Eh, for the purposes of this story, John and CM Punk are sharing a room.

This is slash, character based set after Survivor Series last year.

I don't own anyone mentioned in this fic

The frown would not leave John's face. Survivor Series had been one big mess, or at least it had been for him and he was pissed…even more so than usual about what was going on with Rock. Lost in thought, sitting on the bench in his locker room, his attention was on lacing up his shoes.

It was caught, however, when he heard the harsh coughing coming from the man beside him. He glanced sideways. CM Punk was sitting close by. He'd been in the process of changing into his ring attire as well, trunks, black shorts, and shirt already on, as well as one boot. Leaning away from John, he had stopped at the coughing fit that had overtaken him.

John raised an eyebrow. "You alright?" He asked when Punk had finally stopped.

"Lovely," Punk answered but his voice had turned a bit hoarse.

"Didn't start smoking on us did you?" John asked, half amused.

Punk turned a baleful glare on him. "Ohhh. Good one. And people say your jokes are lame." He went back to putting on his boot and John couldn't help but notice that his movements were clumsier than usual. He seemed to be concentrating extra hard on the task.

"Seriously," John pressed. "If we're rooming together, I can't afford you getting me sick."

"Think you have that backwards, don't you. And you're concern is touching." Punk started taping up his wrists.

John shrugged but he did have a point. Punk had been the one who'd won the WWE title the night before. Just thinking about the night before brought John's bad mood back. It wasn't that he was jealous or something of Punk but his night hadn't gone nearly as well.

Oh, no. He would say it wasn't jealousy that he felt whenever he was in close proximity of CM Punk. He had gotten to know the man a little bit in the months since their feud had ended and he may have been developing a bit of a crush on Punk.

"Gotta go open the show."

"Good luck," John called while he watched the man leave.

Xxxxxxx

John did not see Punk again until after RAW ended. He'd watched Punk's match with Dolph Ziggler and, although it had been a good one, John hadn't been able to help but to notice that Punk had seemed a bit on the sluggish side and he'd taken a few bad hits that John knew from experience he should have been able to dodge.

He didn't notice that he was not alone when he walked into the locker room for several minutes, figured most everybody had already left. John himself had stayed a little late, walking the halls, trying to walk off the simmering anger he felt after his own confrontation with Rock.

He didn't notice he wasn't alone until he bent to pick up his bag and finally spotted the man crouched in the corner of the room. John's brow creased in worry. Punk had changed into his street clothes, at least and it looked as if he'd showered, his hair no longer slicked back but falling across his forehead.

Back against the wall, Punk had his forehead pressed against his knees. John knelt in front of him.

"What are you doing?" He asked, hesitating in reaching out to touch the man.

"Trying to figure out if I can get up and make it out of here without puking my intestines up," Punk answered without lifting his head.

John grimaced at those words, at the visual and glanced around the room. He stood and walked back to the bench, zipping up his bag before grabbing Punk's and doing the same. He shouldered both before going back over to Punk and offering a hand.

"Come on."

Punk finally did lift his head, leaning it back against the wall and stared at John, eyes a little glazed over. John waited patiently before Punk finally took the offered hand and John hoisted him to his feet. Punk stumbled upon making it to his feet, automatically leaning into John, who could feel the heat radiating off the man.

Punk did not protest when John lifted one of his arms to wrap it around his shoulders as they made their way out of the locker room, which should have been a worry. Punk was almost never silent. John was of the opinion that it was nearly impossible for the man to keep his mouth shut, especially when he should.

He didn't revel in the feel of Punk so close to him, at least not this time. Not when he could feel the fever that Punk had. He wouldn't want to jeopardize the man's health just so he could get the opportunity to wrap his arm around his waist.

They made it out to his car and John deposited Punk in the passenger's seat. He glanced over when he got in as well. Punk leant his head against the passenger side window, eyes closed, one arm wrapped securely around his stomach.

"Maybe you shouldn't have wrestled tonight," John said.

Punk let out a short, humorless laugh. "Right. I'm sure Johnny would have let me have the night off if I'd asked real nicely."

"Maybe. You ever tried asking anything nicely?"

"I try not to make it a habit." Punk pulled his legs up in the seat and John reached over to turn on the heater when he noticed the shivering Punk was doing. He fell silent as he drove, glancing periodically over at Punk.

When he was finally parked, he went around to the other side to open Punk's door, the other man was fast asleep in his seat. Knees still pulled up, head lolling to the side, mouth slightly open.

Cute was never a word that John would have used to describe Punk in the past. Sexy, maybe. Scruffy, definitely. But that was the word that popped into his head at the sight. He looked cute.

Shaking his head, shaking the thoughts away, John reached down to shake Punk awake. Punk shot forward at his touch, only to be stopped by the seatbelt and then he groaned, putting his face in his hands.

"Come on, we're here. Just an elevator ride and then you can sleep."

"Think I could actually sleep." Punk's voice was slurred a bit this time and he was hardly able to support himself when he levered himself out of the car.

John's lips twitched at the answer. He didn't have to know Punk well to know that the man never slept and he wondered if that had something to do with him being sick. Punk let John drag him through the hotel and up to their room. He didn't even bother taking off his shoes when John dropped him on the bed, simply rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.

John waited until he was sure Punk was asleep before he took the man's shoes of himself. He chewed his lip, hesitated. Punk had turned his head to the side, facing John and he reached down, brushing the hair from Punk's forehead and feeling the fever.

It was an exceptionally rare view of Punk, John was sure and he was surprised when Punk leaned into his touch unconsciously. Pulling away, John shook his head once again and went to his own bed, dropping back on it.

Xxxxxxxxx

He woke to the sound of a door banging against the wall. The noise was loud and sharp and John jerked away in surprise, nearly falling off the bed. Disoriented for a moment, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was standing wide open, and the light was on.

John could hear Punk getting sick. He grimaced but his conscious got the better of him and he got up, making his way towards the bathroom. Punk had finished by the time he got there, and was leaning heavily against the toilet.

John crouched and Punk looked up at him with glassy eyes. John was mildly alarmed when he reached for the man and felt the heat coming off him. He did lift Punk to his feet once again, though, and helped him to the sink so he could rinse his mouth out. He didn't seem too fully aware.

John helped him back to his bed and was about to go back to his own when Punk's hand shot out, fingers wrapping around John's wrist and pulling, almost throwing John off balance in his surprise at the action.

"What's wrong?" John asked, concern coming back.

Punk was shivering again, and he tugged at John's arm until John sat on the bed beside him. "Stay," was the only word Punk said, his voice still slurred and hoarse.

John hesitated. He'd imagined several different scenarios where he ended up in Punk's bed. This one had never been one, however, and from the look in Punk's eyes, John doubted he knew exactly what he was doing.

But the pleading look on Punk's face was what really did him in and he relented. His breath caught when, after he'd lain down on his back, Punk wrapped himself around John, burying his face in John's shoulder.

John cautiously wrapped his own arms around Punk and was unsurprised at how good it felt considering how long he had wanted to do it. There was a sting of regret that Punk wasn't fully lucid in that moment but he pushed it aside for the moment. Even if he wasn't fully lucid, he had latched a hold of John for comfort. That counted for something.

John drifted off to sleep sometime after Punk, a small smile on his face.