Dean's laid back in the hotel room armchair, stretched out, a lit cigarette between his fingers and his eyes closed.

He hums softly as he brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling the smoke out slowly after a few seconds through pursed lips.

He cracks open an eye to look down at Seth, on his hands and knees, Dean's boots planted firmly over the naked curve of his back.

Seth's wearing nothing but a leather collar around his throat, buckled a notch too tight, just the way he likes it. His skin is littered with red blotches, mixed in with fresh and fading bruises, the majority of which were a gift from Dean. His hair is matted down and slick with sweat, hanging limply in his eyes, though Dean had taken it upon himself to tuck the blonde strands behind his ear. His arms are trembling slightly from the effort of holding himself up for such a long period of time under the weight of Dean's feet; he's lost track of how long it's been, half an hour, maybe, but his interest has never waned, his cock hard and jutting out at an angle underneath him, pre-cum beading at its tip.

Dean laughs at a joke only he can hear, the sound rough and piercing, a gravelly off-key melody. He cracks the other eye open and shifts his weight to place more of it on Seth's back.

"Fucking whore," he says, his lip curled in derision. He taps his heel against Seth's spine, and Seth shakes, wobbles, nearly loses his balance, but his fingers dig into the carpet and he forces himself to stay upright. "I don't know what you get out of this," he continues, pausing to take another long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke toward Seth this time. "Unless you like 'em knowing about it. You gonna run to your mommy and daddy after this, smelling like cigarettes and covered in my cum and the dirt on my boots, telling 'em how you paid ol' Dean Ambrose a visit?"

Dean brings the cigarette to his lips again as he waits for a response, inhaling and then exhaling the smoke, tapping the fingers of his free hand idly on the arm of the chair. He frowns when it becomes clear Seth won't willingly offer him an answer. "Answer me, you fucking slut," he says, tapping his heel against Seth's spine again, harder this time, and it becomes a lot more difficult for Seth to stay upright.

"I won't tell them," Seth manages through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Why not? I think it's best for business," Dean says, pursing his lips as he pretends to contemplate it. "But suit yourself, Rollins. Maybe I'll just leave ya in the dumpster for them to find. You'd be at home."

He lets the silence fill the air between them, watching Seth tremble as he smokes, the scent pungent and pervasive. Eventually, he stretches, taking his feet off of Seth's back and planting them on the floor, though not without a sharp kick to the other man's ribs that makes him gasp and clutch at his side, eyes flickering open on instinct.

"C'mere, pretty boy. I got you a present." It takes a displeasingly long amount of time for Seth to obey him, but he finally moves, crawling toward Dean and settling down in front of his feet. Dean leans over and grabs an object from the nightstand, holding it loosely between his thumb and his forefinger. "Stand up."

Seth struggles to rise to his feet, grabbing at Dean's knee for support, but Dean frowns and kicks him in the midsection, and Seth curls in on himself, gasping for air. "Don't ever put your filthy fuckin' hands on me," Dean sneers. He watches Seth try to rise to his feet again, taking another drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke in Seth's face when the other man looks up at him, smirking in satisfaction when Seth flinches and coughs. "Hurry up. I ain't got all day."

When Seth finally stands, swaying slightly on his feet, Dean leans forward and temporarily puts the object down in his lap. He wraps his hand around Seth's cock, stroking up and down a couple times. He knows him well enough to know what he likes, and he makes sure his strokes are more painful than pleasurable, his grip too tight and off-balance. He lets go and picks up the object again, holding it up in front of Seth's face for inspection.

It's a steel cock ring, thick and solid and shiny, and Dean slips it over the head of Seth's cock and down his shaft, securing it firmly at the base of his cock.

"You like it?" he asks. Seth nods slowly, chewing at his bottom lip. "Then say thank you. Cost me a pretty penny, so you better be damn grateful."

"Thank you, Dean," he rasps out. Dean nods his approval, leaning back in the armchair.

"Get back on your knees, pretty boy," he orders, and Seth obeys him once more, dropping to his knees almost immediately, his cock bobbing with the movement. "Open my pants up, take my dick out."

Seth does as he's told, nearly climbing into Dean's lap to unbuckle his belt and unbutton and unzip his jeans. Dean watches him all the while, taking drags from his cigarette and exhaling the smoke into Seth's hair, into Seth's face. He's only half-hard when Seth frees his cock from his underwear; fucking around with this slut isn't as fun as it used to be, although his cock twitches slightly as Seth's fingers graze across his shaft.

Seth glances up at him and wraps a hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before lowering his head to wrap his mouth around it. Dean frowns and uses his free hand to shove at Seth's chest roughly, knocking him off-balance and sending him toppling backward. Seth stares at him, bewildered.

"Didn't say you could suck my dick. Why would I let you, anyway? God knows where your mouth's been. I got no interest in catching something from Hunter," Dean says gruffly. He spits into his palm and strokes his cock once, a slow, long, upward stroke; Seth's eyes drink in the movement greedily. "But, tell you what. I'll let you watch me jerk off, and if you're good, I'll come all over your pretty face. You want that?"

Seth, settling back down on his knees, nods. "Yeah," he breathes, swallowing, feeling the clench of the leather around his throat contracting his airways just enough to make the action difficult.

"Say please."

"Please," Seth parrots, eyes wide as he stares at Dean. One corner of Dean's lips curls up in a knowing smirk.

"Of course that's what you want; I dunno why I even asked. You're a good-for-nothin' whore, and everyone knows whores ain't want nothin' but to be used the way they should." He starts stroking himself slowly, using the spit on his palm to slick his motions. He's fully hard now, his mind wandering a little bit as he imagines all the other things he could do with Seth. The possibilities are endless, and what makes it even better is the fact that he can throw Seth away every time and Seth will always come crawling back to him, begging for more.

He moans lowly as he strokes, swiping his thumb over the head of his cock to collect his leaking pre-cum. He pauses, holding his hand out to Seth, thumb extended. Seth takes the hint and crawls forward, leaning in to close his mouth over Dean's thumb and lick the pre-cum away eagerly. He cleans Dean's thumb entirely before pulling back and settling back down.

"See what I mean? You're so goddamn easy. You just wanna be fucking used," Dean says, starting to stroke himself again. He strokes a little faster this time, groaning as he imagines what Seth's pretty face will look like covered in his cum. "You're goddamn lucky I know how to use you. And you're goddamn lucky I choose to spend my free time using you. There are so many better things I could be doing. Working out, hanging with Roman, ruining your life... but instead, I'm here giving your slutty ass all my attention. Aren't you fucking lucky." That familiar heat is starting to pool in the pit of his stomach, and he wants to come, wants to mark Seth up in one of the most basic, humiliating ways he can.

"You want me to come all over your face, pretty boy? Wanna be wearin' my cum, so everybody can see how much of a fucking whore you are, letting your enemy treat you like the piece of shit you are?"

Seth makes a noise akin to a sob. "Please," he says, voice shaky and breathless, tinged with desperation and want. "Please." His eyes close, and Dean leans forward in the armchair, working himself faster.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart," he drawls. "Or you're gonna miss it."

Seth opens his eyes, and he stares at Dean with the most honest, trusting expression Dean's ever seen on him.

But he should know better; he ought to know by now not to trust Dean Ambrose.

It only takes a few more long, drawn-out strokes before Dean's coming, his cum painting lines across Seth's face, striking his forehead and lips and cheeks and chin. He looks filthily used, and it suits him. He watches Seth's tongue poke out from between his lips to lap at the cum on his lips, tasting it and obviously enjoying it like the whore he is.

Dean collapses back in the armchair with a satisfied groan, his eyes trailing down from Seth's face to his crotch. Seth's cock is flushed red, a dark contrast against the bright, shiny steel of the cock ring, and it looks painful, would pain him if he gave a shit about Seth. "You wanna come?" he asks.

Seth nods, one hand instinctively reaching down toward his crotch, but Dean halts him with an ice-cold stare, a clear indication that he chose the wrong action.

"Stand up and c'mere," Dean orders. Seth obeys, standing on shaky legs and padding his way to Dean. He reaches out and slowly, carefully, pulls the cock ring off of Seth, who whimpers with the inevitable stimulation. Once he's free of the cock ring, Dean looks away briefly to place it back on the nightstand, and Seth reaches for his cock when Dean's not looking, but again, Dean halts him, this time with a threat. "If you touch yourself before I tell you to, I'll stick your fucking dick in the goddamn ice bucket," he growls, and it's enough to make Seth force himself to stop.

Dean studies him as he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, retrieving another one from the pack and lighting it. He brings the fresh cigarette to his lips and takes a drag from it, exhaling its smoke in Seth's face after a few seconds, smirking at the way Seth flinches and coughs again, his eyes watering. "I ought to just leave you like this," he comments. "Send you back to your mommy and daddy naked and covered in cum and begging to be touched. Cause I've wasted more than enough time with your slutty, worthless ass. There's an hour I'm never gonna get back. But you're real lucky I'm feeling generous." He pauses, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. After the exhale (in Seth's face again, of course), he speaks. "Hands and knees."

Seth drops to his hands and knees, and Dean kicks his feet up, settling his boots atop the curve of his back like he'd done previously. "I'm gonna let you come," Dean decides. "But there are rules. You jerk yourself off right here, you come on the carpet. But... you gotta use only one hand, cause you gotta keep your balance. I need somewhere to put my feet, you know? So if you can't stay up, if you fall on your face, your ass, whatever, then you're not allowed to come. You gotta stop right then and there. And if you don't stop, well..." he pauses, waving the cigarette in the air, "let's just say you're gonna find out what it feels like to be used as a human ash tray. You understand?"

Seth exhales, the sound oddly loud in the space between them, and nods.

"Then go ahead. C'mon, pretty boy, let's see what you can do."

Seth's first attempt to reach for his cock nearly results in him falling on his face, but he manages to hold himself up, even as Dean presses his boots firmly into the curve of Seth's back, trying his hardest to make him fail. His second attempt is a near-repeat, and when he tries a third time, he still gets nowhere. Dean's confident he won't be able to get off, and oh how fun it'll be to send Hunter and Stephanie their precious Sethie back looking absolutely wrecked.

On the fourth try, Seth succeeds in wrapping his hand around his cock, and he nearly sobs at the touch, his cock jerking. He's achingly hard, and the pain of not being allowed to come until now is physical, and it takes only five strokes (Dean counts) for Seth to come, his whole body shuddering and spasming as he whimpers his way through his orgasm.

Dean watches all of this silently, taking the occasional drag of his cigarette, until Seth is finished coming and comes very close to collapsing under the weight of Dean's feet. As punishment, Dean skims his boot across Seth's back until he reaches the back of his neck, and then he presses down, forcing Seth's face into the pool of cum that's already starting to soak into the carpet.

"Clean it up."

Seth doesn't question him, doesn't even hesitate, just starts lapping it up, like he's been asked to. Dean shifts his weight to place his feet back on the floor as Seth works, pretty sure Hunter and Stephanie would be mad if he accidentally killed Seth by suffocation.

It takes a few minutes for Seth to clean it all up, Dean focusing his attention on trying to make smoke rings when he exhales the cigarette smoke, instead of paying attention to Seth. He finally glances down when he grows tired of trying to blow smoke rings, finding that Seth's done, and his body is shaking, and he realizes Seth's crying.

He's fine; Seth had been the one to come to him and ask for this. If he wasn't fine, he knew the word.

Seth crawls back to him and curls up next to his feet, resting his head against his calf, and Dean holds his cigarette over Seth's head and taps it gently so that the ash rains down on him. He smiles broadly at Seth's yelp of pain, the other man curling closer as if Dean's presence will protect him.

Really, it's the opposite.

"Good boy."