His dream.
It started out as complete darkness. A long, winding road lay beneath the tired soles of his bare feet that felt cool to the touch. A resounding echo reverberated off vanished walls with every heavy step he managed to take – slightly desperate to escape this nadir. After journeying for what could easily be mistaken for an eternity, he found himself lying inside his childhood bedroom. Four picture-less walls, a crumbling ceiling that leaked when it rained, badly beaten wood floors, a hand-me-down chest of drawers, and a prison cot bed. These were all the things that had been gathered together to make his bedroom. With springs digging deep into his sides, he turned to his other left to relieve the pressure, only to land the tip of his nose in the soft fur of his cat Moxley. His eyes drifted open so as to see the kitten's small frame curled into a tight ball. The sight brought a light smile to his face – outlining his dimples nonetheless – as he thought about how truly nice it was to have such a tender soul next to him. With each rise and fall of Moxely's tiny body, he could feel her life pulsate from beneath her in rippling fashion, until it infected his very being – meshing with his own life beats, and forcing them to succumb to the steady rhythm. Soon, as his eyes slowly slipped back beneath closing eyelids, the ratty springs beneath his thin mattress slipped by his more docile pain receptors to the point where he could no longer feel them. Welcoming of this sudden numbness, he spent his remaining energy bringing himself closer to the source of his tolerance – cupping his broken arm below Moxely's balled, sleeping frame, and falling back into the darkness of sleep within the instant.
To the sudden loss of footing, blue eyes snapped open to reveal much of the same darkness he had journeyed through. The feel of softness on the furthermost parts of his face prompted him to strain from his surroundings what little light he could find, and use it to form an image of what lay in front of him. Still stuck somewhat in the murkiness of his childhood reminisce, Moxely's curled form came to his eyes almost as soon as he had opened them. However, once logic weighed in –setting a reminder in his subconscious that he had long since left behind his childhood home – his eyes began to let go of the precious memory, and forge from its own steeliness, the true sight of Roman's sleeping face mere millimeters from his own. Following the flow of silky black hair, he found that some rogue strands had bunched together to lie away from Roman, and subsequently end up near his own face when he had decided to move closer to the sleeping Samoan. From close range, Roman's steady breathing could be both heard and felt – the latter resembling the feel of a cool summer breeze running across his face – and the overall body heat that had entangled him made him feel overall cozy, and at peace. Instinctively, he pulled his hand closer to the fragments of Roman's face his hampered vision was able to make out, and gently rubbed the man's short-bearded jaw – smiling gently as his fingers lapped up the feel of rough bristles and the soft skin buried beneath them.
"You've gotten big, Moxley." Slipped out from his mouth in a much sleep-ridden tone of voice.
He scoffed lightly to himself as he thought once more on the now fading dream he had about his little cat. The memory forced up a heaviness from deep inside his soul, and threw it onto his mood– forcing it to nose-dive towards a bottomless depression. Sadness purposefully clawed its way into his heart the longer he thought upon Moxley, however as he felt Roman's breath wash over him once more, the impending sorrow allotted to him slipped back between the cracks and vanished as the hole in his heart finally closed shut.
The dream he had just been a part of soon left the longer he stayed awake. Piece by piece he was having trouble recollecting that part of his past, as his mind took pleasure in vividly remembering what had just happened a mere moments ago to lead up to what was now his very real present. The feel of Roman's fingers, lips, tongue, and manhood set his body on fire, and soon had him squirming beneath the sheets in an effort to calm himself down. His eyes shut for a moment to gather the concentration needed to prevent himself from attacking the sleeping Samoan, however in doing so, he invited the recollection of Roman's deep, and seductive voice that shattered him down to the bone every time the larger man made a sound too close to his ear.
Unable to get any relief with his eyes closed, he opened them once more to see Roman's sleeping face. The older man was obviously unaffected by his now sturdy erection. Taking this into account, Dean slipped his caressing hand down the gullet of the cotton sheet – clasping onto his own manhood as he did. With his blue eyes locked on sultrily to Roman's chiseled face, he began stroking himself with every recollection of the older man's voice as it called his name, and touch as it felt his body.
The sound of the door opening brought him from his descent into uncontrollable lust, and quickly had him pulling his hand back to his upper chest and burying closer to Roman so as to camouflage his awake status beneath the guise of sleep.
Light-weight footsteps seemingly glided across the floor – making little to no contact with it – only to stop at the start of the bed with as much quickness as their arrival. Beneath his naked chest, his heart drummed away at a mile a minute, coughing up pools of sweat as an aftermath. Due to his huddled position, his eyes now focused on the exposed flesh of Roman's board chest, and the scent of the older man sent him into a lust-driven frenzy – one that made no qualms about adding to the immense strain that had already been present in his erection.
"Roman." A soft voice called, bringing his heart to a sudden halt. "I'm sorry." Blue eyes craned as far upwards as they could without moving the head they were attached to, and found in their sights a fragmented figure of a person now leaning down to Roman. In slow motion, he watched slightly terrified as the figure leaned into the side of Roman's face, leaving behind the sound of a light smacking sound – denoting that lips had just left Roman's cheek. "Goodbye."
The figure quickly turned away and slipped through the crack in the door – returning it to a closed position without so much as a trace of it having had been any different.
Feeling the tension of the first few seconds lifting from his body, he slowly raised his head and found the room void of the visitor. Curious, he began to sit up only to feel Roman's heavy arm quickly falling across his stomach and clutching on for dear life. His eyes looked down at Roman's arm, and soon followed it back to the older man. Still locked in the confines of sleep, Reigns shuffled forward to deepen his hold on the slender waist chained beneath his muscular arm.
"Don't… go" He mumbled much to the surprise of the man he lay clinging to. "Please…" His voice cracked, "don't go."
An uneasy silence soon infested the room and held its ground firmly above both men. After much time spent inside the silent chamber, he decided to slip back down and huddle close to Roman – a reaction that was well rewarded when the older man held him close, and returned to him the memory of peace he once shared with a tiny Moxley lying next to him on his prison cot bed.