When one engineer saw the courier and the sniper in the shadows of the hall, her back hard against one of the silent turbines and his hand busily working between her legs, he flushed and darted away before he thought he was seen.
When two engineers silently crept along the catwalk to watch Six brace one booted foot hard against the concrete wall for leverage and arch back, daintily undoing a grey-faded Vault suit all the way down and around to reveal more and more midnight skin with every parted tooth of the zip, they held a hand to their mouths and tried not to make a sound.
When the sniper crouched down and ran a hand along her thigh, inspecting the neat little thatch of curls with what looks like curious detachment from all the way up there in their metal eyrie, one engineer let out a silent breath and murmured an almost inaudible c'mon man.
When Six flicked off his beret and sent it to the dirty floor, before the engineers could think oh and the sniper could say the fuck was that for, she settled two fingers between her legs, short fast circles and short fast breaths before she stopped, parting her folds open like something from an Old World skin rag.
"Do or don't," she said in a voice still shaped by a childhood with the Deep Wells tribe. Everyone knew that the Legion called her The Woman of the West, NCR called her The Courier, and the Deep Wells refused to speak her name.
She wriggled a little, getting comfortable against the metal spine of the turbine as she calmly stared down the man staring at her, and the engineers staring at everything. "Do or don't," she said again, tongue pink as she licked her lips. "Yes or no, do or don't, all the same to me." She laughed and shifted, pressing shine-slick fingers to the sniper's mouth and made an appreciative noise as he caught her hand, holding her still to lick and suck her fingers clean.
When she said do or don't a fourth time, the sniper said do and the engineers whispered do, and he did.
When the sniper licked and sucked her and panted against her skin and mumbled a name into her cunt that wasn't The Woman of the West or The Courier or the name that the Deep Wells refused to speak, she sighed and clutched his head and looked up – in search of patience or out of pleasure caused by his mumbling fool mouth, no one could tell, least of all Six - and she caught the eyes of two engineers.
When Six discovered her audience, she blinked once, twice, and pressed a finger to her lips.
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timeasmymeasure
Boone/F!Courier, 'Do or Don't' 1/3
Date: 2012-03-13 10:54 pm (UTC)Tags: voyeur, het
When one engineer saw the courier and the sniper in the shadows of the hall, her back hard against one of the silent turbines and his hand busily working between her legs, he flushed and darted away before he thought he was seen.
When two engineers silently crept along the catwalk to watch Six brace one booted foot hard against the concrete wall for leverage and arch back, daintily undoing a grey-faded Vault suit all the way down and around to reveal more and more midnight skin with every parted tooth of the zip, they held a hand to their mouths and tried not to make a sound.
When the sniper crouched down and ran a hand along her thigh, inspecting the neat little thatch of curls with what looks like curious detachment from all the way up there in their metal eyrie, one engineer let out a silent breath and murmured an almost inaudible c'mon man.
When Six flicked off his beret and sent it to the dirty floor, before the engineers could think oh and the sniper could say the fuck was that for, she settled two fingers between her legs, short fast circles and short fast breaths before she stopped, parting her folds open like something from an Old World skin rag.
"Do or don't," she said in a voice still shaped by a childhood with the Deep Wells tribe. Everyone knew that the Legion called her The Woman of the West, NCR called her The Courier, and the Deep Wells refused to speak her name.
She wriggled a little, getting comfortable against the metal spine of the turbine as she calmly stared down the man staring at her, and the engineers staring at everything. "Do or don't," she said again, tongue pink as she licked her lips. "Yes or no, do or don't, all the same to me." She laughed and shifted, pressing shine-slick fingers to the sniper's mouth and made an appreciative noise as he caught her hand, holding her still to lick and suck her fingers clean.
When she said do or don't a fourth time, the sniper said do and the engineers whispered do, and he did.
When the sniper licked and sucked her and panted against her skin and mumbled a name into her cunt that wasn't The Woman of the West or The Courier or the name that the Deep Wells refused to speak, she sighed and clutched his head and looked up – in search of patience or out of pleasure caused by his mumbling fool mouth, no one could tell, least of all Six - and she caught the eyes of two engineers.
When Six discovered her audience, she blinked once, twice, and pressed a finger to her lips.
Shh.