#what's up i'm posting this already because this series flopped and i'm sick of looking at it in my drafts

[cadavercowboy]

Winners And Losers — Part Three

Pairing: Lt. Colonel Franklin Clay x Reader

Summary: If being an ex-Black Ops mercenary has taught you anything, it’s that you win some and you lose some. Colonel Clay could stand to learn that lesson, too.

Word Count: 2.5k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Mention of blood & injury. Vaginal fingering. Unprotected vaginal sex. Creampie.

Part Two

The heavy glass bottle swings loosely from your fingers as you glide down the poorly lit hallway. It’s musty and — truthfully — kind of disgusting, but you’ve definitely stayed in much worse places. Your shoes sink into the thick and faded carpeting as you stand for a pensive moment outside of Clay’s room. A moment of doubt and hesitation sweeps through you before you finally decide to rap your knuckles against the dented door.

It takes nearly an entire minute and you briefly consider returning to your room, but eventually he swings the door open and grants you entrance when you raise a ponderous brow at him. You follow him in, watching as he drops heavily into the only chair in the room. He props an elbow on the desk beside him, peering up at you with exhausted eyes as he drags a finger along his swollen lower lip.

A quick perusal of his face lets you know that he still hasn’t bothered to clean up his wounds from earlier. His split lip is still crusted with blood from his altercation with Pooch and a long crimson smear trails from the gash along his temple. With a clicking of your tongue, you slam the bottle of whiskey down on the desk before heading into the bathroom where you wet a cloth with a bit of warm water.

“I’ll have to run out and grab a first aid kit,” you huff as you return from the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Clay mumbles tiredly.

You hold up the damp cloth, as if to say “what the hell does it look like I’m doing?” When you close the distance between you and reach up to dab at the wound on Clay’s forehead, he snatches your wrist and pulls your hand away.

“Stop.”

“I’m trying to help,” you argue.

“Don’t.”

“The fuck’s your problem?” you bark in agitation, your patience for Clay’s bullshit having finally run thin. “What’s been going on with you lately? You disappeared after the shit at the port and it’s getting old, Clay. You gotta come back, we need you back.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasps.

“Oh, no? I was there, Clay. I saw what went down. I know what you went through,” you insist. “But you can’t let it haunt you…can’t let those ghosts follow you around for the rest of your life. If you’re not all in, then you need to step away. Before someone gets hurt. Or killed.”

“I’m the reason any of you idiots are still alive!” Clay defends, his voice raising and conveying his growing frustration. “I can’t walk away.”

“No, you’re the reason Pooch almost got killed today,” you nearly scream. “You intentionally withheld intel about Roque. You knew it was a fuckin’ suicide mission and you still let us go in blind. Just because you don’t care who lives or dies doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”

With that, Clay springs from his seat, flinging the chair backwards as he invades your space. His breath escapes him in strained puffs, his hazel eyes burning an angry gold. You almost find yourself shrinking in fear, but you stand your ground and square your shoulders.

“Watch yourself,” he growls in warning.

“Or what?” you challenge. “You gonna punish me for insubordination? We’re not soldiers anymore, Clay.”

You punctuate the statement with a hard shove against his strong chest. It catches him off guard and he stumbles only for a moment before he’s shoving you brutishly into the wall. He scowls dangerously as he pins you in place, the warmth of his labored breaths dancing over your sweat-dampened brow.

“Then why do you still listen to every order I give you, huh? Such an obedient little thing.”

His words light an unexpected fire deep in your belly and your lips part on a sigh, something that certainly does not go unnoticed. Clay closes the iota of space that remains between you, overheating your body with the warmth of his own. The tiny whimper that leaves you when you notice his growing hardness pressing insistently against your thigh causes Clay to smile devilishly, arrogant pride glowing in his eyes.

“Get on the bed,” he commands, testing his earlier theory.

Not giving him the satisfaction, you decide you’re not going to. You have a better idea, anyway. Sliding under the arm Clay has braced beside your head against the wall, you shift behind him and wait for him to turn around. The moment he does, you whip your thin t-shirt up and over your head, exposing your barely-covered breasts to him. His pupils blow wide, devouring what little is left of the golden rings around them.

When you move to pop the button on your jeans and lower them to the floor, Clay stalks over to you. You step out of the discarded garment, glancing up confidently to take in the sight of your tough, strong leader practically drooling over you clad only in your underwear.

“Still want me on the bed, Colonel?” you tease.

The sassy tone of your voice triggers something feral in Clay and he snaps, one hand tightly gripping the back of your head and the other wedged just above the swell of your almost bare ass. His lips descend on yours with a wild ferocity that would take your breath away had there been any room for it to escape between your connected mouths. You revel in the sloppy, wet kiss only for a second before you’re being swept off your feet as we walks you backwards towards the bed. In his haste, he trips when his legs tangle in yours and Clay dumps you both unceremoniously onto the hard floor. 

You have no chance to protest or complain; you’re too distracted by the sensation of his wandering hands and the weight of his muscular body. You lean up to capture his lips again, moaning into his mouth when his slick tongue slides against yours hungrily. The warm brush of his knuckles along your waist has your stomach clenching and your throat constricting around a surprised gasp. The delicious friction of his fingers delving beneath the hem of your panties and wasting no time in curling sinfully against your clit has you seeing stars.

“This is what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?” Clay grunts. “I see the way you look at me.”

You’re too far gone to deny the truth in his words, no matter how small it may be. Instead, you cant your hips upwards, inviting him to sink his long fingers into the welcoming heat of your pussy. You already know this is just a quick fuck borne of unreciprocated feelings and a shitstorm of long-buried emotions coming to a head in the form of lust; all for the simple sake of release. There’s no point beating around the bush — so to speak — and you’re just going to enjoy it for what it is. As Clay’s fingers slip easily into your eager body, you moan unabashedly and set to work unfastening his pants and shoving them just far enough down his thighs to release his half-hard cock over the edge of his boxers.

“More,” you yelp with need.

Thighs quivering and chest tightening, your body signals to Clay that you’re close, so close. His calloused fingertips drag spectacularly along your rippling walls and your head spins with the overwhelming pleasure of it. Whether it’s the eroticism of how desperately you want one another or the slightly taboo factor of Clay technically being your superior, you’re not sure…all you know is that you’ve never reached your peak quite this fast before. Just as the tingles bloom in the tips of your fingers and each of your toes, Clay ceases his ministrations.

His strong hands take hold of your hips and he situates you on your side before scooting in behind you. The moment his body is pressed against your back, he yanks the gusset of your panties out of the way and the blunt tip of his thick length is pressing insistently into your tight entrance. With a pointed thrust, Clay sinks deep enough into you that you feel the pleasant burn of your body stretching, but not quite deep enough for him to be satisfied with feeling enough of you. He offers several short and fast strokes until you adjust before he’s pressing every inch of himself into you, seating his cock as far as he physically can. The tickling sensation of the hair at the base of his cock has you shivering in his arms and he manages to hold himself as still as possible.

“This is gonna be fast,” he breathes hotly into your ear. “It’s been a while.”

Nodding frantically, you press back into him. You don’t expect to last very much longer either, you just want him to give you everything he’s got. In the back of your mind, you remember all the comments Pooch had made in jest about Clay needing a good lay to get over Aisha and quit moping around all the time; you’re admittedly glad that task has fallen to you. 

“Fuck, right there,” you encourage when Clay grinds his hips in a circular motion and his cock bumps a particularly sensitive spot inside you. “Oh god, yes…Clay.”

He grunts and groans, breathing animalistically against the side of your neck and occasionally dragging his moist lips along the soft skin there. His fingers sneak around your thigh, wrenching your leg upwards so you’re split wide open for him. He shoves his other arm beneath you to wrap a hand around your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to blur your vision. Wedging his knee beneath yours, he keeps your legs spread and frees his hand so that it may journey to your throbbing and neglected clit. You nearly scream at the first touch of his skilled fingers and he moans loudly when you squeeze his driving cock so hard it nearly halts his movements altogether.

“You wanna cum?” he implores, seeing you nod rapidly in response. “Yeah?”

“Yes, please. Please, Clay.”

“Say it,” he barks, his cock plunging into your body and ravishing you with such force that you’re positive you’ll have rug burn on your shoulder and hip by the end of the night.

“I wanna cum, please,” you whimper as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes.

“C’mon, baby…you can do better than that,” he growls through clenched teeth, his rhythm beginning to falter. “You know what I wanna hear.”

“I wanna cum, Colonel!”

“Then cum.”

You obey the demand perfectly and without hesitation, just as he knew you would. A strangled howl of ecstasy drags along your raw throat as your body convulses and your muscles clench with your encompassing release, drowned out only by the wild snarls emanating from the man whose formidable body fills, surrounds, and cradles you. The heat of his cum splashes into your depths, setting off a second, less intense orgasm. Your bodies quiver and twitch in tandem as they climb down your respective peaks; a comfortable silence settles around you in the meantime.

Waiting for your breathing to slow and even out, you shift to rest your head against the pillowy muscle of Clay’s bicep. He allows his leg to drop limply, taking yours with it, and wraps a protective arm around your midsection. Though it’s obvious neither of you wants to burst your post-coital bubble and return to reality, Clay sighs heavily and begins to untangle himself from your body.

“We should get cleaned up,” he whispers.

“Oh, now you wanna get cleaned up?” you tease, shrieking when Clay pinches your ass.

You laugh together amongst your groans as you pick yourselves up off the floor and bring your aching bodies into a standing position. As Clay adjusts his rumpled clothing, you’re very aware of the way his sticky cum drips from your body and begins to collect in your panties. Using the damp cloth from earlier, Clay wipes your combined fluids from his softening member and tosses it aside while you make your way to the bathroom to do your own polishing up.

When you return, you find Clay seated on the edge of the mattress and obviously waiting for you. For a moment, you worry he’s going to send you away like a lady of the night, without a second thought. Plodding across the carpet where you’d just had some of the best sex of your life, you settle next to Clay, bumping your bare thigh into his.

“You can talk to me, you know…” you trail off, inviting him to start the conversation.

“‘Bout what?” he asks.

“Anything. Everything. Bolivia, the port, whatever is on your mind.” When Clay doesn’t respond you give him a moment before it becomes obvious that he isn’t going to. “You’re not a bad man, Clay. No matter what you think. Sometimes shit just happens, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Shit happens? Shit like me killing that lady’s son today?”

Clay’s voice wavers and when you meet his watery eyes, you see how pained his expression is. You want so badly to reach out, take his face in your hands, and make his pain go away; you’re just not sure if it’s the appropriate time or place for that. Settling for a comforting hand on his thigh, you ensure you have Clay’s full attention before you speak.

“You didn’t kill him. Roque did,” you assert. “And it wasn’t your fault. We both know that Roque wasn’t letting him go, even if you hadn’t shot. Roque needed to go and sacrificing that kid saved the lives of a lot of other people.”

Though your logic doesn’t justify the death of an innocent civilian, you know Clay will see that it was necessary. Had he chosen not to kill Roque in that moment, he’d have put the lives of hundreds of other people at risk. In a situation such as that, you’re trained to sacrifice the few to benefit the many; choose the lesser of two evils.

“We can’t win ‘em all, Colonel,” you offer, trying to lighten the mood. “Now, don’t you move from this bed. I’m gonna go get that medkit.”

Pressing a quick kiss to Clay’s stubbled cheek, you stand and gather your strewn clothing to redress yourself. Your outfit is haphazard at best, but it’ll do for now. You pat your pocket in search of your wallet before sending a mock salute in Clay’s direction and heading for the door.

The hinges creak behind you, garnering the attention of the two men who fill the hallway just a few feet away. With their room keys in hand, two sets of familiar eyes fall on your rumpled form as you exit your commander’s hotel room. You stand in awkward silence, neither able to tear your eyes away nor offer any semblance of an explanation to your awestruck teammates. Rather than further embarrass yourself, you whirl around and tread swiftly down the seemingly endless hallway; cheeks burning and brain reeling for a way to joke your way out of this one.      

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