Warnings: Mild Slash (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins), Kayfabe as possible.

"He's pissed off with me, Paul." From inside his dressing room, Seth can hear Brock almost whine, and all it does is make Seth think good.

"Well... You did pin him, Brock." Heyman chuckles, and there's a loud crash. "Brock!" Heyman sounds distressed, and once more, all Seth can think is good. They double-crossed him, sure Lesnar had started on Cena, but he'd turned his attentions to Seth more than quickly enough. Betrayal is unpleasant to be on the wrong side of, not that Seth knows about the right side of it. He didn't betray The Shield. He bought in, he didn't sell out, but he knows the feeling his brothers had a little better now. "Brock! Put that down... I'll talk to him, smooth this over. It'll be fine, you'll see. Mr Rollins is a reasonable man. We're all reasonable men. I'll sort this out." Heyman is definitely pleading for his continued existence, and Seth glares at the door. He can't help but wonder where Jamie and Joey have scurried off to. They'd been commissioned to stand guard, but it seems as though they're not there. They'd probably scarped when they saw Brock coming, and are playing in catering. There's a loud knocking on the door, and Seth's glare deepens.

"Fix it." Brock hisses, and the door opens, revealing a red-faced and nervous looking Heyman. Brock shoves Heyman into the room, and Seth raises an eyebrow at the rotund man. The door slams shut, and there's a thud as Brock leans against the other side of it.

"Mr Heyman. What can I do for you, you treacherous lying scumbag?" Seth's tone is mild and genial, and Heyman sighs dramatically, helping himself to a bottle of water sitting on one of the counters. "Please... Take a seat." Seth gestures to the hard chair in the corner of the room, and Heyman ignores him, opening the water bottle, draining half of the contents before he takes a seat on the other end of the couch from Seth.

"Mr Rollins, Seth." He smiles, and Seth looks at him. "We had a deal, and to be fair, Brock upheld it. He focussed on Cena."

"He fucking pinned me. He beat the shit out of me. He fucking broke the deal from the word go!" Seth snaps, and Heyman shifts his weight uncomfortably.

"There was a delay, Mr Rollins. The first blow was landed to Ce-"

"He said he wouldn't touch me!" Seth springs to his feet, and Heyman almost cowers. It's an act; Seth thinks it is at least. Heyman has dealt with some of the most volatile people in the WWE. He managed He Who Must Not Be Named, a man famed for his short fuse. Heyman knows how to handle tempers, especially one as mild as Seth's. "You lied to me, Heyman." Seth grabs the tie around Heyman's neck and tugs on it, raising the man up off the couch. "You fucking lied to me, and you're still lying now. Do you have allergies, Paul?" Seth asks calmly, and Heyman shakes his head. "No? Really? Because it really seems like you're allergic to the truth."

"Mr Rollins... If we can be reasonable." Heyman's fingers are scrabbling over Seth's, trying to loosen their hold on his tie. "The initial plan was changed. There wasn't time to make you aware of the changes, and I assure you, my client had nothing to do with the changes." He stresses my client, and Seth lets Heyman go. He doesn't want to think about Lesnar, doesn't want to think about how he'd trusted him, and then been betrayed so easily by him.

"Get out." Seth hisses, and Heyman scrambles for the door, leaving Seth in peace to watch the Rumble.

A short while later, there's a soft knock on the door of Seth's dressing room, a knock that's so light he's almost sure he imagined it until it's repeated. He supposes its J and J Security finally tearing themselves away from cell phone games long enough to remember that they're supposed to be escorting him back to the hotel. That would explain the quietness of the knocking at least, they'll be hoping he's left without them. He wrenches the door open, and stares at the man on the other side. Lesnar looks contrite, and is holding a can of KILLCLIFF, along with several protein bars.

"I got you a present, baby." He smiles awkwardly, and Seth is too shocked to think of anything to say. "Here." He holds out the present, and Seth somehow manages to hold it all in both hands. The ease with which Brock bearlike paws had held all of this makes the size difference between them annoyingly clear.

"What do you want, Lesnar?" Seth sneers Brock's surname, and wanders back over to the couch, returning to waiting for at least one of the J's to show up, and drive him back to the hotel.

"To say I'm..." Brock hovers nervously at the door, and Seth frowns at him.

"Come in, sit down. You're making me nervous hanging about at the door." He snaps, turning back to the TV that's playing the Rumble match. Luck of the draw has one of his former brothers in the ring, and the crowd is hostile towards him. There's a little part of Seth that's pissed on Roman's behalf. The big lug has a good heart, and he's a good foot soldier, but he needs guidance. Things would be so very different if Seth had decided to wait before buying in, Roman would be much better off at least.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you nervous." Brock's attention is caught by the TV, and he frowns at the screen. "He's going to win. It's your brother who I'll be facing." His voice is quiet, and as high-pitched as ever.

"What makes you say that?" Seth snaps at him, and Brock seems to curl into himself, looking slightly wounded at the harshness of Seth's tone. He almost wants to apologise for being so unpleasant, but then the anger of being pinned, of being lied to, resurfaces, and Seth grabs the can of energy drink, opening it to take a drink.

"There's a fire in his belly." Brock says plainly, his attention on Roman's image on the TV screen, and there's a tiny part of Seth that wants it back on him, a tiny bit of Seth that feels like Brock isn't doing enough grovelling.

"There's not one in mine? I could have fucking beaten you, beaten Cena and you fucking cheated me." Anger surfaces easily, and Lesnar does nothing but take a deep breath, exhaling loud and slow. "Why the fuck did you lie to me?"

"Until I got here, I didn't." Brock takes another deep breath, holding it in, exhaling slowly. Its then that Seth realises he's doing some kind of anger management technique, and he's almost grateful that Brock is trying to keep The Beast at bay.

"The plan changed last minute?" Seth snags a couple of the protein bars, and turns to sit sideways so he can face Brock. "Here, I'm guessing you've not eaten yet." Seth taps Brock's monstrous bicep with one of them, losing a fight with a smile when Brock takes it, and starts almost nibbling at it once the wrappers off, looking like an overgrown chipmunk.

"Paul E was all for the original plan till maybe an hour before we went on, and then it was, whatever it takes Brock, keep the belt." Brock closes his eyes, and leans his head back.

"Dangerous words to give a dangerous man." Seth comments mildly, and Brock laughs, a smile on his face. "I don't understand Heyman's reasons, he wouldn't give me any, and I'm guessing you didn't get an explanation either?" Brock lifts his head back up and looks at Seth.

"Paul tells me when and who to kick the shit out of, nothing more, nothing less." He smiles, and a little shiver runs down Seth's spine. Lesnar's a legitimately dangerous man, and he's guided by a monster. Everyone might think that Brock is the monster, but the truth is that it's Heyman.

"He's a fine puppet master." Seth mutters, and Brock laughs, tossing the wrapper from his protein bar in the trash. "You know... You don't have to be a puppet, Brock." Seth smiles at him, and Brock shakes his head.

"I'm not a puppet. I'm the strings Paul uses to move his marionettes." Brock smirks, and Seth sits there feeling surprised that Brock knew the word. "I'm not an idiot, baby." Brock chuckles, and Seth snorts, opening his snack, and starting to eat. He's underestimated Brock, that much is clear, but then again it might be that Heyman has been underestimating him too. It doesn't seem likely to Seth though, Heyman is too smart by half. He'd not underestimate anyone; he'd have the measure of them for sure.

"Hey... Brock?" Seth moves a little closer, his knees brushing Brock's huge thigh, making his ears turn red in embarrassment. "I'm hungry, wanna go eat?" Seth stands, and Brock looks flustered, but is nodding as he gets to his feet. "Good. So where's cheap but good around here?"

Brock had insisted on carrying Seth's bags, had insisted on holding the car door open, had insisted on driving, and now that they've eaten, he's insisting on paying. It's nice, and Seth's surprised at the chivalry, he's also more than a little confused, but he's not going to argue. Brock has a very different concept of cheap to Seth, if he wants to pay, Seth's going to let him. He was much better on this date, if you could call it that. They'd managed to have a real conversation; a moment where Seth had found himself laughing almost hysterically at a story about some crazy trip Heyman and Brock had been on. It had surprised Seth, but he'd found himself relaxing in Brock's company. He'd had a good time, and he's genuinely sorry that it's coming to an end.

"I'll take you to your hotel." Brock says once they're back in the car. Without really thinking, Seth nods, and a smile creeps over Brock's lips. "Okay. Which one is it?" Seth tells him, and sits in the passenger's seat staring out the window. He's carefully not thinking about how pleasant Brock's company has been, carefully not thinking about anything but how careful a driver Brock is, and the constant vibration of his cell phone notifications as it sits in his pants' pocket. He finally relents, and checks his cell. The first message he opens is from Dean. Occasionally, usually when he's drunk, Dean will text, his messages will be either filled with hate, or filled with despair, and Seth often has to remind himself that he bought in. Dean isn't his responsibility, not any more.

Ro won. You wanna cash in on my BROTHER you'll need to go through me! - Ambrose

"You were right." Seth says quietly, and Brock makes an hmm noise, enquiring as to what he was right about. "Roman won." Seth ignores the rest of his messages, and sits feeling uncertain. He doesn't know how he feels in the least. Roman won, and Dean told him so. His not brothers are still together, still strongly united, and he's not sure how he feels. Numb he thinks that the best word, but can't explain why. He thinks it might be down to the conflicting emotions he's feeling, and he needs a distraction. He reaches for his cell again, and notices several missed calls and texts from both Jamie and Joey. He'd slipped their dubious protection, and a little of him feels guilty for that. He sends off a quick message assuring them that he's fine, and on his way back to the hotel just as Brock pulls up to the front of it. He gets out of the car, once he's popped the trunk, and takes Seth's luggage out.

"Baby." He opens Seth's door, holding it for him, and closing it firmly once Seth is outside. "Lead the way."

"I'll be fine from here, Brock." Seth laughs, and Brock looks mildly affronted.

"I'm a gentleman, baby. I'm taking you all the way to your room." There's something final in Brock's words, and Seth can't begin to argue with him, not with the news that Rom-, no not Roman, not Dean, they're Reigns and Ambrose. They mean nothing to Seth, nothing. He left them behind, and he sees them as nothing but minor obstacles in his path to the WWE Heavyweight Championship, that the man he's spent the last few hours enjoying the company of holds. Seth sighs dramatically, slumping against the elevator wall, and Brock's hand is suddenly under his chin, turning Seth's face to him. "Baby? What's wrong?" Seth shakes his head, and closes his eyes. He can feel frustration building in him. He might needs to see if He Who Must Not Be Named has decided to sell those frustration badges so he can notch the shit out of one.

"Nothing... It's nothing, Brock." Seth sighs once more, and Brock's face wears an expression of utter disbelief. "It's... They're still friends." He snaps, and Brock looks at him. "I left them, and I thought that would be that. I was the glue, they were like magnets repelling each other, and they're still fucking together. They didn't need me after all. I thought I was vital, but they're fine on their own, they don't need me." Seth feels damned foolish, but a little better for that rant. Brock nods slowly, and his fingers move, cupping Seth's bearded cheek.

"They need you just fine. One of them did something great, and they still told you." Brock smiles, and Seth snorts looking away. "You broke them, but they're still yours, I get that. Heyman still calls the Runt every week." Seth turns to stare at Brock, and gets a tentative smile for his gaze. "There's no harm in wanting to keep an eye on them, baby, they're yours to watch." Brock shrugs, and then seems to realise he's holding Seth's face. His ears turn almost purple, and he steps away, clearing his throat awkwardly as the elevator arrives at Seth's floor. Seth leads the way to his room, and pauses once he gets to the door. Brock, all purple ears and Seth's luggage, is standing awkwardly in front of him.

"Brock." Seth smiles, opening the room door, and taking his luggage from Brock's hands, tossing the bags inside. "This was our second date, right?" Seth smiles, and Brock's hand goes up to rub at the back of his neck. He looks even more embarrassed than he had as he nods. "Well... Second dates are definitely soon enough to have a good night kiss." Brock looks shocked by Seth's words, but doesn't fight when Seth leans up for a kiss, instead those big strong hands on are on Seth, one cradling the back of his head, the other on Seth's waist. When they break apart Brock's wearing a ridiculous, kind of cute smile, and Seth can feel a blush on his cheeks. Brock's a good kisser, the best kisser. He might not be the best conversationalist, but he knows how to use his tongue.

"Good night, baby." Brock smiles, and starts walking away.

"Night, Brock." Seth calls down the corridor, and closes his hotel room door; thinking good might be an understatement.

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