Disclaimer: The characters and real people in this story don't belong to me. The characters belong to WWE and the real people own themselves, I'm just playing with them for a while. This story is rated M because it contains content of a sexual nature, though not totally explicit, it's still there so if you're too young to read this, just mosey along.

A/N: So this was a challenge piece (I really do accept challenges) that was issued to both me and Jodi (StephanieIrvine) about the night of Vince's birthday and the seeming distance between H and Stephanie afterwards. That was pretty much our prompt and she wrote Heartbeat, which is amazing and everyone should read, and I wrote this. I am admittedly not great at this kind of thing, the whole sex writing thing, I could never make it as a smut writer, that's for sure, but I've tried my best and I hope that it's okay and if it isn't, I'm sorry, this just isn't my niche. Either way, reviews are much loved and brutality is always welcome if you so choose. Enjoy! :)

Chris had a way with his fingers.

There was just something about them that incited something inside her. His touch wasn't like fire, burning her to the touch, leaving a streak of red in its wake. It wasn't like ice, cooling her to the touch, making small icicles stick to her skin. What it was, was something familiar, which was strange because she'd been feeling this since the very beginning. The first time he'd ever touched her intimately, she felt that wash of familiarity and it startled her. She was not one to believe in reincarnation or soulmates or heaven, but when he touched her, her first thought was that somewhere in space, time, dimension, Chris had touched her in this very way and she'd committed it to body and soul.

That's how it always felt when she was with him, but it was also how she could never feel with anyone else. He'd corrupted her, taken her body and used it in ways no other man had ever used her before and it had corrupted her because her skin knew Chris's touch now, knew it and could distinguish it and when her own husband touched her, her skin screamed out that this was wrong, that his touch was too rough, too demanding, never touching the spots that needed to be touched and always touching the spots that she hated the most. Her skin was taut with fury when he touched her and she excused herself more often than not, saying that she was just tense from work, not him, never him, but it was always him.

Chris was playing his fingers across her ribs like he was the musician and she his instrument.

Fingers going up, her breath rising, almost a peal of laughter from his gentle, tickling touches, the major key. Fingers sweeping down, her voice becoming guttural, a moan perched on her wet, swollen lips, the minor key. So forth and so on, a symphony against her skin, her voice his beautiful sounding reward, her moans and soft purrs his music, legato, staccato, rising, falling and he was smiling as he elicited such a reaction from her. For he was the virtuoso and she was his Stradivarius.

"Chris," she moaned, particularly loud, but soundproof was their friend and he grinned as his lips hovered around her belly button. His breath on her stomach caused her skin to contract, but then with the breath out, her stomach rose to meet that breath.

"Yes?" he asked, playfully because he knew what she wanted, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. For when she said what he wanted to hear, then his concerto would be complete and he could take his cheeky little bow and expect her to applaud his efforts.

"Touch me," she tells him, but does not beg. He wants her to beg, thinks he can get her to beg, but as much as she is his instrument there are some things even an instrument cannot be tuned to do and Stephanie McMahon cannot be tuned to beg. She's forceful and she does not beg.

"You want me to touch you?" he asked her, repeating his coy tone, trying to coerce her, tune her, pull the strings just taut enough to gain the clearest sound.

"Touch me," she demands again and the interplay between musician and instrument begins anew.

"Only you," he said, giving in to her because though he takes command, he is the music's slave and her moans spurn him on. He needs the music of her mouth, but first he kissed her, sweeping her mouth with his tongue like he was taking inventory, all 28 teeth there and accounted for.

She should be paying attention to his face, which is turning a fetching shade of purple. She should be attending to him and making sure that MVP's hit wasn't too hard. But they only have a scant few moments to be together and they would both rather spend those moments together rather than him getting checked out. Still, in a moment of tenderness, she pulls his face away from her body and stares at it, just for a moment, just to take it in. Her eyes drift to the bruise that is forming, but if he doesn't seem concerned about it, neither should she be, but she is. He searches her face, his eyes darting from feature to feature like the second he looks at them they suddenly become more striking.

"What?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," she said. She just wants to look at his face for a moment, take it slow for just a second. Sometimes they go so fast that there is no time to slow down and look into each other's eyes. They only have these stolen moments to be with one another and not a moment can be wasted.

But she doesn't think she's wasting time when she takes that moment to look at his face. She doesn't think her time wasted when she tenderly kisses him, no fire behind the kiss, no fast motions or hurried breaths, just a languid, slow kiss. She needs those moments to make what they have real because sometimes it doesn't feel real enough for her. When she sees him in the ring, being Chris Jericho, he feels so far away from her and she aches for his expert touch, his callused fingers. She knows those calluses are from his years of wrestling, but she likes to believe some part of those rough fingers have been hewn on her body.

"So what are you staring at?"


"Well, I really can't blame you for that, but I thought we were rather…occupied here," he said, making a slight gesture with his hand towards her body.

"I know, but you were hit in the face tonight."

"I get hit in the face most nights," he told her and she rolled her eyes.

"But you were hit in the face with a weapon tonight."

"We planned it out," he told her and she nodded, "I'm fine, Steph, really I am."

"I believe you," she said and in that moment, she might even believe him if he said that he was the King of England, as long as those fingers kept playing her, splaying over her skin and beating a rhythm against her thighs.

He seemed satisfied with this and neither one pressed the issue as he leaned down again, capturing her lips as if they were his prey. "I'm so glad you wore a dress tonight," he growled as his right hand started sliding up and down her thigh. He slid them up and into her skirt, pushing it up, up, up until it was bunched around her waist on one side, the other one hanging down just slightly as if to preserve her propriety, but her propriety had been gone long ago. She arched up into him as his touch tickled and rested on the side of her underwear.

She didn't wear thongs and for some reason, he loved that. He loved that she just wore normal underwear, like she wasn't trying to impress someone. He picked at the side of her cotton panties like they were the string on some long-forgotten guitar. Then suddenly his hands were inside, searching, seeking, but his hands already knew where to go, like the true virtuoso that he was. The instrument just came naturally to him and he knew where his fingers should be placed and at present, there was only one place they wanted to be.

She was ready for him, they both could feel it. Stephanie could feel her thighs sticking together from the dampness seeping through her and Chris, with those fingers, could most definitely feel how ready she was for him. He didn't hesitate as he took her, tuning her up, finger searching for those places inside of her that made her moan the loudest. He expertly moved around, up, down, in circles, playing her, manipulating her, making her bend to his every whim and she rose to meet his hand, gasping out her melody as she rocked against him.

"I love you, I love you," she murmured, just on the edge of something or maybe everything. "More," she whispered. He responded by giving her just that, hitting a spot that made her nearly sing with pleasure. "God, I love you."

"I know," he said, his body leaning over hers, his lips brushing against the crook of her neck.

Love is a complicated matter, one that takes careful consideration and thoughtfulness. They do love each other and they know it and they say it, but there's a space between that love, as if the "l" and the "o " don't quite meet in the way they should. That space between those two letters is filled with Jessica and Paul, their spouses, their obstacles. They love one another, but they play by the rules and the rules are hard and steadfast and breaking the rules means you're caught out and they don't want to be caught out, but they love in secret, even if those two letters never quite meet.

He rests his body against hers as they settle into a rhythm. He's working her over now, bringing her to the precipice then slowing down until she feels like she can think again and then he brings her back to crescendo, ascending the scale of her pleasure and beating heavy downbeats against her insides. She can feel him against her. He's hard, she can tell, and she hasn't even touched him yet, that is the reaction he gets from her. Any good musician knows when they've made great music and he knows he's made great music and this is his reaction in this particular moment. She finds it convenient that he is still in his ring tights, which leave little to the imagination.

"Right there," she moans. He moans as well, their bodies melding together deliciously. She is not nearly the musician he is, but she does have chops. "Yes, yes, Chris, right there, right there."

He taps against the spot, tap, tap, tap, twirling his fingers around in between the playing of her keys. She's so open and willing. "Tell me what you want, Stephanie?" he asked her lowly, his breath barely above a whisper. "Tell me what you want."

"You, Chris, I want you," she said, almost like she was a slave, but she still was not begging. Her tone remained demanding, full of want and need. "I want you now."

He loves when she gets a tiny bit aggressive. She moans that she wants more, but he is the lead here and she is too far gone to fully protest because he knows the curves as if she is made of a smooth wood that he has fondled over and over again to learn every nook and cranny.

"Chris!" she nearly wails, biting her own arm to stifle her screams.

"I want to finish you off," he tells her, like he's planning, writing down the notes that he will play, planning his masterpiece. She allows him to do so.

His fingers move like fast notes over keys, blinding and blurry before a voice rings out, "Stephanie are you in there?"

Stephanie gasps, not from the feeling welling deep inside of her but because they are interrupted and she is left with want. She'd lost the arena and the fans and everything while Chris worked her over. They'd all disappeared like magic, poof, and gone from mind, body, and soul. Chris's fingers were her world at the moment. They looked to the door, a strange picture indeed. Chris hovering over Stephanie, the both of them staring at the door like it was some hidden doorway to hell.

"Um," Stephanie said, trying to catch and regulate her breath. "Hold on."

Stephanie sat up quickly. She was still fully clothed so she stood up, pulling down her dress and hoping the room didn't smell of sex even though she could feel her panties sagging a little from Chris's ministrations. She took a deep breath as Chris went into the bathroom to hide, not only because it would look suspicious if he were in here with the door locked, but because he had a situation in his trunks that would not look good to Shane.

Stephanie went to the door and opened it a little bit, "What do you want, Shane?"

"Why was the door locked?" he asked.

"Because I'm tired of everyone thinking they can just come barging into my office to complain about something while I am trying to get work done, it is very frustrating so I locked the door so I could get some piece and quiet."

"Oh," Shane said. "Well, anyways, the show is about to end and since it's Dad's birthday, Mom thought it might be nice if we went out there and sang Happy Birthday to him."

The last thing she wants is to go out to the ring right now. Her inner thighs are sticking together again and she can feel herself seeping and she doesn't want to walk out there in this condition. But her brother is urging her and she can't tell him why she can't go out there and it's her father's birthday and this all compounded together is enough to make her go bone dry, but still, it's not like the evidence of what she was just doing is going to go away at any moment.

"Um, sure," she said, "can you give me a second to check myself out?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Shane said, "can you hurry though, the show is very nearly over."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll hurry," Stephanie said. She alighted herself to the bathroom and quickly went inside. "I'm going out there for my dad's birthday, I can't talk right now. I've got to go."

She cleaned herself up quickly and started for the door. Shane was still waiting for her on the other side. She gave a quick glance back and saw Chris leaning in the doorway, watching her go. He winked at her and brought his fingers to his mouth, putting them inside and making a big show of licking her off his fingers. She took a deep breath, nearly orgasming at the sight of it, but she turned instead to go out to the ring and sing Happy Birthday to her father.

She had a feeling she'd be distracted.

She walked down the hallway with Shane, her breath slowing down and evening out as she calmed herself. As much as Chris's touch ignited something inside of her, she had to quell it for now. Just for now. Her mother was at the gorilla and Stephanie observed her for a moment. She was watching Vince proudly and she envied her mother's freedom of expression. She had to hide away from the world, but her mother was free and so was Shane and she, she was played in silent rooms, far away from curious ears and eyes. One day, she hoped to have this freedom, to live without the fear of getting caught or starting scandal.

Though the cameras stopped rolling, the show was not over, not on this night. She could hear her husband talking and then the music hit and she walked out there on the arm of her brother. She put on a smile for the camera and entered the ring, going over to hug her father on his special day. That was the only reason why she was out there. If it wasn't her father's birthday, she would be backstage and it wouldn't be Chris's fingers bringing her mind to its melting point, but something far more wonderful, sensations she could picture and almost feel as if he were right over her, pressing his body to hers in that delightful way.

Paul didn't even hold the ring ropes for him and it was just one of the minor indiscretions that she had been totaling up for the past few years now. For as much of a virtuoso as Chris was with her, Paul was a bumbling novice, trying very hard, but never quite measuring up. She'd heard somewhere that you could usually tell if someone was going to be a great musician from a few moments after they picked up her instrument. It had taken her time to admit it, but Paul was never going to measure up. He was never going to run his fingers up her side making her shudder with feeling. He was never going to invade her and know just where to touch and feel. It wasn't for lack of trying, he did try, he practiced, he tried to perfect her, but he would never come close.

He came over to her and looked her up and down, "You okay, you look a little flushed."

"I'm fine, it's just hot out here," she told him curtly, but before she could even finish his sentence, he was walking away from her, his back the only thing she could see. It was just as well, he did not care why she was flushed and she did not care much to tell him why she was so flushed. She wasn't keen on saying that Chris's fingers had been inside her and knew just where to touch and press and be. He didn't even know finger placement, couldn't even play the most basic of scales, how could she tell him that Chris knew. From the moment of the first touch, she knew he knew exactly what he was doing.

She busied herself as much as possible, Paul hovering around her, but never near her. She imagined a time, maybe in the future, where Chris could be out there instead, where Chris could be with her instead. She imagined, closing her eyes, just for the briefest of moments, letting the thoughts float into her head like free-form movement, up an octave, down an octave, sharp key here. She pictured Chris standing close to her, maybe even just behind her, his arms wrapped around her as they laughed at her father about something. They wouldn't have to steal the moment way, they could just live in it.

The distance had been growing between her and Paul and she was afraid it was showing right now. They were like two planets, circling around each other, orbiting in the same solar system, but never interacting. He had tried, practiced, and failed. He would perform in no concert hall, would not write his own symphony and though neither had said anything as of yet, he was going to give up his instrument, turn out the lights, and walk away. They knew it was coming and that, in their little solar system, was the sun. The sun was the divorce they knew was impending. They were circling around it, circling and one day, that sun would die and engulf them and they would be over. The sun was exploding soon.

He was a quitter and she couldn't blame him, he was not good at what should be the most important thing, her. He was just not good at her and he couldn't change that. So they would move on. He only gestured her to come over as a last minute thought and she came over, his oppressive arm thrown over her. Even that was not as fluid as Chris could make it. When Chris put his arm around her, it was like a harmony, her body working perfectly in time with hers, like her shoulders and upper back were molded with his arm in mind.

The second they stopped singing, Paul's arm was gone. Clunky notes hung in the air, like a cat walking across the piano keys. There was no rhyme or reason to Paul's movements. He was lumbering, pushing down on keys that had no business being pushed, he was pulling strings that were out of tune and screeching. She thought, at first, before Chris, that Paul had played her like a beautiful instrument, but she'd learned that no, what she thought she felt was nothing, and what she felt with Chris was simply…everything.

When it was all over, he went to his locker room to get cleaned up and she went to her office to get her things. What she wasn't expecting was for Chris to still be there and she certainly didn't expect the look in her eyes, but she knew that wild, mad look, she'd seen it numerous times before. It was the look he always got after he saw her with Paul. It was the mad look of a genius about to pen some grand masterpiece. He hated seeing her around Paul, hated the fact that he got to lay even the smallest claim over her. His eyes glazed slightly as they raked over her body, as if searching for the spots that had been sullied by Paul's touch. She knew what was coming next, the maddening genius of someone who knew every move before he made it.


Chris stalked forward, head lowered a little, like a bull making its charge. Stephanie barely had enough time to lock the door behind her. Knowing Paul, he would take forever taking a shower and then getting dressed and then he'd probably hang out with Shawn for a while. The girls were with Marissa tonight, so she didn't have to worry about him and they were already flying out of her head for the moment as her eyes locked with Chris, hardly knowing what was coming next, but wasn't that true of genius. Genius surprised you at every corner.

He stopped in front of her and she was already breathing deeply, like she'd run a marathon to get to him. She might too, if that's what it took. His eyes bored into her own, searching them. It was like he was trying to see if Paul resided in her eyes. They (who they are is something she hasn't figured out yet) say that the eyes are the windows to the soul and he must have been a peeping tom at the moment. She looked at him openly, letting him know without words that Paul was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment, but he didn't seem satisfied. The wild look was still there, festering like a boiling pot.

He looked down at the peek-a-boo slit in her dress, just enough to tease her cleavage but not enough to actually be indecent. She thought there was a lot to be said about giving up just a little without giving away the entire farm. Chris reached forward, those masterful fingers brushing against the small patch of skin she was showing. Goosebumps raised across her skin. The first notes of his symphony danced their way across her skin, light, soft notes, slowly at first, but rising with every moment and her heart was a deep bass line, building up suspense. His other hand came up and brushed the other way, bringing her goosebumps even higher.


He ripped the fabric right open, ripping the neckline of the dress right in two and she looked up at him in complete shock. She didn't know where he'd gotten the strength and now her dress was ripped at the neckline, her peek-a-boo slit now a whole lot more peek. Chris just grinned his mad grin and started kissing her neck as she stood there, unsure of what just happened. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing her up against the door, his body pressing into hers. He was getting hard again and quickly and the dampness she thought she'd effused while in the ring was coming back with a vengeance. His kisses were staccato, little pecks here and there, in all the right places as her moaning spurred him on.

She somehow reversed their positions and pressed him against the door this time, her hands on his shoulders as if she wanted to push him through the door, like it didn't exist. She leaned up a little and kissed him hard, her own passion taking over and taking the lead for a while. She wondered if Chris thought her some spectacular musician as she thought of him in that way. Maybe she was a hidden talent that she was unaware of, maybe she played him like some beautiful instrument.

She reached her hands into his trunks and being a rather restricting garment as it was, she didn't have much trouble finding what it was she wanted. Chris groaned against her mouth as she touched him, running her fingers over him. He was breathing heavily, his breaths like a sweet melody meant to be heard on a warm summer evening. She had pressed the genius away for a little bit, but it was his performance tonight and he was going to write the concerto of her body, not her.

"No, just want you," he managed to whisper, his voice husky with want and need. He didn't want the foreplay, not tonight. Tonight he just wanted her and she could sense that he was feeling a little possessive of her. It had been a growing recurrence with Chris, this sense of possession over her. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide what they had and when he had to hide, when he absolutely could not be her anything (usually when she was around Paul) he didn't want the slow foreplay and buildup to sex, he just wanted her and their bodies mingling as one.

She nodded and stood up. He turned her around and pulled down the zipper to her dress. She let the tattered dress fall down where it pooled around her waist. His hands were in her dress, palms against her sides as he pushed down the dress, his hands traveling over her side and the curve of her hips before it made its final descent to the ground, landing with a soft swoosh. He pulled her back against his body and there was something so erotic about standing there in the middle of the room, just in her underwear.

"Get on the couch," he told her.

She did so love when he got in control like this. It was like watching a maestro stepping up to the podium, baton in hand, tapping said baton against his stand and waiting for his musicians to quiet down before starting to cue the music. She pushed her panties down, bending over while doing so and giving him a view of what he didn't want to wait for. She peered at him over her shoulder, giving him a coy, almost innocent look, but with her bent over like that and exposing everything to his wandering eye, she didn't pull off the look that well. She stood back up slowly, stretching her arms out so she could take in her naked back before she turned and laid down on the couch.

She was like a picture, lying there, a beautiful portrait of some goddess long forgotten by modern times. Chris was over her in a second. There was no time to waste at this point. Paul very well could decide that he'd hung out with Shawn enough and they should go home or her mother could be inviting her to a late dinner at their suite in whatever hotel they were staying at or just dinner at any restaurant since they were in Vegas and restaurants stayed open late to accommodate the gamblers roaming around the city.

He teased her, pulling at her strings, tightening her and winding her up and making sure she'd be ready and perfected for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he kept up his rhythm against her and he pulled her arms away from her neck and clasped their fingers together, bringing her hands over her head.

"Chris, need you," she breathed out, "need you, now."

He smirked against her lips. Like any true musician, he knew just when to play his instrument. There were pauses in every great symphony, moments where the musician to a break, a rest. Then they started up once again, with vigor. He paused for a moment, letting go of one of her hands and reaching in between them.

If Chris had a way with his fingers, it was nothing like the way he used his…other assets.

If his touch was familiar, the way he worked himself inside of her was liable to make the stars melt.

If he was a virtuoso when he fingered her, he was goddamn Mozart right now.

He rested for a moment and, like any true composer, he just knew what was right at what moment.

"I love you," he breathed into her skin, her cells absorbing the words and making them spread like wildfire.

He nipped at her sensitive skin then she felt warm, wet kisses in the same spot. Over and over again, like a scale. He'd vary his techniques, pushing her to the brink, but then pulling back and trying something different altogether.


They started to lose themselves in the motion. Chris found his way to her mouth again and kissed her breathless as she started to sweat, the heat from his body causing a thin sheen of sweat to glisten her body. She could feel a bead of sweat rolling from the back of her knee, down to her ankle. Sharp keys, flat keys, scales, octaves, higher, higher, higher…there was sound, thump, thump, thump, like a drumbeat so primal that it extended back to the dawn of time.

"Faster," she told him. She She wanted to be his, always, wanted to be with him always and she wanted nothing with Paul and everything with Chris. Nothing with Paul, everything with Chris. Nothing Paul, everything Chris. Nothing…everything.


Their intimacy was reaching a blurring point, they were getting erratic and unorganized as their passions rose to the point of no return. Stephanie's head brushed from side to side, lost in her own haze. How could Chris do this to her? How could he make her feel like this when nobody else could? She was his masterpiece, this right here was his best talent. Only for her though, only for her. She refused to believe that anyone could be better with him. She was his instrument and he her tortured composer. He couldn't have this with Jessica because it was her and her alone that created his composition, that created this harmony between the both of them.

"Chris," she murmured, her head tossing from side to side. Her eyes were clenched shut, basking in the feeling of this act. She would carry it with her to her dreams that evening, letting it replay in that place where only dreams come.

"Look at me, Steph," he prodded her, tapping his lips against her chin. "Look at me."

She struggled to open her eyes, but when she did, she was rewarded with his clear blue ones just over hers. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and she'd noted this wasn't the first time they had been bloodshot like this. She wondered what kept him up, wondered if it was her. They wanted to be together, just like this, but couldn't. She stared into his eyes as she reached the peak and cried out as his mouth captured hers in a back-breaking kiss. He released himself into her with a groan, and she moaned as she took him all in. There had been nothing between them and the last time that'd happened, Murphy had come along, but she didn't care at this moment, this moment was just theirs.


She took deep, steadying breaths and he stared down at her like an artist successfully finishing his proud solo. He started to pull out of her, but she nudged the heel of her foot against the back of his thigh and he stilled, leaning down to kiss her tenderly. She shifted a little so he could lie on his side, still connected intimately with her. He brushed her hair out of her face so he could look at her.

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you too," she told him back. These were the quiet moments, when the world felt still. There were no husbands or wives in this moment, just them, together, alone, entwined, connected, one.

"I hate seeing you out there with him."

"I know you do," she responded.

"Leave him," Chris said, stated more than asked, pleading more than stated, begged more than pleading.

"Leave her," she said back.

"Yes," he told her, nodding. "I will. Will you?"

And the ending, the final notes are playing, softer and softer they get, lower and lower, leaving only their echo in their wake.


"Yes?" he asked.

"Do you hear the music?"

"Music?" he wonders, looking at her.

"Yes, the music, do you hear it when you're with me?"

He stares at her a moment as if he's never really seen her before. "Yes, I hear the music."

She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, a chaste one, to contrast how unchaste they have been just now. "I'll leave him. I want to leave him, I want to be with you, I want you. I feel with you, everything, Chris, everything with you. Nothing with him."


He smiled back at her and now it's not like he's seeing her for the first time, but like he's allowed to see her for the first time. "You're mine."

Yes, she was his, she was always his, maybe even before time existed she was his. For something knew, something knew and set them here in this time, in this place, in this dimension because she knew his touch before he touched her, she knew his kiss before his lips had ever touched her. Someone had set them here and it was only their duty to make what they felt right and true. She would not disappoint whoever it was that deemed them perfect.