#ambreigns AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Overtrope

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: THIRST PARTY SATURDAY! I hope everyone has had a good week! This was brought into being because I watched too many of those terrible cop movies from the eighties and nineties. Be warned! This is some gratuitously-written stuff right here, with a silly plot and so many tropes I literally named it Overtrope. I hope you guys like your officers ultra cheesy. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, the King Captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For reckless disregard of actual law enforcement protocols, homophobia and anilingus/analingus.]

Roman Reigns tapped his fingers absently on the steering wheel as he waited for his new partner to show up. He should have known better than to think the guy’s flight would be on time.

The radio was on, playing some upbeat synthpop crap that he’d heard a thousand times before. The neon sign for the motel across the street kept flickering about the fact that there was (no) vacancy, bright tubes buzzing in the spring rain.

When Commissioner Hunter Helmsley had ordered him up to his office, Roman had figured he was overdue for a chew out. Instead, Hunter had grumbled about his ulcer for a couple minutes, about how he was getting too old for this shit. Then he got to the point, all but flinging a thick file at Roman. The younger officer had caught it with ease, leafing through it curiously.

“Potential partner fodder.” Hunter mumbled around his cigarette, watching Roman closely. Reigns resented that a little; he was hardly volatile in an office environment and he said as much. Hunter waved off his annoyance and stabbed a thick finger down on the picture stapled to the file. “Ambrose was a regular nutcase through the academy according to the guys out in Cinci. Lost his partner recently and he’s requested a transfer out to us. Interested?”

“Your tone indicates I don’t have much of a choice.” Roman had answered dryly.

“Reigns, you’re the best man we have for the job. This shit is all you know, and you’ve got decent people skills. I’m paying you to babysit this lunatic so he doesn’t cost our department in the long run.” Hunter ashed his cigarette in a tray that already had sixteen butts in it.

“Those things’ll kill you, y’know.” Roman commented absently, squinting as he read a few of the bullet points on the transfer’s sheet. “He blew up a tanker? Commish…”

“So he’s kinda’ a loose cannon. You can even him out.” Hunter shrugged. “Look, with this orphan benefit gala on the calendar, we need to beef up the security in the city. We need more manpower.”

“Man, my people skills consist of listening. You sure you want this guy?”

“Absolutely. If Dean can keep his shit together, I think you two could rival me and Michaels.” Hunter had clapped him on the shoulder, then dismissed him.

So here he was, waiting outside the crowded airport along with a horde of cabs. Roman itched to get out of the car, he hated the feeling of being surrounded but he also hated getting soggy. He fumbled around behind the driver’s seat, trying to locate that old umbrella.

The passenger’s side door was yanked open so hard the car rocked, and a duffel bag that might have once been green nearly took Roman’s head off as it sailed by him to crash into the backseat. “Oh! Shit, man I’m so sorry.” The guy who ducked his head to apologize before flopping into the passenger’s seat was…Roman swallowed hard. The grainy black-and-white photo didn’t really do Dean Ambrose justice. The brilliant blue eyes leveled curiously at Roman effectively tied his tongue in knots. “This is…you are the guy here to uh, come pick me up, right? I’m not getting into some stranger’s sedan, am I?” Dean asked warily, rainwater dripping from his bangs.

He was tall and slender and effortlessly attractive, everything that Reigns wasn't. It hurt a little. “You’d be getting into a stranger’s sedan regardless.” Roman managed to say.

Dean chuckled, the noise rougher than Roman expected. “True enough.” He extended a hand to Roman, who shook it after a second of hesitation. “Ambrose. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of bad shit about me.” His dimpled grin seemed to indicate that he was totally fine with that.

Roman belatedly realized that he should probably introduce himself. “Reigns.” He said, louder than he needed to.

“Yeah…?” Dean asked slowly, raising an eyebrow. “It rained a lot back in Cincinnati too, man.”

“No no, that’s my name. Reigns.” Roman was flustered now, feeling like an idiot as he carefully pulled away from the curb.

“Chief Helmsley said your name was Greek…wait, shit, no.” Dean snapped his fingers. “Trojan. Achilles? Shit, Roman?”

Roman couldn’t help his little snort of laughter. “Yeah, the last one. I was just gonna’ let you keep going but Breeze already calls me Conan. This could get out of hand.”

“Roman Reigns.” Dean rolled the ‘r’ on his last name in a way that should have been obnoxious, like the kids in middle school. “S’ a badass name.”

Roman was horrified to find himself blushing. “Thank my parents, I guess. You uh, want to get something to eat?”

“Reigns, you’ve said the magic word.”

…

Roman got a firsthand experience witnessing the loose-cannonry when he and Ambrose were put out on a case together. Someone had been sabotaging shipments of party supplies for the benefit gala and Helmsley wanted them to track down a suspect.

Dean barely waited for Roman to close the door of the cruiser before he was gunning the engine to life and peeling out of the parking lot of the coffee shop. Roman pressed a hand to the ceiling, startled. “You got a roast in the oven or something, man?”

“I had an idea when I was in line. I’ve seen that guy before, the one Helmsley showed us pictures of.” Dean crammed a whole donut into his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing, “He goes past that shitty little apartment complex I live in. Seen him walking around pretty regularly in my off-time.” He gave Roman a sideways grin. “Let’s go catch us a rat.”

Reigns didn’t really know how much stock he was willing to put into the guy currently driving like a madman. Dean had barely been in the city for two weeks and was somehow already a leading authority on the patterns of a suspect? But Roman had to admit (at least to himself) that they had nothing else to go on. Commissioner Helmsley hadn’t exactly been a massive help. The file on their suspect was empty aside from a few blurry surveillance photos.

Once Ambrose had safely parallel-parked the cruiser in a (relatively) inconspicuous location by the corner, he opened up the box of donuts on his lap and stuffed another into his mouth. “Fuggin’ delishush.” He mumbled, washing it down with a healthy swig of coffee.

Roman pulled his lunch bag out from under the seat, preemptively bracing himself for some discussion involving his food choices when he opened it.

“S’at rice?” Dean asked with his mouth full.

Roman simply nodded and tucked into the small jar of coconut rice that was his usual snack while out on the beat. It was easy to make; he could use the leftovers from the Chinese food of the night before if he had to.

“Plain rice?”

“No, coconut.”

“Oh.”

Roman tensed up, waiting for the inevitable smartass comment. He already avoided eating in the break room after making the mistake of offering Officer Amore a bite of homemade fish salad and being treated to the guy gagging dramatically. Enzo proceeded to sneer a couple of off-color comments involving the smell of Roman’s lunch and its apparent similarity to the smell of a prostitute. The whole break room broke out into riotous laughter, a few officers catcalling the large man standing there with a Tupperware container in his hands.

“Reigns would like 'em fishy, he's always hanging around Breeze and Fandango!”

It might not have been so bad if Roman hadn't made the salad because he was desperately missing his family and he wanted a taste of home. It might not have been so bad if Enzo had stopped at one comment. But he was missing his family and Enzo didn't stop and Roman might have...accidentally dumped a cup of lukewarm, sugar-heavy coffee over the smaller man's head, effectively ruining his carefully-maintained hair.

It was fresh fish, it didn’t smell, but since Enzo had revealed the gap in his armor everyone would jeer at him when he brought his lunch into the break room. Even the lasagna made with his mother's recipe was met with suspicion.

“Watch out, the whole room will smell like low tide by the time his break is over!”

It wasn’t worth the aggravation to continue eating in the break room. Yeah, sure, it made him feel like he lived in the cruiser some days, but Roman told himself it was better than losing his job due to letting his emotions get the best of him. God forbid he do something boneheaded and get himself kicked off the force over his lunch choices.

“You and that goddamn coconut shit again. Don't you eat anything normal?”

Dean didn’t say anything else though, the light-haired man already powering through his fourth donut. Then, Ambrose suddenly stopped eating. The box of donuts was wordlessly shoved to the dashboard and Dean opened the door and practically launched himself bodily from the cruiser.

Roman, utterly bewildered, watched Dean take off down the sidewalk after a rotund gentleman in a cheap-looking suit. “Shit man, at least say something first. Like 'there he is!'. Or, 'come on, Reigns!'” He grumbled, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking open his own door. “Wait, Ambrose!” He called, making their suspect break into a run.

Then Ambrose turned around to yell, “Come on, Reigns!”, jogging in place. Reigns rolled his eyes and locked the cruiser.

Roman was no average sprinter and he had the thighs to prove it. If there was one thing he could take pride in, it was his conditioning. But their suspect was a nondescript businessman and they kept losing track of him in the thick pedestrian traffic of downtown. Dean was relentless though, the light-haired man constantly scanning the crowds in front of them. Roman had never seen anyone look quite so threatening with a smear of pink donut frosting on their cheek.

Dean hauled their suspect to his feet when they finally cornered him, tightly gripping the front of his shirt. “Alright buddy, you know exactly why we’re here.” He snapped. He didn’t seem particularly winded, despite the somewhat lengthy chase this individual had led them on before Reigns managed to head him off with a legitimate tackle over a chain link fence. Roman would be the first to admit he’d gotten caught up in the thrill of the chase, and the momentary flash of surprise on Dean’s face at his full-body assault was much more gratifying than it needed to be. Ambrose had been impressed. “You gonna’ tell me what I need to know, or is Freight Treigns over here gonna’ have to knock your teeth out? Did I mention he’s the good cop?”

Freight Treigns. Roman squared his shoulders subtly, already feeling the nickname.

“He could break your ribs with a snap of his fingers. Feel like talkin’ yet, buddy?”

“Alright, cool it. You got me, okay? I’m here. There’s no need to be rough.” The older man was sweating profusely, his eyes darting back and forth between the angry blond in front of him and the dark-haired man to the side. “What do you want to know?”

“Motherfucker do not play games with me! You know damn well what I want, so spill!” Dean’s sidearm was out of the holster before Roman could blink. Granted, he had the safety on while he…negotiated with the suspect, but it Roman was abruptly thankful that they had ended up in a secluded alleyway. “I want dates, times, birthdays, social security numbers, maiden names, give me the fucking scoop before they have to wash you off the sidewalk with a fire hose.”

“I’d do as he says.” Roman grunted when the man locked eyes with him. “My good cop routine is a little rusty.”

“Look Ambrose, you don’t understand, they’ll kill me if I-”

The safety clicked. “What makes you think I won’t?” Dean’s voice was soft as he prodded the side of the man’s head with the barrel of his gun. “Talk to me, Pauly. You and I both know that intel ain’t worth dying over.”

“Alright Ambrose, alright.” Paul relented, quivering all over his doughy body.

Dean amicably holstered his gun and retrieved his notepad from a back pocket, opening it to a fresh page. “We got a few donuts back in the car, Paul, you want one? Probably tanked your sugar trying to get away.”

“No, no, I just want to answer your questions so I can leave.” Paul straightened out his tie and suitcoat, appearing a little less frightened. His eyes wandered to Roman again. “This your replacement for Rollins?” His tone wasn’t openly hostile, he almost sounded curious.

Dean’s pen snapped in his grip, black ink spattering violently across his navy blue work shirt. Ambrose gave no other outward indication that he’d even heard Paul. He accepted a spare pen from Roman with a nod of gratitude and continued writing everything down.

The way Dean blatantly ignored his question seemed to catch Paul’s interest, and Roman watched as the older man’s visage took on a gleefully mean look he’d seen many times on the face of one Enzo Amore. “That was a messy job with Rollins, wasn’t it? Blown sky-high. I heard all about it.” Paul said slowly. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“You shut the fuck up.” Ambrose hissed.

“Mr. Black is who you’re looking for, Ambrose. Tyler Black. I would say good luck, but what’s the point?” Paul shrugged, awfully brave all of a sudden. “You’re a dead man if you go after him.”

Dean grabbed Paul by his ill-fitting suitcoat and slammed his back against the chain link fence. “That’s it, Heyman. You’ve just earned your ass a one-on-one interview in the cinderblock room downtown. Move it.” He snarled.

Ambrose was deadly silent while he drove, giving Roman ample opportunity to radio dispatch and let them know the situation. Paul was quiet and docile in the backseat, but whenever he did speak it was to needle Ambrose further. Roman was honestly surprised that the steering wheel was in one piece by the time they arrived at the station.

Dean dumped the remainder of his donuts at the front desk once Paul was checked in and secured in a holding cell. “Lost my appetite.”

“Ambrose, do you want to talk ab-”

“Well well well!” Came the bullhorn-loud voice of the one person Roman didn’t want to see at a time like this. He wondered sometimes if Enzo actually worked, or if he just hung around the station providing garbage commentary on his day to day. “Look what the cat dragged in! Heya’ lunatic, why the long face?”

Roman blinked, confused momentarily before he realized that Enzo was talking to Dean. And Ambrose responded immediately by whirling to face the smaller man. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

A smarter individual would have known that was their opening to depart as quickly as possible. “Lunatic, I’ve read your file man. You’re nuts! Guess that’s why the commish stuck you with Reigns. Probably hopes you’ll get rid of him, too.” Enzo sneered.

Dean’s eyes widened and Roman quickly took hold of the other man’s arm, shaking his head. “Don’t bother, Ambrose. He’s not worth it.”

“Aw c’mon, Reigns! Lemme’ go a few rounds with the big lug!” Enzo jabbed at the air in front of Ambrose and Roman was hard-pressed to keep Dean where he was.

“Enzo, if I believed you’d actually fought someone fair once in your life, I’d absolutely let you guys swing at one another.” Or if I believed Ambrose would let you survive the encounter. Roman kept that thought to himself.

“Who said anything about fair?” Dean snapped his teeth violently at the smaller man, who suddenly went pale. “If he’s got a problem with me or my record, I’d like to rectify it. With a pummeling.”

“He’s not worth the energy. Guy’s always yipping at someone’s heels and being a nuisance.” Roman shook his head. “Mostly to me. So trust me when I say he isn't worth it.”

“Is that so?” Dean’s smile crept across his face but didn’t reach his eyes. “I want you to keep your mouth shut around me, Fuzzy.” He leaned down so he was eye to eye with Enzo, who looked like he might be sick. “You have no idea what the hell I’ve been through, but if you keep up with that kinda’ bullshit to me or my partner, I may treat you to a free sampler. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Amore said weakly.

“Great. Leave.” Dean ordered and Enzo scrambled away, probably heading to the break room to sulk and lick his wounds. “How does a guy like that have a badge?” He grumbled. “I’m an asshole, yeah, but I try to reserve it for the scumbags that earned it.”

“Remind me to tell you about his reaction to my lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“It’s a great story. Not disheartening in any way.”

…

It wasn’t too often that Roman’s phone rang, especially this late at night. He’d gone to bed hours ago.

“You’re where?” Roman yawned, the sheet falling to his hips as he sat up.

“Bar. Big one. Man, your mouth is somethin’ girls dream about havin’.”

Well if he hadn’t been awake before, he sure as hell was now. “I-I-I’m…excuse me?!”

“Freight Treigns you gotta’ come get meeee…I have a leeeeeeeead.”

“Did you find it at the bottom of a bottle?”

“Mm, kinda’. Look, s’a bar in…in…of all the gin joints in all the towns. Pay phone outside it.”

“Casablanca?” Roman hated himself a little for instantly knowing which place Dean was referring to. That was a gay bar. Club. Whatever. What kind of lead could Ambrose have picked up there? Unless… “Ambrose are you…are you in some kind of trouble? Is there someone there listening?” Roman struggled into a pair of jeans, trying to maneuver around the cord of the telephone.

“No-man, Ro-man, I was jus’ in for a drink.” Ambrose snickered, seeming very pleased with himself. “Look, I’ll see you inna’ li’l while, okey doke? Dime’s about-”

The receiver abruptly clicked and a dial tone buzzed in Roman’s ear. Reigns sighed, throwing on a probably-clean t-shirt and tucking his long hair up into his usual baseball cap. He debated leaving the phone off the hook in case Dean called back, but the other man had sounded pretty tipsy and Roman doubted he would put together that the busy signal meant he was on his way.

He’d been to Casablanca a few times. When he was feeling brave. Sometimes Fandango and Breeze got him to tag along with them. Roman snorted at the way Dean had tried to imitate Humphrey Bogart, “in all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…”, fingers nervously drumming an off-kilter rhythm on the steering wheel of his sedan as he eased his way into the late-night traffic.

Casablanca was busy tonight, of course it was. Roman sighed heavily. Plenty of people here to see him being brazen about who he was. Fucking Ambrose. He made the block and parked on the other side of the building, trying to be as inconspicuous as someone of his stature could be. Roman couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Get in, get Ambrose, get out.

Easier said than done, of course. The bouncer at the door (a huge bear of a man named Braun) didn’t give him any trouble, but the poorly-veiled sympathy in his eyes sat in Roman’s stomach like a rock. “Back again, huh? What is it this time?” Braun asked.

“I’m just here for a friend.” Roman tried to smile, tried to ignore the fact that apparently everyone else knew his habits better than he did. Sure, fine, he found himself here more often than not after a day had gone sour and he needed to forget with a drink and some people-watching. He didn’t dance, not really, he was too big for that. After witnessing Fandango and Breeze cut a rug on more than one occasion, he was hesitant to so much as toe the smooth tile of the dance floor lest he sully it. Casablanca was for people like them, all lithe and graceful. People like him? Door watchers, guard dogs. Kept the slim, pretty ones safe. Roman shook off his melancholy thoughts. Ambrose. Focus, Reigns.

Inside was the familiar pulse of electronic music, the disorienting flashes of lights that transformed the room into a mass of grasping hands, smoke and alcohol. Roman had been hoping that Dean would be intelligent enough to stay by the door, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Keeping his eyes on the dance floor, Reigns eased his way around the swirling maelstrom to approach the bar. Bayley waved to him with a big smile, bouncing over to lean on the counter. “Conan! It’s been a while, what can I get you?”

“Just information tonight, Hugger. I’m looking for a guy. He’s about this tall, light hair, blue eyes, thin.” Roman held up a hand to indicate Dean’s height, running through a mental list of what he might have been wearing. “Possibly in a black leather jacket, not like a bomber jacket, regular style. Red stripes on the cuffs. Looks a little loose on him.”

Bayley’s eyes glassed over for a second, that picture-perfect memory that had helped Reigns more than once hard at work, and then she was back with an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah! He talked with me for a while. Told me to call him Bogart, asked some questions. I’m not sure where he went, though. He mentioned he wasn’t the dancing type. Why, what’s he done?”

“He’s my partner-” Bayley’s squeal of delight interrupted Roman and he had to quickly add, “Work, woman, from work. Calm down. He called me, maybe half an hour ago? Forty minutes?”

“Check the bathroom?” She suggested, raising an eyebrow. “He was putting them away pretty quickly and he didn’t want any water in between.”

Roman nodded, sliding away from the counter once more. One lead was better than no lead, he reminded himself. “Hey Conan!” Roman heard Fandango over the throb of the music and he turned, giving the gyrating man a tired smile.

“What’s up, ‘Dango? Where’s Breeze?” Fingers grazed the back of Roman’s neck but at this point he was used to it, chuckling and brushing the smaller man off. Tyler got handsy when he was a little drunk.

“Conan! You came by yourself! I’m so proud of you.” Breeze clung to Roman’s tattooed arm, tapping the bridge of the larger officer’s nose. “’Dango almost lost his badge today. Enzo again.”

Roman tensed up. “What did he do now?”

Tyler fell silent, still wrapped around Roman’s arm. Fandango just shook his head, carefully peeling his partner off him. “You’re not really dressed for a night out, Conan.” Fandango pointed out, quickly changing the subject.

Dean. “You’re right, I’m just here to pick someone up. I’ll see you guys later, okay?” Reigns bolted for the restrooms. Dean. He barely resisted kicking the door in, it’s a push door you idiot stop trying to flex, still managing to shove it so hard it banged loudly on the wall behind it. He was instantly on guard and his ears picked up the too-familiar sound of someone hacking and retching. “Ambrose?”

“Rrr…” The groan was barely audible over the music pounding through the walls.

“Ambrose, shit.” Dean was slumped over the toilet in the lone stall, his body limp aside from the twitch of his fingers. Roman quickly dropped to one knee, cupping Dean’s chin to pull his face up out of the bowl. “Ambrose? Ambrose, you in there?”

“Yeah.” Dean breathed. His lip was bleeding, looked like he’d picked at the skin until it tore. Nervous habit, Roman noted absently. “M’ here, Rollins.” Dean reached up and shakily touched the side of Roman’s face, brushing the other man’s neatly-trimmed sideburns. “Y’shaved, looks good. Like it.” He smiled, expression dazed at best.

Rollins. “Sorry Ambrose, it’s Roman. Not Rollins.” Reigns tried to snap Dean back to reality but all he got was a blank stare. “Roman, your partner? The police officer?”

“Y’not Seth.”

“Bingo, Dean.”

Dean’s face suddenly brightened. “Freight Treigns! I di’nt think you’d come f’ me. Hi!” He said cheerily. “I wanna’…uh, hol’on.” Dean clumsily scrubbed at the blood on his lip with his cuff. “There’s a great girl workin’ th' bar, great girl.”

“Ambrose, you called me, said you had a lead.” Roman gingerly pulled Dean upright, the thinner man swaying on his feet.

Dean wasn’t paying attention, seemingly mesmerized by the ink on Roman’s arm. “Holy fuck.” He whispered, sounding awed as he stared down at the tribal artwork. “I…Freight Treigns, when didja’ get this?”

“Five minutes ago, found it in a Crackerjack box, seriously?” Roman huffed. “You woke my ass up out of a sound damn sleep, told me you had a lead.” He muscled the thinner man to the sink and Dean leaned over it obediently. A little too obediently. Roman’s eyes narrowed. He dampened a paper towel and started to clean Dean’s face up. There were tear tracks on the other man’s cheeks and Reigns’ clinical motions gentled somewhat. “Ambrose, talk to me. What happened here, man?”

“Heymannnn…talkin’ about Seth. I-I needed. Needed a drink.” Dean mumbled. “The girl. The bar girl. Bay leaf.”

“Bayley.” Roman corrected him quietly.

“Said she’d seen someone. Matched his description. Said he came here sometimes. Called himself Black.” Dean’s eyes filled with tears. “He died Roman, he died an’ I couldn’t do anythin’ ‘bou’it.”

“What happened to him?” Dean started up with this weird noise that set Roman’s teeth on edge. It took him a second to recognize that it was a sob. “Alright, okay, easy Ambrose.” He said quickly, trying to head off the waterworks. “I got it, no more questions.”

Dean shook his head violently, almost tipping himself over. Roman grabbed the arm of his jacket, steadying him while Dean pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs. “My f-fault, all m-m-my f-f-”

“Whatever happened, I doubt it was your fault.” Roman sighed, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into Dean’s mouth. “Here, chew. It’ll settle your stomach and deal with your cottonmouth,” he hoped. “No more crying man, c’mon. You’re already a mess. You didn’t take anything else, did you? Just drinks, right?”

Dean gripped his arm tight and buried his face in Roman’s chest. Reigns could feel his jaw working as he chewed the gum and whimpered helplessly before he finally shook his head no. “Can’t. Won’t do that shit.”

Slowly, trying not to startle him, Roman wrapped his other arm around Dean’s shoulders. “You’re alright, Ambrose. You’ll be okay.” He murmured, trying for a reassuring tone. “Am I bringing you home or bringing you to my place?” He didn’t exactly believe that Ambrose would go right to bed if he left him to his own devices. Roman knew he could at least make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit or something equally unpleasant.

Dean didn’t answer, just pushed his face further into Roman’s chest. That couldn’t be comfortable.

“My place it is. C’mon.”

Bayley winked at him from the bar when they slowly migrated by, and Roman huffed indignantly before childishly sticking his tongue out at her.

…

Dean was so far gone that Roman had a difficult time getting him up the stairs of his apartment building. Half-carrying, half-dragging him under the arms, Ambrose tried to help but mostly wrapped his body around Roman. It hurt a little to see, how desperate Dean was to have some kind of contact when he was clearly out of it.

Roman finally unlocked his door and attempted to ease Ambrose onto the couch. Dean dissolved into a puddle on the soft surface, the tall man curling up in a ball. His eyes followed Roman through a series of slow blinks, struggling out of his jacket so he could drape it over himself. “Not Rollins.” He mumbled, snuggling into the jacket.

“Not Rollins.” Roman barely kept from feeling Ambrose’s forehead for a fever. “Just Roman. Can you drink a glass of water?”

“S’important. Yeah. Can do whatever y’need.” Ambrose grabbed the back of the couch and leveraged his body into a sitting position. “So tired.”

“You’re loaded, Ambrose. That’s usual.” Roman thought longingly of his bed, getting a glass of water from his pitcher in the fridge. After a moment of deliberation, he popped open the bottle of Tylenol as well. Worse came to worst, it’d just come back up. “Here man. Drink and take these.”

“N’pills.” Dean slurred, trying to push Roman’s hand away after he carefully took the glass of water. “No pills. Ll’be ‘kay.”

“It’s just some Tylenol. For your headache.” Roman explained, sighing when Dean stubbornly shook his head. “Alright, but no whining in the morning when you have a forehead splitter.”

“Won’t do pills. Even little ones. Leads t' more, leads t' more leads'a more.” Dean squinted up at the larger man, looking uncommonly serious. “Be careful.”

“Alright, you have a hard limit. Wasn't sure. I won't offer again.” Roman yawned widely, stretching his arms over his head. When he dropped them again, Dean was blatantly staring at him. “What?” Roman asked uncomfortably after a moment had gone by.

“God, y' so pretty.” Dean lapped clumsily at the water that remained in the cup. “Th' tattoo? A-All of you? There's jus' so much of you an' I...I wanna' touch all of it.” He flopped back onto the couch, cradling the empty glass to his chest. “Oh man, Ro-man...” He said in a singsong cadence.

Roman silently pried the cup out of his hands and went to put it in the sink. When he returned, Ambrose was sound asleep. Reigns yanked the baseball cap off his head and dragged his hands through his hair, making a frustrated noise. Of course, the guy with the big blue eyes would be the one to get blackout drunk and spill his feelings while looking pitiful in that special way that made Roman want to bundle him up and protect him.

He'd be straight when the sun rose tomorrow, sure as hell.

Roman still grabbed one of the blankets from his bed and tucked it over Ambrose. He may be a lovesick idiot, but he wasn't an asshole.

...

The betrayal came as a shock. An awful, gut-wrenching shock. Roman hadn’t even known Rollins…Black, whoever. All he knew was that he’d been blown up, Ambrose blamed himself and that was that. But it seemed that Rollins was none the worse for the wear after being blown up, if the cackling laughter in the old warehouse was any indicator.

Commissioner Helmsley had demanded that Roman go after Dean when the blond had lashed out over being taken off the case. “It’s too close to home for you, Ambrose! Your personal bias can’t get in the way of this arrest!” Hunter had argued, so agitated that he’d accidentally snuffed out his cigarette on the desk instead of in his ash tray. The whole precinct must have heard their heated back and forth.

Dean obviously hadn’t been thinking clearly when he stormed off and the Commissioner had called Roman in on his day off. Not that he’d been doing anything except being mopey.

So here he was, crouched behind a stack of crates and listening in on a conversation he definitely wasn’t meant to hear.

“I thought you died.” Ambrose's voice trembled.

“That was the point, idiot. That was the plan from the beginning.”

Roman was willing to bet that Dean hadn’t had a clue about what he would do if he got to Rollins first, only a vague hope that his former partner was alive and not…well, up to nefarious activities. He was willing to bet that Ambrose hadn’t even strapped on his vest.

“You were always so fucking soft.” There was a hollow clacking noise, metal on metal. “You and your busted home and your ‘I just wanna’ help people Seth’.” Rollins spat. “Jesus Christ I was glad when I finally got to go dark. Meant I didn’t have to deal with your ass.”

“Seth, please-”

“Fuck you, don’t even talk to me. I should have blown your brains out.”

“Rollins, there has to be--”

“Are you really gonna’ do this? The whole, ‘there’s still good in you’ speech? Fuck’s sake Ambrose. Every cop is a crooked cop, one way or another.” Seth snorted derisively.

“Not my partner.”

“What did I just-”

“No, not you. My current partner. He’s different. He’s not like me, but he’s sure as fuck not like you either.” Dean snarled. “He's great. Smart. Believes in the good in people.”

“Christ, you’re pitiful and impotent. Don’t get me wrong, you coming here is gonna’ fuck up a couple things in the long run. But right now you can sit tight and wait for the boom.” That laughter rang out again and then Seth amended, “You and your buddy.”

A cold chill ran down Roman’s spine. “I came alone, Seth.” Dean sounded defeated. “Wanted to see whether it was true or not. I needed to know. I came alone.”

“Oh yeah?” The sharp click of a safety met Roman’s ears. “Come out or I do some interior decorating with his bodily fluids.” Seth snapped. “You have to the count of three. One!”

There was a grunt of pain from Ambrose and Roman flinched.

“Two!”

On the slim chance that Rollins would actually not shoot Dean in the head, Reigns bolted to his feet. “Wait!” He yelled, his own gun trained on the man they had all thought was dead. Seth had a pistol pressed to Dean’s temple and Roman deflated. “Please wait. Don’t…don’t hurt him.” The larger officer begged. “He’s worth much more to you alive, you need to think--”

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think I need either of you alive.” Seth grinned, leveling his gun at Roman instead.

“Run, Reigns!” Ambrose shouted, struggling with the cuffs that secured him to a pylon. Rollins tore at his hair to silence him. “Seth, don’t-!”

The shot caught Roman square in the chest and he staggered back, bumping into the wall of warehouse crates. He slid slowly to the floor. He hadn’t expected it to hurt quite so much, but he supposed that was the point.

“No!” Dean screamed over Seth’s continued cackling. “You’re not getting away with this, Rollins!”

“Pretty sure I am. Now shush. You’ve only got maybe five minutes before that bomb goes off and you’re both deep fried. Might as well savor your last moments together while he bleeds out. I’ve got an orphan benefit gala to crash.” Seth holstered his gun and rumpled Ambrose’s hair. “It’s been an experience, Dean.”

Roman waited until he heard the sound of tires on gravel before sitting up with a grimace and straining to open his uniform shirt. His bulletproof vest made a popping noise, the bullet lodged firmly in the area over his heart. “Fuck, I’m going to have the worst kink in my neck.” He grunted. Dean’s face was priceless, his jaw gone slack as he watched Roman get to his feet. Reigns pulled out his cuff keys and quickly freed his partner, offering him a hand to help him up. “C’mon Ambrose. We got work to do.”

Dean grabbed his hand and dragged him into a fierce embrace. Roman felt tears dampen the fabric of his undershirt. “Thought you were dead.” Ambrose managed to say before Roman was hauling him bodily towards the door.

“There’s no time for that now, Ambrose, did you forget that this place is rigged to blow?!” Roman shouldered the door open, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the building. He grappled with the walkie on his shoulder for a second before finally getting the right button. “Dispatch, this is officer Reigns! Officer Reigns to dispatch, do you copy?”

There was a heart-stopping buzz of static, then Stephanie’s voice replied, “Dispatch to officer Reigns, what is your location?”

“Warehouse district, the docks. We had a hostile run-in with the suspect, he’s headed to the gala! Repeat, Black is headed to the orphan benefit g-”

The warehouse exploded behind them with a thunderous boom, knocking both men off their feet. Roman quickly rolled to cover Ambrose, Dean’s hand finding his own after a minute. “Roman!” Dean yelled over the ringing in Roman’s ears, coughing violently. “You okay?”

“Been fucking better!” Roman replied, snapping an arm over Dean’s head to protect him from the smoldering debris raining down. “You?”

“Aside from the raging boner I have from you being pressed up against me? Couple scrapes!”

Roman couldn’t help his nervous chuckle, whole body trembling from their close call. “Fuck, we could have died!”

Dean struggled to roll onto his back beneath Roman, grinning wildly up at him and then pulling the other man's face down for a breathtaking kiss. “Nah, no way! You said so yourself, Reigns! We've got work to do!” He panted when they parted.

…

Through the collective efforts of the force, Rollins was apprehended mere moments before his master plan could be set into motion. The fundraiser gala carried on without a hitch, the elite of the city blissfully unaware of the danger they had been in, while Rollins was stuffed into a cruiser and sent downtown.

Commissioner Helmsley turned to Roman and Dean after the cruiser was safely away, the older officer shaking his head. “In all my years on the force, I've never dealt with anything quite like that.” He somehow managed to say around the three cigarettes in his mouth. “Never seen a team quite like you boys, either. But I suppose, unconventional times call for unconventional police work.” He gave the both of them a rare smile. “You two have earned a night off. Now go hit the showers, you guys smell like a dirty lumberyard drenched in C-4!”

Now came the climax, Roman supposed, literally. He and Dean, freshly showered, rolling around in his bed. Ambrose reeked like his soap and that put the biggest, stupidest grin on Roman's face because God, he could definitely get used to that. It made him bold, made him urge Ambrose to lay flat on his stomach while he tried something he'd never done before.

Roman spread Dean wide and ate him out as sloppily as he could, loving the noises Ambrose made while he fucked his tongue slowly in and out of him. Reigns had always wanted to try his techniques on something that wasn’t a pussy, curious whether it would transfer, but he’d never mustered up the courage to ask any of the women he’d been with. And once he figured out a few things about himself, the women stopped altogether. People like him didn’t get to do things like this. That privilege was reserved for the slender, the conventional, the attractive. Not for someone like him. First time for everything.

Ambrose’s reaction was encouraging though, the blond biting the pillow and grinding his hips down against the mattress. He kept moaning Roman's name in this voice that cracked and wavered in the best way possible.

Roman fingered him open just as slowly. He wasn’t exactly in a rush and he coaxed Dean into a writhing, sweaty mess of need, stroking first one, then two, then three slick fingers into him. Dean was beautiful when he was desperate, promising everything and anything under the sun if Roman would “hurry the fuck up Reigns you’re killing me.” Roman didn’t have a clear idea of what Ambrose was up for, unfortunately. He probably should have figured out the terms before he started slobbering all over him. So he took his time, rocked his fingers in and out and kissed the small of Dean’s back and whispered whatever filthy thing came into his head.

Dean finally had enough of the torture and pulled Roman to lay down beside him so he could fumble a condom onto his aching cock. Ambrose’s hands ended up in his hair, his mouth on his throat whispering you came back for me into Roman’s skin like he still couldn’t believe it. Reigns closed his eyes and sighed in content. Maybe there was hope for someone like him after all. Dean eagerly straddled him, blue eyes half-lidding as he sank down on the other man’s cock. “Let me take care of you now.”

Roman knew he should just let Dean take over, he wasn't exactly experienced in this particular field, but he couldn't help flexing a little by grabbing Ambrose's hips and rolling his cock up into him. Just once, just so that the other man felt all of him.

Dean's back arched and his mouth popped open in a soundless cry. Roman immediately let him go, about to ask whether he'd done something wrong when Ambrose moved his legs out on either side of him, taking his cock as deep as he could. “You'll have to do better than that, Freight Treigns.” Dean rasped, hair falling into his eyes as he bucked and rocked his hips.

Roman spat into his palm and wrapped his fingers around Dean's cock. “How about now?” He teased through gritted teeth when he felt Ambrose tighten. “That okay?”

“Fucking Jesus-” Dean moaned.

“M' Roman.”

“Yes you fuckin' are.” Ambrose's blunt fingernails dragged over his tattooed pectoral and Roman couldn't contain his growl. “Oh is that how it is?” Dean's grin was smug and greedy, and it sent a lightning bolt down Roman's spine. “Is that sensitive, Roman? Is that sensitive?”

“You're a dick.” Roman snorted, sticking his tongue out.

“Fuck, I love how big your tongue is.” Dean hung his head and Reigns watched as a flush spread over his pale shoulders. “Sorry. That was supposed to be internal.” Ambrose mumbled. “Not trying to weird you out.”

“The fuck it was.” Reigns bottomed out in him and Dean gave a soft cry. “The fucking fuck it was, Ambrose. You tell me that shit. You like my mouth? Tell me.” Roman demanded, feeling power-drunk as Dean blushed and wriggled on his hips. “No one's ever told me that they like a part of me aside from my cock. And here you are, letting me fuck you nice and deep like how I want. Usually all anyone says to me is that they want me to rail them against the wall until they come.” Because of how I look, because of who I am--

“I like your eyes.” Dean sounded almost shy. “I like your mouth. I-I like your hands.” He planted his hands on Roman's chest, nails lightly digging in. “I like your hair, and your neck. And the way you smile at me.”

“Yeah?” Roman felt dumb for smiling, like he was doing it on command.

“Mmm.” Dean smiled right back at him, putting his hand over Roman's on his cock. “I don't need you to muscle me around, but I won't break if you decide to bury your dick in me, y'know?”

“Fuck.” Roman snarled, doing just that. “You're gonna' make me come if you keep talking.”

“You're gonna' come? Gonna' fuck up into me and fill me up?” Dean's hand sped up on his cock. “I'm close, I'm close, fuck, Roman make me come-” He pleaded, begged, commanded and Roman obliged, thumbing over the slick head of his cock and wrenching another cry out of Ambrose before he came hard on Roman's stomach. The rhythmic spasm of his body in orgasm was too much for Reigns to handle and he thrust his cock in one last time.

“Inside or outside?” Roman panted desperately. Dean's eyes were still rolled back in his head. “Fuck, Ambrose, can I come in you?” Condoms weren't foolproof, Dean was definitely within his bounds to say no and-

“Come in me, come in me-” Dean crooned, circling his hips in a daze. Roman couldn't have kept from coming even if he wanted to at that point. He pinned Ambrose's slender hips down and fucked every last drop into him, snapping his teeth when Dean cried out, “Yes!”

“Thank you, thank you.” Roman breathed after Dean slumped forward onto his chest, the taller man's body still trembling. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Thanks for savin' my life earlier.” Dean said abruptly, his voice a little muffled from where his mouth was pressed to Roman's collarbone. “Fuckin'...shit. I coulda' died.”

“No way.” Roman gripped him tighter. “I wouldn't let that happen. Not if I could help it.” Ambrose tilted his face up to kiss him and Reigns hastily dodged the motion. “No, no, at least let me brush my teeth.” He explained, seeing the look of hurt confusion that Dean tried (poorly) to hide. “Just let me brush my teeth, rinse my mouth and I promise I will give you a kiss.”

“Yeah? Well who says I want one now?” Dean pouted and Roman chuckled, swatting his ass.

“I'll change your mind.”

“Hurry up and get back here, then!” Dean ordered after Reigns got to his feet, the blond man sprawling out to take up a decent portion of the bed. “Don't forget we have work to do, Reigns.”

Roman didn't even have to turn around to know that Ambrose was smiling. “God, I hope so.”

#dean ambrose #roman reigns #roman reigns/dean ambrose #ambreigns #ambreigns au #Wrestle!AU: Freight Treigns #cop!Ambrose #cop!Reigns #because I watched Timecop and The Last Action Hero and a bunch of other crap #thirst party saturday #enjoy!#ambreigns smut #this is supposed to take place in the 80s-early 90s #but that's not really important #evil!Seth #loose-cannonry #not playing by the rules

165 notes · View notes

concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Swap

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew, welcome aboard! This is my first try at a soulmate AU so I hope you like it! Tagging @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes, and of course, our stalwart captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

It wasn’t often that Dean woke up without any aches or pains. Without the sound of Sami’s snoring near-deafening him. Callihan had a habit of ending up in bed with Ambrose, seeing as how their mattresses were right next to each other on the floor. It was kind of like having a king-sized bed.

Dean reached out to give Sami’s shoulder a shove, the usual way he woke his roommate. When he came into contact with nothing but air though, Dean assumed Callihan was already up. Which meant he must still be dreaming. There was no way Callihan would be conscious in the morning before him.

Had his bed always been this comfortable?

When Dean finally opened his eyes though, things got weird quick. Where the hell am I?! He flailed around in the blankets for a second, terrified at how clean and white everything was, like a hospital room. He caught sight of his hands and barely kept from screaming because that’s not my fucking skin, oh my god, is that a tattoo?! It was, thick and thin lines of solid black tribal design weaving over tan skin that was definitely not the bruised-up coloration Dean’s had been the night before.

There was a door across the room that hopefully led to a bathroom. Where there would be a mirror, maybe. Dean flipped the sheets back and flinched as he realized that whoever he was, obviously he slept in the nude. Feeling weirdly like a pervert, Ambrose quickly wrapped the flat sheet around his newly-thick waist and shuffled to the door on shaky legs.

This was officially the strangest dream he’d had. Did he finally go after that Chinese food that had been festering in the neighbor's trash? The guy in the mirror was…well, he sure as shit was not Dean fucking Ambrose.

This guy had brown eyes and hair, lots of it, jet-black and all rumpled from sleeping. This guy had a tattoo that looked fucking important instead of stupid or gaudy, like most of the musclebound morons with tribal tattoos. This guy had an immaculate face, the ghost of a five o’clock shadow barely visible over his jawline and throat. Nice mouth. Dean snarled experimentally and was floored with how threatening he looked with well-kept facial hair and straight, white teeth.

Dean gingerly turned his head to one side, then the other. A scar creased the area over his right eyelid, the skin still pink and new from healing. It didn't hurt at all when Dean rubbed his fingers over it, but there was a strange ripple in the back of his mind like it should have hurt. Ambrose pinched his arm. Hard. Pain made him jerk upright. So it wasn’t a dream! Somehow, somehow, this was real. Either that or he had the mother of all concussions and he was hallucinating this shit.

He looked back up at…whoever the hell it was in the mirror, shrugging shoulders broader than his own. His disbelief suspended for a few more minutes, Dean was curious, just who the heck was this guy and why was he wearing his skin like a bad suit?

He’s got to have a wallet around. Some form of ID. Dean scuttled back to the bedroom, still holding the sheet up around his waist. A pair of pants and a crisp red button-up were folded on the chair beside the bed. The first warning sign for Ambrose was the fact that there was a passport and a plane ticket on the bedside table. Fuck. Reading the name on the ticket made him double-take because Jesus fucking Christ, that was a name if he’d ever seen one! The name seemed...familiar for some reason. Dean narrowed his eyes at the ticket. He couldn't place it, but it nagged at him.

“Roman Reigns.” Ambrose jumped at the sound of his suddenly-smooth, baritone voice, flushing as red as he could. It wasn’t really fair that this guy was the whole package! The hotel phone also on the bedside table gave him an idea. Dean dialed his own number, pinching the bridge of his nose nervously.

The gritty sound of Callihan’s voice greeted his ears. “He ain’t up yet, whoever ya’ are. Don’t ya’ know what time it is?”

“Could you possibly have him give me a call back? Tell him it’s uh. It’s Roman.” Dean knew there was a maybe one in seven chance that Callihan would even remember he’d called, but he could try.

Callihan snorted. “Like the guy from GTA? Sure thing, cousin Roman.” The line clicked dead.

I am so screwed. Dean hoped this guy didn’t have panic attacks, because if Roman was piloting his body, he was in for one hell of a rude awakening.

…

Pain throbbed in what felt like every cell of his existence. Roman had been roused by a rough voice saying his name, but he wished he’d never woken up. What happened last night? Did I get into a car accident? He wondered blearily, doing his damnedest to open his eyes. He remembered going to sleep, and then…nothing. Not even his usual dream of Blue-Eyed Guy, weirdly.

Upon finally managing to get his eyes open, Roman was more than confused. He was laying on a mattress on the floor of a dingy apartment. The rug touching his hand was sticky. The mattress felt paper thin, like every spring had given up years ago. Roman’s whole body hurt, pounding like a fresh bruise.

There was a battered-looking young man smoking a cigarette on a mattress beside him, scrolling through an equally battered-looking phone. The guy, seemingly upon noticing that Roman was awake, cracked a grin and put his cigarette out. “Mornin’, sugartits. Some guy called for ya’ while y’ were snoozin’. Said his name was Roman.”

A flip phone plopped down onto the middle of Roman’s chest. His…very pale, bruised chest. Roman swallowed hard, trying to be casual as he raised a hand. Every muscle in his arm screamed in protest but that was not his hand, where the hell was his tattoo--

Oh. He raised the hand higher, going to fumble with short hair and wincing because ow those are fucking stitches, what the fuck. The guy beside him didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, thank fuck. Roman cautiously propped himself up on his elbows, flinching in pain. Christ. He was thin, lithe muscle, laced with faded scars across his torso and arms. Roman gathered from the bruising and small fresh wounds on his body that whoever this guy was, he’d taken a hell of a beating.

“Wha’ happened?” His voice. It sounded shot to shit. What if this guy is a druggie or something?!

The man beside him huffed loudly, seeming indignant. “Man, Nick effin’ Gage happened. That guy is a big ol’ bag a’ dicks.”

“I feel like I got hit by a train.” Roman cleared his throat once or twice. Nope, that’s apparently just how he sounded. Okay then.

“Y’ handed his ass to him on a silver platter. Didn’t think you were gonna’ pull through for a little bit. Y’ just kinda’ got laid out on the ground an' I was like ‘shit, that’s the end of Dean Ambrose’. Figured you popped a stitch. But you fuckin’ tripped up Gage and pummeled his face in like a pro. Gave as good as y’ got.” The man’s expression softened a little bit. “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit. At least she had the brains t’ scream. Good thing we were there, eh?”

Roman pressed his fingers to his temples, grunting. The guy beside him patted his back awkwardly after a minute. “You jus’ sit tight. Sami’s gotcha’. Give that guy a call back and I'll...I'll dig through an' see if there's still anythin' to eat.”

“What time is it?” I missed my flight, didn’t I?

“Half past noon or so?”

Fuck. “Thank you. I’m not…I don’t feel quite right.” Roman tried to explain, opening the flip phone with trembling hands and punching in his number. “I’ll call this guy back.”

Sami(?) seemed worried, but he left Roman alone and headed off through a side doorway. Roman ran a hand down his jaw, flinching when his fingers caught on yet another cut by his chin. Hopefully whoever this guy was, he was near his phone.

“Holy shit, okay. Okay. Are you…are ya’ in my fuckin’ body? Like how I’m in yours?” It was so strange, hearing his own voice with such an odd cadence. Like he’d left himself a drunken recording. Ambrose sounded panicked. “Shit man, shit, is Callihan okay?”

“Near as I can tell you took the worst of the beating. What do you even do for a living, man, Christ.” Roman groaned in his newly-gained rasp.

“What the hell is goin' on?”

“Where do you live? I need you with me if I'm going to explain.”

“I'll ask the fuckin' questions here, buddy!”

“And I'm the one that knows what's going on, so I suggest you do as I say!” The rasp gave his voice a new edge to it, and not like the stern bark he employed when things got heated in the boardroom. He sounded fucking dangerous. Roman couldn't help the shudder than ran through his body, wincing as the bruises flared up.

Ambrose was silent on the other end. “Shit, it is a fuckin' trip hearin' myself talk.” He said finally. “Is it weird for you too?”

“Extremely so. Where do you live?”

“Cinci, Ohio. And you?” There was a rustling sound and then Ambrose let out a squeak that was absolutely ridiculous coming from Roman's baritone. “Christ, this place is tall!”

“You're in Cincinnati, you should know the area.”

“Tell me you don't live in this place, please let this jus' be some dumbass hotel.” Ambrose begged. “It's so nice in here, I'm losing it man.”

“Focus!” Roman snapped. “What I need from you, first and foremost, is a ride. You have my credit cards, ID, passport, et cetera. So you need to grab the laptop.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I'm so sorry, man, I...shit, let me find the thing. Uh--” There was a loud clatter that made Roman wince and pull the phone away from his ear. “I got it. I think. This ain't a laptop, man.”

“Tablet, whatever the hell, it has a keyboard.” Reigns waved him off. “Flip it over, punch in my password, blah blah blah.”

“I don't know your password, now do I fancypants?”

“Don't call me that. A-F-A-S-I-K-A.” Roman replied shortly. “All uppercase.”

“Bossy, slow the hell down.”

“Don't. Just do as you're told.”

“Fuckin' bossy--Jesus Christ man, will you close ya' fuckin' porn windows! What the hell even...wait shit, what even is this stuff? Is this fuckin'...”

“Venture ideas from my father. Don't get distracted. Ignore that shit and get me a goddamn Uber.” Roman demanded.

Ambrose didn't seem to be listening though. “What is this stuff, Roman?”

“I just told you--”

“I know, but...shit. I'm sorry, I gotta'...Uber. Shit. I've never done one of these before, man, what do I--shit, I closed the thing. For fuck's sake, c'mon.” Ambrose protested, his voice pitching up high enough to make the other man snort. “Shit, hang on.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” Roman said dryly. What the hell kind of name is Ambrose, anyway?

“I…oh for shit’s sake.” Dean grumbled finally. “Fuck it, fuck this shit. I know how to call a cab, you’re getting a fuckin’ cab and liking it. God this shit is fuckin’ stupid.”

“That’s fine.” Roman could tell that arguing with the man was a pointless move. “Where do you keep your clothes? These jeans are kind of a wreck.”

“Where do I keep…buddy, those are my nice jeans. I didn’t really expect t’ get into it with fuckin’ Gage last night. Don’t remember much, but if there isn’t any vomit on ‘em they’re better than my other pair.”

“You only own two pairs of pants?” Roman asked incredulously.

“Hey, fuck you! Don’t fuckin’ judge me man, I fight for my fuckin’ meals. This body doesn’t look like you’ve had so much as a fuckin’ bad day in y’ life!”

“Christ, alright, I’ll wear these jeans. Didn’t realize that fucking pants were a touchy subject.” Roman relented.

“I…shit, I’m sorry man. I dunno’ what to do, I know y’ got the worse end of this an’ I know I should be grateful because I woke up lookin’ like a fuckin’ god, but I--what if we’re stuck like this?” Ambrose asked fearfully.

“Call me a cab, I’ll get washed up. When I get there I should be able to explain.” Roman gentled his tone a little. “I promise it won’t be too bad.”

“Okay man. Deep breaths. I’ll uh, I’ll see ya’ in a little bit I guess.”

Roman pulled himself to his feet, bracing his arm on the wall. “Sami?” He called tentatively, barely keeping his laugh in check when the other man’s head popped quickly out from behind the doorway to the kitchen. He’d obviously been eavesdropping.

“’Sup? Finish ya’ phone call?”

“Yeah. I have a…meeting I need to take care of. I…I guess I’m a little more rattled than I thought. Which way is the bathroom?”

Sami’s face wrinkled in concern. “Ambrose…shit, m’ sorry man. I know you ain’t one hundred percent, I was there at the doctor’s office, ‘member? I shoulda’ kept ya’ back instead of lettin’ ya' get into it with Gage’.” He pointed at the other doorway. “That a’ way, man. Call me if ya’ feel like ya’ gonna’ pass out, okay? Don’t want y’ fallin’ in the tub again.”

“Thank you.” Roman replied shakily. Not one hundred percent? Things slowed to a halt when he finally reached the bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror over the sink.

Oh no.

It was him. Sandy blond hair, wide blue eyes which went even wider in disbelief. Blood crusted on the underside of his chin and bruises purpling the skin of his right cheek; he looked like hell, but he wasn't unrecognizable by any means.

Fuck’s sake, that was why Roman had been having so many dreams about this guy he’d never met ever since his dad had moved his operations to Cincinnati. Blue-Eyed Guy was his soulmate, who in turn was apparently Ambrose.

Oh no.

Roman felt like his legs were about to give out and he hastily grabbed the sink, ducking his head and breathing slowly for a second to fight back the urge to faint. This guy who lives in an absolute hole and owns two fucking pairs of pants. Seriously? The world was a wild place.

“Waking up in the body of your other half encourages you to understand them on a deeper level, Roman.” Easy for his dad to say, he and Mom had both been business-inclined individuals! This…this was totally foreign and not only that, obviously dangerous. Sami mentioned him seeing a doctor. There were stitches in his fucking head.

What the hell had he been through, that he would still be fresh out of the hospital and just go fling himself at something else? “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit.” Roman flinched as he realized what Sami had meant. Ambrose had gone after that Gage guy with extreme prejudice, as well as total disregard for his own health. He felt stupidly proud for a second.

You’re dumb, but the kind of dumb that I can live with.

Roman splashed some water on his face, rinsing the dried blood off his chin. Fuck’s sake. I’m going to have to email the client in Germany. Should probably get in touch with Dad first, though. Let him know it’s happened and that I'm okay. Roman winced. The idea of telling his father that his soulmate was an unshaven guy who ‘fought for his meals’ was not a pleasant one.

…

Dean tapped his fingers on his knees nervously as he waited on the bed. He had finally gotten dressed after indulging himself in a brief full-body exploration in the shower because really, this guy had no right being this good-looking. Roman did have a few other fresh scars on his back, which made Dean curious.

He was so goddamn hungry, his stomach rumbling loud enough for him to hear. But Roman was supposed to be here soon and he definitely wanted to know what the everloving hell was going on.

The knock that came still made him jump. Which was more than a little entertaining, due to the heavier weight of the body he was currently inhabiting. Roman was obviously not much for flinching.

Dean opened the door and…well shit, it was his skin alright. But this guy held his frame in such a rigid way it made Dean’s spine hurt. Shoulders back, tense and tight. He looked uncomfortable. “Fuckin'...God that's strange.” Dean said without thinking as the other guy walked past him.

“You have no idea.” Roman grunted, flopping down on the bed in a way that completely contradicted the posture he'd possessed a second ago. “I'm absolutely famished.” He wiggled around for a second then sat up, fixing Dean with a quizzical look. “I figured you would have ordered something by now. Aren't you hungry?”

“Well yeah, but I-I ain't gonna' take ya' money an' shit, s'fuckin' rude.” Dean stammered. “I thought...I figured this was the safest place to be. I ain't left the room, man, I ain't a body snatcher.” Also I have no idea how man, c'mon.

“You’ve been in the room this whole…damn, okay. I’ll tell you what to say and you can order us room service. I can’t, not with my voice being all…not Roman Reigns.” Roman grimaced.

“I-I’m really sorry, man. I…shit, ya’ got the raw end of this deal.” Dean apologized. “I jus’ got outta’ the hospital, I busted my head open when I uh. Fell. And then with that…that piece of garbage, pawin’ at that chick, I fuckin’ flew right off the damn handle.”

“Sami said something about a man named Gage.”

“Nick effin’ Gage.” Dean snarled, clenching his fists. “Wasn’t him that put me in the chop shop, I got Brain Damage t’ thank for that shit. But Gage has a nasty habit of goin’ after girls that don’t want him. She was screamin’ loud enough t’ wake the fuckin’ dead, an’ I just…shit, I reacted.”

“Sounds like you did the right thing. It’s not like you knew that this was going to happen.” Roman said quietly.

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t do the right thing all that often man, usually ends up bitin’ me in the ass. Jus’…show me how to do the food, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here.” He knew his change of subject was about as subtle as a flashing neon sign that said I am changing the subject now!, so he was grateful when Roman reached for one of the pamphlets beside the room phone.

“Did the doctor give you any pain medication for this?” Roman asked after Dean had fumbled his way through the order, tapping his head and then wincing.

“I told her I didn’t want anythin’. I always say no. Callihan’s been clean for so long, I can’t fuckin’ put that kinda’ shit around him. He’s got a real job now, man. I-I can’t.” Dean didn’t know why he was telling Roman all this. Just say no, you dumb shit! “If I'd known I was uh. Goin' to be renting the place out, so t' speak, I woulda' taken the meds.”

“No no, it's fine.”

Dean felt awful. Roman was obviously in pain. He was pale even for Ambrose's normally light skin color, laid out on his back on the bed. “You jus'...jus' stay put, okay? The doc told me to be kinda' still an' quiet.” Dean said finally.

Roman snorted, rolling onto his side. “You're not much for that, I gather.”

“Nope.”

“I'm sure you're dying to know what the hell is going on.” Reigns began after a few minutes of awkward silence. “I just need food, feel like I'm inches from passing out. When was the last time you ate?”

Dean had to actually think about it. “...Um. Before the hospital. My head was hurtin' too bad to eat.”

“I'm...wake me up when it gets here, okay?” Roman requested, his voice hoarse. “Room's a little--” He held his stomach and paused, swallowing loudly. “I-”

“Man, shh, stop. Jus' stop. I can wait on an explanation, okay? Believe me I know ya' in a mess of fuckin' hurt right now, so we'll get some food in your belly an' then if you're okay, you can explain.” Dean chastised him, more than worried at this point. How long had it been since he'd eaten? It was normal to just pop a spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth for breakfast and see where the day took him.

What must it be like for this guy (who obviously had an easier life than he did) to suddenly have to deal with stitches, a painfully empty stomach? An unfamiliar body full of fucked up aches?

Dean cautiously laid a large hand on Roman's head, stroking at his hair and being careful to avoid the stitches. It always worked for him when he was in his body, hopefully it would still work now. It seemed to. Roman's eyes closed and he relaxed a little, snuggling down into the hotel bedspread. Dean was grateful for the other man's smooth baritone as he started humming quietly, some old song his mom used to listen to.

…

True to his word, Ambrose woke him when their food arrived. Roman's manners fell by the wayside as he dug into his meal of salad and cranberry-glazed chicken, years of rigorous lessons taught by his mother evaporating at the first bite.

His stomach began to protest barely five minutes in, though. Roman frowned, swallowing a mouthful and then glancing over at Ambrose. Dean looked lost, picking at the salad that came with his meal.

“How much do you normally eat?” Roman asked, watching curiously as Ambrose flinched.

“I…I mean, food’s hard t’ come by. I um. Your body seems super fuckin’ hungry, man.” Dean grimaced down at the salad. “Really wanna’ eat my burger but this green stuff is appealin’ to you.”

Roman couldn’t help his chuckle. Ambrose looked like a small child with a plate of peas in front of him. “Just eat, man. Don’t worry about what order food goes in.”

“We don’t eat much.” Ambrose mumbled like he hadn’t heard him, still staring down at the salad. “We waste even less. I…this is so much food, Reigns.”

“It’s okay.” Roman realized why his stomach already felt tight and stuffed. Ambrose’s reaction to the amount of food in front of him was all he needed to piece the puzzle together. “Take your time. I know your brain isn’t on-board with who it’s piloting, but I promise I usually eat that and way more. Just go easy. Don’t want you to make yourself sick.” Roman shrugged. “It’s okay if you can’t finish. I could probably stand to miss a couple meals.”

His joke was apparently unappreciated as Ambrose snapped his head up to glare at him. “This body is fuckin’ ridiculous, I don’t think there’s a wasted ounce on ya’ so don’t give me that shit.” He grunted. “Built like a fuckin’ tree trunk.”

Roman laughed, a little surprised and not sure if Ambrose actually meant it as a compliment. “Why, thank you! I do my best. But my mom’s cooking has me soft around the middle. Not quite in peak condition at the moment.” His ability to defuse situations had always made him one of his father’s most valuable assets in the boardroom. Just because he sounded and looked different now didn’t mean he had lost his edge. This was proven accurate when Ambrose offered him a nervous smile and tucked back into the salad.

Once he'd gotten free of Hunter his mother had coddled him mercilessly. Roman was her baby, her last child, and the notion that he'd dealt with suffering seemed to tear her apart. She'd doted on him so much he might be a little...tiny bit out of shape because of it. But it had only been three weeks ago.

...

Roman asked for his phone and went into the bathroom while Dean continued to slowly make his way through the food set in front of him. Ambrose could hear most of the conversation through the door, though.

“Dad, it’s me…I know I missed my plane. No I don’t have a cold. I…yeah. I know. I’ll email the client and apologize. I know, I’m sorry...you'll have to send Jimmy. I didn’t mean to scare you guys. After everything that happened…yeah.”

Dean’s brow furrowed as he chewed. ‘Everything that happened’?

“I’m…I found him. Woke up across town. He had the brains to call me. He got me a cab so at least I’m here with him now. Yeah…I’m a little beat up though. Guess he just got out of the hospital...stitches in his head. Shit, you didn’t say I was on speaker, I didn’t want Mom worryi--hi Mom, sorry.”

Ambrose felt kind of like Gage had just punched him in the head again. He’s got parents. He’s got a real job, an obviously successful job.

“No no I’m okay. He’s a little tougher than I was…I’m sorry. I know it’s too soon to joke about it. Sorry Mom. Yeah, I remember how scared you were. I’m sorry.”

That still-pink scar over his eye began to throb. Dean flinched, startled. It wasn’t the pain that surprised him, but the abrupt presentation. He pressed his hand to the area, grunting when he attempted to rub the pain away and it just. Stayed the same. Like it was all in his head.

“Listen, I have to go. I love you. I still have to explain everything yet…I’ll do my best, Dad. Okay. Goodbye.”

When Roman emerged from the bathroom Dean fixed him with a stern look. Which was rather difficult because Roman resembled a kicked puppy at that moment. Dean had never realized how potent his big, blue eyes were, and he filed the information away for later use. “Alright bossy, spill it. What the hell is goin’ on here?” He asked, still gamely working on the damn salad.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been so patient.” Roman sighed heavily. “This is going to sound absolutely asinine.”

“More asinine than wakin’ up in someone else’s body?” Dean asked, grinning when Roman cracked a smile at that.

“Almost.” Reigns sat down on the bed beside him. “So my family is a little…strange. We uh. After we hit the age of twenty, when we get within a certain distance of the person we’re supposed to…to be with, you know, be with, we um. We switch. Bodies. Temporarily. This is how it’s always been as far back as I remember. I…are you okay?”

Dean had his head down between his knees, feeling like he was going to pass out. Be with. There was no way. This guy looked kind, looked strong and like a guy that he would want to be his friend, his partner. But people like Dean Ambrose didn’t have that kind of luck. “This has to be some kinda’ mistake.” Ambrose finally said weakly. “You must be for Sami or somethin’, I-”

“There aren’t mistakes.” Roman interrupted him quietly. “I know I’m…I know it’s a lot. Believe me, I know.”

“Ya’ whole family does this stuff?”

“Men on my father's side, yeah. Nobody knows why, we just know that we do.” Roman was silent for a few seconds while Dean processed that.

“A-Are y’ even gay? Bi?” Ambrose croaked, his voice almost failing him.

Reigns shrugged. “Never gave it much thought. When you know that someone is predetermined for you, it kind of takes the fun out of dating.” He squinted at the other man, seeming suspicious. “Are you?”

The “no!” was on the tip of Dean’s tongue, so used to crushing it down and being safe that it had become commonplace to deny it. “N…not sure.” He stammered instead.

Reigns’ smile was gentle. It looked weird on Dean’s face. “It’s obviously fine with me, man. You wouldn’t be my one otherwise. But I get it. I mean, I’ve never really had to worry about my preferences and all that, so I don’t get it from personal experience. I get that people are awful though.”

“Oh fuck.” Ambrose choked out. “You have no idea, man, I…fuckin’ shit.” He gestured wordlessly up and down the body he was currently in.

“I’m sorry.” Roman apologized. “It must have been awful to wake up as…well-”

“Hell no buddy, no fuckin’ way. You seen what my everythin' looks like. Trust me, this is a major fuckin’ improvement. Shit, if I looked like you all the time I woulda’ gotten a job modelin’ an’ told off every ugly, homophobic fucker around.” Dean said bitterly. “Instead, I been fuckin' fightin' for my food an' a place to stay, keepin' everythin' all tucked in. It ain't like any guy would go for me, man. M' not...not anyone's type, not really.” Dean knew he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to get his words to cooperate. “Not a guy t' bring home t' ya' parents, y'know.”

“Hey.” A hand landed on his arm. “Obviously you're at least one person's type.” Roman pointed out.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, because ya' family is fuckin' cursed or some shit. I...I ain't a good person, man. You're obviously a good person and--I mean, I'm not.”

“Well yeah, you would have invested in a third pair of pants if you were a good person.” Reigns whacked his shoulder, startling him. “Buck up, Ambrose. We're soulmates. That means that somewhere, deep down in your heart, you have the capacity to love me.”

“I don't love nobody.” Dean replied sulkily.

“Not yet, obviously.”

…

Dean was remarkably resistant for someone who had nothing. Roman woke up the next morning to an empty bed. His panic was short-lived as he rolled to his side and saw Ambrose (actually Ambrose, apparently they'd switched during the night) curled up on the floor with his jacket wrapped around him. Roman sighed, shifting to his back again. That lasted for exactly three seconds before he was struck with an uncomfortable twinge of pain across his shoulders. Where he'd been hurt.

Reigns flopped onto his stomach, grunting in irritation. The therapist had said he would heal fine, that most of it was in his head and in time it would fade.

“Traumatic injuries take their toll on you mentally and physically.”

It hadn't really been all that long, he reminded himself. Three weeks wasn't that long. He would be alright. And hopefully, the incident had taught his father not to run his mouth about the pairbonds. Hunter could have done so much worse than what he did, that fucker. Roman hugged the pillow a little closer.

A hand touched his shoulder blade and he flinched. Dean made a low sound in his throat, like he was shushing him. “Easy. What happened here, man? I seen my fair share. Y' don't get these kinda' marks inna' fistfight.” He gathered Roman's hair up out of the way, exposing the nape of his neck. “These either. Somebody put ya' in a world of hurt.”

Roman shuddered. “It's nothing. Not...it's over now. It's alright.” He said weakly, trying to dismiss the situation.

Ambrose climbed up over his body and knelt on the bed beside him, stripping off his jacket and then, to Roman's confusion, his shirt as well. “This one.” Ambrose pressed fingers to the stitches on his head, not even wincing. “Skilsaw.” He reached back, tapping his shoulder and twisting a little so Roman could see. “Barbed wire.” Ambrose stared at Roman's back long enough to make the other man feel nervous, then moved closer and raised his arm. Two scars ran parallel to his ribs. “Dinner plate.” Ambrose grinned at that one, his tongue poking out between his teeth. Small lines up and down his arms and torso, “more barbed wire.”

“What are you doing around that much barbed wire?” Roman finally asked.

“I fight.”

“In barbed wire?!”

“Gotta' keep guys in the cage somehow.” Ambrose shrugged. “Look, the point is, I been around. An' I only seen marks like yours from real sharp shit, like a dinner plate. Or a knife.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what happened? There ain't no slices on ya' tattoo. Shit was deliberate. But somebody still took a couple good fuckin' divots out, just enough t' scar. Jealous a' how pretty you are?”

Roman knew his laugh was on the wrong side of hysterical when Ambrose straightened up. “I told you it's nothing. Can you please just leave it alone?”

“Listen. I been doin' thinkin' so don't start that shit with me, bossy. If this is all on the up an' up, ya' stuck with me for a while. Somethin', somewhere out in that universe, likes me enough t' hook me up with your gorgeous ass.” Dean said plainly. “Sami always says that if ya' wanna' get to know someone, ask about their scars over an' over. Because eventually they get tired of lyin' an' they'll tell you the real story. So fuckin' spill it.”

“My dad doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, okay? He's a great businessman but he's too trusting. He...he told someone he shouldn't have about the soulmate thing. I got hurt. That's the gist of it.” Roman was all but strangling the pillow at this point.

“Recently, though.” Dean pressed him. “Skin's still all pink from healin', Reigns. This was...wait. Shit. Reigns. I'm a fuckin'--” He slapped himself on the forehead, grunting 'ow! Fuck' when his hand landed on his stitches. “Your ass was in the papers like a goddamn month ago. That's what I knew ya' name from, shit I'm dumb.” He went still. “Y' got held hostage or somethin', right? That Helmsley guy?”

Roman bolted from the bed, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he started the shower.

“You think a locked door is gonna' stop me, man?” Ambrose blustered from the other side of the barrier. “Bossy, you ain't seen shit yet.”

“Ambrose, I'm just-”

“Y' hidin' from me! I ain't fuckin' dumb, man. Somebody hurt you an' you ain't used to it like I am, y' think it's a bad thing or that you're fuckin' weak or somethin'.” Ambrose said loudly. “It ain't like that man. I got no idea what you been through, okay? I know that. But I...”

Roman climbed into the shower and Dean's words faded to a dull mumble beneath the spray. He breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head and just letting the water flow over him. His hair slowly untangled and Roman ran his fingers through it, staring down at the drain without really seeing it. He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the wall.

This would be so much easier if that hadn't happened.

“Toldja'.” Ambrose grunted, making Roman yelp as he jerked the shower curtain to one side so he could glare at him. Roman felt weirdly exposed, even though the other man had already seen every inch of him. “Ain't a door fuckin' made that I can't get through.”

“The door was locked for a reason, Ambrose!”

“An' I unlocked it for a reason.” Dean retorted. “Man, I can't fuckin' believe ya' ass. Hoppin' in the fuckin' shower and you ain't even invited me.” He whipped the curtain closed again. “M' comin' in anyways. Need it more n' you do. I showered ya' yesterday.”

“I don't shower with-”

“Ya' do now, bossy, so get used to it.”

“What about your stitches?”

“Fuck 'em.”

“Dean--”

“Don't ya' gimme' that shit. We're soulmates, yeah? Y' better get used to me bein' a pain in ya' fuckin' ass.” Ambrose pointed out. “I need ya' help anyways, can't scrub my back. How much shampoo do y' normally use? I only used a little bit yesterday but I dunno' if it was enough. We usually jus' use a bar of soap, s'been ages since I had t' use liquid shampoo.”

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Roman grunted, irritated but also somewhat disarmed. No one usually gave him this much trouble about anything.

Dean climbed in behind him and Reigns half-turned, jumping and going red when Ambrose gave him a playful swat on the small of his back. “I definitely got the better end of this bargain.” Dean grinned.

“Don't do that.” Roman ordered.

“Do what?” Dean's hands were back, framing Roman's hips. “Don't touch you? Don't fuckin' skim my fingers over ya' pretty fuckin' skin?” They moved up, roving curiously over Roman's tender shoulders.

“You're real free with the compliments, Ambrose. This how you get into everyone's pants?” Roman needled, trying to wiggle away from those greedy fingers. He had never been touched like that before and it was...strange. “How am I supposed to help you wash your back if you're behind me?”

“Fuck, ya' got a point. Alright.” Ambrose turned around reluctantly, backing underneath the spray of water and shaking his hair out of his eyes. “I ain't free with my compliments unless y' earn 'em, anyways.”

…

When Roman put his hands on his back, something happened. Dean wasn't sure what. Large fingers traced carefully over the scars on his shoulder blade, making him shudder. Lips pressed to the base of his neck. Dean Ambrose wasn't scared of goddamn anything, but this was making him reconsider getting into the shower. “That's not washin' my back, Reigns.” He finally said, a little breathlessly.

“Shut up.” Roman murmured. “If you're uncomfortable I'll stop.”

“I didn't say that.”

“So be quiet.”

“Can't, I'll explode.”

Roman made a frustrated noise, almost a growl, and Dean's whole body felt like someone had turned up the heat. Roman's hands left his back and Dean wasn't able to keep in a pitiful whimper. “Hey, you're the one who wanted me to wash your back, don't get all bent out of shape because I need to actually get something to wash you with.” Roman chided.

“Want ya' to touch me.” Ambrose admitted. “Normally I don't let anyone touch me.”

“Too busy moving?”

“Too dangerous.”

Soapy hands slid over his shoulders, kneading the skin there and making Dean's head loll forward, chin resting on his chest. The sound he made was pornographic and he felt more than heard Roman's chuckle. “I guess you really don't let anyone touch you, huh?”

“Mm, no.” Ambrose wasn't sure why he felt like he needed to tack on an I promise at the end, swallowing the urge. Soulmate or not, he wasn't anyone's property. Never had been, never would be. However, he could definitely get used to only Roman touching him. The larger man was deceptively gentle, scrubbing his back with a care that was totally foreign.

Roman's forehead came to rest at the nape of his neck. “They threw a bag over my head when I was in the elevator.”

It took Dean a second to catch up to what the fuck Reigns was talking about, his brain busy drifting away in a state of half-arousal.

“Threw a bag over my head and knocked me out. Helmsley said that me deciding his son was my soulmate would be best for business. I told him it didn't work that way.” Roman said quietly. “He didn't like that much at all.”

“What a fucker.” Dean grunted.

“I'm not going to say it was the absolute worst thing that could happen, you know? I understand that it would have been far less traumatizing to just agree to the terms, pretend Seth was my soulmate. Seth's not a bad guy at all, we've had some great conversations. His dad is just fucking crazy. But...” Roman inhaled shakily. “I wanted what my father has, what my uncles have. You should see the way my parents look at each other, Ambrose. Like they're each other's sun, moon and fucking stars. I...I wanted that more than anything in the world.” Dean wanted to scoff at how pathetic Roman sounded, but his heart was doing some weird shit in his chest. “So I declined Hunter's offer and accepted the consequences.”

“I mean, you got outta' there, so somethin' musta' gone tits-up.”

“Yeah.” Was all Roman said in reply, making Dean frown when he pulled back. Ambrose turned around, watching Reigns duck his head under the spray of the shower.

“Hey, I've kinda'...been through my fair share of shit, man. If uh. If there's anythin' I can do, any skulls y' need cracked, I'm your man.” I'm your man. Dean winced at his choice of words. I could be, I guess. It wasn't so bad if he admitted to to just himself.

The smile Roman gave him was small, but still there. “That's very kind of you.”

“Yeah, I'm offerin' outta' the goodness of my heart.” Dean jibed, making Roman laugh. “Not on account of the fact that I'm healin' an' I'm still itchin' t' fight. Some spoiled-brat business guy would probably suit my fists 'bout now.”

“And then sue your fists.” Roman said dryly. Dean snickered, which got Roman to smile again. Dean really, really liked it when he smiled, he was quickly realizing. Which had the potential to be...bad.

The real question here is, do I actually give a shit?

Roman yawned, stretching his arms up over his head and Dean leaned in to bump their foreheads together. There was an odd jitter in Dean’s vision and then he was suddenly back in Roman’s body, finishing his stretch. “Ugh, really?” Roman complained. “Of course, I just got clean.”

“Ah c’mon, s’not so bad.” Dean teased, stepping out of the shower and crossing his arms. “Now ya’ can slap my ass without me punchin’ ya’ in the face. Win win in my book, man.”

“I have never--“

“Better get used to it then, bossy. Because ya’ ass is designed for that shit.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him and Roman huffed. Dean turned around to look in the mirror, running a thumb over the grown-in stubble on his jaw. “Should probably wait until you’re back in the drivers seat as far as shavin’ goes. Ya’ look like this fuzz means somethin’ to ya’. Might be kinda’ funny t’ shave it all off though.”

Abruptly, Roman’s hand full-on walloped Dean’s ass cheek. Ambrose grunted, startled. Not really by the slap, but by the way the body he was in reacted to it. “Shit, Christ-“ He sputtered. “Damn Reigns, you’re really into that shit huh?”

“I’ll murder you if you shave my...wait, really into w--oh my God.” Roman put his hands over his face. Dean had never seen himself blush, so the visual of pink flooding his shoulders was a new one. “No, no no no I’ve never-”

“Uh oh, someone’s got a dirty little kink.” Dean smirked, rubbing his buttock and flinching as his cock twitched in interest. “Damn, ya’ gave me the fuckin’ heater on that pitch. Easy on th’ goods. You’re the one who’s gonna’ have t’ deal with this shit later.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bullshit.” Dean cut him off. “Don’t ya’ start lyin’ t’ me now, bossy. Now. I’m gonna’ raid your suitcase an’ borrow some clothes for ya’. Seein’ as my jeans are still all fucked up.”

…

The notion that he, he, Roman Reigns, might be interested (the way his cock looked indicated a little bit more than interested) in play that even bordered on rough was strange. Roman was immensely grateful that Dean didn’t make an attempt to touch his dick at all, the other man simply ignoring his cock until it softened. Roman didn’t know why it would bother him, but it did all the same. At least let him be in his own body if it was going to do embarrassing things like make his cock hard over a swat to the ass!

Roman was lost in thought, pulling on a tank top that was far too large for Dean's athletic frame while Ambrose tried to dry all his hair with a towel, the other man growling every couple of seconds that “this is fuckin’ stupid, jus’ put the shit in a ponytail or somethin‘.”

“That’s what you get for-” Roman paused mid-sentence as there was a loud series of knocks on the door to the room. “What? Who the heck could that be?” He finished tying his shoes and got to his feet, perplexed.

“Don’t look at me, man.” Ambrose grunted. Then, he shot up, dropping the towel and grabbing Roman’s hand. “Wait. Genius, what if it’s someone else comin’ t’ nab ya’?” Roman hadn’t even thought of that, his eyes going wide. Dean pushed him back into the bathroom and made a shushing motion. “Stay put an’ be quiet.” He whispered. “If they’re here for ya’, I ain’t rollin’ over without a fight. Sorry for any bruises on ya’ body, I'll try not t' wreck the paint.”

Roman watched with his heart in his throat as Dean crept to the door, looked through the peephole and then…

He shrugged and started undoing the deadbolt and chain. Ambrose opened the door carefully, seeming confused. “Can I-”

“Sweetheart, you’re alright!”

Roman cringed. Mom?!

“Roman, thank God.” His father was the first one through the door, wrapping Dean in a furious hug. “Where the hell is he? Did he hurt you? I know this is just another one of Hunter’s tricks!”

“I-I uh, y-you guys have th' wrong--” Ambrose stammered, attempting to peel Roman's mom and dad off him. “Roman? A little help here?” He called, his voice cracking. “I thought ya’ told them--”

Sika Reigns flung open the bathroom door and grabbed Roman by the front of his shirt, hauling him into the bedroom. “How much did Hunter give you, you piece of garbage?!” He roared.

“You stay away from my baby!” His mother was in tears, clinging to Dean like her life depended in it. It was strangely gratifying to see the lengths his parents would go to defend him. But not right now for fuck’s sake!

“Wait, wait guys hang on a sec.” Dean sounded a little shaken. “I…let us explain. I promise, I promise it ain’t a trick, please just let us explain.” He pleaded, “This is all my fault, don’t haul off on ya’ kid over me, shit. He’s been through enough crap wakin’ up in a body that looks like mine.”

“Roman, why-”

“I ain’t Roman, alright? I’m jus’ hangin’ out in his body. Roman’s camped in my shitshow. This…this is a lot for me t’ wrap my head aroun’ but he’s done good at explainin’.” He pointed at Roman, grimacing. “That’s Roman, ma’am. Ya’ might want to tell ya’ husband t’ ease off. Wait until I’m back in my body an’ I promise y’ can kick the crap outta’ me then.”

“I just might.” Sika growled. “Roman, is this true?”

“Papa, please-“ Roman hadn’t called his father Papa in years. He felt some of the fight ease out of Sika. “It’s me, I swear it’s me, ask me anything.” He begged, terrified that his father might do something like take Dean away and leave him stranded here.

“When you were very young, what toy did your brother Rosey throw away?” Sika asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Big Dog, it was Big Dog, he was a red and black checkered puppy. I was six.” Roman replied, his voice trembling. “Papa, I-”

“I’m not done.” Sika cut him off. “What did Hunter say to you right before I broke his damn jaw?”

“H-He said--”

“Sika, no, no.” Patricia sounded sad. “Don’t, ask him something else.”

“I need to know that this is Roman, 'Tricia.” Sika said firmly.

Roman didn’t want to repeat what Hunter had sneered at him. Especially not in front of Dean, who was just standing there awkwardly. “He said…he said, ‘Sika is so damn lucky, having you for a son. Strong, loyal, obedient. Too bad you’re so fucking stubborn, though. It’ll take time to retrain you, but I know you’ll make a great son-in-law.’ A-And then you came through the door and Hunter spat on me before you broke his jaw.” Roman swallowed hard. “I swear it’s me, Dad, Papa, please.”

Sika hauled him in for a hug, cupping the back of his head. “I’m so sorry. I had to be sure. Are you alright, Roman? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked worriedly, hand running over the short sandy-blond hair.

Roman closed his eyes and tucked his face down into his father’s shoulder, fighting back tears. “M’okay.” He mumbled.

...

Ambrose cleared his throat after a minute. “So uh. Hi there Mr. and Mrs. Reigns, my name is Dean Ambrose an’ apparently your son is stuck with me for um. The foreseeable future.” He wiggled his fingers in an odd waving motion. “How’s it goin’.

“I’m incredibly sorry about all this, dear.” Mrs. Reigns seemed the more level-headed of the two. “You have to understand, we only recently had some…problems with this.”

“I completely get it. Only a couple weeks out from some jerk tryin’ t’ hurt ya’ kid he supposedly finds his soulmate? I’d be suspicious too ma’am.” Dean figured it wouldn’t hurt to agree. “Promise ya’ though, it’s the real deal. I wouldn’t wish my busted up body on anybody an’ he’s handled it like a champ.” He said quietly.

“So you're his soulmate, huh?” Mr. Reigns mused, holding Roman at arms length so he could give him a visual once-over. “Look like you've been through the wringer, kid!”

“I'm aware.” Ambrose bit out. “Life ain't been kind t' me, sir.”

“Dad please, don't be rude. Christ.” Roman groaned. “We've been trying to get to know each other better.”

“I'll say, you put him in your clothes.” Mrs. Reigns pointed out, obviously teasing her son. Roman blushed, tugging at the hem of the tank top. “Have you tried switching back yet?”

“We were straightened out this mornin' but somethin' happened.” Dean tried to explain. “Not really sure, it was kinda' like I slid sideways an' then I was just. Roman again. Like cracking ya' back.”

“Get over here.” Mr. Reigns ordered. “Foreheads together.”

Dean obliged, a little scared of what might happen should he decide to not cooperate. Roman looked just as confused as he felt when their foreheads touched.

“Eyes closed, hands on each other's shoulders.”

“I don't see how this is gonna'-” Dean's voice changed mid-sentence and blue eyes flew open, locking with brown. “Damn.”

“Shit.” Roman seemed like he was breathless.

“That's better.” Mr. Reigns said approvingly. “That's my son, see the set of his shoulders? Our Roman.” He sounded ridiculously proud and Ambrose felt a sharp spike of envy for a second.

But Roman was suddenly kissing him like his parents weren't in the room, body crushing against his own in a hungry embrace that left Dean absolutely reeling. Reigns finally pulled away, stammering out an apology and then Ambrose grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him back just as hard.

“Sika, you shouldn't rush them!” Mrs. Reigns protested.

“Don't blame me! This is all them, 'Tricia.” Mr. Reigns chuckled fondly. “Remember when we met again?”

“How could I forget? You showed up to my all-important meeting with my hair an absolute mess, wearing a pantsuit of all things! I was mortified.”

“It was amazing.”

Mrs. Reigns rolled her eyes. “Boys, we're having dinner at six. We expect you to make an appearance.”

“Mmhm.” Roman mumbled into Dean's mouth, giving his parents a thumbs-up. Dean had no idea where the urgency in his stomach had come from, just that it was there and burning red hot. The door to the room closing sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears and Roman jerked back. “Shit, I uh...shit. I don't know why I did that.” He gasped. “Oh my God that's so embarrassing, I really hope they're not upset with me.”

“Ya' dad sounded like he was gonna' bust with pride, so I don't think so.” Dean grinned, tangling his hand back into Roman's hair. “Now, 'bout that mouth of yours, bossy.”

“I haven't really done much, I'm--”

“Bullshit, y' kissed th' air right out of my fuckin' lungs.” Dean was pretty sure his smirk was permanently etched onto his face. “Not a lot of people got what it takes t' shut me up, Reigns.” He slid his other hand into Roman's back pocket, making Roman snap immediately to attention.

“Dean, I've never...um.”

“I ain't rushin' ya'. Don't worry. Jus' wanted to touch.” Ambrose murmured, palming over Roman's ass through his slacks. “I know this is scary. We don't have t' do anythin' you're not ready for.”

“I mean. I...it doesn't feel bad. I'm just...I haven't with another guy, is all.” Reigns said awkwardly. “What if I hurt you or something?”

“I dare ya' to try an' hurt me.” Ambrose challenged, laughing a second later at the horrified expression on Roman's face. “M' kiddin', teasin'. I don't mind a little rough play in the bedroom but when you're ready, okay?”

“What do you mean by rough?”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever y' want, I guess. M' up for just about anythin'. I denied this part of me for most of my life, man. I'll take what I can get.”

“No no, I mean...” Roman covered his face with his hands, seeming flustered. “Dean you fight for a living, I seriously don't know what rough is to you.”

“Oh! Shit, s'good point. I uh. I mean, obviously I can take a little more punishment than the average Joe?”

Roman frowned. “But do you want that? Or are you tired of it?” Dean went still, his brow furrowing. Roman, as if he sensed his weakness, pressed on. “Would you rather something...I don't know, a little kinder when we...”

“I dunno'.” Ambrose said finally. “Are you willin' to do somethin' like that for me?”

“Absolutely.” Roman's tone was firm and it choked Dean up a little bit if he was being honest. “You're my o se tasi ma e na. I will cherish you. Like my father did my mother, my uncles and cousins their significant others. I'll do my best to give you anything you need.”

Yep, Dean was definitely going to cry.

Roman crooned quietly in his throat, pressing their mouths together again. It was gentle this time, like he was afraid of breaking Ambrose. Dean grabbed Roman's upper arms, stupidly worried that his legs were going to give out. “I...” His words got all twisted up in his mouth. There were so many things he wanted, so many things he needed.

“Shh, it's alright.” Roman murmured, “It's alright. You're allowed to want other stuff besides what you've already had.”

Dean hadn't been waiting for permission or anything like that (I'm not anyone's property), but it seemed to help just the same. Roman rubbed over the front of his pants and Ambrose was surprised to find out that he was already hard. When the hell had that happened?

Roman made a noise into his mouth like he was just as startled, pulling back. “Oh.” Reigns sounded breathless. “Can I...?”

“You can do whatever th' fuck ya' want just keep fuckin' touchin' me.” Dean said all in a rush. “Already told ya' I don't let people touch me but for fuck's sake please keep touchin' me, I don't even care if y' bossy.”

Roman unzipped the overlarge slacks Dean was wearing. They fit Reigns just fine but Dean was practically swimming in them, the waistband just barely hanging onto his narrow hips. “God you're thin.” Roman gulped immediately after speaking. “Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to. Uh. That was supposed to stay in my head.” He said hesitantly. “I'm...I'm going to take really good care of you, okay? No more being hungry. Not while you're with me.”

“What about Sami?” Dean challenged, suddenly realizing why he felt so guilty about this good shit happening to him. “I can't just--”

“Shh, easy. He took care of you for me. I'll get him whatever the hell he wants.” Roman promised, making a sad noise when Dean rubbed his eyes. “Are you...no no, don't cry, it's okay.”

“S'not fair.” Dean sniffled. “Y' jus' come in here an' say ya' gonna' fix everythin' like it's no big deal. I wanna' believe ya' an' I know it's gonna' kick my ass when ya' leave because you'll figure out there's some fuckin' mistake, like I ain't your one at all an' it hurts.” He wasn't prone to being overly emotional; it felt foreign to be this close to tears, words spilling out of him. “I wanna' be yours like I ain't never wanted anythin' else before an' I'm jus'...I'm so fuckin' scared that I'm gonna' wake up in that alley with Gage standin' over me again an' this is all jus' some fucked up dream. Good shit doesn't happen to me, man.”

“It's going to from now on.” Roman said softly. “Loʻu loto ma aiga.”

“I ain't got no fuckin' clue what th' shit ya' sayin'.” Dean replied, flustered and trying to distract himself from the way Roman was looking at him. Roman slowly knelt, hands framing Ambrose's hips. “Reigns, I--”

“Let me do this for you. After all, you're the one who has to suffer through dinner with my parents.” Roman pointed out, getting a watery snicker from Ambrose. “Sorry about them, by the way.”

“They seem nice. Like they love ya' a lot.” Dean wasn't trying to sound fucking wistful, but there it was. “Y' had a stuffed puppy, huh?”

Roman laughed, propping his forehead up on Dean's bare thigh. “Yeah. Big Dog. Rosey hid him in the trash because I was being a little shit. He wasn't going to actually throw him away or anything, but the garbage guy came while he was at school. Mom was so pissed when Rosey finally 'fessed up because I made her life absolute hell the whole day.”

“You, causin' trouble? I don't buy it.” Dean had to bite back a smile at the way Roman nonchalantly referred to a stuffed animal as a 'he'.

“You'd be surprised.”

Dean's fingers wound into Roman's hair again. “Surprise me, Reigns.” The groan that left his mouth at the first slow stroke Roman gave his dick was unintentional.

Roman looked up at him, seeming startled. “Dean...?”

“Ain't had anyone touch me in a while.” Dean quickly rasped. “Please.” Roman's smile made Dean's stomach drop out. “Wait, wanna'...wanna' touch ya'. Fuck, I need to. While y'...get up over me, I'm gonna' suck your dick while you let me fuck ya' fist.”

“Wh--what?” Roman sputtered, his reaction incredibly endearing.

Dean pulled him to his feet, kissing him hungrily while he fought with Roman's slacks. “On the bed, get on th' fuckin' bed. Need y' like this.” He wasn't sure if he was demanding or begging. Roman was obviously all for it though, quickly working on the buttons of his shirt while Dean pulled his large tank top off over his head. “Fuck, look at you, look at you. Fuckin' gorgeous.” Ambrose breathed. “Wakin' up in ya' body...I wasn't sure for a second if I'd fuckin' died an' I was reborn or some shit, y' so fuckin' pretty.” He said honestly.

“Dean, Christ.” Roman kissed him again, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His tongue pressed into Dean's mouth, licking his own inquisitively and Dean was fucking gone, groaning and shuddering while Roman's body pinned him down.

As Roman got into position over him all Dean could think was I do not fucking deserve this one bit but thank God that I'm getting it anyway, kissing the head of Roman's cock and surprising a sound out of the other man.

“A-Are you going to be okay? Not going to crush you, right?” Roman asked worriedly. Dean wasn't sure why the hell he'd kept his slacks on but nodded anyway. He silently appreciated the way the dark gray fabric stretched over Roman's thighs and framed his cock, which looked painfully hard at this point. When Dean took Roman into his mouth he felt Reigns' forehead impact his hip, the other man's breathing suddenly harsh. “Fuck.” Roman's hips twitched and Ambrose moved a hand down, grasping his own cock loosely. “Shit, shit, sorry, you're just...” Roman swatted his hand away and Dean made a noise of protest around Roman's dick.

Ambrose slid his hands into the back pockets of Roman's slacks, urging Roman to fuck his throat. This was something he was good at, dammit, Reigns should be taking advantage of his skills. But Roman seemed more focused on him, stroking his cock just fucking right. Dean thought he was going to come out of his skin when Roman's mouth closed tentatively around the head of his cock. He knew Roman didn't really know what the fuck he was doing but shit that was hard to remember with that fucking tongue on him.

“Oh, dammit-” He had to pull off for breath, Roman moaning in a way that sounded almost like a complaint when he did. “I know, m'sorry, gotta'...s'been a while.” Dean gasped, loving the way Roman's cock looked as it hung over him and twitched in his hand. Reigns' hips bucked ever so slightly. “Y' ever throat-fucked someone, Reigns?” Dean asked, swallowing hard when Roman shook his head. “Well that explains that shit, I guess.”

The larger man hadn't moved his forehead from Dean's thigh in a while, his breath washing over Ambrose's skin in fast pants. “I'm really close.” Roman confessed. “Can I try sucking you off?”

“Oh yeah, lemme' think about that obviously goddamn.” Dean slammed his fist down on the bed when Roman enthusiastically slurped up the side of his cock and then swallowed him down. “Fuck, Reigns, shit, fuck you gotta' be lyin'-” He choked out, “There's no way you ain't f-fuckin' done this before, I--shit.”

Dean wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that Roman was smiling while he dragged all these embarrassing sounds from him. Fingers cradling his balls, tongue laving over the head of his cock and all the while those damn thick thighs slowly rocking his cock down into Dean's mouth. “Is that good?” Roman gasped finally, a strand of spit stretching from his lower lip to the head of Dean's dick. Ambrose was pretty sure that he'd never been more turned on in his life.

“'Is that good', he fuckin' asks. Like y' can't feel me fuckin' shakin' underneath ya' about t' go off in ya' fuckin' mouth.” Dean rasped, his hips jerking up. “Yes it's fuckin' good, Roman, fuck, fuck's sake-”

“Are you going to come?”

“Y' can't fuckin' tease me like that.” Dean protested. “I-if y' ask me, it's--”

“Because I'm going to come, and--” Roman swallowed hard, Dean watching in fascination as his stomach shuddered with the motion of his breath. “Wanted you to come. O-on my face.” Roman finished hurriedly.

Dean's teeth punctured his lower lip. “What? Why?”

Roman shrugged, flushing. “Just...someone asked me to do it to them once and they looked so...fucked out when I did, I wanted to know how it felt. If you think it's weird--”

“Hell no, hell no. Get ya' hair outta' the way, I will fuckin' oblige the shit outta' ya'.” Dean growled. “Roll onto ya' back, get ya' hair outta' the way. I will come on ya' fuckin' face whenever th' hell you want.”

Roman climbed off and laid on his back, laughing breathlessly when Dean tapped his cock down onto his cheek. “Should I still...?”

“I think I've got it from here. Damn, ya' fuckin' good lookin'.” Dean groaned. “Touch y'self for me, huh?” He bit his lip as Roman dragged his fingers down his torso, the larger man finally taking his cock in hand and hissing out a breath. Dean stroked his dick slowly, wanting to prolong the pretty sight in front of him. “That's right, make y'self feel good for me.”

“Christ, I...” Roman's voice cracked and he swallowed, seeming nervous. “I dreamed about you every night, you know. Since Dad moved me here after what happened.”

“Didja'? What'd I do in ya' dreams?” Dean asked curiously.

“Kissed me, mostly.”

“'Mostly', huh?” Dean's grin felt predatory but he couldn't be fucked to fix it. “Don't suppose I fucked ya', did I? Maybe I came on ya' face? Woke ya' up all fuckin' hot n' bothered in the night?”

“Dean, Jesus--” Roman's expression was all Dean needed for confirmation. Roman tilted his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat as his shoulders dropped with a quivering sigh. The picture was just...too much for Dean. The visuals, the fact that this was his now, Roman was his--

“Close y' fuckin' eyes m'gonna' come.” Dean said through gritted teeth, groaning loudly when Roman wrapped his fingers around Dean's and stroked him in tandem, urging him on. “God, fuck, fuck--” Ambrose grunted, his whole body shivering as he came. The sight of Roman covered in his come shouldn't have been such a raging turn-on for him but then Roman snarled and painted his own abdomen with his release and yeah, yep, that sound he made was fucking hot.

Dean collapsed on his back beside Roman, both of them breathing too hard to speak. Roman finally started laughing. “Was that too weird? I feel like it might have been too weird.” He asked.

“Fuck no, I'll let ya' ass know when shit gets too weird.” Dean replied. “That was...shit, that was fuckin' nice. Anyone ever told ya' you're a natural?”

Roman laughed harder at that, fumbling in the sheets for the tank top so he could wipe his face and stomach off. “Christ, I've never done anything like that before. That was wild. You're a bad influence.”

“Maybe next time you'll get ya' pants all the way off.” Dean teased, getting Roman to flush. “We'll work on it.”

“How about we order something God awful for us and we can try again? Dinner is...kind of a ways away.” Reigns looked hopeful but wary, like he wasn't sure that Dean would want literally anything and everything he was willing to share.

Ambrose rolled on top of him, kissing him hungrily. Roman responded after a second, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and rolling his hips up into Ambrose's smoothly. Neither of them were hard but it still felt so fucking good that Dean sighed into Roman's mouth. “That's an excellen' fuckin' plan, Reigns.” He whispered.

Roman tilted Dean's head down, pressing his lips carefully to the skin a safe distance from the stitches before offering the other man a grateful smile. “Glad you think so.”

(Translation Note: 'O se tasi ma e na': One and only. 'Loʻu loto ma aiga': My heart and home/family.)

#dean ambrose #roman reigns/dean ambrose #roman reigns #dean ambrose smut #roman reigns smut #soulmate!AU #business!Reigns #poor!Ambrose #this got out of hand as always #thirst party saturday #ambreigns #ambreigns AU

305 notes · View notes