Her eyes closed and she smiled. He reached across her body for the little ribboned key beneath the pillow. Freed her from the cuffs, and he rubbed her wrists before pulling her arms straight up for getting off her little satin nightie. He took her arm again and kissed one of those big nipples, then drew her into an embrace. They liked that. At least she did. After he had mated with other women in the camp, they had only hung their heads and meekly intoned the favor of Juno to grant them issue. Picus had fathered two males by this time but one of them died from a cough. He never knew them. They were only words from his sister.
Martina felt warm and slack in his arms. A pleasant weight. He would be ready to mate again soon. In the meantime, there was wine, and she was trying to reach across him to motion to the night stand.
They drank glasses of red California together in the bed. Martina chatted freely and caught him up on all the gossip, all the goings-on.
The blackout two nights ago. The Securitrons acting strange. Rumors of a plot out of Gomorrah. The Chairmen mulling what to do with the Ultra-Luxe after the disaster.
Martina said that the vault hotel was getting a lot of business these days. "I think it makes people feel safe, you know? Staying in a vault. 'course there's always talk of the Lucky 38 opening up, but nobody's gone in there in years."
She leaned her face against his chest, her cheek hot from a wine flush. "You ought to come visit me down in the vault," she murmured. "Sarah let me pick better hours for my shift. My room's real nice.. you've never seen it."
Picus never wanted to see the inside of a vault again.
"It'll make you feel at home," Martina whispered.
It seemed a lifetime ago, their vault, the scratchy jumpsuits, the trays of thin gray gruel. Empty corridors. The buzz of lights. The whirring of the robots who were supposed to help them. Patty sitting at the diner booth swinging her feet...
He didn't reply, but she read into his silence. She always did. She was asking now, for some reason, "Do you have other girls, Ron?" and she asked it in a very light voice, very deliberate, even though she slurred.
He was thinking of Patty at the diner booth, kicking her feet. 'Go change the song on the jukebox, Ron, go change it for me, I hate this song.' It's not on, Patty. 'I hate this song, Ron.' The jukebox was broken for months. 'You don't hear it, Ron? You don't hear them?'
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timeasmymeasure
Girl from Ipanema 10/?
Date: 2012-06-16 09:04 am (UTC)Martina felt warm and slack in his arms. A pleasant weight. He would be ready to mate again soon. In the meantime, there was wine, and she was trying to reach across him to motion to the night stand.
They drank glasses of red California together in the bed. Martina chatted freely and caught him up on all the gossip, all the goings-on.
The blackout two nights ago. The Securitrons acting strange. Rumors of a plot out of Gomorrah. The Chairmen mulling what to do with the Ultra-Luxe after the disaster.
Martina said that the vault hotel was getting a lot of business these days. "I think it makes people feel safe, you know? Staying in a vault. 'course there's always talk of the Lucky 38 opening up, but nobody's gone in there in years."
She leaned her face against his chest, her cheek hot from a wine flush. "You ought to come visit me down in the vault," she murmured. "Sarah let me pick better hours for my shift. My room's real nice.. you've never seen it."
Picus never wanted to see the inside of a vault again.
"It'll make you feel at home," Martina whispered.
It seemed a lifetime ago, their vault, the scratchy jumpsuits, the trays of thin gray gruel. Empty corridors. The buzz of lights. The whirring of the robots who were supposed to help them. Patty sitting at the diner booth swinging her feet...
He didn't reply, but she read into his silence. She always did. She was asking now, for some reason, "Do you have other girls, Ron?" and she asked it in a very light voice, very deliberate, even though she slurred.
He was thinking of Patty at the diner booth, kicking her feet. 'Go change the song on the jukebox, Ron, go change it for me, I hate this song.' It's not on, Patty. 'I hate this song, Ron.' The jukebox was broken for months. 'You don't hear it, Ron? You don't hear them?'