I'm Burning Up
In retrospect, maybe Roman should have used the soap.
It isn't like he's never walked through the locker room like this before. He's come out to the ring and wrestled just fine like this; most guys take one look at him and immediately back off even if he does call to them more than any of them want to admit. His size is intimidating, after all.
Not just his size, but his demeanor also scares many of his potential suitors away. The other superstars catch a smoke-eyed scowl and back off, muttering apologies or just turning away to suppress a shudder. Roman Reigns is primal, dark, and off-limits to everyone. He's made this as clear as he can since he joined the company and so even during this part of the quarter, he never worries about how the others are going to react to him. They've proven they have control.
But he's never been around Hunter for a prolonged period like this.
It registers just a second too late; Hunter's head has already swiveled in his direction and Dean is ripping off his headset. Seth ducks out of the ring, his face creased with tension as he takes Roman's arm and pulls at him. Hunter's interest has already set off Dave and Randy.
The trio of low, dark growls make Roman's knees weak in all the wrong ways.
He's stumbling away from the ring, backing away because turning his back would be bad.
Then the three break position and he turns to bolt with his friends at his sides.
Hunter received the warning earlier than Roman was in heat. He didn't think much of it.
Some of their bitches go into heat during the broadcast, and it's not really a big deal. The drinks at every arena are cleverly dosed with fast-acting suppressants that no one notices the taste of. It's a precaution that large public venues have been using for years. Get enough people dosed and you don't have to dose everyone. Everyone stays safe, happy, and clothed.
He's never had a problem dealing when one of their bitches go into heat. It's a normal thing.
Hell, he's usually one of the guys helping corral the guys who can't harness their control right.
Seth is close, which is why he and Randy are out here to begin with. Considering how long Dave was gone before he came back, Hunter doesn't trust him around the little high flier and he wants to make sure he can break up anything that might happen while they're in the ring.
After all, the best heels are the ones who can interfere when things go that shade of wrong.
But he's never smelled Roman before. Not surprising since the Shield was given their own locker room almost as soon as they joined the company. Hunter all but demanded it; three unmated, pretty bitches needed to be kept away from the rest of the locker room until they had time to adjust and the others had picked up on their scents well enough to not be a danger to any of them. Then, it had turned into pure selfishness. He doesn't want his precious stable anywhere near the rest of the locker room. It's neurotic and he's half-convinced Roman is going to snap him in half if he ever finds out that Hunter has been treating them like special snowflakes, but then he smells Roman and his thought process just stops functioning correctly.
Because Roman smells like everything good and sweet and lovely and Hunter wants that.
His muscles tense and twitch as that scent permeates his nostrils and his brain, thick enough to dance along his taste buds and he can't imagine how good Roman will taste. Unable to restrain himself, he growls and feels burst of satisfaction when he sees Roman waver slightly.
Then Dean and Seth are moving him over to the barricade, ostensibly to escape. Unacceptable.
Before he can move, he catches Randy darting forward out of the corner of his eye and Dave is heading for the ropes to head them both off. No. If these stupid fucks think they are getting anywhere near Roman, Hunter's just going to have to make it impossible for them to walk.
He pounces Randy first and takes him down in a swift movement, nailing him to the floor.
Randy doesn't go down without a fight. He thrashes for freedom but Hunter isn't having it. He locks a sleeper on the younger man, not some pretty looking fake one but a legitimate one until Randy goes limp beneath him. The Shield are already halfway up the steps, Dean and Seth struggling with Roman, and Dave is climbing over the barricade. As if. It's not happening. Hunter rounds the ring and jumps, landing on the big man's back and taking him down to the concrete floor of the audience. People scream. Someone cheers. No one seems to get it, though.
He looks up and the three black-clad man are gone. Shit. Where are they taking Roman to?
Hard weight lands on his back, sandwiching him down against the floor, and he twists his head to see Randy rolling off of him with a groan. Yeah, jumping on people isn't typically a good idea and Randy of all people should know that. Dazed blue eyes meet Hunter's, as if the younger man is surprised the move stunned him as much as it did. Good. He's not going anywhere.
"If you go near him, I swear to Christ I will rip out your fucking throat," Hunter snaps, lunging and clutching the front of Randy's black Evolution shirt hard enough to rip through the fabric.
Ever the fighter, Randy snarls in his face. "Fuck you, Hunter. He's mine."
"I mean it, Orton. He's mine and if you touch him—" Hunter wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes, putting on just about three pounds of pressure. "You won't live to see the sunrise."
"Do it. You don't have the balls." The words are barely distinguishable from the growls.
The thing is, Hunter does. Four pounds of pressure. "Roman is mine. Not yours."
Something in Randy's face changes slightly at the words and Hunter backs off, letting the younger man get his breath as he scans the crowd. Up the stairs, through the doors—he can follow Roman's sweet scent through the hallways. Unless the Shield plans on leaving the arena early, they'll probably be heading to wherever they've hidden their locker room tonight.
"Seth is mine," Randy finally says, and Hunter backs off. "He lost it right after Roman did."
They stare at each other for a moment before nodding and bolting up the stairs, Hunter hot on Randy's heels as he lifts his head and scents the air. Not like they could've gotten far. The Hounds of Justice might be notoriously fast, but if Roman is still lagging and Seth is starting to, they can't be that far away. All they have to do is track them down and separate them. Randy can have Seth as far as Hunter is concerned; he knows Randy will treat the Architect right.
"They went this way," Randy says, turning sharply to the left and bolting down the hallway.
Someone must have said something to the others because the moment Hunter joins Randy and they round the corner, they smash directly into John Cena. The three of them hit the floor and roll, falling in a tangle of limbs that Hunter is quick to extricate himself from.
"What the fuck?" John asks from the floor, glaring up at them with narrowed eyes.
Randy doesn't even bother to apologize, just grabs the front of John's shirt and shakes him. "Did Seth and Roman come this way? Did you see them? If you saw them and you don't tell me, John, I swear to God I will destroy your career and make sure you never wrestle again."
"You're serious. Shit." John shoves Randy off of him, shudders all over. "Oh, fuck you both."
He's not going to be helpful now. Hunter sees it happen in an instant and just grabs Randy by the arm, dragging him off of Cena and back to his feet. He finds the scent with ease and starts down the halls again, running with Randy at his heels. The last thing he wants to do is baby sit John Cena now that he's unexpectedly hit rut... How many more of their guys are going to crumble?
"This way. They went this way," Hunter mutters more to himself than anyone else, stopping at a doorway. It's barely open, just a crack, but one sniff is enough to tell him Ambrose opened it.
And Ambrose is gone, too; Roman must be pretty dominant for a bitch if he's already set Seth and Dean off especially because Dean wasn't even close whereas Seth was. Just like Hunter and Randy set John off. It's poetic, really. Hunter has finally found the one who carries his preferred type of dominance and just like in the old days, he's going to chase his mate down himself.
"They must've went down to the basement level," Randy says, shouldering the door open.
Hunter shoves past him and sniffs the handrail; he smells sweet Roman and two other scents he knows belong to Seth and Dean. "Yes, they did. Let's see if we can catch up to them."
"No," Randy says before Hunter can start down the stairs. "We need to head them off to the lot."
It takes Hunter a moment to process the words because he's starting to go gray around the edges but then it makes sense. He nods and they leave the door behind, heading down another hallway and almost knocking Heath Slater off of his feet in the process. What the fuck is this? It's like everyone is in there way tonight—even if it's only been two people. Heath yelps and stumbles, and Randy catches him and straightens him before they leave him behind and take off.
"Don't think I've seen you act like a gentleman in a long time," Hunter comments lowly.
Randy smirks up at him. "Heath's a pretty bitch. Wouldn't want to accidentally hurt him."
Good point. Hunter nods and makes a mental note not to knock over any of their resident bitches on this mission—it isn't proper and as the alpha of this ragtag pack, he needs to be a good leader.
They zigzag around a few people who work in the arena and nearly knock over the Wyatt Family in the process, Hunter hoping vainly that they just didn't set anyone else off when he knows very well they did. He doesn't want to think about it to be honest. Instead, he just shoves it out of his mind and makes a mental note to deal with the fallout tomorrow morning. Because this has to have spread and he can only imagine what the repercussions of this evening are going to be.
"I don't think we should have just left those three behind," Randy says as they turn a corner.
Hunter winces and nods; there's a reason Randy is his second-in-command and Dave isn't, after all. "I know. I think Harper's covered and I don't really want to think about Wyatt right now."
"Rowan isn't an issue?" Randy looks momentarily surprised, but he's been out of the loop.
"No," Hunter assures him. "He's not a problem. Never has been, never will be. Focus, Orton."
It's not easy to focus when they have to pass half of the other superstars on their way out of the building. In his head, Hunter is trying to decide how many of them are mated, how many of them will be able to control themselves, and how many of them are going to end up fucking tonight.
With so many young guys in the company, the numbers are not comforting at all. But if this happens again, they're going to be comforting and that is somehow even worse.
"Steph is going to kill us for this," he says when they finally reach the outside doors.
Randy just shoots him a wry smile before wrenching the door open hard enough to make the glass rattle, Hunter sprinting out into the cool night air before he has the chance. Right now, he feels jacked up and it helps because it honestly feels like he can scent the entire parking lot.
The Hounds of Justice didn't make it as far as they probably thought they would.
Seeing the three of them crumpled to the pavement sends Hunter's heart thrumming in his chest and he covers the distance in long, easy strides with Randy right behind him. He hasn't run like this in years and he's going to pay come morning but right now all that matters is Roman.
Hunter hits the pavement hard and he's pretty sure his knee is going to be bitching at him in the morning for it but he doesn't honestly care right now. "Roman, are you okay?"
Glassy gray eyes peer up at him from beneath long, liquid black lashes. "H-Hunter? What..?"
"Oh, fuck," Dean groans, curling into the fetal position, shivering all over.
Shit. They don't have anybody for Ambrose. Hunter swears quietly as he moves to a crouch so he can get an arm around Roman and another around Dean, hauling them both to their feet. Roman might as well be dead weight and he's a lot of dead weight but it's fine. Hunter can manage. He watches Randy scoop Seth up like he weighs nothing, tucking platinum and dark, dark brown out of Seth's dazed, flushed, sweaty face. These boys are so far gone.
Dean is suddenly punching his arm, trying for his attention. "My phone. Call Regal. Now."
"He's in Florida, Ambrose. He's not going to be able to help you." But Hunter is already patting down Dean's pockets until he feels the shape of a phone and yanks it free from his pocket.
"He's not in fucking Florida," Dean mutters, shaking his head. "He's at the hotel. Waiting."
It shouldn't surprise Hunter that William Regal has managed to duck his responsibilities in NXT to join them in London, but he is a little pissed the guy just didn't come right out and ask him if he could come. It could've been arranged. Sighing, Hunter shoves the phone in Dean's face until he gets the hint and unlocks it, then yanks it back so he can locate Regal's number on the list and hit the Call button. It takes a few rings before he hears that arrogant British accent on the other end and a million ways to explain this situation roll through his head, none of them at all coherent because Roman is right here, nuzzling against his neck and making breathy, pleading noises that make Hunter think of nothing but spreading those big, beautiful, naked thighs—
"Dean, are you okay? I saw you and the others bolt. Talk to me." Shit. He's on the phone.
"Dean's fine," he barks, not caring if he sounds pissed or not. "We're bringing him to the hotel."
Which in hindsight is where all of them are going to end up in the grand scheme of things anyway; Hunter would much rather prefer to fuck Roman in a big soft bed rather than on the cold asphalt. And he's pretty sure Randy doesn't want to risk hurting Seth because the little high flier already took quite the beating. Hunter's going to have to rethink his opinion of the kid.
There's a brief pause but Hunter can sense the anger even through the phone. "Helmsley, if you harm so much as a single hair on his head, I will have your head on a silver platter."
"We're just bringing him to the hotel. Be in the lobby." And then he hangs up.
Roman's hands are starting to roam and the little breathy noises are right in his ear; how is he going to drive in this condition? Not that Randy is fairing any better; hefting Seth up into his arms has given the younger man easy access to Randy's neck and Seth is taking advantage.
"I'll drive," Randy finally snaps, carrying Seth toward a car, and Hunter follows.
Dragging both Roman and Dean isn't an easy task but he's still strong and at least Roman is somewhat cooperating if only to stay close. He's going to be such a good lay, so submissive and open and passionate. Hunter's looking forward to every single second of that.
"How long have you been fucking Regal?" Hunter asks Dean to cut some of the sexual tension.
Dean sends him an incredulous look. "Ever since I kicked his ass when I was going by Moxley."
"Guy likes a strong bitch," Hunter muses, noting the flash in Dean's eyes. "Good for you."
He's seen the tape. Everyone has seen the tape. It was what made him decide to keep Dean away from NXT and bring him straight to the main roster; he was main event material now and Hunter wasn't making him wait. It doesn't surprise him that Regal, somewhere in the middle of all of that, found time to pin Dean down and make him his. In a way it works because Regal is so cerebral and Dean likes that. It's what ended him up in the Shield, after all.
"If you drive the speed limit, I'll kill you," Hunter informs Randy as they reach the car.
Randy rolls his eyes, locating the spare key and unlocking the vehicle. "Fuck you, Hunter."
"You'd like to." Roman growls softly against his throat. "I didn't mean it, Roman. Christ."
Randy sets Seth in the passenger seat and takes the driver's seat while Hunter pushes Dean into the back before following him, Roman plastered against him a breath later. Fuck, this is exactly where Roman ought to be. Crawling into his lap, rubbing against him like this—
"No sex in my car, Hunter," Randy growls as he twists the key in the ignition.
Seth and Roman both whine, and Hunter catches Randy's eye in the rearview and smirks. "Oh?"
"I mean it." Randy twists around, backing out of the spot so fast the tires screech. "Seriously."
"Fine. Spoilsport." Hunter tangles a hand in Roman's hair, needing the touch, the contact.
And it's like there's never been a speed limit because Randy kills almost fifteen people on the short drive to the hotel. Regal is waiting in the lobby like he's supposed to be; Hunter says a prayer for favors both great and small as Regal comes to collect his little Lunatic Fringe.
"Stephanie called me," Regal says curtly, and before Hunter can ask, Regal answers. "I called to confirm all five of you were out of the arena. All hell is breaking loose in your wake and I'll bet you don't know half of what's going on. John Cena is locked in a storage closet right now."
"Surprised the guy managed to get in there of his own volition," Hunter admits, impressed.
Regal gives him a withering look as he takes Dean in his arms. "He's in there with Bray Wyatt."
"Son of a fucking bitch," Randy grunts before hefting Seth over his shoulder and heading for the elevators. "Guess that storyline is about to be nine parts sexual tension from now on. Could've been worse. Think Harper tried to fight Cena off or did he just hand Wyatt over?"
"From what I understand, Harper was already off looking for Maddox," Regal says.
"Maddox is small. That was probably for the best anyway." Hunter ignores the pointed look Regal sends him and now that he can, he lifts Roman into his arms. "Excuse me, William."
Regal sighs and steps out of the way, lifting Dean himself. "Please fix this once you've had... What you want out of Roman. This is not going to go away. That place is falling apart."
Hunter shrugs as he approaches the elevators. "Not much I can do about it while I'm here."
"And you're not going back," Roman mumbles against his neck, tugging at his shirt.
Yeah, as if he wants to go back to an arena full of heat-and-rut-induced werewolves to sort out that shit when he has Roman damn near begging to be laid out and taken hard and fast.
"No," he agrees, stepping into an elevator a young couple steps out of and hitting the button for his floor. At least he keeps his keycard in his back pocket always. Just in case. "I'm staying."
"Fuck me." Roman's voice is breathy and strained, insistent and needy.
And it sounds like just the perfect way to pass the evening. "I plan on it. Every way I know."
"God, yes." Roman gets a handful of his shirt and rips it. "Every way. All night. Please."
Really, how is Hunter supposed to pass up on such a sweet request? It would be wrong to do anything but take Roman to bed and give him exactly what he wants, every way he wants it.
He digs the keycard out of his pocket when they reach his room and slide it through the little scanner, grinning when the handle turns and the door pops open. Time to get down to business.
A/N: I have a thing for the whole heat/rut business. As well as Hunter/Roman, Randy/Seth, and Ambregal. Which you'll get explicitness for those three later on in this story as well as, well... Lots of other people... Next chapter is John/Bray!