Title : Keep Me In Close Orbit

Author : ValmontHeights

Rating : Mature / Explicit

Relationships : Triple H/Roman Reigns, Triple H/Sami Zayn, Tripe H/Seth Rollins, Roman Reigns/Sami Zayn, Randy Orton/Roman Reigns

Implied : Ambrolleigns, Kevin Owens/Sami Zayn

WARNINGS: Mildly Dubious Consent, Unsafe Sex, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Power Dynamics, Not Kayfabe Compliant.

Author's Note: Man, this one got real angsty. I needed a chapter to work out some of the more emotional beats in this epic mess of headfuckery, before delving back into the twisty filth that I seem so fond of. For now, enjoy Daddy Hunter's internal struggles and Sami Zayn being the pure ray of human sunshine we all know he is.

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"You must think I'm a real asshole…" Hunter sighed as he leaned his head back against the rim of the bathtub. "I barely say anything to you for months, and the one night you should be resting up from one hell of a match and preparing for another match, I drag you up here…"

"I wouldn't be here if I thought that way," Sami said quietly, his movements creating small ripples in the water of the tub. "Besides, you keep looking at me like you did back there, you're welcome to drag me anywhere…"

Hunter smiled, letting his gaze wander up to the bathroom ceiling. He was seated on the floor next to the tub, still half-dressed, feeling the hard press of the cold tile floors under him. He hadn't been the one wrestling that night but he felt a strange ache in his joints nonetheless, worn out after hours in the production booth and calling out cues as his NXT stars took Dallas by storm. The crowd had been absolutely out of this world, screaming themselves hoarse match after match, white-hot from the start all the way down the main event, every noise fed into his earpiece making him long to actually be out there and see it happen with his own eyes.

And Sami, his pride and joy, his Little Red Sunshine, had blown the roof clean off the building in his match against Nakamura, going so hard and so strong, and looking so damn beautiful that Hunter's heart was fit to burst out of his chest when the boy had limped back into gorilla afterwards.

"I'm so proud of you, Sami…" Hunter reached over to stroke the moss of red hair on the younger man's head, wetting the sleeve of his shirt in the hot water Sami was soaking in. "I know I've said it already, but damn…that thing was fucking magic, what you and Shin did out there."

Sami, smiling despite the exhaustion Hunter knew must be setting deep in his bones, leaned into his touch like an affectionate pet. "Shin's amazing…"

"So are you," Hunter said. "You're fucking amazing, Red…"

"If I'm so amazing, then why are you sitting out there and not in here with me?" Sami inquired playfully.

Hunter quirked an eyebrow at him. "The plan was to get you a nice hot bath to relax, then get some decent food in you, then make sure you get a good night's sleep before Wrestlemania. I get into this tub, at least one of that ain't happening."

"I'm changing the plan…" Sami said as he pulled his body close to the edge of the tub, sending water cascading over the rim and wetting Hunter even further, which he didn't seem to pay any mind to at all. "I think I've earned it."

He paused to let his chin rest on the ceramic rim, close enough for Hunter to feel Sami's breath on the side of his face. The air was quiet, save for the ripple of water and the muted noise of traffic from somewhere out the window, the hum of the building's generators reverberating in that low-key depth that nobody tended to notice. Hunter could hear every little noise though, his senses extremely keyed up for some reason, probably because he'd been training and working out intensely to prepare for his match with Roman.

Roman.

"Something's bothering you…" Sami said close to his ear. "I can tell."

"I'm sorry, Red…" Hunter said as he turned to look at the boy, at the deep eyes that always seemed to look through him. It felt wrong for him to even be thinking of Roman right now—for Sami to have anything less than his undivided attention. "You deserve better,"

"Maybe…" Sami shrugged. "I still want you, though."

Hunter reached over and drew Sami in gently with a hand at the back of his scalp, fingers pressing into reddish strands as he kissed his boy, slow and rather chaste, feeling the other's mouth with his lips, like retracing a path long since unwalked.

"Get in here…" Sami demanded quietly against his mouth when they parted. "Just…I wanna be closer to you,"

Hunter nodded and started to remove his partially-wet clothes, shrugging them off into a messy pile on the bathroom floor. He stepped into the tub carefully, not wanting to disturb the water too much, and stretched himself out on the opposite end from Sami, their legs tangling underneath the water. Once he'd settled into a comfortable position, he held his arms out and beckoned Sami to come to him. The boy went to him on his knees, buoyed by the water, turning around so he could press his back against Hunter's broad chest, lifting his arms so Hunter's could loop under them and pull him close. Sami let out a happy, contented sigh as he settled, a sound that went a long way towards easing the knot in Hunter's chest, leaning down to drag his lips down the length of Sami's pale neck.

"I meant what I said back in the locker room," Hunter said softly. "I don't know how the fuck the main roster's supposed to top what you guys did back there…especially what you and Shin did,"

Sami rested his hands on Hunter's arms where they were clasped around his stomach, drawing lazy circles under the water. "That's not what's really bothering you though, is it? At least, that's not all of it…"

"Let's not make this about me, Red…" Hunter said. "Tonight should be about you, I wanna reward my boy for doing so good."

Sami lifted one of Hunter's hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles reverently. Hunter felt a swell of something inside him, pride and affection laced with guilt, holding someone who never gave him less than everything he had, put up with all his lengthy absences, his months of neglect—which Sami would never even call that—and was still willing to trust him in this manner. It overwhelmed him at times—Sami's bright-eyed enthusiasm, undimmed by politics and bad bookings, the hardened core of will and belief that was hidden under soft flesh, red hair and an easy smile. He wondered how long that would last, how much fire would remain in Sami if things went bad somewhere down the line—he'd already seen uneasy glimpses of it back when Sami got injured.

Hunter bent his head and kissed the fading scar on Sami's shoulder, trying not to think back to the dark days just after Sami's surgery, when the pain was fresh and the future uncertain, when he'd snuck past hospital visiting hours multiple times just to let Sami cry himself to sleep on Hunter's shoulder, unable to offer other means of comfort.

"It's all healed up now…" Sami assured him, reading his thoughts as always. "Doesn't even twinge anymore."

"I know…" Hunter said as he brought Sami's chin up, twisting his head around for another kiss.

There was a bit more desperation this time, more Hunter's than Sami's, seeking something he had no name for from his little sun, his one unwavering source of warmth, turning Sami around in his embrace so they were face-to-face, Sami's palms pressed against his chest. Hunter's fingers circled Sami's wrists, the skin still indented from where it was taped over, feeling quickening pulse thrum in his grasp.

"Bed?" he asked, and Sami nodded silently.

Hunter wouldn't have minded carrying Sami all the way to the bed but the younger man was having none of it, rising up on his own volition and wrapping himself up in a large white towel, half-hard dick dripping excess water on the floor as he led Hunter to the bedroom.

The balance was off, Sami looking exceptionally clear-headed and calm while Hunter's own thoughts were a murky mess, but Hunter found that he didn't really care. Not tonight, with Sami's eyes regarding him with something that bordered dangerously close to unconditional, something Hunter certainly didn't deserve and shouldn't feel buoyed by. He laid Sami down on the bed and proceeded to dry him off, kissing every inch of flesh with as much apology as affection, paying close attention to thin red welts and bruises that would soon turn blue. Sami had always bruised easily, Hunter had discovered that way back in NXT, sickly yellow-purple marks blotching under his soft red fuzz.

After a while he tossed the towel aside and laid himself on top of Sami, braced on his elbows, trading long kisses as Sami's hands wandered up and down his back. Their hard cocks brushed against each other but Hunter was in no rush, thumb sinking into the soft pale skin of Sami's cheek. It was a gesture he'd often repeated, one he was comfortable doing even when the cameras were on—or maybe, in some sick way it was the gesture of affection he'd wanted the world to see, that Sami was his boy, his precious Red. Whenever Hunter did that Sami's eyes went puffy and soft, like he was savoring touches that were all-too brief and fleeting, wanting more but always having to hold back.

If he had his way Hunter would give his boys everything, each of them, everything he had and more. He'd give Seth a healthy knee and a long run as champion. He'd give Roman the match of his life and a stadium full of cheers. He'd give Sami all the respect he craved and a shiny belt he didn't need to cling to from a stretcher.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't and it was gnawing at him, tight and heavy in his chest, bubbling up to the surface even as he maneuvered Sami onto his side and tucked himself against the younger man's back, wanting to feel as much contact as possible. Sami reached back and curled his fingers at the back of Hunter's neck, chasing for another kiss, helpfully lifting one leg and draping it back over Hunter's waist, relax and ready and open.

I don't deserve this, Hunter thought to himself even as his fingers wandered, fondling pliant flesh, sinking into soft curls of hair, reaching down, down, down.

It was Sami's gasp as he sank his first finger in that brought him back to somewhere resembling reality, what he was holding in his two hands—living flesh that had been put through hell, and a mind so rich with thought and possibilities it often shamed Hunter's own. Sami with his insistence on finding the right music for any occasion, Sami who wondered aloud about the fate of wayward migratory birds, Sami who cried about certain things he saw on the news when he thought nobody was looking, Sami who muttered aloud to himself in his mother tongue in private spaces where nobody could judge him for it, and hated the fact that he had to do so. Sami, who wrestled like fire and cut promos like sharpened steel.

"You're beautiful, Red…" was all Hunter could say to articulate the swell he felt in his chest and his throat. "So fucking beautiful,"

Sami squirmed, not unpleasantly, stroking the back of Hunter's neck. "You're always so good to me…"

Not good enough, Hunter almost verbalized, stopping himself in favor of lining his cock up with Sami's entrance. Sami's tight heat welcomed him, easy and slow, hips pressing back against Hunter.

For all that he was a virtual rubix cube of a person, an interlocking and ever-twisting pattern of thoughts and feelings and ideas he couldn't wait to express, making love to Sami had always been blessedly simple. No waters to tread around, no eggshells to walk on. The times he'd indulged Hunter in something darker, edgier or otherwise out of the norm had been done out of playful curiosity, and he'd always want to talk about it afterwards—what he liked and what he didn't, what part of the broad canvas of human sexuality he felt it represented.

On this night, all complexity melted away from him, taking some of it out of Hunter, too—he focused himself on his movements, rocking his hips into Sami and holding him tight, savoring every gasp, every soft little noise the drag of his cock against Sami's inner walls produced out of the younger man's throat, every instance of Sami's fingers tightening on his own, laced tight, in time with his thrusts. Hunter's other hand held Sami's leg up, cupped under his thigh, determined to take on as much of the effort as possible.

Sami came with both Hunter's hands and his own gripped tight around his cock, letting out a long, drawn-out moan that was music to Hunter's ears, reverberating all the way down his body. He followed not long after, stilling himself inside the boy's body as he sank his face into the soft bed of red hair on Sami's head, nuzzling gently against his scalp.

"Missed you…" he whispered as both of them came down from the high, a poor approximation of what he really felt. "Missed this. Should've been around more, should've been there for you…"

"You were…" Sami muttered, fingers still tangled with Hunter's on his stomach, spreading the mess of his release. "You were always there. I never—God, Hunter, I couldn't have asked for more than this,"

Hunter kissed his shoulder again, tracing the scar with his lips. "Thank you," he said, hoping Sami would understand. Knowing Sami, he had a feeling that he would.

—

An hour later, Sami was half-dressed and stuffing himself with selections from the hotel's extensive room service menu, including a kebab he'd proclaimed to be 'half-decent' and a quiche he'd nearly keeled over in praise for, insisting that Hunter have a bite.

"Don't give me bullshit about 'watching your figure', you're about as cut as anyone your age has any right to be," he said.

Hunter took the mouthful off Sami's hand, and smiled as he saw the contented expression on the younger man's face.

While Sami busied himself with his food, Hunter went to the suite's living room area and fetched a black, rectangular box from his work briefcase, feeling its weight in his hands as he carried it back to the bedroom.

"What's that?" Sami asked.

"Finish eating first, then I'll show you…" Hunter said.

As Sami ate, Hunter sat on the bed and turned the box over and over in his hand. Some part of him wondered if this was the worst idea he'd had in a long line of bad ones, but something inside him also felt that he had to, that Sami would understand and appreciate his intent.

He hadn't even noticed that Sami had gotten up from the table and was now sitting next to him, looking expectantly at the box. "So…?"

Hunter took in a deep breath and laid the box on the mattress, undoing the two metal latches that held it shut. "I wanted to show you this—not even sure if it's the right thing to do, or just a dick move from someone who should know better, but…" he slowly opened the lid. "…I wanted you to see them first."

Sami's eyes went wide, mouth agape, the reflection of metal glinting in his eyes.

Inside the box, laid side by side, were two round sideplates emblazoned with Sami's logo, 'SZ', black and red lined with gold, polished to shining perfection. They were brand new, fresh off the workshop in Connecticut where Hunter had insisted that they be finished in time for Wrestlemania weekend.

"We get these made for everyone who gets called up to the main roster…" Hunter explained. "Just to have them ready in case the bookings change, or an injury happens, or Vince gets one of his bright ideas…"

Sami's fingers trembled as he traced his initials on his sideplates, the look on his face a mix of uncertainty and awe, and Hunter felt the ache in his chest return tenfold.

"Sami, look at me…" he asked quietly.

When Sami did, there were a million questions in his eyes.

"I'm not….I can't say when you'll actually get to see these installed in an actual belt…" Hunter said. "I wish I could. Please don't take this the wrong way, I'm not trying to give you false hope, or empty promises—I'd never do that."

Sami nodded. "I understand…"

"I just wanted you to see them, to know they're waiting for you—" Hunter's voice trailed off. "Anything more than that, I'd be a lying sack of shit and the asshole I promised myself I wouldn't be anymore."

"Hunter, please—" Sami silenced him with hands on his shoulders, pressing just enough to make their presence known. "They're beautiful. They're perfect. I'm glad you showed them to me, okay?"

Hunter sighed in relief, leaning forward to press his forehead against Sami's, shutting the lid of the box. "I'm glad you feel that way…"

"I know it's not your call what happens to me on the main roster," Sami continued. "I won't hold you to anything. You never gave me any bullshit back in Florida, and I know you're not gonna start now,"

"There's gonna be plenty of bullshit coming your way from other places," Hunter said honestly.

"I know," Sami nodded against him. "I just gotta keep doing what I do, put the work in, take the bumps and whatnot—and remember that I got into this business because I love it,"

Hunter put the box aside and stroked his thumb down Sami's face, opening eyes he hadn't even realized he'd held shut. Sami's face was back to its unquestioning look of acceptance, something Hunter rarely saw in anyone these days, couldn't remember ever seeing in himself.

"My precious Red…" he said affectionately. "I wanna see you burn bright, tear the house right down at Wrestlemania…"

Sami smiled, a spark igniting in his eyes. "How does a Tope Con Hilo through a ladder sound?"

"You're serious?"

"Oh yeah, I got it all figured out…" Sami grinned. "Gonna set that ladder right at the ropes and leap through the space in the middle, take out everyone else outside…"

Hunter could see it in his head, could almost hear the pop of a sellout stadium crowd, and had to smile himself. "You're gonna kill it."

"I'm gonna kill Kevin too," Sami shrugged. "It's his turn. We flipped a coin."

"Probably gave the bookers a heart attack when you guys proposed it, huh?" Hunter asked with amusement.

"Nah, they gave us the brief rundown and told us to go crazy filling it with spots," Sami said. "It's gonna be great,"

"I'm sure it will," Hunter said. "Gonna be a tough act to follow,"

Sami's expression changed, eyes taking on a searching look that always left Hunter feeling pierced through. "Are things…bad between you and Roman?" he asked tentatively. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it, I just—"

"No, it's fine…" Hunter assured him. "Well, actually it's pretty damn messed up, but I'm…I'm okay talking about it."

"How bad?"

Hunter exhaled deeply, staring down at patterns in the carpet he'd only noticed were there. "It's not Roman's fault. He used to come to me so he could forget, put everything away, not have to think about the bullshit and the crowds and the stupid booking. Now that I'm the one beating him up week in and week out, gloating about how he's not good enough to be a Champion and all that, it's not so clear-cut anymore."

Not that anything ever was, but.

"It's tough to feud with someone you actually care about…" Sami said wistfully. "Gets in your head, jumbles everything up."

"Roman's not like you, Sami…" Hunter said, shaking his head. "Everything gets to him if he lets it. His skin's pretty thick but up here…" Hunter touched Sami's temple. "…his walls are thinner. He's built them up somewhat, but everytime I try to get close, I feel like I'm tearing them down…"

"So you've been…staying away?"

Hunter nodded. "We both decided it was for the best…at least until Wrestlemania."

"Must be killing you, though…"

Hunter looked up, meeting Sami's gaze. "Yeah, but you're not here because I needed a distraction, Sami. That's not what you are."

"I know," Sami assured him. "I wouldn't have minded if it made you feel better, but I know."

"You should mind," Hunter said sternly. "It's not fair."

Sami gave a sad little chuckle, tracing an index finger across the lid of the box that held his sideplates like a guarded treasure, a dream yet unrealized, sealed behind velvet lining and golden latches. "When is anything, ever?"

Ain't that the truth.

—

The night before Wrestlemania, Hunter stood bare-chested on the balcony of his hotel suite, the strange itch under his skin now even more pronounced, his joints tingling with the phantom ache of bumps he'd not even taken yet. He could make out the shape of the AT&T Stadium not too far away, knowing the production crew were still there, working flat-out to get everything ready, testing lights and music cues, installing multimedia screens and security gates.

His phone buzzed quietly in his pocket, and he retrieved it to see a single line of text message:

can't sleep

His chest tightened as he quickly typed in a reply:

me too

It took less than a minute before another message came in:

can i see u

Four words shouldn't affect Hunter so much, but they did, sent him stumbling back into the bedroom to look for a shirt and his jacket, thumbing a reply clumsily with one hand:

i'll come down. room number?

He was out the door when the reply came in:

406

—

When Roman opened the door, Hunter pushed his way inside and kicked the door shut behind him before either of them could say anything, pulling Roman close into a tight embrace. The younger man stiffened for five of the longest seconds of Hunter's life, then his resistance melted away and he threw his arms around Hunter's back, holding just as tight.

Hunter had no words, nothing worth saying, not even sorry or I wish I could make this easier for both of us. They rang hollow and petty in his mind, meaningless despite the best of intentions, and he didn't want to tarnish the sheer relief flooding through him at having Roman in his arms again, the press of Roman's body against his, the smell of his hair, the racing beat of his heart against Hunter's chest.

"I…" Roman began, already choked with doubt.

"Let it out," Hunter said against his ear. "Tell me everything. Anything."

"I fucking hate this," Roman said, the words rushing through gritted teeth. "I don't want to do this anymore, I don't wanna beat you up over a stupid fucking belt, don't wanna go out there and hear how much they hate me for it, I'm sick of it…so fucking sick of it…"

"I know, baby boy…" Hunter soothed him. "I know."

"Motherfuckers think they're so fucking smart, think they know better…" Roman said bitterly, hands balling into fists on Hunter's chest. "Think I got this far on shits and giggles and a family name, they don't know—they don't fucking know!"

Hunter held him close, tight coils of muscle straining against him, threatening to explode.

"They don't know how it makes me feel—everytime I have to hit you, everytime I have to knock you down, pretending like there's nobody in the world I hate more than you—" Roman looked up at him, eyes wild and lost. "I can't do this anymore, Hunter."

"Roman…"

"It's not too late to change the outcome, right? They did it last year when they made Seth cash in on me and Brock…we can still do it, right?"

"Roman, please…"

"You should keep the title," Roman continued rambling. "Maybe then they wouldn't burn the whole place down with everyone of us in it, fuck—the last thing they want to see is me winning that thing from you!"

"Roman!" Hunter shook him, hard enough to jostle a man Roman's size. "Fucking listen to yourself, you're losing it!"

Roman shook his head. "I'm fucking serious, Hunter—I can't…I can't take this,"

"You can, and you will." Hunter said sternly. "Fuck what those losers want, what they think should happen!"

"But—"

"Shut up and listen to me," Hunter silenced him, both hands gripping the sides of Roman's face, forcing him to meet his gaze. "By this time tonight, you will be the new World Heavyweight Champion. Okay? No changes, no last-minute swerve. We're going through with this,"

Roman bit his lips, holding back the protest Hunter knew was dancing at the edge of this tongue.

"Now, this is how it's gonna go, okay?" Hunter said, his voice trembling with the effort to keep calm. "You're gonna hit me with everything you got, and then you'll cover me, and the referee is going to count. One, two, three."

Roman closed his eyes, as if fighting off the inevitable.

"Say it," Hunter shook his face. "Say it to me,"

"One…" Roman choked out. "Two…three."

"Good," Hunter said. "Then you'll be handed that big black belt, and you'll hear your name being proclaimed Champion,"

"Hunter…"

"No, listen…" Hunter shushed him. "This is what you're going to do. You're going to climb up a turnbuckle, and you're gonna find the one motherfucker in the crowd who's been booing you the loudest, who's spent all night throwing insults at you, screaming himself hoarse trying to wear you down," he paused to lean close, pressing his forehead against Roman's. "And then…I want you to stare right into his fucking eyes as you hold that belt high above your head, letting him know that you're still there, that you're still standing strong, that you fucking won."

Roman exhaled sharply, a shudder passing through his body.

"Can you do that for me, baby boy? Can you be strong for me like that?"

"I…" Roman swallowed hard. "I can."

"Good," Hunter rewarded him with a kiss on the tip of his nose, the one that was still mending from being broken. "I want you to savor that moment, okay? That's your moment, yours, not theirs. Don't let it be theirs."

"Mine," Roman repeated, more to himself than anything. "My moment,"

"That's right…" Hunter pulled him in close again, letting Roman's head rest against his shoulder. "My Champion…"

Roman sank into him, arms around Hunter's neck, knees wobbling with relief.

Hunter felt exhausted suddenly, letting gravity tug them both down onto the bed, sheets tousled from Roman's unsuccessful efforts to go to sleep. He didn't let go of Roman the whole time, petting softly at his hair and stroking gently up and down his back, arms unwilling to release the body he'd so desperately missed.

"Can you stay?" Roman asked, his voice unsteady.

"Sure…" Hunter said. "I'll let myself out early."

"Thank you…" Roman said, burrowing deeper into his shoulder.

Hunter drew the blankets over their bodies, the knot in his chest beginning to unravel, ever so slightly. It still wasn't enough, he was starting to think that nothing could ever be, his every gesture oscillating somewhere between too much and too little, a broken nose and a broken table here, a smashed TV screen there. As much as it was his job, he hated every hit he'd landed on Roman with the roar of the crowd behind him, their sick delight in seeing Roman beaten bloody through his hands.

It got to Roman, sure—but it got to him, too. More than it should, more than a veteran of his years should allow it to.

Asking Roman to be strong for him had been a mere smokescreen for his true feelings—it was him that needed to be strong for the boy, needed to be there for the punches and spears, needed to make sure Roman ended the night feeling on top of the world, fuck what everyone else felt.

And if they did end up burning the whole place down with everyone in it, he'd stand by Roman for that, too.