Dean's about a quarter through that bottle of strongest goddamn whiskey he's ever had, but the buzz he hoped for hasn't arrived. Instead there's just dread, anger and frustration as he throws back another shot. He curses himself silently, remembering he's three goddamn hours away from home and if he tries to drive back there's a guarantee he'll be pulled over. So the Ohioan is stuck here, with all this sex and pleasure potentially at his fingertips and it should be a dream come true, but it's pure torture. And not the type of torture he was hoping to get.
Lost in his thoughts as he plays with the elegant glass coaster, it takes him a moment to realize there are tons of eyes shooting in his direction and he's ready to run out, to leave it all behind because he knows he isn't welcome but for fuck's sake can't the guy drink in peace? He's ready to hop off the stool and make a beeline for the exit when he realizes a presence has slide into the stool next to him. This must be who everyone is staring at and the brunette huffs, turning to face him before he gasps.
"Hey there…" Smooth and deep. Dark, tall, and handsome. This man his gorgeous, eyes sliver in the sensual lighting, suit tailored to fit every muscular bump and Dean sees a tattoo peeking out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. Long, raven black locks pulled into a tight ponytail, a strong jawline, and delicious, full pink lips that makes the smaller male squirm. He's so far out of Dean's league, they're not even playing the same sport.
"What'd'ya want?" He asks, trying to play off casually as he focuses back in on his half empty shot glass, trying to ignore the shaking of excitement under his skin. "Who are ya?"
"I'm Roman Reigns." And Dean instantly recognizes the name, knowing it was the name signed in ink at the bottom of all the letters addressed to his home. So, this was the owner. And Dean feels a deep, boiling anger start to form. This fucker was here to mock him, to kick him out. Bet he'll bring up some shit like 'We have a certain look to our establishment' and Dean slams his glass back down.
"The owner, huh?" He snorts at that, Roman catching sight of his collar and licking his plump bottom lip without Dean being aware. "Lemme guess, gonna kick me out, huh?"
"What, no, no, Dean…" He says, catching the younger male's name on that collar that fits so perfectly around his pale throat. But Dean doesn't register his words, huffing out then with another nasty snort full of malice.
"I paid for this fuckin' membership like everyone else, okay? Let me…just lemme drink."
"I'm not tryin' to kick you out, baby boy…" Dean gasps and feels hot all of a sudden, not sure if it's from embarrassment at his outburst or such a sweet nickname being given to him, but suddenly there's a hand finger brushing some of his unruly locks behind an ear and a thick thumb tilting his jaw outwards.
"Dude, what're you trying to do?" He scuffles, feeling his face turn pink as he tries to shift away.
"I'm here because I can't stand to see a sweet boy like yourself sitting here all on his lonesome…" Smooth like butter and Dean's damn near melting. "You're just beggin' to be played with, boy…and I wonder if you'd give me the honor of playmate."