A/N: My continued gratitude to everyone who's reading this. I apologize in advance to anybody who's hoping for actual plot in because there is none - at all - in this chapter. This is as close as I get to pure fluff, although there's just a tiny bit of dark in the first bit here. Entirely Ambregal, long, and a little silly. Enjoy.
XI. Space to Breathe
Something was after him.
Dean didn't know where he was - like his old high school or something, who the fuck knew? - but he was running because he knew that whatever was behind him was coming to kill him.
"Liiiiiittle raaaaaaabbit!"
Behind him somewhere, in the dark place, that fucking voice.
Wyatt's voice, drawled out and ghostly and echoing everywhere off the crazily twisting walls.
"Liiiiiiiittle raaaaaabbit! Where aaaaaaare you?"
Legs were churning, but it was like was running through tar. Something sticky. Something slowing him down.
Up ahead there was a door, he couldn't see it but he knew it was there.
Ran for it, through it, and into-
Where?
Daytime. Big old trees with long limbs reaching down like gnarled old hands. Outside somewhere. Sunshine.
"Gimme her," a little girl said. She was behind the trees. "Gimme her back."
"I just wanna show Max." A boy's voice. Quiet.
"No! No, he'll hurt her."
Sound of a dog barking.
And suddenly, somehow, Dean was standing on the other side of the trees, there but not, watching a heavyset boy - seven, eight? - talking to a tiny little girl. They had the same brown hair and blue eyes. Brother and sister, probably.
There was a dog - German Shepherd or something - tied to a tree nearby, barking its stupid head off.
The boy had a gray stuffed animal of some kind in one hand and was holding it over the little girl's head.
"Gimme her!" the little girl said, stomping her feet.
"I just wanna show it to Max." The boy walked over to the dog, stuffed animal still in hand. The fucking dog went apeshit, biting and snapping at the end of it fuckin' tether like it was fucking rabid.
The little girl ran up to the chubby kid and grabbed his arm. "No. No! Don't! Don't hurt Lucy."
The boy turned and shoved her away hard enough to make her fall down. "Quit. Just be quiet."
Stop this, some little voice whispered in Dean's head. It's alive. You gotta stop it.
"Oh, fuck," he said. Tried to move. He couldn't.
He wasn't there.
The boy held the stuffed animal - "No, no, it's real!" Dean tried to shout - out for the dog to sniff.
The dog snapped the fucking thing out of the kid's hands, right by the fucking neck and shook and shook and shook it while the chubby kid backed up and watched, this creepy fucking smile on his face.
What came out of the toy wasn't stuffing at all.
It was red.
The little girl finally got up and raced over. Her dress was dirty and she was bleeding and she was screaming. "No! No, no, no! Stop it! Stop it! He's hurting her! Make him stop. Make him stop!"
The boy turned and shoved her down again. There was nothing on his face but that creepy smile. "It's too late. Too late. Don't you see? It's like Daddy says: the strong eat the weak."
Dean tried to move again - kick that little shit's ass, that's fucking blood right there, oh God, what the fuck - but was still fucking paralyzed.
"I'm tellin' Daddy!" the little girl yelled from where she'd fallen. She was crying. "I'll tell! I'm tellin' Daddy what you done! He'll put a hurt on you good!"
The creepy smile left the kid's face. "No. No, no, no, don't do that. Don't do that. Don't tell him. I'll get you a new rabbit. A better one. I swear. I swear."
The little girl kept crying.
Dean turned away.
Bray Wyatt was standing right in front of him, close enough to kiss.
Laughing and laughing and laughing.
"Liiiiiittle raaaaabit," he sing-songed.
And lunged, teeth bared, straight for Dean's throat-
Dean snapped awake, suddenly, body tensing as he pulled down a sharp, startled breath.
Heart thumping in his ears: thwap-THWAP, thwap-THWAP.
Something was touching him, brushing lightly across the side of his head, through his hair, and back across to his temple.
Blanket on him, warm and heavy. A light around, but nowhere near as bright as the sunshine he'd just been in.
Quiet.
Bed, his mind supplied groggily, as he blinked himself awake.
He lifted his head, looking around through slitted, bleary eyes.
Regal's room, and Regal was sitting up next to him, reading a book. The hand he'd had on Dean's head was now back in his own lap.
Weak daylight bled in through a gap in the curtains.
It had been full dark when Dean came in here, middle of the night, and Regal'd been asleep - hadn't even stirred when Dean slipped in next to him, still a little jittery from the nightmare that had woken him up before.
Head full of boogeymen, and Dean had always been more prone to bad dreams than most, even before this latest batch of Wyatt-fueled ones. Having other people in the room didn't stop them, but it helped him shake them off faster when there was someone else actually there - awake or not, it didn't matter; it was just that there was someone there besides him and the shit in his head.
Fucking Wyatt.
Earlier, he'd dreamed he was in an arena and trying to get to the ring because he had to warn Seth and Roman that Wyatt was coming. When he finally got there, he found the ring empty. Wyatt suddenly appeared and lit the whole fucking thing on fire, trapping Dean inside.
Dean had woken up slapping at the flames he swore to God he could feel charring his skin, and the sound of laughter in his ears.
So he'd come in here and fortunately hadn't woken Regal up.
He'd meant to stay awake and get out of here once he calmed down, but he guessed he'd fallen asleep before that happened.
Regal, meanwhile, had set his book down in his lap and was looking over, not much in his expression except maybe a question. "Bad dream?"
Dean nodded.
"Wyatt?"
Another nod.
Apparently taking the I don't wanna talk right now hint, Regal reached over and patted Dean's shoulder. "Well, it's early yet, lad. Go back to sleep."
Liiiiiittle raaaaaabit.
Yeah, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon, that was for fucking sure.
Wordlessly, avoiding eye contact, Dean pried himself up out of the bed and padded off to use the bathroom.
The dream had already begun to slide away from him, a little, but every time he blinked he swore he could see Wyatt - beard and hat and all - standing right the fuck in front of him.
Grinning.
Made him feel a little like he had something crawling under his skin.
Liiiittle raaaaabbit.
"My rabbit!"
"Fuck," he muttered, hunched over the sink. He splashed cold water on his face and rubbed some on the back of his neck, which helped a little, but when he straightened he did a double-take in the mirror because he thought he saw the brim of a hat peeking around the corner.
Get it together, asshole, he told himself.
Nothing out there.
He was fine.
The hallway was empty and he was fine.
Nothing in the spare room, either - all his stuff was there, exactly where he'd left it last night.
He grabbed his phone and one other thing from his bag, pocketing both on his way back to Regal's room.
Regal was right where Dean left him, propped up against his headboard on a couple of pillows, rocking a sleep-rumpled black tee shirt and a serious case of bed-head (which, like trying to think of Regal as William, seemed weird, given up until recently he'd never seen the guy anything less than totally put together), covers pulled up to his waist and a paperback in hand.
No fucking monsters anywhere.
Fucking Wyatt and that weird-ass fucking dream, putting all that shit in his head - the whole thing with those two little kids and the rabbit had been as vivid as watching a movie, way more vivid than his earlier fire dream had been.
Dean climbed back in bed, still avoiding anything like eye contact, and more grateful than he probably should have been that Regal wasn't bombarding him with a million questions.
This was one of those times when talking would just make shit worse.
He stretched out on his back under the covers and laced both hands under his head, staring up at the ceiling, and listened to the occasional rustle of pages turning and the just-audible sounds of both of them breathing, and finally felt those clawing little dream-fingers fucking let go.
Regal's hand found its way over to Dean's head again, running absently from Dean's forehead back until it met Dean's hands, but when Dean stole a quick look over out of the corner of his eye, Regal was still reading.
It was like his hand just got away from him or something.
There was a part of Dean that really wanted to push the hand away - What am I, a fucking dog or something? Why are you petting me? - but the rest of him was honestly just too lazy to give a crap. It wasn't annoying - felt kinda nice, actually - and it really wasn't worth fighting about.
Especially since Regal seemed to be going out of his way not to make a big deal about Dean sneaking into his bed - when he had every right to, after that bullshit Dean pulled the other night, trying to choke him to death, something that even now Dean couldn't think about without wanting to apologize all over again.
Fucking Wyatt.
But Dean didn't want to think about him anymore.
Didn't want to think about anything.
Wasn't going to be able to sleep, though, and didn't feel like getting up to go watch TV in the living room, which only left one other choice:
He pulled one of his hands free from behind his head and caught Regal's wrist, rubbing his thumb over the veins on the underside.
Regal looked over, eyebrows raised in silent question.
Dean shifted over to tug the paperback out of Regal's other hand, and leaned across to set it facedown on the nightstand.
It probably, he thought as he crawled over to straddle Regal's lap, would have been better to ask if this was okay than assume, but Regal didn't object; if anything, he just seemed curious, giving Dean a look that was just What on Earth are you doing, dear boy?
His hands found their way to Dean's thighs, fingertips just slipping up under the edges of Dean's shorts.
He never said a word, but Dean thought he saw Regal nod a little, and he felt something in his chest loosen as he leaned forward and down for one of many long, unhurried kisses.
His own hands wandered up to rest on Regal's shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric there, while one of Regal's made its way up to the back of Dean's neck and the other slid up and down Dean's side.
No shirt for Dean, which just seemed fucking unfair, so eventually he dragged Regal's shirt off and moved off just long enough for Regal to throw the covers off.
They messed around for a while, Dean again straddling Regal's hips, the pair of them trading more of those unhurried kisses, hands aimlessly slipping and skimming everywhere, that frenzied edge that had been between them so far mostly gone.
It was a rambling conversation that would work its way around to the point in its own time.
Dean, whose entire focus narrowed to Regal under him (a surreal fucking sight if there ever was one, but Dean didn't see that sunlight-on-gunmetal flash in the old man's eyes that would've warned him this wasn't okay), was pretty fine with that.
Wild horses wouldn't drag it out of him, but he honestly felt too sore, too fucking raw right now to let Regal ride him the way he had yesterday afternoon
Slow and easy was the way.
He moved down between Regal's legs and worked Regal into a quiet lather with a long blowjob, not really trying to get him off, more just aiming to wind him up, pay him back for all the bullshit teasing he'd done yesterday morning - it was probably twenty minutes of pure (awesome as fuck) torture before the bastard had finally let Dean come, by which point Dean was almost out of his damn mind with need - and to give him kind of a preemptive strike for whatever the fuck this bet shit was going to be.
He looked up at one point and found Regal staring down at him, flushed and glassy-eyed and his hair a messy fucking tangle around his head - even worse than Seth and Roman's tended to get - and not at all the put-together Regal he'd always been at FCW.
Had two quick thougts: a surprised, Huh, not bad, and a smug, I'm the fuckin' man.
Eventually, he hooked his own shorts off and snagged the lube he'd grabbed earlier out of his pocket.
Holding eye contact, he got himself ready, taking longer than maybe necessary to stretch himself out (sore, but as long as he didn't get too wild, he guessed he'd be fine), and get nice and slicked up.
When Regal reached up to try to hurry things along, Dean slapped his hand away, snickering at the sharp look Regal gave him.
"What'd you tell me that time?" Dean asked, reaching down to massage some lube onto Regal's cock. "'The best things come to those who wait?'"
"Of all the times for you to remember that," Regal muttered through his teeth. Rough-voiced. He got that way when he was ready to go, Dean had noticed. "Rotten bastard."
Dean laughed. "Payback's a bitch."
He straddled Regal's lap again, lined himself up, and slowly sank down, wincing a little at the stretch and burn.
I, he thought suddenly as that sense of being fucking full hit him again, am about to ride William fucking Regal's dick.
It struck him as weirdly hilarious, and he burst out laughing.
Regal squinted up at him. "What?"
"All those times at FCW when people accused you of riding my dick," Dean explained, hands falling to the sides of Regal's stomach. "If they only knew."
"Indeed," Regal replied, smiling himself. "I have to say, though, as much as I appreciate your sense of humor, perhaps you could wait until after we've finished…?"
Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, are you in a hurry, or something?"
"I'm saying, idiot boy," Regal said, shifting, "move."
"Hmm." Dean lifted up and ground down once. Bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. Felt pretty fucking good, actually - better than he wanted Regal to know yet. He made himself stop. Smirked down. "What, like that?"
"Yes, like that," Regal said, with an answering smile that said he wasn't fooled. "Just exactly like that. Now move."
"Nope," Dean said. "You don't get to tell me what to do this time. You're just gonna have to lay there and fuckin' deal. I'll getcha there - when I'm ready to."
Regal's eyes narrowed. "I know a hundred and one ways to flip us, you know."
"Yeah, but you won't," Dean replied confidently. "Know why? 'Cuz you like this. You'd have stopped me by now if you didn't." He rolled his hips a couple more times, biting his lower lip. Maybe not real sore, but sore enough the easy slide was still a little painful.
In a really fucking good way.
It caught him completely by surprise when Regal sat up suddenly and dragged him down for a hard kiss, biting and fast, almost more of a fight than a kiss, but one that left them both gasping like fucking steam engines afterward, and Dean just fucking lit-up all over again.
Afterward, Regal smeared his thumb across Dean's lower lip. "All right. Have it your way."
Dean sucked Regal's thumb between his teeth and bit down, gently. "Fucking relax, then. Told ya - I'll get ya there."
And he did, too, sinking back down and rocking and rolling on Regal's dick the way Seth used to do to him when Seth was feeling all playful and shit: a certain way to roll his hips, alternating between slow and fast movements, pausing to jerk his own dick for a little bit just to be an asshole, and basically just drawing it out as long as he could.
Savoring every impatient look and little growl, and fuck, no wonder Regal got off on doing this kind of shit.
It was kind of a heady feeling.
He watched Regal's pale eyes go all hazy and, like, soft and shit, the way they tended to when was really getting into it, and had to bite back the smart-ass I told you so, asshole that was just begging to be said right now.
For once, this one time, self-control won out and he managed to swallow that back and stayed focused.
Finally, he reached his own tipping point and ground himself down hard- bottom lip once again sucked between his teeth because holy fuck that stretching slide felt good - while he worked himself over furiously one-handed until, finally, bottomed out as far as he could go on Regal's dick, he came all over his fist and Regal's stomach, shuddering, feeling it hit him like a fucking wave - pain-pleasure, intense, rolling over him and then finally, receding.
(Why the fuck didn't I ever do this before?)
After that, he stopped fucking around - tugging Regal's hands up from the mattress and guiding them to his hips, too fucked-out numb to care how hard they clamped on or how hard Regal pushed up into him - and got to fucking in earnest.
He ground down while Regal raised up, and they hit together like that again and again until, finally, Regal squeezed his eyes shut and Dean felt him coming.
Quiet about it this time, as quiet as Dean had been, just a few hitching breaths and he was gone.
Dean stayed right where he was for a bit, grinning, pleased with himself.
Regal finally opened his eyes, and immediately rolled them. "Don't you bloody dare-"
"I told you," Dean said.
"-say…" Regal shoved Dean's shoulder. "Brat."
But he dragged Dean down for another long kiss, this one a lot slower and much less biting than before, although Dean deliberately wiping his come-covered hand on Regal's chest did eventually get him shoved away with another muttered, half-smiling, "Such a bloody child."
"Yup," Dean said agreeably. He rolled away and padded off to go clean himself up, while Regal did the same.
They met back on Regal's bed again, both of them pulling their shorts back on and stretching out - Dean in his already-familiar sprawl on his stomach, and Regal on his back with his hands tucked behind his head.
"I did like that," Regal said, apropos of nothing.
"So did I," Dean admitted. But not wanting to dwell, he said, "What've you got goin' on today? Anything?"
"I've got to be at the Performance Center around ten-thirty," Regal said after a bit. He sounded as tired as Dean felt. "I have meetings, and the roster evaluations are due today. That'll take me most of the afternoon. I was thinking after that, we'd have dinner and then this evening, if you wanted, we could try our hand at some card games."
"Sounds like a plan," Dean said through a yawn, heavy eyelids sliding shut. "I'm coming with you. You know that, right?"
"I expected as much, yes," Regal said. "I'm going to be busy while I'm there, but I can arrange a full-access tour to the Center for you, if you'd like. If you want to get a workout in, you can do that first and then go play 'round in the commentary booth or - whatever you want, really. See what sort of trouble you can find for yourself."
"Sweet," Dean mumbled.
He'd been bummed out they hadn't let anybody mess around with that stuff during the Superstars' tour of the facility last year, and he hadn't had a chance to get back since then, so a chance to get back and have a real look around sounded like a good way to get out of his own head for an afternoon.
Light fingers drew lines down his side. "Go back to sleep, then. I'll wake you in an hour or so."
Half-asleep already, Dean nodded.
Felt the bed shift and felt kiss brushed across his cheek.
He made a sleepy noise of protest - don't - and turned his face away.
The hand left his back, and when he heard the quiet, annoyed sigh next to him, he felt his own irritation rise.
Always did with Seth, too, when Seth pulled shit like that.
But, seriously, why the fuck would Regal be doing shit like that in the first place?
He was still wondering about that when sleep finally dragged him back under.
xXx
They played it off like nothing happened when they got up later, things slotting pretty much back into the same grooves it had been for the last couple days, quiet and laid back, and that suited Dean just fine.
Turned out to be a good day, actually.
He stopped worrying about Wyatt the second they made it to the Performance Center's parking lot: it was about two-thirds full, which meant there were enough people around that even if Wyatt showed his face, Dean seriously doubted he'd try anything.
A lot of NXT guys had axes to grind against the guy, too.
After a decent workout and a quick lunch in the Center's cafeteria, he met up with the pipsqueak of an intern Regal'd found to take him around the place.
The last stop on the tour was the commentary room, a booth set up where guys could call matches, and it was there Dean spent the most time. He slipped on a headset and called maybe half a dozen classic matches, even getting the intern into the act (kid wasn't great, but Dean heard worse regularly from fucking JBL).
In fact, it was there Regal found him.
Dean finished one match, and heard, from the doorway behind him, "You know, once your in-ring career winds down, I think you'd be a fantastic fit for match-calling. You're rather a natural at it."
Swiveling around in his chair, Dean shot him a smile. "I do know how to run my mouth, don't I?"
One corner of Regal's mouth twitched. "That you do." He moved out of the way so the intern could leave, murmuring his thanks as the kid walked away. Then he leaned sideways against the door frame again and hung his jacket over an arm. (No suit for him today - just slacks and a black WWE polo. It was warm and humid out, so Dean didn't blame him.) "Are you ready, or did you want to stay a bit longer?"
"Nah, I'm done," Dean said, stripping off the headset and standing. He rubbed his ears. "Starving, anyway. How were your meetings?"
"Tedious. A lot of people talking, and no one saying anything. That, and my roster evaluations were due today. That's what I've been working on the last few hours. Paperwork." Regal shook his head. "You know, I imagine hell as an office cubicle where you're stuck filling out the same form over and over for eternity - until your hand's permanently cramped and your eyes just melt from staring at the same lines."
"And you get lots of papercuts."
"Those too."
"And maybe you get attacked by one of those, uh, staple-puller dealies. Things with the teeth." He pinched his hands shut like a crab's claw to demonstrate. "Those things just look evil. Metal fangs." Shouldering his bag, he followed Regal out the door. "Shit ain't for me, man, that's for sure."
"Oh, believe me, lad, I've seen that abomination you call handwriting," Regal said, snickering. "I wouldn't wish that any office."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, no shit, right? Even I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Probably get a brain cramp trying to figure out what I'm saying."
"I get that anyway," Regal replied. "The way you run on and on."
"Pot," Dean said. "Kettle."
"Touche. What are you hun...ah, oh bloody hell." Regal pushed open the door and headed outside. It was around six, so the sun was still up, but on its way out for the day. "What I meant to say was, what would you like for dinner? You're buying, so it's only fair you choose."
"What am I hungry for?" Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm offended you think you can't ask me that, you know. It's like you think I'm gonna turn it into a dirty joke or something."
Regal shot him a sidewise look. "I think it's hardwired into your DNA to think of the dirtiest possible ways to interpret what people say."
"Yeah, like you're Mr. High and Mighty over there," Dean retorted. "You went there before I even thought about it. 'What are you hungry for? Bet you're gonna say you're hungry for dick.' Yeah, well, I'm not hungry for dick right now. Dicks aren't even real food, anyway. But, like, chicken wings are. Which is what I want." He thought about it a second and added, just as mock-sulkily as he could, "The only bone I want near my mouth right this second is the chicken kind, so get your damn mind out of the gutter and start thinking about where you're gonna take me to get it."
Regal was just gone, he was laughing so fucking hard, stopped right in the middle of the fucking parking lot, hand over his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut.
It was that quiet, almost helpless kind of laughter, too, and Dean kept right on walking, leaving the old man to asphyxiate, proud as hell of himself.
But it served the old bastard right.
Dean thumped his bag down on the trunk of the car and turned to wait, sniggering to himself when he saw Regal wiping his eyes. "And you say I'm the immature one," Dean called over. "Ha ha, he said 'dick.' And 'bone.'"
Still chuckling, Regal made his way over. He reached up to settle hands on either side of Dean's face. His own was flushed and still a little tear-damp, but he was still smiling. "You're an absolute nutter. You know that?"
"Oh, nice," Dean said, mouth twitching even as he tried to pull away, "now you're calling me-"
Regal kissed him, quick and unexpected, just a peck on the corner of the mouth, and then moved away.
It was over so fast Dean hadn't even had time to react, and he stood there for a second after Regal got into the car, trying to shake off both his sudden irritation - Why the hell does he keep doing that? - and the unsettled feeling in his stomach.
Finally, shaking his head, he grabbed his gym bag and turned to follow.
It's only a big deal if you make it one, asshole.
So he didn't.
And it wasn't.
xXx
Regal ended up taking Dean to a little place not all that far from the arena, where Dean had a few beers and got his fill of some pretty damn good wings, while Regal ate some kind salad and stuck to water.
Things stayed pretty light, mostly just Dean giving his impressions of the Performance Center and Regal talking about the NXT talent he'd had to evaluate, Dean joking about the intern and then busting out his Dusty Rhodes impression.
By the time they made it back to Regal's place, Dean was feeling pretty good.
Regal kicked on some music - had that Pandora deal on his sound system like Seth did - and pulled out a cribbage board, which he set up at the high top table in the kitchen.
Dean, looking around the apartment, suddenly noticed there wasn't much personality in it - few pictures, nothing up on the walls, just basically some furniture and a nice entertainment center set up.
"I don't actually live here full-time," Regal explained as he and Dean sat down at the table. Nimble hands worked open a deck of cards and pulled them out to shuffle them. "I only stay here when I've got something to do for NXT. Home for me is in Atlanta."
Flip. Flip. Shuffle.
Perfect bridge with the cards.
Hands of a dude who knew a thing or two about playing.
Dean pushed his beer forward and leaned over his forearms on the table. "What're we playin' for?"
"Something small," Regal said. "Perhaps a question you want answered, some silly little thing you want to see me do, or something in the bedroom you want to try." He shifted the cards over to one hand and held up the other. "Bearing in mind the limits."
They'd talked about it yesterday afternoon, a little, Regal saying he really didn't like bottoming, and Dean admitting he fucking hated it when dudes held his head down or tried to fuck his face when he blew them. Not even close to a deal breaker, either thing, so it was all good as far as Dean was concerned (hadn't even considered asking to fuck Regal anyway, 'cuz that - yeah, it was too weird to think about).
"So if I decided to ask you for a lapdance or a striptease, you'd have to do it?" Dean asked.
Regal gave him a strange look. "Why on Earth would you want to ask me for something like that? I'm not exactly the pin-up calendar fantasy material your mates are."
"Well, one, it's more just to see if you would, but two, have you noticed me having any trouble getting it up the past few days?" The back of his neck felt a little warm. "'Cuz I haven't. What does that tell you? Now deal the fuckin' cards."
After a pause (during which Dean pretended he didn't see Regal smile), Regal finally did, ficking the cards out with the same practiced ease as he'd shuffled them. Didn't say a word, either, and thank fuck for that.
Pretty soon, though, all the weirdness and shit went away as their more competitive sides came out, and they got involved in counting their fifteens and moving their pegs on Regal's old cribbage board.
Of course the old bastard took the first game.
And the second.
"I swear to God you're cheating," Dean complained.
"You're dealing just as often as I am," Regal pointed out, smirking.
Then Dean reeled off two straight wins.
"Look at that comeback!" he crowed, throwing a fist in the air.
Regal, sharp eyes narrowed and kinda with that look in them Dean knew meant trouble, leaned forward on the table. "So. It's two-all. We can either wash those and play for one big one for tonight, or we can keep our small ones and whoever wins this last game gets an extra. Up to you."
Dean sat back, folded his arms. "Why do I get the feeling you're gonna try to screw me somehow?"
"Well, that'll happen pretty definitely at some point," Regal said chuckling, "but cheating you I won't do." He picked up the deck of cards. "I'll leave it to you."
"Mm." Dean shook his head. "No way, man. Not this time. I want that fuckin' lapdance. I won that fair and square. So I'm gonna stick with the small ones."
Regal nodded once. "Fair enough." He began to shuffle the cards again, smile fading. "In that case, I'll take my first one right now, and get it out of the way while we're playing. Don't mean to bring down the mood, but I've got a question or two for you. It's about Wyatt."
Dean tensed. Wiped his palms on his jeans. "Really? I mean, we managed to go the whole fuckin' day without talking about him and you gotta bring him up now?"
"It's more you that I've got the question about than him," Regal said as he dealt out the cards. "About your, ah, your nightmares. Has it just been since the attack you've been getting them, or were you getting them before?"
Dean didn't answer right away. Instead, he picked up his cards. Shit hand: two twos, a four, a six, an eight, and a ten. He set the twos facedown on the table and slid them across to Regal, who set his own two crib cards facedown on top.
Draw card was a five, though, so that was something.
"I've always had a lot of 'em," Dean finally answered. He tossed down his four. "Nightmares. So it ain't like it's unusual. I had some about Wyatt before. More lately. Different ones."
Regal played a jack. "Worse?"
"Really vivid." Dean played his eight, and then, rather than wait for Regal to ask, told him about both of the dreams he'd had this morning, admitting he thought the kids were probably Wyatt and Abigail, and more than likely just his way of trying to figure Wyatt's whole 'rabbit' thing - his mind throwing the most fucked up scenario it could at him.
"More than likely," Regal said. He was moving his peg forward on the board, having just counted his crib. "I've actually wondered about that. Why a rabbit?"
"Yeah, that is weird," Dean said, gathering the cards up. "'Course, everything with Wyatt is. Fucking boogeyman."
Regal glanced over. "He's really in your head, isn't he?"
Dean thought about it, and shook his head. "I just don't wanna jumped again. You know? It's that kinda monster in the closet shit. The shit he's saying is just like that teacher in Peanuts. Wah wah wah. Bullshit."
"Isn't it?" Regal folded his hands on the table. "I see what you're saying, though. More the threat of what he'll do than what he's actually saying."
"Pretty much, yeah. I don't give a shit about any of that Project Mayhem crap. You know? I don't actually wanna burn the world down. I just wanna have fun, you know? Screw with people's expectations, do my thing, wrestle, and not get hassled too much. I don't wanna, like, take down the system."
Flip. Flip. Shuffle.
Regal raised eyebrows. "What if the system was standing in your way of getting what you wanted, though? What if, say, the Authority starting treating you the way it did Daniel Bryan?"
"Well, in that case, yeah, I'd be all for fucking shit up."
"D'you like working for them? The Authority, I mean."
"No," Dean answered flatly. "Probably shouldn't say that, but no."
Flip. Flip. Shuffle.
"Then why are you?"
"'Cuz Seth and Roman are still onboard." He still went along to the Authority meetings, too, of course, but more to surreptitiously stare at Stephanie McMahon's tits than to listen to what she or her blowhard husband had to say. "Kinda, anyway. I don't know. I never really was, but it was cool to kick the shit outta people for a while. 'Til that eleven-on-three shit. Now I'm kinda gettin' the feeling Seth and Roman are startin' to get sick of it, too. I don't know. We never really talked about it. Too much other bullshit lately."
"Right," Regal murmured. "Well, that was all I wondered. Although - you know, if you want to just stay in my room while you're here, I don't mind."
Waspishly, a little embarrassed, Dean nodded. "Okay." He dealt out the cards. "So, since you got one already, can I get my lapdance now?"
Regal snorted. "You aren't planning on letting me off the hook for that, are you?"
"Nope."
"Then yes, it's too early. After we're done."
"Okay," Dean said, "but I'm gonna hold you to it."
"As long as you don't set your expectations very high."
"Oh, no. No, I expect this to the best goddamn lapdance you've ever given in your life."
Regal smiled. "I've never given one before, lad."
That was exactly the answer Dean had been expecting. "Then it should be a piece of cake."
xXx
Dean lost the last match by a point.
Which was how he found himself with his hands tied to Regal's fucking headboard, naked, with Regal himself fully-dressed and straddling his hips.
Looking way too smug for his own good as he shifted around on Dean's lap, too - across, over, back , and forth - just enough to drag the fabric at the crotch of his pants across Dean's dick every time he moved, but not enough to give him any really good friction.
He was humming whatever song was playing. Doing some white-boy awkward dancing shit with his arms. Bobbing his head enough to make his hair fall in his eyes.
And dragging and dragging and dragging, while Dean fucking died for more contact.
Lapdance, William Regal-style.
At some point, though, Dean just had to laugh.
Because seriously:
He, the guy who'd singlehandedly terrorized FCW for almost two years and who people gave a wide berth to now because they thought he was fucking crazy, was tied to a fucking headboard, getting an honest-to-God fucking lapdance from the guy who'd tried to rip his arm out of the socket almost two years ago.
He, Dean fucking Ambrose, was tied to a headboard, getting a lapdance from William Regal.
Who was wearing a WWE-branded black polo and khaki slacks, shaggy-ass hair in his eyes, and was laughing along like some kid on a carnival ride.
How the fuck is this my life?
After two or three more songs, and both of them just cracking the hell up, Regal climbed off and disappeared for a few minutes.
When he came back, he was carrying a wooden dinner-type tray that held a bowl of ice cubes, a candle, a blue dildo, lube, some little clips, something that looked kind of like a spur, and a couple of washrags.
His other prize.
He was going to do stuff to Dean with all those things, and there wasn't a fucking thing Dean could do about it - not with his hands currently tied to the headboard with so much rope he couldn't even move his fingers to wave.
Regal stripped down and climbed back up to straddle Dean's hips again. He shifted the tray closer. "Well, then. Let's have some fun, shall we?"
Helpless but suddenly feeling fucking wild, Dean said, recklessly, "Fuck yeah."
xXx
What felt like a week later, his entire body buzzing from endorphins and adrenaline and the pain from the cold-hot-sharp-sucking-biting that Regal had inflicted on him, Dean ground out, desperate and absolutely out of his mind, "Fuck, please, William. Please. I need to come."
He was so hard it was painful, his dick flat against his stomach and just fucking throbbing.
"Mm, not yet."
Regal, who'd gotten off a few minutes before, was down giving Dean's dick a frictionless little tease with fingers and tongue.
His other hand slowly worked the dildo he'd just slipped back into Dean's ass, scraping it right across Dean's prostate again and agiain.
It was too way much.
It wasn't anywhere enough.
Dean's second prize: a blowjob.
Like the lapdance, done William Regal-style.
Dean was pretty sure his brains were about to start leaking out of his ears.
"Dammit," he muttered. "Harder. You're - gonna... You're killin me here."
Regal hmmed with this mouth close enough to Dean's dick to send vibrations rumbling down through it like a tiny earthquake.
"They call it le petit mort, you know," Regal murmured then, lightly flicking his tongue across the very tip, while his fingers gently rolled Dean's balls. "The little death. Sounds like the best-possible way to go. Don't you think?"
"Oh fuck," Dean choked out, eyes squeezing shut. The ropes around his wrists dug in when he tried to tug his hands free. Nothing doing there. Still just as trapped, and suddenly this seemed like such a dumb idea. "Come on, William. Stop fucking around. I need to come. Please?"
Chuckling, Regal drew a firm, slow line with the flat of his tongue from the bottom of Dean's cock all the way to the tip, just as the dildo moved right across Dean's prostate again.
Dean's head dropped back and his mouth fell open, but the only sound he made was an incoherent little groan.
Bastard, oh you bastard.
A few more of those and a couple of quick, twisting strokes later, he was done.
Everything went just a little fuzzy at the edges as the whole thing hit him all at once, just a lightning quick hit of oh God, thank God.
The next little while was a smear of stuff Dean didn't pay much attention to: Regal undoing the ropes and massaging the feeling back into Dean's wrists, stumbling after Regal into the bathroom to get cleaned up, tugging on a pair of shorts, collapsing back into Regal's bed while Regal went to put all the stuff away.
Brain full of anesthesia.
That's how Dean felt.
Like somebody had just cut the power to ability to think.
Like he was just cruising inside his head.
As some point, Regal crawled back into bed and swiped a kiss across Dean's forehead. "Just think, lad," he said, "we've still got the prize I won the other day to go."
Dean groaned softly and turned away.
Wondered how the fuck he was going to survive that.
Decided, eh, there were worse ways to go.
Le petit mort, and all.
xXx
He spent most of the next day sprawled out facedown on Regal's couch, lifting nothing heavier than a glass of water and the remote control, sleeping when he felt like it and watching movies when he was awake.
Regal had been gone before Dean even got up.
A note next to Dean's phone told him Regal was off running errands and meeting with "the NXT lads" about some house show or something in Tampa tonight, and wouldn't be back until late in the afternoon.
Fine as far as Dean was concerned: he wasn't really up to doing much anyway.
No texts or calls from Seth or Roman, either, so after he ate something, he grabbed a glass of water, flopped down on the couch, and found a movie to watch.
Spent most of the time staring at the TV, spaced out and drifting, not thinking about anything particular, mind just wandering over whatever it wanted to wander over, but not really able to focus on what he was seeing.
It was nice, though, to just be able to veg out like this.
It had been nice yesterday, too, to have some time away to go do his own thing while Regal was off in meetings.
Being around the guy was surprisingly easy and turning out to be pretty fucking fun, but it could be a little intense.
A break to unwind, to kind of gather himself, was a good thing.
Last night had been -
Kinda crazy good.
Made him a little nervous how much he was liking this shit Regal was doing to him because this had the same kind of slippery-slope feel to it dipping his toe into death matches had.
Like, Okay, that was cool, but it was safe.
What else ya got?
What would happen if they got a little wilder with it?
He fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon thinking about it, and woke up a couple hours later to find Regal asleep in the recliner.
When Dean came back from using the bathroom, Regal was sitting up in the chair and awake, but looking tired as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes.
It was a little after five.
Dean stretched and combed fingers through through his hair - he'd just let it dry however the hell it wanted to when he'd gotten out of the shower, and now it was a wild mess - to get it out of his eyes; then, yawning, he sat back down in the middle of the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.
"When'd you get back?" he asked.
"About an ago," Regal said through a yawn of his own. "You had the right idea."
Dean scratched his shoulder. "Huh. All I've done today."
"That's all right. I thought you'd be a little tired."
"Mm. Good day?"
"Mind-numbingly dull, really," Regal said. "It was good, though. Quiet. Need those from time to time."
"Yeah," Dean said. "Definitely good for recharging the batteries."
"How are your batteries?" Regal asked. "Reason I'm asking is I've got something in mind for this evening. It's pretty low-key - nothing like last night - but if you're still tired, we can skip it. Does require you to actually get off the couch and put on clothing."
Dean looked down at his wrinkled Grinch tee shirt and black and white basketball shorts. "I have clothes on."
"Something suitable to wear outside the flat," Regal clarified. "Nothing fancy, but preferably something you haven't slept in."
"This your prize from the other bet?" Dean finally asked, passing his palm over the top of his knee.
"It is," Regal said.
"What is it?"
A sharp, sly little smile, and a narrow look. "That's still for me to know."
"Dammit." Groaning, Dean dropped the back of his head onto the top of the couch. "Now ya got me all curious." Fatigue pushed aside for the time being, he got to his feet. "Fine. Lemme go get cleaned up."
"Have a shave while you're at it," Regal said. "I'm getting a little tired of whisker burn between my legs."
Snorting, Dean offered a mock salute and headed off to go get ready.
While he was dressing - plain black shirt and jeans seemed like a safe enough choice - his phone buzzed.
It was a text from Seth: Just checking in. You OK?
Still alive and kicking, he texted back. You guys?
Good. Saw my mom & dad today. They asked about you. I told them.
Dean wanted to text something like 'bet they were happy,' but settled on, They say anything?
Not really, Seth answered. Which was all Dean really needed to know. Seth's parents were nice people, but they kind of didn't know what to make of Seth being with Dean and Roman, so it was always weird seeing them.
That's good, Dean answered as he made his way into the living room. Regal was standing by the door, keys in hand. He'd put on black slacks and a maroon-colored polo, and had his jacket over one arm. Gotta run. Going out. Call me tomorrow.
He pocketed his phone and looked at Regal. "So?"
Regal shifted. "Off we go, then."
"Why won't you tell me?"
"Because, lad," Regal said, smirking, "if I did, you'd run away screaming in terror."
Dean just stared.
Regal laughed.
xXx
"Why would I run away in terror from dinner?" Dean asked twenty minutes later. "I don't get it."
LIttle Italian place, casual, seaside paintings the walls, red-checkered tablecloths, red cloth napkins. Some couples in booths off to their right, and a few couples scattered to their left.
They were at a table themselves, a basket of bread sticks and a lit candle between them.
Regal's lips twitched. "You will," he said. "If not now, then soon enough. Just be patient. Stop worrying about it and start worrying about what you're going to eat."
"Fine," Dean muttered. "I was just asking."
He swore to God he heard the old man mutter, "Blind as a bloody bat," but when he looked up, Regal was still staring down at the menu, straight-faced.
The server came by and took their drink orders - beer for Dean, glass of red wine for Regal - and as soon as she came back, she took their dinner order - ravioli for Dean and some shrimp thing for Regal.
Conversation came in fits and starts, a little awkward at first thanks to Dean still feeling a little sullen about being kept in the dark about what the fuck Regal had in mind for tonight, but eventually settling down when Dean told himself to stop being an asshole and just fucking wait for it.
'Cuz yeah, the whole 'frustrate you by not giving what you want' thing?
That was Regal to a tee.
And, yet again, Dean was playing right into it.
So he sat back, told himself not to sweat it, and tried to relax.
Regal told him all about his hometown in England, his family, and how he'd gotten into wrestling - stuff Dean kind of already knew, but had never heard told before. Regal was still pretty close to people back there, and said he'd probably wind up retiring back there one day.
Sounded nice, actually.
But the Pleasure Beach thing…
"Totally sounds like something out of a 70s porno," Dean remarked.
Regal laughed. "Does a bit, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, like one of those nudie beaches or something. You ever been to one of those?"
"I have," Regal said. "Several, actually. But I was one of those lads who'd go and leave his trunks on."
"Oh, you didn't free willy, huh?"
"Good lord, no," Regal said, snickering behind his hand. "No, I did not. Have you?"
"I went skinny dipping a few times in Puerto Rico," Dean offered. "Wasn't a nudie beach. Never been to one of those. 'Course the beaches around, the girls wear such skimpy fuckin' swimsuits and dudes walk around in, like, tight Speedos and shit anyway it's like this might as well be a nudie beach."
"Very true."
"There was one time me and Seth were on the beach and we saw a couple fucking right there. Like right under their towel. It was crazy. 'Course I'm one to talk, right? 'Cuz I blew him the exact same way."
"You would," Regal said. "Bloody hell, you could get arrested for doing something like that."
"Which is kinda the point. Makes it fun."
Regal gave him a narrow look. "You like that, don't you? The danger of it."
"The adrenaline, yeah."
"Bit like last night."
"Yeah."
"Had you ever done anything like that before?"
"Nope."
The server showed up with their dinner right about then and popped back by a minute later with another beer for Dean and a glass of water for Regal.
After the server left that second time, Regal swallowed the bite he'd chewed and then said, "Did you think you wouldn't enjoy it, or…?"
"Didn't know," Dean admitted. Seemed a safe enough answer. "Never even thought about it before."
That was true enough.
Once in a while, Seth wanted shit like that done to him (kinda like this anyway), but had never wanted to do it himself, and Roman wasn't actually into any of that stuff, so he never did it.
"Really," Regal finally said. "That's unexpected, but," he added, "good, I suppose. Something you'd never done before."
"Yeah," Dean said, not adding that pretty much everything they were doing was new territory for him.
Blazing a trail through the fucking wild frontier here.
"Think you might want to try again?" Regal asked.
Dean winced. "What, like tonight? 'Cuz-"
"No," Regal said. "No, no. I can only imagine how sore you are at the moment. Even if you're used to this sort of thing - or being taken this often - you still need some time to recover. That sort of thing I wouldn't do but once in a while, anyway, if I were you." He chewed thoughtfully, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and then said, "How sore are you, exactly? Honestly."
"A little uncomfortable," Dean admitted, shifting. "Think my nipples are the worst thing, but - yeah, definitely still feeling it all over."
"Did - if you don't want to answer this, don't - but did you bottom often for your mates?"
Dean shook his head. "I didn't."
"Not at all? Or just rarely?"
"At all. Seth never asked, and Roman was too stubborn to let me top him even once, so I shot him down. Mean, it's not a big deal, I guess, 'cuz, like, I don't expect or want to, y'know, top you, but with Roman it was - you know, he was movin' in on my territory with Seth and no way was I gonna just let him to the same thing with me." Sighing, he muttered,"'Course, you see how that went."
Regal hitched a shoulder. "Well, perhaps it'll work out better in the long run. You're free to go after what you want instead of holding yourself back trying to make yourself fit somewhere that you don't, entirely. I'm sure it's - painful, but it does open the door to new possibilities for you."
"I guess," Dean said. All he could say.
There was still one big sore spot marked 'Seth and Roman' in him somewhere, which he knew would take a while to scab over, but he'd been cut up and kicked down enough by life he knew it would scab over and he'd heal up eventually.
Probably leave a wicked fucking scar, though.
Another one.
Getting a little tired of those.
"Anyway," he said, taking another bite of his ravioli (shit was cheesy and rich as fuck and really good), "you were saying…? You'd started to tell me something about the Pleasure Beach place."
"Oh, that's right," Regal said, and thank God he took the hint.
They finished dinner with no more awkward lapses into anything too personal - actually got to laughing again when Regal shared the story of how he'd lost his virginity, but hadn't been able to finish because he'd had to go ref a match (boner and all).
Dean finished his beer and told Regal his favorite sex story - the stripper that was actually a hooker a guy had bought for him on his twenty-first birthday in Puerto Rico.
Regal paid the check and glanced at his watch. "We've got to be going," he said, standing. "Places to be."
"Where we going?" Dean hooked his coat off the back of his chair and stood up.
"For a walk," Regal said, leading him out of the restaurant. "Come along."
It was dark out, about a quarter past seven, except for street lights.
The restaurant Regal'd picked wasn't in a super busy part of the city. Couple of mostly-empty little shopping centers on either side of a four-lane road. Houses and apartments behind them. Not a ton of traffic out, most of it probably having migrated to the trendier parts of the city for the parties and shit.
Pretty nice night out, cool and a little humid, but not uncomfortable.
Well-lit area and just enough traffic not to seem creepy, so Dean kept half an eye out for trouble, but also found himself walking close enough to occasionally nudge Regal's shoulder - unintentionally at first - but in kind of an you're kind of an asshole way when Regal started giving him shit yet again about getting octopus and calamari confused.
"What, gimme a break," Dean said, bumping Regal's shoulder. "I'm not a seafood guy. It's got, like, tentacles. Who eats tentacles? Seriously."
Regal snorted and bumped Dean's shoulder back. "You have got the most amazing ability to make the most innocuous things sound incredibly dirty, you know that?"
"Only to people with filthy minds," Dean said. "And I said tentacles, not testicles. Jesus, old man. Turn your hearing aid up."
"People eat testicles, too," Regal said, straight-faced.
Dean just stared.
"I'm serious," Regal said. "You didn't know that?"
"No, I didn't know that," Dean said, grossed out and kinda feeling the need to cover his own boys. "Why would I know that? Why would I want to know that? You're talking, like, animal testicles, right?"
"Yes," you idiot, "I'm talking about animal testicles. Bull's, in fact. You'd probably like them. You can get them fried like chicken."
"No," Dean said, making the Daniel Bryan No! gesture with his hands. "No way. Nuh-uh. I am not eating deep-fried balls."
Laughing, Regal reached over to kiss Dean's cheek - somehow managing not to trip while he did - and squeeze the back of his neck, both quick and light.
Dean rubbed his cheek irritably, but didn't do much more than bump Regal's shoulder again, in too good a mood to be really bothered by it. Even if it was out in public, it had only lasted a couple seconds.
They ended up at movie theater just down the street, Regal buying them tickets to some spy-action-thriller movie Dean thought looked pretty cool.
Regal gave him a weird, kind of expectant look as they stood in line to buy drinks, but just shook his head when Dean frowned at him in confusion and said, "What?"
"Nothing," Regal said. Looked like he was in the verge of smiling.
Dean shrugged it off and went back to looking at the candy case.
They carried their drinks and candy - Junior mints and water for Regal, and licorice and Mountain Dew for Dean - into the theater, which wasn't very crowded, so they ended up in the middle of one of the back rows.
The movie turned out to be more talky and thinky than Dean expected, but there was still plenty of shit getting blown up, a pretty cool break-in scene, and a badass motorcycle chase.
At one point, during one of the slow talky parts, he slouched back into the seat with both arms on the armrests. He felt a touch on the back of his hand, and glanced over, thinking Regal wanted his attention or something, but turned out Regal was just kind of absently drawing lines across Dean's knuckles with his fingertips.
Instead of pushing Regal's hand away, Dean flipped his own over and caught Regal's fingers, trapping them against his palm and holding them there.
Not thinking about it - just meaning to keep the fucking things from touching him like they'd been.
It wasn't until Regal's thumb started brushing over the side of his hand it finally occurred to Dean this might technically be considered hand-holding.
It kind of looked like it.
Then the goddamn penny dropped.
He looked over at Regal, wide-eyed and whispered, "Are we on a date?"
xXx
Regal seriously didn't stop laughing for the rest of the movie.
He laced his fingers through Dean's and refused to let go.
The fucking prick.
xXx
"No," Dean said.
Regal grinned. "Yes."
The movie had ended half an hour ago, and now they were back at Regal's apartment.
Regal had pushed his coffee table against the couch and had turned on the stereo.
Sinatra crooning some old love song quietly in the background.
Dean's stomach was in a fucking knot.
"I don't dance," he said stubbornly. He was sitting in the recliner, hunched forward with his forearms crossed ver his thighs.
Regal shot him a look from where he was untying his shoes. "Well, I wouldn't call those spastic gyrations you do ringside dancing, but you do seem to like moving about to whatever music's in your head."
Dean blinked at him. "I think you just insulted me, but I have no idea what you just said."
"I'm not asking you to do a choreographed swing dance, lad," Regal said, rolling his eyes. He stepped out of his shoes and carried them over to the rack by the door. "Just a couple of slow dances. You'll barely have to move."
"Then what's the point?" Dean asked.
"Take your boots off," Regal told him. "I don't fancy my toes being crushed. The point is, I want to. You're mine to do with what I want for another two hours or so, and this how I want to spend part of it."
Dean loosened the laces on one boot. "If I break your foot, it's your own fucking fault."
"So noted." He laughed. Again.
"It's not funny." Dean shot him a withering look. "I don't do this shit."
"That's why it's funny," Regal said, sounding so fucking smug and fucking amused Dean could have punched him. "The whole point of this was for me to make you do something you really didn't want to. There's not a ridiculous costume or odd sex game that could have possibly gotten this reaction out of you. It's brilliant."
"Man, I held your sweaty damn hand through the end of the movie and I let you slobber all over my face in the parking lot afterward. And I'm really tired. It's been a long-ass week. Can't we just go to bed?"
"One, it was your hand that was sweating; two, I gave you a peck on the cheek; three, no." Regal was smirking again. "Four, I didn't complain when you asked me to give you a lapdance last night, and I most certainly don't do those. And if you keep complaining, I'll make you dance the entire two hours."
Dean thought about it, looked up hopefully. "Can I get naked? Is naked dancing a thing?"
"That's sex, and no, not right now."
"Naked dancing is not sex," Dean felt compelled to point out. He finished pulling off his other boot. "I've been to enough strip clubs I know that for a fact. Also, I'm not sure that actually was a lapdance. I mean, I was laying down flat. Pretty sure you have to be sitting up to have a lap."
Regal covered his face with a hand. "You are going to be the death of me, lad. That absolute death."
"Should have thought about that before you asked me to dance, then," Dean said.
Now it was getting fun.
"Oh, shut up." Regal wandered over and pulled Dean out of the chair.
"Hey, easy," Dean complained. "That's my bad shoulder. You tryin' to pull it back outta the socket?"
"It was your left shoulder that was bad," Regal said, totally not falling for it, "not your right. Now stop. Relax."
Which - huh, Regal actually remembered that. Kind of unexpected. But whatever.
Just to be a jerk, when Regal reeled him in, Dean reached around and grabbed a big double handful of Regal's ass (his wallet, mostly, in one hand, but the other was all ass). Regal grabbed hold of his wrists and moved them up.
"Stay above the belt," he said, hands going to Dean's waist.
It was every bit as awkward as Dean expected: he stood stiffly, arms straight to put as much distance between himself and Regal as he could; after the first few steps, he managed to step on Regal's toes (which might not have been totally an accident), and wound up staring fixedly at a point over Regal's shoulder 'cuz they were standing close enough he could have counted Regal's nose hairs without squinting, and, yeah, no thanks.
Sinatra crooned another love song in the background.
"Mm, no, this won't do," Regal said after a minute. "You're too far away. Come here."
By which he apparently meant, like, 'hug me,' which in no way was weird as hell.
Nope.
Since he was too close to do anything else, Dean wound up turning his face away and resting his cheek on Regal's shoulder. He locked his hand around the opposite wrist somewhere around the small of Regal's back, while Regal wrapped both arms around the middle of Dean's.
Which - okay, that wasn't all that uncomfortable.
Still dumb as hell.
Bearable, though, and he kind of found himself yawning after a couple minutes, the warmth of them being so close together and the back-and-forth movement and even Regal's quiet humming enough to make him relax a little and get out of his head about it.
A bet was a bet, and if Regal wanted to do something dumb like this, there wasn't much Dean could do, anyway, except go with it.
Not like it means anything.
Which - that was true.
Besides that, there was more important shit to worry about:
Because the real thing was, he was almost completely sure Wyatt and Regal weren't working together at all - that Wyatt was just really fucking psycho-out-of-his-mind-whack-job-nuts and somehow Regal just got in the tidal wave of crazy once Wyatt had seen Regal with Dean.
Like ninety-nine percent sure.
He could almost believe everything that had happened between him and Regal this week was exactly what it looked like - slate wiped clean, hatchet buried, and a lot of good fun had with no hooks or strings behind it.
(Except that fucking fishhook, and man, did it have him reeled in tight right now.)
Like ninety-nine percent believed it.
But that one percent of him that wasn't sure and that didn't quite believe it was really fucking stubborn.
That one percent kept telling him to watch his back, that maybe there was something true in what Wyatt was saying about Regal, that Regal was eventually going to turn on him.
He didn't want to believe it.
For once, just once, he wanted something to be, like, solid under his feet - not having to constantly question it or having to keep looking over his shoulder or having to wonder when he was going to fuck it up to the point it broke.
'Cuz not even his thing with Seth and Roman turned out to be, even though he thought that wasn't something he could fuck up, and, fuck, maybe it was really fucking stupid to be looking to an old enemy and a self-proclaimed fucking villain as a something he could ever really trust to be solid under his feet, but what had Regal really done lately that was so bad?
Oh, that was right: nothing.
(Maybe.)
Meanwhile, everything else was just various shades of falling the fuck apart.
("So what do you do? You go running to the one person who's offering you stability.")
Or maybe he just wanted to keep having this really good sex.
Maybe it didn't even need to be that fucking complicated.
Who the fuck knew?
He sighed a little more loudly than he meant to.
Which of course drew a concerned-sounding, "All right?" out of Regal.
"Yeah." Dean yawned and resettled his cheek on Regal's shoulder
(Don't make it a thing, that's all.)
"Sure?" Regal pressed.
"Thinking."
"Dangerous. What about?"
"I don't wanna do this dancing shit again," Dean said quietly. "I don't wanna hold hands, either. I don't want dates. Dinner, movies, card games, bets - that stuff is fine. It's fun. I like fun. Sex is fun. I like that, too."
There was a pause. "You do know that technically speaking, going out to dinner and a movie with someone you're sleeping with - whether you say it's a date or not - is still a date, yes?"
"Not if you don't do the hand-holdy shit," Dean pointed out. "You just hang out. Don't make a thing about it."
"All right," Regal eventually said. "And the point of all this is, what, exactly? Is this you saying you want to keep doing this after this week?"
"After Wyatts," Dean said. "Nothing matters until those fuckers are in the ground. That, and I wanna figure out this shit with Seth and Roman - the Shield stuff. How that's gonna shake out." And I see if the other shoes drops - you gonna stab me in the back, or not? "But, yeah. Yeah, I do."
"I think that'll be all right," Regal said. He didn't sound surprised. "I was going to say, you might give yourself a bit of time to - ah, get yourself sorted where your mates are concerned. This - there's no rush. Do what you need to. Rather doubt any other eager young thing is going to sweep me off my feet anytime soon - or vice versa." He cleared his throat, and rested his cheek or chin against the back of Dean's head. "We'll have to decide exactly how want to handle this. Best we know that going into it, so-"
"No death by silverware."
"Exactly." Regal yawned himself. "But that's for later. There's one last thing I want from you tonight. Well. Two. But one right now."
"What?"
"Why a naked dance, of course." He let go and backed away.
Dean looked around. The old bastard was suddenly eyeing him like a starving man eyeing a steak.
Something really, really pleasant twisted through Dean's stomach, and he grinned.
Yeah, you know you want this.
He didn't even object this when Regal leaned over to kiss his forehead once, lightly, 'cuz he was feeling a little wild and kinda high again, and fuck it, who cared?
"So you want a stiptease or are we naked dancing together?" he finally asked.
Regal padded over to the recliner and sat down, folding his hands over his stomach. "We'll do that later. For now, dear boy, I want a show. So. Get you clothes off and give me one."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up and sit back, then, old man. You want a show, I'll give you a fucking show."
A bet was a bet, after all.
xXx
It was a good night.
It really was.
xXx
A/N: Plot next chapter - the Shield back together, more Wyatts, and so on. I'm off on vacation again until about mid-August, so unfortunately there probably won't be an update again during that time. Hopefully this will tide you over until then. Thanks for reading.