So, okay. Once you guys read this you will most definitely notice that this story still isn't finished. I meant for it to be very short, likely just a two-shot, but it just keeps wanting to get longer! In other words, I am a filthy liar and you should never believe me when I say I'm going to write something short. LOL! This is likely to have two more chapters after this one, and I am a bit less sure now that it will maintain a T-rating through the duration of the story. We shall see!

I'm sorry for the initial well-intentioned misinformation, but I'm not sorry for the direction this story chose to take. All the original elements are here, and I'm not sure quite how I thought this was going to fit into two chapters in the first place! I hope you all will be okay with a slightly lengthier story, involving some comedy and romance. :D

xxxxx

The Heart of the Matter
Part II

Vic sighed, re-examining the paperwork beneath the low light of her desk lamp and wishing that someone, somewhere would commit a crime so that she might get called out of the office. The minutiae of policing, the bureaucracy and the red tape, were such a drag at times. And yet, to be a good cop you had to be willing to put in the research and grind away the hours sifting through records and deciphering deliberately obtuse sheafs of legalese.

George Crazymule was, for lack of a less asshole-ish way of saying it, crazy. A schizophrenic-alcoholic, he was currently in custody with the Tribal Police pursuant to some matters on the Rez. Unfortunately for the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department, he also happened to be the prime suspect in a murder that had recently been committed across the county line in their territory. As much as Vic did love to see Walt squirm, having him at odds with Mathias regarding technicalities and quibbling legal matters really did nothing for his mood.

Walt Longmire's moods were of increasing interest to Vic lately, for a number of reasons not least of which being that she was way more than a little in love with him and simultaneously wanted to fuck him until neither of them could walk. He was a brooding, keep-it-to-yourself type to begin with, so adding an air of general disgruntlement did nothing to increase her chances of taking any aspect of their tentative relationship to the next level.

A knot of worry formed in Vic's stomach as she threw down her pen, unable to fully concentrate. She had been feeling apprehensive ever since that night three weeks ago when the scales of their attraction had finally tipped and shocked them out of the pattern of denial they'd been locked in since well before her husband packed his worldly belongings and headed Down Under.

Things seemed to be going well between them; that first kiss had been explosive, but the ones that followed after were even better— their intentional and private nature had taught Vic's heart to hope where she had started to wonder if there would ever be a chance for them. Walt kissed her like he loved her, if she could profess to even know what that could be like. The way he touched her even on top of the infuriating barrier of her clothing was tender but confident, and the sensation of his generously proportioned endowment rubbing against her heated center through layers of cotton had given Vic a couple moments of blackout pleasure just from pure anticipation of how he would feel inside of her.

She hoped that she hadn't frightened him with her enthusiasm. It was obvious from the way that he repeatedly engaged with her that the attraction was mutual, that he didn't think what they were doing was a mistake. But every time she tried to push the envelope and take that final step, he retreated like a skittish animal. Walt kept telling her that he just wanted to take things slow, but it was a bit off-putting. Never in Vic's life had a man been so reluctant to have her hand down his pants. And while she didn't want to pressure him, her confidence was beginning to fail her. Vic needed some reassurance.

The boxer shorts she'd given to Walt (and hadn't the look on his face been so worth it?) were meant to convey two messages.

First, that everything didn't need to be so serious, that they could be sexy and playful and have a physical relationship without the world coming to an end. She wasn't expecting him to declare his undying love just because they went to bed together— sure, that was something that she hoped for down the line, maybe if she were very lucky, but she could be patient.

The second purpose that she'd wished to accomplish? Much simpler. It was to say, "I want to see you in these silky little shorts, you hunk," without the awkwardness of actually trying to put it into words. I mean… did people really say that stuff? So much for the language of love…

The phone rang. Thank Christ, she thought to herself. The clock read 3:45am, otherwise known as the dead of night, and the crimes that happened at that hour were inevitably either false alarm fluff or serious as a heart attack. She set her jaw.

"Sheriff's Department, Deputy Moretti…"

x

His sleep had been unsettled, full of distorted visions of blonde hair and creamy skin amidst the discordant swirling of hearts and cartoon sheriff badges.

It must have been merely the duration of his slumber that left Walt feeling surprisingly rested; upon encountering himself in the mirror pre-toothbrush he was relieved to find that he looked about as fresh-faced as a slightly lovesick 50-ish cowboy possibly could. Day and a half of beard aside, anyway. Perhaps the highly anticipated romantic occasion warranted a legitimate shave.

After showering and reluctantly applying the razor to his habitual stubble, Walt emerged into the bedroom and faced down his latest nemesis— the mildly scandalous novelty underwear so enthusiastically provided to him by Vic. As a rule, men like Walt just didn't wear things like that. But this man was going to. Walt wasn't sure what the day might bring, if he would have time to come home and change before hopefully whisking Vic off to dinner and all that he hoped would go along with it, so not only was he going to wear them, he was going to wear them… now.

Removing the final barrier of comfort provided by his sturdy white bath towel, Walt stood in front of the dresser, naked as the day he was born. He narrowed his eyes at the shorts as lingering drops of moisture slowly evaporated from the surface of his skin. Employing a brilliant delay tactic, Walt used the towel, still in his hand, to ruffle some of the excess water out of his hair. This served a dual purpose of making his head drier and hiding the garishly printed boxers from his vision for a few blissful moments. Using both hands, Walt rubbed his face with the towel, pressing the terry cloth over his eye sockets and gathering his strength before withdrawing it from his head and finally setting it aside.

He set aside his hang-ups along with it, reaching for the silky boxer shorts and quickly stepping into them. Pulling the material up his legs, Walt spent a few long moments adjusting the waistband. These were certainly shorter than his usual cotton boxer briefs, so he wasn't quite sure where they should sit on his waist. At least they weren't too tight. Just… satiny and a bit form-fitting. Once he was done… adjusting things, he put his hands on his hips and looked down at himself. Strangely, he felt more naked than he had a few moments ago with not a stitch covering him, if that were possible.

Well, Walt thought to himself, a vague echo of John Wayne— or had it been John Steinbeck?— tickling his brain. A man's got to do what a man's got to do. He finished dressing and got on with the rest of his morning routine, squirming slightly as he waited for his coffee to steep and he tried to get used to the very different way that these underwear felt beneath the denim of his newest blue jeans. Things were now set in motion which could not be undone, and Walt hoped it would all prove worth it in the end.

An hour or so later, Walt marched into the station. He ignored the slight flutter in his stomach at the sight of Vic's empty desk. She would have gone off duty when Ruby arrived to man the phones, so hopefully she was home getting some shut-eye. He'd arranged to have flowers delivered to her in the early afternoon, an assortment he'd chosen himself that he was confident Vic would like. She'd made off-hand comments about flowers in the past; her dislike of carnations, her preference for bold reds and oranges as opposed to softer pinks and purples. He had been listening, and Martha had taught him a thing or two about the language of flowers over the years. He'd been listening then, too.

Ruby gave a small wave as Walt hung his hat and coat on the rack. "Good Morning, Walter."

"Mornin' Ruby. Any messages?"

The older woman raised her eyebrow in a gesture Walt had come to understand as 'brace yourself for bad news, Walter,' tilting her head to the side and releasing a huff of breath. "Well. Mathias already called, and…"

Mathias. Wonderful. For a moment Walt felt sure he was channelling Deputy Moretti herself, because the urge to execute an Olympic-grade eye-roll was almost too difficult to resist. Most of his worst days lately seemed to start with the phrase 'Mathias called.' Focusing in on Ruby's explanation, Walt hoped against hope that today would fall outside of that particular pattern…

xxxxx

Well, looks like Walt took the plunge and donned the sexy undies! Will his day be ruined by Mathias? What kind of call did Vic end up taking in the middle of the night? Will her flowers arrive safely? Drop me a review and tell me your theories, I love hearing them!