AN: wowow what happened with the spacing there, sorry! @u@ I needed to write a second part for now because I wasn't happy leaving it there. --------
He waits.
And waits.
And waits
It must be hours before Arcade Gannon finally emerges from the bar. The streets have nearly cleared, and the moon is a sliver suspended in the sky. A scattering of stars shine through the clouds.
Vulpes is quick to approach and seize him and the man looks almost expectant when he's grabbed by the wrists.
“Are you trying to woo me by sweeping me off my feet in the moonlight, Mr. Inculta?” he says, remaining cool and collected as Vulpes drags him into the abandoned building behind the casino. His lack of resistance is as equally infuriating as that grin of his.
They stumble over the rubble with the Legionary’s attempt to accommodate for the other’s height, the darkness of the night only increasing the struggle. Vulpes notes somewhere in the back of his mind that this man must be at least partially night-blind with the way he drags his feet, trying to kick obstacles out of the way.
Vulpes tightens his grip on the Follower’s wrists and pushes him into the stony, unforgiving wall. He remains compliant even when Vulpes presses his forearm hard beneath his jaw.
“Is this your idea of a date? Well, I can’t say I’m horribly surprised—“
“Still your tongue or I will cut it,” he snaps. He searches his face for any clue to the game that he’s playing- He isn’t fighting back. He isn’t even fazed.
Arcade’s lips twitch into a smirk that makes Vulpes’ palm twitch. He notices that the Follower’s hair is tousled, longer and unruly compared to how it had been at Hoover Dam, and he thinks he can make out a few scars lining his primed features. He scowls, insides bubbling with a longing to break whatever bizarre resolve he’s being faced with.
“Your friends with the Enclave are dead,” he muses in a sickly sweet voice, and Arcade’s brief look of shock is oh so satisfying. He frowns, but before he can speak, Vulpes cuts him off. “I would have liked to kill them myself, but alas, age seemed to take them first. You won’t be so lucky.”
Arcade’s look of confusion is gone- Why does he seem so resigned? “I’m surprised you knew,” he notes with a disinterested sigh. Vulpes scoffs.
“I am not stupid, degenerate. I know what Enclave power armor looks like.”
“In that case, could you loosen up a bit? I’ve heard my neck is quite nice. I wouldn’t want you to bruise it before you turn me into the NCR or the Brotherhood. I’m sure they’d love my neck to look ravishing so they can ruin it themselves.”
Vulpes drops his captive’s wrists and brings the back of his hand across his face with as much force as he can muster. It makes an exquisite sound upon contact, a harsh slap the rings out through the near-silence of late-night Freeside.
“Still. Your. Tongue,” he growls to Arcade, who wears a lopsided grin that makes his blood boil.
‘Turning him in’ is the last thing on his agenda. No, he will not be that merciful.
He glares up at him, taking his sweet time in picking apart that shallow grin. Arcade’s cheek has turned a vibrant red from the blow, and he begins to hum along to some song droning in the distance.
“I’ve got heartaches by the number, troubles by the score…”
It’s perfectly unsettling, and all the while, Arcade is looking down at him with an unrelenting smile.
“You want to die,” Vulpes whispers, the arm against his throat relaxing considerably. He takes his free hand and grabs a fistful of the Follower’s hair, giving it a good yank. “You want to die.”
Arcade’s features soften. He looks down at the Legionary through heavy, blonde lashes, face contorted into a content yet urgent plea. Vulpes swallows. He can almost swear he hears the man whisper ‘please’.
There is nothing here left to break. An unfamiliar, unwelcome sullenness washes over him. Seeing a man who assisted in bringing the Legion to its knees like this is both humbling and disturbing.
He feels sympathy and shakes it off with a forced sneer.
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timeasmymeasure
I Like Your Mouth (2/?)
Date: 2012-06-15 07:55 am (UTC)--------
He waits.
And waits.
And waits
It must be hours before Arcade Gannon finally emerges from the bar. The streets have nearly cleared, and the moon is a sliver suspended in the sky. A scattering of stars shine through the clouds.
Vulpes is quick to approach and seize him and the man looks almost expectant when he's grabbed by the wrists.
“Are you trying to woo me by sweeping me off my feet in the moonlight, Mr. Inculta?” he says, remaining cool and collected as Vulpes drags him into the abandoned building behind the casino. His lack of resistance is as equally infuriating as that grin of his.
They stumble over the rubble with the Legionary’s attempt to accommodate for the other’s height, the darkness of the night only increasing the struggle. Vulpes notes somewhere in the back of his mind that this man must be at least partially night-blind with the way he drags his feet, trying to kick obstacles out of the way.
Vulpes tightens his grip on the Follower’s wrists and pushes him into the stony, unforgiving wall. He remains compliant even when Vulpes presses his forearm hard beneath his jaw.
“Is this your idea of a date? Well, I can’t say I’m horribly surprised—“
“Still your tongue or I will cut it,” he snaps. He searches his face for any clue to the game that he’s playing- He isn’t fighting back. He isn’t even fazed.
Arcade’s lips twitch into a smirk that makes Vulpes’ palm twitch. He notices that the Follower’s hair is tousled, longer and unruly compared to how it had been at Hoover Dam, and he thinks he can make out a few scars lining his primed features. He scowls, insides bubbling with a longing to break whatever bizarre resolve he’s being faced with.
“Your friends with the Enclave are dead,” he muses in a sickly sweet voice, and Arcade’s brief look of shock is oh so satisfying. He frowns, but before he can speak, Vulpes cuts him off. “I would have liked to kill them myself, but alas, age seemed to take them first. You won’t be so lucky.”
Arcade’s look of confusion is gone- Why does he seem so resigned? “I’m surprised you knew,” he notes with a disinterested sigh. Vulpes scoffs.
“I am not stupid, degenerate. I know what Enclave power armor looks like.”
“In that case, could you loosen up a bit? I’ve heard my neck is quite nice. I wouldn’t want you to bruise it before you turn me into the NCR or the Brotherhood. I’m sure they’d love my neck to look ravishing so they can ruin it themselves.”
Vulpes drops his captive’s wrists and brings the back of his hand across his face with as much force as he can muster. It makes an exquisite sound upon contact, a harsh slap the rings out through the near-silence of late-night Freeside.
“Still. Your. Tongue,” he growls to Arcade, who wears a lopsided grin that makes his blood boil.
‘Turning him in’ is the last thing on his agenda. No, he will not be that merciful.
He glares up at him, taking his sweet time in picking apart that shallow grin. Arcade’s cheek has turned a vibrant red from the blow, and he begins to hum along to some song droning in the distance.
“I’ve got heartaches by the number, troubles by the score…”
It’s perfectly unsettling, and all the while, Arcade is looking down at him with an unrelenting smile.
“You want to die,” Vulpes whispers, the arm against his throat relaxing considerably. He takes his free hand and grabs a fistful of the Follower’s hair, giving it a good yank. “You want to die.”
Arcade’s features soften. He looks down at the Legionary through heavy, blonde lashes, face contorted into a content yet urgent plea. Vulpes swallows. He can almost swear he hears the man whisper ‘please’.
There is nothing here left to break. An unfamiliar, unwelcome sullenness washes over him. Seeing a man who assisted in bringing the Legion to its knees like this is both humbling and disturbing.
He feels sympathy and shakes it off with a forced sneer.
“I will make you my slave.”