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“Have you fucked him?”
Cole paused, visibly surprised. “Excuse me?”
“Have you fucked him?” Then, to needlessly clarify, he added, “Max.”
Punk wanted to know. As far as he was concerned, just like the AEW World Championship, Maxwell still belonged to him. Just because he was gone for a little while didn't mean that anyone could just up and take his things from him. He wasn't exactly mad about it but he was annoyed and wanted to know.
Cole's surprise deepened before it dropped and morphed into something more calculating. “You think I fucked him.”
Punk shrugged, taking a casual sip of his coffee. “I have a feeling you did. Wouldn't blame you.”
“You fucked him.” It was deadpan.
Punk looked at him. “Come on. What rumors are you trying to spread here?” He was smiling.
Cole didn't say anything for a moment. He was still standing exactly as he was, next to catering, when Punk approached him with an easy smile moments ago. Posture tense, expression forcefully relaxed, usual self-assuredness teetering in face of Punk's nonchalance on the subject.
“He never speaks about you,” Cole eventually said. He took a bite of the pastry in his hand.
It was Punk's turn to pause. Considering. “Well, that's probably because, according to him, he was a fan of yours just as much as he was one of mine, right?”
Cole's lips twitched. “You'd think he hate me more if that was the case.”
Punk had to laugh. “Oh, Max doesn't hate me.” At Cole's arched eyebrow, Punk gave him a near-condescendingly patient smile. “Max likes when I pay attention to him. He'll do anything to get my eyes on him.”
The words hung between them.
Punk didn't let Cole get a leg-up. “Hey, if you're fucking him—”
“I haven't fucked him.”
The 'yet' was implied. Punk thought that over. “You don't have to wait. Just ask. He'll say yes.” Max could be desperate like that.
Cole took another bite. Chewed, swallowed. “We have a good thing going, with the tag team. I don't want to mess that up when we're so close.”
Something in his tone made Punk's stomach turn. “Taking that pretty seriously.”
“Max is. That's why he's been so nice and good for me.” Cole's eyes met Punk's. “I wouldn't mind some gold. And you're right. Being around him... Definitely boosts the ego.”
Punk downed the rest of his coffee. “Yeah.”
“Do you miss it? I'm going to,” Cole continued before Punk could answer. “He likes praise a lot, you know. I throw him even the tiniest bit and it's like he'd bend over right there.”
The empty cup in Punk's hand crinkled a bit under his grip.
“You know... If we do win these belts, I'll probably throw him much more. He'd deserve a reward. Then I could see some of what you were talking about. Double belts on my partner— yeah, I'd give him what he wants so much.”
My partner.
Bait.
Punk was weighing the consequences to biting it hard enough that he'd pull Cole under when his eyes happened to catch something far across the room.
He suppressed a smile and looked back over at Cole. "Watch out if you do." At Cole's lightly arched brow, he elaborated, "Giving him what he wants. He takes vindication just as eagerly as he takes praise."
Cole watched him. "Didn't you give him what he wanted?"
A terrible grin spread across Punk's features. "Not even a little bit."
A pause and then Cole is saying, "What did you two—" but he doesn't get much further because there was a hand landing on his shoulder and then,
"Adam." His tone was strained, and Cole started, shoulders turning, and Punk could finally see Maxwell unhindered again, not even a yard away. Maxwell wasn't looking at him; was looking at somewhere near Cole's chin, his neck. "Hey, man. What's going on?"
So fucking childish. Even worse, Cole looked like he was actually perturbed, as if Max hearing what they had been talking about mattered. If Max did hear, Punk wouldn't mind at all. That'd make it all even better. Max must be squirming inside, his heart pounding, his stomach twisting. Punk could practically taste it in the air.
"Hey, Max," Punk said easily, almost softly, like greeting an old friend.
Max's eyes flew over to him. Finally. It's where they always ended up, why did Max ever fight it? "Punk." Hard, steely— trying so hard at indifference.
Punk parted his lips to speak but then Cole was standing mostly between them again.
"Max, what did the trainers say about your kn—" Cole stopped for a second. It was at that moment that Punk, and seemingly Max, too, realized that Max hadn't moved his gaze from Punk. Max looked at Cole. "About your knee?"
Punk barely held back a laugh. "Ouch, is everything okay?"
Two uneven looks, Max's murderous and Cole's irritated. "It's fine," Max answered. He adjusted his scarf a bit, drawing Punk's attention to the way he was still in that terrible 'Better Than You Bay Bay' shirt, the way the muscles of his shoulders rippled, the way his collarbones stood out. Up to the tilt of a friendly smile across his lips as he looked at Cole. "It's all good, thanks for asking."
So sugary sweet. Somehow Cole actually smiled back. "That's good, Max."
But Max's eyes were straying back to Punk. "And you? You guys alright?" A bit of a twist to that gentle smile. "No new injuries?"
A barb intended for Punk but it must've poked into Cole, too, not that Max was registering that, the way his stare was burning a hole into Punk. "Oh, we're fine, aren't we, Adam?"
"Yeah." Cole finally looked wary. Probably still wondering how much Max had seen and heard. Wasn't a good look, talking to an enemy of your tag partner. "Just talking game plans."
Punk's lips actually twitched at that as he moved his eyes to Cole. "You guys really have a war in front of you, you know."
Cole huffed. "So I hear."
Max was back at Cole. "We'll take on FTR easily, man, don't worry about it. I was their boss once, and really, they aren't nearly as perfect as they like to pretend to be." A glance back at Punk, sweet smile turning patronizing. "No offense, of course."
"None taken, they can take care of themselves." Punk nodded toward Max's shirt. "You guys have got a cute little set up. I'm sure it'll be an amazing match." His tone was doting.
Max was turning more fully toward him, a familiar expression rising to his face, something in Punk heating up in response, but it wasn't either of them who spoke next.
It was Cole. "Thanks. You wanna head out, Max?"
Max went still. Eyes flickering between Punk and Cole.
Punk smiled serenely.
A short glare before he turned toward Cole. "Yeah, yeah, I— I'm all good. I'll text you when I get to the hotel, maybe we could—"
"No, no, I was thinking we could get something to eat. My treat. You did great tonight."
Max's eyes were so damn expressive still. He could lie so well, and Punk was always aware of that, but it didn't make the lies any less pretty.
The warm brown color was almost shining. "Yeah? Okay. Sure. Take a car together?"
Cole tossed an arm around his shoulder, blocking out Punk, directing Max. "Sure, Max. Bye, Punk," he called absently over his shoulder.
That couldn't pass. "Need any more advice, you can find me on Saturdays, Adam. You know I know my way around."
Cole's shoulders visibly tensed, Max sending him an uncertain look, and Punk figured that that was perfect, even if they walked away without a further response.
Cherry on top was Max looking back one more time before they disappeared down the hall.