Hello there people. I'm back with a third instalment, at long last.
My laptop broke in the middle of me writing this, and I had to wait a number of weeks before I got the thing back; hence the rather long delay. But, I've got it back now (and it's still broken), though I can access my files at long last! Means I can get back to work!
I would like to say again a wholehearted thank you for the reviews, follows, and favourites; things like that is what makes doing this worthwhile
I was listening to a particular album whilst writing this, and one of the songs struck me as being very appropriate. So, this chapter features 'Kiss Me Like a Cobra', by Doro Pesch; listen to the song, it's brilliant!
That's probably enough out of me I think, you're here to read a story, not listen to me nattering away ;)
Onwards we go my lovely people.
Dean's senses were assaulted by the odour of stale sweat mixed with alcohol and vomit; a truly odious scent that seemed to permeate every bar like this, in every city, in every country. The atmosphere was as generic as the smell: cramped, dark, rundown, everything seemed to be in a state of general disrepair. Like every other backstreet bar the world over.
Music trickled through a broken sound system, trying to pump out music as uninspired as the bar through a near constant crackling; yet another show of the general sorry state of the building. Whilst most would have avoided places like this, it was exactly what Dean was looking for. He'd lost track of how long he'd been perched on the bar stool, stooped over the sticky bar surface, time seemed to no longer exist in places like this.
Dean picked up the smeared glass in front of him, and downed the liquid in one go; the burning trail it left in his throat barely registering, though making him feel marginally better. Bourbon, the usual solution to all of life's problems. He returned the glass to the grimy bar surface with more force than was strictly necessary, and blinked in slight shock when a full glass appeared before him a matter of seconds later. Dean made a noise that could be interpreted as thanks, and looked at his surroundings once more.
The bar was exactly how one might imagine such a place would be. Dingy, dirty, with an almost permanent haze of cigarette smoke in the air; there were a few other patrons, all middle aged men bent over greasy pints of beer, sitting at isolated tables in the near impenetrable gloom. It was the type of place a person goes to with the intention of forgetting the world, and drowning their sorrows at a cheap price and with complete anonymity. People could drift in and out like wisps of smoke, remaining unnoticed, nonexistent. No one cared why anyone else was here, no one would talk to you or look for an anonymous fuck; it was a place for silence and getting pissed.
That nonexistence, almost living oblivion, was what Dean craved at this moment. Things had taken an unexpected turn; things had been said that he never expected to hear; now he simply didn't have a fucking clue where he stood.
"I love you Dean"
The words flowed around his mind, fogging over everything else; no other sensation or thought seemed to register, aside from a certain sense of fear. It had been 5 hours since Seth had uttered those words, and still Dean had no idea what to do with them.
"I love you Dean"
He'd been fucking Seth, and being fucked in turn, for years; it had been a comfortable arrangement of sorts. It was a bond of brotherhood forged in the fires of the wrestling industry and, for years, that had been all they had needed.
Friendship, brotherhood, mind blowing sex, but until now there had been no mention of love; just the acknowledgement of each other's affection. Which raised a certain question in Ambrose's mind: why did Seth's admission frighten the shit out of him?
He snarled in frustration, swiped the grimy glass up for what felt like, and probably had been, the tenth time that night and swallowed the fiery liquid. Dean felt as if his life had suddenly become incredibly complex; the old ease that had once existed had been swiped out from under him without a second thought, leaving him breathless, unable to continue as he once had. Seth and their relationship, if it could be called that, had been the only thing keeping him sane in the ever changing world of professional wrestling. Seth was his rock, his best friend, his brother, and the man who apparently loved him.
"Trouble with the wife?"
Dean was brought out of his sullen reverie by the innocent question, and the rumbling voice that gave it. He turned his head towards the source of the noise, and squinted through the haze towards the lumbering figure that had emitted the sound. Apparently the bar staff had changed without him even noticing it; a true testament to precisely how much attention dissipates in social voids of this nature, yet it suited him perfectly. These places were almost designed to serve loners, and render times passage as noticeable and firm as a faint wisp of smoke.
Dean raised an eyebrow slightly at the new arrival, and suppressed the urge to groan. The man looked just as one might imagine a worker at a rundown bar would look; long greying beard, equally long greasy hair, a selection of piercings, the hint of tattoos above the tattered t-shirt sleeves, and as wide as Rusev. The man would have made an intimidating wrestler, and would have looked at home in the Wyatt family.
"Yeah, you could say that" Dean mumbled in response, wishing fervently that he could vanish into one of the smoky corners, away from any more questions. He really didn't want aimless conversation; stewing in his own tumultuous thoughts was far more appealing.
The mass of flesh and hair that was the bartender grunted in response, and nodded his head as if the answer was exactly what he expected. He picked up a dirty rag and began wiping the bar top, no doubt the reason for why the place looked as grimy as it did.
"Most of the fuckers who come here have the same problems. Kids, job, wife." another low rumble of words, accompanied by the clink of Dean's glass being topped up yet again "This shithole would go out of business otherwise"
"Wow, I actually have something in common with someone else, who'd have thought?" The standard Ambrose sarcasm had arisen, as he swirled the amber coloured liquid around his glass "This tastes like shit"
The wheezing, hacking noise the bartender made in response would have left most people fearing for their life, though the wide grin on his face would have dispelled any such worry. Regardless, the sight of him smiling, and the sound that was meant to be a laugh, would have sent shivers down the spines of most men.
"Trust me boss, everything in here tastes like shit"
XXXXXX
Seth had retreated to the plush bedroom, and the equally luxurious bed; not out of exhaustion, but as an attempt at finding solitude. He was lying under the thick duvet, head pressed between one of the downy pillows and a shirt he'd removed from Dean's suitcase. It smelt of the man, some combination of sweat and body spray; whilst the scent did nothing to wash away his misery, it brought him some small amount of comfort.
He felt as if his heart had been shattered into millions of pieces, all because of a few words.
"I love you Dean"
He'd wanted to say that for so long, confess how much Dean had come to mean to him, but it had all seemed to go so wrong. Dean had become distant and tense the moment he'd said them, as if the prospect of love scared him; then he'd left the hotel room as soon as he could, without so much as a good bye. Seth had wanted more from their relationship for so long, but had never felt the time was right to say anything. He'd thought now was the time, had he really been so wrong?
For some years now, he'd found himself thinking more and more of Dean. They'd always been close, the years of travelling the world together, slowing working their way up to the WWE built certain bonds, and theirs had been strong. It had started off as simple friendship, but had grown into so much more after one drunken night. As the tears began to slide down his tanned cheeks, mingling with the dark hair of his beard, Seth thought about their first night together, when this grand adventure of theirs had begun.
XXXXXX
They sat in a somewhat rundown hotel room, a bottle of whiskey sitting between them on the cheap wooden table. The accommodation wasn't flashy, and it wasn't especially comfortable, but it did the trick for the two men. This was simply as place to stay whilst they competed in the local arena, honing their abilities, biding their time until a shot in the larger leagues came their way. They loved this industry, but they hoped for future opportunities; a chance to demonstrate their abilities with the greatest names in the wrestling industry.
Seth leant back in his worn chair, arms crossed behind his head. He shut his eyes, as a gentle grin spread across his face; he felt relaxed and content at this moment. The night had been exciting, strenuous, but exhilarating; he'd had a tough opponent, a very tough opponent, and now he was sharing a bottle whiskey with that opponent, a lightly tanned man with floppy dirty blond hair.
Dean Ambrose.
He was talented, a little out there admittedly, but a talented individual. And fucking attractive; so Seth thought at least. He had a body that anybody would be envois of; not hugely muscled, nor skinny, Dean had the perfect medium. Muscles where there should be muscles, bulging just enough to draw the eye; his stomach was flat and lightly toned, with a light dusting of hair all over his torso. But, the man was also in all likelihood straight as a proverbial arrow. Sexual interests aside, the two had hit it off from the moment they first met; their personalities just seemed to meld together perfectly, both more interested in the company of themselves than others, with a passion for the job.
He was a man that you could feel comfortable with in a matter of moments. Ambrose may have chosen to keep to himself for the most part, but the man was incredibly personable. One of the numerous things Seth had quickly come to like about the man. His passion, his athleticism, his cutting sarcasm, and of course his body; Seth couldn't help but lick his lips at the mere thought of what he could do to the blond man given the chance.
Seth was brought out of his relaxed reverie by the rough voice of Dean Ambrose. Even the sound of the man speaking was enough to send blood rushing throughout his body. Wrestling him had proven even worse; he opened his eyes, and looked at the man.
"So then Seth, what does a guy like you normally do to relax?" Dean shifted in the rickety chair slightly, enough to bring his elbows to rest in the scratched table top, blue eyes focused on the long haired man before him, with an intensity that Seth could almost feel.
He swallowed, and began to fiddle with the chipped mug he'd been drinking from. Rooms of this standard rarely came with glassware, or a complete set of cutlery and bowels. That little fact was just something that caught his attention, as he sought a distraction from the intensity of the other mans focus; he took a sip of the fiery liquid, and exhaled before answering the erratic man he found himself sitting with.
"Watching wrestling recordings, keeping in shape" Seth paused, snorted a slight laugh at how odd the question had been. Chances are the two did exactly the same thing in their off time "Drinking alone in bars and wondering when I'll get a fucking chance in this industry"
Dean's response was the warm, rough rumble that was his laugh; a sound Seth had very quickly come to find extremely attractive. It was such a harsh sound, yet so soothing at the same time. The laugh alone seemed to represent much of the man himself: always at extremes, yet so appealing at either.
"You know Seth, I didn't think you'd be such a loner" Dean chuckled again, eyes focused on the slight blush beginning to rise on Seth's cheeks "I mean, look at you. Great company, smart as hell, pretty damn good looking as well"
Ambrose leant back, and crossed his arms behind his head; biceps bulging, a cocky grin plastered across his effortlessly handsome face.
"Tell me this Seth. Why isn't a guy in your position out fucking every tight pussy you can find?"
Seth's cheeks coloured slightly at the direct nature of the question and the fact that his answer was not one he really enjoyed giving. Whilst Seth had never been bothered by his sexuality, he had never enjoyed direct questions about it. He was a man who preferred those who accepted what answers he gave, and so many people seemed to feel the need to question a professional male wrestler who preferred sleeping with men. As such, he rarely spoke about who he slept with, rarely joined in the sexual banter and bragging most of the locker room participated it. Seth found it all distasteful.
"Umm..." Seth trailed off, as his blush grew even deeper, became even more noticeable, despite his tan; none of which was helped by the smirk that had appeared on the annoyingly handsome face of the man before him "I don't really do that..."
Dean raised an eyebrow in response, his smirk growing ever larger. There was a strange twinkle in his eye that left Seth feeling excited and nervous all at the same time; the man was a true mystery.
"You don't really do that? Are you sure it's not that you'd rather fuck a guy instead?" Dean slowly stood from the cheap wooden chair he'd been sitting on, smirk still in place, and sauntered around the table towards Seth "I've noticed those stray glances Seth, the longing looks, and that impressive boner in our match earlier"
Dean now stood in front of Seth, looking down at the blushing man, an almost predatory look on his face; the whole thing unnerved Seth, but excited him at the same time. Already, he could feel himself hardening in his jeans, almost painfully so. It was the intensity of the man, and the air of danger that seemed to surround him; it all left him weak at the knees with desire.
Looking up at Dean Ambrose, looking into his stormy blue eyes, Seth saw something he hadn't expected to see. Pure, raw sexual desire; burning below the surface, bubbling and boiling, simply awaiting the chance to spring forth and devour all within sight.
Ambrose ran his tongue over his lips slowly, the movement drawing Seth's attention, and holding it effortlessly; he brought his hand to the table top, drummed his fingers against the surface, before resting his hand over Seth's and squeezing it gently; his natural warmth causing the longhaired man to jump ever so slightly. Without a word, Dean pulled Seth to his feat, smiling slightly at the almost glazed expression on his handsome features, almost like a deer caught in headlights, Dean thought.
Still holding his hand, Dean led Seth towards the rooms only bed; a small, thin affair that was hard and uncomfortable. Like everything else in this hotel, the bed was cheap, and barely efficient; the sad price for still being in the minor leagues. Seth was shaking slightly, some odd mix of excitement and shock; he'd not expected the evening to end like this, and certainly not with Dean Ambrose. When they reached the bed, Dean took Seth's other hand with his free one, and looked into Seth's hazel eyes, eyes that conveyed passion and a hint of nerves below the surface. Dean smiled at the man before him, and turned them around, so Seth's back was to the bed. With a gentle move, Dean pushed the tanned man back onto the bed, and gazed down at him, eyes trailing over his still clothed body, and the evident bulge in his jeans.
Slowly, Dean Ambrose knelt on the bed, straddling Seth's waist, eliciting a small gasp from the man when he began to rotate his hips slightly, grinding down every now and again. Dean leant forwards, resting his hands either side of Seth's head, before gently wrapping them around Seth's neck; hips still rotating in a continuous rhythm, but picking up pace and force as Seth's groans grew ever louder. As Seth began to buck his hips, seeking even more friction, Dean lowered his head, till there were a mere few centimetres between them. He licked his lips, and spoke the last coherent words that would be heard that evening, voice rough with desire.
"I want you to destroy me Seth, I want you to fucking destroy me"
With those final words, their lips melded together in a rough kiss.
XXXXXX
The memories of that night still made Seth smile, and still made him hard very quickly; though that particular effect was dulled at the moment. The events of the night had left Seth emotionally wrought, unable to think of anything but Dean. His touch, his kiss, every fibre of being called out for the man; Dean Ambrose was like a drug, a drug that Seth was hopelessly addicted to.
Can you feel my heartbeat
When danger comes around
I sense a sudden smell of poison
Joined by a hypnotizing soundA deadly game
A mind to tame
A deadly kiss
Eternal blissYou put me in a state of trance
Seduce me like a cobra
Could it be our last romance
When you kiss me like a cobraLove is constant danger
Cos' it makes me feel alive
My life never seemed much stranger
When killing me means loveA deadly game
A mind to tame
A deadly kiss
Eternal bliss
Mind alight with worry and despair, he sent a text to the one other person he felt as close to as he did to Dean. Roman Reigns, former partner in the Shield, and a close friend. The message was brief, and simply explained what had happened, ending with a simple enquiry: had Roman seen Dean since he'd left?
With the words playing through his head, Seth slowly drifted into a restless slumber; plagued by dreams about Dean, and the life he wished with all his being that they could lead.
XXXXXX
After spending close to 4 hours sitting in a dingy bar, knocking back bourbon with wild abandon, Dean had at last made his way out of the dim interior. Now, standing on the street under the slight drizzle, dim street lamps providing minimal illumination, Dean took a deep breath of the cleansing air. He felt it flow through him; reach every corner of his being, similar to the relaxation exercises taught with meditation. He needed it, needed a way to remove the cloying feeling that the bar had been steeped in. It was a claustrophobic environment, but bars of that nature always were.
He swayed from side to side, head swivelling at the same time. Did he know where he was? Maybe, but most would say Dean never knew where he was. A hazy memory drifted to the surface, fighting through the alcohol induced fog; Dean had a feeling that the hotel was off towards the left...or maybe it wasn't. Mind still reeling as dramatically as his body, Dean set off towards the hotel, or at least the direction he thought the hotel was in, intent on offering some form of an apology to the man he'd managed to hurt earlier that night.
XXXXXX
In his less than sober state, Dean had made numerous wrong turns, and had gotten lost on more than one occasion. After an hour of wondering aimlessly around the streets, he'd finally settled on a taxi. 20 minutes after falling into the back seat, which stunk strongly of cigarette smoke, the vehicle had pulled up outside the hotel. It seemed that Dean's wanderings had taken him further off course than he'd have originally thought. The driver turned out to be a passionate and lifelong fan of the WWE, and had taken great pleasure in trying to talk to Dean about anything and everything he could think of that related to wrestling. How intense was the training, what were the other superstars like, had he ever fucked one of the divas; the list seemed to be endless. However, the overly friendly mad had offered Dean the journey for free, an offer that Dean couldn't refuse, even in his drunken state; though he did have mind enough to sign a clean napkin the driver had lying on the front passenger side seat.
Now, out of the taxi, and a beaming driver speeding away to show off his signed napkin to his friends and colleagues, Dean found himself stumbling through the grand entryway of the hotel, eyes set on the staircase. Despite the sheer number of floors in the place, and Dean and Seth's room being located on the top floor, Dean didn't think he could handle the lurching nature of the lifts, especially with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed.
The walk up took longer than it would normally, but navigating so many flights of steps whilst the world span around you was not a simple task; damn near impossible, but Dean wasn't known for giving up.
Finally at the top floor, Dean swerved down the corridors, richly coloured carpets blending together to a nauseating degree; it made Dean feel like throwing up. He came to a stop outside the room he shared with Seth, swaying from side to side to even more, before he collapsed against the wall, panting to regain his breath. He paused for a few minutes, trying to sober himself up to no avail, before sliding around to the door. He took a deep breath, and raised his fist to knock...
"Don't do that Dean"
Dean paused, blinked in confusing, and turned his head towards the source of the deep voice. He blinked again, when he saw exactly who was standing there, leaning so casually against the wall; Dean was certain he hadn't been there a moment ago, but the man was deceptively fast.
"Roman...What're you..." Dean swayed again, as an intense feeling of nausea washed over him, and sagged against the wall "Fuck, drank too much"
"No shit" The large Samoan had moved from his spot on the wall, and was now standing in front of Dean, and the smaller man simply couldn't recall him ever moving "Come back with me Dean, crash on the spare bed"
Roman slipped his arm around Dean's shoulders, and effortlessly pulled him off the wall and against his side, Dean sagging against him almost immediately; Roman was a stabilizing wall of muscle, and held Dean up with no noticeable strain. Dean allowed himself to rest there for a few moments, supported in the strong grip of one of his closest friends. After a while, he tried to pull away, but found he could not get out of Roman's grip.
"I need to see Seth, try to..." Dean stopped mid sentence, mind clouding over yet again. He really had drunk far too much, more so than he normally would.
"Seth told me what happened. Sleep it off brother, patch things up another day" Roman had always been succinct with his words, a fact Dean now appreciated more than ever; he felt the Samoan take a deep breath, and the grip tightened an inch more.
"I fucked up, didn't I?" Dean's voice was strangely small, lacking all of the confidence and bravado he was known for. Roman sighed, and began to slowly make his way down the corridor, towards his own room, pulling Dean along with him.
"Yeah Dean, you did"
Reviews are welcome, be they good or bad
Same line as every other time basically; till next time people!