#characterisation what characterisation we die like adam cole in bte

[pepsi-maxwell]

For cmax²agenda may I also suggest Caster trying to seduce Punk away from MJF because he sees Punk as a threat he wants to prove he can be the better Max 😘

oh anon i am kissing you on the mouth because that is INSPIRED

enough so that i. wrote a thing. punk/caster, cmjf, rated m for blowjob mention and a teensy bit of dry-humping, 800 words

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“Come on, what does he have that I don’t?” he asks, trying to keep the pout from his face, because something tells him the puppy dog eyes aren’t going to help him this time. “I mean, I can sing–”

“So can he. I heard his duet with Jericho,” Punk replies, arms folded across his chest.

Fuck. Alright, a different track, then. “I have a great ass–”

He knows as soon as the words come out that they’re stupid, because he has a spectacular ass, but so does the other Max, the whole reason he’s here right now trying to flirt with Punk, charm him out of his baby’s arms, even though Punk’s no-selling his every tactic.

“You have a great ass,” he agrees, leaning back against the wall. “Trust me, as a guy who isn’t quite so blessed? I can appreciate it. But has anyone ever recognised you by your ass alone, while you’re wearing a full-body suit and a mask?”

Ugh. Point.

Not quite time to break out the big guns, but he might just have to if the next one doesn’t work. Appeal to work-rate. “I wrestle more often than he does!”

Punk just fucking nods again. “Yeah, and maybe I like the fact that other people don’t get to put their hands on him so much.”

Bingo. Jealousy, finally, something he can work with. He almost rolls his eyes at Punk’s obstinacy, and that’d be a good word to throw into a rap. Would make him sound more wordy, might appeal more to Mr Teach-People-Lessons. “Exactly! I hate seeing other people grabbing his ass! See, we have so much in common!”

Punk grins. Swipes the cap from his head and ruffles his hair like he’s a dumb kid when he tries to snatch it back off him. “Nice try, Caster, but the answer’s still no,” he says, placing the cap back on his head and walking away.

Shit. Big guns it is.

“I’ve got a bigger dick! And he knows it!”

It’s a last ditch attempt, but it does the job. Punk stops. Turns around, looking like he’s considering something. Strolls back over, and Max fights the smirk threatening to cross his face because he’s hooked him, but then Punk’s right up in his space, walking him back until it’s his back against the wall as Punk lifts his arms, boxes Caster in.

“Little public, don’t you think–” he grins, before Punk cuts him off with a chaste little kiss. Just the briefest, quickest touch of lips, and he’s moved away before Max can grab at him, pull him in for something proper.

“Cute. But how good are you at sucking it? Because let me tell you, your little Maxie? Oh,” he moans, eyes rolling back in his head. “The mouth on him! You think he’s good at talking? You should see him when he’s on his knees for me, begging for it, please, Punk, let me suck your dick, I need your cum in my mouth–”

It’s not even close to how he knows Max sounds, but just the mental image of Max on his knees for him is enough that his cock’s definitely taking an interest, tenting his basketball shorts. Punk looks down meaningfully. Pats him on the cheek, and this time, he does pout.

“I could suck your dick better–” he starts, but cuts himself off this time as Punk leans in again, breath warm and moist against Max’s neck, making him shudder. He slides his knee between Max’s legs, lifting it up until it’s rubbing against his cock, and he groans, cants his hips forward to get more of that friction, “Yeah, daddy, like that–”

“Like that? You gonna come from this, Max?” Punk murmurs, and Max wonders if this is what he gets, the other Max, if he gets to ride Punk’s leg like a cute little puppy until he comes–

And then Punk pulls back completely. Leaving him panting against the wall, fully hard and fucking frustrated about it.

Punk looks him up and down, considering.

“You’re talking to the wrong guy,” he says, and Max feels the insult bubbling in his throat, something about him being whipped with more than just the chain, but then he sees the barest flush to Punk’s cheeks, and he thinks, oh, maybe–

“We’ve got two hands and an open attitude,” he adds, eyes gleaming, pupils a little too dilated given how bright the corridor is. “You manage to stop annoying Max long enough to convince him, and then maybe we can have a little talk.”

It takes a second for Punk’s words to sink in, his implication, but when they do…

…Huh.

Maybe a change of plans is in order.