falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Entry tags:

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Welcome to the Fallout Kink Meme, Part IV! Please assume the position.

GO TO THE LATEST PAGE TO POST NEW PROMPTS

PINBOARD ARCHIVE: Filled Prompts | Unfilled Prompts

Fallout Kink Meme posting guidelines

Read something? Love something? No matter how old the story is, please let our amazing authors and artists know that you enjoyed their work with a nice comment, and share the love by recommending your favorite fills!

This probably won't get filled, but it wouldn't hurt trying...

F! LW-- Wait, no...F! OC of spanish decent finds some holotapes containing tango, and decides to teach stiff ol' Charon the sensual, intimate language of tango.

I have a feeling no matter what happens in a fill for this, it's going to make me cry... seconded so much!

Thank you, anon, for answering this and giving me the heads-up that this was present on the main meme.

First: I'm going to take this moment to point out that any and all questions about why a fill has been removed or is no longer present should be directed to the Ask-a-Mod (http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/1855.html) thread. That is why it's there. Asking the question in a prompt really isn't how we roll here; try not to do that.

Second: The anon is correct, though I respectfully disagree with the use of the word 'felt,' as this was a case of 'point of fact,' which cannot be disputed. Furthermore, the agreement concerning the removal of the story 'Coming of Age' was unanimous among the mods. It was incredibly offensive in regards to how it portrayed lesbians, specifically lesbian relationships. Seeing as we don't want to be associated with that kind of hateful horse-hockey, or even create a permissive environment for it, it went down. If the author wants to post it elsewhere, that's fine. If they post a link to it here, however, it will be deleted. We have absolutely no tolerance for fills of that nature.

If anyone has questions/concerns about this ruling, they can feel free to send us a private message, or address it in the mod-thread, not to this comment specifically.

Thank you, and keep making this meme great, guys!

Edited 2012-04-16 04:35 (UTC)

I love this to bits and pieces.

That's the most coherent thing I can say about it right now. <3

Was lurking when I saw a potential a!a. Now that the first part to the fill is up...I am so excite I can hardly contain it!

She's capable of foreplay, of making things last, he's sure of it. The passion is there, if not the patience, and the more he thinks about it, the more confusing it gets. She knows how to flirt and tease; the suicidal little striptease in Gomorrah has proved that. That night and the quiet aftermath of their first time, lying an arm's reach apart under the stars and talking until the sun broke into the morning sky, makes him believe that there's more there for him; for the both of them. The sweet things that could prove it seem to be lost, though, or rushed through, and when he does try to slow things down, she gets cranky in short order. Even so, the whole affair was starting to feel too shallow to keep on going without saying anything.

Decision made, Raul zips up and stands up, then walks over to where she's resumed gathering leaves. "There's ways to make all that nicer, you know."

She glances up, her brow furrowed. "Like how?"

"It was different back when I was still in one piece, boss. People would take hours going at it. Even take off all of their clothes, not just wiggle them out of the way."

"Oh. Thought you meant the tobacco. But it's fine and fun that way." She bites her lip, avoids meeting his eyes, and the next leaf tears in half from being pulled on too hard. "Why waste the time? You end up in the same place."

He crosses his arms and shrugs, starting to feel a touch of unease. Her reaction isn't even remotely in character. "Hey, it's not a waste. Even if it is, it's a fun waste. Get yourself out all free and breezy, dangling in the wind."

"Sounds like a good way to get your breezy dangling bits shot the heck off. I tell you, it'd just be a waste of time. We do good the way we are."

She sounds like she's getting more annoyed with each word, both his and hers, but Raul presses on regardless. There's something there that wants to be soft and sweet, he just knows there is, and if he wants to keep what's between them, it's going to need to come out. He's too old and tired and empty to carry aother meaningless weight on his shoulders, no matter how good it feels at the start. "Then why take the time to do that little dance for me, boss? I know you were planning on something like it anyway, loco troopers crashing your party or no."

"I saw how you looked at the strippers whenever we went into Gomorrah, and I'd tried everything else to try and get your attention, short of grabbing you by the handle." This admission is news to him, and her black mood seems to lift for a moment at the surprised look on his face. She sidles up, bumps her hip to his and smiles. "Crabby old coot, making me go out of my way. Lucky I like you."

If he wanted to, that sly little grin means he could dump her in the sand again right now. For the first time, he finds he doesn't want to. "Taking things slow can be better."

Charlie finally snaps at him. "The only time people want to take things slow is when they want to make things hurt. Now let me alone, Gods damn you!"

Raul stares at her, and all of a sudden the whole situation turns on a dime, and it's not about him being the piece of meat anymore. He gives her a hard, searching look before walking away to another patch of plants, gathering what she wants and keeping his fool mouth shut.

Eventually, she sidles on up again, colour high in her cheeks.

"Sorry."

"You think I'd do something like that?"

Her head dips enough for her hat brim to hide her face. "I don't know. No."

He goes quiet for a long moment, braces himself, then asks another question. "Your husband?"

"No." The brim drops even lower. "He did things the proper way, nice, like you do."

"Then humour an old man." Raul reaches out and carefully lifts the faded black felt just high enough to peek under it, to look into a pair of wide brown eyes, so like the colour his own used to be. "I can make it nicer, Charlie."

She fidgets as he waits, until the words fairly burst out of her. "Okay. No. I don't know."

He gently tugs on the brim and presses just a little a bit more. "We'll go somewhere safe. Promise. Cross my raggedy rotten heart."

Charlie stares at him, her face as blank as a slate. "Shit. Alright. Where?"

Oh, Hell. Where. She wouldn't in the Lucky 38; once she had found out House was most likely watching or at least listening to every move they made she wouldn't relax anywhere even within sight of the building. He couldn't blame her. Raul didn't like the idea of putting on a peep show for some hotwired pervert even older than him. She wasn't terribly fond of any building that had electricity for that matter. No, the whole Strip was out.

Raul lets go of her hat brim and rolls his eyes skyward. There was really only one option, unless they wanted to go for one heck of long walk. It didn't feel right, it felt shameful, but there was no other place to go. "You can come home with me when you're ready."

"Oh. To your shack?"

"Yeah, boss. To there."

Charlie sniffs, stuffs a handful of wilting leaves into her coat pocket and dusts her hands off on her rear. "Yeah, alright, I could go again. Let's head on over."

A flash of his old sarcasm breaks through. "You really know how to play up the romance of a moment."

She ignores it and starts off towards the east. "Come on if you're coming. Let's get this over with."

"Wait, boss. Hang on."

She cocks an eyebrow, and impatience joins in with edginess. She puts her arms akimbo, hands flat across the tops of her hatchets, fingers drumming against their holstered sides. "What, Raul."

Oh, she is not happy, and suddenly he's mad as all Hell. That's not how it should be. Nothing's how it should be in this fucked up, irradiated armpit of a world, but he can still remember how it was, and that the prospect of this should be a joyful thing, even if she doesn't understand. "It's not going to work like this. I think we need to go back and start from the beginning."

"What? Raul, I'll be damned if I'm walking all the way to Black Mountain."

"That's not what I meant, boss. I'll go get things ready at home. Meet me there, say an hour before sunset." He hesitates slightly, then decides that being on the defensive was overall a lot harder when there wasn't anything around to hide behind. "One more thing. Ditch the coat and hat and wear something nice."

Both eyebrows go up this time, and she nudges the brim of said hat in an angry, sarcastic little salute before turning around again and heading back to the shining pit of New Vegas. Raul watches her go until she's out of earshot, then quietly lets out a long string of Spanish profanities before he turns and starts walking the other way, berating himself as he goes.

"Mierda. Eres tan estúpido como un perro. Well, get on with it, you old fool. You had this idiotic idea, so go be the idiot."

Lets set the record straight A!A, cause you are a wonderful angel for filling my drunken fantasy. I enjoy this, a lot, and want you to know that I, as the OP, am completely in favor of the way you're going with this prompt.

As for the anon who was offended or what have you, lets just lighten up a bit and enjoy the fun! If you don't like it or are offended, then please move on. Everything is sorted out, the meme loves you A!A, so lets get back to crackin' with this fic, shall we? <3

This is preeeeetty much what I was about to come here to say.

With a prompt as zany as this, I'm not quite sure why anyone would be surprised that it's going to be a cracky fill. I mean, if you can write a serious character study about Courier and her fineass room clearin' charlies then my rawhide cowboy hat is off to you, but y'know. Fun prompts get fun fills, let's not over-think things too much.

A!A, I can't wait to read the next part :)

Te quiero, anon. Would you like a series tag for your Charlie fills? If so, bounce over to the mod alert thread and let me know what name you'd like for it and drop some links to the stories set in the Charlieverse.

This had me blushing furiously. This was wonderful. I loved the almost lyrical way you wrote the love scene and it was beautiful. There needs to be more Raul on this meme, because of fills like this. You write him gorgeously.

Call me crazy but I've itching for some political intrigue, lately. But not the boring, bureaucratic bull of the NCR. No, no, what fun would that be? I want some ruthless, cut throat, back stabbing position shuffling from the Legion!

Caesar's dead (accident? Murder? Tumor? Heart attack got him even after the tumor didn't?) and with out an heir or having officially named a successor, civil war has erupted. The contenders for the throne are:

Lanius, the Monster of the East believes he's the strongest and most worthy of leading the Legion into a glorious new Era of conquest. But he's a controversial leader, scoffing many of Caesar's old methods and believing the the Legion must be "reformed" even if forcibly.

Vulpes Incluta, loyal to Caesar till the end, can not stand to see what Lanius has planned for the Legion actually carried out. It's well known that there's no love lost between the two, and the finalizing of Lanius' rule could mean death or exile for Vulpes and the other Frumentarii. He tries to sabotage Lanius' bid for rule by subverting Lanius' supporters and simultaneously building his own. Vulpes is not a direct leader, though, and this lack of forwardness may cost him.

And lastly is the person who may turn everything on its head. The Courier shouldn't even be a contender, being as she's a woman. But she's cunning and charismatic, charming slave and soldier alike. She had the ear of Caesar while he yet lived and her direct involvement has confounded the NCR and helped secure New Vegas. She's been gaining support steadily and that's got some people nervous.

This is sure to be a battle for the ages!

HOMG. OP here and this was exactly what I was hoping for <3
Seriously, you did such an amazing job and goddamn it was so good <3
Thank you for the fill, it was wonderful QwQ

WOO! Yes! /inarticulate joy noises

LOVING THIS SO FAR. I was hoping to see it filled. Then I clicked on it, and was like "...wait, Charlie? This writing style seems kind of OH MY GOD IT'S THE DOWN IN MEXICO WRITER."

Needless to say I have a little admiration crush going on right now.

Really excited to see where this goes from here and loving it so far! Thank you so much for writing. I love Charlie, how she's kind of blank and disinterested but so fiery and wild. And your Raul is perfect <3

This is a fucking free for all. Do with it what you will. All I need to be sated is the Butchman having some sexy times with Mr. Fox.
Y'know. Ad libitum, et cetera.

Rofl, thanks, anon! It makes me happy that you like them so much. :)

Charlie pokes her head into the Presidential Suite of the Tops and looks around. Oddly enough, she feels safer in Benny's old casino than anywhere else in New Vegas, and goes up there whenever she needs to sit down and have a really hard think about things. There's obviously nothing in there House can use to monitor the place, nobody but her and her tag-a-longs can go in, and she can't get much better security between her and the outside world than Swank's gratitude, even with the front room of the suite scorched and sodden from her last encounter with that little checkerboarded whoremaster who has metaphorically managed to fuck her harder than anyone else.

She brightens. Cass is there, bellied up to the warped bar and apparently raiding the newly-stocked liquor cabinet on a bottle by bottle basis.

"Cass."

The caravanner spins around on her stool and gives her a chipper, shiteating grin. "Yes, sunshine?"

Charlie opens her mouth, closes it and walks over, opens it again and speaks very quietly. "I need something nice to wear."

"For where? Wait no, for who?"

Charlie narrows her eyes. "How did you know it was for a who?"

Cass leans back and flicks a thumb and finger out from the half-drained tumbler she's holding, sending the booze inside around in a lazy wash. "You dress up for a where or a who, and you never give a shit about where you are. You'd put on a potato sack to see the Pope, as they say. Spill."

Charlie has little debate with herself. She still has no idea where the hell any of this foolishness Raul has cooked up is going, and the only thing keeping her from telling him to go there himself is the fact that he's never asked for anything before. Even so, it feels like it has the potential to turn one of the few nice parts of her life she has left into another pointless, complicated mess she wants no part of. Her voice is laced with accusation when she finally lets an answer go. "...Raul asked."

Cass makes a delighted hoot and slaps her thigh. "I knew it! He's been going bowlegged lately, and always after you two take off for a little while. Taking lessons in something aside from reading and writing, huh? You being a naughty little student for Mister Tejada?"

"Cass."

"Okay, alright, don't get sand up your ass. Just put on something nice, then, like he asked. Whatever you'd wear for a somewhat special occasion, that'll do."

Charlie presses her mouth into a thin line. "Traditional wear for the special occasions I am accustomed to involve feathers, yellow clay, Deathclaw blood and nudity. I would prefer not to revisit a single damn one of them, and I'm more or less positive that ain't what he meant."

"No, no, I'm pretty sure he's got your nudity in mind somewhere. Probably his too. Hey, is it slippery clay? Because if it is, throw in some cooking oil and yee-"

"Cass."

"-Haw. Okay, sheesh." She rolls her eyes. "What else do you own beside that mess you live in?"

Charlie hunches into her duster and averts her eyes for a moment. "I've got a dress."

"What kind? Oh Lord, don't tell me it's something you stripped it off one of the cannibals. Veronica keeping one was creepy enough."

"No, I got it out of a drawer at the Sierra Madre. Veronica called it an evening gown." Her eyes flick to the side again. "I know it fits."

"That might-" Cass stops, suddenly looking shrewd. If this was a normal relationship(and who's she kidding, normal went out with the country, the world and an unmutated gene pool) things here would smell a little backwards. "Wait, how did Raul seem when he asked you out."

"Out where?"

"On a date, numbtits."

Charlie looks askance at the faded calendar stuck over the back of the bar, perpetually stuck on Miss October 2077, then at the tiny squares underneath, the concept of which she's never quite gotten the hang of. "How do I go out on a date? They're flat little things."

Cass glances over her shoulder and facepalms. "Oh, Lord."

"They don't even keep track right, I counted and the sun and moon are-"

Cass pinches the bridge of her nose very tightly and cuts her off. "Just answer the question."

"Nervous."

She blinks. "Wow. Really? I thought the ability for him to show emotions other than snark just dropped off along with his ears."

"CASS."

Undaunted as she shouts, Cass rolls her eyes again and flips her the bird for good measure. "Not the dress then, unless he's hiding something fancy under that jumpsuit. You might make him feel like a clod. Hey, just what is it like under that-"

Charlie slams her fist on the bar and positively bellows. "CASS!"

"Okay, okay. Come on back to the 38, I'll lend you a shirt, and we'll see if there's a pair of jeans somewhere that won't stop at your shins." Cass stands up, drains her glass and thunks it down on the bar. "Just don't mention what we're doing to anyone and act normal. We'll have to make sure we don't give Miss Nosypants a reason to pry."

"Veronica?"

"Arcade. But we should keep an eye out for that blabbermouth too."

Fuck YES many kinks were hit. Wonderful work, authornon! And that hundred miles line was a beaut!

I'm requesting F!Courier and Cass working as prostitutes at the Wrangler to pay off debts. As well as having sex with the customers, they also have to put on 'shows' on the stage. Someone has to replace Hadrian's act, after all.

So, F!Courier and Cass having sex on stage and being as showboaty as possible about it. It's their job to get the customers so damn horny that they'll hire anything with the necessary holes.

Bonus points for there being an extra 'continued show' in a back room after the on-stage deal, where customers can join in.

Double bonus points for the reactions of the other companions to the 'show'. (The mental image of Veronica throwing caps on stage comes to mind.)

Boone and Gannon are together, though it's still a secret because Boone doesn't want anyone to know, thinking it would be a disservice to Carla. Gannon initially plays along, but how long can he take sneaking around like a couple of Vault teenagers?

[A/N THIS IS A FILL BY ORIGINAL POSTER, THOUGH I WELCOME ANYONE ELSE TO MULTIFILL)

The door frame hit Arcade Gannon in between the shoulders hard enough to smart, but for the moment he didn’t feel it. Another nuclear bomb could go off at this very moment, and it still wouldn’t be enough to drag Arcade’s attention away from the hands around his waist and the mouth on his neck. This was the first chance in weeks that he and Boone were able to sneak away together, and it wouldn’t be wasted. Boone moved his sloppy kisses from Arcade’s neck, briefly to his jaw line, then finally to his face. Arcade jockeyed to join their mouths, roughly bumping their noses together before finding Boone’s lips. The dull pain did nothing to damper their lust, if anything it made them randier. Arcade could only manage a few simple kisses before the urge to shove his tongue into Boone’s mouth overcame him. ‘My mother used to say ‘never suppress an urge…’’ he thought to himself.

Boone’s lips provided little resistance to the idea, and soon Arcade was lapping at Boone’s tongue, content for the moment to just taste his lover. Languidly, Arcade’s hand reached around Boone’s neck, then palms skating over bristly short hair of a ‘high and tight’ haircut continued on, eventually snagging the well worn beret from Boone’s head. The beret was always the first thing to go, a continued tradition from the first time they had kissed—(‘chair skating across the floor, Arcade stood up, an uncharacteristic flush of anger on his face. Boone bolted onto his feet in response, fists and feet moving into a stance that was part army training and part gut instinct. “Take it back,” Arcade said, in an oddly flat tone. Boone hadn’t known him long enough to realize how dangerous it was when Arcade got quiet. “Won’t,” Boone spat back. “Won’t take it back and won’t patrol with you anymore. You can’t hit the broad side of a bighorner bull for shit and I’m tired of you staring at my ass.” Arcade threw up his hands, as if ridding himself of the accusation. “Sweetheart,” Arcade replied sarcastically, “If you were the last man in the Mojave, I wouldn’t touch you and that bundle of self loathing, dead wife issues, and masochism you call a personality with a stick.” Now it was Boone’s turn to look shocked. “Come over here and say that to my face,” he challenged. Arcade didn’t even think twice about it before striding across the floorboards of the presidential suit. For once, Arcade was glad of his height and drew himself up to loom over Boone. “What are you waiting for?” Arcade challenged, not afraid in the moment, but dulling registering the sense that he’d regret this later—if he lived to regret this later. Boone, licking his lips unconsciously, was suddenly unsure if he’d taken this too far. Sure, Gannon was a limp wristed shit shooter who talked just to hear his own voice, but he’d never been anything but cordial to Boone. What, exactly, was it about this man that made him angry? Boone was suddenly unsure of himself, unsure of the ugly ball of emotions in his gut towards Gannon—towards how he felt about Arcade—replied “I don’t hit ladies.” The words took a moment to register with Arcade, but when they did he reached up and snatched Boone’s hat off the top of his head and flung it to the ground in a fit of unrestrained, childish anger. Both men had the good grace to look utterly shocked for a moment, comically mirroring a ‘what the devil just happened’ look at each other, and gaping like a fish. “I’m—so sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” Arcade started while running his hands through his thick, blond hair. Being that Arcade expected to get the smartass pummeled right out of him on the dusty, faded floor of the Lucky 38, it shocked him greatly when Boone seized him by the face and brought their lips together in a rough tangle. ‘Oh my god,’ thought Arcade, ‘I didn’t even see his fist move and he’s hit me so hard that I’m having unconscious hallucinations.’ Once, however, he felt the dull ache of his teeth where they clicked off of Boone’s, and tasted the queer taste of a stranger’s spit, he was obliged to accept that this was reality and that from now on things were going to be very, very different, to say the least.’)

Arcade snapped back to the present moment, chiding himself for taking a walk down memory lane at a time like this. He silently cursed his abnormally high need for cognition—the doctor’s school term for smart people’s ADHD—and shoved his tongue deeper into Boone’s mouth to compensate. By this time Boone’s hands had slipped down adventurously, cupping Arcade’s bottom and waist respectively. Arcade felt Boone squeezing his bottom and thought it delightfully cheeky of the usually reserved man. Boone pulled his mouth away and the two of them waited a moment to regain their breath before sealing lips again. This time when Arcade slipped his tongue in Boone’s mouth, the other man responded by pushing against it with his own tongue. The two of them battled for a moment before Arcade won out, using his experience to his advantage. Still, he couldn’t help but be thrown off balance by Boone’s seemingly new-found boldness.

Though they’d only been together four months, and intimate much less than that, the two had seemingly fallen into an established pattern of affection. Arcade was the bold one, the experienced one who took the lead. Boone was shy. He had to be coaxed, to be encouraged, by Arcade. Arcade’s knowledge of psychology was limited but quite refined, and he suspected Boone of having deep rooted intimacy issues—issues that probably even stemmed pre-Carla. Guiltily, Arcade let his tongue fall back into his own mouth, and encouraged Boone as best he could to take the lead. If his man was showing a little bit of initiative, Arcade owed it to him to encourage it. Hell, if nothing else, it’d probably be good for Boone’s self-esteem.

Arcade allowed himself to be led further into the room, glad to have the door jamb out of his back. Boone led him by the hips, walking backwards into the gloom of the kitchen of the Bison Steve Hotel. Almost as an afterthought, Arcade recalled the story of how the Courier and Boone had cleared the Powder Gangers out of the hotel. If his memory served him correctly, Arcade recalled that Deputy Beagle had died in this room, after the trio had been ambushed by the head of the Powder Gangers. It was nothing more than a passing observation; death didn’t give today’s Wastelanders the heebie-jeebies like it did in Arcade’s great-grandfather’s day. Yes, half a dozen men had died in this room a few months ago. That didn’t make it any less of a prime spot to neck. Besides, most of the blood had been cleaned off of the walls and floors. Yeah, most of it….

The Courier had sent Boone and Arcade into the Bison Steve to forage for scrap and supplies to hawk. ‘Well I spy a pool table,’ Arcade thought, ‘but I think Boone and I should test its structural integrity.’ Boone must have had much the same idea, as he swung Arcade around and pushed him down to sit on the table. Feeling a wave of lust fueled impatience, Arcade began to pull Boone’s shirt off, then his own. Finally, he could touch the smooth, tan skin of Boone’s back and run his hands over the hard muscles of his lover’s arms and stomach. Words could not express how painful it was to watch Boone strut around camp sans shirt and act like he DIDN’T want to just bend the smaller man over and fuck him senseless. But they had appearances to keep, and their relationship was confined to quick kisses in their shared tent and surreptitious trysts in abandoned buildings. ‘I’m a 35 year old man and I still have to sneak around like a horn-dog teenager,’ Arcade grumbled to himself. Yes, but moments like this made it worth it. He couldn’t wait to be inside of his lover. It had been far too long.

Arcade’s impatience reached a peak, and this heavy petting was no longer satisfying enough for him. Though Boone was apparently still content with nuzzling at his neck, Arcade slipped his fingers into the waist band of Boone’s jeans and groped for the top button. Once the pants were unbuttoned, Arcade yanked the zipper down, not oblivious to the bulge in the front of Boone’s pants, and pushed the jeans to the ground. Wasting no time, Arcade pushed his hands into the other man’s underwear, tracing Boone’s hip bones down into the V of his crotch.

Boone shivered in delight from the light touch, and Arcade continued his exploration with satisfaction. ‘Why, yes, everything appears to be working down here,’ Arcade thought in an exaggerated doctor fashion, and then had to duck his head against Boone’s chest to hide his self-amused smile. Next, Arcade allowed his hands to roam around those tanned hips until his fingers touched the dimples low on Boone’s back. Arcade loved those dimples. When Boone gallivanted around camp shirtless, Arcade’s eyes were easily drawn to them. He often found his lips curve into a smug smile as he thought to himself ‘I am the only man to have ever kissed those dimples. They belong to me now.’

Allowing his hands to dip under the waistband yet again, Arcade ran his hands over the firm and familiar swell of Boone’s buttocks. Just as he was about to slip a finger into his lover, Boone suddenly pulled away. Arcade’s hands pulled out of the underwear and fell into his lap. Surprised, Arcade looked up owlishly, and pushed his glasses back. “What’s up,” he asked.

“I want to top,” Boone said, straight to the point as always.

“What?” Arcade replied, feeling his eyebrows arch in surprise. Boone had never topped. It was always up to Arcade to make the move, to be forceful, and ultimately, to seal the deal. Boone shuffled from foot to foot, as he was wont to do when he was uncomfortable, and wouldn’t meet Arcade’s eyes. It was usually much easier for Boone to mask his feelings when he could hide behind those ridiculously huge Johnny Thor glasses he wore. As it were, Boone was looking everywhere but into Arcade’s eyes, another sign that he was nervous and uncomfortable. This new turn of events was quite interesting, to say the least.

Boone started to say something then bit the words off. He rocked uncomfortably from foot to foot some more, then said something in a low tone, too fast for Arcade to catch. “What did you say, love,” Arcade said, pointing at his ear to signal that he couldn’t hear. Boone glared a little at having to repeat himself, then said slightly more audibly, “You said last time, that the next time I could top. And I want to.”

Arcade’s eyebrows rose even higher. He recalled the last time they had made love. Yup. Just like he thought, Arcade had been land-blasted drunk. Needless to say, he didn’t remember agreeing to anything of the sort. Arcade made to tell Boone so, then quickly changed his mind. If he said no now, Boone would never ask again. It was as simple as that. And this could prove to be interesting. ‘Yes’, Arcade reaffirmed silently, ‘very, very interesting. Gah, even just imagining him taking control of me like he takes control of his sniper rifle is oddly attractive, in a weird, Rambo-fetishy sort of way.’

“Ok, then, Boone. Come over here and make me see stars.” For a second, Boone didn’t move, too surprised at the granting of his request. Then, in his quiet way, he accepted this new information with a blink. Boone closed the distance between them and immediately went for Arcade’s pants. They were ripped off quickly, along with Arcade’s underwear. Not waiting a moment to let Arcade adjust, Boone pushed the taller man down on the pool table, dropped his own drawers, and then climbed up after him. The two struggled a bit to get comfortable, as Boone straddled his lover’s waist and tried to find a position easy on his knees, and Arcade wiggled around until most of him was on the pool table. Being tall certainly had its disadvantages.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 136 of 257

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

El lenguaje del Tango

Re: Jericho : Past tellings

Re: Veronica/BOS Paladins - Gangbang Non-Con

Re: Friends will be Friends 8c/8

Re: Hacer El Amor - 1/?

Re: Hacer El Amor - 2/?

Re: Hacer El Amor - 2a/?

The Drunken OP

Re: The Drunken OP

Re: Hacer El Amor - 2a/?

Re: No School Like Old School 7/7

F!Courier+Vulpes+Lanius My the Best Man Win

Re: No School Like Old School 7/7

Re: Joshua Graham + Pretty Sarah, 'The Skin We Live In' 2/2

Re: Hacer El Amor - 2a/?

Vulpes Inculta + Butch DeLoria: Cross-over Slashtastic Fuckery

Re: Hacer El Amor - 2a/?

Re: Hacer El Amor - 3/?

Re: Hacer El Amor - 3a/?

Re: No School Like Old School 7/7

F!Courier/Cass + Customers, Prostitution, Public Sex Shows

Boone/Gannon: Secretly dating

Bison Steve Blues

Bison Steve Blues (2/5)

Bison Steve Blues (3/5)