A/N: Thanks for the reviews and encouragements! Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Chapter 2

Dean limped backstage, a sweaty arm draped around his best friend's shoulder for support. Every step hurt like a son of a bitch. He was sore all over, but nothing could wipe the stupid grin off his face. He and Roman had just beat the hell out of the Wyatt lackeys—Luke Harper and Erick Rowan. Two goons that Seth had tried to sic on them. It'd been straight up brawling, and the fans had gone wild during the entire thing. Dean could still hear their "this is awesome" chant ringing in his ears.

Roman helped him take a seat on one of the large footlockers. His steel gray eyes were filled with concern as he gazed into Dean's face. Dean looked back at him, licking his lips at the intensity of his stare. Jesus, Roman's eyes. They were soulful and intimidating. "I'm good, Ro. Nothing feels broken. Just hurts like hell."

Roman nodded. The relief on his face was palpable. "You sure? You landed on it pretty hard when you went all Air Ambrose."

"Asshole." Dean grinned. He stretched his left leg out, groaning at the sharp pain shooting up the limb. He rolled his ankle. Everything functioned. "I'm good, man. Just need some Bengay, painkillers, and a nice cold beer and I'm easy breezy."

Roman shook his head. "I'm just saying, I'd get it looked at. Just in case."

"I'm just sayin', you worry too much, Ro." One of the things Dean admired about the guy.

Roman folded his thick arms across his muscled chest. "And whose fault is that, hm?"

"That's a tough one. Can I buy a vowel?"

Dean chuckled as Roman's frown stretched out into a grin. He couldn't help himself. Never could really. "You're stupid," Roman said.

"I'm gonna take that as the compliment you meant it to be."

Roman helped Dean to his feet. "Nah, I meant it as an insult."

"Ooh, ouch." Dean let Roman position him at his side with his big body supporting most of Dean's weight. It was about a hundred degrees, and Roman was covered in sweat, but damned if it didn't feel good pressed against him like this. Dean fought the urge to just close his eyes and get lost in the moment. "My room or yours?"

"Mine. God only knows what you'd do if I left you alone."

Dean grinned against him at the thought. They were surrounded by the chaos of wrestlers preparing for matches and staff running around checking gear. But to Dean, they might as well have been alone. All he saw was Roman. All he felt was miles of smooth, hard skin. Inhaled clean sweat and dark spice. Roman's damp hair was even tickling his nose, but Dean didn't give a crap. It was soft and smelled good, and he wanted to grab a fistful and wrap around in it.

A catcall somehow forced itself into his little bubble. He just knew it was directed at him. At them.

"You two look really cozy." The Bella twins were headed in their direction, all smiles as they looked them up and down.

"What's up?" Roman greeted them.

The girls pulled to a stop in front of them. "Our match is next." Nikki gave them a wry smile. "What's up with the PDA? Something going on we don't know about?"

"Aw, jealous, Nikki? Is John not showing you enough affection?" Dean pouted his bottom lip as if he were really worried about the state of Nikki and Cena's relationship. Not that he was. He'd seen enough Total Divas...

Nikki frowned. "Ew. Don't be weird, Dean. My man is totally into PDA, thank you."

"Well, my man is, too." Dean ignored the feminine laughter, instead thinking how nice it would be to say that. Roman Reigns, his man. Sounded nice as hell.

"Dean, are you done?"

Dean met his friend's stern glower, their faces so close they could almost kiss if someone pushed them another inch or two. Damn, he wished the Bellas were mind readers. "I know that look."

"Well, too," Roman replied in a low voice.

Dean nodded then turned a wistful smile in the twins' direction. "Well, Bellas, I gotta go now. It's time for my spanking."

Roman shoved him and Dean nearly stumbled into the twins. But one look at Roman's flustered smile, and he knew his boy wasn't really mad at him. Okay, not really. Maybe. "Don't project your fantasies on me, Ambrose," Roman said.

Dean gave him an incredulous look, like his feelings were really hurt. "So that's how it is? You're last naming me, now?"

"Ugh, you two are like a couple that's been married too long. Let's go, Brie."

As the Bellas walked off, Dean threw his hands up. "Finally someone gets it." He took a step forward, but his damn leg chose that moment to spasm. He grimaced as the muscles sporadically tightened. "Son of a bitch." Before he could fall, however, Roman caught him against his side.

"I gotcha."

Dean couldn't speak past his clenching teeth and the pain racking him. He walked in virtual silence as Roman slowly lead him to his locker room.

Once inside, Roman sat him in a steel chair. He elevated Dean's leg in an opposite chair. "Don't even think about moving," Roman warned.

Dean shrugged. "I'm all yours. Doctor away."

Roman shook his head before rummaging his bag for whatever he was looking for. "Dammit, Dean. You really know how to test someone's patience, don't you?"

"Me? Hell no. I hate tests."

Roman set a tube of Bengay in Dean's lap. "I'll be right back with some ice. Don't move."

Dean grinned. "Is there a reward for sitting still?"

"Yeah. Maybe I won't put my foot up your ass."

"Yeah, you know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"Hah!" Roman choked out a laugh before he headed for the door and disappeared.

Left alone, Dean grunted as he kicked off his boot. It was hard work ignoring the pain as he rolled up his jeans' leg and slathered the creamy stuff onto his calf and shin. But he would live. Physical pain, he could deal with. By tomorrow, it wouldn't even be on his radar.

It was the other stuff he couldn't handle. Emotional stuff. Talking about his feelings, for one. It'd taken him years just to come to the realization he wanted Roman. Fucking years of endless wondering and trying to convince himself he wasn't in love with his best friend because that was wrong. And now that he'd finally embraced the truth, it was a few years too late. Not that he'd actually have the guts to tell him, but the whole thing would be pointless.

As far as he knew, Roman was into chicks. Not guys.

Dean scrubbed a hand through his five o' clock shadow. He needed a cigarette.

The door opened and Roman stepped inside with an ice pack. He paused at the strong scent of menthol. "You already put some on?"

"Figured I'd help. Besides, you were taking forever."

With a shake of his head, Roman approached and gingerly set the pack onto Dean's leg. "I thought I told you not to move."

"So what? I'm hardheaded. You gonna spank me now?" Taking the ice pack from him, Dean pressed it against the underside of his leg where it hurt the most.

Roman knelt beside him. "What's really going on, Ambrose?"

As Dean stared into his best friend's eyes, his throat tightened up, making it hard to swallow. He found it impossible to look away, and so damn easy to just drown in the mercurial depths of Roman's gaze. The urge to spill it all, to get this ridiculous weight off his chest was powerful. He'd deal with Roman's reaction when they crossed that bridge.

But he wanted to say it. To just get those three pesky words out of the way. Everything else should come easy after that.

Dean licked his dry lips. "Ro."

"What's up?"

"You know I love you, right?" His palms were suddenly sweaty.

Roman nodded. "Yeah, I know. I love you too, man. We're brothers."

"Yeah, brothers." Goddamn, why was this so difficult?

Before Dean could eke out another word, there was a knock on the door. Roman stood up. "Hold that thought," he told Dean.

Dean sighed as he watched the guy head for the door. Whether the sigh was frustration or relief, he had no clue. Maybe both. Whatever.

Roman popped open the door. "Hey, what's up, Randy?"

"Not much, not much. Hey, listen, you got a sec, Roman?"

Dean perked at the sound of Randy Orton's deep voice. He couldn't see him from his vantage point, but that didn't keep him from wondering why he was here.

"Yeah, sure."

"Great match, by the way. You kicked ass out there, like usual."

Roman laughed. "Appreciate it, man."

"We were thinking about getting some drinks after the show's over. Wanna come hang with us for a little while?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. Who was this mysterious 'we'?

Roman raked a hand through his damp locks. "Sorry, can't make it tonight. I'm a little wiped, to be honest."

"That's too bad," Randy said. "Maybe next time."

"Definitely next time, for sure. Thanks for thinking of me."

Dean stared up at the ceiling, barely listening to the sound of the door shutting and Roman's booted feet approaching him. "Since when does Orton pay you social visits?"

"Randy's cool, man."

"Cool, huh?" Dean met his friend's gaze.

Roman shrugged. "Besides, I can't go partying when someone might've injured his leg and needs babysitting."

Dean gave him a wry smile. "Am I supposed to be flattered you chose me over Orton? Because I am."

Roman rolled his eyes before kneeling down to help unlace Dean's other boot. "Weirdo. What were you gonna tell me earlier?"

Dean watched Roman's quick hand movements as he undid the strings and loosened them enough for Dean to slide his foot out of it. His head was lowered, his eyes concentrating on his task. Dean shook his head. He couldn't do it. The moment was gone now. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."