#clyde logan x femme reader

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter 8)

(Art Credit: @clumsycopy)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 2.8k

Read Chapter 7 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Fluff, obscene amounts of fluff. Alcohol mention, but no explicit consumption. 

Author’s Note: Okay, I really do think I’m back now. If that isn’t the case, apologies in advance. If it is the case, hi! I’m excited to catch up on things! Also, this chapter has references to a song that was also used by @aloneandsleepless​ in her one-shot Elvis. If you haven’t read that yet, PLEASE do. It’s so beautifully written and well worth the read. As always, thank you for reading, love you all. 

It had been the talk of the town all week. All month really. 

You knew that towns had traditions, and you had just brushed it off as such. But when you brought up the winter festival to Clyde, the sheer excitement on his face let you know that the celebration at the diner was far from just an ordinary Saturday night on the town. It was the spirit of the holidays in Boone County, the hotly anticipated to-do. “People come from all over,” Clyde explained in between mouthfuls of burnt bacon, from where he sat across from you at the trailer table. “Even come down from Charlotte, if you can believe that.”

You whistled. “Sounds like quite the party. And it’s this week?”

“Yup, on Friday,” Clyde nodded. “I’m gonna be closing the bar that night to go. I don’t think I’d get too many customers that night anyway.” He shuffled his feet along the linoleum floor. “Actually darlin’, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Suddenly, Clyde clammed up, almost afraid to get his next words out.

“Yes, Clyde? You know you can ask me anything.” His hesitation almost made you nervous. Though he tended to be a quieter soul, rarely did words fail him when the two of you were alone. He exhaled and steeled himself for his query. “Well, I was wonderin’ if you’d like to be my date.” You stopped. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that blanketed the trailer. Realization of what he had asked hit you all at once, and you broke into hearty guffaws. A smile so big it nearly hurt you plastered itself across your face. At that reaction, Clyde visibly relaxed, a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. 

“Clyde, we have quite literally been sleeping together for two months now.” He blushed a deep red and his lower lip pushed forward into the smallest pout. “Well, I didn’t want to assume, and I know we’re sleeping together but…” You shushed him by placing your finger onto the center of his plump lips. “Clyde, I think it’s cute. Of course I’ll be your date.” You closed the distance between you, flung your arms around his neck, and pulled him into a soft kiss. Clyde smiled against you and returned the kiss with vigor, his lips parting slightly as he pushed his face into yours. He pulled back with a smack, and his forehead came to rest on your own. A swift smack landed on your ass and you yelped. “C’mon darlin’, let’s get this cleaned up so we can go get that trail cam footage,” Clyde muttered as he squeezed you softly. 

~~~

The town was blanketed in a plush layer of crisp white snow. It lay in piles on rooftops and cars, on street corners and it lined the pathways that people swathed in layers of coats and scarves meandered down. It was everything you expected from a small town holiday, but it was far from gauche. It was crystal clear why the Logan family was so eager to attend.

With little care to watch the ground you walked on, you misstepped and yelped as your foot hit a patch of ice that threatened to slide your legs apart into a swift split. “Woah there!” Clyde jumped, hooking his arm under your armpit to keep you upright. You laughed at yourself as you held onto his thick arm to catch your footing. “Can’t seem to keep myself standing huh?” you joked, peering up at him. He chuckled, with an almost imperceptible eye roll. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble one day from not watchin’ your surroundings, darlin’,” he tsk’ed, prompting you to stick your tongue out at him. Clyde shook his head with a small smile, and helped you right yourself. 

You stepped forward without letting go of his arm, and he squeezed your elbow into the crook of his arm to acknowledge your clutch on him. You could feel your face warm and you dropped your gaze to smile at the ground. 

~~~

The diner was warm and packed full of people. Clyde shielded you from the patrons as you pushed your way to the counter, eager to nab a winter drink to warm your insides. Once situated at the bar, he called out your order to a worker that seemed overjoyed to see Clyde. You laughed. “You know just about everyone in this town, huh Clyde?” He shrugged, passing you a steaming mug. “Comes with havin’ one of the only bars in the area,” he winked, and raised your mug to his lips.

Clyde stood behind you at the bar while you sipped your drink, acting as a human wall to halt people from trampling your feet, with his hand resting on your waist. He pointed out all the people that he knew and provided a small anecdote for each one, almost as if he was providing his own personal, albeit abbreviated, history of Boone County. You could listen to him talk forever, his honeyed words soothing to your ears over the cacophony of the diner.

“Hey gal!” you heard a voice call from across the diner, breaking you from your unwavering gaze at Clyde. You turned to see Mellie bounding towards you, Jimmy, Sylvia, and Joe close behind her. Jimmy was carrying a young blonde girl on his shoulder, and you assumed it was Clyde’s niece. Cynthia? Samantha?

“Hey lil’ Sadie!” Clyde called from over your shoulder. Sadie! That was it, you chided yourself mentally. Mellie rushed up to you and flung her arms around your neck and pulled you into a crushing hug. “Hey Mel,” you and Clyde responded in unison, your voice airy as Mellie squeezed your breath from your chest. With your head tucked onto her shoulder as you returned her embrace, you looked back to acknowledge the rest with a smile and their respective name. “And you must be Miss Sadie, huh?” you inquired as you pulled away from Mellie and turned to the young girl, who looked remarkably like her father, with her nose and ears tipped red with the cold. 

“Yes ma’am!” she crowed, her hands dug into Jimmy’s short hairs. You noticed her hands clench on his hair and she dipped her head to glance at him for just a moment, a devious smile across her face. “And are you Uncle Clyde’s girlfriend?” Clyde choked behind you, and you glanced behind yourself to look up at him. He was pale white and glaring straight at Jimmy, who was desperately trying to insist he had nothing to do with his daughter’s question, however unconvincing his protests were. 

You didn’t blame him. Two months of living together, and you and Clyde had yet to define your relationship. You didn’t really mind it. You knew that putting it off would dull the sting of your eventual departure. But how could you even begin to explain that to a child? Oh no, not his girlfriend, just the girl he sleeps with, the girl he takes out, the girl he fucks. The girl who can’t commit. That wouldn’t do. So instead, you motioned for Sadie to jump off of her father’s shoulders, bent down to her height, took her hands in your own, and said, “Well yes, I am Clyde’s girlfriend.”

The stifled gasps of Mellie and Sylvia were almost silent to your ears as you glanced back at Clyde. He was still white as a sheet, but his eyes flicked from Jimmy’s to yours, and the hint of a smile began to break through his blank expression. You straightened to your full height and turned to face him, chewing your cheek. “That is, if that’s what you want,” you whispered, searching his face for a hint of how he might feel. 

Clyde’s next words were more a soft breath than a whisper. “Yes darlin’. I’d like that very much.” You beamed, and he slunk his arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his body and into a kiss so deep your heart just about stopped in your chest. 

You melted into his touch and sighed, your hands threading through his thick hair. His family, his friends, and the strangers that surrounded you melted from your consciousness, and not even the hoots and hollers of Clyde’s family drowned out the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your chest. It was perfect. 

A small clearing of a throat reminded you that you were, in fact, in public, and you hastily broke from Clyde, opting to rest the side of your face on his chest instead. Jimmy shook his head, chuckling at the scene before him. “Congrats you two lovebirds, glad y’all finally decided to make this thing official,” he whistled, lifting Sadie up in one swift motion to set her perched back upon his shoulder. Mellie reached out to squeeze your arm tenderly. You laughed. “Took us long enough, I guess.” Clyde hummed and squeezed you tight, his cheek resting on your head. 

“Welp,” Jimmy continued. “I promised Sadie here we’d go on the Ferris Wheel so we could see the stars. Y’all care to join us?” Clyde peered down his angular nose to look at you cross-eyed and raised his eyebrows. “What’dya say?” You grinned. “We’d love to.”

~~~

It was a joy to run around the festival with the Logan clan. Acting as your personal tour guide, Sadie babbled to you about her favorite things at the fair. She grabbed your hand to pull your attention to whatever she deemed worthy of pointing out. Sadie bragged how she was the reigning champ of the ring toss, and how she wasn’t tall enough to go on the Scrambler yet, but the moment she could she was going to ride it the whole festival, which was easy to believe given her tenacity and spunk. Mellie passed you a never-ending stream of warm winter drinks - ”Spiked if you’d like,” she’d wink - and Jimmy, Sylvia, and Joe were cracking jokes nonstop. But what really made the night perfect was Clyde. 

Your sweet Clyde. He held your hand in his mitt of a hand, squeezing it randomly, pulling you in for kisses both short and sweet, and long and deep. You were sure you would get dirty looks from the festival attendants after you nearly devoured each other on the Ferris Wheel, but you really couldn’t care less. Clyde teased you and you teased him back, keeping up a line of banter that was so easy. At one point in the night, the two of you found yourselves separated from the rest of the Logan clan, cozied up by yourselves in a booth. You both warmed your hands with a cup of hot chocolate cradled in your grasp. 

“You having’ fun?” Clyde murmured into your ear, his arm slung around your shoulder. You nodded into him and tucked yourself up into the nook of his shoulder. Clyde’s arm outstretched to grasp his mug and lifted it to his lips to take a huge swig. You palmed the warm beverage in your hand, feeling the warmth radiate through your body from where you held it, and where Clyde was pressed to your side. 

You gazed up at Clyde, your hands and heart warmed and full. Clyde smiled at you, his eyes falling softly to trace the features of your face. For how often he pouted, you had yet to see one flit across his face all night. Something flashed in his eyes, and before you knew it, Clyde’s finger was dipped into the mound of whipped cream atop his beverage and he snapped it up to your face to dollop it right on the end of your nose. “Hey!” you exclaimed, pushing away from his chest just a hair as a laugh bubbled up your throat. “You’re a menace,” you laughed, as you made no move to wipe the cream from your nose. 

Clyde snickered and you swatted at his arm, pulling a yelp that feigned offense from him. “What’s that for now? You look cute as hell with a lil’ nose decoration,” he shrugged as he squeezed your shoulder and jabbed your side with the metal tines of his prosthetic. You smiled at each other, your eyes hazy with bliss. Suddenly, his profile was illuminated and you could see a bright flash out of the corner of your eye. With squinted eyes, you turned to the source. 

A beaming Sadie, clutching a disposable camera in her small hands, sat across from the two of you in the booth. It seemed that not even the squeak of the vinyl as she had climbed into the booth was enough to pull your attention from the trance you were drifting through, and you both jumped at her arrival. 

“Scared the living daylight out of me,” Clyde sighed, his hand coming up to clutch at his heart with drama. 

“Sorry Uncle Clyde, but I couldn’t help it,” she whined, “You two looked so cute and cozy!” You scrunched your nose up and wiggled the tip. “How can I be cozy with this cream stuck on me?” Clyde laughed a low chuckle from deep in his chest that made him rumble against you. He leaned in and bumped his nose with yours. When he pulled away, a dot of whipped cream was left at the very end of his nose. He grinned. 

“Oh my gosh. This is such a good shot!” Sadie squealed. “Get close! Let me take another photo!” 

Clyde’s arm tightened around you and pulled you closer into his side. You were mid laugh when the second burst of light broke across your vision and the click of a camera made it feel as though time had halted. 

You knew that your time in Boone County was temporary. But you knew you would live with that memory forever. 

~~~

The lightest flecks of white tumbled through the air, catching on the light of the street lamps and stringed bulbs that were hung throughout the parking lot that acted as the festival's main drag. Most of the attendees had begun their individual treks home or had moved into the warm haven of the diner. Large fishbowl windows gave you view into the crowded establishment through clear, unfogged stretches of glass. The cheers and merry yells of toasts and memories being made rang out over the empty courtyard, ringing free until they were absorbed by the snow. 

Instead of being pressed up against the townsfolk or against the windows as your feet stumbled across the toes of others, you and Clyde were leaned against a tree across the courtyard of the festival. You gazed skyward, watching the small flakes of snow swirl through the sky. Music lilted through the air and fell lightly on your ears. A familiar chord rang through the air and  grabbed your attention. You felt a nudge on your side. You looked up to meet Clyde’s crinkled eyes as he gazed down at you. “Want to dance darlin’?” he murmured as he trailed his fingers up and down your arm. 

“Yes please Clyde.” He beamed back at you and took your hand in his as he pushed his back off of the tree. Snow crunched underfoot as you wandered to the dance floor. It was a small area of interlocked wooden panels, slightly obscured by a thin sheet of snow. Clyde offered his hand up to you in a grandiose gesture. A small laugh bubbled up in your chest as you slipped your hand into his, and he pulled you tight to his chest and began to sway.

Clyde’s voice rumbled against your face where it was pressed against his chest as he asked, “So whatcha think, sweetheart? Think Boone County can throw a good lil’ winter party?”

You nodded immediately. “Absolutely. This is so beautiful Clyde,” you sighed with content. A voice crooned over the speakers and the lyrics rang out over the courtyard. 

“Wise men say…”

“You look so perfect, you know that?” Clyde crooned, raising his hand to brush the side of your face with the tips of his fingers.

“... only fools rush in…”

“So do you, Clyde.”

“But I can’t help…”

It was warm in his arms. Secure. You felt as if you were in another plane of existence. Tucked in his arms, you were hidden from the world. Safe. 

“Falling in love with you.”

Clyde spun sharply with you in his arms, swiftly grabbing your attention. He looked down his long lashes at you, gazing deeply into your eyes with his intense amber gaze. “Sweetheart, I…” he cleared his throat, and lifted his hand to palm the side of your face again. He ran his thumb over your cheekbone. “I just want… You don’t have to say it back. But… I want to tell you…” he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I love you.”

Your breath halted in your chest. Your stomach swooped. No one had made such an admission to you in… well, you weren’t sure just how long. Before you had a chance to admit that you were speechless, Clyde pulled you into a mind bending kiss. You melted into him. It wouldn’t matter what you said. You were his and he was yours. The snow fell silently around you, and the two of you swayed together quietly.

~~~

Have a winter drink! Thank you to my Irish friends (love y'all!) for direction on the recipe <3 my favorite suggestion was "Coffee+Whisky, add in other shite as it pleases ya". ~~~ My lil’ take on an Irish Coffee:

As much hot coffee as you'd like. As much whisky as you'd like. Brown Sugar to taste. Fresh whipped cream to top off. (HIGHLY recommend whipping your cream. My favorite way to do it is 1 c. heavy whipping cream, 1 c. sugar, and a splash of vanilla extract, whipped to peaks. Don't overmix though, don't make sweet butter!)

Combine the coffee, whisky, and sugar. Stir, and top with whipped cream. A dash of cinnamon over top never hurt anyone either!

~~~

Taglist: @mind-p0llution @thedivinemissm @clydesducktape @finn-ray-nal-beads @ladygrey03 @desiraypark @1800-fight-me @aloneandsleepless​ @hopeamarsu​ (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

[safarigirlsp]

Holiday Heist

Holiday Heist

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Light Violence. Guns. Humor. Flip Having A Bad Time. Turkey Leg Eating Contests are a Real Thing. Special Holiday Jackassery.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: This is part of a Holiday Fic Exchange I’m doing with my lovely friend @babbushka I hope you all enjoy a special holiday debacle with Flip and Clyde!

Seated in his idling truck in the station parking lot, Flip glared at a thick stack of papers and files perched on his passenger seat. The sun was still up today, although quickly sinking toward the mountainous western horizon, and he was already off work. With the short November days, it was a rare occurrence that Flip stepped out of the station before dark.

Autumn was Flip’s favorite season. Crisp air, the scintillating palette of the dyin’ leaves, the occasional dusting of snow before it piled high enough to be a pain in his ass, holdin’ his girl close by cracklin’ fires, makin’ her blood run hot when he saw that she was shiverin’ cold, spices waftin’ on the air. Staring now at the offending documents next to him, he hoped to hell this case wouldn’t spoil all the time he wanted to spend with you during the season he enjoyed most.

Throughout the year, every major holiday had marked the date of a large-scale heist in his hometown. De Beers Jewelers downtown on Valentine's Day, the Fabergé collection from the Denver Museum over Easter, a semi-truck load of guns and ammunition from Cabella’s on July fourth, and even robbing the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory blind over Halloween. Fuckin’ Halloween. Flip knew the culprits would have somethin’ planned for Thanksgiving, and he couldn’t imagine the fuckin’ shitshow they would cause for Christmas if he didn’t catch them by then.

So far, they had managed to stay a step ahead of Flip, narrowly evading his grasp. The assholes had also managed to ruin each of the aforementioned holidays for Flip and, more important than the holiday, the time off that he would usually spend with you. Holidays weren’t of great importance to Flip, although he’d do his best to get in the spirit for you; but the three-day weekends and the lax schedules that accompanied them, even on those he didn’t care about or celebrate, mattered a helluva lot to him. He was technically off tomorrow, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, but he wanted to catch these bastards before they ruined the time he would have off for Thanksgiving and the two weeks’ vacation he could usually finagle at the end of the year when the holidays coupled with the thigh-deep snow kept all but the most ambitious criminals subdued for a few weeks.

These thieves weren’t amateurs, not some dumb punks out doin’ stupid shit on a whim. They were organized and smart, and they had a crew of at least several men working in tandem. The more Flip thought about it, the more these cases reminded him of a similar case from another jurisdiction that he’d seen splashed all over the news a couple years ago. Flip, however, knew more details about that particular heist than the news.

Pondering the similarities made him feel like a beer, and he knew just the place.

*******************************************************************************************

Duck Tape’d was calm on a Monday night, only a few red eyes turned Flip’s way when he pushed inside the bar’s double doors. The relatively new bar had fast become a favorite dive bar in Colorado Springs, assisted by the Southern charm and experience of its owner and head bartender. Flip knew the man had moved from West Virginia after some bad breakup with a femme fatale, but the soap opera-esque details of that harrowing romantic escapade held little interest for him. The bartender’s other hobbies, however, had always been of significantly more interest to Flip.

“Zimmerman,” Clyde Logan greeted Flip pleasantly in that oddly affable yet unsmiling way of his. “Looks like you’ve had a rough Monday.”

“More like a rough month,” Flip grumbled, seating himself on a barstool as Clyde popped the cap on a cold beer, setting it down in front of Flip. Taking a swig as he looked around the bar, Flip casually asked, “How’s business? Are you slowin’ down because of the holidays?”

“Nah, the holidays are always my busiest times a’ year.” Clyde pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “Lots a’ folks get disgruntled this time a’ year over bein’ lonely n’ they feel like drinkin’ it away, I reckon.”

“What about you, Logan?” Flip asked, watching the bartender’s reaction closely. “What do you have planned for Thanksgiving?”

“There ain’t too much in the works.” Clyde shrugged nonchalantly, offering little. “My brother might fly out. He’s bachin’ it these days too and his ex has his daughter for the holidays.”

“Gettin’ the old crew back together, huh?” Flip pressed, seeing if Clyde would take the bait as he took another drink.

“Are you n’ that gal a’ yours doin’ anythin’ special?” Clyde asked instead, smirking at Flip’s dour mood. “Or has she wised up n’ found a man with a sunnier disposition?”

“Oh, we’ll have ourselves a real nice evening, don’t you worry.” Flip glared across the bar, irritated that he was here instead of with you now. “As long as I’m not havin’ to fuckin’ work, anyway.”

“Does she have my number in case she gets too lonely waitin’ on ya?” Clyde asked with the hint of a grin as he opened a beer for himself and took a drink.

“Are you lookin’ to lose your good hand tonight?” Flip growled, less in the mood for their customary ribbing than usual, before adding, “You started it.”

Fully grinning now, Clyde nodded in agreement, asking, “And this is how ya come by lookin’ for my help?”

“Lookin’ for your help?” Flip replied incredulously, coughing from inhaling a sip of beer. 

“Do ya think that just b’cause I’m a country boy that I don’t follow the news?” Clyde asked with equal teasing incredulity, raising his eyebrows high.

“I dunno. Do you Virginia boys even read? There’s not a lot of pictures in the paper,” Flip replied sarcastically, smirking at his friend.

“I happen to be a fuckin’ walkin’ Encyclopedia of news and current events. My job even kinda requires it, so’s I can keep the conversation flowin’ with the customers.” Clyde paused and leaned down close to Flip. “I have a lot more panache than these holiday thugs you’re lookin’ for.”

“Panache?” Flip scoffed with a smirk. “Here you had the Feds after you for months, and all it took was one small-town detective to figure out your little speedway heist. You’re lucky I’m not paid to care about what happens out of state.”

“You’d be the most hated cop in Colorado if’n you were the reason this here bar closed down,” Clyde deadpanned. “Besides, where else would ya go to complain about workin’ over the holidays?”

“This smells like one head guy with a crew to me,” Flip mused, finishing his beer and accepting a fresh one from Clyde. “One boss with a few minions. Is that how you ran your crew?”

“Are ya callin’ me a mastermind?” Clyde asked, raising his right hand to his chest. “Well, that’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“I should fuckin’ arrest you,” Flip grumbled, shaking his head.

“I’m just waitin’ for ya to actually say it.” Clyde smirked, placing both hands on the bar. “For ya t’ come right out n’ ask me for help. Ya don’t exactly look like a man with a plan sittin’ there.”

“Oh, and you have a plan, do you?” Flip huffed, taking another drink. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, with me bein’ in the Special Forces n’ all, I’m used to thinkin’ tactically and leadin’ a mission. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Clyde paused in his teasing to watch the red creep up Flip’s neck. “You’re just a lil’ ol’ Marine. Ya know, the guys we elite operators send in ahead of us to find all them land mines.”

“I think I hear banjos playin.’ Better watch your ass,” Flip teased back, narrowing his eyes in a faux glare.

“I’m sure ya already know the best way to catch these fellas is t’ find their ‘fence.’ The middleman who takes a cut to move the goods below the radar and get everyone their dishonest pay,” Clyde explained as Flip nodded with boredom, all too familiar with fences himself. “Well, I happen t’ know all the big-time fences in the area. I had t’ do some, ah, finaglin’ of assets when I moved up here m’self.”

“Of course, you fuckin’ did,” Flip laughed, now grinning himself.

“A heist this big, especially durin’ the holidays, is gonna be the talk of the underground,” Clyde pondered, again pursuing his lips. “We’ll be runnin’ against a clock, o’course. And we can’t tip off the thieves that we’re after ‘em for this to work. That means they damn sure can’t see your ugly mug sniffin’ around.”

“My ugly mug?” Flip acted offended, raising a condescending eyebrow at Clyde. “At least I’ve been to a fuckin’ barber this decade.”

“Now you’re just bein’ jealous b’cause ya know how much the ladies all love my hair. Why don’t ya ask your girl.” Clyde gave Flip his best mischievous grin before continuing. “I’m thinkin’ our best bet’s gonna be Fat Al from Denver. But he’s wily. You damn sure can’t go tryin’ to talk to him yourself. It might even raise a red flag if I do it m’self, bein’ as how everyone knows that my life of crime is over.”

“Well, I can’t exactly involve Ron or anyone else from the station, since I’m teamin’ up with a damn felon,” Flip said, still regarding Clyde with his cocked eyebrow.

“To pull this off, and quick like we need, I think ya need t’ get your girl on board,” Clyde said firmly, watching as Flip began to shake his head ‘no’ instantly. “She’s smarter n’ both of us and pretty enough to disarm the devil himself. Do ya want to have this wrapped up before the holidays or not?”

Flip chewed his lip for a few moments, glaring at Clyde, as he turned the idea over in his mind. “Goddammit.”

“Ya know I’m right,” Clyde pressed before tipping his head back and chugging the rest of his beer.

“Let me go ask the Boss herself,” Flip sighed in resignation. He too finished his second beer in a few deep swallows, slamming the bottle back down on the bar top. “Assumin’ this is a ‘go,’ we’ll head out in the mornin.’”

*******************************************************************************************

“You’re kidding me, right?” you huffed, arms crossed over your chest where you sat on the couch. You had been waiting for Flip in comfortable clothes by your fireplace, not expecting him to come home bearing news that he intended to work on his first extra day off in weeks. “You already go above and beyond. You can’t stop every criminal all the time.”

“You know you love how tenacious I am, sugar,” he tried to sound suave as he lowered himself down onto the couch beside you. “There’s, uh, one other thing, too.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you told him in your sultriest tone, changing your tactic. Turning toward him, you let your top fall open enough to give him a tantalizing view as you traced your nails over his chest. “How about I let you fuck me any way you want as many times as you want tomorrow for your day off, and you forget about trying to be the big hero for everyone else and just be my hero.”

“Christ, sugar,” he groaned, his pants tightening from the thought alone. “Are you tryin’ to kill me? Have some mercy.”

“Well, I don’t know how you’re going to be able to take me up on my offer and fuck me until I can’t walk if you’re out chasing criminals.” You shrugged nonchalantly, smirking at him.

“About that other thing,” Flip cleared his throat, wetting his lips as he reluctantly tore his eyes away from your tits. “I need to get some information outta this guy in Denver. He owns a high-end club downtown. Clyde’s helpin’ me but this isn’t exactly official, and both of us would stick out like a sore thumb in a joint like that. Plus, I don’t think we’d be able to get his attention away from his date…” Flip’s voice trailed away in favor of grinding his teeth at the thought of what he needed to ask you.

“I see. So, you want me to lure out your informant, is that it?” you asked, knowing he wanted to tell you that you were too smart for your own damn good, but that he knew better since he needed your help. “You get murderous when other men look at me and you’ve knocked men out for trying to grab me, but you want me to be bait?”

“Not bait, for fuck’s sake,” Flip huffed, balking at the mere thought. “More like the brains of the operation with Clyde and me.”

“That goes without saying,” you teased, smirking at him, before sighing reluctantly. “You must really think it’s important to catch who’s behind these heists.”

“If I don’t catch ‘em before the holidays, I know the sonsabitches are gonna pull a heist on Thanksgiving and then I’ll have to run out on you in the middle of dinner to go deal with it,” Flip grumbled, shaking his head. “They’ll also ruin the time I always get off at the end of the year when they do some more stupid shit over Christmas. I want to catch ‘em now, so I can fuckin’ relax with you and maybe even get a few extra days off from the Chief as a reward.”

“And you’re sure that you prefer your plan to mine?” you asked just to torture him a little more before agreeing. “You know, my plan that involves you spending the entire day fucking me?”

“You just gotta twist the knife, don’t you, sugar?” Flip laughed, shaking his head fondly, albeit with an expression as pained as though he was being waterboarded by the thought of declining your proposal. “You know there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in your arms and between your thighs.”

“I’m sure I’ll have fun playing Mata Hari for an evening,” you acquiesced, running a hand through his hair and tousling it playfully.

“This could be dangerous,” he said seriously, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “You’ll have to follow my instructions.”

“Isn’t following your instructions one of my talents?” you asked teasingly, knowing full well that you rarely did a damn thing he instructed you.

“My plan may already be fuckin’ doomed,” Flip laughed. Growling for effect, he tackled you back down onto the couch, attacking your neck with wet kisses and playful nips, determined to show you a mighty fine evening.

*******************************************************************************************

Morning was dragging on toward noon when Flip pulled into the driveway of Clyde’s cabin, situated far outside of town much like the cabin you and Flip shared. Clyde was already outside waiting, leaning back against the railing of his porch with an expression that most would think was surly, although it usually just meant that he was lost in thought somewhere far away. He wore a grey flannel shirt and jeans, oddly complimentary to Flip’s buffalo plaid flannel, you observed with a smirk. Neither furnace of a man deemed it necessary to bring a jacket, despite the temperature being expected to hover around the fifties during the day and dip into the teens after sunset.

Clyde didn’t think twice about climbing into the backseat of Flip’s truck, leaving you to ride shotgun. He looked as excited as you had ever seen him by the prospect of having an adventure of sorts to occupy him for the day.

“Mornin’ ma’am,” he greeted you pleasantly before poking Flip, “What’s a nice girl like you doin’ with a mean ol’ bastard like this?”

“I’m a sucker for the classics,” you replied, grinning at the way Flip’s fists had tightened on the steering wheel.

“She has taste is why,” Flip grumbled as he pulled out of Clyde’s driveway.

“So, whose bright idea was all this jackassery, anyway?” you asked, looking between both men.

“Darlin,’ I’m just along for the ride, same as you,” Clyde replied innocently from the back seat, placing his right hand over his heart.

“Tell me you’re not gonna believe the fuckin’ felon?” Flip huffed, giving you a teasing side-eye.

“It’s honestly a miracle you’ve both survived this long,” you laughed, turning to look out of the window at the mountains that passed by alongside the interstate enroute to Denver.

Two hours of pleasant conversation and thee-way teasing later, you found yourself in Colorado’s largest city. Billboards lined the interstate advertising Black Friday shopping deals, lawyers to bail people out from the dwi’s and domestic violence charges they would get over the holidays, and festive local activities, including a turkey leg eating contest at the Denver fair.

The first stop was Fat Al’s nightclub. Both Flip and Clyde had hoped to catch him there doing some rat-killing during the day so as to avoid the nighttime club scene entirely. Of course, they had no such luck, finding only a few of his henchmen occupying the premises. Which meant you had the afternoon to waste before Fat Al would arrive at his club for the evening.

“It seems like we have some time to kill, boys,” you observed expectantly when Flip pulled away from the club.

“Aw, fuck, you’re gonna suggest shoppin,’ aren’t you?” Flip sighed dramatically, looking over at you like a whipped puppy.

“Yes,” you confirmed happily, ignoring Flip’s pouting that was now more pronounced than Clyde’s. “But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll play you for it.”

“How’s that?” Flip asked with a glimmer of hope. “You know I’m always game, sugar.”

“That turkey leg eating contest sounds like cheap entertainment for me,” you told him with expectantly raised eyebrows. “Plus, it benefits charity.”

“Are you challengin’ me?” Flip asked in his best De Niro impression. “Oh, you’re on, gorgeous.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you laughed, slapping his arm playfully. “I’m not challenging you to an eating contest. I’m naming you as my champion to win an eating contest while I watch and laugh. Against Clyde.”

“Now, you’re talkin’ turkey,” Clyde agreed from the backseat as Flip’s face sank. “Count me in. I’ve won plenty a’ eatin’ contests in my day.”

“C’mon, sugar,” Flip groaned before looking over at you, wiggling his eyebrows like an idiot. “How about you let me eat somethin’ else for your pleasure?”

“Don’t mind me or anythin,’” Clyde grumbled as you shook your head in the negative, dashing Flip’s hopes.

Shaking his head at his pending discomfort, but knowing the futility of arguing, Flip changed course, the highway taking the brunt of his glare as he drove to the Denver fair.  

The autumn fair was aflutter with activity. Rides, livestock, pumpkin patches, and corn mazes, all busy with people enjoying their time off. Your timing was just right for the eating contest. A host of men were already seated at a long table with a red and white checkered tablecloth; most of them portly, looking well-accustomed to loosening their belts at the table. A few contenders were startlingly skinny, probably the most dangerous opponents, those men who eat tens of thousands of calories without gaining a pound.

An attendant led Flip and Clyde to their seats beside one another, setting a clean plate for bones in front of each man and a huge stack of napkins. Enormous platters piled chest high to Flip with turkey legs ran the length of the table. Flip met your eyes where you stood watching him from the front of the crowd, shaking his head at you. You knew exactly what he was thinking, The things I do for you, sugar.

Just as though the table of men were lined up to run a race, the same attendant held a cap gun high. When she fired a shot, the men were off to the races. Men really are disgusting creatures, you thought with a smile as you watched the display before you.

Clyde was more practiced at his technique, shearing a turkey leg in seconds. Flip was clumsier but also more determined to win because you wanted him to, which was an order from on high as far as he was concerned. He attacked his turkey leg like a rabid dog, tearing into it and shaking his shaggy head with his bites. Flip tossed his first leg bone into his dish only a second after Clyde.

Neither man had any real chance of winning the entire competition. Around them, most of the other men seemingly sucked the meat from the bones in a way that you wouldn’t have thought possible. Flip and Clyde only competed with each other, making the most out of their predicament for your amusement. Given adequate time, both men would have been contenders in an all-out eating contest, but neither was quite prepared for doing it as fast as they possibly could.

Another minute and another bare leg bone dropped into each of their dishes, Flip and Clyde each pawed for another, shoving the meat into their mouths. Chewing aggressively, the men exchanged looks, each trying to outdo the other.

Five legs in each, Flip paused to take a deep breath as his gut began to ache. He glared at the pile of remaining turkey before looking forlornly at you. His momentary pause gave Clyde a one leg lead. Clyde grunted in approval as he grabbed another leg, smirking at Flip before he took another enormous bite.

Neither the competition nor the stakes even mattered, Flip couldn’t stand losing. He could get tough when he needed to. Growling with renewed vigor, Flip tore into his sixth leg, sawing through it in seconds to catch up with Clyde. The speed with which he devoured his seventh put him in a solid second’s lead.

The crack of the cap gun ended the competition just as Flip’s tenth turkey bone dropped into his bowl and Clyde stripped the final bite from his decennial leg. Flip exhaled heavily, puffing his cheeks, letting his greasy hands fall down onto the table. He looked almost as rough as if he’d just finished twelve rounds in the boxing ring. Beside Flip, Clyde nonchalantly finished the leg in his hand and then took the liberty of grabbing another one, immune to Flip’s grimacing dismay while savoring its taste.

After cleaning as much grease as possible off their fingers and mouths with the paper napkins, which was effectively impossible without soap, both men rose from the table. Flip put a hand behind his back, stretching like a sore pregnant woman and glaring at Clyde who contentedly patted his own stomach.

“I’m stuffed fuller right now than any fuckin’ turkey ever has been,” Flip deadpanned, smug grin in place as he walked to you, expecting a warm welcome for his victory.

“Stop right there, handsome,” you told him, placing your hands on his chest at arm’s length. “You need to wash off before you come at me with those prize-winning lips.”

“You’re not even gonna give your man a kiss after bravin’ that horror for you, sugar?” Flip asked, dipping his head to plead with his eyes.

One step behind Flip, Clyde walked forward beside him. Kissing the palm of his right hand, Clyde laid a greasy kiss-stained smack against Flip’s cheek. “There’s a free kiss. Now go n’ get your greasy ass cleaned up.”

“You sorry bastard,” Flip barked, jerking his arm up to wipe his sleeve across his cheek, as you laughed and laughed.

*******************************************************************************************

A quick change of clothes for you and a good scrubbing in the bathrooms of the fair for the men saw the three of you ready to head back to the club for the evening. When you arrived, the parking was already filled with dozens of vehicles.

“I don’t like this at all,” Flip said at the last minute, chewing his lip as he watched you step out of his truck in your dress and heels.  “Let’s go to plan B.”

“We have a plan B?” you asked, looking between the men.

“Nope. There’s no plan B,” Clyde answered.  

“I’ll be fine, handsome. And I’m ready for my closeup,” you assured Flip, stepping close and running your hands up his chest, giving him a deep lingering kiss. “You don’t look like me and not learn how to deal with men like Fat Al. And if he touches the merchandise, he’ll regret it.”

Throughout the day, Flip and Clyde had prepped you, ensuring that you had all the knowledge required to play your role and elicit information. Flip planted a wire on you himself, clipping the tiny mike to the center of your bra and kissing above it for good luck. Any sign of danger would send both military men rushing to your aid, and there wasn’t a damn thing that could stop both of them.

However, the inherent danger was not your primary concern. If Flip lost his cool, a much more likely eventuality than you losing yours under the circumstances, and came charging in like a bull after a red flag, that would put all of you at risk. Not to mention making a waste of his perfectly nice day off.

“Keep a close eye on him,” you instructed Clyde, not entirely joking, before leaving them standing by Flip’s truck like hoodlums to make your way into the club.

Eagerly admitted by the bouncers, you walked into the club as confidently as if it were your own living room, swaying your hips and making your tits bounce just a little more than usual. You could feel dozens of eyes instantly upon you.

Men in nice suits and women in slinky dresses were a dime a dozen. A closer look revealed sidearms on some and garter guns on others; the hallmark of the more elite class of criminal. You dawdled long enough to let a man buy you a drink at the bar. You could almost hear Flip seething from the parking lot, but it helped your cover. You took a few casual sips before weaving through the crowd toward the private booths in the back.

Surrounded by a smoky halo in the corner most booth was the man who could only be Fat Al. The purveyor of illegalities was harrowingly thin, fat in cash not in physique. Skin so pale it was almost translucent made his icy blue eyes stand out from his gaunt features, and his golden blonde hair made him easy to spot in the dim pulsing club lights. His hawkish eyes tracked every bounce of your flesh as you strutted to his booth.

“I could use a hot new dancer,” he offered, his voice raspy from too many years of huffing cigarettes. It was routine that attractive women walked into his place looking for work or a favor for a favor.  

“I’m not here to dance,” you said, cocking a hip out in a sultry repose. “I’m here to deal.”

“You look like you’re out of my price range.” Smoke hissed from his mouth with his reply, only a few shades paler than his skin.

“Funny you should say that,” you mused coyly, waiting for him to lean forward across his table toward you, wanting more information. When he did exactly that, you knew your hook was already sunk. “Word around town is that a few other nice things might be out of your price range too. That you might not be able to deliver on some holiday specials you agreed to move.”

“I always deliver, baby.” He sneered at you, eyeing you more carefully. “Do you want to take my word for it, or do you want to see for yourself?”

“I don’t know who in the crew would even believe me if I came back with such a line of bullshit,” you scoffed, looking down your nose at him.

“You just tell Joey that I’m plenty hungry for whatever he sends my way over Thanksgiving and that I have my Santa sack all ready for Christmas, too,” he told you confidently, leaning back in his booth.

“Why don't you tell them yourself?” you asked with a casual shrug, turning to walk back into the club.

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Fat Al snarled, launching himself out of his booth after you, grabbing you roughly by your arm to turn you. “They can’t come around here and draw attention to all of us!”

“Men do stupid things when they think they’re being swindled,” you quipped, glaring down at his hand until he released your arm. “They’re outside waiting for you.”

Just like clockwork, Fat Al led you outside through his back entrance to confront his suppliers and set them straight. His bodyguards only saw him leaving with a woman, a frequent occurrence and not a cause for concern.

Walking toward the darkest shadows behind the cub where an alley snaked away between dumpsters under the guise of smoking a cigarette, you led Fat Al right into the trap.

Clyde stepped from the darkness ahead of Fat Al, his lips set in a hard military line. Before Fat Al could react, Clyde grabbed him by the shoulder, wrenched him forcibly around, and locked his two arms behind his back, detaining his arms as easily as if they were actually hand cuffed. Twisting Fat Al’s wrists high between his shoulder blades, Clyde caused just enough pain to elicit a squeak from the man and to ensure that he couldn’t twist his skinny arms free.

Slowly and menacingly, Flip moved out of the gloom of the alley, his gaze set in that uniquely predatory way of his. He flashed his badge, moonlight glinting off its metal ridges, and pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket that he called a warrant and returned quickly enough that Fat Al couldn’t see was just a folded page of case notes.

Nothing about this was legal, not by a long shot, but one nice thing about exceeding the bounds of legality with criminals is that they never called the cops themselves.

“I’m onto your little scheme.” Flip donned a scowl that would put Dirty Harry himself to shame as he threatened Fat Al, stepping aggressively close to the smaller man. “But I don’t give a shit about your black-market sales gig. I want the thugs who’ve been stealin’ from hard workin’ people and makin’ my life hell at the same time.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re tallkin’ ---” Fat Al’s lies were cut off by a harsh shake from Clyde.

“We can do this just as friendly as you want,” Flip advised him coolly, ending his statement by letting his slightly bared teeth drag together ominously.

“You can’t fucking touch me!” Fat Al spat at Flip. “You’re a cop! You’ll get fired! Or worse!”

“Nah. More like chewed out.” Flip grinned at the thought. “I’ve been chewed out before.”

“Not to mention, he has two witnesses,” you added, stepping to Flip’s side. “A war veteran and an innocent, guileless woman. Who’s going to believe the career criminal?”

“How do you fucking people sleep at night?!” Fat Al hissed incredulously, looking between you and Flip as he struggled futility in Clyde’s hold.

“With my face buried in these tits most of the time,” Flip replied, pausing to kiss your neck, staking his claim on you. “So, you tell me just how hard you want to make it for me to get information outta you?”

“Alright, fuck.” Fat Al shook his head, choosing to save himself some pain. “It’s Joey Sandoval. He’s trying to move out of simple stuff like running meth for the cartel. Any two-bit cop knows who he is. I know he’s going to hit a big Thanksgiving charity thing that’s going on during the parade downtown. Lots of cash. I don’t know any more details.”

After a few more minutes of their interrogation, Flip and Clyde decided that Fat Al was telling them the truth as far as he knew it. Flip gave Clyde his handcuffs, trusting Clyde to secure Fat Al well enough for you all to be hours away before his bodyguards discovered him.

“I have a surprise for you that I was saving until we were done with Fat Al,” you lilted to Flip once Clyde had shoved his prisoner out of sight, slyly slipping a bundle into his hand.

Glancing at it momentarily, a blush crept up Flip’s neck when he instantly recognized your lace panties before he hastily shoved them into the pocket of his jeans. Rounding on you almost aggressively, Flip shoved you back against the wall, his breath fogging against your face in the cold night air as he looked down at you hungrily. Hesitating only a heartbeat, his hot lips crashed down against yours, tongue sliding into your mouth, huge hands grasping at your hips and ass. You were just as feverish for him, nails tracing across his chest and neck, nipping at his lips while you kissed.

With his dense body pressing against yours and your nails digging into the back of his neck while you pulled him impossibly closer, Flip backed you against the wall. As your back connected with the cool brick, his kisses burned through to your core while he swallowed your every moan.

Sounds of the party inside the club filtered out to you, the bass seeming to reverberate through the wall at your back, adding to the deep pleasure that was already consuming you. Your nails on his neck raked pink lines across his pale skin, a wordless command to give you more that he was all too eager to obey.

The enormous hands that grasped at your waist trailed down your body, smoothing and squeezing their way down over your hips and thighs as Flip bent his knees to sink low enough to follow them. Reaching your knees, he bunched your dress to slip his hands underneath, pressing his warm calloused palms and thick fingers into your soft skin. His hands grazed back up your legs, peeling your dress up with them. Gripping the backs of your thighs, he lifted you with him as he straightened, pulling your feet off the ground and bringing your hips flush against his.

Laughing at his passion, you wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him in affirmation. You added a mischievous kick of your heel against his ass, ensuring its tip dug into the back of his thigh, while you bit his plush lower lip between your teeth. Growling into your mouth, Flip slammed his right palm against the wall beside your head, pushing himself back enough to smirk down at you.

“Are you punishin’ me, sugar?” he teased, as his left hand unzipped his jeans, allowing his painfully hard cock to stand at attention and nudge between your slick silky folds.

“Someone needs to keep you in line,” you replied as your nails skimmed along his scalp before fisting into his luscious hair.

“Lucky I have you around then, huh?” he asked with a toothy grin while pushing his thick velvety tip against your entrance and gripping your ass tightly.

Snapping his hips forward, he plunged inside you in one firm thrust, stretching you around him as he filled you to the hilt.

“Fuck, you feel good, sugar. Your pussy’s always so tight for me,” Flip grunted, breath hot on your ear, as you moaned.

Dropping his head, his lips moved down to kiss and bite along your neck as he began fucking you against the wall. Your free hand reached to his shoulder, feeling his rigid muscles tense with every piston of his hips into you. You thought his gun might knock free from its place inside his shoulder holster with the force of his thrusts. It was all you could do to keep your moans from turning into pleasured screams from the feel of his thick cock plunging in and out of you.

A distant part of your mind mused, entirely too unconcerned, about the possibility that at any moment someone could walk by and see you both, fucking like animals in a frigid back alley. A more present part of your mind was salaciously excited by the thought, causing your ecstasy to build with every thrust as your arousal leaked out around Flip’s cock to drip onto the ground.

“You like this? Knowin’ that anyone could see me fuckin’ you like this?” Flip gritted in between pumps into you. “You want everyone to see you’re mine?”

“I want them to see that you’re all mine,” you sighed, arching your back off the wall to allow even more of him to sink into you.

“I am all yours, sugar,” he huffed, slamming into you harder, the new angle rubbing against the best places inside of you. “My cock belongs to your pussy. And I’m gonna make you cum all over me.”

Your body shuddered at his words, a rush of pleasure building more strongly with every thrust of his perfect cock. Biting your lip between your teeth, you tried to silence your whines, as your pussy began to flutter and clench around him.

“That’s my girl,” he growled against your neck. “Cum for me, beautiful.”

At the sound of his gravelly voice, hoarse with lust for you, your pussy seized around him, as you came hard in shuddering waves. Jaw clenched tight and brow furrowed with exertion, Flip dutifully fucked you through every pulse of your orgasm, even as your pussy tried to suck him in further and never let him withdraw.

The rhythm of his hips stuttered as he fucked himself over the edge after you, burying his throbbing cock as deep inside you as he could when he began pumping the hot ropes of his cum into you. You could feel the muscles in his broad powerful body shudder and ripple beneath your hands as he filled you.

The heat from his panted breath teased your neck as he softly kissed your skin. Slowly, the sounds of the club filtered back into your consciousness, coupled with the sounds of your shared breaths and the dripping of your mingled cum down onto the ground.

Flip’s hands returned to your legs as they fell from around his waist, lowering you gently back down to the ground on which your heels now felt unsteady. Kissing down your body, he lowered himself as well, dropping to a knee in front of you.

“I assume you want these back now,” he teased. Withdrawing your panties from his jeans pocket while smirking up at you, he held them out for you to step shakily into and pulled them up your legs as he returned to his full height. He ensured your dress was properly re-draped and your hair was as presentable as possible while you smoothed his shirt before seeing to the wild tangle that his dense mane had become.

“Leave it. Let everyone see how badly my girl fucked up my hair while she was holdin’ on for dear life, cryin’ on my cock.” He grinned at you, meeting your rolling eyes and earning a sharp tug to his hair in response.

“I think I’ve had enough clubbing for one night,” you commanded sweetly, looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you back out of the alley toward his truck.

Clyde waited at Flip’s truck, leaning back against the hood with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips. He shook his head at both of you as he watched you amble back, arm in arm, smiling at each other, with you swaying just a little on your feet.

“I’ve never felt more like a third wheel in my entire fuckin’ life,” Clyde huffed to both of you, still shaking his head, before addressing Flip, “Are ya at least gonna be in a better mood for a little while?”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet,” Flip said with a grin, moving to open the passenger door for you and smack your ass playfully as you climbed inside.

“You’re a fuckin’ animal, ya know that?” Clyde grumbled to Flip as both men walked to their respective doors of the truck.

“That’s what she said,” Flip deadpanned as he opened his own door before sliding behind the wheel.

*******************************************************************************************

A few hours of research the following day led Flip to the conclusion that the target of the Thanksgiving heist was a pair of armored trucks that would be downtown during the holiday parade. Wellsfargo Bank had a float they were using to get donations for charity, an enormous old west stagecoach matching their emblem. Floats didn’t do well in the high altitude, so most of the bigger floats were closely tethered to slow moving vehicles below them, which were also designed to fit with the float’s theme.

The float and various other events during the parade ordinally garnered thousands in cash, which would be deposited into the armored trucks after the festivities died down and transported away with the rest of the bank’s end of the month monies. Flip reasoned that the best way to get to the armored trucks with a small crew would be to hitch a ride on the Wellsfargo float itself; it would be easy enough to take out the guards and steal their costumes.

Between the two of them, Flip and Clyde devised a plan to catch the culprits during the parade, which while providing cover for a heist would also camouflage the arrest of a criminal or two. Equipped with Flip’s binoculars, a wire, and a revolver just in case, you were the lookout.

Downtown Denver was packed shoulder to shoulder along the main drag when the parade began. Flip and Clyde had planned on starting from the rear, moving with the main line of parade traffic so as not to draw too much attention when they closed in on the float.

Buzzing with spectators and participants alike, the street was chaos. As the parade began its march, Flip and Clyde were immediately detained by a troupe of teenagers in red band uniforms who were set to bring up the back. The kids fiddled with their instruments and fussed with their uniforms, fumbling about in a cluster that obstructed the rear traffic. Traffic that included Flip and Clyde, who towered above the teenagers.

Whereas Clyde tried diplomacy, issuing plenty of pardon me’s as he tried to weave through the kids, Flip was already losing his temper from the enormity of the crowd and he had no tolerance for a pimpled blockade. Squaring his shoulders, Flip pushed ahead through the milling band of teenagers, letting the teenagers who didn’t get out of his way on their own simply bounce off his chest and shoulders as Flip made his way.

The shrill screech of a whistle, the kind that gym teachers used to put the fear of God into their students, captured every band member’s attention. Flip jerked his head toward the sound himself to see a tall angular woman striding toward him angrily, glasses perched high on her beaked nose, holding a clipboard like a bible and clenching a whistle between her thin lips.

“Look, ma’am, I don’t have time for this horseshit,” Flip growled, only to be cut off by another painfully loud whistle right in his face when the woman strutted to within arm’s reach.

“Security!” the woman, whose name could only be Karen, shrieked. Her scream drew the attention of every person within earshot, including some people perched on the floats ahead. “Security! These men are attacking the children!”

“Christ lady, I am a fuckin’ cop!” Flip shouted back, angry and much louder than the woman. Fishing for his badge, he held it up to her pointed nose, as she blew harshly on the whistle again. “Now, unless you want me to arrest you for Obstruction of Justice and Disobeyin’ the Lawful Command of an Officer, get outta my way and put that fuckin’ whistle away before I give you my advice as to where you can stick it.”

A small crowd of band members had formed around the Karen. A preppy blonde girl with a french braid stood beside her, glaring up at Flip. Flip opened his mouth to explain his profession more calmly to the woman, but the preppy girl cut him off.

“Don’t you scream at her, you pig!” she screeched, stomping her glossy black shoe down with all her might onto the arch of Flip’s foot.

“Sonofabitch!” Flip growled, lifting his boot off the ground in pain. “What’s your name, kid? I bet your mom’s name is Rosemary. I’m gonna track your parents down and give them a referral for a fuckin’ military school.”

Another much harder blow knocked Flip sideways. This time it was Clyde, barreling into him from the side and shoving him away from the angry women and deeper into the crowd of the parade.

“Are ya tellin’ me that you actually saw combat duty?” Clyde asked in his deadpan humor. He pointed out with his right hand through the chaos as he shoved Flip further ahead. Following Clyde’s line of sight, Flip saw the tawny backside of the Wellsfargo stagecoach float, several floats ahead.

A man on the back of the float saw Flip and Clyde at the same time they saw him. The man raised a radio, speaking something into it, before running toward the front of the float. Exchanging a glance between themselves, Flip and Clyde charged ahead, running like bowling balls through pins as they ran through the crowd, knocking aside anyone and anything that obstructed their path.

In unison, Flip and Clyde jumped onto the back of the stagecoach float, chasing after the man who had disappeared from view. Flip quickly looked over the float, seeing a driver’s cockpit that was now unmanned. As Flip zeroed in on climbing down behind the wheel, a second man attacked Clyde from the side, swinging a haymaker sucker punch at Clyde’s temple. Clyde dodged his blow easily, slamming his metal left forearm into the man’s jaw and knocking him out cold down onto the platform of the float.”

“You alright back there?” Flip called out before glancing over his shoulder to see the unconscious man on the floor. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you need a hand,” he joked with a smirk as Clyde shook his head at Flip’s humor.

Movement ahead caught Flip’s eye. The man who had run now stood on the float only a few yards in front of them, to which a floating fat inflated teddy bear advertising a toyshop was attached. Flip recognized him as the cartel operative they were hunting. Flip had arrested the bastard before when he was younger and less gung-ho about being a career criminal.

As Flip watched, the man pulled a gun from his belt. The last fuckin’ thing Flip needed was this bastard shootin’ a gun off in a crowd like this, or discharging his own gun for that matter. Gritting his teeth, Flip stomped the gas on the float, sending it bucking forward. Clyde tumbled backward from the torque, landing flat on his ass on the floor of the float with a huff. Which was lucky for Clyde, because Flip rammed the stagecoach float into the teddy bear float with as much force as the vehicle could muster in the short distance, knocking the gunman off balance before he could level his shot at Flip.

Arms flailing, the criminal shot an errant round off into the sky as he was launched forward off the teddy bear and down onto the front of the stagecoach’s platform. The bullet struck the balloon bear in his rotund gut, accompanied immediately by the hiss of air escaping and the flapping of rubber as the tear widened.

The driver of the teddy bear float slammed on his breaks at the sound of the gunshot. Flip did too, but he was still so close to the bumper he had just rammed that he couldn’t avoid hitting it again. The crash knocked the criminal back again onto the platform of the teddy bear float. Addled from his double impacts, the man rolled onto his back, his body settling in the junction where the bumpers of the two vehicles met with their impact.

Above, the teddy bear hissed louder, whipping and dancing in its tethers as its helium escaped and it sank quickly to the ground. Flip jumped up from behind the wheel of the float, drawing his own gun from his shoulder holster and training it on the supine man just as the remnants of the teddy bear came draping down from the sky over the bear’s float and the gunman, trapping him beneath it like a helium-filled net.

“Goddammit,” Flip growled in frustration, returning his gun to his shoulder holster, and shouting to Clyde, “Help me out with this rubber pile of shit.”

Flip might get a bit more than chewed out if he let a suspect suffocate under a deflated parade float. He could hear Bridges bitchin’ at him now, And you thought it was a good idea to pull this shit on a holiday? In public? In front of women and children, for fuck’s sake?!

Flip and Clyde both leapt into action, rushing to lift the heavy rubber off the man. Helium hissed out all around them, filling their lungs as they each breathed deep from exertion.

“You’re under arrest,” Flip said to the gunman once the man was uncovered, his head lolling side to side in a dazed stupor. Flip’s usually deep and commanding tone was reduced to the squeak of an angry elf from the helium in his lungs, making his grimace deepen.

Clyde’s eyes shot wide at the sound of Flip’s voice, his eyebrows high up his forehead. He let out a hearty laugh at the spectacle, but it came out more like the giggle of a possessed schoolgirl from the affectation in his own voice.

“I’m never lettin’ ya drive me anywhere ever again, ya crazy bastard,” Clyde huffed in his high helium pitch, rubbing his ass where he had hit the ground.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ dramatic,” Flip grumbled, his voice sounding like a snarling chihuahua, before a smirk crept onto his lips at the thought of his high-speed chase. “We couldn’t have been goin’ more than ten miles per hour at top speed.”

You had watched their great debacle unfold, trying to push through the crowd to rush to Flip’s aid. Finally, you broke through the final line of people to get to the crashed floats and the scene Flip and Clyde had created. At the sound of the two large men squeaking at each other sarcastically, you burst into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, now you’re gonna come out here and bust my balls too?” Flip asked you in his Keebler elf voice for your entertainment, smirking as he walked to you, wrapping you up tight in his arms.

“From the sound of your voice, your balls sound pretty busted already,” you teased back, letting him capture your lips in a kiss in front of the disarray of the ruined parade and the many shocked onlookers.

*******************************************************************************************

Thanksgiving evening found you in front of your burning fireplace, curled up on the couch, leaning against Flip’s broad warm chest with one of his powerful arms draped over your shoulder. Flip’s long legs sprawled out in front of him, the button popped on his jeans, as he slouched against the cushions. You were both full to the point of discomfort. Clyde was in a similar state of misery, holding a half-empty beer bottle and groaning where he sat in an adjacent armchair, the last holdout of your Thanksgiving company.

“I owe you one, hillbilly,” Flip said to his friend.

“Ya just turn a blind eye if ya see anythin’ happenin’ come Christmastime,” Clyde replied, lifting his beer in a cheers before taking a long sip. “Or if anythin’ turns up missin’ from that Broncos stadium.”

“You’re full of hot air, you bastard.” Flip grinned, laughing at his own pun on recent events.

“Ya know, that inflated ego a’ yours is gonna get ya in trouble one day,” Clyde picked up Flip’s serve as you rolled your eyes.

“Well, I don’t get a lot of lift with it.” Flip squeezed you with his words. “My girl keeps me grounded.”

“Whatever floats her boat,” Clyde rejoined, tipping his beer toward you in turn.

“You’re gettin’ carried away now,” Flip huffed with a laugh. “Get your head outta the clouds.”

“Are the two of you jackasses impressed with yourselves?” you asked with a laugh, playfully nudging Flip with your shoulder. “Are you done?”

“You’re lucky I’ve already popped the question, sugar,” Flip added, smirking at you while Clyde grinned

“I hate you,” you declared. Tilting your face up, you silently demanded a kiss that he was all too happy to give you.

“Mmm hmm,” Flip growled happily against your lips. “I can tell.”

*******************************************************************************************

Tagging some friends! @babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @queeniebee @lumberjack00fantasies @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @darkhairedmenrule @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @clydesfavoritegirl @gotham-city-uber-driver @emi11ie @bensolodyad @danidanisara @thepalaceofmelanie @hopelovepinkglitter

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter 4)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 1.5k

Read Chapter 3 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Pining.

Author’s Note: Thank y’all for being SO patient waiting for this update! I have a pretty busy weekend ahead of me, so I wanted to make sure I got something out tonight. As always, thank you for reading! 

Gravel and dirt crackled underneath the tires of your car as you pulled up to the address written on the napkin you clutched in your hand. The trailer was humble but looked like it was cozy. It wasn’t a mansion, but a mansion didn’t seem like it would fit the gentle giant that you had met. 

On the porch out front sat Clyde, reclining in a wooden rocking chair. He had one leg propped up on his knee with a book resting in the fold of his leg, his prosthetic pressing the spine open. In the other hand, he held a speckled tin mug, filled with coffee so hot, you could see the steam rising from it as you walked towards him. It looked like a teacup in his hand. The shatter of a stick as you stepped on it alerted him to your presence, and he set the mug down on the patio table next to him as he stood to greet you. “Mornin’ darlin’,” he called, stretching his arms to the sky. The dark blue short-sleeved shirt he donned pulled up with his shoulders, revealing a thin strip of skin just along the waist of his pants. You felt your cheeks warm as you spied a patch of dark hair just above the button of his jeans but snapped yourself out of it as the shirt fell back into its rightful place. 

“Morning Clyde. You have a lovely home,” you smiled to him, eyes roaming the exterior of the house. 

He rubbed the back of his neck and his pout seemed to deepen, an expression you were beginning to realize he wore regularly. “S’alright. Needs some fixin’ up,” he gestured to peeling paint spots on the door, and you waved your hand. “Nothing a coat of paint can’t fix!” He smiled sheepishly back at you. “Well,” he stopped to take a final swig of coffee. “Wanna get headed out?”

~~~

One thing that you never tired of was how alive the forest remained, no matter the season or time of day. 

Birds called to each other across valleys, the open skies filled with their song. The air glinted with flecks of particulate that caught on the sunshine filtering through the trees. The foliage that shaded the forest had begun to flush deep golden hues since the first time you had trekked through the hills, and the leaves that had been shed already crunched underfoot. 

You had mentally prepared yourself to have to push to keep up with the long-legged Clyde, but he had surprised you. He moseyed along, moving with purpose but without haste. He didn’t drag or dawdle, but seemed to simply be enjoying the sights and sounds of the forest, just as you were. You found yourself sneaking glances at him as you strolled next to each other. It was difficult not to, especially when his profile was so easy to melt for. You felt your cheeks warm as you watched him move. He was almost bearlike, plodding through the forest with purpose, like he owned it. You could tell that Mellie’s words rang true - he was comfortable in these woods. He knew them. 

Caught up in the sight of him, your toe caught on a hunk of wood and you stumbled. Clyde’s arms were out to catch you before you even had a chance to process what was happening. A feeling akin to an electric shock shot through your body, originating from where your skin brushed against Clyde’s frame. “Sorry darlin’,” he muttered. “Shoulda warned you ‘bout that log.” As you righted your footing, you laughed, elbowing his side lightly. “Aren’t you supposed to be my guide out here?” Clyde’s ears flushed and he suddenly became hyper-focused on a single point on the forest floor, but he chuckled softly. “I’ll let you know ‘bout any other obstacles we got comin’ up.” He glanced at the foliage around you, studying the rocks and layout. “Actually,” he rubbed at the junction of his prosthetic and upper arm. “I think the area was just ‘round that boulder up there,” he gestured forward with his right hand, point to where the trail wrapped around a spire of boulders. Your heart leaped at the prospect of being so close to making actual progress on your assignment that you broke into a brisk jog, leaving Clyde startled. 

As you rounded the boulder, your eyes were drawn to the area of scattered remains just off to the side of the trail.You knelt next to the tufts of hair and scattered bone shards, surveying the remains and jotting down notes in your bright yellow field journal. “It’s perfect,” you called back to Clyde. “If the cams don’t see something here, I would be floored.” A quick survey of the area was all you needed to decide on your camera locations, and you bent down to start the set up.

Ruffling through your backpack, you pushed aside the copious snacks you had brought along and pulled out your cameras, glancing up to Clyde where he watched you, leaned against a tree. You extended one to him. “Want to help me set these up?” you asked, eyebrow cocked up. He stared down at your hand for a brief moment before moving towards you, his right arm extended. He turned the machine over in his hand, running his fingers over the edges.  “Now, where d’ they have to go?”

~~~

With Clyde helping you, set up was both a breeze and sheer torture. You sped through the cameras and with the added help of Clyde’s towering height, they were placed much higher than you could accomplish yourself. But each time you both grabbed for a zip tie and your fingers brushed or he moved up behind you to help you tinker with something just out of your reach and his chest brushed against you, you could feel your heart clench and your cheeks warm. You tried to keep distance between the two of you, but it was all for naught. No matter how hard you worked to quell the butterflies that fluttered around your stomach when Clyde was near you couldn’t quite shake the feeling. 

The brisk hike back helped you blow off some steam and get some physical space from him. You determined that if you hugged the far edge of the trail, you could keep a good berth without straying too far. It was impossible, however, to escape talking to him. Each time he opened his mouth to speak, an indescribable feeling shot through your body, straight to your toes. It was easy, chatting with him, but you took care to not ask too much about him, for fear of falling harder. You kept it to things about the woods.

“So, do you hike these woods much?”

“Yes’m. Easy for me to come back out here, what with it being right behind my trailer,” Clyde hummed. “Good place to come think, y’know?” You nodded sympathetically. “Clyde, I know just what you mean.”

~~~

You found yourselves back at his trailer much faster than you anticipated. Coming to a halt right in front of his porch, the pair of you turned to face each other. It was quiet, each of you waiting for the other to start. With a stretch, you began, “Well-” but Clyde spoke at the same time. 

“Wanna come in for a pop?” Clyde batted his eyes at you, his head slightly tilted in question. You sucked a quick breath of air in through your teeth and chewed at the inside of your cheek. His warm brown eyes bore into you, and you were a hairs breadth away from saying yes before the seemingly rational part of your mind pushed in. “No,” you sighed, “thank you though. I think it’s probably best I head back to the hotel.” 

“Oh.” Clyde nudged a rock absentmindedly, eyes focused on the ground. “S’alright. I probably got some stuff I should be doing anyhow.” Your heart ached to turn him down, yet again, but you reminded yourself it was for his own sake. Not yours. “Maybe we can come back out to collect the footage together in say, a weeks time?” 

Clyde huffed, still pouting and his face downturned. “Yeah, that would work alright.” A beat of silence passed. “Alright then. I’ll text you about details soon. Maybe catch you at the bar?” A small smile threatened to upturn his lips but didn’t quite come to fruition. “‘Course darlin’.” Clyde’s eyes met yours. There was something behind his eyes, an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Maybe an emotion you didn’t want to place. If you didn’t know how he was feeling, you could take some of the guilt for making him hurt in any way. “Have a good weekend Clyde,” you said, bordering on timidness. “You too darlin’.” 

As your car reversed away from Clyde’s trailer, you stole another glance at him. He remained in the same place you had left him, fidgeting with the stone and turning it over between his feet. Clyde glanced up at you, and nodded once. You waved your goodbye, a sympathetic smile edging it’s way onto your face before you pulled back out onto the road. You could see that Clyde stayed rooted to the spot until he disappeared out of your rear view window. Pressure from the breath you were holding started to mount in your chest, and you released it in a long, low stream of air. “Fuck.”

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