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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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Butch/The King, "Jailhouse Rock," 2a/?
(Anonymous) 2014-11-09 05:46 am (UTC)(link)He stands, stretches. Something in his back pops and he winces. It's a good pain, and he fools looser and more relaxed after. The kid's still asleep. He's rolled onto his side, pulled his knees up to his chest. He's cold, too, shivering despite the thin, starchy blanket. His jacket's hanging from the bedpost, and the King drapes it over him, feeling gallant and more than a little foolish.
It's light enough in the tent to see the patch on the back: a green snake coiled under a banner reading 'Tunnel Snakes.' The King's never heard of them, but it's a nice jacket, heavy and well-constructed. It's real leather, not the cheap, imitation vinyl that cracks and peels at the elbows and collar. It's got a few rips and tears, nothing major, patched with dark thread that doesn't quite match the black leather. There's a lot of care evident in the jacket, in the mending and the patches, sewn on by hand in big, child-like stitches. Whoever he is, wherever he's from, someone cares about this kid. The King's willing to bet that they miss him, assuming they're not already dead.
There's a hotplate with coffee somewhere in the compound; the King can smell it over the medicinal, sickbay stench of the dingy little tent. He steps through the flaps into the watery, early-morning sunshine and nods to Beatrix Russel, who's sitting with her feet up on the sandbag wall at the front of the compound. It's mostly too early for any major crises, and the doctors are milling about, yawning and swapping horror stories from the night before. One or two catch sight of him and nod deferentially, the rest ignore him. The King and his John Doe are old news, but hey, have you heard about the guy came in last night, puked a rainbow after drinking Abraxo mixed with paint? No shit.
This is Sunday morning in Freeside, and the King smiles to himself. He locates the coffee in the back tent, the one that was supposed to be for research before the doctor in charge ran off to play hero with the Courier. Now it's mostly storage, disused stretchers and mismatched crutches, but with a few chairs in the corner, it can pass as a ready room. It's empty except for the ghoul doctor from the night before, dozing on a chair in the corner, glasses askew. The King pours himself a cup of coffee (it's just tobacco and mesquite, strengthened with chicory and bitter as death itself) and wanders back out into the courtyard.
He's half a mind to find Julie, apologize on behalf of the kid, ask how she's been holding up. She's a sweet lady, Julie, deserves more thanks than she gets. He can't count the number of times she's patched him and his boys up. She won't take sides in the dispute between the Kings and the NCR, says the Followers have to remain apolitical, but in his heart of hearts, the King knows she'd take his side if only she could. It's the voice, he thinks. Drives women wild.
Butch/The King, "Jailhouse Rock," 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-11-09 05:47 am (UTC)(link)Beatrix is on him in an instant, knocks his feet out from under him and loops an arm around his neck, putting him into one of those restraint holds, easy-as-you-please. The kid's cussing and spitting and clawing at her, but she's got him good, the expression on her face almost serene as she casually applies pressure to his windpipe, which shuts him up good.
The King is there in a heartbeat, hands raised in a placating gesture. In the same moment, Julie emerges from one of tents, unflappable as ever. She strides across the courtyard calmly.
"That's enough, Beatrix," she says musically, and the King knows her well enough to hear the laughter concealed in her voice. Beatrix eases off, just enough so the kid can breathe, if not talk. He's red-faced and spluttering, madder 'n a wet hen. He stopped to put his jacket on before he stormed out of the tent, and that little detail immediately endears him to the King, even before he manages to get another word out. "Let him go," Julie says, and Beatrix complies.
The kid jerks away from her, straightens his jacket and smooths his hair before he glares around the compound, still looking for someone to fight. "Where am I? Who the fuck are you?"
The King steps in, introducing himself before Julie has a chance to do it for him. "You're in the Followers Compound in Freeside, outside of New Vegas. That's Doctor Julie Farkas and Beatrix Russel. I," he says, perhaps a little grandly, "am the King."
Butch/The King, "Jailhouse Rock," 2c/?
(Anonymous) 2014-11-09 05:48 am (UTC)(link)"The King."
"That's your name? The King?"
"That's what they call me."
"What who calls you? Your fanclub?" The kid snickers, plainly amused at his own joke.
"Pretty much," says Beatrix, and the kid whirls around to face her.
"Wait, seriously? This pompous asshole's got a fanclub?"
"I can't believe it, either," she says, dryly.
"Now now, there's no need to call names," the King says, frowning. The kid's accent is unlike anything he's ever heard. He's not from the Mojave, possibly not even from California, unless he's a Vaultie. "What about you, son? What's your name."
The kid puffs out his chest. "Butch DeLoria," he says. "My gang's called the Tunnel Snakes. We rule." Beatrix snorts. "Hey, fuck you, rotface. I don't need some shuffler telling me what to do."
Beatrix breaks into a wide, lazy smile, but her posture shifts, almost imperceptibly. "You want to say that again," she says, her tone light and dangerous. She's spoiling for a fight, and it seems like Butch is going to get himself killed before the Troopers have a chance to finish him off.
"Get him out of here," Julie says, her voice strained. They've attracted spectators, a loose ring of doctors and guards, eager for a little entertainment on their Sunday morning, as if the previous night hadn't given them their fill of fistfights and bad decisions.
The King reaches out, grabs the kid's arm. "C'mon Butch," he mutters. "You're with me." He leads him away from the crowd, out the front gate, and away from the Fort, into Freeside.