"And that wasn't even the worst part." Arcade stops to throw back another shot and quickly wipes the corners of his mouth with a pinch of his thumb and forefinger. "No, the worst part was the next morning. No one should have to go to bed with a man hung like a super mutant just to wake up and see he has a face to match."
It's been a while since the courier rolled back into Freeside, at least a couple of weeks since she snatched up her new traveling companion and set out for adventure. And not that the King has ever been particularly tight with any of the Followers but he barely recognizes this creature sitting in the Wrangler. The doctor certainly looked different, but anyone who traded a labcoat for leather armor would. This was more in the casual fling of his hands as he elaborates on the knotting methods he learned from a Ranger whose name he couldn't recall but whose cock he could describe in loving detail. "I'm serious," he's saying to Francine (and the King has never seen her grin like this), "it's not often that I'm so inclined but how was I supposed to refuse the opportunity to ride that monster?"
"You'd been a damn fool if you had, pal," Francine agrees encouragingly, pouring another shot.
The King had come here for a quick drink to ease up some of the weight in his shoulders, somewhere not knotted and tangled with incarnations of his responsibilities, but he takes a seat at the bar, beside the courier. This should be entertaining.
And it is. It would appear that for all of his public airs of low-key reservation, Arcade was quite the storyteller once properly lubricated, all airy tones and gesturing hands. And when it came to personal exploits he had volumes to tell.
The King's trying to hear the tail end of the story Arcade's wrapping up but Six swallows another shot and tosses him an uneasy smile. "Sorry about him," she says through a twisted attempt at a conspiratorial smile, marred by her own discomfort. "I thought introducing him to tequila would be a good thing but instead it leads to... this. I was just trynna get him to loosen up."
"I'd say you were successful, sweetie," Francine chuckles under her breath as she sets up another line of shots for Arcade. "Here, Followers discount."
"What'll it cost me?" Arcade asks, already picking up a shot.
"Explain what you meant when you said 'Chinese finger trap' a couple of ill-advised tumbles back."
"Oh!" Arcade knocks back the shot and licks his lips. "S'another word for spitroasting. Again, I normally prefer the master of ceremonies in one of those situations rather than the center ring, as it were, but I was the one who started things by sucking off one brother -- telling the other to get away from my ass would have just been rude. Not to mention my mouth was full."
Francine's bark of laughter is as genuine as Six's is forced, and the King is still on the fringes of the conversation but he knows he should chuckle or something. But his mind conjures up the image of Arcade on his hands and knees getting stuffed from both ends by anonymous men, their faces blurred as the mental tableau pinholes on Arcade's flushed face and mussed hair and hollowed cheeks and the resulting lurch of heat in his gut is not exactly expected.
Six is excusing herself and he jerks a little when she addresses him, and his collar feels tight. She's invited him somewhere, somewhere not flooded with Dirty Uncle Arcade's Storytime, and he declines. There's a flash of something like disappointment in her face and normally he would offer friendly placations, but he's sufficiently distracted by shifting on the barstool, heel digging into the top rung as he tries to maintain his posture while adjusting to the fact that his body is definitely reacting now.
Arcade/The King - Sweating Out Confessions [1a/2]
"And that wasn't even the worst part." Arcade stops to throw back another shot and quickly wipes the corners of his mouth with a pinch of his thumb and forefinger. "No, the worst part was the next morning. No one should have to go to bed with a man hung like a super mutant just to wake up and see he has a face to match."
It's been a while since the courier rolled back into Freeside, at least a couple of weeks since she snatched up her new traveling companion and set out for adventure. And not that the King has ever been particularly tight with any of the Followers but he barely recognizes this creature sitting in the Wrangler. The doctor certainly looked different, but anyone who traded a labcoat for leather armor would. This was more in the casual fling of his hands as he elaborates on the knotting methods he learned from a Ranger whose name he couldn't recall but whose cock he could describe in loving detail. "I'm serious," he's saying to Francine (and the King has never seen her grin like this), "it's not often that I'm so inclined but how was I supposed to refuse the opportunity to ride that monster?"
"You'd been a damn fool if you had, pal," Francine agrees encouragingly, pouring another shot.
The King had come here for a quick drink to ease up some of the weight in his shoulders, somewhere not knotted and tangled with incarnations of his responsibilities, but he takes a seat at the bar, beside the courier. This should be entertaining.
And it is. It would appear that for all of his public airs of low-key reservation, Arcade was quite the storyteller once properly lubricated, all airy tones and gesturing hands. And when it came to personal exploits he had volumes to tell.
The King's trying to hear the tail end of the story Arcade's wrapping up but Six swallows another shot and tosses him an uneasy smile. "Sorry about him," she says through a twisted attempt at a conspiratorial smile, marred by her own discomfort. "I thought introducing him to tequila would be a good thing but instead it leads to... this. I was just trynna get him to loosen up."
"I'd say you were successful, sweetie," Francine chuckles under her breath as she sets up another line of shots for Arcade. "Here, Followers discount."
"What'll it cost me?" Arcade asks, already picking up a shot.
"Explain what you meant when you said 'Chinese finger trap' a couple of ill-advised tumbles back."
"Oh!" Arcade knocks back the shot and licks his lips. "S'another word for spitroasting. Again, I normally prefer the master of ceremonies in one of those situations rather than the center ring, as it were, but I was the one who started things by sucking off one brother -- telling the other to get away from my ass would have just been rude. Not to mention my mouth was full."
Francine's bark of laughter is as genuine as Six's is forced, and the King is still on the fringes of the conversation but he knows he should chuckle or something. But his mind conjures up the image of Arcade on his hands and knees getting stuffed from both ends by anonymous men, their faces blurred as the mental tableau pinholes on Arcade's flushed face and mussed hair and hollowed cheeks and the resulting lurch of heat in his gut is not exactly expected.
Six is excusing herself and he jerks a little when she addresses him, and his collar feels tight. She's invited him somewhere, somewhere not flooded with Dirty Uncle Arcade's Storytime, and he declines. There's a flash of something like disappointment in her face and normally he would offer friendly placations, but he's sufficiently distracted by shifting on the barstool, heel digging into the top rung as he tries to maintain his posture while adjusting to the fact that his body is definitely reacting now.