darkangel_0410 | New story (Reply)

Story Title: Don't Even

Story Type: Slash

Characters: CM Punk, Randy Orton, Colt Cabana

Pairings: past Punk/Randy, Punk/Colt

Rating: PG-13/NC-17

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, SCS would never have broken up, and I'd be getting free shows on a daily basis. Since none of that is true, you can deduce that they belong to themselves and Vince/ROH.

Warnings: Slash, language

A/N: Here's another one. I just can't help myself. And, really, how could I with all the obvious unresolved tension between Punk and Randy? Also, special thanks to: enigmatic_raven and jacevamp for helping me come up with the name for this series. enigmatic_raven for using the phrase in feedback and jacevamp for suggesting it. Thanks, I really appreciate it. So, the name for this series is *drum roll* No Words Needed. Enjoy, peeps.

A/N2: Here's the order of the No Words Needed series: Eyes, Your Own Fault, 5 and 1 -Punk Remix and Long Time. I suggest reading them first, peeps, or you will probably be a little lost.

Punk dismissed Ryan with a wave of his hand, sitting on a bench in the locker room. He pulled his phone out of his gym bag to check the time and noticed he had a text.

Lost another minion, Punkers? Hope you're giving them good medical.

Punk grinned and replied.

At least I got minions, Cabana. You gotta do all your dirty work yourself.

He set his iPhone down and pulled out his street clothes. He just got his jeans on when the door slammed open and the few wrestlers that were still around took off, not wanting to deal with a pissed off Viper.

Punk just rolled his eyes; Randy throwing a bitch fit didn't impress him.

“Well, Punk, looks like it's gonna be just you and me come 'Mania.” Randy sneered, looking down at him.

“I wouldn't be too sure, Randy,” Punk told him, smirking. After he toed on his sneakers, he started shoving all his stuff in his bag and slipped his phone into his pocket.

“You still have to fight Mason next week. And even if you beat him, and it's just me and you, one on one,” Punk stood up and leaned into Randy's space until he was only an inch or two from his face. “Well, that would make me a very happy boy, Randall.”

Randy grabbed his arm when he went to walk away from him. “I'm tired of your fucken games. Understand?”

“A retarded fifth grader would understand you, Randy. Do I have to dumb myself down for you to understand me?” Punk taunted, his dislike for Randy in his voice.

“Me no care. Me hit you hard. You understand now?”

Randy growled but before he could answer, Punk's phone went off. Smirking, he brought up the text.

Come on, Punkers, don't be so hard on yourself. Sex with you isn't that bad...

He burst into laughter, putting his phone back into his pocket. Colt was the only person who could make him laugh no matter what was going on.

Punk shook off Randy's hand and pulled on his shirt, still chuckling. When he heard an impatient huff, he realized Randy was still there.

“Still here, Randy? I don't know how to dumb it down any more for you. I guess I could try hand gestures, but that -”

“Shut up, Punk,” Randy snarled, his chest heaving. “Don't you get it? I want to fucken hurt you. I want to do it now. And all you can do is fucken joke around. You might take it more seriously if Colt -”

“Don't even bring him into this,” Punk said and even though his voice was calm, he was seething. “Don't even think of passing blame for this onto him. You can't fucken control yourself and that's your problem.

“As for the rest of what you just said, go ahead and try. I want you to,” Punk said, getting in Randy's face again. “When I beat you, I want it to be after you gave it everything.

“When my knee cracks you in the face, and you're down and I finally lock the Anaconda Vice on and I do the same thing to you that happened to Matt, and you tap out,” Punk smirked, his eyes flashing.

“When I win and make you understand what it feels like to have everything you ever wanted taken away from you, I want it to be because you gave this feud everything you were, and it wasn't enough.

“Of course, when I hurt Matt it was an accident, but when I wreck your fucken shoulder,” Punk told him, finally letting his rage show on his face. “It'll be with all the intent in the world. It's going to be with a fucken smile on my face.

“Don't worry, Randall. This isn't a fucken joke to me, it never was.”

Punk shoved Randy away from him and picked up his bag before he opened the door to leave.

“Good luck with your match next week; you'll need it. I'll be cheering for you.” Punk smirked again and left the locker room, leaving an enraged Predator behind him.

Punk chuckled as he pulled his phone back out to call Colt. Sometimes it was just too easy to get into Randy's head.