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Prompt: Begbie/Lacey and Pool. (This is my new OTP).

Francis Begbie never lost. He never lost in his deals, never lost his bets, but Francis Begbie never, ever lost at pool.

Or at least according to himself, he never lost at pool.

The only time he'd ever lost could only be whispered of between Storybrooke occupants, the fear that the livid Scotsman would overhear them and stab them with the closest pointed object overwhelming them to the point of such secrecy.

It was the day that one of the most feared couples in the small town had been formed.

If anyone could've tame the violent alcoholic, it would've been the queen of the Rabbit Hole, Lacey.

The first time they'd played against each other, most onlookers recalled feeling extremely uncomfortable. Lacey handled the situation as if it were some sort of complex mating dance, but Begbie took it differently. His growing irritation was obvious to their audience as the woman progressively did better and better.

How the two hadn't come together earlier, most of the men and women watching didn't know.

The man with his own name tattooed on his left hand was always in the bar, cussing or picking fights.

Lacey always watched from her throne, or rather the armchair next to the fire, through the haze of smoke, a smirk playing at her lips.

His kink for stabbing and punching had her intrigued.

She'd seen him play pool once against the slimy chump, Keith. She carefully watched Francis during this match. The man was twitchy as fuck and extremely competitive.

He won by a long shot and the woman doubted that Keith really knew how to play very well. His lack of skill was obvious, but Begbie acted as if he'd won the world cup.

The next night, she'd stood from her seat, taking a long drink from her glass of whiskey. She closed her eyes, savoring the burn before moving in on the man. Francis stood at the bar, glaring at the slow bartender as he fumbled to get him a drink.

She turned her back to the bar, resting her back against the counter as she watched Begbie attempt to act as if he hadn't noticed her.

Lacey rolled her eyes, deftly grabbing Begbie's drink from the bartender before it could reach Francis's hands.

Begbie gave an angry snort as he whirled around, looking her up and down. "What the fuck do you want?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Lacey was impressed. She'd seen the man toss his glass mug behind him without a care, practically blinding little Ruby in the process. Nobody had seen Begbie throw it. Nobody but Lacey, of course.

"THAT LASSIE GOT GLASSED AND NO CUNT LEAVES HERE 'TILL WE FIND OUT WHICH CUNT DID IT!"

"Francis, dear, you just threw the fuckin' glass."

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!"

She grinned at the memory. Francis always acted tough around her, but never once had he touched her with a harmful hand or looked upon her with any form of serious hate.

"I want to play pool, Francis," she innocently informed him, batting her lashes.

"Do yeh now? Think you can beat me?" he gave a huff, looking off as if her challenge was the most ridiculous thing.

Lacey took a sip of his drink, grunting at the taste of his Johnnie Walker scotch. The stuff was too heavy for her tastes, but in the following weeks it'd be all she'd ever order. "I know I can," she tilted her chin upwards towards him as she shoved his drink into his hands. She gave him one final smirk before spinning to make her way to the pool table, her hips swinging as she went along.

Francis downed his drink in one go after shamelessly watching the petite brunette's little ass sway, giving a grunt of appreciation before stalking after her.

The game started out simple, the two exchanging predatory stares as the balls were arranged by Francis. Lacey took the first move, standing close to Begbie as she stuck her little ass in the air while aiming, taking her shot.

Francis found himself rather taken aback by her splitting of the balls, the cracking that followed as the cue ball hit her target making the woman grin.

He made sure to brush against the brunette as he moved to take his shot, pocketing two of his stripes. "You sure you'll win, lass?" he cockily questioned, mustache shifting upwards as he grinned.

She said nothing, resting her palms on the pool table as she surveyed the balls for her next play.

The urge to touch her was overwhelming, causing his palms to grow sweaty and his fingers to twitch. He glanced about, surprised at the amount of patrons watching them. Was it really that big of a fuckin' deal for two people to play pool?

And yet little Lacey had no regard for their audience as she aimed, her buttocks firmly pressing against his thigh as she shifted.

Begbie froze, eyes wide as he looked down upon her. His last encounter with a "woman" still haunted him and the contact had his heart giving the most irritating badump-badumps in response.

He didn't even realize the gesture was child's play compared to what Lacey had in store.

Their game continued and more men and women joined the crowd, watching as Lacey carelessly brushed against Begbie and purposely dropped her chalk so the man would have no choice but to watch her bend over.

His mouth furled into a snarl as he finally, started cracking, his whole body sweating now and him conscious of his kit. He glanced down at his crotch from time to time, teeth grit. She's not gonna get you goin', she's not. Fucking hell she's good at this. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, don't look at her tits, you fucking fuck!

They were down to the final play five minutes later, the eight ball, striped yellow nine and solid red seven left on the green. Lacey stood, one hand on her pool stick and the other on her hip as she stood, waiting for Begbie to take his final turn.

He walked over, the cigarette he'd recently lit hanging from his lips as he moved a hand to cup her chin. She looked up at him, a demure smirk playing at her lips. "Do you know how fuckin' wild you've driven me, Lacey?" he asked in a low voice, so low their audience could only hear incoherent murmured.

"Do tell," she simply replied, blue eyes glinting mischievously.

"I'd bend your little ass over this fuckin' table if these cunts weren't here…" he growled, moving in so close that she could feel the heat emitting from his cigarette.

"I'm sure we can do that another time, love. It's your play," she easily shrugged off his words, stepping back and watching him. She played it off easily, but Francis saw the indications that his words had hit home by the way her plush little lips parted as he walked around to take his turn.

He lined up his final aim, a grin on his face as he realized he was about to win. He pulled back and shot…

Clank.

The noise of Victor fucking Whale's glass setting on a side table distracted him, shaking his aim and causing the cue ball to bump into the black eight ball, pocketing it.

Lacey gave a delighted little cackle as she watched the Scotsman go rigid, the vein in his temple pulsing as he slammed his fist onto the table.

"FUCKING CUNT!" roared Francis as he pushed through the crowd, grabbing Whale by the arm and slamming his fist into the doctor's face.

Lacey was beside him in an instant, curiously watching as he bashed the man's face in with his fist.

Nobody moved to stop Begbie. Each Storybrooke resident knew the results of trying to stop him, but Lacey frankly didn't give a damn.

Might as well stop him before there's a murder on our hands, she reflected with a glum little sigh. She placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back. "I'm bored, Begbie. Let's go."

He glanced at her, hair mussed up and eyes wild. He breathed like some sort of rampant bull, about to stab her with his horns.

And yet he stood, fists bloody and nostrils flared.

The onlookers watched as little Racy Lacey held Francis Begbie's arm, leading him away from the sobbing doctor and out of the bar. Some even said that he had placed an arm around her waist as they exited.

Lacey and Begbie both knew all too well what would come after the violence and drinking, seeing that they both had a rather intriguing lust for both.

And fucking hell, was it good.

Thanks for reading, dearie! Review if you wish to do so. :)