Steam in the Locker Room {boxer!Flip Zimmerman x FBI agent!Reader}
originally requested for hump day funday, actually written for december of delivering.
“Scream for me. I want everyone to know who’s making you feel good.” Please for boxer Flip 😍 Or with “Tell me how much you like this. Tell me how good I make you feel!” Same person for boxer Flip.
thanks to my lovely beta reader, @icarusinthesea for reading through this for me! and also thank you for letting me steal your last sentence idea lol. you’re the best <3
**this is set in the same universe as my Flip fic, Fuckin’ (A) Fed, and this is set post the events of that story. I highly suggest that you read that fic beforehand to get an understanding of RC & Flip’s relationship dynamics, but it’s not absolutely necessary to enjoy this piece.**
warnings.
SMUT, some FLUFF, humor, language, teasing (platonic and sexual), underground fight club stuff, the irony of a law enforcement officer being involved in illegal operations, shower sex, P in V, dirty talk, name-calling/degradation, spanking, unprotected sex, brief crying during sex, rough fucking, creampie.
**no actual use of ‘Y/N’ in this fic.
prompts:
“Scream for me. I want everyone to know who’s making you feel good.”
“Tell me how much you like this. Tell me how good I make you feel!”
(boxing ring graphic divider by @firefly-graphics)
Typewriter keys clack and the typical early evening haze of cigarette smoke hangs thick in the air as your heels clink on the cheap floors of the Colorado Springs Police Department.
You’ve been here almost a month now, fully intertwined with a group of disgusting, pathetic backwater racists. It’s exhausting work, really, but what’s arguably equally as exhausting is having to pretend to be married to the one person that you can’t stand the most out of everyone in this town.
Working with Detective Zimmerman on this case has been quite the task and he’s really been testing your patience in recent days. He’s been especially grumpy, short-tempered, and just overall intolerable.
He probably just needs a good fuck or two to get some stress out, that’s your guess, and you would offer your assistance since the first time was so pleasurable for both parties. But the two of you have yet to bring it up or discuss what happened on that night, and that hookup was already risky enough, so it’s probably best not to chance it again.
“Here.”
You hold a folder out for him.
“ID’s on the unknowns from last week’s meeting at Felix’s.”
He crushes out his cigarette.
“Ron takes care of all the intel stuff.”
“I already gave him a copy. Chief’s got one, too. I’ve got a folder on my desk, and now so do you. You’re welcome.”
Smirking, you put it down on his desk and tap it with a soft chuckle.
“When will you learn that I actually do my fuckin’ job, Detective? You’ll never catch me off my game, so just stop trying; you’re starting to look a little pathetic.”
His jaw clenches as he shoves the folder out of the way angrily, shaking his head. You walk away, always enjoying delivering a nice little manly ego blow to the proud Detective.
When quitting time rolls around and you walk out of the station, Detective Zimmerman is still at his desk, a fact you find a bit surprising but you figure that the Chief has finally gotten on his ass about catching up on all the clerical paperwork he’s been swearing he’ll ‘get around to’.
The harsh winter winds whips your cheeks raw as you rush to your car across the lot, quickly getting in and turning on the engine. Just as you go to switch your headlights on after a few minutes, you notice the Detective emerge from the station in a ball cap with a dufflebag in his hand.
Your eyebrows furrow at the suspicious sight. You don’t recall ever seeing him in a hat, other than for a Klan meeting--
Wait. Is he going to something Klan-related without you?
You huff, chuckling sarcastically and shaking your head.
“Oh, not on my watch, Detective prettyboy.”
He pulls out of the station and you trail him slowly, not wanting him to catch on. You wanted to catch him off-guard, since he clearly didn’t spot you in the parking lot.
Soon, he pulls off into a warehouse complex and you drive by it purposely, circling back around a few minutes later. You’re not sure exactly why the Klan would be having a meeting or event of any kind in a dingy warehouse, but at this point, you wouldn’t be surprised by anything.
People that do shit around here are the kinds of people that don’t want to be found out. And they certainly don’t want to stop their crusade anytime soon.
Flip’s truck is parked with several other cars by a warehouse that’s got some lights on. You park far enough away not to draw suspicion and reach back for your pre-packed emergency street clothes, slipping them on quickly along with your fake wedding band before getting out of the car.
You make your approach cautiously, in the rare case that this isn’t a Klan meeting. And the closer you get to the building’s entrance, and the louder the cheers get, you’re starting to think that this might not be a Klan meeting...
Not that you knew exactly what you were expecting to see when you opened the doors in the first place, but the scene you end up coming across is not at all what you expected.
In the middle of the warehouse appears to be a boxing octagon, one definitely not up to any kind of safety regulations. And around it is a very large and very rowdy crowd of betters watching two sweaty guys rough each other up real good.
You’re not really sure what to think at this point. Why in the world would Flip be coming here? Surely you’d have heard about an undercover operation around the bullpen if there was one, and Flip always makes some kind of comment about it to ruffle your feathers...and he didn’t do any of that this time.
He’s not going rogue, is he? Maybe doing some vigilante justice work off the clock? You can’t say you’d be all that surprised if he was, but Detective Zimmerman was, if nothing else, a damn good law enforcement officer. It’d be out of character for him, certainly, and it’d be stupid as hell, for sure...but you could see it.
Now incredibly curious about why he’s at this underground fight club, you stick around for a little bit, staying off to the side. The fighters keep coming, and they keep getting beat up, and you keep your eyes peeled for any sign of Flip.
Nothing.
Just as you start to give up on the idea, the crowd suddenly gets quieter when a beefy guy stuffed in a halfway decent suit goes to the middle of the ring and starts announcing the next fight.
Your attention is most certainly piqued at this abrupt change of pace, and you’re even more intrigued when a familiar figure emerges from the locker room in a plain white tank top and a pair of boxing trunks.
The crowd roars when Flip comes onto the mats with a slight, cocky smirk, heading over to his corner of the arena to start getting ready for the match.
Detective Zimmerman, prize fighter in an illegal underground fight club.
You laugh softly to yourself just at the thought, shaking your head as you step up a bit, making yourself a bit more visible. Well, you figure as long as you’re here, you might as well make a fun evening out of it and stick around for the fight.
His opponent seems a bit...scrawny and probably doesn’t stand a damn chance against the seasoned cop. Flip throws a few practice punches once he’s got his gloves on, then the two head to the center for the start.
During the fight, Flip is composed and restrained, like he is on the front lines as the scrawny young man immediately lunges forward and starts throwing sloppy punches. He dodges every single one with ease, then delivers a swift kick to the kid’s calf.
In the small window between the kid taking the recent blow to the calf and rising back up, Flip manages to give him a nice right hook, the force of which sends him back with a grunt.
Flip quickly pushes this kid and slams him up against the ropes, which has the crowd roaring like crazy. He manages to throw a few additional punches, which certainly manages to rattle this kid enough to temporarily slow his retaliations down.
When Flip happens to look up over the ropes for a fleeting moment, his eyes widen and he freezes up when he meets your gaze. You give him a big ol’ smirk, offering him a taunting wave. He snarls.
“Oh, son of a bi--”
Suddenly, his gaze is forcefully ripped away from yours when the kid delivers a blow to the Detective’s handsome face, leaving a bloody cut on his cheekbone. The crowd hoots and hollers in frustration as the favorite fighter is momentarily taken off his game, but ever the veteran and skilled officer, he’s quickly snapped back to focus.
You can’t deny that seeing him like this, sweaty, bloodied and throwing fierce punches, isn’t somewhat erotic. His previously-white tank top is now almost soaked through with sweat, stained with blood and a bit of excess dirt from the mats, which only shows off his impressive physique even more.
And now that he knows you’re here, he seems to elevate his performance even further, the primal instinct of showing off and impressing you clearly flowing his upped game.
He’s aggressive, relentless, feral, yet still remains reformed, the skills melting pot that seems to get the job done. Within five minutes, he’s got this kid tapping out. The crowd’s loud cheers bounce off the high ceilings and echo through the warehouse, but Flip doesn’t seem to give a shit.
As soon as he gets his gloves off, he hops the ropes and makes a beeline for you, not even waiting to get his wounds cleaned up. Everyone gives him pats on the back as he pushes through the crowd.
Your eyes follow him, stance unchanging and unmoving. You wear a small smirk the whole time he approaches, and even still when he finally stands before you.
“You’re fucking insane.”
He growls.
“What, you tailed me or something?”
You nod.
“That’s exactly what I did, genius. Saw you in the parking lot with your little hat on and a duffle, and I thought maybe you were doing...the thing without me. Then I got here, figured it wasn’t the thing but thought I’d stick around and watch the great Fl--”
His hand quickly covers your mouth and he leans in.
“Don’t use that fuckin’ name.”
He sighs, instantly regretting the decision to use his real name around here.
“It’s...Phil.”
“Phil?”
You laugh, pushing his hand away.
“What are you, a suburban dad? 'Hey Phil, can I borrow your barbecue this weekend? I’m havin’ a cookout on the cul de sac.’ Oh my god, that’s too fucking good.”
His jaw clenches at your ‘dad’ impression and teasing, suddenly grabbing your arms. His grip is firm as he leans in real close, voice low.
“Wait until all these goons are distracted with the next fight, then make your way back to the locker rooms. Don’t get your ass caught, cause I’m not bailing you out.”
“Don’t worry, I think I can handle myself, Philly."
You smirk, letting out a breathy chuckle as he pulls away with a scowl.
He lets you go with a huff, shaking his head.
“You’re an ass.”
“See you in a bit.”
You say after him, chuckling at the way his fists clench.
When you get to the locker rooms, Flip’s waiting by the entrance with a cigarette between his teeth. You hum casually as you stand next to him, leaning back against the wall.
“You’re fucking stupid for doing this. I hope you know that.”
“I’m not dirty, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He says after a moment, blowing smoke out his nose.
“But I’m not involved with them, I just fight. I show up, I beat the shit out of some guys, and then I go home. No money, no drugs, nothing.”
You chuckle, shaking your head.
“I thought you were smarter than this, Det--Phil. You’re just plain stupid if you think you’re not involved, even if you are just fighting for fighting’s sake.”
A pause.
“You gonna turn me in?”
“No.”
You say.
“We may not get along and we may hate each other, but you’re a good egg and you do your job a helluva lot better than most. No reason you should lose--”
“I don’t hate you and you don’t hate me. Not really, anyway. We both know what this is.”
Your head turns to look up at him.
“Please, enlighten me.”
He laughs softly.
“It’s a game, an act. Always has been. Deep down, you know that what happened at the bar wasn’t a fluke or a lapse in judgement.”
“So then what was it?”
You ask, chewing the inside of your cheek as your heart thrums faster.
Flip crushes his cigarette out before standing in front of you, crowding you against the wall. His hands splay out on either side of your head, smoky breath wafting over your face as he looks down at you.
“It was the result of feelings.”
His words sends a shiver down your spine.
“Mutual feelings.”
You let out a soft, shaky breath as you look into his darkening eyes. Your heart is beating out of your chest, skin suddenly feeling suffocatingly hot.
“Yeah? Then why hasn’t it happened since then?”
He smirks, turning his head so that his lips are right next to your ear.
“Because we needed to hate each other again first, didn’t we, Fed? Had to put on our little show, let it build and build and build until we found ourselves in a situation like this.”
Your body betrays you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as he stands up straight with a big cocky grin on his face.
“The night’s still young...why don’t you come back and help me clean up?”
You nod with a small smirk.
“Lead the way.”
A thin fog of steam surrounds your bodies, fogging the cracked mirror over the sink as yours and Flip’s lips move together desperately. He’s got you lifted up and pinned against the wall, hands kneading and occasionally smacking the skin of your now-bare outer thighs and ass.
He grunts softly, grinding his hardening shaft against your bare heat, smirking each time your hips jerk with his motions.
“I have to admit,”
Flip hums, drawing back for a moment.
“This is one of my better post-fight cool downs.”
You chuckle, giving him a playful nudge.
“Well, I’d hope so, considering it normally involves having your wounds treated.”
“Perhaps that wasn’t as much of a compliment as I’d intended it to be...”
He laughs.
“I know it’s probably very hard for you to compliment me, so I’d consider this a successful effort.”
Flip chuckles and your lips smash against his once again, fingers threading through his sweaty, slightly matted hair. He smiles against your lips before pulling you off the wall and carrying you over to the shower, fingers lazily kneading your ass cheeks.
The water is soothingly hot as Flip steps into the locker room shower, setting you back down gently while never parting lips. He hums, craning his neck to lazily mouth and nip at your throat.
“Hands behind your back and stick your ass out, Fed.”
You get into position and while one hand holds your wrists together behind your back, the other lines himself up with your soaked entrance. Without warning, he thrusts in quickly, fully sheathing himself inside you with a soft grunt.
“Shit.”
Your walls stretch to accommodate the girthy intrusion, fists clenching.
He smirks, making sure he’s got a firm hold on you before beginning to roll his hips at a teasingly slow pace. You huff at his teasing, taking matters into your own hands as you begin fucking yourself on his shaft, shuddering at the feeling.
“Impatient tonight, aren’t we?”
He asks, shaking his head and giving your ass a swat.
“Can’t even wait to get fucked by my cock, she has to start fucking herself...I didn’t realize my cock was that good, Fed.”
“Just fuck me for Christ’s sake, Flip.”
You hiss, looking over your shoulder as best you can.
With a hum, he massages your hip with his free hand.
“Mmm...I think you’re doing juuuust fine like this. Keep it up.”
Your eyes narrow and you groan softly.
“Do you always have to be such a dick about everything?”
“Hey, you started it by being an impatient little slut. I’m just bein’ fair, Fed. You’d do the same damn thing if the roles were reversed and we both know it.”
Touche.
You continue moving yourself up and down on his stiff rod, breathy whimpers and soft grunts slipping between pursed lips. He hums with a smirk as he watches you, slowly beginning to move his own hips in-time with your motions.
“Fuuuuck, fuckin’ tight cunt.”
He growls, beginning to fully roll his hips.
“So good wrapped around me, can’t help but start fucking your little pussy.”
His hands release your wrists and quickly grip onto your shoulders as he fucks you hard. You gasp, eyes rolling back into your head.
“D-Damnit...fuck...”
“Scream for me. I want everyone to know who’s making you feel good.”
He snarls, pounding you harshly.
“C’mon Fed, you can do better than that. Open that slut mouth and scream my fuckin’ name.”
Your walls clench, a shaky moan escaping your lips.
“Flip, Flip...”
Skin smacks against each other, the loud noise surrounding your colliding bodies as he gives your ass another quick swat.
“Yeah, that’s it. Scream out my name like the little whore you are, Fed.”
He spanks you again, and again, and you’re a fucking mess beneath him. Your thighs begin to shake violently as you try to hold yourself up, tears of sheer pleasure swelling in your eyes.
“F-Flip!”
You gasp loudly.
“God, fuck, fffuck...!”
His pace suddenly increases twofold and he’s grunting with each thrust, grip tightening on your shoulders.
“Tell me how much you like this. Tell me how good I make you feel!”
“Christ, ohhh! Fuck, Flip, feels so good!”
You’re moaning, now, not holding back your noises.
He groans, drilling you as hard as he possibly can.
“You like my cock, don’t y-you, Fed? Love getting fucked by my b-big cock, huh?”
“Yes, y-yes, I like it!”
Your orgasm is quickly brewing, cunt sloppily wet as your insides prepare for release. Flip moans deeply, feeling your rhythmic clenching.
“S-So fuuuckin’ close.”
You manage to gasp out between thrusts.
“I’m gonna cum!”
When he reaches down and starts circling your clit with his thick fingers, you know you’re in for it.
“Cum.”
Flip hisses.
“Do it F-Fed, c’mon!”
You’re flying over the edge, crying out with orgasm.
“O-Oh! Ohhh Fliiiip!”
He doesn’t last much longer, not with your velvety wet cunt gripping him like a damn vice. His eyes flutter shut as he pumps you full of cum, accompanied by a long, low groan.
“Ffffuuuuckin’ Christ...fuck.”
Both of you are breathing heavily as you slowly stand back up and he pulls out, rubbing your hips. His beard scratches your shoulder with each tender kiss placed on your warm skin.
“I almost forgot how good we are at that.”
He says, laughing softly.
You chuckle along with him.
“We are pretty good, aren’t we?”
“We are indeed, Fed.”
Flip says as he lands one last lingering kiss on your still-tingling lips.
"We are indeed."
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