Work Text:
Timestamp: Smackdown Live, Tuesday before Battleground- July 19, 2016
Seth is livid. Two nights in a row, he gave Dean Ambrose everything he had. And two nights in a row, he couldn’t get the job done. Dean retained, he slammed Seth’s head into the mat and pinned him clean, left Seth staring dazed up at the lights while Dean’s music kicked on and the celebration started.
The locker room has cleared out by the time Seth gets back there--everyone had made their way to the ring to celebrate with the champ--and Seth is thankful for that fact at least. He kicks the door closed behind him, the clang not even a little bit satisfying. He starts untying his one remaining wristband, gets frustrated when it won’t come off easily and ends up chucking it across the room. He kicks things, slams lockers, leaves his knuckles red against the metal doors, but nothing helps. He still has this electric buzzing under his skin, the rage boiling hot with nowhere to go.
The realization settles in as Seth stands there, alone, catching his breath. This was their last shot. Sunday, at Battleground, it won’t be the same. They’ll both have Roman to contend with when they fight for the title this time, and Seth wanted to go into that match with the belt around his waist. Not as a second choice, not as an afterthought, not as the guy who just lost his chance twice.
He punches the locker again, this time with a shout of frustration, and he almost doesn’t hear the door open and close. He looks back, eyes flaring, ready to scare off whoever would be stupid enough to disturb him in this moment. And he sees Dean Ambrose, leaning against the door jamb, smirking and clapping his hands slowly, sarcastically. He’s wearing the title belt loosely around his hips, and a brand new blue-brand t-shirt, and Seth wants to just punch his stupid face.
“Feel better? Ya get it all out?” Dean drones, and Seth’s sore fist clenches again at his side.
“Fuck off, Ambrose,” he bites out, but Dean just saunters into the room towards him. “What, winning wasn’t enough? You had to come back here and rub it in, too?”
Dean shrugs, still approaching him slowly, every step deliberate, and Seth finds himself caught in his gaze. “You don’t like this, do ya?” he says, quirking an eyebrow at Seth. “You hate not being the one in control for once.”
“I hate losing,” Seth says. Dean chuckles, shakes his head, advances further into Seth’s space. “You got everything you want, Ambrose.” Seth tips his chin down towards the belt. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”
“Everything I want, huh?” Dean’s voice has gone low, and the sound of it makes something hitch in Seth’s gut. “What do you think you know, about what I want?”
He steps forward, a hand on Seth’s bare chest to push him back, and Seth has no choice but to go with it until his back hits the lockers. He’s staring into Dean’s eyes, his heart hammering in his ears, his chest moving up and down with each breath under Dean’s fingers. It shouldn’t be like this, Seth should hate him, but instead that deep-burning want flares back up again, and Seth is powerless.
“Dean,” he manages to say, his throat dry, knowing that Dean notices the effect he still has on him. “Stop it.”
Dean smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nah, I don’t think I will.” When he presses in to claim Seth’s mouth, Seth already finds himself groaning into it. He opens up for him like he was waiting for it, letting Dean’s tongue push in and kiss him messily.
Dean presses harder against him, the title belt around his waist digging hard into Seth, metal pressed into bare skin, and Seth grabs him by his belt loops and drags him in even harder. Dean’s hand has snaked up from Seth’s chest to clasp the back of his neck tightly, and when he drags Seth’s bottom lip between his teeth Seth groans again.
Seth never could help it, getting caught up in Dean like this, letting him take over every sense and fill up his world until Dean is all there is. They’re making a racket against the lockers, Seth is moaning into his mouth and rutting against him, his hands raking up under that damn blue t-shirt and down Dean’s back.
Dean exhales in a huff, his fingers moving to clutch Seth’s jaw and push his head back against the locker, exposing his neck. He gives Seth a dark look before leaning in and sucking hard, trailing his teeth down Seth’s neck before coming back up to nip at his ear.
“Dean…” Seth breathes, and feels a smile press against his skin. Seth is so hard he knows there’s only one way out of this, he needs Dean’s hands on him, even with everyone they work with right on the other side of a door and probably all looking for Dean. But Seth doesn’t care, because he gets him all to himself right now. Seth squeezes his eyes tight, his head still tipped back the way Dean wants him, one hand clutching a fistful of Dean's t-shirt and the other lost in his hair. As Dean slides a hand around to grab Seth's ass and hitch him closer against his hips, Seth gasps and doesn’t even care if someone does see them.
Dean’s mouth meets his again, a hot messy slide of teeth and lips and tongues. Seth bucks his hips forward, not caring that the belt is in the way, just wanting to feel Dean against him, and then--
Dean presses a hand to Seth’s hip, the other palm on his chest, pinning him in place against the lockers. Dean smirks, and leans back, and Seth feels the electricity crackle between them even as the distance forms. Seth just blinks at him, a puzzled look on his face, and Dean’s smirk grows as he steps back fully away from him.
“Just giving you a little something to think about, Seth,” he drawls, continuing to step back away as Seth gapes at him. Dean adjusts his jeans, then adjusts the belt, looking down at it before smiling back up at Seth.
“What the fuck?” Seth breathes out, not able to pull his eyes away, his body still thrumming with need.
Dean just chuckles and holds his hands out like he’s innocent in all this, and Seth simultaneously wants to tear him apart and beg him to just put him out of his misery and fuck him already.
“I want you thinking about me, and this belt,” Dean grabs the top of the title and shakes it a little, drawing Seth’s eyes to the way it hangs on his slim hips. “Until Sunday.”
He turns to leave with a definite bounce in his step, and Seth finally finds his voice. “Fuck you, Ambrose!” he calls out, not having moved an inch.
At the door, Dean turns and winks at him. “Maybe if you’re lucky, babe,” he drawls, then opens the door to shouts of his new brand-mates, waiting to celebrate with him.
Seth stands there, staring at where he just was, bewildered, angry, and still impossibly turned on. Damn him, he thinks, pounding his fist back against the locker behind him. Seth lets out a long breath and looks down to share a look of utter sympathy with his dick, before adjusting himself and heading to the showers.
No one will be around, everyone is too busy throwing Ambrose a damn party to care about where Seth Rollins got off to after his devastating loss. So Seth turns the water on hot enough for steam to billow around him, hot enough to leave his skin tinged pink. He ducks his head, his breath hitching as he strokes himself, frantically searching for that sweet release that Dean had so rudely denied him. There’s a hint of shame there, but Seth pushes through, his fist flying fast against himself as he pictures blue eyes and rough hands and a warm mouth--imagining that the water dripping down his body are the ghosts of Dean's fingers, imagining Dean pinning him to the wall again and taking him.
He lets out a strangled noise when he comes, biting onto a knuckle on his free hand as he shudders and works himself through it. He closes his eyes, lets his breath come down to normal, lets the hot water pound away the aches in his muscles. He tries to force all thoughts of Dean away from him, out of his mind like the water running down the drain, tries to leave his thoughts empty so he can just make it to Sunday and his one last title shot without losing his damn mind. But as he shoves his wet hair back from his face, he can hear Dean's words echoing in his head: I want you thinking about me...
“Fucking Ambrose,” he mutters to himself.