Muddy and Dallas are a couple often at odds, but they do have one thing keeping them together.

She would run away, spend some time by herself, reflect and make plans, but no matter how blind-drunk he was, he always found her, brought her home. It was like a game of cat and mouse, although for being the one chased, Dallas was the cat in her own right. Sly, secretive, always hiding something from him. The behavior frustrated Muddy to pieces, but he simply couldn't stand seeing her go.

He caught up with her in Del Rio, tracking her down with the aid of a couple connections of his who were more on the shrewd side. The moment one of them got her Cadillac's license plate at a gas station in Sonora, the gig of hers, whatever it be, died shortly thereafter. He dragged her back to their home in Odessa, his hand locked around her wrist as she grimaced behind his charging. Inside, he let go of her, walking into the kitchen. She stood in the entryway, her arms crossed. She heard a bottle crack open. He returned out, a beer in his grip. He stood in the hallway twelve feet from her, clucking his tongue, taking a swig.

"We keep on going through this, don't we, honey?"

"You do."

"You're being a bad girl, darlin'."

"Would you have me any other way?"

"Oh, I sure would." He narrowed his eyes a bit, swallowing half the bottle down, grunting. "Would save me hell of a lotta trouble."

She slipped into their bedroom and removed her boots.

"Strip your clothes off, Dallas."

She snorted at him, sitting on the edge of the bed, crossing a leg over the other. He appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushing over with heat despite herself. He raised a brow at her. "...Dallas."

She rolled her eyes at his warning tone, looking out the window. "No thanks. I have a headache."

"Apparently not big enough of one to make me go five hundred miles after ya."

"Seventy tops," she said with another eye roll.

"You'll be naked as the moment you were born in five seconds if you'd rather not have the good ol' paddle pay ya a visit. Long time, no see."

"Fuck you."

He finished his beer, turning out for another one. "When I get back those things better be off. I'm not fucking around."

"Fucking up's more like it," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Alright, Muddy, Jesus." She climbed over the bed and snatched the open pack of cigarettes from his nightstand, and a lighter from the drawer on her side. He returned chugging on his second twelve ounces of many to come that night. She huffed in disdain through her nostrils watching the sloppiness begin to settle in his movements and manner. She had seen this a thousand times before. They had been though this a thousand times before, yet this side of them, she hated to admit, always felt brand new, even if she didn't blush and shake quite as hard as she used to. Earlier on into their relationship, he would give her hell for the wincing and tremors.

"Oh sweetie, I thought you were a tough girl."

Although in most aspects she considered him in the light of a bull, she couldn't deny that he knew just what to do with her in the way of sexual business. He was rough and attentive and had the power to possess her entirely with the right words and touches. It struck her as funny because he was hardly charming in the traditional sense, usually relying on terse requests, gruff dirty talk and greedy use of his hands, mouth and groin. Apart from that, they worked well together, got along and he sometimes gave her the chance to speak up on her own to some of the nasty big boys in their circles, but she still wondered how much better she could do without him. She was good at taking care of herself, after all.

This evening she wasn't in the mood to play his dolly, pissed at him for demanding she cut her personal business venture short and come home, cook dinner. He struggled being parted from her for very long, while she felt she could go weeks or months on end free of any hint of his presence. Huffing through her nostrils, she got up and scurried back into the hall just as he closed the refrigerator door.

"Oh no you don't." He appeared behind her with suddenness that startled her. She grabbed at the bathroom's door knob, his arm snaking around her waist and wrenching her against him.

She jerked in hot protest as he pinned her to the wall. "I need to clear my head," she snapped.

"You had your time with that already, huh? You know what you've got to do with me here now."

She burned in the cheeks, more out of frustration than arousal. He had an undeniable control on her that she was unable to shoot dead no matter how hard she tried. He might have been not a far cry from a mean drunken redneck common of those parts but he also held a seduction of the devil's variety. He brought his own to the table, of course, but she was never sure what to make of it. She had enough pride to doubt it was anything like true or deep love, only occasional intrigue and helpless sexual tension.

His somewhat broad nose was held to hers. Then his mouth went to brush her ear. "Behave for me."

"You're a pig, Muddy."

"You're a damn fine hole."

She breathed in, slamming her foot down onto his with all the fierce might a moment could provide, effectively slackening his grip on her so she could flee into the bathroom. She barely locked the door in time, his body, then fists striking the wood to rival the beat of a barbarian.

"You open this fuckin' door, Dallas!" The pounds carried on, shaking the entire house she would've sworn. He kept yelling, with such aggravated force that strings of insults mashed together almost inscrutably. She had been with him a long time though, so she caught the bulk of his slurring even as it was going eighty miles an hour.

"Fuckin'-witch-what-you-are-Dallas-that's-it! I'm-giving'-ya-fifteen-fuckin'-seconds-open-this-goddamn-motherfuckin'-door-I-mean-it! Oh-ho-ho-when-I-get-my-hands-on-you...it-ain't-gonna-be-pretty-that's-for-godamn-sure!"

This scenario had played out similarly before. It wasn't good when Muddy was this angry. On top of his already volatile emotions was a near-perpetual inebriation, which she was really tiring of but had little say in changing. He would take down that door when he had to, and so she understood she'd be opening it for him, if for the sake of wishing to keep a decent door intact. Sighing, quivering and clammy, she took out her boar bristle brush from a drawer and gripped the weighted plastic handle, positioning herself so she was privileged a sufficient angle for defending herself. The thundering stalled as she shouted out in surrender. Unlocking and cracking the door she found the space in front of her clear all the way to the other end of the hall. It was obvious he was just around the corner of either the kitchen or the bedroom, yet she felt uneasy. She padded out slowly, holding her brush like a bat, swinging the moment he sprung out from the bedroom, dropping his beer so that the remaining liquid leaked into the faded white carpet. She got him on the jaw, a hard but not quite devastating blow.

"That's enough!" he screamed, ripping the brush from her and chucking it against the wall. Frantic palms fell at his face and head again and again, frustrated grunts and jibes coming out in between. He shoved her onto the mattress, panting over her face. He pointed a finger between her eyes. "You've caused me enough trouble for a month. You're about to change your tune."

She sharpened her glare.

"You shouldn't forget who you're dealing with, honey." He tugged her T-shirt up, rubbing his thumb over her stomach. She turned her head away, but he pinched her chin. "You remember our vows? We're man and wife. Till death do us part, but you keep on avoiding that rule, don't ya?"

"We have problems."

"What couple don't? You gotta cut me some slack, baby. I take good care of ya. We make a fine team."

"I can take care of myself."

"Oh, can ya?" He lowered his face to kiss down her stomach. Momentarily his hand went down her shorts.

"Stop it."

She pushed his shoulders, wriggling like a fish on dry land trying to get out from under him.

"Hold still or I'll get the rope."

"Oh shove it up your ass, you drunk."

He slapped her. She threw her hand right back just as hard. He bared his teeth, digging his fingers into her shorts and yanking them down her legs with her underwear. She let out a sharp gasp, delicious on his ears.

"You know, I'm awful lenient, Dallas. I take ya home and treat you like a queen instead of punishin' ya proper. I get you in bed, pamper you—"

"You're lenient?" she chuckled.

"Hell, you talk that way or show a lick of those bad manners to just about any cowboy I know you'd be six feet under by now." He prodded his finger into her cheek, then stood up. "You lay there while I grab the rope. You're down for the night."

She blew a raspberry at him. He grabbed the rope from the bedroom closet which also held a number of sex toys and devices. She was ashamed at her own cheeks' blushing, wondering if he'd grab the ball-gag, which both frustrated and delighted her, and pop it between her lips.

He brought just the rope. "Arms above your head, c'mon. Put your wrists against the posts."

She did as she was told. "Muddy, you remember that big sale six months ago in Arlington? We stopped at that rest stop off of 183 afterwards and—"

"I remember, honey. I don't think it'd be a wise idea letting you handcuff me a time like this." He tightened the knot around her left wrist, just loose enough not to cut the circulation.

"You don't trust me."

"Not farther than I can throw ya." He secured the right wrist, smirking down at her, on his knees between her spread thighs. "You're also lucky I'm a gentleman. Otherwise I'd put my dick right in that pretty mouth now."

"Hmm." She smirked.

"I'll make you beg for it." He moved his head down to kiss inside her thighs. She shut her eyes tight like she always did when he'd make her feel especially flustered. It was an almost shy reflex, and it amused him. His stubble scratching her thighs, he requested she look and watch him while he went down on her. Her cheeks burning light pink, she did peek.

A strip of light from the setting sun shone across his jaw from the partially opened window blinds, the rest of his face dimmer, somber as he gazed over her, unfastening his belt and fly. She would melt laying under him, with him looking at her almost in fury. Once his pants were off and tossed to the floor, his shirt and black leather vest followed. He pushed her thighs wide apart, telling her he was going to fuck her so hard she wouldn't walk right for a week. She didn't quite believe that, but still threw her head back and cried out when he began ramming into her, gripping her waist like he was never letting go.

It was only in those moments that she felt she loved him.