TITLE: Sweet Tooth
AUTHOR: Simply Cath
DISTRIBUTION: Get my permission first.
DISCLAIMER: These guys belong to themselves, names belong to WWE, I'm not making any money off this.
RATING: T CONTENT: m/m flirting, bad language, drunken carousing.
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Seth discovers a new form of taxation.
Sweet Tooth By: Simply_Cath
"Well," Seth planted his hands on the table top, his lips curving into an absolutely wicked grin. "This round's on me. Beer for me and Roman, iced tea for Dean." He pushed off the table and started for the bar, staggering a step to the left before righting himself.
"Rat bastard son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "I'm the alcoholic of the group, how the hell did I wind up Designated Driver?"
"You just answered your own question." Roman offered, tipping his head back to get the last few drops out of his beer. He wasn't that thirsty, but it was worth it for the look on Dean's face.
Seth leaned against the bar, waiting his turn. He felt someone grab his wrist and looked down. "Hey."
"Seth," Summer grinned at him, her face flush with what Seth had to guess was a few drinks. She held a tall thin glass, inside was something bright green and probably full of liquor. "Dance with me."
Rollins looked over at his teammates who were engaged in deep conversation about something. He weighed his options and plucked the drink from her hand. "Dance Tax." He explained, before she could open her mouth. "You wanna dance, you buy me a drink."
Summer pursed her lips, looking him up and down, before nodding. "Dance Tax?"
"Dance Tax."
"Dance Tax!" She tightened her grip around his free hand and dragged him on to the dance floor, Rollins sipping the drink hurriedly as he started dancing. It was a fast song with a good beat and she knew what she was doing. Seth gave her a quick salute and started off the floor.
Nikki was by the dance floor. "Wanna dance?" Her drink was redder than the lipstick she wore.
Panting, Seth pointed at her glass. "Dance Tax."
She looked at him in surprise, arched an eyebrow and handed it over.
Seth's fingers, chilled from the drink, closed around her wrist as he lead her on to the floor.
"All right. Guess the Diva or the drink color." Dean's eyes skimmed the dance floor as Seth staggered back out.
"Hmm," Reigns considered is options. "I'll say Cameron and pink." Roman blinked as he spotted a new detail. "Seth wasn't wearing a tie when he came in."
"Nope."
"So who's-?"
"Hell if I know."
The Divas were huddled in a group as if they were deciding on football plays.
"He's pretty trashed," Roman said. "Think we should put a stop to this?"
"Nah, let him have his fun."
Lana walked up to Seth. In her hands was a glass roughly the size of a punch bowl, containing something bright purple.
Dean and Roman looked at each other. "Purple."
Dean looked at his watch. It had been an hour since Roman had gotten a lift back to the hotel with his cousins. He stepped out on to the dance floor.
He finally found Seth holding on to a fake palm tree, looking down at his feet as if he'd never seen them before.
"Come on, Legs, you've had enough." Dean put an arm around his waist, but Seth refused to budge.
"Dean?" Seth blinked. "Are we dancing or is the floor moving on its own?"
"Yeah, you're done." Dean put Seth's arm around his shoulders and started heading out the door, snatching a water bottle off a waitress' tray.
The cool night air made Seth jump and he grinned. "Dean?"
"Yeah, Seth?"
Seth grinned. "Dance Tax."
Dean chuckled and nodded to their coworkers, heading out to the car. The wind sent a few leaves dancing across the parking lot and Seth craned his neck to watch them until they lay still again. He reached into his back pocket for his keys, then swatted Seth's hand aside. "Quit it. I don't need your help."
"Wasn't trying to help." Seth gave Dean what he hoped was a sexy look, only to frown as the blond started laughing. "What?"
"You want the front or back?"
Seth leaned in to lick Dean's neck, but wound up getting the collar of his shirt instead. "I wanna be where you are."
Dean opened up the back seat and nodded when Seth crawled in and sprawled on his back with a groan. "Dean?" He murmured. "I'm very into... inta... drunktoxicated."
"Enjoy it, buddy."
"Dance Tax is the best tax."
"Tell me that tomorrow."
Dean tuned the radio to a classic rock station. Checking to see that Seth wasn't paying attention, he laid his foot on the gas, then had to slam down on the brake with both feet or risk running a red.
The shocks were bouncing so hard Dean began to wonder if he'd broken something. "Stupid cheap fuckin' rent-" The words faded from his lips when he found the cause.
Sprawled out in the back, one leg pressed against the seats and the other foot resting on the floor, was Seth. His hands beat wildly against the air as he continued drumming. A blond strand clung to his sweat slicked cheek and his lips were curled with a determination Dean had only seen during match preparation.
Dean bit down on his knuckle to stifle the laughter that wanted to erupt. He waited for a pause before speaking up."You're pretty good," Dean said with a straight face. "Slater's always looking for some new band members. I'm sure he'd sign you up."
"That would be..." Seth stared up at the roof, as if he could see the whole thing playing out on it. His lips parted in awe. "That would be awesome!"
A horn blasted behind them. Dean rolled his eyes and started back to the hotel.
At the next red light, Seth grabbed the back of Dean's seat and hauled himself up into a sitting position. "Dean," Seth nodded. "Dean, I kinda wanna make out with someone tonight. The right someone. Or maybe three of the wrong someones. But I wanna make out with you, okay?" He scooted to the edge of the seat, his fingers settling on Dean's hips as if they were on a motorcycle.
"Yeah, I could live with that." Dean turned to catch Seth's lips, only to jump when the horn blared behind them again. "Goddamn cocksucking son of a bitch, I swear to god-! There's two lanes, asshole, you wanna pass me, then fucking pass me already."
Thankfully the driver seemed to have the same idea.
Dean raised his middle finger high, then quickly added the rest of his fingers in an awkward wave as Stephanie McMahon gunned past him.
Seth fell back in his seat, holding his stomach. Each time he started to say something, laughter would overtake him again.
"Oh you think that's funny, huh?"
Seth nodded.
Six deliberately hit potholes later and Seth was sprawled out on his side, making pitiful noises.
"Rollins," Ambrose muttered as he again pulled Seth close to him. "I swear to god, if you don't shut up-"
"I think we should f-"
Dean brought his hand across Seth's mouth, refusing to budge it even when Seth started licking his fingers. He made his way through the lobby, paying no attention to coworkers or fans with cameras.
It was only when the doors closed behind them that he let go, wiping his hand on his jeans. He leaned against the far wall, watching the numbers go up.
"Dean, wanna Dance Tax with me?"
"I think you've had enough."
"B-but you're you. You get a special Dance Tax."
"Oh I do, do I?"
Seth licked his lips. "See, there was this chick in college. She bought this tape, right. Like I figure, eh, whatever, it's one of those stupid aerobics things, right?" He shook his head. "It was a strippercise one."
Dean turned to look at him.
Seth grinned. "So we got drunk and tried it out. I was way better. But that'll be two drinks, 'cause you're not supposed to know about that."
"Maybe a couple more drinks wouldn't hurt."
The sunlight was beating ferociously on his eyelids. Seth groaned and covered his head with his pillow. "Ugh." Someone pulled his blanket off and he grimaced. "Fugoff."
"Up, Rollins."
He heard the rustle of the curtains and pulled the pillow away. Scrubbing a hand over his crusted over eyes, Seth took in his surroundings. Typical hotel room. Dean stomping around like a goddamn elephant, and - he blinked. Seth got to his feet, walking as though he'd forgotten how to do it. He reached the back of the couch and grabbed his pants. "What the hell?"
Dean's grinning face pocked out from the bathroom door; the toothpaste around his lips made him look like a friendly, rabid dog. "Dance Tax is the best tax."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Yawning, Seth walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. He leaned against the counter, waiting for his brain to catch up.
By the time Dean stepped out of the shower, Seth had a look of vague horror on his face. "I didn't?"
"Didn't what? Strip? You started to. You tripped getting your pants off, face planted and passed out in the carpet."
Seth groaned and sank down to the floor.
Dean swiped Seth's coffee and sat down next to him. "I'll make sure you're sober next time I ask." Dean pressed his lips to Seth's temple.
"Dude, that is never happening."
Ambrose grinned. "Like Dibiase says, everybody's got a price. Yours just happens to be your weight in girly drinks."
Seth groaned and rested his head against the dresser. "I hate you."
THE END
Two down, one Shield member to go!
Cath