Archive of Our Own ^beta

His eyes chased a certain agitated figure as soon as he passed beyond the curtain and walked through the gorilla position at a hurried pace —almost running—, not knowing why he felt so worried about him.

"Hey, Big Chief! You okay?"

And Punk knew damn well he shouldn't be asking that question, not to Roman Reigns of all people, because the pain in his ribs and the sting on his face were a reminder that this right there was his enemy, the one who just made him eat a spear through the ring's mat and had punched his face with merciless fists only because he felt jealous of Punk's friendship with Paul, like if he was an egoistic toddler that didn't want to share his toys with the other kids.

But there was something, something in his haunted expression as he stepped down from the ring that made Punk's hair stand on end, making it impossible for him to simply ignore it.

"Don't touch me" Roman growled, just as Punk had reached him far enough to grab his arm in an attempt to stop him.

Punk would have been offended by the obvious rejection if it weren't for the way Roman's body had literally curled in on himself at the feel of Punk's touch on him, shuddering and shaking like he was a goddamn leaf.

What the hell was happening to him? Punk couldn't quite understand how this man, who only minutes before had attacked him with such violence and resentment was now there, looking so fearful and frightened at the mere touch of someone else on his body, with his brown eyes slightly glistening and unfocused, looking like a deer dazzled by the headlights of a car.

He would never understand Roman Reigns, even if they gave him a how-to manual.

“Reigns” he called again, this time in a firmer voice, trying to suppress the irritation he felt at Roman's weird behavior. “Stop for a goddamn second, for fuck's sake!”

Immediately, Roman's body stopped halfway to fleeing away from Punk and visibly tensed, but he stood obediently still, his head down and his broad shoulders shaking slightly under the sweatshirt covering him, still with his back to Punk and not daring to meet his gaze.

Punk frowned, silently analyzing Roman's tense and twitching body, before approaching him with slow and careful steps, as if he was dealing with a wild beast he didn't want to provoke.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asked, this time with a calmer tone, trying not to scare or disturb Roman's mood any further.

Roman shrank back in place and clenched his fists, but mumbled a small “nothing,” as if he didn't want to answer him but at the same time felt the need to obey Punk's orders.

Punk narrowed his eyes suspiciously and looked him up and down, trying to figure out what was wrong with Roman at that moment, trying to guess what thing had put him in that type of state.

“Do you have a concussion from Seth's stomp?” he asked, feeling his own head throb at the memory of Seth's boot pushing his head into the ring's mat in a hard, thudding blow.

Oh, fuck Seth Rollins for that, by the way.

However, Roman shook his head negatively, dismissing his theory about some injury and leaving him even more confused.

If it wasn't a concussion daze, then what was wrong with Roman? 

“Are you like this because of what Seth told you?” he asked again, before rolling his eyes. "Look, man, it's nothing personal, okay? Paul owed me that favor and it was time to collect it, wasn't it? Besides, I earned that favor and you know it! I helped you to kick the ass of your little cousin and his minions, you even got your cute little ula fala back, see? It was a win-win situation" he said, seeking Roman's gaze, but Roman seemed intent on continuing to stare at the floor, giving no sign that he had heard a single word Punk had said. "Hey, dude, you're starting to get on my nerves, what the fuck is going on? Don't tell me you're this upset because Paul decided to be in my corner at WrestleMania! I promise it's not that deep" he snorted, placing a hand on the back of Roman's neck to give him a few taps in an attempt to show him some camaraderie, even if less than fifteen minutes ago they had been trying to tear each other apart in the ring.

But, hey, this was how the business works, wasn't it?

However, Punk froze in place when he heard Roman's immediate reaction to the feel of Punk's hand on the back of his neck: a small, embarrassed whimper.

What the fucking hell?

“Chief?” he muttered incredulously, staring with wide eyes at the way Roman's face had begun to flush with intensity.

“Leave me alone” Roman gasped, finally looking up and staring at him in horror, as if having let out that beautiful sound in front of Punk had been the worst mistake of his life.

“You....” Punk held his arm as Roman tried to run away from him again. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, did you—fuck, you need to talk to me, can't help you if I don't know what’s going on” he whispered hysterically, but Roman simply shrugged it off.

Punk cursed under his own breath and carefully considered his options for long seconds, debating between simply pretending they'd never had this conversation or helping Roman despite the man's clear distaste for him, not only because he'd stolen his Wise Man, but because Roman simply seemed to hate him for some unknown reason.

In the end, his sense of doing the right thing was stronger and, despite the fact that the man in front of him was his biggest rival at the time, Punk began dragging him through the backstage corridors, leading them away from prying eyes and to a more discreet location, where no one could see Roman's odd state.

As soon as he found his private locker room, Punk pulled them both inside and closed the door behind him, making sure that no one, not even any of the staff, would have noticed that he had pulled Roman Reigns into his personal place.

“Well, well, fuck, can you tell me why are you acting like this?” he asked, as he pushed Roman's tense body towards the nearest bench, forcing him to take a seat. 

Roman seemed to be debating between speaking or remaining silent, still looking unfocused and dazed, before whispering a shaky, “the chair shot.”

Of course. Of course Seth's chair shot had triggered the great Roman Reigns to have a mental breakdown in the middle of the fucking backstage.

Oh, fuck Seth Rollins for this too.

“Chief, I'm starting to think you need to work on that trauma in therapy” he snorted, covering his eyes with one hand, almost laughing in disbelief.

Because, seriously, how much more damage was the memory of that chair shot going to cause in Roman's life after so many damn years? Not that he cared, of course, but the guy had lost his title thanks to that just last year. So, are you telling him that Roman was never going to get over it?

“Shut up, I—I didn't ask for your help” Roman growled, frowning and clenching his hands into fists tightly, until his knuckles turned white.

"Of course you didn't, I already know that. But I guess I'm the idiot here for pretending I could help you" Punk snorted, plopping down next to Roman on the bench. “And I guess not even having a nervous breakdown can stop you from being a jerk”

Roman grunted beside him, but that was all. He didn't say anything, he was unusually quiet next to him, revealing that he was still in that weird state of mind. He knew this because, any other time, Roman would be cursing all of Punk's ancestors for daring to talk to him like that and insult him.

“Hey, dude, I really don't know how to help you but...”

Punk couldn't even finish his sentence, because the next thing he knew he had the huge body of Roman Reigns kneeling in front of him.

Holy shit!

"Hey, what the hell are you doing, man? Get up, come on, come on, don't—"

“Let me suck your cock” Roman asked, not looking back at him as he was too busy staring at Punk's crotch like it was a fucking prize.

“What!” Punk almost screamed, confused and horrified. "Man, what the hell? Can you explain your train of thought to me? Because a second ago you were all depressed about Seth's attack and now you're asking to suck my dick?"

“Just...” Roman swallowed audibly, before looking up and fixing his big, round brown eyes into Punk's. "That helps. Sometimes. Or it used to. I don't know. It's been a long time since this has happened to me, and now they're gone, so..."

They. Was he referring to his Shield's teammates?

Fuck, what kind of things had those three done in the privacy of their rooms after applying a power bomb to half the roster back in the day?

“How the fuck does sucking cock help you to calm down exactly?” he exclaimed, looking at Roman as if a screw had suddenly come loose in that head of his.

Maybe indeed that had happened, maybe Seth's stomp had been enough to finish driving Roman crazy.

“Well,” Roman swallowed, settling better on his knees, until he was fitted between the space of Punk's spread legs perfectly. "It helps me to...stop thinking. And if I stop thinking, the anxiety goes away. Uhm" Roman inhaled air deeply, before releasing it slowly. "You can use my mouth any way you want. I swear I'm... good" he added, in a voice so low it was barely an audible whisper.

Punk felt his breath catch in his throat as he heard Roman's words so... indulgent. He was tempted to get up and run away from this madness, to leave Roman and his bizarre situation behind before it was too late, but in the end he couldn't.

One look at that face and he could do nothing but swallow his saliva and sigh in surrender. Because the needy expression Roman was looking at him with at that moment was simply too much. For a second, Punk found himself unable to look away, carefully noticing the slight twitch that still pervaded Roman's broad shoulders, before fixing his gaze on his face. 

A dark bruise was beginning to form at the top of his forehead, likely caused by Seth's stomp, as well as a small swelling on his lower lip that was probably due to the exchange of blows he and Punk had earlier. But other than that, everything about him looked perfect, even with a few strands of dark, long hair falling on either side of his face thanks to his bun being loosened, as it made his features look softer, kinder.

“Okay” Punk agreed, his voice sounding so husky he had to clear his throat a little. “I mean, if that really helps you…”

Roman didn't even give him an answer or prior warning, instead, he just immediately pounced on Punk's crotch, undoing the button of his pants with trembling hands, as if he was urged to have his cock filling his mouth.

Well, fuck, Punk didn't know if he was ready for this.

And he definitely wasn't when, once Roman finished struggling with the button of his pants to free his half hard cock, he felt that mouth engulf his entire length in one motion.

Oh. Fucking. God.

“Fuck,” Punk sighed, watching in disbelief the way Roman's full lips stretched around the thickness of his cock to greedily swallow it, while his free hand wrapped around the portion he couldn't take in. “Damn, Chief, you're really good at this, huh?”

Roman moaned in pleasure at the praise and closed his eyes, humming around Punk's thick cock as he began to suck gently, cupping his cheeks and outlining with his broad tongue the veins that were beginning to mark over the fat length as it grew harder and harder.

Punk let out a curse at the overwhelming sensation of tightness Roman's warm wet mouth was giving him, left reduced to a sea of grunts and gasps thanks to Roman's skill as he clenched his fists on either side of his thighs, not knowing what to do with his own hands, for he had no idea if he was allowed to touch Roman.

Although that didn't matter much at the moment because where had Roman learned to suck a cock so well? He wanted to give his congratulations to the master.

With his breathing getting more and more agitated, Punk let his head lean back against the wall as he followed Roman's every mouth movement with a surprised look on his face, feeling unable to look away from the satisfied expression relaxing Roman's features.

It was really helping. Let him suck his cock was really helping Roman, what the fuck?

Punk would have laughed in disbelief if it wasn't because a groan escaped his throat the moment Roman took his head a little bit lower, swallowing a few more inches of Punk's shaft until a couple of tears slid down his blushing face.

Oh. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. 

Roman was awesome.

“Can you—?” Roman's voice sounded hoarse and slightly raspy as soon as he pulled Punk's cock out of his mouth to speak, though one of his hands continued to jerk him off. “Can you fuck my mouth?” asked Roman, looking up at him again with those big brown eyes now filled with little tears and need.

Punk felt like he could cum with just that, 'cause the way Roman was looking at him, like there was nothing he wanted more than to have Punk choking him with his cock....

Fuck, whatever was wrong with Roman, he loved it.

“You sure?” he asked just to be polite, because he was actually already bringing one of his hands up to Roman's face to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb against the line of his beard gently.

“Yes, yes, I want you to use my mouth, don't make me think, just—” Roman inhaled shakily, as if the very thought of it took his breath away. “Do it.”

And suddenly, Punk had the feeling he was looking at a younger version of Roman. A gentler, more shy, maybe more clumsy one. It was as if, suddenly, the infamous Tribal Chief had vanished and there was only the former Big Dog left.

“Okay” Punk sighed, before sliding his hands into Roman's bun, asking permission with his eyes before releasing his hair and letting the rivers of dark curls fall freely down his back and shoulders. “So pretty” he murmured, letting his fingers sink into the silkiness of thick hair before tugging lightly, forcing Roman closer to his crotch again. “Now I expect you to suck my cock like a good whore, Chief, or I'm going to be disappointed.”

Roman let out a shaky whimper, whether it was from the tug on his hair or from the dirty nickname Punk had called him by. Either way, Roman settled better on his knees and obediently opened his mouth, making quite a spectacle of himself as he let his tongue rest on his lower lip, fully ready to take Punk's cock with his mouth.

Suddenly, Punk felt a huge need of ruining this man filling his guts.

No longer holding back, Punk pushed his throbbing cock into the exquisite wetness of Roman's mouth once more, though this time he didn't bother to be careful or gentle, instead, he sought to fulfill Roman's desires and began to fuck his mouth hard, plunging inside that wet cavity over and over again, watching Roman's plump lips stretch around his cock with difficulty as Punk pushed deeper and deeper, filling his sweet mouth until he felt the round tip of his cock slam against Roman's throat.

Roman's automatic reaction was to groan around Punk's shaft, causing the vibrations to collide directly against the sensitive flesh and earning a sharp tug on his hair.

“Fuck, you've got a beautiful mouth, huh?” Punk gasped, feeling the sweat begin to pearl the skin of his forehead slowly. “Perfect for this, perfect for taking my cock, Chief.”

Roman moaned again, as if the praise was even more pleasant than any other kind of stimulation, so Punk didn't hold back and let out a litany of dirty words and sweet compliments, as he stroked Roman's hair tenderly from time to time, in complete contrast to the merciless pace with which he was fucking that red, swollen mouth.

“Damn, Chief, look at you" Punk growled, as he almost gently wiped away the tears that had slipped down Roman's flushed cheeks. "You look so pretty crying around my cock, fuck"

And he wasn't lying, Roman looked so, so pretty. With eyes filled with tears and a completely flushed face, as a trickle of saliva ran down his swollen lips until it fell through the beard on his chin, looking completely ruined as he let Punk use his mouth at his will, with a dumb expression and a pair of completely unfocused eyes.

That image sent shivers down Punk's back, causing the tingling in his lower belly —which alerted him to how close his orgasm was— intensifying and his balls tightening almost painfully.

Without pausing, he quickened the pace of his onslaughts, pushing deeper and deeper his cock into Roman's mouth until those cheeks puffed out and Punk thought he caught a glimpse of a bulge in the shape of his cock forming in Roman's throat.

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.

Guided by his morbid desire, Punk clutched his fingers in Roman's long hair to lead the rhythm of his head up and down his length, forcing Roman to took it deeper and faster so he could see the unusual movement of his throat each time Punk pushed his cock further, causing Roman's drool to completely soak the thickness of his erection in a complete mess of fluids.

“Such a beautiful mouth” Punk sighed dreamily, feeling Roman's tongue curling around the length of his shaft, licking Punk's taste greedily like if he was fucking hungry.

Gosh.

Punk really, really, really wanted to ruin this man.

Suddenly, the obscene, wet sound of Punk's cock thrusting in and out of Roman's mouth, along with the gagging noises Roman let out whenever Punk forced his cock too aggressively against his throat and Punk's excited grunts filled the locker room until all Punk's mind could analyze was Roman's lips placed on his cock and nothing else, leaving his mind blank and his ears filled with static until his hips began to buck in sloppy, rhythmless thrusts.

That was it.

Tears and saliva already stained Roman's face when Punk's orgasm hit, releasing thick ropes of his seed into his warm mouth, filling Roman’s tongue with his cum until small milky droplets slid down his chin and part of his neck.

For several seconds, all that could be heard inside the locker room was Punk's labored breathing and Roman's satisfied little humming. But, when he recovered enough from the intense high caused by his orgasm, Punk had time to analyze what had happened.

Oh, dear fucking God, he'd fucked Roman Reigns' mouth, what the hell?

And he would have panicked right there, except that when he looked down, he found the peaceful image of Roman resting his head against Punk's thigh, still cradling Punk's soft, satisfied cock inside his mouth, just wrapping his lips around the tip and sucking every now and then, like if it was a fucking pacifier.

Seriously, Roman Reigns was a fucking weirdo.

"Hey, you want me to do something else for you? A handjob maybe? You know, return the favor so you can cum too?" he whispered, trying to suppress the discomfort he felt at seeing Roman so docile and calm against his lap.

No one could blame him, this attitude of Roman's was almost disturbing to him, where was his arrogant, rude Big Chief?

“No need” Roman mumbled, still with Punk's limp cock inside his mouth, as he reached a hand down to his crotch to pat himself through his sweatpants.

When Punk glanced down, he discovered a suspicious stain spreading across the front of Roman's pants.

“Fuck, did you cum untouched?” asked Punk in an incredulous voice, almost amazed at the morbidness of the whole thing. “Shit, you really are amazing” he praised again, as he patted Roman's head gently. “Aren't you amazing, huh? Such a good boy” whispered, tracing with his fingertips the line of Roman's jaw, caressing him in the way he knew Roman needed.

“Uh-huh” Roman whimpered, closing his eyes with a satisfied smile and enjoying Punk's touch.

“You took my cock so well, I didn't even know a big dog like you could suck a dick this good” he laughed, completely amazed.

However, Roman's whole body tensed at those last words and, without some kind of warning, he spat Punk's cock out of his mouth and stumbled straight, standing up to his feet at full speed despite the evident trembling of his legs (caused by the long period of time he'd spent kneeling), looking agitated and tense.

Fuck, again?

“Hey, what...?” Punk tried to ask, suddenly feeling too cold now that Roman's warm body was no longer leaning against him.

“Fuck you” Roman growled, still with his eyes slightly unfocused, but if Punk was paying close enough attention he might notice the characteristic storm that guarded the usual Tribal Chief's gaze.

Oh, so Roman was back to normal. He wondered what had triggered it so abruptly.

“What about me fucking you, Big Chief?” asked Punk in a smug, scathing tone, quickly adjusting to Roman's abrupt change in mood.

Yes, he could be a little shit too and play that game, Roman Reigns was sorely mistaken if he thought he could be the only asshole in this room.

“Idiot" Roman snarled, his gaze getting tougher and tougher, as he aggressively wiped his mouth with his wrist. “Don't think this means anything, I'm still going to kick your old ass at WrestleMania” Roman warned, his voice hoarse and raspy from previous activity, before pulling his hair back into a sloppy ponytail.

“I wouldn't have expected any different from you, Chief” snorted Punk tucking his sated cock inside his pants and generally trying to arrange his clothes as well so it wouldn't be too obvious what had just happened.

Roman seemed to hesitate for a second, but in the end just exhaled loudly and started walking towards the exit, his shoulders still tense, but at least not as tense as when Punk intercepted him at first.

“Oh, and not a single word about this to anyone,” Roman warned, just as his hand had settled on the doorknob, ready to leave. "Not even to...Seth. Definitely not to him, not even to tease him or piss him off, got it? If anyone ever finds out, I'm going to rip your head off, you hear me?" he threatened, his tone dark and creepy.

“Sure” Punk replied, looking at the man curiously.

But Roman didn't look back at him for one last time. Instead, he left his locker room at a hurried pace, disappearing from Punk's sight in mere seconds.

Okay, that had been... Weird.

He wasn't even going to try to think about that last warning Roman had given him.

Why would he want to brag to Seth about what had happened in that room with Roman Reigns of all people? As far as he was aware, that was as much his dirty secret as it was Roman's.

“Shield boys,” Punk sighed, almost tiredly. “They're all a fucking mess”

And CM Punk didn't have time to get involved in that weird mess, not when he had a match to win in the main event of WrestleMania.