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F!Courier/Vulpes Inculta - Bloody, Gorey Sex
Date: 2012-04-24 03:16 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Vulpes Inculta - Bloody, Gorey Sex
Date: 2012-04-27 06:02 pm (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Vulpes Inculta - Bloody, Gorey Sex
Date: 2012-04-27 07:23 pm (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Vulpes Inculta - Bloody, Gorey Sex
Date: 2012-04-28 06:01 am (UTC)Bloodbath - (1/?)
Date: 2013-06-08 08:51 am (UTC)Characters: F!Courier/Vulpes Inculta
Relationship: Het
Kinks: Oral, Rough Sex, Blood, Violence, Gore
Summary: There is nothing quite like a bloodbath to set the mood.
They have killed this morning.
The sun has barely began to peak over the horizon, and the sky is still grey and hazy. On a stretch of barren land in the east of the Mojave, bodies lay piled high. Dozens of them have been haphazardly discarded on the wet, blood slicked ground. A majority of the corpses are NCR soldiers, some young and some old, with a few unfortunate Legionnaires who did not survive the bloodbath.
The stench is overwhelming. It would have other men, lesser men, choking. But Vulpes only smells sweetness and the thick scent of victory. It has been a successful campaign. His companion has begun to walk aimlessly through the bodies. She is covered, like him, in blood that is not their own. It has dried in clumps in her light brown hair, and in flecks across her cheeks and chin, before trailing down her neck and onto the leathers that wrap around her chest.
“Beatrix,” He says softly. “Gather everything that can be salvaged.”
She bends down and starts to pick through the pockets of a corpse, slashing randomly with her knife. He observes in amusement as she digs the tip of the knife into an appendage, slicing through skin and bone. She lifts the dripping arm with a look of fascination, twisting it around and around.
Vulpes turns to glance around him. It will be perhaps half a week before the NCR arrives, and another handful of days before the bodies will be moved back to their camps. Until then, they will lay and rot underneath the burning sun.
It is scant minutes before his eye catches the almost imperceptible rise and fall of a soldier’s chest. The man is half buried underneath other bodies, and the front of his uniform is torn and bloodied. A shudder passes through the soldier when Vuples moves to stand over him. The man’s eyes are glassy, but they still register with fear when Vulpes pulls his knife from its sheath at his side. Much as it had during the battle, a small fissure of excitement passes through him at the prospect of killing a degenerate.
He kneels and grasps the man’s chin, thrusting it up and exposing his neck. For a brief moment, Vuples considers using the dull edge of his blade, rather than the sharpened one, to hack at the skin and watch as the man slowly bleeds out. It is what his companion would do to prolong the pain and suffering. However he eventually decides on a more meticulous execution. With clinical precision, Vulpes runs his knife from the man’s pulse under his ear all the way across to the other side.
Blood spews forth from the cut, spraying across Vulpes’ face and neck. He lifts a thumb to his cheek and pulls it back, staring impassively. It is warm and, like everything else, it smells sharply like iron. He brings his finger to his mouth and licks it clean.
He looks up for a brief moment, catching Beatrix’ stare. She has paused in her search, her eyes on his mouth and the way his tongue flicks around his finger.
Something dark enters her gaze, and he is already beginning to grow hard underneath his armor.