Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. We all have different views on what does or does not happen after dying, so please don't be offended by my portrayal of Hell in this.

Rating: M, for explicit sexual content; warnings for minor violence, mentions of implied non-con/rape, mild D/s, coerced voyeurism (they're all mild though)

A/N: This premise was somehow inspired by the "pope" promo on RAW and the whole Kane dragging Rollins to hell thing a few weeks ago. I have no idea what I was trying to do with this, but whatever. I'll say this takes place in a few years. It's kind of a future AU though with kayfabe intact.

Hell is a weird place.

On the first day of Seth's initiation, he's unceremoniously stripped of all his clothes and belongings, whipped, doused in gasoline, and set on fire. Literally two seconds later, he's forced into a deep pool of blood with the rest of the seedy underworld newbies. When he trudges out of the disgusting fluid, with blood drenched all over his raw welts and scorch marks on his naked body, every part of his body is hurting so much that numbness is really all Seth feels.

He's told to find some new clothes in the discarded piles and Seth scrambles to find something in the chaos before someone throws him into a caravan to transport him to another area.

He thinks there's going to be more – maybe boiling, maybe dismemberment, knives, firing squads…but then, nothing.

No eternal suffering or torture by demons to speak of ever again after that – though that is admittedly odd, since Kane is the one who killed him, but that's another story. His body even heals itself after a few hours.

No, Hell just seems to be a place where people carve out little niches for themselves to rest in, men from all walks of life and different eras in history gathering to play poker, women leering and gossiping about the new recruits.

Normal almost.

Certainly not what he expected.

He doesn't understand if Hell is actually some weird afterlife or if he's just been reincarnated in some alternate universe, and honestly, he's too scared to really ask.

Because he learns quickly that despite being dead and despite the magical healing of his first day's wounds, his body still functions the same way as when he was alive. As in, it does get weak and he still needs some sustenance of sorts to keep up his appearance.

The only way to get food – or anything – is through the Marketplace. The Marketplace is really just some sweaty, grungy, unbearably crowded street market with people of all sorts trying to hawk anything from used shoes and morphine to potions and internal organs.

Except the sellers and buyers are all murderous psychopaths and the like.

Seth learns the hard way that good, real food is hard to come by though and the people who do get it are powerful, scary people down here.

But an entire week's worth of some gruel and with added "flavor" – which he believes to be dirt and chopped-up human liver – only costs the shirt off his back. The food's gross and unethical, but he's already banished to Hell anyway so it's not as if he has a choice, right?

By the second day, Seth realizes that hell is a lot more complicated than that though, and that maybe he does have a choice.

Hell seems to be governed by some type of archaic feudal system, not having changed since its inception centuries ago. He's heard that Hell is split into hundreds of different territories, each with their own overlords, foot soldiers and people. Seth guesses that Hell would be complete chaos if there weren't some system in place, so it's probably a good thing.

In the day-to-day life, at the Marketplace, Hell is run by a simple barter system and there are two ways to survive it in the long-run.

The first option is to be good at something and Seth's best, and possibly only asset has always been his athleticism and strength. Jobs requiring manual labor are scarce and filled quickly, while the waiting list for military positions is lengthy. The other positions involve very shady, very immoral practices and Seth's not entirely sure he wants to explore those alternatives just yet.

The second option is to have friends in high places. Not only can it get someone better food, blankets and clothing, but it also provides some protection from the more unsavory characters in Hell when soldiers turn a blind eye, which isn't exactly rare if cigarettes or liquor can be given in exchange.

The problem for Seth is that the people here don't seem to take kindly to him.

The common folk, the failures in life who consider Seth's troubles here as 'karma,' don't bother him. But the rapists, serial killers, mobsters, politicians…they're the ones who are used to getting what they want by any means necessary. Now usually, Seth wouldn't have a problem befriending awful people, but Seth's pretty sure they don't see eye to eye.

"Move it, pretty boy," someone shouts behind him as if on cue, interrupting his thoughts.

Before Seth can turn to respond, a large hand grabs the back of his neck and smashes his body, face first, into the adjacent wall. He hears a vaguely threatening, "Give up yet, pretty boy?" before he slumps to the ground.

By the time Seth comes to his senses, everyone is pointing and cackling at him as he goes to hold his bloody cheek. Seth stumbles off hurriedly before it becomes a bigger scene.

And he doesn't run off because of the physical abuse. Wrestling prepared him for this, and wounds heal even quicker down here. He can handle a little pain.

No, it's because if there's one thing that Seth absolutely hates, it's being humiliated and treated like a nobody.

He's heard rumors about the overlord for this territory – that he can help people like Seth by giving them protection. He also apparently knows everything, despite being a bit of a recluse, so even if he can't offer protection directly, he'll know where J&J ended up in here.

There are rumblings that the overlord's a bit of a loose cannon and most definitely dangerous, but Seth's desperate now. His once-beautifully sculpted muscles are slowly eroding, he's down to just a pair of frayed boxers after trading the rest of his salvaged clothes for a couple of fitness magazines (not a very practical choice, in retrospect), and that very, very terrifying group of ex-cons who were behind that violence the other day keep looking at him in the most disturbing way possible.

So he gets one of the more agreeable soldiers to show him where the overlord is, in exchange for a cigarette that managed to fall off a passing caravan of confiscated goods before Seth snatched it up. The soldier leads him through a maze of rooms and corridors until he drops Seth off in front of a large metal door blocked by two large men dressed in plain clothes with large clubs for weapons.

Seth looks at them expectantly. "I want to see the overlord."

"Is he expecting you?"

"No? I didn't realize-"

"Name?"

"Seth Rollins."

They briefly share a look and a shrug before stepping aside as the heavy door slowly lifts up.

Before Seth can question how weird that was, the door shuts behind him and shackles are immediately placed on his wrists in front of him by another guard, though this one is not as intimidating.

"Is this really necessary?" he croaks at the tightness. The guard just shushes Seth in reply and prods him in the back with a finger. They venture deeper into the underground labyrinth of nice marble walls and gold-plated lanterns in silence. Another guard, much taller and muscular than the previous ones, meets up with them at some point, and he leads Seth by his cuffs to another large door, this time of red-patented leather.

The more menacing guard strikes the gold knocker three times. Seth hears a muffled, obviously annoyed voice on the other side of the door in response. "I thought I told you that I didn't-"

But the guard opens the door anyway to reveal a lavishly decorated room, with more gold-trimmed furnishings, a display case of all types of weapons and an enormous table of food and liquor bottles.

And right in front of him sitting on a gold throne, in an open black robe with his head thrown back as a toned young man – a servant – takes him in his mouth, is a very familiar face.

"Oh. What's up, motherfucker? You finally made it."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Dean?" he asks, as the two guards push him closer, but still a good distance away from the throne.

Dean died a year ago by cardiac arrest according to the death certificate. But really, Dean was being an idiot by trying to do god knows what with a TV monitor yet again.

He can't believe this. He thought that being dead meant that he didn't have to deal with Dean ever again.

"Surprise."

Seth is about to turn around and call the whole thing off, but his curiosity gets the best of him. It's weird. Seth doesn't really feel antagonistic towards Dean anymore. Technically, he never felt that way until Dean insisted on making their relationship antagonistic, but that was another story.

Sure, there's probably still some residual bad blood (Seth won't deny that he still has the urge to punch Dean in the face sometimes, but he had that urge even when they were teammates so it's not any different), but it feels like a distant memory now. Seth spent a year of a Dean-less WWE after his death, and Dean, obviously, spent a year cultivating whatever influence he had to become an overlord in Hell. They moved on, he thinks.

And now that they're both here, dead, with no championship titles on the line or bruised egos over a broken relationship, the animosity that was there all those years just doesn't seem worth it.

In a way, it actually feels comforting to see a familiar face. At least he knows what to expect from Dean.

"You're the overlord? Seriously?"

"Only for this territory, but me and some of my guys are working on that. Good old-fashioned relentless brawling will get you further than any man-made weapon in the land of the dead. People don't really die here; they give up."

Seth raises an eyebrow and nods towards the large weapon collection on the far side of the massive room.

"Holdovers from the last guy," Dean explains slowly, like he's trying hard to concentrate on the words. "Too lazy to change everything." Dean leans forward suddenly and lightly tugs on his servant's hair. "Slower, baby," he hisses, "I'm talkin' t' someone."

The sex act itself doesn't really bother Seth. After all, he's seen far more perverted sights in Hell.

What really bothers Seth is that it's Dean and he's a fucking overlord in Hell.

A big part of Seth is envious – that Dean still has the chiseled chest and the messy locks, that he gets to wear a silk robe and sit around all day getting blowjobs, that his diet isn't some rationed bowl of mud and human remains, that he's someone that people bow down to down here…

But part of him is turned on because well fuck, even without all that power, he still looks really damn good.

Maybe they really are soulmates, destined to torture each other forever in absolutely every way possible.

"I can't believe…It's just…You? There aren't weird demons or some really wretched politicians better fit for this position?"

"Should I take offense to that or not?" Dean inhales sharply suddenly and tugs on the servant's hair again in reprimand. "I mean, I think I should be offended somehow, but I don't think you can be offended when you're dead. And definitely not in Hell."

"I guess not."

"Now, what d'ya need? I don't got all day, Seth. I'm obviously a very busy person."

"Obviously," Seth mumbles, trying to focus on a spot above Dean's throne. The way Dean's stomach muscles are now clenching is making Seth uncomfortable. It's making Seth recall times it was the two of them like that, and that's really not conducive to what he came here for. "Well, I just got here last week," Seth starts, rubbing the back of neck.

"I know. How'd you die anyway?"

Seth mumbles something inaudibly.

"Kane dragged you down again? Finally stuck this time, did it?" Dean laughs and Seth can't help but sneak a peek at the glint in Dean's eyes and the dimples that form on his cheeks.

Seth knows immediately what a huge mistake it is.

Because Dean catches Seth's gaze and Dean immediately tangles both of his hands into his submissive's bobbing dark head of hair. He stares straight into Seth's eyes as he leans back and spreads his legs out so that his calves are resting on the armrests of his chair for Seth to see everything.

Seth feels his cheeks flush, and all Dean can do is just watch Seth.

Asshole.

As the slurping sounds grow louder and more urgent and the quiet little moans of "Mmm, good boy" echo through the room, Seth has to turn away.

"I wanted to ask if –" Seth starts hurriedly before he has a chance to think. He ends up pausing mid-sentence and he doesn't even want to think about the look of amusement Dean is probably giving him right now. Seth's certainly not going to ask for the overlord's protection now that he knows it's Dean, but asking about J&J isn't too demoralizing, he figures. "I wanted to know if there was anyone I knew down here…besides you, of course-"

Another moan interrupts Seth and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean pat the top of the young man's head. "There are lots of good subs in Hell, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Seth bites his lip. There is no doubt in Seth's mind that Dean is doing this on purpose, that his grunts are exaggerated and his praise is excessive for a reason.

Because Seth knows what Dean sounds like when he's on edge, and Dean probably knows that it's actually riling up Seth more now that he's forced to think about it, really want it.

"Get up," Dean orders his submissive. There's a whimper in protest, but the man obeys anyway. Dean kneads his thumb on the servant's chin as he says more gently, "Go stay with the others." The servant hangs his head down, but nods silently. As the smaller guard follows the man out, Seth notices that the submissive is actually quite handsome and well groomed – nothing like Seth's ever seen in his living quarters. So maybe Dean isn't all that bad as an overlord – he is at least treating his men well.

"There are a lot of people down here," Dean says, straightening up and turning his attention back to Seth. "Who ya looking for?"

Seth is a little startled by Dean's change in tone. "Well, like Jamie or Joey…"

"You think Jamie and Joey ended up here? After everything they did for you?" he scoffs. "You need more than blind faith and stupidity to get into Hell."

"Well then, how about –" Seth pauses. "Where's Hunter, then? I know he has to be here. Is he alright?"

"You wanna find Hunter?"

"Maybe. I just…I don't know anyone and no one likes me here." It comes out like the whine of a petulant 5-year-old, but Seth doesn't care.

Dean chokes out in laughter. "No one has ever liked you."

"You liked me once."

Dean chooses to ignore the comment. "Look, if you want something, you gotta get down on your knees."

"Like beg?" It's not really a question though. Seth knows what Dean means; he's not stupid.

But Dean's laughter fills the entire room, and Hell looks really good on Dean right now. Seth is sure that for the first time, Dean probably – finally – feels like he belongs somewhere.

"Still funny, I see. Do you wanna know where Hunter is or not? I should warn you that he's not in the surrounding territories. You're gonna need help. But if you wanna know more…" he trails off and leans forward, "You gotta give me something first."

"We knew each other for a long time. Doesn't that count for something?" It's not that Seth hates the idea of sucking Dean off. He's not even against it, in all honesty. It's just that Dean has never been trustworthy in cases like these. He wouldn't put it past Dean to just use Seth for sex and then kick him out.

He's done it before.

"Nope. Look, let's cut to the chase. I know why you're really here. I've heard about your situation…"

"My situation?"

"Come on now. You're obviously living off gruel and you barely have any clothes on – not that I'm complaining," Dean says, licking his lips. "You've leaned out, but you look good. Never liked you when you were jacked up anyway; that wasn't the Seth I knew or the Seth that was mine," he goes on, bringing his hand to his cock and thumbing the head languorously. "Anyway, you're gonna run out of things to trade for and you're gonna need someone like me."

"What-what are you proposing?" Seth tries to keep his voice even, but it's hard not to stare. The movement of his restrained hands trying to conceal his growing tent probably gives him away anyway.

"I'm proposing you come here and finish what good little Tommy started. Then maybe I'll give you some info on Triple H. Throw in some food, too."

Seth watches entranced as Dean moves his hand up his cock slowly. "Jesus fuck, Dean," Seth exhales, intoxicated, as Dean keeps his eyes trained on Seth.

"Come on, Seth," he pushes. "I know you like this big dick in that pretty mouth of yours," His voice is hoarser than before, but he's still wearing that seductive smirk.

Seth tears his eyes away, but he still feels like he's still gulping for air. "Don't be so crude."

"Not even gonna deny it, huh?" Dean grins. He sits up again and takes his hand off his dick, trying to be somewhat serious again. It's times like this that Seth is actually glad Dean is so erratic and easily distracted. "That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

Now, the old Seth Rollins, the WWE World Heavyweight Champion, would have never given a second thought to this, he would have never given into Dean. And the old Dean Ambrose, the self-proclaimed loner who actually had a penchant for getting too emotionally invested in people, in him, would have never made it through this conversation without trying to kill him.

But Seth's no longer champion, and Dean's some powerful ruler of a territory in Hell. So obviously, things change.

"Are you really gonna tell me where Triple H is?" Seth sighs at last.

"I'll try."

"And I get real food and clothes?"

"Well, I don't know about the clothes part," Dean stops to smirk, "But- yeah, sure."

"Can you-" Seth starts a little nervously. "There are some guys who keep bothering me…"

"I'll take care of it."

Something in Dean shifts and for a fleeting moment, Seth sees it in the way his face softens, the way his palms open up, and the way he looks at him.

I'll take care of you.

Dean never explicitly promised anything, but in that moment, with Dean's intense gaze commanding his attention, consuming every fiber of his being, it doesn't matter.

Seth knows that he's just prolonging the inevitable. That this whole situation in Hell – fuck, everythingit's ever been with Dean – is completely, undeniably messed up and no matter how much Seth wants to deny it, he'll always end up in the same place.

With Dean.

He belongs with Dean. To Dean. Always has and always will.

Maybe it's time he stopped fighting it.

Seth tilts his head up silently and Dean, seemingly understanding the small action, orders the remaining guard to bring Seth over. The guard clutches Seth's right arm and leads him until he's only a couple of feet away from Dean and his throne.

"You can go now," Dean orders without looking at the guard.

There must be some hesitation on the guard's part because Dean repeats it again, more sternly and irritably the second time around. Seth hears the sound of heavy boots getting further and further away until the door shuts and they're alone.

Seth stands there silently as Dean takes him in, his eyes raking over every curve of Seth's body as if he's trying to remember the way it feels beneath his tongue.

When Dean does speak, his voice is low, greedy. "I wanna see all of you."

A shiver runs up Seth's body and he clinks his handcuffs together weakly in response. "I can't-"

"C'mere."

Seth moves closer until he's standing between Dean's legs. It should bother Seth that he still lets Dean get to him so easily, that all it takes is a few words and Seth will obey.

But he can feel the heat of Dean through his bones, the urgency between them, and he knows that he wants this as much as Dean does.

Maybe Hell is just giving him the license to do what he's wanted to do all along. No regrets or lies or reasoning. Just giving in completely to Dean.

Dean takes in a deep breath and brings his hands to the back of Seth's thighs pulling him even closer. The touch is like fire on Seth's already warm skin, and it sends a jolt of electricity through his chest.

Seth feels alive.

His legs tremble as Dean runs his firm hands up to the bottom of his ass – stopping to tease his fingers underneath the thin fabric of the boxers – before continuing over the material.

He wants to tell Dean to hurry up, but Seth knows that this isn't what it's about.

It's about getting reacquainted after so many years. It's about remembering the feel of his skin on his fingertips, the warmth of his body against the palms of his hands. The desire, the desperation, the release.

It's about control.

Seth looks down at Dean's hands as they meticulously travel up his sides – his thumbs tracing each ripple of his fading abs while his fingers caress Seth's smooth back – and then back down his chest to finally rest at the waistband of Seth's boxers.

He doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until Dean stops to let out a drawn-out exhale of his own.

He notices Dean's hard look of concentration falter when he curls his fingers into the waistband and Dean wets his lips when he sees the tip of Seth's cock, leaking and ready. When Dean pulls his boxers down and finally frees all of Seth, something must switch on in Dean because he's suddenly in full-predatory mode. He shoves Seth's tattered boxers down his knees and forces Seth to step out of them right before he chucks it across the room.

"On your knees," he growls.

Dean doesn't need to tell him twice.

Seth gets down on the floor and leans forward, with his shackled hands bracing himself on the floor and his chest pressing against the edge of the chair. The position finds him eye-level with Dean's hard cock.

Seth fleetingly wonders if this is what Dean wanted to do to him all along when they were alive – just order him around without any thought and have complete power over him. The thought makes his mind dizzy and he suddenly feels his own cock shudder at the anticipation of what's to come.

Dean raises an eyebrow and settles his hands back on the arms of his throne; Seth immediately understands.

Seth brings his mouth to Dean and licks him from the base to the head and Dean makes a noise of satisfaction as he melts into Seth's touch.

"Been too fucking long," Dean groans.

"Maybe it would've been shorter if you weren't such an overly-sensitive asshole to me all those years," Seth murmurs offhandedly. He immediately regrets it though when Dean grabs a fistful of his hair on the side of his head.

"Did I say you could talk during this?"

Seth is about to cheekily reply, but Dean roughly yanks his hair until Seth is practically falling sideways.

"Dean-" Seth yelps, trying to stop the dull ache on the side of his head.

"Who's in charge here, huh?" Dean cuts him off, "'Cause if I remember correctly, you're the one coming in here asking me for a favor." Dean pauses, then laughs and pulls Seth by the hair until Seth's shivering from the sensation of Dean's warm breath in his ear, "You're the one on your knees."

Seth just weakly nods his head in agreement.

Dean grins and lets go of his hair. "You understand. Good."

It almost feels like a different side of the Dean he once knew. Sure, Dean was always confident in bed and he could bark out orders like the best of them, but he was never this commanding, this intimidating.

He was never this goddamn hot.

Which is really saying something.

"Well? I'm waiting." Dean's voice is raspier, but the devilish smirk is still there, and Seth can only nod again before he extends his tongue out and runs it along the underside of Dean's cock again, this time, leaving small wet kisses at the tip.

"Eyes up. I want you to look at me."

Seth lifts his head up, stray hairs falling into his face, and stares straight into Dean's eyes as he swirls his tongue over the head of his cock.

"You always were good at following orders, weren't you?" Dean's eyes expect Seth to challenge it, but instead, Seth wets his lips and wraps his hot mouth around Dean, peering up at Dean through thick lashes as he descends upon him, inch by inch, squeezing tightly until Dean's cock hits the back of his throat.

When he comes back up just as slowly, sucking and pulling until a throaty, breathless moan escapes Dean's mouth, Seth's entire body shakes in pure want. Seth tries to innocently maneuver his cuffed wrists into a position that could wrap his fingers around his own aching cock, but he feels Dean's fingernails claw into his shoulder blades.

"Don't you dare touch yourself," Dean seethes, digging deeper into Seth's skin and making him gasp in surprise at the harshness. "That wasn't part of the deal."

Seth nods quickly and focuses his attention back to his mouth around Dean's cock in an attempt to appease Dean and maybe make him ease the grip of his nails digging into Seth's sensitive skin. Or get him off faster so that Seth can finish himself.

But Dean has other ideas apparently and he doesn't let go of his shoulders until the skin breaks and there's small little cuts of blood, until his hips buck into Seth's mouth, demanding him for more.

Seth almost chokes at the unexpectedness of Dean's hardness hitting the back of his throat, but Dean holds it there, relishing in the feel of Seth around him.

"So good," he purrs as Seth moves his tongue against him. "You like this, huh?" Dean breathes heavily as he rocks his hips in rhythm with his words. "You want more of this?"

Seth makes a small sigh against him in agreement.

"You like this big fat cock in your sweet, hot mouth, huh?" Dean hisses as he entrenches his nails a little deeper, thrusts his hips back into Seth a little harder. "Because I like the way it feels. And a happy overlord is a happy Hell."

Seth lets out a muffled whimper as spit trickles down his chin and Dean shoves his dick in further.

"Isn't it funny how things work sometimes?" Dean grinds out, head towards the ceiling. He drags his nails up the side of Seth's neck and weaves his fingers into his hair again, before forcing the pace with the hands on the back of Seth's head.

"That's it. Taking it like a champ still."

Seth's cock twitches at the praise. He knows that Dean's just pushing to see how much more Seth can take.

"I mean,…you…me…here," Dean goes on, his words coming out between short, labored pauses as they move into a steadier rhythm, the sounds of slick pre-cum sliding against wet saliva getting louder and more frequent.

Seth groans and he can't tell if it's because of Dean's relentless thrusting or all the blood down in his excruciatingly hard cock.

"I knew you'd like this," Dean grits out huskily as he increases the pace with the driving of his hips. "I knew you'd like being- Fuck!" Dean inhales sharply suddenly at all the friction and unconsciously drops his hands to his sides.

"'S real good," Dean lets out a strangled moan, as Seth smiles against him, his lips and tongue taking over.

Seth licks the pre-cum dripping out of Dean's slit, and Dean suddenly forgets what he's talking about.

When Dean can't seem to keep his eyes open anymore, Seth is the one who watches. The white-knuckled grip on the chair, the open-mouthed trembling of his lips and the curses coming out of them, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the wild jerking of his hips…

Dean's close.

And Seth wants to make sure Dean comes inside of him, wants to make sure that he gets to taste all of him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Dean's struggling for air now, which is exactly why Seth won't let up as the swell inside his mouth continues to tremble and pulsate against the flat of his tongue and the walls of his mouth. He moans around Dean as he bobs his head down again – at the tightness in his throat, the throbbing of his untouched cock, at the unbridled noises coming out of Dean's mouth.

At the Dean's complete loss of control. At all the power he now has over Dean.

"Seeettthhh." Dean calls out his name finally, desperate and wrecked and beautiful, as spurts of cum shoot into Seth's mouth.

Seth sucks him dry, messily running his tongue around his mouth to get every drop, until Dean's a withering, spent mess.

Dean lies back on his throne limply as the post-orgasmic haze envelopes him for the next few minutes.

"Forgot how good your mouth is," he finally says, still out of breath.

Seth silently responds with a light kiss on the inner part of Dean's thigh.

Something in Dean changes, and he lets out a long, shaky sigh before touching Seth's cheek with his fingertips. "Forgot how good you are," he says softly.

Seth immediately knows that this is his Dean, the man he spent years with in the same ring and in the same bed. And Seth knows that underneath all those silky black robes, security guards, gold furnishings and immense power, nothing really changed.

Dean grabs a hold of Seth's hair again and pulls Seth up until they're both standing together, with Dean's robe dragging on the floor and wrapping around both of their bodies. He takes Seth's cock, still damp and sticky from the leaking pre-cum, into his hand and Seth moans a shameless, broken please at the mere touch.

Dean crumbles at the word and kisses him hard, smearing the remnants of Dean's own dried-up cum across their entangled lips as Dean runs his teeth and tongue down every inch of his mouth and neck and jaw.

Dean never moves his hand. He doesn't even pull away until Dean drags them down to the throne together and Seth has to beg Dean to release his grip on his cock or else he's gonna make a big mess on the expensive furniture.

But Dean couldn't care less of course, and instead, with his other hand, he traces two fingers along Seth's jawline and asks seriously, "Do you still need to know where Hunter is?"

Seth's breathing hitches. He knows what Dean is asking.

"No, I don't need anyone else. You're here."

And I've always been yours.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and feedback is always appreciated!