With every hip toss, every clothes line, every spot Ambrose hits, he feels the immutable stare of Reigns searing through his skin; penetrating his very core. The tall Samoan watches from the apron as Ambrose holds Big E close in the dance he knows so well. Ambrose shivers as the dark eyes glide over his skin, lingering over strong arms and encircling him with undisguised carnal scrutiny. Eyes opaque and unyielding, rimmed with coal, a gilded sarcophagus of a savage, profligate Pharaoh.

Ambrose's body thrums with excitement; he whispers to E to do it, to hit the spot. Big E embraces Ambrose in an abdominal stretch; Ambrose's body yielding and compliant. Reigns licks his lips as Big E raises his hand to slap the vulnerable hindquarters of Ambrose; an ebony colossus swatting sweet, pink flesh beneath taut denim. Reigns presses his groin hard into the ring ropes in time with the strikes. Ambrose looks over his shoulder; his face beatific and glowing, he smiles at Reigns and Reigns smiles back.