#bronseth

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Seth’s premonitions play out in one of two ways. Either he’s right, and he brilliantly predicted the outcome, or he’s still right, despite the methods diverging. Bron’s response is fulfilling neither, and it’s making his eye twitch. 

Anyone who looks at Bron Breakker can tell what’ll come out of his mouth, obviously, predictably, meat-headedly boring–

“No.” 

“Glad to hear it, sport, so–,” Seth shakes his head when he realizes. “No? What d’you mean, no ?” 

“It’s not enough.” Bron says, like that excuses his boldness, like he has any right to.

Seth laughs, cruelly, all that’ll crawl out of his throat these days. 

“Do you think this is a negotiation?” He’s sitting, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward to hold his chin in the cradle of his hands. “I’m offering you greatness,” Seth gestures to Bron’s lack of championship belt. “I’m offering revenge. ” 

Bron’s intensity hasn’t diminished in what seems like hours. The room’s starting to feel oppressive. 

“I’ll get that anyway. I don’t need you.” 

Seth barely keeps himself from clicking his tongue. There’s a million different things he wants to say; cutting, brutal things but– He’s talking to a dog. Kids like Bron work in least common denominators. Seth should remember, he’s not so far removed from it. 

“Well,” Seth rubs at his brow, “What do you want?” 

There’s no forethought in the world that could’ve clued Seth in to what he’d hear next.

“I wanna spear CM Punk.” 

Seth’s world takes on a whole new set of colors.

-

His sermons have changed. His message is less of an appeal and more of a warning.  Seth notices when the audience leans in. It doesn't matter, snide or magnanimous, cutthroat or merciful, they turn their ear regardless. 

They jeer him, but it's just for show. Seth has them under his designer boot, like always. A reaction, whether it’s revulsion or commendation, means they're listening. And of course they are, why wouldn't they?

Seth can probably sympathize with what it's like to be so susceptible. The people need a hero to idolize, or a jackboot to surrender to. Seth's straddled that fence for years, a tightrope performance he memorized a decade ago. 

There's just one unpredictable variable. Bron’s proven himself impulsive, unmoored by common sense– or decency, for that matter.

Calculated. The word most frequently used when anyone brings up Seth. He has plans for his plan’s plans. A through Z end up with him on top. 

The conflict here is plainly seen. This can't end well. But, if Seth already knows that going in… What's the harm?

Bron’s a powder keg in a coal mine. All that’s left is to wait for the blast.

The arena comes alive when Bron rolls into the ring. The roar when he takes off his hoodie is deafening. Seth knows his choices are the right ones, but it’s nice to hear it confirmed. 

Once Bron’s untethered, he lets loose. When Punk takes the spear, Bron rushing past him to do it, the deal is made. Bron roars and Seth grins. Victory is so, so sweet. Having cake and eating it too is all Seth ever seems to do. The current runs through him and sparks, calling for Bron to complete the circuit.

When Seth wraps around him, Bron’s skin is soft, waxed and young. It bounces back when Seth hits it. He blames the rush of arousal on the moment, and can feel Bron’s manic smile when Seth calls him his boy. Everybody wins.

What a good boy he is, too. Proves himself immediately, going after Roman without any coercion. Seth hears them go through the barricade while he’s taking care of Punk. When Seth shouts for him to drag Roman back into the ring, he obeys. When Seth tells him to hold Roman’s head in place, he does so dutifully. This is going better than he expected. 

There was nothing in their discussion about submitting to Seth. However, he won’t argue with the results. 

The wild meeting of their breathing when Seth brings their foreheads together is all he needs to codify this. He’ll take Bron far. As far as Bron’ll let him. 

-

Seth doesn’t even let Bron walk through the back on his own. A short leash for a rabid animal. Bron stalks through the halls like he’s hunting for something. He’s the kind of predator that doesn’t have to hide; by the time you see him, it’s too late. Seth feels drunk on power already, can’t let the best pawn in the game go to his head. 

He reaches up to grip Bron’s shoulder, leading him down the right corridor. His skin is hot, the muscles tense. Bron jerks his head, and Seth nearly recoils, but catches himself in time. Bron leans his head, subtly, and his nose twitches like he’s smelling Seth’s fingers. Seth stares, and the exhale from Bron tickles his hand. It starts to go numb when they turn the corner.

They get back to his locker room and he waves Paul off. Paul takes a moment to look between them, opening and then shutting his mouth when he thinks better of it. Good. 

“Next week, I’ll have them bring your stuff to my room instead.” Seth says, while Bron paces, breathing in and out. 

No response, no eye contact. 

Seth gives him a minute, resolves to go with his gut.

“Bron,” Seth says, short, “Come.” 

Now, Seth thinks through a lot of situations, reactions, consequences, but–

Bron crosses the room and buries his face into Seth’s neck, trembling. He burrows, gently, into Seth’s hair, his breath shuddering over Seth’s shoulder. No embrace, but the solid weight of Bron’s body presses against his own. 

It’s a reflex, almost, when Seth brings his hand to the back of Bron’s head, the close-cut hair surprisingly soft. He pets him there, throat suddenly swollen with that inherent affection you feel for–

Dogs.  

Seth can’t help but murmur to him. 

“You did it,” Seth hums, speaks right into Bron’s ear, “Good, you did good, Bron. Yeah,”

Bron’s chest vibrates with the noise he makes. It has Seth cradling his hip, thumb swiping along the bone. Seth’s lightheaded, all of a sudden, barely in-control and it should be disturbing. It’s not, somehow. Bron’s warm, all his power cowed in Seth’s arms. Privileged, special. Bron must be choosing him. 

Seth’s unbelievably, shockingly humbled. 

Bron huffs, leaning the full weight of his head onto Seth’s collar. It’s still, and Seth doesn’t dare disturb it. 

And then, just as quick as it began, Bron steps back and heads for the door. He spares Seth a glance, his placid expression’s without a trace of the ferocity that Seth’s used to. The door clicks when Bron shuts it behind him. 

Seth collapses onto the couch, the wind knocked out of him.

-

Seth’s not over the novelty of Bron under his thumb. He got a chance to speak to him earlier this week, over the phone. Bron was curt, his tone low. Seth didn’t bother to ask what he wanted. When will it be Seth’s job to know? Is it his already? 

Bron didn’t put up a fight when Seth told him what he had planned. He left a few things out, conscious of their fresh alliance. Seth’s betrayed a lot of people, knows to keep the details close to his chest. 

Bron doesn’t seem to have an interest in it, anyway. Seth’ll let him off the leash again tonight and watch the chaos burn in front of him. He hopes they stay this way. 

Bron doesn’t thank him for the car service Seth sent to his hotel, but Seth wasn’t expecting it. Bron wouldn’t be nearly as fun a toy if he licked Seth’s boot right away. There’s plenty of time for that later. 

He enters Seth's locker room with barely any acknowledgement at all, just a grunt in greeting, which suits Seth fine. The air in the room sits warm, hotter now that Bron's inside, like it charges in anticipation of what Bron brings.

Seth's buzzing himself, can't wait to see what he does next, how the audience will respond. Seth gave him loose instructions, not sure if Bron’s ready for specific commands beyond ‘riot.’ Punk and Roman still have no idea what they're dealing with, since they hardly look below themselves on the roster.

Seth's known Bron since he was in NXT, since Seth took that spear to his injured torso, rearranging his insides forever. He wonders idly if he's been trying to get Bron on his side ever since. You can't buy power like that, it has to come crawling into your lap.

The silence is not necessarily companionable, but it's not hostile. It’s restless, feeding off Bron’s fire, even the embers it’s stoking right now. Simmering heat, a promise. Seth sees the future.

Seth remembers what it was like when he was Bron’s age, but he never cut the shape that Bron does. Bron oozes intimidation like it’s his job. 

He’s not shy, either, apparently, because across the locker room he’s stripping down right there, uncaring of who’s watching. Which is to say– Seth. Seth’s watching, closer than he should admit. 

Seth’s discovering that Bron tans everywhere. Almost everywhere. When he leans over to grab the garments he uses under his singlet, Seth sees more than he bargained for. 

Bron drags them up his thighs, the fabric soft but protesting, Seth glimpsing the lightened skin around Bron’s hole, the crease of his ass widening just enough. 

His mouth hangs open before he can stop it. Bron’s sturdy, thick, there’s no other word for it. Seth’s tongue is dry out of nowhere. He’ll admit, he’s thought about Bron. With a body like his, everyone and their mother has thought about Bron. 

Knowing what he knows now, how Bron acts coming down from it, fuels Seth. He wants it all for himself, no surprise. 

He’ll make sure of it, because it’s not in his nature to deny himself anything. 

Bron’s pulled on his singlet, one of the less ugly ones, though Seth has opinions about all of them. So few of them these days bring out Bron’s eyes, or highlight his expanse of skin. What’s the use of all this bulking up if he chooses to clothe it with garbage bags? Whatever. If he’s going to roll with Seth, he’ll need upgrades anyway. 

No way Seth’s going to parade around his best-in-show in any of them. 

“Bron,” Seth starts, shattering the quiet. “C’mere.” 

Bron turns his head sharply, looking at Seth with a narrowed gaze. 

There’s an impasse in his mind, here. Does he buck up, give Bron a firm demand and expect his surrender, or lure him closer with the promise of a reward? Choices, choices. Just the tease of the question has Seth a little giddy. 

What’s that old saying about honey and vinegar? 

Seth extends his hand, beckoning. 

“C’mere, baby.”

Bron bristles, but steps closer. Slow, deliberate, bare feet on the thin carpet making small noises.  

Seth stands up from his spot on the bench. When Bron’s close enough, Seth uses two hands to bring their foreheads together, a private repeat of last week, except devoid of their mingled pants. Seth slides his palm over, dragging a fingertip along Bron’s left ear. 

When Bron’s shoulders droop, Seth brings that hand under Bron’s chin. Bron’s blinks slow. Seth closes his eyes. His other fingers are busy tracing up and down Bron’s neck. 

“There’s my boy,” Seth’s lips are less than an inch from Bron’s own. “Show them, yeah?” Seth takes a breath, pushing his luck. “Show them who owns you.”

Bron’s breathing hitches, and he gasps, short, almost undetectable. Risks always pay off for Seth, one way or another. 

Seth leans back, and Bron’s eyelids flutter, then harden, an attack dog to a bell that rings and rings. Seth’s arms are around his neck. The heat of Bron’s skin burns right through Seth’s designer shirt. 

“You’re special,” Seth says.

“I know.” Bron interrupts. 

Seth chuckles, taken aback to realize that it’s fond.

Flies in honey. Bron in his arms.

“You’re special,” Seth repeats, taunts, “And you’re mine.”

-

Seth curls his hand around Bron’s wrist, his own music blaring as they make their way back to gorilla. Bron’s not used to sauntering, doesn’t have an exit strategy beyond barreling backstage. 

This way, with Seth holding him back, it puts his animalism on display precisely the way Seth wants it to be. Oh yes, Seth lets Bron Breakker lose on the superstars, but thank goodness he’s here to hold him back from spearing you there, in the crowd. 

Bron looks rabid, flushed off a relative win, no real match, but a beatdown nonetheless. Their connection feeds his fervent energy through to Seth, who feels a little high himself. Ever since outmaneuvering Punk and Roman, he’s only gone up. With man’s best friend beside him. 

He presses his fingertips to Bron’s pulse on the underside of his wrist, enough pressure to feel it thumping even there. The night in front of him stretches into hundreds of different possibilities, but Seth spares no thought to influence it. He’ll ride this out the way the universe wants it, though he has some specific requests. 

Bron all but drags him back to the locker room they share, the recent memory of him gasping for it makes Seth wish for all sorts of things to happen. 

It’s a similar story when Seth shuts the door. Bron paces, not quite sweating. He keeps shaking his head, short breaths being forced in and out. 

For Seth, caution died a long time ago. 

With Bron the way he is now, Seth might have to use a firmer hand. Not that he minds, because he wants Bron to fold like last week. He wants him to bend and trust Seth that he’ll never break. 

Seth doesn’t want to question his naivety. It’s how he knows Bron’s a lone wolf, because anyone with any sense would have warned him off Seth from the start.

“Come.” Seth starts, no inflection but firm.

Bron exhales, long. He stops in his tracks. He looks at the ground, and Seth follows his eyes. His boots are shiny, still looking every bit the wild dog he summons in the ring. Seth wants to pull them off of him. Bron walks over, subdued, minus the knot between his brows. 

Seth smiles, easy. The work will be painless for him, forever, if this is the cost of a pawn this valuable.

“That’s it,” Seth murmurs, pushes his thumb into the crease of Bron’s brow. “Now, none of this. You won, you showed them.” 

Bron turns his head away, huffs. A little fight left in him. Good. Seth never liked conquering anything easy. 

Seth drags his hands over Bron’s shoulders, his biceps. The power, strength, speed held in them is intoxicating. Bron walks around knowing he’s exceptional, but does he know he’s unprecedented? Seth sees the future; Bron with and without him. 

“What is it, boy?” He holds Bron’s chin in his hand, turns him so their eyes can meet. He watches Bron’s dilate at the pet name. 

Seth’s belly warms, desire creeping into it. 

“Is that it?” Seth leans in, whispering, “I didn’t call you my boy? I didn’t call you mine ?”

The shakes start up. Bron shudders, adrenaline burning off whatever way it can. There’s a cut off sound working its way up his throat. 

“Ah,” Seth sighs, “I guess you want everything that comes with being a good boy, huh, Bron?”

Bron shuts his eyes, squeezing them, Seth’s skin responding to the blush radiating all the way down Bron’s chest. 

Seth digs his nails in, just the slightest bit, not that there’s much give in Bron’s bicep. 

“Answer me.” Seth says, smirk splitting his face, “Speak.” 

“Yes.” Bron replies, as even as he could get it, probably. He’s still shaking like a leaf. 

“Get on the floor, then.” 

There’s a couch in here, but dogs aren’t allowed on it. 

Bron kneels, automatically, just kind of drops down, knee pads catching him. His breathing stutters. He looks up at Seth. 

“That’s sweet,” Seth coos, petting Bron’s hair, “But, I think you deserve more.”

Bron tilts his head, and Seth, cutely, imagines little puppy ears perking up.

“On your back, it’s alright.” Seth pushes down on his shoulder until he gets the message. “Let’s get all this off.”

Bron scrambles to remove his boots.

“Woah, woah, baby,” Seth grabs his hand. “Let me do it, okay? You worked hard.” 

Bron’s hands fall flat onto the unforgiving floor. Seth gets on his knees, glad he wore his own pads. 

He starts in on Bron’s boots, unlacing each and pulling them off one by one, his grip running down the back of Bron’s ankle each time. He removes Bron’s socks to see his tanned feet. He pulls off his knee pads the same way.

Then, Seth leans forward. Bron’s eyes are glazed, and he’s barely chewing the gum he’s had in his mouth. The straps of his singlet don’t hide a thing, and he pulls them down all the time anyway. 

Somehow, Seth gets light headed anyway, the unmarred expanse of Bron’s pecs are their own wonder. They’re too tempting not to touch, and squeeze. 

Bron moans, thin and light, but a moan . Seth can’t believe his ears. You’d never think that Bron Breakker would moan. 

“You like that, boy?” Seth uses both hands to push them together, marvels at the picture it makes. Bron’s mouth is open. “Does nobody touch you like this? Shame.” Seth pinches a nipple, and Bron writhes. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” Seth says, peeling Bron’s singlet down, inch by inch until he can see Bron’s hip bones. “I’ll make you feel good because you’re my good boy.”

Bron clenches his fists and hiccups air, moving his head this way, and that. Seth hasn’t even touched him. He makes Bron lift up his hips to pull his singlet down his thighs. Once it’s loose Bron kicks it off like it burns him.

Seth’s theory about Bron’s lack of shyness is proven right, again, as Bron spreads his legs, naked and easy. His cock is hard and flushed, and perhaps he anticipated that Seth wasn’t gonna let him touch himself because he doesn’t even try. 

There’s a long moment where Seth can do nothing but look. Bron’s body isn’t real, can’t be, so perfectly and carefully made by discipline. Bron’s pitching up, bridging off the floor, and Seth doesn’t know if it’s instinct or if he’s trying to entice Seth. No matter, it’s working either way. 

“Turn over,” Seth says, breathless and turned on, and Bron’s body goes tight as if struck by lightning. He makes a noise, a whine, but turns over, onto his hands and knees. 

Seth sees the sight he was so struck by earlier in the evening. The miracle of Bron’s physique continues here, his ass thickened by squats and weights. There’ll be another time where he won’t leave this view for hours. 

But, for now, everything in him is clamoring for relief, for a hole to fuck. He’s only been through this push and pull for a week, but it’s had him on edge the whole while. Bron looks so good like this. His muscled torso still pinching in at the waist to meet his broad thighs. The slope of his defined back into the curve of his ass.

How many people have seen this sight? If anyone else has, they must be dead, because Seth’s feeling his consciousness fading by the second. 

Seth rummages through his bag, body lotion smooth enough to do the trick. He leans back over, Bron’s breathing so hard his head is hanging down. He’s panting, tongue lolling out. Seth watches dregs of spit sluice off of it onto the ground. 

“Y’ready, baby?” Seth’s warming the lotion in his clammy hand. “Good boys get fucked. Do y’want that?” 

Bron whines, arches, going down to his forearms. His hanging head nods with whatever strength his neck has left. 

Seth played all his cards right. He made all his bets, against the house, against the dealer, and won. They threw the cherry on top, too. 

Seth’s fingers breach Bron’s hole, two at once because a wrestler can handle a little pain. Bron doesn’t seem to mind, already subtly pushing back on it. He must not want to seem too desperate. That ship sailed. 

The warmth of his hole ratchets Seth up to another level, his own cock aching. He wore his ring gear, too, constricting spandex. He needs Bron so bad it’s imperative, it’s instinct. Maybe he’s as much of a dog as Bron is. Bron’s about to get fucked like one, at least. 

Seth stretches his fingers, traces his thumb through the lotion-matted hair around Bron’s hole. He’s a masochist to say this is his favorite part, the anticipation thrums like a living thing. Seth knows there’s someone else in his body, with him, his want taking over.

“G-good boy, Bron,” Seth grabs at Bron’s ass, slapping it lightly, only wanting to see it rebound gently. 

He wrenches his own pants down, with a lot of difficulty, fumbling while he’s still stretching Bron’s hole. His cock, hard as it is, pitches him forwards until it’s rubbing through the lotion along Bron’s taint. 

Bron sobs, tearless, but loud. He’s truly submitting, in as vulnerable a position as he could get. Seth’s brain is swollen, suffused with power and control. He gets this because he’s the best, because he worked hard, because he is smarter , he’s willing to do what needs to be done. 

If the others could see, see what he reaps from what he’s sown, maybe they’d understand. For now, Seth takes what he’s earned, what Bron’s graciously given him.

Claiming Bron, slowly, is an art. His hole is its own masterpiece. Seth struggles to stay upright, wants to give himself over to the heat. 

His hand finds Bron’s cheek, hooks his finger into Bron’s mouth, petting his teeth. 

There’s so much noise, but it’s all in Seth’s head. 

He clasps Bron’s hip in the other hand, and presses himself as deep as he can go.

“Se–th,” Bron speaks, words, finally, though it’s garbled around the intrusion. 

“I’ve got you,” Seth hums, pleased, delirious. 

“Hhh–” Bron whines, twisted up.

“W-what’sit, baby?” 

“H-harder.” 

Seth barks out a laugh, but gives Bron what he wants. He’s a good boy, after all. 

He works both hands at Bron’s waist and starts in on him in earnest. Bron’s tanned skin is noticeably red, all the way down his back. Seth’s fucking him on the floor, in an arena locker room.

He angles his cock a few different ways, until he hears Bron react, his clenched fist slamming down on the floor. Bron howls, genuinely, and begs with his body. 

Bron’s peculiar, loving Seth’s sloppy, desire-fueled thrusts more than anything else. He sounds like he might die when Seth leans over his back and pumps his hips into Bron’s ass. Never had anyone so easy to please. 

When Bron comes, untouched, it’s when Seth isn’t caring where he grinds. Bron just likes taking it. The thought runs so quickly to Seth’s cock that he comes, too. He’d meant to pull out, but after fucking Bron like that, Seth doesn’t think he’d mind come in his ass that much. 

Seth catches his breath, pulling out and watching a string of come drip off the head of his softening cock. Bron would’ve loved to see that. Now, he’s just making assumptions. 

Bron whines something fierce when he realizes his hole is empty. He goes onto one elbow, and Seth watches in astonishment as Bron reaches back and smears the come all over his taint, panting. 

Seth’s last sight on Earth could be the image of his come spread thick over Bron’s ass and he’d die happy. 

Bron rolls onto his side, looking at Seth with those wide, brown eyes.