A/N: This turned out completely different than what I intended (hell, I even wrote differently than I usually do), but I'm happy with the result, so here we go.
It always starts with a humming. First it's in his ears, making it hard for him to hear what anyone was saying to him. Then it goes under his skin, making him feel like his entire body is vibrating. He always ignores it at first. He knows exactly what it is, but he doesn't want to admit to it. Admitting it means admitting he needs help, which is not something he likes to do. He likes being able to take care of himself. It's better that way. Relying on people always leads to trouble.
"Dean." Roman's voice finally manages to cut through the fog in his brain. He sounds exasperated, and Dean can only wince sheepishly at the look he was getting. "Have you heard anything I've said?"
"I stopped listening after you told me I couldn't shove Xavier's trombone up his ass." It's not really a lie. His interest in talking strategy ended at about that point.
Roman rolls his eyes. "Sorry man. Sodomy via musical instruments just isn't PG. I'm trying to think of the children."
Dean laughs. Roman was being completely serious, which made it all the funnier.
Roman laughs too, those his trails off a lot faster than Dean's. He knows there's something up. He can always tell. "You okay man?" He always asks, even though he know Dean won't admit to anything being amiss. He has to try, and despite never admitting it out loud, Dean does appreciate it.
"I'm fine." It's not a lie if Dean intends to be. That's what he tells himself even as Roman looks at him in disbelief. "Let's just fucking do this."
Roman stares at him a bit longer, the desire to push the issue almost too much for him to resist. Dean squirms under his gaze, trying to ignore the fact that the feeling in him was growing stronger. He tries to push it away again, knowing he couldn't afford to do anything else. Their match was coming up too quickly. He had to focus. Had to actually be helpful out there.
Finally Roman just claps a hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "Let's do this." He doesn't believe that nothing is wrong, but he's letting it go.
Dean breathes out a sigh of relief and bumps a fist against Roman's. They had this. They were going to go out there, beat the piss out of the most annoying people Dean ever had met in his life, and in that violence he would get this feeling to go away. It was simple. It wouldn't get fucked up.
It got fucked up.
It was all Xavier's fault. It always is when it comes to New Day matches. He came flying in like an asshole, hitting Dean right upside the head with that stupid trombone. The beatdown ensues after that, Big E and Kofi making sure that he and Roman are left laying in the middle of the ring. It's infuriating and to make it all worse, he hadn't been able to punch the funny feeling out of him. The humming had gotten worse and worse, leaving him barely able to even hear the crowd. The vibrating had gotten just as bad; Dean felt ready to just shave his skin off so he could make it stop. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he didn't have a razor to do it. So now he was stomping around backstage, snarling and growling, looking for a fight. He didn't care who it was. New Day was preferred sure, but he'd take anyone. Seth, the Wyatts, Bo Dallas, Orton - hell, he'd fight the referees at this point.
His name was being said, but he was too pissed off to recognize the voice. He keeps on going, fists clenching and unclencing over and over again.
He ignores it again, too busy thinking about if anyone would care if he grabbed Curtis Axel and shoved him through a glass window.
Fingers grab his hair and yank his head back, the sharp, stinging pain in his scalp cutting through his violent red haze. He balls up his fists again, ready to start punching until he sees who it is.
"Dean." Cesaro says his name again, fingers twisting even more tightly in his blond locks. His tone is more assertive, but he doesn't so much as raise his voice. He never does. He's always so goddamn calm. Dean doesn't know how he's always so fucking calm. He always means to shake him for it, to demand an answer, but he never actually does it. By the time he can, he's fallen into a trap that makes him incapable of it. It's already happened again. His fists are already unclenched while the funky feeling that had been plauging him all night started to subside. It wasn't completely gone; it wouldn't go away until he got what he was really craving. But it was a start and he didn't like that it was a start.
"What?" Dean makes himself speak because he doesn't Cesaro to think he's just gone speechless on him now. "What the fuck do you want?"
"Roman sent me after you. Says you needed me."
Dean groans. "Oh christ on a fucking cracker. What the fuck gave him that bright fucking idea?" The words were spat out angrily, his body struggling to break free from the older man's grip.
The freedom doesn't come. There's just another sharp yank and Dean has to tell himself that the sound that comes out of his mouth is a groan and not a moan. He doesn't feel like he's very convincing. Cesaro's smirking, looking completely pleased with himself. If he could actually trust himself not to ask for him to do it again, he'd tell him to fuck right the hell off.
"You're not as good as hiding it as you think." Cesaro lets go of his hair, being considerate of how his neck felt about that position. The smirk on his face is gone as he answers the question. Dean still scowls though, mostly because he didn't like being so easy to read. If he wanted to pretend to be fine, then Roman just needed to fucking accept that.
"My room tonight?" It's posed as a question, but they both know it doesn't have to be asked. Not at this point.
"Yeah." The agreement is easier to give than the stubborn part of Dean wants it to be.
"Need your stuff?"
Dean shakes his head. He doesn't want it because it'll take too long to get it. Roman would grab it for him - or at least he hoped he would.
Cesaro smirks at him, ready to make some sort of comment.
"Say a fucking word and lose your teeth," Dean warns.
Cesaro keeps his comments to himself, but he's still smirking. Dean makes a note to throw something at his head later when he wasn't expecting it.
Dean tells himself it's just about the sex.
It's always easier when it's just about that. Feelings aren't a thing he likes. He's not good with them. They make things too messy. He got all fucked up over Regal and then fucked over and broken by Seth. He made a vow to not put himself out there like that again. But despite that vow, part of him know it's not just about that. He feels too much for his own good. Even when he doesn't put it out there, it's all inside him, fucking up his entire fucking world. It's how he's found himself craving these nights with Cesaro. He doesn't know what he's feeling exactly towards the Swiss man, but deep down he knows it's more than just enjoying the sex. He craves the control the older man takes. Dean never admits it, but steering his own ship gets too exhausting. He's not good at control. He feels like he slips out of himself, spiraling into an abyss he can't claw his way back out of.
Cesaro can pull him back though. He can put him back in his own body and not leave a trace that anything was ever wrong. And getting that control placed over him had become as addicting as any drug Dean had ever taken.
The sharp sting of the belt makes him moan loudly. It brings him back to reality, which features him on his hands and knees on the bed, lips swollen from brutal kisses and the skin on his ass reddening from the belt. He doesn't really remember at what point they got naked. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the belt is coming down again and it feels so fucking good. He moans once more, his cock throbbing and his arms nearly shaking. The leather traces over his back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Cesaro says something he can't understand; he thinks he's talking in German again, but he could be totally fucking wrong. He doesn't care because he knows the tone. He knows he's being Good and no, he does not feel all fucking warm and fluttery in the chest because of it. No fucking way.
The belt comes down more, covering his ass and thighs with red welts. Dean moans helplessly, letting himself slump forward so his forehead was against the mattress. He wants to reach down and touch his cock. It's begging for any bit of attention, but he's not allowed to give it. His thoughts are sensed, and the belt goes away as Cesaro leans over him and grabs his wrists. They're pinned down over above his head, Cesaro's teeth giving his ear a quick bite.
"Keep them right there liebling." Cesaro's tone is still so fucking calm and quiet. Dean doesn't know how he always fucking does it. It's not something he's given too much time to think about. Cesaro's let go of his wrists, trusting him to keep them in place as he starts biting his way down Dean's back. Dean yelps at the first one, before settling into moaning. He pushes himself back up so he's back on his hands and knees, his fingers needing to twist and grip on the blanket. Cesaro's teeth keep sinking into his flesh, his hand occasionally smacking against Dean's ass. He won't be sitting right at all tomorrow, but he finds it hard to care.
The tongue teasing his entrance nearly makes Dean come apart completely. He grips the blanket more tightly, curses mixing with the moans coming out of his mouth, hands coming up to grip Dean's hips in a bruising manner. Cesaro's tongue slides slowly inside of him, making him feel messy and taken apart. He drops his head back down to the mattress, his hips desperately trying to move so he can push back against Cesaro's face. The older man tightens his grip, definitely leaving bruises now. Dean moans, almost feeling like it was too much. He still wants more though. Needs it. Feels like he'll die without it.
Slick fingers soon join the tongue. Dean doesn't remember the lube ever coming with them to the bed. Then again, Cesaro is the master of preparation. He probably had it already sitting here before the show and Dean figures he had just been too distracted with their other activities to notice.
Tongue and fingers move faster, leaving Dean's thoughts more fuzzy. It's better this way. He's grounded here in the moment. He moans, too fucking loudly but he can't bring himself to care. He wants to bring his hand down and wrap it around his cock, but he doesn't. He keeps them both where they are, not moving them until Cesaro's tongue and fingers slip out of his ass and he's being flipped over on to his back. His hands move then, pulling Cesaro down so he can bite down on his shoulder as he slips inside of him.
The facing each other part in all of this still weirds Dean out. He's used to being on his hands and knees, used to being bent over some furniture, used to being pushed face first against a wall - it's how he's always been fucked. Each partner had been the same. But Cesaro's different. He likes to watch Dean's face; he wants to see his eyes half closed and his lips slightly parted. He likes to whisper things in Dean's ear, mixing between warm praise and pure filth. He likes to kiss, which is what they're doing now. Dean moans into it, his fingernails digging into Cesaro's back. Cesaro's thrusts grew faster, one of his hands coming up to rest on Dean's throat. He never squeezes too hard. He's not Seth, who always got too eager and always ended squeezing too hard and leaving Dean barely able to talk the day after. He squeezes just hard enough to add to the pleasure, making Dean whimper and try to arch more on to his cock.
"Touch yourself for me." The tone is soft, but the fact that it's an order is clear. Dean obeys it immediately, needing only a few jerks of his hand before he's coming so hard that his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. Cesaro's not far behind, peppering Dean's face with kisses as his hips come to a stop. Dean makes one lazy attempt to bat him away; it's his nature to at least try to be difficult. But the attempt is ignored, and he lets his hand drop back down. He closes his eyes, enjoying the fact that the humming in his ears was replaced with murmured words of praise and the vibrating of his body was replaced with feeling weightless and jelly like.
He knows he won't admit to liking it out loud, but that's okay. The two of him both know he's a liar anyway.