Seth / Punk / Bron post SNME wip that I will not be finishing below the cut
Punk's body is heavy, so much pain etched under his skin. Everything feels like it's on fire, every part of his muscles screaming for relief that he can't find. He pushes through, forces himself to his feet, and with heavy steps starts walking.
He's not even sure, not really, where he's going until he stops at a door - staring at the door, or more specifically, the name on the door, he knows he's out of his mind.
SETH ROLLINS and BRON BREAKKER.
They aren't listed, but Punk knows that Paul Heyman and Bronson Reed must have their items tucked away in here as well. He takes a breath, winces as his lungs expand, and that ache only grows heavier in his chest.
This is stupid, he knows that. Punk isn't stupid, not normally, his death wish of rivalries normally stays safely tucked in rings or at least on camera. There is no camera here, though, no one to witness him foolishly pushing the door open.
Bronson Reed and Paul Heyman are elsewhere, Punk would wonder where if his mind wasn't solely focused on the scene in front of him. Bron Breakker, on his knees before Seth, who's not quite out of his gear, but those black pants are hugging low enough on his hips that clearly they were in the process of being removed.
"Oh, what do we owe this pleasure?" Seth asks, making no effort to hide what was clearly about to transpire - it makes Punk's skin crawl. If it also causes a jolt in his cock, well, that's no ones business but his own. He presses the door shut behind him, leaning against it for leverage as his body screams at him again, the pain unbearable. He should be in the medical bay, he should be getting looked at by doctors, instead his fingers move to flick the lock on the door - unlike the other two, he's not a big fan of people walking in on him.
"Where are the other two?" He forces out through gritted teeth, meeting Seth's amused gaze.
"Why? Want them to join?" Punk wants to hit him - he also wants to kiss him.
Punk pushes off the door, heavy footsteps carrying him over the couch where Seth is seated, watching him with that same amused gaze. Seth is clearly proud of his work; hell, Punk would be impressed if he wasn't the one left in pain after his work. Getting Bronson Reed, who was far from fond of Punk or Seth on his team, is impressive. Punk can not take that from him; he can't take anything smart Seth has done recently from him.
"You look like shit," Seth comments, Bron letting out a hum that almost sounds like an agreement, and Punk wishes he didn't come here. Why did he come here? He collapses, knees screaming in pain as they hit the ground, settling beside Bron like he belonged there. Maybe he did, maybe at Seth's feet is where he belonged all along.
Seth looks shocked by the action, and while Punk catches the fraction of a second where that etches on his face, it's gone just as fast as it appears. Seth instead settles into that confidence that Punk knows is forced - he knows Seth. No one else can say they know him like Punk, besides two men who would never be caught here, kneeling at his feet.
How pathetic has Punk become? Was a tsunami all it took to have him as putty in Seth's hands?
