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lavendersbucky · 3 years ago

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Better Not Pout ~ A Christmas Short Story* (H.S. + D.OB. + C.E.)

Summary: The year is 1945 and Santa Claus isn't the only man coming to town...

Word Count: 12.9k (oops my bad)

Warnings: Violence, Guns, Mentions of Guns, Brief Gunplay

Cast:

Harry Styles as Harry Styles

Dylan O'Brien as Clyde Kasper

Chris Evans as Johnny Winters

Have you ever met Santa Claus?

I guess there's really no way to know for sure, is there?

The year is 1945 and truthfully, things have never been better.

You’re a regular performer at The Bees Knees, an underground speakeasy run by Johnny Winters. A powerful man, and quite wealthy, but more than that...your fiancé.

Johnny is the sweetest man you’ve ever met, and you’re no fool not to believe every other woman in town doesn’t envy you. Because not only is he incredibly kind and rich…he’s also exceptionally handsome. And for a town like this is quite unusual.

Now, truth be told, the money doesn’t exactly matter to you, but it certainly matters to your mother, who’s been praying for your financial security since the moment you were born.

And Johnny? Well, he just adores doting on you. Spoiling you beyond your wildest dreams. And no, you don’t need the expensive, luxurious clothes or shiny jewels as long as you have him. But the way the man you’re so madly in love with looks at you when you step out in a new red dress...well, it’s enough to leave you breathless.

So, that's what you’re wearing tonight, even though this night in particular is one of the coldest of the year. December 24th, just one day before Christmas, and even though you can't quite feel your fingers...it’s worth it.

Milton whistles as you’re taking off your coat, making your cheeks burn as bright crimson as the fabric on your figure. But you indulge in the compliment because Milton is one of your oldest and most supportive friends, not to mention a fellow employee of the popular speakeasy.

You’re more than glad to have him around for your performances, finding his familiar face in the crowd of strangers rather comforting. Most people hardly pay you any mind, merely sipping their beverages or engaging in conversation with their friends, but that hardly discourages you.

Because as dull as the crowd might be, you know you have one particular person to look forward to at the end of the night, just after closing.

Johnny.

He’ll lock his office door, call his goodbyes to everyone else, and sweep you into his arms before planting a kiss right on your lips.

Then, he’ll walk you home, where he’ll spend the rest of the night taking the utmost care of you.

“You look as radiant as ever,” Milton calls just as you’re making your way up to the stage.

You laugh, gently dipping your head in thanks as you get situated. “You’re too kind, Milton.”

He winks as he cleans out a glass.

And after a quick chat with the pianist, you’re ready to go.

Your first song, Santa Claus Came in The Spring, is very well received. You’re not normally accompanied by a band, but tonight, Benny Goodman and company are in town.

What exactly are they doing spending their night at The Bees Knees accompanying a little miss nobody? You haven’t the slightest clue, but you’re certainly not about to complain.

Tonight, the room is full of life and infectious holiday spirit as the trumpets play and you sing. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time and your cheeks begin to hurt from all the excessive smiling.

In fact, you become so engrossed in the joyous moment, that you hardly notice the two mysterious young men enter the room. Sneaking through the door, unnoticed, before making their way toward a table near the back wall.

You only notice when your eyes catch theirs.

You watch their tall, lanky bodies as they make themselves comfortable in the rather hidden booth, nestling into the shadows just before you can really get a good look. However, you do manage to catch the slightest glimpse of their rather rugged and appealing features, a clear sight for sore eyes.

Most of the men before you are much, much older. Their clothes are torn, their skin is stained with dirt, and even a few teeth are missing from the smiles being thrown your way.

But these quiet strangers...now, they're truly something to be admired. Their hair is clean and styled nicely, their smiles are wide and pearly white, and their clothes make it known they come from money.

Despite yourself, you find that you’ve been staring as the band begins to play the final few notes of the lively song but thankfully the young men don't notice. In fact, they seem to be deeply immersed in a hushed conversation, leaning across the table toward each other as if worried someone might overhear.

You can't help but feel curious, wondering what on earth the subject of their imperative discussion could be, but right now, you have a show to perform, and no handsome outsiders are going to distract you.

Well...not anymore.

Jingle Bells is next on the list, and you give it your all. Smiling at the crowd, even shimmying a little, and as you go, you can’t help but notice that the two men have turned their attention to you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to feel nervous under their focused stares, but choose instead to find Milton's kind eyes. He offers an encouraging smile and instantly, you feel at ease.

However, you don’t miss the action out of your peripheral vision as one of the men suddenly stands from the table. He’s casual. Relaxed. Walking along the wall just diagonal to the stage as he fumbles around with something in his pocket. Then, he retrieves what looks to be a cigarette, gently placing it between his lips before striking a match on the wall and bringing it closer.

You watch, almost as if in a daze, as he holds the object secure with his fingers before lowering it ever so slightly to exhale a cloud of white smoke from his mouth.

And as you watch him, you realize…he’s watching you, too. Leaning back against the wall as he continues to smoke, never once averting his gaze as he watches you sing your merry tunes.

Now that he’s not in the shadows, you can see those rugged features a bit better. Thick, curly hair. Green eyes and a strong jaw. Pink lips pursed as they pucker around the object. And tall. Very tall.

You’re not a fool. He’s quite handsome, although he can’t exactly hold a candle to your Johnny. But, still, you’re curious about the attractive man and his companion, who’s now alone at the table.

He also seems to be quite focused on you, but not just you. You and his friend, still smoking a few feet away. His gaze switches between you both relentlessly as he reclines against the booth, arms outstretched above the seat as he legs begin to spread out. But you figure this is more in an attempt to assert dominance than achieve comfort.

And as he moves, a bit of light catches his profile, and you find that he seems to be just as genetically blessed as his friend. Dark, brown hair. A similar shade to that of his eyes, although they almost seem golden under this light. Faint moles are scattered across his face but don’t seem to be too noticeable. If anything, adding to his unique but alluring features.

Unfortunately for you, you find that it’s harder to ignore them now that they’ve spread out, but force yourself to do so, anyway. The fleeting eye contact you’ve already had with the green-eyed devil is far too much for your liking and you decide right then and there that it won’t happen again.

The universe, however, has different plans. And by a twist of cruel fate, the song comes to an abrupt end, effectively closing your set, and forcing your exit off the stage and onto the main floor.

You quickly thank the drunk and scattered crowd, toss a goodbye to the band, and make a beeline for Milton, your only saving grace.

You assume the two men will seek conversation with you, although you hope to be wrong, but aren’t exactly keen on finding out. However, if you seem otherwise engaged in conversation with other company, perhaps that will discourage their advances.

Sweet Milton knows you far too well to miss your nervous habits. Mostly because your excessive chatting tends to give you away, but nevertheless, he always obliges, just as he does now. So, you ramble on and on about how you’ve been hoping for a snowy Christmas and will be far too disappointed if morning comes and the ground remains bare.

And as you chatter on, you catch the way Milton’s eyes drift ever so slightly to the left, just over your shoulder.

You hadn’t been the only one to notice the two strange men, as Milton clocked them the moment they began to stare at his friend. When Johnny isn’t around, he normally takes on the role and responsibility of watching over you, a secondary part of his job, and the moment you’d begun to squirm under their gaze, Milton made their visit his priority.

In fact, he’s done an excellent job of keeping them in his line of sight during your performance, even as you began to approach, but certainty hasn’t missed the way they've continued watching you as you engaged with him in pleasantries over here by the bar.

They don’t seem to be making any immediate moves to come closer, but Milton can tell they’re thinking about it. Are they simply enchanted you? Starstruck by your performance? Or do they know you personally?

You find yourself asking the same questions, but all the wondering leaves you with an odd feeling in your chest and after a moment, you realize you’re being silly. They must know Johnny. Perhaps they have a meeting with him, and they recognize your face from the picture he always keeps on his desk.

And speaking of Johnny, you begin to miss him, quickly looking around for the handsome face that normally makes itself known around this time in the dark bar, although you’re disappointed to find he still hasn’t made his entrance.

You leave Milton to his job, deciding that you’ll wait in Johnny’s office until he arrives. After all, that’s where you’re really most comfortable. So, you grab your coat and make your way for the hallway.

You know the walk like the back of your hand, the signature portraits that line the walls bringing a smile to your lips. Each one is a happy memory. Of Johnny, his friends, his family, and even a photograph of the two of you. He always keeps you close to him. You’re in every inch of this bar.

Of course, that’s not the only photograph he has of you, his favorite being the one he keeps on his desk. He’d taken it himself. He’d told you a joke to make you laugh and you did. You laughed. Loud and giddily as he snapped the photo and declared it was the best one he’s ever taken.

He told you recently that he spends all day staring at it. Long into the midnight hours as he works, memorizing it, making sure it’s perfectly engrained into his mind and heart. His fiancé. His lover. His.

It’s the first thing you reach for when you enter the rather large office, taking a seat in his chair as you bring it closer. You study yourself. You do look happy. Excited. In fact, this photo alone is the perfect representation of what your entire relationship with Johnny is like. And that makes you happy.

The sound of the door shutting rather harshly forces your eyes off the frame and up, snapping toward the other end of the room as your heart leaps.

You’re expecting the gentle face of your darling Johnny.

What you’re not expecting is the green-eyed devil and his alluring friend.

They’ve followed you. You figure this immediately, pulse beginning to race with apprehension as your mind fills with possibilities and explanations.

For a moment, a tense silence settles between the three of you, now alone in this office. The taller one with curly hair strolls in first, lips raising in a devious smirk as he pockets his hands and comes to stop a few feet away.

Thankfully, Johnny’s rather large desk sits between you both, keeping him at a distance although that doesn’t make his presence any less unsettling.

Subconsciously, you lean back into the chair, eyeing him closely as his mischievous expression studies you.

He doesn’t speak. Merely stares. And as he takes his time studying you, you can’t resist glancing over toward the second man.

He’s leaning against the door, now striking a cigarette for himself, hands cupping around the flame as you swallow. But once it’s lit and perched on his lips, he looks up at you, exhaling the smoke in your direction.

You look back at the first stranger and he grins.

"Hi, Sweetheart,” he croons. He has an accent. English. Thick. Deep. "I'm Harry, and this here…is Clyde. We're looking for your fiancé. Think you could tell us where to find him?”

You swallow nervously. His tone, although friendly, is unable to disguise the threat you know lies underneath.

You look back at the other gentleman. Clyde. Who now appears just as smug as his partner. Are they friends of Johnny's? Is he expecting them? You don’t believe you’ve ever seen them before, but you suppose Johnny has tons of friends and clients. It would be nearly impossible to recognize them all.

"I...I don't know," you manage to respond, swallowing once again to clear your nerves. “Uh…I’m sure he’ll be here soon, though.”

The two men exchange a glance, and it’s clear they aren’t satisfied with this answer as Clyde pushes off the door and strides his way toward you and Harry.

With the cigarette resting snugly between his lips, he places his large hands on the desk and leans forward, now only a few inches away.

“Your boy Johnny…owes us some money,” he tells you, firm but oddly soft, and you notice he doesn’t share the same accent as his friend. “And we’re here to collect.”

Your eyes widen. You don’t really know much about the financial side of Johnny’s business. Or really anything about his business at all. He’s been rather good at keeping you out of that part of his life even though now it seems your own life might depend on it.

“I’m…I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” you repeat in offering, willing your voice not to quiver. “And you boys can straighten everything out then.”

Clyde’s eyes seem to sparkle with amusement as his head cocks to the side. “Is that right, hm?” A hum as he dips down even closer. “Well, maybe if he doesn’t get here within the next five minutes…then, we’ll take our payment in the form of you.”

You lean back even further in the chair, desperate to get as far away from this odd man as possible, however, that only seems to amuse him further.

“Problem, Mama?” he asks before Harry glances over.

“Aw. Come on now, Kasper,” he teases, nudging his shoulder against Clyde’s. “Don’t scare her. She’ll be good for us. Won’t you, Kitten? Tell us what we need to know?”

You glance between them again, unsure which one to feel more intimidated by. You’re not quite sure what to do. Do you scream? Do you try and talk them down? You’re not even sure if their threats are mere bluffs or if you should begin to say your last goodbyes.

And where on earth is Johnny?

The only thing you can think to do is reach for the phone and try to call him. But the second your fingers lift from the desk, Clyde reaches for something, too.

Within seconds, his hands are wrapping around the handle of a gun as he brings it out from beneath his coat, pointing the barrel straight at your head as you gasp and withdraw your hand.

“Don’t fucking move, Mama,” he warns, his threat slightly muffled by the cigarette. “Thought you were gonna be good.”

You nod faintly, looking to Harry, almost wishing he would jump in again and tell his friend to relax. But Harry is far too entertained by this turn of events, hands still deep in his pockets as he watches.

“I…I was just going to call him,” you clarify instead, the fear in your voice much too obvious for your liking, but you suppose you can’t exactly help it. “I know you men are in a hurry. Thought I’d…speed up the process.”

Clyde studies you for a moment, smirk fading as his eyes flick across your face. Maybe he suspects a lie, but you know better than to try and pull a fast one on either of them.

And after a moment, he nods, grabbing the cigarette before tossing it to the floor. “Yeah? Go on, then,” he instructs, although the gun remains cocked and aimed now at your chest. “Call your pretty boy. Tell him he’s got visitors.”

With shaking hands, you do as asked, reaching once again for the telephone.

The men lock eyes for a moment until Harry nods and begins to make his way around the desk, stopping right beside your chair.

You freeze as he reaches for the phone as well, beating you to it as he picks it up and hands it to you.

You take in the rather striking green in his pointed gaze as you take the object from him, fingers brushing his ever so gently as a chill runs down your spine.

There’s a moment of silence as you stare at each other, his smile wicked and stance threatening before he places his hand on the edge of the desk and bends down, the smell of his cologne making its way to your nose.

“I’m gonna watch you dial,” he tells you. “Make sure you keep your word. Okay, Kitten?”

If you weren’t so gosh darn scared, you’d quip that you don’t exactly have a choice, but choose to nod instead as you begin dialing Johnny’s number on the rotary phone, the familiar dial tone a lot more ominous under these terrifying circumstances.

Both men watch you closely as you wait for your sweet Johnny’s voice. A sound you find you need more than anything. The need to know he’s coming for you. To save you.

However, his voice never comes, leaving your heart to sink to the floor. He must not be home, which hopefully means he’s on his way.

But he should already be here, you think. After all, where else could he possibly be on Christmas Eve?

After a few more moments, you realize he won’t be answering, and disappointed, you lower the phone from your ear as you look between the strangers cautiously.

“He…he must already be on his way,” you whisper, slowly returning the handle to its cradle. You’re sure not to make any sudden moves, as the gun is still aimed in your direction, but the men don’t seem too upset with this reveal.

In fact, Clyde seems rather pleased, now walking around the desk to join you and Harry on the other side.

Your heart sinks.

He lowers the gun ever so slightly, but you keep on eye on it, anyhow, incredibly weary of his intentions and that damn smile he’s so proudly sporting.

“How much…are you willing to bet on your precious fiancé, hm?” he asks you as he sits on the edge of the table. “How sure are you that he’s gonna come save you tonight?”

You’re trapped between them now. One on either side. Nowhere to go. And you wish more than anything that you could just melt into the chair, or scream for help, or even find the strength to physically fight your way free.

But you just have to hold on a bit longer.

Johnny will come.

He will.

“He will,” you say aloud as confidently as possible. “I’m incredibly sure.”

Clyde’s eyebrow lifts as he studies you once again. “Is that right, Mama?”

"It is."

Once again, the room grows quiet, not even the sound of the ticking clock enough to break the tension.

“Fine,” Clyde declares, now straightening up as he glances at his friend. “I’ll make you a deal, then, yeah? For each minute he’s late…I’ll put an extra bullet through his fucking brain.”

Your stomach drops to your toes, skin suddenly hot and prickly, and you’re tempted to cry but you force yourself to remain unfazed. “And why would you do that if you need him so badly?”

Harry and Clyde exchange a small chuckle, although you don’t see what’s so funny, and you nearly huff at their flippant behavior.

“I don’t need your precious Johnny,” Clyde finally answers coolly. “I just need what’s in his safe.”

It takes a moment for this to register with you but once you realize that these greedy men are putting both their lives at risk over some money…you nearly lose it.

“Oh, how pathetic,” you scoff as your head flicks between them. “He won’t give you a damn thing and you have no business—”

However, you don’t get a chance to finish your furious scolding before Clyde is standing abruptly and wrapping his fingers around your upper arm.

He yanks you from your seat, shoving you back against the bookcase along the wall as he leans in, nose nearly brushing yours.

“I’d be careful how you fucking talk to me, Mama,” he seethes quietly. “Because you might not get the chance to do it again.”

The cadence of his voice is virile and threatening, his breathing heavy, and nostrils flaring as he remains in your personal space to nail his point.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You spit.

It just misses his eye, landing firmly on his cheek, but the second the contact is made, you know he’s furious.

And you couldn’t care less.

His hand immediately leaves your arm to grab your throat, forcing your jaw up and your eyes on him as you suck in a sharp breath.

“You filthy fucking bitch,” he whispers, but his lip quirks up in a smirk. “S’that how you wanna play? Hm? You wanna be bad? Test my patience?”

“Kasper,” Harry suddenly calls from behind you, a semblance of warning in his voice. “Relax, all right? We need her.”

“Mm,” Clyde hums, eyes falling over your features slowly. “No, see…what I need…is for her to keep this pretty, little mouth shut. Otherwise…I’ll have to shut it for her. And wouldn’t that be such a shame?”

You want to be scared. And you are…but you aren’t about to let them know that. Because that’s exactly what they want. They want you to be so scared that you just give up. And maybe in the past, you would have, but you decide right here and now that you will no longer be helpless.

You’ll be their worst fucking nightmare.

“Maybe…if you knew how,” you retort, straightening up despite his grip.

You notice Harry glance down at the floor, attempting to hide his smile as Clyde observes you for a moment, seeming to process this remark as that damned grin of his returns and he chuckles.

Then…his fingers tighten, the pressure almost unbearable. “I guess I could always just squeeze this pretty neck to keep you quiet, yeah? Feel your pulse race beneath my fingertips. Feel the life drain from your body. Watch the light go out in your eyes.”

You feel your head begin to spin, lungs struggling to find air, but his grip remains.

His head tilts as he watches your eyes glaze over. “Or I could put my gun in your mouth. See how chatty you are then, yeah, Mama?”

“But without your gun, how will everyone know you have such a tiny cock?” you ask innocently as his eyes narrow and Harry chuckles.

Clyde glances over his shoulder at the sound, huffing a bit as he grumbled, “Something fucking funny?”

Harry clears his throat and shakes his head once. “Yeah. Think it’s funny how you said Johnny would be here and he’s not.”

He’s looking at you now, indicating the response is yours to answer, and you swallow.

“He’ll be here,” you repeat. “All right? He will.”

“See…you keep saying that,” Harry muses, pushing off the desk to join the two of you still trapped against the bookshelf. “And yet…your noble fiancé still isn’t here to save you.”

“Are you afraid?” Clyde whispers as they both begin to cage you against the wall. “Hm? Are you afraid your precious Johnny won’t be able to keep you safe from the bad men?”

“Or maybe you’re afraid he can’t pay up,” Harry adds, head dipping until you can smell the whiskey on his breath. “And maybe he has to find another way.”

“You gonna be our other way, Mama?” Clyde murmurs, nose brushing your cheek as his voice slips like silk directly into your ear. “You gonna be our consolation prize?”

Your lashes flutter as you will your confidence to remain despite their intimidation tactics and malicious taunts.

However, just before they’re afforded the chance to say anything else, the sound of footsteps begins to echo out in the hall, signaling someone's presence as they grow louder and louder the closer they get.

Johnny.

It has to be. You need it to be.

Harry and Clyde both move away from you, exchanging another glance before Clyde grabs your arm once again and forces you away from the bookcase and back down into the chair.

“You’re gonna sit here, and you’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut,” he tells you softly, hissing the instruction into your ear just as the door swings open and Johnny walks in.

There’s your sight for sore eyes, you think with relief as he begins to look around the room.

He seems stunned, taking a moment to assess your position and the current situation before he straightens up and smiles.

“Mr. Kasper, Mr. Styles,” he greets as he begins to take off his hat and coat. “What a pleasant surprise. And I see you’ve met my lovely fiancé.”

Truth be told, you hadn’t expected him to grab them by their collars and throw them out the window but you certainly hadn’t expected him to welcome them in with open arms. Two strange men are alone with his future wife in his office in the middle of the night and that doesn’t even concern him a little?

“We’re here to discuss a bit of unfinished business,” Clyde replies, offering what you recognize as a fake smile as he moves the gun subtly behind his back. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Ah, I see,” Johnny sighs. “Well, fellas, can’t it wait until after Christmas? It’s been a long night and I do need to be getting the lovely lady home for the evening.”

Sensing this might be your only opportunity to get away, or at least move away from these awful men, you quickly stand from the chair. However, you don’t make it very far when Harry’s hand comes down firmly onto your shoulder, shoving you back into the seat.

“I’m afraid the lady…isn’t going anywhere,” he says resolutely as you gasp.

You can practically feel the wind knocked from your lungs, mostly from his touch but ever so slightly from the fear. Johnny finally begins to look confused and concerned while Clyde quickly shoots Harry a rather strange look, eyes narrowed, and lips pursed as if upset.

But Harry merely raises his eyebrow, possibly questioning the expression before Clyde scoffs under his breath and looks back to Johnny.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Clyde calls, nodding his chin toward the chairs placed opposite the desk. Not exactly a request.

And poor Johnny doesn’t quite seem to understand, head rolling to the side as he glances between the visitors. “Look, fellas, whatever business you have I’m sure can wait until—”

Just as you’d expected, Clyde retrieves the gun from where he’d had it tucked into his belt and raises it into the air at the same time that Harry does the same, pulling out his own weapon as they both aim them straight at Johnny’s head.

You feel your heart leap into your throat as Johnny’s eyes widen, studying the guns carefully before slowly letting his gaze find you.

You try to communicate with him somehow, try to tell him that it’ll be okay, that you’ll be okay, but he doesn’t look at you long enough to notice.

“Have a fucking seat,” Clyde repeats, a bit brasher now, and leaving no room for confusion about his intentions.

Johnny obeys, walking over to the desk hesitantly, eyes on Clyde as he does so. “I’d be careful waving those things around…somebody might get hurt.”

“Oh, I’m fucking counting on it,” Harry retorts as he nods at you. “So, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.“

This forces Johnny to look at you, too, the fear a bit stronger now, and you squeeze your hands together.

It’s gonna be okay.

Once Johnny is sat, Clyde grabs the second chair to the right and spins it around before placing himself down in a straddle.

“Now…” he begins as he lets both hands (and the gun) dangle casually over the back of the seat. “Where’s the safe, Johnny?”

Johnny swallows, focus on the gun. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clyde smirks. “Sure you do. Down at the club, you said you just got a new safe to hold everything from your latest shipment. Practically bragged about it to the whole goddamn bar, yeah? So…where is it, hm?”

Now, you find your interest peaked, watching closely as Johnny contemplates his answer. You’ve never really known for sure where he gets all his money. You assumed he made most of it from alcohol sales but…you can’t figure out what shipment they might be referring to.

Johnny suddenly looks up. “And what exactly is it you expect to get out of my safe, Mr. Kasper?”

Clyde leans forward, smirk returning to his lips as he whispers, “Everything.”

The tense room is silent for only a moment before Johnny scoffs. “And you think I’d give you a damn penny?” he sneers. “You think you can storm into my office on Christmas Eve and threaten me? Threaten my fiancé? You’ll be arrested before morning, and you’ll never see a fucking red cent.”

You’re terrified to see how Clyde will react, but he doesn’t seem too deterred as he smiles and lifts the gun into the air, aiming it just to the right of Johnny’s head before…he shoots.

The sound is almost deafening, and you hear yourself let out a shriek as the bullet nearly grazes Johnny’s ear and becomes lodged in the wall behind him.

Johnny flinches, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders tensing before he takes a deep breath and straightens up, now pretty smug himself. “You missed.”

Clyde runs his tongue over his lips and shakes his head once. “No. I never fucking miss. That’s your first warning.” He suddenly stands from the chair, tossing it aimlessly to the side. “Where’s the fucking safe, Johnny?”

“Eat my shit.”

You imagine Johnny hoped to shift the power, but you already know Clyde won’t be so easily swayed.

Not until Harry suddenly reaches out for you, yanking you to your feet as he wraps his arm around your stomach to pull you tight against his chest. Next thing you know, you feel the barrel of the gun pressing into your temple as your breath hitches and all eyes turn to you.

Johnny is terrified but Clyde…is outraged.

"The fuck are you doing?" he hisses at his partner, fingers tightening around his own weapon.

You’re surprised by how livid he seems, having assumed this would have always been their plan. But Clyde’s reaction suggests it might not have been, and the longer he glares at Harry, the more irate he seems to become.

“Where is it?” Harry barks to Johnny, ignoring Clyde’s question as he presses the gun further into your skin until you squirm. “Huh? Where the fuck is it?”

“Styles,” Clyde warns under his breath, jaw beginning to clench.

But Harry doesn’t afford him a glance, crazed eyes trained on the man in the chair. “Where is it? Or do you need a little incentive, huh? Need to see her pretty brains all over your goddamn floor?”

“Hey,” Clyde snaps, fingers tightening around his weapon as Harry finally ventures a look over. “Stick to the fucking plan, all right?”

But still, Harry ignores the instruction, arm around your stomach tightening until you can hardly breathe. You gasp, desperately, heart racing as all three men remain frozen to their spots.

Finally, fed up and furious, Harry releases your frigid body, shoving you forward as you stumble and crash to the ground. Johnny quickly stands, attempting to reach for you just as Harry cocks the gun and aims it at his head.

“The safe,” he says simply just as you’re yanked back onto your feet. By Clyde. “Now.”

But before they can move, you shove yourself free of Clyde’s touch and lunge into Johnny’s arms, face burying into his chest as you fight the tears that have been desperately aching to fall all evening.

“My love,” you hear him whisper as he holds your shaking body. “It’s gonna be all right, I promise.”

You nod, finally looking up with a sniffle as you slip your arms around his neck. “I know.”

He looks up, eyes finding Harry’s. “If you need money so fucking badly, there are plenty of other ways—”

The gun fires before he’s even finished his sentence, the loud cracking making you jump once again as a painting that had been hanging on the wall falls to the ground. Another warning shot.

“Johnny,” you whisper instantly, refusing to let this go on any longer. Any further. “Tell them. Please. Please just tell them. I don’t care about the money, I love you. I don’t…I can’t lose you, so please. Please, just tell them.”

You feel him take a deep breath, fingers tight around your waist as the room seems to wait for his final decision.

He remains silent, still contemplating the choice as you glance back at the two dangerous men, just to make sure Harry doesn’t attempt to shoot off Johnny’s tie as his next trick before looking back up at your fiancé.

“Please,” you mouth.

A beat.

Johnny’s teeth grit. “Under the desk.”

Both men turn to look as Harry steps closer to the table, eyeing it suspiciously. “Fucking where?”

Clyde looks to Johnny, tsking as he lifts the gun. “I promise you don’t want to lie to me.”

You feel Johnny tense beneath your touch, but his placid expression remains put. “Under the desk,” he repeats, thrusting his chin toward the large piece of furniture.

Now they understand, but before they do any investigating, Clyde is reaching for your arm to force you out of Johnny’s embrace and keep you as leverage.

“Show me,” he hisses to Johnny, ushering him forward with the barrel of the gun. “Don’t be dense.”

Johnny quickly sends you a pained look, but you merely nod once, letting him know it’s gonna be okay.

With that, Harry moves to the side as Johnny grabs the edge of the heavy desk and begins to pull it back, the sound of wood scraping against wood rather loud as you wince from your place beside Clyde.

Once it’s been relocated beneath the window, you notice a particular part of the floor is jutting out, the wooden board rather askew.

You, Harry, and Clyde all lean forward as Johnny bends down, wrenches the board up and reveals the hollow hiding place beneath the floor.

Where a black box lies.

He glances at Clyde (and the gun), looking for approval to proceed, and Clyde purses his lips and nods as Johnny reaches out for the combination lock and begins to spin it around.

And after a couple seconds of clicking and turning…the door swings open.

You’d begun to wonder if he’d maybe find a secret gun in the safe but unfortunately, that that doesn’t seem to be the case as Johnny leans back, allowing the two strangers to step closer.

Clyde eyes your fiancé carefully for a moment, perhaps in an effort to see if he’ll try and pull a fast one while their backs are turned, but poor Johnny looks like he’s given up as he slumps toward the desk.

So, the two men return their attention to the safe and everything it holds, from jewels, and gold, and cash to anything else you might desire.

You’re a tad surprised Johnny’s never mentioned how many valuable items he’s had in this very room all this time. You wonder if he’s merely humble or if he simply just doesn’t have a need for such luxuries.

Harry crouches down, greedy hands reaching inside as he grabs stacks of cash and gold bars. He begins lifting them out and placing them on the floor beside him, but with how much has actually accumulated in the safe, it takes him about five minutes to collect everything and place it in a scattered pile.

His eyes practically glow every time he retrieves a new jewel or bag of coins, and even Clyde looks a tad impressed as he watches his partner gather everything together.

And as they look on, Clyde’s hand slips from your arm, setting you free as you quickly exhale a relieved breath and rush to Johnny, slipping back into his embrace as he buries his lips into the crown of your head.

Once everything has been removed from the safe and placed on the ground, Harry grins and looks up at Clyde. “S’fucking mental.”

Clyde’s brows furrow in thought as his head begins to tilt. “Yeah. It’s a good start, Johnny boy.” He turns to the window, eyes flicking between you both. “Now where’s the rest of it?”

Confused, you glance up at Johnny, who frowns. “I don’t know what you mean. That’s all of it.”

Clyde’s lips pull back in a devious smirk as he takes a step toward you both, Johnny’s arm instinctively wrapping a bit tighter as he pulls you away. “Oh, come on now. You know what I want. And you’re gonna fucking give it to me. Isn’t he, Mama?”

He looks to you.

You swallow.

You’re not exactly sure what Clyde’s referring to, but Johnny seems to, and with this threat, his expression falls.

“No,” he seethes quietly. “You can have everything else, but you leave that alone.”

His defiance strikes a nervous pang into your chest, now terrified for your lover as your fingers tangle in his shirt to capture his attention.

“Johnny,” you whisper pleadingly, desperate to have him just obey so these awful men will leave.

Unfortunately for you, however…Clyde notices, his amusement returning as he chuckles. “Your darling fiancé is scared, Johnny. You don’t wanna save her?” He takes a step. “Or is it that you can’t?”

He’s mocking you both and your eyes narrow at the faux sincerity in his voice.

“You could,” he continues. “You could end this all right fucking now. And all you gotta do…is tell me where it is.”

Fed up and terrified, you turn to Johnny, reaching up to clutch his cheeks between your palms as you turn his face to yours.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper urgently, leaning closer in an attempt to conceal the conversation from the two men who chuckle at your attempt. “Please. I’m scared, and I’m tired, and I don’t care about what you have or what you don’t have. I just want you. I want these awful men to go away, and I want you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes softening as you finally lean forward…and kiss him.

Because something tells you…it might be your last.

Normally, you might feel uncomfortable at such a public display of affection, especially in front of the likes of Harry and Clyde, but right now…you can’t seem to find it in you to care.

You bring Johnny as close as you can, humming against his lips, his soft skin familiar under your fingertips as his hands find your waist. You try to tell him everything you never got to say through this kiss. And you can only hope he understands.

After a moment, you finally pull back, releasing him regretfully as you whisper once more, “Please, Johnny.”

His forehead finds yours. He breathes. He contemplates. But he doesn’t concede.

Finally, Clyde seems to decide he’s had enough, and he scoffs as he reaches for you, fingers weaving in your roots as he tugs you back, your heels catching on the floor as he forces you away from Johnny.

Your back meets his chest as his nose presses to your cheek, breathing heavily as you feel the barrel of the weapon meet your temple once more.

“All right,” he hisses, despite your gasping and Johnny’s clenched jaw. “You’re gonna tell me where it is…or you’re gonna watch me make her bleed. S’that fucking understood, Johnny boy?”

Johnny’s fingers pull into a fist as your chest heaves, lashes fluttering with desperation as Clyde keeps you planted against his body.

“So, which will it be, hm?” he murmurs, the gun now digging into your skin as you choke on a whine, squirming some at the discomfort.

Johnny’s eyes flick down to the weapon and you imagine he’s considering attempting to wrestle it away but you quickly purse your lips, silently pleading with him to just comply.

As the tense seconds tick by, Clyde grows more and more impatient, now releasing his hold on your hair only to sweep it off your shoulder and down your back. He takes a deep breath, nose still pressed firmly to your jaw as a chill runs down your spine.

His lips ghost your ear as his eyes meet Johnny’s and you wonder if all three of them can hear how fast your heart is beating.

“Look at him,” Clyde whispers to you. “Go on, Mama. Just look at your pathetic excuse for a man.”

You swallow, attempting to remain indifferent, but you know Clyde sees right through you.

“Do you really think he cares about you?” he continues tauntingly. “Do you really think…he’ll choose your life over his own?”

“Let her go,” Johnny suddenly seethes, and in retaliation, the gun begins to travel down the side of your jaw and toward your neck before slipping below your chin to tilt your head up by the barrel.

“Since your precious Johnny won’t make a decision, I’ll leave it up to you,” Clyde says softly. “So, tell me, Mama. Would you rather I make him watch me blow your pretty little brains all over the goddamn floor? Or would you rather I make him watch me take you? All for myself?”

“Enough,” Johnny growls, to which Clyde only smirks.

You don’t respond, figuring the question was rather rhetorical and as you shake against Clyde’s body, Johnny finally seems to cave.

He straightens up, sighing as his eyes trail to his left, landing on the photo of you and him that he always keeps on his desk.

“There.”

The three of you freeze as you look down as well.

“Where?” Harry hisses impatiently, raising his own weapon and aiming it at Johnny’s chest. “Huh? Where?”

“The picture,” Johnny reiterates, nodding toward it. “It’s…it’s in the picture.”

Curious but pleased, Harry begins to reach for it just as Clyde shoves you out of the way and outstretches his hand, plucking the picture frame from the desk just before Harry can reach it.

Johnny quickly grasps onto your arm to steady you, and you smile gratefully before turning your attention to the men now huddling around that familiar photo.

Clyde glances up at you for a moment before slipping the picture frame around and sliding the back of the glass off.

And there, sitting snug against that old photograph…is the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen.

And surrounding this diamond are about hundreds of tinier diamonds and rubies and crystals arranged in a delicate but exquisite pattern to make up one of the most beautiful necklaces you’ve ever laid eyes on.

It practically sparkles under the dim office lights as all four of you keep your eyes on the dainty piece of jewelry in Clyde’s large hands.

He lifts it from the frame, holding it in the air for a moment as he examines it, and Harry begins to grin like the Cheshire cat.

This is what they came for.

You realize it then, both terrified and relieved that this nightmare can finally be over.

“You got what you want,” you hear Johnny hiss. “All right? Now go.”

Clyde nods once as he lowers the necklace and looks over at the tall man, his signature smug disposition returning. “You’re right. We did, didn’t we?”

He looks to you.

And you smile.

You waste no more time as you quickly lift the gun Clyde had discreetly and secretly slipped into your hand a few moments ago and aim it at Johnny’s head.

Three.

In a matter of seconds, Johnny begins to register the action, eyes widening as you step back and smile at him. You wonder for just a moment if you’ll feel any remorse for the deception you’ve put him through for the past few months.

But as your gazes meet…you realize you feel nothing but liberation.

Two.

You watch him put it together. Realize you’re not who you said you were. Realize his fate.

One.

The shot echoes throughout the room, somehow louder and more permanent than the last two that were fired in this room.

Johnny falls to the ground, blood tricking down his cheek and onto his clean, white shirt as silence settles between the three remaining.

You’d bought him that shirt.

And you smile a bit wider as you watch the life drain from his face.

It’s over.

Clyde is absolutely beaming with pride as he looks over at you. The woman he loves. The woman he fucking adores, holding his gun in your hand as the man that had caused you both so much pain and agony now lays on the ground by your feet.

If Clyde had had it his way, Johnny would have been dead months ago.

But you’d convinced him that Johnny would be much more helpful alive than he would be dead.

And you’re happy to see you were right.

After all, Johnny never would have given up the location of his prized possessions if you hadn’t put in so much time and effort to gain his trust. His affection. In fact, the only reason this entire plan worked so perfectly in the first place is because you’d managed to do what Clyde declared you couldn’t:

Make Johnny fall in love with you.

It bothered the ever-loving shit out of Clyde, though. He despised seeing the love of his life in the arms of another man. Or having to watch you kiss him. Or touch him. Or tell him you loved him. All these months apart nearly drove him mad…but clearly, it was worth the wait.

You’ve done it. Together. Gotten what you’d come for and now—now…it’s finally over. And you can go home. Flee this fucking town and start your lives together.

“The fuck…is going on?” Harry suddenly bellows from his side of the room, and you’re reminded of the last remaining obstacle.

Harry Styles.

He hadn’t been informed of your involvement. After all, it was none of his goddamn business. He was only ever Clyde’s pawn, even if he was led to believe he was an equal partner.

But Harry was never a partner. And he was certainly never getting half.

You hand the gun back to Clyde, who tucks it behind his belt with a chuckle. “Come on, mate,” he teases mockingly. “Did you really think I’d give you shit?”

Harry’s response is to lift his own weapon without a second thought, lining the barrel up with Clyde’s head as he scoffs, “You bet your fucking ass I did. Half that shit is mine, Kasper. Unless you’d prefer I take it all.”

You work to fight a smirk, glancing down at the floor as the meaningless threat dangles in the air.

Nobody knows Clyde the way you do. And unfortunately for Harry, he has no fucking clue who he’s dealing with.

You look to Clyde as he glances over at you, exchanging a knowing look of love and amusement and my god does it feel good to look at your Clyde again.

You’ve hated having to run into Johnny’s arms. Hated kissing him when you’d rather be kissing your true lover. But it had to be done. It had to. And now? Well, now you can remind him exactly how much you love him. No more hiding, no more lying, and no more games.

With a snort, Clyde reaches for a bag that you’d previously tucked into the corner as he shoves the diamond necklace into his pocket. “Look, Styles. You did a fine job. Did what I asked. But now it’s over, yeah? And if I were you…I’d run on home to my mommy before you get hurt.”

You watch Harry’s expression twist into one of exasperation and disgust as Clyde begins shoving the cash and gold bars into the duffel bag.

And the moment his back is turned, Harry lunges for you, wrapping his arm around your middle for a second time as he drags you toward the door to the office, gun aimed at Clyde threateningly. “Think I’ll take this for my prize instead.”

Clyde straightens up slowly. His jaw is tense, eyes narrowed, and chest beginning to rise and fall quickly.

He’d had one rule for Harry before they left earlier tonight.

The girl was not to be touched.

Clyde had made that abundantly clear. You were to remain untouched by anybody else but him. You were his hostage. His bargaining chip. Not Harry’s.

And now what is Harry doing?

He’s fucking touching you.

For a second time, actually, and you can see that Clyde is about ready to lose his fucking cool the way he’s been desperate to all night.

He’d had to remain indifferent the first time it happened, but now?

Now he’s fucking done.

Your eyes meet his. You’re not scared. You’re not even interested. Bored, if anything. Harry doesn’t scare you. He never has. Because Clyde will stop at nothing to protect you and really…it’s Harry’s funeral.

“Hand me the fucking bag, Kasper,” Harry calls in a threatening growl, fingers digging into your hip before he places the barrel of the gun under your jaw. “Right now, or she’s done.”

Clyde regards him carefully, teeth gritting together as he attempts to control his rage. You’re quite proud of him, if you’re being honest, seeing as you know how…difficult Clyde can be.

He takes a step forward, duffel bag secure in his hand as Harry nods his approval.

“And the fucking necklace, too,” Harry adds as Clyde takes another step.

And another.

Slowly. Deliberately.

You know he’s running through his options. You also know that he’d trade the money and jewels for you in a heartbeat but Harry is dumb and slow which means he’ll do exactly what Clyde expects him to.

And he does.

The moment his hold on you loosens so he can grab the bag that Clyde is outstretching to him, Clyde reaches for Harry’s wrist with his other hand, twists it backward toward his arm, and yanks him forward.

Then, he sends his fist straight into Harry’s nose.

Harry’s head is thrown back from the force, and within that time, Clyde retrieves his gun from his belt and you reach for Harry’s, slipping it from his grasp.

In unison, you both point and aim the weapons at Harry’s skull.

The room stills, the sound of Harry’s grunting and heavy breathing growing louder as the blood begins to drip down his chest.

“Go,” Clyde grumbles under his breath, sneaking a sideways glance at you. “Window. Now.”

You don’t move. “No, you need help—”

“It wasn’t a fucking question,” he retorts rather furiously. “All right? I don’t need help, I need you out of here. Grab the fucking bag and go. I’ll take care of him and meet you in the alleyway.”

Your lips purse but you suppose you can’t exactly argue with him. In fact, you never can. “Clyde—”

“I said—“ he begins again when the sound of the door opening pulls their attention from Harry.

Milton.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I heard a noise,” he calls cautiously before looking down at the floor.

Your heart skips. You hadn’t meant to involve Milton in this mess. You like him. In fact, he’s practically the only man in this entire fucking building you actually liked to see when you came into work.

You watch him put the pieces together. The blood running down Harry’s face. His beloved boss, dead on the floor.

The guns in both of your hands.

He looks at you.

And you can’t exactly find anything to say.

He steps back as you hear Clyde growl under his breath, clearly annoyed by the interruption but you’re more concerned with Milton’s reaction than anything else.

Clyde swings the weapon around until he can point it at Milton, whose eyes grow wide as you quickly reach out to shove Clyde’s wrist out of the way, forcing the barrel to the wall.

“No,” you whisper. “Not him.”

Clyde’s jaw nearly drops. “What—”

“Not him,” you repeat firmly, offering a pointed stare that only he’ll be able to decipher.

A few seconds tick by, quiet and filled with tension, but eventually, Clyde scoffs again and brings the barrel back to Harry.

You glance over your shoulder to see Milton’s look of surprise. You imagine he’s going to run back into the bar and call for help. Perhaps send the rest of the employees in to keep you contained until the police arrive.

What you don’t imagine happening is exactly what happens next.

“Five minutes,” Milton murmurs softly. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

Your brows raise as you realize what he means but before you can even thank him, he’s disappearing into the hallway and returning to the bar.

You don’t have a lot of time now as you turn back to the two men, noticing the way Harry continues to cup his face in the palms of his hands and curse.

Nodding his chin at the bag once again, Clyde meets your eye and offers a silent promise that has you smiling. Then, he bends down toward Harry, weaves his fingers in the British man’s curls, and yanks his head up.

Harry winces but his aggravated glare remains put as he stares at him.

“I said…” Clyde whispers maliciously as he buries the barrel of the gun deep in Harry’s chest. “…don’t fucking touch her.”

And with that…the fourth and final shot.

The sound bounces around the walls of the large office as Clyde then shoves him backward, watching him stumble before falling to the ground as the blood slowly seeps through his shirt, effectively drenching it.

Clyde straightens up, turning to you with a satisfied smile that you can’t help but return. This is your favorite thing about him. His thrill. The look on his face after a job. The look on his face when he meets your eye. The way he loves you.

Things move quickly. Clyde reaches for the window to wrestle it up as you retrieve the duffel bag and scurry to his side. Once everything is ready, you lift the edge of your dress as Clyde takes your hand and helps you over the ledge until you can drop down to the ground outside.

He’s quick to follow, and the moment his feet hit the ground, you both begin to run. You can hear the sound of sirens in the distance, and while you might feel a bit of panic at the impending consequences, you somehow feel alive.

After all…this is everything you’d wanted. And you have it.

And you have him.

You slip through the shadows of town, through the cold air and dark night until you find your sanctum in the dark alleyway Clyde had previously mentioned just in the nick of time.

You feel the surge of adrenaline through your veins as you stop to take a deep breath, laughing a bit at your victory as you put a hand over your heart.

Clyde, however, isn’t as quick to revel in the success, head peeking around the corner as he watches for anything unusual, like a police vehicle that goes flying down the street before pulling into The Bees Knees.

He’s on edge. Alert. Ready to run again and while you admire his practiced precision, you can’t help but hope to put it to better use.

You drop the bag onto the concrete and make your way for him, palms on his cheeks to pull his attention back to you as he grunts.

“What? What are you—” he begins but before he can ask the rather idiotic question, you’re kissing him.

Because you haven’t gotten to kiss him in months and my god have you missed the taste. The feel. The pit in your stomach, the way it drops to your fucking toes when he groans in the back of his throat, wraps his arms around your hips, and tugs you into his chest. Or the way he cups your cheek before grasping the back of your neck to claim you.

Having to kiss Johnny all this time was nearly torture. Sure, he was handsome, but he wasn’t your Clyde. It hurt you just as much as it hurt him to know it was happening. To know he had to say goodbye to you so you could finally get what you both wanted.

And now you can leave this god-forsaken town and start over.

What was only meant to be a tender, loving kiss goes south rather quickly when he takes your body in his hands and spins you around.

You’re pressed to the brick wall, cheek taut with the cold and rough surface as you gasp, palms coming up to help brace you.

You feel his fingers traveling down your spine before fisting in the material of your dress so he can lift it and bunch it up around your waist, revealing your body to him.

The only thing he’s wanted for months.

“You filthy fucking thing,” he whispers, rather delightedly as he ghosts his lips over the outer shell of your ear. “Look at you.”

He finds the material of your underwear and tears it down your legs, and you can’t help but shiver as the frosty air hits your thighs, but the feel of his hands makes it all worthwhile.

“Just dripping for me.” You feel the tips of his fingers begin to travel up the length of your skin. “Power makes you weak, doesn’t it, Mama?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You feel more desperate than you ever have in your entire life. “Yes, Clyde, please—”

His hands tangle in your hair, yanking your head back just to hear you choke on a whine. “Don’t fucking rush me. Waited months for this…gonna take my time on you. And you’re gonna like it.”

And you don’t doubt that you will.

You nod fervently as the sound of the metal clasp on his leather belt echoes through the alleyway. You’re practically shaking with desperation just from the thought as your fingernails begin to scrape down the brick.

He fists his cock in one hand and readjusts your dress in the other. You hear him mumble something under his breath, you’re not sure what, but you don’t even care. You’re just…you’re ready. Which you also imagine is what he truly adores the most about you. The way you’re so ready for him. So needy, and pathetic, and all his.

Normally, he’d take his time. He loves to make a show out of ruining you, but tonight? Tonight, there’s just no time. You both need it too badly. So, he kicks your feet apart, grabs your hip, and thrusts inside, burying to the hilt as you both let out a bawdy groan.

You almost feel the urge to cry at the feel. The stretch, the scratch, the need. Johnny was fine. Adequate. Made better when you imagined his hands as Clyde’s hands but now. It’s better than any imagination.

To your surprise, he stills. As if so overcome by the sensation that he’s not quite sure how to proceed. How to regain control of his own body.

You push back against his chest as a reminder that you’re here, fingers reaching back to find his hair and give it a subtle tug.

“All fucking night,” you hear him whisper before he pulls back and thrusts in once more. “Knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You’d smirk if you could. You did know what you were doing and you’re happy to see he noticed.

“Spitting in my fucking face,” he tisks. “Challenging me? Being a fucking brat? S’all cause you were so fucking needy for me, wasn’t it, Mama?”

“Maybe,” you whisper, a bit too overcome by this moment to find your voice. “And maybe I knew you’d like it.”

He chuckles, low and deep from the back of his throat. Sadistic. His fingers release the fabric of your dress until they can find the roots of your hair and yank your head back onto his shoulder as you pant.

“Is that right?” he asks you.

You smile weakly.

“Then say it,” he hisses when you don’t reply, and you already know exactly which button to push.

“Say what, hm? How good Johnny felt? How he fucked me? How he got so deep—”

His hand leaves your scalp to wrap around your throat, squeezing until your head spins and your eyes flutter shut. He fucks into you harder—angrier—until you’re choking on the sound of his name and nobody else’s.

“You missed me,” he growls as he finds the tempo that leaves you shaking in his arms. “Missed me. Not him. Missed my cock. The way I fuck you. And you know it.”

You do know it. You do. Nothing will ever compare. Nothing will ever compete. He’s yours. Always. Eternally.

It’s slow and torturous the way he moves. The way he finds his pleasure. The way he gives you yours. He wants you to suffer the way he has all these months, and you can’t exactly blame him.

But you’re begging him, harder, faster, more in your mind as if he’ll actually hear you.

“You love when I fuck you like this.” His nose presses to your cheek as he breathes, your delicate throat a plaything in his touch. “Love when I kill for you. Love when I make you mine—”

You gasp at the ecstasy, hardly able to hear him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Love me,” he murmurs, and you just about melt into the concrete.

“Yes, Clyde, please,” you beg as his fingers suddenly snap around your neck.

“Quiet,” he commands, glancing toward the street just to make sure the police haven’t found their way here. “You fucking know better than that. You’ll take me and you’ll do it quietly. Understood?”

Your response is to whimper as your nails scratch down the brick walls of the alley.

He grasps onto your jaw, forcing your head to the side. “I said, is that fucking understood?”

“I thought you said to be quiet,” you remind him, rather smugly, and you hear him scoff.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play it?” He releases your throat to take your hips and spin you around quickly between thrusts. Then, he moves back between your legs, hikes your thigh around his waist, and drives back in.

Your head drops back against the wall as you groan, eyes rolling back before you find yourself again. “What…what are—”

“Had to see you,” he grits, forehead finding yours as his arm wraps around to back to hoist you higher. “Had to see this fucking bratty face as I ruined you.”

You’d smile if he wasn’t so determined to make you fall apart, a whine slipping between your lips as his hips snap forward.

After a moment, he releases your leg to find the top of your dress, grasping onto the fabric before ripping it down to reveal your chest.

You can tell he’s been wanting to do this all night. And you’re not a fool. You know your tits look rather exceptional in this dress. Exactly the reason you’d worn it. Not because Johnny loves you in red.

But because Clyde deserved to look at something pretty.

The cold air meets your skin with unforgiving fervor, and you squirm against the brick as Clyde’s eyes fall to the ripped fabric laying so pathetically on your chest.

His head dips, mouth leaving open and sloppy kisses to the beautiful pair before him as his tongue strokes the hardened nipples rather respectfully considering the circumstances.

You run a hand through his dark hair, feeling the way it moves like butter between your fingers. The way he hums against you. The way his lashes flutter.

You’ve missed this.

Suddenly, your grip tightens, yanking his head up until his lips meet yours. And you take. Take the taste of him, the taste of you, the taste of victory.

His hand comes to rest against the wall next to your head as he works to find the perfect rhythm again, your leg making sure to keep tight around his hip.

And as he grasps onto you, keeping you steady, you move your kisses to his throat, whispering, “Nobody, baby. Nobody feels like you do. Nobody.”

Your hands run down his strong back, feeling each muscle as it dips and flexes as he moves. Swallowing his grunts of pleasure and taking each scratch of his nails down your skin.

Johnny was beautiful but Clyde is a beast. You’ve never seen a man like this before—felt a man like this before. Every curve of his body is ethereal, every detail, every touch.

Your palms travel down his spine, lower and lower until you feel something familiar. Something intriguing.

Your smile returns when you realize, slipping it free from his belt with ease, and it’s firm in your hand as if it were made for it.

Clyde doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care with the way he’s so deep into you. Emotionally, physically…but he’s quite literally pulled from his trance when he feels the familiar cool touch of his gun sweeping across his jaw.

He hesitates as his eyes flick to yours but you’re too busy watching the barrel make its way across that beautiful face.

After all, he got to have his fun this evening.

Now it’s your turn.

You bring it to a stop just under his chin, tilting his head up as he exhales a slow breath.

“Mama…” he warns but you only smirk.

This isn’t the first time the deadly weapon has made this an unofficial threesome but it’s certainly the first time you’ve been the one to wield it.

You hate guns…but you love Clyde’s. The way he holds it. The way he aims it. Handles it. The same way you want him to handle you.

Seeing him with it…seeing the way he controls it, controls a room, controls someone’s life…you can’t quite explain what it does to you. The way you turn into his pathetic little whore.

Although you’re not about to argue.

And from the look in his eye, you can tell he adores seeing you hold his gun, too. Especially after watching you shoot Johnny tonight. He nearly took you right there on the desk and it’s a miracle he found a way to resist.

You pull your lip between your teeth as you keep the weapon taut to his clenched jaw, leaning forward ever so slightly to ghost your lips over his. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Does power make you weak?”

You can see the way his pupils nearly double in size, nostrils flaring as his chest heaves.

So, you go in for the kill.

You lean back, fingers dancing over the trigger button, and meet his eye. Your tongue finds the weapon, tracing up the barrel as he seems to freeze in his spot.

You imagine he’s never seen something so erotic, and you’re delighted with the way you’ve stolen the power from him.

His eyes nearly roll back but you don’t look away. You’re slow. Meticulous. From top to bottom, licking until you reach the tip still tucked beneath his chin.

Then…you kiss him.

And he’s so overwhelmed that he growls into your mouth, hand moving to the back of your neck to squeeze. Keeping you close so he can devour you.

The weapon is lowered between your bodies, your focus now on something else entirely when you feel it suddenly snatched from your grasp.

You gasp in surprise but the air immediately vanishes from your lungs when you feel that same tip pressed tight to your clit.

The fucker.

The cold surface of the weapon against the warmest part of your body has you arching your back as you whimper. Clyde has the upper hand again and he’s not about to waste it, lips curling with satisfaction at the look on your face; fear, pleasure, euphoria.

You’ve never looked at another man the way you look at him and he knows it, not planning on wasting that privilege either.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks softly as he adds the slightest amount of pressure, and your whines increase. “All fucking night? The moment you saw me? Saw my gun? Wanted me to fuck you with it, didn’t you?”

Your nails begin to scratch down your own chest, needing something to ground you in this moment, and his response is to slide the weapon a bit further down your body. Desperate to see it glisten in you, and his smile widens when the moonlight catches the shimmer.

“Fucking looking at you,” he muses when you subconsciously begin to search for it, nearly grinding against it desperately. “So desperate to feel it. To be fucked by it. And what if I do, hm? What if I give you everything you want and fuck you with my gun right here in this alleyway?”

You wonder then how you’re meant to survive. Survive his touch, and his taunts, and his devious desires.

“I thought about it,” he admits quietly, nose brushing yours as he slips the soaked barrel back up your cunt. “Thought about ripping off this pathetic little dress and fucking you right in front of your precious fiancé.”

Oh, how you wish he had.

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you, Mama?” he taunts with a smug smile, fingers drumming against the handle. “I know you would. Would have loved to watch him watch me.”

And he’s not wrong. He hardly ever is when it comes to your darkest fantasies, but you can’t quite say you’re in the mood to feed his ego.

“But I decided I’d wait,” he finishes, now pulling the gun away from your dripping clit to leave you empty. “Because after all this time…I’m the only thing that gets to fill you tonight, yeah?”

You nod as he brings the gun back to your mouth, grin devious as he nods his chin at you.

You swipe your tongue all along the barrel, tasting every drop, swallowing ever indication of your need for him. And he’s so fucking proud of you. Grinning like the Cheshire cat at his girl. His.

The moment you’re done, he takes the gun and returns it to his belt, tucking it away safely. And you’re okay with that because the damn bastard is right again. You want to feel him more than anything else. Need to feel him.

So, you grasp onto his face and bring your lips to his, picking up right where you left off. Because as much as you love the power…you love the weakness more.

Well…at least when it comes to him.

He fills you exactly the way you need and you’re higher up that peak than ever before, wanting nothing more than to please him. To make his body shake with pleasure. You know he loves to watch you, watch anything you do, especially when you’re doing it for him.

You bring your hand to your chest, the tips of your fingers dancing along your sternum until you’ve captured his attention. He watches you cup your tit in the palm of your hand before tweaking the hardened nipple firmly. And you pant at the feel, back arching off the brick wall as he groans.

And he whimpers.

And it’s so delicious to hear. To witness. The way he loses his goddamn mind over you. So, you continue on, hand falling down your stomach as his eyes remain glued to the motion. And he watches you take your clit between your fingers and pinch it exactly the way he likes.

That’s what sends him over. Watching you make yourself fall apart. Watching you slide your fingers through. Watching you whine his name while you do this to yourself.

He fills you as he moans, quickly dipping down to kiss you at the last minute, and you indulge in the way he claims you.

After all…you’re all his to fill. To fuck. To taste.

You’re his.

You follow next, with his fingers scraping down your skin, his teeth on your lip, and him so deep inside you that you see stars.

It rips you apart the same way he ripped the dress. Makes your head spin, and toes curl, and makes everything make sense.

He goes harder. Keeps fucking into you as he grasps onto your wrist and forces your fingers into your cunt, making sure you feel everything. For as long as possible. Until you can’t even stand.

There’s a beautiful moment of silence as you both catch your breath. And just for a second, you forget the sirens just a block away. Forget that it’s cold. Forget everything…except each other.

Clyde got more than a diamond necklace tonight.

He got you back.

You sweep the hair off his forehead, attempting to groom the runaway strands so you can really see his eyes.

“I love you,” you tell him, something you’ve been desperate to do for months. “I fucking love you, Clyde.”

He smiles as he kisses you. Because he’s needed to hear it just as much as you’ve needed to say it. “I know, Mama.”

You eventually drop your leg back down to the floor, a bit sore and achy, but so pleased. And in a moment of rare tenderness, he straightens out the bottom of your dress before slipping his jacket down his arms and bringing it around your shoulders.

Mostly to keep you warm, but also to keep your naked and exposed chest away from any peeping eyes.

You grin as you snuggle further into the material, thankful for the heat, and you notice something shift in his eyes.

He reaches into his pants pocket to retrieve the very necklace that started this whole mess. He hadn’t told you about it. Just about the safe. And you’re beginning to realize why.

He presents it to you as your eyes widen, his grin growing three sizes as he reaches around your neck to clasp it shut.

You look down at it with awe, taking it between your fingers to admire the delicate jewels as you nearly gasp.

“You like it?” he whispers, and you catch just a hint of trepidation.

You look up. Laugh. Giddily. “I fucking love it.”

Then, you fling your arms around his neck and kiss him once again.

And right as he begins to suck on your tongue and you consider going at it once more, the clock tower chimes—loudly—through the town.

Midnight.

You both turn toward the sound as his focused expression returns. “We need to go,” he declares before reaching down to grab the duffel back.

However, you only frown, because you can’t even fathom the thought of leaving this blissful moment behind. Not even when it’s all you’ve been working toward. You just want to stay. Forever. With him. In this alleyway.

“Uh huh,” he quickly tisks when he notices. “Better not pout. Or Santa won’t come.”

“Santa already came,” you retort. “All down my leg.”

He rolls his eyes but presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, causing you to blush. Your pout now nowhere to be found.

Then…something strange. Something cold. Landing on your cheek and Clyde’s lips.

Falling. Over and over and over.

Snow.

You look up into the dark sky as the snow begins to dance its way to the ground, settling quietly and magically over the quiet town. And sending the police away and the townspeople back into their warm homes.

It’s just you and Clyde now in this dark little alleyway.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

So, with a smile, Clyde gives you one last loving look.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

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