who's asking?

“You can’t possibly be thinking of this again?” Punk says, almost exasperated. “I thought you were kidding. And drunk.”

“I was drunk, I wasn’t kidding,” Cody says, angrily throwing his hand between them. Punk can tell he’s serious.

“When did you start thinking of this?” Punk asks, squinting and slightly leaning down to the blond. He feels stupid — had Cody been dropping hints before that he wanted to sleep with him? Or have a threesome, or anything sexual at all? I suppose they did have the heated rivalry schtick currently, but Punk mostly thought it was a bit. Suddenly, Cody seems riled up.

“Look — what’s that matter? I thought of it long ago, and I feel like I deserve it at this point!” Cody is practically pouting, face red but smooth as a cherub. He crosses his arms, props one boot covered foot up on the bench in the locker room.

“Deserve? Us?”

Cody raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you’d include her.” Punk raises both eyebrows at this, green eyes wide. Then he breaks out into a grin.

“Is this about her or me?”

“I’d like it to be both. But she’s not here to advocate for herself so —”

“I advocate for her,” Punk says, feeling suddenly gruff. “What’s your pitch? You wanting to fuck me and my girl and you don’t expect to beg a little?”

Cody gulps at this. Huh? Did he hear that right? “Beg? Punk…”

“Is it her big tits or mine?” Punk grins shittily, flexing his pecs and making them jump. Cody fumes, cheeks red at all of this. Fucking hell.

“It’s up to you. That’s all I’m saying.” Cody puts both boots on the floor, looks down at the floor.