A/N: Wow, hey, thanks everyone for all the great feedback. Thrilled y'all are enjoying this puppy so far.
"New Tricks"
IV. Night Two
His purchase tucked into his jacket's pocket, he climbed back into his car and drove the last two blocks to the hotel. It was just about six, which meant he had about a half-hour to freshen up before he and Dean needed to be on their way.
Shame they didn't have longer.
Some nice, slow sex would go down real well right about now, and, man, he was looking forward to seeing what William Regal managed to pull together for Dean for tonight. The old man was great with pulling together the right looks for pretty much any occasion, and this should have been no exception.
Enzo stood at his usual post at the hotel's valet area when Roman pulled up, bopping along to whatever music he had playing in his headphones.
Most of the higher-end hotels where Roman stayed tended to frown on that kind of behavior, preferring a degree of professionalism that Roman found stifling. His old man wasn't a fan of it, but Roman found it as refreshing as he found the bold flower displays in the lobby. Splashes of color in a world that sometimes felt too monochrome for his liking.
He climbed out of his car as Enzo made his way around. "Hey-hey, Mr. Reigns! How's things?"
"Good," Roman said. He slipped Enzo a tip and moved aside. "Just park it. I'll be leaving again in half an hour."
"You got it. Oh, hey, Mr. Reigns? You're a guy with good taste. Can I run somethin' by you real quick?"
Roman glanced at his watch. "Sure, but make it quick."
"Won't take a second," Enzo said. "How do these lyrics sound? 'Old man jorts cuttin' and wack rhymes/soundin like a teenage boy spittin weak lines/manufactured lines you say with no art/what ever happened to speaking from ya heart?' I ain't got the rest yet, but whaddya think?"
"Um." Roman glanced off the doors, considering. Obviously they were lryics of some kind. "That's pretty good." He guessed. "What is it?"
"It's for a diss track," Enzo said. "Me and Big Cass - that's my partner in crime - we're goin' after that fake-ass Fruity Pebbles rice puff John Cena. He's tryin' front like he's a real hard-ass G lately, but, man, he's about as real as every pair of every pair of boobies on the Baywatch set. All that corny 'PG-rapping' for the kiddos. Know what I mean?"
The answer to that question was a resounding no. Roman had no idea what Enzo was talking about. But sometimes it was best to just humor him. "Sure," he lied. "That's cool Good luck? Listen I gotta get running. I'll see you here shortly."
He headed into the lobby, blowing past Becky at the front desk without much more than a cursory wave, anticipation hurrying him along to the elevator.
The entire ride up, he kicked his foot against the elevator's wall, eager and impatient.
Like a kid waiting for it to be time to open a birthday present.
It took him two tries to get his keycard into the slot, and it felt an hour before the lock disengaged.
Right away, the second he stepped inside, he saw Dean, and he just froze.
It was like the world just fell away for a second, all the stress and cares flying right out of Roman's head as he took in the sight in front of him.
Oh.
Dean stood over by the big windows, leaned casually sideways against one, attention out on the bay.
Clean-shaven, hair trimmed and slicked back, and wearing a sharp-as-hell black suit with a tie and a pocket square about the same color as his eyes, he looked like a completely different man. He could have been a picture out of a fashion magazine, he looked that damn good.
The change was just...
"...wow," Roman managed when Dean finally looked over. "You look…wow."
"Yeah?" Dean straightened, look down at himself self-consciously. "You like it?"
"I really, really do," Roman said. He felt just a little dazed as he made his way over, almost like he was floating. It was strange. "Man, William outdid himself. You look amazing. Nice haircut, too. It looks good on you." Still some length, but neatened up at the back and sides.
"Thanks." Dean ducked his head, but not before Roman caught sight of a shy smile. "I mean, it was Tyler and Fandango who did all this, to tell you the truth. Mostly Tyler. Guy's a pain in the ass, but he does good work."
Roman frowned. "You didn't go to Regal's?"
There was a beat of hesitation before Dean said, "I tried, but the guy there was a complete asshole to me. First he told me to go to a discount store. Then when I told him you sent me, he basically called me a liar and said I probably stole your card. Since I didn't have your number to call you, he threatened to call the cops. He kicked me out. I... I almost said 'fuck it' and went home, but then Fandango and Tyler offered to help, so..."
As he listened, Roman's disbelief gave away - William wouldn't do that, would he? - to cold anger. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides it felt like his skin was going to split open. "Are you kidding me?" he said through his teeth. "He has my number. Why in the hell didn't he call me?"
"'Cuz I think he just wanted me to leave." Dean shrugged. "Like I was just some trash who stole your credit card and decided to come bother him. I dunno. Doesn't matter. It worked out okay. Tyler got me hooked up with what I need for the week Oh, and your credit card is on the bar there."
It did matter.
It was good to hear that Tyler had redeemed himself for last night's 'homeless' comment, but hearing that William Regal, a man Roman had done business with for ten years, had treated Dean badly, that didn't sit right - at all. Hell, Roman himself had been guilty of the same classist bullshit at first, too, and it kind of made him burn with even more embarrassment that it kept happening to the poor guy.
He reached out with a couple fingers and tipped Dean's chin up. "It matters. It does. That shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry about that. I should have left you my number just in case. That was my bad. Even so, he should have called me." He dismissed that for now in favor of giving Dean a long once-over. "Tyler did a really good job here. I'm impressed."
"Don't be surprised if he tries to hit you up to model some of his clothes for pictures or something," Dean said. "I think that was part of the reason he did this. They said something about a portfolio or something."
That was a new one. Usually people just hit him up for money. "I'll keep that in mind," Roman said. "In the meantime, how was your day?"
"The whole morning pretty much sucked, but this afternoon was fine," Dean said. "Regal was a dick, but I got the suits. You're here. Kinda gotten better as it's gone along." His smile resurfaced, then, enough to bring out his dimples. "How was yours?"
"Unproductive," Roman admitted. He liked that smile a lot. "I still don't feel like we're any closer to closing this deal for the Cesaros' company. I spent my morning going over their books line-by-line. Talk about mind-numbing. I wasted my afternoon scouting a badly-run social media company. I was busy, but it was the worst kind." He smiled himself and brushed Dean's cheek. It felt a little warm. "Looking up, though. Let me go get ready."
"Sure thing," Dean said, returning his attention to the bay again.
On their way out to the car, Becky looked up from where she was typing and said, "Now that's a handsome couple. Have a nice time tonight, gentlemen."
Roman just waved again, but Dean shot her a quick smile. "Good luck at your gig, Becky. Kick ass."
"We will, Dane," Becky said with a grin of her own.
"Dean," Roman corrected her.
Dean waved him off. "It's an inside joke, Roman. Don't worry about it."
Outside, Enzo greeted Dean with an enthusiastic, "Heeeey! Dan! Lookin' sharp, man. Lookin' sharp. You too, Mr. Reigns."
"Thanks, Enzo," Dean said as Roman headed around to the driver's side of his car. "Hey, thought of something else: I heard once that a committee of boardroom execs write all of Cena's lyrics. You could rhyme that with something like spirits or something. How they got no heart or spirit? Something like that. I know we were kind of talking about how weak his rhymes were or whatever, but I think the boardroom thing is probably better."
Enzo's eyes lit up. "Oh, man, that's sweet! Thanks, man!"
"Dean, we gotta go," Roman called over a little sharply. He didn't know why he was so annoyed all of a sudden. "We're gonna be late."
"Have a nice night, Mr. Reigns!" Enzo called. "You too, Don."
"See ya, Alonzo." Dean climbed into the car and tugged his seatbelt on, chuckling to himself.
Roman waited until he'd merged onto the Interstate to remark, "Looks like you've made some friends today. Although his name is Enzo. Mind letting me in on the joke? Why were they calling you Dane and Don?"
"Huh? Oh." Dean waved him off. "Tyler. All day, he kept calling me Dane, Dan, and Don. He called Enzo Alonzo. Becky told me that's a thing he does when he's concentrating on his work. Scatterbrained. He calls her Katie and Patsy sometimes. Enzo cut my hair today and Tyler had me model for Becky. They were around to see it."
Roman's hands relaxed on the wheel. "Ah," he said, snorting. "I've heard him do that. Never to me, but I heard him call Becky Kathy once. Different cat, that guy. What was that about Becky and a gig?"
"Oh, her band is playing later tonight night. Some record execs might be there."
"She has a band?" She'd been working at the hotel for at least the last two years, as far as Roman knew, and he couldn't recall her mentioning it. "I didn't know that."
"Yeah, she was telling me today it's this pop-punk band she and three friends from college have. She's the drummer, and I guess she and the lead singer write all their music. The Four Horsewomen. I've never heard of them, but if they've got record execs coming, they must be pretty decent. Might go check 'em out one day."
"That's cool."
"Yeah. So. Anyway, art, huh?"
Something in his tone made Roman look over. "Don't be nervous. You'll be fine. You look great and all we're really going there to sip some champagne and eat a few hors d'oeuvres, look at this kid's artwork, pat him on the back, shake a few hands, and leave. A couple hours tops, and then I'll be taking you back to the hotel and unwrapping all this nice packaging you're wrapped up in."
"I just hope nobody asks for my opinion about anything," Dean muttered. "I don't know shit about art."
"I really don't, either. I'm not an art kinda guy, but the trick to it is don't ever say you don't get it. Even if you don't get it, just say it's interesting or you like the style. If anybody asks. Nobody usually does. Most people are usually too busy talking."
"Okay, cool," Dean said, blowing out a sigh. "So, ya like any other sports?"
For rest of the drive, they talked baseball and football. Roman was not shocked to learn that Dean was a diehard Reds and Bengals fan, being from Cincinnati. Roman admitted he was a fan of the San Francisco 49ers for football - appropriately enough and the New York Yankees for baseball.
"My dad hates that," Roman laughed. "He's Miami all the way - for both teams. I did it just to piss him off."
Dean eyed him sideways. "Did you? You guys don't get along, or what?"
"We get along fine where business is concerned," Roman said, "but outside of that we don't always see eye-to-eye. He doesn't exactly approve of how I run my life, especially when it comes to family and relationships, but half the time I'm out working in places he told me to go, so it's like, 'I don't know what to tell ya, Dad. This is the job you gave me.' It is what it is."
"It's your life," Dean said. "You ain't exactly a kid."
"I still have responsibility to my family, but, yeah. It pretty much is my life." Such as it is.
He steered the conversation back to the much safer ground of sports and left if there, explaining how he'd gotten into fantasy football recently and how the company had decided to sponsor a couple arena league teams. They'd both played football in school, it turned out, with Dean briefly playing nose tackle in middle school and Roman playing defense all the way through college.
This kind of easy talk, Roman found, was just right.
Like pro wrestling, he could talk sports all night. Dean was just as into them, for the most part, and got enthusiastic to the point he was talking with his hands.
A nice, low-pressure way to get to know each other a little better without all that awkward personal talk.
Not that Roman wouldn't have minded learning more about where Dean came from and how he ended up the way he did, but now wasn't really the time.
Turned out to be even easier to find the art gallery than he thought. It was stark, modern little sandstone building in the middle of a line of them not all that far from where he exited the Interstate. A huge black sign with slashed-up silver writing proclaimed it Studio X.
Unusual for the city, there was plenty of parking around. Roman smoothly parallel parked his Mercedes between a BMW and an Audi while Dean straightened his clothes.
At five 'til seven in July, the sun was still up. A lot of people were still out and about, shoppers ducking into and out of all the little shops that lined both sides of the block. Most Roman could see as he and Dean made their way up to the gallery were chain clothing and book stores. Starbucks down at one end of the block. A restaurant at the other end. Kind of bland in the way that middle-class neighborhoods tended to be, but not a bad place at all
Dean seemed pretty relaxed, Roman found, that calm poker face back.
Tyler had done a hell of a good job on the suit, Roman thought again, noting the way it really highlighted the lean lines of Dean's body, the way it highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Couldn't see his ass, but it probably looked great, too.
Roman had to fight the temptation to reach over and grab Dean's hand.
Old habit: Cody always insisted because he wanted it known he was Roman's boyfriend. Roman got used to walking down sidewalks hand-in-hand, and now he found he kind of missed that.
But it wouldn't have been appropriate, not after just a day of them knowing each other.
The inside of Studio X, they found once they stepped in, was pretty plain. The main showroom looked exactly like a museum, with plain white walls, hardwood floors, and intense spotlighting beaming down on the collection - most of which was done in dark colors.
It was bigger than it looked inside; about forty well-dressed people stood around chatting in the middle of the room, and it didn't seem all that crowded.
He spotted Michael Cole, the Reigns International executive whose relative - niece or nephew, Roman wasn't sure suddenly - owned the gallery, off to one side and led Dean over that way.
Michael Cole, a small reedy man who actually thought he looked cool with a graying soul patch, saw Roman and Dean, and walked over to join them. There was a dark-haired young lady with him, pale and wearing a black leather jacket over a black shirt, along with a black skirt and boots.
"Roman," Michael said, extending a hand. "Hello. You made it. Thanks for coming."
"My pleasure," Roman said.
"This is my niece Paige," Michael said. "It's her gallery. Paige, this is Roman Reigns."
Roman extended a hand to Paige, who shook it. "Mr. Reigns."
"Roman is fine," Roman said. "Mr. Reigns is my father. Oh, and this-" he indicated Dean, who edged forward "-is Dean. My date."
Dean extended a polite hand first to Paige, and then to Michael. "Nice to meet you."
"Well, gentlemen," Michael said, "we'll be starting here shortly. We're still waiting on a few people. There's champagne and hors d'oeuvres over by the wall there. Oh, but Roman, I do have some business I need to discuss with you when have a moment. But it can wait."
"Feel free to have a look around while you're at it," Paige added dryly. "At the art."
"Of course," Roman said smoothly.
Which they did, after a quick stop-off for a couple glasses of champagne and some small plates of crab beignets, little lettuce cups filled with steak, stuffed mushrooms and tomatoes, and crostini. Roman hadn't actually eaten since lunch, and while the food wasn't enough to actually quench his hunger, it took the edge off enough that he was at least confident his stomach wouldn't rumble while they were here.
To his surprise, Dean seemed really keen to go check out the paintings and sculptures that lined the walls. Others had the same idea, so they kind of had to navigate around a handful of couples who'd all stopped to chat by whatever paintings had caught their eye.
What Roman took away from it was dark.
There was a painting that looked like a faceless drug addict had sliced herself open to inject a syringe into her heart, her spoon and lighter discarded beside her. Another of someone who looked homeless reaching out to a passerby, and being ignored. One that looked like a joker with a bloody knife clenched between his teeth and the reflection of a ruined city in his eye.
Lots of dark colors: blacks, smoky grays, dark reds. They felt almost oppressive with them, heavy and gloomy. Definitely not Roman's thing.
He liked the seascapes and shell paintings that his old man at home.
Dean, on the other hand, looked at each painting with keen interest, a look of concentration on his face that Roman found far more interesting to watch than what was on the walls. When he looked at each painting, Dean appeared to go into his own head, eyes roving over the the entire thing from corner to corner like he was trying to memorize every detail.
What he was thinking Roman would have given half his fortune to know; he didn't ask, though, because he liked having these few uninterrupted moments to admire his date.
Eventually, Michael called everyone back to the front of the gallery.
Paige thanked everyone for coming, and proceeded to explain in her quiet British accent that the concept behind the collection was The Darkness and the Dawn. She wanted to showcase the ugly and the hope. Struggles. She admitted they were based on her own personal struggles with substances and depression. They were how she found her way to a healthier frame of mind.
"They're all for sale," she concluded, "if anyone's interested. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Otherwise, thank you for coming and enjoy."
With that, everyone dispersed again.
Roman immediately had three people he recognized as junior executives approach him to shake his hand.
They, of course, wanted to ask him some questions.
"You can go look around more if you want," Roman told Dean. "I need to talk some business."
Clearly, Dean had been waiting for that, because he immediately turned and disappeared into the crowd.
While everyone else took in the gallery, Roman stood over near the hors d'oeuvres table explaining his father's rationale for a new company policy about what types of companies they would target for purchase. Only one of the executives seemed like a kiss-ass. The other two had legitimate questions and concerns about the decision to exclude certain types of businesses from their portfolio.
Those were the same concerns Michael Cole had, because he eventually found his way over to join the conversation. Plus, he wanted to hear about the latest rumors that one of their rivals - Hunter Helmsley - had successfully managed to undercut a couple of big sales recently.
This always happened whenever he went to events where people from the company were present. Instead of actually getting to go out and, say, check out the rest of the art, he had to stand there with people he barely know and let them yammer at him so they felt like they were being heard. And it wasn't that he didn't want to hear what they had to say, exactly, but most of the time it was just tiresome, always having to stand on the sidelines and talk while activities were happening around him.
Sometimes he didn't mind because he preferred talking to forcing himself into participating in something he didn't enjoy just to appease junior employees.
Other times, he felt like pointing out to everyone that they could go home and shut the business side of their brains off. He didn't really have that luxury because everywhere he turned, people wanted to talk at him.
Like now.
An hour and a glass-and-a-half of champagne later, Roman tuned out Michael's conspiracy theory about the McMahon-Helmsleys and looked around for Dean. The crowd had thinned down by a lot, some people having purchased paintings and left, others leaving after a look-around. Made it easy to spot Dean.
He was over by one of the glass sculptures with Paige, her arm linked through his, and the two of them laughing easily at something she'd pointed out. They looked like they were having a pretty good time together, Paige turning them away and leading Dean to another sculpture. She was very animated, and there was a sparkle in Dean's eye.
Roman was more than man enough to admit it made him jealous.
Not so much out of worry they were flirting, but that someone else had Dean laughing.
That Dean was his date, but that they'd spent maybe ten minutes all-told together.
He set down his empty champagne glass on the tray, and the abruptness of it cut Michael off mid-stream. "As fascinating as this all is, Michael," he said, "I'd like to actually have a chance to see the gallery tonight. While it's true we do have a problem with the McMahon-Helmsleys right now, and while it's true they've stolen a few sales from us, I can assure you my father is implementing a plan that will clamp down on any potential insider leaks. If there is an insider selling out our plans, we'll root them out. Now, if you'll excuse me, folks, I'd like to get back to my date."
"Of course, of course," Michael said. "I'll just email you the rest of my ideas."
"You do that." Roman quickly shook hands again with everyone and walked away.
"-old woman who kept walking down the street in her bra," Paige was saying when Roman approached the sculpture she and Dean were standing near, "and her husband always chased her in just his trousers. It was ridiculous."
"Oh my God," Dean laughed. "I bet it was."
"It hap - oh, hell-o," Paige said to Roman. "I'm sorry. I think I'm monopolizing your date."
"Not at all," Roman said, flashing Dean a quick smile. "You two look like you're having a good time. Mind if I join you?"
Paige linked her other arm though Roman's. "I was just telling Dean the story behind this piece."
"I caught the part about the old woman in the bra," Roman said, squinting down at what he realized was, in fact, an old man chasing an old woman in a bra. The old woman had a big smile on her face, while the old man looked fond or something.
"Some neighbors of mine," Paige told him. "The old woman actually had Alzheimer's, but she always looked like she was having the time of her life. I think she thought she was going to the beach. It's sad, but it's also funny."
She led them around some more, and pointed out various things in the sculptures and in the paintings, apparently happy to have a captive audience. Dean, engaged and obviously enjoying himself, did most of the talking with her, asking about how certain paintings came to be and asking about certain details he'd noticed. For somebody who claimed not to know much about art, Dean certainly found a lot to talk about. Every so often, he caught Roman's eye and smiled or asked what he thought.
Roman usually just smiled back, content to stroll along and take everything in.
It was relaxing in a way events he had to attend like this seldom were.
One of the last paintings Paige took them by was a peaceful-looking scene of someone on a rooftop watching the sun rise over a city. In contrast to the rest of the collection, which was mostly dark, this one was lighter. A little more color in it. It seemed simple at first glance, but with a closer look, he made out a lot of little details like a few just-visible shapes of people in apartments and birds on the horizon..
"You like this one," Dean said, coming to stand beside him. It wasn't a question.
"I do," Roman admitted. "It's really - it reminds me of New York. Before the city gets bustling."
"This is the most recent one I've done," Paige said from his other side. "It's different than my usual work, but it's - I like working in this style. Not to pressure you or anything, but I'm just going to put it out there that it's for sale if you want to buy it."
Roman glanced at the price tag on the wall. Compared to a lot of the art people tried to sell him, Paige's piece here was reasonable. And he could think of a couple places to hang it. "I think we can do business."
They did, retreating to a room behind the gallery to talk matting, price, and shipping. It was a quick, painless transaction, Roman handing over a check and his the details for where she should ship it. After she took the check and printed off a bill of sale, Paige opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out probably a dozen glossy prints, all the size of a sheet of paper, and slipped them into a plastic page protector with a business card.
The receipt she handed to Roman.
The prints she handed to Dean. "You might like these. If you ever do want something for yourself, you know where I am. You can call or I've a website, too. You can just get the prints, too. Those are a lot less expensive than the originals."
"Thank you," Dean said, glancing down at the sleeve. He smiled again. "I'll keep that in mind."
"That goes for you, too, Roman," Paige told him. "If anything else catches your eye, let me know."
Roman nodded. "Thank you. It was nice to meet you, Paige, but I think Dean and I need to head out." He needed to get Dean back to the hotel in the worst way. That damn smile.
"In that case, boys," Paige said diplomatically, "it was nice to meet you, too. If you'd rather not risk Uncle Michael hounding you, I'd suggest you go out the back door."
"Appreciate that," Roman said dryly.
The back door took them out behind the building, into a poorly-lit parking lot. Night had fallen, the last of the twilight fading into the dark. The moon overhead was full, though, and illuminated everything with a pale glow.
Roman led the way around to the sidewalk and toward the car, silent and thoughtful.
Dean walked beside him, equally lost in thought, his prints tucked under one arm.
It was a much quieter neighborhood than they'd found it hours ago.
Eventually, as they neared the car, Roman glanced over. "All that worry for nothing, huh?"
"Yeah." Dean ducked his head. "Guess so."
"You're not as bad with people as you said you were."
"I only talked to like you and Paige."
"Paige was the most important person you could have talked to, though," Roman pointed out. "It was her gallery. Looked like she was enjoying talking to you. I bet you anything she's gonna rave to her uncle about what a good night it was, and that's what matters. If she's happy, her uncle is happy. It's a win for everybody - including the company. So, who cares if you ignored everyone else. You did even better than I could hoped. Plus, you enjoyed that, right?"
"Hell yeah I did," Dean said. They approached the Mercedes; he paused by the passenger door and looked at Roman across the roof. "If the rest of the week is like this, it'll be a cakewalk."
"Well." Roman unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel. He waited to until Dean was in and both had their seatbelts on to continue. "Tomorrow is probably gonna be a little more… It won't be quite this casual. It's important we make a good impression on the Cesaros. I'll want you to try to talk to them like you did Paige. See if you can put them at ease. Ask them about themselves - their family, the company if they want to talk about it. Things like that. But we can talk about that more in the morning. I don't need to leave until eleven, so I thought we'd have a late breakfast and go look for something for you to wear golfing."
And pay a visit to William Regal, he didn't add.
"You're the boss," Dean said easily. He hooked a finger into his tie and tugged it loose. "I did enjoy this. Did you? Seemed like you were talkin' shop or whatever for a long time."
"Always happens," Roman said, easing away from the curb. "But I did, yeah. Nice change of pace."
"Plus you bought a painting."
"Plus I bought a painting."
"Where ya gonna put it?"
"My penthouse, probably."
"That's cool."
Comfortable silence fell between them for the remainder of the ride.
Roman didn't even bother to put on the radio.
For once, he didn't feel the need to say anything.
Back up in the suite, he waited until the exact moment the door shut to make his move, pushing a startled Dean back against it and diving in to assault his jaw and the side of his neck with biting kisses, sharp and possessive. He wanted to kiss Dean on the mouth like crazy, just plunder him with lips and tongue - so much he was tempted to ask how much more it would cost him - but sucking a trail of hickeys into his skin was the next best thing.
If the way Dean moaned into it was any indication, he didn't mind it a bit.
"Fuck, Roman," and it didn't take much but Roman reaching down to squeeze the front of his slacks for Dean to get hard, dick stiffening up nicely against Roman's palm.
"Like that, huh?" Roman asked right into Dean's ear. The way Dean always shuddered when he did was already becoming one of his favorite things.
One of many.
Dean bucked into Roman's hand. "Fuck yes."
"Gonna be good for me tonight and do what I tell you?" Roman asked, squeezing.
"Yes."
"Good." Roman let go and turned away. "Follow me, then."
He led Dean into the ridiculous master bedroom, which had been cleaned in their absence, fresh white linens on the bed and everything straightened up. While Dean set his prints over by his backpack, Roman slipped his suit coat off and tossed it on the dresser.
"Take your shoes and socks off," Roman said as soon as Dean straightened. "Your coat, too. Leave everything else on and get onto the bed."
Without comment, Dean did what he was told, quickly shedding what Roman told him to shed, and padding barefoot over to the bed. He crawled into the middle, giving Roman a very nice view of his ass, and sat down, eyebrows raised in silent question.
What next?
Roman, unbuttoning his cufflinks, smiled, pleased. "Scoot closer to the headboard and lie back. Your head on the pillows."
Again, Dean complied wordlessly, lying down on his back with head propped up and his hands folded over his chest.
Finally, Roman untied and slipped out of his shoes. "Do you like it better when I have my hair up or down?"
"Down," Dean said immediately. "It looks good either way, it's just - it's really hot that way."
"No problem." Roman pulled the tie down and shook his hair out, combing fingers through it to loosen it up. It always felt good when he did.
That done, he climbed onto the bed himself, moving up to straddle Dean's hips. "I'm glad you had fun tonight, Dean." His hands came to rest along Dean's sides, right above his belt. "You looked - you really look great in this suit."
"Thank you," Dean said. "So do you. Better out of it, though."
"We'll get there. For now…" He took hold of both of Dean's wrists and moved them up onto the pillows beside Dean's head. "Leave those there for a second."
A cheeky smile, and, "You're the boss."
"Don't forget it." Roman grabbed Dean's tie and undid the knot, tugging it free from around Dean's neck. With a little smile of his own, he sat forward and looped it over the headboard's upper rail. Then he took Dean's hands, brought them together, and raised them up to the rail. He wrapped the tie around them a few times, and then tied it fairly tight - not so much it was cutting off circulation, but enough Dean couldn't really move.
"If you get uncomfortable," Roman said, sitting back, "you can tell me 'red-light' and I'll let you out. Okay?"
Dean tugged against the tie once. "Gotcha."
"Answer me something, then." Roman set to work teasing Dean's dress shirt open, carefully working the top button open. "Why no kissing?"
"Pretty common rule. Keep something for yourself. Don't give everything away. Save something for when you're not working. So you know the difference between what's work and what's not."
"Ah," Roman murmured. He eased a couple more buttons open and bent down to kiss the skin exposed in the V. "Makes sense."
It did, too; he could see that, wanting to keep a part of you to yourself.
Could even respect it: at the business table, you never gave anything away you didn't absolutely have to.
He took his time easing Dean's shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning it the rest of the way. Once it was open and spread, Roman moved in and got more aggressive again, trailing bigger hickeys from Dean's collarbones down to his navel and back up, marking the skin as his.
Nobody gets this but me.
He clamped onto Dean's nipples until Dean tipped his head back on the pillows and his breath started coming in short pants, grunted curses and bitten off moans trapped between each.
Only when he judged Dean ready did Roman sit up and start peeling open Dean's pants.
That was slow, too: first the belt, then the button on the slacks, and then the zipper, tooth by tooth. In between each action, Roman paused to palm Dean's straining erection for a second - enough to give him a little friction. Nowhere near enough, though.
"Fuck," Dean groaned at one point, hips canting up to try to press into Roman's hand.
Roman moved away. "None of that now. My show."
"You're killin me, man."
After who even knew how many more minutes of that slow torture, Roman finally tugged Dean's pants off, but left the underwear on. Dean made a noise that was all frustration. Roman ignored it in favor of sucking more hickeys into the insides of Dean's thighs.
Satisfied with the lines of red marks, Roman buried his face in the front of Dean's underwear the way Dean had last night, mouthing at the hard line of Dean's cock all the way down to his nuts and back up, enjoying every curse and hitched breath and needy sound that Dean made.
Aware as he did of his own dick throbbing in his pants.
And it was that that finally made him strip Dean's underwear off.
He rolled to his feet, still fully dressed himself, and padded over to Dean's backpack for the lube and condoms.
Dean's eyes were just glazed over as hell again, and Roman couldn't help a smug smile.
I did that.
Despite his own hard-on clamoring for attention, though, Roman took his time undressing. Deliberately. He slowly pulled off his tie. Unbuttoned his shirt one at a time, ever once breaking eye contact with the tied-up man on the bed.
"Fuhhhhck," Dean muttered. "Hurry up, Roman. I'm kinda dyin' here."
But Roman didn't.
Slowly, just to tease, he eased his shirt all the way open and did the same with his pants. Leaving both on, he rubbed himself over his underwear and pinched a nipple, moaning deep in his throat at how good it felt to get some pressure on his dick.
"Oh, God, fuck you," Dean groaned. His eyes practically rolled back in his head. "Get over here."
Chuckling darkly, smug all over again, Roman slipped his hand inside his underwear and stroked himself. "You want this?" he asked. "What do you say?"
"Now," Dean growled. "Come on."
"Wrong answer." Roman turned around and pulled his pants off, bending over a little as he did. He ran a hand over his ass and kept tugging at his dick with the other.
"Fine, please," Dean ground out between his teeth. "Please, Roman."
Roman smiled over one shoulder. "Good answer."
With that, he shed his underwear and made his way back onto the bed.
Dean looked wrecked already, glassy eyes and his body covered with hickeys and his dick leaking onto his stomach. Without even being told, he pulled his knees up to his chest, leaving himself even more exposed and vulnerable than he already had been with just his hands tied.
It was Roman's idea to draw this out and turn it into a long tease, but something this - about Dean - made it almost impossible for him to actually do that.
He wanted.
Bad.
Seemed like hardly ten seconds between the time he started fingering Dean open and the time he was smearing lube onto the condom he'd just rolled on his dick.
He hovered over Dean, though, not entering him just yet. Instead, he looked down into Dean's lust-hazy eyes and asked, "What do you want? Tell me."
"Fuck me," was the mumbled answer. "Please." There was something a little off in his tone, Roman thought, but Dean followed it up with a more natural-sounding, "C'mon, Roman. Get it," that dispelled Roman's doubts.
"Good answer," he said again, leaning back to line his dick up on Dean's stretched-slick hole.
Like every other time before, Dean took him in easy, warm and inviting.
Once he was in, Roman stretched out and lowered himself down so they were chest-to-chest and stomach-to-stomach, his hair falling everywhere. Once Dean nodded it was okay to move, Roman rocked into him, slow and steady. He didn't worry about getting Dean off just yet, instead focusing on just himself and chasing his own pleasure, reveling in the body underneath him. Dean lay flushed and panting, legs wrapped around Roman's lower back, hips canting up to match Roman stroke for stroke.
Mine.
Everything about this felt good, right, the way they moved together.
And he wished he could last longer, but he'd been keyed up for this ever since he saw Dean in that suit, and it wasn't long at all before he felt the heat building, felt himself getting closer.
"C'mon," Dean panted, heels digging into Roman's butt, "that's right. All you got, Roman. All you got. I wanna feel this tomorrow."
Unable to help himself, Roman buried his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder and bore down, rocking faster and deeper until he could feel sweat on the overheated back of his neck, until he was panting, until he was there.
A groan muffled into Dean's shoulder, and he was coming, relief chasing the pleasure through his body.
He sagged down onto his elbows, careful not to crush Dean under him, just resting for a few seconds while his heart slowed and he came down from that peak.
"God," he muttered. "So good."
Dean hummed. "Y'gonna, like, let me out so I can-"
"Hush," Roman grunted at him. "Or I'll make you wait longer."
"...okay."
Once he felt a little less rubbery, Roman pushed up to his hands and knees, and eased himself out of Dean's ass. He disposed of the condom in the bedside garbage can, and then sat down between Dean's legs. He pulled them over his knees and ran hands along the insides of Dean's thighs, right over all the hickeys.
Dean wasn't really hard anymore, his dick laying mostly flaccid off to one side.
It didn't take much more than Roman wrapping a hand around it and giving it a few teasing strokes to get it to wake back up. And then, holding Dean's gaze, he bent down to give the head a nice lick.
"Holy shit," Dean gasped. "Roman…"
Roman did it again, and then sat up, smug. "Like that?"
"Fuck yes."
"Want more?"
"Yes." A pause and, "Please."
"Good answer." Roman stretched himself out on his belly between Dean's legs, propped up on his elbows with his feet dangling off the end of the bed.
Idly, he wrapped a loose hand around Dean's dick and slicked up and down it a few times, rolling over the head between each. Then he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue all the way up the bottom and ran it across the head. After a couple of those, he closed his lips over the tip and sucked it gently. It'd been a long time since he'd done this, but Dean's little moaned out, "Oh shiiit," told him he hadn't lost his touch.
Roman worked him over with fingers and lips and tongue until Dean was practically writhing on the bed.
Until Dean was out of breath and doing nothing but cursing.
Until he heard, "Fuck, I'm gonna…"
He wrapped a tight hand around Dean's spit-slick cock and finished him off, hard and fast until Dean finally came himself in a croaky, "Fuck, Roman…"
Sounded every bit as wrecked as he looked, all covered in his mess and all the marks Roman left on him, flushed in the face, and his eyes squeezed shut.
Just the best thing.
Hopping off the bed, fatigue starting to set in, Roman padded off the bathroom to clean his sticky dick off and to grab some rags to wipe Dean down with.
He took care of that first, swiping up the mess off of Dean's stomach and carefully wiping down Dean's dick. Only after he'd tossed the rag into the corner did he undo the tie and let Dean's hands free.
Dean just flopped down where he was like a dying starfish, arms and legs splayed out.
Roman stretched out beside him, chuckling when he realized they were both still wearing their shirts.
But Dean didn't seem to care, and if he didn't, Roman didn't either.
In fact, all he really cared about was sleep.
So he pulled the lazy, supple Dean close to him, and he did just that.
Not a bad day, he thought as he drifted off, warm and content.
Not a bad day at all.
A/N: Next up, morning three. A visit to Regal's. Some lessons for Dean. Our boys get closer, but there are some slight hitches in the road. Next update this weekend. Thanks for reading.