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The reasons Cody Rhodes keeps his distance from Roman Reigns these days are as simple as vector calculus seven shots deep.
One, Cody fucking hates the guy, with his fat head and smug countenance masking insecurity. Cody doesn’t want or need that bullshit in his life.
Two, Cody fucking loves the guy, too, with his effortless charm, stunning good looks, and the sweet, loving man buried miles deep beneath years of muck.
(This is not a fun rivalry to have with Seth, by the way.)
Three, Cody has a healthy fear of drowning.
Four, if Randy can turn on him, sell out, break his heart, and brutalize his face, what would stop Roman from doing the same someday?
Five, Roman has obligations that demand more care and attention than Cody can compete with and isn’t likely to make any sacrifices.
Six, Roman is like Sex on the Beach—a tall, familiar, gorgeous refreshment in moderation, but toxic headache fuel as a nightly tonic.
Seven, did Cody mention he has a healthy fear of drowning?
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The reasons Roman Reigns won the World Heavyweight Championship gold are simple.
Roman is the chief darling of the higher ups through and through. He has the best looks, the hottest story, the coolest Bloodline—all offering the greatest potential to print money. He’s like their favorite dog, fierce, loyal, obedient, steals hearts, dominates the weak, all that good stuff.
Not to mention, the powers that be believe that no one can elevate the title like Roman Reigns can, but not for lack of trying.
Roman has an overpowering, charismatic aura paired with an entire supernova of emotional, homoerotic history and tension between himself and Seth Rollins.
He also comes from a wrestling dynasty whose contributions to the noble sport must never be overlooked.
By the power vested in the OTC, Roman married these important realities into his ring-persona with the audacious intent of winning wrestling.
Not titles, not glory.
He did all that already.
Roman wants to win wrestling in general now, through every period in human civilization, and then some.
His passion is rivaled only by his narcissism.
But if Cody has a problem with all that, well, that’s just the pot calling the kettle black.
From Cody’s vantage point, none of these facts are part of the problem when it comes to Roman Reigns. So far, it’s all a given.
Roman was, still is, Cody’s favorite rival.
Every time they touch Roman carries Cody away, immersing them in narratively rich stage combat that’s almost playful in its delivery.
For a man with such rich, brooding hatred, Roman seems to soften himself for Cody as a reflex, and that wasn’t just the grandson of a plumber’s imagination.
It was a behavioral pattern.
Roman always had a hard time containing his smile while facing Cody in the ring, or discussing him in interviews. It’s similar to the effect Cody has on his sizable female fanbase.
Not only was it fun and flattering, but Cody also trusted that Roman’s full heart and attention were on him whenever they shared the spotlight. Their feud was one thing, but with Roman in the thick of performance and spectacle, Cody could always count on him to keep him safe and the crowd engaged.
Although his hatred was only story-deep, that didn’t suddenly make Roman a trove of emotional availability and healthy relationship choices.
Sometimes, Cody needed to take a step back and consider some basic facts.
For one, Roman wasn’t a dashing, kindly fairy tale prince.
He was much more of an ass.
A gorgeous, sexy, spoiled, insatiable ass, but an ass nonetheless.
Although Cody trusted Roman, his favorite rival’s smug, fat head and the pretty shit-talking smirk it came with was not always something Cody was in the mood for, but when he was?
He couldn’t get Roman out of his head until they crossed paths and blew off some steam.
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Among other things, Roman would never escape the stigma of being forced upon The Universe.
Maybe they weren’t wrong to side-eye him.
But Roman didn’t care. He’d been working so damn long, years long, in and out of the ring, in ways people outside of the business couldn’t fully appreciate.
He spent most of his life pleasing the public, performing, broadcasting, getting to know people, shaking hands, kissing babies and, if anything, forming mini bonds with tens of thousands of lifelong viewers who remember his charming smile, endearing laugh, and his uncanny invoking of the serene, hypnotic energy that occurs at the special point before falling hopelessly in love—not quite over the edge, but enough to leave people shaken, tingling, curious.
Once starstruck adrenaline is gone, not-quite-love is typically replaced by a quiet acceptance that Greatness has already gone back his kingdom high above the world, in the righteous place of gods and legends.
He’s told he’s had this effect on thousands of people.
It was a safe place for a famous man to be in relation to his fans.
When he treated hookups in the locker room with that same distance, though, nobody came down from a pleasant one-time high.
Not-quite-love that gives way to resentment feels more like an angry wine hangover.
He doesn’t even remember the last time he walked out on Cody.
But Cody does.
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The worse Roman treats his ring mates, the more his followers adore him.
It was an enabling process from which no one in the crowd was discouraged, in the arena or online.
While Roman’s expertly crafted kayfabe hypnosis was in effect, his hoard of ones in the air are attached to loyal subjects who feel special and adored by their Tribal Chief, the man who doesn’t smile for anyone else, only his coveted crowd—a parasocial relationship.
Most guys and some women in the locker room would skip the parts of Roman’s segments where his brown eyes pierced the viewer’s soul through the screen, digging for desire, teasing the world with something they can’t have.
Cody swears he’s heard Seth audibly shudder from one of those sultry whispers before.
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There comes a day when a woozy feeling overtakes Cody.
On this day, Roman’s smirk, piercing gaze, and sweet whispers lull him to his doom from the impartial television.
He knows these whispers aren’t for him specifically, but unlike viewers at home, Cody’s access to the hallowed Tribal Chief is practically effortless.
It’s as simple as showing up to Raw and crashing the OTC’s locker room.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
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The ocean is a dangerous provider. It only sells an illusion of romance.
Now Cody is neck-deep and drowning.
Roman is the ocean; his chiseled arms are the current pulling Cody’s body into his depths.
And Cody cannot breathe, because he’s drowning headfirst into the crashing waves of Roman’s deep, bruising kiss and wandering hands.
Cody’s spine curls like a whip with every moan that vibrates across their tongues.
How can something cold to the bone be so fucking hot?
From a distance, the ocean is tranquil, fertile, and life-giving.
But in person the ocean can be overwhelming. It takes up more space than anything else in the world. It is a frontier below the surface. It is a home and an ecosystem. Elegant as a gentle breeze, it pushes feather-like waves with the weight and force of rolling boulders, beautiful and deadly as can be.
The ocean is dangerous.
Cody is not certain that he won’t drown.
---
Giving in to Roman’s demands is the only way in for Cody, it seems.
Sometimes, often, Roman pays better attention in the ring than he does in bed.
Cody will kill him if he ever says Seth’s name during sex.
First gold became Roman’s only priority, then it bloated his ego.
They never can talk like men. Feelings are too raw and real for Roman to channel. He prefers non-verbal methods of getting his point across.
So they always fuck like men first, but even then, especially then, Roman is trench-deep in unresolved trauma he struggles to unravel.
Meanwhile, Cody is concerned about drowning in Poseidon’s embrace.
Maybe it’s stupid to be here.
Cody does trust Roman in the ring, but in matters of the heart, things get complicated.
Too complicated.
Dangerous.
Uncertain.
Cody’s mind was screaming at him to keep his distance on the other side of the door.
But once he came inside, all bets were off.
There could be no mistake about what Roman sought with one sensuous gaze.
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Now Roman takes Raheem’s cock like a wanton animal. Like breeding stock. He takes to being fucked like it’s a breath of fresh air. He loves this.
Of course, because sex is the easy part. It always is.
Cody has a fat package designed for Roman’s slot, and once they’re fucking, the larger man cracks into the most sensuous, luscious moans that live and burn in every cell of the American Nightmare’s body.
Time stands still for their pleasure, skin melting into skin, slapping to labored breath, they fuck without a care.
Even so, Cody is still drowning.
---
“So that’s it? You’re leaving?” Roman said, flat and hazy from the high of orgasm while Cody buttoned his shirt with the speed of a commuter about to miss the last train.
“What else would you have me do?” Cody asked, as though he were already miles away. “We’re not together. We’re not even friends.”
“I know,” said Roman, though the slightest V of concern wedged his brow. Something like confusion, perhaps disappointment, though Cody grew tired of wishful thinking. “I’m surprised. You were never the fuck and run type before, Cody. What gives?”
Cody shoved his left arm through his dress jacket. “Every now and then, a man succumbs to, well…”
“Well?” Roman demanded.
“… unhealthy choices.”
“Unhealthy choices?” There is anger and stress in Roman’s tone now. Cody tries to ignore the way it makes him flinch. “You’re the one who came to me, Nightmare! Who gets to fucking call who out on unhealthy choices? Should I have slammed the damn door in your face? Was letting you in my unhealthy choice?”
Yes, Cody thinks, unable to look Roman in the eye. His volume is increasing. It sounds like he’s in real pain.
Cody regrets everything.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asks in vain.
“No,” said Roman, wrapping his exposed body in the sheets, laying alone as always.
Conceding defeat, the World Heavyweight Champion turns his back on Cody Rhodes, who finishes dressing, but cannot bring himself to walk out the door.
Instead, he sits at the foot of the mattress with his back to Roman and thinks.
Roman is everything Cody knows he should avoid: the ocean, the intoxicant, the tyrant, the sycophant.
He’s also a broken, lonely man who cries out for love, and Cody wants to embrace him, as if by instinct. He has so much love to give, he’s certain he can fill the empty places in Roman, and maybe Roman senses it, too.
But Cody’s feet are cold right now. He’ll need a life jacket before attempting another dive, for his own good.
Cody loves this beautiful, toxic disaster of a gold-bearing champion more than all the world’s words can possibly convey, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t love himself first.