Okay guys! So here's a one-shot I've been working on ever since the scene happened. Working on as in: I got the idea, wrote a couple of paragraphs, set it aside and only just now finished it...at freaking 4am and I gotta be up for work at 6am. LOL.

This is actually the first chapter of what will become a collection of what went on before/during/after certain on-screen scenes with Triple H, Stephanie, or both. I should note here that the continuity won't be consistent and neither will kayfabe. In one installment, it may be Hunter/Steph (meaning I'll detail an on screen scene and then write about what THOSE characters experienced or whatever) and in the next it may be Paul/Steph (meaning a Hunter and/or Steph scene happened, but I'll write about what real Paul/Steph experienced..kind of like "Someday Soon"...which would have been the first of this series if I'd had the idea before I wrote that as a stand-alone one shot LOL).

This one's for Britt and Kristen...who are always so encouraging (pestering, particularly when they know smut is going to be involved). LOL. Enjoy, all, and let me know what you think!

"You're going to disappoint your wife. But you're probably used to that anyway."

In her husband's locker room, Stephanie shook her head as the words played through her mind again. Paul was going to be pissed and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it at this point. In general, the WWE was moving towards having promos be less scripted. But even before it was made the official standard for all on-screen talent, people like CM Punk and Paul Heyman were basically given creative free reign over what they would say on television.

She just plain didn't get Heyman. Her husband, Paul, had been in the business for nearly two decades. He understood how to behave and look as if he was pissed. It was never necessary for someone to get personal enough to actually make him pissed, for him to get that emotion across to the fans.

But Heyman? He pissed her husband off with constant regularity. Both on and off screen. In the ring and backstage. It was like he fed off of the dislike simply because he knew that her husband wouldn't actually touch him. He was a high-ranking executive, not to mention the fact that he'd married and made three children with the owner's daughter. Those facts spared Heyman from a real-life ass beating. But those same facts were a fraction of why Heyman sought to anger her husband in the first place.

Her Paul was usually a calm, rational kind of guy. He also had a broad sense of humor and was a huge dork and a goofball, especially when it came to family. But if someone actually talked shit about anything having to do with his family? Total hothead. There wasn't much of anything that anyone could say about their daughters – they were somewhat shielded from this crazy business of theirs, but slowly being introduced to it. But Stephanie was highly visible and had a…colorful history during her time here, topped off by colorful rumors that had no supporting evidence whatsoever.

Blowing out a heavy breath, Stephanie glanced at the clock. Paul would be back any second now; his promo ended at least five minutes ago at this point. And she still hadn't come up with a damn thing to say to calm him down about Heyman's comment.

Because even she'd noticed – and initially ignored it – but Heyman's goading had turned…well, kind of sexual in nature. Even thinking the words "Heyman" and "sexual" in the same sentence was enough to make her want to puke. But it was true. Paul had read between the lines, claiming that Heyman possibly had some kind of sick crush on her. She'd waved that off, citing the man's comments as nothing more than playing up his villainous character. Triple H's character was well known for defending the honor of his family – especially his wife. So it made sense that the man had gone in that direction. Paul had begrudgingly let it go, though he wasn't convinced of anything that she'd said.

Then he'd started making not-so-subtle tweets about her. She could recall each one from memory.

The passion WWE's Steph McMahon exudes while tweeting to me is demonstrative of a very frustrated woman. Hmmmmm…She'd been in a meeting when that one came through. She hadn't seen it immediately, but her ever-so-loving husband texted her, telling her to "check twitter as soon as fucking possible." To convey how serious and upset he was, he accompanied the text with an angry looking emoticon.

The next tweet was possibly worse than the first...Yes, powerful women like to be on top. That for damn sure wasn't scripted in any way, shape or form. It had been Heyman's response to a picture that a fan tweeted of her kicking his ass.

And now he'd gone and insinuated that her husband was a disappointment in the bedroom. God help her in trying to talk him out of going to Vince – who would do absolutely nothing about it. In fact, talent banter and feud promotion is part of why he made everyone get a twitter. But the worst case scenario would be Paul forgetting himself, going straight to the source and bloodying it.

She stood up from the couch because she heard his footsteps before he even reached the door.

"Son of a bitching bastard," She heard Paul mutter as he shoved the door open. His hazel eyes widened a little bit and his lips parted. "Oh," he commented simply.

"I got done a little early, figured I'd wait for you in here," Stephanie said with a shrug, to explain her presence in his locker room.

Paul closed the door behind him then turned to face her again. "Gotcha. Did you see what happened out there just now? What that platypus just said to me on live television?"

Visibly, she winced a little bit. If she said she hadn't seen anything, would it help him calm down? She appraised his features and decided: likely not. But maybe being the epitome of cool and calm would help. "Yeah, I saw."

Paul nodded and narrowed his eyes at her. Almost as if she'd been the one in the wrong. "And what did you think about it?"

"I thought he was way over the line, honestly. But you know my Dad, he loves extreme shit if it gets the crowd into it."

"This is bullshit, Steph!" He exclaimed, pointing his finger at the ground. "We both know he's doing this shit on purpose and we're supposed to just sit back and take it? I have to be all tame and diplomatic even though my character is technically bad-ass, just because I'm an exec. It's horse shit."

Stephanie crossed the distance between them. "Baby, calm down," she halfway pleaded, placing her hands on his shoulders. "This angle will be over soon enough and then we won't have to deal with him much anymore."

Paul snorted. "Soon, my ass! Your Dad has me booked against Brock all the way up until Extreme Rules."

"You're a part-timer. Trust me, you won't have to interact with him that often. Please just try to calm down. Heyman is a little shit and everyone around here and in the entire universe knows it. Just…be the bigger man. Okay?"

Bigger man. Bigger...Huh. Something about her comment sparked feelings of an entirely different nature. It must have been evident by his facial expression, because Stephanie tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "What?" She asked, eyeing him with evident suspicion.

"Babe," he said to her slowly.

Oh no. Stephanie swallowed hard. She recognized that look as well as the slight drop in his tone of voice. His hands slipped past her black leather coat and came to rest on her hips as he took a step closer to her. Already, her skin burned underneath the location of his hands and he hadn't even done anything. Not yet, at least. "Y-yes?" She somewhat stammered out, watching as his head lowered towards her.

"Do I disappoint you?" He whispered against her ear thickly.

"No. You satisfy me in every way imaginable," she said seriously.

"Hmm," he muttered. "I'm not sure I'm convinced. I think I need some reassurance." Paul pressed soft kisses from the top of her ear down to the lobe. His tongue shot out briefly and lazily trailed down the side of her neck.

"I…h-how do you…I mean, how can I reassure you of that?"

Instead of responding verbally, Paul dropped his hands and moved away from her. Stephanie frowned at the interruption of their contact. She watched as he walked the few steps to the door. The lock slid into place, which only served to drive home to Stephanie what her husband's intentions were.

Not that she was complaining. She just…had a tendency to not be able to keep quiet. Like ever. Furthermore, earlier in the day she'd received a call from Trish Stratus herself, instructing her to get her ass on Twitter. She'd done so and a playful banter begun, culminating in her friend and former on-screen nemesis asking her to induct her into the Hall of Fame.

She was sure that word had spread that she was backstage tonight. And at some point she knew she'd be hit with a drive-by interview of some kind, even if it was unofficial. If the beginning of said interview was a chorus of moans and shouting her husband's name along with a string of profanity, she imagined that probably wasn't very good for business. Not in this PG era, anyway. If they'd been married in the beginning of the Attitude Era they could probably have sex on live television and the ratings would go up. Not that either of them would have participated in such a thing, but still.

Paul came to stand in front of her again, this time with a devious little smile on his lips. She hated him because she was utterly powerless to reject any his any of his advances, ever. Even if it meant only getting two or three hours of sleep or having to stay at work longer because he'd distracted her from her tasks. Damn him and every last one of his mesmerizing features. All of which she was sure to experience and enjoy in just a few moments' time.

Stephanie sort of watched in transfixed silence as he lifted his hands and basically pulled her jacket off, with minimal assistance from her. He tossed it onto the leather chaise to the side of them.

Paul then surprised her…by actually walking away and taking a seat on the couch. He looked pretty damn comfortable. Almost like he hadn't just been trying to seduce her thirty seconds ago. "So, you can start by coming over here with me."

He was answering her question on reassurance, she realized after a moment. Obliging him, she walked over until she was standing in front of him. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively while patting his lap in an inviting manner.

Stephanie started laughing, but did as he asked. Once she was settled, with a leg resting on either side of him, his fingers danced a trail up her blouse, over her collarbone and eventually fastened into her hair. He pulled her forward until finally their mouths were pressed together. He wasted no time seeking entrance to her mouth, his tongue eagerly battling hers for dominance.

His free hand trailed up her legs – which were only covered by a simple, black skirt that stopped a little past midway down her thighs – slowly. Oh, how convenient it was that she'd chosen to ditch the idea of wearing a pantsuit, in favor of a blouse and skirt tonight. Her body jerked a little as his hand reached her inner thigh. His fingers lightly skimmed over the scrap of lace that covered her flesh. Aforementioned flesh was moist – he knew that because the wetness was already seeping through the material of her thong.

Poor thing. What kind of husband would he be if he didn't put her out of her misery and give her what she wanted? He pushed the thong aside and inserted one of his thick fingers into her slowly.

"Oh God," she sighed against his mouth, momentarily breaking their kiss.

Taking note of her exceedingly dark eyes and increased breathing rate, he tilted his head in curiosity as his fingers began to work their magic on her. "Does that feel good?" He asked after a minute, even though he knew what her answer was going to be.

Her lips parted ever so slightly as she prepared to respond. Paul crooked his finger in a "come hither" motion and almost laughed at Stephanie's reaction. She screwed her eyes shut and hissed.

He stopped his movements and withdrew his finger. There was silence for just a moment before he asked, "That wasn't…disappointing, was it?"

Stephanie's eyes snapped open at that derisive question. Sure, he was mocking Heyman. Hell, this entire encounter was set off by Paul wanting to prove that he wasn't in fact a disappointment. But hell, she wasn't the one who'd made the comment. So why was she being tortured half to death?

They were in an arena and she just knew that somebody would need one of them for something soon. If they got interrupted before they finished, she just may legitimately kill her charming, handsome, asshole of a husband.



"We're kind of in public. Please in the name of all that is holy, get me off before I strangle someone. You're the closest to me so it'll probably be you."

Paul's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Is this some new kind of foreplay?"

"Do you want to die tonight?" She countered quickly.

"Not particularly, no."

Stephanie nodded. "Good, then how about we strip, fuck and get back to normal before we get busted? No pun intended there, by the way," she commented, standing up from his lap.

Paul watched her as she whipped her top off over her head. He was going to tell her that it probably wasn't necessary to remove the skirt or the underwear. Both could easily be pushed aside. But whatever. His wife was clearly running the show at this point. He stood up and pulled his t-shirt off. "You know, everyone thinks that I'm corrupting you. But look at the horrible things you say to me! This is emotional abuse!" He complained while fumbling with the belt of his jeans.

Stephanie laughed at him. "Aww," she gushed, swatting his hands away and taking over the task of undoing his jeans. Once she had the belt, button and zipper undone, she pushed the denim down his legs a bit. She shoved against his chest hard, smirking as he lost his balance from the shock and fell against the couch. "Well, just to round things off, how about I abuse you physically, too?"

Paul licked his bottom lip and drew it in, trying his hardest not to laugh. Ultimately he was failing and finally just gave up when Stephanie got on top of him again. God, he loved her. She was literally everything he could have ever asked for in a woman and then some.

A low groan passed his lips as she gripped his erect member, stroking it a couple times before teasing her own entrance with the tip. Paul placed his hands on her hips to help steady her as she finally, mercifully, began to slide down.

A bang on the door started the hell out of the both of them. "Stephanie, are you in here?" A male voice that they didn't immediately recognize, called to her.

Paul chose to ignore the intruder by lifting his hips until he was inside of her fully.

Because it felt amazing and she couldn't help her gut reaction, she moaned. And her husband started laughing.

"PAUL!" Stephanie hissed as sternly as she could, without raising her voice much.

"Yes?" He asked innocently.

"There's someone at the door and you just want to…what, have sex while they bang away at it?" She questioned, flailing an arm in the general direction of the door.

"Interesting choice of words, dear."

Stephanie slapped at his chest until he squirmed, trying to get away from her. "Shut up, you know what I meant!"

The banging at the door escalated in loudness. "STEPH, SERIOUSLY! You in here?"

"If we ignore him, he'll go away," Paul suggested.

"Maybe. But then I'm really gonna have to try to keep quiet."

"Don't set yourself up for failure, babe."

Stephanie screwed her face up playfully and slapped his chest again. "Seriously, what are we gonna do?"

"I don't know; it's not me they're after." With that, Paul shrugged, proving he was of absolutely no use in this scenario.

Outside the door, there was silence for a moment. And then whomever was keeping up all the noise finally began to beg. "STEPH, COME ON! I've searched all over this place and you're nowhere to be found. Nobody saw you leave the arena so I know you're in there. Your Dad will have my head! He told me to come get you. Please."

"Shit," she muttered out. Well, now she had no choice but to go. Not only had her father demanded her presence…but someone else would get crap for it if she didn't show up. She cared very little about her father's demands at the moment – hell she didn't even pay attention in his meetings, to be honest. But she didn't want to get some uninvolved party in trouble just because she couldn't keep her hands off of her husband.

She pushed herself up, ignoring Paul as he stretched out on the couch as if he hadn't a care in the world. As if his manhood wasn't literally sticking damn near straight up in the air because of her. But she couldn't think about that while she was trying to focus on putting her clothes back on.

Once she was dressed, Stephanie leaned down and pressed her lips against his quickly. "I'll only be a minute. Stay here and stay naked, please," she requested, earning a chuckle out of him.

There was more banging on the door as she approached it. She opened the door harshly, but made sure Paul wouldn't be spotted. "WHAT?" She asked, stepping outside of the room. "Are you trying to beat the damn door in?"

The younger man flushed an embarrassing shade of red. "I…errr…" the kid trailed off, pressing his earpiece into his ear harder. He nodded, as if the person on the other end could see him. "Interview. They're just around the corner waiting on an interview with you."

"Interview about what?" She asked skeptically. The timing was funny. And why send this flustered kid if people were so close to Paul's locker room, waiting on an interview?

An overwhelming sense of dread overcame her as she followed the kid. Self-consciously she smoothed out her skirt and blouse a dozen times. Her cheeks burned from a combination of surprise, embarrassment, shame and desire. But there was nothing she could do about that, so she may as well stop trying.

She reached the area, only to have a camera immediately shoved in her face. No greeting or anything. Kind of aggressive if you asked her. Much like she'd been with Paul…but that was playful and loving.

Against her own will, her lips began to twitch upwards. She could literally still feel Paul's body pressed up against hers. She held her lips together tightly and tried to force her lips to turn downwards. It felt awkward, since she was a generally smiley kind of person.

God, she hoped this fucking ambush of an interview wasn't about somebody hearing her in the locker room. Her body was craving release and her mind was simply torturing her with all of the potential ways that her husband could give her just that. She needed to get the hell out of here and get back to that locker room as soon as possible before she exploded. In frustration, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Stephanie, Trish Stratus just asked you on Twitter, to induct her into the Hall of Fame this Saturday."

Feeling her utter apprehension drain away, her lips curved up into a wide smile. She was safe. Yes!

"What are you feeling right now?" The interviewer continued, totally blind to the myriad of emotions that he'd just put her through.

"Uh…" she began. She was still left with the problem of her mind having gone totally blank. Of course she definitely knew that when Trish had asked her to induct her this weekend, she would eventually be asked for her thoughts. But with Paul ravaging her as soon as he came backstage from his altercation with Heyman and his beast, it made most coherent thoughts evade her. Like her brains just decided to flee the scene and let her heart and body completely take control. "I'm really…I'm really overwhelmed," she stated simply. "Um, that's what I wrote back to Trish in my tweet," she pointed out, pleased with the fact that she'd managed to recall what she'd said. "And uh I'm just…I'm honored, you know that Trish would want me to induct her into the Hall of Fame. She's one of the greatest divas of all time and um…and really I just…I'm almost speechless. I'm just truly honored to be able to do that," she finished with a decisive nod.

In the background, someone signaled for the cameras to cut. Instead of sticking around to exchange pleasantries like she normally would, she scurried off before anyone could stop her.

Making her way back to her husband's locker room, she didn't know whether to kick herself mentally or congratulate herself on somewhat playing it cool. Sure, she was normally a better speaker in public. She'd lost count of the number of press conferences and meetings she'd had to speak in. And she was always prepared and delivered her words perfectly. Somebody was bound to notice that she wasn't quite herself this time around. But she hoped that no one could figure out why exactly that was.

After all, being asked by your former "rival" to take part in one of the greatest nights of their life and career was no small matter. Stephanie certainly wasn't taking it lightly. She really was honored and overwhelmed by Trish's decision. Naturally, people were going to assume that was the sole reason why she was at a loss for words, fidgeting about and initially trying to suppress her massive grin. Thank God that the interview had been a very short one. Otherwise she may have said something that was crazy, yet truthful because of her panic.

She could see it now; rambling out a jumbled sentence that went something like, "HusbandSexDidn'tFinish YouPeopleInterrupted InDesperateNeedGodYes GottaGoOkayThanksBye."

Within no time, she was in front of Paul's locker room again. She didn't know what point or purpose it served, but she knocked before just going ahead and opening the door. She grinned, seeing Paul was literally in the same position that she'd left him in.

"What happened?" He asked.

Stephanie shrugged and stepped into the room, closing and locking the door behind her. "A quick interview about the Hall of Fame. I stuttered, stammered and blushed like an idiot the whole time and it's all your fault."

Paul laughed at her, but watched intently as she began removing her jacket. "How so?"

"I'm not really sure. All I know is that you're gonna make it up to me. Right?"

Paul winked at her. "I promise not to disappoint."