Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Slash (Reigns/Ambrose), Mild Smut, AU, Homelessness, Direct follow on from Xmas Carols chapter 9 - Carol of the Bells.
I'll let you know when we need your services again. - Roman Reigns
Secrets aren't things Dean has ever really kept from Punk. Secrets are the domain of scurriers, and Dean isn't a scurrier, or at least he wasn't a scurrier. He's hovering around the fringes of the scurrying world, picking up their bad habits. Bad habits like secrets, like lying, or at least hiding the truth. He can't tell Punk that he's not got work tomorrow, he can't Punk that he's not going to have money coming in for reasons he doesn't know. He's no idea what Roman's playing at, but he has sneaking suspicions, sneaking ideas that his boss, former boss maybe, isn't happy that Dean in no uncertain terms turned him down. There's only one solution to this that Dean can see, and that is he has to go and talk to his boss. He has to explain how much he needs this job, he has to explain that he can't not have it, and he has to keep the negotiations, and the unstable future a secret from Punk.
"What is this?" Dean tosses his cell onto the desk Roman's sitting behind, fury making Dean feel twitchy but awareness of the precarious nature of this situation keeping him somewhat calm. Roman looks utterly unimpressed with Dean's bristling self-contained ire. All he does is pick up Dean's cell with two fingers, his eyebrow raising as a sneering smirk spreads over his lips.
"It appears to be a cell phone... A cheap cell phone. " Roman sets the cell back down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches Dean pace.
"I'll let you know when we need your services again." Dean knows the text by heart, he's read it a thousand times, he's panicked over it since it arrived. "I don't... I..." Dean trails off, staring almost helplessly at Roman. "I need this job... I need to ke-"
"For your boyfriend." Roman rolls his eyes, and uses one finger to nudge Dean's phone. "He's not much of anything though, is he? Kind of rough around the edges, and really, lets face it, he'll forget all about you soon enough." The sneering smirk spreads over Roman's lips again. "He's got himself a doctor now-"
"How the fuck do you know about that?" Dean slams his hands onto the desk, his eyes narrowed, the desire to punch Roman in his smugly smirking mouth is almost overwhelming.
"I have my ways." Roman shrugs, and taps Dean's phone once more. "A doctor is a little more interesting than a barely educated, homeless bar tender, especially for something like your boyfriend." Dean winces at Roman's words. The insults thrown at Dean stung, but they were nothing but the truth, the real insult was Roman calling Punk a thing. Punk is more than Roman could hope to be, he's no right to speak of Punk in that tone or those terms.
"I..." Dean sighs, and flops into the chair opposite Roman. "What do you want? I need to keep this job, I need money coming in."
"Until he leaves you, because we both know that as soon as he's got that doctor wrapped around his grimy little finger, he's going to go frolicking off into the sunset with the good Doctor Colton." Roman stands, and wanders around the desk to stand behind Dean, his hands rest heavily on Dean's shoulders. "He's not worth your time, Dean... On the streets I'm sure he was a good fuckbuddy, but you're worth so much more than a forgetful whore-"
"Don't call him that." Dean had wanted it to be shout, had wanted his voice to be full of the venomous rage he can feel bubbling inside of him, but it'd been a soft little whisper, a mere murmur of misery rather than the righteous roar it should have been.
"He was a whore though, wasn't he?" Roman laughs softly. "A pretty good one from what I've heard, but a whore all the same. Nothing I'm saying isn't something you've thought yourself. He's going to leave you, it's just a matter of time. He's probably with the doctor right now. They're probably laughing at you and your pathetic attempts to keep him as we speak... I'd... No nevermind." Roman laughs softly, and squeezes Dean's shoulders.
"You'd?" Dean prompts, trying to keep his mind from drawing the image he'd seen one night, the image of Punk in the doctor's arms, the image of them hugging, no embracing. Punk never lets anyone hold him but Dean, yet he was contentedly being held by the doctor in public, his face pressed against the doctor's neck, after Dean had retreated to the room they'd probably kissed. The strange scent of another person clinging to Punk every so often since that night the doctor had saved Punk's life has probably always been the scent of Dr Colton. Punk's more than likely not been out working, he's more than likely been out sucking the doctor off behind Dean's back, but it's okay, because Punk always comes back to Dean. He can share Punk, just so long as he's getting most of Punk, he can live without having all of him, so long as the majority of Punk is Dean's.
"I'd... Well, let's face it Dean, nothing I could say will sway you. You're in love with your cheating little whore, and even if I were to offer to treat you the way you deserve, you'd never accept my... Advances, shall we say?" Roman laughs softly, and leans down, his lips brushing Dean's hair. "There is, as I see it, only one way for me to get you into my bed, my darling, and that way is... Well, it's not what I want, but it really is the only way to get you." Roman comes back around, and sits behind his desk once more. "You can keep this little job if, and only if, you sleep with me." Dean laughs, a sharp bark of laughter that almost seems to echo in the room. He has to be joking, there's no way Roman can be serious, but the look on his face is deadly serious, the air in the room is heavy with seriousness.
"You want me to have sex with you for this job?" Dean says slowly, realisation dawning on him slowly. "You want me to who-"
"I want you in general, but your whore has you, so this is the only way I can show you the depth of my attraction." Roman examines his nails with a affected air of disinterest, but Dean can see through the act all too clearly. He's serious about this, he wants Dean to fuck him, or be fucked by him, in order to keep this shitty little job. This shitty little job that keeps a roof over Dean's, and more importantly over Punk's, head. "Once your amnesiac whore runs off with his doctor, we can drop the pre-tense, but essentially, I want you to have sex with me regularly, and in return I'll let you keep the job here at the club."
"Punk ain't gonna-"
"We both know he is, Dean. Come on! You, and no offence to you, but you're nothing on a doctor. Do you really think someone like Punk." Roman sneers Punk's name like it was offensive, like it was a terrible slur to the English language, and Dean winces at the sound of it. "Is going to pass up the opportunity to be kept in the lap of luxury? He's been the streets same as you, if you were in his shoes wouldn't you do the same thing? Wouldn't you be trying to milk dear, sweet Dr Colton for all he was worth?" Dean shakes his head. He can't imagine being in Punk's shoes, he never has been able to imagine what it must be like for Punk, for there to be a hole where there should be a past, for there to be nothing but blank white pages where there should be chapter upon chapter of history. "You want him to be happy don't you?" Roman smiles softly, and Dean nods.
"All I want is for him to be happy." It's true, so true. All Dean has ever wanted for Punk is his happiness. If it's not with Dean, if it's with the doctor, then he'll let him go. There's no way Dean will ever stand in the way of Punk's happiness, no matter where it's found.
"Then do this one little thing for him. You have sex with me, and your precious little Punk is happy." A broad smile settles over Roman's lips, and Dean finds himself staring down at the carpet. He can't find a good argument to counter Roman's words. He can't begin to work out how to explain that sleeping with Roman won't equate to Punk being happy. He can't really begin to explain that to himself, so how can he explain it to someone else. Everything Roman's said so far has made sense, every doubt Dean's had about Punk and the doctor's relationship, every doubt he's had about his and Punk's relationship, Roman's covered, he's showed them as problems solved by sleeping with him.
Dean spends his shift in a strange kind of haze, he contemplates calling Punk a thousand times, but whenever he goes to dial, Roman's words come back to him. Punk would be so much better off with the doctor. He'd have somewhere warm and safe to live, somewhere that's not likely to be lost because of one missed paycheque. He'd be with someone stable, someone who knows him, someone who could help him remember who he was, someone who could heal him. Those thoughts keep Dean from dialling, they keep him working, and thinking about fucking Roman. He's not sure if he's dreading or almost looking forward to it. Roman's not unattractive. If it wasn't for Punk, Dean would probably jump at the chance to have sex with such a good looking guy, but there is Punk, and there is the love Dean has for him, and there is this horrible mire of lies surrounding the whole thing. It's the sort of mess that would never happen on the streets, the sort of mess only scurriers would get themselves into, and Dean's furious with himself for being in this position, but there's nothing he can do about it.
Roman smiles when Dean shuffles into the back room, a big indulgent feline smile. The sort of smile that makes Dean feel weirdly unwell.
"So..." Dean's fingers go to the shirt of his uniform, starting to unbutton it.
"Dean, do you think I'm some kind of animal?" Roman laughs, and tosses Dean an expensive looking bag. "Get changed, we're going to eat, then I'll take you home." Roman's smile bleeds into a leer, and Dean glances into the bag. Inside is an expensive looking set of clothes, and he swallows thickly. It seems Roman wants to dress him up and show him off before fucking him.
"I'll just go-"
"Here. Get changed for me here." Roman steeples his fingers under his chin, and smirks. Dean changes efficiently, despite knowing Roman was probably hoping for a strip tease of sorts. He's too nervous for seduction, too nervous for anything but this to be over with. Roman laughs once Dean's dressed, and takes the bag, now with Dean's uniform in it, from him. "Work on that, okay?" Dean nods dumbly, and follows along behind him. "So, I wasn't too sure where would be open this late, so I'm afraid that when I said we're going to eat, I just meant to Seth's place." Roman smiles, and takes Dean's hand. "I want you to do a good job of convincing him we're happy together. He doesn't know about our little arrangement, and well, I don't think he needs to, does he?" Dean shakes his head, and Roman squeezes his hand firmly. "Does he?"
"No, Roman, this is between you and me." This is for Punk, Dean adds silently to himself. The lies he's telling are racking up, and he can feel something dark solidifying in the pit of his stomach. This isn't what he wanted for his life off the streets. He'd wanted to find somewhere to keep Punk safe, he'd wanted to find a job to earn enough money to keep Punk safe, he'd wanted to keep Punk. He'd never wanted to be someone's whore off the streets, it was bad enough on them, but off them Dean had wanted to be Punk's and Punk's alone.
Dinner with Seth is as short as it is easy. It was scarily easy to fall into the role of being Roman's lover, easy to laugh off the brief mention of Punk Seth made, easy to say that Punk had decided to move on, easy to lie about Punk and the doctor being together. Saying it hadn't hurt as much as Dean had expected it to, it'd felt more like simply stating a fact than he'd wanted it to. It's easy to picture Punk curled up in the doctor's arms, easy to see them happy together, easy and Dean almost thinks inevitable. Roman was right, if their roles were reversed Dean would jump at the security dating a doctor would offer, he'd cling for all he was worth to such a valuable saviour. At least that's what Dean keeps telling himself, even as he follows Roman up the steps to his home, Dean keeps telling himself that Punk will be better off with the doctor, and Dean only needs to do this for as long as it takes Punk to leave him. Punk won't stay, he can't stay, not with Dean cheating on him, not with Dean having to lie to him, not with Dean betraying him like this.
Roman doesn't wait long before pouncing on Dean, kissing him forcefully, pulling at Dean's hair, pushing him back against the solid wood door. His hands are big, far bigger than Punk's and he touches Dean in all the wrong places, clumsily fumbling where Punk moves with confidence. Dean reacts as though it pleases him though, he acts as though Roman's caress is enjoyable, arousing even, arching into the hand that gropes roughly down his back.
"C'mon, upstairs." Roman rumbles in his ear, and Dean doesn't bother answering. He thinks that Roman more than likely doesn't care if he answers or not, so long as he follows.
The bedroom is vast, the bed positioned centrally, so large it overpowers the entire room. Dean fidgets slightly, and Roman presses himself to Dean's back. "Take these off more interestingly than you put them on." Dean nods dumbly as he watches Roman strip off his clothes quickly and throw himself onto the bed. The sound of a lube bottle opening might only be a soft little pop of sound in normal circumstances, but in that room it's impossibly loud. Strip teases aren't something Dean's well versed in, and in all honesty he feels like a liar gyrating for Roman's entertainment, but he looks entertained. His dark eyes are riveted to Dean's movements, hungrily running over the skin Dean's slowly revealing. "C'mere." Roman beckons him closer once Dean's naked, and draws him into a kiss. There's a part of Dean that's enjoying it, but there's always that part of him that loses itself to the feel of another person. That little part is all but drowned out by the shrieking of the rest of his mind. The parts of him that are distraught that Dean is allowing someone who isn't Punk to touch him, to kiss him, all without the exchange of money. There's an exchange going on here, but it's not of money, it's of security. Dean makes the sacrifice of his body, and Punk can remain safe and secure, at least until he leaves. Roman's reasoning still resonates in Dean's mind. Roman's words struck deep chords in him, deep well buried chords that had been slowly being revealed over the time Punk's ben visiting with the doctor, and are now resonating to the tune of Roman's words.
"Roman, I-"
"Shh." Roman doesn't let Dean talk, instead he presses Dean down to the bed and starts prepping his ass. It's slow and teasing, and under the right circumstances Dean would be enjoying this, but its not the right circumstances, it's so far from them that it's all Dean can do to keep from shuddering. "Touch yourself, think of your cheating whore... Whatever you need to do to enjoy this, do it." Roman mutters as he nips at Dean's neck, and slowly penetrates him. "I want you to come. In time you'll come from just me, but if you need to use your imagination right now, that's okay." Roman presses a kiss to Dean's temple, and Dean keeps his eyes closed. In his mind he's not thinking of Punk, he can't dirty Punk with this act. In his mind he's thinking of nothing in particular. He's trying to summon up something arousing, something to get him off. Thankfully, as Roman speeds up, the simulation to Dean's prostate increases. His cock fills, and his own orgasm isn't as impossibly difficult to find as he'd expected. He manages to come, and Roman seems content enough.
Once the deed is done, Dean can't stick around. Roman has already casually dismissed him, or at least that's what Dean takes rolling over and saying goodbye meant. He can't imagine it was an offer to stay the night, not that he wants to though. He wants to go back to the dingy little motel room, and curl around Punk's sleeping body. He wants to hold Punk close, and lose himself in the feeling of Punk in his arms.
When he arrives at the motel, Punk's asleep, the blankets pulled up to his nose, curled up on his side, the space behind him vast and inviting, but Dean can't step any nearer to him. The thought of laying in bed with Punk, of being so close to him whilst he can still feel the ghost of Roman over him, inside of him makes him feel sick, and Dean retreats to the shower. As he staggers more than anything out of the bathroom, Punk's eyes fix him in place.
"Hey Punk... I didn't mean to wake you." Dean presses his back against the wall. He feels exposed without a shirt, dressed as he is in only some threadbare boxers.
"You're back late." Punk smiles softly, and throws the covers off from Dean's side of the bed. "C'mon, come to bed, and you can tell me all about your exciting adventures at work tomorrow." Punk yawns, and flops back down. Dean stays where he is, and considers how long it'll take Punk to fall back asleep, and how likely it is that he'll be able to sleep in the chair. He can't sleep next to Punk, he can't sully Punk with this thing with Roman. Dean had once told himself that he wanted to be a hero for Punk, and in some ways that's what this is, though in that moment he doesn't feel all that heroic.
The whole week is a repeat of the same, and the longer it goes on, the more Dean feels empty. It's as though the lies are kicking out all of who Dean is, and leaving nothing but this strange emptiness inside of him. He burns to hold Punk, but he can't, so he doesn't. He can see it hurts Punk, can see it in a million tiny and huge ways, but there's nothing to be done. Dean has to do this, and Punk will never know the hows, or the whys of it, but it'll be okay, because Punk will go to the doctor. In the end Punk will be safe, and that is all that matters.
The motel room is empty when Dean gets back, and there's a part of him that's not surprise. It's been a week since this deal with Roman started. A week of fucking Roman, and tomorrow he has a day off, but Punk's not there. A week of ignoring him, a week of coming back late, and sneaking out early, a week of coming home, and scrubbing himself in the shower, of sleeping on the chair because he can't bear to lay by Punk whilst knowing he's been fucked by another man. A week where Dean's ached for Punk, to hold him, to kiss him, to touch him even, but he can't. Every time Dean thinks of laying a hand on Punk, he thinks of Roman moving inside of him, of Roman's hands in his hair, of Roman's tongue in his mouth, and he feels off. Not sick, like Dean wants to feel, but not himself. He feels sullied, dirty in a way that sleeping with a client never made him feel. He doesn't hate sleeping with Roman, he mostly hates that he's sleeping with him under these circumstances. He hates lies, hates how much like a scurrier he feels, hates how much he's pushed Punk away in just one short week. He drags himself to the shower, and tries very hard to not think about where Punk might be, tires very hard to not picture how he must be curled up safe and warm with his doctor. For all he hates the idea, Dean can't shake the inevitability of Punk leaving him, because it feels inevitable at this stage.
Once out of the shower, Dean flops onto the bed, his eyes drifting closed when the cell phone chirps. He imagines it'll be Roman, he hopes it'll be Punk, he does not expect who it actually is.
Are you in your motel room, Mr Ambrose? I would like to talk to you. - Dr Scott Colton
Many thanks to - Moiself, VKxXx92, grleviathan,xXDanceGirlXx, Brokenspell77, littleone1389, and roksand.
It's short... I know, I'm sorry for that. I thank you for your patience, and understanding with this fic. ^-^ Real life has been tough lately, the highspots few and far between, and your reviews are one of those, each and every review is like a single ray of sunshine in the overcast day that has been my existence. I'll aim to get another chapter out for the 29th. Once more, thank you for your unspoken and presumed patience.
I cannot stress this enough - PLEASE REVIEW - even a few words keeps me motivated!