This was written for the TB Community: www. livejournal. com / community /
thousandbelow / The word count is: 999 And I got the idea from the Machine
of "CM Punk/Brock: general PG lost keys" CM Punk is an awesome wrestler
from TNA-NWA and more importantly from ROH and many other indy places where
he can showcase his abilities. Please love him. And please don't sue me.
I own no characters, Punk owns himself and Brock is owned [by the Polish
community] and by Vince McMahon and the WWE. I am making no profit off of
this, but I sure am having fun. ^_^
Polish words 'Sto lat' = happy birthday song.
spierdalaj = fucked up
jaki = what?
kobylka = masturbate.
-----------------
CM Punk was visiting Eddie Guerrero. Surprisingly enough, they were really good friends from when Eddie wasn't employed with the WWE and had been wrestling everywhere else. Eddie considered him like one of his children, so since Punk was in the area wrestling for ROH, Eddie told him to split the hotel room bill with him.
It was a nice area of nowhereville Americana. Punk was bored out of his mind, because where ever the hell he was, it had nothing remotely fun to do. Especially for a straightedge guy like himself. He was going insane in the empty hotel room, just sitting and chilling by himself because Eddie was out with Benoit. Which meant he wasn't coming back until the wee hours of the morning and he'd probably be all disheveled.
"ARG! Fuck this!" He yells kicking the bed and stubbing his toe. Kicking things barefoot isn't bright, he thinks to himself as he put his sneakers on and putting his jacket on as he walks out the door.
If he was going to be bored, he was going to be bored outside of those damn constricting four walls.
He shoves his hands angrily into his pockets and walks next door to the convenience store. He scans the aisles and laughs at his luck as he finds a six-pack of Pepsi on sale. And while on line to pay for the Pepsi, he saw the new Flex Magazine. With Brock Lesnar on the cover. Normally he wasn't really into those big, strong, scary types, but something about Brock made Punk stop and want to be fucked senseless by him. Punk blamed those bright blue eyes of his.
After he pays for his stuff, he grins as he walks the short distance back to the hotel and sets his stuff down on some lawn chairs by the pool area, sitting down. It was almost midnight, but there was a light coming from one of the street lights, so Punk stretches out and pops open a cold one, Pepsi that is, and read about Brock Lesnar. Actually he mostly stared at the pictures, those were more interesting anyway.
"STO LAT, STO LAT!"
Punk's eyebrows raises quickly up. That sounds like what they used to sing during his childhood at Polish birthday parties. He looks up from his magazine to see the large frame of Brock Lesnar stumbling down the street, walking towards him singing loudly and drunkenly.
"HEY! CM Punk! How you DOIN' MAN?"
Punk blinks. Brock Lesnar knows his name?
"Hey, Punk! I'm talking to you!" Brock pauses and than laughs, "HA! I made it funny! Get it? Punk?"
Punk stands up and quickly hides his magazine on the ground, "Um. Hi, Brock. How do you know me?"
Brock grins and walks over to Punk, putting an arm around him, "Know you? Man, I follow your career! That match you had with Chris Hero? That's the stuff of legends! Great wrestling you have skills of."
Punk blinked, again, and tried not to be repelled by the beer stink coming from Brock's mouth. And he tried not to think about how kissable those said lips looked. "Thank you. That's nice coming from someone like you."
Brock nods and still holds onto Punk's shoulders, "Well, I ain't nobody. Just a guy who no one remembers it's his birthday. Just some stupid, spierdalaj farm boy from the middle of no where."
Punk shakes his head violently, "No way man. You're something special all right. Any time you walk into a ring, people shake in fear. And you've got a wickedly evil sense of humor and I've got to be the only person who sees how *your* playing Heyman and not the other way around. And you're fucking gorgeous on top of all that."
Brock stops wavering back and forth, "Jaki?"
Punk shrugs his way out of Brocks arms, "Did you know that when you are drunk you start speaking Polish?"
Brock smiles, "You didn't answer me. You obviously know what I said."
Punk walks to where his can of Pepsi was and causally takes a swing, "And you obviously heard what I said."
Brock smiles again and sits down where Punk had been sitting, "Pepsi, eh? I haven't had any of this in such a long time. It's not really good for training..."
Punk shrugs and sit down on another pool chair across from him. "Yeah, well, it's better then getting pissed drunk because no one remembered my birthday. Pepsi only gives you a headache if you drink too much of it. And you can have one of my cans if you want."
Brock's eyes twinkle merrily, "The almighty CM Punk is sharing his Pepsi?" He reaches down to grab a can when his eyes see something, "Hey what's this?"
Brock picks up the magazine cover with him on it. And then he looks at Punk. And then back at the glossy picture of himself.
His laughter echos through the empty courtyard.
Punk blushes and when Brock finally stops, his eyes are wet with tears. "Were you going to kobylka with it?"
"What? I don't know that word..."
Brock grins to himself and whispers the word into his ear.
Punk turns a darker shade of red. Brock kisses him gently on his cheek, "You don't need that when you have the Next Big Thing in front of you. And wouldn't you know it?" Brock reaches into his pocket and throws his set of hotel keys backwards into the opened pool, "I can't find my key! I guess I need some place to stay for the night..."
Punk looks somewhat bashful, "Well, Eddie's out for the evening. And I always wanted to see how big the Next Big Thing really is..."
Brock picks CM up and throws him over his shoulders, "And see how big my kielbasa really is?"
"Yes, Polish Caveman Brock. I thought you were to drunk to walk before?"
Brock puts him down and kisses him hungrily, "You make me sober."
-----
Polish words 'Sto lat' = happy birthday song.
spierdalaj = fucked up
jaki = what?
kobylka = masturbate.
-----------------
CM Punk was visiting Eddie Guerrero. Surprisingly enough, they were really good friends from when Eddie wasn't employed with the WWE and had been wrestling everywhere else. Eddie considered him like one of his children, so since Punk was in the area wrestling for ROH, Eddie told him to split the hotel room bill with him.
It was a nice area of nowhereville Americana. Punk was bored out of his mind, because where ever the hell he was, it had nothing remotely fun to do. Especially for a straightedge guy like himself. He was going insane in the empty hotel room, just sitting and chilling by himself because Eddie was out with Benoit. Which meant he wasn't coming back until the wee hours of the morning and he'd probably be all disheveled.
"ARG! Fuck this!" He yells kicking the bed and stubbing his toe. Kicking things barefoot isn't bright, he thinks to himself as he put his sneakers on and putting his jacket on as he walks out the door.
If he was going to be bored, he was going to be bored outside of those damn constricting four walls.
He shoves his hands angrily into his pockets and walks next door to the convenience store. He scans the aisles and laughs at his luck as he finds a six-pack of Pepsi on sale. And while on line to pay for the Pepsi, he saw the new Flex Magazine. With Brock Lesnar on the cover. Normally he wasn't really into those big, strong, scary types, but something about Brock made Punk stop and want to be fucked senseless by him. Punk blamed those bright blue eyes of his.
After he pays for his stuff, he grins as he walks the short distance back to the hotel and sets his stuff down on some lawn chairs by the pool area, sitting down. It was almost midnight, but there was a light coming from one of the street lights, so Punk stretches out and pops open a cold one, Pepsi that is, and read about Brock Lesnar. Actually he mostly stared at the pictures, those were more interesting anyway.
"STO LAT, STO LAT!"
Punk's eyebrows raises quickly up. That sounds like what they used to sing during his childhood at Polish birthday parties. He looks up from his magazine to see the large frame of Brock Lesnar stumbling down the street, walking towards him singing loudly and drunkenly.
"HEY! CM Punk! How you DOIN' MAN?"
Punk blinks. Brock Lesnar knows his name?
"Hey, Punk! I'm talking to you!" Brock pauses and than laughs, "HA! I made it funny! Get it? Punk?"
Punk stands up and quickly hides his magazine on the ground, "Um. Hi, Brock. How do you know me?"
Brock grins and walks over to Punk, putting an arm around him, "Know you? Man, I follow your career! That match you had with Chris Hero? That's the stuff of legends! Great wrestling you have skills of."
Punk blinked, again, and tried not to be repelled by the beer stink coming from Brock's mouth. And he tried not to think about how kissable those said lips looked. "Thank you. That's nice coming from someone like you."
Brock nods and still holds onto Punk's shoulders, "Well, I ain't nobody. Just a guy who no one remembers it's his birthday. Just some stupid, spierdalaj farm boy from the middle of no where."
Punk shakes his head violently, "No way man. You're something special all right. Any time you walk into a ring, people shake in fear. And you've got a wickedly evil sense of humor and I've got to be the only person who sees how *your* playing Heyman and not the other way around. And you're fucking gorgeous on top of all that."
Brock stops wavering back and forth, "Jaki?"
Punk shrugs his way out of Brocks arms, "Did you know that when you are drunk you start speaking Polish?"
Brock smiles, "You didn't answer me. You obviously know what I said."
Punk walks to where his can of Pepsi was and causally takes a swing, "And you obviously heard what I said."
Brock smiles again and sits down where Punk had been sitting, "Pepsi, eh? I haven't had any of this in such a long time. It's not really good for training..."
Punk shrugs and sit down on another pool chair across from him. "Yeah, well, it's better then getting pissed drunk because no one remembered my birthday. Pepsi only gives you a headache if you drink too much of it. And you can have one of my cans if you want."
Brock's eyes twinkle merrily, "The almighty CM Punk is sharing his Pepsi?" He reaches down to grab a can when his eyes see something, "Hey what's this?"
Brock picks up the magazine cover with him on it. And then he looks at Punk. And then back at the glossy picture of himself.
His laughter echos through the empty courtyard.
Punk blushes and when Brock finally stops, his eyes are wet with tears. "Were you going to kobylka with it?"
"What? I don't know that word..."
Brock grins to himself and whispers the word into his ear.
Punk turns a darker shade of red. Brock kisses him gently on his cheek, "You don't need that when you have the Next Big Thing in front of you. And wouldn't you know it?" Brock reaches into his pocket and throws his set of hotel keys backwards into the opened pool, "I can't find my key! I guess I need some place to stay for the night..."
Punk looks somewhat bashful, "Well, Eddie's out for the evening. And I always wanted to see how big the Next Big Thing really is..."
Brock picks CM up and throws him over his shoulders, "And see how big my kielbasa really is?"
"Yes, Polish Caveman Brock. I thought you were to drunk to walk before?"
Brock puts him down and kisses him hungrily, "You make me sober."
-----