falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

He pushed up the blindfold with his freed hands. She had unstrung his business tie for that purpose. He still wore it as a headband when he leaned in to nuzzle and kiss her. He saw what she was wearing—thin gauzy panties and gartered stockings. Such useless, trifling items, but he had developed a taste for them, how they looked on a woman’s body.

Martina rubbed against him meltingly now and her free hand fell to the inner seam of his trousers, cupping and pressing. She kissed his groaning mouth and steadied herself when he jerked her forward by the hips, his thumbs pressing into her panties. When it became too much to bear, he took down the zipper and half-hugged, half-lifted her into penetration. He hadn’t even pulled her panties all the way off, just pulled the crotch up aside, and there was a lacy friction as he pushed into her and rocked.

Before Martina he’d hardly known anything about sex. He thought he did. It seemed straightforward enough to him, something that you took because you survived to take it. You were stronger than the others or you outsmarted them.

He’d never known a woman to enjoy it like Martina did, so freely, intensely, with a depth of affection he had never experienced.

It was all too much for him, she sensed that, and she adjusted her stance to ride him out hard. Her voice urged him on softly and lowly, and she strained to reach his face with her cuffed hand, stroking, petting him, and when he came, her thumb was pressing into his eyebrow, her mouth on his mouth, her heat pulling him in.

Picus lay gasping for a moment, coming back to his senses, coming back to the thought that she had watched his face throughout. He had noticed, oddly, that his emotions were always very important to her and she would often ask about them. She was touching his face tenderly now and their eyes met, hers dark and luminous.

Martina smiled gently. “You couldn’t have even waited to take them off properly, could you, baby?” she said. “I got a killer wedgie right now.”

“A what,” Picus said.

Martina laughed. “You know, a wedgie. God, Ron.. if I didn’t know you came from a Vault, I’d have thought a UFO dropped you off or something."

“Is that bad?”

“Let’s lay on the bed, baby.. I've got my spy biz to tell you.. “ She kissed his nose. “Oh and I got some good ones, but first—you’ve got something to take care of, I think.”

This is a really thoughtful, attractive fill, authornon! I really love it so far <3 and I especially enjoy that you're giving it some plot and highlighting Captain "Picus" Curtis's subterfuge even as you write, uhm, SMOKIN' sex scenes. Very smart writing. :) I look forward to more.

Oh thank you, hope you're having fun. I really liked this prompt. A clash of cultures. Picus was a natural choice for me because I have a lot of thoughts about how he goes about his daily life with the normals.

OP is interested in seeing where this goes.

Thanks for the prompt. I like chances like this to explore how different the legion is. Thanks for reading :)

I've been wanting to see this pairing for ever!
Great job, A!A

Thanks! and I was always curious about what went on with Curtis, Martina, and Vulpes Inculta.

Ok, seriously, A!A, I don't know how it would work, but this needs to somehow get into Cry Havoc, (not to come off creepy, just that you gave yourself away by referencing "Silva" in a later chapter). Just my 2 cents. Maybe I'm way off.

Well hey, howdy, how are ya!! I love close readers! You'll really have fun if you do. I'm a close reader myself.

This actually IS part of the same Cry Havoc universe. I would say it takes place about a year and a halfish (loosely) before Victor digs up a grave in Goodsprings. No Cottonwood Cove Legion camp yet.

Picus was originally going to have a huge role in CH but I painfully cut out his chapters because it just wasn't streamlined for CH. He'll play a huge role as we go on into what comes after CH, sure, but I was left with a ton of Picus/Martina and Picus-Hsu material that probably work best as their own side stories.

Thanks for coming along!! Next updates are coming soon, for this and for the other.

Heh, I've think I've been academically trained to find patterns in everything. Sometimes it pays off ;)

I just really fell in Love with the idea of your Silva, and I love how now she's getting fleshed out little by little through the two stories.

He left her handcuffed to the chair.

"Hey lover," she said, "you're not going to leave me like this, are you?"

"Looks like it," Picus replied as he padded away barefoot on the carpet. Before the introduction of the blindfold, he had noticed a courtesy tray left on the credenza by the front door. "Did you order room service?"

"No, but Wally brought it by anyway."

A folded note. Flowers. A bottle of wine on ice. His fingers touched the paper note. "Who's Wally?" he asked, his mind already working on what was written.

DEAREST GUEST, PLEASE LET US KNOW IF THERE IS ANYTHING WE MAY DO TO PROVIDE YOU A PLEASANT
EXPERIENCE AND
INDIVIDUAL ATTENTION!

The other starting letters didn't mean anything, so far as the rules were concerned.

"Wally, guy with the bad ankle. You know.. " When he looked back over his shoulder, he found her smiling almost shyly from the chair, one knee on it. "The one who's a lil' sweet on me."

D-A-E-I, then? No, no E. You had to take the starting letters down in a column but only if they were our letters.

Picus crumpled the note in his hand and slipped it away in his trousers pocket. Experience. X. XI.

Martina grinned and gave the cuff another clink. "You're not jealous, are ya?"

"What if I was?"

He wasn't. No. Martina had slept with others at his direction. No matter how they treated women, the dissolute had a strange habit of confiding in them once the act was complete. Never mind they beat them, drugged them, left them to falter and die on their own... they would say anything to a woman afterward and Martina had much to report.

This was business, the good old 'biz' as she put it.

She was watching him now, grin vanished, and the look on her face was almost apprehensive. That was what it looked like to him, apprehension. He would have thought that she wanted him to be jealous of her liaisons with others. Keep him interested. But there was a shadow across her face and her posture balled up slightly, the way she kneeled one leg on the chair, both hands holding the back. She took her lower lip in, and her free hand wandered to her garter.

"I won't do it anymore if you don't want," she said softly then, and the confidence was out of her posture, as though she felt now what she looked like: a half-naked girl cuffed to a chair, exposed, unsure. "If you don't want me to, Ron."

He sensed that she feared for his approval, that she was frustrated sexually, that her mood could plummet if he wasn't careful. He hoped she wouldn't cry or something.

"The information you've brought me has saved a lot of lives, Martina." He maintained eye contact for a moment. She looked away, as the weak did when they locked eyes with the strong. Picus relented; there was no further reason to investigate the room service platter, no further reason to leave a girl waiting.

D-X-I. D, 500. X, 10. I, 1. DXI. Room 511, then.

Picus brought the tray to the bedside table. From it he took the spray of flowers and drew them across Martina's cheek. Her eyes closed at the sensation. Hm, so she would like this. He drew the little flowers in slow circles on her face. He didn't know what they were, some plants. He'd never been good at telling them apart, even when taught, even when evaluated. His instructor let him suffer poison for the better part of a day on a field survival test when he'd eaten the wrong thing. They were just plants to him.

Martina's hold on the chair relaxed and her silky little garment caught the light when she reached out a hand to him, wanting contact.

"I'm going to teach you something," he told her. "I hope you'll never have to use it."

Her eyes opened then with interest.

He tossed the flowers on the bed and then took her cuffed wrist in one hand. He felt the knock of her pulse. With his other hand he stroked fingers across her temple and then plucked a bobby pin from her hair.

"You should always keep these at hand," he said. "Watch how I bend it. This will the be the easiest way for you to escape handcuffs. Once you learn.. you'll be free in seconds."

The reassuring contact and the salacious tidbit of information was enough to bring back her mood. Martina said softly, "Oh, but I didn't see you pick the lock when you got out."

Picus had angled himself into the best position when she cuffed him. It had been all too easy to straighten out and withdraw from the cuff. "I was expecting it. You weren't. There are many ways to escape."

"They taught you all this, didn't they?" she asked in a husky whisper.

He supposed that her imagination had her thinking of something you'd see in the pulps or the holos. Truth be told he learned the tricks of the trade after an excruciating trial of torture and mayhem at the hands of various frumentarii. His most hated yet helpful instructor was a boyish tribal who looked like he was twelve years old or something. Picus still had dreams of being thrown handcuffed into the Colorado. 'Dear brother, you're just not getting this, are you? Don't worry, I pounded the water out of you.. I wouldn't let harm come to you! Lady Silva says you have a special mission, so we will train you especially. Now, let us get you to your feet and we will try again after a demonstration. Don't panic, you'll just suck in water.'

Picus placed the bent pin in her free hand and helped guide her. She leaned in at his closeness and rubbed her cheek on his shoulder, but he made her look at what they were doing.

"You should learn this so well that you don't need to look anymore. You should look straight ahead if you ever need to do this. You should practice. Where's the key?"

She smiled. "On a ribbon by my pillow."

For some reason the detail of a handcuff key on a girly ribbon made him smile. Very Martina.

While she fiddled with the cuff, he slipped a hand beneath the satin scrap of a garment. He ran a slow stroke across her outer thigh, dipping low to pluck at her garter. Sometimes she like to stash something in there to make herself feel sly. A knife, one time-- he'd told her flatly it looked like she had an erection. She didn't react well to that.

Martina was still struggling with the lock. He let her struggle. That was the best way to learn. How he learned.

While his protege learned her lesson, Picus began to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her neck. She responded warmly to him. He knew she liked him for the unique opportunities he provided her if nothing else. Letting her live her little fantasies. Letting her think she was an NCR captain's girlfriend. That kind of prestige and stability was a rare prize for a woman to attain.

He gripped and squeezed a handful of thigh flesh, where the leg broadens to meet the body. She moaned. His hand ran from the outside of her thigh to the inner, and he pressed his knuckles against the softer skin. Just barely brought his index finger up, just barely disturbing the hairs of her sex.

Martina gasped.

She shifted her stance completely and for a moment it looked like she would abandon her efforts with the handcuffs. Their eyes met sharply and then she smiled, pushing her body against his hand.

While she picked at the lock, he played at her lips, teasing her, barely touching her. She felt wet and hot. Plump. With Martina the first time he had found it vaguely disgusting how slimy her body became, disgusting yet so arousing. Some time later he described his findings to another frumentarius, who explained it was a perfectly natural response of a female body in a state of arousal. Perfectly natural, and desirable.

In fact this helpful frumentarius had decided to give him some instruction on the matter, but Picus had reacted with distrust-- this happened to be the same instructor who had once drowned him in handcuffs, beat him, allowed him to eat toxic roots, allowed him to wallow about in hallucinogenic misery, chased him through the desert for a week, tortured him when captured, reduced him to tears on two different occasions, and then on one had placed a live cazador on his arm and told him not to sweat so much.. it would wash away the pheremone ointment. 'The ointment gives you a pleasing smell to her, and without it, she will sting you. They are all ladies, you know. You must learn how to treat a lady.. or fake it without giving offense.'

Fake it without giving offense.

Easy, with Martina. She was attractive and young. Her voice was not especially irritating like some of their voices were. She tended to chatter but she was not stupid. She was very giving sexually and enjoyed the act. After her, Picus realized he could not be with a woman who did not.

He used to hesitate to touch her down there. She had shown him how. She had to show him a lot of things.. but even if he didn't always learn quickly, he learned after practice. He learned that she liked to be touched at the beginning of her sex, near the top, either a dull rubbing with a grouping of fingers or the precise application of a fingertip to the little hooded nub. Sometimes it was too much. Sometimes she needed more. It was all contextual. Complicated. His instructor had some enthusiastic comments on the process but Picus had blushed fiercely and told him he was done talking about it-- and what are you, twelve! You're too young for this conversation.

He was rubbing her slowly now, bluntly, for the angle was difficult to get it how she liked it most. It was easier, more immediate, to tease her opening, and he did so, curving a finger down her seam and pushing inside. Her voice came strongly on a groan. She felt so wet, so needy. He half-wondered if his fingers would touch his own seed, but he no longer cared if they did.

He worked her slowly while she worked the lock. She was losing patience. He had closed his eyes while he toyed with her, but now he heard the frustrated rattle of the cuff. She couldn't get free just yet.

"Concentrate," he told her.

"I can't concentrate," she hissed back.

Encircling her with his free arm round the middle, he pressed his body against her and began to move his hips in time to the slow push of his fingers. "Learn," he murmured against the edge of her open mouth. "If you need to get free for real…you'll be distracted then as well."

Martina made a desperate sound. Not knowing how to read it entirely, he dragged the two fingers out of her and teased her inner thigh again. He didn't want it too much just yet. Of course he could, but he had learned that a woman's climax was a complicated and tricky thing. Even if she achieved one, you could ruin it, or it could still be bad or unsatisfying. What in the hell.. it was beyond his understanding.

He had attempted only one time to even broach the barest limits of the subject with his sister, and that was, in its widest metaphor, to ask if she was happy with her latest man. She had slowly turned her head like an owl to regard him and then responded she was content with her thread in the Great Tapestry. She told him she relied on no man, only the gods, and the living god their king and master, Caesar their dominus.

His sister was considered one of the most gifted of the priestesses. A gift of prophecy and portents.

Her six children were regarded as results of her duties to the People, offshoots of choiceless matings directed by the sibyl.

Picus never asked about her men again. He didn't want to think about it.

Martina finally prevailed. He knew she would. If she was feeling clever she could have taken him off guard when she was free, but instead she immediately flung herself against him, flush with success and arousal. "Oh Ron, I got it," she cried. "I can pick locks now!"

He hoisted her up. The satin absorbed her body heat and felt slippery in his grip. She had a lot of thigh, something he learned he liked in a woman, and the bed bounced when he tossed her down on it. She gazed up at him adoringly, excited with the thoughts of what he might do to her now. Then she realized he also brought the cuffs and she made a squeak of outrage when he cuffed both her wrists to the bed.

"But that's both hands, Ron," she cried.

He breathed warm air on the satin bunched at her belly. He turned his cheek flat against it, felt his hot breath held in by the material. The cuffs rattled when his hands fell away from her upper arms, the better to scoop underneath her hips.

"That's both hands," she protested, "how'm I supposed to get out of these now?"

"Oh, you won't be able to." He nosed the edge of the satin aside. Kissed her belly. His lips felt her skin go taut when she inhaled. The sound of the ceiling fan was a steady soft rhythm, and the strains of music were coming up jazzy and sensuous from below.

Ron was in no hurry to go anywhere-- Room 511 or no. The man that waited there could wait a little longer. Could entertain himself. This was Vegas, after all.

EXCELLENT author!anon. It's almost like a who-dun-it - can't wait to see what happens next! Picus is very interesting here.

Also, was Vulpes that 'helpful' frumentarius? Lol

Glad you like it so far. I get to play with some interesting events going on in this period of time.

I'm very interested in this pairing now.

Thanks!! Me too. I always wondered what was going on with them..

511, then. He hoped there was coffee, but he told himself he knew better than to drink anything brewed out of sight.

He always took the stairwell. The elevators were a novelty to tourists and a crutch for the lazy. He didn't like the closeness and the absence of control. And he never wanted to fight someone in an elevator ever again. That had been beyond irritating.

Picus walked through the fifth floor and made the agreed-upon knock on door 511. As he neared and then as he passed, he heard a thumping bedspring sort of sound and walked off wondering if his understanding of Roman numerals had been deficient. Had they not agreed on the first letter of every word in a sentence, so long as it was a significant letter? Was this one of the irritating Latin exceptions that he could never seem to commit to memory?

Nevertheless he continued walking until he heard the door open. He turned and walked back and went in. Gabban shut the door behind him, gripped him by the upper arms in an excited hug-squeeze-Gabban-thing, and then ran barefoot in a well-tailored suit all the way back to the double beds.

He resumed jumping from one bed to the other, back and forth, a huge grin on his face. "Come in and have some coffee! Fox made coffee! There's still some left! Haha look at his hair, Siri did it."

Gabban's baritone seemed at odds with his body, a short somewhat stocky young man, and when he was going through puberty Picus thought that his cracking, honking, abruptly deep voice sounded like a shy teenager trying to learn the tuba.

In the adjoining room doorway he saw the long lean figure of Purpureo, dressed in a striped gray suit, hair slicked back. He held a boomerang-looking native weapon in one hand, absently tapping it against his thigh. A very sunburnt white woman brushed past him rudely, resplendent in a sequined dress, walking funny in one high heel. Her yellow hair towered in a startling updo, netted with beads and more sequins, and she held her head cocked out to the side as though it physically weighed her down, and she clip-clopped lopsided with the other high heel in her hand.

"Goddammit ya'll 'n go to hell, you owe me, I am NOT wearing this ever again! I can't do left turns, my tits are fallin' out, 'n my hair like this I can't go through doorways normal--"

Sometimes when sister Prudentia went off on a tear, Picus had to concentrate to decipher her way of talking.

"Don't worry about the dress," Purpureo told her, "knowing you, you won't be wearing it all that long.. "

And she smacked him hard with the high heel in her hand. He hissed as though it had really hurt him, and he cried in outrage, "Do you see how she treats me?" but Vulpes Inculta didn't appear to care. He always let them sort it out among themselves.

"I think you look fine, Prudy," Picus told her.

"Hey, sugar. You my date to the party tonight?"

"Good question-- am I?" Picus didn't yet know his assignment, and his eyes moved to the one who would know.

He Walks Away Alone and an unusually blond Fox were at the round cocktail table, a game of caravan, a mutual dislike, and several glasses of liquor between them. At a glance Picus could tell they both were at a standstill, were both cheating fiercely. They were also playing for a pile of caps, eight NCR dollars, a lighter, and a denarius stamped in honor of the once-great Boar Centuria-- a rare coin these days.

"Was beginning to think you were never going to leave your casino girl alone," the Twisted Hair remarked in his rich and sarcastic tone. "Busy playing the slot?"

Picus knew better than to try to attempt a witty reply, not with him. Instead he crossed to their table and stood his briefcase up square in the middle of their game. "I brought what you asked for," he said. "Too late to buy in?"

I'm too stupid to format. Please delete this one :)

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Girl from Ipanema 2/?

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Girl from Ipanema 3/?

Girl from Ipanema 4/?

Girl from Ipanema 5/?

Girl from Ipanema 6/?

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Girl from Ipanema 13/?

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