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

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

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Lol I love what you did with the Mysterious Stranger. XD

This series is the rockingest <3

Dean sat on the only usable couch. There wasn’t much else he could do while she tried to fix the terminal. He was not a tech expert and he had ceremoniously refused to act as a human conductor until it was safe enough for him to stay on that roof. The woman sat behind the terminal, whose screen kept flickering rapidly, and occasionally, a spark would fly off left and right and she would let out a quiet curse before reaching out for parts littered at her feet.

By this point the Courier couldn’t imagine how God or Christine would be able to cause more running around and pleasing and compromising to stay in one spot, when compared to the old singer. Even with her inquisitive need to know and learn how, why and what for – which was the reason she now had a bomb collar around her neck and cursed herself repeatedly still for not preparing better when she knew that Elijah had carried away a truckload of these from Big MT – she couldn’t think of any other reason why she would try to boot-up an ancient terminal in place where being stationary for extended period of time spelled death otherwise.

So here they were. At the broken down terminal that controlled the holograms. And all he could do was smoke. He’d like to find something to drink too, but he believed it was important to keep a clear mind right now. His eyes kept turning to the window and a perimeter of explosives he had set up while she worked.

Dean sighed. Then, he had another cigar. And once more, he sighed, this time – loudly.

“How much longer is it going to take?”

“You know you could have just stayed on the roof and waited for me to light the security up,” she called from behind the desk. It was followed by a clink of metal and a sound of terminal trying to establish connection, failing to do so and fizzling out. Also, there was another muffled curse worthy of a suburban taxi driver.

“Yeah, and what a prime position it is to get cornered in. Ghost People swarming in on all sides across roofs, the only way down blocked… Marvelous prospect. No, thank you.”

She let out something that sounded like a strangled snort. The ghoul was paranoid beyond reason. Granted, he had a very good reason to fuel all that paranoia, still… she had never expected her patience to be tried so thoroughly the way it was now. Strolling through Caesar’s camp, in full view of raping marauders, wasn’t as trying. Well, that’s a lie. Partly. It wasn’t as trying because she was well aware that the so-called legionaries couldn’t touch her at the time. Those trained attack dogs wouldn’t dare wag their tails without the great Caesar’s permission.

With loud sound of terminal finally powering up, she stopped reminiscing and stood up, helmet back in place naturally, rounded to stand in front of the screen. Just because the power was back on didn’t mean that the connections between the holo-emitter, the terminal or even the software for security hologram had survived.

“There weren’t any close to the building. Or that rooftop. I’d notice,” she dusted off her hands across her pants finally.

Oh, she’d notice, would she? This high-minded, self-entitled tourist… All wrapped up in that riot armor, thinking she is some kind of expert on the local fauna after surviving a couple of days in the Villa, when he had survived for decades! Decades! And wearing a tuxedo, no less. Now, that is called surviving with style!

“I’m surprised you can notice where you’re stepping with that thing on,” he gestured derisively at the, at this point, highly annoying black helmet which she had staunchly refused to remove to date. She did it only to aggravate him, no doubt about it.

So quickly she turned, walked – no, sauntered over him in such a single fluid motion that for a moment Dean believed she would slip into his lap. And there was a part of him that didn’t mind the idea in the slightest. In fact, that insufferable, starved part of him he had long since put in the fridge, had optimally prepared for it. Welcomed it! After all, when was the last time he had a decent pair of legs within arm’s reach? Well, there was Vera’s hologram, but there was only so much he could do with a collection of photons.

The Courier didn’t though, just leaned over him in, what in his mind was, patronizing manner.

“I wear protective gear. You wear these,” her finger was quick and flicked lightly across the bridge of his sunglasses. It surprised him and he hit the back of his head against the wall behind. Not much, it didn’t hurt… and he immediately pulled upright once he realized that he had backpedaled from her touch. She didn’t seem to notice, or pretended not to as was Dean’s conclusion, and had returned to trying to repair the machine.

He sneered at how nauseating it was. Dean Domino did not backpedal. He might make a tactical retreat or use the long way around, but he did not balk like a frightened schoolgirl. And what possessed her to constantly intrude upon his personal space bubble?! He felt ill prepared for this; which was absurd because Dean Domino had once been the master of the game – on top of it! Sierra Madre wasn’t kind on his looks, now it looked like his ability to charm was affected as well.

His head turned to the sound of familiar loud hissing and a thick metal clang coming from the outside. By the sound of it, it had to be the furthest one out. She had reset the bear-traps all the way up to the collapsed wall and Dean suspected that one of the Ghost People had walked right into one. Hopefully, it would serve as a warning to the rest to keep their distance. Unless they knew how to dismantle them. There was always that little worm of doubt, nagging, questioning… Making him wonder what exactly did the Ghost People know to do. Still, there was always a second line of explosive defense.

“They are crawling back on the streets out there. Your tinkering had better work, postman, or no hologram will be able to save us.”

“I have a name, singer,” she called from the table, her voice sapped in patience as she didn’t want the bother of correcting him. Courier, postman… how would the ghoul stuck in a desert resort for 200 years know the difference in the new world? Couriers did more than just deliver mail.

“Not one for introductions, then. Manners must have gone the way of the bombs.” Deep sarcasm was punctuated by him dragging in smoke of his cigar.

“You haven’t asked.”

“Me? I introduced myself when we first met. I cannot say the opposite happened.”

‘No you didn’t,’ she corrected him silently. Elijah had given her his name. “Guilty.”

“You certainly are.”

She paused, lips pressed into a thin line under that helmet. “…That’s my name.”

Silence stretched like an old world rubber, only to be punctured by a cough and a puff of smoke. “Pardon?”

She let out a sigh. It was a bad idea to tell him. There was a snigger behind her. The type of snigger that had a snigger all of its own. A capricious sound of superiority which could only be accredited to Dean Domino. Hell, he might own a patent of it.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” More silence, as she was determent not to react. There was no point to it. After all, this was not the first time her name had run into this kind of reception. Dean snorted a twisted laugh. “Well, I wasn’t far off the mark when I said your Ma thought you to be something special.”

“I guess you weren’t. Then again, being a ghoul she had the time to cultivate intuition.”

A swift click of a jaw. As predicted, the comment made him snap shut, and the moment stretched into a lengthy silence. It allowed her to work in peace for once. Hacking through the system which was on the verge of collapsing, she mulled over choking strangeness of Sierra Madre and individuals she was forced to team up with. Big MT made her feel excitement and tantalizing fear at every turn, every facility a playground to be explored; Sierra Madre made her fight for each breath and minute of her life. It might be equally enticing in some masochistic way… but, there was no Sink here to return to, to rest her feet and to let the chatting of its inhabitants lull her to sleep.

“How did that work exactly?”

Of course, it was only a matter of time before his curiosity got the better of him.

“How did what work?”

“Ghoul. Being your mother. I can’t imagine many family traits being passed down-…”

Guilty turned to stare at him, and saw how very busy he was with act of not being interested. Legs crossed, eyes focused on the hole in the wall, cigar slightly crumpled between his fingers… She paused, wondering briefly if he truly couldn’t guess or if he was just feigning ignorance at her expense. Neither of which she would put past him and both of which, as unlikely as that seemed, were probable at the same time. She had suspected, a while now actually, that unless he had a cordial relationship with other visitors in the Madre long enough to get around to speak with them, Dean likely had no idea what a ghoul was, how they came about and what they could end up as.

It was a little sad, not knowing what you were.

“She ran an orphanage,” the Courier said finally.

A genuine ‘Oh’ was the only answer she got and when she saw he was not going to comment further on it, out of embarrassment or some other reason, she continued her repairs. Bright command suddenly flashed on the screen before her bringing her back from her weary thoughts – ‘Activate Hologram’.

When she finally reached the backup systems she grumbled with dissatisfaction. “Perfect. This terminal controls only one of the things.”

“Well, then you better hope that the other one is in working order,” he stated casually – as of course, he would not be the one to do any fixing, his voice clear and close to her ear, and she realized that Dean was practically leaning over her shoulder.

“I’m not that lucky,” she breathed deeply picking up her rifle as he pulled back and they prepared to head out once more. “Stay close.”

“Like dancing with your shadow.” Puff of smoke covered his face like a stage mask as they descended into lightless corridors.

A!A here and thank you for such positive comments :D I'm glad there are readers who are enjoying it. Although, such positive praises coming from the OP make for some pressure :P

I wasn't sure how the story would go down seeing how it's a very slow buildup and still has places to go, or may even stir in a different direction than expected :/ But Madre is also my favorite DLC so I am trying to shove as much of atmosphere as I can into text.

I can't vouch how fast the updates will get in the near future since I'm somewhat obsessed with details, how the situations play out and so on. So a fair warning there.

Thank you all and I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story. And Dean! You should especially enjoy Dean!

Thanks anon!

Not to put a damper on things, but you tend to leave out words quite frequently and misspell a few things. The story is great, don't get me wrong, but I figured I'd let you know that you might want to proofread a little bit more. It takes me out of the story when I have to mentally add a missing word.

(Final crossover tag: 1984)

He Loved President Eden

Civilization was overrated. Many people said that, but few had the firsthand experience to back it up. Likewise, few people asked Colin Moriarty where he’d gotten his accent. It could have been that they expected any story coming out of his mouth to be a lie, which wasn’t an unfounded assumption. If they had asked him, he probably would have lied.

The truth was that he had grown up in civilization, and given everything he had to escape it.

Listening to the radio, Moriarty always enjoyed Enclave broadcasts. One couldn’t help being a little nostalgic, even towards a place of nightmares. President Eden was an enjoyably powerless authority figure, with all of the comforting tones of his old leader and none of the muscle to back it up.

Good old Oceana, encompassing what used to be England and Ireland and god only knew what else. He’d been born into what passed for wealth back home, and it was that wealth that had bribed the Underground to put him on the ship across the sea. What they would find, no one knew- all they knew was that it was a land they were supposedly at war with, where the civilization they knew had long ago crumbled. That was appealing enough on its own.

The Capital Wasteland wasn’t that bad, and a slimy bastard like Moriarty could always find a niche to crawl into. Pimp, slave owner and saloon keeper- not exactly the high life, but life just the same. Here you didn’t have to worry about being arrested (being locked up by Lucas Simms hardly counted), or assassinated (provided you didn’t piss off anyone with money) or censored (if you had anything valuable to say in the first place.) It truly was the land of the free.

Still, sometimes he would put on Enclave radio just for the hell of it. Listening to President Eden’s voice was a bit like home away from home. In a way, it was good to know he was watching you.

(Final crossover tag: 1984)

Part Five: He Loved President Eden

Civilization was overrated. Many people said that, but few had the firsthand experience to back it up. Likewise, few people asked Colin Moriarty where he’d gotten his accent. It could have been that they expected any story coming out of his mouth to be a lie, which wasn’t an unfounded assumption. If they had asked him, he probably would have lied.

The truth was that he had grown up in civilization, and given everything he had to escape it.

Listening to the radio, Moriarty always enjoyed Enclave broadcasts. One couldn’t help being a little nostalgic, even towards a place of nightmares. President Eden was an enjoyably powerless authority figure, with all of the comforting tones of his old leader and none of the muscle to back it up.

Good old Oceana, encompassing what used to be England and Ireland and god only knew what else. He’d been born into what passed for wealth back home, and it was that wealth that had bribed the Underground to put him on the ship across the sea. What they would find, no one knew- all they knew was that it was a land they were supposedly at war with, where the civilization they knew had long ago crumbled. That was appealing enough on its own.

The Capital Wasteland wasn’t that bad, and a slimy bastard like Moriarty could always find a niche to crawl into. Pimp, slave owner and saloon keeper- not exactly the high life, but life just the same. Here you didn’t have to worry about being arrested (being locked up by Lucas Simms hardly counted), or assassinated (provided you didn’t piss off anyone with money) or censored (if you had anything valuable to say in the first place.) It truly was the land of the free.

Still, sometimes he would put on Enclave radio just for the hell of it. Listening to President Eden’s voice was a bit like home away from home. In a way, it was good to know he was watching you.

Amazing as always, great A!A. I love your Dean dialogue, it's so perfect. I find him extremely tough to pin down but yours is so believable!

That's hardly going to change. English is not my native language, it's not even my second language and no amount of proofreading can help me with a language I only use sparingly. So far, I've relied on word spellchecker to keep me on the straight and narrow.

thirdin'! ring a ding ding

I hadn't run across this prompt before but now you mention it - woa yeah!!!

A!A, you're doing just fine. I wouldn't have known that English was a secondary language if you hadn't mentioned it :)

Just a friendly reminder that critique isn't really the point of this kink meme. If an author has asked for critique then that's fine, but honestly, we're just after lots of stories contributed by everyone without having to worry about meeting some arbitrary standard of technical proficiency.

If folks want to help people out with their writing, or want help with their own writing, there's a critique thread that's getting covered in dust - http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2480.html

Seriously? Respect, authoranon. I would have never guessed.

Really digging the fill, keep it up!

Thank you all for your comments: they HELP ;)
This chapter took me a while mostly because Dean's acting difficult in the next two, so I had to slow down. Anyway, on with the story and I'll try to keep grammar mistakes to a minimum.

***

Their way down was not as fortunate as the time they were first looking for this building. Uncharacteristically, or perhaps they have sensed that something was going on, the Ghost People waited for them, silent and still, avoiding traps and laying an ambush. To her surprise, it was Dean who pulled her out of the way of spears and a gas bomb flying past her head. It exploded, deafening both of them and lighting the street, making the Cloud swirl as the flames gobbled on it.

They landed behind the pile mixed of crushed building blocks and old furniture, his arm inexplicably finding its way around her waist as he kept her down. Whooshing sound of spears flying over their heads, clangs as they hit the ruble the two used as cover or just narrowly missing the a face trying to ascertain how bad the situation was for them, was just some on the list of things gone horribly wrong.

“‘There are none near the building,’ she says,” the ghoul mocked and the only thing Courier could do, beyond ignoring his biting words, was pull out sever stacks of dynamite and throw it to him. He looked at her, at the smooth blackness, and nodded. “Aim for the one with the canisters,” he said, short of breath and leaning to his side of the rubble guarding them as hissing and scuffling and gurgling drew closer. Acknowledging it, in one smooth move she had her rifle ready and aiming at the slowest, and largest, creature in the group.

He lit the fuse at the same time as she fired two shots at the gas tank. She pierced it and it started to leak but it was Dean who finished it, throwing two dynamite sticks, one right after the other. The resulting explosion was strong enough to bring down the adjoined pillars and the terrace they supported. Together with hisses and cries of pain, flame mixed with the Cloud brought up ash and debris, and covered the escape of the only two living creatures.

They scampered away, to a place where they could actually breathe.

“We need to finish them,” she coughed looking back around to chaotic dust swirl behind them, but Dean pulled at her, preventing any possibility of going back.

“We need to get away before more swarm the streets.” His tone was of one who had seen similar situation unfold and did not wish to stay for a closing act. For once, it brooked no argument.

She didn’t know if she could argue with that because she refused to believe that there could be so many of them surviving all these years, but there was something on her side, other than his hand pressed where her ribs would be were it not for protective casing, that burned and felt sticky and demanded immediate attention.

“The hologram works, doesn’t it?” He asked pulling her further down the alleyways he knew so well, despite constantly reinforcing how he wouldn’t be caught dead in this murderous part of town.

“Yes.”

“And it’s not going to shoot on us?”

“I don’t know.” She felt his grip tighten furiously, fingers digging in and pain lashing up through her side. “But it will on them.”

They didn’t have much choice and rushed in the direction of the hologram positioned in front of an archway, hoping that it would deter the creatures from following them. And if it just killed them on the spot, all the better. They rounded the corner, until they were in front of the holographic representation of one of Sierra Madre’s old security guards. It ignored them and Dean took them to a narrow gap leading inside of a building, and through several rooms, before helping her down on a set of collapsed stairs. From the outside they could hear the sounds of rapid laser fire and they both stilled, listening to the unfair fight and killing.

“This was close. Much too close for my tastes, but I don’t think there’ll be much chance of them passing by that thing.”

“Unless they’re smart enough to locate the emitter and smash it,” she leaned over breathless, pressing her hand to her side.

Dean shuddered at the prospect. He couldn’t credit the Ghost People for doing that one yet. “And I was just starting to feel optimistic about our chances.”

“I’m… still very optimistic about them…” Guilty dropped her rifle and started to rummage through her pouches and bag with one hand. Dean, still keeping an ear out for any creature that might roll in their direction glanced at her before turning to her fully. Even the red glaze of the Cloud couldn’t cover the true crimson of fresh blood dripping across the yellowing mortar.

“They got you?” The often pretentious ghoul singer said it in such a tone that made it clear it was another hurdle on his way to Sierra Madre Casino he did not need.

“It’s not that bad. At least it’s not a bear trap. I’d hate to be the one to slow down your heist even further with hobbling.”

“At least you admit to it,” he stated, straight-faced as possible and with lips pressed into a thin line. They’ve narrowly escaped being dragged away like a couple of pups to a pound lined with handlers just waiting to skin them alive. Or stuff them in one of those suits. Whichever. Quite a time for her to crack jokes, underlined with sarcasm and insults of all things.

He rubbed the back of his head, rough, uneven, occasionally peeling. Not at the moment though so he ignored it.

“Have a look, will you,” she said, nudging him from where his thoughts have veered, and bent forward across the stairs exposing the injury to him. Dean had to kneel next to her and unroll the tear in the thinner material between padding of her armor to get a good look at the wound. From the offhand first glance the only thing he could tell was a red line across her flesh.

“It looks like one of their spears has gotten to you. I would need more light to-…” A bright beam shone into his face and he balked in surprise. She had thrown her arm across her head and the light of her pip-boy managed to reach her side just enough for him to examine it properly. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and fixed her with an annoyed expression before setting to task of inspecting it properly. He ran his finger around the dark bruise, barely daring to touch it so not to open it further. He couldn’t see much from the blood but the wound at her side was a long gash, swelling but a clean cut – from what he could tell at least, he wouldn’t call himself the expert though. “It doesn’t look like it’s gone in deep, but… you might have to remove the… top if I am to have a good look at it.”

Dean was not clumsy with words, he never had been. When he was the one to cut through the core of the matter with a sharpened tongue and oily words, it was with style and there was none alive who could dispute that. But in any other situation, the choice of his words could have gone pear shaped in so many different ways. And if he had become any judge of the expression she was likely to wear under that helmet, she might have – just might – taken it the way he had clearly not intended. What was that woman thinking?! Not at the time like this, and certainly not with her bleeding all over the floor!

Belatedly, she unclasped side buckles and took the heavy front of off her chest. With a muffled curse she pulled her shirt up to reveal her midsection and the gash, horribly bloody, darkening in color, possibly infected already and… Dean simply couldn’t help himself but notice the line of muscles, hard, clearly defined plates decorating her stomach like a chessboard, crisscrossed with pale scars, bites and burns. Her skin looked like it had been used as parchment for the life after bombs to write memories across. But beyond all that and so much in contrast to him, barring many scars, tanned and marked, her skin was smooth. Used for fighting. Used to killing.

“I’d rather not be caught at the tip of the spear point with my shirt completely off, if it’s all the same to you. Just inject these around and it’ll be fine-…” she said, cutting his rampant thought short, holding out some stimpacks but he pried them from her fingers and placed them to the side.

“With your wound hanging open like that, I’m not too keen on trusting just those. It’s my life that hangs on your pulse too, you know.” He didn’t know what came over him to say that. Well, survival was the first thing on his mind, naturally.

“Bloody selfish of me, I agree,” she breathed. “What do you have in mind?”

“We have materials to stitch you up, don’t we?” Indeed, in one of the small pockets of his belt he found and pulled out a lesser package of aid required for injuries more serious than what a stimpack could handle. He looked at the wound again, and blinked, wondering if he had just imagined or if the cut had narrowed somewhat.

“You know how to use a needle?” The helmet tilted to the side, and her voice cracked in disbelief drawing him back.

“Of course I do! I had to patch myself when the chems weren’t enough. Does it surprise you?” Though truth to be told… he wasn’t used to patching other people up. Sierra Madre didn’t allow for much in the way of alliances, even if they were temporary ones. He healed fast. For his flesh – sadly not his skin – a meager stitch was enough so long it kept the wound closed until regeneration kicked in. Proper sewing up of wounds was not something he needed to relay on often. Not to mention how fine detail had since begun to escape his eyes. Oh, he could still pinpoint a pair of glowing green dots in the distances sans glasses but, eh… She didn’t really need to know all that however.

“Given the environment of Sierra Madre, no…” she stared tiredly and sighed. “It’s just that ghouls don’t usually need to resort to patching themselves up,” she said, echoing his thoughts and confirming his suspicions, remembering Raul’s tale of surviving being shot at – repeatedly – before moving on to kill the assholes. She shook her head lightly. For all his talk of failing eyes and creaking knees, Raul had long ago came to grips with what he was, and by all, if he didn’t actually find some perverse thrill it.

Dean settled next to her, wiped the blood with clean gauze and bent over the slash, pressing the tip of the needle at one end. His other hand pressed against warm flesh – and blimey, her muscles had to be made of iron! – holding her down so she wouldn’t wriggle while he worked. He didn’t need to worry about doing some amateurish acupuncture; she seemed quite used to this kind of procedures. What had the world turned into out there, if this has become the norm? Living in Sierra Madre gave him a good idea, but Sierra Madre wasn’t the world and he had no other people to compare it to. Well, no other living people.

“You’re tougher,” she continued. “You heal faster and you can walk right down the irradiated interstate like it’s a walk in a deathclaw-free neighborhood.”

“Yes, which is why I look like I could use some extended ‘me’ time in a mud bath,” he drawled. “A fair trade off, to be sure.” He was clearly being sarcastic. “And if you’re going to ask me what a mud bath is – don’t. I’m not feeling particularly generous with sharing any more of my pearls of wisdom and bygone old world peculiarities,” he cut in immediately when her head rose up a fraction.

One shoulder shrugged. “That’s a first,” she whispered turning her head away.

Needle was suddenly harshly pulled through her flesh. “What was that?”

“Nothing that should keep you awake at night.”

His milky eyes narrowed, and a final pull of the thread might have been too much but helmet obscured any reaction. It did nothing for his mood – her lack of reaction, her constant, maddeningly even tone. It was as if she was deliberately trying to provoke him.

In turn, and ignoring the burning line of pain and the man only working on increasing it apparently, her eyes rested on the distant blue glow of the wending machine coming through the cracks in the wall. And such beautiful machine it was! Food, water, medicine, ammo… All for a price of one casino chip. And if there was one thing Vegas had in abundance – it was gambling chips. Perhaps the Casino held some blueprints of them. If not, she’d have to hop over to Big Empty once more, but it would be worth the trip if she could bring those to the Mojave.

“That should hold until the stimpacks kick in,” he said sitting back after he finished. His palms and tips of fingers were bloody and, without giving it much thought he wiped them of his trousers. The last handkerchief in his possession had run its course some twelve years ago.

“I wish I had that suit with me…” she whispered trying to sit up then. Any of the two. In fact, Big MT offered enough decent armor for any situation. If she only had access to the old hazmat suit she found in the testing ground she might have been able to pass as one of them even. As long as the mutation didn’t got to her first.

When she finally pulled herself fully upright she noticed that the stitches held, surprisingly and she glanced at him.

“What?” He asked. “You didn’t think I can do it? Or you didn’t feel a thing? I happen to favor the gentle touch.”

A gentle touch that hurt more than the cut itself.

“Nothing.” She wasn’t going to mention the phoenix implant certainly helped him along the way. “We need to move on, before they find us.”

Characters: Ahzrukhal, F!LW, Charon
Tags: virginity, ghoul, oral sex (threesome?)

“I don’t really do discounts,” he tells her, sneering. Ahzrukhal likes sneering at smoothskin. No one can quite sneer like a ghoul, he feels.

The kid in front of him is all slick leather and regret over her own inexperience. It’s why she wants Charon, of course. She’s smart enough to see the value in him, and it’s value that might well keep her alive.

“Yeah, I figured,” she says, ignoring his sneer. “But here’s the thing. I don’t have two thousand caps, because I can’t get to the places with that kind of salvage because I can’t hack it. He –“ she jerks her thumb towards Charon, standing in the back, glowering (no surprises there) – “is how I hack it.”

“Look, smoothskin –“

“And I know you’re not the kind of man to lend him to me in good faith, just as I’m not the kind of girl who’d actually bring him back if you did that.”

Ahzrukhal pauses there, because you don’t usually hear someone admit that they’d happily cheat you out of house and home.

“And I’m not killing Greta – sorry – because I have a massive crush on her girlfriend’s son, and even though Greta hates the guy, it doesn’t seem like a way into his good books, you know?”

The ghoul blinks. Son? Carol? Does she mean that skinny dork kid who wandered out of here what, nearly twenty years ago? He didn’t even know that the guy was still –

“So here’s what I’m offering,” says the girl, leaning forward. Was her jacket always unzipped that far? Ahzrukhal doesn’t hide his glance at her breasts. “I grew up in a Vault, right? And let me tell you, that is one conservative upbringing. And since I got out here, well, I’ve realised the value of an unbroken hymen, you get me?”

Yes, Ahzrukhal realises, this is going exactly where he thinks it’s going. She’s offering up her virginity like – like – damn, he could actually like this kid.

“So I’ve been saving it up. No easy feat, let me tell you,” she adds, conspiratorially. “And that’s what I’m willing to trade. My first fuck, and all the caps on me – which is just over nine hundred – for Charon and a bottle of whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” he asks, half in disbelief.

The Vault kid grins, and bats her eyelashes exactly like the bolshy teenager she is. “What, you’re not gonna buy me a drink before you pop my cherry?”

He actually laughs at that. He can’t fault her for her forwardness. But – “What’s to stop me just taking what you’re offering? With Charon still in my possession –“ he clicks his fingers, and the bodyguard lumbers forward – “it’d be easy. Do you think you could stop me? Do you think you could stop him?”

The girl shakes her head. “No, of course not. But I’ll give you three good reasons why my way is better, okay?”

Ahzrukhal folds his arms and smirks at her again, waiting.

“One,” she says, pulling herself up onto the bar and crossing her legs, “I’ve heard it’s a bunch more enjoyable if it’s consensual. Girls’ll do all kindsa nasty shit if they’re into you, right? Or getting something out of it.” She winks, and leans over to talk into his ear, dropping her voice. “Two, Underworld’s pretty sweet location-wise, so who knows how often I’ll be back round? And you know, someone’s gotta teach me part two of the birds and the bees, am I right? And three...” She hops of the counter, and her voice turns cold. “This isn’t really a negotiation.”

There is a wickedness in her eyes, and she is holding Charon’s contract.

Ahzrukhal lunges at her.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she tuts, stepping neatly out of his way. She waves a hand, and to his horror, Charon steps forward, reaching out one big hand towards his neck. He reels backwards, out of reach, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Fine, fine!” he snaps. His eyes flick between her, and Charon, and the contract, and he licks his lips nervously. “Fine,” he says again. “If you’re that desperate for some ghoul cock, I’ll oblige you, brat.”

She grins, twirling away from him. Grumpily, he pats the pocket where the contract used to be, wondering exactly how –

The pocket isn’t empty.

She’s holding a copy.

How did she - ?

It doesn’t matter. He catches Charon’s eye and draws the contract out, slowly. He didn’t imagine Charon’s expression could get stonier, but it does, and all expression fades away as Ahzrukhal says, “Grab her.”
Charon grabs her.

“Hey, hey!” she protests, before catching sight of the contract in Ahzrukhal’s hands. Then, she sighs. “Ah, you got me. But I think my deal is more than fair, don’t you?”

Ahzrukhal advances on her, gesturing for Charon to raise her up so her feet dangle uselessly over the floor. “I oughta kill you now,” he hisses, his face very close to hers. She doesn’t flinch. What is wrong with this little bitch, that she doesn’t flinch? “And fuck you after.”

She doesn’t bat an eye. “A ghoul into necrophilia,” she says blithely. “Who’d have thought?”

He strikes her hard across the face. She reels for a moment, and then laughs. He stares at her in disbelief as she quiets, and then she raises her head to meet his eyes in a very serious gaze. “Ahzrukhal,” she says, her voice level. “There aren’t that many decisions you get to make just for yourself out there, and you know it. That’s why you hole up here with your body guard when there’s a world out there ripe for the taking. I’m just trying to make my own decisions here. I figured you’d appreciate that.”

He leans back and considers her. He does appreciate it, he supposes. He could question her choices from dawn until dusk, but he has always been a gambler at heart. A stacked deck has always been his favourite way to win, but this girl – this smoothskin – with her brazen attitude and her full, young breasts, is making him falter. He still has the contract, after all. And he’d have given it to her for the straight thousand if she took Greta down. And seeing her there, suspended in Charon’s grip...

He leans close again, and murmurs, “Smoothskin, you have yourself a deal.”

She lifts her chin. “And how do I know you’ll honour in it?”

He laughs mirthlessly. “You’re in no position to question me.”

“I don’t care. Give me a guarantee.”

Just take her, a voice in his head screams. It hasn’t mattered to you before! But something about the idea of her coming to him willingly, returning...he can get to her, bury himself under her skin, twist her any way he wants –

And he’ll have his foot in the wastes after all.

Ahzrukhal slides the contract out of his pocket, showing it to her. He shucks of his jacket and folds it around the contract, placing it on the bar. Still technically his.

“It’s the best I’m gonna offer you, kid. I’m not handing him over to you now. I’ve had an idea.”

She follows him with her eyes as he walks back towards them. “Oh?”

“Strip her,” he tells Charon. “One hand. Don’t let her go.”

Charon hesitates.

“That’s hardly fair,” the kid pipes up. “He doesn’t have to get involved in this. You should give him a damn choice in the matter.”

The big ghoul looks down at her in surprise. His hand, which had begun to reluctantly move towards her top, pauses.

“He’s mine for the time being,” Ahzrukhal reminds her. “He’ll do what I want.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head, wriggling in Charon’s grip, and Ahzrukhal is pleased to see his bodyguard tighten his grip instinctively on her wrists, pulling them tighter above her head. “I’m not having him hate me because I accidentally got him mixed up in some kind of weird threesome with his ex-boss.”

“I don’t care if he hates you, loves you, or thinks you’re the Queen of fucking Sheba,” he hisses at her. “Charon, take her fucking clothes off.”
Fury reigns on her pretty little face for a moment, and then she relaxes. “Sorry, Charon,” she grumbles, and angles her chest so that he can begin to unbuckle her armour. Stony faced, he reaches his free hand across her chest and begins to undress her in efficient, swift motions.

Ahzrukhal doesn’t know whether it’s the pout on her face, the skin coming into view, or Charon’s obviously averted gaze that’s winding satisfaction through his bones, or some combination, but he likes it. He steps forward as her trousers drop to the ground, and she is prone and suspended in her underwear alone. Charon is still staring focusedly at the wall opposite, even as she falls back against him. There is something artistic about the smooth peach of her rising and falling chest against the ravaged, armoured bulk of the bodyguard, and Ahzrukhal can’t help but take a moment to enjoy the aesthetic of it all.

But there’s more joys to be had tonight, he reasons, and gestures to Charon. “Her underclothes. Now.”

It’s quick, but he could swear that the both of their expressions flicker into embarrassment, just for a moment. The kid tips her head back and to the side, and Charon seems unexpectedly gentle as he eases her out of her remaining clothes. His hand ghosts against her hip as he raises his hand again, and he snatches it away quickly, as if he didn’t realise he had come so close to touching her. The kid shivers, almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

They have something, Ahzrukhal realises. He doesn’t know what – he doesn’t care what – but suddenly this evening’s entertainment has become a whole lot more entertaining. If the Vault bitch and his bodyguard somehow have feelings for each other? Here she is, selling her body for his freedom, and oh...yes, here is Charon, holding her, getting her ready for the owner he hates to claim what he undoubtedly want – this little brat’s virginity.

It’s almost too good to be true.

“Hold her, Charon. Round the ribs. Don’t want her swaying all over the place.”

He watches gleefully as Charon wraps an arm around the girl, just below her breasts, in a wonderful mockery of an embrace. She’s schooled her face into a disinterested, relaxed look, now, but Ahzrukhal knows better.
He leans in, moving closer until his body is mere inches from hers.

“Well,” he muses, “so far, this isn’t shaping up to be a bad trade.”

She gives him a winning little smile, and he smirks back. He moves in closer still, relishing in having this naked smoothskin trapped between the two of them, until he is almost leaning against Charon’s arm. Then, and only then, does he reach out and touch her.

He touches his fingers to her neck, and she shivers and closes her eyes.

“Look at me,” he orders, and obediently, her eyes flutter open. The rush of her compliance goes straight to his crotch, and he trails his rough fingers down her neck, across her collarbone, over her breasts. She shudders again as he rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eyes fluttering again but not closing. She holds his gaze, her lips slightly parted, and Ahzrukhal supposes that she is, really, quite lovely.

He brings his other hand up to her other breast, mimicking the action. Her breasts fill his hands pleasingly, and her flesh here is very pale compared to the rest of her. He squeezes, hard, and she yelps a little, her hips wriggling. He squeezes again, digging his nails in, determined to leave marks. He drags his yellowing nails across her skin, and leans forward, bringing his mouth to one breast. She quivers under his touch, a low groan escaping her as his tongue flicks over her nipple, turning to a pained squeal when he clamps his teeth down, hard. He toys with her other breast all the while, gently teasing one nipple while he tortures the other. She is whimpering and struggling in Charon’s gasp within moments, and he straightens up. He waits for her to meet his eyes again, before sliding his hand down her stomach and between her legs, dipping his fingers up against her cunt.

“You’re wet,” he crows, bringing his lips to her ear. “Like it rough, do you, smoothskin? I’m sure I can accommodate.”

He slides his fingers over her, mapping the folds and curves of her, as her breathing picks up and she squirms. His fingers find her clit and she stiffens, then bucks wildly, gasping, as he starts to rub small circles over it.

“Really,” he grins, “one would almost think you’d never done this before.”

She managed to laugh at that, a hoarse, breathy thing. She catches his gaze again, and her eyes are hazy. Fingers still on her clit, he brings his mouth very close to his. She look about to kiss him when he says, “Charon, I’m going to need you to bend her over.”

He steps back, and sees the puzzled look on Charon’s face. “I’m sorry, sir?” he grunts

Ahzrukhal loosens his belt. “I’m going to need you to bend her over. Or kneel her down. As long as you keep hold of her...”

The kid’s eyes widen as she realises what he has in mind. But to his great pleasure, it isn’t horror he sees there, but arousal. He drops his belt to the ground, and undoes his suit pants. “What do you reckon, pal? Sitting or standing?”

Charon is looking ahead again. “Whatever you choose, sir.” He removes his arm from the Vaultie’s chest, adjusting his grip on her wrist as he pushes her to her knees. She grunts a little as she buckles against the ground roughly, and it sends a jolt of pleasure right through Ahzrukhal.

“Standing, I think,” he decides, freeing his cock and bring it to her lips. “Open up, 101.”

She complies, and it rapidly becomes clear that virgin or not, it isn’t the first time she’s done this.

She’s limited without her hands, admittedly, but she curls her tongue pleasantly and takes him fairly deep, using her teeth sparingly and gently and tipping her head to keep eye contact. A rush runs through him as he sees her kneeling in front of him, prone and naked, restrained and trapped between one ghoul crotch and another. He jerks his cock out of her mouth, bringing with it a trail of saliva, and traces the head around her lips. She widens her mouth obligingly. He rubs the head against her extended tongue, drawing his cock across her face, rubbing it over her cheeks, bumping it gently against her cheekbones, her jaw, her nose, as she moves awkwardly, trying to recapture it in his mouth. It’s a fucking beautiful scene.

He rubs his ragged, greying cock over her face some more, gloating inwardly as she twisted and strained to slip it back into her mouth. He likes this, loves it. Watching her prostrate herself before him, give herself over – if he’d know she’d been this fucking eager, he wouldn’t have haggled so much. Steadying himself, he guides his dick into her mouth again, pushing and pushing until he’s hilt deep, and she’s gagging and groaning around him. He holds himself there as she twitches a little, struggles, and then accepts him, swallowing round him, eyes flicking upwards to meet his.

“Good girl,” he croons, easing his cock out of her mouth, and patting her on the cheek with it. “Bring her up, Charon.”

Charon hauls her to her feet. She’s a little unsteady, her face smeared with her own saliva and his sticky pre-cum. “Nice,” he tells her, appreciatively. “Might have to cut you a deal on booze after all, if you’re willing to make up the price like that.”

She looks at him, hazily, and smiles, and says, “I told you, you’d enjoy it more if I was into it.”

Ahzrukhal strokes her face almost fondly, running his fingers across the reddening mark he left earlier when he slapped her. She dips her cheek against his hand, giving him another wicked little smile.

“Isn’t she lovely, Charon?” Ahzrukhal says loudly. “Isn’t she obedient and appreciative? Daresay you’ll have your fun with this one when you’re on the road with her, little ghoul fetishist like this –“

“Weren’t you gonna do something about my whole virginity deal?” she interrupts, cutting her eyes at him. “I mean, giving you head is great and all, but it’s not getting us any closer to the conclusion of our business.”

He chuckles, reaching out and twisting her nipple. She inhales sharply. “I’ll take my time, sweetheart.” He glances downwards, and smirks. “Between one ghoul stiffy and another. Bet you’re enjoying yourself more than you thought, huh, Charon?” Charon remains stony faced, even as the girl blushes and wriggles, almost subconsciously, against the very obvious erection the bodyguard is pressing against her back. “Answer the question,” Ahzrukhal snaps. “Are you or are you not enjoying yourself, idiot? Are you or are you not grinding a boner against our guest right now?” “Ahzrukhal,” the girl says, chidingly, but her voice is quiet. Charon’s grip shifts on her wrists and she leans back against him. “I am...” Charon pauses, obviously flustered. “I am...erect.” The Vaultie is looking away, her cheeks pinkening. Charon looks almost embarrassed by his confession. Ahzrukhal studies them for a moment, and then steps forward. “Legs round my waist, girl. Christ, you are wet. Didn’t think a girl could get so excited from sucking a cock.” He brings his hand down to her hips, and drifts his fingers across. “Gonna break you in now, before I fuck you, so deep breath and all that ‘cause this the last time I’m gonna be gentle.” The girl nods and breathes in. His fingers slip inside her wetness easily, but it’s not long before they bump up against something semi-firm. He pushes, and she gasps and clenches her eyes shut, and when he draws his fingers out they’re dampened with blood. He wipes them on her thigh, and lines up, his cock, resting the head against her damp, bloodied cunt. “Charon,” he says, then. The bodyguard jolts to attention. “Kiss her.” Both of them stare at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand,” Charon says. “I didn’t agree to this,” she says. “Don’t care,” Ahzrukhal says, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ll do as I say. Now, kiss her.” As I fuck her, he thinks, gleefully, as I pop her cherry and force her to cum round me, I want you to kiss her and know forever that I was here first. Charon is hesitant at first. The girl turns her head to look at him, glancing up from beneath her eyelashes. For someone who had been happily choking on his cock moments before, she’s bashful, and Charon shifts his grip on her, uncertain, and leans in, and their lips meet – And Ahzrukhal forces his cock into her with one swift, sudden, buck of her hips. She cries out, and Charon gasps as she bites his lip unexpectedly. Unbidden, the big ghoul winds his other arm around her again, holding her tight and close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Ahzrukhal pulls back, relishing her tightness, her wetness, her heat. He drives in again and she jerks bodily, and he can hear Charon quietly shooshing her, and he is smoothing one thumb over her hands, and one over the underside of her breasts. They kiss gently, uncertainly, brokenly – as the girl gasps and groans and twitches and grunts and Ahzrukhal enjoys the smooth, slow rhythm he is building up against her hips. But he doesn’t want to go slow forever. No, he’s never been a slow and steady kinda gent, and he’s not about to start now. The girl slips her tongue into Charon’s mouth, and he picks up the pace. He grips her hips and drives against her roughly, pulling her towards him as he sinks in deep. It takes more than a smoothskin’s willingness to finish him off, and her tightness is a delight and he thrusts his cock in and out of her. Her cunt is almost reluctant to let him go, and she wriggles and gasps and it hurts her, he can tell, but she’s beginning to give herself over. “Charon. You remember how to get a girl off, right? Her clit, now.”

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Page 212 of 257

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

Re: Five Times the World Opened Up 4/5

Re: F!Courier + Vulpes, "Mojave Instant Messenger" 4/?

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5a

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5b

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c

Re: Five Times Boone's Brawled With Charlie: Unexploded Ordnance 3/3

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

Re: Five Times the World Opened Up 5/5

Re: Five Times the World Opened Up 5/5

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

Re: F!Courier/Boone + F!Courier/Lanius

Re: F!Courier/Boone + F!Courier/Lanius

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6a

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6b

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6c

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6d

Hard Bargain 1/6

Hard Bargain 2/6

Hard Bargain 3/6

Hard Bargain 4/6

Hard Bargain 5/6