Yes, another chapter for you all to enjoy, this one brought to you by OCD_indeed and when you read what she came up with, you will be as giggly as I (vjgm) am right now. I could go on and on, but you really just have to read it to believe it.

Hugs to OCD_indeed, qjmom, shabby and psymom who just make me smile.

Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight characters. We came up with this crazy idea and suckered psymom into doing it with us!!

Ladies, (and maybe a gentleman or two) OCD_indeed brings you:

Straps and 'Staches

Never in my wildest dreams had I thought Carlisle would actually listen to me for once. Out of all the suggestions and ideas I'd ever come up with, he finally listened to the one that was utterly ridiculous. As I lay on the top bunk waiting to drift off to sleep, I thought about what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Volterra Hugs and Healing? Seriously? This was some messed up shit. Then again, it's been a grand ol' time watching Cullen in the outdoors and McCarty trying to fend off the yoga instructors, those two needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

I felt the bunk shift as Mike flipped another page from that stupid newsletter. Who reads that shit, anyway? Mike Newton, that's who. The guy was always trying to suck up to someone. He deserved a little bit of ripping every now and then. Speaking of ripping... I thought, laughing to myself. I'd been brewing that one up all day. Even McCarty was impressed for once, at least until Mikey grabbed my ankle on the wall of death and we went tumbling down toward the mats taking Emmett out on the way. He didn't appreciate the way Alec assessed his body for damages. I was pretty sure the dude was going to start mouth-to-mouth, but the meathead put a stop to that real quick. Of course, as usual, Emmett blamed me for everything.

Carlisle would just have to realize, the four of us would never get along. Cullen walked around with a pickle up his ass, and Newton resented him for his hot mom. They were never going to reconcile their differences. As for me and Cullen, well that guy still held a grudge because I asked Bella to one little dance in high school. Get over yourself! At least I didn't have to work with those two that much, it was McCarty I had the beef with. Geez, you say one little comment about Rosalie's tits years ago, and you'd think I'd fucked her for the grief I've continually gotten from him, but that didn't mean I stopped mentioning them every chance I could. They were pretty fine specimens and deserved to be admired every now and then.

I rolled to my side, kicking at my sleeping bag, annoyed as it stuck to my arms and legs from the sap still glued to them. Emmett was staring at the bookshelf next to his bed. There were pictures and trinkets that were lined up along it from past teams who successfully made it through the weekend, supposedly, inspiration for us to succeed. A stuffed pig, wearing a t-shirt with the Hugs & Healing logo, was grinning back at him.

"Not sure if I've mentioned it before, but you're an asshole, McCarty," I declared to him, knowing that I was probably in for a world of hurt.

"Keep it up, sap boy," he snapped back. "Sleep with one eye open. That's all I'm saying." He grabbed the stuffed pig and threw it at me, narrowly missing my head.

There was no way this weekend was going to go down smoothly. Really, what was I going to learn? A t-shirt telling me I needed to think before I act or speak didn't mean anything to me. If my mom couldn't instill it in me growing up, the fruitcakes at this place sure wouldn't be able to. This is who I was...Tyler Crowley, impulsive, there was nothing wrong with me. I smiled, hugging my pillow while I felt myself drifting…

-:-

"You never think, Tyler!" Carlisle's words echoed through my head. He was going to kill me if I didn't get these plans back to the office. I had gone back to Forks for the weekend to see my parents, but stupid me, I left some important plans in the back of my truck that Carlisle needed. He made it explicitly clear I had to get them back to him before nightfall. I had a few hours, but at the rate I was going, it didn't look like I'd make it.

I was sitting at one of the only traffic lights in Forks and the red light was taking forever. The radio was on, and it was blaring the usual shit from the only station that broadcasted in Forks. Macho Man? Come on!

Geez, how long is this light! There's no traffic in this po-dunk town, why the hell am I still sitting here?

I could just go through it, I thought to myself, there was no one around, no one would know. I looked to the left and right, everything was clear, so I stepped on the accelerator, coasting through the intersection.

No sooner had I made it across, red flashing lights appeared in my rear view mirror, followed by a piercing siren.

"Fuck!" I yelled. "You've got to be kidding me!"

I pulled over to the side of the road, turned off the radio and watched the officer get out of his cruiser. He shifted his belt as he walked toward my truck. I recognized the mustache. Fuck...Chief Swan, I said in my head. This was not going to be good. The guy hated me. It was one tiny, little—well he called it an 'incident,' but it was a total—accident. The roads were slippery, it wasn't like I wanted to run his daughter over, she didn't even get a scratch on her. He'd never forgotten it though, and still held a very big grudge.

I couldn't see through the rain droplets on the driver's side window, so I pressed the button to lower the glass. I almost burst out laughing as I got a closer look at his mustache. I hadn't seen him in years, but back when I was in high school, he had always kept it respectable, closely trimmed. Now, he was sporting this huge, horseshoe mustache that went all the way down to his chin on either side of his mouth. It was big and bushy and it made him look like he just stepped out of some bad, seventies, porn movie. The leather police jacket topped it all off.

"Chief Swan." I dipped my head in respect, trying hard to control my giggles.

"Well, if it isn't Tyler Crowley." He grinned at me, but it wasn't exactly friendly.

"I'm sorry, really. I'm on a deadline. I need to get these plans back to Seattle," I said in a rush, motioning to the round canister behind my seat, "or I'll probably lose my job."

He held up a hand, signaling me to stop talking. His eyes narrowed as he bent down to look in the truck. He sniffed loudly.

"You been drinking, son?"

"Wha—? Drinking? No!" I held my hands up in defense. He wanted me to react. I knew I was walking a fine line with the Chief, so I said as earnestly as possible, "Like I said, I was in a rush. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Well, now that's the problem, isn't it, Mr. Crowley? You never think." He tapped my forehead with his index finger. "You just act. Always have."

Shit. It had to be the Chief. It couldn't have been anyone else!

"I'm sorry, sir. It'll never happen again," I apologized for the third time.

He stepped back from my truck and crossed his arms. "See, I don't believe you." His mustache seemed to dance below his nose as he pursed his lips together. "You say the same thing every time something like this happens. Ever since the 'incident' with the van and my daughter."

Geezuz! Not the accident again! I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but I couldn't help but sigh.

His eyes snapped to my face, and he gave me the most menacing glare. "I think you need to be taught a lesson."

I gulped. I didn't want to think how much this ticket was going to be. I was definitely not going to make it back to Seattle in time. "Chief, look, maybe we can work something out, but I gotta get back to—"

"Step out of the vehicle," he cut me off, his voice deadpan.

I started to laugh, pointing at him. "That's a good—"

"I said, step out of the vehicle. We can do this the easy way... or the hard way."

I couldn't help but snort at his cliché comment. McCarty must have put him up to this. This had to be a joke.

"You think I'm being funny, son?" He placed his palm on the butt of his gun.

Was he serious? That was the thing with Chief Swan, I never could tell. Reluctantly, I opened the door and jumped down from the cab of the truck. I raised my hands in the air, mocking the entire situation. The next thing I knew, my chest was slammed up against the hood of the truck, and my arms were forced behind my back. The Chief leaned into my backside and I could feel him breathing on the back of my neck.

He moved closer and whispered in my ear, "We'll see who's laughing after I'm through with you."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I heard the faint clanging of metal, and I realized what he was doing. He was cuffing me! I started to turn around, just to see if I could get a glimpse of his face. Hopefully there would be some humor there, but instead, he slammed me back into the hood, and I felt the cold, hard metal slip around my wrists. He grabbed my shoulder and started pushing me toward his cruiser.

"Chief! Come on! What's this about? Did Emmett put you up to this? That guy's always pulling shit like this," I protested, not willingly moving towards his vehicle.

"I told you. We can do this one of two ways. You keep that mouth of yours up, and we'll definitely be doing this the hard way." He shoved me up against the side of his car as he wrenched open the backdoor and guided my head inside.

"Can I at least call Carlisle and tell him I won't make it back to Seattle?" The car was filled with silence, my question hanging in the air. "Well, aren't you going to read me my rights?" I asked dryly. "Isn't that a law, or something?" He was starting to freak me out. He always scared me as a kid, but it was more of a young-teenage-boy-lusting-after-scary-father's-daughter kind of way. But this, this was something very different.

He parked outside of the police station, and I noticed the lot was empty. He was still as silent as ever, and my gut was roiling with anticipation as he pulled me out of the car. This was a joke, and as soon as we walked through the doors, the guys would be on the other side laughing their asses off at my terrified expression.

The station was empty and dark. Porn-star Charlie pushed me toward the back of the office, toward the cells. He was really doing this! He guided me inside and handcuffed me to the far side of the cell. What the fuck? I thought over and over in my head.

"Charlie, listen," I said trying to reason with him.

"From now on, you'll refer to me as, 'Sir' or 'The Chief.' That clear? Anything else... will make me... very unhappy." He glared at me with his hands on his hips and actually licked his lips. He licked his freaking lips! Like I was a delicious scrumptious meal or something.

"Tell me you understand, boy?"

"Aaahh.....um...." I couldn't get the words out.

"Don't stutter, spit it out. Do. You. Understand?"

"Ah, yes, Ss-sir," I responded shakily.

"You learn fast," he said smiling for the first time. "I'll be back. I need to get things ready." He turned on his heel walking out of the cell, but not before patting my ass.

I yelped, and he laughed.

"A screamer," he mused to himself, "I like it when they scream."

"What the fffffuuuuuck," I whispered, placing my head on the cell bars. How far is he going to take this?

I looked around at my surroundings. The cell was a typical jail cell; standard cot with a thin mattress rolled up, a toilet and a sink. Along the narrow corridor outside of the cell, was a large metal cabinet that was slightly ajar. I stretched as close as I could to get a better look, but all I saw were shadows.

I twisted and turned my wrists, trying to see if there was any way I could break free, even though I knew it was futile. I'd had just about enough of this joke, and I needed to make that phone call.

"Can I get my phone call?" I yelled out. "Hello! Is anyone out there?"

I heard keys jingling in the outer door, and whispered a, "Thank you," as I leaned my head against the bars again. Turning my head as the door opened, I could see black, thick-soled boots underneath my left arm. Slowly, I looked up and saw the boots were covered by the hem of a pair of black leather pants. My eyes trailed up the black leather and stopped at a silver studded belt that rested below a bare, hairy navel.

"Holy fuck!" I exclaimed loudly as I laid eyes upon the rest of the get-up.

"I don't like cursing, Mr. Crowley," Charlie said sweetly, rubbing his hand up and down his hairy chest that just happened to be adorned with a black leather vest which seemed to match his pants and belt perfectly. "Didn't your mama teach you some manners? I think we'll need to add that to your lesson plan."

He was wearing a black, leather, biker hat to top it all off. He looked like Glenn Hughes from The Village People, complete with the horseshoe mustache. Wait, how did I know that? "What the hell is going on!"

"Again with the cursing. You have a filthy mouth." Charlie shook his head back and forth and it was then that I saw what was in his other hand. He tapped a police baton gently against his thigh.

"Chief Swan... please, please, please. I don't know what's going on, but you're scaring the crap out of me."

"What did I tell you?" He whacked the baton in the palm of his hand. "What were you to call me?"

"Ss-sir. I'm to call your sir!" I said nervously. I couldn't bring myself to call him 'The Chief.' There was no way in hell I was going to do that. "Wh-what is this about? I don't understand," I said, scared shitless of what he was planning.

"You need to be taught a lesson." He moved closer to me, and I jumped back, but the handcuffs restricted me severely. Leaning up against my left side, he sniffed along my neck, and I couldn't help but cry out a little, praying I wouldn't piss myself.

"When you act without thinking, you affect others by your conduct. It's my job to show you that every action has a consequence, Mr. Crowley."

"Okay...okay, I get it. Lesson learned! Please uncuff me and let me go. I promise I won't do this again. Please, sir... The Chief." I added in the last title for good measure.

He laughed wickedly and I felt his breath on my cheek. "You really do learn quickly." He ran the baton along the edge of my cheek, all the way down my side, before resting it on my ass. He gave it one quick, sharp rap and it stung like a son-of-a-bitch. I couldn't help but cry out again.

"Nice," he said. "Very nice. I think you're going to enjoy this."

"Are you kidding? Enjoy this? You're fucking psycho! "

"What did I tell you about that mouth of yours? Think, Mr. Crowley!" he said and his voice had a devious tone to it. He ran the baton down my back and he rested it between my legs, pressing upwards on my dick a little bit. I flinched, jumping to get away from him, and he laughed again in return.

"This is not happening," I whimpered over and over again.

He left my side and sauntered over to the metal cabinet I had noticed earlier. The hinges squeaked as he slowly opened the door and turned to grin at me.

"Oh, hell no!" I yelled, shaking my head back and forth as I finally saw what was inside of the cabinet.

"You just can't control that tongue of yours." He smiled sadly at me, running his hand over various items all designed to inflict pain in one form or another. "Shame, I really do like it when they scream," he said to himself, pulling out two items from the cabinet. "Ball? Or Bit?" He held up some leather straps in each hand, and my eyes popped wide open as I realized they were designed to muzzle a person.

"Hmm, maybe the ball is a little too much. We'll go with the bit." He put one of the straps back in the cabinet and pulled out a large, flat, black paddle instead. The word "PIG" was written across it in large red letters. "We save this one up for the repeat offenders." He put it under his arm and stood there for a moment watching me. I was squirming, trying to get out of the handcuffs and I knew I was still whimpering, but I couldn't help it.

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease. Don't gag me. I promise I won't swear again…please… 'The Chief.'" If he didn't gag me, I could try to appeal to his rational side and convince him to let me go.

He was trailing his hand over his hairy chest, his head cocked to the side, and he was smirking, almost like he was admiring me. His hand hit the waist of his leather pants, and he reached down to adjust himself.

Fuck me… Charlie Swan was hard! Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. What the hell was happening?

"I suppose. It would be interesting to see if you can control that pretty little mouth." He casually strolled toward me, throwing the gag on the bench beside me. "Spread 'em." He laughed at his cop humor while he grasped the handle of the paddle. "This may hurt a little."

"This isn't making any sense. You're not Glenn Hughes! This isn't the Forks Police Station!"

"It makes perfect sense. You're the one who put me in this getup. It's your head. I'm just going with it. I gotta say… the leather's kinda nice, thanks." He brought his arm back, and I saw the word "PIG" flash from the corner of my eyes as it came barreling down with a resounding 'crack' on my backside.

"FUCK!" I couldn't help it. It did hurt… a lot!

He laughed deeply, straight from his hairy navel.

"This isn't happening!" I screamed. My feet were flailing as I tried to kick him. "I promise I'll think before I act! I promise I'll think before I act! I promise I'll think before I act!" My shoulders thrashed as I tried to break free, and there was another reverberating 'smack' as I felt something connect with my ass again. But this time it was much more solid… and cold. And my hands were free. I blinked from the morning sunlight and felt something wet dripping on my face. I blinked again to see a freshly showered Emmett, draped only in a towel around his waist, bent over looking at me. His mouth cracked into a huge face-splitting grin. Please tell me I didn't talk in my sleep!

"Nightmare, Crowley?" he asked. "Never knew you had a fetish for leather… or… Bella's dad." He started to chuckle but only a little before he turned back to his bunk.

Shit! I cursed silently whilestanding up rubbing my ass. I braced for the backlash from him, but it never came. He was acting odd. I would have expected much worse than just a chuckle from McCarty, especially if he overheard any of that dream. I was about to say something smart-assy back, but held my tongue. My ass was stinging as if I'd really been hit with a paddle. I shuddered at the memory. Lesson fucking learned.

~*~*~

The hairy navel….oh my word I have been laughing over that for days! Who knew our little Charlie had this up his sleeve? Or OCD for that matter? MWAH!

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