a/n: this is all msconcon's fault. she fangirled with me over becky and shane just talking to each other during the last taped smackdown ever after he was announced the show's commissioner. it's not really all her fault because i died, tbh... they were just so cute standing next to each other and looked so good, and i couldn't resist, so here we are.

~*~the way you move ain't fair, ya know~*~

pairing: shane mcmahon/becky lynch

summary: when he starts having to recite the us capitals in alphabetical order whenever she's around, he realizes he's screwed

rating: m

~*~part one of two~*~

Tonight was the last taped Smackdown, ever. So, of course he was here. Where else would he be?

His father named him the commissioner, and tonight – without Stephanie around – would be the perfect time, with the ink barely dry on the contract his general manager signed earlier in the day, to do some scouting on his own.

There were the usual suspects to talk to; Ambrose, Rollins, Owens, Styles, Charlotte, Sasha and he would even reach out to Reigns despite being on suspension right now, but unlike Stephanie he wasn't interested in makin a splash, he was more interested in creating the best roster possible, and having the best roster meant having a deep roster.

Shane figured Stephanie and the GM she had come to terms with today, had already sunk their claws into the obvious; Rollins, Owens, Charlotte, Sasha, which left him to charm the lessers and that was just fine with him. He shook his head, amused that his dear baby sister thought of Ambrose as one of those lessers. He couldn't imagine seeing him as lesser than Rollins and Reigns. Though, the Cincinnati Scrapper wasn't as polished as Rollins and didn't have Reigns' classic look, he had been the true focal point of The Shield; standing not just shoulder to shoulder with the other two, but standing out.

Even during his eight year hiatus the so-called Lunatic Fringe, had been the one to capture his attention, which made Shane believe that he, the current WWE World Heavyweight Champion, would be a fine choice to start his brand. His unpredictable style, the grit and the determination had garnered him a legion of fans long before the concept of The Shield, and judging by the reaction in Las Vegas at Money In The Bank, they weren't going to stop pulling for him any time soon. He heard them all at every arena and unlike Stephanie he was going to listen.

Predictably, she thought they were just blindly following his anti-authority style, but Shane knew it was more than that. They saw themselves in him; hardworking, standing tall despite being beaten down, never giving up, coming back for more time and time again. If his sister wanted Rollins [and no doubt she did, the cold shoulder upon his return was anything but real], she could have him.

Platinum streaked by his vision and his train of thought stopped while his lips curled, briefly.

Charlotte.

From his vantage point, he watched her strut through the backstage area, nose in the air and her 'protege' Dana Brooke nipping at her heels. He sighed, fingers passing through his close cropped hair, the wheels in his head turning.

It would be hard leaving a talent such as her on the board. She had everything you would want in a champion; athleticism, an array of moves, able to work with any of the women on the roster, strength, an imposing presence, the beauty but... He waffled, watching as Dana used her brute strength to create a path for Charlotte to walk, elbowing different wrestlers, camera men, script runners and he could feel himself being pushed further toward 'no.'

Would she be worth it? Or be too much of a headache?

He knew his GM's opinion of the second generation Flair and while he agreed wholeheartedly, it was hard not to think his less than stellar view of the champion came from a place of bias. He knew Stephanie would scoop her up in a heartbeat, despite their backstage confrontation. Hunter – even from down in Tampa and running NXT – would no doubt, say he could keep her in line.

Lost in his own head, the wheels turning, Shane didn't see the crimson locks enter his field of vision. He nearly toppled over the flame-haired female superstar, but reached for her waist, pulling her against him before they both fell to the ground. He breathes in the heady scent of jasmine and raspberry, and he swallows thickly, realizing she's plastered against him, his arm wrapped around her impossibly tight waist. He can feel his skin grow hot, like, he's ten and seeing Miss Elizabeth for the first time and Jesus when was the last time he was this close to a woman?

"Interesting recruitin' strategy yer got here," A playful note underneath a husky brogue and stunning hazel eyes flecked with gold stared at him. Another thick swallow. Her lids were painted a mix of burgundy and gold, shimmering with glitter and her naturally long lashes were made thicker by a swipe of mascara. She looked... No, he mentally chided himself. He wasn't going to go there. He couldn't. She was young enough to... And then a harsh voice cracking through; why would she even want you, old man?

"Yer gonna go up to all the girls, press them against yer and hope we fall for those baby browns, eh, boyo?" A bright burst of laughter brings him back to the here and now, and he pulls away from her, like he's been electrocuted. Her glossy lips turn downward, a shadow crossing over her once sparkling eyes. "No need to back away like ya gonna get the stuffin' knocked outta yer. I ain't gonna put yer in the Disarm-er or anything."

He blinks; her joke not quite registering from the fog his head is under. He knew she was beautiful – all the women on the roster were beautiful – but seeing her this close, being able to smell her... And then he remembers the purpose of being backstage, and he has yet to regain his footing. She's a beautiful woman, and he's more than rusty... Fuck and then a voice cracks through the fog, his conscious chiding him.

what are you? twelve? charm her, like you did marissa, jesus!

"That's good to know," Lips curving into, what he hopes to be, a charming grin. "My arm," He rubs his left arm with his right hand, adding a wink. "Definitely appreciates your magnanimous gesture. I won't beat around the bush, I have a sense a straight shooter like yourself wouldn't appreciate it. I don't know if Stephanie has already reached out and even if she has, I would be doing myself and Smackdown Live a disservice if I didn't do the same."

"Would yer now?" Teasing as she tips her head forward, leaning in and appraising him with those once-again twinkling eyes that are peering coquettishly from behind thick lashes.

His blood is thick and hot in his veins, his mind spiraling down on a path it shouldn't be. He shouldn't be imagining her looking at him like that when she... fuck. It's so vivid; his length sliding between those perfect strawberry lips. His hand threading through those titan locks of hers, gripping the back of her head; keeping her right there, hips thrusting upwards, her mouth opening just a little wider, taking all of him and so willing...

He can feel his length stirring in his jeans and he has to think of anything else. Anything that's not heady and tempting... Declan had to learn all the state capitals in alphabetical order when he was seven... Montgomery, Alabama. Juneau, Alaska. Phoenix, Arizona. Little Rock, Arkansas.

Just as Denver, Colorado filtered through his brain, her brogue brought him back to the present.

"I know I'm not Charlotte, the reigning Champion and Sasha's back on the come up, but I'm a damn hard worker. I bring it every night. It don't matter if there's 20,000 people or 20 people. I'm as hungry as I've ever been. I won't let yer down, if yer draft me. I can promise to..."

"Stop..." Gentle as he holds up his hand. "I know exactly what you're capable of. Charlotte and Sasha didn't steal the show at Wrestlemania on their own. If I recall correctly, it was a triple threat match to determine the new Women's Champion, wasn't it? Honestly, I thought that incredible Bexplex off the top rope on Charlotte was going to seal it for you."

"Y... yer...You," Stumbling with eyes as wide as saucers. "Watched me match?! No way! That's bangers! Shane McMahon watched lil' ol me before his Hell In A Cell match against the Undertaker!"

"You're a terrific talent. Hopefully I'll be lucky enough to have you as part of my roster on Smackdown Live, Miss Lynch," Reaching for her hand at her side and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Rogan! I know it looks really cool, but you cannot Bexplex off the couch, your Dad would kill me if he came back and found you in pieces like Humpty Dumpty!" The rattled voice of his children's nanny, Samantha, greets him as he walks back into the duplex in downtown Hartford he now calls home.

"But Sammy..." His youngest whines, and it makes a smile cross his lips, feeling just a little less weary.

"No but Sammy..." Trying to sound firm, despite the jet lag travel inspires and then there's a yelp of, "Dad," and suddenly his arms are full of nearly 45 pounds of an energetic six year old. "Ooomf," He exaggerates and there's Samantha's warm laughter as she shakes her head, taking in the scene.

"Are those..." He can't help but notice the familiar steam punk goggles attached to his son's head.

"Becky Lynch's goggles?" Samantha's easy tone breaks through, her amused green eyes meet his brown. "They sure are. He refuses to take them off. If he wasn't so scared they'd get wet and ruined, he would've worn them in the bath."

"Dad, you gotta draft Becky! She's the best girl there is! The way she does the Disarm-er is so cool and her theme song rocks! Don't let Aunt Stephanie draft her! She can have Charlotte or Sasha. Please, say you're gonna draft Becky. Please, please, please, please."

"I gotta talk it over with my general manager and see if that's the way they want to go," A light chuckle as he gives Rogan's cheek a loving stroke. "But I'll say this, I agree with everything you said. Becky would be a wonderful choice for Smackdown Live. I'll go to bat for her in the draft room, that's for sure."

"But Daaaaaaaad..." A shake of his head as he puts the boy back on his feet. "Don't but Daaaaaaaaaad, get yourself ready for bed; wash your face, brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. And when I say brush your teeth, I mean it! Don't make me have to check."

"Fine, but I'm not taking off my goggles. I bet Becky never takes hers off."

"It's so cute," There's Samantha's easy voice breaking through. "How into her he is. You might have a future WWE Superstar on your hands there, Mr. McMahon."

"Samantha," He shakes his head. "How many times do I have to tell you? Please, call me Shane. Mr. McMahon is my father."

"Sorry..." Her cheeks flush and his mind spirals back to the aforementioned redhead. How good would it feel to see those tan cheeks flushed? Would that beautiful hue spread all over her body? From her decolletage to her round breasts, slide down her wonderfully toned stomach, even touching the stretch of her tight thighs?

Shane... That brogue heavy and panting... Her breasts, round and filling the heft of his hands perfectly, heaving... Nipples hard as diamonds, strained with want... Offered up for his mouth, his hands...

And suddenly he has to remember... Hartford, Connecticut. Dover, Delaware. Tallahassee, Florida.

There was such a rush, being out in front of the crowd... Shuffling around the ring and then doing the 'yes' chant with Daniel after he announced him as his GM. He wondered how he had gone those eight years without it, after knowing how it felt. He knew the talent was buzzing from the announcement of his GM, that while Mick was a legend in his own right, he was from a bygone era... He didn't know what it was like to be a Superstar right here, right now. He knew Daniel understood his vision for Smackdown Live and they would be on the same page, unlike Stephanie and Mick who were bound to clash.

As always, little sister may have made a big splash, but she did not think things through.

"Daniel Bryan, eh?" A familiar brogue, making him turn and he has to remind himself to breathe.

Since their backstage conversation, it's as if he's aware of her like never before. He's always known she was beautiful, that went without saying. But after being so close, knowing the feel of her body, the obvious fact of her beauty has fallen to the wayside. Now, he notices everything; the flash of her hair, titan locks mixed of bright orange, a hint of yellow, crimson all coming together to create a warm red tone that highlights her faces sharp angles, soft cheeks, almond shaped eyes, the upturned tip of her nose.

He shakes himself out of his daze, not wanting to be caught staring, not wanting her to think he's staring... But what man wouldn't stare?

"There was no other choice for me to make. Daniel has the same passion for this business running inside his veins that I do. I know we'll be on the same page for the draft and beyond. Eventually, Stephanie and Mick will clash and their roster will suffer for it. None of you will have to worry about that when it comes to Daniel and I."

"I like it..." Her hazel eyes sparkled with determination. "The two of yer together. You two are out there tryin' ta change tha game and do somethin' different. I would give up me arm to be part of somethin' like tha."

"Would you now?" Not that he would want her to go that far. Not that she even had to sell herself to him or Daniel. Both of them were ready to make her the face of their women's division.

"For sure. I got what it takes. It don't seem like it since I'm always getting put down, but I don't stay down. Nattie cheap shottin' me at Money In The Bank was the last straw. If I gotta stand on my own two feet and be the last woman in this company with integrity and heart who's real, then that's what I gotta do. But mark me words," Hazel turned copper, blazing with intensity. "I'm gonna get things done at Battleground. She's on a one way trip back to the dungeon, tail tucked between her legs like the scalded cat she is."

"That's what I like to see; that grit, determination, passion that is what Smackdown is going to be built on."

"I hope you and Daniel keep yer word. Tha's what we need around here. None of this flashy stuff and ratings and big splashes. Hopefully I'll have the luck of my ancestors from Galway with me tomorrow night, and I'll be puttin' on that nifty blue t-shirt yer peddlin' tomorrow."

"You don't need luck. Your talent speaks for itself. I can't say much, but you are rated very high on our draft board at Smackdown. If anything, Daniel and I will need luck; Mick's a big fan of yours, I wouldn't be surprised if he overruled Steph and selected you for RAW."

"Then I guess I gotta cross me fingers and toes, so that don't happen. Or..." Leaning in close enough to smell amber and berries, glossy painted lips hovering just above his ear, toned frame stretched so she can reach. "Yer could just draft me, and you don't gotta worry about ol' Mick comin' in and stealin' me from yer."

When she pulls back and straightens... He shouldn't, he should look anywhere else but...His eyes, drift, he can't help it. She isn't wrestling tonight; Dana is going one on one against Sasha again, but she's wearing the tank top version of her 100% Bad Lass shirt and the black cotton calls attention to every curve, her breasts standing out; perky and round... Jesus. A sliver of her incredible stomach is bare, a bitter tease as her jeans – painted on – sit low on her hips...Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He vaguely hears, "I'll be keepin' me fingers crossed," and with a jaunty wave and a flash of crossed fingers, she's gone. Her ass doesn't need help from her curve hugging jeans; it's wonderful all on its own, a tight heart shape that would fit perfectly inside his palm and he whispers, heavily as his eyes follow the enticing sway of her hips, "Atlanta, Georgia."

"Congratulations," Shane quips, upper lip curling into a smirk. "You now have Crossfit Jesus on your roster."

Cue the eye roll, he thinks and just as the thought filters away, there's his baby sister; rolling her eyes and he laughs. A look of mild appraise passes between himself and Daniel, and he knows they're thinking the same thing; we let you have rollins. He knows Stephanie wouldn't have dared to pick anyone else but Rollins. Though, she had her most memorable interactions in years – since Jericho loved getting under her skin way back when – with Reigns, she wasn't going to pull the trigger on the suspended Superstar and draft him number one, even if Mick was high on him.

Stephanie's painted lips are smug, as if she's already won and pulled the rug out from underneath him. It makes him laugh inside. Rollins deserved to go number one overall. He was a once in a generation talent, but there were three former Shield members and each of them could lay claim to that same fact.

And since the split, he was about to make the most overlooked of the three, the face of his brand and he was more than happy to do so. take that, little sister.

After giving a drum roll, Daniel announced, "With the first pick, the Smackdown Live takes the current and future WWE Champion, Dean Ambrose!"

"Ooooooh," He can hear Steph across the way, faking a shudder and mocking as she elbows Mick. "That unshaven, unkempt, lopsided face for WWE's red headed step child brand, it's perfect." Crowing and laughing, he shakes his head and turns to Daniel, "Look at that; no respect, none at all. As usual, Stephanie cannot see the bigger picture and what we're trying to build at Smackdown, but she'll face reality when we have the Champ every Tuesday night selling out arenas all over the world and putting millions of eyes in front of the TV."

Charlotte was Stephanie and Mick's second pick and he and Daniel countered with AJ Styles, someone Daniel knew very well and had proven to be electric since debuting at the Royal Rumble earlier this year. After RAW added Finn Balor`, calling him up from NXT and then Roman (a pick that was Mick's and Mick's alone, Shane could tell Stephanie was not comfortable selecting the Samoan Superman 6th overall) and he let her know he was aware.

"Dissension in the ranks already, baby sister?" He teased, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.

Her eyes narrowed and he knew if they weren't on national television, she would have stuck her tongue out at him like they were five. He and Daniel countered Balor` and Reigns with the face that runs the place, John Cena. A pick both of them were high on. You couldn't go wrong having one of the cornerstones of the past ten years on your roster. After RAW drafted Lesnar (yawn) and then the New Day (damn), he and Daniel countered with The Viper. He knew Randy somewhat and trusted the veteran would be back to his old self just in time for Summerslam and be ready to carry the banner of blue on his back into the match against Lesnar.

Sami Zayn was tough to swallow. The Underdog from the Underground, was no longer an underdog, in the truest sense. He had proven after wrestling all over the world and then becoming NXT Champion, that he could more than hold his own in the ring. He was tough, had charisma to spare and would've been a perfect fit for what he and Daniel were trying to build, but you win some and you lose some in the draft.

Smackdown raised eyebrows, he was sure, by selecting Bray Wyatt as a counter to RAW's selection of Zyan. While he couldn't say he knew the man (no one did, really), he knew what a talent he was, what was waiting to be unleashed and there were endless possibilities of match ups and rivalries that could develop with the maniacal bayou boogyman. He was happy that both he and Daniel had agreed to take the chance and pull the trigger on Wyatt.

Sasha... He just nodded, barely acknowledging the selection. The violet haired female Superstar was on her way to regaining her spot as a viable challenger to Charlotte after having been sidelined due to a concussion. It was hard to deny everything she had to offer, but while she would be fighting for real estate on RAW with Charlotte, the pick he and Daniel were about to announce would not have to.

She wouldn't be on the sidelines any more. She would be at the head of the table, the face of their Women's Division, a spot she earned and more than deserved.

Of course there was Stephanie prattling on about how he and Daniel hadn't drafted any female superstars to their brand, but he ignored her jabs. Daniel laughed as he moved to the mic to announce the pick, "Uh, Mick we're all aware of your weird fascination with the women, but we think you've missed out on the best Women's Superstar, so we'll be happy to add her to our roster and make her the face of our division; she's The Irish Lasskicker, Becky Lynch!"

As always Stephanie was only seeing the surface. That was the only explanation for why she and Mick hadn't grabbed Becky when they had the chance to. They could have stacked the deck against him and Daniel; Charlotte, Sasha and Becky, but they let the best of them fall to the wayside. Becky may not have Charlotte's pedigree, her natural superiority or Sasha's flash and attitude, but she had a charisma and talent all her own. She was determined to give her all every night, no matter what, and that's exactly what both he and Daniel wanted on their side.

At the end of the night, Shane was more than happy with the talent he and Daniel had assembled for Smackdown. Walking to his rental car in the arena's garage, he couldn't wait to tell Rogan the good news. His favorite was the face of Smackdown Live's Women's Division. He could imagine his youngest son's familiar dark eyes lighting up, the smile creeping onto his face, chipmunk cheeks stretched wide.

Just as he was about to reach for his phone, to tell him the good news and say good night to Declan and Kenyon as well, there was Stephanie's throaty voice, taunting, "I thought you were going to at least try to put up a fight, Shane. But look at you and that goat face troll; you're practically gift wrapping me Daddy's millions and the keys to the kingdom. Look at you... A bunch of B+ players for your B+ show."

Briefly, there was a sting in his heart. Looking into Stephanie's familiar crystal eyes, he remembered the little girl with her toffee pigtails who was always following him around, dragging her teddy bear along. He remembered seeing her in the burgundy cap and gown walk across the stage to accept her diploma from Boston University. How beautiful she looked when she married Hunter, not on the show, but in an actual church, how he had stood by her side and given her away along with their father.

What it was like to see her become a mother to her three beautiful girls.

And now... He shook his head, pushing the feeling of nostalgia down.

"Those B+ players, as you call them, have more talent inside the squared circle than you and I have in our entire bodies combined. You think you've assembled a roster that can't be beaten, but that's not what you've done. I know you, Stephanie, something you seem to forget every time we're in the ring or on stage together," A smirk crossing his lips. "And I know exactly what you're going to do; Rollins and Charlotte are going to steam roll everyone else. Sure, you'll throw Banks a bone and you'll have to placate your Beast, but Roman, Finn, Kevin, Sami... they're just pawns, just necessary props for Rollins to act out his superiority complex that you feed into. Alicia, Summer and Nia... They're all just fodder for your Nature Girl and Boss to show off against. You don't believe in them. You don't want rivals for Charlotte and Sasha, you want pinatas for them to beat. It's pathetic, really. But you'll see when everyone is begging Daniel and I for a position on Smackdown. You'll really see this Sunday at Battleground when the biggest prize in the company is still on my show."

"If you think that gutter rat Dean Ambrose..."

"Now, now, baby sister don't besmirch my Champion. Just because you want in his jeans so badly it makes you see red and the only way you know how to release your pent up frustrations is to rage, doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and let Mr. Ambrose be insulted."

He knew it was coming and he knew bracing himself wouldn't do anything, but he still grounded himself; the sting would be a little less if he stood firm. Once, twice, three times in total; her hand swiping harshly across his cheek, her curvaceous body shaking with anger.

"How dare you even suggest that I would let the thought of spreading my legs for that piece of trash enter my brain. This is war, Shane, and you have never been able to handle that. You and Mom, despite your hard exteriors, have always been soft where it matters. You'll be crawling on your hands and knees to Daddy begging for mercy after Battleground when Seth Rollins takes back his Championship, and you're left with nothing to hang your hat on at Flopdown."

"Flopdown? It's pronounced Smackdown, and the only one of us begging for mercy is going to be you. You're underestimating Ambrose and so is Rollins... Reigns wouldn't dare. He knows him too well, has traveled with him, tagged with him and watched him for too long. You only see the matted hair, wiry frame and tattered jeans, but I see his heart. But here's what I'd like to know; what if it's not your precious baby boy Rollins who walks out with the gold, what if it's Reigns? What are you going to do? Flirt and smack him around for foreplay again? Because you certainly aren't going to be backing him. You'll be doing everything to get Rollins the title back, and what kind of commissioner does that make you?"

"Foreplay?! Why you..." He grabs her wrist, stopping her momentum as she rears back. "If you'll excuse me, baby sister, I have three boys I would like to say goodnight to before it's past their bedtime. Maybe Mr. Ambrose hasn't retired to his hotel room for the evening, and you'll be able to release some of your frustrations. I feel like you would be less angry if you did."

Sliding into the front seat of his rental, Shane swipes the lock screen on his phone; his boys and him on the stage at Mania in their jerseys. He swallows, wiping at his eyes, the memory is bittersweet. Marissa had taken the photo and after everything was over, jumping from the cage, being pinned; he took off his wedding ring and signed on the dotted line.

He notices he has a voice mail and he hopes it isn't her; telling him to call in the morning and not to bother with saying good night because they're already tucked in and sleeping. He sighs, ready to hear her familiar soft voice, apologizing and then a half-hearted suggestion, but instead it's an excited brogue in his ear.

"This is, like, I dunno wall to wall jammers! I can't believe yer pulled the trigger on me and Daniel said I was gonna be the face of yer division. I just... I still feel like lil ol' Rebecca Lynch from Dublin watchin' wrasslin' with her brother and dreamin' yer know? I'm not gonna let yer down. I'm gonna bring that 100% straight fire every night. Yer won't regret this. Wow... the face of Smackdown Live's Women's Division... Me! Oh, shite, I gotta go call me Nan she's gonna lose it! Thank you! Thank you!"

A few more thank yous until her brogue fades and there's the recording 'would you like to repeat this message press one, to save press three, to delete press seven,' and he hits three without a second thought.

Standing tall after the grueling threat match was Dean Ambrose, his number one draft pick and face of his brand. The man looked completely gutted, beyond exhausted, barely able to stand as he soaked in the reaction from the crowd. He stumbled after climbing down from the ropes and looked like he might collapse right then and there, but righted his frame and swung the title over his head.

Fist bumps between him and Ambrose and Ambrose and Bryan were shared. "Told ya," Gravel tone mixed with heavy panting. "I'd get the job done. You knew what the fuck you were doing when you put this triple threat together didn't ya, McMahon? Fuck..." A low wince. "I'll be a fuckin' mess tonight, probably most of tomorrow too, but I'll be ready and rarin' to go for ya on Tuesday. You can count on that."

A groan of pain as Ambrose steps through the ropes and there's Rollins, just as spent, on the floor of the arena, "You got lucky tonight, Ambrose! This isn't over! I'm taking my title back, just you wait!"

"Shut the hell up, Crossfit Jesus," As venomous ever, scowl crossing the other's weary features. "You lost. Put on your big boy pants and fuckin' deal. You ain't comin' for nothin'. Cept a beatin' the Big Dog's got waitin' for you after you came at him with that chair... again. You better hide your baby boy, Mama," Directed at Stephanie with such teasing glee. "Or well... You can try to hide him, anyway."

And with another kiss blown in his sister's direction, Ambrose swaggers up the ramp, theme still blaring in the arena's speakers.

"What did yer think of me match?" There's Becky's familiar brogue reaching Shane's ears as he enters the gorilla area after leaving the ring behind. "Do yer think I held back too much? I feel like I did. I mean I wanted to come out swingin', throwin' heymakers and bringin' tha 100% straight fiyah, yer know? But Nattie's also with us on Smackdown... How'd yer just go at Cena knowin' yer can't exactly put him out of commission? I know beatin' up Cena is yer favorite thing to do and all but yer..."

"Hey, now," A low chuckle and a Southern twang. "Are ya gonna let me answer? Or just keep ramblin' on?"

"Sorry I just... I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize my spot. Before this brand split, I was always lost in the shuffle, yer know? Charlotte's had the title for over three hundred days, Sasha's gonna get it after her and then yer know Bayley was goin' to come up and they'd be the focal point, and where would ol' Becky be? Back the class, as usual. Like I was down in NXT. Shane and Daniel believed in me enough to pick me as the face of their division, I didn't wanna let them down."

"How could ya let 'em down? All ya can do..." Shane swallows, thickly, he had stopped about a foot away from the crates the two were sitting on and he could see them; their knees were touching, a gloved hand from Styles easily pushed back a lock of titan hair. There was a blush on her soft cheeks. His stomach twisted and he felt a twinge in his chest as he heard that Southern drawl, warm and encouraging, "Is what ya did out there. Give your all and nothin' less. Shane and Daniel ain't gonna give up on ya if ya went a little rough on Nattie. Ya got the win and ya showed everybody you're a force to be reckoned with, that's what matters."

"I'd just, yer know," Eyes downcast as she fumbles with her hands. "Hate to be called into the boss's office on the first day. I know the rest of the girls in the locker room wouldn't hesitate to pounce. Like that little pixie Alexa Bliss. And Naomi's comin' back... Carmella ain't just gonna lie down like some stooge, Eva's no easy get any more and Nattie, she ain't just gonna take this loss and go home."

"You need to stop selling yourself short, Becky," Shane didn't realize he had moved from his spot until he was right in front of her. "If you were anything less than what Daniel and I thought, we wouldn't have made you our sixth pick overall and the face of our Women's Division."

"How many times do I gotta tell ya, Becks," Styles is tilting up her chin and Shane's brows narrow; why was he so comfortable touching her? "Ya deserve this spot. Ya always have."

"Good thing yer here to remind me, eh?" Her strawberry lips are stretched into a beaming smile and Styles is swatting her delicate hand away as she tries to ruffle his shaggy hair. "Quit that. How many times do I gotta tell ya? Don't mess with the hair."

"Oh, sod off. It don't look no different than when you take off one of yer hats. If I wanna mess with yer hair, I will. What are yer gonna do about it, anyway, boyo? Give me a Styles Clash? I'd like to see yer try."

"A gentleman such as myself would never try such a devastating move on a lady. I had good home trainin' Lynch. My Mama just as soon as slap me upside my head if I dared."

"Yer just scared, I'd get yer in the Disarm-er before yer could even try. Cause I can tell yer right now, Styles, I ain't no lady. I'm Becky Balboa. A brawler, a street fighter and I could drop yer like a sack of spuds."

"Well, if you ain't no lady..." Teasing but much to low for Shane's liking and he can see his vision blurring green as the older man leans in, lips hovering just above the redhead's ear. He sees the other's lips moving but he's whispering so he can't hear and the blush already coloring her cheeks goes deeper and she laughs, bright and chiming like bells before pushing him away.

"See yer at the next stop. I'll be in the ring, waitin' for yer so I can make sure the crew settin' up can see me get yer in the Disarm-er."

Then her eyes turn toward him, warm like melted toffee, and peering at him beneath her thick lashes. Her teeth twist the flesh of her lip, biting, and as she releases the flesh she says softly, "I just wanna be everything the face of your Women's Division should be. You've given me the biggest chance anyone here has, and I don't want ya or Daniel second guessing yerselves."

Green disappears and Styles is forgotten. Taking the other's spot on the opposite crate, he reaches for her hand. His thumb draws circles on her skin, so smooth and he feels pings of electricity rush through his body. He takes in a shaky breath, jasmine and raspberry swirling around his senses, but there's a headiness underneath the warm combination; a tinge of sweat from the intense match she put on.

Is that...Don't go there... "Honolulu, Hawaii," He muttered, desperately willing his mind not to spiral down where he was imagining what she smelled like when she... Fuck. It was too late; there she was, sitting so close and her hair was damp and there were scratches and a few bruises, but she looked so beautiful... Too beautiful for his own good.

"We would never have any second thoughts about you." Keeping his voice even, professional. "We knew exactly what we were doing when we didn't take Sasha. You're the face we wanted for our division and not anyone else. You put on a stellar performance tonight, as always. Keep up the good work, Miss Lynch."

And just when he thought he could step off the crate and everything would be professional, he couldn't stop himself from reaching for her hand. The next thing he knew, his lips were brushing across her knuckles, and when he pulled back and turned toward the exit, he growled, "Boise, Idaho."

Waking up tangled in sheets, sweat clinging to his skin with a fast beating heart and heady images of Becky racing through his brain, made Shane want to punch a wall. He was a forty six year old grown ass man. Not some sixteen year old randy teenager who couldn't control his dick if his life depended on it. Jesus Christ what was she doing to him... "Fuck," He cursed, hand rubbing over his face.

He hadn't woken up like this... Hard as hell, desperate for release in over twenty years. Stumbling into the shower, he didn't care if the water was hot or cold. He just needed to take care of this, to be able to look her in the eye and not see... There were her lips, painted raspberry, sliding over the head of his dick... So perfect, so real it was like she was there; down on her knees, right now in front of him.

As the water pounded over his shoulders and back, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and fisting his dick as the images from his dreams took over.

"I haven't..." His mouth is level with the clasp of her bra, and now really isn't the time to bring up how long it's been since he slept with anyone who wasn't his wife for almost twenty years. He should just fucking bend about an inch, taking the clasp between his teeth and pull.

"You don't hafta say anything," Her accent thicker, coated in lust; every syllable going straight to his dick. "I don't care if ya've had thirty women in yer bed or one. You're right here," She reaches back, sliding the zipper of her dress down and gives a shake, the material pooling at her feet, heart shaped ass bouncing and fuck. "Right now with me," A slender hand cupping his freshly shaven cheek. "That's what matters."

"Becky..." A heavy groan as her hands slide under the tight fitting henley. "I gotcha." A warm open mouthed kiss to the stern tendon of his neck. "Trust me."

"Jesus," Through gritted teeth as one final tug brings him the release he so desperately needs.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, after stepping out of the shower, he murmurs, "Springfield, Illinois."

"Look..." Becky stops pulling out her favorite pair of emerald green shorts and the tank top version of her 100% Bad Lass shirt, eyes narrowing when she sees Naomi stepping through the door to the women's locker room. She was honestly hoping to change and get to the gorilla before any of the other women came in.

She didn't want to be the welcome mat for Carmella, Alexa and Eva and she didn't want to deal with Naomi or Nattie. She didn't need to deal with any of them as far as she was concerned. She had AJ if she needed a friend or someone to talk to and there was also Ambrose as well. If worse came to worse, she could always face time with Roman since he ha been drafted to RAW. But the last thing she was interested in was making friends with any of the other girls on the roster. That had blown up in her face one too many times, and she wouldn't let it happen again.

"Don't get it twisted a'ight," Naomi holds up her hands in a gesture of peace, sensing Becky's about to pounce. "I ain't here to be your buddy or whatever, but Uce... I mean Ro, he's family and he cares about ya, and he thinks somebody should be watchin' ya back."

"And he thought that should be you?" Becky arches a skeptical brow. "Because he knows I'm close with AJ, so why would I need you in the first place? And what about Dean? We both know that Dirty Deeds and pin didn't change anything between them."

"When it comes to Styles, you know Ro don't trust him as far as he can throw him. As for Ambrose? Ro ain't stupid. He knows Lil Uce would just be tryin' to get between them thighs, girl. Where you been? Haven't you met Ambrose? He thinks with the head between his legs, not the one between his ears. Ro was right; I gotta keep my eye on you."

"I don't need a babysitter!"

"Trust me I ain't ya babysitter. I'm just lookin' out for ya, makin' sure ya don't get hurt. Cause Ro would kill himself if somethin' happened to ya. I didn't know ya'll got so close cause I was out filmin' and everything. He said ya called almost every day during his suspension," There's a softness to the other woman's tone, her warm features brightening. "He needed that. He was real tow up about it. Took him a while to talk to Jimmy or Jey, but he said ya wouldn't put up with that wallowin' bull shit he was tryin' to pull. Good on ya for pullin' his head out of his ass. Y'know since I couldn't be there to do it for him."

"Roman's a good guy. Carmella's got all the luck snatchin' him up. I gotta ask, though... When we're out there, in the ring, fightin' and fussin' and goin' hard; what are you to me when all that's goin' down?"

"You're worst nightmare. You gonna feel my glow, Lucky Charms. Don't think cause you Ro's favorite or whatever that I ain't comin' for you. I should've been Shane and Daniel's first pick, not you, boo."

"So that's how it is? Well, your glow's gonna be burned by my straight fiyah."

"We'll see... So, I know you've heard; they bustin' out a new belt for us to fight for. There are pics floatin' around on insta and twitter, but I don't care what the hell the thing looks like. All that matters is it's gonna look hella good around my waist."

"You mean my waist..." Both women laugh as they shake their heads before Naomi holds out her hand. Without hesitation Becky shakes the other woman's hand. There won't be an alliance between them in the ring, but outside the ring they could be friends. Hell if Sasha and Bayley could do it, why couldn't they?

"Charlotte and Sasha stole the show last night on RAW and they crowned a new Women's Champion," Shane addressed the ladies of his division, surrounding him and Daniel inside the ring. "And we expect that all of you ladies will do the same thing tonight. There's a reason Daniel and myself chose all of you to compete every Tuesday night here on Smackdown Live. You are the cream of the crop. You are the best female competitors in this business today, and we're going to give you the opportunity to have your own belt to fight for."

"You're all so talented. You have so much passion and heart and fight. It wouldn't be right," Daniel spoke next. "If you were left without a belt to fight for. Tonight you'll all be competing in an over the top rope battle royal to determine the number one contender who will have the privilege of facing the Irish Lasskicker Becky Lynch at Summerslam! Because she won her match at Battleground against Natayla, Becky won't be competing tonight as she has already earned her spot in the match."

Becky's eyes went wide as she clasped her hand over her mouth. She couldn't believe she was going to Summerslam to compete for Smackdown's women's title. Before she could think twice, she was launching herself at the show's commissioner. Easily the grey-haired man caught her and she knew it was stupid, but she couldn't stop the tears.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Yer don't know what this means," Muffled against the stern tendon of his neck. "I've always been the underdog, the other one... Someone else was always in front of me. Yer not gonna regret this. I promise."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Shane cradled her face in his hands. He knew this was an intimate gesture, but he couldn't help it. He had to do whatever it took to make her listen. "We drafted you to be the face of our division for a reason. We believe in you Becky..." His lips curled as his thumb swiped a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "Balboa."

A watery giggle and a punch to his shoulder as she shakes her head. His stomach drops when she fully pulls back and leaps toward the turnbuckle behind him. She stands on the top rope, arms out, smiling so bright it could power a city and soaks in the crowd's reaction. He smiles at the sight to his left, his heart swelling because she truly deserves this. She's been kept in the shadows of Charlotte and Sasha for too long.

When she jumps back down, he struggles with the want to sling an arm around her shoulder and pull her to his side. Just to have her there. A silent reminder that he believes in her. And for the purely selfish reason of feeling the warmth coming from her body and to breathe in amber and berries.

He doesn't, of course because he's a professional. A professional, he reminds himself when he catches Daniel's clear blue eyes looking amused and his lips quirked ever so slightly, both accompanied by the arch of a wheat colored brow.

"And this..." He moves back to the center of the ring, not just out of self preservation, but because he has to, so he can unveil the title they had made up. "Is what you'll be fighting for."

The title design isn't completely different to its RAW counterpart. Instead of a white strap, the strap is black and the background behind the diamond encrusted W is, of course, Smackdown Live blue. A slender hand – nails painted a glossy copper – slide over the W and he's smelling amber and berries. Before the hand can take hold of the title, it's clamped by a hand with a darker skin tone and bright green nails to match the highlights in her ebony waves.

Naomi.

"I don't think so, Lucky Charms. You best get back. Cause I ain't afraid to lay you out, right here right now. This right here," Her mauve lips curve. "Belongs to me. Cause it's like I told ya'll last week; Smackdown Live's my time to shine."

"All Smackdown Live's gonna feel is my 100% straight fiyah. So it's you who should get back, cause at Summerslam I'm burnin' the whole place down and takin' this title," Becky grabs the belt and holds it above her head. "With me!"

Taking his position just outside of the gorilla, so he and Daniel could congratulate the number one contender for Dean's Championship, Shane tried his best to ignore the sight just to his left. Sitting side by side and watching the action themselves were Becky and AJ. What she did in her personal life wasn't any of his business. He didn't have any claim to her. Not that she would look twice at him, anyway, he thought glumly, but he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting.

They looked so comfortable and from his vantage point, he could see the other man was smiling. But how could he not be? Becky's energy was infectious. He swallowed thickly as they flicked food – he couldn't tell what exactly it was – at each other, laughing before the Southerner reached for the spitfire and pulled her onto his lap as she struggled and wailed, playfully flailing her arms and legs.

"Hold still would ya," A hearty chuckle. "You're blockin' the view and you said you'd help me scout the competition after I do what I do best at Summerslam and beat up John Cena. Or are you just protectin' Regins' boy Ambrose, huh? Is that what you're doin'?"

"Stoooooooop," She howled, bright laughter echoing all around. "I'm gonna kick yer in the face and then what is Cena gonna have to punch at Summerslam?"

"Traitor! I knew it!"

He has to turn away and as he does, he finds himself face to face with the WWE World Heavyweight Champion, Dean Ambrose. The Cincinnati native shakes his head, shaggy curls falling in front of his steel blue eyes. "That's some bull shit. Styles is such a fuckin' liar," Gravel tone amused. "I knew there was no way he wasn't all up in Irish's Pot O Gold. Takin' a break from women after getting divorced my ass. That sly mother fucker."

"Dean..." He starts, but the other cuts him off. "Yeah, I know you don't wanna know what goes on between the sheets with us, I get it. You're the boss. But, fuck, you're a dude whose dick still works. Ya gotta admit if Styles does have his hands all over that Irish ass, he's a lucky man. I mean, lookin' never hurt anybody. And you can't tell me you never have."

"I feel like I have to remind you..." A punch to his shoulder. "Jesus Christ, man, loosen up. I'm not asking you if you've ever beat your dick with thoughts of Bex runnin' through your head. I'm just sayin', objectively speaking, you can't deny she's gorgeous. Calm the fuck down before you..." Quickly the so called Lunatic Fringe's eyes change. No longer steel but turning light and then there's a twinkle and a slow blooming smirk and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Indianapolis, Indiana rolls through his head just as a low chuckle from the younger man registers inside his ears.

"I ain't gonna judge you, McMahon. You got good taste, bro, but if I were you I would scoop her sweet Irish ass up before that Georgia bulldog gets his paws all over her, y'know what I'm sayin'? Now, me I ain't interested in bein' tied down and all that, but Styles isn't gonna hit it and quit it. He has those nasty things called morals," A full body shudder. "And – ugh – even worse principals and that whole Christian thing goin' on, so I'd make a move now."

"She's an employee..." A scoff form the man next to him. "Fuck that shit. Cause, um, wasn't good ol' Hunter an employee, too? Then he tore his quad and next thing ya know your lovely baby sister has sledge hammered your dear ol' Dad. So you'll have to try that line on somebody else."

"Dean..." A heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"You don't have to listen to me. You probably shouldn't, anyway, but just because you sign her checks doesn't mean you shouldn't throw your hat in the ring. She might be interested. You don't know. Anyway, I gotta go," He pats the belt on his shoulder. "I've got a Show Off or a Bayou Boogie Man to confront. Champion's duties and all that. By the way," A shit-eating grin crossing his rugged features. "Tell Steffy the Champ says hey."

"Here to congratulate the number one contender, eh?" That warm brogue, like cinnamon, in his ear. So much more pleasant than the gravel from before. "Hopefully Dolph or Bray will fair better at Summerslam than Naomi."

"I dunno..." His lips curling upward. "Naomi is going to put up a hell of a fight for the US Women's Championship. Don't get cocky now, Miss Lynch," And before he can stop himself he's reaching, pushing a curl that's fallen across her forehead behind her ear. It's just in his imagination, he's sure, but he could've sworn her curvaceous frame shuddered.

"Who's cocky? I'm not just 100% straight fiyah," Low and warm, peering from behind the thick fringe of lashes. "I spit 100% straight fiyah. Feel her glow? She's gonna be feelin' the pain, when I get her in the Disarm-er. That beauty of a title is comin' home with me."

"I know you'll deliver a five star match. Just like you did at Wrestlemania. And I won't be the only McMahon excited to see it, either."

"Huh?" He smiles as he reaches into the pocket for his phone, and flips through his photos finding the one of Rogan in the bathtub wearing her goggles. Samantha sent it to him tonight. "My youngest, Rogan, is a big fan. You're his favorite, actually."

"Oh my goodness!" A happy squeal as she reaches for his phone, sparks he knows she doesn't feel rush along his fingers when hers brush against his. "Look at this little fella! He's snoggin' adorable. I just wanna put him in me pocket and carry him everywhere! And takes after his father, too," Her hazel eyes turn toffee, so warm and heady, the look hitting him in his gut. "What a handsome man he'll grow up to be. Got your eyes and jaw. Looks like luck don't only run through my blood."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, but you've already got your title shot..."

"It ain't flattery if it's the truth. You're a McMahon, humble don't become you. Though..." Soft and sensual as her tone drops in volume. "Blue does," Her finger slides up and down his arm before she gives his bicep a squeeze. He's dreaming, obviously, because there's no way an appreciative moan slips from those raspberry painted lips. "Brings out the silver in your hair and the brown in your eyes."

"Becky..." Her name heavy from his lips, because what is she doing?

"You don't take me for a fool do yer?" A burst of giggles like the crisp taste of champagne. "Yer think I haven't noticed yer lookin' at me? I don't do this..." Her body presses against his, allowing him to feel every inch of her curves. "I shouldn't I can already hear the harpies crowin', but I've never been one for thinkin' with me noggin'..."

Cinnamon and vanilla hit him full force, her hot breath ghosting over his face as she stands on her tip toes so she's able to be within an inch of his lips. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. This isn't real. Any moment he's going to wake up; sweaty and hard just like the morning before, aching for something he'll never have.

And then he feels her fingers thread through his hair and stop at the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape. There are breasts, pushing into his chest, as she gets closer. Their weight distracts him, his eyes closing, as he imagines feeling the heft of them in his palms. How they would fit perfectly; so round and perky and real. Not pumped with silicone or God knows what.

A heady groan escapes as he feels her nipples pebble and there's a whisper, "Tell me yer don't want this. Tell me yer haven't been thinkin' about me like I've been thinkin' about yer."

"Not here..." Suddenly he's all too aware when hears Charly Caruso their newest ring announcer's voice boom through the arena's speakers, "And you're Number One Contender for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship is, Dolph Ziggler!"

"Told yer..." A breathless giggle, an attractive blush staining her perfect cheeks. "I don't be thinkin' with me noggin'."

"Nashville's a beautiful city," Reaching for her hand, his lips brushing across hers. "Let me show you how beautiful, Miss Lynch."

The blush is deeper and it spreads along her gorgeous decolletage, drawing his eyes where they shouldn't go... And what the hell is the capital of Iowa, again? Because there are her perfect breasts, heaving, and he did that... Made her breathless, this beautiful woman, nearly twenty years his junior and his ego can't help but swell. Just like his dick... Fuck. What is the capital of Iowa? Damn it... De Moines just as her fingers slide around his wrist, bringing him back.

"Yer can can call me Becky..." A pause as raspberry lips bloom into a smile too beautiful for his own good. "Shane," And when his name actually falls from her lips, his dick hardens against his thigh, coming alive and straining and he knows what it's straining for.

"Fuck..." He curses under his breath as he watches her walk away, hips swaying and after another curse, he murmurs, "Topeka, Kansas."