a/n: without msconcon's encouragement this would not exist, so this is dedicated to her. i've had the idea of roman and becky in my head for a while, and now i'm writing it. this is completely au, no wrestling in sight, but i hope i still capture the essence of both characters.

~*~let me be your sweetest~*~

pairing: roman reigns/becky lynch

summary: he wasn't a stereotypical navy man with a girl in every port, there was only one girl for him and it was time to take things to the next level [established roman/becky, au]

rating: m

Like the small turtle with its Polynesian flower on its shell to represent his daughter, you wouldn't notice the Irish Claddagh amongst the lines and shapes of his traditional Samoan tattoo. His shirt sleeve is rolled up, purposefully exposing the symbol and he thinks of the matching one on her right ankle, peaking at him whenever they're a tangled mess of arms and legs. He thinks of her hair, ringlets the color of a flame, and how those hazel eyes of hers darken with lust, turning an intense coffee. He sucks in a heady breath and swears he can smell her; berries and amber, a wonderfully warm scent that only belongs to her.

He groans; image after image of her flashing before his eyes, and the only thing that stops the flashes is a chuckle from the seat beside him. His eyes open and his cheeks can't help but flush when he meets the twinkling brown eyes of a man old enough to be his grandfather. The familiar triangle cut and navy blue of an Airforce cap, makes him sit straighter, a product of ten years in the Navy. He salutes and the same gesture is given back.

"At ease." The reedy tone commands and the younger man's broad shoulders relax slightly. "Now, I may be old now, son, but I do remember what it was like to be a young fella. Had a special lady m'self waitin' on me too once upon a time."

"She's," He can hear her brogue, right in his ear, like she's there and his lips can't help but curve into a smile. "Special all right." His left thumb traces her homeland's traditional design. The hands are for friendship. The heart is for love. The crown for loyalty. His heart trips up, briefly, because he'll be seeing her soon, for the first time in months and…

"Be that ring ya got is burnin' a hole in your pocket, ain't it?"

Grey eyes blink… How… "I remember when I had a ring burnin' a hole in my pocket. Ya got that look about ya."

"Any advice, sir?" He can't help but ask because he wants everything to be perfect.

"Just speak from the heart when ya get down on one knee."

"All right," Spoken right into the mic on the headset as the redhead dismounts from her cycle. "That was a great class! Ya pushed yerselves today, harder than yesterday, and that's what matters! Tomorrow we'll go even harder!"

There are a few groans, which make her laugh, and a few hollers inspiring her own. She fans herself, sweat coating her tan skin, and grabs the towel she keeps slung on her cycle's handlebars, dabbing at her neck. She sucks in a deep breath, the intensity of her high energy, high impact class hitting her, but she knows she's feeling light headed for a whole other reason.

Stunning grey eyes appear first. Then there's a chiseled jaw, a neatly trimmed beard and goatee coming along. She bites down on her lip; deep caramel flows beautifully over highly toned and wonderfully shaped muscles. The lines and shapes of his tattoo – a tribute to his heritage – take over, encompassing his entire right arm and extending over the broadness of his shoulder and the thickness of his pectoral. It's a mouth-watering sight, and it's a wonder she's still standing, even though it's only in her mind's eye.

The real thing is so beautiful it's a wonder she's never come on the spot.

Her thighs rub together wantonly and it's hard not to moan as she hears, that low rumble of a baritone in her ear, "Fuck Becks,"

It's almost like he's there and they're on her bed, him looming over, his perfect dick filling her up and… "Oh Em Gee! Becky, what are you still doing here?" And just like that the fantasy disappears, melting into nothing, and instead of grey eyes big soft brown are staring back at her, and she comes crashing back down.

"Huh?" Dazed because all she wants his him inside of her for the first time in months. Phone sex is great and dirty texts back and forth are fun, but her own fingers are no match for the thickness of his. Or that damned talented mouth that she swears was made for going down on her. Her fingers were especially no match for his dick. So big and thick…

"Don't waste your time, Bay," Another voice joins the fray, this one with a raspier edge, and these brown eyes that suddenly appear are teasing and a darker, richer color. "Rebecca," Sickening sweet, making the red head's nose scrunch at the sound of her full name. "Is too busy thinking about Roman's big…"

"That's enough outta you," Becky warns, tossing her towel in the statuesque blonde's direction. She swiftly dodges the object, of course, and the red head rolls her eyes as she makes a beeline for the door of the cycle studio. "Sides," A cheeky grin spreads across pink lips. "I ain't the one who was caught with her drawers around her ankles in the office tha last time her man was here, was I, Char-Char?"

And with a flip of her damp locks, the Irish lass disappears through the door, laughing while Bayley snickers at Charlotte's aghast look.

As impressive a figure as her man cuts in his out of his uniform, there's something about seeing him in the combination of navy blue, grey and black camouflage. His long raven hair tucked neatly in a bun underneath his cap. Of course, what's underneath is even better, and her hands flex by her sides as she waits, wanting to touch, to feel… To kiss his every inch. Her pussy throbs in her panties, her want bordering on madness.

To see him, she doesn't need to stand on her toes, but she's bouncing on her tip toes, desperate to see the familiar sharp angle of that movie star jaw and to see those grey eyes peeking under the brim of his cap.

"Ro…" She whines, scanning the large crowds at the airport, and then there's a low rich chuckle behind her. "Am I any better at being a gentleman now, then I was the night we first met?" Right in her ear and there's the familiar smell of his cologne; spicy and clean, a mixture of cedar wood and the fresh scent of the ocean.

She whirls around facing the grey eyes that haunt her nights and plague her days. Her heart's thrumming against her ribcage, desperate to break free, and her stomach tumbles, pleasantly, from seeing that gorgeous smile in person. She, without thinking, launches herself and easily those tantalizing arms catch her, and she's transported back to their first night together.

"Ya don't exactly strike me as the cuddling type, boyo." Her panties are already halfway up her legs. "So I'll just be takin' my leave. Don't wanna make more out of this, than what it is."

"You don't have me pegged very well. My little friend," He chuckles, referencing her jab against his fellow Seal, Seth. "Is the one with a lady in every city. But these arms, baby girl, they were built for cuddling."

"I missed ya," Murmured warmly against the stern tendon of his thick neck, nose busing along his skin, and there was his hand drifting closer and closer to the curve of her ass, which he squeezes pointedly when his hand finally reaches his destination.

Then he's growling, right there, in her ear, "Missed you more," and again she's taken back to their first night.

"Do that again."

"Do what?" He asks feeling his balls tightening.

"Growl…"

"Why?" I groan.

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to. He's slipping into her more easily, her juices leaking out and he can feel she's close. Her upper body has gone limp against his, her breathing is raspy; tell-tale signs. He scrapes his hand down her back to her ass, squeezing one cheek as hard as he can while he slams into her again and again.

"Please," She whimpers against his neck.

He tugs at her earlobe and then growls her name, "Becky," over and over again. She squeezes around him, her shout muffled against his shoulder. He reaches down, gripping her other cheek as he empties his load.

When their eyes lock after Becky pulls away from Roman's neck, he knows exactly what she's thinking, what she wants, it's practically stenciled into her pupils. want you. need you. now.

He should stop by to see JoJo, his daughter, before they go home – he doesn't see her as often as he should, a sore spot for him – but the ring is burning a hole in his pocket and those hazel eyes are looking at him like she wants to eat him alive, and it's too much. A silent, sorry jo, daddy will make it up to you, like, always is whispered in the recesses of his mind. He feels like the worst father because she should come first, always, and what is more important his little girl or getting his dick wet? Jesus… His head starts to hang, and there's a gentle sweep of a thumb across his wrist and slender fingers sliding through his thick ones, bringing him back.

"We can go see Jo first. Bed's not," Cheeky as ever. "Goin' anywhere. Sides," Warm and inviting, her brogue sounding as much like coming home as his mother's Sunday gravy. "I know she's missed ya just as much. Can't be hoggin' ya even though I want to."

It shouldn't be – she's a head shorter with flame colored locks and an Irish accent thicker than his brother Matt's appetite – but she blends in with his loud half-Samoan, half-Italian family as if she's always been there. She gives him the space to be with Jo, all too happy to catch up with his mother and to be talked into sharing, at least one glass of wine, with her and his sister Vanessa who was there when they arrived. She should be a sore thumb, but she fits like a missing puzzle piece instead. Warmth – the kind only she can inspire – bursts through his veins at the sight of her laughing and teasing, dishing it out, but able to take it from his mother and sister. If Summer his other sister was there, it would have been a perfect scene.

Jo tackled him the second he stepped through the door, and as much as she missed him, he missed her more. She's attached to him like a limpet, not jumping from his arms, even as they sit on her canopy bed in the spare room his parents have for her in their house.

Roman's fingers glide easily through her tawny curls pulling the eight – excuse him, eight-and-a-half-year-old, jesus she's growing up so fast – closer to him and latching on just as tight, if not tighter. He knows the leaves take a toll, that she wishes he was here, and he wishes he could take her with, but he wants her to have the stable home life he did, to have roots and friends and grow without the hassle of changing schools and having to be the new kid every six months, maybe two years. He bends, kissing her head, and breathes in her familiar smell of bubblegum, like he's committing it to memory. Like he'll forget.

"Are you and Becky going to stay with me at Nana and Papa's?" Her eyes are big and hopeful, bottom lip already wobbling in preparation of him saying no.

"Not tonight, but tomorrow we'll be here to get you and bring you back to her house so we can spend the rest of the weekend together. Jo…" He sighs heavily, knowing he has to tell her that he wants to propose to Becky, and even though his daughter has warmed up significantly to the red head over the past year, it'll be different now. A girlfriend is not a step-mother. She'll really have to let go of her want to have him get back with her mother.

"Laumei," It's the Samoan word for turtle, his special nickname for her. "I want to ask Becky to marry me. I love her very much…." He braces himself for tears, not a squeal so high dogs could only hear and a demand of, "I wanna see the ring! You're a boy and boys don't know anything about jewelry! Nana and Aunties Vanessa and Summer say so all the time! Mommy even says! So let me see!"

Relief washes over Roman like a wave. JoJo passes the beautiful sterling silver ring between her hands. There are two small emeralds – an homage to Becky's homeland – bracing a 2.5 karat princess cut diamond. As soon as he saw it, he knew it was the one. Nothing too flashy or gaudy. Something simple, but still beautiful. Something she could wear at work. A possessive growl started to rumble in the Samoan's chest as he thought of all the men at the gym who tried to pick her up, thinking her single. All of them caught up in the sweat glistening on her tan skin, how her full breasts filled the cups of her sports bra perfectly, the curve of her ass criminal in the tight lycra of leggings.

"She'll like it Daddy." JoJo's bubbly tone brings him from the brink of the red that was starting to cloud his vision. "She's gonna say yes," Her golden flecked brown eyes as bright as ever. "And I wanna hear everything. Don't leave anything out. I'm so happy Becky's gonna be my step Mommy. I wish I could tell her so right now."

"You'll tell her tomorrow." He promised. "I know you telling her that will make her very happy."

There's no small talk once they walk through the door of the small one story Becky calls home. The same house he's come to think of as home. So much better than a random hotel room every time he gets leave. All there is, is kissing and touching, hands roaming everywhere and tongues tangling, blindly finding the familiar path to the bedroom.

There is no substitute for the real thing. Nothing like touching and seeing and feeling. No nude snapchat or dirty text can compare to this.

And there she is, right there between his legs, and he doesn't know how he hasn't blown his load from the sight alone. Pouty strawberry lips open, parting to let her tongue slide out. Hazel doesn't leave grey as she flicks her tongue across the head, once and then twice. Through blurred vision, Roman watches, as Becky flattens her tongue against the underside, letting his dick slide slowly inside her mouth. Her cheeks hollow, her lips expanding over his length and he struggles to keep up right, leaning further back on his elbows as he sits on the edge of the bed, giving her more of him to take.

The sound of him groaning as his tip hits the back of her throat is so much better, in person, than during a steamy face time session. This – the feel of him, heavy and thick, not just inside of her pussy but in her mouth – is what she's missed. If there was a way, she'd keep him here; locked up in her room, screw the oath he took at eighteen about serving and protecting. But there is something about that uniform and oh god… The tight fit of a perfectly pressed black suit jacket, straining from the bulk of his wonderful muscles, fuck she would miss that a lot.

"Fuck, Becks," Growled so possessively she can feel herself starting to leak brings her back to the here and now, and she eases back, tongue swirling over the head – savoring his flavor – before taking him back in.

Becky can feel Roman's balls tightening in her mouth as her hand joins the fray, circling the base and tugging him toward his release. She can see how he's struggling to keep his hips still and the internal battle flashing across his handsome face. He wants to come inside her, not like this, in her mouth, but fuck that; in those eyes – clouded over to the eye of a hurricane – there's the need, the pure wanton desire telling her what he really wants.

She moves her hands to her hips, pushing him back until he's released from her mouth with a soft pop. "Do it," Her accent is thicker, rough with lust.

"What?" He rasps. "What you want." Is her answer, and he groans as she pulls his hips toward her, his dick pushing through her lips once again.

Her hands slide to his thighs as he pulls back and then push against her again. Her eyes close, fluttering, as he hits the back of her throat again and again. Her lips strain around his length as he increases his speed. She hums and he cups the back of her head, his fingers lacing through those fiery locks as he feels his dick slide down her throat.

"Fuck!" Roman grunts, feeling his knees start to buckle, before falling back against the bed, letting more of him slide further, the tip hitting the back of her throat once more.

Half formed words fumble from Roman's mouth as he jolts and shoots his load down Becky's throat. His eyes squeeze shut as he feels her swallow, her tongue eagerly lapping at the underside of his dick as she lets him slide from her mouth. She presses her lips to the tip, his hand still gripping the back of her head, her hair now a riot of tangles, no longer perfectly silken curls to glide through like before.

Becky giggles when she feels Roman twitch against her. "Slow down there, fella," Teasing and he reaches down, scooping her into his arms, crashing his mouth against hers; tasting himself on her tongue. He needs to give her what she gave him, if not more.

Where her clothes go, he doesn't know. He doesn't know where his own ended up. But he's right there; teasing the apex of her thighs, fingers inching closer to that tantalizing strip of hair. She's dripping and it's wonderful. Feeling her; hot, wet, throbbing, it's so much better than her telling him through a dodgy connection while he's in his barracks.

A slow, purposeful swipe across her clit and she's shuddering. "Tell me," He demands, low and rumbling, the sound of the growl vibrating through her. He feels just what that tone does, she's flowing, the lips of her sex opening beautifully for his fingers to thrust through.

"Fuck," Is all she can manage. Her brain's mushier than the mashed spuds her mother, bless her heart, never could quite master as well as her Nan. All there is the pleasantly familiar buzzing in her ears, the sound of his fingers sliding in and out of her, and how he's holding her entire bodyweight against him, only one of his massive hands keeping her upright and against him.

His displays of strength she'll never tire of, she's sure, and as he flicks at that perfect spot, she comes undone thinking of how he took her just like this against the shower wall the morning before his last leave was over.

They're a sweaty tangle of arms and legs when she finally goes limp against him, no way – other than the color of their hair – to tell where one ends and the other begins. This – as much as they've both missed the sex – is what they've really missed. Being like this; tangled together, sweat cooling on their bodies, chests rising and falling in tandem, trying to regain breath stolen from kissing, from tongues, hands and fingers.

Seeing her staring at him through blurred hazel eyes, satisfied, and that pink tongue swirling over strawberry lips, tasting their combined flavors, it all shoots straight to his dick and he's twitching against her again. Easily he slides inside of her, no resistance to be found, and then his mouth is on her breasts, tasting her skin, tongue turning her nipples into turgid peaks as she offers more and more while her own hand comes between them, touching herself.

They reach their peak together and though she's clinging to him when it's over, he still de-tangles himself. Somehow, he resists the pout she gives, and he manages to find his discarded jeans amongst the messy pile of clothing they created.

"I do hope you aren't daring to ruin my view," A threat if there ever was one. "I can go on a row when I really want to. You don't wanna be runnin' suicides and droppin' to give me 500 now do ya?"

"I won't ruin your view if you don't ruin mine," A shit eating grin curving plush lips and Becky's eyes glance, finding that she was never actually covered by her navy sheets like she originally thought. "Besides, I found what I was lookin' for." His voice is low and smooth, pouring over her skin like a heavy Guinness, it's wonderful.

"And just what were yer lookin' for?"

"This…" A gasp tumbling from strawberry lips when she sees the ring inside the palm of his hand. "Ro…" The two letters breathless as shocked hazel meets calm grey. The calm quickly melts into a shining silver, so captivating, she remembers how those eyes gleamed at her this same way back on their first night… Well, the morning after their first night.

"Awfully smooth for a fella who said he don't have a girl in every city."

"I don't."

"It's gonna take more than a roll in the hay. Albeit the best damn roll in the hay I've had in a while. But a fuckin' good shag don't mean everything."

"I was tryin' hard," The deep bass of Roman's voice brings Becky back. "That night to be a gentleman. To make a good impression on you. At least," A low chuckle. "A better one than Seth did. I've been all around the world, but there isn't anyone quite like you. No woman's as beautiful or fierce. And then…" A large hand cupping her cheek, so tenderly, so gently it takes everything for her not to break down. "There's you when you're with Jo. You understand her place in my life, in my heart and you opened your heart and your home to her, without a second thought. You've given me more than I could ever ask for. But I need to ask you this…"

"Yes!" A rousing holler and she's scrambling from under the sheets, reaching and he meets her halfway, folding her into his arms, bare breasts crushed wonderfully against his chest.

"I never finished," Laughing boldly like he never did before her.

"You ain't down on one knee either. Bloody details, that's what that it is. Now," She pulls back and displays her left hand. "Seal this deal, fella. Make an honest woman outta me, so me Nan can bugger off about finding a nice Irish boy from Galway to settle down with."

The ring slides onto her finger with no resistance, the perfect size and he's never seen her look more beautiful as she stares in amazement at the piece of jewelry. "The emeralds…" A soft sob. "It's like lookin' at the hills of Cork where me Pappy met Nan. It's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you." Smooth as ever, pulling her into a lingering kiss.