Once the enrapturing gaze was broken, Dean decided to get the hell out of there. He didn't like having an audience anymore, didn't like the shame of how unpolished and crass his dancing was unless it was his own private show. He quickly turned around, making his way to the boom box to stop the music.
Except a particular spot of the floor had been finely polished, to the point of slippery, and Dean slid on his bad leg, falling instantly to the ground to make sure it wasn't injured more. It still hurt like hell, though, and the dancer let out a loud groan. "Fuck!" He hissed, bending his leg up to cradle his ankle.
Before he could even regain his composure, however, he heard the dance hall door's open. Dean curled into himself the, not really eager about some random stranger with strangely silver eyes and a tendency to apparently spy coming to his aid.
"Jesus, man I'm sorry…are you alright?" He smelled like clean sweat, must have broken it while presumably using the gym's others services. It was a heady sort of musk, manly and pertinent and for some reason it made Dean's head spin. Or maybe it was because that strong jaw and striking features were mere inches from his own face, drawn down in concern.
"I-I'm fine…ya just startled me is all, heh." Dean stared down at his ankle, trying to rub at the muscles there to make it relax, but the tightness and aching of it hardly began to dissipate. "Not used to peepin' toms, y'know?" He said it playfully, tongue sticking out between his teeth before he winced, shifting his other leg around.
"I'm sorry, I, uh…" God, even with the nervous stammering, this guy's voice was hot as hell. Deeper than Dean's, but cool and slick without a rough edge about him. It was more than a little tantalizing. "God, dude, your ankle looks swollen…" The stranger breathed out, looking rather shocked.
It was something that happened whenever Dean decided to dance a little, the bone's fracture and muscles and tendons around it that never quite healed properly experienced a lot of irritation. It would usually go down after a few hours, but it was a rather gross sight to see. "'s okay, dude, it happens…"
"Let me get you some ice, okay?" It was said rather panicked, that massively wide frame, such a huge contrast to Dean's own lithe one, standing up on teetering legs before he rushed out of the dance hall and called back. "Don't try to stand on it!"
Dean snorted at that, but after looking back down at now puffy it was he decided a little bit of icing might help it go down. And maybe if he talked to this dude he could find out his workout schedule and never, ever dance here when he might be around. It just filled him with dread, thinking of those piercing and tantalizing eyes taking in his pathetic mockery of the skills he once had.
He wasn't lost in his thoughts for too long, the handsome man returning mere moments later with a towel wrapped in ice, what looked like gauze of some sort, tape, and a bottle of water. He shoved the water into Dean's hand before gently reaching towards Dean's leg. "Is it alright if I…look?"
"Something's tellin' me you're gonna be doin' more than looking, pal." He meant to say it with a bite, but it just came out as flirty. "Why should I trust you, huh? First you're peepin' on me and now you're trying to grope me."
"Hey, hey, it's not like that." He said it rather quickly, more humorous than defensive as he scooted next to Dean. "I'm an EMT is all…just wanna make sure you didn't do any serious damage. I'd feel guilty if you did and it was on account of my 'peepin''." He smiles then, gently, taking Dean's offered up leg into his grasp, feeling around at the tender flesh. "I'm Roman, by the way. Roman Reigns."
What a fitting name for a man that looked like an ancient god. Someone who would have inspired statutes and odes to the beauty of nature.
"Dean Ambrose. Nice to meet ya, Ro." Roman seemed to smile at the quickly earned nickname, but his express grew serious when Dean let out a small noise, wincing when a tender spot was touched. "Hmm, probably just a really light sprain." He laid the makeshift ice pack on Dean's flesh then. The smaller male hissed, but he couldn't argue the fact that it did seem to make the ankle feel a tad better.
"Thanks." Dean said softly as he lulled his head back, his heart rate seeming to slip down as the EMT let go of his ankle. "Seriously…'s feelin' better already."
"You should drink that water I gave you. Might help the swelling go down…usually doesn't get that extreme unless you're dehydrated or retaining water weird." Roman shifted, sitting next to Dean with a small smile.
"That was…what you did...it was really beautiful." Roman said after a moment, looking a little guilty as he did, but sounding rather breathless. "Never seen a ballerina in person."
Dean snorted at that, because if Roman thought that was somehow beautiful, he must have never seen a real ballerina. "I'm actually a ballerino, on account of me bein' a dude. But, uh, let's just say I'm outta practice." He didn't like to self-wallow and he didn't want sympathy for his forgotten dreams.
Roman simply hummed in understanding and interest.
Then they sat in comfort silence for a several moments, Roman checking on the swelling ever so often while Dean swigged the water back. It was strange, just sitting there in the presence of another. He was so used to seclusion and solidarity. Being next to someone, even in silence, was quite nice.
After Roman checked it the fifth time, he took the towel off and began to bandage Dean's ankle up nice and tight. "I think you've gotten all the use out of the ice you can for now." He commented, continuing his work on compressing it. "Just keep it bandaged up overnight. If the swelling still hasn't gone down significantly by morning, then ice it for an hour or two. And I'd recommend not putting too much strain on this ankle for a week or two."
"Guess no point in having this one, then." He rolled his eyes to himself, snorting as he leaned forward to slide off his ballet shoes. It was strange, in that moment though, because as he revealed his feet to the world a strange glint fell over Roman's eyes. One that bleed of concern and seriousness, but a daring flick of his tongue over his bottom lip almost read as arousal. But that was ridiculous to think. Dean's feet were a mess, not completely disfigured, but years of dancing followed by over a decade of a slight limp left him with odd bumps and callouses here and there. Not anything pleasant to behold. "Yeah, I know, 's pretty grody to look at." A small chuckle then, but Roman simple shook his head, vision seeming to flash up at the ceiling to try and look anywhere but Dean.
"Listen, uh…did you drive here?"
"Nah, rode my bike." He said nonchalantly as he slid his boots back on, not bothering with his socks. He staggered to his feet then, finding it bizarre at how easy it was for him to accept Roman's offered arm for balance.
"I…I feel bad about this whole thing, dude." Roman began, helping Dean to gather up his belongings and make his exit out of the dancing hall. This close to him, Dean could smell his heavy musk even stronger, curling something deep in his stomach. "How about I give you a ride home?"
"Sure."
"And take you out for lunch sometime? You pick the place…don't know much around here since I moved only about a week ago. All my treat?" Dean wasn't one to accept offers from strangers, but the way this man had treated him tonight, looked at him with a strange level of reverence. He was agreeing before he had even fully processed the offer.
They made arrangements as Roman drove Dean home, the EMT helping carry things like his bike and boom box into his nearly pitch black storefront. Only one light was on, just enough for someone passing by the street to be guided by its soft stream.
"This is all yours?" Roman gawked in surprise as he placed down the boom box and bike where Dean had asked him. "Didn't even know this town had a bookstore. It's…cool."
Dean was glad for the mostly dark store then or else Roman might have seen how pink his ears were becoming. After everything was settled in, Dean thanked him again and Roman apologized for probably the 80th time that night. They reaffirmed their plans and Dean locked the store up as Roman made his way back into his truck.
The former dancer tried not to let giddiness overtake him. But it was difficult, difficult not to think of those glittering eyes that matched the hue of the moon, those plump lips that spoke so sweetly to him in a deep octave, those hands that felt so gentle and support against his pained flesh. He failed miserably, of course, because as he laid in his bed after shrugging off all but his briefs, he could feel is cock getting hard.
He was pretty sure it was rude conduct to jerk oneself off to the thought of someone they just met. Little did he know, he had left his socks in Roman's truck that night. And he was quite even lesser aware to the fact that innocent stranger was fisting his own cock, said socks shoved against his nose as he tried to immerse himself in the scent of those talented feet.