a/n: whew. sorry this too so long, op. original a!a here, by the way. ____________________________________________________________________________
Blair stands with her hands on her hips, staring down at the weird little contraption in front of her. She knows what it is, but she's never seen one in such good condition. The shiny chrome of the front bumper hasn't chipped at all, and the paint is still a deep blood-red.
"It's a car?" Butch asks incredulously, staring at the car as well. Blair just shrugs and crosses her arms, in deep thought. She was one of the best - if not the best - mechanics in D.C., skilled in engineering and unafraid to get down and dirty with all sorts of robotics and machinery in the Wasteland.
She's fixed up little buggies and makeshift cars for the Brotherhood, in hopes that the water distribution would be more efficient, but she's never gotten her hands on an actual car. Only parts.
Blair turns to Butch, eyes flashing mischievously. "If you help me fix it up, you can drive first," she promises. To her surprise and disapproval, Butch shakes his head like a madman.
"No fuckin' way, B. That looks dangerous as shit. What if it...explodes or somethin'?" he whines. Blair rolls her eyes and steps closer, running her index finger along the zipper of his jumpsuit. Immediately a cocky grin spreads across the greaser's mouth, and Blair smirks back at him. "I said, I'll let you drive, baby."
Blair ends up finishing the car's repairs in a new record. Butch stops watching Pip-Boy's clock when she throws her hands in the air triumphantly, stained with centuries-old oil, grease, and other disgusting by-products of the car's makeover. She wipes her forehead and motions for Butch to throw her some water. She drinks generously and her lips slip into a slight smile when she feels him come up behind her, pressing his chest against her back.
"Not now, Butch." she says, giving his arm a pinch when the palm snakes under the front of her tank top towards her ratty sports bra. Butch groans in her ear, a rough sound that almost reels her in. "Why not? You got the fuckin' thing working." he mutters, placing a few open-mouthed kisses on her neck, and kneading the tight muscle of her trapezius with his lips. It feels damn good, so Blair drops her head back onto his shoulder, tilting her neck and moaning at his ministrations. When things get a little too heated, though, she pulls away.
Blair slides into the passenger's side, twirling her thumbs sweetly and staring innocently up at her boyfriend, who glares back down at her with equal parts arousal and annoyance. Eventually he relents, plopping down on the driver's seat and crossing his arms childishly. "How're you planning on gettin' this thing to go? Don't you need...dunno, a key or something?"
The Lone Wanderer says nothing, but leans across the space between their seats, reaching under the steering wheel to jump-start the car's wires. Butch groans enthusiastically when her chest presses against his thigh, and he threads a shaking hand in her sandy blonde hair and tugging insistently. "Come on, baby. Stop teasin'." he pants when she pulls back with a deliberate laziness. Blair says nothing, but gestures towards the wheel. When he doesn't move, the blonde presses her hand against the bulge of his jumpsuit, kneading firmly and smirking all the while.
Butch gasps and lifts his hips towards her palm in desperation, reaching out to sneak a kiss. Blair stops her hand and sits back in her seat, ignoring his pleas. She simply gestures at the workshop's open garage door, and then looks at him expectantly.
"Drive, Butch."
For a second he looks defiant, but then he thinks better of it, and hits the gas.
Re: Vroom, Vroom 1/?
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Blair stands with her hands on her hips, staring down at the weird little contraption in front of her. She knows what it is, but she's never seen one in such good condition. The shiny chrome of the front bumper hasn't chipped at all, and the paint is still a deep blood-red.
"It's a car?" Butch asks incredulously, staring at the car as well. Blair just shrugs and crosses her arms, in deep thought. She was one of the best - if not the best - mechanics in D.C., skilled in engineering and unafraid to get down and dirty with all sorts of robotics and machinery in the Wasteland.
She's fixed up little buggies and makeshift cars for the Brotherhood, in hopes that the water distribution would be more efficient, but she's never gotten her hands on an actual car. Only parts.
Blair turns to Butch, eyes flashing mischievously. "If you help me fix it up, you can drive first," she promises. To her surprise and disapproval, Butch shakes his head like a madman.
"No fuckin' way, B. That looks dangerous as shit. What if it...explodes or somethin'?" he whines. Blair rolls her eyes and steps closer, running her index finger along the zipper of his jumpsuit. Immediately a cocky grin spreads across the greaser's mouth, and Blair smirks back at him. "I said, I'll let you drive, baby."
Blair ends up finishing the car's repairs in a new record. Butch stops watching Pip-Boy's clock when she throws her hands in the air triumphantly, stained with centuries-old oil, grease, and other disgusting by-products of the car's makeover. She wipes her forehead and motions for Butch to throw her some water. She drinks generously and her lips slip into a slight smile when she feels him come up behind her, pressing his chest against her back.
"Not now, Butch." she says, giving his arm a pinch when the palm snakes under the front of her tank top towards her ratty sports bra. Butch groans in her ear, a rough sound that almost reels her in. "Why not? You got the fuckin' thing working." he mutters, placing a few open-mouthed kisses on her neck, and kneading the tight muscle of her trapezius with his lips. It feels damn good, so Blair drops her head back onto his shoulder, tilting her neck and moaning at his ministrations. When things get a little too heated, though, she pulls away.
Blair slides into the passenger's side, twirling her thumbs sweetly and staring innocently up at her boyfriend, who glares back down at her with equal parts arousal and annoyance. Eventually he relents, plopping down on the driver's seat and crossing his arms childishly. "How're you planning on gettin' this thing to go? Don't you need...dunno, a key or something?"
The Lone Wanderer says nothing, but leans across the space between their seats, reaching under the steering wheel to jump-start the car's wires. Butch groans enthusiastically when her chest presses against his thigh, and he threads a shaking hand in her sandy blonde hair and tugging insistently. "Come on, baby. Stop teasin'." he pants when she pulls back with a deliberate laziness. Blair says nothing, but gestures towards the wheel. When he doesn't move, the blonde presses her hand against the bulge of his jumpsuit, kneading firmly and smirking all the while.
Butch gasps and lifts his hips towards her palm in desperation, reaching out to sneak a kiss. Blair stops her hand and sits back in her seat, ignoring his pleas. She simply gestures at the workshop's open garage door, and then looks at him expectantly.
"Drive, Butch."
For a second he looks defiant, but then he thinks better of it, and hits the gas.