Title: The Marks You Leave Behind

Rating: M for sexually explicit/suggestive scenes and a decent amount of language

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. This is a completely fictional work.

A/N: Sort of like an evolution of the Ambrollins relationship based on scenes inspired by some type of mark/scar from the other person (I hope that makes sense). Everything generally takes place in the WWE kayfabe/storyline universe. Also, my first slash fic! This admittedly felt a bit weird while I was writing it initially but I couldn't resist the Shield's collective hotness. So let me know what you guys think of it.

Seth and Dean step onto the hotel elevator, about to head out to the gym.

"Dude, look at this," Seth begins suddenly, lifting his sleeve up to expose dark red imprints on his upper arm. "My arm is fucked up. We were just grappling and messing around yesterday. Why'd you have to hit me so hard?"

"You fucking deserved it," Dean retorts, making a face. "I told you I wanted an orange soda from the vending machine and you gave me grape. Who the fuck likes grape?"

Seth just stares at his friend for a few seconds.

"This is about some stupid soda? I told you they didn't have any orange for god's sakes!"

"I said I wanted orange. If I wanted grape, I would've said it."

"I have a date this weekend too. Asshole." Seth just continues to look at his arm.

"Aww, I'm sorry. Did I mess up your pretty face, too?" Dean mocked.

"Shut up," Seth mumbles. Dean laughs at him.

"It hurt like hell too," Seth goes on, ignoring him as he pulls his sleeve back down. "I needed an ice bath afterwards."

"Stop being dramatic. I know you can handle it," Dean waves him off. The elevator stops abruptly.

"All this over some dumb soda," Seth mutters under his breath, as the doors open. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?" He shakes his head and walks out into the lobby with his duffel bag in hand.

"Says the dude who randomly offers people grape soda," Dean yells out before following him.

Seth doesn't bother to look back as he directs his middle finger towards him.

Everything starts out innocently enough.

They go out to celebrate after their win at Elimination Chamber. The alcohol is flowing, the music is pounding and their inhibitions are low. Everyone is having a good time.

But when the romantic prospects don't seem especially amorous that night, Dean and Seth both stumble back to their hotel room, still drunk and still unsatisfied. (Roman, of course, always gets lucky).

"These clothes are so fucking tight," Seth groans, practically falling into the room. He makes his way over to the bed, pulling his shirt over his head simultaneously.

"It looks good," Dean says appreciatively, licking his lips as he gives Seth a once-over.

"Fuck off, Dean," Seth says, shaking his head as he loses his balance trying to get his pants off.

"You want to give me a hand with that?" he smirks wickedly.

Seth tilts his head and looks at Dean, not understanding his suggestion. He instead focuses his attention on his pants again, which are still stuck around his knees. Dean moves closer to him in response.

"We're both in need of some assistance, right?" Dean smirks, nodding at an unmistakable bulge in his boxers.

"Assistance?" Seth asks, still woozy. Seth reaches up to feel his cheeks.

Yep. Definitely hot. He's going to wake up with a huge headache tomorrow.

"Don't tell me I'm the first guy to ask," Dean chuckles. Dean gleefully spins around, making Seth even more disoriented. Seth falls backwards to sit down on the edge of the bed and tries to concentrate on Dean's words.

Fuck…hand…assistance…

Oh.

"Don't flatter yourself," Seth replies quickly, without filter. Dean laughs as if Seth just revealed some scandalous information.

"So you don't mind if we…?" Dean asks curiously, suddenly getting right up into Seth's personal space, bracing his hands on the mattress, one on each side of him. Dean gives him a predatory look.

Seth has seen Dean work his magic when they go out. He knows how irresistible and seductive Dean can be when he's intoxicated. He just never thought he'd be on the receiving end of it one of these days.

"What…?" Seth trails off, his mind working on so many things at once, including keeping himself steady. Dean cuts him off with a hot kiss that makes him forget everything. When Seth's body starts leaning into his kiss, Dean teasingly pulls away with a sly grin.

Seth looks equally surprised and flustered as he realizes what just happened.

"Bu-but you're Dean!" Seth blurts out.

"You're incredibly lucky that you're gorgeous," Dean mocks playfully.

Dean goes in for another kiss, but this time, there's no hesitation on Seth's part. So when Dean grabs the back of Seth's head, Seth eagerly responds by running his hands down Dean's strong arms. Lips, tongues, and teeth all begin to tangle together in a rapturous sea of pleasure.

When Dean breaks away from Seth, he bites down on Seth's lower lip, eliciting a strangled gasp and the taste of blood on Seth's mouth.

"No one needs to know," Dean grins mischievously, pushing Seth down onto his back rather unceremoniously. He seductively slinks his way up Seth's body.

"I don't know if this is- " Seth stops suddenly, as he takes in the image of Dean pulling out his dick. When Dean envelops his mouth over its head, Seth's body shudders violently as it's overtaken by the most wonderful sensation he's ever felt.

Dean slides his mouth out and raises his head so that he's still only millimeters away from Seth's erection. Dean slides his hands up Seth's inner thighs, beneath his boxers and allows his thumbs to rest lightly against Seth's balls

"What were you saying?" Dean smirks, quirking his eyebrow and pulling his boxers down his legs with the backs of his thumbs as Seth arches up involuntarily towards Dean's mouth.

But Seth doesn't seem to hear him in his drunken and blissful haze. All Seth sees is Dean's lips, glistening and swollen and perfect. All he seems to understand right now is how much he misses the warm wetness of those pouty lips on his skin.

"Wh-Why'd you stop?" Seth stammers out confused. Dean chuckles a bit.

"Just like watching you come apart," he tells him, flicking his tongue out to the tip.

It happens more often than they'd like to admit after that.

Sometimes Seth thinks Dean gets him drunk on purpose. What was once a celebratory drink after every pay-per-view becomes a drink after every RAW, which in turn becomes a drink after every show.

Seth never protests.

Somehow, they always end up pressed up against the wall of a shoddy backroom of a nightclub, furiously tearing at each other's clothes as they're drunk with desire.

But the last few months have been different.

And as they finish each other off, relishing in the euphoric state they're in, Seth can feel it.

They don't hurriedly throw on their clothes or silently stagger out of the room with shame and guilt like they used to do.

They take their time. As if these secret meetings where they can let go and be themselves should be cherished.

As if they never want this to end.

"You're mine," Dean mumbles, sloppily placing kisses on his collarbone. Dean digs his fingers deeper into the side of his hips, making a lasting impression.

"I –" Seth starts just as Dean grinds his hips against his. "-oh," Seth moans, extending his neck towards Dean and placing his hands on his chest. Dean drags his tongue up Seth's Adam's apple and reaches for his mouth.

But it's just a simple peck on the lips this time.

Dean pulls back slightly and stares into Seth's eyes.

"I know," Seth whispers breathily, closing his eyes as Dean nuzzles his forehead against Seth's own.

It's brutal.

Seth viciously stabs a steel chair into Dean's stomach. And then lashes it into his back. And then into his side. And then into his chest.

Again and again and again. Dean loses count eventually.

Each hit feels like a shot through his heart. It's as if every moment of the past two years meant absolutely nothing to him.

Like they meant nothing.

Dean could handle it if it were Roman. They hadn't been in each other's beds or whispered sweet-nothings in each other's ears. They hadn't moaned each other's names in sheer ecstasy or begged each other to stay the night.

They were brothers, sure. But they were never lovers.

Dean lays there on his back for what seems to be an eternity. He never wants to get up. He never wants to wake up.

When Roman tries to pick him up off the mat, he falls back down immediately and shuts his eyes.

He hurts all over. Everything just fucking hurts.

But the marks on Dean's back and chest are nothing compared to the bruises on his heart.

There's a fine line between love and hate Dean guesses. Or maybe lust and hate rather.

When they fight each other, Dean makes sure that Seth remembers every single one of the marks on his body.

And he makes sure Seth knows he was the one who gave them to him.

What's that line Seth is always saying in interviews?

Oh, right. Good friends, better enemies.

He's not wrong.

But Dean would venture to say that the phrase, 'Good friends, better lovers' works too.

Too bad it seems as if they were never friends.

Seth has always been an opportunistic person. When Hunter came up to him one day and asked him to consider turning on the Shield to set himself up for a shot at the becoming the next WWE Heavyweight Champion, Seth couldn't resist.

Dean and Roman were just collateral damage in the end. There were times that he may have exaggerated the truth a bit on the microphone, but everything was a means to an end. He didn't think Dean would take his so-called betrayal, or his words, so personally.

Which is why Seth is a bit surprised to see him – and not him and Roman – continue to attack him during his matches.

After all, Seth doesn't hate Dean. He hates that he constantly tries to stop him from becoming champion at every turn, but he doesn't hate him.

He would never sleep with a guy he hates. Well, that's not technically true he realizes, but he certainly wouldn't do it on a regular basis.

He runs his fingers over the red scratches on his shoulders left from the clawing Dean gave him during their match at Summer Slam. It reminds Seth of a time those scratch marks were engraved in his skin for an entirely different reason. A time when everything was simpler.

A physical relationship. That was all.

Seth could have anyone he wanted – guy or girl. He didn't need Dean Ambrose. That's why it was so easy to end things with the Shield. To end things with him.

He pushes aside all the tempting images that pop into his head unexpectedly.

Because Seth doesn't need Dean. And he certainly doesn't want him.

At least, that's what Seth says to himself repeatedly as he longingly stares at Dean's number still stored on his phone and waits for him at the local bar.

Dean is always either all in or all out. There's never an in-between for him. You're either with him or against him. That's why it's more than just Seth turning his back on the Shield for him.

He doesn't let just anyone into his life and he almost never lets anyone into his own bed. Dean gave Seth everything he had.

He gave him himself.

'It's personal' doesn't even begin to describe it.

But he doesn't cry and he doesn't sulk over it. He learned a long time ago that crying never gets you what you what you want.

He looks in the mirror at the swollen, purple lump on his head from Seth's foot stomping him into a pile of cinder blocks. His vision blurs and all he sees staring back at him is Seth painted in red.

He grins.

He is all in. And he wants Seth Rollins.

He just happens to be against him this time.

Dean bites him during a match.

Dean Ambrose fucking bites him.

Seth goes to his own doctor the next day because he wouldn't put it past Dean to actually live up to the rabid stray dog comparison people give him and actually have rabies.

It really would explain a lot.

His doctor laughs at him when he tells him that he's worried about rabies transmission because this insufferable, wild man bit his hand.

Seth doesn't find it so funny. An indentation of a fucking lunatic's teeth are embedded into his shoulder blade.

Every morning he wakes up and looks in the mirror only to see teeth marks on him. His teeth.

It reminds him of the unstable psycho who constantly interferes with his rise to the top of the WWE. It reminds him of a time when he was on top of the WWE with him during their time with the Shield.

And way back in his mind, it reminds him of when he was lying on top of Dean, with his legs spread underneath him and their bodies pulsating with pleasure all those hazy, drunken nights ago.

And it drives him fucking insane.

The Authority throws him to the curb like the expendable security detail they think he is. When Seth comes back, groveling to Dean, Dean wants nothing of it.

Dean just punches him in the face.

The shiner Seth sports for the next couple of weeks makes him really happy.

The ensuing guilt and need to give him another chance don't.

Dean sees Seth approach him out of the corner of his eye and he wants to turn the other way, just like he has the last dozen or so times Seth has tried talk to him.

But he doesn't.

He blames it on his lack of energy today. Seth must take this as a good sign though, as he strides towards Dean with a bit more enthusiasm.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hmm," Dean hums in a non-reply.

"Look, can we talk? It's been weeks since I left the Authority and you're still ignoring me."

"Whatever," Dean just shrugs his shoulders.

"Like in private?" Seth quirks his eyebrow up at the noisy dining area full of wrestlers, production assistants and caterers.

"Talk or don't," Dean denies, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't care either way."

"Look, I'm sorry," Seth touches Dean's arm, but Dean roughly pulls back.

"For what? Not telling me you wanted out or for stabbing me in the back? Or for trying to end my career? Or for – " Dean rages.

"I get it," Seth stops him. "I did a lot of shit."

"What the fuck, Seth?! You didn't just do a lot of shit. I do a lot of shit," Dean yells at the edge of hysteria.

Seth catches the curious eyes of some fellow wrestlers, and tries to coax Dean into a quieter area. "Let's continue this someplace else," he suggests again.

"No." Dean shakes his head. "You wanted to talk."

"I messed up," Seth starts, sighing audibly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Not good enough."

Seth awkwardly stands there silently for a few minutes trying to figure out what he should say. Dean, surprisingly, doesn't walk away.

"Roman and I have been eating lunch together," Seth offers at last.

"Well, good for you two. Should I send you two a fucking greeting card?" Dean spits out. "Add a handwritten reminder at the bottom to watch his back?"

"I was just saying…"

"Roman's always had a soft spot for you," Dean says with disgust. "He's obviously an idiot for falling for your crap again."

"Look, I know I was selfish," Seth admits. He looks at Dean and hesitantly places a hand on his waist. "I've always been selfish."

"Yeah, you're right." Dean doesn't pull away. If Seth is surprised or happy, he doesn't show it.

"I'm not saying that we need to re-form the Shield or anything. Or even work together. I just…" Seth trails off, staring down at his fingers which were now tracing the hem of Dean's tank.

"I miss you two," Seth says quietly. "I miss you."

The subtext isn't lost on Dean. And if Seth wants to be a manipulative bastard, no matter how genuine the words coming out of his mouth are, well Dean can be too.

"You fucking turned your back on the Shield," he hisses. Dean takes a step forward, closing the already small gap between them. Dean grabs Seth's chin to force him to look into his steely eyes.

"You have no fucking right to say that you miss me," he snarls. Dean teases his fingers down the curve of Seth's waist and down to his hips without breaking eye contact.

Ignoring the waves of anticipation and desire coursing through both of their bodies, Dean slides his fingers up Seth's shirt and traces the smooth skin above the edge of Seth's pants. He slowly, roughly, drags his fingernails up Seth's stomach, making sure that scratches will be there the next morning.

Dean leans in to Seth's ear and moves his hand so that he holds him still by the hair. Seth closes his eyes.

"You turned your back on us."

Dean abruptly lets go of Seth and steps back. Seth exhales shakily and opens his eyes from the loss of contact. A rush of cool air passes between them and the moment is gone.

Dean leaves Seth to stand there utterly confused and aroused and alone, oblivious to the blatant staring of everyone. As Dean roams down the halls that day, he has to wonder if the enjoyment and satisfaction he feels is actually from toying with his former partner or if it's due to the mere proximity of the man who used to light his body on fire so long ago.

It's irritates the hell out of him that he even has to consider the latter.

Seth turns the door handle to the hotel rooftop to find Dean puffing out a cloud of cigarette smoke as he sits on top of a cooling fan. Dean turns his head over his shoulder briefly at the noise.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Dean scowls, not bothering to move.

"I wanted to see if you were okay," Seth says evenly, walking up to Dean.

"Who told you I'd be here?" he asks, dropping his cigarette to the ground to stomp it out.

"Roman…and before you go apeshit on him, I dragged it out of him. He's loyal to a fault," Seth admits, coming up next to him.

"Yeah, he is," Dean agrees, crossing his arms. "Is there something you need?"

Yes.

Sleep.

Understanding.

A second chance.

Mornings where he doesn't feel like the worst piece of shit in the world. Days where the loneliness doesn't eat him up inside. Nights where impure thoughts don't consume his dreams and jolt him awake in a sticky sweat.

Him.

"I just wanted to check on you," Seth replies instead. "That match against Cesaro was rough."

"I'm fine. All in one piece," Dean says emotionlessly, before extending his arms out in front of him and shaking them around to demonstrate. "See?"

"Can I sit?"

"Free country, I guess," Dean says without emotion, shrugging. Seth takes a seat next to him, but he gives Dean some space.

"Dean…don't…" Seth trails off.

"Don't what?" Dean retorts, "Don't fucking hold a grudge? Because you know I do."

Dean always knew what he was going to say. He could always read him well.

"I'm sorry, okay? How many times do I have to say it? How else can I show you? I wasn't thinking about the repercussions and I didn't think you would hate me for it," Seth says honestly. "I didn't…I didn't actually think you could hate me."

Neither of them say anything for a long time. It's not uncomfortable, but silence has a way of making Seth overanalyze every single thing that's happened, every single word he's spoken to him, in the past three years.

Finally, Dean just sighs heavily and unclenches his fists. The anger that consumed him for so long just seems to die out.

"I never wanted to fight you, Seth." Dean looks up at the summer sky and takes a deep breath.

"So why did you then?"

"You were my partner. My brother. My friend. My lover," Dean confesses, shaking his head. He turns to look at Seth with big, shiny eyes. "If I didn't have you, what did I have?"

"Dean…"

"I was never fighting against you. Not really," he shrugs again. Dean looks down and begins picking at his nails. "As dumb as it sounds, I was fighting for you. You took us away. I needed you. I needed us," Dean goes on softly. Dean pauses a bit and Seth doesn't say anything to interrupt his thoughts.

"Part of me…part of me just didn't want to let you go," Dean admits, his voice breaking.

"You don't have to let go; I'm not going anywhere anymore," Seth reassures him. Dean steals a glance at him and wordlessly looks at him with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty.

Aren't you?

Seth understands immediately. "I'm here, Dean," Seth whispers. Seth raises his hand to Dean's cheek and caresses the back of his hand against his stubble.

"It's weird in a way…I didn't realize how much I needed you in my life until you ignored me, didn't want to fight me, wanted nothing to do with me," Seth says, tracing the outline of Dean's jawline. "But I see it now."

"I know was afraid to admit what was going on before. I was afraid to admit what we were," Seth keeps going, a bit more hoarsely, slowly following the curve of Dean's lips with his fingertips. "What you are to me."

"Seth…" Dean starts unsurely.

"I've spent months of restless nights torturing myself with the fact that I couldn't tell you. I know now," Seth assures him. Seth goes to lean in, but pauses to look at Dean with inquisitive eyes. When Dean doesn't object and just closes his eyes in anticipation, Seth brushes his lips ever so slightly over Dean's lips. It's soft and gentle and makes Seth warm all over.

This time though, there's no alcohol involved. It's just them.

The kiss is slow and tenuous, much like their complicated relationship recently. But once Dean grips the bottom of Seth's shirt, Seth takes it as a sign of encouragement. He gently prods Dean's lips to ask for permission to enter, and when Dean relaxes and parts his lips for Seth, there's a mix of release and content in the sound that escapes both of their lips.

Dean is finally letting him back in.

Seth presses his body against Dean as he moves down to his neck and pulls lightly at the smooth skin near his collarbone with his teeth. He bites down gently while moving his hips against Dean in slow, hypnotic circles, drawing a deep, guttural groan from him. Seth runs his tongue across the spot, alternating soft licks with firm presses, while he brings his fingers up to run through Dean's hair.

"I know," Seth reiterates against his neck.

A whimper of disappointment escapes Dean as Seth breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against Dean's forehead in order to catch their breaths.

"You're mine," Seth whispers, sweeping Dean's messy hair out of his eyes. Dean closes his eyes and smiles for the first time that night as he murmurs against Seth's lips.

"Always was."

A/N: Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated!