Flames

Bite Club, part 2

"WrestleMania is practically in your backyard next year." Seth was curled up close behind her, face pressed to her neck. With one arm draped across her hips and their legs tangled together, he was making it difficult for Becky to move, but she wasn't exactly trying to either. "That'll be nice, not having to celebrate in a hotel. . . ."

Becky murmured her agreement, keeping her eyes shut. The sunlight streaming through her window was bright and brassy against her closed eyelids, but Seth was even warmer and more comfortable. Some of the thoughts floating around her head weren't quite so welcoming, though. WrestleMania 37 was over a year away; would they still be keeping two separate homes by then? It was certainly convenient now—it gave them home bases in two different parts of the country, one close to their favourite trainer and the other near Seth's family—and it wasn't like they couldn't afford to keep both. "Nice weather too." She reached up and stroked his beard idly. "It doesn't bug you that I have another appearance with Roman, right?"

Seth's arm tightened around her, making her sigh. They hadn't been able to simply just lounge in bed for a while, so she was going to bask in every second she got to touch him. "No. Of course not." He kissed her shoulder lightly. "You two are some of our best ambassadors right now. Besides, the Messiah isn't exactly face-of-the-company material, and I know that." Then he paused, nuzzling her neck and making her shiver each time he blinked. "Why? Did someone say something to you?"

"No. I just. . . ." Becky shook her head and started to turn around to face him, but Seth kept his arm tight around her waist. "What?"

"Look at your dress." Figuring Seth would distract her in the morning like usual, Becky had set out her dress for the press conference the night before; her make-up and hair would be done on site. It was a relatively simple dress, given some of the things she had worn of late: a black mini with mesh shoulders and sleeves. "Did you know about the bite when you chose it," Seth asked, "or is it just a happy coincidence?"

Becky gave a soft snort. Seth hadn't been pleased with the bite angle, even knowing that it was all fake. "You know that dress was picked out weeks ago," she retorted. "You were with me. You're not actually sore about the whole Shayna thing, are you?" She had assumed he was just trying to get his ego—and maybe a few other things—stroked, but if he was legitimately upset, she didn't want to make light of it.

"I thought I had exclusive biting rights, that's all." Seth pressed his mouth to the spot that would be covered with the kayfabe bandage and bit lightly.

"You know I have a bandage to put there, right?" It wasn't like Becky hadn't shown up with hickeys and other tell-tale marks before, but there was a big difference between a WWE event and a press conference.

Seth grinned against her back before biting again, a bit harder this time, deep enough to make her moan. "Yep. I'm marking the spot for iy. Joe pointed out how faithful you are to kayfabe—"

"You're taking sex advice from Samoa Joe now?" Not that Becky was complaining, really. Seth was biting one of the spots that made her melt, and she could feel how hard he was, and the conference wasn't really that far away, so they had enough time. . . .

"Do I need to take advice?" Seth kept teasing the spot, licking it one minute and then letting his teeth just graze it before biting down. Then he would just blow on it gently, making her shiver, or kiss it so tenderly she barely felt his lips.

She never knew which touch was coming next and she loved it; some non-wrestling friends had warned her that the novelty of sleeping with a wrestler would wear off, but it had almost been a year and Seth hadn't disappointed her yet. "You know you don't. Directions, maybe," she teased, "but not advice."