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a profane little song

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Since she and Walt began this thing — and she's still not sure what to call it; none of the usual words seem to be enough — Vic's found herself starting to do the kind of girly shit she's always scorned. Like wearing his clothes and watching him sleep. (She wonders if he knows she does that second one. God, she hopes he doesn't know.) Now he's gone off treasure hunting and she's been missing him ridiculously. Longing has set up residence inside her like the full-body ache of a fever. It's so sappy and pathetic she wants to punch herself.

She's annoyed that she can't stop thinking about him in this giddy, high school way as she drives home from another day protecting the good citizens of Absaroka County (mostly from themselves). And it should be scary how quickly Walt's cabin has become 'home' to her. But it's been a fast, easy slide into this new life, helped along by Walt's persistent maneuvers to keep her there. Not that he's actually come out and said he wants her to move in, or asked if she wants to, like a normal person. Instead he drops the occasional comment about convenience, or saving money, or that she might as well spend the night since she's already here. (The last one usually comes up when they're naked.) Despite knowing exactly what he's doing, Vic's so stupid in love with him she hasn't exactly put up much of a fight. Living in a constant endorphin haze from truly magnificent sex hasn't done anything for her resistance, either. Though you can't really blame a girl for that, she reasons. The man is good at what he does.

So she's given up her lot at the trailer park and her RV is once again sitting on the hard-packed dirt of Walt's driveway. The ugly, awkward bulge of it is the first thing she sees as she lets her truck coast and roll to a stop in her usual spot. Vic still hasn't gotten used to the view here or the sheer size of the place. She turns off the engine and just sits for a minute, looking out at the big blue horizon all around her. Even the distant mountains appear to be tinted the same shade as the sky. For a brief, dreamy moment, the color has her thinking about Walt's eyes. Then she snaps out of it and thumps her head against the steering wheel with a frustrated groan. It's official. Her metamorphosis into a walking cliche is complete.

Vic pushes herself out of the truck and slams the door a little more viciously than usual. Simmering with irritation, she turns toward the cabin and freezes.

On the phone last night Walt told her he wouldn't be back for at least another day. Yet here he is: standing on the porch and making her insides fizz with happiness at just the sight of him. His mouth quirks up in a cocky grin that's equal parts sexy and infuriating, like he's proud of himself for surprising her. Asshole. Still, it takes everything she has not to start running and just launch herself at him, dignity be damned. But two can play this game and she hasn't been a cop for ten years for nothing. So she keeps her expression neutral and crosses over to him, giving her stride a little more hip action than usual. He shifts his weight from one leg to another and, oh yeah, that got his attention.

"Hey," she says, walking up the steps. Calmly, like it hasn't been two weeks since she's seen him.


"You're back early."


Vic walks right up to him, getting in his space the way she's always done. Hands on her hips, she pulls her shoulders back and straightens her spine like she's confronting a suspect. It was hot in the office today, with the ancient air-conditioner on the fritz, and the white tank underneath her uniform is sticking to her, gone a little translucent with sweat. Walt licks his bottom lip and darts a quick look down her shirt like he can't help himself. Score one for Moretti, she thinks with satisfaction.

"Guess I'll have to cancel my date tonight," she says. This close, she can tell he's been back long enough to take a shower; his hair is still damp and he smells like soap and freshly washed cotton. Her body is busy having an immediate Pavlovian response to the sight and scent of him. It's criminally unfair how sexy he looks just standing there in a t-shirt and jeans. She wants to throw him down and lick every inch of him until he's incoherent and writhing. It'd serve him right.

Walt squints a bit and rocks back on his heels but doesn't respond to her verbal jab. And that's fine because they both know this conversation is only for show. Vic's already half forgotten what she just said. She's too caught up in what his body language is telling her; he's trying to appear relaxed but the taut set of his shoulders gives him away. Her mouth dries out as she gets a little distracted by those shoulders, the breadth and bulk of them. Then she's distracted some more by his biceps, and then his forearms, and then his hands. He has great hands. She wants them on her.

When she looks up again, Walt's taking shorter, faster breaths, his nostrils flaring slightly. It's a weird thing to find sexy but she's not going to apologize. The man does things to her just by existing. Right now her blood's humming and her skin itches and she's so ready to go it would be embarrassing except she's absolutely sure that he's right there with her. One of them's got to break for this stand off to end. Vic has her pride but god damn it she's about to crawl right out of her skin.

"Fuck it," she mutters, and grabs two fistfuls of his shirt. Their mouths collide and it's mostly teeth on the first try but by the second she's pushing her tongue past his lips and it's all sloppy and wet and frantic. Walt's hands are on her ass and the backs of her thighs and he's hauling her up against him. She pushes on his shoulders for leverage and wraps her legs around him tight.

Somehow they make it inside and he gets her pinned against the wall. The side of the door frame is digging into her shoulder blade but he's sucking on her neck and squeezing her ass with his big hands and that's so much more important right now. Eventually he eases her down so she's standing on her own and he starts working at her clothes. His hair flops into his eyes and he's frowning a little in concentration and she's such a sap but god he's just so beautiful.

He gets her belt undone, then the button and zip of her jeans. He doesn't even bother with her gun and cuffs, just sinks to his knees and starts peeling everything down with what feels like excruciating slowness. Vic knows she's never very patient at the best of times but is he fucking kidding right now? "Jesus Christ, Walt, hurry up," she grinds out, sounding more desperate than she'd like.

Because he's a contrary bastard, he does the exact opposite of what she wants. His gaze never leaves her face as he carefully pulls her boots off, dropping each one over his shoulder with a thud, then eases her feet from the wad of her clothes and shoves the whole mess to one side. It feels like it takes him as much time to do that as it did to get them here in the first place. The deliberate, unhurried pace leaves her panting, her thigh muscles quivering, her toes curling against the wooden floorboards. He does this sometimes and the waiting unravels her, gets her so hot she almost can't stand it.

Walt palms the back of her right thigh and drapes it over his shoulder. She makes a high-pitched sound in her throat because, fuck, the way he's looking up at her. It strips away all her armor and every little scrap of protection she has. Vic's never let anyone else see her this raw and exposed, never given anyone else this much power, and he knows it. Then his hands are gripping her ass, pulling her hips forward, and his mouth is right there; he's licking and sucking at her clit, fucking her with his tongue.

"Oh, shit," she moans raggedly. Her head slams back against the wall as she drags in air that seems to burn up in her lungs. She knows he's still watching; he always does. Never gives her anywhere to hide. Demands she show him everything she's got. It pisses her off and turns her on and in no time at all she's coming fast and hard, the punch of pleasure so sharp it almost hurts. And yeah, that noise was her. Thank god their only neighbor is a horse.

All Vic can do is hold herself up on shaking legs and try to breathe while Walt stands, already working at his belt. His hair's disheveled from her hands; the lines of his face are drawn taut with lust. She loves that she can do this to him: peel back every one of his complicated layers until all that's left is want.

His lips are wet when he kisses her and it's messy and urgent. If there's anything hotter than him going down on her, it's the way he tastes afterwards. He grabs her ass and lifts her, pressing her hard against the wall while she wraps her legs around him again. There's a little fumbling for the angle and then—oh, fuck—he slides in, groaning when she squeezes down around his cock. His thrusts are deep but short, as if he can't bear to get even that much farther away. It's all pressure and friction and filthy wet noise, so good it makes her head spin.

Their movements are getting a little bit rough, a little bit careless. Then the sudden bite of pain in her shoulder from a particularly hard shove sets her off. Her body flares up like a bonfire and takes Walt along for the ride. He comes with a strangled moan, knees buckling a little as he tries to keep them both upright. Vic holds on as much as she can while he breathes hard against her neck; she doesn't want to let him go just yet. But her thigh muscles are jelly and her legs slide bonelessly from his hips. Walt's hands sneak up under her shirt and spread across her back as he adjusts his stance, his cock slipping out of her as they separate.

They stay like that for a minute, with the wall doing most of the work of holding them up. Vic kisses the side of his neck and tastes the salt of fresh sweat; grinning, she swipes a playful lick up to his jaw. Walt makes a wordless sound and lifts his head to rest it gently against hers. His eyes are a blur of unfocused blue in her field of vision.

"Vic," he says in this soft, sweet way, as if even her name is precious. "I missed you."

And suddenly it's all a completely new kind of raw and she's fighting the sting of tears. "I missed you too," she tells him as her fingers curl into his t-shirt, over the space where his heart beats steady and strong.