Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Set after Seth's June 2014 heel turn and before Summerslam 2014. Written because tumblr is full of amazing Shield pictures and fellow fans pointing me in the direction of gorgeous Shield fanworks and I got inspired again to write this poly-OT3. I thank you and also shake my fist at you lol. There will be more fics of these three coming :)

SUCH SWEET SORROW

Seth didn't miss Dean or Roman. He didn't. And any slight feeling associated with loss and pain and Dean and Roman was neatly locked away in a very disused corner of his mind, in a briefcase if you will. It didn't matter; it couldn't, because he was Mr. Money in the Bank. He had literally climbed the company ladder and had practically gotten his hands on the fabled brass ring. He'd worked too long and too hard to not get to the top of the biggest wrestling company in the country, in the world. The Shield had only taken him so far, even beating Evolution twice hadn't gotten him past the Authority. The Authority would always be there, so why not take Hunter up on his offer? Why not gain the victories, the position, that he deserved?

Why not?

Seth hefted his ever-present briefcase and kept walking. He wasn't rattled or lonely and he didn't feel empty sometimes, and even if he did, it didn't matter. This was everything he'd ever wanted, the fans weren't cheering, sure, but he was making money, he was regularly main-eventing, he was getting drawn into vital politics that would definitely be important later on in his career, giving him leverage because knowledge was always power. So he didn't miss Dean or Roman, he didn't.

Before he could circle that thought any longer, a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him sideways through a doorway before he could shout or physically protest. The room was surprisingly dark and hands tore the briefcase from his grasp.

"Hey!"

"Ssssh."

A finger was pressed to his mouth, it tasted familiar. Seth's heartbeat kicked up a notch and he bit down on the appendage that was trying to silence him. There was only a sharp intake of breath in front of him and then an even-more-familiar body pressed up against his chest.

"Now, now, Seth. What will the Authority say if you're discovered like this? Hmm? With us?"

Us? The wall behind Seth moved and powerful hands gripped his arms. Roman's hair brushed against Seth's neck and Seth didn't shiver, he didn't. He was surrounded by familiar smells – the acrid burn of Dean's sweat and the mint gum that he always chewed and there was the coffee that Roman frequently drank and whatever lotions he'd been using recently on his skin and hair. It wasn't a comfort, at all.

And there were way more important things to focus on, like what the fuck they were planning on doing to him.

"What do you want?" Seth hissed.

Dean's hands lightly began exploring Seth's chest. Seth didn't twitch, not even once, and he didn't lean into Dean's touch either. Damn it.

"Oh, the Authority burned down, a title belt or two, maybe a burger, maybe a beer..." Dean suddenly pressed a hand under Seth's shirt, close to his skin. Seth gasped in surprise, because of the shock of the contact, that was all. "What do you want?"

Seth thought about the briefcase out of his reach now and the two men bracketing him. He shuddered, a little, because Roman's breath was smoky against his neck. And now Roman was kissing that skin, his wet firm mouth drawing familiar hungry patterns, patterns that Seth hadn't missed, at all. But Seth wasn't resisting, he was leaning into the touch, especially when Dean ran his teeth against Seth's exposed collarbones.

"All you've got to do is say the word," Dean informed him in hot heavy breaths against Seth's chin. "And we'll stop."

Seth tried to breathe deeply, he felt Roman's hands loosen at his arms and Dean sway away, giving him space and room, the chance to leave, no harm no foul. It was dark, he could claim ignorance afterward. He could leave right now and not look back. He could tell the Authority that Dean and Roman were causing way too many problems and so they should definitely get put into excruciating practically terminal matches at the next show. But his heart wasn't running fast out of fear and no one was waiting for him, no one at all, because everything was just business now, just business.

Just...

Seth turned his head and caught Roman's mouth in a hard biting kiss. Roman responded immediately, a growl rumbling in his chest. He held on tight to Seth again and Seth felt stable. Dean pulled open Seth's button-down shirt, not giving a shit about the buttons, and mouthed his way past Seth's collarbone and onto his chest. Seth tried to touch them, to pull on Dean's hair so that Dean hissed, to wrap an arm back around Roman's neck. But neither of them let him move, not now that he'd decided to stay right there, with them.

Seth groaned, fuck his cock was hard and pressing insistently against Dean. He felt Dean chuckle again against his skin. Roman's lips moved onto Seth's cheek, then his jaw, his mouth like a hot brand, bringing more and more sensation to the surface. Seth hadn't missed this, not even once, not even a little, not when he'd been alone in his now-luxurious hotel room, not while he'd worked out in the private gym that Triple H had given him access to, not when Randy had had a girl on each arm and a smirk on his face. Not ever.

Roman dug his hard fingers into Seth's back, like he was trying to tell Seth something. Seth had clattered Roman with a steel chair; he'd beaten him over and over again. There'd been photos on Twitter afterward; Roman's back had been raw.

Now Seth was the one being marked. He pushed closer for more.

Dean abruptly pressed a hand to the front of Seth's tailored pants. Seth moaned loudly and felt himself harden even more. He wasn't the only one; he could feel Roman pressing against his back while Dean was shamelessly rubbing against Seth's thigh. Seth's throat was tightening and his hands wanted to claw and grip and mark. It'd been too long since...his hips began rolling and Dean immediately slid a thigh between Seth's legs, his tongue lapping at Seth's throat.

"Go on," Dean hissed, his voice not quite a sneer. "Go on, fucking do it. Say it."

What did Dean want to hear? All Seth could do was bite out sounds, heat sweeping through him, his body grasping for more purchase, wanting, needing, to hold onto the men either side of him. Seth growled and groaned and his hips rolled faster and Roman's grip was strengthening on him and he was sinking his teeth into Seth's shoulder and Dean was thrusting against him, telling Seth to finish what he'd started, Seth knew how to take what he wanted, didn't he? Didn't he?

Seth's breath felt like it was being punched out of him as he came, his pleasure peaking, his body shaking. Then he slumped forward into Dean, his cock still pulsing helplessly. Dean bit at his mouth, the first time he'd kissed Seth's face since grabbing him into the dark. He split Seth's bottom lip and lapped hungrily, triumphantly. Seth could only suck in air, trying to right himself, trying to get everything to make sense again. How had he gotten here? Where was his briefcase?

Roman let go, Seth winced, he was going to have bruises on his arms shaped like Roman's fingers. Maybe that had been the point. He shakily rubbed a hand over his shoulder, learning the tenderness of the mark that Roman had left there. He'd missed that soreness. He could feel their eyes on him, he could feel them both stepping away, he could hear the moist sound of their mouths meeting, Roman's low rumble and Dean muttering even when mouth-to-mouth. Then it sounded like they were leaving. What?

He lifted a hand weakly, not understanding why he was doing it, not understanding anything anymore. His head thumped, sluggish, angry and desperate.

"Don't you want me to-?"

"No," Dean replied shortly, the single word harsh and cut with resentment, like Seth had utterly disappointed him.

Dean's voice placed him by the light of the now-open door and there he was, a distinctive scrappy silhouette, Roman just beside him, a solid powerful structure. Something burned inside Seth as he squinted at them and he hated them for it. He'd been happy, a bit hollow and lonely sometimes but so what? He had his briefcase and they'd been his enemies to stomp beneath his feet. Everything else had been distant memories. Not anymore. Now everything was out of its carefully-locked box. Had that been their aim? What had they been looking for?

Roman kicked something and a solid object hit Seth's ankle. His briefcase.

"Believe that," Roman said distinctly, quiet and meaningful. "Right?"

Dean's laugh was cruel and like an ache in Seth's chest. He couldn't catch his breath; he couldn't stop them from leaving. They watched him for a moment more, then they were gone, phantoms and memories. But phantoms didn't hurt. Seth pulled his shirt closed and was grateful that they hadn't taken his jacket. He hated that gratitude. He took a single deep breath, picked up his briefcase and jacket, and then forced himself to leave the room, ignoring the damp discomfort of his pants. He looked back once; they'd pulled him into a storeroom, clearly one not used much anymore. Fantastic.

He stomped outside to his car. There was no sign of Dean or Roman. He checked his car though, just in case.

He wasn't thinking about them. He didn't think about them when he got back to his hotel room and looked at himself in the mirror, his hands tracing the marks that they'd left all over his body. His heart didn't get fast, his breath didn't get short. He had his briefcase; he had influential powerful business associates, associates in high places who wanted to see him succeed. No, they needed to make sure he succeeded. Friendship, brotherhood and more wasn't nearly as important as that, not when friends didn't bring you that kind of abundant glorious success.

He didn't replay their conversation, such as it was, or the touch of Dean and Roman, the way that Roman's breath had felt on his skin alongside the scrape of Dean's teeth. He didn't recall how sated he'd felt, how heatedly right everything had been within him for that glorious stretch of moments. He didn't.

He didn't wonder what had disappointed Dean, what Dean and Roman both been hoping to hear.

He did think about how he'd have to prepare for Dean trying to screw up his matches next week, for how Dean would probably try to beat the crap out of him again and how Roman would attempt to wreak havoc through the Authority. He knew them; he knew that they wouldn't stop pursing what they wanted after this. Seth looked at his phone, taking note of the meetings that he had coming up with Hunter and Stephanie, the media and publicity responsibilities, the stepping stones to permanent continual success. He mentally packed everything else up again, shoving it away into the darkness, into that abandoned storeroom. It wasn't important at all, it wasn't.

He took a long hot shower. He didn't wrap one slightly trembling hand around his cock while the other pressed at a still-fresh mark on his chest. The pain and pleasure didn't overwhelm everything, he didn't give himself over to it, he didn't think about what had happened over and over again.

He didn't wonder where they were or what they were doing or talking about. He didn't.

He didn't hope that the marks they'd gifted him with would last.

-the end