August 24, 2015: Brooklyn, NY.

Dean Ambrose woke slowly, a deep groan rumbled in the back of his throat as he did. The effects of last night's SummerSlam match had kicked in over time. It happens. He'd go out, ride the adrenaline, then drag his feet the next morning. Lucky for him, the show later that night would be in the same arena. Living out of the same hotel room for the past few days had been pretty fucking sweet.

He pushed himself up, planted his feet on the floor beside the bed, and took a moment to scan his surroundings. Crimson suitcase aligned against the nearest wall, electronics lined up on the desk. None of which were his. What was his was the black tank top that half-hung on the foot of the bed, the pair of jeans crumpled on the floor nearby, and the boots that were kicked off near the dresser.

Post-show events popped up in Dean's mind as he looked over his shoulder. The thin, white sheet outlined the lady's figure as she slept, her bare back facing him. Yup. That happened. A slow smirk found its way onto his lips as he moved to grab his clothes. He grabbed the jeans and - sans boxers - slipped into them before searching for his boots. Once he found and shoved them on, Dean reached into the back pocket of his pants as he felt his phone vibrate. He scanned the text from Roman and replied 'yeah' to hitting the gym with him in a bit. Phone pocketed soon after, Dean quickly changed, then took a moment to check his image in the mirror.

He looked like he had been thoroughly fucked the night before.

Perfect.

With one last glance back towards his bedmate from the night before, Dean made his way out of the hotel room. Had Roman not sent a text his way, Dean would have considered getting his workout the old fashion way before the show that night. It would've been good, like the night before. It wasn't in the cards now though. He had plans with a six foot Samoan, a treadmill, and an hour or two in a gym. He knew there would be a match tonight and he would come ready for another fight, because this thing with the Wyatt family was far from over.

And let's face it: Dean fucking loved beating dudes up for a living.

In the four years she had been working in the WWE, Claire Peltier had encountered each and every type. While some Superstars and Divas were difficult to work with at times, others were fairly easy. There were several different types of talent when it came to this business. The majority of the talent ran in packs. They traveled and shared some laughs together after hours. Others ran solo, stuck to themselves, and did their jobs. While there certainly was a bond forged by those who lived the business, it didn't mean the workplace was exempt from backstage politics. When power was like a rope war and backroom deals came into play, the work environment could get to even the most professional of wrestlers. She had watched wrestlers rise and fall from power, seen groups form and break, and witnessed titles be won and change hands.

The first three years of her career were spent with the WWE developmental brand: NXT, formerly FCW. From setting up for interviews to taping signs down nearly every hallway backstage, Claire's knack for organization had helped her keep the chaotic area manageable. It had also played a part in her promotion as well. The past year was spent assisting talent during shows and during special appearances. She was present during press junkets, made sure the talent arrived and left on schedule, and ultimately helped with any issue or need a Superstar or Diva might come across while on the road.

Claire didn't enter the business as a lifelong fan and had only the minimal knowledge of what went on in the ring. However, Claire had grown to enjoy the craft from a viewing standpoint over the years. It was hard not to appreciate it from an entertainment standpoint when she surrounded herself with professional wrestlers for the majority of the year. She traveled with co-workers, often shared meals and rooms with other women who worked backstage while on the road. It was an enjoyable atmosphere. Tense at times, but ultimately a satisfying work environment.

Even when it seemed overly moist at times.

At least that was what Claire initially thought as she watched Roman Reigns bend over slightly, water bottle in hand as he dampened his hair. It wasn't the first time she had to converse with the talent as they went about their pre-match rituals. Claire had made it a habit to learn what the wrestlers did before their matches. Some hung out in their locker rooms, others walked through backstage. Guys like Roman found quiet hallways and empty rooms where they could prepare in peace. They also required at least one bottle of water to wet their hair. Preventing puffy hair was something the wrestlers took very serious. Claire made sure to carry one around just in case. Very few in the company were against being approached during their preparations, knowing there would always be a rushed feeling when it came to shows. Everybody had their jobs and everyone had to work with each other if they wanted to have a good night.

"You're second on the card tonight," she said, after a brief glance at the tablet in her hand. Making sure the talent knew when they were expected to go out was a regular task for Claire. "We're opening with Lesnar and Heyman, then the non-title match with New Day. You guys will be on after that."

"Thanks, Claire," Roman replied. He tossed his now empty bottle into the nearby trash, then sent a small look over his shoulder at Dean. The Lunatic Fringe seemed in his own world as he hyped himself up for the upcoming match, fists swung at the air as he shadow boxed nearby. He turned back towards the talent aide with a smile. "Did you get a chance to see any of the matches this weekend or were they working you to the bone?"

"I managed to see a few here and there," Claire confessed, "I got to see more at TakeOver than last night's show. Four hours of show, not to mention the after party that happened after." Tucking her tablet and water bottle into the crook of her arm, Claire used her free hand to push her the stray strands of copper hair from her eyes. "It was a lot of work, but the week was really fun so I don't mind it much."

"Probably helps that you're not the one getting punched repeatedly," Roman joked, a grin on his face as Claire laughed in agreement. Roman shifted and moved down to pick up his vest, which leaned against the wall nearby.

"That's definitely one of the benefits to working behind the scenes."

As Roman slipped the vest over his tank top, Claire's gaze moved to focus on the man behind him. A little way down the hall was Dean Ambrose. Ignoring Dean's presence was nearly impossible. The man radiated his special brand of charm. A little unruly at times, but utterly his own. Claire watched as the man dropped down to the ground and began to do push-ups. Her eyes slid over him in appreciation, but the look didn't go unnoticed.

At the sound of Roman clearing his throat, Claire's eyes shifted from Dean and his push-ups to a smirking Reigns. Slightly embarrassed, Claire straightened her back as she composed herself again. Yeah, she looked. She was human, but she also prided herself on being professional while at work. Staring at the talent was the opposite of work. Plus Roman more than anyone knew how Claire and Dean were around each other backstage. With his wild personality and her reputation for order, the two were like oil and water. To say they butted heads over the years would be an understatement.

"Grace told me you started to make appointments after every match," Claire turned her attention back to Roman.

"Yeah," Roman nodded, "She's been helping me out. She's good."

"She's the best," she playfully corrected, "A little massage therapy every week will be beneficial in the long run. I think everyone should do it, especially in this business."

"I don't know about you," a deep voice interjected, "But I like to get worked over the old fashion way." Roman and Claire turned their attentions towards the approaching Ambrose. He had a thin layer of sweat from his workout and a confident smile on his face. Roman tried to hide his amusement as Dean reached out and plucked the water bottle out of Claire's arms. After twisting the cap off, he took a long swig from the bottle. "Probably would burn more calories too."

"Tactful as always, Ambrose," Claire said, which earned a grin from Dean. She sent a polite smile Roman's way. "Second on the card tonight. Good luck on your match." Dean watched as Claire started to slide past them. She tapped the bottle in his hand lightly with her tablet. "You can keep that, by the way."

Roman let out a low whistle as Claire disappeared around the corner, laughed as he slapped a hand against Dean's shoulder.

"You really aren't doing yourself any favors with her when you do stuff like that," he told his friend.

"I don't need any favors from her," Dean replied. The two men began to move from the hallway. Dean would make his way down the ramp, but Roman would walk through the crowd. Until then, the two men would talk game plans and shoot the shit. "You know that I don't mesh well with do-gooders. Not my type."

"Your type is usually random women and one night stands."

"And Claire's about as wholesome as warm apple pie," Dean said, "Like I said, not my type."

"I love you, brother," Roman confessed, "But you have some of the lowest standards when it comes to women."

"What I lack in standards, I make up in style and gusto."

It was after their match, after the introduction of the newest Wyatt family member, that the two men would make their way back towards their locker room. Slowly and painfully. Medical had checked them out, given the two men the okay to head out. No need for a hospital trip that night. The two men were relatively quiet as they walked through the hall. They both knew what the other was thinking. With this new guy in the picture? They were fucked. Roman and Dean had never faced anything like that. Roman was used to taking down even the largest of men with one punch and Dean... Well, he was used to wearing out opponents with a fiery fighting style. Neither were able to best this new arrival. As they rounded the corner into the next hallway, Dean spotted Claire. The red-headed aide clicked down the hall in her heels, her eyes slightly glazed over as she walked. Her mind was elsewhere, which was the reason for her slight jump when her attention snapped in their direction.

"You guys okay?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern.

"We'll live," Dean replied.

"Well, that's a relief," Claire said. Her eyes moved from one man to the other, taking in the disheveled look of them. Roman half-dragged his vest in his hand and the last of Dean's shredded tank top hung on for dear life at his hips. Both men dripped with sweat and looked like they had seen better days. "I've kinda grown fond of the people I work with," she lightly added, "It'd be a shame to see anyone I like hurt."

"You sure picked a helluva profession then, Red," Dean replied and earned an arched eyebrow from Claire.

"Thanks for asking though," Roman quickly interjected.

"You're welcome," Claire said. The woman had even made it a point to shift her body completely in Roman's direction when she spoke. She ignored Dean completely. He bit down the smirk he felt coming. "Grace will take you whenever you're ready for your session, Roman," she continued, a polite smile on her lips as she spoke, "You guys have a good night."

Dean rolled his eyes slightly as Claire breezed past them, looked over his shoulder just in time to watch her disappear around the hallway corner. When he turned his gaze to his friend, Dean spotted the look Roman gave him. Raised eyebrow and a slight look of disappointment, Roman was officially turning on the guilt face.

"What?" Dean asked, as he began his walk towards the locker room once more, "What's with the face?"

"You could be kinder," Roman replied, "She was basically saying that she didn't want to see us hurt."

"We're already hurt," Dean stubbornly pointed out.

"Just… try and play nice. We don't have a lot of friends backstage and from the looks of tonight? We don't need more enemies."

No, they didn't need more enemies. Dean knew it. The Shield had made more than enough enemies in the years they were together and Dean hadn't made any friends since they had disbanded. He was fine on his own. Hell, Dean only knew he could count on himself most of the time, but he had Roman. His friend had his back. Not just in the way Seth had claimed. Roman was his brother. Maybe not by blood, but in every other way that mattered. For a guy who didn't have much in the way of family, it was something.

It was late in the evening when Dean made it back to his hotel room. After the beating he and Roman received early in the night, Dean didn't feel like shutting down a bar and stumbling into bed in the early hours of the morning. He had kicked off his boots on his way inside, dumped his luggage somewhere near the door. Next had come his shirt, which had been replaced at the show. Dean never lacked in shirts when the merch guys constantly had them in stock. Merch and tank tops... He really should invest in some other kind of shirt at some point.

Dean considered falling onto the bed sheets and passing out, but that plan was axed when someone knocked on his hotel room door. When he opened the door, Dean propped his shoulder against the frame. Claire stood casually in the hallway, hands behind her back. She wore the same skirt and blouse she had worn at the arena, though her long hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. The woman looked, especially in his current state of undress, far more put together than he ever could.

"Roman's gone soft," Dean casually confessed, "He told me to be nice to you earlier."

"You should be nice to me," Claire said, "I have a lot to offer when it comes to friendship."

Almost as if to prove it, Claire moved her arm from behind her back. Hooked on the crook of her finger was a leather jacket. Well-worn, black, thin stripes along the shoulder and down the arm… Dean's jacket. The sight of his jacket brought a small smile to his lips as he stepped back to let Claire into the room.

"I was wondering where that was."

Though he spoke of the jacket, Dean's eyes stayed on Claire. He watched as she sidestepped around the suitcase and the trail of boots by the door, then the shirt he had previously discarded. She moved with the grace of a woman who had avoided mess on a regular basis. After she laid the jacket neatly over the back of a desk chair, Claire turned on her heels to face Dean. He slowly stepped closer to her, invaded her space, and caused her to step backwards until she was trapped between his body and the desk nearby. He crouched down slightly to meet Claire's eye level, hands planted against the desk at her sides.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Claire's voice softly asked, "After what happened tonight with your match-"

"I'm fine," Dean told her, "You've seen most of my matches. You should be used to seeing me getting my ass beat by now."

"What makes you think I'm watching you during your matches?"

Her question was delivered like an honest question, but the small glint in Claire's eye hinted at the teasing that laid beneath the words. Not one to be outdone, Dean gripped her hips and lifted her up slightly to sit her onto the desk. He stepped between her legs and a smirk crept across his lips as he felt Claire's hands rest on the buckle of his belt.

"You watch me," Dean replied, confidently. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he felt her shift closer to him. Reaching up, Dean slowly tugged the tie from her hair. He let it drop somewhere onto the floor beside them before he lifted his hand again to rake through her hair. "You might not have the time to watch every match, but when you do? You watch for me."

With those words, Dean leaned forward as his lips pressed against hers. The kiss was hungry on both sides and the tension was finally given proper release. Something that was postponed before his match, when Roman was present; then later set aside, following the attack from the newest Wyatt. It was a sign of lust, of chemistry, possibly even affection. There was no battle for dominance during the kiss, nor was it one-sided.. It felt like almost like a dance. An act of passion that ebbed and flowed in unison. Hands ran along bodies that were pressed together, sought out to touch every inch they were able to. It was only when Dean pulled back to undo the buttons of Claire's shirt that their lips parted.

"You need to stop forgetting things in my room," Claire said. As Dean pushed the fabric of her shirt off her shoulders, her hands worked the buckle of Dean's jeans before she tugged the leather free from the loopholes. "Phones and iPods are easy to carry around. I can hide them in a purse, but a jacket-"

Dean brought his lips to hers again. Yeah, the majority of him did it because he wanted to be spared the lecture. She must have wised up to his tricks though, because that move earned him a swat on the arm. Dean didn't think too much of it. Not when he could feel her lips curved in a smile when she did it. He broke the kiss abruptly and moved to lift Claire up. Despite her half-hearted protests, he slung her over his shoulder and lightly swatted her ass. Her laughter filled the room as he made his way over to the bed, avoided her swipes when he dumped her on top of the sheets. Before she could return the swat, Dean quickly moved to cover her body with his.

"You're a jerk," she said, humor laced in the words.

"You've seen enough of me the past few years to know that."

"Do we have to worry about Roman?" Claire asked, her mind focused back on what Dean said earlier.

"He doesn't know a thing," Dean told her, "He hasn't for months."

"I'm surprised he doesn't know already," she teased, "You two have been attached at the hip these days. I half-expected him to be here right now."

"I don't share," Dean said. He pressed his forearms against the mattress to keep most of his weight off of her. There was something about the feel of her body under his that did something to him. It certainly didn't help when he felt her fingertips trail along his back. "And I like this thing what we got going on now."

"What thing?" she asked. Claire shifted beneath him slightly and bit back a laugh when she heard a small groan rumble in the back of Dean's throat. "The arrangement where we enjoy each other's company whenever we feel the need? No labels, just fun? Is that what you're talking about?"

"I mean, I was just going to call it 'secret fucks', but you make it sound way more respectable."

A calloused hand ran beneath Claire's skirt as Dean gripped her hip. He could see anticipation build in her eyes as his thumb dipped under the fabric of her panties. Anticipation gave way to impatience as Claire nudged at his jeans and pushed the fabric off his hips slightly.

"You in a hurry or something?" Dean grinned, "'Cause what I got planned for you might take a while."

An arrangement or secret fucks, Dean didn't give a shit what they called it.

All he knew was that he enjoyed it.