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Prompt for all Art Anons! (And writing Anons, too, if you feel up for it)
Date: 2012-04-22 07:06 pm (UTC)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuaVwsbcE6I&feature=related
It's about the world beard championships in Alaska. (Don't ask)
I want you to draw your favourite beardless Fallout Character with your favourite beard.
Or write a story about it.
Anon has a thing for facial hair....
Re: Prompt for all Art Anons! (And writing Anons, too, if you feel up for it)
Date: 2012-04-27 04:47 am (UTC)Re: Prompt for all Art Anons! (And writing Anons, too, if you feel up for it)
Date: 2015-01-10 08:33 am (UTC)This might be in line with your interests!
Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 1/5)
Date: 2014-12-28 11:32 am (UTC)Title: Reckless Games
Characters: Butch (m!Courier), m!LW
Kinks: oral, dirty talk
Series: Unbelievers
"Woah, hey now. Easy there!"
Unfamiliar voice. Unfamiliar smells. A coppery taste in his mouth, but not quite that of blood. Stronger, like a penny. Like literal metal shoved down his gullet.
"Wasn't sure when you were gonna wake up." An older man with a white mustache and very little hair came into focus. His hands rested on his knees and his head was cocked to one side, appraising his patient. “Good to see you awake.”
Patient. Doctor.
Butch pressed his hand against the side of his head. Bandages wound tightly all the way around. Fuck. Fuck. The package and the man in the checkered coat. Looked Butch right in the eye before shooting him, because he was no fink. But why? The package, what the fuck was it?
"How about we start with your name?"
The package. No. Fucking trap.
Sitting up in the bed, Butch pulled up his arm, but it was too light. His left wrist was naked, the Pipboy gone. He could feel it though, like a phantom limb.
"Where the fuck is my Pipboy?" Butch swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head still felt light, but he could fight a fucking old as shit man. That was for fucking sure. Might have had to do it on his hands and knees, but he would fucking do it.
"Woah there fella. I got it over here." He stood and crossed the room to an oversized metal desk covered in little experiments and thick stacks of paper, pair of eyeglasses.
The windows were open. It was bright outside. Butch needed his Pipboy.
"So about that name. I'm Mitchell, Doc Mitchell is quite fine with me."
Not until the old man passed his Pipboy over did Butch even consider his request. "Butch DeLoria."
He winched slightly, partly from the bioseal cinching around his wrist and partly because it occurred to him too late that maybe he should have lied. Anyone really could have been with them, The Brotherhood. But this man and presumably pulled him out of that grave and showing him the slightest hint of decency was probably warranted. And they hadn’t seen a damn sign of the Brotherhood of Steel since they passed through Chicago.
"Well, Butch DeLoria, what's your number?"
"What?"
With the Pipboy sealed to him, the lights flickered back on, drawing power. Streams of messages came across the screen. Dozens, maybe hundreds. All from one address.
130758.
Angry messages, scared ones, desperation and fear.
"Where am I?" Fuck did his head hurt. More than hurt, felt weirdly empty.
"Goodsprings, son. And I was asking after your vault number. Haven't seen a Pipboy like that one, though." Before then Butch hadn’t noticed that Mitchell wore one as well. Different model, same concept.
271257 > 130758: im ok. in goodsprings
271257 > 130758: you need to come to me
"How you know that, old man?" Butch kept his eyes trained on the screen, waiting for Tate's acknowledgement. Besides, Butch could guess at the old man’s answer.
"I crawled out of 21 few years back. You sort of recognize that in folks. And you know, the Pipboy and all."
He scanned through eight days of messages as fast as he could manage. Lots of repeats, some that looked like Tate had just smashed his fingers into random streams of letter and numbers and symbols.
130758 > 271257: Fuck, I'm coming. If I run straight through I'll be there by tomorrow morning
130758 > 271257: I love you
"And how the fuck did my Pipboy come off in the first damn place." Knowing Tate was enroute, Butch hazarded to look away from the screen, appraising the doctor. He was still itching to get out of bed, but also smart enough to know he couldn't handle it yet, at least not without assistance.
Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 2/5)
Date: 2014-12-28 11:34 am (UTC)"Bioseal auto-releases when the wearer dies," Mitchell's tone dropped.
"I ain't dumb, I know that. Why does everyone think I'm stupid? That's the only way they come off." It did take Butch a moment. "Oh." He sank back against the thin pillow.
"Well, you're back among the living now, Butch DeLoria. Though in my professional opinion you've got a few days before you're back on your feet. Patched you up best I could though after that robot dug you up."
"A robot?" He didn’t recall any robot.
"Victor. Strange contraption. Never took much of an interest in anyone before. But right saved your life."
"Do you know anything about the men who shot me?"
"Can't say I do. But you could try asking Victor. Maybe Trudy too up at the saloon. She'd know all the gossip. Now, why don't we see if we can get you on your feet a little? Nothing too strenuous.”
Mitchell offered his hand to help Butch up. He accepted, despite reservations. Hurt his pride, though, to need the help.
"One-oh-one," Butch drawled. Out of habit he reached for his pocket looking for smokes. But, of course, he wasn’t in his armor, just a tshirt and boxershorts that sure as hell weren’t his. Great.
"Can’t say I know that one." The old man smiled.
"Good." Damn he needed that cigarette.
Over the course of the afternoon Butch managed a small circle of the house, at least to the kitchen for a light meal and back. Smoked half a pack while the doctor ambled around. Warned him ‘those things’ll kill you.’ Like Butch didn’t know. Like he hadn’t already been dead once.
Good enough to be able to piss on his own. Made the fucking mistake of looking in the mirror. But he wasn’t some dumb kid anymore. Let the sob choke up in his throat and die there. Lots worse had happened to him than getting his damn head shaved. He’d known it when he’d touched the bandage, could feel it without his hands too, how his head was lighter. How he couldn’t feel the strands settling around like they did before he styled it, the way it used to move as he tossed his head back and forth. But seeing it was another matter. Lucky enough his skull was back in one piece. Still, he ran his fingers along his bandaged temple, up to the crown of his head. Short bristles of barely-there growth and nothing more. Swallowed again and again until his hands finally held steady.
Course, had to be that the hair on his face grew faster than that on his head. So while there was only the barest hint of dark fuzz on his scalp, his facial hair had already started growing in jet black and thick. It had only been eight days since he and Tate split up outside of Primm with their assignments from the Mojave Express. A day of travel and seven days out cold because of some asshole taking shit that wasn’t his. Didn’t look at all like himself, bald head and a fucking beard. Wasn’t his look, that was for sure.
Butch’s shave kit was back by the sickbed with the rest of his belongings. Fuckers only took the package. Getting back to bed alone felt too distant and his head too cloudy. Might have ended up cutting himself in the process had he tried to shave. And that was the best case scenario if he actually managed to make it back to the bathroom. All he managed in the end was to splash his face with water and amble back to bed. Tried to blot out his own reflection from his mind. It wouldn’t go though.
Doc told him it should be fine to sleep if that was what felt right. The worst of it should have been over.
He dreamt about that pile of ash. Sweet and powdery. The one he made back in the Capital. Before it was ash it was that hot-shot rookie from the Brotherhood with not enough sense in him. Fucker thought he was gonna be the one to convince Tate to join up when all the others had failed. Was gonna do it by force when Tate spat in his face. Butch wasn’t about to let that happen. Wasn’t going to let anyone lay a hand on Tate. Never again. Irony, right? Killing that fuck with a weapon taken from the Brotherhood’s own requisitions. They’d lost his rifle somewhere in the midwest. Thing was practically coming apart at the seams.
Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 3/5)
Date: 2014-12-28 11:35 am (UTC)A heavy weight beside him woke Butch with a start.
“Butch,” Tate. “Fuck, Butch.”
This time the room was dark. No light through the blinds other than the neon from the saloon. Tate must have traveled faster than he thought, or the distance wasn’t as far. Even in the low light Butch could make out the sweat clinging to Tate’s skin in a thin sheen. Telling Tate’s irises apart from his pupils was hard enough in the light, impossible in the dark. Just black wells that still looked rattled in any case.
“What..”
Butch didn’t let Tate finish his question. Didn’t care. Pulled him down sharply by the front of his armor and kissed him with too much teeth. Always something too hard. Something reassuring that Tate felt the same, tasted the same. After Tate's coma, he said nothing tasted the same. Told Butch he tasted sweeter than ever and beer was shitty.
It took some maneuvering to fit both of them in the single bed. They'd had worse, though. Tate slotted his legs around Butch's, pressing their bodies together and resting his head against Butch's shoulder and chest.
"Butch, your hair."
Not Butch, why you got that bandage on your head? Why couldn't we meet half way, Butch? What kind of fuckery did you get yourself into now, Butch? Once you’re better I’m gonna kill you, Butch! Those statements would have been expected. But not the sad way Tate asked after his hair.
Tate's armor was ripped at the shoulder, jagged and uneven. The whole sleeve was barely holding on. There was no mistaking the work of a ripper. They'd seen plenty of the Legion's handiwork crossing through on their way West. Under the armor he was bandaged up, crudely. Butch knew the signs that Tate had "doctored" himself..
Butch touched the hole in the armor, right down to the bandage. Poked it until Tate outwardly expressed pain, hissing in response.
"Wake the doctor. He'll fix you."
"Not yet." Tate settled back down.
Tate's armor smelled like blood. His hair too. Butch curled his arm around him and put his fingers in his hair, gripping onto it and holding the blond in place.
"Someone shot you, not Legion, then?" Tate questioned.
"No. Maybe, I don't know."
"Never saw one with a gun in Arizona." Tate's words were half-buried in Butch's chest. But they had spoken enough like this for Butch to make out the syllables.
"But they got you too?"
"Barely. But this shit is fucked."
Butch laughed at that, "I agree. I wonder what happened to the others on that job?"
:”I don’t give a fuck,” Tate growled.
Using both hands to roll Butch over onto his back, Tate’s intent was clear enough. He shifted his legs around Butch’s torso until he straddled the brunet. Totally unfair since he was still in his leather armor and Butch was outright vulnerable. With his weight shifted onto his legs, Tate’s hands were free to run over Butch’s body, first his chest, his arms. Didn’t touch his face at first. Seemed to be avoiding it. Just ran his hands everywhere else and kept his eyes locked with Butch’s.
“You missed me?” One hand settled on the top of Butch’s left thigh. Tate’s thumb moved in little circular motions, almost there.
“Nah, of course not,” Butch smiled.
With his other hand, Tate finally touched Butch’s face. Not the bandage, though. Nor where his hair used to be. But his chin, his cheeks. Spaces where Butch’s facial hair had grown in.
“Prickly.”
Butch turned his head to the side to kiss Tate’s palm, scraping it in the process.
“Yeah, yeah, I look like shit.”
Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 4/5)
Date: 2014-12-28 11:37 am (UTC)“Thought it, though. You shallow bitch. Or maybe you’re just jealous cause you can’t grow a beard?”
“Shut the fuck up or I won’t suck your dick.” Promises, promises.
The old man was probably still asleep. And down the hall. Probably closed his door too. Even if none of those things were true, they’d probably still go through with this. Also, they had practiced being quiet. Still a work in progress, though.
Tate didn’t even bother to get him out of his borrowed boxers, just pulled the waistband down over Butch’s erection. Room was warm, getting warmer even though the sun was long gone. Never really seemed to get cold in the Mojave. Getting to the end of October and still felt as warm as August.
Didn’t really waste much time after that. Tate got all curled up between Butch’s spread legs and swallowed him down. Bobbed his head and dug in his fingers against Butch’s hips, trying to keep him pinned against the mattress. With the angle all Butch could really see was his husband’s blond head and the tops of his shoulders as he worked the fly on his armor. Too much work holding his head up, as nice as the view was, and Butch settled back and closed his eyes.
Maybe he should have forced Tate to talk. To acknowledge that he had died, would have stayed dead. Not that he just that he’d lost his hair. They’d run across the country to get out of the never-ending bullshit of the Capital and instead Tate’d got torn up by Legion fucks and he’d taken a bullet to the brain.
But he had been complicit in changing the subject too. Used Tate’s clever mouth for kissing instead of explaining. Now was letting him use it on his cock in sure sucking motions, making the knot of un-expelled anxiety curl and release in his stomach.
Butch tried to forget about piles of ash and laser rifles. Tried to forget about checkered coats and a 9mm.
Almost could with those wet lips working him and that damn purring noise Tate made in the back of his throat just against the head of his cock. Focused instead on that and the rhythm of Tate’s left hand as he mastrubated himself, squeezing and pulling and holding off on cumming until Butch got off too. Didn’t have to see it to know what was happening. Put his own hand in Tate’s damaged hair and pulled hard enough that he’d feel it, trying to make the blond come first so he could talk shit about it later.
“Yeah, like that, Tate. Gonna cum down your throat. And yer gonna swallow it.”
A little hissing whine from Tate and Butch knew he got him good. More squeezing now than stroking. Tate must have overestimated his endurance. He’d lost, messily, Butch could feel it against his leg. Fucker almost bit him too as he came.
Good, so blindingly good that Butch almost forgot to breathe. Tilted his head up again, got a little dizzy, but also got an eyeful of Tate between his legs. Tried to keep his groan back, but really, too much and not enough mental resources to keep everything in check. Mouth that hot that slick, too much.
Thought he wouldn't stop cumming, even after Tate pulled back and started coughing. Had been something like ten days since he'd gotten off. Wasn't 18 anymore but 23 wasn't all that different.
The dizziness didn't fade. Felt seasick in the bed until he fell back asleep.
"Well, I figure it's safe to assume you know this fellow?"
Light outside and inside both. Butch cracked one eye open, then the other. Doctor Mitchell was sitting in that chair again. Only this time, a still asleep Tate was pressed against his chest. Must have cleaned them both up before taking off his armor last night. Blood had seeped through the crappy bandage on his shoulder.
"Uh, yeah." Words go stuck in his throat. "Wake up, Nosebleed." He avoided the ripper wound but shook the blond awake.
"Not fair," Tate murmured. "I ran all through the night."
"Yeah well we ain't alone."
Forgetting his injury, Tate went to roll over before realizing the error of his ways. Cursed under his breath and didn't bother to face the Doc.
Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 5/5)
Date: 2014-12-28 11:38 am (UTC)The privacy was momentary, but Butch took advantage of it. "There ain't no where else for us to run, Tate."
"I know." His hands were at Butch's face again, tracing the lines where his unwanted beard met smooth skin. Brown eyes open in the daylight, resignation clear enough. "Don't know why it's always gotta be us though."
"So," the doctor returned. "Let's get you seen to. I'm Mitchell. Folks round here call me Doc. Let's start with your name."
"I'm a nobody," Tate pulled himself up so he was seated on the edge of the bed. "I'm this one's sidekick."
Butch thought about laughing, but knew better.
Re: Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 5/5)
Date: 2014-12-28 07:05 pm (UTC)Also, UNF to Butch with a beard.
a!a
Date: 2015-01-10 04:05 am (UTC)Re: Reckless Games (Butch/m!LW 5/5)
Date: 2015-01-10 09:02 am (UTC)a!a
Date: 2015-01-23 08:13 am (UTC)