Work Text:
The hallway is brightly lit, a stark contrast to his hotel room. Hunter turned him out after the meeting. Told him to relax. Seth lasted half an hour. So, now he’s standing in the sixth-floor hallway of an exorbitantly fancy hotel, and he’s staring at an unfamiliar door, and the only thought reverberating through his skull is a what the fuck am I doing?
He blinks before checking his phone again, trying to steal a few more precious seconds of procrastination.
Two old messages glow blue.
room #s 602
if u wanna find me
He can’t stop thinking about that look in Randy’s eyes. Seth had never noticed how blue they were on TV, but they glitter in Randy’s skull like little shards of ice. Randy had stared at him. His face stayed impassive, motionless, but his eyes. His eyes tracked all of Seth’s movements like a predator that would love to sink in for the kill, if not for the leash they shared. And, well. Fuck. Fuck.
Seth swallows. His throat is oddly dry—really, his whole body is strangely uncomfortable. He’s still wearing the suit, a gray thing picked out from the back of Hunter’s closet. Its starched edges itch unpleasantly against his skin. Dean would’ve teased him for it. Dean would’ve. Dean would nothing, and that’s the important part.
Everything’s just a little too raw, too fresh, too painful if he thinks about it for too long. There’s an itch blooming out from the center of his chest that makes him want to tear off his skin, and it’s not just the suit. Randy looks like he could—he might—
Seth just wants to suck his dick, maybe.
He doesn’t even know how Randy got his number. Hunter, probably. For team-bonding. Ha. Seth reaches out and knocks once, twice, three times on the wood. He doesn’t have to wait long.
“Door’s unlocked,” Randy’s gruff voice calls out. The walls are thin; the sound is barely muffled at all. Seth pushes the door open. He steps inside.
He’s not sure what he was expecting. For the whole room to be a wreck of clothes and ruined furniture, maybe. The name Randy Orton carries connotations: chaos, destruction. General disorder. But the room is empty, except for the suitcase on the ground. And the naked man sitting on the bed. Seth averts his eyes instinctively. It’s stupid; they both know why he’s here.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. Randy laughs, a chuckle that shakes his whole body.
“Come on, Rollins. Didn’t think you were a prude.” Seth glances back up, and Randy sits there, back against the headboard, legs stretched out luxuriously. He’s hard, and his cock presses insistently upward. Maybe he was getting himself off before this. Maybe he has been since he sent those messages.
Randy catches his eye and raises an eyebrow.
“Like what you see?” he smirks. Seth can feel the flush burning at his cheeks, an inexplicable humiliation rising in his stomach. The feeling of being caught on the outside of a joke, of hearing the locker room whispers stop before he reaches the door.
“I didn’t come here for your games, Randy,” he pushes. Randy swings his legs over the side of his bed. He keeps his eyes on Seth. Seth feels weirdly… exposed under his vision, even though he’s not the naked one.
“Guess you didn’t.” He stands up, then, and Seth’s back is flush to the wall before he can even think about it. The corners of Randy’s lips twitch up into a condescending smile. Heat pools in the bottom of Seth’s stomach, and he hates it, has always hated that, but it’s exactly what he needs.
Randy steps toward him. From here, Seth can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“So what do you want, Rollins?” Randy’s voice rumbles out from the bottom of his chest. His eyes stay fixed on Seth’s face, and a cold sweat breaks out on Seth’s back. Randy’s irises are unsettlingly pale in the darkness, a bright ring swallowed up by the dark of his pupils. Seth shrugs, trying to go for nonchalance and missing by a country mile.
“Figured we could get to know each other,” he says, laying an imprecise, lewd emphasis on his words, “Team bonding.” He gives Randy his shittiest, leery smile. The corners of Randy’s lips curve down into a scowl, and Seth tries not to wince at the reaction.
Randy tilts his head to the side like he’s observing a curious problem.
“Christ, you’re pretty.” It’s a jarring sentiment, said in a tone Seth usually hates. He swallows any displeasure down, though, because Randy’s staring at him. His eyes sparkle, almost hypnotizing.
“You know. I used to watch your tapes from the indies, way back when. Tyler Black,” Randy waves a hand in the air. Several, several years ago, Seth would’ve beamed, said thank you, and asked Randy for his input. He smirks instead.
“Liked what you saw?” he teases. Randy’s mouth twists into a not-quite smile.
“You’re…” Randy pauses, searching his mind for the correct word. “Obscene.” Without warning, he drags a hand roughly through Seth’s hair, and Seth yelps, bringing his hands up to clutch at Randy’s wrist. Randy’s fast, Seth knew this, has faced him down in the ring more times than he can count. But it’s different here, in the intimacy of Randy’s bedroom.
“I didn’t know Hunter liked latex,” Randy continues like nothing happened, like Seth’s input is meaningless to him. It’s a little terrifying, and it makes Seth’s dick twitch in his pants. He swallows. Every self-preservation instinct in his body wants him to run, because if he stays long enough, plays dumb for long enough, he might get crushed to death by Randy’s heavy presence.
He wants it, though, and he wants it a terrifying amount. If his head is too full of Randy, there won’t be space to think about. Other things. Everything about this is unfamiliar, alien. Perfect.
So he looks at Randy and tilts his neck back, baring his throat.
“I’m not looking for a fight,” he half-lies. He’s open to several options. Randy laughs at that, and he pushes Seth away. Seth stumbles backward, almost dizzy.
“I’m not looking for one either,” he says, tone mocking. Seth’s throat is so, so dry.
“Come here,” Randy beckons, and Seth follows him to the bed like a fish pulled on a hook. Or maybe he’s drowning, and Randy’s a lifeline. It’s easy. This is easy.
The second Seth gets close enough, Randy shoves him down onto the sheets. Seth’s head hits the mattress, and Randy is on him in an instant, turning him over and pressing his mouth to Seth’s. Seth chokes on a gasp, the sound trapped messily in his esophagus.
Randy kisses mean and weird, frankly; it’s less like he’s participating in a cooperative activity, and more like he’s using his tongue to iron in a point. Now Seth can taste the alcohol in his mouth; the sour, bready taste of a cheap beer. The taste warms him; it makes his head spin. Almost despite himself, his eyes flutter closed.
Randy pulls away roughly, pressing Seth down against the mattress. He looms in Seth’s vision, and Seth shivers.
“Sit up,” Randy says suddenly. There’s no internal logic to his direction, and weirdly, the realization that Randy doesn’t quite know what he wants either is a little reassuring. He scrambles to comply. His hair falls into his face, and the strands block off part of his vision. He doesn’t see the hit coming.
Randy’s open hand cracks against Seth’s jaw, and it sends a jolt through his whole skull that makes his teeth quake in place. His head jerks to the side with the impact, and his vision flickers for a second.
“Fuck,” he gasps. They haven’t even done anything yet, and his voice is already raspy, thick with an emotion he can’t place. He rolls his shoulders, adrenaline pounding through his veins. The itch isn’t sated, though. Randy laughs at him.
“You should see the look on your face right now,” said like he’s a high school bully. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and then he’s on top of Seth again, pushing his hands up under his shirt. His fingers are thick, and his palms are callused in the center from the bar. The texture is rough against Seth’s skin, and Randy runs his hands over Seth’s waist, squeezing, pinching, taking. It’s so fucking delicious to be wanted, so Seth gasps, tries to breathe, tries to be still, and tries to turn his brain off.
Randy tears his shirt open, warping the button-holes. I just bought that, Seth thinks, but that's irrelevant. It was on Hunter’s card, anyway. That fills him with a mix of elation and guilt, and the sting of emotion goads him to bring his hands up to Randy’s face and try to pull him down for another air-stealing kiss.
Randy jerks away from Seth’s hands, instead reaching down to tear at the button of Seth’s fly. Seth barely has time to raise his hips up before Randy violently tugs his waistband down, and the motion yanks Seth’s whole body an inch down the mattress. He’s so fucking strong, all chiseled muscle and tanned skin. Seth cries out, and then Randy’s clambering on top of him.
His thighs bracket Seth’s, bullying him into place. Not that Seth particularly wants to fight back, but the realization that he can’t makes his whole body flush. His hard dick bounces up onto his stomach. Randy smirks and then shrugs, a slow rolling gesture.
“You really are a slut, aren’t you?” Seth’s whole body flushes to the wrong side of too warm, and his face still hurts, but he can’t help the whimper that flees his mouth.
His heart sprints a fast tempo in his ears, anticipation and fear blurring his periphery. He’s clearly not the only one feeling impatient, though. Randy drops his fingers to Seth’s mouth, and Seth opens his lips automatically around them. There’s a moment of stillness, of incongruous quiet.
Seth’s seen this from his television before, never in person— the way Randy’s face smooths over impassively, the way his eyes are the only sign of movement in his skull. His pupils stick to Seth’s mouth so that they’re not quite making eye contact. He towers over Seth, and the light gleams on his skin. If not for the stubble, the red in his eyes, and the darkness under them, he would look like a god. And Seth wants to worship so, so bad.
“Please,” Seth whispers. It took Dean months to drag that tone out of him. The word jolts Randy into motion. He pulls his hand from Seth’s mouth and grabs him by the hair again, dragging him forward.
“Please,” Randy parrots back, and the words sound ridiculous from his lips, “please, and you can’t even tell me what you want.” Seth ends up on his elbows and knees before Randy’s crossed legs. Randy’s fingers squeeze his chin painfully hard, and Seth whines against it.
Randy shoves his head downward, and his cock nearly pokes Seth in the eye. It’s half-hard, bobbing in Seth’s view.
“Put that pretty mouth to good use, then, fuckin’ slut.” The words hurt and burn in a way that doesn't feel good, but his dick throbs with it, so Seth reaches out. He lifts one of his hands to line up Randy’s cock properly with his mouth, and he swirls his tongue around the head. Randy exhales quietly, and his grip on Seth’s hair relaxes. A reward, a sign he’s doing this right.
Seth licks a stripe down the side of Randy’s cock, and Randy’s not-quite-moan is one of the most gratifying sounds he’s ever heard. He’s good at this; he knows it. Dean always told him he looked his best on his knees. Thinking about Dean makes the buzzing in his body sting behind his eyes, so he takes Randy into his mouth. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head up and down, letting the lewd, slick sounds coming from his mouth fill the silence. Randy lets out a satisfied sigh.
“Christ. You’re so fucking easy. I finally get why Hunter wanted you,” Randy says. Seth can’t help whining at that, and Randy’s cock twitches in his mouth. The fist in his hair tightens again, and Seth can feel some of his hair separate from his scalp.
Some sort of half-grunt, half-yelp tries to make its way up Seth’s throat, but then Randy shoves his head down until his nose is buried in Randy’s dark, coarse pubic hair, and it’s all he can do to keep his gag reflex down and keep breathing while Randy’s cock pokes him in the back of the throat. Some disgusting wet gargle escapes his mouth.
Randy works his hips slowly back and forth, taking his time. He groans, and Seth closes his eyes, trying to simultaneously drift off and stay grounded. Everything boils down to these small bits of sensation— the involuntary tears carving their way down his cheeks, the roughness of Randy’s palm on the back of his neck, the heat of his thigh against Seth’s skin, the spit dripping down Seth’s jaw, and the ache of Seth’s dick hanging hot and heavy between his legs.
“You’re so good at this,” and it’s kind in a way that sounds like it’s been surprised out of Randy’s mouth. The praise, delivered in that strained, breathy, deep voice, makes Seth’s dick twitch, and he whines again. It sends him down a little further into fluff, and distantly, he thinks that might be a bad idea, but Randy’s so everything, and Seth needs to be the nothing surrounding that for a bit. Randy’s cock lets out a little blurt of precome onto his tongue, and Seth swirls his tongue around the head, lapping it up.
Randy’s whole body shudders, and then he’s pulling Seth’s head off him. Seth opens his mouth eagerly, but Randy squeezes the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm. Randy growls.
This time, the hit lands squarely on Seth’s cheek, and it makes a sound in his head that cracks out through the whole room. It’s on the same side as the last one, asymmetrical, and off-balance, and itchy. Seth flutters his eyes open, and the whole world is sideways.
He idly licks the taste of stinging iron from his mouth. The inside of his cheek is scraped open. It hurts.
“Greedy bitch, Jesus Christ,” Randy gasps. “Fucking impatient brat. We’re not done till I say we are.” He reaches between Seth’s legs and reaches for Seth’s cock. He squeezes once, too tightly. Seth cries out, cringing backward.
Randy releases him, and Seth takes in a shuddering breath, thankful and reproachful all at once. He’s still so hard it’s dizzying, but the itch under his skin hasn’t faded, and if he does this right, maybe Randy will hit him again.
Randy pushes him down to the bed stomach first, so Seth’s on his knees and elbows, flat against the mattress. He cants his hips up and spreads his knees, and Randy curses again before getting off the bed. Seth puts his head between his arms and tries to think, but all that’s in his brain is fluff and a rushing sound that crashes against his eardrums.
He can hear Randy rummaging around behind him, things being chucked across the room in his search. The weight of the mattress shifts behind him, and he holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable violent contact.
Randy’s hands find his ass and knead roughly at the meat there, making Seth keen.
“You’re just—it’s ridiculous. You fuckin’ whore,” Randy says. He squeezes hard around a fistful of flesh, and Seth gasps.
“Please,” he gasps, the word ripped up from somewhere so deep he doesn’t even sound like himself. Randy laughs, and his hand comes down on Seth’s right asscheek with a resounding crack. Seth cries out and can’t help wriggling up the bed a little, but Randy’s hands seize his hips and drag him right back down.
“Didn’t know it was this easy to get on Hunter’s good side these days,” he mutters. Seth hears the click of the lube bottle behind him and gasps when he feels the cold plastic tip press against his hole. Randy squeezes the cold lube directly into him, and Seth squeals at the sensation.
A thick finger impatiently works its way past his rim, and he scrambles to stop squirming, to relax and loosen up. He’s good at this, he’s good at this.
“‘Team bonding.’ Do you think I’m stupid?” He shoves a second finger inside, and Seth has to bite the sheets to hold back the series of sounds working their way past his lips. If anyone were to walk past outside, any of his coworkers, they’d be sure to hear him like this. The thought makes his cock pulse heavy and hot and almost painful, pre dripping steadily down to the sheets.
“Bet you would like that, huh? For daddy to see you like this, legs spread and drooling for it?” A strangled moan crawls up from the bottom of Seth’s chest, and it feels like it carves up the flesh in his throat.
Randy laughs again, and it’s a crazed sound this time. He crashes his hand down on Seth’s ass again, back on the same spot, and it’s a beautiful clatter of pain. Seth shrieks, and he barely recognizes the sound. He barely recognizes himself, right now. He might as well not be a person, just an implement, a hole for Randy to use however he wants. It feels beautiful.
“I see right through you, bitch,” and Randy says the last word with a particular relish. He scissors his fingers and drags his nails through the patch of hot skin he just spanked, and Seth arches his spine back and cries out, not sure if he wants to get away or closer to the shivery sensory overload. His whole body is shaking, trembling uncontrollably. It’s like the awful, frenetic energy he’s been keeping inside is exploding out of him. His chest spasms with a sob.
Too late and too soon, Randy withdraws his fingers. Seth shudders at the loss, clenching around nothing. Randy’s dick slides slickly against Seth’s ass, and Seth gasps at the sensation.
“Hold yourself open for me,” Randy demands, and Seth belatedly lets go of the sheets. He can do this, he can do this one simple thing, and do it well. His fingers are cramping from how tightly he was holding them, but he reaches behind himself awkwardly. All his limbs are clumsy and useless, but he drops his shoulders down to the bed and uses his hands to spread his cheeks apart.
The back of his neck burns with humiliation. The fire feels renewing.
Randy lets out a low whistle. He presses the tip of his cock to Seth’s rim, and Seth whimpers into the sheets.
“What a fuckin’ view,” Randy breathes. It’s not quite praise, not an affirmation that Seth is doing this right, but it makes Seth feel like an object in a different room, and that’s just as good.
The head of Randy’s cock presses against his rim, and Seth wills himself to breathe. The pressure increases inexorably until Randy sinks inside, easy as anything, as if Seth’s body were dragging him inside. Seth moans uselessly into the sheets. Randy’s big, and Seth knew that, felt it in his throat, but it’s different when he can’t see what’s happening, and he’s still tight, and he just has to let Randy push burning inch after burning inch of his cock inside.
When Randy finally, finally bottoms out, Seth pushes out a harsh breath from his nose, trying to adjust. Shockingly, Randy lets him. His hands roam from Seth’s ass up to his hips, to his waist. Seth feels the weight of the mattress before anything else, and then Randy’s draping his body over his, a warm, heavy weight pressed against his back.
An embarrassing surprised squeak comes out of his mouth, and Randy laughs, quieter this time. His mouth is right by Seth’s ear, and his breath tickles. He rolls his hips back, slowly, slowly, until only his tip is still inside. And then he slams his hips forward, bottoming out again in an instant. A strangled, breathless yowl comes out of Seth’s mouth, and Randy doesn’t hold back now, pounding him into the mattress.
“You’re still real tight for a slut,” Randy murmurs. Seth wails into the sheets.
Everything is too much sensation. The angle they’re at means Randy’s cock brushes tantalizingly against his prostate with each thrust, and Seth’s yowling into the sheets. He can’t bother keeping quiet now, not when there’s so much everything. His legs kick back flat against the mattress, and Randy’s full weight is basically on top of him, and he doesn’t think he’s actually being suffocated, but his vision is starting to go hazy, and the wheezing sound of his breath keeps reaching his ears with a delay.
It’s somehow more jarring when Randy’s mouth starts pressing these not-quite-kisses into the back of Seth’s neck. They’re wet, like Randy’s just mouthing at him and leaving his spit everywhere.
“You’re pretty,” Randy whispers again, the alcohol making him repetitive. It hurts to hear now, riding up too close to something Dean would do.
Seth feels the wet ridge of his teeth first, and then the bite comes. Randy’s teeth sink into his flesh all harsh and bruising, and Seth’s whole body jerks against it. He cries out, and Randy just bites him again, sucking bruises into Seth’s skin. They ache and sting, and distantly, he thinks about how annoying covering them for the cameras is going to be. Randy knows this, and yet.
“Something for daddy,” he growls. Seth whimpers, his whole body heating up. He can feel Randy smirk against his skin.
Then, Randy’s pulling away, and the absence is somehow worse than the too-much. He pulls out too quickly, and Seth groans. His limbs won’t stop shaking, but it doesn’t matter because Randy’s already flipping him over before he can register what’s happening.
He shoves his cock in, and it’s like he pushes all the air out of Seth’s body. Seth chokes on his own spit, trying impossibly to relax and stay alert all at once. He’s good at this, he’s good at this, he’s good. He blinks up at the ceiling, but Randy pushes his face into his.
“Open your mouth, princess,” and maybe it’s something about the nickname that sounds jarringly wrong between Randy’s teeth, or maybe Seth just wants it, but he lets his jaw hang open obediently.
Randy spits in his mouth, a disgusting string of saliva. It lands on Seth’s tongue, and Seth closes his mouth almost automatically. Tasting someone else’s spit is always weird, and he’s never. It’s even stranger like this. Lukewarm, thick, if he thinks about it for too long, which he shouldn’t. It’s gross, but he’s never been harder in his life. His cock leaks steadily onto his stomach, and if Randy weren’t here, demanding all his attention, he’d be jerking himself off.
Seth tilts his head back and swallows, a performance of his throat muscles and Adam’s apple. Randy stares at him, and he doesn’t even have to say anything; the rapture in his eyes is good enough. Maybe Seth smiles. He can’t really feel his face anymore.
Regardless, something happens, and Randy’s expression folds into a manic grin.
“So well-trained,” he teases. Seth frowns because it’s wrong, Seth’s not really like that, but Randy hooks Seth’s knee over his shoulder and leans in, practically folding Seth in half. Seth’s bent legs trap him in place, and Seth swallows thickly against the claustrophobia.
The angle means Randy’s cock is basically drilling into his sweet spot, and his dick grinds against Randy’s abs, and the tension building behind Seth’s navel almost catches him off guard; that mounting, overwhelming pressure sends his eyes back in his skull, making his guts tremble. He arches his back against it, bending his neck painfully.
“I’m—I—” Seth comes messily between them before he can say a word, tingling waves of sensation that crash into the edges of his body so intensely it’s almost painful. Maybe he screams. He’s not too sure of anything, except that when he finally tunes back in, Randy’s still drilling into him.
It hurts now, shivery overstimulation that makes his overused muscles clench painfully and jerk away from contact despite Seth’s best efforts to resist. Randy’s relentless though, and Seth can do this, he needs to do this. He leans his head back, but the tears trace their way from his eyelids to his hairline.
Randy’s hands come to his throat, fingers squeezing experimentally. Seth’s limp dick jerks painfully between his legs, and he stares at Randy through blurry eyelashes, and he wonders if his reverence is clear enough.
Maybe it is, because Randy stares back, and the closest thing to a smile Seth has ever seen on his face alights there. Randy tightens his grip, and the world goes hazy. It almost feels like all the blood is rushing to his head, an unrelievable pressure that makes his skull tingle. His lungs start screaming, and it perfectly matches the sound inside his head, and it’s all Seth can do to try and lie there and be good, to stay relaxed and open, to keep his limbs still even though everything in his body wants to writhe away.
The pressure releases, and Seth nearly chokes on the fresh air. He gasps like a dying fish, lungs spasming. Randy keeps fucking him, and Seth clenches down around him without really thinking about it.
“That’s it, that’s good, keep going,” Randy groans, and his breath is hitching now, hips stuttering in their rhythm. His fingers tighten around Seth’s throat again, and Seth lies back and takes it, eyes watering, hair stuck to his face, cheeks red. The world spins in and out of focus; the only textures that mean anything are the points where Randy touches him.
When Seth’s next coherent thought comes, Randy’s grip loosens and his hips stutter in their rhythm. His fingers dig into his hips, his nails digging agonizing crescents into Seth’s flesh.
He comes inside of Seth on a particularly deep thrust. He groans loudly into the silence, hips stilling. It’s hot, it’s wet, it’s messy, it’s. About to be over. Seth shudders in place.
Randy’s body stays draped over Seth’s, a heavy, suffocating weight. He doesn’t move even as he softens inside of Seth’s body. Seth drags in harsh breath after harsh breath, the sound filling the room. He still can’t stop shaking.
Randy rolls off to the side, and Seth immediately misses the pressure of his body. He feels unmoored like this, and the shaking is starting to rend his whole body apart. He can’t be good if— he’s fucking it all up, and Randy’s going to tell him that, going to tell Hunter. The air is too cold against his skin. Randy pats his side, like he’s trying to calm a spooked horse.
“You can use my bathroom, yeah? Clean yourself up.” He squints at Seth, and belatedly, Seth nods. He’s being irrational; it’s just. He’s dropping, and he’s being insane. It’s just that Randy doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t tell Seth he did good, and wow, that’s a stupid thing to want, he should just— he needs to get out. He needs to not be a problem. His chest is starting to feel heavy. The sound of his own breathing grinds against his eardrums. He nods again, and he pushes himself up. Randy stares at him, then shrugs.
“You have my number,” he says. Seth swallows. He swings his legs onto the ground. He stands, and somehow he doesn’t fall. He walks to the bathroom with his back straight, and he doesn’t let himself limp. Randy’s eyes burn a hole in his back.
The door clicks behind him, and still he pushes forward, keeping his eyes up and away from his body. His jaw aches, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s clenching it or if it’s from Randy’s cock. He can’t do this now, he can’t. He drags himself into the shower and turns the water on. A sob gets stuck somewhere between the roof of his mouth and his teeth, and he bites his tongue. Hold on, he just has to hold on. He heats the water until it’s scalding, scrubs his skin raw without looking at himself.
If Dean were here. He stops himself before he can finish the thought because Dean isn’t. Maybe if Seth had been good enough for everyone, he would be. But if Dean were here, maybe he would hold Seth, maybe he would help him dry off his hair. Maybe he would laugh. Maybe he would leave.
Randy’s gone when he steps out into the room, and he’s infinitely grateful for it. He slowly tugs on his pants with numb fingers. His shirt is still in one piece, but the second button is missing. Despite the heat from the shower, he’s still shaking so hard that the idea of buttoning it is daunting, but the idea of someone seeing him so disheveled and knowing is so much worse. He fucks it up three times, but he makes it, and he tugs on the suit jacket.
Out of absent-minded habit, he reaches into his jacket pocket for his phone. The screen lights up. Two missed calls from—shit.
He fumbles his phone open with numb fingers. His phone rings, and rings, and rings. Randy’s room is silent, the only movement from his uncontrollable jitters. His leg quakes somewhere far outside of his control. Dean used to bounce his leg like this when he got restless. Seth squeezes his hand into a fist and sinks his nails into his palm, but it doesn't help. At last, Hunter picks up.
“Hey, kid.” There’s a cryptic smile in his voice.
“Hi,” Seth rasps, and he winces at the sound of his own voice. He clears his throat. It doesn’t help. “Did you need something?”
“No, I’m just checking in. Randy told me you guys are, uh, getting along well.” The entendre is so heavy that Seth’s head hurts to hear it. “Not too well, I hope.” Seth has no idea what that means, and he’s too exhausted to guess, but he probably has to. He forces a laugh.
“Yeah. It was. Good. Productive,” he adds. For now, at least, the itch in his skin is burnt out and hollow. Blissfully dead.
“Good, good,” Hunter muses on the other side. “I think you could be helpful for, well. I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he says abruptly. Seth nods before he remembers Hunter can’t see him.
“Yeah. Yes, sir,” he says. There’s a loud click when Hunter hangs up, and Seth takes in a too-loud shuddering breath. He can’t do this here, so he gets up and limps to the door. The hallway is empty, and it’s still too quiet; there’s nothing to drown out the ringing in his ears.
Exhaustion follows him into his hotel room. He makes it to his bed, but he can’t lie down. He sits still, hunched over. He can’t stop shaking for hours.