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Everything smells like Nikki when Becky wakes up.

She supposes that makes sense – Nikki’s right beside her on the bed – but there’s something encouraging about it, about the fact that it would smell like her if she wasn’t even here. There’s the scent of her perfume on the pillows, not too strong, but sweet and comforting. Becky leans in, taking in the scent, but then remembers: she can just lean into Nikki herself instead, which is much better.

She rolls over onto her other side to find Nikki with her eyes open and a smile on her face.

“Hey there,” Nikki says, and one of her hands reaches out to gently stroke through Becky’s hair. “Sweet dreams?”

Becky nods. Sometimes, she can’t be sure that this isn’t just another part of one of those dreams.

(She certainly isn’t sure fifteen minutes later, when Nikki’s mouth is on her shoulder, her neck, her collarbone. When she’s been left with a secret bruise she’ll need a good scarf or enough concealer to cover. When Nikki moves so she’s between Becky’s legs, pressing kisses to her stomach and thighs before smirking and pulling Becky even closer.

And Becky has to be dreaming when she comes, one hand in Nikki’s hair, the other fisted in the sheets. She hopes she makes Nikki feel just the same way in return.)



Nikki cooks her breakfast in the kitchen – Becky’s kitchen – like she’s always known her way around it, like she’s been here more than just five or so times before. Becky makes herself useful brewing coffee and pouring juice, but she can’t help herself from stealing glances at Nikki every so often.

(Except, it’s not really stealing glances when the other person is willingly here in your home, is it? No: Nikki is giving her this, freely, fully. Nikki is giving so many parts of herself – her voice and her laugh and her thoughts, her own home, as well, the press of sticky red lipstick to Becky’s cheek in a kiss – and it’s so much more than anyone else can say they’ve ever done for Becky. More than Sasha and Paige and Charlotte and Nattie can say. She only hopes Nikki won’t end up going the same way that they did.)

Breakfast is served. Becky tells Nikki she didn’t have to. Nikki says she wanted to. One of her bare thighs brushes up against Becky’s under the table, and it makes Becky want to melt.

These days, she tries not to let her guard down as easily as she once did, but it was difficult not to with Nikki. There’s something captivating about her, something that demands to be looked at and appreciated. It was there when Becky first debuted, when she’d watch Nikki entering the ring with a title belt sparkling in her arms, and it’s still there now, even as the two of them sit opposite each other at Becky’s kitchen table, not even dressed yet.

(And, as a little voice in Becky’s head tells her that she’s the one with a championship now, she can’t help but hope it means that Nikki’s just as in awe of her.)