Title : Keep Me In Close Orbit

Author : ValmontHeights

Rating : Mature / Explicit

Relationships : Triple H/Roman Reigns, Triple H/Sami Zayn, Tripe H/Seth Rollins, Roman Reigns/Sami Zayn, Randy Orton/Roman Reigns

Implied : Ambrolleigns, Kevin Owens/Sami Zayn

WARNINGS: Mildly Dubious Consent, Unsafe Sex, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Power Dynamics, Not Kayfabe Compliant.

Author's Note: The first in a series of non-chronological excerpts from the long and rather complicated relationship between Triple H and Roman Reigns. Not kayfabe compliant, with Triple H in his "Papa Hunter" mode (genuinely caring but still occasionally a bastard) and Roman Reigns as a needy, eager-to-please bottom with submissive tendencies. If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, I suggest you turn away now. Not all of the warnings above will be trotted out in this first chapter, but they will occur in later parts of the story.

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It's nearly midnight when Hunter finally hears the knocking from the other side of his hotel suite door. Three deliberate raps on expensive wood, knock knock knock. Hunter pads over to the door, bare feet sinking into the lush carpet of the suite. He opens it to reveal the predatory eyes of Randy Orton, smirking under the hood of his jacket.

"Boss…" the Viper greets him as he steps inside the room. "Nice digs you got here, I guess being so high up the company ladder does have its perks."

"You're late," Hunter says as he closes the door and locks it.

"There were a lot of interviews," Randy says as he peels off his jacket and throws it haphazardly against the back of the ornately-upholstered couch in the suite's living room. "Mostly they just want to know who I'll be up against for Wrestlemania."

Hunter chuckles lightly. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"You're gonna keep me in suspense? I tried to get Shane to tell me, but he's adamant that Vince's still mulling over that one."

"Vince is still mulling over a lot of things," Hunter says. "Come on, he's been waiting for you."

Randy takes a step back, seemingly to appraise Hunter's attire. He's still in his dress pants, expensive shirt untucked and unbuttoned, exposing his chest. "I'm surprised you haven't gone a few rounds with him already."

"Had to keep him fresh and ready for Mr. Royal Rumble," Hunter threw a casual arm around Randy's shoulder and guided him towards the bedroom door. "You're his reward, after all."

Randy starts to laugh, but the noise dies in his throat the minute he steps into the dimly lit bedroom and sees what awaits him on the king-size bed.

Roman Reigns, naked and lying curled up on his side, his hands cuffed behind his back and his mouth held open with a bright red ballgag, saliva glistening on his obscenely swollen lips. He's squirming and whimpering quietly, beautiful ass clenching around a vibrating plug that's pushed up to the hilt into his puckered hole.

"God damn…" Randy curses under his breath. "You're spoiling me here, Hunter…got him all nicely packaged up for me."

Hunter wants to correct him, wants to say that if it were up to him, Randy won't be getting anywhere near Roman Reigns tonight, not after all Roman already did for him at the Royal Rumble, but he swallows the words around his clenched jaw.

Roman wanted this. Roman begged for this, begged for Randy specifically, and Hunter can't deny his favorite boy his reward, even if it sits uneasily at the pit of his stomach.

Randy's kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the mattress on all fours, slithering like he's looking for his next RKO. Roman senses the dip in the bed and looks back over his shoulder and outright mewls when he sees Randy, muffled by the gag in his mouth—and Hunter can't deny how unspeakably hot that is, heat starting to coil below his own stomach.

"So…general rules?"

Hunter clears his throat with some difficulty. "You don't get to come in his ass, and you don't get to touch his dick. Either he comes from you fucking him, or I'll take care of him after. Apart from that…have at him."

Randy's smile widens into a predatory grin. "Sounds good to me, Boss."

Roman squirms on the bed, pushing himself back against Randy's groin in a gesture of offering, the faint buzzing of the plug in his ass suddenly seeming like the loudest noise in the room to Hunter's ears.

"How long has he been under?" Randy asks as he peels off his t-shirt, tossing it over the side of the bed impatiently. Hunter can clearly see the naked hunger in Randy's eyes and fights off the wave of possessiveness that washes over him.

"A couple hours now," he tries to sound casual. "I had him blow me just to keep him occupied, but otherwise he's untouched…"

"Mmm…" Randy hums pleasantly as he lowers himself, draping his body over Roman's and breathing close to his neck. "Hey there, baby…"

Roman strains his neck to look back at Randy, eyes glassy and desperate. He looks so wrecked already, glistening with sweat, long dark locks forming a damp curtain down one side of his tan neck. Randy bends his head and nips none-too-gently at Roman's collarbone, eliciting another sweet, sinful moan from behind the gag.

"You're really gonna let me have it all tonight, aren't you baby?" the Viper mutters into the shell of Roman's ear. "You let me toss your ass over the ropes, and now you're gonna let me fuck it, too?"

Roman nods, a little too enthusiastically for Hunter's liking, but his traitorous cock still stiffens at the sight of Roman so pliant and helpless underneath Randy, at how easily and readily Roman gives himself to whoever has control over him.

"Such a good boy…" Randy praises him as his hand wanders low between Roman's ass cheeks, toying with the base of the plug. "Always so willing to take one for the team, so eager to please…"

Roman sinks his head into the mattress and lets out a choked sob, body tightening as Randy pushes the plug evend deeper into him.

"You really outdid yourself out there, huh?" Randy continues. "Last year it was 'one versus all', this year it was you versus all of Texas…"

"Randy…" Hunter says warningly, in a tone that immediately gets the Viper's attention. "Play nice."

As much as he knows how Roman gets off on being talked down to when he's this deep in subspace, the subject of his treatment by the crowds is still a sore spot that Hunter has always tread carefully around, even when he's pushing Roman's other tolerances to the limit.

And tonight Roman had taken the biggest hit of all, putting his game face on and running out there as entrance No.30 to a deafening roar of disdain, undoing whatever small shred of goodwill he'd built up in pockets and clumps over the last few months. He'd eliminated the Undertaker, of all people, absorbing all the heat he could as well as deflecting it off Randy—who had ultimately triumphed by tossing Roman over the ropes.

Randy takes the cue and kisses Roman's stubbled chin gently, his other hand pulling back the strands of dark, sweaty hair away from his temple. "Thank you, baby… thank you for letting me do that—for letting me do this. You're always so good for us, you know?"

Hunter can see the praise practically rippling up and down Roman's flesh, every syllable of Randy's voice sending minor shockwaves through him, echoed by the pulsing in Hunter's own cock. He palms the front of his trousers to steady himself a bit—he's already come down Roman's throat once tonight and he still wants to do more with the boy once Randy's done, so it's in his best interest to pace himself.

On the bed, Randy's stripped himself down to his boxers and maneuvered Roman to lie on his stomach, kicking his legs apart with his knees. He kneads the firm, muscular globes of Roman's ass greedily, marveling at the sight of Roman's hole clenching around the base of the plug. He looks up at Hunter and grins. "Why can't they all be this easy, huh?"

Hunter shrugs. "He's special…he just wants to please."

It's more than that, Hunter knows it's so much more than that, but he's not having this discussion with Randy now, not when Roman's so far gone he can barely support his own weight on his knees when Randy pulls him up by the hips. Truth be told, he just wants Randy to get it over with and leave, so he can have his boy all to himself again.

"The other one is such a brat…" Randy says as he strokes down Roman's broad back, feeling the planes of muscle there. "Sure it's fun to finally get him down and willing for you, but sometimes it takes so much effort it's barely even worth it…"

"Don't remind me…" Hunter says, suddenly reminded that he still has Seth to deal with. The entitled little shit had shown up at the NXT event unannounced, throwing everyone off script with his little stunt. Later, after a thorough dressing down in the production truck, Seth still had the gall to say he should be rewarded for coming up with something that kicked their storyline into high gear, frustrated with how slow it took for the feud between him and Hunter to build up.

It was all so typically Seth, and so typically maddening.

"He knows what's coming for him, though…didn't like it when I told him, but he's gonna take it like a good little bitch or he's going to have to deal with even more punishment."

"Think he's jealous because of all the attention you've been giving his pretty brother over here?" Randy smiles as he leans down and licks a long, salacious stripe up Roman's back. The Samoan arches his body, as if chasing the hot, slick trail of Randy's tongue and Hunter gets another jolt in his groin. He sets any thoughts of Seth aside for now.

"If he wants more of that kind of attention, all he had to was ask…" Hunter moved close to edge of the bed near where Roman's head lay, kneeling down in front him. Roman looked at him with wide, glassy eyes, saliva beading down his chin from the gag held his mouth open. "Like this one…he always knows how to ask so nicely."

Hunter strokes down Roman's face, delighting in how the boy nuzzled against his palm, even with all that Randy's doing further down his body.

Still mine, Hunter thinks, cupping Roman's jaw. Still fucking mine.

Roman tenses suddenly, shoulders tightening as a loud moan escapes his lips. Looking up, Hunter can see Randy holding the plug, turning it off before tossing it over the side of the bed.

"Jesus, you're impatient, Orton…" he hisses. "Careful around precious company merchandise, will you?"

"Bullshit," Randy says as he reaches over to the bedside table, where Hunter has thoughtfully laid out a bottle of lube and some condoms. "I know how this bitch likes it…he wants it rough, don't you?"

Roman nods, hair falling in front of his eyes. Hunter brushes the strands back, wanting to look into the boy's eyes to make sure he's completely on board. It's difficult to tell with Roman sometimes—he's built to take a lot of punishment and doesn't like to admit when things get a bit too much for him to handle. This deep in subspace, desperate with need and with someone other than Hunter so hungry to fuck him, Hunter isn't sure he can trust the boy to know his own limits. It's happened before.

"Take that fucking ballgag off him," Randy says, already a little breathless as he lines his cock up against Roman's entrance. "I wanna hear the noises he makes."

Hunter shoots him a dark look, not appreciating the commanding tone in Randy's voice, but he slides the gag out of Roman's mouth and lets it tuck under his sloppy chin. "Hey, baby boy…"

"D-Daddy…" Roman croaks out, his voice hoarse.

"You ready for this?" Randy smacks him once on the left side of his ass. "Wanna hear you say it, pretty boy…"

"Yes…" Roman says as he struggles to look over his shoulder.

Hunter sinks his fingers into the thick, damp strands of Roman's hair and tightens his grip. "Ask, baby… ask for what you want."

Roman winces at the pull on his scalp, coughs to clear his throat, and strains his neck further to look Randy in the eyes. "Please fuck me, Randy… please."

Randy fucking snarls at that and pushes forward, sheathing himself in Roman in one savage thrust. The force of it throws Roman forward, his forehead thumping against Hunter's chest. He cries out, clearly in some kind of discomfort, wrists pulling at the cuffs where it held them at the small of his back.

"Shit, still so fucking tight…" Randy murmurs appreciatively. "And here I thought your Daddy would've ruined you for everyone else, Reigns…"

Hunter quells the urge to say, I may just make sure I do that from this point forward and rubs soothing circles into Roman's scalp with his thumb. He knows can't stay there, Roman wants this moment with Randy and he can't be interfering like this, so he reluctantly backs away and settles himself into one of the chairs in the bedroom, mindful of his own hard-on as he leans against the plush upholstery.

He has to admit, the sight is better than any big-budget porno can ever produce. Randy's pounding into Roman, holding him by the hips for leverage, tattooed arms glistening with sweat as he fucks the helpless man below him. Roman, his mouth now ungagged, let out a symphony of moans and whimpers that set Hunter's dick throbbing inside his pants, a litany of please and more in staccato bursts in time with Randy's thrusts and the clink of the handcuffs holding his hands immobile.

Randy grabs Roman's hair and pulls back, forcing the boy to arch his neck up with no real means of supporting his weight. Roman cries out sharply, tears starting to gather at the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, keep making those noises, you little cockslut…" Randy says as he bites down on Roman's straining shoulder. "Wanna hear you lose it…"

Hunter wants to tell him to slow down, to ease off a little bit, instead he just bites the inside of his mouth so hard he tastes his own blood. Roman has a safeword and knows how to use it. Randy knows the safeword, too—and Hunter's warned him plenty enough to look out for signs of Roman tapping out if he can't quite use his voice. He just has to sit here and let it happen—let his precious, beautiful boy get fucked senseless by The Viper because it was the reward Roman asked for.

He'll fix this once Randy's done. He'll make Roman his again, without a shadow of doubt. For now he just squirms on the chair, white-knuckled as he grips the arms to stop him from touching himself, listening as Roman's moans escalate into a crescendo in time with Randy's quickening pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" Randy grunts, hips pistoning into Roman as he plasters himself against the Samoan's back, one hand in a bruising grip at his waist and the other tightly fisted in his hair. "Gonna come soon in this sweet little hole…"

"Please…" Roman whimpers, half-muffled against the sheets that have bunched up around his face. "Please, Randy…"

Hunter averts his eyes as Randy hits his climax, thrusting deep and savage into Roman and holding himself there. He can hear Roman's choked sobs as he stares out the window at the San Antonio skyline, delicious noises he's heard a million times before and can never tire of, already thinking of how he's going to make Roman make those noises again, this time for him and him alone.

"Fuck, that was amazing…" Randy mutters breathlessly as he withdraws, giving Roman's ass a smack for good measure.

Hunter remains seated as Randy gets off the bed and pads over to the bathroom to clean himself, then watches as he gathers his clothes from the floor and dresses up quickly.

"I believe you can show yourself outside?"

"Sure, sure…" Randy says as he zips up his jeans. "Thanks, Hunter…I know you don't share much, but that's a piece of ass I wouldn't mind having another go at, if you'll let me."

Hunter wants nothing more than to punch The Viper in his smug-looking face, but he quells his jealousy enough to say, "Only if he asks for you again…"

Randy looks mildly disappointed at that, but shrugs it off. "I'll catch you later, then."

Hunter waits for the telltale sound of the suite's main doors closing, assuring him that he's once again alone with Roman, before getting off his seat and kneeling in front of the bed once more.

"Hey…" he cups Roman's face with both hands and lifts it to look at him. "You okay, baby boy?"

Roman bites his lip, trying to shuffle closer across the mattress but the movement produces a painful grimace that instantly tells Hunter something's wrong.

"Roman?"

"H-hurts…" the boy rasps out. "It hurts, Daddy…"

Alarmed, Hunter immediately reaches for the safety latch in the handcuffs, opening it with a click and gently pulling Roman's arms forward to rest beside his head. He then circles around mattress to get a good look at Roman's backside, the unease knotting in his stomach growing as he looks between Roman's slightly parted thighs.

"Son of a fucking bitch…" he mutters when he sees Roman's bruised and battered hole, slick with remnants of lube and an unmistakable red rim of blood, a trickle of it already starting to trail down his tan thighs. Hunter sees red himself, already halfway off the bed before he can think. "Stay here…I'm going to fucking kill him!"

"No!" Roman exclaims, reaching back frantically to grab at Hunter's wrist. "Stay with me—stay with me, Daddy…please…"

"Roman…"

"Don't leave me—" Roman softens his grip, as if realizing he's overstepped his boundaries. "Please, please stay here…"

Hunter inhales deeply, trying to get his own thoughts in order. He wants nothing more than to chase Orton down the hallway and throw him down an empty elevator shaft. He also wants nothing more than to hold Roman close and never let go again. Then there's the guilt, the feeling of having failed Roman by letting another man hurt him. And the anger, anger at Randy for going too far, anger at Roman for not using his safeword or tapping out.

Think. Priorities. Tend to the damage first, make sure he's okay. There are other ways to punish Randy Orton.

He pushes the questions aside for now and scoops Roman off the mattress, an easy enough task now with plenty of practice even if the boy is over 260 pounds of muscle and bone, carrying him to the bathroom. He makes Roman bend over the counter as he inspects the damage and cleans it with a soft washcloth, adding a cooling gel he always keeps in his toiletry bag just in case. Just in case I let another man run wild over you and tear you open. Fucking hell.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Hunter asks, unable to hold it in any longer. "You know you're allowed to stop him if he gets too much for you."

Roman hangs his head between his elbows, not meeting Hunter's gaze in the mirror.

"Look, I know I can be a bastard sometimes but I'm not a fucking monster, Reigns…" Hunter grits out, wiping the washcloth down one of Roman's strong thighs. "I would've stopped him if you asked me to. I only let him fuck you because you asked for it, I didn't enjoy that one bit, and I certainly wouldn't have let him anywhere near you if I knew this was going to happen."

"I'm sorry, Hunter…" Roman manages to choke out.

"You have your safeword, you could've tapped out if you needed to." Hunter throws the washcloth into the wastebasket in the corner of the bathroom. He knows Randy's discarded condom is probably in there, too—and he doesn't want to look to see the stain of Roman's blood on it. "We can't go on like this…"

That gets Roman's attention, his head snapping up to regard Hunter with fearful, dark eyes. "W-what?"

"This will only work if we both follow the rules, Roman…" Hunter says sternly. "I'm all for giving you whatever you want, and I know you'll give me whatever I want in return, but I won't be made to feel like a fool for sitting by and letting someone hurt you like this, all the while thinking you're getting exactly what you want."

"Hunter, I…"

"Get back in the bedroom and think about what I just said," Hunter says as he pulls Roman upright, unable to resist kissing him on his tattoed shoulder. "Wait for me,"

"Are you—"

"I'm not going anywhere, I just need to go in the living room and make a call," Hunter assured him. "Make yourself comfortable,"

With that, he stalks out of the bathroom and retrieves his phone from the bedside table, before making his way out into the suite's living room.

Orton at least has the common sense to sound apologetic, even if Hunter's known him long enough to know there's a streak of sadistic delight running through The Viper's appeals for forgiveness.

Never let Randy Orton play with your toys if you don't wanna see them broken, is the undertone of their brief phone conversation, and Randy doesn't even sound too bothered by the prospect of not getting anywhere near Roman again for the foreseeable future. Hunter knows he has others he can play with, it used to be Seth until the brand split necessitated the Viper to expand his horizons a little—he doesn't ask for details because he really, really doesn't want to know.

When he ends the phone call with a curt goodbye he grabs two bottles of water from the pantry and steps back into the bedroom. Roman is sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to Hunter as he gazes out the window. He's still naked, the warm bedside lights bathing his tan skin in a golden glow, and already Hunter feels his heart rate picking up and his traitorous dick, rendered soft by the sight of Roman's pain, starting to harden again.

He steps in front of Roman and hands him the bottle. "Drink…then we'll talk."

Roman takes the bottle obediently and uncaps it, swallowing mouthfuls of water into his throat as Hunter watches. He's not quite as deep in subspace anymore but still heeding Hunter's commands like a good boy, and the way he's sitting suggests the pain from Randy's treatment may not be as bad as Hunter first thought, but still.

When Roman's had enough to drink, Hunter takes the bottle from him and sets it aside. Standing tall in front of Roman, he reaches for the boy's neck with one hand, exerting just the tiniest amount of pressure.

"Look at me," Hunter stays sternly.

Roman swallows, his throat bobbing in Hunter's grip, and he doesn't move his head fast enough for the older man's liking.

"I said, look at me!" Hunter moves his hand to Roman's chin and yanks it up, forcing the boy to look at him. Roman's dark eyes are still glassy with need, red-rimmed from tears, his mouth hanging slightly open. He's not being defiant, just…confused and lost and more than a little ashamed. Hunter can practically see the thoughts forming and breaking behind those eyes, the twitch of dissolving words on those swollen, pretty lips.

"I'm going only going to say this once, so listen carefully…" Hunter begins, fighting to keep his tone even. "When you want pleasure, when you want to feel good, you have my permission to seek it from anyone you want. I don't care—as long as you're happy. If it's me you want it from, then I'll give it to you—so long as I get some from you, too. You understand?"

Roman nods, blinking as a tear drips loose from the corner of his right eye.

"But when you want it to hurt…when you want to be taken down so hard you don't even think you can come back up, when you need to go that place where pain is the only thing that works? You come to me. And only me." Hunter tightens his grip on Roman's chin for emphasis. "It's only me that gets to hurt you, because I know how to do it like nobody else can, I know how to do it the way you like it, and I can make you like the the things you never thought you would."

He leaves out the part where he's the only one who can bring Roman back from the bottomless pit, the only one who can break him into a million pieces and meticulously put him back together again with all the care that Roman deserves, and then shove him back out there into the glaring lights of the world to be torn anew.

The way Roman catches the heel of Hunter's calloused palm with his lips in a trembling, reverent kiss tells him that the boy already knows.

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir…" Roman's voice is barely a whisper, eyelids starting droop as he drifts back under.

"Not sir…." Hunter thumbs the boy's stubbled cheek gently. "The other word."

Roman's eyes flutter shut, and when they reopen there's a faint spark of light there that Hunter relishes, the look of utter trust and devotion he craves.

"Yes, Daddy…" the voice that speaks the words is steadier, as if finding strength in his submission.

Hunter smiles, bends down and kisses Roman's forehead. The boy trembles, shoulders tightening as he almost starts to cry again.

They're both navigating their way through this, Hunter more than he'll ever care to admit, but Roman's worth it. He knows he's holding something so powerful and precious in his hands, a fragile center made of sharp panes of glass, wrapped in strong sinew and bone, and he won't ruin it for anything.

"I can't always make it happen for you out there…" he says when he pulls back, both hands now caressing Roman's face. "Too many variables. What Vince wants, what the creatives come up with, what the other guys are doing up and down the card, what sort of mood the crowd's in when we roll into whatever goddamn city on a given week…not to mention the million other things I've got on my plate."

Roman nods, breathes deeply against Hunter's chest. "I know, Daddy…"

"But when it's just you and me? Like this?" Hunter smiles down at his boy. "You tell me whatever you've got going in that pretty head of yours, what you want to feel and how you want to get there, and I'll get you there."

Roman's expression brightens so quickly it's almost painful to watch, unguarded need breaking through the hard surface, and there's a twist in Hunter's gut he has to fight to suppress.

"Promise, Daddy?"

Oh, that voice. That voice saying those words will be Hunter's undoing. He fucking knows it. "Promise… so what'll it be tonight, baby boy? What do you need?"

"You…" Roman says breathily. "Just you, Daddy."

"I'm flattered, but you gotta be more specific than that, baby…" Hunter smiles as he brushes his thumb along Roman's bottom lip and watches as the boy catches it in his mouth, sucking the tip gently. "Why don't you go lie down, you're always better at telling me what you want when I'm on top of you…"

Roman complies, scooting gingerly up the mattress to lie on his back, legs spreading out of habit. There's still a streak of crimson lining the rim of his abused hole, and Hunter makes a mental note to ensure that Randy loses one of his matches leading up to the Elimination Chamber. Maybe the one against Cena that's scheduled for next week. He'll call Shane and the bookers in the morning.

For now, he settles himself next to Roman, lying half on top of him, one hand stroking through his thick, dark hair while the other wanders down to caress the underside of Roman's thigh. Roman nuzzles against his shoulder, burrowing as deep as he can go, one hand worrying the collar of Hunter's open shirt.

"Talk to me…" Hunter says. "Tell me what's in your head."

"I wanted Randy to hurt me," Roman says, the words ghosting hot against Hunter's collarbone. "I wanted to not be able to do anything about it, just take it… to feel like I didn't have a choice, like it's all I'm good for,"

Like it's my job, is what Hunter hears between the hitched breaths. Like I did tonight at the Rumble. Take all the heat, let myself be the focus of everyone's anger and disdain so Randy gets a pop when he throws me over and wins the damn thing. Just like I've been told to.

"And why didn't you stop him when it got too much?" Hunter asks carefully. "Why'd you make me sit through it, when I could've saved you?"

Why did you make me sit there and watch as a man who revels in being called a viper, a fucking predator, destroys you like you're a worthless piece of meat, when you damn well know I can barely tolerate anyone else touching you?

"I wanted…" Roman pauses, clearly mulling over his choice of words. "I needed you to not save me. I can't… I can't really explain it. I wanted it to feel like, I'm so far gone that even you don't think I'm worth saving anymore," his breath hitches over the words. "I don't know, fuck—I don't know, I'm so messed up, Daddy, I can't…"

"Shhh…." Hunter calms him with a kiss on his temple. "It's okay, baby…you're doing good…"

You're not the only one. There's a lot of messed up people in this business, and God knows I'm messed up beyond all things when it comes to you.

"I…I thought it would make it okay in my head. Make tonight okay," Roman continues. "If I can wake up tomorrow thinking that I've let Randy Orton do worse things to me than anyone out there will ever know…" he looks up at Hunter, eyes wide and hopeful. "…at least I'll have that."

Hunter nods, even though he doesn't understand the whole thing, not yet, though the pieces are starting to slot together for him.

Tomorrow, the world will tear Roman Reigns to pieces again, or at least try to, and he will shoulder that burden just like he has so many times before. Tonight, though, tonight Roman can let himself break down completely, crumble under the weight of it all, let the man he'd been forced to lose to get all up inside him and wreck him thoroughly, finishing the job.

Roman doesn't get the luxury of working through his feelings out there in the ring. He doesn't get to exorcise his demons through fists and thumbtacks the way Ambrose does, or spit out fire and vitriol laced with snarling laughter like Seth. He doesn't get to bash his way through someone's body and heart, and have it done to him in equal measure the way Zayn and Owens have been going for what seems like centuries, doesn't get to bask in reputation and respect like AJ Styles, or even relish and play to the crowds' disgust like Jericho.

He only ever gets to be Roman fucking Reigns, presented like an exotic wild animal caged within impossibly chiseled, beautiful features, almost too good to be true, everything the people were supposed to love but decided to hate instead. Hunter can't fix that, he doesn't know how to even begin, it's a train that went off the rails a million miles ago when nobody heeded the signs and put on the brakes.

He can't give Roman the world, but he can at least make a small pocket of it bearable, here in their own private little universe where pain and pleasure orbit like binary stars. The Game knows how to play those two things against each other like nobody else—and he wants Roman to get everything he can out of it.

"And what do you want me to do now…" Hunter says. "After I didn't save you?"

"Take me back," Roman says without hesitation. "Take me back from him, Daddy…make it…make it feel right again,"

He's gone under completely again, his voice raspy at the edges, and Hunter responds almost instinctively to that, hand tightening in the muscles of Roman's thigh.

"I'll do that…" he puts more of his weight on top of Roman, pressing their foreheads together. "And when I'm done, you'll forget you ever had Randy fucking Orton inside of you. You belong to me, you understand?"

Roman nods frantically. "Yours, Daddy… I'm yours."

Hunter lets his hand drift higher between Roman's legs. "I'll fuck every last trace of him out of you, I'll make you mine again, fill you up with my come the way I'll never, ever let him or anyone else do."

"Yes…" Roman whimpers, legs spreading wider to allow Hunter's hand more room. "Please, Daddy…"

He knows he needs to be careful, there's less than 24 hours until the next episode of RAW and he sure as hell can't send Roman out there to interfere with someone the likes of Braun Strowman if the boy can't even walk.

"What's your safeword, baby?" Hunter asks as he reaches over to grab the bottle of lube Randy left on the nightstand. "Say it, so we both know you remember how to use it."

"Shield," Roman gasps out. "My safeword is 'Shield',"

"Good boy…" Hunter leans down to kiss him possessively, tongue snaking inside Roman's mouth as he coats his fingers generously with the cool gel. "This will hurt, but it's going to be me hurting you, not him."

"Only you…" Roman agrees. "It's okay if it's you, Daddy…it's more than okay, fuck—" he hisses as Hunter pushes one finger past his swollen rim.

Hunter usually starts him off with two, or three if Roman's begging for some kind of punishment, but he really can't bring himself to do it tonight. Not after all the damage Randy's done. He's secretly glad he put so much lube on that one finger—the gel cushions him from feeling if Roman's still bleeding inside. He'll have to check in the morning just to be sure but right now he just needs, wants to be inside Roman so bad.

"You're beautiful…" he says as he nips at Roman's ear. "Open for me like this, I never get tired of watching you…"

Roman's eyelids flutter, sinking into the praise, mouth falling open as Hunter presses his finger deep, teasing his prostate. Hunter lets his eyes wander down the length of Roman's body, at the hard nipples peaking on his bronze chest, the neglected erection twitching against his muscled stomach, the willingly spread legs between which Hunter's hand is nesting, wrist brushing against the soft, dark curls.

When Hunter adds another finger Roman arches off the mattress, burying his face in Hunter's neck.

"Hurts?"

"A little…" Roman whispers. "I can take it—for you,"

Hunter leans down and kisses the beading tear off the corner of Roman's eye. "I'll make it good, baby…I promise."

He scoots down the mattress to kneel between Roman's spread legs, undoing his trousers just enough to let his hard cock pop out of its fabric confines. He doesn't want to bother undressing the rest of way and he knows Roman likes it when Hunter fucks him half-dressed, it tips the power balance just that little bit more. Grabbing a pillow and placing it under Roman's hips, he urges the boy to lift his legs and hold his own knees up, Hunter's weight helping him roll up the rest of the way.

"Please…" Roman begs softly, and Hunter surges forward to comply.

There's a noise Roman makes whenever he's being penetrated in this position, caught in his throat, a desperate little wheeze that sets Hunter's nerves on fire. The look on his face is unguarded and loose, just like when he's lying on the mat after taking a particularly hard bump or someone else's finisher. Hunter loses count of the number of times he's had to quell a raging erection in the production booth, when the cameras focus on Roman's face a little too long as he's lying face down on the mat, squirming in pain with glazed, unfocused eyes.

"Fuck…" he mutters as he bottoms out, forehead pressed against Roman's. "So tight around me, baby boy…like your ass was made for my dick."

Roman's breath hitches again, drawing his legs up even further.

"Think you can come just from me fucking you, without touching yourself?" Hunter says as he leans down to kiss the tip of Roman's nose. "I know you can, you've done it before…"

"Y-yes," Roman says with a nod.

Hunter starts off with a slow pace, but soon he's undone by the heat and tightness wrapped around his cock, and the beautiful face underneath him, contorting in a mix of pain and pleasure. He lets Roman's legs down to wrap loosely around his waist as he bends to kiss Roman again, swallow his pretty moans as he starts to thrust harder and faster.

He could go all night like this, fucking hard and good and making sure he hits Roman's prostate with every other trust, but he knows he needs to do more, needs to get Roman back on even ground, make it feel right as he says.

Hunter grabs Roman's face in both hands and angles it so they're looking straight into each other's eyes. "Look at me…"

Roman's eyes are two dark pools of trust and obedience, unhindered by colored lenses and camera lights. They're windows straight into his mind, a rabbit hole Hunter's fallen down into time and again, chasing after some sick validation he never even knew he craved. He sees the way his own rough, large thumbs bracket Roman's eyes and the surge of possessiveness kicks in again, prompting a particularly hard thrust that sends Roman wincing.

"It's only me that gets to hurt you…" he growls darkly against Roman's mouth.

"Only you…" Roman agrees.

"Only me that gets to bleed you, only me that gets to breed you," Hunter accentuates his word with a nip at Roman's bottom lip. "Say it…"

Roman inhales sharply as Hunter fucks into him, steadying his voice. "O-only Daddy gets to bleed me—oh, fuck…and only Daddy gets to b-breed me…"

"Good boy," Hunter rewards him with an angled thrust that jabs right against Roman's prostate, drawing a long, guttural moan out of him. "Come on, baby…I know you're ready to burst down there, just let it go—"

"Fuck, fuck, Daddy—" Roman says as he sinks both hands into the fabric of the pillowcase and grips tightly, knowing he's not been given permission to touch elsewhere. Still being a good boy even when he's about to lose it, and the thought sends Hunter that much closer to the edge.

Roman comes like that, both hands fisting the pillowcase and his mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut as his dick splatters untouched between their bodies, painting Roman's stomach and Hunter's chest with thick white strands of semen. Hunter stills himself to ride it out, watching as the beautiful creature underneath him unravels completely, hours of pent-up frustration and repressed feelings bubbling to the surface, like a fever breaking over sick flesh.

"Oh, God…" Roman mutters weakly as his head falls back onto the pillow, damp with sweat and tears of relief.

Hunter smiles and resumes fucking him, delighting in the involuntary twitches from the oversensitive body he's thrusting into. "You can hold on to me if you want, baby…come on."

Roman seizes on the permission and hangs onto Hunter like a lifeline, arms flung around the older man's neck and legs tightening around Hunter's waist, as if drawing him closer. Hunter can feel his walls clenching around him even further, as if wanting to squeeze the orgasm out of him, Roman's body still shaking in the wake of his own.

"Gonna come in you…" he grits out against Roman's ear, nipping at the shell. "Fill you up…"

"Please, Daddy…" Roman's voice barely registers as words. "Need you…inside me…"

Hunter pulls back as he feels his climax coming, steadying himself so he can look down and enjoy the view of Roman as he's being pumped full of his Daddy's come, pulse after pulse of it shooting inside his body, reclaiming him. It's almost as good as the face he makes during his orgasm—perhaps even better because he's more lucid, fully aware of what's happening to his body, of what Hunter is doing to him. He looks up to meet Hunter's gaze, dark eyes wide and trusting as if to say, I'm yours again.

Hunter leans down and kisses his mouth, molding wet lips together to the throb of his pulse in his own ears, drumming mine, mine, mine in a crescendo even as his orgasm recedes into a dull ache in his joints and the stickiness of his dress shirt against his sweat-soaked back.

Later, after a cursory wipe-down and another check to make sure he hasn't done more damage than has been inflicted on his boy earlier that night, he'll finally strip himself off the rest of his clothes and slip under the covers with Roman, gathering him close as he starts to drift off.

"How long…how long do I still have you for?" Roman asks drowsily against his chest.

"Until tomorrow night at least," Hunter says as he stares up at the ceiling. "Got that big segment to do with Seth on Raw tomorrow…then I think I need to head down to Florida for an NXT meeting."

"Hmmm…" Roman mumbles. "Wish you could stick around longer,"

"Me too, baby boy…" Hunter rubs up and down Roman's back slowly. "I think your own road schedule's looking pretty crazy for the next few weeks."

"Yeah…" Roman says. "They're having me team up with Sami for a couple of house shows—should be fun."

Hunter smiles and nuzzles against Roman's forehead. "Maybe he can teach you how to do the Tope Con Hilo properly…"

Roman cuffs him lightly on the chest. "Don't tease..."

"You hungry? You haven't eaten anything since we got back from the arena…"

"M'tired…just wanna sleep…" Roman says, shuffling even closer. "I'll eat tomorrow."

"Okay…" Hunter brushes his lips against Roman's temple softly.

He spends the next few minutes with his fingers splayed on Roman's back, rubbing circles with his fingers as he feels Roman's breathing even out against his chest, signaling that he was falling asleep. Roman's always like this after they have sex, clinging to him as if afraid Hunter's going to leave—even after numerous assurances that he's not going anywhere, at least not until morning and they have to re-emerge out into the real world.

To be completely honest, Hunter doesn't know if any of this actually helps, if Roman's any better to face the reality of what awaits him out there after being with Hunter for a night. He'd like to think so, but he's been wrong more times than he cares to admit when it came to Roman, made some bad decisions on the younger man's behalf that ended up doing neither of them any good—more often than not leaving Roman for the worse.

He likes to think that at least Roman's safe with him, here in his arms and not having to care in the slightest what the world outside thought of him. It's a patch-up job at best, like sandbags heaved against a broken dam, too infrequent to sustain him for long periods of time. But Hunter knows his boy will step out onto the stage tomorrow and brave the onslaught with a steely look in his dark eyes, knowing that he'll always have a place to come back to where he can let himself break, let the facade crumble into dust.

It's the least Hunter can do—at least until he figures out how he can do more.