Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They're property of WWE.
Sitting at the back of his truck, he lights his second cigarette of the night while white clouds the snowstorm is slowly approaching. Dark circles surrounding his eyes as he takes a look around, blue turbulent waters reflecting in his eyes, calm and void at the same time.
A soft cloud mixed with the coldness of winter passes his lips, bringing out little pieces of his sorrow as it leaves his chest.
"I thought you wouldn't come." He spoke, taking his cig out with his thumb and index fingers. His gaze fixed on the sunset. He enjoyed sunsets but was often unable to, since his job forced him to prey at night and be careful by day.
"Have I ever made a promise that I couldn't keep?" The man had long black hair, falling delicate over his shoulders framing his strong American-Italian features, a matching beard that slightly hid his lush lips which curved in a friendly smile as he stood beside his truck, with his forearms on the edge spoke, a soft smirk on his face.
"It's nice to see you again, Rome." He greeted. Placing his cig back in his mouth to cover the smile to appear in his lips and standing up to get off the truck.
His heavy black boots hit the snow starting to dissipate before the skies brought more, he fixed his worn leather jacket, walking to the other man and maybe to take a better look at his long-lost brother.
"I haven't seen you for a while. You look tired." Roman said, expression softened, slight concern drawn in his bronze features.
"It's nothing. I work at night." He shrugged his shoulders, trying to avoid any questions. He knew how worried could Roman get.
"You haven't changed, have you, Dean?" Roman said, being more of a statement and not a question. He crossed his arms across his chest, a content but brief laugh stuck in his throat.
Dean allowed the cigarette to die down, as he dropped it on the snow.
"Want to go get dinner?" Dean offered, a softer expression began to mold his face.
"Well, that's why I'm here." Roman said, humor in his voice.
"Get in then." Dean commanded, getting into the driver's seat.
Finally he could get a bit of warmth his fingers were begging for, turning on the heater inside his car, he drove back into the street. He liked the snow, he would often say it helped him think, plan. Roman on the other side, he was more into bathing under the sun's warm rays, that's why he lived in Miami.
Pulling over at a nice restaurant, Roman quirked an eyebrow, it wasn't usual for Dean to eat in these places, since he liked to keep it simple. He wonders what else has changed in Dean that he's not telling him.
Dean opened the restaurant's door for Roman, walking behind him as they picked a table.
"So, what else has changed since we last saw each other?" The samoan asked.
"What's changed?" He asked, mindlessly as he looked through the menu. The grumbling inside him was becoming unbearable.
"I don't remember you ate in this kind of places." Rome pointed out, pushing strands of hair behind his ear, giving a better look at his sharp jaw. Dean wasn't able to recall Roman being so handsome either.
"I just have money for it now, besides I thought I should invite my brother to something better than the rat holes I usually did." Now it was Dean's turn to laugh.
•••
Dinner was quiet, Roman's attempts to speak kept being interrupted by Dean's quick eating and unwavering gaze from his plate. He would take bite after bite, so he stopped trying.
"Where do you work?" He asked, breaking the silence, once Dean had finished his food and a satisfied grin on his pale face after having finished dinner.
"I'm security at this nightclub near my house." Dean lied, cleaning his mouth with a napkin, but Roman saw through him.
"Really? And you earn enough to get that car and be able to pay this kind of restaurants?" Roman asked, almost in disbelief, looking around the restaurant to make sure he heard right.
"Please call me if they ever need another security guy." He laughed, bringing his coke up to his lips, taking a small sip.
"So what's your work?" Dean asked, laying his elbows to rest on the sides of his chair, trying to get comfortable.
"Well, I'm a rugby trainer so. But we don't earn that much." Roman spoke, still he was proud of what he did because he loved it.
—
"Wait a second. I've got a call." Dean excused himself from the table, taking his phone from the inside of his jacket.
"Yes, sir?.."
"Is it done?" A deep voice asked.
"No, not yet. You know I like taking my time.."
A groan was heard from the other side of the call.
"If you weren't like a son to me, and didn't trust you, I wouldn't allow it. Keep me updated."
"Okay. I will." Then hanged up.
He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, his back against the bathroom's wall. Slightly bumping his head against the wall while he clearly remembers a voice telling him how easy would it be to become a mercenary, thanks to his alertness and unique tactics.
Couldn't anyone tell him the consequences as well?
Tucking the phone back into his jacket's pocket, the only sound in the room being his heavy boots as he approached the sink. Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, he slipped his hands under the running water. Cold. And splashed water on his face. He wasn't feeling okay and couldn't understand why.
He had already killed several of his friends before, why was Roman any different?
Dean looked up at the mirror, he did look tired. He hadn't noticed it before. Earning a reputation as a cold-blooded killer would sometimes have a downside, he had to live with himself after watching people whose sweet souls died at his feet. He was forced to, if he wanted to prove himself with the boss. That's why he's sent for the riskiest targets.
"Sorry. It was my boss calling." He took his seat back across the table.
"Do you have to go?" Roman questioned.
"No, not really. I have a free night today." He smirked, drinking his beer.
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah, sure." Roman said standing up.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" The dark-haired man spoke, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Yeah."
"Can I-" Dean's truck abrupt stop cut Roman off.
Clenching his teeth, he groaned. Holding the key between his fingers, praying to anything that would listen, this wouldn't happen. Rolling the key again. A faint roar could be heard from the front of the car, a weak attempt to come to life again.
Nothing.
Dean couldn't believe what was happening. It's below zero now, they're stuck in the middle of nowhere on their way to Dean's house and his car decided to break down now. He had worked throughout the weekend in his car, what went wrong?
"Shit.." Dean muttered under his breath.
"Just relax.. Have you checked the engine lately?" Roman questioned in a calm voice.
"That's why I'm fucking pissed, I fixed my car through the weekend." Dean manages to say, anger still coiling up in his body, mixed with frustration from his new confusion with what his boss ordered him to do.
"Alright. How about I go check it and see what could be wrong?" Roman suggested, taking his gloves off.
Dean nodded. Uncertain of what could Roman find that he hadn't.
He opened the hood for him. Roman's eyes locked with his and flashed Dean a reassuring smile before disappearing behind the car's hood. The warmth he felt with that little gesture was enough to make him realize something was off.
Oh.
That something.
And it struck him like a lighting bolt. Roman had always had this curse on him apparently. Ruffling his hair with his hand he looked back up to Roman twisting his hand, telling him to try to switch the truck on. So he twisted the key in the ignition.
A roar broke the torturing silence inside the truck cabin, making a grin to form in his face.
"Well, that was easy. Let's better get going." He said, tucking his hands inside his warm globes to protect his hands from freezing.
"And hey, can I stay at your home? I couldn't get a decent hotel room here. It's such a small city." He added.
"You're always welcomed." The dirty blond man spoke. Gripping tightly on the wheel, his foot stepping on the gas further down.
And the sick feeling Dean felt as Roman had been with him for a few hours yet managed to make him smile more than he had ever in the last three years. Taking more time with the targets was part of his trademark, his choice, probably to cover up the holes that ate him up at night when he was alone. But now it was certainly an awful idea.
•••
"I've got a room, upstairs the one on the further left. It might also have clean clothes." Dean mentioned, taking off his heavy coat and the rest of unnecessary clothing. But was the heavy feeling on his shoulders really from the clothes? Or were they silent words crawling under his skin?
"Thanks." Roman said before going upstairs, disappearing from Dean's view after the door closed behind him.
An exhausted breath slipped from Dean's chapped lips as his body forcefully fell on the couch. The night was long but hopefully it was over now. All he needed now was sleep, oh how he wished to get some sleep. He had to learn more about Roman so he could get a strategy that he couldn't get out of, even if he looked like a nice guy, Roman could definitely fight back with a bullet in his chest.
His thinking disturbed by the sound of life in his house other than his own loneliness. Reaching the small table, in the middle of the living room, he got a lighter and a cigarette. Placing it between his lips with the cig already lit, he sucked in the smoke, holding it in as he closed his eyes thinking briefly, trying to shake off the thoughts he had of Roman, this.. Thing. He refused to name it for what it was because, how can he feel something he hadn't felt before? He opened his eyes and puffed out a cloud above his head.
The dark clouding his mind.
That's how it felt.
•••
The smell of bacon and eggs took him out of his sleep. But when did he fall asleep? Probably somewhere around two or three. His head turned to the side, blue eyes staring confused as his cigarette laid turned off, he never lit a cigarette and didn't finish it. But he supposed these things were part of Roman's effect on him. Smoking had become more than a bad habit, it was all therapy he got and now he knew was that it would take more than tobacco to take his mind off from Roman.
Stretching his arms and legs, he breathed in the glorious smell of a homemade meal. He could get used to that.
But shouldn't. Isn't allowed to.
Leaning against the wall, he looked at Roman setting down the plates with warm food in them. His black mane tied neatly in a bun. The way his muscles flexed as he laid the plates over the table in his black sleeveless shirt, his tongue darting out to suppress his feelings of want towards him. Revealing he had worked out before cooking breakfast. Dean had to admit he was looking great, happy even.
"It smells great." He commented, finally speaking after moments of silent staring. Longing.
"Wait until you try it." Roman took a seat on the table, nodding his head to the chair across him while looking at Dean, a playful smile along his lush lips.
Pushing himself from the wall with a smirk on his face, he walked lazily towards the seat across from his friend.
"You really shouldn't-"
"I know." Roman cut him off, "I wanted to." He smiled, then sticking a piece of bacon in his mouth.
An approving smirk still lingering Dean's lips before sticking food in his mouth. Silently devouring the tasty meal.
•••
After breakfast, Dean offered to wash the dishes but Roman refused, claiming that he needed to rest.. And a shower.
So he went upstairs making sure Roman wasn't looking at him, he went inside his room locking it from the inside. He did trust Roman but he didn't think he was going to knock on his door to come in, they had that trust but not with Dean's wall full of weapons even if it was barely just his most commonly used ones, he didn't want him to see.
His room looked neat, his bed was clean since most of the time he slept in his truck or the couch after days of hunting down. A small table was beside his bed with books underneath and a drawer in which he kept a gun. The wall closer to the bathroom held rifles and old weapons he used when he worked as a sniper, no contact with the target, but he got tired of just killing, he wanted to know what did they do to get a murder order on their backs.
The wall behind his bed hid Dean's secret armory, and in special bullet proof pods, his special weapons. That was some of the things he kept secret.
Dean made his way to his bathroom, he did need a warm shower though. Stripping from his sleeveless undershirt he took a look at himself in the mirror, pale marks, an eternal reminder of the times he'd cheated death. Damaged skin in round shapes laid on his chest, two on his abdomen and a smaller one on his shoulder. When hospitals weren't an option he had to do it himself, chugging down a bottle of vodka he got the bullets out with his fingers. Many lines in his abdomen for the times he got stabbed when he screwed up. Nothing could match the level of survival he had to face in the streets when he was a kid.
He shook his head, unruly curls moving along the movements. His focus returned to the shower, stepping inside while he twisted the knobs and found the warm temperature he was looking for. Slight fog forming around the room, a tired breath fell from his lips. The warmth was perfect and his muscles relaxed when the soft cascade of water fell on his body it felt like a renewal, his body was calm and controlled. His mind wasn't, he could control, he could plan, he could be cold-blooded when needed, remorse was a word he never knew. So what is happening to him? After all, Roman is just a friend he hadn't seen for years.
Just a friend... ?
Probably, because Roman had been with him during his teenage years where he would rob for food, beat people up just to get money out of necessity. Roman watched over him though, he would talk sense to him, he taught him to work to get food. So he has to thank him for not getting in jail for murder earlier in his life. Maybe that's why it aches so bad. Roman is family, his brother and probably the only one who gave a damn about him even if he knew how broken and lost Dean's soul was, but Roman was there to try to sew it back together.
Dean's fist connected the wall, groaning as electric shocks traveled from his knuckles to his arm. He allowed it to fall beside his body, shaking the pain off along with the droplets of blood from the tiny cuts appearing on Dean's knuckles.
He turned the shower off, tying a towel around his waist as he got out of the bathroom. Getting to his drawer for clothes, a pair of black jeans and a black undershirt, because Roman would want to go out by day and he would sound suspicious if he wanted to stay in his house until sunset.
A scarf will disguise him enough. Dean thought, staring out the window next to the drawers with Dean's clothes.
Tucking the gun from his drawer in the back of his jeans, just in case.
•••
When he went downstairs, it was incredibly silent. Roman was always making a lot of noise. He went into the living room, finding him laying face down on his couch. But his breathing was uneasy..
"Ro?" He inquired, the sound of his voice so tender he cringed.
He walked to the other side of the couch, crunching down next to Roman's head, placing a hand on his back.
"You alright?" He tried again.
"Uh.. Yes. I'm fine." Roman answered in a sleepy voice, still not facing Dean.
An affirmative hum was all he got from Dean as he stood up. Maybe Roman just needed alone time, and he wasn't one to keep him from that.
They had lived through hell, so it was normal for them to have secrets. Sooner or earlier, when they felt ready, they would reveal the secrets buried deep inside, scarring their lives, yet knowing they had someone to trust was always healing enough.
"Dean?" Roman's voice echoed through the house.
Dean took a bottle of juice from the fridge, walking back to where Roman was, his broad back now facing him as he went into the living room.
"Do you really work as a bodyguard at a nightclub?" He asked, his head slightly tilted to a side, his left hand on his hip making his elbow arch in the air while looking at Dean who was standing at the other end of the couch.
"Why?" He grew curious. What made him think he didn't?
Metallic grey eyes roamed Dean's face, almost looking for something specific. Nothing.
"Never mind. Just asking." Roman said, sitting up straight his back against the couch, his feet on top of the table in front of him.
•••
"What do you do for Christmas?" Roman spoke as they walked through the mall, hands in his pockets.
"Nothing." Kill he didn't say. Either way he hated christmas, he couldn't have a better reminder about his misery more than he had in christmas.
"Since I'm staying for Christmas, we should change that." The former suggested.
Dean shrugged his shoulders. He'd do it just to make Roman feel good but he just didn't enjoy holidays. He was a lone wolf.
But did it matter anymore?
As hours, minutes passed by he couldn't get his mind off the fact that by the end of the week he had to murder again. Roman was different and honestly, he wouldn't dare to even yell at him. Dean couldn't help but feel like Roman belonged to remain in his life a little longer..
There was no turning back.
When his boss called to ask if he could make the kill, he didn't even hesitate to answer. The more he got to murder the calmer his mind became. There was something mysterious in the way the blood dripped and pooled around his victims, the blue-ish color of their eyes, the paleness, the horror look on their faces by the remorseless and violent assault that ended with their lives. Dean would kneel beside them, lighting a cigarette and admiring how death pulled their lives from them. Maybe he himself was death.
An almost defeated sigh dropped from Roman's mouth, his head tilting down just for fleeting seconds.
It was almost hurting him as bad to not be able to enjoy his time with Roman, afraid the bond would grow and the mission would be ruined. The horror stories he'd heard about the guys who weren't able to comply with the boss' commands.. He didn't want to think about it.
The mall was surprisingly silent, considering it was a week before christmas, the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood, warningly.
"Have I done something to bother you, Dean?" Roman stopped on his tracks, standing in front of him, inches far from the other.
"Ro.. Please.." The dirty blond spoke, his voice soft in comparison.
"Stop pretending, Dean. I know you feel how awkward this feels."
Dean stood there just looking at him, unable to deny it.
Roman shook his head disappointed, his body already trying to flee. Dean wrapped his fingers around Roman's wrist tightly not allowing him to go anywhere.
"Sorry, Rome. I don't know why it's been like that." He half-lied, he was sorry but he knew why he was being cold towards him.
Maybe he should allow his friend to have good memories about his best friend before the end came.
Roman exhaled deeply, his free hand brushing his mane back. He took a brief look at Dean with doubtful eyes.
"You need rest." He spoke, trying to pull his hand from Dean's grip but he wouldn't let go.
"I know, but we should be enjoying ourselves, like we always did." Dean's slowly breaking from his coldness just by looking into Roman's steel blue eyes.
"It's fine. Don't worry, I understand." A faint smile ghosted Roman's lips as he calmed down. Dean allowed his hand free a matching smile on his face.
•••
"Rome, look at that." Dean pointed at a bar inside the mall, a wide smile stuck on his face.
Roman grinned back at him, wiggling his eyebrows as they walked towards the bar. What's better to forgive and forget than a couple of drinks?
They sat down at the bar, asking for beers and Dean asked for a shot of Vodka, smiling brightly at Roman, who was rolling his eyes at Dean. Always the heavy drinker. He knew he would be the one driving them home.
"Remember how people wanted to get us to fight each other every time?" Dean laughed. Head tilting backwards as he swallowed the shot.
"And we would only laugh at the attempts to try to get us to launch at each other. They used to tell me shit you supposedly had said about me. Then had to punch them." Roman commented, his eyes casted on his beer as the memories of his teenage years came crashing back into his mind.
"Glad we knew we had the guts to say that crap in the others face if we really had a damn problem." Dean smirked proudly.
That's why they would be the leaders from their neighborhood. Almost like a gang, but it was usual that useless guys joined them just to look cool, when they crashed against other gangs they'd be the first ones to flee.
They stayed in silence as the good old memories came back into their minds.
Roman had zoned out for too long and when he turned to look at Dean he had a mischievous smile tugging at his lips while he looked half over his shoulder at some guys seating at a nearby table.
"Dean, no." Roman groaned, guessing Dean's thoughts.
"Why not? Even drunk I'm still better than half those guys." He said, his speech sounding more slurred with each minute.
"Let's go." Roman commanded, taking money from his pocket and leaving it on the counter. Taking Dean's arm to lay across his shoulders to help him walk back to the car, Dean's groan was all he received. Still better than having him claim he can still drive.
Roman practically dragged Dean inside his truck, and he climbed into the driver's seat. He was too silent it was suspicious..
"Why do you get to drive?" Dean protested, his eyes closed as his head laid back into the comfortable seat beneath him.
"Because I'm not as drunk as you, you'll make us roll over." Roman laughed, turning on the engine.
Dean hummed agreeing.
•••
Half of Dean's weight was supported by Roman as he tried to open the door while his friend clung to him. Sighing when the door finally swung open, he walked towards the couch and dropped him there, Roman sitting beside him.
"That was actually great." Roman mentioned. Closing his own tired eyes, enjoying the softness of the couch he understood why did Dean like sleeping there so much.
Dean shifted in his seat and managed to lay his head against Roman's shoulder. A strong smell of alcohol emanating from the dirty blond's mouth. He didn't remember him drinking that much alcohol.
Sleep was slowly beginning to take over him, his eyes felt heavier and he laid his head against the back of the couch.
"Ro..?" Dean asked so lowly Roman wasn't sure he had even spoke.
"I love you." He said softly.
"Me too, Dean." Roman answered, petting Dean's hair as he told him so.
"No.." He whispered again.
"I love you, Ro.." He muttered, his tone hiding their true meaning, unsure of what he meant at first. Roman was confused until it slowly dawned on him.
"Dean, you're drunk. Shut up and sleep." Roman tried, his eyebrows furrowed together still confused. What had he drunk? He wondered.
Roman opened his eyes as he felt Dean leaving his shoulder, their gazes met. Dean had a neutral expression on his face, drunk or not he meant that, well maybe not meant to say it but it was the truth. But Roman noticed the pain in those blue eyes, the tiniest bit of shine had vanished replaced by wetness in them. The sting in his heart shadowed by the liquor in his system.
"I'll go sleep." He calmly replied, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand shifting to try to stand up when Roman placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Ro.." He groaned if Roman was about to ask him awkward questions or rejecting him, he didn't want to stay there.
Bronze hands traveled to the back of Dean's head, playing with dirty blond curls. For once, Dean hadn't seen that coming and he was delightfully surprised. Roman's mouth twisted into a radiant smile, a smirk crept in Dean's face, he moved his body to face Roman, but he still didn't know why was the smile for.
Slightly darting his tongue out to wet his lip, he inched closer to Dean, his heart attempting to burst out of his rib cage as he felt Dean's breath over his lips. Pressing his own on soft pink lips, he hummed in his throat at the loving mood filling the room.
This one kiss allowed Roman to acknowledge his feelings towards his friend, he should have known. He'll thank Dean later for getting the guts to make the first move.
Dean's hands gently pulled Roman's hair as he pushed them down on the couch with him on top. Seconds later they pulled away, a faint color over the bridge of their noses and cheeks. Dean rested his head on Roman's chest, trying to slowly sink in what just happened.
•••
When Dean woke up he couldn't find Roman anywhere, then he went to the backyard, finding Roman standing in the middle of the large area, staring into the distance.
"Is everything okay?" Dean wondered. His hand roaming to the back of his waist, ready to hold his gun right against Roman's forehead if necessary.
"Dean I.. Seth called yesterday, and there's something he told me to tell you."
**Roman's hands are gripping tightly on the restroom's sink.
Then his phone vibrated.
"Yes?" Roman answered.
"Ro, listen. I'm going to tell you this just once, they're hunting me down." The voice on the other side took a deep breath before speaking. And the person really needed it since he was panting hard.
"Your boss and the corporation Dean and I work for are planning on getting rid of you both." He groaned, it sounded exhausted and breathless.
"You have to run away fast. I'll be fine, Rome. Just take care of you two. Good luck." And not even allowing Roman to answer, he hanged up.
"Thank you, Seth.." He whispered eventhough Seth couldn't hear him.**
Dean's body went stiff at the sound of Seth's name being said. Did he go and try to tell him?
Reflexively, his index finger buried in the hollow of the gun's trigger, his hand wrapping around the handle and with a swift breeze of air he held his gun up to Roman's forehead.
"Dean, don't. Listen, Seth told me that he's escaping God knows where and he knows that the guy I work for and the corporation you work for are trying to get us to kill each other." Roman tried to explain, his breath hitching as Dean pulled the safe from his gun.
Roman slowly held his hands high for Dean to see, trying to get him to drop his gun.
"Seth told you that?" Dean muttered, his angry expression turning into several emotions, sadness, worry, anger.. Then neutral.
Dean nodded. Placing the safe back on his gun, hiding it behind the back of his jeans again.
"I don't know what's going on, but we have to get out of here." Roman said, relieved the Dean's gun isn't buried against his head's skin.
•••
Dean paced in his room, his emergency bags already packed on the floor. Moving his shoulders to try to relieve some of the energy that he was getting from his body pumping larger amounts of adrenaline.
And now he's just unsure if Roman knows he's a mercenary, more importantly if he knows Dean wa hired to kill him. Should he follow the plan and get rid of Roman or should he listen to Seth and try to escape along with Roman?
He'd have to make a quick decision and.. Maybe he'd do something he never thought he would.
•••
Roman was packing the stuff he bought from the mall into his bag, just throwing it in since there wasn't any time to lose. Then he stood straight, his body stilling.
"Dean.." He whispers his back facing Dean.
Dean's eyes are wet, damp, he can barely see what's in front of him. His silver weapon pointing at the back of Roman's head.
His favorite gun. Why? Because it was one of the guns he bought when he started to work for the corporation and he never failed, the accuracy of an arrow.
What is he doing?
"Ro.. Just.. shut up." He groans the last part. A sad shaky breath escaping Dean's lips.
Just like that, something switched in his brain. He inhaled deeply, the tears dissipated in the air, his nostrils fuming what felt like fire from inside and more importantly his grip steadying on the gun. Like hell he would allow himself to back up from a mission, he had made a promise and had no intent on breaking it.. He wasn't thinking rationally anymore but he usually wouldn't when his anger fits came around just in time to help him give that extra step before killing which was..
Pulling the trigger.
Roman slowly turns around, his arms partially raised not in defeat yet, but to show Dean that he isn't armed.
"Dean.. I thought you loved me?" He huffed, a humorless smile on his face, staring intensely in Dean's blue cold eyes, even past the gun held between his eyes.
He had seen more guns that up close than he can remember, he wasn't about to be scared off by one now.
Dean's lips formed a tight line, perhaps thinking but his thoughts were speeding up in his head. A bitter laugh was all he could let out. And actually, a wild thought attracted his attention.
He was one of the top best mercenaries out there, if not ~the best, but he couldn't live in great mansions like his imitators? No family or friends? No luxury? He felt condemned to live anonymously for the rest of his life. But did he really not deserve any happiness like everybody else? Yes, he'd killed and many people would argue that, but in the end, wouldn't he still be a human being? He soon felt exploited by his boss.
Roman could see the change of intensity in those blue eyes, the coldness practically melting away.
"Did you even mean that, Dean?" Roman tried again, maybe this was making Dean come back to the real world. Roman knew how to calm the beast his mind could become.
The dirty blond bit on his lower lip, thinking his answer. Luckily the long neck from his black leather jacket barely covered his mouth. A sharp breath escaped his lips as a cold shiver crawled down his back.
"I do." He simply replied.
"I love you, Ro. But this isn't going to work." Dean admitted, he tried to reason more with himself than with Roman.
"How'd you even know that? We haven't even had a date yet.." He trailed off, looking as Dean wouldn't come to his senses.
Roman may have a bit of Dean's crazy side stuck on him these past days because he had a wild idea to do.
He stepped forward until his chest was touching the cold tip of Dean's silver weapon, so nicely polished he could see his reflexion on it.
"Alright then." He nodded.
"Cut the crap. Shoot me." Roman continued, in the calmest of tones.
"You know," He laughed, "I actually thought that we would get all romantic and soft with each other. Maybe.. I don't know. Do those things couples do like, cuddling in bed or walking through the park hand in hand but," Roman paused briefly to sigh in a way that made Dean feel his heart smashed and he wasn't even aware he had a heart. "But it's like that with us, right? We may be the strongest and baddest guys wherever we are, we conquer everything but our own fears.."
At this point Dean just wanted to throw the gun through the window and hold Roman against his chest like his life depended on it. His Roman.
What the hell was he thinking about again?
The safe was placed back on as he threw his half a million dollar gun with diamonds on it, with Dean's initials carved in gold at the handle. But that would never replace what Roman was to him.
They stood staring into each others eyes. No more games. Dean had quietly told him he'd kill for him now. Finally, they could be together and no more chains dragging them away, no abyss that separated them when they were meant to be together.
They almost couldn't move, afraid that it could trigger another event that drove them away from each other.
"Dean.. C'mere" Roman called, opening his arms just enough for only Dean to ever fit in.
Dean buried his face on the crook of his neck laying a soft kiss there accompanied by a sweet sigh of relief.
"Don't try to play tricks on me, Dean. We know I'm better at that." Roman joked, the mood in the room calming, nearly cooing them together.
"I know.." He agreed, his voice muffled by his mouth held tight against Roman's flesh, making him shiver under Dean's touch.
It was a long week but they finally managed to sort it all out right for once.
"Ro?" He asked, shifting to look into his lover's steel blue eyes.
"I think we are already becoming soft and romantic.." Dean laughed shyly.
"I think so too." He answered, his hands crawling in Dean's hair, softly pulling his head closer, to share a badly needed kiss.
A/N: Well, here's my first attempt on a Roman/Dean fic, hope you'll enjoy it! Comments, advice, critics are always welcomed! Thank you for reading!