Pairing: Flak/Shrapnel Kinks: Slash, Slavery, Torture, (drugs/withdrawal) Summary: Of how Flak and Shrapnel met, and how they came to put the lives they were living behind them to become respectable dealers in Rivet City. =========================
It was close to midnight and Flak was on his last round before he could hit the sack for the night. This kind of guard duty was largely considered bullshit and a fucking waste of time by everybody except Jones; no one and nothing had ever dared to attack Falls, be it day or night, but Jones insisted, and no one fucked with Jones.
Stopping at the back of one of the buildings, out of the wind for a moment, Flak lit another smoke and leaned against the wall to have a few drags in peace before he continued. It was then that he heard the noise. He spat out the cigarette, pulled his gun and cautiously rounded the corner only to spot one of the raiders, of that small gang who had come in to sell a few girls that day. The fuck a gang of raiders needed that much cash for Flak neither knew nor cared to know. As far as he knew, the gang, seven of them, were staying the night, heavily utilizing the bar and the whores, but there was one of the guys, sitting on the engine bonnet of one of the old cars that littered the perimeter around Paradise Falls. With his dick in his hand.
Flak felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline, and silently withdrew himself back around the corner again to hunt for his smoke. It was still there and still burning, so he popped it back between his lips, but his curiosity, and maybe something else, too, made him peek around the corner again.
Sure enough, the raider was beating himself off, in a slow, leisurely pace, his head hanging back. Flak leaned against the wall and watched him, feeling a tingling in his lower belly. If that wasn’t a sight to beat himself off to, too, in lonely nights to come, then what was? The raider – Flak hadn’t learned their names because he hadn’t cared to do so – was not a complete greenhorn like the rest of his gang, but it was hard to tell how old these raiders really were as their style of living usually aged them very fast. Flak had never heard of a raider who had lived past forty. He might have been Flak’s age, in his early thirties, but he simply couldn’t tell. He certainly didn’t have the body of an old and worn out veteran yet.
His shirt was pushed up to his armpits and exposed lean muscles and well-formed pectorals, and his legs, visible in his pants that were hacked off well above the knee, were well-shaped too. Flak took a deep breath and slowly exhaled a cloud. The raider, lost in bliss, hadn’t given the slightest sign of being aware of his audience. His hair fell back over his partly shorn head, and Flak had noticed earlier that he was the only one who hadn’t dyed and starched his mohawk into that horrible look the raiders seemed to favour so much. Flak was just about to bring his smoke to his lips again when the raider, without lifting his head or opening his eyes, purred in a low and husky voice: “I know you’re there. Come out and admit it, at least.”
Flak hesitated for a second, then shrugged and, smoke clamped firmly between his lips and SMG loosely in his hands, stepped free of the shadows of the wall. At the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel, the raider finally lifted his head. “Oh.” A small, feisty grin spread on his face. “Honestly? I’d expected a chick.” “Well, sorry to disappoint.” Flak puffed his cheeks and blew a small cloud. The raider threw his head back and laughed. A pleasant, low chuckle, not a maddened cackle like Flak had expected. You never knew with those raiders, most had irreparably damaged their brain with drugs and rather a lot were actually more than a few bottles short of a six pack. “Disappoint?” He chuckled again. “Think I had hoped for you to be a chick?” Flak just shrugged. The raider, still sitting there with one leg dangling down the engine bonnet and one leg drawn up, his dick still hard in his right hand while he propped himself up with the other, was giving Flak a lot of indecent thoughts.
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timeasmymeasure
Flak/Shrapnel Friends will be Friends 1a/8
Date: 2012-04-13 11:06 am (UTC)Kinks: Slash, Slavery, Torture, (drugs/withdrawal)
Summary: Of how Flak and Shrapnel met, and how they came to put the lives they were living behind them to become respectable dealers in Rivet City.
=========================
It was close to midnight and Flak was on his last round before he could hit the sack for the night. This kind of guard duty was largely considered bullshit and a fucking waste of time by everybody except Jones; no one and nothing had ever dared to attack Falls, be it day or night, but Jones insisted, and no one fucked with Jones.
Stopping at the back of one of the buildings, out of the wind for a moment, Flak lit another smoke and leaned against the wall to have a few drags in peace before he continued. It was then that he heard the noise. He spat out the cigarette, pulled his gun and cautiously rounded the corner only to spot one of the raiders, of that small gang who had come in to sell a few girls that day. The fuck a gang of raiders needed that much cash for Flak neither knew nor cared to know. As far as he knew, the gang, seven of them, were staying the night, heavily utilizing the bar and the whores, but there was one of the guys, sitting on the engine bonnet of one of the old cars that littered the perimeter around Paradise Falls. With his dick in his hand.
Flak felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline, and silently withdrew himself back around the corner again to hunt for his smoke. It was still there and still burning, so he popped it back between his lips, but his curiosity, and maybe something else, too, made him peek around the corner again.
Sure enough, the raider was beating himself off, in a slow, leisurely pace, his head hanging back. Flak leaned against the wall and watched him, feeling a tingling in his lower belly. If that wasn’t a sight to beat himself off to, too, in lonely nights to come, then what was?
The raider – Flak hadn’t learned their names because he hadn’t cared to do so – was not a complete greenhorn like the rest of his gang, but it was hard to tell how old these raiders really were as their style of living usually aged them very fast. Flak had never heard of a raider who had lived past forty. He might have been Flak’s age, in his early thirties, but he simply couldn’t tell. He certainly didn’t have the body of an old and worn out veteran yet.
His shirt was pushed up to his armpits and exposed lean muscles and well-formed pectorals, and his legs, visible in his pants that were hacked off well above the knee, were well-shaped too. Flak took a deep breath and slowly exhaled a cloud. The raider, lost in bliss, hadn’t given the slightest sign of being aware of his audience. His hair fell back over his partly shorn head, and Flak had noticed earlier that he was the only one who hadn’t dyed and starched his mohawk into that horrible look the raiders seemed to favour so much. Flak was just about to bring his smoke to his lips again when the raider, without lifting his head or opening his eyes, purred in a low and husky voice: “I know you’re there. Come out and admit it, at least.”
Flak hesitated for a second, then shrugged and, smoke clamped firmly between his lips and SMG loosely in his hands, stepped free of the shadows of the wall. At the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel, the raider finally lifted his head.
“Oh.” A small, feisty grin spread on his face. “Honestly? I’d expected a chick.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint.” Flak puffed his cheeks and blew a small cloud.
The raider threw his head back and laughed. A pleasant, low chuckle, not a maddened cackle like Flak had expected. You never knew with those raiders, most had irreparably damaged their brain with drugs and rather a lot were actually more than a few bottles short of a six pack.
“Disappoint?” He chuckled again. “Think I had hoped for you to be a chick?”
Flak just shrugged. The raider, still sitting there with one leg dangling down the engine bonnet and one leg drawn up, his dick still hard in his right hand while he propped himself up with the other, was giving Flak a lot of indecent thoughts.