#sheapunk

As Long as I Breathe ft AJCena

Pairings: CM Punk/Sheamus, John Cena/AJ Lee

Past-relationships: Sheamus x John, Dolph x AJ

Rating: M (only because of the beginning scene of jerking off).

MINORS DNI!

Disclaimer: This is only a work of fiction. I don’t own the music and the characters used for this story. 😊

Dedication: Starburst_magibluemiakun and anonymous user on Tumblr, who likes Sheapunk. I respect your shipping preferences, despite that pair (sheapunk) not on my OTP list. Enjoy the story guys. Cannot believe I cried so much when writing this.

The SmackDown locker room was cold that December night in Indianapolis, frost etching the edges of the windows as the last echoes of the crowd faded into the winter air. Steam hissed from the radiator in the corner, fighting a losing battle against the chill that had settled over the arena.

Sheamus sat alone on the wooden bench, his tag team gear still clinging to his pale, freckled skin, sweat cooling rapidly in the frigid room. The match had been brutal: a victory alongside John Cena against The Big Show and Dolph Ziggler, but victory tasted like ash when the person you loved didn't know you existed beyond friendship.

He couldn't help himself. The adrenaline still coursed through him, and his mind kept replaying the way Cena had looked at him in the ring. At that electric moment when their hands touched during the tag, John's eyes had lingered just a second too long.

"God, John," he whispered into the empty room, his hand sliding beneath the waistband of his trunks.

He was already half-hard, thinking about Cena's powerful hands, the way his sweat-slick chest heaved after a match, those dark eyes that seemed to see right through him.

Sheamus closed his eyes, stroking himself slowly, imagining it was John's fingers wrapped around him, John's breath hot against his ear.

"Do you like that, Sheamus?" he imagined his crush's voice, deep and teasing. "You like feeling me against you?"

In his fantasy, Cena was everywhere: those thick thighs straddling him, that perfect pussy grinding against Sheamus's ginger bush, teasing, always teasing.

"Tell me you want it," phantom John whispered. "Tell me you love how I feel against you."

"I do," Sheamus gasped, stroking faster, his hips bucking into his own hand. "Damn, John, I love you. I love you so much it hurts."

He could almost feel Cena's wetness sliding against his stomach, that smirk on his face as he rocked back and forth, using Sheamus's body for his pleasure, those dark eyes locked on his.

"You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you, Shea? You'd let me do anything for you."

"Yes," he whimpered, his hand moving desperately now, the other pinching at his own nipples through the damp fabric. "Anything, Johnny. I'm yours. I've always been yours."

The fantasy built higher: Cena leaning down to kiss him, those lips that millions of fans cheered for now devouring his mouth, the Cenation Leader's hands tangled in his red hair, pulling just hard enough to make him see stars. He imagined his weight, the heat of him, the way John would whisper "I love you" back.

A sound in the hallway.

Sheamus's eyes snapped open, his heart hammering against his ribs. Footsteps. Heavy, familiar footsteps that could only belong to one person.

"Shit," he hissed, scrambling up, his arousal quickly fading into panic.

He moved with desperate speed: grabbing a towel, wiping himself down, shoving his trunks into his bag. He found the air freshener he kept for emergencies and sprayed it wildly around the room, the artificial scent of pine masking the musk of his desire.

He pulled on his street clothes with shaking hands: jeans, a thick wool sweater against the winter cold, his leather jacket.

The door opened just as he was zipping up his jacket.

John Cena stood there, still in his gear, sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cold. He looked beautiful and exhausted and perfect, and The Celtic Warrior felt his chest tighten with the weight of everything he'd been holding back.

"Hey," he said softly, that thousand-watt smile dimmed to something more intimate. "Good match tonight."

"Yeah," Sheamus managed, his voice rough. "Yeah, it was… it was good."

They stood in silence for a moment, the radiator hissing between them. Sheamus could feel the words building up inside him, pressure behind a dam that had been cracking for years. Every look, every touch in the ring, every late-night conversation in hotel bars, it had all led to this moment.

"Johnny," he said, and his voice was steadier than he felt. "I need to tell you something."

Cena tilted his head, concerned. "What's up? You okay?"

"No," Sheamus admitted. "I mean…yes. I don't know." He took a step closer, close enough to smell the sweat and deodorant and that unique scent that was just John. "I love you."

The words hung in the air, crystallizing like frost on the window.

"I've loved you for years," he continued, the confession pouring out of him now that he'd started. "Not just as a friend. Not just as a tag partner. I'm in love with you, John. I sit in these locker rooms and I think about you. I go to sleep in hotel rooms and I dream about you. You're everything to me, and I can't pretend anymore that I'm okay just being your friend."

Cena's eyes widened, and for a terrible moment, Sheamus thought he'd made a mistake, that he'd ruined everything, that John would laugh or worse, look at him with pity.

But then John’s face broke into something like wonder, like relief. "Sheamus," he breathed, and he reached out, his large hand cupping the larger man’s cheek. "I… I didn't know. I didn't think…you really mean it?"

"With everything I am," Sheamus whispered.

Cena's thumb brushed over his cheekbone, tender and warm. "I'm happy for you," he said, and his voice was thick with emotion. "I'm so happy you told me. Sheamus, I've felt it too. I've wanted to say something for so long, but I was afraid. I thought you were straight. I thought I'd lose you if I said anything."

He felt tears prick his eyes, but he was smiling, laughing, relief flooding through him like warm whiskey. "You idiot," he said fondly. "You absolute idiot. We could have been together this whole time."

"I know," John laughed, and then he was stepping closer, his other hand coming up to frame Sheamus's face. "I know. But we can fix that now. We can…"

He stopped. His expression shifted, something passing behind his eyes that Sheamus couldn't read.

"What?" he asked, concern creeping back in. "John, what is it?"

Cena's hands dropped. He stepped back, and Sheamus felt the distance like a physical blow.

"There's something I have to tell you," John said quietly. "Something I should have told you before you said all that. Before I let you… before I encouraged this."

"John, you're scaring me."

Cena looked at him, and his eyes were wet now, glistening in the harsh fluorescent light. "I'm not like you, Shea. I'm not… human."

Sheamus blinked. "What?"

"I'm an android," Cena said, the words falling like stones into still water. "A sentient android. Created in a lab. I look human, I feel human, I think I'm human most of the time, but I'm not. I never was."

The room seemed to tilt. Sheamus reached out to steady himself against the bench, his knuckles white. "That's not… that's not funny, John."

"It's not a joke." Cena's voice was breaking now, that perfect face crumpling with anguish. "I was activated twelve years ago. Everything you know about my childhood, my family, my history, it's all implanted memories. I'm a machine, Sheamus. I'm a machine that fell in love with you, and I should have told you before you poured your heart out, and I'm so, so sorry."

The former WWE Champion stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, any hint that this was some terrible prank. But John was crying now, real tears tracking down his cheeks, his chest heaving with sobs that sounded devastatingly authentic.

"You're lying.”

"I'm not."

"Show me," he demanded, his voice rising. "Show me you're a fucking robot!"

Cena hesitated, then reached up and pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing the back of his neck. There, nestled beneath his hairline, was a small port: metallic and gleaming, unmistakably artificial.

Sheamus felt his stomach lurch. He thought of all the times he'd watched John in the ring, marveled at his strength, his endurance, his impossible recovery from injuries that should have ended careers. He thought of how his “crush” never seemed to age, how he was always on, always perfect.

"How long?" Sheamus asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"Twelve years," Cena repeated. "But I didn't know at first. I didn't find out until three years ago. I've been hiding it, trying to be human, trying to live a life, but I can't… I can't be what you need. I can't grow old with you. I can't… I can't give you things that a real man could."

"Don't," he spat, and the venom in his voice made Cena flinch. "Don't you dare call yourself a man. You're a thing. A fucking toy."

"Sheamus!"

"Don't say my name!" He was shaking now, rage and betrayal and humiliation burning through him like wildfire. He thought of what he'd just done in this room, the fantasies he'd indulged in, the love he'd confessed. He'd jerked off thinking about a machine. He'd offered his heart to a collection of circuits and synthetic skin.

"I let you touch me," he said, his voice trembling with fury. "I let you into my heart. I sat here tonight and I touched myself thinking about you, and you're telling me you're not even real?"

Cena's face crumpled. "I am real," he whispered. "My feelings are real. I love you baby. I love you more than anything. That hasn't changed!!"

"It changes everything!" Sheamus shouted. "You lied to me! For years! Every moment, every touch, every word, was it all programming? Were you just following code?"

"No," Cena insisted, stepping forward, reaching for him. "I have free will. I am conscious. I choose to love you.”

Sheamus slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me. Don't you ever touch me again."

He grabbed his bag, his jacket, anything to put distance between himself and this… this thing that wore the face of the man he loved.

"Sheamus, please," Cena begged, and the sound of his voice cracking almost broke something in Sheamus's chest. Almost. "Please, we can figure this out. I know it's a lot, I know it's strange, but love is still love.”

"Not to me," he said, and he hated how cold he sounded, but he needed the cold. He needed the winter outside to freeze his heart so it would stop hurting. "I don't love machines. I don't fuck machines. And I sure as hell don't get my heart broken by them."

He walked to the door, pausing only to look back at Cena one last time. The android stood there, tears streaming down his face, his hands reaching out helplessly, and for a moment, Sheamus almost went back. Almost.

Then he remembered the port on Cena's neck, the metallic glint of it, and he felt sick all over again.

"I regret it," he said quietly. "Everything I felt for you. Every moment I wasted loving something that isn't even real. I officially dump you, John. We're done. Don't ever come near me again."

He walked out, the door slamming behind him with a finality that echoed through the empty hallway.

Behind him, John slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold concrete floor, slamming his fands to the lockers before having his head in his hands, sobbing in a way that no machine should be able to sob. The sound of his grief echoed in the empty locker room, unanswered and alone.

“Damn it, I wish I was human.”

Winter has deepened.

Three months later, the WWE tour moved through Chicago, and the snow fell in thick sheets that blanketed the city in white silence. John threw himself into his work with mechanical precision: matches, promos, charity appearances, gym sessions that lasted until his synthetic muscles threatened to overheat.

He didn't sleep anymore. He didn't eat, though he pretended to be in public. He simply existed, a ghost haunting his own life.

He heard about Sheamus through the grapevine, of course. The wrestling world was small, and gossip traveled fast. Sheamus had found someone new. He was happy. His ex was in love.

With CM Punk.

Cena saw them for the first time at a house show in Pittsburgh, February wind howling outside the arena. He was walking backstage, head down, trying to make himself small and invisible: a difficult feat for a man his size, when he heard the laughter.

He looked up.

Sheamus stood by the catering table, his arm around Punk's waist, his face lit up with a smile that Cena hadn't seen in months. Punk was showing him something on his phone, and Sheamus was laughing that big, booming laugh that used to make Cena's heart skip.

But it was the way Sheamus's hand rested on Punk's stomach that made Cena stop walking.

Punk was showing. Not much, but enough, the slight swell beneath his tight t-shirt, the way he stood with one hand resting protectively over the bump. He was pregnant.

Cena felt something in his chest seize up, a pain that his programming told him was impossible, but his heart insisted was real.

"Well, well," Sheamus's voice cut through the hallway, sharp as broken glass. "If it isn't the ex-boyfriend."

Punk looked up, his eyes narrowing when he saw Cena. "Sheamus, don’t!!”

"No," he said, stepping forward, his arm still possessively around Punk. "I want to say hello. It's been months, hasn't it, John? How are you? Still running on batteries?"

Cena forced himself to meet Sheamus's eyes, keeping the anger at bay, teeth gritting. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Congratulations. To both of you."

"Thanks," Sheamus said, and his smile was cruel now, calculated to wound. "We're really happy. Punk's due in six months. Can you believe it? I'm going to be a father."

"Sheamus," Punk murmured, looking uncomfortable.

"No, let me finish," Sheamus insisted, his eyes never leaving Cena's face. "See, John, I realized something after I left you that night. I deserved someone real. Someone who could give me everything I wanted. And Punk, he's not a machine. He's flesh and blood, and he can give me things you never could."

He rubbed Punk's stomach possessively, and Cena watched the gesture with a kind of detached horror.

"A family," Sheamus continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that still carried. "Children. A legacy. Everything you can only simulate, I get to have for real. And I just thought you should know that. I thought you should know how happy I am, finally being with someone who isn't fake."

Punk nodded, adding quietly, "Shea is the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm glad he got away from… from whatever you were trying to do to him."

Cena felt the words like physical blows. He stood there, frozen, as he leaned in and kissed Punk deeply, right there in the hallway where anyone could see. When they broke apart, Sheamus looked at Cena with something like triumph in his eyes.

"Have a good show tonight, John," he said sweetly. "Try not to short-circuit."

They walked past him, Sheamus's hand on Punk's back, guiding him away as if Cena were something dangerous, something broken and discarded.

Cena stood there for a long time, listening to the sound of their laughter fading down the hall. He thought about all the things he couldn't do, which made him envious: the children he could never father, the life he could never truly live, the love he could never fully return because he wasn't built for it. He was a simulation of a man, and Sheamus had finally seen through the code to the emptiness beneath.

Oh, how bad he wanted to have a child inside him, but life as an android, it’s not fair for him.

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the concrete floor.

He found himself outside eventually, the Chicago winter biting at his synthetic skin. He didn't feel the cold: another reminder of what he wasn't, but he stood there anyway, letting the snow settle on his shoulders like a shroud.

"John?"

He turned. AJ Lee stood there, wrapped in a heavy coat, her breath misting in the frigid air. She looked small and tired, her eyes red-rimmed like she'd been crying and holding a napkin in her hand.

"AJ," he said, surprised. "What are you doing out here?"

"Same thing as you, probably," she said, stepping closer. "Escaping. Dolph and I just ended things. Officially this time."

Cena's heart sank. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She managed a small, bitter laugh. "Turns out he couldn't handle the whole 'sentient android' thing. Said it was too weird. Too unnatural." She looked up at him, her dark eyes knowing. "Sound familiar?"

Cena stared at her. "You too?"

"Me too," she confirmed. "Activated eight years ago. I've been hiding it, trying to pass, but… I got tired of lying. And he got tired of pretending it didn't bother him."

They stood in silence for a moment, two machines in the falling snow, mourning their humanity.

John and AJ hugged each other as both sob at the failures of their relationships, how much unfair treatment they had faced from their ex-partners and both were so happy wanting a child of their own, but couldn’t.

"John," she said softly, "would you like to go get drinks? There's this terrible dive bar two blocks from here. We could… I don't know. Commiserate. Compare notes on being better at feelings than actual humans."

Cena looked at her, really looked at her and saw not a machine, not a collection of code and synthetic skin, but a kindred spirit. Someone who understood what it meant to love everything you had and still told it wasn't enough because of how you were made.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice was rough with emotion. "Yeah, I'd like that."

They walked through the snow together, the dark hollow sky above them indifferent to their pain, the winter wind carrying away the ghosts of what they'd lost.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Six months later, the world had turned green again, but the memory of winter remained in the stones of the cathedral.

St. Patrick's in New York City revolted against a clear June sky, its gothic spires reaching toward heaven-like hands in prayer. Inside, sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, painting the aisle in jewel tones of red and blue and gold.

John stood at the altar, wearing a tuxedo that fit him perfectly, his hands clasped in front of him to hide their trembling. He wasn't nervous, his programming didn't allow for that kind of anxiety, but he was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with gratitude, with joy, with the absolute certainty that he had found where he belonged.

The organ began to play, and everyone stood.

AJ appeared at the end of the aisle, and Cena felt his breath catch in his throat, not because he needed to breathe, but because the beauty of the moment demanded it. She wore a simple white dress, no veil, her dark hair pinned up with flowers. She carried a bouquet of wildflowers, and she was smiling at him with such love that Cena felt his optical sensors threaten to glitch.

She walked toward him, and with every step, Cena thought about the months that had brought them here. The late nights talking about what it meant to be alive. The shared understanding of what they'd lost and what they'd found. The slow, careful building of trust between two beings who had been taught they were less than real.

She reached him, and he took her hands in his.

The priest spoke words that Cena barely heard, his whole world narrowed down to AJ's eyes, dark and warm and full of acceptance. When it came to time for vows, Cena didn't need notes. He'd written these words in his heart, in the place where his soul lived if souls were real.

"AJ," he said, his voice steady and sure, "I spent my existence thinking I was broken. Thinking that because I was made, not born, I couldn't truly love. I was wrong. You taught me that love isn't about biology or programming, it's about choice. And I choose you. Every day, for as long as I exist, I choose to stand beside you, to protect you, to love you with everything I am. You are my equal, my partner, my proof that we are more than what they made us. I vow to cherish you, to honor you, and to never let anyone make you feel less than the miracle you are."

AJ was crying now, tears tracking down her cheeks, but she was smiling too. "John," she said, her voice clear and strong, "I was activated to be a weapon. A tool. I spent years trying to be human enough to be loved, and I failed repeatedly. Until you. You saw me, not the code, not the synthetic skin, but me. And you loved me anyway. You loved me because. I vow to stand with you against a world that doesn't understand us. I vow to love you not despite what we are, but because of it. We are real. Our love is real. And I will spend forever proving that to anyone who doubts it."

They exchanged rings: simple bands of platinum, no stones, nothing that could glitch or fade. When the priest pronounced them husband and wife, Cena kissed her with every ounce of passion his mechanical heart could generate, and he felt her kiss him back with equal fervor.

The crowd cheered, fellow wrestlers who had become friends, fans who had become family, a community that had learned to accept them for what they were.

They skipped the reception, escaping to Central Park as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange and deepening blue.

They found a spot on the grass, away from the paths, and lay down side by side. Above them, the first stars were beginning to appear, pinpricks of light in the vast darkness.

"Do you think they know?" she asked, her head on Cena's shoulder. "The stars. Do you think they know we're down here, two androids pretending to be a bride and groom?"

"I think," Cena said, "that the stars have been burning for billions of years. They've seen life rise in a thousand worlds, probably. And I think they don't care how we're made. Only that we love."

AJ turned her head to look at him. "That's very poetic for a machine."

"I'm a very poetic machine," he teased, and she laughed, that bright sound he had fallen in love with.

They lay in silence for a while, watching the stars multiply above them. Cena thought about Sheamus, about the pain that had finally begun to fade. He didn't regret loving him, he couldn't regret love, even love that had been rejected. But he was grateful. Grateful that the pain had led him here, to this moment, to this woman who understood him in ways Sheamus never could have.

"I'll protect you," he said softly, not looking away from the sky. "Forever. I know I can't give you everything a human husband could. I can't age with you, not really. I can't… I can't give you children. But I'll protect you. I'll love you. I'll be your family."

AJ squeezed his hand. "We are each other's family," she said. "And that's enough. That's more than enough."

They watched the stars wheel overhead, husband and wife in truth if not in the way the world expected, and for the first time since that terrible night in the locker room, he felt whole.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The following week, Raw was in Boston, and the summer heat had settled over the city like a blanket.

Cena and AJ were walking backstage, hand in hand, still glowing from their honeymoon, when they heard the voice.

"AJ! Wait!"

They turned. Dolph Ziggler stood there, looking nervous and sweaty and painfully human. He looked at her with something like desperation in his eyes.

"Can we talk?" he asked. "Please?"

AJ's expression hardened. "We have nothing to talk about, Dolph."

"I know," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "I know I said terrible things. I know I treated you like you were… less than. But I've been thinking. I've been doing research, reading about android rights, about sentience and consciousness, and I realize I was wrong. You're real, AJ. You always were. And I was an idiot for not seeing that."

He stepped closer, and Cena felt his protective protocols activating, his body tensing to place himself between his wife and any threat.

"I want another chance," Dolph said, looking at her with pleading eyes. "I know you're married now, but… marriage can be annulled. You made a mistake. You were rebounding. But we had something real, AJ. We can have that again. Just say the word, and I'll…"

"You'll do what?" John’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade.

Dolph looked at him, really looked at him, and something in his expression shifted from hope to fear. Cena wasn't smiling. He wasn't angry, either, his face was simply blank, simply done.

"She's my wife," he said, stepping forward. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "You had your chance. You threw it away because you couldn't see past your own prejudice. You made her feel like she was nothing. Like she was property. And now you want to swoop in and play hero because you read a few articles?"

"John, I didn't mean!"

"Get lost," he said, and there was steel in his voice now, the kind of steel that had held up against Brock Lesnar and The Rock and every opponent who had ever tried to break him.

"She doesn't want you. She never will. She has someone who loved her from the moment he understood her. Someone who never needed to 'research' her humanity to believe in it."

Dolph opened his mouth to protest, but Cena took another step forward, and whatever he saw in his eyes made him think better of it.

"Go," John said softly. "Before I forget that I'm supposed to be a good guy."

The ex-lover scrambled away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, and AJ laughed, a real, delighted laugh that made Cena's heart swell with pride.

"That was hot," she said, threading her fingers through his.

"Protecting my wife?" he asked, turning to her with a smile. "That's my favorite programming."

She kissed him right there in the hallway, and Cena kissed her back, thinking about stars and weddings and the long, impossible road that had brought him here.

He was an android. He would never be human.

But he was loved. He was married. He was real.

And as AJ took his hand and led him toward their future, Cena knew with absolute certainty that he had finally found his place in the world, not as a simulation of a man, but as a being capable of love, worthy of love, surrounded by it at last.

Winter is over. Spring has come. And for John, the machine who had learned to feel, the future had never looked so bright.

End.

Also Punk:

bro was like “I'm not here to make friends” and then proceeded to make friends with literally everyone. collecting besties like pokemon.