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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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Family Man - F!Courier/Benny - 2/4
(Anonymous) 2012-04-26 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)He kisses her, and she offers him a single, permissive kiss in return. She never yields to him, never, expect in that one kiss - and it's that kiss he treasures when they're apart, that kiss he croons over, because that's the kiss that tells him how much she wants this, too.
He wrestles her to the shack. Her thrashes are half-hearted, and he's pretty sure at least half the grinding, writhing motions she makes are done to turn him on, not escape. Their place is a small one, functional, dull, the kind of place someone would have to be pretty hard up to want to raid. He pushes her bodily against the wood of the door, pinning her hips with his, as he fumbles with the lock. Inside, he drops her to the ground, and starts to peel off his shirt.
He didn't realise until he started living rough again how soft The Tops had made him. That softness is gone now. He's hardened up, gotten taught and tight around the edges, and the muscles have re-emerged beneath his skin. He's tanned, he's scarred, and he's a far cry from both the men he used to be - and the last thing he's got left to hold onto is her.
"Know what, sweet cheeks?" he drawls, dropping his shirt to the floor. He only ever wears his suit these days for their rendevouz. Seems right, somehow. Fitting. "Bet you and me could make some be-yeautiful kids."
She looks up at him with her cheeks and her eyes blazing. "I'd love to believe you're man enough for that, Benny." Her laugh is defiant, and he wants to hear her beg.
He pins her down, straddling her hips, pushing her shoulders back against the bedroll cast out beneath them. He runs his hands over her arms, pleased to feel her unresisting against him. She's strong, too - he can feel the definition of her muscles, the strength that one of her punches could pack. Hell, he's felt them. She'd be one ferocious mama bear, alright.
He traces the curve of her jaw and she jerks her head upwards, magnificent and regal and prone, at his mercy. It's a strange thing they have, this back and forth, and he's pretty sure neither of them would say it works but...shit. There's something between them, something neither of them can trace or pin down or explain, that started the day she punched him in the face then threw him down and fucked him.
His hands find her stomach, stroking the firm flesh he finds there. She quivers a little under his touch, and it always strikes him as fucking hilarious that she's ticklish. He imagines late nights together, stroking this skin and feeling life stir inside her - quiet nights, where there's no kicking and screaming and biting and fighting, just long, soft touches, and each other.
"That maternal instinct's gonna kick in some day," he tells her. "All you gals, you're all the same."
He gets a knee to his shin for his trouble, but he can't help but grin. She's already starting to look a little unfocused, already starting to go slack under his hands.
What is it that makes them feel this way? Why the hell do they want to fuck and kiss and claw at each other instead of shooting for the other's head? Why does he wait for her, every fucking time, and why does she let him take her, pin her, own her, like she's just another girl on the Strip?
She bucks up against him, sending his thoughts scattering. "Maybe it already has," she says. "Maybe I've already found the guy I'm gonna settle down with. Maybe we're already making plans, shopping for kid's clothes, going at it every night -"
Benny leans down close, nipping at her ear. "Well, he's gonna be pretty fucking disappointed when the kid turns out to be mine, huh, pussycat?"