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"I know why you did it."
Seth doesn't bother to raise his head. "Just keep walking, Ambrose."
Of course he doesn't. Because when in his life has Dean ever done what anyone told him to do? Or what Seth wanted. He sits down next to Seth and offers him a cigarette. Seth stares at it, nonplussed.
"I don't smoke," he says stupidly.
"No? You sure? Because I seem to remember you saying 'I don't lie' and we both know how that turned out." He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it in his mouth, shoving the packet back into his pocket. "Got a light? No? Never mind, I've-" He pats his jacket, produces a lighter from somewhere, tilts his head and cups his hand around the flame.
"I've never lied to you," Seth says and he doesn’t know why, it doesn’t matter, this is not a conversation they need to be having.
"Business partners," Dean quotes dryly. ”Never needed anyone. Created the Shield. Won that-” he reaches out and raps his knuckles against the side plate of Seth’s title ”-completely without help."
"To you," Seth says. "I've never lied to you.”
Dean looks at him, the glowing end of his cigarette like a heartbeat in the dark. ”Huh.”
They sit together in silence for a while. The wind is chilly, and Seth pulls the jacket tighter around him. He should get up, go back inside, find Hunter, apologize. Grovel a bit. If Hunter wants him taken down a notch, it’s always better to do it in private, away from the cameras. Still, he doesn’t move.
Dean smokes the rest of the cigarette in silence, then drops it to the ground and puts it out with his boot. It’s probably sick that something about his heel grinding against the concrete strikes Seth as powerfully erotic. He tears his gaze away.
”I know why you betrayed us. I figured it out.”
”I’ve told you why,” Seth says.
”Yeah, and that’s a load of crap. I’m talking about the real reason.”
Seth glances at him. ”All right, I’ll bite. Why did I betray you?”
”For the sheer sick thrill of it.” Dean says it easily. ”Gets you off, doesn’t it? Being ruthless and blameless all at the same time. Following orders. Being really good, in the most twisted way possible.”
Seth wishes he hadn’t turned down that offer of a cigarette. His hand trembles just a little as he reaches up to adjust the belt across his shoulder, staring out over the city’s skyline, obscured by the low clouds. The scent of rain is heavy in the air.
”I’m-” he begins, but there’s something in his throat and he doesn’t seem to be able to speak around it.
"You want to belong. No," Dean says, and flicks away a speck of dust from his sleeve. "No, that's not right. You want to be owned."
"I'm-" Seth says again, but he doesn't know where to go from there. Doesn't know if it's 'I'm sorry' or 'I'm not like that' or 'I'm World Heavyweight Champion, who the hell are you?'
"If you haven't lied to me yet, you probably shouldn't start now," Dean says, and Seth closes his mouth
obediently
and feels his pulse pick up, hands going clammy.
Dean reaches out slowly, giving Seth all the time in the world to slap his hand away. Instead he just sits there, barely breathing, and allows Dean to take the title from him, laying it across his lap.
He feels lightheaded, like he's drunk, but he hasn't touched a drop in weeks. Seth watches Dean hold his title, a sickly sweet wave of heat and fear crashing through him, and there's a part of him thinking that Hunter's going to kill him and another part that's desperately turned on.
The title looks good in Dean's hands, and Seth thinks, for a dizzying moment, that it'd look even better across his shoulder.
"For a collar, it's pretty gaudy."
Seth flushes. He should take it back, get up, get out, but he doesn’t move, painfully aware that all it would take is a downward glance for Dean to notice the erection straining against his jeans. He wants to shift his legs to hide it, but is scared that any movement would draw Dean's gaze right where he doesn't want it to go.
"You can have it back." Dean holds the title up in Seth’s face. "If you beg. Like a dog."
There's a little noise, pathetic, undignified, and Seth will die before he admits to it. He closes his eyes against the shame - just shame, nothing else, nothing sweet and aching and relentlessly seductive - and wets his lips. Dean is still watching him when he opens his eyes, and there's a flutter inside his ribcage, a pooling heat between his legs, and he can’t- but he should- there's no way- but he needs to-
"Just messing with ya," Dean says and drapes the title unceremoniously across his shoulder. "Should have seen your face." He pats Seth's cheek and gets up. "Fucking cold out here."
The door slams behind him and Seth swallows thickly, feeling the first drop of rain splash against his nose. He stays there, motionless, resisting the urge to reach down and touch until the cold seeps into his bones and the stubborn erection subsides, unacknowledged. The shame doesn't. It coils in his belly, squirming hot, as he tells himself that he hates it.
The storm hits Baltimore hard and in the early morning he lies awake in his hotel room, listening to the rumble of thunder and the howl of the wind, one hand on his cock, replaying it over and over in his mind, the way Dean sounds when he says "beg".