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Seth straddles Roman’s chest and gently positions his arms above his head. He uses a leather belt, worn supple with use, to tie Roman's wrists together and fasten them to the headboard, checking that it’s not cutting off the circulation.
”Good?”
It’s the first word past his lips since Roman entered his hotel room some twenty minutes ago.
Roman nods mutely as he tugs at the restraint, testing the hold. He could break free if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, eyes dark and deep and full of hunger and a trust Seth knows he hasn’t earned. He moves to the foot of the bed, where Roman willingly spreads his legs at a prodding touch. It’d be nice to have actual rope, but he makes do, the soft belt of his bathrobe and a long scarf serving as makeshift restraints to secure Romans' ankles to the sides of the bed. With every move, he’s acutely aware of Roman’s gaze following him. He ignores it.
Finally he steps back and allows himself to look, to see. Roman Reigns, like fucking Prometheus, chained to the rock. So beautiful it hurts to look at, all smooth, tanned skin and perfect abs, his sleeve and chest piece accentuating the muscles underneath, a glistening pattern to lick and bite and scratch your nails along until you get lost in it. He’s half hard already, and Seth has missed his cock, as perfect as the rest of him, missed it enough that he’s tempted, for one moment, to just forget about his plans and see how many times he can make Roman come using only his mouth.
Some of it shows on his face, perhaps, because Roman gives a cocky grin and raises an eyebrow. ”Like what you see?”
That’s against the rules, and Seth likes rules. His whole life is made up of them: how many hours at the gym how many days a week, how many wins to wipe away the sting of one loss, how many calories in each meal, hours of sleep in one night, minutes in catering each show to prove that he’s invulnerable, that the others’ disdain can’t touch him.
”I’d like it more if you’d shut up like you agreed to.” Seth keeps his voice cold, because that’s what everyone expects of him these days, and Seth is nothing if not skilled at living up to expectations.
It’s hard. Being alone with Roman, with the ghost of Dean hovering between them, with the twin specters of Stephanie and Hunter at his shoulder, running commentary at the back of his mind. You could really fuck him up, Hunter whispers, sinuous and tempting, and Steph laughs like velvet wrapped around shards of ice. Oh, he’d like that. He’d like that a lot, Seth. Look at him. All laid out for you to pick apart. So pathetic and lovesick and willing. He wonders if Roman feels it too, how damn crowded the room is, for all that it’s just the two of them.
Roman licks his lips and falls silent, tilting his head to the side while he waits for Seth’s next move.
Seth lights a candle and gets up on the bed again, straddling Roman’s hips so he can feel Roman’s dick press against his ass. He grinds down a little, denim against skin, and Roman gasps and flexes his hands, lifting his hips a fraction. He’s strong. Of course Seth knew that, they were teammates for almost two years and enemies longer still, and he’s experienced Roman’s power in and out of the ring, from both sides of the fence. It still sends a thrill through him, a spark of excitement. All that raw strength, harnessed and bridled for him.
He holds up the candle. ”You’re sure about this?”
Roman’s smile is sweet and unguarded and open. He nods, and there it is again, that cocky curve of his lips, the challenging tilt of his jaw. Bring it.
The melting wax drips on his skin, makes a large splash followed by several smaller, and Roman’s groan’s a deep rumble that seems to echo through Seth’s chest. The skin blooms red, then fades back to its normal bronzed color as the wax cools and solidifies. Seth tilts the candle again, drawing a line in wax from Roman’s left chest all the way down below his belly button. The gasps Roman makes are loud in the quiet room and Seth’s jeans are getting uncomfortably tight around the crotch. He shifts a little, and the cadence of Roman’s moan changes as his cock presses hard and insistent against Seth’s ass.
When this is done, Seth thinks, he’ll lick the sweat from Roman’s skin, peel off the wax and kiss it better, run his tongue all over Roman until he breaks the rules and starts to beg, and then, only then, when Roman’s ragged pleas chase away the guilt and the shame and the ghosts of relationships past, will he take Roman’s dick in his mouth and show him why he should be forgiven, even though he doesn’t deserve it, even though he’ll never ask for it in words.
But that’s later. He brought enough candles to last them for hours, and with the way Roman gasps when the hot wax hits, the play of muscles under his skin, the flush on his cheeks and the heat in his eyes, Seth thinks he’ll probably use them all.