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Fairy Tale

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The first time they hooked up, it wasn't like a fairy tale. At all. More like some kind of sordid soap opera. With lots of bleeped swearing.

They were in Walker's car. The red one that she was kinda hot for. The one that Walker had bought to impress her, maybe, she didn't fucking know. And he was driving along. They were on the way to another god damn murder scene with yet another super powered fuckhead who got himself whacked, and she looked at him and said, "Respect me, dickface."

Walker turned to her. "I do."


"No, seriously."

"Yeah?" she said.

"Seriously." His hair was nearly back to normal now.


"Shut up," he said. There were still traces of blond, but you had to look.

And she said, "Say it." Because she wanted to hear it. Maybe needed him to say it.

Wanted him to say it like she wanted him back as her fucking partner, the fucker. Writing a fucking book. Right. Sure. She'd believe that when she saw all the reports the fucker owed the station.

Owed her. He fucking owed her.

"No," Walker said. The stubborn bastard.

"Saaaaay. Iiiiiitt."

"Fine. I love you."

"Ssssaaaayy-- what?" She stared at him. Wide-eyed. Because. Fuck.

"I love you," Walker said again.

And that was just not -- "Fuck."

He shrugged. "Yeah."



"You fucker," she said.


"Fucking fuckhead," Deena said.

Walker's face did that thing it did when he was annoyed, and fucking god, she'd missed that, even though she'd never say it. "You told me to say it."

"I didn't fucking tell you to fucking say that. Fuck."

"It's not like I'm asking you to marry me," he said.

She sat on her seat sideways and glared. "What?"

"I'm not -- it's not like I am asking for a commitment."

"What? Am I not good enough for you?" she demanded, flinging out her arms.

"I did not say that."

"I think you did," she insisted.

"I did not say that."

Deena crossed her arms. "Pretty sure you did."

"Fuck you," Walker said. He was testy now, and he looked big and broad and hot and big. He'd lost the gut, and --

And she said, "Okay." Grabbed his head, and kissed him like she'd been wanting to do maybe since he first poked his head in the door, bitching about the cute-as-shit little girl he'd been saddled with. She kissed him and he pulled over on the street, and she climbed into his lap. Climbed onto him, and he was a fucking mountain. She sat on his lap and kissed the hell out of him, his mouth hot and wet and shocked. She kissed him some more, and his hands felt huge on her back. On her ass. Squeezing her, and she fucking knew he'd be good at this. His hands flipped open the button on her jeans, and she shimmied them down while the engine pinged and the steering wheel slammed into her lower back.

Deena fumbled with his pants. Got 'em open. Sat down on his dick.

Sat down and bounced, and said, "Jesus fucking Christ!"

He was big. Oh-so-fucking-big. With his crisp white shirt and the skinny black tie and his shoulder holster poking her tit, and his big fucking dick pushing inside her. He bit her nipple through her shirt and bra, and she screamed, "God damn!"

Deena sucked at his jaw. Pulled back. He looked big and dumb and sweaty underneath her. Pushing up into her, looking helpless and a little afraid. Her badge jabbed against her hipbone like a bruise, and Christian screwed her down and up and down, his hands inside her underwear. Stupid red silky panties that she'd pushed aside to climb onto his big dick, like she did with her bikini when she had to pee at the beach.

He kissed her throat and her cheek, and then he pushed his warm tongue into her mouth. He moaned a little, and Deena reached down to finger herself. Walker panted against her throat, looked down, and fucked her a little harder. She touched herself, and his hand pushed beside hers, his blunt fingertip sliding over her clit like a fucking bomb. Over and over and right fucking there. He bit her tit again, then sucked on the other one, and it was like --

Deena went off. Went off, squeezed the hell out of his dick, screaming, "Fucking motherfucker!" She came and went tight and fucking fucked the living hell out of him, bounced and moaned and scratched, and made sure she was the most memorable fucking pussy he'd had in like ever.

When she came to, she was still sitting on his lap. His dick in her, still big but going soft. Legs spread wide. Her jeans wherethefuckever. And he was pink and startled looking, and he felt good and solid, and she wanted to do him all over again even though she could barely move without hissing.

"What?" she said.

"Does this change anything?" he said.

"Fuck," she told him. She sat there and smacked his meaty shoulder. "It means I better fucking get lucky a fuck lot more often."

"Oh," Walker said.



Deena squeezed him, just because. "Yeah."

"Oh," he said.

"Fucking told you," she said.

"Case?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah," she said. "Fuck, where are my pants?"