A/N: Already posted this on Tumblr and AO3, but putting it up here, finally. Enjoy.

It's not exactly a new thing, trolling the streets to buy sex.

In a world where Roman Reigns is a popular enough wrestler he has women (and men) practically throwing themselves at him, he shouldn't need to do this.

But it ain't about need.

It's a thrumming itch just under his skin, a craving for something just this side of dirty-wrong to make him feel like he's something more than the cardboard-cutout Superman the WWE tries to make him.

Just a little bad to make him feel good.

Tonight:

Some random city somewhere.

Doesn't matter.

It's muggy and hot, the kind of night where it feels like being trapped inside a well-used gym bag. The kind of night where even the bricks are sweating, and the air is choked with the low scents of old sweats and older rotting garbage. Looking at the world is like seeing it coated with a layer of Vaseline.

The part of the city is all decaying buildings with boarded-over windows and drunken people staggering in diagonals across the uneven streets.

More empty than not.

Roman floats down one dim-lit street feeling weirdly like a ghost.

He rounds one corner, and there:

Tall, lean guy in a gray hoodie and blue jeans that have seen better days. He's halfway down the block, leaning against the wall in a way that's supposed to look casual, but isn't. The black ball cap he's pulled low over his eyes doesn't hide the way he's watching.

When Roman eases the car up to the curb beside him, he straightens out of his slouch, stretches, and saunters over like he's got all the time in the world.

Roman rolls the passenger window down, and says, "Hey."

Piercing eyes find Roman's. "'S up. Lookin' for some fun?"

"Might be. You offerin?"

"You a cop?"

"Think I'd tell you if I was?" Roman retorts.

Quick flick of a look, measuring and intent. "I'm a human lie detector, man. Yes or no?"

"Sure, buddy, whatever you say," Roman laughs. "I'm not."

There's a metallic tap-tap it takes Roman a second to realize is the guy's fingernails tapping on the edge of the door while he thinks. Eventually, the dude nods and says, "We doin' this or not, stud?"

"Get in," Roman tells him.

The guy complies without comment, folding his lanky body into the passenger's seat and gently pulling the rental's door closed. It's too dark in the car to see what color his eyes are, but man, those suckers are like harpoons, piercing into Roman's hide and drawing him in.

And when the guy talks, his voice is all mellow sandpaper and gravel. It's pure sex to Roman's ears. "So I got a few ground rules: I don't kiss, you don't fuck me without a condom, and I don't swallow. If that's all okay with you, then we can have some fun."

"I'm clean," Roman tells him. "I want kissing. I'll pay extra."

"You expect me to just take your word on that, man?" Gravel Voice scoffs. "Every damn guy and their dog says they're clean."

"You just said you were a human lie detector," Roman points out. "Tell me if I'm lying. I'm clean."

An irritated gust of a sigh, and, "Yeah, okay, you're clean." Gravel Voice's dark gaze flicks down from Roman's eyes to his mouth and back up again. "You're hot, too. Shit. Fine. I'll throw that in on top."

"I got protection, so what's it gonna cost me to fuck you?" Roman asks, thumb tapping a staccato beat on the steering wheel. When Gravel Voice names his price, Roman raises eyebrows. "Your ass really worth that much?"

Gravel Voice says, with just a hint of ego, "Top quality, man. Don't have all that many miles on it. I like to save it for, uh, special customers. But I want half now."

That's pretty standard, and Roman's ready, pulling out a few pills and passing them over.

Nimble fingers make them disappear like a magical pulling a trick.

Voila.

Roman's hand suddenly grows a mind of its own and wanders over to sweep Gravel Voice's baseball cap off. It's not the most pleasant feeling to card fingers through the guy's sweat-soaked hair, but it gives him a chance to get it off the guy's face. He's clean-shaven. Looks to be in his late twenties. Pretty regular face. Gray or blue eyes.

Looks like sex on legs, taken altogether.

He hooks his hand around the back of the guy's even sweatier neck and tugs him across the console and into heated a kiss, sweat-salty lips meeting in a kiss that's more a battle than foreplay: Gravel Voice is a firm mouth and a pushy, intrusive tongue; for somebody who said he doesn't kiss, he kisses like his life depends on it, frenetic and frantic, lips and teeth and tongue never still long enough to savor anything, hand clutching Roman's shirt like it's a lifeline.

Roman gives just as good as he gets, sucking hard on Gravel Voice's tongue and drawing out a groan that just feels wonderfully dirty inside this sauna of a car. He doesn't even know where his hands are, and doesn't care because it's his turn to push in and plunder Gravel Voice's mouth, which - damn - is gonna feel so good on wrapped around him.

Sudden pressure on his dick, and he tears out of the kiss, startled at the sight of a bold hand rubbing him through his jeans, and it lights his damn nerves on fire like someone poured a can of gasoline on them and struck a match. Want is usually a slow thing for him, heat building bit by bit as he works his way down all the familiar planes and angles of his lover's body.

What he's feeling right now - what he wants - is the exact opposite: the urge to grab and take and have, pound and get off, and-

A bright wash of headlights snaps him out of it long enough to register just how fogged up the inside of the car's already gotten, windows all covered in a haze that gives the street an unfocused look.

It's actually an improvement.

Hard nip of a kiss right above the line of his beard, and, "Should get out of here."

"Where?" Roman grunts.

"Up ahead," Gravel Voice rasps. "Where the pawn shop is. Hang a right. Drive about halfway down and stop. Kill the lights."

Roman clumsily starts the car and swings out into the empty night street.

Sweat's trickling pretty freely down his own torso, even with the air conditioning blasting away, but all he can think about is the strong hand massaging his throbbing dick through his jeans and the filth pouring into his ear.

"Bet you fuck like a stud," Gravel Voice is all but purring. His hand is relentless, squeezing and rubbing like Roman's dick is a genie and his pants are the lamp. "Bet you'll fuckin' split me in half with this thing, man. Feels like it could. Feels like I'm gonna be walking weird for a few days after I get this pole in me. Ya gotta let me taste it first, man. Just let me get my mouth all over that thing."

"De-damn, man," Roman groans. He swings a wild right turn into a pitch-black canyon of an alley, where there's barely enough room to breathe, let alone squeeze a car in. He has to slalom around silent, hulking dumpsters, but finally makes it to the halfway point and nestles the car in under a fire escape.

Before Roman can even ask if they're going to fuck in the car, Gravel Voice opens the door, climbs out, and says, "C'mon, stud."

The stale air smells vaguely of old urine. It's hot. Roman has no idea how Gravel Voice can even stand to wear that hoodie, when he himself has already sweated clean through his thin tee shirt and his jeans. Everything feels grimy, like even the brick walls are slimy with whatever trash is buried in the bellies of the enormous garbage cans.

Rough hands on Roman's shoulders shove him back against an even rougher wall with a suddenness that's as unexpected as it is jarring. He actually grunts when his shoulders slam backward.

He can't see what's going on, but he can feel it:

Hands fumble his jeans open and shove them down rudely to expose his dick, and calloused fingertips wrap around it, stroking it back up to full hardness before a tongue traces a wet stripe along the bottom of his shaft, and an eager mouth closes over his tip.

He lets his head fall back against the wall behind him, not caring how gross it is.

That's what showers are for.

Gravel Voice works him over like he's just dying for it: all long licks and slupring deep sucks and even deeper swallows and a firm-but-gentle hand massaging Roman's balls, and, "Fuck, you taste amazing. Oh my God," gasped out between taking Roman down his throat.

Roman's reduced to threading fingers back into that sweaty mop and groaning out his encouragement in sounds that are mostly vowels and totally incomprehensible to him.

Then he hears: "Fuck my mouth," and coherent thought, after that, is just gone.

Everything is just input:

Straightening to use the hand on the back of Gravel Voice's head to thrust deep into his mouth, fast and furious, hearing Gravel Voice gag and choke, but not letting himself care because the hands on his hips are pulling and not pushing him to stop.

The sparks snapping through his veins: this is wild. Even if they're in an alley with basically no chance to get caught, there's still a chance they'll get caught.

Spiraling way too close to the edge, and having to pull back.

The filthy sound his dick makes as it - painfully - leaves Gravel Voice's mouth.

Yanking Gravel Voice up by the hair and spinning to shove him back against the wall this time, one hand braced beside the guy's head and the other caught in the damp V of the hoodie.

Frantic, sloppy, spit-slick kisses in the dark, wet mouths slipping and sliding against each other without a hint of coordination or control.

Reaching down to find that Gravel Voice has already shed his pants, and he's as hard as Roman is, dick throbbing in Roman's hand. He groans something into Roman's mouth when Roman latches on, but Roman just chuckles and swallows it down, stroke-stroking that thick hardness.

A small bottle of lotion or lube pressed into one hand, along with a foil-wrapped condom, and a breathless, "Fuck me, man. 'M already prepped. C'mon. Fuckin' take me. I want that dick."

Roman shuts him up with a sharp kiss and an even sharper slap on the hip before he spins the guy around and shoves him face-first into the bricks.

He feels drunk and wild, totally out-of-his mind and spinning, not at all himself, and some distant part of him wonders if this is what Dean feels like most of the time, everything up front and nothing held back. Unrestrained.

Free.

He wishes it wasn't so dark; maybe then he'd be able to see the answer for himself.

Somehow, he manages to slip the condom on without breaking it, and smears a generous amount of what turns out to be lube all over himself.

There's extra on his fingers, so by touch he finds his way to Gravel Voice's ass, and dips in to find that, yeah, he's already a little loose and wet with lube.

A little more won't hurt.

He pushes his way in and eventually seeking fingers find Gravel Voice's prostate, and suddenly Gravel Voice is grinding down on his fingers, riding them, fucking himself on them.

It is the most obscene and wonderful feeling.

And it makes something in Roman snap: he lines himself up and pushes into that slick heat quickly. Probably too fast, but he doesn't meet any resistance. Just slides right in until the cradle of his hip meets the curve of Gravel Voice's ass.

"Fu-huh-huh-huhck," Gravel Voice moans, his voice muffled like he's biting his arm or something. "Oh my God."

Roman leans forward so his chest is pressing tight to Gravel Voice's back. "You good?" he murmurs.

"Uh-huh," is the gasped answer. "Holy - yeah. Yeah. Fuck me, man."

Roman surges up, driving his dick deep, and Gravel Voice jerks like he's been shocked, a startled, "Holyshitfuck" dropping from his mouth like a bomb.

He closes his eyes and drops his face against the feverish back of Gravel Voice's neck, fingers vice-gripping Gravel Voice's hips to guide them, his own pistoning in a tight rhythm.

The narrow alley becomes filled to the brim with the slap-slap of skin on skin, broken curses, and moans that melt into the grimy brickwork like they're part of it.

Too fast - way too fast - Roman feels himself skating up to that edge again, the tight friction igniting that fire in him again, and oh man, it's just the best thing.

The. Best.

But it can't end this way.

Not like this.

He stops fucking long enough to root around blindly for one of Gravel Voice's ears. He nips at the lobe and says, "Get yourself off. I want to feel you come just like this."

"Fuck, man, I thought you'd never ask."

Roman feels him tug-tugging away, an elbow bumping into him over and over again.

He nips at that earlobe again, and says, "My name's Roman. I wanna hear you say it when you come. So you don't forget whose dick you got in you."

Gravel Voice gasps and tightens up. "Jesus fucking Christ, Roman, move. Fuck me."

It's the best suggestion Roman's heard all damn night.

And, as he pounds away:

"Oh, fuck, Roman. Fuck, I'm - shit." Tighter still. It's almost like trying to pound a board. The friction around his dick is unreal. Then, "Fuck. Fuck, Roman. Roman…"

He goes over, shuddering, and Roman's right the hell behind him, coming so hard some tiny part of him is worried he'll blow out the end of the condom. Coming so hard all he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears. Coming so hard it leaves him tingling all over, numb and spent and sticky and wet and…

"…God," he mutters.

"Uh-huh."

"Damn."

"Mm."

"Good."

"Mm?"

"Good."

"Top quality. Told ya."

"…yeah." Roman drops his forehead onto the back of Gravel Voice's shaking shoulder, snakes an arm around the front of the guy's hoodie, and just breathes.

How long they stand like that, Roman doesn't know, but it's eventually Gravel Voice who shifts and murmurs, "As nice is all this cuddling is, Rome, my knee's starting to stiffen up. Can you…?"

"Oh, sorry," Roman murmurs. He grabs the condom and eases it and his dick out, then feels his way over to the nearest dumpster.

There's not much he can do about cleaning himself up without any napkins or towels, so he has to settle for tucking a sticky dick back into his jeans.

Not that it matters much.

He feels grungy from his hair to to his shoes, slime-coated and stinking like stale garbage.

But good.

Calm.

Mellow.

Cleaned out.

Back in control.

Like he'd shed a layer of plastic.

The car's dome light seems sun-bright, and he finds himself squinting against it as he climbs in the car.

Gravel Voice climbs into the passenger side looking every inch as wrung-out wrecked as Roman feels, hair lifeless commas plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed and his clothes drooping.

But the smile he offers Roman is genuine, dimpled. "Top quality, right?"

Roman tries and fails to fight off a smile of his own, and grabs the rest of the money. "It was worth it."

Always is.

"Told you. That was my thing - even back when I did it for real. Make it worth it."

And -

-whoa.

Hold up.

Game over.

Roman slams the mental brakes and looks around at Dean so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "When you…? What?"

Dean uses his sleeve to wipe his face. "Hey, can you turn on the car? I'm fucking roasting."

"Take off your sweatshirt," Roman mutters. He cranks on the car anyway, though. "What do you mean when you did it for real?"

"A long time ago, back when I was first trying to get into the wrestling business, some rich dude offered me some money for a blowjob. I needed the money, so I did it. A few months later, one of my bookings fell through, and I was broke again, and the opportunity was there. I wasn't, like, proud of it or anything - kinda disappointed I ended up like my mom - but I had to do what I had to do to get by. Anyway," he adds, jamming his hat back down, "let's get back to the hotel, huh?"

Bewildered and alarmed and…so many other things, Roman shakes his head. "Wait a second. We should - we need to talk about this."

Tired eyes squint at him from across the car. "What's to talk about? It was just a handful of times over a couple years. When I absolutely had to. Like I said, ain't something I'm proud of, but it was what it was. You know? I was safe and the guys were surprisingly not dickheads - just dudes looking to get their rocks off. No big deal. So - what? We gonna sit here all night, or are you gonna get us back to the hotel? I need a shower like now."

Roman really, genuinely wants to protest because it's not every day that the boyfriend he'd just spent the last hour pretending was a prostitute just casually announces, 'Oh, by the way, I actually was a prostitute.'

It's not exactly news that Dean had had kind of a rough past, but this?

And this was the third or fourth time they'd played this game.

When all along-

"Yo, Earth to Rome. Seriously. I wanna get back so I can ice my knee and pass out. Or do I gotta get out and call a cab with all my hard-earned cash. C'mon."

Roman…

….doesn't even know what to say.

What to think.

It's suddenly real hard to make eye contact.

In the end, he puts the car in drive and begins the long slog to the hotel through the summer heat.

Thanks for reading.