to make some sort of sign tomorrow, John took off his dirty jeans and then laid down on the other cot. He put a pillow behind his head and brought the blanket up to his waist before slinging his left arm behind his head. This was the first day and night of their isolated island life. John wondered how many more days they would have to stay on this island before being rescued while he was falling asleep.

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A short man paced back and forth in his hotel room. He had just gotten the worst call he had ever received in his life.

The plane that carried the two biggest moneymakers for the WWE had gone missing. Translation: Vince was going to shit kittens and fire him if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he'd be swimming with the fishes by tomorrow morning.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." The poor man swore over and over, banging his fist against his forehead. How was he supposed to know this would happen? He had worked really hard to find a flight to Tokyo on such short notice and now Cena and Punk were probably very dead somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. He was so fucked.

He knew he had to tell Vince, but he was delaying doing so because he liked being alive. He knew that Vince would soon begin to wonder where the two wrestlers were very soon because they had meeting with him to talk about their schedule for the tour.

Knowing that he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer, the road agent slowly plodded his way toward Vince McMahon's room. He gently knocked on the door and held his breath. His heart sank when he heard the command to enter. He had been hoping that Vince wouldn't be in his room.

Slowly opening the door, the road agent hesitantly walked into the room. He saw Vince sitting at a desk typing on his laptop.

"What can I do for you, Pappas?" Vince always called him by his last name.

"Uh, well, Sir. I have some bad news about John Cena and CM Punk."

Vince cut him off before he could continue. "Aw, fuck! They got in a fight in the airport and got arrested, didn't they? I told you those two can't be in the same room together alone. What jail are they in and how much bail do I have to post?" Vince said as he got up out of his seat and reached for his suit jacket.

Pappas swallowed hard. Shit, he wished they were rotting in jail right now instead of at the bottom of the ocean. You can't bail people out of Davy Jones' locker, not even Johnny Depp. "Umm, sir. I don't really know how to say this, but their plane never landed." Pappas felt the blood drain from his face, dreading how Vince was going to react to what he had just relayed to him.

"What the hell to you mean, boy?" Vince turned toward him with a stern look.

Pappas had to swallow harshly several times to keep the contents of his stomach from decorating the carpet at Vince's feet. "Their plane is missing. They should have landed hours ago."

Vince's face was stoic for a few second before it bloomed into a smile and let out a booming laugh. "Alright, where's the camera? I'm getting Punk'd, aren't I? I was wondering when Cena would get me back for doing it to him." Vince looked around his hotel room, searching for hidden cameras.

"Sir, I'm being completely serious. Their plane disappeared from radar around six this morning and it should have landed at noon. It's not looking good." Pappas watched as Vince's face fell and paled to a shade of white.

"Oh, shit! Oh, God!" Vince placed both his hands in his hair and proceeded to pull his hair out. He paced back and forth for a few moments before turning back to Pappas with a hopeful look on his face. "They aren't dead. Get ahold of the U.S coastguard. Tell them what is going on and give the coordinates of where the plane was last seen on radar. I'll call Randy and tell him to get steroidal ass over here. I don't care if he is suspended. We don't have a roster without a main eventer. Shit! I'll have to call Jericho back, too. After you call the coastguard, call creative and tell them to meet me as soon as possible. It's going to be okay. We can handle this." Vince seemed to say these words to reassure himself instead of Pappas.

Slipping out of Vince's room unnoticed, Pappas thanked his lucky stars to be leaving with both his job and his life still intact. He went back to his room and worked on the orders that Vince had given him. He knew that John and Punk were dead. He had seen the plane. Vince hadn't. No one would survive a crash in the Pacific Ocean in that plane. He supposed that stranger things have happened, though.

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The first thing John noticed when he woke up was the aches running through his body. These cots did not make for a very restful or comfortable night's sleep. The second thing that he noticed was the pained groans and shuffled footsteps coming from the doorway of the small cabin.

Dragging himself out of his cot, John swung his legs over the side and looked at what was making the noise. It was Punk.

John watched as he leaned heavily against the door frame, clearly in a lot of pain. He had his other hand placed on his injured hip. He face was drawn into a pain-filled expression as he tried to make his way back to his own cot. Punk had not yet noticed that John was awake and watching his progress.

When Punk finally reached his cot, he attempted to sit down. He hissed through his teeth from the pain of the movement pulling at his wound. After he was seated, he rested for a moment to let the pain abate before trying to lie back down. He finally looked over at John. Punk's face showed that he was surprised that he was awake and watching him.

John looked at Punk with disapproval in his eyes. "You shouldn't be getting up and moving around. You could reopen your wound doing that."

Punk propped himself on his elbows and leveled a nasty look at John. "Well, I'm sorry you don't approve, but I had to piss." Punk said haughtily.

John rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. "You could have woken me up and I would have helped you."

Turning over onto his uninjured side, Punk put his back to Cena. "I don't need help taking a piss, Cena. I'm a big boy now." Punk sang his last sentence to the tune of the Pull-Ups jingle.

At those words, John's mind took an unplanned detour to the gutter. He knew that Punk didn't mean it that way, but John did know how much of a big boy Punk was after having seen him very naked while tending his wound. John smiled wickedly to himself before shaking his head to get it out of the gutter.

John stood up and headed toward the door, not bothering to put his jeans on over his black boxer-briefs. "Whatever, Punk. It's your body and your life." He said before he stepped outside. He didn't mean what he said. John didn't want Punk to aggravate his injury further and risk an infection. Without any antibiotics, an infection could be a death sentence for Punk and John liked him too much to watch him die.

Walking a little ways from the cabin and into the forest to find a place to pee, John wondered why he even liked Punk.

The obvious answer was Punk's mouthwatering attractiveness, but the way he treated John should have scared him off, but he still fantasized about Punk's luscious thighs wrapped tightly around his waist as he thrust home. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment or a straight-up masochist, but he didn't want Punk to die before he had a chance to live out all his fantasies. Maybe he and Punk could work out their differences so Punk could be John's forever. John scoffed to himself at that thought. Not a snowball's chance in Hell.

Walking back into the cabin, John looked over at Punk lying in his cot. His eyes were closed, but John knew that he wasn't sleeping. Gently nudging Punk on the shoulder with two of his fingers, John asked, "Are you hungry?"

Punk replied without even opening his eyes. "No, now leave me alone." He said quite testily.

John knew he was in pain, but he didn't have to be such a bitch toward him. He probably had saved his life for Christ's sake. John couldn't hold the anger and frustration from polluting his voice as he replied, "Well, you're going to eat something and drink some water. You lost a shitload of blood yesterday and your body needs something to regenerate it."

Grabbing a packet of trail-mix and a bottle of water out of one of the cabinets, John dropped them on Punk before grabbing some for himself. From Punk's pained hiss, John knew the water bottle had landed on his injury. Good, served him right. He was only trying to keep him healthy.

John was caught off-guard when the water bottle that he had just handed to Punk collided with his is muscled back. Turning around, John glared at Punk, who was glaring right back at him. "Fuck you, Cena." Punk bit out in a low voice.

John felt a shiver of anger roll down his spine. He had to take a minute to keep himself from lunging toward Punk and punching him in the face. John couldn't stop himself from saying the angry words, though. "You know what, Punk? I don't want to be here anymore than you do, but at least I'm trying to make the best of it. If you just want to roll over and die, that's fine with me. It's just one less person I have to worry about." John regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth because most of them were lies. Punk honestly didn't seem to care.

"I'm not rolling over and dying, you fuck face. I don't feel like putting something in my stomach would be a good idea right now," That comment had John a little worried. "If I hadn't gotten injured saving our sorry asses, I would have killed you already and saved your body so I could live off it while I waited to be rescued. Rest assured, Cena, as soon as I feel better, I will gut you like a pig."

John laughed sarcastically. "Really, you think you can take me down? We're not in the wrestling ring, Punk. Natural Selection is the survival of the fittest and I think I'm the most fit on this island, not your skinny fatass!" John regretted his last words when he saw hurt flash through Punk's green eyes. He knew how self-conscious Punk was about his uncut physique.

Punk laid back down on his cot and rolled onto his good side facing the wall. "Fuck you, Cena. Fuck you." Punk said quietly.

John took this as his cue to leave Punk by himself for a while. He wasn't helping him feel better by calling him a skinny fatass.

Walking away from the cabin and toward the small waterfall he had found the other day, John wondered about his relationship with Punk, if there even was one. This was the first time he had lost his temper completely when arguing with Punk. He had never before used such personal or hurtful insults before. Sure, Punk had used them on him, but Punk didn't feel the same way that John felt about him.

John reached the edge of the pond that the waterfall dumped into. He sat down and pulled his knees up to his chest and then wrapped his large arms around them. There was no way they would both survive this situation if they couldn't talk to each other without arguing. And John would never have a chance to win him over.

The fatigue from not getting restful sleep the night before, the aches from sleeping on the cot, and the worry about ever being found compounded with his hopeless relationship with Punk caused tears to sting John's eyes. He rubbed his eyes harshly to keep the tears from falling.

John was about to stand up when he heard a stick snap behind him. Without looking behind him, John said, "I'm sorry I said that, Punk. I didn't mean it." The response was not one John was expecting.

The hair on John's neck stood on end when he heard a low growl come from behind him. That's when he realized that he had stormed out of the cabin without the gun. Oh shit.

Chapter Text

"And that's your seven day forecast. In breaking news, two of World Wrestling's Entertainment's top sports entertainers, the beloved John Cena and the rebellious CM Punk, have been involved in a plane crash on their way to a wrestling tour in Japan. The plane they were on disappeared from radar about six hours into the twelve hour flight to Japan and haven't been seen or heard from since. The United States Coastguard and Japanese officials have begun a search for the two missing men, but with so little data on the crash, Coastguard officials have likened the search to trying to find a needle in a haystack, if the men are even still alive. We'll keep you informed on any new information. Now, we go to South Carolina for an interesting story…."

Liz Cena happily sipped her morning coffee as she watched the best news she had ever seen in her life. John was officially out of her life forever but not his oodles and oodles of money.

Hearing her cellphone ring, Liz blindly reached for her cellphone and looked to see who was calling. It was her partner in crime. "You are such a genius, I could kiss you right now." She said, beaming into the phone.

"I think I'll pass. When am I going to get my money?" The man's voice was gruff and serious.

Liz let out a bark of laughter. "Now you know that I'm going to have the play the grieving widow for a few weeks before I have him declared legally dead, which will give me access to his money. I'll pay you as soon as I get the money."

"You better or you'll regret it." The man said threateningly.

She just rolled her eyes. "Really? What can you do to me, that wouldn't also hurt yourself?"

The man growled into the phone. She was so sure of herself, but didn't realize how easy it is to fall from such heights. "Oh, you would be surprised. Just get me my money." With that the man hung up on her.

Liz harrumphed to herself and rolled her eyes again. His empty threats didn't scare her. She had him by the balls and he knew it. She really didn't need to pay him because the job was already done and what could he do to make her pay him? Absolutely nothing. Liz smiled to herself and then turned her attention back to the morning news and her coffee cup.

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Punk was still shaking in anger minutes after Cena had left the cabin. Who was he to call him a skinny fatass? He works out so much harder than Cena and watches everything he puts into his body. Punk had seen the proof in Cena's fridge that he didn't watch everything he ate. The Ben and Jerry's ice cream in Cena's freezer had stared back at him almost tauntingly. That was the moment that his dislike for Cena had turned into full-blown hate.

Admittedly, hating someone over the fact that they could eat ice cream and still look utterly fuckable was a little petty, but the ice cream was just the straw that broke the camel's back. There were a lot more reasons why Punk hated Cena.

When Punk first came to the WWE, he had his best friend Colt with him. For some reason, Cena had treated Colt like he was below him. Cena basically ignored Colt most of the time, but when he didn't, he glared at him almost as if he wanted him to burst into flames. Colt had not done anything to Cena to warrant such treatment and the strong loyalty that Punk had for his friend caused dislike to form toward Cena.

After a while, Colt was released from the WWE and Punk was left all by himself. He had been all alone and he had been easily persuaded to come to a party on Cena's bus. That's where he had seen the fridge and learned more interesting information. John had lobbied for Colt's release.

He had been so angry and he still was that Cena had done that for no reason. Colt had never been anything but nice to Cena even when he was being treated nastily.

Punk honestly thought that he had felt threatened by Colt. Colt had more wrestling talent in this little toe than Cena had in his whole body. If Colt had been given the opportunity, Punk knew that he would have replaced Cena as the top face in the company and Cena didn't want to give up his spotlight.

Every time Punk was reminded that Colt still had to struggle sometimes to make ends meet, his hate for Cena only deepened. He wanted his friend to have the same success he enjoyed and not have to worry about making rent or paying his car payment. It was all Cena's fault.

Punk's thoughts were interrupted by his stomach growling loudly at him. He was hungry, but he didn't want to move to go get food. Every time he sat up or walked, Punk's wound seared in pain. It wasn't like any pain he had ever felt before. The scab over the wound pulled painfully with every movement of his body and stung painfully like a paper cut but a million times more intense. In short, he was in the most pain he had ever been in in his entire life, even more than when he had fractured his skull.

All of a sudden, he was filled with a strong feeling of anxiety and dread. It was like that feeling that you get when you hear screeching tires and look in the rearview mirror to see that you're about to be hit. He didn't understand why he was feeling this way, but something was wrong, very wrong.

Ignoring his pain, Punk slowly sat up and looked around the cabin. Everything looked fine until his eyes landed on the gun propped up against the doorframe. That dumbass had forgotten the gun and who knows where the hell he went off to on this stupid island.

"Shit," Punk said under his breath. In his current condition, he wouldn't be able to survive this island without John. That hurt his pride in the deepest way, but it was very true. The anxious feeling only became more intense. Punk felt like he was going to jump out of his skin if he didn't get up and do something soon.

Not even thinking, Punk stood up and walked over to the door. Looking out, he searched for any sign of John nearby, but came up with nothing. His heart was pounding in his throat and his stomach felt as if it dropped out of his body. Something felt wrong. What? He didn't really know.

Acting purely on instinct, Punk picked up the gun and walked out of the cabin. His hip protested in pain, but he ignored it. Not knowing in which direction to head, Punk just walked where he felt led to. He had been walking for a while when he heard a deep growl and then he saw John sitting by a pond.

Punk was about to say something to John when he heard another growl. He stopped himself and looked around for the source of the growling. Upon finding the source, Punk felt his blood run cold.

A large cat, about the size of a panther, was crouched behind John; looking like it was ready to pounce.

Punk watched in horror as John slowly turned his head and met eyes with his. Punk saw surprise flash through John's eyes before terror took over again. John held his eyes and tried to communicate through his eyes, but Punk wasn't getting it. Another growl drew Punk's eyes from John's. The cat was slowing inching its way toward John. This was bad and it just kept getting worse.

Punk had a huge decision to make. Should he let John die from being mauled by a cat and be rid of him forever and possibly die himself without John's help or kill the cat and save John and possibly himself. Punk chewed on his lip ring and shifted his gaze to meet John's. When their eyes met, he realized that he couldn't let John die. He didn't know why but he couldn't let it happen.

Picking up the gun, Punk's side protested in stinging pain. He stifled the pained groan and leveled the rifle at the advancing cat. Aiming for the skull, Punk squeezed the trigger and the gun fired with a loud report. The cat dropped dead almost instantly.

Punk didn't realize he had been so tense and frightened until he relaxed. His knees gave out right from under him and he collapsed in a heap. His breathe was coming in short, rapid pants as he pressed his hand into his hip to try and lessen the pain.

As soon as Punk shot the cat, John jumped up from where he had been sitting and rushed toward Punk. Placing his hands on Punk's shivering shoulders, John asked if he was okay. Punk looked up at John with a blank stare, his breath still coming in quick pants.

Overcome with relief and thanks, John dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms tightly around Punk. He relished the feeling of touching Punk for the first time outside of the ring for a few moments, but then he felt Punk's muscle tense beneath his arms.

Feeling John's hot breath against his neck caused Punk to come back to himself. It felt nice being in John's arms, more than he wanted to admit. That thought caused Punk to tense in shock.

John eased him out of his hold and stood up. He extended his hand out for Punk to take to be able to get off the ground. With his wound, Punk would probably have difficulty getting up. His thought was confirmed when Punk refused his offered hand and struggled to his feet on his own.

Upon seeing Punk raise the gun and shoot the cat, John thought that Punk had forgiven and accepted him, but from the nasty sneer on Punk's face, John could see that he had been very wrong. Nothing had changed between them, as much as he wanted it to be different.

Disappointment flooded through John's body and he had to turn back toward the pond to keep Punk from seeing it in his eyes. Straightening his shoulders, John got back to business. "I'm going to grab the cat and bring it back to the cabin. If we can find a way to preserve the meat, we'll be able to live off of it for a week or two." John walked over to the carcass and hoisted it over his shoulders. He walked past Punk, turned and then raised an eyebrow as if to ask if he was coming.

Gingerly to save himself some pain from his injury, Punk picked up the rifle from where it had dropped when he collapsed and followed John back to the cabin. He couldn't believe that ogre! He had just saved him from a very painful death and had he even thanked him? Of course not! He was John freaking Cena, so of course he would be obligated to save his stupid ass. And then he had the audacity to put his grubby hands on him! He should have let that poor cat eat him.

Punk was pulled from his seething thoughts when they arrived back at the cabin. John hauled the carcass off of his shoulders and placed it on the ground before sitting down in front of it. He turned his head back to Punk and asked, "Will you get me a knife so I can dress this thing?"

Grunting an affirmative, Punk limped into the cabin and grabbed a knife from the cabinet. He had to fight the urge to throw it at John and hope it hit him straight in the heart.

As soon as John had knife in hand, he opened the cat and began to pull out all kinds of nasty things that Punk did not want, nor need, to see. He felt his stomach twist painfully at the sight.

Retreating to the cabin, Punk grabbed a bottle of water and then carefully sat down on his cot. His wound was stinging like a bitch. Pulling his shorts down, Punk saw little dots of red on his bandages, heralding that his wound had reopened. 'Oh well, it's not a big deal,' Punk thought to himself before taking a sip of water from the bottle.

John entered the cabin a few minutes later covered in blood and other unmentionables. He smelled, too.

Punk wrinkled his nose as he watched John take one of the blankets out of a cabinet and use it to wipe off his hands. He then grabbed another and his toiletries from his suitcase before turning to leave.

"I'm going to go and get cleaned up. I need to take the gun with me, so please stay in the cabin until I get back. When I come back, we'll find some way to make a sign or something so anyone who passes knows that we're here."

Punk rolled his eyes and grumpily said, "Yes, mother," as John walked out of the cabin.

John heard it, but he chose not to acknowledge the comment. He had already flown off the handle once today and he had enough damage control to deal with from that outburst.

After reaching the beach, John divested him of his dirty clothes and then waded into the ocean, holding his shampoo and body wash above the water. When the water was waist high, John placed his stuff on a nearby rock and then ducked underwater to get completely wet.

While washing the grime from his hair and body, John wondered how they were going to make something that would show that they were here. It was the single most important thing for their survival. Sure, John could keep them both alive for a while, but he was pretty sure that there weren't enough resources on this island to keep them alive on this island for the rest of their lives. They could try to build a raft and leave the island, but it was a suicidal gamble that John was not willing to take.

Once he was clean, John walked out of the water and grabbed the blanket he had brought with him to dry off. That's when he realized that he hadn't brought any clean clothes with him and he was not putting those nasty ones back on.

Shrugging to himself, John wrapped the blanket around his waist and then headed back to the cabin.

Chapter Text

John placed the gun against the door frame as he entered the cabin. Glancing over at Punk's cot, he noticed that he had fallen asleep again. This worried him a little because Punk was not one to sleep so much. He wasn't sure if Punk had eaten anything since they landed on this island and he had only seen him drink one bottle of water. Punk's body needed fuel to replenish what he had lost.

Deciding that he should cook the cat so he could feed Punk something more substantial than of trail mix, John bent down and fished a pair of cameo shorts and a white t-shirt out of his suitcase. Letting the blanket drop from his waist, John worked on getting dressed. After putting his shorts on, he decided to leave the shirt off since he was going to be working by a hot fire.

Picking up the blanket he had used to dry off, John exited the cabin and placed the cat carcass in the blanket before heading down toward the beach.

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Punk had woken up as soon as he heard John enter the cabin. He had always been a very light sleeper and it was very annoying in this situation since John couldn't decide if he wanted to stay in the cabin or out of it.

Turning over onto his back to say something snarky to John, Punk got an eye full of one very naked John Cena. One word reluctantly flashed through his mind, 'Wow'.

John was standing with his back toward Punk and he could see the strong muscles moving underneath the skin as he moved. Punk's gaze dropped lower and he observed the dimples in the small of John's back, just above the most mouth-watering ass he had ever seen. When John bent over to put his legs into his shorts, Punk felt a shot of hot arousal travel down to his groin.

Absolutely shocked and disgusted with himself, Punk tore his eyes from John's god-like body, laid back down, and pretended to sleep. What the hell was wrong with him? Why the hell did he just get aroused seeing the man he hated most in the world naked?

Guilt was the next emotion to run through his body. What kind of friend was he to be sexually attracted to a man who had ruined his best friend's wrestling career? If Colt knew how he felt about John right now, he would probably give Punk a hard slap across his face to snap him out of it. Punk really did need to snap out of it. It had to be the blood loss that was making him feel this way. Maybe he had a fever or something.

Punk closed his eyes and willed his thoughts away. He was so tired and just wanted to sleep.

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Once John reached the beach, he placed the blanket containing the cat carcass on the sand and then began digging a deep hole in the sand. Once that was done, he gathered some dry fallen branches from the trees surrounding the beach and placed them in the hole. Once the hole was filled most of the way with wood, John placed the carcass on top of the wood and then set about starting a fire. Unfortunately, he had been unable to find any matches or anything to start a fire with, but one of the pilots had been wearing some strong prescription lens.

Taking the glasses in his hand, John aimed the glasses so they caught the sun's light and intensified it over the dry kindling. After a few seconds, a small tendril of smoke rose from the kindling, so John leaned over and gently blew on it. The small spark blazed to life and after a few minutes the entire fire was lit.

John placed some palm branches that he had gathered on top of the fire and carcass before covering most of the hole with sand. He left a small section uncovered so the fire had oxygen to fuel it.

Once that was done, John looked around the beach and wondered how he was going to go about making this sign. A large fire would be the most noticeable, but without knowing when boats were near, they would need to keep it lit around the clock. John wasn't sure there would be enough wood on the island to keep a large fire going until they were found, so that was out.

This island was relatively flat, so John couldn't put something colorful at the very top of the island and that still wouldn't tell their rescuers where they were on the island. He needed to make this beach noticeable somehow.

What he could do was dig a large trench on the beach in the form of SOS and then fill it with water. The sun would reflect off the water and make the SOS noticeable from the air. John could then strip a tall tree of all its branches and then tie one of his colorful shirts to it. That just might work.

John began digging and worked for hours until the sky started to change into a pink color, signaling that night was soon coming.

He walked over the hole containing the cooking meat and uncovered it. The smell that hit his face was mouth-watering. It didn't even matter that he was almost this animal's lunch today, it smelled good enough to eat to him.

Hauling the meat out of the pit, John placed it in the blanket and then wrapped it up. Because John had smoked the meat, it would hopefully keep longer than just roasting it.

John gathered up his things and then headed back to the cabin. Gently placing the meat on the table, he looked over at Punk who was still sleeping in his cot.

He was so worried about him. John had thought about asking Punk if he could check his wound earlier but he already knew the answer to his question so he didn't even ask it. Now that Punk was asleep, John didn't have to ask, he could check it before Punk woke up. Punk was a heavy sleeper after all. Or so he thought.

Gently turning Punk over onto his back, John waited to see if Punk would stir, but his breathing remained slow and deep. John pulled up Punk's t-shirt and when he saw the large red spots splatting the white bandages, his brow furrowed and his mouth frowned in worry and alarm. Focused on the task at hand, John didn't hesitate before placing his hands on the waistband of Punk's shorts and begin to pull them down. When he almost had them around the tops of Punk's thighs, a hand lashed out and grabbed John's hand while the other tried to pull his shorts back up.

Startled John looked up at Punk's face and saw that he looked very shocked and a more than a little angry. "What the hell are you doing, Cena?" Punk said a little breathlessly.

Going on the defensive, John backed away from Punk's cot and put his hands up in a harmless manner. "I was just trying to check on your wound Punk. You haven't been taking care of it, have you?"

Punk finished pulling his shorts into place and then leveled a disapproving look at John. "Don't draw the focus away from yourself, Cena. I know you were trying to molest me in my sleep just like you do to all of you little Cenation fans, but I'm the only one here so your choices were a little limited." Punk crossed his arms and leveled another scathing look at John. Honestly, he was a little turned on by the situation, but he buried the feeling underneath his guilt for betraying Colt.

John rolled his eyes at Punk, "Oh, ha ha! You think you're so damn clever, don't you. I love my fans and would never do something so disgusting and heinous to them and you know it! I'm telling the truth in telling you that I was checking your wound since you obviously don't care enough about yourself to check it on your own." John bit back at him.

Punk narrowed his eyes at John and set his mouth stubbornly. "It's my body and if I say it's fine, it's fine. Don't touch me like that again, John, or I will kill you in your sleep and then eat you for breakfast."

John huffed in frustration. "Whatever, Punk. Have it your way, but speaking of food, I brought dinner." John tore off a generous piece of meat, placed it on a plate and then handed it to Punk along with a bottle of water.

Punk curled his lip up at the plate and pushed it away. "I don't eat meat. I'm Vegan."

John threw his hands up in defeat. "Oh for the love of God! You are going to eat this, Punk, if I have to chew it up for you and then shove it down your throat and I'm not even bluffing!" John turned his back to Punk and got a plate of meat for himself. Sitting down on his cot with him meal, John glared at Punk, daring him to refuse the food again.

Knowing that he couldn't win this battle, Punk tentatively picked at his meat and drank his bottle of water. When the meat on his plate was about half-way gone, he pushed the plate back.

John noticed this, got up and pushed it back in front of Punk. "Eat all of it, Punk. I'm not going to let you waste food." He gave Punk a serious face and sat back down on his cot.

Punk glared at John, but was too tired to argue and ate the rest of his meat. He didn't know why he was so tired. He had slept so much today. Once his plate was clean, Punk placed it on the floor beside him and then laid down and turned toward the wall to go to sleep again. He heard John sigh heavily behind him but he ignored the sound. Slipping off to sleep, Punk wondered if Colt would ever forgive him for feeling what he had felt today. He promised himself that he would never let himself feel that way about John Cena ever again.

John listened as Punk breathing leveled out and deepened. He was so worried about him. John knew that he was going to get an infection now. The bandages had yet to be changed and Punk was still wearing the same pair of shorts he had put him in. Why didn't Punk care about himself? Did he want to die?

These thoughts made a painful lump form in John's throat. Was Punk so unhappy with his life that he didn't care if he lived or died? John knew that Punk was not all that happy from the recent interviews Punk had done. He had just sounded tired and sick of life. John knew that he was very lonely, but had been so hurt in his relationships that he had decided to give them up altogether after Beth had broken up with him.

John wanted more than anything for Punk to let him take away all his pain. If Punk ever let him into his life, John would cherish him and never let go. He wanted to give Punk a reason to live and love life.

John stayed awake thinking all this over until the moon was high in the sky. With the moon as his only source of light, John got up and closed and bolted the door before lying back down.

Turning his head in Punk's direction, John couldn't see Punk in the darkness, but he could hear his soft breaths and feel his presence. "Just let me love you, Punk, and I'll make you want to live." John whispered into the darkness.

Totally oblivious to what was going on around him, the only answer Punk gave John was a soft sigh in his sleep.

John gave a pained smile before turning over and trying to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

It took a long time for John to fall asleep that night. He kept thinking over what his life would be like if Punk was no longer in it. He would miss their arguments and watching Punk's lithe body move in and out of the ring. The thing that worried his thoughts the most was the regret that he might not ever get his chance to love Punk and be loved back. That thought hurt more than he wanted to admit. Just before falling asleep, John vowed that he would do everything in his power to keep Punk alive through this mess.

John was woken by bright light hitting his face. Raising a hand to block the light, John opened his eyes slowly and took in the room around him. His eyes stopped when he saw Punk sitting Indian style on his cot munching on some trail mix and sipping a bottle of water. The comic book Punk had been reading before the crash, which John had retrieved from the plane that first day, was lying beside him while he read it.

The sun streaming through the open door of the cabin hit one side of Punk's face, but left the other side in the shadows, making him look mysterious. His lip ring glinted in the light as he chewed. Even though it was such a simple and mundane image, John would remember it for the rest of his life.

Turning his head to look out the door, John could see that he had slept very late. He didn't want to get up just yet, but he still needed to finish the project that he had started yesterday.

Slowing sitting up, John groaned when he lower back ached in protest. These cots were not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but they were still better than sleeping on the floor.

Upon hearing John's groan, Punk tore his attention away from his comic book and looked over at him. "About time, Sleeping Beauty. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to call Prince Philip to wake your ass up."

John got the reference and snorted to himself. Punk probably didn't realize the significance of that statement to him. If it meant getting a kiss from Philip Brooks, John would gladly be put under a spell by some evil witch lady. Prince Philip indeed!

Pushing himself off his cot, John stood up and walked out of the cabin to go and relieve himself. He went back to the cabin and grabbed himself some trail mix and two bottles of water before gathering the supplies he needed for his job on the beach. "If you feel up to it, could you help me make the sign on the beach today?" John said standing in the doorway before leaving.

Punk looked up from his comic book with an annoyed look on his face. "I feel fine and yes I'll be down as soon as I finish this," he said lifting his pack of trail mix. He still felt weak and his wound was throbbing in pain today, but he didn't want to seem weak and needy to John.

Nodding his head, John ducked out of the cabin and went down to the beach. He asked Punk to come down to the beach so he could see how he was doing and keep an eye on him.

John had just started on the "O" of the SOS when he saw Punk walking toward him. Limping was more of an accurate description of how he was moving across the sand. Punk's face was drawn into a pained expression and John instantly regretted asking for his help. He knew that Punk was both too proud and stubborn to just sit and watch as John worked and Punk wasn't in any shape to be doing strenuous labor.

"Alright, what do you want me to do, John-boy?" Punk asked petulantly.

John ignored his tone and thought about what would be the least strenuous task that needed to be done. Deciding, John handed Punk a large pot. "Start filling the trench with water, please." John said before going back to digging.

Punk stared at the pot for a few moments and then looked over at the already dug trench. This was going to take a long time, but he guessed it was better than what John was doing.

The two men worked in silence for a few hours. John kept a close eye on Punk, looking for signs of fatigue, heat stroke, or something of the like. Punk wasn't making much progress filling the trench with water using such a small pot. Even after hours of making trips to and from the ocean, there was only about an inch of water standing at the bottom of the trench. That frustrated him to no end.

Both men were pulled from their work when a huge, anvil-shaded cloud rose out the horizon and started to block out the Sun. John straightened his back and wiped the sweat off his brow as he looked up at the sky. That cloud looked very ominous.

Punk was also looking up into the sky. After living in Chicago most of his life, Punk had seen his fair share of nasty storms and the clouds that carried them, but he had never seen a cloud like this one. Punk looked over at John who had just turned his head to look over at Punk. They both looked up at the sky again when they saw a flash of lightning illuminate the enormous cloud.

Looking back over at Punk, John said that they should start heading back to the cabin, but most of his statement was swallowed by a huge clap of thunder. Punk seemed to have understood anyway because he started to gather up the things that were around him. John followed his lead and as soon as everything was gathered from the beach, the two men started to head back to the cabin.

They were only about halfway to the cabin when the sky opened up and rain poured down on them in buckets. Both men were completely soaked through in mere seconds. Breaking into a run, John and Punk raced back to the cabin and its offered shelter from the storm.

Pain burned up Punk's side as he ran, but he ignore it the best he could. Some pain was better than being stuck in the rain longer than he had to be.

Relief coursed through both men when they entered the dry cabin and John slammed the door behind them. After putting away the things from the beach, John stripped out of his t-shirt and used the blanket from of his cot to dry off. Punk watched mesmerized as the blanket caressed John's rippling ads. Shaking his head violently, Punk pulled himself out of it before turning away from John.

Punk pulled off his own shirt and was drying off when he heard a zipper being pulled down and then a rustle of clothing. Unable to help himself, Punk looked over his shoulder at John and then whipped his head away as soon as he saw John's naked body. Punk inwardly groaned to himself. He was stuck in a very small space with a man who couldn't seem to keep his clothes on. "Fuck me up the ass!" Punk thought to himself, figuratively, of course.

The cabin suddenly felt very small and oppressive to Punk. Hooking both thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, Punk hesitated before pulling them down. He didn't want to be naked in front of John. Sure, he would have a blanket wrapped around himself, but both he and John would know that he was completely bare underneath. He didn't want to be that vulnerable, so he decided to stay in his soaked, uncomfortable shorts.

After drying himself off, John wrapped the blanket around his waist before lying down on his cot to wait out the storm. Looking over at Punk, John frowned when he noticed that Punk was still in his soaked shorts. "Hey, you need to get out of those shorts and get dry or you'll get sick. Your bandage is probably wet, too."

Punk spread his blanket over his cot to protect it from his wet shorts before sitting down. His wound was throbbing in pain. "I'm fine this way, John." Punk said before lying down. He was cold and tired and he hoped that John wouldn't start an argument.

"No one else is here, Punk. You don't have anything that I don't have and besides, I've already seen everything." John said turning his head to look over at Punk.

He hated that John had seen him naked. It made him feel violated and exposed. "Just leave it, Cena. I can take care of myself."

Growling low in his throat, John jumped out of bed and grabbed another blanket before stomping over to Punk's cot. Bending over, John placed most of his upper body weight on Punk's chest to hold him down while one of his hands worked on stripping the soaked shorts from Punk's clammy body.

"What the hell are you doing, Cena?" Punk yelled at John while struggling to get out from under him and keep his shorts safely around his hips. He was appalled at how weak he was.

"I'm keeping you alive, that's what I'm doing." John said before pulling Punk's shorts completely off and throwing them across the cabin. They hit against the wall with a wet slap. John removed his weight and then roughly threw the blanket over Punk. John stalked back over to his cot, wrapped his blanket back around his naked body and then laid down again.

Punk laid there staring up at the eaves in the roof wondering what had just happened. Had a very naked and angry John just stripped him out of his last article of clothing leaving him naked? Punk felt anger rush through his body like an inferno. "Who the hell do you think you are, Cena? What do you think gives you the right to treat me like this?" Punk said, raising himself up on his elbows so he could look over at John without hurting his injured side further.

John turned on his side and propped himself up on one of his elbows. He looked at Punk with eyes that were glowing with so many emotions, Punk couldn't name any of them, but the stare was intense and made his stomach squirm.

Knowing that Punk wasn't ready to hear the truth that he loved him, John scrambled for another explanation. "The moment you took over the plane and made sure it landed safely, you gave me the right to do everything in my power to keep you alive. You strengthened this right even more when you saved me from that cat. You saved my life, so I have to keep you alive and if it's you that I have to fight against to do so, then so be it." John's eyes bore into Punk's. "Why do you want to die so badly, Punk?"

He was caught off-guard by that pointed question. Punk had ignored the fact that he was effectively killing himself by not taking care of himself. He had been unhappy, lonely and hopeless for a long time and had given up on life months ago. He didn't know why he hadn't just let the plane go down, which would have ended his life. Punk guessed that John's presence on the plane had something to do with it. He should have let John be killed by the cat, because then no one would be making sure he stayed alive, but the look in John's eyes that day had made him pull the trigger. John interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Punk," John said irritably.

Punk chewed on his lip ring. He didn't want John to know what he was feeling. John would only think that he was weak and pitiful if he told him he wanted to die, so Punk denied everything. "I don't want to die, Cena. I know what my body can take and a damp pair of shorts is not going to kill me." Punk hid his feelings behind a stubborn and brave façade.

John wasn't believing that for a second. "That's bullshit, Punk, and you know it. Tell me why you are so unhappy. I'm here for you."

Punk scoffed to himself. He had heard that last line too many times to count and it had always been a lie. No one had ever cared enough about Phil Brooks to be there for him. Knowing that this argument was going nowhere fast, Punk turned over onto his side and faced the wall. He was so tired and cold. "Leave me alone, Cena. I'm tired." Punk said in a defeated voice.

Knowing he had been shut out, John sighed in frustration. He couldn't do anything when Punk shut him out. John turned over onto his back and stared up at the roof and listened to the storm outside. He guessed that it was only late afternoon, but since he couldn't do anything in the cabin and the storm wasn't going to let up anytime soon, John let himself fall asleep.

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When John woke up, he was hot and soaking in sweat. Shifting uncomfortably, John tried to remove the blanket from his body that's when he made a startling discovery. Punk's naked body was pressed against his, surrounded by his arms and was shivering violently. Shocked, John unwrapped his arms from around Punk and jumped out of bed.

Punk reached out for him with hooded eyes. "I'm so cold," he said in a faraway voice. When John didn't pull him back into his body heat, Punk wrapped the blankets around himself tighter and shivered even more violently.

"Shit." John said to himself. Punk clearly had a dangerously high fever since he crawled into John's cot in the middle of the night for his body heat. John prayed that the fever was caused by a cold from being out in the rain yesterday, but he knew that it was more likely an infection.

Moving back toward Punk, John placed his hand on his forehead and felt how hot it was. It was no wonder he had woken up so hot and sweaty. Punk was on fire. Prying the blankets out of Punk's grasp, John removed them so he could have access to Punk's wound. Punk whined incoherently when the air of the cabin hit his heated skin.

John groaned when he saw the bandage that he put on Punk that first day. Punk had never changed the bandage. Carefully pulling off the tape, John removed the dressings and looked at Punk's wound for the first time in days.

It was inflamed and slightly swollen. It oozed a little when John gently touched it. John reached over and grabbed Punk's wrist, placing two fingers over his radial artery to check his heart rate. It was elevated.

"Fuck," John cursed to himself before punching the ground next to him. Punk had an infection and John didn't have any antibiotics to treat it. This was bad.

Chapter Text

John's stomach twisted painfully in his stomach and he came close to losing everything that was in it. This feeling was caused by panic, dread and fear. He knew how likely it was that he could lose Punk to this infection and there wasn't much he could do to stop that from happening.

He had never felt so helpless in his life. Knowing that Punk had to have the will to fight this infection to survive, John doubted that Punk would put up such a fight, but he vowed that he would do everything he could to ensure his survival. If Punk died, John wouldn't have much left to live for.

Swallowing thickly to force the bile back down his throat, John ripped the blankets off Punk, who protested weakly and reached blindly for his shelter from the perceived cold. John hefted him into his arms, making sure that he didn't touch Punk's wound. Walking out of the cabin, John headed toward the small pond with the waterfall.

He felt tears sting his eyes when Punk buried his face in John's sweaty neck. He couldn't help but like the feeling even though he knew that Punk's high fever was causing his actions. He was completely delirious with fever.

Usually not a very religious man, John raised his face to the sky and sent up a silent prayer, "God, please don't let him die. He hasn't even lived yet and I'm not ready to let him go." John's throat burned and restricted with his unshed tears.

After a few more minutes of walking, John finally reached the pond. Carefully placing Punk beside the water, John crouched down next to him. Whispering gently into his ear, John said, "I need you to sit up for a minute so I can get into the water. Can you do that for me?"

Punk weakly nodded his head and surprised John that he was able to understand and react. John slipped into the water, cringing at how cold the water was and then turned around to retrieve Punk. Grabbing him around the waist, John gently brought Punk into the icy water.

In his delirium, Punk pushed John away and scrambled to get out of the water. Not letting this happen, John wrapped his arms around Punk's waist and pulled him into his body. He placed his mouth next to Punk's ear and whispered soothing words into his ear. "It's alright, Punk. You have a fever and I need to cool you down. You'll get used to the water." While John's words seemed to help marginally, Punk still struggled in his arms.

"I'm so cold," Punk said feebly.

John's heart broke at the pitiful sound of Punk's voice. He wished he didn't have to put him through this much discomfort, but he didn't have a choice. "I know, Punk. I'm sorry."

Punk seemed to relax after a few minutes, so John moved over to a rock that was submerged in the pond. He sat down on it and then moved Punk to sit between his legs. Being so weak, John didn't know if Punk would be able to keep himself upright in the water and John didn't want him to drown.

With one arm wrapped around Punk's abdomen, John couldn't stop himself from skimming his fingers along his taunt belly. Punk seemed to find this soothing because he let his head fall back and rest against John's strong shoulder.

Burying his other hand in Punk's hair, John ran his fingers through the black, silken strands. Closing his eyes, he just let himself feel what it was like to be touching Punk so intimately. He had been dreaming about this moment since that night in 2006 right before his WrestleMania match.

John snorted softly to himself as not to disturb Punk. God had a horrible sense of humor, didn't he? John had always imagined that this moment would happen because Punk developed feelings for him, not because he was dying from an infection and riddled with fever. "Just keep him alive, please. I don't care if he continues to hate my guts for the rest of his life. I need to be able to experience him in any way I can." John had to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he was interrupted from his depressing thoughts by Punk.

"You know, Colt is never going to speak to me again when he finds out about this," Punk's words were slightly slurred and were a little hard to understand because his teeth were chattering so violently.

John's brow furrowed. Why would that bastard care about this? John wouldn't mind if Punk didn't speak to Cabana, but he humored Punk anyway, "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm betraying him."

John's body stiffened at that statement. Betrayal. John had always suspected that Punk and Cabana's relationship ventured past friendship and that was one of the reasons why John didn't like him. He was jealous of his role in Punk's life. John had to know if Punk was involved with Cabana.

"Why do you think you're betraying him, Punk?" John waited patiently for the answer, almost afraid of what he was going to hear.

"Because I like seeing you naked and now I'm letting you touch me. A good friend wouldn't let the man who ruined his best friend's career do that. I'm a horrible friend and person." Punk said simply.

John's hands stopped their movement on Punk's body. He heard both statements from Punk's mouth. One was awesome news; the other made his blood run cold. How did Punk know about that? To be honest, John was very ashamed of himself for suggesting that Cabana be released. It had been purely for selfish and personal reasons. Seeing Cabana laugh and play around with Punk everyday like he dreamed of doing brought a deep jealousy into John and he had acted on it. He wasn't proud of what he had done, but he would do it again if he had to. "Is that why you hate me, Punk? You aren't a horrible person." John whispered gently in his ear.

Punk hummed tiredly. "Yea, that and you can eat ice cream."

That comment puzzled John. "Ice cream? You can eat ice cream, Punk."

Punk snorted softly. "No, I can't because I'll get fat. I have to watch everything I eat and work out as much as I can, but I still can't cut a six pack. You, though, you can eat fucking Ben and Jerry's and a lot of other crappy foods and still look the way you do. It's not fucking fair."

John smiled against Punk's neck and suppressed a laugh. Ice cream and Colt Cabana. That's why CM Punk hated John Cena. God really did have a sick sense of humor when it came to John Cena's love life. "Life's not fair, Punk. I think you're perfect the way you are. You wouldn't stand out and be as skilled in the ring as you are now if you were a muscled freak like me. I love you just the way you are now." John looked into Punk's face to see his reaction to his confession, but his face was peaceful and his eyes were closed. John felt Punk's breath expand his abdomen in a slow, even rhythm. He had fallen asleep in John's arms.

John supposed that was a good thing. He shouldn't have said it but he had been caught up in the moment. Shifting Punk carefully in his arms, John leaned back against the rock and let himself relax in the water. He let Punk's back lean against his chest and then he closed his eyes and focused on Punk's breaths. John inhaled and exhaled with Punk and allowed all the worry and fear to leave his body.

Finding that this relaxed him a great deal, John stayed like that for a few minutes, just focusing on Punk and his breathing. When both men were starting to prune, John gently shook Punk awake and then moved them both to the side of the pond. John made sure that Punk was coherent enough to stay upright in the water while he hoisted himself out and then he turned and dragged Punk out of the water and onto the bank.

Bending down to pick Punk up, John watched as his blurry eyes opened for a few moments before they fluttered closed again. Punk's skin was cool to the touch like his own, which relieved him of some worry.

As John walked back to the cabin with Punk in his arms, he studied his face while he slept. He hadn't been given many opportunities that allowed him to look at Punk for more than a few fleeting seconds. He took in the soft lines that crinkled in the outer corner of Punk's eyes, the dark, thick lashes that fanned from his eye lids and the beautiful, thin lips ornamented with the silver ring that glistened in the sun. While not considered classically handsome, Punk's beauty still made John's breath catch in his throat.

Punk turned his head toward John's chest and his slight beard brushed against it, sending shocks of pleasure up John's spine. He was surprised how intense the pleasure was from such a small touch.

When John reached the cabin, he nudged the door open with his foot and then entered the cabin. John carefully placed Punk down on his cot and placed a blanket on him.

John knew he had to clean out Punk's wound again to clear out some of the infection, but he knew how painful it was going to be for Punk. Gathering the first-aid, a wash cloth, body wash, a bottle of water and a few mini bottles of alcohol that he had salvaged from the plane, John sat down on the floor beside Punk's cot and lifted the blanket from the wound.

It looked a little better now that Punk's body temperature was lower, but it was still red and oozy. Poring a little water on Punk's wound, John then wet the wash cloth and put some soap on it before working it into a lather. As gently as he could, John washed the wound and the area around it. He heard Punk's breath catch, but he didn't open his eyes. After rinsing the soap off, John opened one of the bottles of alcohol and held it over the wound. With his other arm, John pressed Punk down into the cot before poring the alcohol over the wound. Punk screamed and arched his back as the alcohol burned his wound.

John leaned over and whispered into Punk's ear, "I know it hurts. I'm sorry." Punk was breathing rapidly from the pain, but he wasn't really aware of what was going on. Gently drying Punk's wound with sterile gauze, John then used some extra for a bandage. By the time John had finished, Punk's breathing had calmed and he had fallen back into a peaceful sleep.

Placing a hand on Punk's forehead, John noticed that his temperature was slowly rising. Knowing he couldn't take him back to the pond now that his wound was clean, John grabbed a pot before heading down to the pond to retrieve some cold water. He could use one of his t-shirts as a cold compress to keep his temperature down.

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Even in his dream world, Punk was freezing and pained burned up his side. He was in complete darkness and he didn't know what was going on. Suddenly, a bright light flashed before his eyes and he had to shut them tightly to keep his eyes from stinging at the intensity. When the light behind his eyelids dimmed somewhat, Punk cautiously opened his eyes.

Punk found himself in one of the numerous locker rooms that he had been in over the years. He couldn't remember what arena this was but it looked a little familiar. Punk noticed that he didn't have control of his body and it was moving on its own. All he could do was watch what was going on around him.

While he knew that this was just a dream, he couldn't help but be a little disconcerted that he didn't have any control. The dream was pretty mundane at first. He just watched as he took off his ring gear and grabbed a towel before heading to the shower. Punk felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he watched himself walk toward the shower area and steam was already rolling out of the doorway

If he had control, Punk would have turned around and waited for whoever was in the shower to finish. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his body, he just felt intimidated by some of the larger men on the roster.

Punk was pulled from his thoughts when he realized who was in the shower room. Two shower heads away from the door stood Cena soaping up his upper body. Feeling arousal travel down his spine and into his groin, Punk watched in horror as he wrapped his arms around Cena from behind and felt his hands join John's caressing his chest and abdominals.

'What the hell is going on?' Punk thought to himself. He couldn't control what he was saying or doing. He was just along for the ride. Resigning himself to the fact that he could only watch and feel what was going on, Punk stopped trying to control what was happening.

John turned around in Punk's embrace and pulled him tightly into his body. Water dripped delicately from John's nose as he stared into Punk's eyes. What he saw written in John's eyes made Punk's heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He had never seen such a loving look directed toward him in his entire life and it confused him.

He wasn't allowed to dwell on his confusion long before John captured his lips in a soul searing kiss. If Punk had been control of his body, he would have been too shocked to react, but his dream self deepened the kiss.

John ripped his mouth away from Punk's and then spun him around to pin him up against the tiling under the shower head. Attacking Punk's neck, John stopped long enough to whisper, "God, I missed you!" before sucking his earlobe into his heated mouth.

Punk's knees weakened a little from that move and he heard himself moan loudly. "It was only a couple days. Couldn't survive without me?" Punk was absolutely shocked at the words that come out of his mouth. This wasn't the first time this was happening?

Hearing John growl low in his throat, Punk found himself lifted from the shower floor and had to wrap his legs around John's hips to keep himself steady. John only intensified his attack on his body, and Punk couldn't help but be incredibly aroused. "God, John. Just fuck me, please!"

Punk had to do a double take to realize what his dream self had just said to his greatest enemy. If he was completely honest with himself, he wanted it. He had never felt such intense pleasure before and he wasn't really participating in the action, just seeing and feeling what was happening. That didn't count as having sex with the enemy, right? This was just a dream after all.

John growled against Punk's collar bone before gently scraping his teeth across it. Placing two fingers against Punk's lips, John waited for him to open his mouth to wet them. Punk saw John's eyes almost roll back into his head when he took the fingers into his mouth and generously coated them with his saliva.

When John deemed them wet enough, he removed his fingers and began to trail them down Punk's lithe body. Punk felt his body relax itself when John's skilled fingers brushed against his entrance. He was honestly surprised when he only felt a stretching sensation instead of pain when John's fingers entered him. After a few slow strokes into his willing body, John brushed against a spot inside him that sent pleasurable fire racing up his spine. He had never felt such ecstasy before.

John smiled against Punk's neck. "I found your spot, didn't I? I'm going to make you come so fucking hard." He whispered into Punk's ear. He shivered from the hot, moist breath that caressed his ear with each word but he moaned from the questing fingers moving in and out of his body.

Punk felt himself nearing his end quickly. His arms wrapped around John's shoulders in a tight grip, almost as if he was afraid he was going to stop. "I'm so close." Punk heard himself whisper.

"I know, Punk. I'll get you there." John said before roughly thrusting his fingers into his prostrate. That almost made Punk come, but it left him right on the edge. He felt if he didn't come soon, he was going to die from the intense pleasure.

"John, please." Punk begged to be released. He couldn't help but agree with what his dream self was saying. He wanted to come so badly.

John pinned Punk to the wall with his shoulders and then used his freed hand to wrap around both of their straining cocks. John stroked both of them in rhythm with his thrusts into Punk's body.

He was so close, just hanging on the edge by a thin thread. When John's thumb brushed over the head of his cock at the same time his fingers viciously stimulated his prostrate, Punk's world went white and he crashed over the edge.

Punk's body went ridged with the force of his orgasm and twitched rhythmically. Streams of thick, white come flew from his body and into John's waiting hand. Punk laid his head on John's shoulder to recover. His breath was coming in heavy pants that danced over John's wet shoulders and back.

John wrapped both his arms around Punk's body and then kissed his neck tenderly. "I love you, Phil."

Even in his post orgasmic haze, Punk heard every word and didn't know how to feel about the declaration. He was definitely shocked, but his other emotions were warring with each other.

Punk's world began to darken and he felt John's safe and comfortable arms disappear. He was alone in the cold darkness again. Punk had control of his body again, so he looked around into the darkness.

He couldn't believe what he had just felt and seen. Was it a dream or something else? He didn't know for sure, but he knew that other episodes like that one were lurking in the darkness and there was nothing he could do to stop them from happening.

Chapter Text

The last few days around the WWE community had been hectic to put it mildly. Randy and Jericho had been called back from their suspensions and put back on tour. Pappas had to watch Vince McMahon chew nervously on his nails for twelve hours while Randy and Jericho were on the plane to Japan. Pappas honestly thought that Vince was going to piss himself when the plane had been a little late landing, but they had arrived in one piece and were ready to enter the ring.

Pappas had also been charged with the task of calling Punk and Cena's family members to tell them the men were missing.

That was about the only thing that had gone right around here since the news that Punk and Cena were missing. Pappas first had to call the military and tell them what was going on. As soon as they heard that the John Cena needed rescuing, they were out looking for him before Pappas could say, "You can't see me." Those guys were not about to deprive the world of John Cena. They loved him too damn much, as they had so eloquently stated in so many words.

But, they had not seen any sign of the two men even though they were searching as long as the Sun was up and the weather was good. Hope was beginning to be lost.

"Shit, they've probably killed each other already if the crash didn't kill them." Vince told Pappas as he gave him the daily search report. Vince really was a sight. He was sitting in a chair in his hotel room with his tie undone, suit rumpled and hair eschew. His new favorite pastime seemed to be chewing on his nails nervously and Pappas wondered how he had any left.

Pappas did understand why Vince was feeling this way. He was basically watching his company wither away before his eyes. Cena and Punk had been the two favorites in the company and it had recently been discovered that they were the major draws for ratings. When Pappas had handed the last RAW ratings to Vince a few hours ago, he saw his knees buckle a little. The ratings had taken a nosedive.

Vince stared listlessly at the blank wall beside his bed. "I should have pushed more people so the company wasn't relying so heavily on John and Punk. I shouldn't have let them go on the same plane, either."

Tired of listening to the pity slash coulda shoulda woulda party, Pappas couldn't hold back his words. "It's kind of late to be thinking about what you should have done, Mr. McMahon. You just have to assume that they aren't going to be found and try to find a way to keep this company from sinking like the Titanic."

Vince leveled a nasty look at Pappas and then turned away in his chair. "I'm done with you now. You can leave."

Taking this as a hint that Vince was going to rip his face off in seconds if he didn't leave, Pappas scuttled out of the hotel room as fast as he could. He was just telling it as it is. There was no guarantee that Cena and Punk were going to be found alive. There was a much bigger chance that they would never know what happened to them. It was best to assume the worst and more on.

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John didn't know what to make of the scene he walked into upon returning to the cabin. The pot of cold water almost slipped out of his hand, but luckily he recovered before he had reason to make another trip to the small pond.

Upon opening the door of the cabin, John's ears were flooded with heated moans that were coming from Punk. At first, John thought that they were from the pain, but after walking further into the room and taking in the sight of Punk's tented blanket and rolling hips, he knew that he had assumed wrong.

John's face colored almost immediately. The situation had caught him by surprise and he didn't know what to do. He felt torn between being aroused from Punk's sexy moans and embarrassed that he had walked in on Punk having an erotic dream.

Embarrassment winning over arousal, John decided to leave the cabin for a few minutes to allow Punk to finish his dream and spar him some dignity. Just as John was about to leave the cabin, he heard Punk moan out a statement in his sleep. "God, John. Just fuck me, please!"

John's head whipped around so fast, he was lucky he didn't break his own neck. Had he just heard what he thought he heard? Surely his subconscious was playing tricks on him. Concluding that his subconscious was a love sick fool, John started to leave the cabin again completely disgusted with himself. When he turned around to close the cabin door, he heard Punk moan out unmistakably, "John, please!" in a desperate voice.

Eyes wide, John stood frozen in the doorway. His brain had shut down in shock and was trying to boot back up.

He stared at Punk's writhing body in disbelief. Punk's hips lifted violently one last time before he let out a strangled moan. His body twitched and John realized that Punk had just come in his sleep. His blush deepening even further, John turned and slammed the door behind him.

He knew that he should have stayed in the cabin and tried to cool punk down with the water he had retrieved, but after what he had just seen and heard, John needed time to himself to think and recover.

After walking down to the beach, John found a large piece of driftwood to sit on. He couldn't help but feel absolutely mortified for Punk. Although Punk might not even remember his dream when he woke up or know that John had watched him if he did remember, it didn't matter because the situation was still private.

John pushed his embarrassment away and focused on what he had learned. In just a few short minutes, things that Punk had been hiding were revealed to him. While John still had no doubt in his mind that Punk still disliked him a great deal, he now knew that Punk was at least sexually attracted to him. He could work with that piece of information.

Smirking to himself, John got up from the piece of driftwood and started walking back toward the cabin.

John was met with silence when he opened the door. He walked in and left the door open so he had more light to work in. Punk was again sleeping peacefully on his cot, but John took notice of a dark wet spot on the blanket covering Punk's groin.

He didn't let himself think before grabbing another blanket for Punk. When John ripped the blanket off of Punk, the sleeping man flinched at the cold. John's brain decided to take another vacation when he saw a few drops of come glistening on Punk's stomach.

John felt like he was having an out of body experience when he kneeled down on his knees and began licking the come from Punk's stomach. He didn't know what got into him, but when he realized what he had just done, he quickly stood back up and covered Punk with the clean blanket.

He couldn't help but be aroused by the taste of Punk in his mouth and the memory of the texture of Punk's skin under his tongue. Turning toward the table to retrieve the pot of cold water, John adjusted himself in his shorts to relieve some pressure. His eves almost rolled back in his head from the pleasure of touching himself, but forced his hand away so he could focus on caring for Punk.

Placing a hand on Punk's forehead, John judged that while he still had a fever, it wasn't as bad as it had been that morning. John fished one of his t-shirts out of his suitcase and then put it in the cold water. After wringing it out, he draped the cold shirt around Punk's face, so his forehead and neck were being cooled.

Every few minutes, John had to dip his shirt back in the water to cool it down and then place it back on Punk's forehead. He repeated this process for a few hours.

At one point during these hours, John got up from the floor and got the chair from the table so he was more comfortable.

Between refreshings of the t-shirt, John studied Punk's face as he slept. He looked so peaceful and calm. The crow's feet at the corners of both his eyes seemed a little smoother than they were when he was awake and forever scowling at him. His lips were slightly parted and John could see the barest hint of his front teeth. What garnered most of John's attention was Punk's lip ring.

For almost as long as John had been lusting after Punk, he had wondered how it would feel kissing Punk with his lip ring. Would it be cold? Would it start to bleed if he kissed Punk too roughly? Would it bend if he bit it?

John had wondered about all the other piercings that Punk had. He knew about Punk's nipple and tongue rings that he never seemed to wear anymore. John had spent countless lonely nights fantasizing about how Punk's tongue ring would feel circling around the head of his cock and if his nipple rings made him more sensitive. He wondered why Punk had stopped wearing them.

When the sky was beginning to darken, John thought that Punk's fever had improved some since he didn't have to cool down the t-shirt as often. Standing up and stretching, John walked over to the cabinet and took out a bag of trail mix and a bottle of water and then laid down on his own cot.

His lower back ached from sitting in the uncomfortable chair for so long, but he didn't really care. He had taken care of Punk and that's all that mattered.

Comparing how Punk was when he woke up to now, he had improved a little bit. His fever was lower at least, but John still needed to look and see how his wound was.

John groaned when he pulled himself up off his cot and walked over to Punk. Carefully lifting the blanket, he took a look at Punk's wound. It did look much better compared to this morning. It was no longer oozing or inflamed. There seemed to be signs of healing, which relieved John.

Taking out the first-aid kit, John took out a piece of gauze and then soaked it in alcohol before dabbing it on the wound. He hoped that this would keep the wound clean and from getting infected again. Once this was done, John placed the blanket back over Punk.

Sitting the first-aid kit on the table, John turned around and shut the cabin door. The sun had gone down and it was time to sleep.

Finding his way in the darkness, John found his cot and then laid down on it. He stared up into the darkness and thought about everything that had happened today. Punk was sick and he harbored at least some sexual attraction toward him. Enough that he had starred in Punk's wet dream.

He could use this piece of information to his advantage. John wanted Punk, had wanted him for a long time and he was tired of wanting. Punk had shown him a chink in his armor and John was going to do everything in his power to weaken that point even more so he could get past that armor.

John stayed awake planning a long time that night.

Chapter Text

It was hot. So hot he felt like he was burning alive. Had he finally died and now he was living in hell? Punk felt like this wasn't fair because he felt he hadn't done enough bad things to warrant being sent to hell. Sure, there was that one time he was arrested, but that's not enough to go to hell, right?

He couldn't even think straight it was so hot here in this darkness. Sweat was pouring off of him in rivers and he almost felt like he was melting into the floor. Thirst, along with all the heat, was starting to make him so insane. What he wouldn't do to a tall glass of ice, cold water!

Punk took in his surroundings to distract himself from the oppressive heat. Darkness surrounded him like a thick blanket. He couldn't see much further than his face it was so dark. This place was horrible and he wanted to leave.

Punk's attention was caught when he heard his name called through the darkness. He didn't know the direction it came from, so his listened hard until he heard it again. When it came again, it was barely a whisper. It sounded so far away, but he started walking in toward it. He hoped it would lead him out of this place.

While walking and listening for his name, Punk made the realization that the voice calling to him sounded a little like Cena's. He hoped that he wasn't walking toward another embarrassing sexual encounter. Punk kept walking, though.

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John called Punk's name in his ear one last time, hoping that he would finally wake up. He waited for a few seconds before he let his hopes drop.

Having been asleep for three days, Punk should be waking up soon. His wound was looking like the infection was going away and John noticed that he fever had broken sometime during the night.

John saw Punk's eyes flutter out of the corner of his eye so he whipped his head to see if he was going to wake up. Unfortunately, his eyes remained closed and didn't flutter again. Studying Punk's face, he noted how the fever had changed his appearance.

Punk's face was flushed but it wasn't as red as it had been during the peak of his fever. His mouth was gently parted so his rapid breaths could pass between his lips. The thing that John noticed the most was how much he was sweating.

His hair was wet with it and beads of sweat were rolling from his face and neck into the pillow below him. John had taken the blanket off of Punk so the heat of his cooling body wasn't being insulated around him. This allowed John to see the pool of sweat that ran the midline of Punk's chest and abdomen.

John knew that Punk sweat a lot during matches; he had seen the smears he left on the black pads around the ring whenever he landed on them, but he had never seen him sweat this much.

John hoped that Punk woke up soon so he could replace the fluids that he was losing. He didn't know what he would do if Punk didn't wake up soon.

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Liz Cena was beginning to worry. She had a bit of a problem. Okay, a really big problem and she didn't know how she was going to fix it.

Her hit man was demanding that she pay him or he was going "to make her regret it", whatever that meant, but she didn't want to mess with this guy too much. He had, after all, killed two men for money.

The problem was that she didn't have enough money left to pay him and John was technically still alive, at least in the eyes of the law.

This whole situation was really her hit man's fault. If he had killed John in an accident where people would actually see his dead body instead of having the thing float around in the ocean for fish food, there wouldn't be a problem. She needed evidence that he was dead, damn it!

Wasn't a plane crash on the Pacific Ocean enough evidence to prove that someone was dead? Who the hell could survive that? John probably would just to piss her off, but, honestly, no one could survive that.

Making up her mind, Liz decided that she would try to get the law to declare John dead without his body as proof. Only someone stupid would think he was still alive after that.

Liz grabbed her purse and then hopped in the car that John had bought her for Christmas last year. She drove to her lawyer's office and sat down in the waiting room. So she didn't have an appointment. She was Elizabeth fucking Cena! He was going to see her today and that was that.

After waiting half an hour, Liz was starting to get pissed. After an hour, she was about ready to rip someone's head off, but finally, she was called into her lawyer's office and offered a seat in front of his ornate wooden desk.

Her lawyer sat down in his own chair and intertwined his fingers. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Liz paused for a moment, thinking it over before she replied, "I'd like to declare my husband legally dead."

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In a moment, Punk's world had gone from complete darkness to bright, red light. It took him a moment to realize that light was filtering through his eye lids, making it appear red. Cautiously cracking on eye open, Punk tried to get used to the bright light that was streaming through the open door of the cabin.

After a few minutes, Punk was able to open his eyes fully without squinting in pain. He sat up on his cot with only a little bit of twinge in his hip. Looking around the room, Punk noticed that John was not in the cabin, which relieved him. He didn't know how he would be able to face him after having that dream about him. John would have no idea what he had dreamed, but Punk knew.

Punk suddenly realized how hungry and thirsty he was. He eyed that cabinet that he knew held the water and munches that John had retrieved from the plane. Feeling weak, Punk wondered if he would be able to make it over to the cabinet, grab what he wanted and make it back to his cot or at least one of the chairs before his strength gave out.

Realizing he had nothing to lose, Punk stood up on his shaking legs. It honestly surprised him how weak he was and he didn't understand why. He had only been asleep for a few hours, right?

Punk made it as far as the table before he had to sit down. Even just those few steps to the table made him feel like he had just run the Chicago marathon. He was breathing hard and felt a little dizzy. What the hell was wrong with him?

After recovering a few minutes, Punk stood back up and set his mind to making it over to the cabinet. He made it with a lot of effort, but he quickly grabbed two waters and a few bags of trail mix before going back to sit down before his legs gave out from under him.

Punk opened one of the water bottles and took a long drink. He couldn't help but sigh with pleasure and relief as soon as his lips left the bottle. His mouth and throat had been so dry. Punk opened a bag of trail mix and began to pick at it between sips of water.

About half way through his second bottle of water, John walked through the cabin door. Punk looked up at him and sneered. He thought that if he acted normal, John would never suspect that he was feeling a little awkward around him after his dream.

John was startled when he walked through the door and saw Punk eating and drinking at the table. He hadn't been expecting him to be awake yet, but it was good to see him up and alive. "How are you feeling?" John asked Punk pointedly.

Punk snorted and said, "I'm just fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

John rolled his eyes at Punk's tough act. He couldn't help but he annoyed. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you had an infection and were delirious with fever for four days. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.

Punk's eyes widened in shock. He'd been asleep for four days with a fever? No wonder he had such odd dreams. "Well, I'm just fine now." Punk said testily. John's presence was setting him on edge. The air seemed to tingle whenever John was near him.

John sighed and shook his head at Punk's attitude. He had hoped that Punk would act nicer toward him after his dream, but he should have known better. Punk might not even remember what he dreamed or he just didn't want to acknowledge it. It was okay, though. John would make him remember and acknowledge his dream and what it meant. After all, Punk's subconscious had to be trying to tell him something and John was going to help it along.

Looking down at himself, John looked at what he was wearing. He had one of his bright t-shirts stretched over his chest and his signature jorts covered his lower half. An idea popped in his head and John had to turn around before he could let the evil smile spread over his face. Punk wasn't the only one who could be a manipulative deviant. John could play this game, too.

Stepping over to his cot, John slowly slipped off his t-shirt as sexily as he could while still appearing to be completely innocent and oblivious. He used his shirt to wipe the sweat off his body, starting at his chest and then slowly making his way down his abdomen before stopping at his jorts. Throwing his shirt on the bed, John turned to the side so he could look at Punk through his peripheral vision.

John had to keep himself from laughing when he saw Punk's hand wrapped around a bottle of water that was half-way to his open mouth. He could see Punk staring intently at his chest and abs. He should have felt a little guilty for manipulating a man that had been in the throes of a high fever just hours ago, but John would do anything to have Punk for himself.

Deciding to go in for the kill, John started to fiddle with the button on his jean shorts. He heard Punk's breath softly hitch and he saw that the he hadn't moved yet. His water bottle was still held in midair.

The cabin was filled with the rasp of a zipper going down slowly. John heard Punk's breaths come faster and heavier. John had to stop the smile that threatened to spread over his face at Punk's reaction. It was nice to know that he had this much of an effect on Punk.

Slipping his jorts slowly down his hips John took off the shorts and placed them on his cot. He was left in the black pair of sports boxer briefs that he always wore when he stepped in the ring. They were skin tight which kept him from being pantsed like Randy and the other guys had been on many occasions. The underwear also ended just below his generous ass, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

John turned around fully toward Punk and smiled brightly at him. Punk didn't seem to notice because his attention was drawn much further south than John's mouth. John laughed evilly in his mind. He had Punk just where he wanted him. Now for the ending.

John caressed his stomach, which drew Punk's attention and asked, "Is it me, or do you think it's hot in here?" His voice was low and sensual

Punk looked startled and raised his eyes to meet John's gaze. He looked ashamed and a little angry, like a child who had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Punk opened his mouth to reply but only an unintelligible squawk came out, so he stopped to clear his throat. "Umm, it's a little warm in here, but not enough that it's okay to run around in your underwear. Put some damn clothes on, Cena."

Ah, so he was trying to hide his attraction and arousal behind a tough and annoyed act. It was okay, though. John wasn't going to give up and Punk would cave and give into his feelings eventually.

John shrugged "I think it's cooler on the beach, so I'm going to go sit down there and watch for ships or planes. When you get done, you should come join me if you feel up to it." With that John shot Punk a heated look and then left the cabin.

Punk couldn't help checking out John's toned ass as he made his way out the door. He snapped out of it as soon as John was out of sight. What the hell was that?

Punk's groin felt tight and painful with arousal from watching John undress and prance around practically naked. What was wrong with him? He shouldn't feel this way about John fucking Cena. He had ruined his best friend's career for no reason. He was so ashamed of himself.

Why couldn't he want to fuck the brains out of anyone else on the roster? Had he just admitted that he wanted to fuck John Cena's brains out? Punk was shocked at his thoughts but he quickly calmed himself by saying that the first step to recovering is admitting you have a problem.

He had a problem, alright. A six foot, one inch tall, 250 pound temptation was running around on this island and he had no way to getting the hell off this island.

Standing up to go and sit down on his cot, Punk took in a deep, calming breath. He could get through this without giving in. It was like staring at a big piece of chocolate cake, but not allowing himself to eat it. He had done that all the time. John was just a big piece of chocolate cake that he couldn't eat.

The only issue with that was he only had to look at a piece of chocolate cake for a few minutes or hours. Punk had no idea if he was ever going to get off this island and away from John, the giant piece of chocolate cake.

"I can do this," Punk thought to himself, "and without even sticking my finger in the frosting."

Chapter Text

Punk stood corrected. John Cena was not a tempting slice of chocolate cake. No, he was the serpent from the Garden of Eden who made Eve eat that damn apple, screwing over the rest of the human race for all eternity.

The last few days had been pure torture for Punk and he knew that Cena was trying all the underhanded methods in the book to try and get into his pants, but so far, he had made it out unmolested and alive.

He didn't know how long he could take this. He wanted it so fucking bad he had developed a twitch in his eye. He was about to break and give in to the evil serpent from hell.

Would Colt understand and not blame him? Cena could make a nunnery turn into a reenactment of Fifty Shades of Grey in approximately five minutes. How the hell could he go up against that? He wasn't a freaking nun by any stretch of the imagination.

Punk was pulled from his intense thoughts when John entered the cabin soaking wet and in only a pair of skin-tight boxer briefs. He watched as tiny droplets of water ran down John's rippling body and disappeared into his shorts. Punk involuntarily licked his lips, wishing absently that he was a drop of water.

"Woah, snap out of it, dumbass!" Punk thought to himself. He couldn't be this affected by this particular antic of John's. This was more mundane and less in your face than some of John's other tactics.

Over the last few days, John had basically been running around naked, so Punk should have been used to it, but seeing all that rippling muscle set Punk's heart racing. Some of John's other tactics were rubbing himself against Punk "accidentally", touching Punk in personal places "accidentally", and walking in on Punk naked and sending heated looks "accidentally". "Accidentally, my ass." Punk thought to himself.

It also didn't help that Punk hadn't had sex in over a year. This made him think that John Cena was only attractive because he was sexually starved and there was no one else on the island to lust after. Yes, that was it.

Punk watched as John started taking off his underwear, which snapped him out of his thoughts. The best way to fight temptation is to not be around it, so Punk stood up and left the cabin. Running away in this situation was not cowardly, it was self-preservation.

If Punk had turned around at that moment, he would have seen the deep frown that had taken over Cena's face. John was shocked that he had lasted this long without snapping, but he could tell that Punk was about to break and give in. He just needed a little more time and encouragement. A smile spread across John's face once again, as he followed after Punk.

John found him on a fallen log near the shoreline. He looked peaceful and deep in thought sitting there watching the ocean. An idea popped in John's mind.

Coming up quietly behind Punk, John wrapped his arms around him and lifted him into the air. Punk was startled and let out a less than manly cry. John thought it was adorable.

John finally set him down his feet and Punk looked at him angrily, but he couldn't bring himself to fly off the handle with his anger. He was tired of fighting with him.

John was standing in front of him in nothing but a small pair of underarmor underwear that he usually wore into the ring. They were tight, they were short, and they were mouthwatering. Punk was so distracted that he almost missed John's question.

"Punk, how would you describe the ocean?" John was smirking ear to ear.

How he described the ocean? What the hell is that supposed to mean and where did that question come from? Thinking it was a completely harmless question, Punk answered. "Rough and angry."

John eyes closed for a moment and Punk heard him growl low in his throat. The sound went straight to Punk's groin. Opening his eyes, which were now more black than blue, John smiled sweetly at Punk. "How you describe the ocean is how you like sex. So, you like rough and angry sex, Punk?"

Punk couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late. Punk ran full choke at John's smirking face and tackled him to the sand in a flurry of limps. Before the bigger man even had a chance to let out a startled scream, Punk smashed his lips against John's in a brutal kiss. John had been asking him to do this for days and Punk wasn't going to let him back out like a fucking tease.

John was too stunned to respond. His brain was stuttering, trying to figure out how he had ended up on the sand with a man attacking them. It suddenly clicked what was happening when Punk bit into John's bottom lip viciously and pulled it toward him. Punk was on top of him kissing him like an animal. He was primed and ready for all John ever wanted to do to him.

Growling low in his throat, John grabbed Punk around the hips and then rolled over so he was crushing Punk into the sand below them. He returned Punk's kiss with just as much heat and violence.

What John and Punk were doing was not kissing. It was violent, passionate, messy, and frightening. John buried his hands in Punk's hair and pulled hard. Punk hissed in pain and this allowed John to slip his tongue into Punk's hot cavern. Moaning at the taste, John tried to get as deep into Punk's mouth as he could so he could taste more, but Punk's tongue battled with his for dominance. Their teeth clacked together, lips were bruising, but they didn't care. This was all about sex, hate and dominance.

Getting tired of being crushed into the sand, Punk hooked a leg around one of John's and then flipped him over so he was straddling John's hips. He felt John's hardness rubbing against his backside so he rubbed back even harder before his lips descended on John's once again.

John's mouth had been wide open from the moan that was ripped out of him when Punk ground his ass against his straining erection. Punk's tongue was able to invade John's mouth and he took the opportunity to explore. His ran his tongue over John's teeth and then caressed his tongue, hoping that it would start to play with his.

Recovering from the burst of intense pleasure, John not wanting to disappoint, started battling with Punk's tongue once again. He had never felt so much pleasure from a kiss before. Everything was so intense when it came to Punk.

Wanting to feel more, John grabbed Punk's clothed hips and then forced them down to grind into his own. Both men groaned in pleasure.

John flipped them over again so he was on top. He continued to grind their clothed erections together by bringing Punk's hips into his on each thrust. This was so intense, but he wanted to do more than just grind against him and kiss.

Breaking their brutal kiss, John moved down to suck one of Punk's earlobes into his mouth. He sucked on it hard and then bit down on it harshly. Punk cried out and John rubbed his tongue against it to sooth his pain. John continued further down Punk's neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

When he was at the juncture between neck and shoulder, John heard Punk let out a throaty moan. He had found one of Punk's spots. Concentrating on that spot, John sucked, licked, and kissed that spot and until the skin there was an angry red and sure to bruise into a love bite. John didn't want Punk to be able to deny that this happened after they finished.

John continued further down Punk's body until he reached his nipples and then he feasted on them. Punk's back was arching off the sand in a beautiful arc, making his cock rub against John. Liking this feeling, John bit down on one of Punk's nipples and then tugged. Punk howled in pleasure and then placed both of his hands on John's head, almost like he was afraid John was going to stop. Not a chance in hell

John swirled his tongue around the abused nipple to assuage Punk's pain a little before he descended to the place he really wanted to be

When John reached the edge of Punk's shorts, he looked up at Punk with a heated gaze. Punk was panting hard and his skin was flushed. In other words, he looked beautiful. John licked along the edge of Punk's shorts to tease him a little before he started pulling his shorts down with his teeth.

Punk let out a strangled sound when his engorged member was freed the confines of his shorts. John grinned like a cat that had just gotten its milk as he took in the sight of Punk so wrecked with pleasure. His mouth was watering at the site of Punk's straining cock, but he wanted to make him beg for it.

John nuzzled Punk's member before moving over to his hip bone to kiss and bite it. Punk let out a disappointed groan and rolled his hips when John's mouth didn't descend on him, like he hoped it would.

Sucking on the spot on Punk's hip bone, John knew how badly Punk wanted it, but he wasn't going to give it to him. John bit down on the sensitive skin covering Punk's hip bone and his hips jerked in response to the small pain. Pulling away a little, John looked at his handy work and smiled. He loved putting his mark on Punk. He knew it was a little possessive and archaic, but he didn't care. He liked that Punk was going to bare his marks even days after he was done with him.

Punk arched his hips and his member bumped against John's cheek. Looking Punk in the eye, John saw the desperate look in them. "Please, John" Punk said while arching his hips again.

John smirked and licked the very tip on Punk's member. Punk's eyes rolled back into his head at the brief pleasure, but when John's mouth did not touch him again, he frown and looked back down at John.

Still wearing the same smirk, John asked, "Please what?"

Punk made a sound at the back of his throat and then threw his head back, "Suck me off, John. Please."

Having heard what he wanted to, John didn't give Punk any notice before he engulfed Punk's entire member. "Fuck!" Punk screamed loudly in both surprise and pleasure. Each of his hands grabbed one side of John's head and guided his speed and depth.

It was amazing having Punk in his mouth. He tasted delicious and John could hardly get enough. His pace started out slow. He would let Punk into his mouth and then he would let the head of his member rub again the ribbed roof of his mouth as he pulled away. John traced the vein along the underside of Punk's cock with his tongue. From Punk's reactions, John could tell that he was enjoying himself.

Going for broke, John deep throated Punk until his nose smashed against his pubic bone and then he started humming low in his throat.

Punk stopped breathing for a moment and then it came back in coughs of pleasure. He couldn't stop moaning at the sensation of being buried down John's vibrating and contracting throat. He had never felt anything like it. Punk started feeling that tingling along his spine and balls. He was so close. He wouldn't be able to last much longer.

"John, please!" Punk's words were strangled.

John's mouth left Punk's member with an audible pop. Punk mewled above him in disappointment. He tried to force John's mouth back down on his member with his hands, but John was too strong. "What do you want, Punk?" John said smugly. He knew exactly what Punk wanted but he was going to have to beg for it.

Punk lifted his hips, trying to find some relief. He was so fucking close. "Please make me come, John. I'm so close."

Punk's words sent a thrill through John's body. Punk had actually called him John. He guessed that deserved a little bit of an award. John wrapped his lips around Punk's member once again and took him all the way down to the root. He heard a desperate, pleasure filled scream from above him and he smiled to himself. He liked having this much effect on Punk.

John started humming low in his throat again and the vibrations trailed straight up Punk's spine. He couldn't stop it anymore. "Fuck, John. I'm coming!" Punk screamed as he shot his seed down John's throat.

John took it eagerly, but he didn't swallow. Once Punk had calmed down, John let Punk's softening member fall from his mouth and then he grabbed Punk by the hips. He lifted them until Punk was nearly folded in half and then he ripped his shorts off his legs so they could fall open.

Staring at Punk's twitching entrance, John slowly let Punk's own come pass through his lips and pour gently onto his entrance. John then placed his finger against his entrance and then pushed into his body, the come easing his entry.

Punk watched from below as John did this to him. He was being prepared with his own come. He should have been disgusted, but he couldn't help but feel incredibly turned on and he started to become hard again.

It hadn't hurt when John's finger had breached his entrance like he had assumed it would. It actually felt fucking amazing and Punk couldn't help but moan pitifully.

John spit the rest of what was in his mouth onto Punk's entrance and his finger before he added another one. He was so fucking tight, John could almost come just from feeling Punk's inner muscles grasping at his fingers.

After John added that second finger, Punk was completely gone. John was hitting a spot inside of him that he hadn't known existed. Each time John's fingers passed over or jabbed into that spot, liquid fire rolled up Punk's spine. He felt so fucking good. "Fuck, John! You make me feel so fucking amazing," Punk all but moaned out. He was so far gone.

John smirked down at Punk, "You like having my fingers stuffed in your ass, lubed by your own come. You are such a dirty little whore! Tell me you're a dirty little whore. Say it, Punk."

Punk was past feeling ashamed. All that mattered was John and the pleasure he could give him. "I'm a dirty whore, John!" Punk moaned out.

John thrust his fingers viciously into Punk's prostrate, making him cry out in pleasure. "You're my dirty, filthy little whore, aren't you, Punk? Tell me you're my dirty, filthy whore."

Punk swallowed thickly before replying. John was giving him such intense pleasure, he couldn't take this for much longer. "Fuck, John. I'm your dirty, filthy whore. Please fuck me!"

John shivered in pleasure when Punk said that he was his and then he asked him to fuck him. Oh, he didn't have to worry. "I'm going to fuck you so fucking hard, the only thing you'll remember is my name and I'm going to make you scream it until your voice is raw."

Without warning, John flipped Punk over onto his stomach and then jerked his hips up into the air. John ripped his own underwear off and then thrust balls deep into Punk's thoroughly prepared entrance.

Punk whined from under him. It hadn't really hurt but John's sudden entrance had surprised him. John immediately started to move and Punk loved the full and complete feeling that it gave him. Punk's eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned loudly when John's generous member collided with his prostrate.

This was euphoria. Punk had never experienced this much pleasure and intensity with a woman before.

John couldn't believe how tight Punk was wrapped around his cock. He felt his muscles grasp at him when he withdrew to try and keep him inside. Wrapping his strong, muscular arms around Punk's abdomen, John plastered his chest against Punk's back and started to rut into him forcefully. His pace was fast and harsh and he could feel Punk trying to match the pace from underneath him, but he couldn't do it.

Punk stopped trying to match John's pace and just let himself enjoy what was happening to him. John hit that spot inside him that made him see stars on every thrust into his tight body.

The sound produced by John's body colliding with Punk's was pornographic. The sand was shifting underneath Punk's hands and feet because John was thrusting so violently and he started to sink lower and lower into the sand. He hardly even noticed because he was experiencing so much pleasure.

John noticed this was happening, though and quickly changed position. John pulled out of Punk, who rewarded him with a frustrated moan, and then flipped him over onto his back on the sand. Placing Punk's knees over his shoulders, John placed himself at Punk's entrance and then thrust home.

Leaning down to kiss Punk, John's shoulders forced Punk's knees up by his ears, but his flexibility made it so he didn't feel any discomfort. John placed his hands on either side of Punk's head so it was tightly cradled in his hands while he kissed him.

Biting down on Punk's lip ring, John studied how it felt with his tongue. He had been dreaming about what it would be like to do this since John had seen Punk for the first time all those years ago, but his dreams didn't do the sensation any justice.

The ring was strong and it didn't bend when John bit at it and Punk's lip had not started to bleed even though he was being very rough. Punk only moaned into the kiss when John pulled at the lip ring with his teeth as he continued to pump in and out of Punk's body.

Tearing his mouth away from John's, Punk let out a long, desperate moan. "Fuck, John. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me. Fuck me harder."

John started thrusting even harder and faster into Punk's willing body. The man below him let out a strangled moan and his eyes rolled back in his head before his eyes closed. Drawing his attention to Punk's neck, John started biting and sucking every patch of skin that he had access to. He then moved on to the tattoo of the 31 behind Punk's ear. He felt Punk convulse underneath him. John had found another one of Punk's sensitive spots.

Concentrating on that spot, John continued thrusting into Punk. The pleasure was incredible. John was getting close and from the fluttering of the muscles surrounding him, John could tell that Punk was getting close, too.

Sliding his hand down between their bodies, John grabbed Punk's blushing member and started jerking it in time with his thrusts. Punk reacted immediately with a strangled scream. He was so close.

"John, I'm going to come. Kiss me!" Punk moaned desperately at John.

John was close too, so when their lips touched and their tongues delved into each other's mouths, they both exploded.

Punk's hot seed gushed between their bodies as John rutted into Punk as his own seed streamed into his hot channel.

John thrust into Punk a few more times before stopping. Their harsh breathing mingled together as they looked into each other's eyes. Punk's knees were still over John's shoulders and he was finding it a little hard to breathe since he was basically folded in half. Reality seemed to come back at that point.

Punk couldn't believe what he had just done. All the nasty things he had said and all the disgusting things he had just done, could never be taken back. He had just let John Cena fuck him like an animal and he couldn't take that back.

Even though the euphoria from what had just occurred was still flowing through his body, guilt and shame took over.

John saw these emotions cloud over Punk's eyes and he knew he had just lost him again, but he stayed where he was, still deep inside and on top of Punk. He didn't want this moment to end and he didn't want Punk to regret the beautiful moment they had just shared.

The moment was broken forever when Punk quietly uttered, "Get off of me, John."

Feeling defeated John pulled out and rolled to the side. He sat down on the sand and looked over at Punk who was still on his back. Punk quickly got up and started walking toward the cabin. John couldn't help noticing that his come was running wetly down Punk's thigh as he made his quick retreat.

John thought that he had finally had him, but he had been very wrong. Pain bloomed in his chest and one of his hands rubbed the place above his heart to try and quell the pain.

Chapter Text

Punk felt like a coward running away, but he couldn't have stayed on the beach with John. He was so angry at both John and himself. And ashamed.

What he had done was terrible and not many people would fully understand how terrible it actually was. First, he had betrayed his best friend who had been with him through thick and thin over the years. Second, he had gone against his straight edge lifestyle by having very, very promiscuous sex. Punk shivered because he felt so dirty.

He had sand in places he hadn't known existed until an hour ago and his skin was rubbed raw in the places the sand had taken up residence. It wasn't a pleasant feeling and it only served to remind him of what he had done.

God, he had let himself completely go. Punk remembered saying those horrible things in the heat of passion and the sad thing was that he had meant them all. There was no way John was going to let that go. He was going to use all of that to his advantage.

Punk couldn't stand the smell of John on his skin anymore and walked out of the cabin to go to the pond to bathe. He wished by washing John's essence from his body that he would erase the entire encounter all together, but he couldn't undo what had already been done.

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John stared listlessly at the footprints in the sand that Punk had left behind making his retreat. He was still sitting in the same spot on the sand that Punk had left him on. Looking over at the sand beside him, John noted how disturbed it was from their lovemaking. He had made love to Punk, but from Punk's reaction, he knew that it had been one-sided.

Absently rubbing his chest, John couldn't help but feel a whole myriad of emotions. He was both disappointed angry that Punk had just walked away from him after the experience they had just shared. He didn't understand how Punk could still be denying what he felt for him. John knew how he felt because Punk had shouted his name in ecstasy during his wet dream and dreams don't lie.

He also felt a little cheap because Punk hadn't cared about his feelings when he walked away from him after what they had shared. The feeling that stood out the most from all the other emotions was hurt. He was heartbroken. John had finally shown Punk how deeply he felt for him and he had just thrown it back in his face by walking away.

Feeling tears burn his eyes, John forced the hurt down and let the anger and disappointment take over. His father had always told him that tears never solve any problems, but focusing your emotions toward achieving your goal would solve everything.

He wasn't going to let Punk deny and sweep what they had done under the rub. They had both experienced something that was life changing and John wasn't going to let him go without fighting tooth and nail.

Strengthening his resolve, John picked himself up off the sand and started retracing Punk's footprints back to the cabin.

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Punk stood under the waterfall for a long time, even though the water was cold. He was waiting for the clean feeling to return but he lost his battle against the cold before that feeling came. After what he had done, he might never feel clean again.

Heaving himself out of the water, Punk wrapped a blanket around himself to ward off the cold. He was shivering uncontrollably and his teeth chattered loudly. The Sun was setting and the temperature was falling with it. While the island was hot during the day, it quickly cooled down when the Sun set. Punk could tell that a storm was coming based on how the clouds looked in the shades of orange and red of the setting Sun.

The walk back to the cabin helped warm him and he had stopped shivering by the time he reached the cabin. He hesitated and stood outside the door in the quickly fading light. He knew that John was going to be waiting inside for him, probably wanting to know why he had walked away. Punk looked around in the waning light and contemplated sleeping outside for a few moments, but decided against it. He didn't know what would be waiting for him in the dark, but at least he knew what he was going to face when he entered the cabin.

Taking a deep breath, Punk opened the cabin door, walked through it and then closed the door tightly behind him.

He had hoped that the cabin would be dark, but John had a fire going in the small cook stove, which cast a soft glow on everything in the cabin, including John's hunched figure.

Punk stared at him for a few moments, not wanting to move and betray his presence in the cabin.

John was sitting on his cot in nothing but a pair of black underwear. He was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and his head rested on his closed fists. Punk couldn't see his face in the soft glow, but he wished he could so he could gage his mood.

Chewing nervously on his lip ring, Punk moved from the door and sat down on his cot. He didn't get to lie down before John's voice broke the silence.

It was eerily calm and quiet, but Punk could tell that John was anything but. "Why did you walk away and leave me on the beach." The way they were said and the words themselves sent a shiver of dread and fear down Punk's spine.

He looked up at John and met his intense gaze. John's eyes mirrored the emotional turmoil inside of him, but what Punk saw the most in those blue depths was anger and hurt. He cringed violently at the sight.

Punk broke eye contact with John and looked around the room as if he was looking for some kind of escape route. He felt trapped. If he stayed in this cabin, he would be made to talk about what had happened on that beach today. It was a conversation he never wanted to have. If he left the cabin, it was cold outside and he didn't know what dangerous things came out on the island at night. At this moment, Punk wouldn't mind dying, but doing so painfully at the hands of a vicious animal was not appealing to him. He had no other choice but to stay here in this small cabin with a man who wanted answers he didn't want to give.

"Answer me damn it! Why the fuck did you leave me on that beach today?" John's voice had an angry edge to it this time and it was much more firm and loud.

Punk swallowed hard and struggled for an excuse. He couldn't find a good one. "I don't know." He said quietly.

The only warning Punk was given before he found himself hauled from his cot and pressed to the floor was a low growl from John's throat. He looked up into John's eyes as he pressed his hands against John's chest defensively. Punk could see how angry he was and he couldn't be sure that John wouldn't hurt him.

John grabbed both of Punk's shoulders in a bruising grip and started shaking him. "That's bullshit and you know it! Stop being a fucking coward and tell me!" John all but screamed into Punk's face.

Punk had never seen John this angry and he couldn't stop the words that flowed from his mouth. "What we did was wrong. We shouldn't have done that." It was another lame excuse, but Punk hoped that it would be enough to get John off of him.

Surprisingly it was, John suddenly relaxed and his hands let go of Punk's shoulders. He sat up and straddled Punk with a dazed look on his face. His eyes suddenly focused on Punk's and Punk felt like he were peering into his very soul.

"What we experienced on that beach today was not wrong and it was not a mistake. I have never felt that before and I'm sure you haven't either, so don't you dare deny what both of us felt." John voice was oddly calm and quiet.

Punk looked straight into John's eyes and coldly said, "I didn't feel anything except a good fuck. I have to admit, Cena, you lived up to all the hype."

The cold smirk that Punk had put on his face after that statement was firmly slapped straight off his face by John. His eyes were still watering from the sharp sting when John broke the silence between them.

"Don't you fucking dare shut me out and put up a tough front. I know you felt what I did on that beach and I know you have deep feelings for me. You are just too much of a damn coward to admit it. What are you so fucking afraid of?" John bit out between his teeth. His eyes bore into the man's below him.

Punk felt vulnerable underneath John's powerful body. Why wouldn't he just let it go? He voiced his thoughts. "Why won't you just let it go, Cena? We fucked on the beach and we can't take that back, so just let it go." He made sure his voice carried an angry edge.

John's eyes softened a little and his face fell in defeat. Punk felt John's body relaxing from being so tense. John's answer was so low, Punk almost didn't hear it, and he wished he hadn't. "I can't let it go because I won't let you go. I love you and have loved you so long."

Those words were like a shot to Punk's core. They broke his jaded heart because he knew they couldn't be true. "I never thought you were a liar, Cena, but I guess I was wrong. You don't really love me because no one can love me. I'm not good enough. Everyone I've ever loved and thought loved me back has only hurt and left me."

All of a sudden, John finally understood why Punk was afraid to admit his feelings. He didn't want to get hurt again. John's anger left his body and its absence made him feel completely boneless. Lying down beside Punk on the cabin floor, John gathered Punk into his arms and tucked Punk's head under his chin. Caressing the back of Punk's neck, John replied to his admittance.

"I could never hurt you, Punk, because it would be like hurting myself. I know that you have feelings for me. I heard you shout my name at the end of a wet dream that you had when you were feverish, so don't you dare deny me again." John words were spoken softly and he heard Punk's breath hitch when he divulged what he had heard him say in his sleep.

Punk knew the dream John was talking about. It was the one where he and John had been in the shower. He couldn't deny his feelings any longer, but he still couldn't be with John. Not after what he had done to Colt.

"Please don't make me do this, John. I can't be with you after what you did to Colt." Punk's voice wavered with his tears.

A thrill went through John's body when he heard Punk use his given name, but that feeling was quickly destroyed by the hot dread that rolled down his spine at Punk's admittance that he knew what he had done to Colt. It was time for him to be honest now.

"I'm not proud of what I did to Colt, but I was jealous and wasn't thinking when I did it. He was always with you, joking with you, talking with you, laughing with you, everything I wanted to do with you, but I couldn't. I became jealous and suggested that he be removed from the roster. I'm sorry for what I did and if we ever make it off this island, I'll ask that he be reinstated." John cringed and waited for Punk to answer. His fingers were still rubbing Punk's neck in a soothing manner.

Punk had stopped breathing as soon as John had told him that his jealousy had caused Colt to be fired. So it was his own fault. He had gotten his best friend fired and crushed his life dream. The guilt was crippling. Punk finally took a shaky breath. "It's my fault, then. My fault that Colt was fired." He said softly.

John was horrified and his hand stopped on the back of Punk's neck. "No, Punk. Colt being fired from the company is completely on me. Please don't blame yourself. Like I said, if we get off this rock, I'll have Colt rehired to fix my mistake, not yours."

Punk was quiet for a moment. "Do you really mean that? Will you have Colt reinstated?"

John nuzzled Punk's neck. "I promise. Please let everything go and give me and chance, Punk. I love you so much."

Punk closed his eyes tightly for a moment, already knowing his decision but not wanting to voice it. He was afraid of what was going to happen, but it was time he let go of his fear and let John have his chance. Punk wrapped his arms around John's torso, returning his embrace. "Okay."

The tension dropped straight out of John's body and he sighed heavily in relief. John smiled into Punk's hair and then kissed him on the head. "Thank you, Punk. I will never let you go. I love you." John tightened his embrace on Punk even tighter.

Punk didn't say anything back. He didn't have to. Both men stayed in each other's arms on the floor that night, under the glow of a warm fire. They were lulled to sleep by the thunder and the rain.

Chapter Text

His small apartment was dirty and had a rank smell permeating the entire living space. It was dark expect for the small TV that was sitting on a milk crate in the corner. The man was eating pizza out of a box and sipping a beer as he flipped through the channels.

How his life had changed! He had gone from making large sums of money and living in luxury to barely making it by and living in this hell hole.

Taking another bite of pizza that tasted more like cardboard than pizza, the man changed the channel once again. A cheerful voice came over the speakers. "Tonight on Entertainment Tonight, the drama continues on the Cena vs. Cena case. We are the only place you will see exclusive footage from the courtroom fallout between the missing professional wrestler John Cena's wife and his mother fighting over who has legal right to declare him dead. His wife believes that he is dead and his body will never be found, but his mother is still hanging onto the hope that her son is still alive." The blond anchor looked seriously into the camera.

"Ironically, John Cena's mother has power of attorney, but Liz Cena believes that, as his wife, she has the legal right to declare him dead. The court battle over this case has been especially bitter. Let's take a look at some footage from today's court hearing." The TV then shows the image of a court room with John's mother on one side and Liz Cena on the other.

"You fucking bitch! He's my husband and if I think he's dead than he is!" Liz screamed angrily across the courtroom at John's mother. If looks could kill, the older woman would be dead.

"I know what you're after, you gold digging hussy! All you want is his money, but guess what? You aren't getting one red cent because all his money goes to his family and not you. He changed his will when he filed for divorce." John's mother yelled right back at Liz.

Liz was silent and had a shocked and sick look on her face, but then the video clip ended and the camera went back to the news anchor.

The man stared in shock and horror at the TV. The news had stuck him so hard, he didn't even hear what the news anchor said after coming back onto camera. If Liz wasn't going to get Cena's money, she would never have enough money to pay him for offing the leader of the CeNation.

Anger blazed down his spine and he threw his can of Natural light at the TV without even thinking. As the TV exploded into a pile of sparks, the man was breathing heavily in his anger. "That little bitch is never going to pay me! Fucking cunt!" He picked up the chair he had been sitting in and threw it against the wall, leaving a large dent in the drywall.

Standing in the center of his one room apartment, the man seethed in anger. His shoulders were shaking and his breathes were harsh and fast. He was not going to let her get away with this and he was going to get his money no matter if she paid him or not.

What that little bitch didn't know was that he had recorded all of their phone conversations and had disguised his voice just in case someone got a hold of the tapes. He smiled evilly to himself as the idea was forming in his head. The media would eat this information up and be willing to pay a lot of dough for the privilege to have it. His voice was disguised, so no one would ever know he was the hit man. He could just say that he found the tapes.

Quite proud of himself for coming up with this brilliant idea, the man cracked open another beer and drank the whole can with enthusiasm. Soon he would be able to afford real beer instead of nasty light.

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Liz Cena sat on a dirty toilet in the courthouse and mauled over what she had just heard moments ago. John hadn't really changed his will, had he? He wouldn't do that to her without telling her. They may have had an off and on relationship, but they had been together since high school. She knew John loved her no matter how bad things got and he would never cut her out of his will.

That old, crusty bitch had to be lying just to get her to stop trying to have John declared dead. Well, she wasn't going to be discouraged and give up that easily. She may have had her fooled for a few minutes, but not anymore. John was such a stooge and loved her too much to leave her with nothing.

Grabbing some toilet paper from the roll, Liz dabbed at her smudged make-up. She had broken into tears as soon as she had locked the stall door just a few minutes ago, but she was fine now. Her resolve had strengthened and she was ready to fight for what she deserved.

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John was woken by the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach and birds softly chirping. He felt warm and surprisingly comfortable considering he had spent the night on the floor with Punk wrapped in his arms. That's probably why he felt so good this morning. Punk was wrapped tightly in his arms and his warm breath was caressing John's strong neck.

This was heaven on Earth. He had waited so long to experience this feeling of having Punk tucked into his body, to actually be his. It honestly felt like this could be too good to be true and he was dreaming, but he knew this was real and Punk was sleeping peacefully at his side.

John smiled to himself and then buried his nose in Punk's soft hair. He hadn't been wearing gel in it since they had been on the island and he liked feeling how soft it was and being able to smell Punk's scent instead of the chemicals. He smiled into the softness as he remembered when he had been tempted to steal Punk's Cubs hat when he had left it out in the locker room once, but he had decided that Punk would throw a fit and it wasn't worth having that piece of him.

He had wanted that hat so much. His fingers had twitched and ached wanting to pick it up and hide it away in his own bag. Back then, he had imagined how incredible it would be to be able to smell Punk's scent whenever he wanted to if he had his well-worn baseball hat. John inhaled deeply and savored the scent that was uniquely Punk. He had the real thing now. He didn't need to covet a baseball hat when he was holding its owner in his arms.

Letting his hands wonder around Punk's body, John committed everything to memory. His fingertips brushed the strong muscles of his back and then journeyed lower to his bottom, which he softly squeezed before he moved on to Punk's hips. Slipping beneath his athletic shorts, John caressed the soft skin he felt on Punk's hips. He stopped abruptly when the pad of his thumb brushed over a rough spot. That's when he remembered Punk's injury.

He felt a wave of panic go through his body when he remembered how rough he had been on Punk yesterday when they had been on the beach. He had forgotten all about Punk's injury when he had been distracted by having the chance of experiencing Punk for the first time. He berated himself for not noticing the angry, scarred skin which even still had scabs in some places. John cringed when he realized how much pain Punk must have been feeling on that beach. Why hadn't he said anything?

At that moment, John wanted more than anything to wake Punk up and ask him and then apologize for being so rough, but he knew that Punk needed his sleep.

Forcing himself to relax, John went back to sliding his hands on Punk's lush body. He was careful not to touch Punk's wound in case it was still painful and sensitive. The sensation of running his hands and fingertips over Punk's skin was incredible.

His skin was so soft, silky and smooth. It was stretched tightly over his muscles which rippled in response to John's gentle touch. Moving his hands lower on Punk's luscious thighs, John felt the soft brush of the short leg hair that was growing back. He and Punk both had not shaved since they had been on the island, so their hairless in-ring bodies were quickly becoming a thing of the past, but he liked the sensation.

He let his hands run over Punk's body for a few more minutes, but then he started to feel sleepy again. The sun still hadn't come up yet, so he didn't feel guilty for falling back asleep for a few more minutes.

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt Punk's lip brush against his neck and then he felt the slight brush of teeth over one of his neck muscles. "Why did you stop?" came a sleepy question from Punk.

So the little sneak had been awake all this time? "I'm sleepy and want to sleep for a few more minutes," John whispered into Punk's hair.

"I don't want you to fall back asleep," Punk slipped one of his hands between their bodies and into John's black underwear where he found that John was already half hard. He wrapped his hand around John's generous girth and started to stroke him slowly. "I want you," Punk whispered hotly into John's ear before licking the shell and biting his earlobe.

John groaned softly and tried to hold onto his control, but it was difficult with Punk's hot hand wrapped around him. He concentrated on finding out how badly he had hurt Punk yesterday. That information would determine if he could have him right now on this floor. John latched onto Punk's own ear lobe and sucked on it for a few minutes before releasing it. "Did I hurt you yesterday? I was rougher than I should have been." John's breath tickled Punk's ear and made him shudder in arousal.

Punk increased his pace stroking John and palmed the head of his cock to gather his pre-cum to ease the friction a little. John moaned hotly in his ear and started panting. Punk couldn't help smiling to himself. He liked making John feel this way. "You didn't hurt me. I am a little chaffed from the sand, though."

John had to concentrate on finding words for what he wanted to ask next. Punk hadn't stopped stroking him and it felt absolutely amazing and intense. "Does your wound hurt?" His words came out mostly as pants instead of articulate words.

Punk tightened his grip on John's hard cock and then he started grinding his own stiff erection into John's hip, letting him know what he wanted. "Only a little. Please let me ride you, John." Not even waiting for John's reply, Punk turned John over and began working on pulling off John's underwear and his own pair of shorts. He couldn't stand the barriers between them anymore.

John looked up at Punk and he couldn't believe this was happening to him. Punk wanted this and had taken control of the situation. John decided that he liked this and let Punk do whatever he wanted. He had said that his wound only hurt a little and John would have to be sure to watch his face for any signs of discomfort. Letting himself relax, John let Punk do whatever he wanted to his body.

Punk was naked straddling his thighs and still stroking his cock roughly. He didn't know how much he could take without being inside Punk's body. "I need to be inside you, Punk."

Punk let go of John's erection and moved further up John's body until John's cock was resting against his center.

John sucked on two of his own fingers so he could prepare Punk, but he had to pull them out of his mouth quickly when Punk rose up on his knees and grabbed John's erection, placing it at his entrance. Punk was going to try and take him without being prepared. John wasn't going to let him hurt himself like that. "Stop!" John growled roughly as he removed himself from Punk's hand and away from his entrance. "You aren't ready yet."

Punk made to grab John's hardness again, but John swatted his hand away before reaching between Punk's spread thighs and thrusting one slicked finger into his hot channel. The pout that had been forming on Punk's face was wiped completely away when John's thick finger brushed against his spot, sending shocks of ecstasy up his spine.

"Oh God, John! I need you!" Punk pleaded as he impaled himself on John's finger.

John added another finger and began stretching him. Punk was almost in a pleasure induced frenzy just from John's fingers. "Please, John!"

Pulling his fingers from Punk's body, John heard his disappointed groan. Not wanting to keep them both waiting when they were now more than ready, John placed himself at Punk's entrance and let Punk slide down onto his shaft. He had to fight the urge to fuck up into Punk's willing body, but he wanted to make sure he was okay before he let himself go.

Punk moaned in pleasure as the head of John's cock breeched his entrance. He felt big and thick rubbing against his walls and stimulating him. Punk lowered himself until he was seated against John's hips. He rested there for a moment, enjoying the full feeling John being inside gave him. He noticed the desperate and crazed look in John's eyes and then he raised himself on his knees before impaling himself on John's hot erection.

Not able to take it anymore, John grabbed Punk's hips and began to guide the pace and fucking up into Punk's willing body. "God, Punk. You are so tight and hot!" His only response was a moan from above him.

He could tell that Punk was getting close already. His pace was frantic and rough, he was panting and sweating. John slid his hands up Punk's sweat-slicked chest and started playing with his hard nipples. Punk lost his rhythm for a moment from the sensation, but then he found it again. "Touch me, John."

John smiled and pinched Punk's nipples harshly. "I am touching you, Punk"

Punk looked down at him with wild eyes before taking one of John's hands and placing it on his dripping erection. "Touch me, John."

Not wanting to tease him too much, John wrapped his hand around Punk's wet cock and began to stroke him in pace with his thrusts up into his body.

It didn't take long for Punk to be on the edge of his orgasm. "John, I'm close. Come with me!" Punk started impaling himself on John's cock even harder before he stopped to grind John's cock into his spot.

John groaned at the treatment. "I'm right there with you, Punk." John all but gasped out. He tightened his grip on Punk's erection and started stroking him faster. A few seconds later, John felt Punk's inner muscles flutter around his cock before clamping down around him hard. Punk's come shot out and painted John's abs and chest. Between the arousing sight of Punk's coming and his tightening channel, John couldn't take it anymore and he released into Punk. His orgasm seemed to go on forever.

Punk felt John's thick streams of come splash against his sensitive walls and the feeling made him shudder. Feeling utterly spent, Punk collapsed onto John and let his head rest on his chest. He could hear his racing heart and rapid breaths that almost matched his own. Feeling suddenly tired, Punk let himself drift off to sleep and John went to dreamland right along with him.

Chapter Text

Punk woke up a half an hour later, but John was still snoring softly at his side. He felt warm, content and satisfied wrapped in John's arms and these feelings were a little foreign to him. Staring into John's peaceful face as he slept, Punk studied his features.

His face was relaxed in his sleep and there was a small smile stretched across his plump lips. The faint lines that had appeared around the corners of his eyes in the last few years were less noticeable. Taking all this in, Punk let his mind wonder.

In all honesty, he was still a little apprehensive about this relationship with John because he didn't want to get hurt again. Why would the golden boy of the WWE want him? He was fat, pierced, tattooed, and most of the time, his personality made him less than pleasant to live with.

He wanted John, who wouldn't? The man was a walking wet dream and he was usually easy to get along with. When it came down to it, they were polar opposites and while opposites always attract, they can break apart when a stronger magnet comes around. Punk was the only magnet on this island to attract John's charge.

If they ever were rescued from this island, would John drop him as soon as they made it back to civilization or had he been telling the truth about wanting him for so long?

Thinking back to what they had done on the floor not that long ago, Punk still didn't know what had come over him. He had wanted John so much, he didn't even think about it. His body had just taken him for an amazing ride that he would never forget.

Punk was pulled from his musings when John tightened his arms around Punk in his sleep. He knew he was going to wake up soon, but that feeling of someone wanting him close while he slept was intoxicating. He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel loved and needed.

Going back to his dark thoughts, Punk knew it was only a matter of time before John tired of him, but the feeling of being loved, needed and cherished was worth the crippling heartbreak that he would experience in the end. He was willing to take what John was offering while he was able to.

Resigning himself to enjoy these moments while he could, Punk moved closer to John and nuzzled the prominent vein running across his strong shoulder and chest. John stirred in his sleep and his ocean blue eyes cracked open sleepily. A lazy spread across his face and he brought one of his hands up to Punk's face so his fingers could caress his soft facial hair.

John's blue eyes searched Punk's for a moment. "You know you're amazing, don't you?"

Punk brow creased at the question. Amazing? The questions honestly made him feel uncomfortable, so he hid the emotion and dodged the question with sarcasm, "Well, I do try."

John's face dropped a little. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but he shouldn't have been shocked by it. This was Punk after all. His face fell even further when Punk removed John's arms from his body and got up from the floor. He groaned. Probably from feeling the aches from sleeping on the floor and the activities he participated in on said floor.

One phase was filling John's mind: the magic was broken. Punk had put his walls back up and shut him out. Sure, he was still willing to be in this relationship, but he still seemed like he was protecting himself and not letting John in. John watched as Punk bent over to pick up his shorts and put them on before he walked over to the cabin door. Punk glanced over his shoulder at John before saying, "I'm going down to the pond to bathe. I'll be back in a few," and he walked out the door.

John laid silently on the floor for a few minutes thinking about what had just occurred. At this moment, the thing that John wanted to do the most was find out who had hurt Punk so badly that he wasn't willing to trust or give him a full chance to love him. He knew this was going to be an uphill battle winning Punk's trust, but after all he had been through already, he wasn't going to give up on him. John already had Punk's body, but he wanted his heart, too.

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Sitting in the cool water, Punk silently berated himself for closing himself off from John like that. He couldn't help it, though. He couldn't take compliments and praise like John had given him while they had been lying together on that floor. They were always lies. He wasn't amazing. He was just the ugly Punk with the tattoos.

Punk heard soft footsteps coming from behind him. Turning his head in the direction of the noise, he saw John getting into the pond and then wading over to him. When they were about an arm's length apart, John stopped and regarded him. Punk studied John's face and was surprised to see hurt shinning in his eyes.

John broke the silence between them. "I don't know what happened on that cabin floor, but when I asked for a chance, I meant a real chance, not you agreeing to be with me and yet waiting on me to screw up. I'm in this for the long haul because I've waited wanting and needing you too damn long to just drop you after a few months or years. I want you to let go of everything that has happened to you in the past and let me show you that I can be trusted to love and cherish you. Give me a real chance. Don't shut me out with your walls."

Punk looked down and to the side, unable to meet John's intense stare. John had seen right through him. No one had ever done that before, not even Colt. Tears started to sting Punk's eyes. "I'm sorry I'm so fucked up." Punk said in a shaky voice.

John's expression softened when he heard Punk's apology. Pulling Punk into an embrace, John rubbed his back soothingly. "You're not fucked up, Punk. Some people who don't know what you are worth hurt you in the past, that's all. You know, if you named names, I'd be willing to go and beat some sense into them if we ever get off this island."

Punk couldn't help smiling at that comment. Maybe John was different.

John released Punk from his embrace. "Now that you're clean, want to come help me finish the stuff on the beach?" Punk nodded and both men made their way out of the water and walked toward the beach.

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"Okay, Mr. Smith, is it? You're telling me that you have recordings of Liz Cena talking to a hit-man arranging John Cena's death."

The man smirked smugly at the editor of People magazine. "Yes, I do. Would you like to hear a short clip for free?" The editor nodded hesitantly.

'Mr. Smith' hit play on a digital voice recorder and soon Liz Cena's voice filled the room. "So, you'll kill him for a hundred thousand dollars? I need him dead before this divorce finalizes or I'll be put out on my ass. Do you understand?" The man pushed stop and then looked expectantly at the editor.

The editor looked as if he was trying not to look interested but he was failing miserably. 'Mr. Smith' could tell he wanted the recordings and badly.

"How much do you want for them?"

He smirked to himself. "I want three million dollars and I want our transaction to remain completely confidential. If someone comes and asks you where you got the tapes, I want you to say that you found them. Do you understand?"

The editor thought for a long moment before closing his eyes. "I'll have the money wired to any account you want, just give me the numbers and I won't tell a soul how I got these tapes. Is that acceptable?"

He couldn't believe his luck. He was going to have so much money in very a short amount of time. He laughed silently to himself and patted himself on the back for coming up with this ingenious idea. It was a good thing Liz couldn't come up with the money to pay him, because he just made a whole hell of a lot more.

The editor stood up and gestured that 'Mr. Smith' to sit down in his office chair. "I've wired the money into your account. You can log-in on my computer to confirm the transaction."

The money had been transferred into his account and the sight of that large of a sum staring back at him was daunting. While he had worked for the WWE, he had never received this much money at one time and back then, he had spent everything as soon as he got it. That practice was part of the reason he was in the situation he was now. All that was behind him now, he had learned to be smarter with his money and he wasn't going to let himself live in poverty ever again.

He handed the editor the voice recorded and walked out the door and into his new life.

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Pappas looked in shock down at the ratings report clutched in his shaking hand. This was bad, really bad. He hadn't seen ratings this bad for an episode of Raw… ever. He cringed when he thought about how Vince was going to react when he saw these.

This was only the second Raw without the WWE's top two superstars and such a drastic drop in ratings should not have occurred already. If they kept going at this rate, the company was doomed to fail.

Pappas walked into the board room where all the big wigs of the WWE were gathered to discuss where to take the company without John Cena and CM Punk. On the off chance that Cena and Punk were still alive, they couldn't wait any longer for them to be found and nursed back to health. "I have the ratings report, sir." Pappas said gravely to Mr. McMahon.

His stomach twisted when Mr. McMahon's face had a hopeful expression on it. He handed Vince the report and waited anxiously. Mr. McMahon's face quickly fell into worry when he took in the results. He closed his eyes and then passed the report to the next man. The sheet made its way around the room and everyone grew silent and grave. When the report made it back to Vince, he was quiet for a moment before sighing, "Alight, who has some ideas to get this brand back on its feet?"

"Dean Ambrose has some similarities to Punk. We can call him up from developmental and put him over. That should retain and bring back the Punk fans." One man said.

Vince thought about it for a moment. "I think that could work," he looked over at Pappas. "Call Ambrose and get him on the first plane to the Connecticut. I want to see him in my office tomorrow morning."

"The problem is Cena. It's going to be hard to find someone with his charisma with the fans and his work ethic." Hunter spoke up. The rest of the men and Stephanie nodded their heads gravely.

"I think there's a guy that could do it." Another man said with a smirk,

Vince turned his head to look at the man, "Yea, and who is it?"

"Well, you fired him a few years ago, which I thought was a huge mistake, but he's made a name for himself in the Indy's just like Punk did. He hustles his own merchandise, hosts his own podcast, and is just the type of baby-face we need." The man's smirk widened.

Vince was getting angry because this guy wasn't getting to the point, "Well, who the hell is it?"

Still smirking smugly, the man said, "Colt Cabana."

Chapter Text

One Month Later

Dean Ambrose and Colt Cabana, two of WWE's newest hires, stared heatedly into each other's eyes. Colt had blood dripping from a cut above his eye and Dean had a swollen lip.

Both men had only been with the company for three weeks, but already, they couldn't stand the sight of each other. The hate between them had started innocently enough. Colt had compared Dean to Punk, which he was tired of hearing, so he shot back that Colt would never be able to fill Cena's shoes.

The fighting continued in verbal barbs and strikes for a while, but tonight after the Pay-Per-View, the tension had dissolved into an all-out brawl between the two newcomers.

So here they were, sitting in Vince McMahon's office waiting for a firm dressing down and their punishment.

"I don't care if I get fired, beating the shit out of your fatass was worth it," Dean sneered into Colt's face.

"I don't care either because I was doing just fine before I was hired. You were struggling, though, weren't you, Ambrose? Yea, I saw that shitty ass apartment that you were living in. Wasn't your neighbor a stripper? Get any free lap dances from her?" Colt shot back. His happy-go-lucky personality had flown out the window. He couldn't stand the sight of Ambrose's ugly mug. It was a face only a mother could love.

What both men didn't know, was that Vince had been sitting outside the door listening to their exchange for a few minutes. He had a gleam in his eye.

Stepping into the room, Vince put a stop to the bickering, "Alright, Ladies. You're both pretty, so stop throwing your shit at each other.

Colt and Dean both turned to Vince with less than amused expressions on their faces. Both men wanted to shoot something back at him, but considering the situation they were in, they decided that wasn't the best choice and kept their mouths shut.

Vince smiled ear to ear and sat down in a chair in front of his desk. "You two fellows really hate each other, don't you?"

Colt and Dean turned and scowled at each other, "Yes, sir," they said at the same time.

"Well, that's perfect! You know how I like to put real life drama into the storylines. I'll make a deal with you two. If you agree to be in a feud with each other onscreen, I'll sweep this little cock fight under the rug and you won't be punished. But, if you don't agree, I'll have to fire you both. What do you say?" Vince smiled hopefully. He was bluffing with the firing thing, but they didn't know that.

Ambrose and Cabana looked like they had both smelled something horrific, but they both nodded their heads in agreement. Dean was silent for a moment before speaking up. "I have one suggestion. You need to let us have carte blanche, so this seems as natural as it can. Your writers won't get the dialog right and the emotions and reactions won't be as real."

Vince was silent for a moment, mauling the suggestion around in his head. The last time he had given someone that much freedom with a promo, he had run away with it, but it hadn't been what he had been expecting. It had turned out to be one of the best promos in history, but he was worried about taking that gamble again. Cabana and Ambrose were not CM Punk, after all.

Sighing heavily, not believing he was going to say this, but Vince gave them the okay. "I want this feud to start tomorrow night, so you better start working together and make this something people will remember for a long time. The company needs a ratings boost."

RAW opened the next night to Ambrose sitting Indian style in the middle of the ring. It seemed like a nod to Punk's famous pipe bomb, but as soon as he started speaking, fans and wrestling personnel alike realized that it was more of a mockery.

"Do you idiots realize why I'm sitting in this ring right now and not rotting away in Louisville? It's because CM Punk is now swimming with the fishes. If he was still here on his soapbox about respect, my talent would have been wasted because they thought CM Punk was the cash cow, the golden boy. They thought they didn't need me and my superior talent." Dean dropped the mike for a moment and listened to all the boos chanting around him. This is exactly what he wanted.

"You all are lucky that CM Punk became shark food a month ago because that brought me up for your entertainment." The crowd thundered with boos. He knew he was crossing the line, but he was a born line crosser. He was about to go even further. "He was a bad person. Always cranky, nasty and foul-tempered. I don't understand how you listened to his whiny ass day in and day out. He was always saying how the company was screwing him over, but…" Ambrose was stopped mid-sentence when Colt Cabana's music started blasting through the venue.

Colt stalked out from the back with a mike tightly held in his hand. His face was red and his body was visibly shaking with his anger. He stood at the top of the ramp for a few moments, staring Ambrose down. "Where the hell do you get off? What gives you the right to talk that way about a man you never even had the privilege of knowing?"

Ambrose looked affronted, "What gives me the right? I'll tell you…"

"No! You shut the hell up and listen!" Colt yelled angrily at Ambrose. "Punk was family to all of his friends. He bent over backwards for all of us. We loved him and he loved us. Being famous didn't change him. He was the same old Punk I met in wrestling school. He bought houses for his friends when they were going through a rough patch and were about to lose their house, he granted dying kids' wishes and he gave more of damn about this company being successful for the right reasons than even Vince McMahon. Don't you dare talk about a man that you never even knew." Colt had walked from the top of the ramp down to the ring while he was saying his peace. One of his hands grabbed the bottom rope as he finished his sentence.

Ambrose visibly rolled his eyes. "So he bought a guy's house and talked to some sick kids for a few minutes, that doesn't change the fact that he was a whiny asshole. Oh, he cared about the company, alright, but only when changes benefited him. Let me tell you something, Cabana, "Ambrose said mockingly. "The only reason you are here is because CM Punk and John Cena died in a plane crash. Your ass would still be peddling your merch and 'padcast' if they were still stinking up this place."

"You think I don't know that? I was happy with what I was doing before I was asked to come back to the WWE. The only reason I came back was to finish what Punk started. If he's never found, I know he would have wanted me to change this place if he couldn't. I'd rather have my best friend back than this gig." Cabana and Ambrose were nose to nose in the ring.

Suddenly, Vickie Guerrero's music filled the arena. She walked to the top of the ramp with a fake smile on her face. You could see the shock in her eyes from the promo that had just unfolded. "Since you two have so much hate for each other, you'll be facing each other in a match tonight."

Cabana and Ambrose turned their attention back to each other and glared into the other man's eyes. "I'm going to break your face, Cabana," Ambrose hissed.

Cabana gave an amused laugh, "I'd like to see you try." With that, he turned around and walked out of the ring and into the back. Everyone was silently staring at him. Cabana realized that one of history's best feuds had probably just begun. It was a little ironic that all their hatred and malice toward each other was one hundred percent real.

Walking to the locker room, Colt sat down on a bench and sighed. He missed Punk and wished he was here with him. He really did want his best friend back. While search crews were still out looking for the wreckage and the two men, the search was bound to be called off soon. "I hope they find you soon, Punk." Cabana said softly.

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Punk was awakened by a calloused hand sliding its way down his body and to his groin while a pair of soft, plumb lips nibbled at his ear. He smiled softly before grabbing the wondering hand and turning his head to stop the stimulating lips. "You really need to stop molesting me in my sleep," Punk sighed sleepily. He was still half-way in dream land.

John's hot breath ghosted over his ear when he chuckled softly. "But you like it when I wake you up this way," John sucked Punk's ear lobe into his mouth and let his tongue play with it.

"And you know that I don't put out when I'm hungry. I'm starving!" Punk swatted at his ear to break John's hold on it before he sat up on their two cots that had been moved together a week ago. Glancing at the cabinet across the small cabin, Punk asked, "What is there to eat?"

Propping himself up on one elbow, John answered, "Well, if you want fish, I'll go catch you a few. If you want meat, I'll go shoot something." He said matter-of-factly

"Well, you go shoot something and I'll gather some plants and refill the water bottles." Punk stood up from the cot and grabbed his old messenger bag and a few empty water bottles before turning around to face John, who hadn't moved from his spot on the cot. "Come on! I'm hungry and you have to be, too."

"Yea, yea. I'm getting up. You sure you don't want a pre-breakfast quickie?" John asked as he stood up and slipped on a pair of shorts. He looked up at Punk and caught his baleful look. "Okay, forget I asked. I'll go shoot you something." With that John walked out of the cabin and headed into the trees with the gun slung over his shoulder.

A satisfied smile spread over Punk's face. It wasn't that he didn't want to roll around in bed with John this morning, because he did. He couldn't get enough of John's body and the pleasure it brought him, but they had been out of food since yesterday afternoon and John's alluring body is exactly what had kept them from looking for food then. Someone had to keep them from dying of starvation and sex. Wouldn't that be a way to go!

It was amazing how much had changed in just the short month since he and John had first gotten together on that beach. Punk didn't hate himself anymore and he wanted to survive at least long enough to experience all he could of John Cena. Punk knew that as soon as they were off this island, John would drop him like yesterday's news, but he was living in the moment. He was going to take as much as John was offering.

Punk picked edible plants on his way to the pond to fill the empty water bottles. It was fortunate that he had taken a liking to biology in high school and knew a little about what plants were edible and what were not. He had saved John's life a few times, just by keeping him from eating a bad plant.

Life was honestly good here. Punk was not the type of person who needed civilization to be happy. As long as his physical needs were met, he thrived. He liked it here on this island. There were no fans to bother him for an autograph all the time, no frustrating meetings with Vince to sit through, and he had John all to himself without having to worry about people judging him.

Punk could just imagine what people would say if they knew he was sleeping with John Cena. They would probably think the same thing he would if he were in their shoes. That he was sleeping with Cena to get higher up in the company and improve his career.

His messenger bag was full by the time he reached the pond with the small waterfall. Carefully edging closer to the waterfall, Punk opened an empty water bottle, placed it in the flow of water and waited on it to fill.

He was with John mainly because he was attractive and Punk craved the intimate human contact he was offering. Things had been developing recently that he didn't really want to acknowledge. He wasn't sure if it was love, or just attachment. He'd only really loved one person in his life, Natalie, but he had fucked that up pursuing his wrestling career.

It was okay, though. She was happily married now and her happiness was all that mattered. She meant so much to him, all his friends did. He didn't love John Cena. He just loved the sex.

Punk placed another bottle under the waterfall and pushed all thoughts out of his mind. He didn't need to have such heavy thoughts this early in the morning, especially without his music.

By the time he walked back to the cabin, John already had a fire going and he was plucking feathers from a medium sized bird. "That was fast," Punk said genuinely surprised that John had beaten him back to the cabin.

Hardly looking up from his task, John replied, "I got lucky. She was sitting all pretty on a branch just waiting on me. She must have known how hungry we are,"

Punk scoffed, "Luck is for Losers and I'm sure she was jumping at the chance to die so we wouldn't starve." He heard John laugh as he turned toward the cabin to drop off the things that he had gathered. After putting everything in its correct place, he walked back out of the cabin to see how the bird was coming.

His eyebrows rose when he noticed that the spit the bird was on over the fire was turning on its own without John's help. Looking around for a moment, he tried to find what was moving it. "How?"

John smiled proudly and puffed his chest out a little. "I had to take physics in college. My professor was an outdoorsy kind of guy and taught us how to do this. Since the bird is taken care of, want to take a walk down to the beach with me while we're waiting on it to cook?" John looked hopefully up at Punk.

Thinking for brief moment, Punk nodded his head and then offered a hand to help John get up off the ground. John didn't let go of his hand when he got on his feet. He kept Punk's hand firmly incased in his own as he started walking toward the beach.

Smiling softly to himself, Punk squeezed John's hand. They walked in silence all the way to the beach. Punk listened to the waves hitting the beach and the various animal sounds from around the island. It was so peaceful here.

Once their feet touched the sandy beach, John looked over at Punk with a mischievous look on his face. Removing his hand from Punk's, John slid his hand down his own chest and abs teasingly before unbuttoning and unzipping his shorts. Punk watched in interest as John stepped out of them and started walking toward the ocean.

When water was gently lapping at John's feet, he peered over his shoulder at Punk, "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to join me?" He smiled, his dimples popping in the bright sun.

A smile crept across Punk's face, showing the small gap in his front teeth and causing his lip ring to glisten in the sun. John's heart skipped a beat at the sight. Whenever Punk smiled like that, his heart would melt.

Punk quickly pulled off his shorts and started running toward John. Stretching his legs out in the run pulled on his scar on his hip and leg, but it wasn't painful. Punk didn't slow down when he got close to John and he tackled him into the ocean, sealing his lips to John's.

The kiss started out rough and passionate, but it soon evolved into a slow and sensuous kiss. The two men made their way into deeper water without letting their lips part. When the water was chest high, John grabbed both of Punk's thighs and placed them round his waist. He pulled Punk's thin lower lip into his mouth and toyed with Punk's lip ring with his tongue. Punk bit down on John's upper lip and then licked it to ease the pain.

John groaned and lowered one of his hands to the small of Punk's back where he pressed to make Punk grind himself into his straining erection. He was rewarded with a soft moan from Punk and another bite to his upper lip.

Releasing Punk's lower lip, John began to press hot kisses against Punk's pulse point in his neck, making the other man growl in pleasure. Punk's hands began to roam John's back, feeling his strong muscles ripple underneath the soft, smooth skin.

Wanting to go further, John moved his other hand even lower on Punk's luscious body. He massaged Punk's full ass for a few moments before gently sliding a finger over his center. This made Punk gasp against John's forehead.

The exploration of Punk's body was stopped when one of Punk's hands grabbed onto John's questing hand. "I still haven't been fed, so I'm still hungry. I don't put out when I'm hungry." John felt Punk's teasing smile against his forehead.

John sighed, "I had hoped that I had you distracted enough that you would forget how hungry you are. Guess I failed. Come on, let's get back to the cabin and feed you." John let Punk's legs slide from his waist and both men waded through the water back to the beach.

Punk was smiling softly to himself while putting his shorts back on. Teasing John was so fun. He would never tell John this, but the man had the cutest pout.

John already had his shorts back on, but he was looking up into one of the trees. Curious as to what John was looking at, Punk asked, "What's up there?"

Startled, John looked over at Punk and answered, "There's a few coconuts up there. It would be something different to eat. I'm getting a little tired of the same stuff." John turned his attention back to the coconuts for a few moments as if he was thinking something over. "I think I'm going to try and climb the tree to get them." John was already planting one foot at the base of the tree by the end of his sentence.

Punk protested immediately, "That is not a good idea! What if you fall?"

"There's sand here, so if I fall, it won't be so bad. I don't plan of falling, though. Will you catch these if I throw them down to you?"

Still a little apprehensive about the idea, Punk reluctantly agreed. A few minutes later, Punk was catching coconuts without anything having gone horribly wrong. When John had gotten all the ripe coconuts, he started to climb down and Punk organized all the coconuts he had caught into a small pile.

Hearing a short yell from John, Punk looked up in alarm just in time to see John hit the ground awkwardly. His hearted jumped to his throat, but his panic abated a little when John rolled to his side and grasped his knee while groaning in obvious pain.

Rushing over, Punk knelt beside John and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" Punk asked anxiously.

John's face was scrunched up in pain. He hissed through his teeth, still holding his left knee. "Yes, except for my knee. I think I tweaked it when I fell."

Punk's brow creased with worry. "Come on. Take my hand and we'll get you back to the cabin." John placed his hand in Punk's who then slung John's entire arm over his shoulders before standing up. John struggled to stand up with him, making sure to keep his weight off his knee. It hurt so badly.

Both men slowly made their way back to the cabin, John hopping on one leg the entire way.

Chapter Text

John's face was white with pain by the time the two struggling men finally made it back to the cabin. They completely stumbled past the still cooking bird and straight into the cabin where Punk gently sat John down on one of the cots.

Punk immediately kneeled down to take a closer look at John's knee. His brow creased with worry when he noticed that the injured knee was significantly larger than the other one. He didn't voice his thoughts to John, but he knew the knee was more than just tweaked. Sighing, Punk stood up and looked around the room for something to wrap John's knee with. Since they didn't have access to ice, they had to keep the swelling under control somehow.

John watched Punk's facial expressions from above and he could tell that the injury was a little more serious than he had thought. Feeling overwhelmed and a little lightheaded, John carefully laid back on the cot and then stared up into the ceiling. What was going to happen to them both now that he had injured himself?

Sensing that Punk had returned to his side, John lifted his head and regarded him. He looked worried and upset. Feeling guilty for doing something stupid and causing Punk to be upset and worried, John knew he had to put his feelings aside about his injury and try to diffuse the situation for Punk's sake.

Plastering his in-ring smile on his face, John lifted his head again and watched Punk wrap his knee with strips of torn t-shirts. "While you're down there…" John said teasingly. He couldn't help but wince when Punk straightened his knee out.

Punk's head shot up and he looked at John, not believing what he had just heard. Seeing John's smile, he relaxed a little. John couldn't be that hurt if he was smiling cheerfully and making lewd suggestions.

Tying the bandage securely, Punk stood up and then slapped John on his right thigh. "Come on, Graceful, Let's eat." Punk went outside to grab the roasted bird and then sat it on the table before putting out some of the plants he had gathered and two tin plates.

John sat up and then stood on his good leg. He gingerly hopped over to the table and then sat down in a chair. Like Punk, he was hungry. The pain didn't even quell his appetite.

Punk sat down across from John and both men began to eat in silence. They were both hungry and focused on eating. There would be time for conversation later. All they had was time on this island.

John's pain slowly began to fade as he ate, probably from his body's natural pain relievers kicking in. He was beginning to feel full as well, so it's no wonder his mind began to focus on other things, mainly the man sitting across the table from him.

Punk was only in a pair of blank shorts, leaving his chest bare for John's viewing pleasure. While he would never get one himself, John loved looking at Punk's colorful tattoos that stretched tightly over his skin. Punk's hair was wet from their dip in the ocean earlier that evening and he had slicked it back. His beard was trimmed closely to his skin and it accentuated his beautiful jawline. John watched as Punk leaned back in his chair and sighed before gently patting his belly, "I feel better," Punk said satisfied.

Sending Punk a heated look, John said bluntly, "I want to fuck you. I've been waiting all day."

Punk sent John an incredulous look, "You gotta be kidding me. Your knee is all screwed up," Punk gave a nervous laugh.

John couldn't stop the smirk that spread across his face. "Didn't you ever make the connection when Triple H came back from his torn quad, he also came back with a baby on the way. Stephanie couldn't do that by herself."

Oh, Punk had made that connection along with everyone else on the roster. It had been a running joke in the back for a long time. Randy had made the best joke by saying, "But, Baby, I have a torn quad, "and then answering in falsetto, "I'm ovulating. You think I give a shit? Pants off now!"

John pulled Punk from his thoughts. He was getting impatient. "Come here and straddle me, Punk."

Reasoning that John would tell him if he was in too much pain to continue, Punk walked around the table and then straddled John's lap, careful not to bump his injured knee. Shifting to get a little more comfortable, Punk felt that John was already rock hard in his shorts. That knowledge made him groan low in his throat and pull his bottom lip into his mouth.

John's hands found Punk's hips and then guided them to grind into his hardness. The resulting friction was delicious. His lips found Punk's arching neck and placed soft kisses on his heated flesh. Punk tipped his head back, allowing John better access.

Punk's breath was coming in short, rapid pants. John smiled against Punk's neck. He loved that he had this much of an effect on him. Trailing his hands up Punk's sides, John rubbed and pinched his nibbles until they became hard nubs at his fingertips. Punk arched his back and moaned at the feeling.

Punk grabbed John's strong jaw in one of his hands and forced him to meet his lips in a passionate kiss. Sliding his tongue along Punk's bottom lip asking for entrance, John twisted Punk's nipple harshly when he was not granted entrance. Punk gasped at the small, sharp pain, allowing John's tongue to enter his mouth and explore.

Their tongues battled for dominance for a few tense moments before Punk backed down and allowed John to take his pleasure. One of John's hands slid down Punk's abs to the hardness within the confines of his shorts. Without much warning, John squeezed Punk's straining erection and sensitive balls through the thin fabric of his shorts. Punk broke the kiss to gasp sharply and he instinctively thrust into John's grip, trapping his hand between their bodies.

Punk began to rain hot kisses against John's prominent jaw bone before moving down his neck. He felt like his body was on fire!

Biting down softly on Punk's collarbone, John asked, "Do I make you feel good, Punk?"

Punk answered by nodding his head against John's corded neck.

John couldn't help but smirk against Punk's heated skin. He noticed that a lovely blush was already beginning to form. "Stand up and take off your pants and I'll make you feel even better."

Not even hesitating, Punk stood up in front of John and removed his shorts both slowly and teasingly, making a show out of it. He heard a low growl coming from John's chest. John suddenly took him by the hips and tugged him forward so that his legs were between John's.

Punk threw his head back when John's hot lips latched onto one of his swollen nipples and sucked. John then bit down on it gently before laving it with his tongue to ease the pain. "John, please." Punk's voice was desperate.

Removing his mouth from Punk's chest, John ordered, "Straddle me."

Punk sat down on John's lap and ground his erection into his hard abs. John needed to do something soon or he was going to burst.

Placing two of his thick fingers in his mouth, John wet them before trailing them down Punk's arched back to his bottom. Searching, John finally found Punk's entrance and pressed one finger gently into the ring of muscle. Punk tensed for a brief moment, not used to the intrusion and then relaxed.

Feeling how tight and hot Punk felt around just one of his fingers made John groan. Wanting to be inside the tight heat as soon as possible, John pressed another finger into Punk's body and began to stretch him and search for his pleasure spot.

John was still painfully confined to his shorts, "Take me out of my shorts, Punk." John whispered.

Punk reached between their bodies and unbuttoned and unzipped John's jean shorts. Placing his hand in John's shorts, he didn't have to search long before his hand closed around John's generous length that was already wet with pre-cum. Punk released John from his shorts and then ran his hand over the hardness, wishing it was already inside him.

When Punk's body suddenly went ridged and he moaned loudly into John's ear, John knew he had found Punk's prostrate. Focusing rubbing his fingers over that spot, John worked Punk into a frenzy.

Punk's hips moved instinctively against John's, grinding his straining erection into John's own hardness. His breath was coming in fast pants and his skin was wet with sweat. "John, I'm gonna come." Punk whispered softly into John's ear before biting down on it.

Hearing the warning, John immediately removed his fingers from Punk's body and stilled Punk's undulating hips with strong hands. "Calm down and I'll let you ride me." John said against Punk's shoulder. He let his tongue run over the soft skin, loving the salty taste he found there.

Taking a few deep breaths, Punk tried to calm down. He had been so close! Feeling his climax fading, Punk knew he was ready for John. "John," was all Punk need to say to let John know that he wanted him inside.

Punk raised himself a little off John's lap, allowing John to take himself in his hand and guide his wet hardness to Punk's twitching entrance.

Slowly easing himself down on John's shaft, Punk moaned and arched his back. He loved the way John felt inside him. Stretching him to the max and pressing against everything that sent shocks of pleasure up his spine and into his groin. Once Punk was seated against John's hips, he waited for a few moments before moving, allowing himself to adjust and enjoy the feeling of John being fully inside him.

Placing his hands on Punk's hips, John sought Punk's lips and began a slow, lazy kiss. He loved the way Punk tasted. Getting impatient, John lifted Punk by the hips and then pulled him down onto his shaft, causing both men to groan. Punk took the hint and set a slow pace.

It wasn't enough for John, so he used his hands to guide Punk into a faster pace. His eyes almost rolled back into his head when he felt Punk's inner muscles clinch around him. He had hit Punk's prostrate. John guided Punk's hips so his cock would hit that spot inside Punk every time he thrust his hips down on John.

The pleasure was intense and Punk was starting to get close. His pace quickened and he pushed himself down onto John much more harshly. The feeling of John being inside made him tingle with pleasure.

John could feel that Punk was getting close. He wanted to come with him, so he put more pressure on Punk's hips to make the man increase his pace.

Minutes later, both men could feel their stomachs tensing in preparation for coming. "I'm coming, John. Come with me!" Punk screamed in pleasure.

John was right there with him. He closed a hand around Punk's weeping erection and began to jerk him in rhythm with their thrusting bodies. Only a few jerks later, Punk was coming in John's hand, his muscles clinching tightly around John's cock, causing him to fall into his own climax.

Punk couldn't control his body during the height of his orgasm and he stopped thrusting. John, needing the friction as he came, grabbed Punk's hips and thrust him up and down on his own erection, letting Punk's inner muscles ring the rest of his orgasm from his body. When he was done, he rested his head on Punk's shoulder and wrapped his arms around him.

Punk's own head fell against John's shoulder. Both men recovered against each other, allowing their breathing to come back to normal.

"That was . . . wow," Punk breathed tiredly into John's ear.

"You could have had that three different times today if you had let me," John whispered smugly. He may have been exhausted, but not too exhausted to tease Punk.

Punk scoffed, "I was hungry and you would have had to do all the work because I didn't have the energy. It would not have been this good and don't even try to argue."

John smiled against Punk's slowly cooling skin. "I'll pull you around to my way of thinking one of these days."

The only response John received was a bite to the shoulder.

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"Liz, I'm going to be completely honest with you. With as much evidence as they have against you, I'll never be able to win this case. Your best bet is to take a plea deal. You can offer to tell them the identity of the hit-man and offer your testimony. That might lessen your sentence considerably. At least think about it for a little while." Liz Cena's attorney begged her.

Liz was sitting across the metal table from her lawyer in handcuffs and wearing an orange jumpsuit. She had been arrested two weeks ago and had been sitting in jail awaiting her trial, having been unable to post bail. So far, life in jail had been terrible.

Come to find out, the female inmates were all avid wrestling fans, and as females, they were devout John Cena fans. That translated to them deeply hating the woman who had taken his gorgeous body away from their weekly viewing pleasure. In prison terms, that bitch was going get her extensions ripped out and her face blackened every time she was within punching distance.

Prison officials decided that, for her own safety, Liz had to stay in her cell all day and take her meals in the cell. She was let out one hour a day for yard time, but she was alone in the yard with nothing to do. Her life had turned into a living hell.

A lump had formed in her throat at the prospect of having to stay in prison any longer than she had too. She just wanted to be found innocent and go home, not spend 10 or more years in prison, depending on what kind of deal they gave her. "I really want to go home. Is there any chance that I can win this case," Liz's voice carried a tearful whine.

"They have the perfect motive and over an hour's worth of very damning recorded evidence. I'm sure they think this case is a slam dunk. My best advice that I can give you is to take a plea deal if they'll give you one." Her lawyer was beginning to sound desperate.

Liz sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead. "Alight, see if you can get them to cut me a deal and I'll tell them who my hit-man is."

Chapter Text

A few days after Liz agreed to ask for a plea deal, she was sitting in an interview room with her lawyer and the prosecuting attorney.

"Why do you think we'll even give you a plea deal? We have enough evidence to put you away for a long time. What can you give me that will make this worth my while?" The prosecutor was a middle-aged balding man with a bad temper.

The man was doing a good job of intimidating her. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life in jail and this plea deal was her only chance to stop that from happening and this man was being a very hard sell. "I'll tell you who my hit-man is. He'll be able to tell you everything that happened during John and CM Punk's last moments. Who knows, he might have enough information to help you find them." Liz bit her lip nervously.

The prosecutor thought for a long moment. It felt like an eternity to Liz. Her heart was pounding, making her ears ring with the sound of her rushing blood. Her life was riding on his answer. She watched his hand was he lifted it to rub his jaw while he made his tough decision. "The best offer I can give you is 10 years with the possibility of parole. Take it or leave it. I'm not in the mood to bargain."

Liz looked at her lawyer for an answer. Her heart had fallen to her stomach. She was hoping that they would give her years of probation, but up to ten years of prison time was a lot. She would be ancient by the time she got out.

Sensing her hesitation, her lawyer spoke up. "Liz, you face a life sentence if don't take this and your odds are not good for the trial ending in your favor. Take the deal."

Tears pricked her eyes because she knew her lawyer was right. Sighing heavily to keep herself from crying, Liz nodded, "Alright, I'll tell you who he is."

The prosecutor smirked in victory. He knew she was going to take it and now he would put both of the guilty parties behind bars. He handed Liz a yellow notepad, "Write down everything you are going to say. How you met this person, your dealings with him, and so on."

Liz took the notepad and placed it in front of her. She grasped the pen that had been on the top of the notepad in her hand and slowly brought the point to the surface of the paper. She suddenly looked up at the prosecutor. "I'll tell you everything about my dealings with him, but I won't reveal who he is until after I've explained everything."

The prosecutor sighed, annoyed, but he didn't care as long as he eventually had a name for this mysterious hit-man.

"I met him while he still worked for the WWE, but we never knew each other very well. After he was fired, I didn't see him for a long time. We met again by chance when he was in front of me at a coffee shop. His credit card had been declined because of lack of funds and I paid for his coffee because he didn't have any other means of payment. He was embarrassed and asked what he could do to make it up to me and I asked him to sit with me. At that point, I had already been contemplating having John taken care of but using this man as my hit-man had not yet crossed my mind until much later in our conversation over coffee. The more I talked to him, the more I remembered that he liked to do crazy, reckless things while he was in the WWE. He had no fear and he did whatever he wanted. We continued talking and I found out that he had just recently been fired from TNA for the same reason he was fired from the WWE. I knew he was hurting for money and that's when I propositioned him. I offered him one hundred thousand dollars to kill John. He agreed almost immediately because he both needed the money and hated John for being the face of the WWE. He tried more than once to kill John, but his plans kept failing, but the plane crash finally did the job." Liz continued to write her statement down in silence after her long monologue.

"Well, who the hell is he?" the prosecutor asked in frustration. This woman didn't know how to get to the point.

Liz looked up from the notepad and stared into the prosecutor's eye. She felt guilty for doing this to him, but she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in jail when she didn't actually kill anyone. "My hit-man is Jeff Hardy."

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Jeff stared at his new octopus tattoo in the mirror. As he had said earlier, he didn't usually like cartoony tattoos but he liked how this one had turned out. He was willing to live with this in his skin for the rest of his life.

He was currently waiting on the production crew of Ink Masters to take photos of his new tattoo so his artist could be judged for his work. He knew he was lucky that he ended up with such nice work, because he could have some shoddy work if he'd gotten another artist.

It was a stupid idea to come on this show, but he wanted to get out in the public eye again and maybe restart his career. Now that he didn't have to worry about money so much, he could do that.

There was suddenly a commotion off-set and his brow furrowed, wondering what that was about. He didn't have to wait long to find out when two men wearing suits strode confidently into the room. When they flashed their badges at him, his eyes widened and his heart jumped into his throat. They knew and they were here to arrest him.

Maybe in his younger, more stupid days, he would have made a run for it, but he knew that he couldn't outrun the law and it would only make things worse for him.

One of the men grabbed his wrist and pulled it behind his back before grabbing the other and putting it together with his other wrist. As he was pulling out the handcuffs, the other man stood in front of him and read him his rights. It all felt so surreal, like he was having a bad dream. He was just getting his life back together just to have it fall around him yet again.

He didn't fight them or say anything as they put him into the car. He was in complete shock. How did they find out it was him? Then he realized that Liz must have given him up for a lesser sentence. That fucking bitch!

They waited until the next morning to interrogate him about the plane crash. He hadn't slept that well the night before in his cold, damp jail cell, so he told them everything they wanted to know without a fight so he could go back to his cell and sleep. They would get it out of him eventually, so why put up a fight. Soon enough, he was back curled up in his cell bed where he knew he was probably going to spend the rest of his life. He didn't dwell on that thought for very long. It was too depressing.

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Alexandra stared excitingly at the screen. She was a forensic scientist working on the Cena case. She was a huge John Cena fan and she couldn't accept the fact that he was dead, so she had taken the data from Hardy's interview and put it into a computer program to pinpoint an area where the plane might have crashed.

The results showed a small radius that contained a few islands in it. John Cena could still be alive on one of those islands!

Jumping out of her seat excitedly, Alexandra called her boss and asked him to come up to her lab.

"What do you have for me, Abs?" It was their joke, her boss calling her Abby from NCIS. He said that she reminded him of the character because of the way she did her job.

She smiled widely. "I know where they are."

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Upon receiving word that the area where the plane crash had most likely occurred reached the military, they had men out looking for their missing hero and CM Punk. The search was not going well so far.

A man with a pair of binoculars turned to his commanding officer and asked "Was she sure about their location. We've almost been over the entire area."

His commanding officer looked over at him annoyed. This wasn't the first time he had been asked this question and it was getting old. They were going to stay out here until they found him and that was that. "Yes, she was! Now, I better not see your eyeballs leave those binoculars again or I'll strangle you with the neck strap myself. Understand?"

The man gave a stiff, "Yes, Sir," before returning to his duty. Not five minutes later he said, "Sir, I think I see something on that beach. It says 'SOS' in the sand and look, there's a t-shirt that looks like one of Cena's on that tree."

The commanding officer excited ripped the binoculars from the man's hand and looked for himself, "By God! I think we found them. Head straight for that island and get the boats ready to get to that beach!"

His order was met with a "Yes, Sir!" He was going to find them if he had to turn that island upside down!

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It was so hot! For the past two days, the island had been doing its best rendition of a sauna, causing both men to retreat into the cabin's shaded, slightly cooler shelter. John was lying on the dirt floor of the cabin naked, trying to draw its coolness. Punk was in the same state just a few feet beside him.

They both had six bottles of water, which Punk had filled this morning before it had gotten too hot, lying beside them. They would occasionally sit up to take a sip before descending back down to the floor coolness.

Sweat poured from both of them and hands would wipe their faces every few minutes to keep it out of their eyes. This was miserable.

Punk was bored in the uncomfortable heat. He sat up to take another drink of water and he looked over at John. He was a sight to behold. His entire body was glowing with sweat, making his muscles glisten in the little light of the cabin. Punk felt his cock twitch as it hardened.

Punk watched with hooded eyes as John's hand lifted to wipe the sweat off his forehead and then traveled to his chest and abs, where it slid easy up and down from the slick sweat. The sight had Punk almost fully hard. He wanted to be fucked.

Rolling over until he was halfway on top of John, Punk nipped at John's neck, but he was almost immediately pushed off back onto his side of the floor, "Get off me. You're too hot." John said irritably.

Not one to give up so easily, Punk moved back to his previous position, but this time licked up the side of John's neck before sucking on his earlobe. "Don't you want to play with me, John boy?" Punk whispered seductively in his ear.

Pushing Punk off of him again, John leveled an irritated look at Punk. "You don't put out when you're hungry; I don't put out when I'm hot. Stay on your side." John said matter-of-factly.

Punk rolled over onto his back and huffed. If John wasn't going to get him off, than he was just going to have to do it himself. Trailing a hand down his sweat-slicked chest, Punk palmed his erection that was resting against his abs. He moaned softly.

Wrapping his hand around his hardness, Punk began making slow strokes, teasing himself. His hips rose with each tug of his hand. God, it felt good.

He increased his pace and started rhythmically tightening the grasp on himself with each stroke, making himself moan loudly.

Punk's loud moan caught John's attention and he looked over at the man beside him, curious. The sight before him was one of the hottest he had ever seen. Punk's eyes were closed tightly and his mouth was open wide in pleasure. John could see his abs relaxing and contracting with every stroke. John's gaze was drawn to Punk's other hand as it made its way to Punk's mouth. Punk placed two of his fingers in his mouth to get them wet and then he brought them down between his legs.

Gently pushing one inside his body, Punk groaned in pleasure before adding the other finger. He didn't wait long to allow himself to adjust before pulling his fingers out and pushing them back in, searching for that spot that would make him see stars. His whole body shuddered when he finally found it. Punk slid his fingers over that spot inside him every time his fingers entered his body. The sensation was working him even closer to his climax.

Punk was in his own little world of pleasure and John was feeling left out. The heat was completely off his mind with the loving sight of Punk having pushed away all other thoughts.

Crawling over to him, John gently spread Punk's legs and put himself between them, lying on his stomach. Punk cracked open one of his eyes and looked down at him in question. "Let me take care of this, Punk."

Wetting two of his own fingers, John pulled on Punk's wrist to pullout his fingers from his own body before John replaced them with his own thicker fingers. Punk bucked his hips and moaned at the sensations. John's fingers always felt so much better inside of him than his own.

Next John swatted Punk's hand away from his erection and then took him in his own hand and started stroking him roughly. John could hear Punk panting above him.

Without warning, John swallowed Punk's entire erection in one go, causing the man above him to cry out in both surprise and pleasure. John felt one of Punk's hands placed on the back of his head, guiding his pace.

John stopped thrusting his fingers into Punk's entrance but rubbed them against Punk's prostrate, making the man's hips jack up in response, forcing his cock further down John's throat. John swallowed around Punk's cock, but did not gag.

John was bobbing his head up and down on Punk's cock while thrusting his fingers into his body, making Punk moan wantonly, when a shadow fell across the two men. Startled, John looked up and saw a man in the doorway staring at them with a shocked expression on his face.

Removing his fingers from Punk and allowing him to drop out of his mouth, John covered Punk's lower half with his upper body. This startled Punk, who opened his eyes and looked down at John. He was about to ask John why he had stopped, when he saw him staring at the doorway. Craning his head look behind him, Punk gasped when he saw the man standing there.

The man, realizing what he just witnessed, whirled around and turned his back on the men currently in a very compromising position.

John was still in shock, but Punk pulled himself out from under John with a little bit a struggle before standing up and putting on a pair of shorts. His erection was already almost completely gone from the mixture of embarrassment and shock. Punk threw John a pair of jean shorts, who caught them instinctively. John still couldn't believe there was a man in their doorway.

Punk was the first to find his voice, "Who the hell are you?" he was a little irritable for being interrupted.

The man's shoulders rose up to his ears when he heard Punk's harsh voice. He turned his head slightly to the side, afraid he was going to see them both still together on the floor. "I'm here with a rescue team. We're going to take you back home."

Punk looked over at John, who was still staring at the man in the doorway. His paradise had been lost.

Chapter Text

Punk watched John suddenly snap out of his stupor and quickly grab a pair of shorts to cover himself. His expression almost looked angry, but Punk wasn't for sure.

John zipped his pair of cargo shorts and then bore a hole into the man's back with his eyes. "You can turn around now." There was an edge in John's voice. Punk realized at that point that John really was angry, but he didn't understand why. He should be happy that they were being recused off this island.

The man hesitantly turned slowly to face them. His face was red; probably embarrassed that he had seen them in such a compromising position. It was probably the last thing he was expecting to see today.

John leveled a serious look at the man, who tensed visibly at the scrutiny. "You will not tell anyone what you just saw, got it?" John's voice was stern and promised pain if the man did not agree to his demand. The man's head nodded so vigorously, Punk thought his head was going to tumble right off his shoulders.

So that's why John was so angry. He was afraid that it was going to get out that he and Punk were screwing each other's brains out while they were waiting to be rescued. His reputation and career would be ruined. Punk felt a little bitter about these thoughts, but he should have known it would be this way. He should have never let his guard down.

Everyone knew that John Cena was a man whore of the highest order and since Punk was the only fuckable thing on the island, John had taken what he could get. What pissed Punk off the most was that he knew that's what Cena was doing, but he had let him fuck him anyway. God, he was so stupid.

Punk was pulled from his thoughts when John spoke to the man again. "Just give us five minutes to gather our things and we'll come with you." John nodded toward the door, silently asking the man to leave them alone in the cabin. The man obliged and left the cabin in a rush.

This was it Punk thought to himself. John was going to tell him that it was fun while it lasted, but since his pool to choose his sexual partners from had just expanded, he would no longer need him. Punk was surprised when John didn't say anything along those lines. "Let's get our stuff together so we can leave. I'm ready to get back home," John sent a sexy smile Punk's way. "I'll finish you off the next time we're alone," He licked his lips and looked down at Punk's lower half to drive home his point.

John's statement was like salt in an already stringing wound. Punk knew it was a lie. John was going to drop the first chance he got. Punk resigned himself to this and didn't let himself feel the emotions that he was too ashamed to put names to. He turned his back to John and started packing his things into his suitcase.

John watched as Punk turned his back toward him. He was acting weird and had been since the man had shown up at their doorstep. Was he ashamed that he had been caught with him or was it just a case of blue balls? Punk had been close to coming when the man's shadow had been cast over their heated bodies. John felt himself thicken in his shorts just thinking about what they had been doing on that floor. He could still taste Punk's wonderful flavor on his tongue. He couldn't wait to spread Punk over his California king bed in Tampa and have his way with him. Punk's lightly tanned and colorful skin would look magical against his black satin sheets. John's mouth watered just at the thought.

Once all his things were packed, John took a look around the room. Although he was relieved to be going home, he was going to miss this place and all the memories he had made with Punk here. He would have to ask for the coordinates so he and Punk could come back one day.

He looked over at Punk and noticed that his behavior was still very off. He was withdrawn and he had yet to say a word. John stood silently for a moment and watched Punk pack the rest of his things. Something was wrong other than being embarrassed or having a case of blue balls, John just didn't know what. He could have asked what was wrong, but he knew Punk would never give him a real answer. Punk would either get over it or eventually tell him what was wrong when he was ready. John couldn't help but worry just a little.

The silence in the cabin was interrupted when the man from earlier came back into the cabin, this time with much more caution. He cleared his throat and said that he had notified his commanding officer and they were ready to take them onto the ship.

John smiled widely. "Great!" He heard the zipper on Punk's suitcase being closed and then Punk turned to walk out of the cabin. Quickly grabbing his own bag, John walked over to Punk and put his hand in the small of his back to guide him out the door. He felt Punk's muscles tense under his fingertips. John's brow furrowed at this reaction.

When he stepped out into the heat and sunlight after Punk, John reached for Punk's hand, but Punk quickly batted his hand away and started making faster, longer strides away from John.

While his knee was feeling much better than it had a few days ago, he was still limping and he couldn't keep up with Punk as fast as he was walking. John frowned to himself. Something really was wrong with Punk, he just didn't know what was going on in his head. He would ask him what was wrong as soon as they were alone.

The man caught up with John and walked silently bedside him. John wished Punk was the one at his side.

When the men finally reached the beach, John took in the sight of about ten men scattered around the beach, a large ship floating a little ways away in the ocean and a smaller boat in the shallows. It looked as if the men were gathering evidence about the crash, but most of it had been lost over the time it had been sitting on the beach.

The man suddenly spoke at John's side, "I'm going to take you back to the ship so they can check you out." He ushered John over to the boat and helped him into it. Punk was already sitting on one of the benches along the sides of the boat.

John moveed to sit next to Punk, but he hesitated. He realized that Punk probably doesn't want John to sit next to him, especially since Punk refused to hold his hand or walk with him earlier. As John takes a seat on another bench, he vowed that he was going to get to the bottom of Punk's behavior and soon.

The ride to the ship was quick and made in silence accept for the engine. When John and Punk boarded the ship, they were met with applause. It was mostly for John, but some men were also glad that Punk had been recused and would be back in the ring soon. John and Punk were quickly led below deck and to the med bay. John assumed that they wanted to check them for any infections or illnesses caused by their extended stay on the island.

John was pulled from his thoughts when a short man with green eyes and blond hair came up to him, "Hi John. I'm Josh, one of the medics on the ship. I'm going to check you over and see how you are doing." John let himself be ushered over to an examination table and then he was asked to strip. While John was stripping out of his shorts, he heard Punk getting the same orders.

John felt an emotion bubble up in him that he couldn't name at the thought of Punk being completely naked in front of these med guys. He pushed the feeling away and tried to focus on what Josh was asking him.

"If you'll step up on the scale, I'll take your weight. Do you remember how much you weighed before you crashed on the island?"

"About 251." John answered absently, staring as the scale did not go up that high. He'd lost a lot of weight.

Josh's face was neutral as he recorded John's weight. "Losing 25 pounds is not bad for being marooned on an island for a few months. It's probably mostly muscle mass since you haven't been weight training. Once you get back to your routine, it'll bulk back on quickly."

John had noticed that he had lost some weight, but his appearance hadn't changed that much. Punk, on the other hand, looked too thin. He couldn't stop himself from asking, "How much did Punk lose?"

Josh looked up from his clip board a little surprised. He'd been caught off-guard, "Uh, I can go ask if you really want to know."

"I do." John said firmly.

Not saying another word, Josh ducked behind the curtain that was separating Punk and John and he heard a few whispered words before Josh came back to his side of the curtain.

"He's lost a lot of weight considering he didn't have as much to lose as you did. He's just under two hundred pounds now."

John frowned. He felt like he had failed keeping Punk healthy. John had tried to keep Punk fed, but there were times that Punk couldn't or wouldn't eat. He hoped that Punk would be able to gain it back quickly and get back into the ring without any problem.

"Okay, I'm going to check out your knee. I noticed that you were limping when you walked in. How did you injure it?" Josh said while gently pushing John to lay down on the examination table.

"Doing something stupid. I fell out of a tree and landed on it wrong." John winced as Josh picked up his leg and started manipulating his knee. He tried to distance himself from the pain by focusing on listening to what was happening on Punk's side of the curtain.

"This scar both looks and feels pretty rough. Does it hurt when I touch it?" John heard a man's voice say this. He could see him tracing his finger across Punk's stomach and down his thigh and the image made John tense. "You should have gotten stitches on this. Did John not have something to sew this up with?"

John felt anger boil up inside him. He had treated Punk's wound the best he could under the circumstances and now this moron was criticizing his work.

"It was probably better he didn't because I developed a bad infection." John heard Punk say to his medic who grunted at Punk's statement.

John was interrupted from his eavesdropping when Josh spoke up, "You're going to need an MRI to make sure you didn't tear anything. Vince is going to meet you guys at the base, so I'll let him know that you'll need to be checked out by one of their doctors."

John nodded absently. He had assumed that they were going to want him to have an MRI. Suddenly, Punk was back in his line of sight, but he was being lead out of the room by a medic. John turned his head back toward Josh. "Where are they taking Punk?"

Josh's brow furrowed in confusion before he looked behind him and saw Punk being lead from the room. He turned back to John and smiled. "They're probably taking him to get something to eat. You are going to stay in here until we get back to base so you won't have to be limping around. I'll go get you something, though. Any preference?"

Yea, he wanted to be with Punk so he could find out what was up with him. John didn't voice that thought, though. "A cheeseburger sounds amazing right now." John forced a dimpled smile on his face.

"I thought that might be your answer. I'll be right back with it." Josh smiled and turned to leave.

Finally alone, John was left to his thoughts. He wished Punk was with him holding his hand and talking to him. He felt like Punk had closed himself off again, just like he had in the beginning. "Please don't ignore me, Punk." John said softly to himself.

Punk was just finishing his first real meal in months when the ship made it back to the base. He'd already been told that Vince was there so he could see them and tell them where they were going from here. He wanted to go back to Chicago at least for a few days, so he could recharge and maybe put some weight back on.

He'd known that he'd lost some weight while he was on the island, but he didn't realize that he had lost so much. It was a good thing that he made so much money for the company, or Vince would probably fire him on sight. Now, he really was too small for the WWE.

After disembarking the ship, he was lead to a room on the base and when he entered, Vince was already sitting comfortably at the table.

Punk was shocked when he jumped from his seat as soon as he saw Punk and then quickly walked over to him and wrapped his arms around Punk's paralyzed body. What rabbit hole had he fallen into? Vincent K. McMahon was not supposed to hug CM Punk.

Vince pulled away when the door opened and revealed John Cena on crutches. John was also quickly surrounded by Vince's arms and even received a few pats on the back.

"I'm glad to see you back and in mostly one piece, boys. The WWE Universe will be happy to hear that their two favorite superstars have been found alive and well."

Punk couldn't help but roll his eyes at Vince's enthusiasm. Vince was just happy to have his ratings boosters and merchandise sellers back in action.

"John, you have a flight to go see Dr. Andrews in a few hours and after that, I'm giving you some much deserved time off to get back into shape and rest. I'm sending you home, too, Punk. Your plane leaves sooner than John's, so we'll need to start heading toward the airport soon. I had Pappas pick you boys up some clean clothes to travel in." Vince bent and grabbed two bags from under the table. He handed one to John and the other to Punk. "I think they'll show you boys a place where you can change and then we'll leave."

As promised, John and Punk were shown to separate rooms so they could change. John wanted to ask if he could change with Punk, but he didn't think Punk would appreciate that from how he had been acting since they were recused. He almost seemed ashamed that he was seen with him. John hoped he was just embarrassed and it wasn't something deeper. He really needed to talk to him.

In less than a half an hour, John, Punk and Vince were sitting in a company limo heading to the airport. Vince had seated himself between the two of them, but John longed to feel Punk sitting next to him.

When they arrived at the airport, they went into the building through a hidden door to avoid the boisterous crowd that had formed, hoping to see their long, lost superstars.

The company had chartered a private jet to take Punk to Chicago and John would be on the company jet to see Dr. Andrews. They would be separated soon.

The awkward trio was sitting in a small waiting room when Vince announced that he was going to the bathroom. He left the room, leaving John and Punk alone together for the first time since back in the cabin.

This was it Punk thought. This was John's chance to break up with him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as John carefully moved into the seat next to his. John opened his mouth and then closed it, like he was trying to find the right words. This was going to hurt more than Punk wanted it to no matter what words John used.

John finally seemed to find his courage, "When I get done with Dr. Andrews, can I come see you in Chicago? I want to be with you." John cringed inwardly. He sounded like a desperate junior high girl who knew her boyfriend was losing interest.

When Punk heard John's question, anger boiled up inside him like a volcano. Did John think that he could jerk him around a little before dropping him like yesterday's trash? He was going to end this his way and not wait on John to do it.

Angry words exploded out of Punk's mouth. "You aren't fooling me, Cena. You made it quite clear in the cabin that you didn't want people to know that you had lowered yourself to fucking me. We're done, Cena. Don't you dare try to touch me again or I'll break you." Punk stood up suddenly and started walking away from him.

John sat silent and motionless for a moment, his brain trying to process what Punk had just said. When it finally sunk in, John stood up as quickly as he could on his crutches and chased after Punk. He had gotten close enough to talk to him and had opened his mouth to do so, when Vince entered the room again.

He looked at the situation with a critical eye for a moment, "I don't know how you boys made it off the island alive fighting so much, but I won't tolerate it here. It doesn't matter now anyway because your flight is boarding now Punk." Vince put his hand on Punk's shoulder and guided him over to the gate and stood with him as he was checked in. "You take care of yourself, Punk. I'll see you in six weeks." Vince slapped him on the back and then Punk walked out of John's sight.

John had never felt so much hatred towards one person in his life. Vince had allowed Punk to run away from him without hearing him out. Knowing Punk, John would probably never get him back again.

Pain bloomed in his chest and John felt tears prick his eyes. He loved Punk and he wished that he could turn back time and go back to the island. He was happy with Punk there. It was his paradise and he'd just watched it slip through his fingers like sand.

Chapter Text

The plane ride to Chicago seemed like the longest of his entire life. His last moments with John kept replaying over and over in his head no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the inflight movie. Maybe if his iPhone hadn't been dead or if he had a new comic to read, it would have been easier to distract himself, but he couldn't stop the scene playing in his mind.

He felt the blood-boiling anger, heard the harsh words tumbling out of his mouth and he saw John's dumbfounded expression. The expression was the part that was killing him. Why did John look like that? Why hadn't his expression been neutral or even relieved? He'd taken the burden of breaking up with him from John, hadn't he?

John was probably that much of a piece of shit and wanted Punk to feel bad about screaming at him, but he wasn't stupid. He may have been on that island, but Punk's eyes had been opened. He could see John for the person he really was.

The small amount of satisfaction Punk felt from breaking up with John did little to cover up the anger, and yes, pain. As much as he hated to admit it, John had hurt him, possibly more than he'd ever been hurt before. John had fooled him into thinking that he was more than a piece of trash to be thrown away once you had used all you wanted out of it. John had lied to him and said that he would be different. God, he'd been so stupid!

Punk was pulled from his dark thoughts when the plane finally landed. He was almost hesitant to step off the plane because he'd been away for so long. Would things be different? How were people going to treat him?

Pulling his Cubs cap down lower on his face, Punk pulled up his hoody and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. He didn't feel like dealing with people right now, but then again, he never did.

As Punk walked to baggage claim, he took in his surroundings. Everything was just how he left it. The same stains were in the carpet, the same smells were floating in the air, the same people worked in the airport. The familiarity of it all was oddly comforting to him. It was like he never left, like the last few months had never happened. He wished that was true.

With luggage in hand, Punk got on the El and watched everything go by as the train took him home. The buildings all looked the same, too. Nothing had changed while he had been gone and it was oddly comforting. It was like the crash and the island had never happened. If only he could forget that it had.

The El finally stopped at the station near his apartment and he stepped off the train. Punk pulled on his hat again, worried that someone would see his face and recognize him. He wanted to be a normal guy for just a few hours to let himself get used to being home again and alone.

Punk contemplated stopping at the Bongo Room for a few minutes while walking down the stairs that brought him to street level, but he decided against it. He wasn't sure if the news had hit that he was alive and had been rescued. He didn't want people treating him like a ghost. It would be like rubbing salt in his open wound.

He pushed his thoughts from his mind while he walked underneath the tracks on his way home. His city was the same as he had left it, too. The same cars were parked along the alley, the same dogs barked at him as he passed, the same muffled honks and other traffic noises from the busy streets. He smiled to himself as he thought many people would find these sounds undesirable, but to him, this was home.

The wheels on his bag rumbled as he walked onto his property. He stopped by one of his garage doors and lifted the cover on the key pad that would raise the door when he punched in the code. Staring at it blankly, Punk tried to remember what the code was. The light bulb suddenly went off and he punched the number into the pad. Relief flooded his body when the garage door rumbled open.

Not waiting for the door to open all the way, Punk ducked into his garage then turned and pressed the button to close the garage door again. In the dim light the lone bulb on the door opener provided, Punk took in the sight of his moped and dilapidated Monte Carlo. He wondered if either would start after being left unused for so long. He didn't want to test them right now. It wasn't like he was going to need them any time soon.

Punk pulled his bag up the long flight of stairs and then opened the door that led into his kitchen. The sun was just setting and glowing red, orange and yellow light coming in the large window illuminated his living room and kitchen. His apartment was still a mess like he had left it. Punk had been in a hurry to leave the last time he had been home and had left articles of clothing tossed over his table, floor and couches.

Wondering if the electric had been turned off from lack of payment, Punk reached over to the light switch on the wall next to the door he'd just walked through. Both relief and surprise went through him when the lights in his kitchen came on. Chez had probably paid his bills while he was gone, which was a good thing. That was one thing he didn't have to worry about now that he was back. He'd have to thank her.

Leaving his bag by the door, Punk ventured all the way over to his couch and sat down. It was just as comfortable as he remembered and he moaned softly to himself. After sitting on the hard ground and uncomfortable cots for months, this felt like heaven, but he knew his bed would feel even better.

Punk pulled himself up from the couch reluctantly. Only the prospect of his bed kept him from staying on that couch for days.

His steps were slow as he walked upstairs. He was tired. When he reached his bedroom, the same setting sunlight was filtering through the window, allowing him to see his room. Part of his large collection of comic books was stacked neatly in the corner while others were lying in random places around the room. The comic he had finished the night before he left his apartment was still resting on the bedside table.

His bed. Punk made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat before his feet quickly ate up the distance between him and his comfortable bed. It was still unmade and the white froth of his comforter promised warmth and deep relaxation.

Pulling back the thick, white fabric of his comforter, Punk toed off his shoes and climbed into bed before lying on his side. He situated a pillow under his head and hugged another to his chest while pulling the bedding over his head. It felt like being on a cloud he was so deeply comfortable. Punk let out a deep sigh before closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep.

Large, calloused hands caressed his stomach while a hot mouth nibbled at his neck and ear. Still half asleep, Punk raised chin to allow the questing mouth more access. A hard, warm chest pressed against his back and a thickly muscled thigh inserted itself between his own. Punk moaned softly as the hot mouth latched onto his earlobe and pulled on it. The calloused hand ventured lower on Punk's abdomen and Punk's own hands fisted in his white bedding as the hand closed around his half-hard member and began to stroke him.

"You're even sexier when you sleep," hot breath danced against his ear as the voice growled its statement.

The realization that Cena was pressed against him and pleasuring him, ripped Punk out of his dream and into reality. Punk gasped awake and sat up in his bed. He was covered in sweat and very aroused. He took a few labored breaths before he tossed the covers off of himself and got out of bed before walking into his bathroom.

Turning his shower on cold, Punk peeled off his shorts and stared down at his erection in disgust. "Traitor," Punk muttered before stepping under the cold spray of the shower. He cringed and shivered under the icy water, but it did its job and killed his erection. Turning the water to hot, Punk sighed softly as warm water caressed his skin.

He'd almost forgotten how good showers felt, but even the pleasing water did little to keep his mind off of his dream. Punk soaped his chest roughly. He couldn't let Cena have this much power over him. He wasn't on the island anymore and he wasn't Cena's fuck toy anymore.

Being angry, hurt and consumed with thoughts of his mistake would only give Cena victory over him and Punk was too proud to allow him that win.

With this shower, he was going to allow himself to return to how he was before he boarded that death trap of a plane. The airport, his city and his home had not changed while he was gone and he could remain unchanged by the last few months, too. He just had to push those memories into the back of his mind and ignore them.

Punk ran his hand down his body to wash it when his fingers passed over the rough skin of his hip and thigh. Looking down, he slid his hand over the area to remove the suds and took in the sight of his nasty scar. He may try to ignore what happened and act like he was unchanged but every time he saw this scar or felt it, he'd be reminded. That is unless he ignored everything that happened after the scar was made. He decided he could manage that.

Rinsing his body under the spray of warm water, a calmness spread through his body. He was going to be fine. He could ignore everything that happened and forget. He had six weeks before he had to face Cena again and Vince would have them in separate storylines. It wasn't like Cena would make an effort to talk to him. He'd been there, done that and moved on.

Punk turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel off the nearby rod, dried himself, and wrapped the damp towel around his waist. Refreshed, Punk smiled softly to himself and walked out of the steam-filled bathroom.

Passing a glance over to his bed, Punk thought about going back to sleep, but he didn't want to risk another dream like the one he had woken up to. Instead, he picked a pair of boxer briefs out of his drawer and slipped them on before padding down the stairs.

The gray light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the two-story window in his living room when his feet landed on the soft carpet. He stopped to look out of it for a few minutes and took in the sight of the empty street below. The people who had been up all night had just recently returned to their homes and the early workers had yet to leave their beds, leaving this part of the city quiet for a few moments. It was good to be home.

Turning away from the window, Punk crossed his living room and entered his kitchen. A thought crossed his mind as he reached to open one of his cabinets. Most of his food had probably spoiled while he had been gone, not that he kept that much in his apartment. He was gone too often to have food that would spoil quickly.

Punk thought about not eating, but he needed to put weight back on. Opening the cabinet that his hand had been on, Punk looked inside and tried to find something he could eat for breakfast. A box of pancake mix stared back at him and he smiled to himself. He could eat a few pancakes this morning and not feel guilty about eating them.

Digging a pan out of another cabinet, he placed it on the stove, sprayed it with Pam and then turned the heat on. While the pan was heating, Punk measured out the mix and added water to it. Pouring a few dollops of batter in the pan, he watched them as they cooked and flipped them when they were ready.

His mouth was watering by the time he was pouring syrup over his stack of golden brown pancakes. He loved pancakes.

Placing a glass of water and his steaming plate of pancakes on the counter, Punk sat in one of the tall chairs surrounding one side of his kitchen counter and dug in. His plate was clear and he was blissfully full in what felt like a few seconds.

Licking his lips to remove any delicious syrup, Punk rose from his seat and carried his plate and glass to the sink where he left them. He'd rinse them and put them in the dishwasher later.

Punk padded his way back into his living room and sat down on his comfortable couch. He grabbed the remove that was resting on the end table beside him and turned his TV on. Hoping that his DVR had recorded all the episodes of The Walking Dead he missed while he was gone, Punk looked and found them all there.

He smiled widely to himself and settled in for a long Walking Dead Marathon. Punk was two episodes in when his doorbell rang, causing him to jump.

Who the hell was at his door? The news must have finally broken that he was alive and back to civilization. He hoped there wasn't a bunch of reporters at his door wanting him to comment on what it was like to be stranded on an island.

Looking down at himself, Punk noticed he was still in his underwear. He shrugged. Punk thought, "Why not give them a show. They'll just say I lost my morals on that island." He cringed as soon as the sentence crossed his mind. He had lost his morals on that island, but he'd put them back into place, hadn't he. "Forget about it. It didn't happen." Punk muttered softly to himself.

He was standing in front of his door when whoever was outside knocked. He didn't want to answer it, but a voice came through the door, "I know you're in there, Punkers! Let me in so I can make sure you're still alive." Cabana's lovable accent filtered through.

Both happiness and dread filled him. Happiness that he could see Colt again, dread that he would ever find out what he had done on the island. Punk slapped himself in the forehead and opened the door. 'Nothing happened on that island, remember Dumbass. Forget anything ever happened.' He thought angrily to himself.

He only saw Cabana's signature smile for a few seconds before he was enveloped in a hard hug. The air was of squeezed out of him and his feet left the ground for a second with the force of Colt's hug. Punk smiled widely and clapped Colt on the back.

"I missed you, Punkers. I have so much to tell you!"

Chapter Text

"Man, for being marooned on an island for months you look pretty good. I thought you'd look like an anorexic by now," Colt grinned as he looked Punk up and down. "And you're back to trying to seduce me like back in the indies," he tugged lightly on the bottom of Punk's underwear.

Punk smiled widely at Colt's teasing and let out a loud laugh. "You're lucky I didn't answer the door naked. And what the hell? I wasn't trying to seduce you during the Indies." He had missed this. He and Colt always busted each other's chops and play argued like this, even in the early days.

Colt cuffed Punk on the shoulder, "Oh sure! You just dropped your pants in front of me all the time because you had to get ready for matches."

"Eh, shut up, Cabana! So what's been going on around here while I was doing my Tom Hanks act?" Punk ushered Colt into his apartment and shut the door behind him. He walked behind Colt until they reached his living room and they both sat down on the couch.

"You didn't make friends with a volleyball, did you?" Colt's smile was wiped of his face when Punk kicked at him. "Hey, it was just a joke. A lot's happened while you were gone. Don't really know where to start. I guess the biggest news is that the WWE signed me and put me in a nasty feud with Dean Ambrose. That guy's a class A asshole." Colt had dropped his gaze when he revealed that the WWE had signed him but when he finally looked up at Punk's face, he was met with the widest smile he'd ever seen stretched across his face. He also noticed pride shinning in Punk's green eyes.

"Bout time they come to their senses and realize how talented you are, but I have to go with them on the feud with Ambrose. I haven't even since it, but I can tell that it's dynamite. I bet it's made wrestling a lot more relevant these days." Punk clapped Colt on the arm and smiled brightly at him. He was going to have to find the episodes of RAW he had missed and watch them.

"You and Cena made the WWE more relevant to talk about, a lot more than my feud with Ambrose. Do you know why your plane went down?" Colt's face was suddenly serious.

Punk's brow furrowed. "The pilots both died of a sickness and then there was an explosion that caused the plane to crash. I wasn't told why everything had happened when we were rescued. I assumed they didn't know anything so I didn't bother asking."

"Oh, you're in for a story. I swear this is all true even though it sounds like a storyline straight out of a soap opera." Punk opened his mouth to say something, but Colt quickly cut him off. "Let me get it out and you can ask all the questions you want. First, we all thought that your plane had gotten caught in a storm or something and crushed, but then these tapes came out of Cena's wife and a hit-man planning his death. Their last few plans had failed but you got caught up in the last one that was successful, well sort of successful since you're still alive," Colt laughed a little at Punk's dumbfounded expression and then continued. "I guess Cena had filed for divorce and she was afraid she wouldn't get any money. She assumed that he hadn't changed his will yet and that when he died, she'd get all his money. About a month after you guys had gone missing, she tried to get John declared dead, but Mama Cena wasn't having it. Talk about a courtroom catfight! I even enjoyed watching the highlights from the courtroom fallout. Eventually it came out that Cena had changed his will when he filed for divorce and Liz wasn't going to get any money. That's when the tapes came out. They arrested Liz, she spilled the beans on her hit-man, he spilled his guts about the whole plan, some smart chick used that to find you guys and here you are. The end. See, it's a little soapy isn't it? You're not pregnant with your volleyball friend's enemy's love child, are you?

Punk was stunned into silence and Colt took the opportunity to lighten the moment, "Holy shit! You are pregnant with that dastardly basketball's love child. How could you?"

Punk suddenly spoke up, seeming not to have heard Colt's joke, "So this whole situation was all because of some money grubbing bitch. I was injured, almost died and rotted on that island for months because of Cena's bat-shit crazy wife," Punk felt anger flash through his body.

"Yea, pretty much. Oh, the super crazy part is that her hit-man was Jeff Hardy. I guess he needed the money and was willing to do it."

Punk made a sound in the back of his throat, "I knew the drug addled idiot was going to come back and bite me in the ass eventually, but I didn't expect he'd try to kill me." Punk was thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I guess I wasn't the target in the beginning but I still got caught up in it."

"Put your foot right into the shit, but at least you're alive and here now. So, I wanna hear about this island adventure. I have to admit was I pretty surprised that you didn't pull a Hannibal Lecter on Cena. I know I would have. That guy's an asshole, too."

Punk cringed inwardly. He didn't really want to talk about his ordeal and what he and Cena had done on that island, but Colt would wonder if he didn't. He would just leave out the incriminating parts.

"I was injured for the first few weeks on the island so I couldn't really do anything to him. By the time I was strong enough to kick Cena's ass, I'd gotten use to him and put up with his shit. He was useful for gathering food and supplies, so I kept him alive," Punk said with a smirk. The story was partly true, just edited. He still wasn't very comfortable talking about the island so he drew Colt's attention to something else. "Hey, I'm hungry. Want to go grab a burger?"

A smile stretched across Colt's face. "Yea I do, but you need to get some clothes on first. You've got some crazy fangirls out there and I'd hate to see you mauled to death because you went out in public half naked."

Punk barked a laugh. "My wrestling gear covers less than my underwear, Genius. And I dig crazy chicks, remember?" he was smirking by the time he finished his sentence.

"There's crazy and then there's fucking mental. Some of those girls are fucking mental. Now, go to your room and put some clothes on like a good little Punkers."

"Yea, yea. I'm going. Make yourself at home while I'm up there, but stay away from the fridge. I haven't scraped enough courage together to open and clean it out." Punk looked at Colt just long enough to see his look of disgust and then he turned to climb up the stairs.

"Yuck! I hope you don't think I'll help…." Colt's voice trailed off, causing Punk to look over his shoulder at him. Punk noticed Colt's mouth was open and his eyes wide.

"What's wrong?" What the hell was Colt looking at?

Colt's face stayed in the same expression but one of his fingers rose slowly and pointed to the back of Punk's shoulder, "What is that?"

Punk's brow furrowed in confusion, "What's what?"

"The mark on the back of your shoulder."

The dread and fear hit Punk like a bucket of hot water and his heart began to race. He could almost feel the blood draining from his face. There was a mark on the back of his shoulder? Punk powered up the stairs and ran into his bathroom to look in the mirror. He heard Colt's heavy footsteps following after him.

His scarred hip collided with the vanity in his haste to look in the mirror. Punk turned slightly so he could see his back. On the back of his shoulder was a bruise that could only be described as a hicky and it had healed just enough that even Colt would not be fooled if he tried to say he got it after the island. His secret was out.

Punk raised his gaze in the mirror and met Colt's. His expression was still frozen in shock. Turning toward Colt, Punk's knees gave out and he slid down the vanity to the floor.

Colt spoke for the first time, "Is that...?"

He might as well come clean, "Yea, it's a hicky. I fucked him. Do you hate me, Colt?" Punk was afraid to meet Colt's stare, so he kept his gaze on the floor.

There was a sound of a held breath being released and then a sharp intake of air, "I don't hate you, Punkers. Why would you think that? I'm just surprised. I thought you hated the guy."

Punk let out a short bark of a laugh, "I did and I still do, but he fooled me into thinking he was different from everyone else, but as soon as we were rescued, he made it quite clear he wanted nothing else to do with me."

Colt's expression softened. He could tell that Punk was hurting even though he was hiding behind his anger. Covering the distance between Punk and himself, Colt sat down next to him on the floor and let his back rest against the vanity. He gingerly placed his arm around Punk's shoulders.

"Eh, don't feel bad about it, Punkers. He's a man-whore who knows how to get what he wants. No one stands a chance against that. Don't beat yourself up over it. But I gotta know, is he as good as everyone says he is?"

Punk looked over at Colt in shock, but from the crooked smile on his face, Punk could tell he was just teasing. Cracking a smile himself, Punk elbowed Colt in the side, who grunted in pain. "Funny, Colt. Real funny."

Slapping Punk on the knee, Colt changed the subject, "Come on. Go get dressed so we can go eat. I'm starving!" Colt got to his feet and then offered his hand to help Punk stand up.

Punk smiled up at him and took his hand. Everything was going to be okay since Colt was still willing to be his friend.

One week later, Punk had been around to see all his family and close friends and he was just now catching up on The Walking Dead. It was a perfect day to stay inside and watch TV. The sky above Chicago had opened and rain poured in buckets on the city.

He had adjusted well to being back home, but Punk hadn't been sleeping well. Cena seemed to haunt his dreams whenever he closed his eyes, so Punk tried to avoid sleep all together by going out at night or reading comic books. Having bags under his eyes was better than having to deal with the dreams.

Even though he was watching an interesting episode of The Walking Dead, his eyelids were heavy and he was having trouble staying awake. Punk sat up on his couch to try and rouse himself and it worked for a few minutes.

Punk was just dosing off again when his doorbell rang. Getting to his feet, Punk walked over to the door and opened it without a thought. He assumed that Colt had come over to hang out, but when he saw the soaked redhead standing on his doorstep, he couldn't help but be surprised. "Amy." His voice was laced with shock.

Amy Dumas lunged for Punk and buried her dripping head into his chest. Tears broke as soon as the contact was made and she couldn't stop her body-wracking sobs.

Dumbfounded, Punk gingerly wrapped his arms around Amy's shaking form. His T-shirt was already wet from her rain-soaked clothes. What the hell was she doing here?

Amy's sobs broke into blubbering words that were hardly understandable, but he heard and understood each one. "You're alive! I thought you were dead and I'd never get to tell you how sorry I am for hurting you. It was a mistake, Punk. I love you more than the air I breathe and I need you! Please take me back!" Amy dissolved into sobs again.

To say he was blindsided was an understatement. Where had all this come from? He and Amy had parted ways more than a year ago when he found out she was sleeping with other men while he was on the road. He'd been hurt, but he'd gotten over it.

Returning her embrace, Punk shushed her quietly. "Let's get you dry and then we can talk more about this." He said softly and ushered her away from the entry so he could close the door. Punk led her through his apartment and up to his bedroom where he picked out a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants from his drawers. Leading her to his bathroom, he passed the still sobbing woman his clothes, "There are towels in there that you can use," he said while he closed the bathroom door.

Punk walked over to his bed and sat down to wait on Amy to change into dry clothes. He didn't know what to think about her just showing up at his door in the pouring rain and confessing that she still loved him. He had to admit it felt nice to be loved.

The door opened to his bathroom and a sniffling Amy emerged in his clothes. Her hair was a mess and her make-up was running, but to Punk, she looked beautiful. At one point in this life, he thought this was the person he would spend the rest of his life with and he couldn't forget those feelings.

Amy closed the distance between them and stood in front of him. Punk opened his thighs so she could step between them and she placed her hands on his strong shoulders. They stared deeply into each other's eyes before Amy closed the small distance between them and pressed her lips against Punk's in a desperate kiss.

Chapter Text

Looking out the small window watching the clouds go by, John felt numb. The reality that Punk was no longer his had not fully sunk in yet. In his mind, he knew it was over, but he couldn't accept it.

Punk's blow up had come completely out of left field and had blindsided John. Why had Punk thought that he didn't want him? John thought he had made it quite clear that he loved Punk and would never leave him if he had the choice.

That scene kept replaying over in his head. Punk's face had been angry but his eyes had held hurt. He had said that John had made it quite clear that he didn't want people to know that he had lowered himself to fucking Punk. That wasn't true at all.

John guessed that the idea was birthed in Punk's mind when John had told the man who discovered them not to say a word about what he had seen. John hadn't been ashamed of Punk. He'd wanted to protect him and to make sure that Punk was ready for their relationship to come out. John couldn't know that until he talked to Punk about it and they didn't have that chance in the moment.

He should have explained himself while he had those few short minutes alone with Punk in the cabin while they packed their things. If he had, Punk might be by his side right now instead of on another plane headed away from him. John hoped that he hadn't lost him forever. He was going to do everything in his power to get him back.

Curling into himself as much as he could in the limited space, John tried to make the aching hole in his chest go away. As soon as Punk had turned his back on him and boarded that plane, his chest had been ripped open. He needed and wanted Punk by his side.

A hand placed itself on his shoulder and John looked up at the owner. Vince was looking at him with a worried expression on his face. "Are you alright, John? You haven't heard a word I've said in the last half hour."

It was a true statement. John had tuned out Vince's old, gravelly voice until it was just white noise in the back of his dark thoughts. Vince's cheerful mood had gotten on John's nerves. There was nothing cheerful about the situation he was in, but Vince didn't know that, did he?

"I'm fine, Vince," John lied smoothly. He was the farthest from fine he'd ever been in his life.

Vince was perceptive enough to see through it, "Ah, that's a bunch of bullshit, Cena. Your knee's hurting you, isn't it?" Vince leaned over to dig in his pocket and pulled out an orange prescription bottle. "Here, take one of these and you'll feel better," Vince passed the bottle and some water over to John, who gave them back immediately.

"I don't want any pills," John stared down at his shoes, hoping Vince would get the message and leave him alone.

"Son, you don't have to be a hero. Take the pills." Vince offered John the pills and water again.

Anger boiled over inside John, "Just," he winced when he heard how loud and harsh the word was so he toned it down, "leave me alone. Please."

Vince visibly flinched at his statement. John knew he was acting out of character, but he couldn't keep up the happy go lucky act when he was so far from it. "I'll be sitting over there if you need me, Son. You know I'm here for you if you want to talk. I don't like seeing you like this, John" Vince stood up and walked away before John had a chance to reply, not that he would have.

Truthfully, his knee hurt like a bitch now that he was in a confined space and couldn't stretch out, but he needed the pain. The physical pain from his knee was helping to keep his mind off the pain in his chest from losing Punk. He knew it was fucked up, but at this point, he really didn't care.

Thankfully, Vince left him alone for the rest of the plane ride. When the plane landed, a car was already waiting on the tarmac to take John to the hospital. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Dr. Andrews and having an MRI. It was going to be a long ordeal and all he wanted to do was get on another plane headed for Chicago so he could explain himself. With each tick of the clock, the chance of being able to get Punk back was dwindling.

Getting down the stairs to the tarmac was difficult with his crutches, but John managed. Fortunately, the car that was waiting was an SUV with a roomy back seat so John could stretch out his knee. John climbed into the vehicle and closed the door behind him. He let his head fall back against the seat and sighed. He was finally alone in silence, but when the door on the other side of the SUV opened, John had to stifle his groan of irritation. It seemed like Vince wanted to come with him to the doctor.

"Vince, you don't have to come with me. I've gone to these appointments by myself before. It's not a big deal." John hoped that he could persuade Vince not to go.

Slapping John on the shoulder, Vince smiled, "I want to go with you, John. I know you're worried about you knee and what it means for your career, but we'll do whatever we need to get you back in that ring. This won't be a career ender, so don't worry about it." Vince settled into his seat next to John and looked forward.

John had to bite back dark laughter. So Vince thought he was acting this way because he was afraid his career was in danger from his knee injury. He wished that was why he was upset. He'd rather not be able to wrestle again than be without Punk for the rest of his life. John decided to stay silent during the drive to the hospital. Vince seemed to have come to that decision as well.

The usual smells and sounds of a hospital greeted the two men as they entered and headed up to Dr. Andrews' office area. John was taken back by a nurse and Vince stayed behind in the waiting room much to John's relief. The nurse did the normal routine of taking his blood pressure, heart rate, height and weight before escorting him over to radiology for his MRI. He had to wait a few minutes in that office before he was taken back and given a gown to change into.

He hated these things. They were never big enough for his arms and shoulders and always gapped in the back. Sometimes he wondered if the nurses gave him a smaller size on purpose. John stripped out of his clothes, put on the gown and waited for a nurse to retrieve him for the test.

The nurse that came to get him restored his faith in the nursing population because she was kind enough to hold the gown closed in the back while he used his crutches.

All too soon, John found himself surrounded by the white plastic of the imaging machine. He couldn't help but feel a little claustrophobic but he took a deep breath and remained as still as possible.

Once the test was done, he was led back to the room with his clothes and he redressed himself. A few minutes later, he was sitting next to Vince in Dr. Andrews' waiting room. He wondered what the MRI showed.

A long hour later, John was called back to a room where Dr. Andrews was waiting for him. "I took a look at your MRI, John, and I'm afraid you need surgery. You tore your meniscus and it's partially healed. I need to go in and correct it so it'll heal properly. I'd like to do the surgery as soon as possible and luckily I have an opening for tonight. You haven't eaten anything in the last 12 hours, have you?"

John had to think for a moment. He'd had that cheeseburger on the ship on the way back, but that had been about 12 hours ago. It felt much longer than that. "No, I haven't."

Dr. Andrews smiled. "Good, but make sure not to eat anything. You can eat all you want after you come out of surgery." Dr. Andrews stood up and opened the door, "I'll see you in a few hours, John. Take care." He left John alone in the room with Vince.

"See, John. It's not all that bad. Just a few months of rehab and you'll be back in the ring kicking someone's ass." Vince slapped John on the back. "Let's get out of here and go to a hotel. I'm sure you want to rest a little before your surgery."

John numbly stood up and moved on his crutches behind Vince. The trip from the hospital to the hotel was a blur. He sat quietly in one of the hotel lobby chairs while Vince arranged rooms for them to stay in for the next few days. John was relieved that Vince had enough sense to get them separate rooms. Spending any more time than he already had to with Vince would probably cause John to lose it and punch the man in the face. He wasn't in the mood for dealing with him.

Vince ushered him toward the elevator once he had the keys for the rooms in his hand. John could hear him talking but he tuned him out just like he had on the plane. When they reached John's room, Vince inserted the card in the door and then opened it for John. Stepping into the room, John turned and shut the door in Vince's face, who had been in the middle of a sentence. As much as John tried, he couldn't muster up any guilt for being so rude to him.

Crutching his way over to the lone king-sized bed in the room, John stopped a few steps away from it, propped the crutches against the wall and gingerly walked to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and then laid back. The soft mattress underneath him cradled his aching body and helped him relax. Releasing a sigh, John's hand fell to his pocket in search of his phone.

While he'd been waiting at the hospital, he'd taken advantage of the electrical outlets in the waiting room and had charged his phone. He had so many missed calls, voice mails and text messages, but he ignored those for now. Opening his contacts list, John searched for the person he'd been thinking about all day. When he found him, he stared at the picture.

Punk didn't know he had this picture of him and that was probably a good thing. In the picture, Punk had just emerged from the shower at one of the numerous arenas. He was surrounded by a backdrop of steam with a short, white towel wrapped around his hips. His wet hair was messily slicked back and drops of water glistened against his skin. There was a slight smirk on his face as he teased Daniel Bryan as he passed. When he'd taken the picture, John had been acting like he was tweeting or sending a text so no one would suspect. His heart had been racing the entire time, afraid that he was going to get caught, but the risk had been worth it.

John thumbed the screen when it went dark, making it illuminate again. He had to do this now or it would be hours or even days before he had another chance to call Punk and explain himself. Pressing the screen above the call button, John placed the phone to his ear and listened as it went straight to voicemail.

His heart sank. Punk either hadn't charged his phone yet or his phone was off. He needed to talk to him. John was silent for a moment after the beep. He didn't know what to say, but he decided on, "Hey Punk, it's John. Please give me a call once you get this. We need to talk." He paused for a moment. "I miss you," he said softly before ending the call.

Letting his arm fall straight out on the bed, John thought about calling back and spilling his guts out in a voicemail, he thought it was better if he didn't. Punk would just see him a pathetic if he called and begged him to come back to him in a voicemail. That was better done in person or at least saying it while he were listening on the phone.

Exhaustion finally caught up with him and spread through his body. As sleep began to take him, John laid his phone next to his ear so he was sure he would hear it if Punk called him back.

What seemed like only five minutes later, a knocked brought John out of his slumber. He knew it was Vince, so he quickly gathered up the things he wanted to take to the hospital with him and then answered the door on his crutches.

"You ready, John?" Thankfully, Vince had toned down his cheerfulness.

"Yea, let's get this over with."

Two hours later, John was prepped for surgery and lying on the operating table. He was looking up at the bright lights above him when a woman wearing a surgical mask entered his vision.

"Okay, John. I'm going to put you under now. Once I put this mask over your face, count back from one hundred." She placed the masked over his face and he felt her warm pinky brush against his chin. As he was counting back and getting very sleepy, John noted that she had the same color eyes that Punk did right before his own eyes closed.

Chapter Text

John was in darkness until light invaded his vision. His world began to become visible around him and when his vision cleared all the way, he was looking out the door of the cabin. He heard a strangled moan and felt something shift under him, "Why did you stop?" Punk whined up at John.

Looking down, John saw Punk's flushed and sweaty face. He was breathing heavily. It was at that time that he noticed his position on top of Punk.

He was lying on top of Punk, eye level with his straight edge tattoo. One of his hands was squeezing Punk's hip and the other was wrapped tightly around his upper thigh. Suddenly, the last few minutes all came rushing back to him.

Punk had begun to pleasure himself when John had refused him because of the blistering heat of the afternoon. The sight had aroused him enough to forget about the heat and he'd taken over the pleasuring. While he'd been fingering Punk and enjoying his taste, a shadow had fallen across their bodies and that's why John had looked up into the empty doorway. That was weird he'd forgotten what he'd been doing just a second before. It wasn't like Punk was unmemorable.

"Sorry, I thought I saw something," John sent a sexy look and then resumed his ministrations on Punk's lush body.

Moving down, John nibbled at the skin right beside the base of Punk's shaft while pressing his fingers into his tight entrance. Punk's back arched when John's fingers brushed against his prostrate as they entered his body. John kept his fingers on that spot and began to rub them over it.

Punk's cock was resting against his belly and stretched up toward his belly button. It was weeping pearly precum into a small puddle on his abdomen. John grasped Punk's shaft in his large, calloused hand and started stroking him in time with the thrusts of his fingers into his body. Noticing the small puddle, John licked the area with a flattened tongue, enjoying Punk's favor.

Focusing his attention back on Punk's dripping erection, John tonged the slit before engulfing the entire length in his mouth.

"Oh my God! Harder, John." Punk moaned from above. A tattooed hand drifted down to the back of John's head and helped guide his pace.

When John had looked up earlier, Punk had already been close, so it didn't take John long to get him back to that point. Punk's channel was fluttering around his fingers and John knew he was close. Letting Punk's hardness fall from his mouth John whispered, "Come for me, Punk," before putting his mouth back on him and swallowing him whole.

Punk's back arched and his mouth opened in a silent scream as he came down John's willing throat. John swallowed his offering greedily and continued to suck him long past he was done. John wanted to make sure he got everything Punk had to give.

Sensitive after coming so hard, John's sucking quickly crossed the line between pleasure and pain. Punk dropped his hand from John's head to his shoulder and pushed against it, silently telling John to stop.

Taking the hint, John let Punk's softening penis fall from between his lips and removed his fingers from his tight channel. John laid his head on Punk's unmarked hip and stared up at him with a satisfied smile on his face.

Punk smirked back at him, "What are you smiling about? You haven't even gotten off yet." Punk moved his leg so it rubbed against John's straining erection.

Groaning at the sensation, John replied, "Let me get you up again and I'll fuck you through this floor," John turned his head and nipped at Punk's hip.

Quickly extracting himself from underneath John, Punk rose to his feet and made a break for the door, "You'll have to catch me first," Punk said over his shoulder as he ran out the door.

John lay dumbfounded on the floor for a few moments before he got to his feet and chased after Punk. He could tell that he wanted to be caught because John was slowly catching up to him. Punk was a fast runner and if he really wanted to get away from him, John wouldn't have a chance of catching up.

Punk led him all the way to the beach and then he ran into the ocean. So he wanted to be fucked in the ocean? He could give him that.

Just when John's toes touched the water, Punk dropped below the waterline. John smiled and continued to chase after him. Punk probably thought he could hide and then sneak up on him, but John knew his game.

As soon was the water was deep enough, John put his head below water and began to swim. He opened his eyes underwater and ignored the sting. John expected to see Punk in the clear water, but he didn't see him anywhere.

John's head broke the surface and he took a deep breathe. Rubbing his eyes, John looked around at some of the rocks that rose out of the ocean, thinking Punk had to be sitting on one of them. He wasn't.

Fear seized his heart and made it jump to his throat, "Punk?" John shouted into the air, hoping Punk would answer. Silence followed. "Come on, Punk. This isn't funny." John waited for an answer, but there was complete silence.

John ducked down below the surface and began to search frantically for Punk. He had just looked behind one of the rocks, when he felt a small hand grab his own and his world went dark.

John woke up slowly and sighed in relief when it had all just been a dream. He groaned when he felt how sore and nauseated he was. John felt a hand take his and caress the back of his knuckles with a thumb. "Punk?" John's voice was hoarse.

Opening his eyes, John expected to see Punk, but he saw his Mother sitting beside his hospital bed. She had a smile on her face and he could see tears shinning in her eyes.

"No, it's Mom. I missed you, John." She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles. She blinked and a tear fell from her eye.

John wiped it from her face with one of his large fingers. He smiled back at her even though the memories of what had happened in the past 24 hours came rushing back. Even though the pain of losing Punk was awful, seeing his Mother again helped sooth his pain.

"Everyone told me that you could never have survived and that you were dead, but I couldn't believe that. Turns out I was right and they were wrong. I'm so glad I have my baby back." She smiled and the action caused more tears to fall from her eyes.

John wiped the tears away with his thumb, "You knew I was too stubborn to die this young and beautiful." He hated seeing his mother cry and he hoped that the joke would make her stop. He flashed her a dimpled smile as an insurance policy.

He frowned when his mother let out a sob. She quickly stood up and wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders. Her body shook with the force of her sobs and he felt her wet tears against his neck. Patting and rubbing her back, he tried to sooth her.

A minute later, she pulled away and wiped her face. She hiccupped, "Sorry." She sat down and took hold of his hand again.

Before another word could be said, Dr. Andrews drew the curtain open and entered John's little alcove in recovery. "John! Glad to see you awake so soon. Your surgery went beautifully and after a few months of rehab, you'll be as good as new!"

John left out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. "When am I going to be discharged? I need to catch a plane to Chicago." He saw his mother's brow furrow in confusion out of the corner of his eye. He would have to explain to her later.

Dr. Andrews frowned. "Well, I'm going to keep you overnight for observation and then I'll send you home, but your knee is not up to that long of a flight. The flight to Tampa is pushing it, but Chicago is out of the question. I won't clear you to get on that plane."

John sighed in frustration. He was still nauseous from the anesthesia and sore from the surgery. He didn't fell like arguing with his doctor. "When will I be cleared to go?"

Dr. Andrews frowned again. "I don't know, John. I'll have to see how fast you recover."

John was starting to get angry. He respected Dr. Andrews, but he was standing between him and Punk. "You know how fast I heal and rehab. Give me a ballpark."

Dr. Andrews sighed, "It's at least going to be a few weeks. You'll need a few days to heal before you start rehab. I don't like the idea of you sitting so long on a plane where you can't stretch you knee out. You're also more at risk for a blood clot than usual. I don't think you want one of those breaking off, going to your lungs and cause you to suffocate to death."

John's mother leveled a stern look in John's direction. Her tears were gone. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, including going to Chicago until you clear him."

"It's good to know someone's looking out for him. There'll be a nurse here soon to take you down to your room. I'll see you around, John." With that Dr. Andrews left the small alcove and pulled the curtain shut.

"Now before you get all testy, I'm only doing this for your own good. What's so important in Chicago, anyway?"

John was silent for a moment. He didn't want to tell his mother about Punk because there was a chance he would never get him back. She would only pity him if he and Punk didn't get back together and he didn't think he could take that. "Nothing, Mom."

John's mother looked at him with a critical eye. She knew he was lying to her or at least keeping something from her, but if he didn't want to tell her, than she would respect that. He'd been through enough and he didn't need her interrogating him.

"I arranged for a flight to Tampa early tomorrow afternoon after you are discharged. Your brother is going to meet you at the Tampa airport, take you home and help you until you can manage by yourself. I wanted to myself, but work isn't giving me enough time off."

John sighed, "Which one?"

"Matt. He's the closest to your place and he doesn't have any shows for a while."

John nodded. He was almost afraid to ask his next question because he feared his mother's answer. "How's Sean?" His voice was soft.

His mother smiled. "The tumor is still responding to treatment. The doctors are hopeful that they'll beat the cancer into remission soon,"

John let out a sigh of relief. He reached out, took his mother's hand and squeezed it. "That's good to hear."

An hour later, John was being poked and prodded by a nurse in his private hospital room. She'd checked his IV and hooked up another bag of saline because he was a little dehydrated, taken his blood pressure and temperature. Next she pulled the sheets back to look at the dressings on his knee to check if they needed changed, but they didn't. Her next action surprised the hell out of John. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pulled the sheets and his hospital gown up to check his catheter, right in view of his mother.

John's face glowed with a blush of embarrassment. He cleared his throat and the nurse dropped the sheets before turning to look at his chart. "Do you think you can take that out tonight? I can use my crutches to get up and go to the bathroom."

The nurse didn't even look up at him as she answered. "Nope, Dr. Andrews said to leave it until you are discharged tomorrow. I'm all done. Press the button if you need anything. I'll bring you your dinner in a few minutes," with that she left the room and closed the door behind her.

John felt sick just at the mention of food. After having surgery, it usually took him a few days before food sounded even remotely appealing. His mother huffed beside him and he looked over and saw her frowning deeply.

"What a bitch! She didn't even ask you if you wanted dinner! She was rude and gruff, too. I don't like the nurses these days! They become a nurse for the money and scheduling instead of wanting to help people. It's not right." Carol Cena's fury was barely contained.

"And she flashed you my wiener." John cracked a smile, hoping that would calm her down.

It seemed to do the trick when she smiled at him, "You forget I changed your diapers and bathed you. I've seen everything," she said teasingly.

John shook his head, "But I was just a kid," he was stopped by a yawn. He was very tired.

"And that's my cue to leave. I'll be back in the morning to help you get to the airport. I'll stop by and tell the nurse not to bring you dinner. Sleep well." With that, his mother walked out the door, flipping off the light and closing the door behind her.

For the first time since he woke up from surgery, John let the act fall. He had kept it up for his mother because she'd been through enough in the last few months. She didn't need to worry about him being unhappy with so much on her plate.

Vince had explained how much she'd been through over the last few months with the court battles and then finding out Liz put a hit on him. Liz, to think he loved her at one point in his life. He wondered if she'd ever really loved him.

John's thoughts suddenly turned back to Punk. He wished he was here with him. Punk would say something witty to keep his mind off the pain in his knee and his nausea. John would give anything to have his arms wrapped around Punk's body in this hospital bed. He missed him.

Suddenly, a light illuminated the dark room and John heard a buzzing noise. His phone was resting on the rolling table beside him. Reaching for it, John's fingertips grasped the phone and brought it to his lap. He'd just gotten a text message, but he did not have missed calls or voicemails from Punk like he had been hoping for.

The text was from Randy telling him that he hoped the surgery had gone well and he'd stop by to see him when he got home tomorrow.

It would be nice to see Randy tomorrow. He'd finally have someone he could confide in with Randy. He knew he would understand and take his confession in stride because Cody and Ted had come out a few years ago and Randy hadn't batted an eyelash. John wondered if he'd suspected his obsession with Punk but he had never said anything, so John had assumed he hadn't. He would find out tomorrow.

Even though he was exhausted, John didn't sleep much that night. Just when he was about to fall asleep, his nurse would come in to check his vitals. At four this morning, he'd finally fallen asleep and had grabbed a few hours before she came in again.

At seven, she'd brought him breakfast before the end of her shift. The smell of it had made him dry heave violently. She'd finally taken it away when he'd explained to her that it was the effects of the anesthesia between heaves. He'd hardly been able to recover from that ordeal before another nurse had come in to help her take out his catheter. That had been pleasant. Not.

He'd been sitting in a wheelchair alone in his room for an hour before his mother came in. He was tired and in pain, but he still smiled at her. He was glad to see a familiar face. "Morning, Mom."

She gave him a cheerful smile, "Morning, you all ready to go?"

"Yea, you just have to sign a paper and then I'm all yours," His dimples popped when he widened his smile.

"Alright, let's go track down the person with the paperwork and we'll be out of here in a jiffy."

Before John knew it, he was sitting on a plane headed home to Tampa. His mother had sent him off with a promise that she'd come and see him as soon as she could and warned him to be nice to his brother.

When his plane landed, John crutched his way off the plane and to baggage claim where his brother was supposed to be waiting for him. He was there with John's bag already in his hands.

A smile very similar to John's spread across Matt Cena's face as he walked toward his brother. Matt wrapped his muscular arms around John and hugged him tightly. John returned the hug and patted him on the back. "It's good to see you home and in mostly one piece, Bro." There was crack in Matt's voice from his emotions.

In some ways, it was good to be back, but he'd lost Punk. If they had never been found, John had no doubt that his arms would be wrapped around Punk and not his brother at this moment. "I missed you." John said softly. The statement was true, truer than saying it was good to be back.

Matt released him from the hug and grabbed the handle on John's bag. "Come on; let's get you home so you can chillax."

The ride from the airport to John's house was silent for the most part. Matt tried to make conversation, but John would only give him yes or no answers. He was tired from not sleeping the night before, nauseous and sore from the surgery and he was missing Punk. He didn't have enough energy to act like everything was okay because it wasn't.

He almost felt guilty for not putting up his normal, happy façade when his brother sent worried looks his way, but there was no way he could do it. He was too tired and broken.

As soon as the two men entered the house, John headed toward the stairs. All he wanted to do was sleep and his bedroom had a soft, comfortable bed. Just as he was about to reach the first step, he felt a tug on the back of his T-shirt. John looked over his shoulder and saw his brother standing there with a worried look on his face.

"Do you want something to eat? I can make some food."

John had to swallow the bile that rose up in his throat at the mention of food. "No, I'm not hungry. I want to sleep for a while."

Matt watched as his brother walked up the stairs on his crutches. There was something wrong with him. His older brother did not act like that. What the hell had happened on that island?

He knew that Randy was going to be here soon and he hoped that he would make John happy again.

Two hours later, Randy arrived with a huge smile on his face. He was excited to see his friend again and fill him in on everything that had been happening around the company. Knocking on the front door, Randy waited for it to open.

Matt opened the door and forced a smile on his face. John had yet to come back downstairs and when he'd gone up to check on him, John had told him to go away because he was tired.

"Hey, man! Where's John?" Randy entered the house when Matt moved out of the doorway so he could.

Matt shook his head. "He's different, Randy. Something's wrong with him. I've never seen him this quiet and unhappy."

Randy frowned. "Really? Hmm, let me go upstairs and try to talk to him," Randy started up the stairs. He'd been in John's house enough times to know where everything was.

"Please do. He wouldn't even let me in. I hope you have different results."

John was lying on his back staring up at his ceiling thinking about everything that had gone wrong. Punk had yet to call him back, and at this point, it didn't look like he was going to at all. That meant that he didn't even want to talk to him. He needed to get to Chicago as soon as he could so he could try to get him back. All these thoughts were keeping him from giving into his exhaustion and take a nap.

There was a knock at his door and John sighed in frustration. His brother had already knocked once. Did the guy not get the hint that he wanted to be by himself. "I'm trying to nap. Leave me alone."

A voice came from beyond the door, "Is that any way to talk to your best friend who you haven't seen in months?"

A small smile eased itself onto John's face. Randy would understand everything and be here for him. "Come on in, Randy," John said as he struggled to sit up.

Randy entered and closed the door behind him. "I would run to the bed and body slam you like the old days, but I don't think your knee would do very well with that," Randy walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. "So, what's going on with you? Your brother downstairs is worried about your behavior."

John was silent for a moment, "I lost him, Randy. I lost Punk." John's voice cracked on the last sentence. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Randy's brow furrowed in confusion. "Lost him? Punk's still alive. At least that's what the news said."

John closed his eyes, "He's alive, but he's not mine anymore."

It suddenly dawned on Randy and an "O" formed on his face. "So you and Punk…" Randy trailed off, wanting John to answer.

John nodded, "Yea, we got together while on the island. He broke it off at the airport because he misinterpreted something I said. He's not answering my calls and, while I really want to go to Chicago to confront him, the doc won't let me. I love him, Randy." John's voice was riddled with emotion.

He knew how John felt. At one point in his life, he thought he had lost Sam forever, but she'd forgiven him and come back. "See, I knew there was some sexual tension between you two. That's why your matches were so damn good. And don't think I didn't notice you eyeballing him every chance you got," he was joking to try and ease the situation and cheer John up.

John let out a bitter laugh that made Randy feel bad. He shouldn't have been joking around when John felt so horrible.

"Look, John, I know you think it's hopeless and he's gone forever, but it's not. Remember how much I put Sam through before I got clean? She came back to me even after all that. All you have to do is explain yourself and he'll understand."

"You do realize it's going to be a few weeks before I can go see him, right?"

Randy nodded. "Yep, all the more time for him to cool off. You know how Punk flies off the handle. This will give him time to process everything and realize that he was wrong. You'll come back to the WWE together and make Vince shit kittens.

John smiled a little, "I hope you're right."

Randy puffed himself out a little, "I'm always right!" there was a pause, "Don't tell Sam I said that."

John laughed a real laugh for the first time since he'd been rescued.

Chapter Text

John's uninjured leg bounced nervously as he waited to board his flight to Chicago. It had been two weeks since he'd come out of surgery, and in that time, he'd worked his ass off to recover enough to go get Punk.

Punk had never returned his call and hadn't even sent him so much as a text in those two weeks. John hadn't given up, though and tried to call him every day. His calls always went directly to voicemail. Even though that wasn't an outcome he wanted, maybe Punk hadn't been able to find his phone or it might even be broken. That gave him hope that Punk really wasn't that mad at him to ignore all his calls and messages.

God, he was so nervous! John had rehearsed what he was going to say to Punk over and over in his head, but he worried that Punk wouldn't even give him that chance. What if Punk slammed the door in his face? What if he didn't live in the same apartment that he had an address for? He hoped that Punk would at least give him time to explain himself, even if he was still upset.

John was pulled from his nervous thoughts by an announcement that his flight was now boarding. Standing up and gathering his carry-on, John made his way over to the forming line on his crutches. From the length of the line, John could tell that the plane was completely full and may even be overbooked. He hoped that he wouldn't get bumped.

Fifteen minutes later, John was only five people from boarding the plane when he heard his phone ring. Digging in his pocket, John looked at the screen and noticed it was Randy. "Hey Randy, can I call you back later? I'm about to get on the plane."

Randy let out a relieved sigh, "Good, you haven't boarded yet. Don't get on that plane, John."

John's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why shouldn't I get on the plane? I have to go get Punk back."

There was a pause on Randy's end before John heard another sigh and what sounded like a hand rubbing a forehead. "Just trust me, John, and don't get on that plane."

Tendrils of anger and frustration started rolling up John's spine. Why was Randy acting this way? "Look, Randy, we've been friends forever and I trust you, but you're going to have to give me a better reason to not get on this plane than just to trust you."

Randy growled in frustration, "Fuck, John. I really didn't want to tell you this. You can't go to Chicago because there's nothing there worth your time."

John's anger boiled over. He thought about just hanging up on Randy because the conversation was too cryptic and he was about to hand his ticket over to be scanned. "Are you saying the man I love isn't worth my time? I know you never liked Punk, Randy, but…"

Randy cut him off, "This isn't about my opinion on Punk. He's not worth your time because he's not yours anymore. He's moved on, John. I just overheard Cabana saying that he and Lita got back together last night. There's nothing for you in Chicago." It all came out in a hurried rush.

Randy's words felt like a punch to the gut and John's world shattered when their meaning sunk in. John had been about to hand his ticket to the attendant when it slipped from his hand and fluttered to the carpeted floor. "Are you sure?" John's voice was small and quiet.

"I'm sorry, but I'm sure. Cabana was showing off a pic of them on his phone just a minute ago. I'm so sorry, John. I know how you felt about him."

John picked up his ticket and then got out of line. He felt completely numb. "I guess he didn't feel the same."

Randy cringed when he heard how robotic John's voice sounded. He knew this was going to crush him, but it was better than him going to Chicago and discovering the situation himself. "I called you brother to come pick you up before I called you. He should be there soon. Look, I know this really sucks but, it's going to get better and you'll meet someone else."

John hung up on Randy as soon as he heard his last sentence. He didn't trust himself not to say something he'd regret later. Randy didn't know how it felt about Punk. John knew with time that it was going to get better and not be as painful, but he was never going to be the same. A person does not experience that kind of love and then be able to forget about it and move on. Punk had been it for him. Punk had been the one and he'd slipped right through his fingers and into Lita's clutches.

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He knew it wasn't a good idea to start another relationship so soon after John, but Lita kept his mind off things. It really wasn't a new relationship because he'd been with her before. While that relationship had ended badly, Lita had given a very tearful and genuine apology and Punk couldn't say no when she asked to get back together with him.

He hadn't jumped right in the first day she walked back in his life. She'd kissed him that first day, but he'd stopped her before they went any further. Lita had understood, but she'd wanted to spend the week with him. Punk had been so lonely that he'd agreed to it.

Punk had been reminded why he liked to be around Lita so much. She was fun, made him laugh and liked the same things he did. He wasn't in love with her, but he knew that she wouldn't treat him the same if he hadn't agreed to enter into this relationship again. He hadn't told anyone about his feelings, even Cabana because he didn't want to be told what he already knew. He was whoring himself out for love and friendship.

"You haven't turned a page in five minutes. What are you thinking about so intensely?" Lita was in bed with him molded against his side with her head resting on his chest while she watched TV.

Punk closed him comic and placed it on his bedside table. One of his hands buried itself in Lita's hair and the other rested against his stomach. "Nothing. I was just looking at the artwork more closely." Punk began to brush his fingers through her hair.

"Oh, being all secretive. How am I going to get these secrets out of you?" Lita slid up Punk's body and placed her lips on his. The kiss was slow but demanding. Lita ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and then stopped at his lip ring. Opening her mouth, Lita latched onto Punk's lip ring and began to suck, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth.

Normally, Punk would be moaning at the sensation, but he wasn't aroused at all. Alarmed, Punk tried harder, making the kiss more harsh and demanding. Their tongues battled for dominance and teeth rasped against lips. Lita moved over to his scruff covered jaw bone and trailed small lips all the way up to his ear.

One of Lita's hands touched his chest and then traveled up to his soft nipples and pinched them. Lita moaned hotly in in ear before her mouth latched onto his earlobe and began to suck.

She knew all his hot bottoms from when they'd been together before, but unlike then, Punk wasn't writhing in pleasure. He wasn't even half hard. What the hell was wrong with him?

Punk was pulled from his small panic attack when Lita's hand slid down his stomach and toward the band of his underwear. Grabbing her hand in a firm grip, Punk stopped her hand from going any further. He didn't want her to discover that he wasn't aroused.

Punk brought Lita's hand up to his mouth and then placed a kiss on it. "Let's not do this tonight. I'm tired and my hip is hurting,"

Lita pouted. She was still panting against his shoulder. "Well, I can't say I'm not a little disappointed but I understand. We can do this later. Let's go to bed now, so you aren't too tired tomorrow." Lita reached across Punk to turn off his lamp before settling into his side.

Punk sighed in relief, but Lita probably took it as a relaxed one. Closing his eyes, Punk pushed the whole situation out of his mind and tried to go to sleep.

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Bright lights and a screaming crowd surrounded John and Punk as they circled each other in the ring. Punk felt excitement and anticipation for the show they were going to give the people in this arena and the viewers at home. John might not be the best wrestle on the roster, but he complimented him in the ring and they created sports entertainment magic in the squared circle.

Staring into John's ocean blue eyes, Punk could see the same emotions he was feeling flashing through the depths. They had chemistry and no one could deny it.

John was the first one to make a move. Immediately, the two men locked up and the match began. Moves were exchanged, spots called and improvisations were made. The crowd roared in excitement around them and they played off that excitement, ramping their performance up even more.

They'd been at it for over half an hour. Punk felt exhausted and he could tell from John's heavy breathing and the sweat that was rolling down his neck that he felt the same.

Just as suddenly as the match had begun, it ended just as suddenly when Punk GTS'd John for the pin.

The crowd roared louder than ever and got to their feet to cheer even harder. Punk's music blared over the arena speakers as he stumbled to his feet in tired elation. John slipped out of the ring and made his way to the back as the ref handed Punk the glittering title.

The heavy weight of the title felt good to have in his hands again and he suddenly felt energized. Punk climbed the turnbuckle and raised the title over his head while proclaiming that he was the best in the world.

This feeling was why he did what did day in and day out, no matter how fed up he got with the company or how tired he got. Getting the crowd this excited and giving them a show they'd remember for the rest of their lives was why he came out here night after night.

Eventually, Punk made his way to the back, getting congratulatory pats on the back along the way. He was almost to the locker room when a door opened and he was pulled into the room. Punk rolled his eyes but let out a playful laugh when he realized it was John collecting his loser prize.

Large, calloused hands grabbed either side of his head and pulled him into a searing kiss. John's mouth left his and traveled over to his ear. "Loser gets a blow job, remember?" John nibbled the tattoo behind his ear, earning a pleased moan.

Punk smirked against John's neck. "Oh, I didn't forget, I just thought you'd let me shower and maybe take me back to the bus before you collected. I thought boy scouts were supposed to be patient." Punk rained open-mouthed kisses along John's neck.

Leaning his head back to allow Punk more access, John smiled and moaned. "Patience is not in my vocabulary when it comes to you. Besides, I like it when you're all sweaty and excited after a match. You do some freaky things when you're like this."

"Freaky? We'll see about that." Punk slowly dropped to his knees until he was eye level with John's zipper. He palmed John's hardness through his jorts, feeling how big and ready he was. Punk pressed his lips against John's erection before biting down gently.

John's head fell back and he groaned. "Don't tease me, Punk."

Punk made a noise in the back of his throat, "You're no fun." Nimble, tattooed fingers undid John's leather belt before undoing his jorts. Roughly parting the two halves of denim, Punk nibbled along John's length through his underwear.

John's hand descended to palm the back of Punk's head, silently urging him to go further.

Taking the hint, Punk pulled on the waistband of John's underwear, releasing his erection. Punk caught it with his mouth as it sprang out of its confines. Hearing John's loud moan from above him, Punk hummed in satisfaction, causing John to moan even louder from the vibrations.

"Fuck! You're so good at this." John couldn't stop his hips from bucking which made Punk deep throat him. "I'm not going to last very long if you keep this up."

Pulling his mouth off John, Punk smirked up at him and scraped his teeth along John's base while his eyes smoldered in arousal. "I like to see how fast I can make you come," Punk's mouth descended on John again, going all the way down until his nose rested gently against John's pubic bone. He hummed lowly and ran his tongue along the underside of John's cock. Punk then thrust his head back and then went back down on John. He repeated this for a few minute, alternating his tongue movements and the depths he went.

God, he was right there. Punk had him right on edge, but he wasn't giving him enough to send him over.

Punk pulled back so he could breath and then he swirled his tongue around the head of John's blushing cock. Placing a few inches of John back in his mouth, Punk sucked gently and sent John tumbling over the edge.

Swallowing everything John had to give, Punk let him fall from his mouth when he was done. John's panting breaths filled the silence in the small room. Looking up at John, Punk smirked smugly

That smirk snapped John out of his haze and he pulled Punk up to his level. Smashing his lips against Punk's, John could taste himself and it made him begin to harden again.

Breaking the kiss, John turned Punk around and crowded him against the door. Hooking his thumbs into Punk's black and green tights, John pulled them down until they were around his upper thighs.

God, his thighs! They were his favorite part of Punk, but he couldn't worship them like he wanted to at this moment. Later tonight, when they were lying in bed at the back of their bus, John would pay special attention to those luscious thighs, but right now, he was going to burst if he didn't get inside Punk soon.

Placing two of his thick fingers into his mouth, John got them as wet as he could before he placed them at Punk's entrance and pushed inside. He moaned when he felt Punk's muscles grip his fingers in their hot, tight embrace. Punk was already slick from all the sweat they had produced during their match. Another reason why he loved fucking Punk after a match: little to no prep needed.

Punk let out a frustrated groan when John's fingers let his body. He was so ready to be fucked through this door and John was taking his sweet time. Finally, Punk felt John's thick head against his entrance and he pushed back against him. Just as the first inch of John's length entered him, Punk heard a female voice calling him name, pulling him out of the dream.

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When he woke up, Punk was so hard, he felt like he could fuck through a brick wall. He was disoriented for a moment, but then he felt hot breath against his ear and Lita's deep voice.

"Were you dreaming about me Punk? You don't have to dream when you have the real thing right here." Lita pulled Punk's covers off of him and then straddled him. "You're so hard, I bet you're in pain. Poor baby! Let me take care of this."

Punk was too aroused to care and he was still half asleep and thinking of John. He wasn't really that aware of what was going on.

Lita pulled his boxers down until they were around the tops of his thighs and then she reached over into his bedside drawer and fished a condom out. Opening the foil package with her teeth, Lita took it out and then rolled the condom down Punk's length. Lita rose up and then placed Punk at her entrance before impaling herself on Punk's erection.

Punk was slowly beginning to realize what was happening and he knew the situation wasn't good. Lita had never been very tight, but it was even worse than he remembered. Punk felt the arousal from his dream already waning and he was afraid he was going to lose his erection.

Tightly closing his eyes, Punk tried to call up some of the images of the dream he'd just had and that helped. Punk opened his eyes again and saw Lita riding him. The sight should have excited him, but it didn't. He realized that he needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Punk placed one of his hands around the top of one of Lita's thighs to steady her while his other hand moved between her legs. Placing his thumb against her bundle of nerves, Punk began to make circles around it, causing Lita to throw her head back and moan. Her place increased and her hips slammed against his.

Feeling himself begin to soften again, Punk closed his eyes tightly and placed himself back in his dream again. He pictured John's face as he was coming into his mouth. Just imagining John's O face sent shocks of arousal down his spine, reinforcing his erection.

Punk added more pressure to the circles he was rolling around Lita's bundle of nerves and the reaction was instant.

"Yes, harder, Punk. Fuck, I'm coming!" Lita threw her head back and ground her hips against Punk's as she came. The rhythmic fluttering of her muscles only felt mildly good to Punk. He was nowhere close to coming.

Punk closed his eyes again and thought about John while Lita continued to ride him. It looked like she wasn't going to stop until he reached his climax.

They continued for a few more minutes and then Lita came again. Punk was still not close to coming. Thinking about John was the only thing that was keeping him hard. This was such a nightmare. Lita broke his concentration thinking about John by talking.

"Are you about there? I'm getting tired" Punk could tell that she was getting tired and he wanted to be done, so he lied.

"Yea, just a little bit longer. I'm almost there." Punk let Lita thrust against him a few more times before he started fucking up into her with stuttering thrusts and he groaned loudly, biting his lip for good measure.

Lita stopped soon after and looked down at him with a satisfied smirk. "Talk about Mr. Stamina. Christ, Punk, I thought you were never going to come." Lita rolled off of him and Punk rolled to his side in the opposite direction so she didn't see that the condom was empty.

Taking off the condom, Punk stood up and threw it into a nearby waste basket. He looked at Lita over his shoulder, "Hey, I'm going to go downstairs to get a drink. You want anything?"

Lita looked over at him with a completely satisfied face. "No, I'm fine. After that, I don't think I'll ever want anything ever again. You are so damn good, Punk."

Punk didn't look back, just left the room. When he reached the kitchen, Punk picked a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with cold water. Taking a long drink, Punk thought about what had just happened.

Before he and Lita had broken up, they'd had a good sex life and he'd NEVER had trouble keeping an erection. He almost wished it was a medical issue, but he knew it wasn't. The dream about John had caused him to get an erection in the first place and he was able to keep it during that session with Lita because he'd been thinking about John the whole time.

John had ruined him. He had burrowed his way under his skin and now Punk didn't want to be intimate with anyone else. What a fucking bastard! Using him as his own personal fuck toy on that island and then throwing him away once he was ruined for everyone else. At this moment, CM Punk hated John Cena even more than before.

Punk was pulled from his thoughts when he heard feet descending the stairs. He assumed Lita had recovered from her post-coitus bliss and did want water after all.

"What the hell is this?" Lita's angry voice made Punk tense and turn around to see what she was talking about.

Dangling from the tips of Lita's fingers was the empty condom that Punk had thrown away.

Chapter Text

Punk stared silently at Lita's angry expression. Fuck, why hadn't he flushed the damn condom? Then she'd have never known.

"Answer me Punk. What the hell is this?" Lita shook the empty condom at Punk.

"Uh, a condom?" He wasn't trying to be a smartass, he just wanted to delay the inevitable.

Lita's anger seemed to decrease. "Come on, Punk, you don't have to lie to me. You could have told me that you weren't ready to come yet and I would have continued you until you reached your climax."

Punk was very uncomfortable talking about this and the fact that he was standing in his kitchen naked while having this conversation didn't make it any better. "Look, Lita, it wouldn't have mattered how long you kept trying to make me come, I wouldn't have. And it's not anything that you did wrong, I just wasn't ready for that part of the relationship yet." Punk hoped she would take that explanation and yet the subject drop.

Lita didn't though. "Really? You're trying to pull the 'it's not you, it me' card? Try again, Punk. You were so hard when I woke you up, you were dripping."

"Lita, I just got off an island after being stranded on it for months. There were times when I thought I was going to die and never get off that island. I'm sorry if my head's not in the right place to sexually perform at your standard," Punk was almost yelling in anger at the end of his sentence. He hoped he made her feel guilty enough to stop pestering him. He didn't want to tell Lita the real reason for this humiliating situation.

He almost felt bad when Lita looked like he had slapped her in the face. "I'm sorry, Punk. I didn't know you felt that way. I assumed that I wasn't up to your standard anymore," Lita walked over to his trashcan and threw away the condom. "I'll be upstairs," Lita said as she turned around and headed toward the stairs.

Watching her go, Punk leaned back against his counter and let out a sigh of relief. In a way, Lita wasn't up to his standard anymore, but then again, no one really was. No one except John fucking Cena. He was going to get over this and the whole thing on the island was going to be like it never happened.

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As Randy had promised, Matt was waiting for him outside the airport in his SUV. From the pity-filled look on his face, John knew that Randy had told him everything and he wished he hadn't. He had enough pity for himself; he didn't need anyone else's.

Matt got out of the car to help John heft his bag into the backseat and then both men got into the car. As soon as the doors closed, John shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, "I don't want to talk about it, so don't bring it up. It's over and nothing is ever going to change that."

The car was silent as Matt merged into traffic. John could tell that Matt wanted to say something, but he was thankful that his brother was keeping his mouth shut for once in his life.

About five miles from John's house, Matt couldn't stand it anymore broke the silence. "You don't know it's over yet, John. You could still win him back. Maybe he and Lita are just back to being friends now. You never give up, John, so why are you giving up when the most important thing in your life is on the line?"

"When you've been after something for as long as I've been after Punk and then finally have it only for a brief moment before it's ripped from your fingers, that's when you know it's time to give up. I told him and showed him that I loved him to the depths of my soul, but that still wasn't good enough for him. It's not giving up when you know it's futile." John's voice was eerily calm and devoid of emotion.

Matt had never seen his big brother so empty and broken. His big brother had always been the guy he had looked up to and strived to be, but now, he was seeing his hero without his mask and superpowers. He would never admit how much it hurt to see John this way. "God, if there's anything I can do, John, just let me know." There was a lump in his throat and he could hear it in the huskiness of his voice.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

When the two men reached John's house a few minutes later, John got out of the car and crutched his way into the house. He stood in the foyer for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling before heading into his office.

A few minutes later, Matt walked into the house carrying John's luggage. He took it up to John's room and then headed to look for John. It took him searching for a few minutes because he didn't think John would be in his office.

John was at his laptop typing away and Matt was wondering what in the hell was so important. Walking into the room, Matt looked over John's shoulder to see what he was doing and John was only on his address book. Unable to quell his curiosity, Matt asked, "What are you doing, John?"

"Getting my life somewhat back to normal," John said without even looking up from the screen.

The next day, John was sitting in his lawyer's office, finalizing the papers for his divorce. Thankfully, he had already started them before he left, so they were ready for signatures.

John's lawyer handed him an envelope. "Everything's in order. I just need your and Liz's signatures before everything is settled. I must say that you are being very generous toward her considering the situation."

"I'm paying her for her services over the years. What do you mean Liz has to sign this? She's in jail for trying to kill me. Isn't that enough to say she doesn't want to be married to me anymore?" John was frustrated. He just wanted this to be over and done with.

"I'm sorry, but the courts will still want her signature, even under the circumstances."

John sighed in frustration before standing up and leaving the office. His brother was in the waiting room and he stood up when he saw John come through the door. John handed Matt the envelope so he could move around on his crutches a little easier. "I need to go see Liz so she can sign these."

Matt was speechless for a long moment. "You sure you want to do that? We can have someone serve them to her in jail."

John thought it over for a moment. "No, I want to do it. I haven't faced her since all of this came to light and I'd like to hear what she has to say for herself."

Getting into the car and buckling his seatbelt, Matt shook his head in disbelief. "Whatever you want to do, man."

Two hours later, John was being led to a room where he could talk to Liz and get her to sign the papers. The walk to the room was an endless performance of asking to be let through a door, being buzzed through and then continuing on. Finally, the guard that was with him, pulled out a set of keys and opened a door. "Just knock on the door when you're ready to leave." The guard held the door open for John long enough for him to walk through it and then slammed it behind him.

Sitting at a metal table directly in front of John, Liz sat with her head down so that her bangs blocked his view of her face. Her slight body was covered from neck to foot in an orange jumpsuit that was shapeless and unflattering. "Liz." John's voice was emotionless.

Liz slowly raised her head to look at John. There were tears glistening in her eyes and her chin was shaking. "Did you come here just to see me like this?" Her voice wasn't angry, only defeated.

John grunted. This was just like Liz. She wanted his pity, but she was never going to get it. "No, if it was up to me, I would have never seen your face again, but you have to sign the divorce papers before I can forget about you." He knew his words were harsh, but she'd cared so much more about his money than him. She'd plotted his murder after all.

When Liz started sobbing so hard her chains started to rattle, John still couldn't muster up any pity or guilt. She'd done this to herself. John slapped the paperwork on the metal table and threw a pen down onto it. "Sign at the x's."

Liz sniffled pitifully and wiped her nose with both of her cuffed hands. She placed them on the table and picked up the pen awkwardly. Before putting pen to paper, Liz looked up at John again. She had a hard time looking him in the eye, but she managed.

"I'm so sorry. I really did love you." Liz's voice was quiet but John heard every deceitful word.

John scoffed, "Yea, and I'm sorry you turned into such a money grubbing whore. You never loved me and I see that now. You just wanted the money and the fame that came with me."

Liz lowered her head and let out another sob before starting on the paperwork. She didn't say another word as she flipped the pages, making sure she'd signed at every X. When she was done, she sat the pen back down on the table and pushed the papers away from her before lowering her head even more. John hated her and she couldn't conceive that John Cena could hate anyone. He was too good.

John gathered up the papers gruffly and quickly. He wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. He couldn't stand Liz's pathetic act. When he turned to leave, John had a thought.

"I suppose I do have to thank you." John said over his shoulder.

Liz stopped sniffling for a moment waiting for what he was going to say next.

"While I never cheated on you, I did love someone else. He never gave me a chance until we were stranded on that island, trying to survive. He was mine for those few short months and, even though we were fighting to stay alive, those were the happiest days of my life. Without you trying to kill me, I probably would have never been able to experience that. Thank you." John turned and knocked on the door, which opened almost immediately.

Liz watched in stunned silence as John disappeared beyond the door. It had been CM Punk the entire time. She had always assumed it had been one of the Divas, but John had been infatuated with that dirty, good for nothing, piece of white trash all along. What did that say about John's opinion of her if he wanted to fuck that thing instead of her? Liz's sobs renewed with much more strength. Her life had fallen into shambles around her feet.

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While Punk stormed up the stairs, he heard, "Asshole!" hurled at him in his wake. Whatever. He didn't care anymore. He was done with all the fights she started over stupid shit and the nasty looks she beamed at him and all the thinly veiled comments she made attacking his manhood. If she was so damn unhappy, why didn't she just leave? He wasn't encouraging her to stay…but then again he wasn't telling her to go either.

Punk stalked into one of his spare bedrooms and slammed the door behind him. She wouldn't bother him in here, but when he went to his own bedroom, she considered that fair game, which made abso-fucking-lutely no sense at all. Falling onto the bed stomach first, Punk grabbed one of the pillows and growled into it. He was so pissed off, he was panting. He needed to calm the fuck down. Lying there for a few minutes, Punk let himself slowly calm down by letting his mind wonder away from the situation. It took him a long time to realize that he was visualizing the island. The fingertips he imagined sliding up and down his arm had drawn his attention to the fact. Gasping, Punk sat up on his knees and shook his head to get the image out.

He wasn't feeling as angry now, but he was ashamed of himself for thinking about that island and the man on it again. He needed to get out of this apartment and his mind off of things. Pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, Punk pressed a number on his speed dial and listened to it ring twice.

"Hey, Punkers! What's up?" Colt's sunny voice was a welcome sound.

"A lot of shit. I need to get out of here. Are you back in town yet?" Punk subconsciously held his breath.

"Yea. Sorry to hear about that, man. Want me to swing by and pick you up?" Colt's voice was concerned.

He exhaled the breath he'd been holding in relief. "Yes, please. I really owe you one, Cabana."

"Naw! I love hanging out with my favorite buddy, but if you ever want to help me out with another episode of my podcast, I won't object. I'll be there in five," Colt hung up without another word.

Punk smiled to himself as he ended the call and placed his phone back in his pocket. He looked down at himself and realized he needed to go to his room to get some clothes and his wallet. Wearing only a pair of shorts around Chicago was not going to cut it.

Climbing off the bed, Punk opened the door as silently as he could. He was hoping that Lita wouldn't see or hear him until he was making a beeline for the door when Colt got here, but his hopes were dashed when he heard her yell up at him.

"Hey, Fucker! You done pouting up there?" She snarled up at him

He was tired of this and just wanted to leave. "Fuck you, bitch," Punk cringed as soon as he said it. He'd walked right into that one.

"Yes, please fuck me, asshole. There wouldn't be a problem if you grew a pair and fucked me through the mattress like you use to, but nooo."

Punk growled softly to himself but didn't say anything back. He was going to be the bigger person even though it killed him. He could just imagine her sickeningly satisfied expression.

He walked to his bedroom and closed the door behind him and locked it. The last thing he needed was Lita coming up here to pick another fight. Digging a clean t-shirt out of a drawer, Punk threw it on and then walked into his bathroom.

When he looked in the large mirror hanging over his vanity, he noticed how messed up his hair was. He really needed a shower, but he didn't have time for that. Punk tried to smooth it down as best as he could, but then gave up. He guessed it didn't matter since his hat was going to hide his hair. He quickly brushed his teeth and then headed out of the bathroom.

Just as he was picking up his wallet, he heard the doorbell ring. He made a break for the door, hoping Lita wouldn't get there first. Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight and Punk threw on his hat before he opened the door and walked out of it.

Colt seemed a little shocked that he had just walked right out of his apartment ready to go. He usually invited Cabana in for a few minutes while he grabbed his keys. He recovered from his shock quickly and asked Punk where he wanted to go.

"I'm feeling some pizza. What about you?"

"That sounds amazing. It's even my cheat day!" Colt laughed as the two men climbed into his car. They settled in and Colt started driving to the pizza place. "What's going on with you, Punkers? Is it Lita?"

Punk was silent for a moment. He really didn't want to talk about it, but he knew he probably should. He could put it off for now, though. "Yea. So how did your last stint on the road go?" Not his smoothest change of subject, but it was going to have to do.

Colt looked over at him with a "really" expression all over his face. If Punk didn't want to talk about it, he could respect that, for now. He was going to get it out of him sometime today. He was tired of seeing Punk so unhappy. "Eh, it was good, just felt like it went on forever. I don't remember working so hard on the road the last time I was with the WWE. All the PR gets really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I wish it was all about wrestling again."

Punk nodded his head in the passenger seat. "That's because you never made it to the top when you were there before. Sure you get paid more, but you have to work a lot more for it when you are up there. You'll get into a rhythm eventually and it won't seem as taxing."

Colt had a hard time believing that, "Whatever you say, Punkers."

The rest of the drive was filled with light conversation between the two men. They mostly talked about some movies that were coming out soon that they were stoked about seeing. Both Punk and Colt's stomachs were growling loudly by the time they opened the door to Dimo's pizza.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Punk savored the delicious smell of pizza and all its ingredients. His mouth started watering almost immediately and he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into a warm slice of heaven.

The server immediately recognized both Colt and Punk and quickly seated them and took their drink order. He had been nice enough to stick them at a table that was a little out of the way, so they wouldn't be as likely to be bothered by annoying fans.

Colt leaned back in the booth and let out a satisfied sigh, "There a few are perks to being a bit of a celebrity." He grinned at Punk who grinned back before taking a sip of his diet Pepsi.

"Except when crazy asshole fans cause you to get kicked out of IHOP. Waffle House is better anyway."

Colt made a face, "Blech, the Awful Waffle, Punkers? Really?"

Punk wagged a finger at Colt, "Hey, I've never had a bad fan encounter when I'm on a 3 am trip to Waffle House and their waffles and hash browns are fucking awesome."

Colt just shook his head, "I'm judging the hell out of you right now. And to think I use to consider you a bit of a foodie."

They were interrupted by their server bringing them their slices of pizza. Colt watched as Punk took a bite of his pizza and let out a satisfied moan. "Oh my god, this is so fucking good," Punk groaned while chewing.

Colt had been waiting for this moment. While Punk was distracted by stuffing his face with awesome pizza, Colt was usually able to pull information out of him that he usually couldn't. Pizza drunk was an apt description of Punk's current state, not that Colt would ever tell him that.

"Sooo, what's up with you and Lita?"

"She's a bitch," Punk said around a mouthful.

Colt rolled his eyes. "Well, I already gathered that much, Punkers. We wouldn't be sitting here eating pizza otherwise." Colt took a sip of his soda.

"She's just pissed I can't get it up for her," Punk said absently.

As soon as he heard what Punk said, Colt choked on his soda. After a long coughing fit, he breathlessly asked, "Come again?"

Punk sighed and put what was left of his pizza back on his plate, "Man, Cabana, It's really complicated. Just remember you asked for it." Punk proceeded to tell him all about that disastrous first night together and then everything else that had happened in the last three weeks.

When Punk's long monologue was over, Colt's eyes were a little glazed over and he blinked hard a few times. Looking down at his almost untouched slice of pizza, his stomach turned and he pushed his plate away from him. After hearing all that information that he really wasn't ready to hear, he didn't even want to think about food. Ugh, he couldn't believe that he was going to continue this awkward as hell conversation, but Punk needed to get his life straightened out.

"Just so we're clear, you can only get it up when you think or dream about Cena, right? And Lita's pissed because she's not getting any?" The things he did for his best friend.

Punk hung his head and slowly nodded, "Yea. He fucking ruined me."

"Aww, don't say that, Punkers. It just means that you still love him. That's not necessarily a bad thing."

Punk's head shot up and he leveled a nasty look at Colt, "Yes it is. He just used me and threw me away when he was done."

Colt sighed, "Are you sure about that? Don't take this the wrong way, but you have a tendency to fly off the handle and never give people a chance to explain themselves. I thought you and Lita were doing okay, so I didn't tell you this. I overheard Randy talking to Cena's brother Matt when I was in the locker room last week. It sounds like John's really depressed and, from what I heard, it's over you. I think he loved you and still does, Punk." Colt cringed inwardly. He knew Punk had a lot of ire when it came to John and he hoped that his comment wouldn't cause that ire to be directed his way.

"You must have heard wrong. If he loved me like you say he does, he would have come after me or at least called," Punk set his mouth stubbornly.

Colt was starting to get annoyed. "Well, first of all, your phone was broken when you got back, so you have a new number and I bet John wouldn't be able to pull that out of thin air to call you. Secondly, he had to have surgery right after he got back and you know as well as I do that they don't let you take long plane rides after having surgery like that."

Punk was silent for a moment. From his shaking shoulders, Colt could tell that he was trying to control his anger. "So, what do you want me to do? Give him a chance?!" Punk threw his hands up in the air.

He hated when Punk got this difficult. "Yea, I think you should," there was a lot of attitude in his voice. "You're obviously miserable and you selfishly pulled Lita into your misery. It's time to be honest with her, let her go and give John a chance to explain himself. Even if it doesn't work out, you'll at least have closure and you can work on getting yourself back together."

"If you think I'm going to go to Tampa to talk to him, keep dreaming, Cabana." Punk crossed his arms over his chest.

Colt sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't say go to Tampa. I just think you should give him a call, even if it's just to see how he's healing like a friend would and let him broach the subject."

"I don't have his number anymore," there was an edge of smugness in his voice, like that was going to stop Cabana.

"Then thank god I have his number saved in my phone. Hand me your phone and I'll put his number in," Colt gestured to Punk to hand him his phone.

Punk leaned over to dig is phone out of his pocket and then looked at it. "Oh, wouldn't you know? My phone's dead. Guess I can't call him after all." Punk smiled as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"Really, Punk? Like that's going to stop me." Colt reached over and pulled a napkin out of the dispenser. "As soon as the check comes, which will have a pen with it, I'll write down his number on this napkin and make you take it."

Punk shook his head and laughed to himself. "You are determined, Cabana." Punk looked pensive for a moment. "Something is bothering me about this whole thing. Why in the hell are you trying to get me back together with the guy who got you fired from the WWE just because he was jealous of you?" Punk narrowed his eyes at Cabana when he saw a deep blush spread all the way from his forehead to his collarbone.

Colt pulled at his collar. It had suddenly gotten very hot in here. "Hey, man. I'm not one to hold grudges and you know that. Cena's usually a pretty good guy. He just had a hair up his ass when it came to you." He laughed nervously.

It was Punk's turn to level the "really" look at Cabana. "Okay, what the hell are you hiding that has you as red as your Mother's favorite Christmas sweater. If you tell me, I'll call Cena. Promise" Punk used a finger to cross his heart.

Colt squirmed in his seat. He tried to come up with a believable story, but he had nothing. "Aw, fuck it. It's my turn to make you cringe from too much information." Colt took a deep, calming breath before driving head-on into his own long monologue.

"While you were gone, I learned that sometimes you fall in love with people you know you shouldn't and you really don't want to fall in love with in the first place. You didn't want to fall in love with Cena, but you did and it can't be undone. I'm not going to judge you or want you to live in misery just because I don't have the best opinion of the person you love." Colt couldn't meet Punk's eyes.

Punk narrowed his eyes at Cabana again, "Well, that was vague as hell. Who the hell is it, Cabana? I can't believe you've been hiding this from me."

Colt squirmed in shame. "We thought it was best if we didn't tell anyone until our feud is over."

Punk sputtered when he realized who Cabana was talking about. "You and Ambrose?! How the hell did that happen? I thought you couldn't stand the guy."

Colt looked up a Punk with a sly grin on his face and shrugged his shoulders. "It just kinda happened. One minute when we were shouting at each other in the locker room and the next…well, I won't go into detail."

Punk leaned back in his seat with a look of disbelief on his face, "Holy shit!" He'd seen the hate between the two men when he'd watched RAW, so he was surprised that it was all an act and they were really boinking each other backstage.

Their server suddenly appeared with their cards, receipts and a pen. Colt snatched the pen away quickly and pulled out his phone to find Cena's number. He slapped the napkin with Cena's number in front of Punk. "A promise is a promise. Tomorrow, I expect to hear a PG play-by-play of the phone conversation you are going to have with him tonight. Capish?"

Punk rolled his eyes, but took the napkin and stuffed it into his pocket. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Half an hour later, Punk was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the napkin resting in his hands. Lita had thankfully gone home by the time Cabana had dropped him off at his apartment. The silence was comforting.

Punk turned the napkin over in his hand and studied the digits that were scrawled on its surface. What the hell was he going to say when Cena picked up? Would Cena even pick up since he wouldn't know it was Punk calling? If Punk was completely honest with himself, he was scared. He was going to open himself up again to Cena and the last time he'd done that, he'd gotten hurt.

Gathering his courage, Punk pulled out his phone and pressed the screen for his dial pad. Taking a deep breath, Punk slowing entered the number, checking and double checking that they were correct before he pressed send. Placing his phone to his ear, he heard two rings before he heard a soft click and a "Hello," from John's deep voice

Chapter Text

Punk's breath caught in his throat at the sound of John's voice. He hadn't been expecting him to pick up. He'd honestly been hoping for his voicemail.

"Hello?" John's deep voice had an annoyed edge to it. Swallowing hard, Punk gathered his courage. He didn't know why he was scared. It wasn't like he would lose anything by talking to him.

"John?" His voice came out as more of a croak and he didn't understand why his voice rose in question. He knew exactly who was on the other end of that phone just by that deep, sexy voice.

It was John's turn to be shocked into stunned silence. It sounded like Punk on the other end. His mind has to be playing tricks on him. "That you, Punk?"

Punk cleared his throat, "Uh, yea, it's me. I heard you had to have knee surgery and I wanted to check and see how you were doing." This was awkward. He hoped John would hang up on him so he didn't have to keep this conversation going.

There was another pause on John's end and Punk waited anxiously for the soft click that would signal the end of this horrible phone call, but it never came.

"It's healing up just fine. Been hitting the physical therapy pretty hard to get back to work on time." John stopped to clear the growing lump in his throat by swallowing hard. "So, how are you doing? Heard you and Lita are back together." His voice broke at the end of his sentence and he hoped Punk didn't notice.

But he did notice and his brow furrowed in confusion. Was John sick or was he upset about something? Punk pushed the thought away, concluding that he was just hearing things that his mind wanted to hear. "I've been doing okay. Being back home was a little weird to adjust to, but I managed. Lita and I…" Punk paused for a moment, trying to think of something to say that would describe the current state of their relationship. "We gave it a shot, but just like last time, we aren't meant to be."

Punk wanted to add that it was all John's fault for ruining him for everyone else, but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that.

John's heart skipped a beat. Did that mean that Punk and Lita were no longer together? "Did you and Lita break-up?" John hated the hopeful note that invaded his voice.

"Eh, kinda. It's not official and we haven't talked about it, but I think we're done. There's no saving this relationship. It was stupid to even try again after what happened last time."

John felt like he was flying. He had a chance to get Punk back if he and Lita were splitting. All that hopeful energy made its way into a joke. "At least she didn't try to kill you on her way out. I should have kicked Liz to the curb back in high school. I kept hoping she would suddenly become right for me, but she never did. Now I know why." It was underhanded, but John hoped Punk would take the bait and ask him why. He didn't want to scare him away by shouting "I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you" over the phone. He had to ease Punk into this and make him feel like he had a part in this.

Punk's brow furrowed in confusion again. He reclined on his bed and sighed before taking the bait, "Why is that? She seemed like you type…well, until she tried to kill you," John could hear the smile in Punk's voice.

Closing his eyes, John smiled to himself. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the deep end. "I learned on the island why she wasn't right for me." John paused a breath, "She wasn't right for me because you are the only one who is. I don't know where you got the idea that I don't love you and I was just using you, but I've loved you for years, Punk, and you never gave me a chance until we were alone on that island. I wouldn't mind going back to that island and living like that forever if it meant I could have you forever." John took a few deep breaths after his confession. He was worried about Punk's reaction.

John's heart plummeted to his stomach when he heard Punk stutter, "Uh, I gotta go," and the phone click softly as the call was ended.

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"Fuck!" John screamed angrily and threw his phone across the room, which broke as soon as it smashed into the wall. John rested his elbows on his thighs and torn his nails through his scalp. He'd blown it. He'd been too direct with Punk and had overwhelmed him. If he'd been feeling half as bad as John had in these last few weeks, Punk had to be emotionally exhausted and dropping that bomb on him had shocked him way too much and he hadn't been able to handle it.

John guessed it was a good thing that he had cleared up some of the confusion that had caused Punk to leave him in the first place, but he didn't know if Punk would ever come back to him, even knowing what he did now.

Punk couldn't catch his breath as he placed his phone on the bed beside him. He felt like he'd just finished running the Chicago marathon, but panic and shock were making him gasp for air and not exertion.

"What the fuck," said softly to himself. That phone conversation had not gone as he had imagined. He had expected John to hang up on him most likely or, in a rare case, have a very short and impersonal conversation. Instead, John had spilled his guts like a coon struck by an 18-wheeler. Was he lying or was he sincere? Punk head was spinning from the lack of oxygen and his rushing thoughts.

Cabana. He would talk him through this, right? He was boinking Ambrose so he had to have at least a little experience with batshit crazy.

Punk sat up and pushed Cabana on speed dial. It rang three times before Colt's overly happy voice came across the line.

"Punkers! Did you call him yet? Don't even try to get out of this because you've already collected your end of the bargain."

Punk was silent for a moment before taking one last, cleansing breath. "I called him." That was all he was able to get out before he had to take another breath.

"Awesome! How did it go? Now, I'll go cake tasting with you, but wedding dress shopping is not in my friend contract."

Even in his panicked stated, Punk rolled his eyes at Cabana's dumb joke. "Uh, well, he said that he's loved me for years and, "Punk stopped to take a breath and swallow hard, "he would live on the island for the rest of his life if it meant that he could have me forever." Punk breath seemed to speed up even more. He knew he needed to calm the fuck down before he passed out. Jeebus, he was CM fucking Punk for fuck's sake! He was acting like a fucking girl.

"Hn, he jumped right into it, didn't he. A little on the cheesy side, but I guess it got the job done. So, what did you say?" Cabana's voice had an excited note to it.

Punk cringed. Colt was going to kill him. "I, uh, I hung up on him…basically.

Colt made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "You hung up on him. Jesus, Punkers, are you trying to kill the poor guy? He obviously loves you. A guy doesn't pull that total cheesy shit just to get into something he's already hit, no offense. This is the real deal, Punk. You love him, he loves you. I don't know what you're freaking out about. If John's anything, he's loyal. He's not going to be like all the others who have hurt you. Call him back and tell him how you feel. Don't let him slip through your fingers." Colt said gently.

Everything he said made sense, but Punk was still hesitant about John's sincerity. "I'll think about this tonight and then call him back tomorrow."

Colt sighed. "Okay, but I wish you would call him tonight. He loves you and you love him. That's not going to change overnight."

"I know. I just need some time to wrap my head around this."

"Alright, I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow then. Oh, you better call Lita and end that whole…thing."

Punk laughed to himself. "I guess that's fair. I shouldn't have pulled her into my mess in the first place. Thanks, Colt, for everything."

"Who knew I was so good at giving relationship advice! I should have my own show, Dr. Colt or some shit."

"Ha! Don't quit your day job, Cabana. "

"You know I'd be awesome! Talk to you tomorrow, Punkers!"

"Bye, Cabana." Punk all but laughed out. It was amazing what a five minute talk with Cabana could do. He felt so much better and even a little hopeful. He could see himself with John. Tomorrow would dictate if that was possible or not. "Now to call Lita."

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Five minutes after Punk hung up on him, John was still in his hunched position. He kept running the conversation through his mind, wishing he'd been more subtle and eased Punk into it, instead of punching him in the face with his feelings.

John was pulled from his thoughts when his doorbell rang and someone pounded on his front door. He didn't think about getting up to go get it. He was off his crutches and only had a slight limp, but he didn't want to make the effort when he was feeling so crappy. It had to be a door to door salesperson, and the way he was feeling, they'd be lucky to walk away with their head still on their shoulders.

Suddenly, John heard a huge crash and then his alarm started blaring a high-pitched, ear-splitting sound. John's heart started to race in fear. Opening the drawer on his bedside table, John grabbed his 9 mm Glock and clicked off the safety. John rushed over to the side of his bedroom door, pushed his back against the wall and listened for anything other than his blaring alarm.

His brow furrowed when he heard a few pairs of heavy, rushing feet and a few voices saying "clear". John lowered his gun. It sounded like a freaking SWAT team was in his house.

John's bedroom door was suddenly kicked open and a face came around the door. "Is she here?" The man behind the helmet yelled at John while staring down at the gun held tightly in his hand.

Bending over and placing the gun on the carpet, John raised his hands. "No one is here except me." John was still confused. Why in the hell was a freaking SWAT team storming his house?

The man turned his head towards the hallway and bellowed, "All clear. She's not here. Cena's fine."

"What the hell is going on?" John was at a total loss. It felt like he was in a very weird dream.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Cena for disturbing you, but one of the agents will explain everything to you soon. Come with me."

John followed the man down the stairs and into his kitchen where a man in a suit was standing by the island. The man turned around and gave John a sheepish smile before sticking his hand out for John to shake. Still in shock, John shook the man's hand.

"Hello Mr. Cena. I'm Special Agent Ohler. I've got some bad news for you. Your ex-wife escaped from jail last night and we suspect that she is coming to kill you. When you didn't answer the door, we thought she was already here."

John's mind was reeling. "How did she get out?"

"Well, it seems she was in a relationship with one of the prison guards and he helped her escape. When my partner and I talked to her cellmate this morning, she said that Liz wanted to kill the man that had ruined everything. Obviously that meant you, so we need to keep you protected until she is captured."

The information slowly sunk into John's skull, but something didn't sit well with him. He couldn't put his finger on it.

"We're going to place two men outside your house to make sure you're safe and hopefully capture Liz when she comes here. Sorry about your door. We'll get that fixed for you soon. Here's my number if you have questions" The man handed John a business card and then turned to his men and motioned for the front door, "Okay, guys, we're done here for the most part. Bobby and Sam, you guys are gonna stake out the place until she shows up and then take her in."

The men started filing out of John's house and then closed the door behind them when the last man was out.

John stood silently in his kitchen for a few minutes, letting everything process. It all seemed so surreal. Even after everything, he found it hard to swallow that Liz would escape from jail just to kill him.

It nagged him all the way up the stairs to bedroom. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't up his finger on it. Picking up his Glock from the floor, John clicked the safety one, walked over to his bedside table and placed it back in the drawer.

John turned his head and looked down at his phone sitting on top of his bed. The next instant, John felt like hot water had been splashed on him as dread and horror spread throughout his body. Punk. She was going to go after Punk. Fuck, why did he tell her about Punk? In Liz's crazy mind, she probably thought that Punk had ruined their marriage.

Grabbing his phone, John called Punk to warn him, but it went straight to voicemail. "Punk, it's John. You need to get out of your apartment to someplace safe. Liz is coming after you. Please call me when you get somewhere safe."

John ended the call and then ran down the stairs to get the business card that the agent had left. His fingers were shaking as he dialed the number on the card.

"Ohler."

"It's not me Liz is after. It's Punk. She's going to try and kill Punk." His words came out in a desperate rush. John grabbed his wallet and car keys before heading to his garage. He was going to Chicago. He couldn't sit around on his ass while Punk was in trouble. Liz could be killing him right now.

"Mr. Cena? Look, from our investigation, Liz is after you, not this Punk guy. You need to calm down and stay where you are."

John growled to himself as he turned his car on and raised his garage door. "No, you don't understand. Liz thinks Punk ruined our marriage. You've got to send people to protect him, okay? He's in danger."

"I know you're upset, Mr. Cena, but we have the case covered. Liz's cellmate never said anything about Liz talking about anyone named Punk. I'm sure he'll be just fine."

John could tell that Ohler was trying to placate him, not even considering what John had just told him. Fine, John would just get to Chicago as soon as possible and protect Punk himself. John hung up on Agent Ohler and tossed his phone into his passenger seat. He noticed the two agents parked in front of his house as he pulled out of the driveway. On his way by, John let the bird fly.

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Punk stripped off his jeans and T-shirt before falling into bed. His come to Jeebus talk with Lita had gone surprisingly well. At first, it had been a little touch and go, but when the truth had come out, she seemed to understand what he was going through. He wondered if it had something to do with that whole Matt Hardy and Edge fiasco that had happened before they got together the first time.

They were officially done and Punk was free to see this thing through with John, wherever it leads. Punk pulled the sheet up to his chest and settled in for the night.

An hour later his mind was still running wild thinking about all the possibilities that tomorrow holds. What was he going to say to John? Sighing, Punk turned over onto his side and tried to push everything out of his mind. His eye caught the blue glow of the clock beside his bed. It was 2 am already. Punk groaned to himself. His insomnia was rearing its ugly head tonight.

Punk was suddenly pulled from his thoughts when he heard a squeak. Knowing his apartment, Punk recognized it as the squeak the second step gave when someone stepped on it in the wrong spot. Small tingles of fear weaved their way through Punk. Was someone in his apartment? Punk listened for a few more seconds, but didn't hear anything. He should have just thrown it off as the building settling, but for some reason, he felt paranoid tonight.

Tossing the covers off, Punk quietly got out of bed and headed to his bedroom door. He grabbed the baseball bat that was displayed on wall before heading out into the hallway. It was autographed by the entire Cubs team, but he would still bash someone's brains in with it if they were in his house.

Making his way down the hallway, Punk checked each room to make sure no one was in them. When he reached the stairs, he stopped for a moment to listen. He didn't hear anything, so he started to descend the stairs, careful to avoid the second step from the bottom.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs to listen and look around his apartment. The large window only served to cast shadows around the apartment, giving Punk an unsettled, eerie feeling.

Stepping further into his living room, Punk kept his bat raised in case someone rushed him. He made it all the way to his dining table before anything happened.

Punk heard a floorboard behind him creak and he turned quickly, only to see a woman in black smiling at him. He was stunned and couldn't seem to make his body work.

"Hi, whore." The woman said before something crashed into his temple with crippling pain. Everything went black.

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He was almost there. Just a few more blocks until he was outside of Punk's apartment. "Hey, can you go a little faster. It's really important." The taxi driver looked at John in the rearview mirror before stepping on the gas.

John's leg bounced with his anxiety and impatience. He had tried to call Punk four more times, but each time, the call went straight to voicemail. He had even tried calling the Chicago PD, but they said that they didn't have the men to go check on Punk. John couldn't believe that. Did someone have to be dead in order to get a freaking officer in this city? If John was right and he didn't get there in time, there would be a dead body. He had to push that thought to the fringes of his mind in order to keep his sanity.

The tires on the taxi squealed as it stopped in front of Punk's apartment. John was out of the car and throwing a wad of crash at the driver before the poor, old man could blink. John rushed to the door banging on it and ringing Punk's doorbell incessantly. After a minute, John tried the door and his stomach dropped when he found that it was unlocked.

Stepping inside, John crept through the hallway. He noticed a sword hanging on the wall and John vaguely remembered it from a movie. Taking it off the wall, John looked to see if it was sharpened and he let out a breath of relief when he found that it was. Thank God for Punk and his nerdy ways. If he was still alive, John was going to kiss him for this.

The sword was heavy in his hands as he continued into Punk's apartment. When he reached the kitchen, John was both relieved and horrified when he saw Punk tied up in a chair by his dining table with Liz standing behind him, holding a knife to his throat. There was a trail of blood from his temple that dripped off his jaw onto his bare shoulder, but he was alive and awake.

"Nice of you to join us, John. I didn't expect you to come see your whore get what's coming to him, but that makes this moment even better." Liz smiled manically at John. "Don't even think about coming any closer or he gets it sooner than I want."

John swallowed thickly before raising one of his hands. "Don't hurt him, Liz. He has nothing to do with us. Just let him go and we'll get through this. Please." John's voice was steady and soft. He didn't want to provoke her into hurting Punk.

Liz laughed hysterically for a full minute. It unsettled John to his core and he saw Punk's eyes widen in fear even more and his teeth grit through the gag Liz had tied around his head. Liz's laughter suddenly stopped and her voice turned angry. "He has everything to do with us, John. This whore ruined our marriage, don't you see that? You wouldn't have divorced me if you hadn't fallen in love with him. What's so special about him, John? What makes you love this freak?" Liz pressed the knife harder into Punk's neck, making a bead of blood well-up in the small cut it made.

John carefully inched forward with one of his hands still raised. His other hand was beginning to hurt from grasping the hilt of the sword so hard. "Liz, please, just let him go."

"Tell me, John!" Liz screamed at him. Her crazy eyes bore into him.

John kept carefully inching closer to Liz. He just had to get close enough to take her out. There was no other option or she would kill Punk right before his eyes. "Please, Liz, don't hurt him. I don't know why I love him, I just do. He's perfect for me. We might be complete opposites, but he completes me and makes me happy. Please let him go, Liz." John pleaded with not only his words, but his eyes, too.

Liz shook her head. "What a load of shit. Well, no matter why you love this whore, he's going to die right now." Liz moved her knife to the other side of Punk's neck to slice his throat, but she never got the chance to cut into Punk's neck.

John's feet ate up the last few feet and he swung the sword at Liz, slicing her head off.

Even after watching so many gory TV shows and movies, they still didn't prepare him for the blood spray that came from cutting Liz's head off. The hot blood hitting his face and neck was something he would never forget.

As Liz's headless body fell to the floor in a heap, John heard Punk gag and saw his body seize with the force of it. "Shit, try not to throw up before I get the gag off or you might choke on your vomit." John sprang into action. He dropped the bloody sword and picked up the knife that Liz had dropped. He untied the gag first before he starting cutting the restraints that were holding Punk to the chair.

Punk had taken the brunt of the blood spatter and he was covered in it. As soon as John cut the last rope, Punk was on his feet, but took only a few steps before collapsing to his hand and knees and then gagging.

John dropped the knife and walked over to Punk. Collapsing onto his knees beside Punk, John rubbed Punk's bare, blood-covered back. "I'm sorry. It's okay now. She can't hurt you anymore."

Punk dry heaved one more time before grabbing onto John, sending them both to the wood floor.

John noticed that Punk was cold and shaking. He was probably going into shock. Wrapping his arms around Punk, John pressed Punk's face into his shoulder, so he didn't have to see the gore around and on them anymore. "I'm sorry, Punk. I love you." John ran his hand through Punk's hair. He grimaced when he felt it was damp with blood.

Punk wrapped his arms around John and buried his face in John's strong neck. "God, when she was standing there with that knife to my neck, all I could think about was that I never got to say I love you before I died. I'm sorry I've been so stupid and stubborn, but I do love you, John. You've ruined me for anyone else."

John smiled softly to himself and sighed. He rubbed Punk's back absently. "We're going to be okay, Punk."

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"Here's your satellite phone. Call me if you need anything, but otherwise, I'll be back in a week to pick you guys up. Enjoy your honeymoon." With that, the surly, old man started rowing back to the larger ship.

John stood next to Punk, holding his hand while they watched the man go. He let one of his fingers rub against the black ring that was wrapped around Punk's left ring finger. Punk was finally his.

"I can't believe you sent us to the island for our damn honeymoon. A little sentimental, don't you think, John?" Punk smiled teasingly over at John.

"Maybe a little sentimental, but really, I just wanted to fuck on this beach again. This time you won't walk away from me after I get done with you." John wrapped his arms around Punk's waist and pulled him into a searing kiss.

Punk broke the kiss. "Right now? We joined the mile high club on the way here. Don't you need a little more recovery time?" Punk wagged an eyebrow at him.

John smirked before biting down on one of Punk's earlobes. Trailing his hands down to Punk's ass, John grabbed handfuls and pulled Punk hard into his groin and ground his hardness against Punk's hip. "That answer your question? You should know by now that I'm always ready and willing to fuck you. You aren't going to be able to walk by the end of this week if I have my way." John whispered hotly into Punk's ear before pulling Punk's shirt over his head. John's greedy hands immediately started undoing Punk's loose jeans.

Punk stood dazed for a moment before coming back to himself. He loved it when John got this desperate for him. He couldn't help but tease him a little more. "Can we do this anywhere but the beach? The sand gets everywhere and that's not very sexy."

John pushed Punk's jeans and underwear down to his ankles and then rubbed a thumb against the scar on Punk's hip, making him gasp in pleasure. "Then it's a good thing I thought this through."

John's hands left Punk's body and Punk opened his eyes to see John digging through one of their bags. He pulled and blanket down and spread it out on the sand.

Punk knew it wouldn't completely get rid of the sand problem, but the blanket would make it infinitely better than nothing. Stepping out of his jeans and underwear, Punk waited for John to turn around before he caught his mouth in another kiss.

Frantically pulling John's shirt off, Punk felt like he couldn't get John bare fast enough. He wanted him right now and his cloths were in his way.

Once John's pants were off, John broke the kiss and pushed Punk down onto the blanket. John quickly covered Punk's body with his own and renewed their kiss. The kiss was hard and he knew both their lips were going to be swollen after they were done, but he didn't care. Punk felt so good.

John pulled Punk's lip ring into his mouth and sucked. He remembered when he use to wonder what it would feel like to do this. He didn't have to wonder anymore. Punk was his and he was Punk's.

Punk spread his legs when one of John's large hands caressed the outside of his upper thigh. Once of John's fingers pressed into his entrance and then another. Both fingers slid into him easily and pressed against his sensitive prostrate. He was still stretched and wet from their interlude in the plane's cramped bathroom.

Wrapping his thighs around John's hips, Punk was reduced to begging. "Please fuck me, John. Please."

John pulled his fingers from Punk and used the hand to guide himself to Punk's entrance, but he didn't thrust into Punk's tight heat. He wanted to hear him beg a little more.

Punk gave a strangled noise and lifted his hips, trying to get John to penetrate him, but John moved with him, keeping the tip of his hardness against Punk's entrance.

Wrapping his arms around John's wide shoulders, Punk brought his head up closer to John's and pressed a kiss against his neck. "Please, John. I need you inside me." Punk scraped his teeth along the tendon in John's neck, sending shivers through the bigger man's body.

Without any warning, John surged forward, filling Punk to the hilt in one thrust. Punk's back arched and he left out a moan before pulling John into another kiss.

The pace John set was punishing and it wasn't going to take long to get them both off at this harsh, punishing pace. Breaking the kiss, John pressed his face into Punk's sweaty neck and licked a stripe from the base all the way to his ear. "You are so fucking tight, Punk, and I already had you once today. God damn I love fucking you."

Punk moaned as each one of John powerful thrusts brushed into his prostrate. "You feel so good inside me. So big and hot. Harder!"

John growled into Punk's ear before grabbing handfuls of his ass and angling his hips up against his own, making him drive even deeper into Punk's tight heat.

It was so intense. John pressed against his prostate even harder at this angle. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Suddenly, John pulled Punk even tighter against him and then sat back on his ass. His hands traveled around to Punk's hips, lifting him and pulling him down as he thrust up into Punk's willing body.

Punk slammed his body down onto John, making the sensations even more intense. He could feel the familiar tendrils of pleasure signaling he was about to come. Wrapping his arms even tighter around John, Punk sucked on John's earlobe, making John's hands tighten on his hips. "John, I'm going to come."

John growled and moaned into Punk's neck. "Come for me, Punk. I'm right there with you."

It only took a few more thrusts before Punk was coming untouched onto his own and John's stomach. The rhythmic tightening of Punk's body around him sent John over the edge and Punk felt the rush of heat of John's come into his willing body.

They stayed quietly wrapped up in each other for a few minutes, letting themselves come down and their breathing return to normal.

John rubbed Punk's back and pressed a kiss into his sweaty neck. "I love you, Punk. Never doubt that."

Punk smiled against John's shoulder. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knows John loves him more than anyone else has ever loved him. They've been through too much for Punk to ever doubt that. He realized that when he was on his floor covered in blood and wrapped in John's safe arms. "I know, John. I love you, too."