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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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Friends will be Friends 4a/8
(Anonymous) 2012-04-13 11:53 am (UTC)(link)It was all Shrapnel kept telling himself during that long, painful march. Keep your head down. His feet hurt, he had never walked so much and on so rough terrain while being barefoot, his whole body seemed to be one big bruise, most likely a result of the paralysing effect of the collar, and he was still going mad with thirst and the itching and shivering from withdrawal symptoms that got worse with each passing hour.
They made a break around noontime, but while the slavers ate, they didn’t bother to feed or even water their slaves. They continued southward after an hour or so, always south, always towards their final destination that would be the last thing they would ever see.
They halted when night fell, and while the slavers ate, the slaves huddled miserably around a tiny, pathetic fire they had been allowed and waited for their turn. Eventually they were fed too, but even though Shrapnel was trembling with exhaustion, the itch and the dizziness of the withdrawal were now so bad he couldn’t have slept had his live depended on it.
One slaver always watched the slaves, but they were taking turns. Shrapnel wished he had something by which to measure time, to keep track of the hours, though what that would have achieved he couldn’t even say. At one point, though, he realised that the guards had changed again and even in the darkness, he recognized the slaver that was now clipping the controlling device to his belt before lighting up another smoke. Anticipation began to rise in him, but he wondered how he could make his escape even if Flak managed to somehow rid him of the collar. He harboured no illusions he would get far in his current state, weakened by hunger, thirst, torture and withdrawal.
Flak slowly walked around the sleeping slaves, and when he passed him, he dropped a small bag into Shrapnel’s lap. He closed his fingers around it and could make out the shape of a small pistol, most likely a ten mil, and items that could have been packs of ammo or provisions, canned food and water. It was at that moment that Shrapnel realised that Flak was risking his own skin with what he was trying to do, and that realisation seriously weakened his resolve to attempt an escape at all. But then, his collar, and all the others’ collars as well, began to beep hysterically.
All hell broke loose. The slaves, awoken by their beeping collars, thought that the malfunction was about to kill them and panicked, the slavers, awoken by the slaves’ panic, groped for their weapons and tried to get their senses back together, and into the chaos, Flak yelled at the top of his lungs: “Malfunction!”
Then the beeping stopped, and the collars fell silent. Their lights went out, too.
“Get them!”
One of the slaves was the first to react, he jumped to his feet and ran into the night as fast as he could. And behind him, Shrapnel could hear Flak hiss: “Run. You gotta be out of reach before they activate them again. Run!”
Shrapnel staggered to his feet and turned around. He could see the anxiety in Flak’s face. “Get moving, you ass!”
“And you?”
“I’ll do. I’ll talk my way out of this. Now get moving, you stupid shit, before it all was in vain!”
“Are you kidding me? Jones will nail your balls to his wall without bothering to cut them off first!”
“Run!”
“Not without you, buddy.”
Flak muttered a few very choice curses under his breath before unholstering his gun. “Run, you idiot. I’ll be right behind you.”
And Shrapnel gathered all his strength, or what was left of it, and ran. Behind him, he could hear the steps of the slaver, as if he meant to catch him. Several times his bare feet hit rocks or and smaller stones dug in painfully, but he gritted his teeth and stumbled onwards, on trembling legs that threatened to give way under him any second.
Then the collar suddenly came to life again.
Beeeeep.
Friends will be Friends 4b/8
(Anonymous) 2012-04-13 11:58 am (UTC)(link)And then Flak caught up with him and heard the sound, too. “Fuck!”
Without further ado he threw Shrapnel to the ground and leaned over him, drawing a small knife in the process. The beeping continued.
Beeeep.... Beeeep....Beeeep....
“Fucking hell...” Flak fumbled with the knife at the collar, but it was dark, he was out of breath, and the speed of the beeping increased.
Beep...beep...beep...beep...
“Fuck, get off me, buddy!” Shrapnel tried to push him off, he knew he was done for, but there was no reason he should take the man with him who had tried to save his arse. “Get the fuck off me, that thing’ll kill us both!”
“Fuck off!”
Beep beep beep beepbeepbipbipbipbipClick
Silence.
Both men emitted a gasp that was close to a sob and Flak dropped the knife with a shudder. “Fuck.”
Shrapnel hadn’t got his speech back yet, he was just getting to grips with the fact that his head was still attached to his body.
“Come on, buddy.” Flak took his arm to help him up, and Shrapnel let him drag him to his feet. He stumbled and his knees gave way.
Flak grabbed his elbow to steady him. “Did you take the bag?”
Shrapnel managed a nod. “It’s around here somewhere.”
Flak trailed his foot out and around until he found it, then picked it up. “Need food? Water?”
“Water.”
Flak offered him a bottle, but as Shrapnel let go of his arm to take it, his knees buckled away and he would have fallen hadn’t Flak grabbed his elbow again. “Shit.” He helped him carefully to sit down. “What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” Shrapnel dropped the bottle he was about to bring to his lips. “What’s the matter?” A high pitched giggle forced its way out of his mouth. “I’ve been enslaved, electrocuted, beaten within an inch of my sorry life, I’ve been almost castrated, almost beheaded and I’m going ice-cold from jet withdrawal, and you ask me what’s the matter?” He had no means with which to stop the cackling laugh that bubbled out of his throat. “Jesus Ch...christ on a... on a p...piece of toast...”
“Stop laughing.” Flak’s voice sounded more than worried.
Shrapnel couldn’t stop.
“Stop it!”
He just couldn’t.
Flak grew desperate and slapped him. Somehow, it brought Shrapnel back to his senses. He gasped for air a few times and dropped his face in his hands. “Sorry, buddy, I... I can’t... I don’t think I can...”
“It’s all right.” Flak slowly got up again, gathered up the bag and helped Shrapnel to his feet again. “We need to get further away, though. They could still find us. Can you walk?”
“I’ll try.”
Flak kept on holding on to his elbow, and they made their way through the pitch-black darkness of the wasteland night, Shrapnel stumbling along and leaning more and more heavily on Flak’s arm until his legs finally gave way under him completely. Flak caught him, and with a low sigh, draped one of Shrapnel’s arms across his shoulder, then brought one of his around Shrapnel’s hips. With a heave and a grunt, he hoisted the other man onto his shoulders and, after staggering under the load for a moment, adjusted his bearings and continued his way until he reached a chain of hills.
He found a hollow between a few rocks, and only then realised that he could find it at all because dawn was already well underway. He crept inside, it was a bit much to call it a cave, but it was a shelter of sorts, would keep out the rain or dust and provide them with cover. After putting Shrapnel’s unconscious body down he settled down with his back against the rocks and picked him up again, settled him on his lap and rested his upper body against his own, with his head resting against his shoulder.
Shrapnel was trembling, ice-cold and muttering unintelligible things under his breath. Flak, in turn, held on to him, knowing beyond doubt that the only way for them to go on now was toughing it out until Shrapnel was over the jet withdrawal. From all he had ever heard about the shit, he wasn’t too sure if that was even possible, but there was nothing else for them.
Shrapnel suddenly flinched and whimpered in a nightmare Flak could not wake him up from.
“I got you, buddy”, he said in a low voice and ran a hand down Shrapnel’s back. “I got you.”
x-x-x-x-x-x
Friends will be Friends 4c/8
(Anonymous) 2012-04-13 12:00 pm (UTC)(link)Flak was at his side in an instant, after just having had a piss, and offered him a bottle. It had rained a little last night, and he had put the empty bottles outside; thankfully, the rain had lasted long enough to partly fill them again. Shrapnel drank greedily and muttered a hoarse thanks before his head fell back again.
He passed out again shortly afterwards, but it seemed to Flak as if the violent bouts of trembling had stopped. He didn’t dare to allow himself too much hope, however, it might be that the worst was yet to come. He simply didn’t know.
But at noon, Shrapnel woke up again, and for the first time in three days, his eyes seemed clear.
“How are you?” Flak leaned forward to peek into his face.
Shrapnel blinked into the sunlight that fell into the cave. “My head hurts like shit.”
“And otherwise?”
Shrapnel thought this through for a moment. “I’ve stopped freezing.” Then he looked at Flak again. “And shivering.”
“You think you’re getting over it?”
“Maybe”, Shrapnel replied cautiously. “I’ve never tried to go cold before.”
“You feel like you could eat?”
“Not really.” Shrapnel tried to sit up, but his head was swimming. “But I think I’ll have to.”
Flak dug into the bag. “Nothing left but a can of cram.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
He ate cautiously, and when he felt his stomach begin to complain after a few mouthfuls he stopped, waiting for the urge to vomit, but it didn’t come. When his stomach had calmed down again after a little while he tried a little more, and when his stomach failed to complain, even more. He began to feel a little better. “I think it’s all right.”
“Good.” Flak sat down beside him and checked his gun. “I didn’t want to leave you alone in here, otherwise I would’ve gone after one of the molerats I spotted nosing around here.”
Shrapnel nodded weakly and peeked at the sunlight outside again. “How long have I been out?”
“A day and a night.”
“No wonder I need to piss. Give me a hand up?”
Flak wordlessly got up and extended a hand to him, but Shrapnel was still so weak that he had to lean heavily onto Flak to make his way out.
Once he was done, he tried to stand on his own, which worked, for a given value of. He wasn’t able to walk yet, though. “I feel like shit, buddy.”
“You look like shit, too.”
“And what now?” Shrapnel turned to look at Flak, and the latter shrugged. “I somehow need to get that collar off you, but I haven’t got the tools any more. Those are in Falls, and I don’t precisely care to go back there right now.”
Shrapnel chuckled mirthlessly under his breath. “Quite so. So what?”
Flak shrugged again. “Find help somewhere. We don’t have to tell people we’re a raider and a slaver, might not increase disposition towards us. Mercenaries, though...” He shrugged again and produced a pack of smokes. He offered Shrapnel one who took it with, as he realised, still somewhat shaky fingers. After offering him fire and lighting up his own smoke, Flak continued as he slipped the lighter back into his pocket. “Mercenaries might run into slavers and lose. I managed to get you out, and now... well, now we’re stuck.
Friends will be Friends 4d/8
(Anonymous) 2012-04-13 12:02 pm (UTC)(link)“Man, with that fucking collar around yer neck it doesn’t matter a fucking thing what you wear, buddy.”
“Yeah.” He absentmindedly rubbed the band of metal around his neck and sighed. “I’ll get her hide for this, I swear.”
“And I’ll hold her down for you. But first, you have to get up to speed again. Then we need equipment. You need a gun. I’ve got a ten mil to spare, but that won’t get us far, either, though it’s better than nothing. And we gotta get rid of that collar.”
“And where...”
“Fuck if I know.” Flak exhaled a long, bluish cloud. “Megaton, perhaps. If they believe us about being mercs having run out of luck, they might help, though fuck if I know how to pay for any service. It’s our best bet, I guess.”
“Megaton, huh?” Shrapnel wiped a hand across his nose. “Never been there.”
“Me neither. I only know that their Sherriff is a retired regulator.”
“Fuck. That’s a risk.”
“Maybe. You don’t precisely look like a raider anymore. I can’t imagine he can smell I’m...” Flak faltered for a second. “I was a slaver. We just need to watch our mouths.”
Shrapnel nodded and took a deep breath, then exhaled a long cloud. The nicotine calmed his jittering nerves somewhat and numbed the pangs of hunger that had begun to churn in his belly despite the meagre meal. He took the hunger as a good sign, however, that his body was on the way to recovery.
“I guess there’s nothing but to get going.”
“You can walk?”
“Slowly”, Shrapnel answered. “And probably not very far. But if we wait here until that gets better we’ll probably starve.”
Flak gave his back a friendly, albeit cautious slap to avoid pushing him out of balance. “Then let’s get going.”
Shrapnel gave him a lopsided grin, and they set off, at a slow pace, heading south and east.
x-x-x-x-x-x