New Punk/Colt Fic
Story Title: Gone
Story Type: Slash, Angst
Characters: CM Punk, Colt Cabana
Pairings: Punk/Colt
Rating: PG-13/NC-17
Series: None
Disclaimer: Of course they're not mine -if they were, I'd be too fucken busy to write this.
Warnings: Slash, language, angst
A/N: OK, so I didn't want to write this -in fact, I flat out refused, but the muses refused to listen to me and wouldn't leave me alone until I did. I won't say enjoy this, but I would be interested on some feedback on it.
It was his fault.
That was the only thought going through Punk's mind. He'd been the one to tell Colt to go, had encouraged him to wrestle wherever he could, no matter how far it might take him.
And now, for the first time in almost fourteen years, that place in the back of his mind that knew Colt was his best friend, that knew Colt was his partner in every sense of the word, was empty. As completely dead as -
Punk shoved that thought away as viciously as he had everyone's attempts to talk to him. As soon as he had gotten the news, he had left a show -twenty minutes before he his match was supposed to start- got into his rental stopped at the store and then driven ten hours straight to Colt's apartment.
Once he had gotten there, he had locked and bolted the door behind him, placed the bottle on the coffee table and gone into the bedroom to change out of his gear.
After changing into a pair of sweats and one of Colt's t-shirts, Punk had sat down on the couch with his legs folded underneath him and stared at the bottle of whiskey on the table.
That had been almost four days ago. Punk hadn't moved since; his phone had been ringing almost non-stop, but he was ignoring it. There was only one person he needed to talk to right now and until he heard Colt's voice again, he wasn't speaking to anyone else.
Staring at the bottle in front of him, Punk felt the urge to drink for the first time in his life. He longed to wrap his fingers around the bottle, lift it to his lips and drink the oblivion he knew would follow the liquor into his system. Anything that would help him forget that Colt was -
Another viscous shove and the thought was gone. The only reason he hadn't picked it up yet was because that would be the same as admitting he was never going to hear Colt's voice again -and he wasn't ready for that. He never would be.
So, he would sit and wait and stare until he heard Colt say his name again.
Story Type: Slash, Angst
Characters: CM Punk, Colt Cabana
Pairings: Punk/Colt
Rating: PG-13/NC-17
Series: None
Disclaimer: Of course they're not mine -if they were, I'd be too fucken busy to write this.
Warnings: Slash, language, angst
A/N: OK, so I didn't want to write this -in fact, I flat out refused, but the muses refused to listen to me and wouldn't leave me alone until I did. I won't say enjoy this, but I would be interested on some feedback on it.
It was his fault.
That was the only thought going through Punk's mind. He'd been the one to tell Colt to go, had encouraged him to wrestle wherever he could, no matter how far it might take him.
And now, for the first time in almost fourteen years, that place in the back of his mind that knew Colt was his best friend, that knew Colt was his partner in every sense of the word, was empty. As completely dead as -
Punk shoved that thought away as viciously as he had everyone's attempts to talk to him. As soon as he had gotten the news, he had left a show -twenty minutes before he his match was supposed to start- got into his rental stopped at the store and then driven ten hours straight to Colt's apartment.
Once he had gotten there, he had locked and bolted the door behind him, placed the bottle on the coffee table and gone into the bedroom to change out of his gear.
After changing into a pair of sweats and one of Colt's t-shirts, Punk had sat down on the couch with his legs folded underneath him and stared at the bottle of whiskey on the table.
That had been almost four days ago. Punk hadn't moved since; his phone had been ringing almost non-stop, but he was ignoring it. There was only one person he needed to talk to right now and until he heard Colt's voice again, he wasn't speaking to anyone else.
Staring at the bottle in front of him, Punk felt the urge to drink for the first time in his life. He longed to wrap his fingers around the bottle, lift it to his lips and drink the oblivion he knew would follow the liquor into his system. Anything that would help him forget that Colt was -
Another viscous shove and the thought was gone. The only reason he hadn't picked it up yet was because that would be the same as admitting he was never going to hear Colt's voice again -and he wasn't ready for that. He never would be.
So, he would sit and wait and stare until he heard Colt say his name again.