Disclaimer: The author is in no way, shape, or form in any form of association with World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), any of the wrestlers mentioned in this story, or anything else. I just wrote the thing. Please enjoy.

If you ever asked Dean what he thought was the main positive to being friends with Roman Reigns, his immediate answer would be the fact that he could actually keep up, and that's to be said in more ways than one. He can keep up in the gym, he can keep up with Dean's mind, and most importantly, he could keep up when they went to the bar.

They were drinking buddies, to say the least. It's how they had originally started bonding. It didn't matter what point of their friendship you asked about, there would always be one major event that involved getting drunk off their asses. FCW days, Shield days, and current days? One of the best way they bonded was through drinking, which is exactly what they're doing now.

It's not even a special occasion. It's just another Wednesday night and they're sitting in the bar across the street from the hotel they were staying in. They had been there for quite a while and were feeling pretty good, if the smiles on their faces were anything to go by. They both take just a moment to knock back what was well over their 10th shot, but they both refuse to admit they lost track back around the 7th.

Dean is snickering loudly at something that Roman was saying, but ends up full out cackling when Roman finishes. It draws several looks their way, but people had long since stopped asking for photos and autographs. It wouldn't have done much good if they had tried, anyway. Both men felt less like famous wrestlers and more like average buddies in a bar right now.

"Fuck, see, if I had been there for that, that guy would have got a fist to the face much faster than he had," Dean is telling him, just the slightest slur to his words. Roman is looking at him with a bright smile as he says this, waving at the bartender for two more shots. "You've got way too much patience for people like him."

"I have to have patience, else I wouldn't be able to deal with your ass," Roman says fondly. His gray eyes are slightly glazed over, but not quite as much as Dean's. Roman had a bigger dinner, though; at least, that's what Dean would say to defend himself.

"I resent that," Dean tells him with a soft snicker, making a grabby hand at the shot the bartender was putting down. When his fingers clasp around it, he knocks it back without even waiting for Roman. Roman watches, that fond look still on his face. Dean coughs lightly and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, grinning. "I am a fucking delight to be around."

Roman laughs, picking up his own shot and knocking it back, humming afterwards. "Never said you weren't, bro," he tells Dean, who is still looking at him with a goofy grin on his face, eyelids sliding half shut. Roman decides it might be best to check the time and gives an awkward giggle when he manages to finally read the numbers. "Shit, we gotta head back to the hotel."

"Aw," Dean whines, but he's already pulling out his wallet, throwing down some random bills and winking at the bartender. "No fun. But that's alright. Better get going before I gotta carry you out of here." Dean goes to stand, proceeding to nearly fall immediately. "Shit!"

Roman catches him, standing from his stool as well. He understands why Dean had nearly fallen, but he manages to keep himself upright somehow. "Having trouble there?" Roman asks with a cheeky smirk when Dean was finally able to stand on his own two feet again. Dean just glares at him and gives a small shove. The short-haired man attempts to stalk towards the entrance of the bar, but it's more of a half-angry stumble. Roman pays his own half of the shots and leaves a generous tip for the bartender quickly before he's following after him.

The walk across the street is easy enough, as the chill of the air sobers them up long enough for them to know they wanted out of the weather as soon as possible. It's as they're in the hotel lobby and waiting for the elevator that Dean is leaning against him like he thinks Roman is stable enough on his feet to take the weight of both of them combined.

"Don't be falling asleep on me," Roman is huffing, giving Dean a small push when the elevator doors open. Dean gives an incoherent noise of disapproval, but moves anyway, leaning instead against the wall of the elevator as the doors close once more and Roman pushes the floor button for Dean's room first. He thinks the man is going to need a little bit of help getting there.

Dean is eerily quiet as the elevator begins to move and Roman is half concerned he would end up emptying the contents of his stomach out onto the floor, but Dean manages to keep everything down. When they get to his floor and the door opens, Dean is moving away from the wall and out into the hallway.

"One foot in front of the other," Roman tells him, just to be an asshole. What he doesn't expect is for Dean to actually look down to make sure his feet were moving, proving to only confuse him and make him stumble.

Roman is there to catch him, wrapping an arm around his best friend. Dean is immediately grabbing onto Roman's arm and they both stumble against a wall. Dean can't help but laugh as Roman tries to get them both upright once more, but it's cut off as he turns around in Roman's arm and realizes just how close they are.

Their noses are nearly touching, their alcohol soaked breaths warming the other's chilled face every time they exhaled. Their eyes lock and there's a sudden intensity that has Dean's hands tangling into Roman's hair while the arm around Dean's waist tightens, bringing their bodies closer. It's the sound of a nearby ice machine that causes their minds to clear before they could close the distance.

Roman is quickly moving away with a low, awkward chuckle when Dean's hands release his dark locks. "Don't actually look at your feet this time," Roman murmurs, glancing at the door number next to the wall they collided against and being thankful to see that it was, in fact, Dean's room.

Dean seems to notice this as well and just shrugs easily. "If I fall this time, I can actually just sleep on the floor," he mutters, his cheeks colored with a pretty pink that Roman doesn't think is from the alcohol or the cold. "I'll see you tomorrow, right, uce?"

"Of course. Breakfast and the gym," Roman confirms with a grin and Dean grins back at him before he's unlocking the hotel room door and disappearing inside. The door closes with a soft click and Roman is left standing there, feeling oddly like a coward.

The thing is, it's not like that was the first time something like that has happened. No, it's happened more than a few times before. Only when they're drinking, though, so they never really talked much about it when they were sober besides a few passing jokes. They were friends, not to mention that Dean was straight. And Roman was too, of course. But maybe the fact that he adds that as an afterthought while he mourns over the fact that his best friend is straight is a sign of something. Maybe he's not as straight as he seems.

But, as previously stated, there had been similar moments every other time they drank too. They would get too comfortable and courageous and their train of thought would go down the wrong path. Sometimes, it was Dean who initiated it all; who would put a hand on Roman's arm or lean in just a little too close, who would give him that grin and maybe a little wink that promised so much more. Sometimes, it was Roman who did it; who gave a bright smile and a seductive look, whose eyes would go half lidded as he watched Dean's every move, who would put his hand on Dean's shoulder, his back, his hip. They were both guilty of playing this game of chicken and then losing courage when the time came to do something about it.

It didn't come up in the conversation the next morning, but it was still fresh on their minds. Dean was starting to get tired of never getting what he wanted, too. He was getting tired of always having it within spitting distance and never grasping it and keeping it there. It was prying away at his mind.

Back in their Shield days when it started to get real and intense, there had always been something else to distract them. Seth being the main thing. And it wasn't to say that Seth was a bad distraction, no. Seth was their common ground. He was Dean's anchor and Roman's light. He balanced them out, the team. Even he had noticed the tension between them, but if they didn't mention it, he didn't either.

With Seth gone now (and both of them still bitter about that never-closing wound), they just found more comfort in each other, and with comfort came the unbearable tension. It took another two weeks, though, before things came back to another bar in another town. They are both just beginning, only on their third shot, but Dean is a man on a mission tonight.

The bar is a bit further away from the hotel they were staying in, but it isn't quite as crowded as some other places and no one is even looking their way besides the bartender. They're just two buddies having a weeknight out on the town, just like always. Roman is murmuring away another story about another encounter in a bar he had when he was younger in that low, rumbly voice of his that Dean can't even concentrate on the words.

Roman could totally be straight, for all Dean knows, and he isn't sure if he was willing to risk his friendship and lose that last connection he had to their past with Seth to figure it out for sure. But it has to be done, because if it wasn't, Dean is going to bash his head into the wall.

Which is, of course, why Dean cuts Roman off mid-sentence after his fourth shot to ask, "Did you and Seth ever…?"

Roman looks off-put for a moment, taking his own fourth shot before really looking at Dean again. "First of all, that was rude," he tells him. He's always sure to correct Dean's manners like the damn mother he is. Dean mutters a half-assed apology that seems to satisfy Roman for now, as he continues with, "and second of all, did me and Seth ever what exactly?"

Dean fiddles with his empty shot glass before signaling to the bartender for two more. Dean knocks down his fifth one as soon as he can, filling the liquor warm him before he shrugs awkwardly. "You know, stuff." Dean can't bring himself to say any more than that. He feels like such a coward, but he looks at Roman as the man knocks back his shot, pleading he would at least try to understand.

As the liquid slides down Roman's throat and he glances over to Dean, he sees the pleading look and feels himself crumble some. "Some stuff," Roman finally concedes, because you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know what Dean's talking about. "He kissed me once, but that's about all that happened." Dean bites his lip some and nods, his eyes slowly sliding away from Roman and down to his empty glass. "Why'd you wanna know?" Roman asks, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious.

Dean motions for yet another round and picks up his glass when it's set down, nodding for Roman to do the same. Begrudgingly, the Samoan does, and they both knock both their drinks. Dean gives a little cough around his, but just clears his throat.

"Would you… wanna do stuff with me?" He asks, it sounding awkward even to his own ears, but he's leaning in just a little closer with a soft smile on his face to make up for it. Roman searches his face for a moment, just to see if he was being serious. When he couldn't find any trace of a lie, he cracks a small smile of his own.

"I suppose we could, if you wanted to. I don't want you regretting anything in the morning. Thought you were, you know, straight," he murmurs, but that kind of makes him a hypocrite, because he thinks of himself as straight still too.

"I am," Dean immediately defends himself, but he wasn't exactly sure of how true that was when he's flirting with his very male best friend. In another attempt, Dean says, "Thought you were too." Dean's smile was slowly slipping off his face as he shuffles awkwardly in his seat. "Look man, we don't have to–"

Roman is quickly shaking his head, moving a hand to Dean's shoulder, than sliding it into his curls. "I want to," he assures quickly, biting his lip for a moment before smirking, his heart hammering away in his chest. "But I think we should get back to the hotel first."

"You read my mind," Dean murmurs, giving a more confident smile as he slides off the stool, Roman's hand trailing from his hair to his waist, speaking promises for a good night.

So, this work was slightly longer before I decided that this was a much better stopping place, but if I get enough requests for it, I will post the expansion to it as a drabble or something.

I hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless.

Reviews would definitely be appreciated.

Love you guys!

~Ash