“Alright, alright, girly,” Butch says flatly, lips quirking up at one corner as Amy lets out a snort of laughter and nearly falls backwards off her bar stool, “I think it's time the Butch-man took you home. C'mon, get up.” He hauls the woman bodily out of her seat, wraps an arm around her waist to support her. “Let's get you home, boozy.”
Butch is amused – he always figured that Amelia, little Amelia Sharpe, doctor's daughter and goody-goody extraordinaire, would be completely against drinking anything aside from Nuka-Cola, and seeing her rapidly approaching plastered (hell, he'd give her ten minutes before she was drunk enough that she wasn't actually making sense any more) was giving him a bit more satisfaction than it should have. Halfway back to Amy's house, Butch gave up and hauled the dark-haired female over his shoulder, ignoring her slurred protests until he set her down just in front of the door.
“After you,” he drawled sarcastically, snickering when the girl glared down at the handle as though it should have just flown open because she was there.
She doesn't make it far – ends up flopping down on the large, heart-shaped bed that's dead center in the lower floor of the house. He watches her as she giggles, rolling onto her back and spreading her arms wide over the bed for a few moments; he can't lie, this may be Amy he's talking about, but the wasteland's done her good. She may not be quite as curvy as she was in the vault, but she's all sinewy muscle under that adventurer armor she's wearing, and he's pretty sure her tits are more than a good handful. As he tugs the door shut, it goes silent, and he spins around to find Amy perched on the edge of the bed, watching him. There's something in her eyes, and he's never seen it with her before – she looks predatory, and it's getting him all sorts of hot under the collar.
“Butch,” Amy practically purrs his name, beckons him closer, delights in the fact that Butch – full of bravado Butch – looks simultaneously nervous and like he's just won the best prize in world. “Come here.” When he finally came to sit beside her, she gave him a sly grin and pushed him back slightly, giving her room to move and straddle his lap. She ducks her head, presses a kiss against the strong line of his jaw, breathes his name into his ear. Another shift fits her hips more tightly against his and she gives them an experimental roll, chuckling when when Butch lets out a moan that he's probably only half-aware of and grips her hips tightly.
With a chuckle, she drops her head lower, kisses down his neck and bites down gently where his neck and shoulder join. She can feel him grow harder under her as she soothes the bite with her tongue.
Waking -- Butch/FLW 2/?
Butch is amused – he always figured that Amelia, little Amelia Sharpe, doctor's daughter and goody-goody extraordinaire, would be completely against drinking anything aside from Nuka-Cola, and seeing her rapidly approaching plastered (hell, he'd give her ten minutes before she was drunk enough that she wasn't actually making sense any more) was giving him a bit more satisfaction than it should have. Halfway back to Amy's house, Butch gave up and hauled the dark-haired female over his shoulder, ignoring her slurred protests until he set her down just in front of the door.
“After you,” he drawled sarcastically, snickering when the girl glared down at the handle as though it should have just flown open because she was there.
She doesn't make it far – ends up flopping down on the large, heart-shaped bed that's dead center in the lower floor of the house. He watches her as she giggles, rolling onto her back and spreading her arms wide over the bed for a few moments; he can't lie, this may be Amy he's talking about, but the wasteland's done her good. She may not be quite as curvy as she was in the vault, but she's all sinewy muscle under that adventurer armor she's wearing, and he's pretty sure her tits are more than a good handful. As he tugs the door shut, it goes silent, and he spins around to find Amy perched on the edge of the bed, watching him. There's something in her eyes, and he's never seen it with her before – she looks predatory, and it's getting him all sorts of hot under the collar.
“Butch,” Amy practically purrs his name, beckons him closer, delights in the fact that Butch – full of bravado Butch – looks simultaneously nervous and like he's just won the best prize in world. “Come here.” When he finally came to sit beside her, she gave him a sly grin and pushed him back slightly, giving her room to move and straddle his lap. She ducks her head, presses a kiss against the strong line of his jaw, breathes his name into his ear. Another shift fits her hips more tightly against his and she gives them an experimental roll, chuckling when when Butch lets out a moan that he's probably only half-aware of and grips her hips tightly.
With a chuckle, she drops her head lower, kisses down his neck and bites down gently where his neck and shoulder join. She can feel him grow harder under her as she soothes the bite with her tongue.