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You Hate Me and I Hate You

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It's another cold night in another tent city when John Pope shows up in her makeshift living quarters, wandering in as if he owned the place.

He tips an imaginary hat. "Margaret," he says by way of greeting.

She eyes him warily. "Pope. What's up?"

"I'm bored as hell," he says. He starts poking around her belongings. "It's a little too quiet around here lately."

"No one to pick a fight with, huh?"

He shrugs. "All my favorites are away at the moment. Some damn pointless mission or another."

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Pity."

"Speaking of, where's… Hal?" He stretches the name out distastefully. "Out there with Papa Bear?" His words are coated in sarcasm when he says, "Gee, I sure hope they come back soon."

Maggie fixes him with a glare. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

"I know," he smirks.

She sets her jaw and walks closer, putting herself directly in front of him. "I really don't like you."

"I know that, too." He grins. "Not too fond of you either, princess."

She snorts. "That's a fucking lie."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," she says. "You ever hear that thing about boys pulling girls' pigtails?"

Pope reaches out and tugs on the end of her hair. "What's that?"

She yanks on the open collar of his shirt, then, fingers brushing against the creepy necklace resting on his chest, and pulls his face down to kiss him, hard. Her tongue runs along his lips and he growls, opens his mouth to her, and she pushes her tongue past his teeth.

Hands on her hips, he pulls her closer, keeps her there as he backs her up, walking until her legs bump into the table at the side of her tent. He grips her thighs and lifts, never breaking contact with her mouth. Several items get knocked into and fall, clunking onto the ground.

"Quiet," she says.

She shrugs out of her leather jacket and tosses it aside, then pushes his off as well. Her hands work to undo his belt and jeans while his mouth moves away from her lips to suck and bite along the line of her throat.

"You can't give me a hickey," she warns, her hands stilling on his zipper. "I'm serious. If Hal –"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. His hand snakes under her shirt and squeezes her breast. "Don't you worry about it, Maggie May. Pretty boy won't have any idea we bumped uglies. Speaking of which, have you and he even –"

"Fuck you," she says, arching into his hand.

He laughs. "You know, we haven't done this in a while." He nips at her lips and brushes his thumb across her nipple. "Always did like the hate sex best."

Maggie finally shoves his jeans down and gets a grip on him, pumping up and down his cock once. "Just shut the fuck up."

"Yes, ma'am," he grunts. His eyes squeeze shut when she strokes him again, and he thrusts into her hand.

She lets go and unzips her own jeans. "Let's do this already," she breathes.

Pope tugs on her pants, and she lifts herself up to aid in getting them over her hips and down her legs. He pulls her boots off and balls up her pants, tossing them into the corner, and steps between her legs again.

With a lecherous grin, he slides his thumb between her legs. "Well, damn, Maggie. For me? I'm flattered."

"Shut up and do it," she groans.

Hands pressing against her thighs, he pushes into her with one stroke, filling her to the hilt and making her gasp louder than she wants to.

"Now who needs to stay quiet?" he mutters, her ear between his teeth.

She growls, about to say something in response, but he pulls out and slams back into her hard, and her words become a guttural noise against the side of his neck.

Her legs wrap tightly around his waist as he starts to pump in and out of her with a quick, rough rhythm. She matches him thrust for thrust, her hips crashing against his. She scrapes her nails down his back and squeezes his ass.

He pulls on her hair again, forcing her head back so he's able to kiss under her jaw and down her throat. He bites down on her shoulder, and she slaps the back of his head.

"Oops," he deadpans. He licks at the mark he's left and grins.


"Mmm," he hums against her skin.

Pope slips one hand down to press against her clit and cups her breast with the other. Squeezing gently, he dips his head to mouth at her chest through the fabric of her shirt. His teeth close around her nipple, and she comes hard, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He twists a hand in her hair as he pumps harder into her, groaning as her muscles contract around him. One, two, three more thrusts and he follows her, his hips stuttering against hers, and muffles a shout against her skin.

They stay there like that a moment, coming down from the high, and she can feel his hair in her face, his breath quick, warm puffs against her skin. She tucks his hair behind his ears and lets her hands linger at the sides of his face for a moment before pushing against his chest.

"Off," she says.

He grumbles, but pulls out and steps away from her. Yanking his jeans up, he bends to grab hers and tosses them to her.

"That was fun," he says, shooting her a shit-eating grin that makes her roll her eyes.

She wriggles into her underwear and jeans. "God, I hate you," she says, shaking her head.

"Aw, you’re my favorite, too, Mags."

He pinches her ass, and she thinks about killing him.