"God dammit Stephanie! I can tape my own fucking wrists!" Triple H roared to his wife. She had been getting in his way all morning. She was all snuggled against him when he woke up (which he hated), she was on the phone all afternoon, and God help her if she ever burnt the toast on his sandwich again.
"Hunter! Calm the hell down! Your match is in 10 minutes! I'm TRYING to HELP!" She snapped. She returned his glare with all the iciness she could muster, but he still yelled. He always did. Damn business marriages.
"I'm the WWF Champion! I beat the living hell out of people for a living, Steph, I think I can tape own wrists!" He wanted to be like that? Fine.
"Whatever, Hunter." Her voice was strained, like she was trying to keep from screaming. "I'm going out for air."
"Fine." He muttered, uninterested. He was sorely tempted to throw the match to get her out of his hair for a weekend, but he wasn't giving up his precious title to that baby faced pretty boy, Jericho.
Stephanie wandered the halls, bored and slightly worried. What if Hunter lost the match? What if she had to spend the weekend with that.. that.. that bastard, Chris Jericho? She shuddered at the thought.
Suddenly she bumped into something solid. At first she thought it was a wall, but it wasn't quite hard enough and was radiating a soft heat. It also smelled nice... She looked up, and into the annoyed yet slightly amused eyes of Chris Jericho.
"Damn Steph, I know your looking forward to this weekend, but don't throw yourself at me yet!" He grinned. Instead of returning the sarcastic smile, she glared back at him icily.
"This weekend? Whats this weekend? I have an appointment to get my nails done, and unless you plan on coming.." She let the sentence trail off, then picked it up again. "But I don't see why you'd pay such special attention to your hands. Oh, that's right, Your very CLOSE to them, aren't you?"
Chris sighed, forgetting her little quirk of always trying to out do him with witty comebacks. She always failed, too. "Yeah Steph. Mine are my favorite, but don't feel bad. Yours do a pretty damn good job, too! It comes from YEARS of experience, right?"
Before she could come back with a cutting remark, Foley walked up to them. "Hey guys! I see your making plans for this weekend. Well, your match is up next. Have fun, and good luck out there, Chris!" He strolled off.
"Yeah, good luck. You'll need it." Steph hissed.
~*~
"Oh my gawd! Look at this carnage Y2J Chris Jericho and The Game are leaving in the ring!" JR yelled into the headset. "Ouch, Chris Jericho with a sidewalk sla- No! Triple H reverses it! Here's the pin! 1! 2! No! Chris Jericho gets the shoulder up!"
Stephanie rolled her eyes and muttered sarcastically, "Spit a little more, JR."
The comment went unnoticed by the announcer, and alongside everyone's favorite hypocrite Paul Heyman, he continued commentating.
Stephanie dived out of the way as a muscular body came flying at her. For a minute she thought it was Chris, but one look at the buildup and bone structure told her it was her husband. She knelt beside him and stroked his hair, trying to coax him up. Out of the corner of her eye, The Billion Dollar Princess saw a body heading angrily towards her. Chris Jericho roughly grabbed her arm and shoved her out of the way. Dragging a nearly unconscious Triple H into the ring, he put him in the Walls of Jericho.
Quickly as she could, Stephanie jumped up onto the apron, distracting the ref as her husband's hand pounded furiously onto the mat. Tossing The Game's legs aside, Chris stormed over to the apron and grabbed her by the hair. Flipping her into the ring, he let her land hard on her back. She cried out in pain, and satisfied, he returned to Triple H.
"..And look at Chris Jericho go! There's the pin and One! Tw-- But no, Stephanie McMahon Helmsly breaks up the count with a low blow." JR yelled into the headset, covering anyone within 5 feet of him in slobber.
With a hand still on the small of her back, Steph stood over a fallen Chris Jericho. She smirked evilly, and kicked him in the face with 3 inch stiletto heels. Suddenly, a grubby arm wrapped itself around her neck and dragged her out of the ring. Tossing her aside, a shabby, chubby figure hit Triple H in the back of the head with a chair.
Jericho took advantage of Triple H's state of injury and hit a Lionsault. A figure brushed by Stephanie, and turned furiously to see who Chris's little friend was: Mick Foley.
The next words brought tears to Steph's eyes: "Here is your winner and the NEW! World Wrestling Federation Champion.. Chris! Jericho!"
"Hunter! Calm the hell down! Your match is in 10 minutes! I'm TRYING to HELP!" She snapped. She returned his glare with all the iciness she could muster, but he still yelled. He always did. Damn business marriages.
"I'm the WWF Champion! I beat the living hell out of people for a living, Steph, I think I can tape own wrists!" He wanted to be like that? Fine.
"Whatever, Hunter." Her voice was strained, like she was trying to keep from screaming. "I'm going out for air."
"Fine." He muttered, uninterested. He was sorely tempted to throw the match to get her out of his hair for a weekend, but he wasn't giving up his precious title to that baby faced pretty boy, Jericho.
Stephanie wandered the halls, bored and slightly worried. What if Hunter lost the match? What if she had to spend the weekend with that.. that.. that bastard, Chris Jericho? She shuddered at the thought.
Suddenly she bumped into something solid. At first she thought it was a wall, but it wasn't quite hard enough and was radiating a soft heat. It also smelled nice... She looked up, and into the annoyed yet slightly amused eyes of Chris Jericho.
"Damn Steph, I know your looking forward to this weekend, but don't throw yourself at me yet!" He grinned. Instead of returning the sarcastic smile, she glared back at him icily.
"This weekend? Whats this weekend? I have an appointment to get my nails done, and unless you plan on coming.." She let the sentence trail off, then picked it up again. "But I don't see why you'd pay such special attention to your hands. Oh, that's right, Your very CLOSE to them, aren't you?"
Chris sighed, forgetting her little quirk of always trying to out do him with witty comebacks. She always failed, too. "Yeah Steph. Mine are my favorite, but don't feel bad. Yours do a pretty damn good job, too! It comes from YEARS of experience, right?"
Before she could come back with a cutting remark, Foley walked up to them. "Hey guys! I see your making plans for this weekend. Well, your match is up next. Have fun, and good luck out there, Chris!" He strolled off.
"Yeah, good luck. You'll need it." Steph hissed.
~*~
"Oh my gawd! Look at this carnage Y2J Chris Jericho and The Game are leaving in the ring!" JR yelled into the headset. "Ouch, Chris Jericho with a sidewalk sla- No! Triple H reverses it! Here's the pin! 1! 2! No! Chris Jericho gets the shoulder up!"
Stephanie rolled her eyes and muttered sarcastically, "Spit a little more, JR."
The comment went unnoticed by the announcer, and alongside everyone's favorite hypocrite Paul Heyman, he continued commentating.
Stephanie dived out of the way as a muscular body came flying at her. For a minute she thought it was Chris, but one look at the buildup and bone structure told her it was her husband. She knelt beside him and stroked his hair, trying to coax him up. Out of the corner of her eye, The Billion Dollar Princess saw a body heading angrily towards her. Chris Jericho roughly grabbed her arm and shoved her out of the way. Dragging a nearly unconscious Triple H into the ring, he put him in the Walls of Jericho.
Quickly as she could, Stephanie jumped up onto the apron, distracting the ref as her husband's hand pounded furiously onto the mat. Tossing The Game's legs aside, Chris stormed over to the apron and grabbed her by the hair. Flipping her into the ring, he let her land hard on her back. She cried out in pain, and satisfied, he returned to Triple H.
"..And look at Chris Jericho go! There's the pin and One! Tw-- But no, Stephanie McMahon Helmsly breaks up the count with a low blow." JR yelled into the headset, covering anyone within 5 feet of him in slobber.
With a hand still on the small of her back, Steph stood over a fallen Chris Jericho. She smirked evilly, and kicked him in the face with 3 inch stiletto heels. Suddenly, a grubby arm wrapped itself around her neck and dragged her out of the ring. Tossing her aside, a shabby, chubby figure hit Triple H in the back of the head with a chair.
Jericho took advantage of Triple H's state of injury and hit a Lionsault. A figure brushed by Stephanie, and turned furiously to see who Chris's little friend was: Mick Foley.
The next words brought tears to Steph's eyes: "Here is your winner and the NEW! World Wrestling Federation Champion.. Chris! Jericho!"
