Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Threesome, Threats, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Pain Kink, etc.

"Fuck, Roman. Look at your face." Carefully, Dean brushed Roman's dark hair away from his face in order to better see the colorful bruise on his cheekbone. "I swear, when I see that bastard next, I'll kill him."

Roman scowled. "I can take care of myself." He turned away from Dean's tender hands and stared into the mirror, his dark eyes fixed on the bruise with disdain. He had his own ideas about how to handle Paul.

Dean tried not to seem like he was too affected by Roman's blatant disregard for his feelings, but it wasn't like it was the first time that Roman had been cold and distant since Seth had left. They really should talk. "Roman?"

"What?" There was a lethal look in Roman's eyes, and Dean knew that he had to be careful. "And if this is about Seth, I don't want to hear it. I'm tired of cutting off my balls just to try and get him back. He left. Get over it."

"That's an… interesting way to put it." Dean had to choke back a laugh. "But, seriously Roman. We've been together for almost five years now. You don't care that he just… got up and walked away?"

Roman got off of the sofa, grabbed his towel, and slung it around his neck. He needed a hot shower like nobody's business. "That was his decision. We can't baby him, Dean. Let him be a big boy."

For a second, it almost seemed like the conversation would end there. Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets and Roman walked over to the shower. But then, Dean added, "It's not your fault, you know. You should know that."

Roman's chocolate brown eyes flickered dangerously. Immediately, Dean knew that he had hit a nerve. And, even better yet, he knew that he had hit one that was raw and bleeding. Roman might not have been as expressive with his emotions, but that didn't mean that he didn't have any. And from the flaring of his nostrils and the wrinkled skin between his eyebrows, it was clear that he blamed himself for Seth's current hatred.

It was almost understandable, in a way. When Seth had first left, he was in a compromised emotional state. He wanted to hurt and be hurt, so maybe the disconnect wouldn't hurt so much. And Roman had fulfilled his twisted desire. He'd knocked him to the floor and he'd beat the living hell out of him. And while Dean didn't exactly support Roman's unorthodox methods, that had been how Roman had expressed his fear. He was afraid. And that was hard for him.

Carefully, Dean dared to cross the distance between them. With the distance gradually becoming smaller, Roman started to look less like a menace and more like a deer in the headlights. He stumbled back, his hands reaching blindly for something, anything, to grab hold of. Instead, Dean backed him directly into the shower stall. The sensor caught the movement and water shot out of the shower head, drenching both of their bodies immediately.

"It's not your fault, Roman. He slapped you. He knows better than that." Dean whispered.

Roman slid down the shower wall, staring at Dean blankly. "Yes, it is. It is my fault."

Dean shook his head, slowly following him down. He started to undo the fixings of Roman's shirt and tossed it off of him, tracing the curves of his muscles reverently. Leaning forward, he whispered, "You can't blame yourself forever."

Roman didn't answer. He only rolled his face away from Dean's, closing his eyes against the scalding spray.

The smaller brunette sighed. "C'mon, Roman. Don't be like this. I can't have you disconnect on me too. Please."

Still, Roman didn't answer. His breath was stiff and hard, like he was trying not to cry. Roman never cried.

"C'mon, Roman. Think of how Seth would feel if he saw you like this. Think of what he would feel like if he knew that he made you cry. C'mon, Roman. Please, baby. Just answer me."

Roman remained frighteningly silent.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean took hold of Roman's head and turned it so they were facing each other. Slowly, his chocolate brown eyes fluttered open and locked with Dean's hazy green eyes. Acting on impulse alone, the leader of The Shield closed the distance between them and locked their lips in a passionate, albeit one-sided kiss. Roman was more or less lifeless beneath him, his eyes filled with a deep-seated self-hatred that broke Dean's heart.

Breaking the kiss only because he needed air, he kissed and nipped a trail down Roman's meaty neck, down his chest, and eventually down to his navel. Dipping his tongue into the skin there, he felt Roman's body shudder involuntarily. He smirked. Involuntary or otherwise, it was a start. Next, his nimble fingers went to work on the buckle and zipper on Roman's slacks. The pants came off easily, considering Roman was less than enthusiastic to help.

"We both need this, baby. I know that you need this. I can see it in your eyes, Roman. I just need you to answer me. Please? C'mon, baby. It's okay. I promise its okay. Just answer me, please?" Dean pleaded.

Roman only continued to stare at him detachedly. Dean couldn't even tell if he was crying, because the shower water was drenching his hair and face. He didn't even seem interested in speaking.

Standing, Dean started to shed his own clothes. Due to the shower water drenching the both of them, they were incredibly warm and heavy. He tossed them to the side, his eyes never leaving Roman's face. Even in his detached state, his body was still able to react to Dean's naked body. It was something familiar, something comforting. And when Dean fell to his knees in front of Roman, his heart aching for the distraught Samoan, Roman was half-erect.

Dean closed the distance between them and kissed him a second time, this time thankful to feel a tentative kiss in return. Roman's body was trembling, but it was hard to tell whether it was from pleasure or misery. Dean climbed over him, gently easing himself down onto Roman's thick cock. Even half erect, it was still a tight fit with no preparation and no lube – and it would only get worse. Roman's breath hitched and his eyes fell closed for a second time.

It took a minute for him to make himself comfortable, and in that time Roman had swollen to full hardness. Blood had started to slick the way and make their movements easier, but when Roman saw that, he tensed. Seth was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't enjoy himself while bringing someone else pain. His fingers sunk into Dean's hips hard enough to leave bruises, causing Dean to still his erratic movements.

He looked at Roman in concern. While he still couldn't tell for sure, he was pretty sure Roman was crying now. "What's the matter, baby?"

"I'm hurting you." Roman had to swallow and quiet himself for a minute, unsure how to make it sound caring instead of harsh and indifferent. "I… I don't want to… I don't want to be pleasured by hurting you."

Dean looked confused. "You're not hurting me, baby. What are you talking about?"

"You're bleeding." Roman announced, his tone dead.

Disbelieving, Dean slid off of Roman's cock and saw for himself that he had indeed torn. It didn't really hurt, especially in comparison to how Roman's face must feel, but it was enough to worry and, possibly, scare Roman. Scare him into speaking when he was lost in his own self-hatred. And then, suddenly, Roman took hold of Dean's hand and pressed the fingers as hard as he possibly could into his swollen cheek. He winced and shuddered.

Dean tried to yank his arm back, but Roman wouldn't let him. "I don't want to hurt you, Roman."

"I want you to hurt me. Hurt me like I hurt you." And then, softer, "like I hurt him."

Dean's eyes flashed. "No, Roman. This isn't your fault and I'm trying to prove that to you."

"I want you to hurt me." Roman said once more. "You want to prove to me that this isn't my fault? Then prove to me that I didn't bruise him. Prove to me that I didn't break his ribs. Prove to me that he didn't have a concussion."

Dean was silent. He had no evidence to contradict Roman's claims, even if he knew all of them were false.

"You can't do it, can you?" Dean shook his head. "I beat him, Dean. There's no secret about it. I beat him fucking black and blue. And I deserve to suffer for it. So, either you hurt me, or I find someone who will."

Dean blinked, dumbfounded. Roman had truly left him with no choice. At least this was controlled. He knew what he was doing and when the sex was over, it would stop. If he asked someone else to do it, there was no way to tell what would happen. He could be raped… beaten… killed. Dean couldn't bear to think of it, not after losing Seth. So he dug his fingers into Roman's face, flinching when the Samoan howled like a werewolf and bucked wildly underneath him.

But he didn't stop. He learned firsthand just how difficult it is to enjoy your own pleasure when your partner is in misery, when someone you loved wasn't in that place of euphoria with you. That must've been what Roman felt when he saw the blood. He was scared that he was brutalizing Dean like he had 'brutalized' Seth, when all he had really done was act in self-defense. Roman hadn't done anything wrong. It was a travesty that he couldn't see that.

Dean finished, unable to enjoy his orgasm. Thick ropes of white coated his and Roman's stomachs, and Roman emptied inside of him. Dean released Roman's face, which now looked more swollen then before. "It isn't -,"

But he never had a chance to finish. "You can say it as many times as you want, Ambrose. That doesn't mean it's true." And then he climbed to his feet and walked back into the locker room, abandoning Dean there.

Seth all but squealed as he was thrown down on to the bed, cursing wildly as objects of different size and weight were thrown in his direction. The heavy oriental lamp, which had to cost more than one-thousand dollars, shattered above the bed and the porcelain shards rained down on him messily. No matter which way he turned, the little slivers stuck in his skin and made him bleed. One sliver, almost the length of his thumb, was caught in his thigh.

"You fucking bastard, you think you can get away with disobeying me like that? I ought to kill you!" The man roared, throwing the heavy suitcase – with the greatest ease – at Seth's head.

"I'm sorry!" Seth screamed. He was choking on his own tears and hoping, praying, that Dean and Roman would crash through the door and save him from this hell. "I don't know what I did, but God, I'm so fucking sorry!"

"You're sorry? How can you be sorry if you don't even know what you did?" And then, out of his back pocket, he brandished a Swiss Army knife. The blade glinted in the harsh light of the moon.

Seth's eyes widened. "Please! Oh God, I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry!"

"I'm gonna make you wish you never called them, bitch!"

With a frightened yelp, he realized exactly what his attacker was hinting at. He had looked into Seth's call history and had found out that he had contacted Dean and Roman a few weeks earlier. Choking on his air, he sobbed loudly as he tried to climb further away from the weapon. Porcelain shards splintered his hands as he tried to move and blood trickled everywhere. And once his back hit the wall, he had nowhere to go. Seth Rollins was about to die.