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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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I Like Your Mouth (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-15 07:55 am (UTC)(link)--------
He waits.
And waits.
And waits
It must be hours before Arcade Gannon finally emerges from the bar. The streets have nearly cleared, and the moon is a sliver suspended in the sky. A scattering of stars shine through the clouds.
Vulpes is quick to approach and seize him and the man looks almost expectant when he's grabbed by the wrists.
“Are you trying to woo me by sweeping me off my feet in the moonlight, Mr. Inculta?” he says, remaining cool and collected as Vulpes drags him into the abandoned building behind the casino. His lack of resistance is as equally infuriating as that grin of his.
They stumble over the rubble with the Legionary’s attempt to accommodate for the other’s height, the darkness of the night only increasing the struggle. Vulpes notes somewhere in the back of his mind that this man must be at least partially night-blind with the way he drags his feet, trying to kick obstacles out of the way.
Vulpes tightens his grip on the Follower’s wrists and pushes him into the stony, unforgiving wall. He remains compliant even when Vulpes presses his forearm hard beneath his jaw.
“Is this your idea of a date? Well, I can’t say I’m horribly surprised—“
“Still your tongue or I will cut it,” he snaps. He searches his face for any clue to the game that he’s playing- He isn’t fighting back. He isn’t even fazed.
Arcade’s lips twitch into a smirk that makes Vulpes’ palm twitch. He notices that the Follower’s hair is tousled, longer and unruly compared to how it had been at Hoover Dam, and he thinks he can make out a few scars lining his primed features. He scowls, insides bubbling with a longing to break whatever bizarre resolve he’s being faced with.
“Your friends with the Enclave are dead,” he muses in a sickly sweet voice, and Arcade’s brief look of shock is oh so satisfying. He frowns, but before he can speak, Vulpes cuts him off. “I would have liked to kill them myself, but alas, age seemed to take them first. You won’t be so lucky.”
Arcade’s look of confusion is gone- Why does he seem so resigned? “I’m surprised you knew,” he notes with a disinterested sigh. Vulpes scoffs.
“I am not stupid, degenerate. I know what Enclave power armor looks like.”
“In that case, could you loosen up a bit? I’ve heard my neck is quite nice. I wouldn’t want you to bruise it before you turn me into the NCR or the Brotherhood. I’m sure they’d love my neck to look ravishing so they can ruin it themselves.”
Vulpes drops his captive’s wrists and brings the back of his hand across his face with as much force as he can muster. It makes an exquisite sound upon contact, a harsh slap the rings out through the near-silence of late-night Freeside.
“Still. Your. Tongue,” he growls to Arcade, who wears a lopsided grin that makes his blood boil.
‘Turning him in’ is the last thing on his agenda. No, he will not be that merciful.
He glares up at him, taking his sweet time in picking apart that shallow grin. Arcade’s cheek has turned a vibrant red from the blow, and he begins to hum along to some song droning in the distance.
“I’ve got heartaches by the number, troubles by the score…”
It’s perfectly unsettling, and all the while, Arcade is looking down at him with an unrelenting smile.
“You want to die,” Vulpes whispers, the arm against his throat relaxing considerably. He takes his free hand and grabs a fistful of the Follower’s hair, giving it a good yank. “You want to die.”
Arcade’s features soften. He looks down at the Legionary through heavy, blonde lashes, face contorted into a content yet urgent plea. Vulpes swallows. He can almost swear he hears the man whisper ‘please’.
There is nothing here left to break. An unfamiliar, unwelcome sullenness washes over him. Seeing a man who assisted in bringing the Legion to its knees like this is both humbling and disturbing.
He feels sympathy and shakes it off with a forced sneer.
“I will make you my slave.”
Re: I Like Your Mouth (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 12:43 am (UTC)(link)Re: I Like Your Mouth (3a/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 05:52 am (UTC)(link)----
The trip back to the revamped Legion camp is faced with dread. For Vulpes, it’s because he fears his captive will jabber on the entire time. For Arcade, it’s because he’s worried he won’t be able to find something sharp enough to impale himself on.
Slavery is notably not what Arcade had in mind when he approached Vulpes in the Atomic Wrangler, and if that’s really how it’s going to be, he’s going to try to rub some Legionary the wrong way the minute they arrive at the camp. Vulpes won’t kill him, but maybe one of the other’s will. And then Vulpes would kill that one.
Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll cause an all-out civil war. That would be dandy.
And if worse comes to worse, he’s certain he’ll be able to find something with which he can slit his own throat. It’s not like Vulpes can watch him ALL the time.
Can he?
The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon by the time they leave Freeside. Arcade’s hands have been bound, and, humiliatingly enough, Vulpes has left the excess rope long so he can keep a hold on it. He drags him through the northern gate.
Arcade imagines that to anyone else on the streets at this ungodly hour, they must not look much different than the courier did when he came through here. He was an older man- even ten years ago, his age was apparent- and he’d been eager for Arcade to join him. He’d dragged him all over Freeside. All over the Mojave.
Ah, but no Six here now. No faithful Six to free him from the hands of Vulpes Inculta.
To be honest, Arcade hadn’t seen the Courier after Hoover Dam. He heard that he still watched out for his friends- Cass and Veronica, especially- But nothing had been done to suit the Followers’ interests.
The Courier keeps himself locked in the Lucky 38, and Arcade will be damned if he isn’t becoming another House.
Re: I Like Your Mouth (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 05:54 am (UTC)(link)Arcade has been droning on about photosynthesis and the procreation of plants since they left Freeside, but now, he’s silent.
Vulpes ties the rope he’s been toting the other by to the arm of a cactus and takes a seat at the edge of the cracked asphalt. Arcade, left with little choice, joins him.
Has Vulpes noticed his sunburn? Arcade’s noticed his sunburn, and he can’t even see himself. The sun is what has silenced him, and his lips are so dry that to move them is a pain.
The Legionary digs through the remains of the caravan and produces a canteen. He unscrews the cap, sniffs it, and then takes a good, long swig.
Fortunately, Vulpes must be in a giving mood, as he unceremoniously thrusts the bottle into his captive’s open hands.
It’s awkward for him to drink with his wrists tied together, but he manages. Well, hope Prince Charming wasn’t counting on having any more of this. He finishes it off, and tosses the empty canteen to the ground by his feet.
“Where is the Courier?”
Well, that’s one way to start conversation.
“Oh, good question!” he exclaims, beaming at him.
“You know where he is,” Vulpes scolds, steepling his fingers. Someone isn’t in a very playful mood. “You could save yourself a good amount of pain if you would kindly tell me where.”
“I’m sure I could. But you see, I don’t actually know. And believe me; I have a few choice words for him, myself. I’m pretty sure you’re in the back of the line in this situation.”
Arcade is fully aware that the Courier is in that Lucky 38 penthouse. It’s just that his, and everyone else’s invitations to the place, have been rescinded.
“The casino?”
“Probably.”
Vulped frowns. “Expected. That will be a task for another time. I believe I’ll have you escort me.”
“Excellent idea,” Arcade muses, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Between the army of securitrons and inaccessible terminals, it’ll work out phenomenally.”
Vulpes shoots him a look, the one Arcade identifies as that signature Legion ‘I’m-going-to-wring-your-profligate-neck’ look, and pushes himself to his feet. He grabs the rope and yanks it. It bites into the Follower’s wrists, but it gets the point across. Slowly, he rises to his feet as well, the task particularly draining due to his restrained hands.
They walk until nightfall.
It’s not until they stop at an abandoned shack that Arcade announces that he should have stayed and slept with the robot, after all.
Re: I Like Your Mouth (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-20 03:47 am (UTC)(link)Re: I Like Your Mouth (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-26 05:05 am (UTC)(link)AA here
(Anonymous) 2012-06-29 05:10 am (UTC)(link)Re: I Like Your Mouth (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-07-16 06:21 pm (UTC)(link)Re: I Like Your Mouth (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-10-09 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)Re: I Like Your Mouth (3b/?)
(Anonymous) 2014-08-01 09:46 pm (UTC)(link)Re: I Like Your Mouth (2/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 06:17 am (UTC)(link)