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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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Skinless 4a/?
(Anonymous) 2012-07-14 06:15 pm (UTC)(link)-
I hate mole rats.
I hate them. I hate their disgusting, bulging bodies; I hate their stupid teeth; I hate their pathetic, beady little eyes. I hate the godawful noises they make and I hate their freakish feet. As long as I live, I shall never meet a thing I hate as much as mole rats.
The first time I caught sight of one, I was repelled by the idea that Gob expected me to eat these things. It was unbelievable. He held my elbows as I clutched at a pistol, tried to angle me right as the hideous, snuffling thing got nearer, but I couldn’t bring myself to aim right. If I killed it, I’d have to eat it.
Four more appeared as the first one approached, and Gob stepped back. He had a rifle in his hands, ready to clear the floor if he needed to. I levelled the gun uncertainly at the first rat, and the shot went wide.
It must have spooked it, though, because it started up with this revolting squealing and launched itself at me.
Until that moment, I had never been trapped under fifty-plus kilograms of stinking, irradiated, pink beast-flesh. Until that moment, I had never had the rotten breath of an abomination hot in my face as its creepy, angular teeth sought for purchase on my jacket. Until that moment, I had never made the decision to beat something to death with my bare hands.
I don’t know what it was that made me snap. Maybe it was the indignity. Maybe it was Gob, leaning casually to the side, like he knew this was no problem, like he could fix this no matter how bad it got. Maybe it was the idea that this thing – our lunch – was trying to make me lunch, and damn well might if I didn’t have company. I don’t know. But it gave me strength I had never had before, and I shoved it off me. I punched it in the face. I punched it in the head. I punched it in its stunted ears and misshapen mouth and stupid nose. I punched it and punched it and it squealed and writhed and then its skull gave way and I was up to my wrists in brain matter.
I had registered shots going off but hadn’t really thought much of it. The next thing I knew was Gob pulling me off, laughing, telling me it was over.
I am sat at a little fire outside the house we’re shacking up in. I am cooking the bastard rat’s meat on the little fire. I’m not disgusted by this meat anymore. I killed it. I took my dinner from my enemy’s cold, dead body, after I punched it to death. If these steaks take like vomit, I am still going to eat every bite and fucking savour it.
“Tonight I dine upon my fallen foe,” I tell him seriously, turning the spit of meat in the fire. He cracks a smile. A ghoul’s smile is a strange thing – twisted and flaking and mostly lipless – but on Gob, it’s friendly. Maybe I’m starting to get more used to things out here. I don’t really have a choice, so I sure hope so.
“You put on quite a show, smoothskin,” Gob says, through his cracked smile. “Never expected a fresh vaultie to put her fist through a skull.”
I laugh, and shake my head. Hell, I didn’t expect that, either. “I don’t know where the strength came from,” I admit.
“Maybe we can bulk you up. Get you punching like that all the time. If your track record with guns is anything to go by...”
I shoot him a fake-dark look. “Hey, barman, I’ve never even held a gun before today. I think I did damn well, considering.”
“This barman saved your ass,” he snorts. “You should have seen yourself, limping around out there, trying to work out how to fire the thing.”
“I got shot in the leg! You expect me to be running marathons?”
It’s nice, this easiness. Joking around, campfire cooking. It could almost be something out of a book, except in all the books I’ve ever read a guy who looked like Gob wouldn’t be sitting around swapping stories with the heroine. He’d be trying to eat her.