Disclaimer: The characters and real people in this story do not belong to me. The characters belong to WWE, and the real people own themselves. This contains smut, though it's kind of mild, but still, smut, so children, back slowly away from the story. You're not wanted here!

A/N: So in 2010, I wrote some WrestleMania week Smoochy smut. In 2012, I wrote some WrestleMania week Smoochy smut. So I figured, hey, why not write some 2013 WrestleMania Smoochy smut. Anwyays, here it is, it's not too smutty, but it's smutty, I guess. Anyways, I hope you like it, I hope you review it, but that's up to you. If you want to be brutal, go ahead, I won't be mad at you. Enjoy! :)

You could tell a lot from the way a person walked.

You could tell if they were confident, shy, tired, in a hurry, so many different moods could be deciphered by just looking at the way a person picked up their feet and moved forward, in time, in place. You could even tell from their shoes what kind of place or mood they were in. A flip-flop for casual, high heels for dressy, running shoes for those times where you actually felt like exercising. So many things and just in the way someone carried herself.

She smoldered.

It wasn't even the shoes, though they were high and probably expensive. It was just in the way she carried herself. It was in her long stride, self-assured and in charge. It was in the way her shoulders set back, her chest proudly displayed like she was wearing armor ready to go into battle. It was in the way her chin was up and her hair flowing behind her like there was a fan in front of her. Her arms fell loose by her sides, swinging in time with her hips. Everything about her screamed self-esteem and pride.

You could tell a lot from the way a person sat.

You could tell if they were bored, interested, happy to be there, or wishing they were somewhere else. You could tell a mood just by looking at their posture. Where were their hands, folded in their lap, resting over the armrests casually? Or were they rest their elbow on the arm of their chair, leaning their head against their palm. There was so much you could tell from how a person sat.

He wanted.

The moment she stepped out on the stage, no, the moment her name was announced to the crowd, he sat up straighter. It wasn't that he was bored before, far from it. He'd been involved in an impromptu spot with Mick Foley, much to the delight of the crowd and everyone there. He'd even caught her daughters, her little girls giggling at the silly man who liked to make everyone laugh, who, on occasion, had even made them fly into a torrent of giggles. No, he wasn't bored, but he was anticipating.

He could feel her presence just a few seats over, phantom though it was. Until Trish asked her to be her inductor, Stephanie was supposed to be one, two seats over, a small space, just enough, just enough to feel her presence, to think that for one second he might be able to lay claim on her. He knew his wife was there, his son even, but the second she was in his periphery, the world seemed to focus solely on how her strides were long like her legs, and how her hips were booming to the sound of his own heart.

And so her real presence, and not the phantom one, drew him in as his eyes smoothly glided over her body, much like the short, black dress she was wearing. He knew he had a thing for little, black dresses, and he believes that she wore it for him. They are a sticky, messy couple, living on the outsides of their own lives. They do not mesh, not very much, but they do. They call themselves a couple though they cannot be, and they love though they shouldn't. And so the threads that hold them together become more tangled, and their web too thick for them to correctly navigate.

They love and call themselves a couple, but a couple of what is yet to be determined. He often calls them a couple of idiots because they are. There's no denying that, and they don't. They know they're wrong, have always been wrong, and yet they continue to do the wrong thing because it feels so damn right. And they can't deny that it feels right, and why deny yourself that? They are selfish in that respect, selfish, horrible people who know when they should quit, but don't. They are people without scruples, and yet people think they are moral.

They're just humans.

They fall and fail, and they do stupid things because they are stupid, and as he sits there watching her, he is reminded of how they snuck away the other at the auction for a serious cause to fool around with each other. It was a dark corner, in a dark room, a quiet room that allowed him to hear her breathy moans, to hear her little squeaks as she tried not to scream when his fingers plunged into her, throwing away the sparse fabric of her thong to get to that spot he knew drove her crazy.

Then he licked her off his fingers, they straightened their clothes, and walked out like they were the most innocent people on the planet, but they were liars, and horrible, and they knew it. That was their secret burden. They each knew how horrible the other was, but they could not stop, would not stop, and it was tragic in a way that they lived such wicked lives that they were not willing to change. So they stayed horrible, and they walked around with false smiles and false looks, and utterly false lives.

No matter how hard she tried to look at her family, to look at anyone else, her gaze kept drifting to him. Her eyes fluttered over his suit, knowing that the night before, she snuck away to an empty hotel room (they always booked floors and there were always empty ones), knowing he would be waiting for her, knowing they would fall into bed together, and not caring. He looked back at her, and she could swear that she felt a gush between her legs as his blue eyes pierced her. She couldn't even see the blue and yet they stung. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling wet and hoping that nobody could tell how her face flushed.

She knew that it was wrong to get aroused in front of thousands, but it was dangerous and sexy, and she kind of liked the danger of it all. That was part of what made her horrible. Paul was safe, and he was loving, and he was what she really needed, but unfortunately, he wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to find somewhere secluded, hitch her leg up and let Chris drive himself into her while hearing people around, just out of sight. She knew that one day they were probably going to get caught, but that made her feel even slicker, ready for him.

They were assholes.

They were horrible people who made bad decisions over and over again. They were insane because wasn't that what insanity was in the end, doing the same thing over and over again, looking for a different result. She didn't know what the result was that she was looking for, but she kept doing the wrong thing over and over again, knowing that it threw her deeper and deeper into a river of regret. She was on the fast track to hell, and she just didn't even care. The best part, or the worst if you chose to look at it that way, was that she was doing it while having the best time of her life.

And when the ceremony ended, when the people filed out, she caught him again. Well, in fact, he caught her. There were tons of people milling about, most wanting to talk to her, to tell her how funny and poignant and simply her, her speech was, but his hand on her arm, him stilling her quick step towards feigned respectability with her family. He looked at her, leveling a gaze towards her and she was already half way to ripping his belt off and sticking her hand into his pants.

"You were…great up there," he told her, emphasizing the great part with a delicate raise of his eyebrow. She immediately got his intent.

"I had a difficult time getting through the speech," she licked her lips, her eyes drifting down ever so slightly, letting him know that she was ready for him that second, that he could lift her skirt up, and plunge into her without any prep. His eyes floated to the bottom of her dress, to the hem, and she could swear she almost felt her skirt lifting simply from the heat of his gaze. That was the kind of power he had over him.

"Where are you going now?"

"Interview," Stephanie told him, "then…I don't know."

"There's a bathroom back there, you know…"

"Bathroom, do you have to go, Chris?" she lithely glanced around her. "I have a dressing room back there, somewhere I could prepare my speech, my name is on it, give me fifteen."

He nodded slightly, leaning forward to give her what others would see as a friendly hug. It wasn't so friendly when he pushed his crotch against her leg, showing her that he was glad his pants were looser tonight than they had been the other night when he'd nearly burst out of his jeans in want for her. She pulled away and her gaze was hungry, but this was not the place, certainly not as Chris saw her daughters rushing over to her.

He slipped away, but she watched him go, the only thing pulling her out of her tempted gaze the loving kiss of her husband.

She hated everything in that moment. But she had those, she was hell-bound after all. There were going to be bouts of self-loathing, but they always passed, usually when she relished the taste of Chris's skin. So she shoved the loathing away, pushing it back into the chest she kept it locked away in and she took the compliments from those around her before excusing herself for duties associated with inducting Trish.

She went through the motions, her mind already on sucking Chris off, and that created a slight distraction, and then a need that made her heels click quickly down the hallway. She slipped into her dressing room, and he was on the couch, hands on his knees, and his posture was anxious. She locked the door behind her, and she was lifting her skirt and he was rushing towards her and then he was on his knees and his face was suddenly buried between her legs. One leg instinctively went over his shoulder as she tried to balance on one heel. His hand crept up her thigh and her head fell back against the door.

"I needed to taste how wet you got up there," she heard his voice from beneath her and she laughed because she was terrible and this was wrong.

She grabbed his hand, something she didn't have the luxury with anymore with her actual husband, and she shoved his face back against her. Chris laughed against her, and she could feel the vibrations against her sensitive skin, and it created a delicious ripple through her body. His hands came up and pulled down her underwear, making it so he could get at her better. She turned her leg out so he could lick her out easier, and it paid off as he buried his tongue in her. She groaned and nearly slid down the wall.

"How long do we he have?" Chris pulled away and she whimpered. He had this tongue, and she couldn't explain it, but she loved having it inside her, not as much as other parts, but Chris knew how to go down on her like none of her lovers had.

"Ten minutes, maybe," Stephanie breathed out and he nodded, standing up and starting to undo his pants. She started helping him with it, their hands a blur as they both tried to do the same thing, they kept laughing and pushing each other's hands away as each one tried to do the same thing.

They looked up at each other as his belt became undone, and they were reminded in that moment why they weren't such horrible people. Oh, they were still liars, cheaters, and cowards for not admitting what they were doing, but they were also in love, and they laughed, and they even did couple-like things every now and then. Sometimes she was sick on the road and he would sneak her some soup or tissues or let her sleep in his dressing room when hers got too hectic.

"I love you," she kissed him and told him because they told each other the words because they never knew when it might be the last, so they told each other a lot, just in case, just so the other knew that even in this fucked up situation, there was love, and they weren't that unscrupulous.

"I love you too," he told her back before he shoved her hands away and undid his own pants. She grabbed his boxers, shoving them down, taking her in his hand and stroking him a few times before she pushed him back onto the couch. With little time, foreplay was out of the question.

There were some nights when foreplay lasted for hours, with licks and kisses and caresses, but this was not one of those times. She threw her leg over his straddling him. She gripped him in her hand, stroking again before she held him in place. She lowered herself onto him and closed her eyes as she felt him slip inside her further and further until she was seated in his lap. His pants were still around his ankles, and her dress was around her waist, but for all the world, there was nothing between them.

He pulled her towards him, capturing her lips in a kiss before he bucked up slightly, causing her to gasp as he went a fraction deeper inside her. She brushed her fingers through his hair, tilting her head so their mouths meshed together even further as he continued to buck up into her. She finally got the message and started to bounce on his lap in earnest.

He cursed her top because it wasn't down and it was so tight he'd have to unzip it. So he just lavished the tops of her breasts with kisses, burying his face into it, making her laugh and pull his head back so she could kiss him again. Sex with Chris was playful sometimes, and right now, it was playful and dangerous, a heady combination that was making her ride him faster, wanting their release to come soon.

"Come on, baby," she told him, swiveling her hips, which made him groan and thrust into her with a little more force.

"I think that's my catchphrase," he said, nipping at her neck, causing a small mark that he then laved with his tongue.

"Don't care, want to get off with you," she whispered huskily in her ear. Stephanie was just about to kiss him again when her phone went off. They stilled. She pulled away, glancing back at her phone on the table in front of them. Chris leaned forward, causing her to bend backwards, taking her phone and looking at it.

"Where are you?"

"Shit," Stephanie said. Their regular lives, where they were certainly despicable was calling them. Stephanie took the phone from his hand, texted something she wouldn't let him see, then put her phone down and started to bounce against him aggressively.

"How soon?"

"Just fuck me," she told him and no words were needed.

It was just them, in that moment, trying to secure a few more for themselves before the real world crashed in on them. Stephanie threw her head back as her release drew near, but Chris wouldn't let her. He twirled his hand into her hair and forced her to look at him. If they were going down the path to hell, they would do it together, just like they had been for years.

"You're mine," he growled when he finally released into her.

"Always," she told him as her high peaked and the kiss was possessive and deep and sinful.

When it was all over, they cleaned themselves up, made themselves look presentable, and went back to acting like they were innocent, that their lives were their own and not just one part of it. They pretended to be whole apart when they were in fact just slightly fractured. That's all they could have, and that's all they could be.

You could tell a lot from the way they were forced to walk away from each other every, single time.