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Lips Like Kerosene

Friday Nights

Merle was up to his typical Friday night: getting drunk off his ass at Skeeter's. It was the only bar in the small town, but hell, it was the best. Merle showed up every weekend to drink with the boys, and when time came to go home, either get high, fuck a bitch, or both. It was a great life Merle Dixon led, and he sure as hell felt like god himself walking into Skeeter's every weekend.

This Friday was no different as he walked into Skeeter's, clad in dark wash blue jeans, hunting boots, a black tight fit t-shirt, and his signature leather vest. He walked in like he owned the place. The tight black shirt fit him snug, and you could faintly see the outlines of his toned chest muscles; one thing was for sure, he has an older guy, but he was fit. His blue eyes pierced the place as he stood, before walking to his usual table--on the right of the first pool table, two tables away from it. All the guys were there, and he was greeted instantly with raises of drinks. He was an hour late, the boys had started without him.

"Hey Merle! Where the hell you been?" Johnny asked, drinking down his usual scotch after the question was asked.

Sam spoke up as well, his bourbon in his hand," Yah Merle, you neva late." He took a long sip from his glass before raising it in the air, looking towards the main bar," Aye, White! Get Merle a drink!" The young boy nodded and started to get the drink.

"I was busy, don't tell me you fuckers got all sen-i-menal that ole' Merle weren't here on time," Merle said, and Ricky rolled his eyes, downing the last of his bottle of Coors.

"Shuttu fuck up, damn asshole. You neva late, ya drunk," Johnny said, his words already slurring after his third glass; he was never good at holding his booze.

Merle rolled his eyes. He had been late for a reason he would never share with the guys: he and his baby brother Daryl to help him fix his truck, just because he asked. That was something personal because it was just him and his baby brother, and it was practically normal because Merle wasn't high or drunk, and it was nothing he wanted to share with these assholes. So instead, Merle flipped them off and caused a round of laughter as Darren White, Skeeter's newest bartender who had been around for the past month, brought Merle his usual drink: straight whiskey. Merle held his fingers up in thanks and the young boy nodded before scurrying away. The four men intimidated the boy; after all, he was a pretty boy, muscular and in his mid-twenties, but a pretty boy pussy nonetheless. Merle grabbed his whiskey and took a straight drink out of it, the liquid burning his throat. The night was ready to get started like every other night.

Two hours and six drinks later, Merle was buzzing. Conversation was light as all the single men--Merle, Ricky, and Johnny--were scouting women, while Sam was drinking his shit marriage away with scotch. The bar was a bit fuller now, and Merle kept looking back to a broad in a tight red dress. She was large and her face was painted like a clowns in an attempt to look young, but hey, alcohol can make shit into peaches. Merle was ready to stand and talk to the woman, Ricky giving an approving grunt at the piece of tail that would obviously agree to any man's advances, when the door to Skeeter's opened, a cold breeze flooding in quickly. Merle's eyes naturally darted as the other guys' did, and all of them sat, their mouths nearly hanging open.

A lady had entered the bar, and boy, was she fine. The piece of tail had light blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, her gaze making all the women shrink back in their seats, a small smirk on her face. She was hot and she knew it, and her hips flicked delicately side to side as she walked to the bar for a drink.

"Damn, those legs," Ricky moaned. Merle grunted in agreement, eying her up. He wasn't one for blondes, but she was a lot nicer than the clown woman. Her legs were jean clad and she had leather boots with dangerous heels. Her top was tight to her, showing off ample cleavage. But those legs were long, and the way she walked showed she knew how to use them.

"Aye Merle, back off, she's mine," growled Johnny. Merle ignored him, taking another long drink from his whiskey.

Another gust signaled the door opening, but Merle had his eyes on Legs. "Fucking hell, where these broads coming from?" Sam asked, and Merle went to look at the next chick.

His jaw dropped this time watching the new woman walk in. She was shorter than Legs, but the short navy dress she was wearing fit tight to her small body, barely covering her ass. What a tight ass, Merle thought with a smirk as he closed his mouth. It was small and wasn't as curvy, but it was round and shaped and fit. Her legs were skinny and could have rivaled Legs, the dress showing off the smooth creme skin and accented by her strappy black six inch heels. Her calves were toned, and legs were long. The navy dress showed off a small bit of cleavage, though this girl seemed small enough that she probably shouldn't have had any. Her dark hair was down and curled and dangerously flowing around her as she walked, her small hips swaying from side to side as she walked and sat next to Legs, the two girls instantly talking and laughing. Her eyes were lighter, sparkling with some weird sort of combination--sex and cuteness. Merle was hooked in by her small body and her innocent yet sexy face.

"Looks like Legs has a friend," Johnny noted, his words really slurred now and looking sleazily at the two broads.

"Legs is mine, much better looking. Otha girl don't even have curves. Reals women has got curves," Ricky said. He was a body type of person, where as Merle liked them fit, though he hadn't had something to his liking in a long while. Anything settled now a days.

Merle scoffed and shook his head, "If ya think Legs is hotter than Shorty right there, you wrong. I mean, did ya see her body? That shit is tight." She could almost feel her tight ass as if she was bent over in front of him, letting him grope it.

The four men drank for another half an hour, talking about the football game that was coming up on Sunday. Halfway through his argument that the Saints would crush this weekend, Ricky cut his talk short. Merle was confused, but Ricky winked at him and smacked Merle's arm. "Well, looks like tonight is ya lucky night," Ricky said lowly, a dangerous smirk on his face.

"What the hell ya-"

"'Scuse me," a woman's voice asked. Merle turned to see Shorty, and his eyebrows raised. His shock quickly turned to his usual confidence, and Merle smirked, looking her up and down.

"Hey there, suga', come ova to see 'ole Merle?" he asked, his smirk on his face.

The girl giggled--when did giggles get so sexy?--and pulled an empty chair from a table near them and pulled it up and sitting down. Merle raised one eyebrow at her confidence, and she just batted her eyelashes, her arms spreading straight in front of her on the table, making her breasts push together perfectly; Merle's eyes lingered on them for a second before looking back into her dark green eyes. The slight smirk on her face told Merle she knew what she was doing, and Merle was intrigued.

"Well, Merle," she said his name more beautifully than he ever thought possibly, it rolling off her tongue like it was the only word she ever knew," I'm sittin' with my friend Rachel over there, and we spotted you men. So, she says that you had to be in your forties, but I insisted that you couldn't be past your late thirties. I bet her a drink that I was right, so, tell me, did I lose?" Her green eyes smoldered Merle, and Merle shifted in his seat to face her better. Green met blue, and it was like they were the only two in the room. He put his left arm on the back of his chair and leaned against it, his right extended to his drink.

"Well, suga', 'm afraid ya owe your girl a drink," he told her. Merle was newly 43 as of last month.

Her eyes widened in shock. "No!" she said, her mouth opening in shock, but curved into a smile. Merle closed his eyes and shrugged slight, smug written on his face. He knew he looked good for his age. "How old are you then?" she asked him, now crossing her arms in disbelief.

"43, suga'."

"Not that much older than late thirties then, maybe I can get her to split a drink," she mused before leaning in slightly and telling him," Y'know, you're really good lookin' for an older man."

Merle leaned closer to her, charm on his face. "How old are ya, sugatits?" Merle smirked when she threw her head back in a laugh and smacked his arm.

"Merle!" she laughed. She shook her head and sighed. "Twenty-eight," she told him, and Merle's eyebrows raised. This little youngin' was over here talking to him? It must be his lucky day.

"Damn, you're young," Johnny said to her, licking his lips. She looked to Johnny and grimaced in her small smile at him. Merle smirked that she didn't seem to think the thirty-six year old Johnny was as attractive as him. He wanted this girl to himself, and he was roped in by her.

Merle grabbed her attention back by asking," Wha's your name sugatits?" To his suprise, she stood from her seat, her dress dangerously riding up before she pulled it down, but his trained eyes caught everything, he had hunting eyes, and those eyes had caught a glimpse of the smooth skin of her very upper thighs. Merle licked his lips thinking about it, half of it himself and the other the whiskey. He stiffened when she put a delicate hand on his shoulder, the left side of her body pressing slightly against him as she leaned to his hear, her lips brushing against it. "Carrie, but you can call me whatever name ya'd like, Merle," she practically purred in his ear, slowly dragging herself away and walking from their table.

There was silence for another few minutes and Merle swirled his whiskey with a smirk, thinking about her tight little body, how small she would be, what she would look like sinking into a bed underneath him.

"Damn Merle, you gonna pick 'er up?" Sam asked as he tried to smack Johnny awake, who had passed out on the table.

"He'd be stupid not to, girl like that practically throwin' herself at 'him," Ricky said while licking his lips, eying where Merle knew the two girls sat behind him at the bar. "I'm gonna go talk to Legs, see if I can pick up some-"

"Bye Carrie! See ya!" a high pitched voice yelled with a giggle. Merle turned to see Legs walking out with none other than Pretty Boy, who had the widest smile of his damn little face.

Rick slumped in his chair and slammed his drink. "I'm goin' home," he grumbled, taking his wallet out to go pay his tab.

Sam stood with the half-awake Johnny, sighing. "I'll get him home," he said.

Merle looked at how tired Sam seemed and knew he and his wife would be in another fight for him staying out so late. "Sure ya don't want-" Merle started to ask if he wanted help, his confidence in getting the girl wavering, but Sam waved him off.

"Nah, go talk to that girl, Carrie. Sure looks lonely. I'll take care o' Johnny 'ere," Sam said, now helping Johnny stand. Merle nodded once in goodbye, before standing and turning to go to the bar.

Sure enough, Carrie sat on the high bar stool, legs crossed and sipping a fruity looking drink from a straw. Merle made his way over, his eyes taking in the full length of her legs and how those heels looked with them. He commented as he leaned against the counter," Didn't peg ya for a fruity drink type." His smirk was in place, and Carrie looked to him, holding the straw on her bottom lip, her mouth slightly open, sex appeal spewing from her entire being.

She shrugged and put the drink down, flipping her curled deep brown waves over her shoulder. "It was the drink me and Rachel split, she picked it for winning. Cocktails aren't really my thing," she said with a little shrug.

"Wha's ya thing then, suga'?" Merle asked, reaching out and grabbing a small strand of her long hair, twisting it around his index finger.

She batted her lashes as she leaned closer to him, their bodies gravitating towards each other like their attraction; he to her because of her tight body and dripping sex appeal, her to him because of his redneck charm and rugged handsomeness. "Hmm, what is it you were drinking? Whiskey?" she breathed. She could smell it on his breath now that they were so close, bodies almost touching, if not for the barrier of her crossed legs while she sat on the barstool.

"Mhmm." Merle said nodding, his face getting a bit closr.

"Then whiskey. I like whiskey," she said softly, a devilish smirk on her face as she put a hand to his firm chest. Merle couldn't help his natural reaction to grab her hand, his much bigger than hers.

"What'd you say I take ya back ta my place?" Merle proposed the ultimate question. He was confident, but this girl was young and beautiful as hell. He couldn't help but think that maybe this was all a big joke on the older man, but then again, maybe, just maybe, she really did find him attractive enough for her young, whole self.

Her reaction said it all, as she jumped up and snatched her small black purse off the counter. "Thought you'd never ask," Carrie said, taking a twenty out of her purse and tossing it on the counter. "I'll cova the rest later, Haps!" Carrie called to Happy Skeeter as she started to walk off. Merle's arm went around her waist and he nodded at Skeeter. The grungy man with the awkwardly cut mustache behind the counter waved her off.

"Long as you come back next week, beautiful," Skeeter said.

"Promise," she said in a teasing voice. Merle tightened his grip on her waist and she leaned in to him as they walked out of the bar together.

It was cold outside, and she shivered slightly. She leaned into Merle and told him, snuggling into his side," You're like a damn heater!"

Merle chuckled and rubbed her sleeved arm, trying to warm her up a bit more. She wasn't just any old broad, she was young and fit and beautiful and she came to him. He'd make this a night her poor little mind would dream about for weeks. "That feels so nice," she moaned, and Merle tightened at the noise. Didn't the fucking woman know what she did to men? The answer was yes, she probably did.

He led her to his bike, and she laughed in delight. "This is your bike? Oh, this is gonna be a good night," she teased, and Merle winked at her as he replied," Any night with 'ole Merle is a good night, sugatits."

He grinned widely when she winked back and stroked his arm while she replied," I bet it is."

He couldn't get her on that bike fast enough, and he couldn't get the feeling of her body pressed against the back of his. Since the bike sat low in the front and high in the back, she had wrapped her legs around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder.

Then as they got back to his house, he couldn't get her off the bike fast enough. She had slipped off first, and Merle kicked the kickstand before getting off quickly, automatically grabbing her without another word and pressing his lips down on hers.

Carrie instantly responded, wrapping her arms around his neck as their lips moved against each others. Their bodies met, his right hand tangled in her hair and a hand pushing against the small of her back to force her body near him. Carrie lifted her left leg up to slide up and down his right. Merle practically growled and placed his hands on her ass, lifting her up; she couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She giggled against his lips and wrapped her legs around his waist, and he disconnected his lips to carry her the short distance to the porch. With his lips away from hers, she had made quick work of nibbling everywhere: along his neck, the crook of his shoulder, his ear lobe. Merle was hard and felt like his length couldn't stand another minute being pressed inside his jeans. He had to get inside. He fumbled with the keys for a minute, his mind clouded by the whiskey and now her hot breath against his neck as she panted in ecstasy.

Finally he got the door open, and he kicked it closed, taking Carrie automatically to his bedroom. He didn't think as he slammed her onto the bed, making her emit another giggle at his roughness. He crawled over her, pressing his body against hers; his thoughts in the pair had been fulfilled: she looked absolutely fucking sexy as she sunk into his mattress, moaning as he grinded his hips against hers.

"Fuck, Merle," Carrie moaned to him, pushing his leather vest off of his shoulders. He sat up, careful not to crush her while he straddled her hips and made quickly work of his vest and shirt. His hands pulled up the hem of her dress, and his fingers ripped off the thin scrap of fabric keeping her hidden--her panties. She giggled wildly at what he did, and moaned out another small laugh when his hand rested against her warmth. Instead of being annoyed by the stupid laugh, He loved how it sounded. Merle leaned forward to brush his lips against her smiling lips, and whispered against them," You somethin' else, girlie." And then she was his.

Notes

New story, just thought I'd try it out. Leave some feedback so I know if you like it or not. This is my first fic actually writing 'smutty' stuff, and it will probably be more as I get more comfortable with the writing aspect of it. I love Merle's character and potential, as seen in my first fic Dixons Don't Cry. I hope you love Merle like I do; this fic is a bit more centered around true canon Merle: racist, sexist, and somehow charms the shit out of ladies.

Comments

Omgsh, Merle will shit bricks then flip them if he finds out D:

Xxjerr19xX Xxjerr19xX
3/29/15

Merle would kill him

dombast dombast
3/22/15

Brill.

dombast dombast
3/22/15

He loves her

dombast dombast
3/22/15

Love how she handle it.

dombast dombast
3/22/15