#seth throws himself on dean w. kisses or punches

[butmaybeitwasnt]

some sweet boy with a good smile and a shaky heart

author: mira / bravelikealady rating: teen word count: ~2350 archive warnings: none summary: Battered and near broken in the aftermath of TLC 2017, Seth and Dean can't make the drive and stop for a hotel. With an offer of food Dean follows Seth back to his room, another exercise in remembering who they are, in trying on who they could be. 

read the fic here on AO3 or continue under the cut. 

“I want to kiss you. Like big, fat kisses. Or angels. Or stars. Or something. I don’t know. Love poems never make sense to me. Poets say things like “Your teeth are flowers.” or “Your eyes are miracles.” But you aren’t miracles. Or flowers. You are some sweet boy with a good smile and a shaky heart. Come kiss me. I’m in love with the miracle of your body beside my body.”

-love poems, clementine von radics

“You wanna go out?”

As Dean asks this, he’s slumped over, back to the wall, hands on his ankles, hardly able to look up in the elevator of the hotel they ran to a half hour outside of town. They’d survived, but just barely. Driving was out of the question tonight, but Seth looks at him and knows he isn’t kidding.

“Out? No, man.”

“Not out out, food out.”

Seth sighs, “You need sleep.”

“I need coffee.”

“Rest.”

“Diner,” Dean somewhat yells, standing to mock punch at Seth.

“No diner,” Seth groaned. “Alright, alright, man, listen… if I make us eggs will you just… come back to my room and pretend you’ll try to sleep?”

“You got a kitchen?”

“A kitchenette.”

“Oh, is that like a kitchen for girls?”

Seth rolled his eyes, trying to hold back his smile. The joke was stupid but he was so tired, so full of adrenaline, so glad he got Dean out of there in one piece. He knows I’m weak.

“That’s a dumb joke, I’m going to make eggs,” he gets off the elevator at his floor, hoping a bold move will avoid an argument, hoping strutting forward will compel Dean to follow.

One step, two step, three step…

“Okay, okay, slow down, Sassafras. I’m coming, too.”

Seth smiles as he drops his gym bag and runs the keycard, Dean making pained faces at him as he half jogs to get to him.

“Come grab a plate! There was no butter, this is… gonna be a whole deal. Dean! Dean?”

Seth shovels the scrambled mess onto one plate, grabs two forks, and heads into the bedroom off of the suite. He sees why Dean isn’t responding to him. He’s face down on top of the covers, boots still on, not asleep, but somewhere else. Dean was prone to spend more time in that in between than he was actually committing to sleep. That’s something that hadn’t seemed to change.

“Hey you.”

“Hm.”

“Food.”

Seth kneeled by the bed and tried to coax Dean into moving with the smell of food, taking a bite himself. They weren’t terrible but he did feel a little bad about denying Dean a diner.

“What happened to you, Mister ‘I’m buzzing, I can’t be still, blah blah blah’…”

“It was a mistake, I stopped moving,” Dean said, turning his head to face Seth, but keeping his eyes closed.

“So maybe I made a good call?”

“Made an alright call,” Dean said, smirking, his eyes opening but remaining heavy lidded and noncommittal.

It had been a long time since Seth had gotten this Dean, sleepy eyed, free of defenses. He knew he missed a lot of things, wanted a lot of things back, but he hadn’t thought about this… the deepness of breath, the soporific blinking, his blue eyes beginning to water. He is right in front of me... Seth could reach out and touch him but something sank in his stomach and pulled at his chest, a pang of nearness but loneliness. He was missing a thing they’d never had.

Dean gave a concerned hum, “I got something on my face?”

“What,” Seth said with half a gasp. “No, no, sorry.”

“Zoned out?”

“Ha, yeah.”

Or in, he thought, reflecting on how much time he lost, on the damage done. It was hard to move forward, to not think about the other world where he took his insecurities to Roman and Dean, where he saw who he was, where he saw who he wanted, and made himself worthy of Dean a long time ago. Instead of running to Hunter. Instead of running, running, running.

“Hey,” Dean said, near a whisper, and Seth was worried he was about to call him on his zone out bullshit.

“Yeah?”

“Feed me.”

“I brought you a fork.”

“Not moving my arms,” Dean shrugged as best he could still pinned to the bed.

Seth snickered, “I hate you.”

“That’s my line.”

It was sharp. Rough around the edges. It happened sometimes… residual anger, hurt, whatever it was… I deserve it. Still, it took Seth back, forced his eyes to the carpet, the early fraying of his boot strings.

“Seth,” Dean said. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m not--”

“I know.”

Dean rolled off of the bed, slid his back against it, his legs curling around and over Seth’s like day one, like they’d never used their bodies to hurt each other, “I mean it. I’m not...”

Seth fell silent as Dean’s words tumbled away from him, picking at the eggs in front of him. He didn’t want to seem petulant, but he didn’t want to speak either. Sometimes, no matter how close they felt, no matter how much better it felt, Dean lashed out. In a look or a word. In the starts of kisses quickly extinguished. He knew he being by Dean’s side at all was… a miracle… or…  

So he took it in stride, any lashing worth it for the proximity, for the privilege of touching him again, for the practice of his trust. But tonight… it got to him.

Dean’s middle and index finger running up the side of his hand that held the plate, his thumb resting lightly on Seth’s knuckles, brought Seth back from the deep end of guilt. He finally to the nerve to look up again, his eyes meeting Dean’s.

“Hey,” Dean spoke softly, it sent chills dancing along Seth’s neck and spine.

“Hey.”

“I asked you to feed me.”

“Ugh, Dean…”

Dean opened his mouth insistently and gave a very cheesy wink and so Seth pretended to just loathe scraping up a bite and serving it to him, groaning dramatically for his fork’s entire journey.

“I didn’t do a very good job.”

“No, you did fine,” Dean gave, but the way he chewed spoke otherwise.

“Sure.”

“Yep.”

Silence fell between them, Dean pulling at the bedskirt behind him, staring at nothing. Seth tried to drink him in without staring straight on. He wondered where Dean was right now. He could be nowhere, or the wherever he checks out to all the time. He could just be reliving the match… it was a brutal thing and the more than once it made Seth feel that he’d failed him. But this was one of those nights where the air between them felt white hot, on edge. It was intoxicating, dizzying, held the potential to be heaven or hell. And it was in Dean’s hands. It had to be now. Dean had to decide what Seth was worthy of, friendship, punishment, the great yawning other than Seth had seen clearly as the choice he should’ve made three years ago.

“Put the plate down,” Dean spoke, just as Seth’s breath quickened and he felt like something might spill over.

“Oh c’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“No, put your plate down,” Dean said, his hands busy.

“Why?”

“Wanna try something.”

“Dean, I’m tired, you’re obviously tired, what are w-”

“SETH. YOUR PLATE. DOWN. MAN.”

He jumped at how loud Dean was and Dean laughed.

“Down,” Dean scolds, smiling, snapping before pointing to the ground, so Seth finally sits it down. Dean slides it across the floor, eggs flying everywhere.

“Hey man, c’mon!”

Dean just laughs at Seth’s exasperation and he can’t help it, he’s laughing too. Dean straightens his back, becoming as upright as man on the floor of a hotel room can be, and his legs encroach on Seth’s space even more, “C’mere.”

“C’mere? I’m here. You got me trapped basically, you threw eggs all over my floor,” he can’t finish. He’s laughing so hard he’s crying.

Dean starts laughing just as hard, “are you okay?”

“I’m so tiiiiiiired,” Seth yells at the ceiling and Dean laughs even harder.

The hum of the AC and their sleepy joy are the only sounds around them and Seth thinks that if this was it, it’d be okay. For however long… however long Dean can stomach him, forget, forgive, whatever it took. However long. I’ll take it.

“Seriously, come here,” he says, slapping at Seth’s hands.

“Alright, alright,” Seth scoots forward, weighed down by Dean’s own legs piled on and around him.

He stops, their knees are essentially locked. He’s mere inches from Dean’s face, “I’m here.”

“Yeah.”

Dean brushes a lock of Seth’s hair back and Seth has to coach himself to breath while Dean examines his face.

“So… you here for real?”

“You still have to ask?”

“You know that… I don’t want to but I... I got to.”

“I’m here. I’m here for real. For… for good,” Seth swallows hard, nervous, scared it was too much, the wrong thing to say.

But Dean just whispers, “Good.”

Dean’s hands grab either side of his face, hard, pull him closer, his lips pressing onto his own. It is full on, warm and lingering, in contrast to the quick attempts or abandoned, frightened tastes of the past few weeks. Seth closes his eyes, worried this is the product of some concussion, just a reckless impulse Dean needs to follow after the wreckage of tonight. Seth’s mouth opens instinctively for him and for the first time since that drunken miscalculation over three years ago, he tastes Dean, tongue padding against tongue. He feels awake. He feels awake and he didn’t know he was sleeping.

Seth doesn’t want to open the door for being a tool of self hatred or self harm for Dean. He doesn’t want to take advantage either, of how hard and terrifying today was, of Dean’s natural inclination to throw himself into flames when the other option was feeling. But he was scared to move, scared to break contact. It was like being in the center of a hurricane, if a hurricane was a thing you’d been praying for, was a thing you were born to be caught up in. Dean’s mouth is hungry, his teeth catching tongue or lip in the suctioned heat of the thing. Seth is kissing him back, but he doesn’t know if he should be. Dean bites his bottom lip hard then deeply takes in Seth’s tongue and the pure pain of the thing makes Seth moan. Dean pulls away to exhale something like a laugh, his eyes scanning the length of him, and then he straddles him, locks him into another kiss. Seth wants to just lie back, feel the weight of him, let him take him over. But he wants to be worthy, he wants it to be right. He raises his hands to cup Dean’s cheek as Dean wraps a hand around his throat and tangles the other in his hair and gently pushes him back.

“Do you want me to stop,” Dean asks.

“I…”

“I’ll stop.”

“No, no, I just… are you sure?”

They’re both out of breath, gasping for air. In the moment that passes between them Seth realizes it is not unlike any hundreds of paused moments in matches, when they wanted each other to bleed. The only difference is the feeling. Right. Good.

“Yes,” Dean says, pulling his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside. He places his hands under Seth’s shirt, swirling one finger delicately downward, “Yes.”

“You have to mean it.”

“I mean it,” Dean whispers, pressing a kiss to Seth’s cheek, this his forehead, before moving back to his lips, small, slow, punctuated things, as he lifts Seth’s shirt up and over his head.

Seth can feel himself melting, feels every part of himself desperate to let go, give in, to let the storm soak his skin, but he has to know.

“Listen.”

“I’m listening,” Dean says, as he plants kisses on Seth’s neck.

“Tonight was… crazy. I can’t just be adrenaline, or… or... residual nerve, Dean. I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you, I’d never, I can’t-”

“Hey, look…”

Dean stood and stretched out his hand to Seth. He took it, let Dean pull him up. Dean sat on the bed, placed his head in his hands. Seth walked to the sink, grabbing a paper cup by the coffee machine and filling it with water. He took a few sips, considering his reflection in the mirror, Dean’s silhouette still hanging his head on the bed behind him. His heart was racing and he ached, more from this than from the bumps he’d taken jumping off of trucks, ladders. His body felt overwhelmed, electric. And a part of him, the part he hated, considering running, shutting down, leaving, getting the hell out of here, before he drowned in any number of things he was feeling. He shoved it down, finished the cup of water. He filled it again and sat on the bed beside Dean, offering it to him.

“Thank you,” he took it, took a few sips before sitting it down.

Dean was breathing hard. Seth watched the rise and fall of chest, his eyes lingered hungrily on the curve of his collar bone, found the line of freckles along his shoulder, followed the dip between his pecs, down to his stomach, down. He thought about tracing all of it with his tongue.

“When I say this, it ain’t about hurting you, I just… I don’t know how else to say this,” Dean said, turning to look at Seth.

Seth braced himself for whatever was coming, “Okay.”

“It’s not… there’s not a moment where we do this where it isn’t me walking into a burning building. It’s a house on fire, no matter where we start. Yeah?”

“Yeah, I… I’m sorry, Dean. I--”

“No, I don’t… I need you to keep apologizing. I… I believe you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just… it’s scary. It’s reckless. It’s a bad idea. But let me be kissing you, alright? Not because I feel like I’m dying or because I feel like I’m coming out of my skin, but because… it’s you, man. It’s… it’s you.”

“Okay,” Seth said, wearing his relief plain on his face.

He took Dean’s hand, pressed his knuckles to his lips, kissed each one in turn, “sore?”

“Little bit,” Dean let out a light life and Seth saw blush run to his cheeks.

Seth brushed the curls from his face, kissed his forehead, his temples, then softly his lips, “so where were we?”

#ambrollins #dean ambrose #seth rollins #we were just business partners (seth rollins) #we’re gonna burn together (dean ambrose) #but maybe it wasn’t (ambrollins) #the book of ambrollins (our fic) #sister (mira)