A cold, Survivor Series, Thanksgiving, and finally meeting the parents.
I hope y'all had a great Thanksgiving. I'm super thankful for all your guys' continuing support for this, and everything else I write. It means a lot to me.
"So, a tournament, huh?" Seth asks, drinking in the sight of Dean stretched out on his hotel bed, thousands and thousands of miles away.
"That's what it's lookin' like, yeah," Dean replies, nodding. His hair is wet, curling around his ears, and his eyes are bright, blue and clear. "Guess we're gonna find out for sure Monday."
"Makes sense," Seth says. There are papers spread out on the coffee table in front of him, assignments that need to be graded, but he hasn't had much of a chance to talk to Dean, so when Dean had sent a message asking if he was up for Skyping, Seth had shoved everything aside and settled on the sofa, head propped up on a throw pillow, laptop on his chest. "How's everything going over there?"
Dean shrugs, a frown on his lips. "S'okay, I guess. Lonely without you."
"Yeah," Seth says, sucks in his bottom lip. "It sucks here without you. The bed feels too big."
Dean laughs softly. "Don't know how, you practically sleep on top of me."
"Not my fault you're comfortable," Seth retorts, fights down a smirk at the indignant look on Dean's face.
"You callin' me fat?" Dean scowls. Or tries to, anyway. His lips keeps twitching like he wants to laugh.
Seth snorts. "Oh, yeah, of course I am." He shakes his head, laughing. For all the muscle he has in his arms, his back, his chest, Dean's waist is ridiculously tiny. Seth loves Dean's back, how broad it is, and how it curves and tucks in at his waistline.
Before Dean can say anything else, his gaze skitters away from the screen, his head turning to the side, and Seth can just make out the sound of the door opening, closing, and then Roman's voice, a deep rumble off in the distance.
Dean's eyes flick to him, then back to wherever Roman is, and Seth raises an eyebrow, though Dean isn't paying attention to him, Roman going on in the background about how tired he is, how he just wants to sleep for a week.
"Then lay down and go to sleep, Roman," Dean says, cutting off Roman's tirade. "M'tryin' to talk to Seth, you rude ass."
Seth bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing, though it's a close thing with the face Dean is making.
Roman's face appears in the frame, squeezed in against Dean's. "Hey, uce, how's it goin'?"
A surge of warmth takes up residence in Seth's chest, flowing through his veins. Uce. Brother. "Hey, Rome," he says, trying to remain unaffected. He never thought they'd get to a point where they'd be anything beyond amicable, but they'd somehow settled into an easy friendship, and Seth was good with that. He wouldn't have ever asked for more, but having Roman call him uce, brother, being accepted into their family, it's… Seth doesn't have words. "Eh, y'know, workin'. Bein' bored as shit since someone's gotta be on the other side of the world."
Roman laughs, ruffles Dean's hair. "Yeah, he's been a mopey little thing over here."
"Have not," Dean says, glaring at Roman. He's pouting, arms crossed over his chest, but he won't look at the camera on his laptop, won't meet Seth's gaze.
"He's precious like that," Seth teases, feels a laugh bubbling up in his chest at the affronted look that comes over Dean's face.
"Y'all suck," Dean says, "I'm going to shower."
Dean disappears off-screen, and Seth frowns. Is Dean really that bothered by their teasing? "You already showered," he says, but he doesn't think Dean hears, if the sound of a door slamming in the background is anything to go by. "Is he okay?" he asks Roman, feeling something sick and unpleasant twisting in his stomach.
Roman's eyes dart off-screen, then back to Seth, lips drawn into a thin line. He shakes his head. "Don't think he's been sleepin' much, to be honest," he says, sighing softly. "Happens sometimes, with all the timezone jumpin' and shit. Makes him real restless, gives him a bad case of insomnia. It's what happened the night he met you."
There's a rock of worry settling in at the pit of Seth's stomach, but he forgets about it in an instant, focuses intently on Roman, the pinch in his brow, the downturn of his lips. "What do you mean?" Seth asks. He hadn't really given much thought to what exactly Dean had been doing in Davenport, beyond wondering why Dean was so far from where he was supposed to be.
"He gets restless and antsy sometimes, like, too much adrenaline and he just wants to keep goin', y'know, like his body hasn't gotten the memo that it can chill," Roman starts, his voice low and quiet. "He used to do that from time to time, just take the car and drive, said it calmed him down or whatever. Anyway. It's like, 6:30 in the morning and I've got a radio interview to do, but Dean's gone and the keys are gone. So, I'm waiting, and waiting, and I have to take a damn cab to the interview, right, and when I get back to the hotel, Dean's there, lookin' goddamn ridiculous with this dopey ass smile on his face." Roman stops, smiling and shaking his head. "Said he drove all the way to Davenport, stopped at a gym and met someone, kept going on and on about his eyes and his ass, and how bad he wanted to see him again."
Seth feels himself blush, a soft little smile on his lips.
"It was love at first sight. What can I say?" Dean's face pops into view on Seth's screen again. He looks calmer now, though it doesn't look like he showered again, his hair slowly drying into messy, haphazard curls. "I knew we were gonna be something good."
"Yeah, yeah yeah," Roman says, flicking Dean in the ear. "Here, finish talkin' to your boyfriend. I'm goin' to sleep."
"Goodnight, Roman," Seth says, a small wave of his hand, which Roman returns with a smile and a nod. "You okay?" he asks Dean, after Roman's out of view and Dean's settled on his bed again.
Dean nods, rubbing a hand over his face. "Haven't been sleeping well," he admits, shrugging a shoulder. "Just a little homesick, I guess."
Seth swallows roughly. Dean won't be home for a week and a half yet, and he's more than worried about how that's going to affect Dean. "What can I do?"
Dean shrugs again, says, "I dunno," blowing out a slow breath. "Just, I dunno, talk to me?"
So Seth talks. He sits upright, setting his laptop down on the coffee table, and rambles about the kids in his classes, starts reading bits and pieces of some of the stories he'd had his creative writing class do, and when he looks up again, at the end of a paragraph, Dean is laying on his side, cheek smushed in against the pillow, his lips parted slightly, asleep.
It's a relieving sight, to see Dean asleep, after hearing that Dean hasn't been sleeping much at all. He types out a message, hits send, then closes the video chat after one last look.
You fell asleep, and I didn't want to try and wake you. I love you, and I'm here, always.
Seth's been trying to fall asleep for hours now, but it's nearing two in the morning and sleep is as elusive as it was four hours ago. He's got the tv on low, some cooking show playing in the background, and he knows he's going to hate himself in the morning, in the middle of the day, when he's trying to power through his lesson plans running on little sleep and a lot of caffeine.
A new episode of the cooking show starts, and Seth sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He's been up for nearly 22 hours now, but he can't sleep, no matter how many different positions he tries laying in, how much exhaustion he feels weighing him down. He'd talked to Dean hours and hours ago, and Dean had sounded tired, like he was catching a cold, and Seth's worried that Dean hasn't been sleeping again.
The bedroom door opens, and Dean's there, looking like every step is harder than the last. He doesn't have any of his bags—probably left them in the living room—and Seth's glad for that. If Dean looks this bad, the last thing he needs to be doing is carrying his bags around and trying to get them all sorted and out of the way.
Dean collapses onto the foot of the bed, falling back and groaning. "Feel like shit," he mutters, rubbing at his eye. He sounds even worse in person, congested, voice hoarse.
Seth tosses the blankets away, climbing off the bed and rounding to the foot of it, squatting down and removing Dean's boots. "C'mon, jeans off," he says, waits for Dean to unbutton and unzip them before he tugs them down and off, tossing them away. "You got your jacket?" Dean nods, shrugging out of it before he hands it to Seth.
Dean's still wearing a hoodie, but Seth doesn't make him take it off, urges Dean to scoot up on the bed, climbing back in himself and pulling the blankets over them, tucking Dean in against his side. "Thanks," Dean says, a croak of a whisper, his hand settled on Seth's ribcage.
"Sleep," says Seth, fingers carding through Dean's hair.
He doesn't get much sleep, too worried about the heaviness of Dean's breathing, and he ends up forgoing his morning workout, driving to the nearest pharmacy instead. He stocks up on cough drops, canned soups, orange juice, and every cold and congestion medicine he can find.
Dean is still asleep when he gets home, but he's snoring, his mouth open wide like he can't breathe at all through his nose, and Seth hates to wake him, he really does, but Dean needs to take something to help his breathing, to help the rattle he can hear in Dean's chest.
"Dean," Seth says, lays a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Babe, wake up."
Dean grumbles, sitting up, and his next breath causes his body to be wracked by a coughing fit, so hard and sharp Seth winces. He puts his hand on Dean's back, rubbing in soothing circles until the coughing subsides. "Goddammit," he curses, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.
"I got you some stuff," Seth says, settling on the bed in front of Dean, placing the bag of medicine beside them. He puts his hand to Dean's forehead, and Dean feels hot, burning up, and Seth considers calling in, not wanting to leave Dean alone.
"What'd you get?" Dean asks, voice scratchy. He leans into Seth's touch, his eyes closing, and he looks as though he's about to fall forward when Seth takes his hand away to rummage through the bag of things he bought.
Seth pulls out the different pill boxes, cough syrup bottles, the bag of cough drops, a bottle of orange juice, and a bottle of water. "Not sure what'll work for you, but there's some of everything here, so."
Dean grabs for the bottle of water immediately, unscrewing the cap and chugging it down.
"Hey, hey," Seth says, "slow down."
Dean makes a face, but he pulls the bottle away. "Feels good on my throat."
"I got you some cough drops for that," Seth points out. He knows it's nothing like cold water, but soothing all the same.
"I hate cough drops," Dean says, pouting. "Make my mouth feel gross."
And apparently Dean is going to regress to behaving like a little kid. Seth's in for a treat.
"Yeah, but they'll make your throat feel better," says Seth, trying to sound convincing.
"Don't want 'em." Dean picks up the bag of cough drops, throwing them across the room.
"Dean, seriously?" Seth blows out a slow breath. Now's not the time to lose his patience. "At least take one of the medicines I got you."
Thankfully, Dean does, but he complains about it the entire time. Seth leaves the bottle on the nightstand, tossing everything back into the bag. "Want the orange juice, or should I put it in the fridge?"
"Hmm, fridge," Dean says, collapses back against the pillows. "C'mere, lay down."
"I've gotta get ready for work," Seth says regretfully. "I can let Kev in here after I take him out?"
Dean sighs, or tries to, cut off by another coughing fit.
"Just—take it easy today, okay? There are cans of soup in the kitchen if you feel up to eating. I'll try to be back right after I'm done for the day, alright?" Seth trails his fingers down the line of Dean's jaw, to his shoulder, squeezes before letting go. As much as he hates leaving without a kiss, he can't afford any kind of sickness right now.
Dean's asleep again by the time Seth's done showering and getting dressed, and he has just enough time to drink a cup of coffee while Kevin does his business outside before he has to go, his mind preoccupied all day, worried about how Dean is doing, how he's feeling, but when he takes his phone out during lunch, there are over a dozen texts, all some form of Dean begging for Seth to come home.
"How are you feeling?" Seth asks, phone pressed to his ear, Dean's stuffy breathing filling the line.
"Come home," Dean whines, drawing out the vowel way longer than necessary. "I miss you."
Seth smiles softly, fondly, warm all over. A whiny, clingy Dean, and he's stuck at work? How cruel is the world. "I'll be home in a few hours," he reminds Dean. "Besides, you've got Kevin there to keep you company."
"S'a dog, Seth, not the same as you," Dean complains, and Seth supposes he has a point. Kevin is great, the best dog Seth's ever had, but having him around isn't the same as when Dean's there.
"I know, but I've gotta work," Seth tells him. "Much as I'd rather be home with you, bills gotta be paid."
Dean sniffles. "I guess. How much longer?"
"Couple more hours, promise."
Dean's cold is finally gone by the time he hits the road again, and Seth's beyond relieved. It was like all the traveling Dean had done had finally caught up with him, and being sick dragged him down even further, and he was left with almost no energy for anything, spent the entire time off lazing around in bed, or on the sofa, or wherever Seth was, demanding all of Seth's attention. It's not that Seth minded, because he loves knowing that Dean wants him, needs him, but he had work to do, and as much as he'd wanted to cater to every one of Dean's needs, he just couldn't, no matter how hard he tried.
Dean understood, though, once the fog of sickness and exhaustion passed, and he was a little more than embarrassed about his behavior, apologizing profusely even though Seth kept telling him it was fine, that he didn't mind.
It's Sunday now, and Seth's settled in the living room on the sofa, a blanket from their bedroom draped around him like a cape, Kevin curled up next to him. He hates that he can't be with Dean tonight, stuck at home because he has to work in the morning, but he'd talked to Dean earlier, told him what's quickly becoming his way of saying good luck: win or lose tonight, I'm still gonna be super fuckin' proud of you.
Dean's got a match against Kevin Owens first, and when—because Seth knows he's going to win, feels it in his bones—he wins, he's going to have one more match, against Del Rio or Roman, this one for the vacated title, and Seth has every bit of faith that Dean's going to win it all, that his boyfriend's going to come home with the gold.
And it looks like Seth's right, Dean defeating Kevin Owens, up against Roman in the main event, and Seth's heart is in his throat. He gets distracted when Dean comes out, leather jacket unzipped to show that he hadn't bothered replacing his torn shirt from earlier, all that finely muscled skin on display.
His nerves go haywire when the bell rings, and it feels like he can't breathe through the entire match, both Dean and Roman leaving every bit of themselves in the ring, and it's close, so fucking close, the momentum shifting with almost every breath, and then Dean hits Dirty Deeds and Roman's down, and that has to be it, Seth yelling, "C'mon, c'mon, you've got this," but then Roman kicks out, and Dean's beating his hands against the mat, losing precious time that he should be capitalizing on.
Seth's stomach plummets to his feet, and he swallows roughly. That running jump off the middle turnbuckle and it's just enough time for Roman to get into place, to send Dean to the mat with another spear, and it's over. Dean lost.
"Fucking bullshit," Seth curses, barely resisting the urge to throw something. He's upset and frustrated, because Dean deserved to win that, he fucking earned it. Seth's not trying to take anything away from Roman because he loves Roman, too, but not the same way he loves Dean, not even close, and as much as Roman deserved the win, Dean will always deserve it more in Seth's eyes. That's his boyfriend, his best friend, his other half, and he will always, Ialways/I be in Dean's corner before he's in anyone else's.
Dean gets up, finally, an arm wrapped around his waist, and he hugs Roman with the other, tangling it in Roman's hair, dropping a kiss to the side of Roman's head before he rolls out of the ring, and it has to be so bittersweet for Dean, but Seth's so goddamn proud of him. He feels a lump forming in his throat as he watches Roman cling to the belt, hoisting it high above his head, the fireworks and confetti falling, the pure, raw emotion there on Roman's face, the way he keeps staring down at the title like he's afraid it'll disappear if he takes his eyes off of it, and Seth knows how that feels, looks at Dean like that every day of his fucking life, can't believe he got so goddamn lucky.
But then Triple H's music is cutting the celebration short, and Seth feels dread settle in his stomach, a heavy rock sitting there, and he doesn't want to watch, but he can't make himself look away, Roman turning his back on Triple H's handshake, turning around again to nail him with a spear, and then Sheamus is there, a Brogue Kick and he's cashing in, and Seth wants to scream and punch something because Roman doesn't deserve this. As much as Seth had wanted Dean to win, as much as he had thought Dean deserved the win, Roman doesn't deserve to have fought so hard only to have it ripped away like this.
By some miracle, Roman manages to kick out, and Seth thinks he's got this, that he'll be able to power through because he's Roman fucking Reigns, there's nothing that can keep him down, but Sheamus hits him again, and Roman's lost, laying helpless in the middle of the ring, no longer the champion.
Seth can't bear to watch any longer, shutting off the tv and punching the sofa beneath him. He's so fucking glad Dean didn't win, because he would've flown to fucking Atlanta in a heartbeat and burned the place to the goddamn ground. That was so much bullshit, Seth almost can't breathe through the rage he feels on Roman's behalf. After everything, for it to end like that. Fucking pure and utter bullshit.
Seth takes Kevin out one last time, fills his dishes with food and fresh water, and crawls into bed feeling the bite of irritation and frustration still licking at his veins.
He sweats it out during his morning workout, and he feels a little more calm by the time he's showered and dressed for work, but the day drags on, feels like it's been weeks instead of hours before he has his lunch break, digging his phone out of his desk immediately.
bad night. sry I didn't call
Seth hadn't expected Dean to call, truth be told, and it's part of why he'd gone to sleep so early. He doesn't begrudge Dean for tending to his brother. Family should always come first.
it's okay. How are you doing? How's Roman?
Seth tries not to stare at his phone while he waits for Dean's response, busies himself with picking at the chicken wrap he'd packed for lunch, though he isn't feeling all that hungry.
There's only a few minutes left of his lunch hour by the time he hears from Dean, and instead of it being a message, his phone buzzes, skittering across the desktop. "Hey," he says softly, eyeing the door as he settles back in his seat.
"Feels like I haven't heard your voice in forever," Dean says, soft huff of laughter tingling up Seth's spine. They'd spoken before Dean had to get ready last night, but Seth understands what he means, how it feels like the longest time ever when things are bad, stressful. "I'm alright, though. Little upset I didn't win, but, y'know, guess it's better than bein' in Roman's position."
"I thought you had it," Seth confesses, running his thumbnail along the edge of his desk. "But, regardless, you were fuckin' amazing last night, and I'm ridiculously proud of you."
"Means a lot," Dean says, sighing softly. "Roman, though. Don't think I've ever seen him so upset. Not that I blame him. That shit was fucked."
Seth makes a noise of agreement, but doesn't add anything else on that topic, feeling the burn of irritation scratching at his skin again. He doesn't want to get into it now, not when he still has half of his work day left. "Hey, my lunch break is over," he says, trying not to pay too much attention to the slow trickle of students making their way through the door just yet. "Think you're gonna have time to call tonight?"
"I'll try to," Dean replies. "But go, get your teaching on."
Seth smiles softly. "Love you," he says, waits for Dean to return the sentiment before he ends the call, setting his phone to silent before he puts it back into his desk.
"Who's got you grinning like that, Mr. Rollins?" One of his students is standing in front of his desk, an eyebrow raised. "You finally seeing someone?"
Seth laughs, shakes his head. "Get to your seat." Nosy little thing.
With Thanksgiving being Thursday, Seth's work week ends once he leaves the school on Tuesday. He's relieved the week is over, loosening his tie and kicking off his dress shoes the minute he steps inside his house, setting down his briefcase and putting it as far out of his mind as he can. He has five days off, no papers or assignments to grade, and his lesson plan is finalized through the end of the month.
What he hasn't done, though, is any of the grocery shopping for Thanksgiving, and he groans when he realizes it, swapping his dress pants for a pair of jeans, his button-down for one of Dean's t-shirts.
Shopping two days before Thanksgiving is probably one of the worst decisions Seth has ever made. The store is packed, and it takes longer than it should, but Seth gets everything he needs: a small turkey, a small ham, gravy, dinner rolls, everything needed to make stuffing, green bean casserole, an apple pie, and a pumpkin pie, and a small bag of potatoes.
Looking at it all spread out on his counter, though, he thinks he may have gone a little overboard, especially since he hasn't the slightest clue how to make half of everything he bought. Mashed potatoes? Sure, fine, no problem. Stuffing? Green bean casserole? Jesus, he'll be lucky if he has a house by the time he gets through it, and he hopes that Dean at least knows what he's doing.
But apparently, Dean is just as clueless as he is.
"You're so good at cooking everything else," Seth points out, tugging at his hair. His nerves are already frazzled, and it's barely nine in the morning.
"I've never had to make any of this shit before," Dean counters, eyeing the array of foods spread around the kitchen. "Roman and his wife always did the cooking. All I did was eat."
Seth manfully resists the urge to cry. This is their first Thanksgiving together and he'd wanted everything to be perfect. Neither of them knowing what they're doing, however, is throwing a huge wrench in that plan.
"Okay, well," Seth says, throwing his hair up into a bun, "shouldn't be that hard, right? We'll find some recipes, and go from there."
Dean looks dubious, but he nods in agreement. "I'm going to take Kevin for a walk while you do that."
Seth narrows his eyes at Dean, but he blows out a breath, says, "Okay, that'll work," because he'd only managed to let Kevin out back quick before he and Dean had started discussing the food, and if Kevin doesn't get his morning walk in, he has too much energy, and Seth can't afford to have him underfoot in the kitchen, not while he and Dean are trying to get everything made.
Seth carries his laptop into the kitchen, clearing a space on the counter for it, and he has six different tabs open by the time Dean comes back.
"So, where do we start?" Dean asks, coming up beside Seth.
Seth shrugs. He has no fucking idea. "Probably all the sides and stuff," he says, which makes the most sense, because that way all that will be left is cooking the ham and the turkey, and everything else can be stored away in containers until those are done.
"This is a lot of food, Seth," Dean says. "Do we really have to make it all?"
They don't have to, no, but Seth's never had a Thanksgiving without all the trimmings, and he doesn't want to start now, not when this is his and Dean's first Thanksgiving together, when he wants it to be one they'll always remember.
"It can't hurt to try," Seth says with a shrug.
The casserole is easy enough, and they've just gotten it into the oven when Seth's phone starts ringing from the living room, and dread and worry sit heavy in his stomach when he sees that his mom's calling. "Hey, mom," he says, dropping down onto the sofa, worrying at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.
"Hi, baby," she says, voice warm and soft, comforting in a way only a mother's voice can be. "Your dad and I just wanted to check and see what time you were coming at."
Seth swallows nervously. "I uh—I'm not gonna make it, Mom," he says, forcing the words out. He knows she's going to be upset, and he hates that he's the one upsetting her.
"What do you mean, you're not gonna make it?" she asks, voice rising. "It's Thanksgiving, Seth."
"I know, Mom, I just—" Seth pauses to take a breath, to parse the words out in his head before he verbalizes them "—I'm having my own Thanksgiving this year. With my boyfriend."
"I didn't know you were seeing anyone," his mom says, accusingly curious. "That's fine. You can bring him over. You know there's going to be more than enough."
"I can't," Seth says, hating himself for it, for disappointing her. His relationship with Dean has started to strain his relationship with his parents, and Seth keeps wondering if it's going to be worth it in the long run. Yeah, they talk about being together in ten, twenty years, but things happens, feelings can change, and is it going to be worth losing the relationship he has with his parents so he can be with Dean?
"You can't," she echoes, flat, toneless.
"I'm sorry," Seth says, forces the words out around the lump in his throat. There's nothing else he can say, no words that'll make this better.
"Me, too." And then she hangs up.
Seth sets his phone down on the coffee table, removing his glasses and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He knew his mom wasn't going to take the news easy, but he hadn't thought it'd be like that, that she'd hang up without so much as an I love you, and he feels like shit for it, for ruining her day, for upsetting her.
"Everything okay?" Dean asks when Seth returns to the kitchen, counter cleaned and dishes washed.
Seth chews at his bottom lip, his arms wrapped around himself. He shrugs. "Not really," he says, refusing to meet Dean's eyes. He doesn't want Dean to see the sheen of tears in his eyes, how he feels like he's going to break apart at the seams because he upset his mom, how his relationship with her has felt strained ever since they started dating because of all the lying and hiding he's done.
"Seth?" Dean says, stepping closer, his hands on Seth's shoulders.
"I don't think I can do this anymore," Seth says, finally meeting Dean's eyes. He can't—the lying, the hiding, it's too much, and if he can't share with his parents the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, he's going to lose his mind. He loves Dean, loves him with everything he has, and he wouldn't trade what they have for anything, but he can't keep it hidden anymore, not from the two other people in his life who mean the most to him.
"Can't do this anymore?" Dean asks. He pulls his hands away, steps back, entire line of his body going tense, like he thinks Seth's going to break up with him, when, jesus, Seth would rather cut off his own hands than ever lose Dean, but something's gotta give here.
"The lying, the hiding," Seth elaborates, quickly shutting down that breakup train of thought. "You didn't hear how my mom sounded when I told her I was seeing someone, that I wasn't going to make it to her house today because I wanted to spend it with you."
"I never said you had to," Dean says, stepping in close again. "You wanna tell your parents? That's fine by me. I never wanted or expected you to hide or lie to them because of me, Seth."
Seth collapses against Dean's chest, feels like he can breathe again. He's an idiot for never asking Dean, for just assuming things because of who and what Dean is. "I'm sorry," he says, burying his face in Dean's neck. He smells like faded laundry detergent, soap, like warmth and comfort, safety and home.
"C'mon," Dean says, hand smoothing up and down Seth's back. "Go get dressed. I'll take the casserole out of the oven and put everything else away."
Seth blinks rapidly to clear the tears from his eyes before he pulls back enough that he can see Dean's face. Fuck, he has the best boyfriend in the world. "Are you sure?"
Dean nods. "Should've done it awhile ago. Said I ain't goin' anywhere, right? Shouldn't have taken this long to meet your parents."
Seth changes into a pair of well-fitting jeans, a t-shirt, and a soft gray sweater, fixing his hair before he goes back out into the kitchen where Dean already has everything cleaned up and put away.
"You look good," Dean says, nodding his head in what Seth assumes is approval. "I'll be right out." He leans in and kisses Seth on the cheek as he passes, and when he emerges from their bedroom, he's wearing a light-wash pair of jeans and a deep red button-down shirt, top two buttons undone, showing off the hollow of his throat.
The shirt really highlights the breadth of Dean's shoulders, the wide expanse of his back, and it's easily one of Seth's favorites. "We ready to go?" Seth asks, pulling his eyes away from how well the shirt fits. He's not sure they'll ever make it out of here if he keeps imagining what it'll be like to push the shirt off Dean's shoulders, how well the color will contrast with the paleness of Dean's skin once he gets it unbuttoned and open.
Seth slides his phone into his pocket, grabs his keys from the counter. "You wanna grab Kev?"
The chill of the late November air is biting, and Seth hurries to unlock the doors, slide in behind the wheel, Dean in the passenger seat, Kevin sitting in his lap.
"Now I'm reminded of why I moved to Vegas," Dean says, rubbing his hands together. "Fuckin' hate the cold."
"Suck it up, you big baby," Seth says, but he turns the heat on full blast, teeth chattering as he buckles himself in.
Dean snorts out a laugh. "Yeah, because you're not freezin' your nuts off over there."
The roads are quiet, almost no traffic, and it doesn't take long before Seth's pulling into the driveway of his parents house, heart beating a mile a minute. It's early, and he's sure his mom's still elbows deep in pie baking, but as nervous as he is, he's more than ready for this. He wants the love of his life to meet the two greatest people he knows, who raised him and helped shape him into the man he is today.
"I feel like we shoulda brought somethin'," Dean says, exiting the car, Kevin tucked inside his jacket.
"They'll have everything," Seth says, pocketing his keys. "You ready to meet my parents?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess," Dean says, turning to meet Seth's gaze, grinning. "Yeah, let's do this."
Seth lets himself in through the front door, inhaling deeply at the scents that are already filling the air: the spice of pumpkin pie, the smell of cinnamon, warm and inviting. He takes off his coat, hanging it on the coat rack, motioning for Dean to hand his over as well. Kevin goes trotting off through the house and Seth grimaces, knows it's only a matter of seconds before his mom or stepdad comes to investigate.
They don't come out, though. The living room is empty—save for Kevin already curled up on the recliner, no wonder—as Seth had figured it'd be, and he leads Dean through to the kitchen where his parents are, bickering over how much more cinnamon should be added to the apple pie. It brings a smile to Seth's face, one he couldn't hide even if he tried. He wants that with Dean, to bicker over the small things, nothing but pure love and affection between them, even after twenty years together.
Seth grabs Dean's hand, twines their fingers together, squeezing. He clears his throat, laughing softly at the startled expression on his parents' faces. "Happy Thanksgiving," he says softly, delighting in the way his mom seems to be too shocked to move. He doesn't blame her. Not even an hour ago he was telling her he wasn't going to make it, that he was staying home, and now he's here, standing in the kitchen, holding Dean's hand. "So, this is my boyfriend, Dean."
His stepdad gives him a flat look, a sarcastic no, seriously, tell me something else I don't know look if Seth's ever seen one. Sometimes Seth forgets his parents occasionally watch wrestling still.
"Dean, my mom and stepdad," Seth says, stomach churning with nervous excitement.
"Mr. Rollins, Mrs. Rollins, it's nice to finally meet you," Dean says, smiling politely, offering his hand for them to shake. "I just wanted to apologize for keepin' this relationship from you all. I take it y'all know who I am?" At their nod, Dean smiles. "So you can understand Seth's hesitance in telling you. It's not that he wanted to hide it or anything, he just thought it was the best thing to do, given who I am and what I do."
His mom's already looking at Dean with fond eyes, and Seth feels all his nerves settle.
"Not trying to be rude," his stepdad says, looking back and forth between Seth and Dean, his lips twitching, and, oh, Seth is not going to enjoy this, "but Seth, how the hell did you land someone like Ambrose?"
Dean barks out a laugh, and Seth elbows him in the stomach. "Ha ha ha, you're hilarious, Dad."
"I thought it was funny," Dean says, smirking.
Seth narrows his eyes at him. "We'll see how funny it is later."
Dean's face falls. Yeah, not so funny now. "Aww, c'mon, babe, don't be like that."
Seth shakes his head, but he can't keep the smile off his face. He steps further into the kitchen, rounding the counter to his mom, pulling her into a hug, not caring that she's covered in flour, that he's going to get it all over his sweater. "I'm sorry, Mom."
She pulls back, puts a hand to Seth's cheek. "It's okay. I understand. I'm not exactly happy that you hid it, but I understand. Tough place to be in, and you had to do what was best for both of you."
"How long have you guys been together, anyway?" his stepdad asks, and Seth really doesn't want to answer that. His mom is going to smack him upside the head.
"Since April," Dean says, leaning against the opposite side of the counter. The bowl of sliced apples is in front of him, and he digs one out, popping it into his mouth, grinning while he chews.
"Since April?" his mom repeats, pulling his ear. Goddammit, that shit hurts. "Seth Rollins. Seven months and you waited this long?"
"Ow, ow, ow, Mom, I'm sorry, let go." He massages his ear when she does, pouting at the look of absolute glee that's on Dean's face right now. Fucker. See if he gets laid tonight.
"For that, you can peel and quarter the potatoes." She points to the counter beside the stove where the bag of potatoes sits. As far as punishment goes—never mind the fact that he's 29 and she shouldn't even be punishing him anymore—it's not so bad.
It's actually relaxing to peel the potatoes, no thinking required, and he lets the easy chatter between Dean and his stepdad wash over him, happy that they finally decided to do this, that the three most important people in his life have finally met, and that they're actually getting along.
"Where do you want me to put these?" Seth asks once he's finished. His mom swoops in, taking the bowl Seth had put them in and dumping them into a pot. She fills it with water and sets it on the stove, shooing Seth out of the way. "Alright, alright, I know when I'm not wanted anymore."
After he washes his hands, Seth sidles up behind Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist, resting his forehead against the back of Dean's neck. He's thankful for Dean, for his family, for everything they've done and continue to do for him, and he's glad they decided to do this now, today, the day that reminds him to be thankful for everything he has.
Seth is so stuffed he doesn't think he's ever going to move again. Every time he'd said he was done, his mom had given him another serving, griping that Seth was looking too thin, never mind the fact that Seth's actually filled out with more muscle over the last few months. He overdid it on the pie all on his own, though. He definitely shouldn't have had that last slice, but pumpkin and apple pie, and he couldn't just have one and not the other.
"Do you need any help cleaning things up, Mrs. Rollins?" Dean asks. How he isn't in a food coma yet is beyond Seth. He easily ate almost double what Seth did, and he's up and moving like he didn't just eat enough to feed a small army.
"No, sweetheart," his mom says, waving Dean off. "You're a guest. Just relax, and try to keep Seth from falling asleep. That boy never seems to know when to quit when it comes to Thanksgiving."
"Because you kept giving me more food!" Seth says, affronted. He's not foolish enough to say no to his mom when it comes to her feeding him.
Seth moves into the living room, Dean following behind him, and they settle on the sofa, Seth's head pillowed on Dean's thigh, a football game on low in the background.
"You gonna fall asleep?" Dean asks, scritching his fingers along Seth's scalp.
Seth feels content, sleepy, blinking slowly up at Dean. "Might," he says, though he knows it's a lost cause. Sleep is nipping at his heels, and he's powerless against it, asleep between one breath and the next, and when he wakes up an hour later, Dean's head is lolled back against the sofa, his eyes closed as he snores softly.
"He seems like a good man." The voice startles Seth, and he turns his head to find his parents sitting on the loveseat, his stepdad's arm curled around his mom's shoulders.
"He is," Seth says, knows it down to his bones. Dean is one of the best men he's ever known, and he's beyond lucky to have Dean in his life. "He's the one who made the decision to finally come today. Said it was long overdue."
"He was right," his stepdad says. "Like your mom said, we understand why you didn't tell us, or why you felt like you couldn't tell us, we just wish you would have trusted us a little more."
Seth swallows roughly. He'll admit that he messed up pretty good there.
"You should get him home," his mom says, nodding at Dean's sleeping form. "I can't imagine he gets to sleep all that much."
"No, not nearly enough," Seth agrees. He sits up, his stomach calmer, more settled, and he gently coaxes Dean awake. "Babe, wake up, let's go home."
Dean snorts awake, looking around before his eyes land on Seth, a small sleepy smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Long was I sleepin'?"
"An hour, probably," Seth says, grimacing at the stale taste in his mouth. He loves napping when he can, but after eating and not brushing his teeth? It makes his mouth feel and taste gross.
"Mmm, alright, I'm up." Dean runs a hand through his hair, scooting forward to the edge of the sofa, and he waits for Seth to stand before he rises to his feet as well, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms out. "It was good to finally meet you both," he says to Seth's parents, shaking his stepdad's hand and pulling his mom into a hug. "You've got a great son."
Seth feels his face heat, an embarrassed, pleased flush suffusing his skin. He couldn't have pictured today going any better than it has.
After loading them up with leftovers, and extracting a promise to visit more often, Seth, Dean, and Kevin pile into the car, making the drive across town back home.
"Your parents are really nice," Dean says, once they've gotten home, storing the containers of leftovers in the refrigerator. The drive home was silent, Dean dozing with his head against the window, and it's the first thing that's been said since they left his parents.
"Yeah, I like them," Seth says, laughing. "They really loved you, though." He grabs Dean's hand, uses it to tug Dean into him, wraps his arms around Dean's waist. "Which is a really good thing, considering how much I love you." Dean goes in for a kiss, but Seth shakes his head, turns it to the side so Dean's lips land on his cheek. "Need to brush my teeth."
Dean gives him an incredulous look. "I've kissed you while you still had my come in your mouth, after you've had your tongue in my ass, in the middle of the night, and right after you've woken up in the morning. A little stale naptime breath really ain't gonna matter."
Dean has a point. He's kissed Dean at every point of the day, after he's had Dean's cock in his mouth, come still on his tongue, after he's licked and fucked Dean open with his tongue, after he's woken up in the morning after having forgotten to brush his teeth the night before, and the stale taste he has in his mouth right now really shouldn't matter, but for some reason it does.
"At least lemme use some mouthwash," Seth says, his lips against the scruff on Dean's cheek.
Dean sighs, all mock frustration. "If you must," he acquiesces, following Seth into the bathroom off the hall, the one they rarely ever use, and as soon as Seth has gargled and spit, Dean's hands are on his hips, turning him so they're facing each other, trailing his lips along Seth's jaw, brushing the tips of their noses together before he nips at Seth's bottom lip, drawing a shocked, guttural moan from deep in Seth's throat.
All he'd wanted to do when they got home was laze around on the couch, watch the rest of the football games on tv, but Seth's rapidly changing his mind, caught in the onslaught of rapidly building arousal at the feel of Dean's lips sliding against his own, Dean's hands rucking up his shirt to rest at the small of his back.
Dean kisses with a single-minded focus sometimes, like it's all he wants to do, could spend hours doing it, licking and nipping at Seth's lips until they feel bruised and swollen, until Seth's so hard he can't think straight.
"Turn around," Dean says, a whisper of words against Seth's lips, and Seth goes easily, turning in the cage of Dean's arms. "Look." Dean tilts his head so he's looking straight ahead into the mirror, and Seth almost can't believe that's him. He looks debauched already, lips red and swollen, flushed from the roots of his hair down, disappearing beneath his shirt, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, barely open at all. He looks well fucked already, and all they've done is kiss. It's just what Dean does to him.
Dean's looking at him like he's everything, like he hung the moon and the stars, the best thing he's ever seen, and Seth doesn't know what to do with that, heart jackrabbit fast in his chest. Everything feels like so much with Dean sometimes, but Seth wouldn't change it for the world, not for anything.
"Fuckin' gorgeous," Dean says, pushing Seth's shirts up again, a possessive hand splayed over his belly. "Still can't believe you're mine sometimes."
"You're not the only one," Seth says, meeting Dean's gaze in the mirror. Sometimes it's still so fucking surreal to him that Dean is his, that this is his life, not a dream. Dean's pupils are blown wide, and his breathing is a shaky, labored thing, ruffling the hairs around Seth's ear. He sets his hand on top of Dean's, pushes it further up until it disappears beneath his shirt, moving over his chest until the calloused pads of Dean's fingers brush over his nipple, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.
He wants to watch, wants to see how they look in the mirror, but he's already overwhelmed by Dean's touch, and it's a hard thing to keep his eyes open. He lets Dean's hand stay where it is for now, moving his own to the hem of his shirts, pulling them up and over his head, tossing them to the floor.
Dean sets his mouth to the nape of Seth's neck, sending shivers down Seth's spine, and it's like Dean's following them, mouth moving down the same path, tongue soft and wet where it traces down the line of tattoos there.
Blindly, Seth rummages through the drawers, pulling them open and slamming them shut in search of a bottle of lube he knows is stashed in one of them, there for he can't even remember how long. He finds it just as Dean sets his teeth to the edge of one of his shoulders, and he squeezes the bottle so tight the cap pops open, cold slick spilling over his knuckles.
Dean's chuckle makes Seth's pulse race, his dick throb, and he unfastens his pants, pulls down the zipper, groaning in relief. He can feel that Dean's hard, pressed as close together as they are, and he rolls his hips back, a small movement that could be accidental if not for the fact that Dean knows him, knows how goddamn eager and wanton he gets when he's turned on, and he's rewarded with Dean rocking forward against him, a soft fuck panted out against Seth's neck.
There's almost no room in his briefs when Dean slides his hand inside, the other at Seth's hip, but it still feels so good, Dean's hand warm, strong, sure where it's wrapped around him, and his eyes flutter shut, a soft little ah escaping him.
"C'mon," Dean says, a low rasp in Seth's ear, "wanna see you fuck my fist."
Seth tries to, rocks his hips back and forth, but Dean's grip stays where it is, wrapped tight around the middle of his dick, and Seth growls in frustration. He wriggles his hips and pushes his pants and underwear down, the denim of Dean's jeans rough against the back of his thighs, but he can move now, Dean's fist sliding up and down his dick, legs threatening to buckle.
"That's it," Dean praises, twist of his fist around the tip before he strokes back down to the base, and Seth scrabbles at the countertop, needing something to hold onto.
"Dean," Seth pants, presses his ass back against Dean's crotch, "do it, c'mon, please." Seth can see Dean nod in the mirror, tip of his tongue darting out over his lips, and he releases Seth's dick to unbutton his shirt enough that he can pull it over his head, his jeans and boxers shoved down and out of the way next.
He's so hard and hot against Seth's ass, and it steals all the breath from Seth's lungs. He's still a little open from last night, and he reaches behind himself, grips Dean's dick and slicks him up, holding him steady as he rocks back onto him, a punched out groan escaping as the thick head slides in, a slight stretch that Seth loves.
"Jesus," Dean grits out, hands shaking where they're on Seth's shoulders, "how are you always so fuckin' tight?"
Seth laughs softly, harder when Dean curses again, knows he's tightening around him without meaning to. "Fuck me, Dean," he says, places his hands back on the counter, widening his stance a little. It slots Dean in even further, perfect pressure against his prostate, and it's almost overwhelming how fucking good it feels, still getting used to the sensation of Dean being bare inside him, nothing separating them.
Dean puts a hand to Seth's hip, grip tight enough to bruise, and then he's drawing back and thrusting forward, smack of his hips against Seth's ass, over and over. "Look, babe, c'mon." It's all breathy words, spoken between every thrust.
Seth wants to look, he does, but the pleasure's too much, his head lolled forward, chin almost touching his chest, riding the slow wave to the top.
But then Dean pulls him upright, hand spread over the center of his chest, and it shocks him into opening his eyes, staring straight ahead into the mirror, and he can't believe that's him, them, Dean's skin flushed red, sweat beading along his forehead, pink lips swollen and parted, every thrust of his hips pushing Seth forward onto his toes.
He feels himself drawing nearer at the sight, so erotic and unbelievably breathtaking, and he starts up a mantra, a plea, harder, harder, make me come, Dean, c'mon, wanna come, over and over, Dean's hips snapping forward and back, harder and harder until Seth's crying out, his eyes screwed shut, coming untouched all over the bathroom counter.
"Beautiful," Dean says, so soft Seth almost doesn't hear it over the blood rushing in his ear. "Fucking goddamn gorgeous." His grip on Seth's hip tightens for a moment, blunt edges of Dean's nails digging in, and Seth can feel him come, feel his dick jerking as he spills hot and wet inside Seth, a rumble of Seth's name leaving Dean's lips as he thrusts through it, until he's twitching and more than likely oversensitive.
There's a wet squelch when Dean pulls out, lewd and obscene, but it only starts a slow buzz of arousal through Seth's veins again, though he knows his dick won't be getting hard again anytime soon. Dean's come is slowly trickling out of him, and it's an odd sensation, one he still isn't quite sure he likes, but if the heated look Dean gives him is anything to go by, Dean definitely loves it.
"Mean it," Dean says, presses his lips to the hinge of Seth's jaw. "You're fuckin' gorgeous." It's not the first time Dean has said it, and it won't be the last, but it still flusters him to the point where he has to look away, the flush on his cheeks deepening.
"I know," Seth says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror. He winks, biting his lip to keep from smiling, but it doesn't work, a grin breaking out over his lips. He feels mellow, boneless, ready for a shower and a nap, and some of those leftovers.
Dean pinches his hip. "Smartass." He kisses the slope of Seth's shoulder, then pulls Seth's underwear and pants back up before he does the same to himself, top of his head and the slightest curve of his back the only parts visible in the mirror until he stands straight up again, belt buckle clinking as it hangs there, undone. "I'm hungry."
Seth turns, scooting to the side so he's not resting his ass on his drying come, looking up at Dean with a raised eyebrow. "We literally just ate not even that long ago."
"So?" Dean shrugs, his fingers smoothing up and down the line of hair on Seth's stomach. "Worked up an appetite again. Feed me, Seth."
Seth laughs, pushes him away so he can fasten his pants. "I don't even wanna look at food right now, Dean. You can eat, and I'll… I dunno, take Kevin for a walk or something." He moves to head out of the bathroom, but he stops and grimaces, looking down at himself before looking back up at Dean. "After I clean up."
Dean's laugh follows him out of the bathroom, down the hall and into their bedroom.
It doesn't take him long to clean up and change into a pair of sweatpants, throwing on one of Dean's sweaters, and he takes Kevin for a walk around the block, Dean setting his plate in the drying rack when they get back inside. They weren't even gone that long.
"Done already?" Seth asks, coming up behind Dean. Dean's changed from his jeans into a pair of shorts, forgoing a shirt, and Seth sets his hands on Dean's bare hips, fingers curving around the front, tucking under the waistline of them. Dean's not wearing any boxers, either.
"Mhmm." Dean nods. "S'good food."
"Yeah," Seth agrees, "my parents are pretty great cooks." He kisses the scar on Dean's back, rests his forehead at the top of Dean's spine. "Thank you for today." His voice is low, hushed, and he hopes Dean can hear how much he means it, appreciates it.
Dean turns around, hauling Seth in against him. It's such a comfort, being in Dean's arms. Seth rests his head against Dean's shoulder, breathing slow and deep. "I meant it when I said we should've done it sooner," he says, kisses the side of Seth's head. "Shouldn't have hidden it from them for so long. Was stupid."
"I also could've asked," Seth points out, knowing that the blame doesn't solely rest on Dean's shoulders. He'd assumed in the beginning that it was the best thing to do, not realizing just how badly it'd wear on him as time passed, and he'd been so deep into his lying and hiding that asking Dean if he wanted to meet his parents wasn't even an idea that he'd bothered to entertain. A mistake, he knows now, with just how much it stressed him out not being able to tell his parents, all because he assumed and didn't bother asking.
"It was good, though, meeting them," Dean says. "I mean, they'll be my in-laws eventually."
Seth freezes, feels like all the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs. In-laws, marriage. It's not anything he's ever really thought about. Yeah, he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with Dean, but getting married hasn't ever entered his mind. Before Dean, yeah, but it had been a pipe dream, a maybe if he ever found someone worth it, but things have been so good and easy between them that what they have is enough, would always be enough even if getting married had never been mentioned. Now that Dean's brought it up, though, it's like something slots into place in Seth's mind, an image of him and Dean in matching tuxedos floating through it, silver bands glinting in the light off their ring fingers, surrounded by his parents, Roman, Roman's wife and daughter, and he wants it with a fierceness that takes him by surprise.
Seth clears his throat. "Are you asking…" he trails off, heart racing behind his ribs.
"You'll know when I'm asking," Dean says softly, smoothing his hand up and down Seth's back, slowing the racing of his heart. "Just lettin' you know that I will someday." His voice is even softer, almost hesitant, when he adds, "If you want that."
It feels like a desert has replaced Seth's mouth and throat with how dry they are, and he swallows repeatedly to wet them, pulling back so he can look at Dean's face when he says, "I do," laughing once the words are out. I do. Jesus.
"That's—that's good," Dean says, his shoulders relaxing from where they'd tensed up. "I know it's not somethin' we've ever talked about, but I guess I didn't realize how much I wanted it til I met you."
Seth smiles softly, cups Dean's face in his hands and kisses him. "Me, too," he says when he pulls back, even though he only realized it just now. He's a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he gets there eventually.
Eventually.
Eventually, he will be married to Dean.
Eventually, Dean will be his husband.
As far as first Thanksgivings together go, Seth's pretty sure nothing will ever top this one.
"C'mon, I'm pretty sure A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving is on." He laces his fingers with Dean's, pulling him along into the living room.
(AN: I know I mentioned it in the notes of the first chapter, but a reminder that this is set in 2015, and follows canon throughout, just that Seth's not a part of that. We'll eventually end up in 2016. (Hopefully before 2016 is over, haha))