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Eighteen year old Dean liked to stand on his roof, arms outstretched, and pretend he was flying. Let the air caress his arms and act like it was running through wings.
Sometimes he imagined he could fly away from home, leave his shitty neighborhood behind. He always closed his eyes and dreamt he was somewhere different, a really nice and pretty place.
A few things made it worth the stay though.
"Where did you go this time?" A wide grin blossomed across Dean's face, lighting his eyes and revealing his dimples.
Dean watched as Roman climbed from his bedroom window and onto the roof. "I don't know where I was this time specifically. But it was on some beach and the water was the bluest I ever seen. I could almost feel the sand slipping through my fingers."
Roman smiled that brilliant smile that always made his stomach flip and chest warm in the best way. Stopping next to him, Roman threaded their fingers together. "Was I there with you?"
Dean laid his head on Roman's shoulder. "Always."
"Yea?" Roman ruffled Dean's mess of brunette curls and the older male scowled. Roman laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. "What's on the agenda for today?"
"I don't know. " Dean buried his face into Roman's chest and inhaled his scent. Something about Roman's smell made him think of summer time and the way it seemed to last forever when he was a kid. Reminded him when ignorance was bliss and he was naive to the bad things.
He smelled like when there were better times.
"Are you smelling me? Weirdo," Roman teased good naturedly and hugged Dean, only making the scent more potent.
"You smell good," Dean mumbled and did one last inhale before wiggling out of Roman's hold. "Come on, let's go have some fun."
###
Dean didn't smoke to get high. It didn't bring him to that place of serenity or dull his mind enough to forget. To forget emotional pain or even the physical when his mom thought he looked too much like his dad that day.
It simply quelled the red hot rage he carried most days. The type of rage that made him want to smash windows and break faces. Some days it didn't work. There were times where he did smash things; fists, bat, whatever he could get his hands on.
Other times he found his fists hitting against flesh and bone. Whether it's the homophobic bullies at school or the filthy perverted men who got too touchy when he walked home at night.
North Side was a piece of shit and diarrhea of a place. Sometimes Dean felt God dumped the worst of the worst here. But there were times, in God’s haste to toss away the world's trash, he would grab a good one. Someone sweet and genuine like Roman. Pure among the grimy and no good.
Today was one of those days where weed wasn't helping. Neither were the pills; the prescribed and the illegal kind.
Heat simmered under Dean's skin like someone left the burner on under it. His jaw clenched in a way he could hear the teeth grinding in his ear.
Dean was on a hair trigger and he was ready to set off.
"You smell that? I smell a faggot. " Dean recognized the voice immediately and the laughter that followed after. Sighing, Dean put out his joint and stood up from the bench he was sitting on.
At least he would have his outlet.
"Hey Randy, didn't this fairy try to hit on you before," Kevin Owens taunted. Dean scowled. He remembered the exact reason why the bullying started. Randy was deep enough in the closet to visit Narnia and was quite unhappy when Dean waved off his advances a couple years.
Randy has been on a warpath ever since.
"Yea, twinkle toes over here even tried to grab my dick. " Dean snorted. "You find something funny, Fagbrose?" Randy slithered towards him like the slimy snake he was, cracking his knuckles threateningly. Kevin wasn't far behind him.
"You know what’s funny? Something tells me you want me to grab your dick, Orton." Dean didn't quite see when the first punch was thrown. But the crack of his jaw sounded before the pain spread white hot throughout his face.
A wild grin spread on Ambrose's face, cheeks burning and throbbing at the effort. "That's all you got?" Randy and Kevin exchanged angry looks.
"Fucking lunatic, " Kevin spat before both he and Randy sprinted towards him.
Dean ultimately didn't win the fight. But the fire inside him dimmed a little and that's all he really wanted.
###
Dean and Roman wore matching black eyes. Owens and Randy really put a beating on him this time.
Roman's father really put a beating on him too.
Sometimes Roman came over with a rage that Dean recognized. He found comfort in that and the familiarity made it easier to deal with. He could understand anger, could figure out ways to tame it.
Those days, Dean would simply kiss the pain away. Lift Roman's shirt and map each blemish, curve and bruise with his lips. He'd listen to the muffled moans and sighs, somehow find sweet spots he hasn't discovered yet. Roman was a big boy, but he was soft in his sounds and actions in bed.
Most of the time at least. Angry Roman was all growls and wonderfully hard thrusts when he really got going.
There were also times when Roman came over, defeated and shoulders hunched in this wounded puppy way that made Dean want to fight the world. To kill every person that ever made Roman frown.
Dean still didn't fully know how to handle despondent Roman. He wasn't the fortress he usually was. Roman was his rock and the unyielding force that vowed to protect him.
So whenever Roman was crying, sobbing mess in his arms, he felt useless. Like he's holding a million pieces in his arms and can't quite hold it all together.
Roman always put himself back together again by morning, even if there were a little more cracks and dents than yesterday.
Tonight, Roman was angry. His leg shook in an unpredictable pattern that had Dean chewing on the skin of his thumb. Patience, Roman needed patience when he was like this. Roman always initiated sex and Dean simply waited with open arms.
Roman once admitted he was scared he would hurt Dean if they fucked when he didn't calm down enough to stop seeing red.
There was obvious anger in Roman today. The tension was nearly palpable and his fists clenched tight enough to pull the knuckles pale.
But there were tears rolling down his cheeks and Dean was at such a lost.
Dean was used to one or the other. This was the first he ever had to deal with both anger and encompassing sadness. He didn't know what to do. Angry Roman, he waited until he made the first move. Heartbroken Roman, he just gathered the bigger man in his arms and sat there in silence as he released all his built up emotions.
What should he do this time? Did he go to Roman or stay seated on his bed?
Another sniff from the Samoan finally made up his mind. Dean stood up on unsteady feet and made his way to his best friend and boyfriend.
Roman watched him with tired eyes, peering from under thick and ridiculously long lashes. He remained quiet as Dean pattered towards him on bare feet and dropped to his knees.
"Is this ok," Dean whispered. Because sometimes he was scared Roman would break one day. Shatter into a billion pieces and Dean would never be able to piece him back together again.
If Dean wasn't so attentive, he would have missed the slight nod. His hands were shaky and it took longer than normal to finger Roman's belt open. "Dean," Roman mumbled and placed his large hand over Dean's.
Dean looked up and gave a small grin. “I'm ok, promise. Let me help you feel better." He was steadier this time, releasing the button and unzipping Roman’s pants with deft and experienced fingers.
Roman was already half hard and Dean always basked in the fact he could get him going without much effort. He was responsive and Dean was a man who loved to please.
Dean adored how sensitive Roman was. One lick and he was already hissing and clenching on the arms of the chair.
Dean worked Roman to full length and thickness. Sloppy and wet in the way that always drove him wild. Roman wasn't unimpressive by any means. So Dean swelled in pride the day he was able to fit him all the way down his throat.
"Dean." Roman kept moaning his name like a mantra, like Dean was some God he was praying to. Dean made sure to pay special attention to the head, swirling his tongue around in a way that had Roman gasping and struggling not to thrust up his hips.
"You want to fuck my mouth," Dean rasped and held Roman at the base. He sucked him in midway before pulling back with a wet pop. "Yea, you want to shove that fat cock down my throat."
It was by accident when Dean found out Roman really loved dirty talk. It happened on some random Friday when Roman was pounding into him, beating his prostate like a drum. And without thought, Dean moaned "Yea, fuck me with that big dick of yours. You feel so good." He thought he was getting a good pounding then. Roman became a whole new animal after that.
"Come on, fuck my face like I know you want to." Roman released a noise that nearly sounded wounded and grabbed Dean's face with shaky, sweaty hands.
"Tap my thigh if it becomes too much, yea?" Dean nodded, even if it's been a while since he had to tap out. He was a bit of a pain whore and a masochist on his best day. Roman fucking his throat raw was a different sort of high he still didn't quite understand.
Dean relaxed his throat as Roman gave a tentative thrust. He didn't know if his glare came off as menacingly as he wanted. But it got the message across. Roman laughed and began thrusting with much more earnest. Going in and out of Dean's mouth with smooth long strokes.
Dean placed a hand on Roman's thick thigh and used his other to cradle his balls. He liked weird things. Roman’s balls were full and heavy and he loved it. They were big in his hands and contracted whenever Roman got deep enough down his throat.
Dean was uncontrollably slobbering and he knew it was to Roman's delight. The sloppier, the better.
"Dean, I'm not going to last long." Roman gave a particularly hard thrust that had Dean gagging and eyes watering. Roman slowed down, an apology about to fall from his lips. Dean shook his head and swallowed around Roman, earning a long moan.
Dean's old wrestling coach always said he had a crazy tolerance for pain. It ended up useful in times like these.
There were hesitance in Roman's thrusts at first, but it wasn't long before they became short and quick, almost desperate. Dean relaxed as much as possible, pausing in massaging his balls and letting them slap against his chin.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. " Roman abruptly slid out and fisted his dick over Dean's flushed face.
"Yea, come on. " Dean palmed himself through his shorts, a sizeable wet spot from his leaking cock. "Stroke that dick for me. Cum on my face."
Roman releases a muffled broken groan; hidden behind clenched teeth. He cums in what seems like endless spurts and streams.
It doesn't take much for Dean to follow after him. A hard grind into his palm sent him toppling over the edge.
Roman collapsed back into the chair; boneless and chest heaving as he pants. "You," he inhales deeply. "You are so good to me. All mine."
Dean preened and he felt like he's flying again.
###
Roman was a beast on the field. It was no shock because he was as angry at the world as he was big. He used his stature and aggression to rocket up to the top of many scouter's lists.
It really was no surprise when the scholarships poured in. Roman was talented, good looking and with brains to match. It was only fair he got into his dream college too. Dean was so fucking proud of him.
And devastated.
"Dean, I actually got in." Roman was all watery smiles and sparkling eyes. And Dean was all watery smiles and broken heart. But he refused to show his despair in that moment. Roman worked hard for this and he'd be damn if he ruined it.
Roman got into college. His dream college at that. A full scholarship ride that was off the strength of his amazing football skills.
Roman did it.
They celebrated that night. Full of drinks, weed, kisses and whispered affections.
Dean cried after Roman went home. Cried for when Roman would leave again.
For four years.
States away from Dean.
###
Somehow, Dean graduated. By the skin of his teeth really, but he did it.
Dean held his diploma, still in awe at his accomplishment. He didn't get many awards in his life, so he cherished it in a way he didn't expect.
"Come on, Dean!” Roman waved him over, settled by the bleachers, eager to celebrate.
Neither of their parents were there to hug them or praise their years of hard work.
But that didn't matter, they always had each other.
###
Dean wasn't naive. He expected Roman to find a new life in college. Roman always had the ability to be the popular guy in high school. But he traded it to become a social outcast with Dean.
It was them against the world.
But now he was alone as Roman went onto a new adventure in a better place than toxic North Side.
Roman called Dean every day the first few months. Skyped him and told him how much he missed him. That he wished Dean was there.
Dean knew the calls would die down a little. As expected, Roman made friends easily. A lot of them.
As his social life blossomed, Dean faded into the background. Calls went from every day to every other day. To weekly. Then a few times a month.
Then there were no more calls.
###
Dean was the only child to a neglectful mother and an absentee father. So for the first thirteen years of his life, he became accustomed to loneliness and surviving on his own volition.
It all changed when he met Roman during a baseball tryout for their local team.
They both sucked at it and bonded over their shitty experience.
Dean went back to the time when there was no Roman. It took a while, but he slid back into that place. That place that bred a lot of resentment and fury.
Dean stopped taking his pills.
###
The next few years passed in a blur. Dean spent most of that high out of his mind. Pills, weed and cocaine were his choices. He was a hot mess at the best of times and a downright terror at his worst.
Dean would always thank wrestling for digging him out of the hole that would only lead to his demise.
It was luck really. He made an acquaintance with a local druggy, Sami Callihan. During their high, Sami mentioned he made a few nice bucks wrestling at some low rent, probably illegal, promotion a city away.
Dean didn't know why that stuck in his mind, even in his rare sober state.
It took a couple months before his curiosity won out.
Best decision of his life.
###
Dean wrestled in many shitty gyms in front of small crowds. He didn't get paid much, but he was so in love, he did it for free sometimes.
He began making a name for himself after a while, going under the moniker Jon Moxley. Hell, even WWE spared a look at him, but ultimately felt he wasn't what they were looking for at the time and stated he needed more experience.
It didn't deter him, only made the flames in his stomach burn brighter.
When he ended up in promotions like CZW, he felt at home. It was bloody, violent and just raw. The bruises and cuts he went home with made him feel alive.
His wrestling coach used to tell him his style was a little (a lot) unconventional and a touch of too aggressive.
But in CZW, aggression was encouraged, violence the way of life. He found himself performing in bigger crowds, not much bigger, but noticeable in the way they reacted passionately. Drunk off their asses, but they roared for him that lit adrenaline and a high in him cocaine never did.
Dean felt like he belonged. For the first time in years.
###
WWE, they actually signed Dean. Yea, it was a developmental deal in FCW. But still, the most popular promotion in the fucking world wanted him!
What the fuck was wrong with them?
###
Yea Dean lost all his matches for the first few months.
It kicked him in the ego, but also made him strive to be better.
He may have cried in the bathroom after his first win.
###
When Dean first saw Roman, no, Leakee, he thought he relapsed and went on a binge. That he was hallucinating in some drug induced dream- nightmare.
But no, he was sober-two years so far- and Roman fucking Reigns was merely a few feet away from him.
Dean had heard rumors of a new signee. Some ex-football player who didn't quite make it NFL and was now sharpening his teeth in wrestling.
Dean didn't think much of it. New recruits came in weekly. Most didn't make it pass boot camp.
The sudden anger that seized Dean's heart brought him back to younger days. Where he walked with that fire in his chest every day.
Dean exited the room before Roman ever saw him.
###
The Gods hated Dean because he was tasked with being Roman's first match. To help hone his skills and carry his green ass to something passable.
The first time Roman laid eyes on him, he looked like he saw a ghost. He guessed the trainers referred to him as Mox and Roman had no idea who he was getting in the ring with.
Roman was obviously frazzled and was quickly disposed of. Roman was always quick for his size, but you couldn't tell with the way he lumbered around the ring, wide eyes trained on Dean.
Dean looked back at him like Roman was simply a stranger.
There was nauseating mix of satisfaction and guilt when he hit his finisher for the win.
###
Dean and Roman didn't cross paths much after that. He requested someone else to train Roman. Giving the excuse of having little patience training someone so terrible.
It was a lie of course. Yea, Roman had a lot to learn and would spend many months with his back on the mat and eyes peering up at the lights as the three count sounded in his ears. But he was always a fast learner.
Dean couldn't help, but be proud when Roman got his first win. The big man had a brilliant smile on his face; one that could light up a whole city.
Roman seemed to search for Dean, their eyes connecting and for a second, Dean thought the world stopped.
He simply gave Roman a nod of acknowledgement before returning back to the locker room.
Dean went back to acting like Roman didn't exist.
###
Tyler Black. The chemistry between them was like watching poetry in motion. He was pretty sure Tyler hated his guts. When Dean wasn't balls deep in him at least.
Dean took great pleasure in antagonizing the slender man. Something about Tyler made him want to tear him apart with his bare hands, build him back up and then knock him down again.
###
So, he and Tyler had a weird relationship.
There was an unspoken understanding: what happened behind closed doors meant nothing in the ring.
"Come on, Mox, is that all you got, " Tyler taunted between grunts. Dean scowled, angling his thrusts until he punched a high pitch sound out of Tyler that had him grinning smugly like a maniac.
"Yea, that shut you right the fuck up." Any other time, Tyler would have a snappy comeback that was wrapped in barbed wire. A retort that dug into Dean’s skin just enough to piss him off.
"Yea, just like that," Tyler moaned and readjusted his hands on the wall. Dean was set in a brutal pace, giving no mercy to Tyler's prostate.
They fucked like they wrestled each other. Full of passion and something like hate simmering beneath the surface.
Dean dug his fingers into Tyler's hips. He loved to leave marks. Reminders to Tyler who fucked him good the night before. Loved it even more when he would slyly caress the bruises during their matches.
"Dean, can we-". Dean never expected Roman to ever step foot in his own personal locker room. (Perks of kissing a little ass and being a favorite of a few influential people.)
They avoided each other like the plague for so long. Well, Dean avoided Roman. Only time they had contact was the occasional match or the one time they teamed together.
That was a weird experience.
A blush spread throughout Roman's face in record time. He fumbled an apology before he rushed out, slamming the door harder than necessary.
Dean was always able to read Roman like an old favorite book. It seemed he never quite lost that ability.
He recognized the flash of raw hurt and sadness in his chocolate eyes.
Dean fucked Seth harder.
###
Dean was tired of beating around the bush after a while. So when weeks later, he saw Roman slink outside to have a smoke, he followed behind.
"You know, " Dean began and Roman paused in his steps. " Never pegged you as the wrestling type."
Roman turned around, and expressive as always, looked at Dean with doe eyes full of guilt and pleading. What he was pleading for, Dean didn't know.
Dean didn't give a fuck.
Lies.
"Dean," Roman trailed off and he seemed to be having trouble gathering his thoughts.
"There's a name I haven't heard in a while.” Dean patted the pockets of his leather jacket until he found his pack of Newports.
" Dean." There was weight in the word now. Whatever Roman was struggling to convey, he tried to drown in Dean's name.
"I'm honestly surprised you even remember. Considering how you erased me so easily from your life." Dean took a long drag of his cigarette and watched a thousand emotions flicker across Roman’s face. Tense silence fell between them as Dean continued taking pulls and watched the wisps of smoke disappear into the night air.
"I'm really sorry." It was whispered so softly, Dean almost didn't hear it.
He scoffed.
"Years ago, I may have jumped into your arms, into your bed again at those words." Dean tossed his cigarette and lit another. “That Dean is long fucking gone. The Dean who used to worship the ground you walked on is gone."
"I fucked up, Dean." Something about those words sparked old flames inside Dean and he could barely contain his rage. Body trembling in his efforts.
"You fucked up?" Dean laughed, cold and humorless. He saw Roman flinch. "That's what you're calling this? A simple fuck up?"
"Dean I didn't mean-"
"I don't give a fuck what you mean!" Dean's yell echoed in the night. Roman's shocked expression soon crumpled into an emotion even he couldn't identify.
But it still hurt to look at.
"I honestly don't know why I came out here. " Dean shook his head at his stupidity and headed towards the door.
"Will I ever be able to make it up to you?" Dean stopped, hand hovering the doorknob.
Dean sighed and walked back inside.
###
Really, it was inevitable. Old dormant feelings were bound to surface and if anything, Dean surprised it took this long.
"You think you're fucking funny? " Roman slammed Dean back against a brick wall. "Parading him around in front of my face like, like I won't bash his pretty face in.”
Dean lost count the amount of hickies Roman was leaving along his throat. But he imagined Roman wasn't going to stop until he marked every part of his pale skin.
To remind Seth who he really belonged to.
Dean laughed, harsh and bitter. "Jealous, are we?" He gripped Roman hard at the shoulders, grinding their jean clad dicks against each other. He pulled Roman in close, lips barely brushing against his ear. "Does it burn you up thinking of his dick inside me? Making me scream and-"
The growl that erupted from Roman would have probably scared most people away. But it only spurred Dean on, the fire blazing inside him now.
"Something tells me pretty boy takes dick much better than he gives it," Roman spat. He wrenched Dean's shirt up and began pressing kisses and sucking frantic hickies along Dean's chest. A particular lick over his nipple had Dean gasping and shivering. "Still sensitive there, huh? "
Dean scowled and roughly tugged Roman back up for a kiss. It was much less of a kiss and more of a fight for dominance as their teeth clacked together and harsh breaths pushed between them. "Tell me Roman, did you think of me when you were fucking other guys? Huh?” Dean grinded harder. “Was it my name you moaned?"
"Always." It wasn't the answer Dean expected and by Roman's horrified expression, he never meant to reveal that.
The fire in Dean's belly simmered, replaced by a warmth he hadn't felt in years.
It made him nauseous.
"Fuck you. " Dean pushed Roman off and stalked back into the club. Where Tyler waited for him and pretended to believe he was in the bathroom.
He fucked Tyler hard and deep that night, afraid to close his eyes.
Because for the first time in a year, all he could see was Roman.
###
Dean was pissed. He couldn't fucking believe he lost. He hadn't lost a match in almost a year. And yet, he found himself on his back, staring up at lights he wasn't familiar with anymore.
The past few matches have been a struggle, but he always prevailed in the end.
This was unacceptable.
By time he reached his locker room, he was ready to put his fist straight through a wall. Tyler wasn't there this time because he fucking knew better.
Their relationship may have teetered towards some weird fucked up friendship, but old habits would have him hurling insults he had no business saying.
Dean began pacing. He outmatched his opponent by miles. He didn't lose that match because he lacked the skills. No, he lost because he had him on his mind.
Roman grew on his brain like fungus since that night a month ago.
“Always.”
How fucking dare he?
"Dean." Speaking of the devil.
"Don't. Don't fucking ask me am I okay." Dean's tone had a sharp edge to it, but Roman didn't even blink.
"I wasn't here to ask that." Roman closed the door behind him. He made his way towards Dean, hesitant at first, but his steps grew confident as he cleared the distance. "Tell me what you need."
Those words. It broke something in him he didn't know was barely holding on. His shoulders sagged and it felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
Dean was feeling like someone he hasn't been in a long time.
Dean Ambrose from North Side.
"Make me feeling something. Anything but anger and disappointment in you." Roman made a choked sound and Dean didn't even have the energy to look up at him.
He already knew the hurt and guilt he would see there.
"I think, I think I can do that."
###
Dean forgot what it felt like to make love. He's been fucking for so long, the thought of something slow and passionate never crossed his mind.
"I'm so sorry. " Roman's voice was suspiciously thick, wet. He kissed more apologies along Dean's collarbone, his slow but deep thrusts never faltering.
Dean's eyes were squeezed shut, overwhelmed by the feelings; emotionally and physically." You left me." He whispered, his tone far more broken than he was comfortable with.
He never thought they would have that talk during sex. He imagined there would be a lot more yelling, cussing and maybe even a few thrown fists.
This, this somehow hurt more than any punch could.
"Never again, Dean. I promise." Dean wholeheartedly wanted to believe it. Hated himself for opening old wounds and letting Roman climb right in.
"I hate you." Roman hit a position that had his toes curling and eyes rolling into his skull.
“I know." Roman caressed his hips and rested his chest on Dean's. "I'm going to work so hard to change that, baby."
When Dean came, he sobbed Romans name and clung on to him for dear life.
###
When the company suggested him, Roman and Tyler to form and debut as a trio, Dean nearly laughed himself silly.
Then he realized they were completely serious and he knew they were fucked.
###
The talk was a lot more cordial than Dean thought.
Well, not too cordial, because Roman may have snapped at Tyler,( who he found out was really named Seth Rollins) a few times and stuck to Dean's side like glue.
Like he was afraid Dean was going to suddenly leave him.
The irony wasn’t lost on Dean.
By the end, they all agreed to let the past stay where it needed to be. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, they'd probably make a pretty good damn team.
Roman's brawn, Seth's athleticism and his calculated offense sounded like a match made in stable heaven.
Despite their reservations, Seth and Roman agreed to stay civil and have each other's backs.
After Roman threatened to break Seth's face if he even looked at Dean in anything but friendship.
All in all, it was a good talk.
###
It was their first PPV, Survivor Series, and they were ready to make a name for themselves. They wanted to go in with a bang and boy were they.
"Fuck, I'm so ready." Seth was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. Excitement was nearly tangible in his voice.
"Be patient. We strike at the right time," Dean mumbled as he rolled his neck and did a few practice jabs.
"I'm ready whenever you two are." Despite addressing them both, Roman was looking straight at Dean.
It's been a few months since... since they started this thing again. They were still putting the pieces together, healing old wounds and building trust along the way.
Dean doubted they'd be able to go back to when they were teens. They were naive and oblivious to the future pain that would come.
But as Roman threaded their fingers together, Dean could almost feel the wind caressing his arms again.