Warnings: Mild Slash (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins), Kayfabe as possible.

"I'm not happy!" Seth barges into the office after the Raw taping, and almost winces at the sight that greets him. He's glad that the passion hasn't left their marriage, but really pawing at each other should be left behind locked doors. It's not best for business to walk in on The Authority making out.

"Seth!" Stephanie looks at him coolly, not at all like a woman who not five seconds ago was happily eating her still grinning husband's face. "You're not happy... Why?" She sits, all prim and proper for a heartbeat, and then the calculating face of a shrewd businesswoman descends, making Seth feel more relaxed. She's far easier to deal with when she's in bitch mode.

"Heyman's pet monster is in my dressing room." Seth sneers, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck with the towel around it. "I wanna get out of here, but-"

"My client has a deal he'd like to discuss with you, Mr Rollins." For a man so substantial Paul Heyman moves like a jungle cat, all silent and cunning. There's something intrinsically untrustworthy about the man, and it sets Seth's teeth on edge.

"Deal?" Hunter finally chimes in, smirking at Heyman, and then scowling when Heyman dismisses him. There's bad blood there, old bad blood made worse by very differing opinions on He Who Must Not Be Named. Seth has to admit that the Harry Potter fan in him likes using that title for him, and at least its far better than heaping shade on him, a man who give zero fucks about the WWE. It's clear he wishes no ill-will to Seth, so mazel tov to him in return.

"What deal?" Seth isn't comfortable with this, and he sure as hell isn't happy about it, but Heyman isn't a man to back down easily, so listening is the only choice anyone has.

"Well..." Heyman looks uncomfortable, and Seth scowls at him, wondering if it's more than indigestion that has Heyman fussing with his tie. "Brock did offer to take you out." There's something awkward around Heyman's eyes, but there's a genial little smile on his face. A smile that no sane or sensible man would trust.

"Go get your beast outta Mr Rollins room." Stephanie isn't a man though, she's a woman, and she's usually ten steps ahead of everyone else, apart from Heyman, but that's because he's played the same games a million times before. He's so far beyond what's considered intellectual in the WWE that its laughable really. Seth might not like Heyman, but he can respect the man, can respect what he's done for himself, and for the business, because at the end of the day, it's all about what's best for business. Heyman is a man that knows what's best for business, behind the bluster and the hyperbole, Heyman knows that what's best for business is Seth. "Then we'll talk." Stephanie smirks, and Heyman dips his head at her, leaving the little office. "Seth..." She pulls the kindly mother act quickly and well. It's almost easy to forget how vicious and spiteful this woman can be when she's smiling so sweetly at you, but that's the point. Stephanie is a sharp and calculated woman, but she has to be. Wrestling, Sports Entertainment, is a male dominated arena, being a woman is at once her biggest asset and her greatest weakness. "You run along, go get changed, we'll talk to Paul." She smiles again. Hunter fidgets slightly beside her, looking uncomfortable, and like he wants to run off and play with his friends. This Raw Reunion was clearly an excuse to have his BFF over for shits and giggles, but being COO doesn't leave too much time to play.

"Yeah, go on, get." His hand rests on Stephanie's shoulder, and Seth nods at them, leaving the room, heading back to his dressing room, J and J Security flanking him. There are times he can almost picture them as his brothers, times when he'll start saying something that he knows would made Roman laugh, or Dean pause in his manic twitching and pay attention, only to remember the sound of breaking bonds. Steel chairs against muscled backs, a year of allegiance washed away in a single action. He didn't sell out, he bought in. He didn't betray them; he left them to their own devices. He made The Shield, he broke The Shield, it was his perogative. It doesn't stop him from half-running past where he knows Ambrose likes to hide out, twitching and muttering darkly to himself. It doesn't stop him checking the crowd, dreading Reigns ploughing his way through it. It doesn't stop him from looking over both shoulders just in case.

His locker room is thankfully empty, and he showers without too much concern. He's puzzling over what Heyman's deal could be, puzzling over what the hell Lesnar could want, puzzling over which shirt to wear, a t-shirt or a nice button-down. Brock did offer to take you out. Heyman is a cryptic man, and there's a tiny part of Seth that knows Brock isn't. Take him out means destroy him before the Rumble; it has to mean that, because there's no alternatives.

" Like on a date?" He Who Must Not Be Named's words drift through Seth's mind, and he shakes his head, clearing the thoughts, and the laughter that sounds painfully like his brothers' from his mind. He doesn't need brothers, he has The Authority. He pulls the t-shirt on, tossing his blazer over his shoulders, and starts fussing with his cell.

"You might wanna put on something nicer." Stephanie doesn't bother knocking, and Seth glances up from his phone to look at her.

"What?" He snaps, turning his attention back to his cell, clicking on a few more keys, sending a message off.

"You heard. Put on something nicer. You're going out to dinner, look pretty." She laughs, and Seth stares at her for a couple of seconds before rooting through his bag, producing the button-down shirt to wear under his blazer rather than the t-shirt he's wearing, changing quickly.

"Happy now?" He mutters, once he's shrugged his blazer back on. Stephanie eyes him critically, like a mother surveying her daughter before going out on a date. She suddenly produces a brush from her purse, and indicates that Seth should turn around. She brushes his hair with the kind of brutal efficiency he's not experienced since he was a child, securing his hair in a low tail.

"There..." She sounds satisfied, and Seth scowls at her, feeling terribly like a child in her presence. "Oh don't pout. You're getting free food, and a good deal out of it. Smile, there's a good puppy." She laughs, and Seth grimaces what might pass for a smile. "Work on that." She squishes his cheeks, and he can feel a pout on his lips.

"We all set?" Hunter pokes his head around the door, and Stephanie nods, taking Seth's bags from him, handing them to her smirking husband. "Have fun." Hunter laughs, and Seth wants very little more than to demand to know what's going on, but it's clear that The Authority has no intentions of sharing their little plans with him.

"This way, Mr Rollins." Jamie and Joey are waiting for him, looking as much the same as ever. They lead him out to a waiting car. Jamie drives, Joey riding shotgun, his attention on his cell phone.

"Where are we going?" Seth's lazily trying to read who Joey's texting, a tiny little part of him hoping it's He Must Not Be Named, if only because it inspires a little hope that they'll get to finish their feud, that Dean will be able to hear that name without twitching about with his fists clenched, and teeth grit. Not that Dean's sanity and stability are Seth's concern, but a stable, sane Ambrose is best for business, even if he's in the mid-card for now, it's not going to stay that way forever. You can't keep Dean Ambrose down for too long, Seth knows that.

"You're going to dinner." Joey doesn't look up from his cell, and Seth flops back with a sigh. He likes these guys well enough, but they're in The Authority's pocket, not his. They're not going to give him anything if they've not been sanctioned to by The Authority.

The restaurant is nice, completely empty save the waiter, and the vague shadows of Heyman, Joey and Jamie somewhere near the entrance. Seth has no idea what the fuck he'd been expecting, but for Lesnar to be sitting, fussing with cutlery, waiting for him, isn't it. Lesnar stands when Seth approaches, and pulls out his chair, pushing it carefully closer to the table once Seth's sat down. He takes his own seat, and looks uncomfortable. The waiter hands them both menus then wanders off, looking just as uncomfortable as Brock.

"So..." Seth starts, and Brock's pale eyes flicker up to him, and then back down to the menu in his hands. "Right." Seth gives up at the first hurdle. Small talk isn't for Brock, talking isn't for Brock in general and he can only hope that eating in a vaguely civilised manner is for him, because Seth is hungry, but in no mood to watch a beast fed.

"May I take your order, sir?" The waiter approaches cautiously, eying Lesnar the same way you'd eye a sleeping tiger, ever worried it'll spring awake and devour you whole.

"He'll have the same as me." Brock's high voice draws the waiter's attention, and Seth listens to Brick reel off his order. It's not bad sounding, a lot more refined than he was expecting, but to be honest Seth had been expecting Brock to order a cow, butchering and cooking both optional.

"And to drink?" The waiter asks, and at this Brock looks up at Seth.

"Oh... Uh, just a water?" He's not a big drinker, and he really wants his wits about him. There's something dangerous about Lesnar, something unrestrained, something that even Heyman can't harness, and it's unnerving.

"I'll have the same." Brock mutters, focusing on the flowers in the centre of the table, and Seth sits there staring at the wall behind Lesnar's head, trying to work out what the hell he's doing there. "I..." Brock starts but quickly trails off, his eyebrows knit over his tiny little eyes.

"Why am I here?" Seth relaxes his posture, trying to make it look like he's comfortable with this whole bizarre situation.

"To eat." Brock offers, fidgeting in his chair. "I said I was going to take you out, baby." Seth hopes he manages to hide the twitch in his jaw at that term of endearment. It was strange on Raw, and now it's even weirder.

"I was expecting that to be a lot more violent." Seth laughs, and Brock glances away, his ears tinged with red. In his mind, Seth can hear his old teammates laughing at him, and he shakes his head, trying to clear the sound of their gleeful cackling from his ears. "I didn't think dinner was on the cards, and that's not what I meant. Heyman said there was a deal to be made." The waiter comes over with their first course, setting down two dainty little appetizers, and Seth watches Lesnar take up a little fork to eat with. It's almost comical, this tiny silver utensil in Lesnar's bearlike paw, but he manipulates it well enough.

"This is best eaten hot." He says, not looking up, and Seth picks up his own fork, poking at the food briefly before taking a bite. It's good, damn good, and he can't stop the little moan of pleasure from escaping him. "You like it, baby?" Seth manages to not notice the second baby of the night until after he's nodded and taken another bite. The food is good, far too good to be concerned with trivial things like being called baby by Brock Lesnar.

The waiter comes and clears the plates away, refilling their water glasses, and once more Seth and Brock are left alone. There's a surprisingly comfortable silence between them. Seth had expected to feel awkward and incredibly uncomfortable with Brock, but he doesn't, he feels almost calm. Lesnar is vast, and intimidating, but he's also just a man. He's not the beast Heyman makes him out to be, he's as human as Seth, deep down at least. There's a long moment of silence, where it looks time and time again like Brock is going to say something, but he doesn't and Seth almost wants to break the silence, but it's kind of funny watching big tough Brock Lesnar, the Beast Incarnate, fidget.

"Your entrees." The waiter sets a plate down in front of Seth, and then one down in front of Brock, and leaves swiftly.

"Tell me about Heyman's deal." Seth can't take the silence anymore, and Brock actually looks grateful to be asked a simple, straightforward question.

"We work together." He takes a drink from his glass, and smiles almost shyly at Seth. "In the match at the Rumble... No one wants to see Cena go over, so we work together to stop him. I'll focus on him..."

"That's it? Sounds a little straight forward for a plan from Heyman." It really does sound too easy, and too good to be true. There's more to the plan, more than likely more than Heyman's told Brock, because that's Heyman for you. He trusts no one. The one person who was taken far into his confidence is He Who Must Not Be Named, and everyone knows how that worked out. Mutual distrust is the only thing you can rely on in wrestling, and Heyman distrusts everyone equally.

"It's all Paul E's told me." Brock looks consideringly at Seth, and Seth can't help but smile back at him. It's easy to engineer trust in straightforward men like Brock, and it really seems like Lesnar wants to trust Seth. "You think he's not telling me everything?"

"Does he ever tell anyone everything?" Seth laughs, and Brock grins, looking strangely boyish and young.

"No... Well, maybe the Runt, but that all went awry." An odd little look flits over Brock's face, something mournful, and a little sad. "He's going to get himself killed, and Paul'll be devastated." Brock takes a mouthful of food, a wry lilt to his lips.

"You've no faith in his abilities in the octagon?" Seth smirks, and takes his first bite of food. "This is really good." He smiles, and strangely, he's happy with the incredibly happy look that crosses Brock's face.

"I'm glad you like it... It's my favourite meal on the menu." He takes another bite, and Seth nods. Lesnar has good taste if nothing else. "The Runt'll be fine... Dana'll do right by him. He's a draw, and Dana knows money." Brock chuckles, and sips at his water again. "You think he's gonna get destroyed?"

"Hmm... I dunno. I'm not a UFC guy." Seth shrugs, and smiles at the little light that sparks in Brock's eyes.

"I'll tell you about it." He launches into an explanation, and Seth finds himself listening more intently than he'd expected. Brock, when he's interested, knowledgeable and passionate about something, is far more eloquent than you'd expect. He imparts information in a way that's easy to understand, not glossing over difficult parts, but rather explaining them simply without being patronising.

The waiter comes, taking their empty plates, in the middle of Brock's explanation, leaving dessert in their place, and Seth has to admit Brock has impeccable taste when it comes to food. The dessert is a perfect ending to the meal.

"So... The dirtsheets have you looking to go back to the octagon... The WWE Championship has to look pretty paltry compared to the UFC one." Seth smiles, and Brock nods consideringly.

"When this contract is up... I don't know, so I can't say what I'll do next, but the WWE will need a new Champion soon enough no matter what, baby." Brock's eyes are fixated on Seth's lips, and he makes sure to lick them slowly, daintily like a cat preening.

"I'm in this match too, you know." Seth smiles, and Brock looks up to his eyes, there's a hint of understanding there, a hint that Brock gets what Seth's getting at.

"We all know no one wants to see Cena as Champ again... Time for the WWE to buy in?" Brock looks very pleased with himself. Seth smiles at him softly; if he's honest, it was a rather witty line.

"Well... Maybe." Seth shrugs, and keeps eating his dessert. He can feel Brock staring at him, and if he's honest, it's not as unnerving as it was. Lesnar has some kind of infatuation with him, and that only plays into Seth's favour. If Lesnar weren't interested in him, he wouldn't be here having dinner. If the only reason for there to be a deal was that Heyman had calculated that being on The Authority's side was better than not being on it, there would be no need for Seth and Brock to dine together. This is the main objective here. Lesnar wanted to spend time with Seth, Heyman wanted to make a deal with The Authority. This is killing two birds with one stone, and Seth thinks he's played his hand remarkably well in all of this.

"So, next week..." Brock trails off, his hand sitting on the table, palm up, waiting for Seth to rest his in it. There's no harm in having allies, he supposes, and even if it falls apart, he has the briefcase; he can cash in, and get the Championship from whoever wins. At the Rumble, Lesnar's offer to focus on Cena, suits Seth just fine. One quick Curb Stomp, and the title's his no matter who's head he's stomping on. It's very easy for Seth to make this decision. He rests his palm on top of Lesnar's with a sweetly venomous smile on his lips. Brock raises Seth's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, and Seth's smile loses some of its edge, softens against his will. Brock's not a great conversationalist, but he is sweet, and that has to count for something, what he's not sure, but something.

"It's a date, Brock."

littleone1389 - That is who to blame for this! (That and me discovering that live tweeting Raw is weirdly fun... This is why I was glad Twitter was blocked in China, I knew I'd end up being ridiculously into it for a while - Damned VPN!)

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