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Something changed between them, after the observatory.
Maybe it settled in her thoughts, in her silence. Can still feel the give of his flesh between her teeth, when her eyes close.
Thinks maybe it’s the weight of his gaze that is different.
She used to fight with Norm when she was a girl, no more than eleven or twelve.
Thoughts of her family come back in those evening hours as she tries to fall asleep. A warm fire at her back, as the Ghoul takes the first shift.
Letting her get a little shut-eye, while the sky is still dark over head.
Sometimes they creep back again during the day, when the landscape streaks with brown and the conversation dwindles.
Her mind wanders again, now. Going back to when her brother had taken her copy of Grognak - which she had been reading for research purposes, of course.
Whispered arguments during a free period ended with torn pages, Chet in tears, and Betty slapping them with a lecture of a lifetime and a week’s worth of detention.
Her father had been furious.
But she can’t help remember the way Norm had looked at her, as the sentence was dealt. How the fight had shifted - suddenly an “us against them”, the anger disappearing as it often did between them.
Maybe. Maybe it feels a little something like that.
She’s pulled back to the dusty road ahead, as something tall glimmers on the horizon. Growing closer the longer they walk, the outline of a town etched out against the sky.
It’s been ages since she got to sit on something that wasn’t a rock. When wind wasn’t whipping her face, the hot sun beating down on the back of her neck.
“Can we stop?” Lucy calls to the back she’s been following for some miles now.
The answer is grunted back, that steady pace never slowing, “Don’t need to.”
Her feet slow, as her brow pinches. Only at the sound of her footsteps stopping completely does he slow - the slightest tilt of his head indicating that he’s listening.
“Don’t need to do a lot of things,” She counters, “But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth doing.”
A beat, as she wiggles her canteen, “I could use some more water.”
It’s still half-full, carefully rationed. But there’s the metallic taste of rads when she swallows, even though her Geiger Counter stopped screaming a few days ago. Can’t get her taste buds to catch up to her stomach.
Doesn’t even have to be the pure stuff, like back home. Anything with just a little less bite - maybe even cold, if she’s lucky - would be good enough.
The Ghoul’s rough voice is carried by the wind, brought back to her.
“What you got’s just fine, sweetheart.”
The name makes her skin prickle, something knotting low in her belly. Her eyes widening, the word slipping sweetly from her tongue.
“Please?”
Only then does his head turn. Tongue dragging over his teeth, a cock of his head.
He scoffs.
They stop.
There’s something nice about being in a city that doesn’t want to actively harm her. A far cry from Philly - all those long, hard stares. Sneering faces, and bounties about to be collected. Even if she’s traveling with one of them now.
Figures it has to be the clothes. Her white tank is still stained red at the neckline. A leather harness at her thigh and around her shoulders, the blue suit knotted around her waist. Carrying the weight of a month above-ground, measured in the shadows under her eyes and the new scars on her face.
Fits in better this time, even if she still feels the weight of someone’s gaze on her. It’s heavy - settling over her skin. Only meeting the Ghoul’s eyes when her head turns - his brow quick to furrow.
Maybe it’s just her partner that keeps the wide berth around them.
The town sprawls, a small collection of manned booths instead of proper stores. Roasting meats and the bright glints of the sun against metal. A long paved road ending in a hollowed out hotel as the sun starts to dip - turn golden - promising food and a warm place to stay.
Lucy lets herself browse this time. Examining baubles and trinkets. Boxes of Sugar Bombs that she stares at just long enough to earn a sharp look in her direction, her smile barely soothing the shop keeper’s scowl.
It’s only at another booth does she linger. Fingers curling around a bottle, squinting at the written “Aqua Cura” scrawled across the label. It sloshes like water, the glass tinted dark, even as she holds it up to the light.
“Your friend could use that,” The ghoul behind the stall smiles, as he straightens his tie - Griffon, as she quickly learns, “Helps hair growth and reduces radiation poisoning.”
Her brow pulls, “Can you explain to me what exactly this is? It just looks like water.”
“Furthest thing from it. It’s a miracle elixir, honey,” He coaxes, voice honey-smooth, “Did I mention it helps you sleep? Induces love?”
There’s the flicker of something again, inside her. A held breath that slips from her in a squeak, as a hand closes around her bicep.
Plucking the bottle from her hand, tossed back at the shop keeper as she’s tugged against a chest - the faded duster familiar.
“She ain’t interested.” The Ghoul growls out. A fierce glare aimed and fired, shot from just over her head, “‘sides, we both know that shit’s no more than swill taken from a pig’s trough.”
Griffon sputters - a protest sharp on his tongue, but she’s already being guided away.
“Can’t give them a lick of attention, darlin’.” His teeth grit, voice low in her ear, “They’ll be trippin’ over themselves to take advantage of pretty thing like you.”
It makes her trip, boots scraping over the broken road. Only his grip keeps her up, as he herds her towards the center of town. Doesn’t know why the words send up a flutter in her belly.
Why she would care what someone like him thought - rough and brutish that he was. Wasn’t anything like the men she used to dream about - faded movie posters from before taped up on her bedroom wall in the Vault.
“Pretty?” Lucy parrot dumbly, and the hand around her arm tightens.
Then loosens - leaving her to stand on her own two feet.
“Sure. Anyone with all their teeth passes as pretty up here.” He shrugs - the brim of his hat tipped low over his eyes. The flash of teeth, with his smirk,“Even me.”
Of course. Just a joke. Lucy feels herself bristle, hands bracing on her hips.
“I wasn’t taking it seriously,” She snaps, “But if they told me it cured irritability, I might’ve considered it.”
There’s the rough rasp of his laugh ahead, the sound licking at her skin.
Her eyes roll, as she follows after him once again.
Can’t take her anywhere.
Turned his back for a moment while he did a little shopping on his own, and the wolves had descended. Still pissed off about it, seeing the eyes that follow her wherever she goes.
Not wanting to admit that his own follow, too. Been following since that first moment in Philly. Not often that he finds himself struck like that.
Unable to shake it, since.
Now he’s keeping a different kind of eye on her, head half-cocked as he hashes out an arrangement for the night. The Saloon is quiet, with the townsfolk finding their way home for the evening.
Should keep going, except he could taste the radstorm on his tongue. Feel the crackle in the air - a dull ache in old, healed wounds. The haze of green that will swallow up the town by nightfall.
Supposes it’s good that they stopped, after all.
“A room here is twenty caps,” The bartender tells him, an arm pressing into the bartop.
Cooper scoffs, fixing him with a long look.
The hotel is nothing to bat an eye at. Barely held together with some nails and a prayer, and he’s sure the rest is fit to match.
”That’s the price, stranger.” The man shifts uneasily - a beat before he’s adding, “There’s a barn at the edge of town. Know the farmer lets folk stay there.”
All kinds of folk, he’s sure. Run into similar situations before. Murders and thieves, though he isn’t any better.
Might not be a bad place to stay, except-
Once again, his head tilts. One more glance over his shoulder.
The caps are handed over, a key tucked deep into his pocket.
Goddamnit.
Lucy rotates on the spot, examining the spare room.
The walls are solid, at least.
They’ve slept in worse - houses with holes blown through the floor. Waking, teetering on an edge, her heart pounding a mile a minute.
A real door, the hint of the moon through a boarded up window. The bed is no more than a twin, but the mattress isn’t too stained. It will fit her bedroll, at least.
She gives it a little nod of approval, eyes flicking towards the Ghoul, “You gonna be next door?”
His bag drops onto one of the rickety chairs. Already bending to unlace his boots, his brow raised when his hat sets down on the edge of the top rail.
“This is it, Vaultie. S’all they got.”
Her voice pitches up, “Well, where are we going to sleep?”
“Gonna make do.” The Ghoul’s head tips towards the bed, “Like we’ve been doin’. Either this, or bunk with a bunch o’ strangers in a barn.”
A beat passes, as the thoughts run through her head. A low scoff as his hazel eyes sweep over her.
“Trust me, sweetheart.” He rasps, “‘ve got no interest in what’s beneath that suit of yours. Can’t say the same ‘bout the alternative.”
She can feel her lips part - the little huff of air between them. The furrow in her brow, as she crouches to work at her own boots.
Annoyed with his answer. Annoyed with the sting it brings.
Never had to worry about anything like this before. With Chet, things were never going to go anywhere - she had always known that. It was freeing, even.
With Monty, there had been that flicker of nerves. But it had once been tinged with excitement of the unknown before his betrayal - of forging a new life together like she thought her parents had.
Nothing had been like this. The sharp spark of curiosity and interest, that was fanned by a teasing remark. His gaze - slipping over her skin, lingering on her scar when she mopped her face with the hem of her threadbare tank. How easily something that almost sounded like flirting slipped off a silver tongue.
And then things like this. Setting her off-kilter, making herself mad that she ever wondered.
Lucy huffs. Bag slipping from her shoulder, dropping at the end of the bed. Boots kicked off, left in a heap, as her fingers work at the knot around her waist.
Standing. Shoving the fabric down over her hips as she bends at the waist.
The Ghoul becomes still - silent - as she tugs the suit from her legs, stepping out of it. Giving it a shake, wiping away the desert dust.
He clears his throat, voice low, “What do you think you’re gettin’ up to?”
“You’ve got no interest, right?” Lucy hums, “Then you won’t mind if I get a little comfortable.”
Fingers slipping beneath the edge of her tank. A shimmy of her arms, as she unclasps the worn bra - fitting the straps through the arm holes in her tank. A sigh of relief, as it joins the pile on the floor.
Those eyes are back, hot as a brand. The curl of a lip overshadowed by the flicker of hunger. His gaze fixing on the way the top clings to her now - the shadow of dusky pink peaks beneath the white.
The creamy strip of skin below the curve of her panties, all those inches of long, bare leg.
Unable to hide under the brim of a wide hat. Laid open, if she’d only look his way.
She slips beneath the covers of her laid-out bedroll, instead. Still pouting, rolling over to face the wall.
“Can’t wait to leave this town,” Lucy grouses, “Turn off the light when you come to bed, okay?”
It’s met with silence.
The flame pinched out, plunging the room into darkness, as the mattress dips behind her.
There’s a swirl of dreams, when she finally sleeps. The mattress feels like heaven after weeks of sleeping on hard, packed earth.
Flashes of things she knows, blending with things she wishes. Pieces of the Vault, her bedroom walls. Blue and gold. Fingers tracing over skin that dampens with her touch. A low, building swirl in her belly. Pretty, hazel eyes. A muted sound slipping from her chest-
Lucy’s pulse thunders when she awakes. Expecting the sky above them - taking a moment to remember where she was.
What the weight is, pressed against her. The narrow bed, where she’s tucked between the wall and solid warmth. Mapping her curves from shoulder to thigh, near enough to an embrace.
Shifting as they sleep, with all her wiggling around. Always was a restless sleeper. Would flip and flop until Norm would kick her out of their makeshift fort, back when they used to play pretend and camp out together.
But this, this is different. The dregs of her dreams thrum inside her. A squirm as something against her ribs twitches.
A broad palm, flattened. The curve of fingers like a second set of ribs - barely brushing the undersides of her breasts as she moves. A thumb, tucked in the valley between them.
Low breath in her ear that’s gone quiet.
“You done squirmin’?” It’s rasped out, “Fella tryin’ to get some sleep.”
It doesn’t feel like sleep, with the splay of his hand. With the low curse when she stirs, something stiff pressing against the curve of her ass.
The heat from her dreams linger.
Another cautious wiggle, and the hand tugs her flush - holding her still.
“Playin’ a dangerous game.” The Ghoul warns - the ghost of his cheek pressing against hers.
It’s not the same kind of warning she’d heard from him before. There’s an edge - something close to pleading.
“You were lying, then? About your interest.” She hums, when his fingers flex against her. There’s room to move away, but he doesn’t, “Or is that just a biological reaction?”
“‘cuse me?” That’s the voice she knows now - that rough tone dripping with condescension.
It does not deter her, “Because if it is, feel free to turn over and we can both forget about it-”
He huffs. Silence stretches for a heartbeat - soft, panting breath in the dark hours between dusk and dawn.
The next words come low, she almost misses them,“And if I was lyin’?”
She inhales a breath. Pulse fluttering beneath her skin. A beat, before her hand is shifting. Covering his, moving it just a little higher.
The Ghoul’s hand covering her breast, as something like a growl rumbles in his throat. Palm cupping her, squeezing soft skin as the inch between them closes.
A thumb brushes over a peaked nipple, sending a jolt arcing through her. And this time, when her hips roll back, he meets her.
His body hard, all muscle and sinew - his other arm jamming beneath her. Wrapping around to palm at her other breast, pulling her flush against him.
“Please.” She sighs, as his hands drift.
Slipping beneath the tank, then. Fingers tracing against her skin, the fabric pulling tight against his knuckles as he teases at her breasts.
His mouth against her throat, and she thinks that surely he must hear how her pulse races beneath his lips.
Hips canting in a messy rhythm, as the bed springs creak in protest. The thick fog of desire from her dreams blooming into something she wants to sink her teeth into.
Her own hands moving - tracing over his wrists. Trying to reach back and touch, but his tongue clicks in her ear.
“Tell me what you want.” It’s growled out.
“Want you to touch me.”
The Ghoul laughs, a pinch against her nipple that has her gasping, “Go on, then. Show me again, sweetheart.”
And this time, her hand guides him down. A broad hand cupping her pussy over the faded white panties. A moan as he feels the heat against his palm, how her hips jump into his touch.
Fingers rubbing over the fabric, until she’s mewling. A whine protest when he pulls away, only for him to tap his fingers against her lower lip.
“Open, darlin’.”
They sink past lips that close around a suck. His and hers together, pressing down against her tongue until they’re slick with spit.
A moan pitching high, when he slips them beneath them elastic band a moment later. His own moan muffled into her neck when he presses against her clit. Feeling how wet she already is, the way her thighs clamp around his hand.
“Oh fudge-” She bleats, with the swirl of his fingers.
Quick to find a rhythm she likes. Her breath going short, as she bucks into his hand. Grinding herself back against the hard curve- torn between riding out the pleasure, and seeking more.
Never come on a cock before. Has always wondered what it would be like - and with the way he’s touching her, it makes Lucy want to find out.
“More.” She sighs, with the grind of her hips. Fingers that drift back again, now that his hand is busy.
A hissed out breath as she palms him. The slight widening of her eyes as her fingers curl around, his steady rhythm faltering for a split second.
“You wanna get fucked, sweetheart?” He croons, “That it?”
She whines, as his hips press into her touch. His voice comes low, honey-smooth in her ear.
“You know the rules. Told you to tell me.”
The Ghoul lets her trace his belt. Twisting and tugging until she can reach the mottled skin beneath. Another breath when it’s skin against skin - the hand at her breast drifting down, tugging at her panties.
“I want you to-” She falters for just a second, as he loosens a rough laugh.
A frown, as she pushes the crude words out.
“Want you to fuck me.”
His grin turns sharp. Fingers hooking around her leg, hoisting her thigh apart and up.
“Atta girl.”
Her breath caught in her throat, as she feels each inch that sinks inside her. Fingernails biting into reddened skin, as she clenches down around him.
“You can take it.” He rasps, moving slow, “Made of stern stuff Vaultie. This is nothin’.”
Doesn’t feel like nothing, with the way he splits her open. The shallow roll of his hips until he’s pressed flush, snug against the curve of her ass.
His own touch brusing, as the pace slowly picks up. Her mind going fuzzy, words and sense slipping away from her.
“Can’t keep touching you,” The Ghoul breathes, fingers tightening against her thigh, “You know how to do it, right? Make yourself come?”
It’s not the same sort of talk in the filthy holotapes she’s read, but something about it spears deeper into her. A clench around him as he hisses.
Her fingers quick to find herself, circling. Already knowing the exact pressure to get herself there, almost desperate in her movements.
“Good girl.” The praise comes out low, curling around her, “Wanna feel you tighten around my cock, sweetheart.”
With the dream and the drift of his fingers, she’s not far off.
He moves like he knows what he’s doing, and it thrills her. None of the same fumbling around, bitten-back sounds.
It’s all snarling gasps in her ear. Sharp thrusts against the curve of her ass, promising to ruin her.
It’s not long before Lucy is panting. Writhing against him, forcing him just that little bit deeper at her fingers press harder.
“I’m gonna come-“ It’s a ragged gasp, met with a low hum of approval, “Keep going, I’m so close-”
There’s a low hum of amusement, “Deathclaw couldn’t drag me away, honey.”
Her own laugh caught in her throat, as everything goes bright.
It rips through her, the tight pressure that starts low in her belly. The pulse around his cock that syncs with her heart, as a cry loosens from her lungs.
His steady pace going sloppy. Harsh, panting breath in her ear as he fucks her through her orgasm. Lips at her throat, teeth against skin.
The pain pricking with pleasure, as she comes.
She’s still breathless, the waves of pleasure still rolling deep, when he pulls from her. Cock fitting against the sticky mess between her thighs.
A hand pinching at her hip hard enough to bruise, as he grinds himself. Rough breath in her ear, a jagged moan ripping from his chest when her fingers dip down.
Pieced-together flesh dragging across the tip, tracing over slick skin. Another thrust before he’s growling - spilling himself across her soft thighs.
The punch of his hips smearing his release against her skin - the tips of her fingers. The still-slick folds of her pussy, rocking against her until his vision returns.
It’s never been like this before. So messy, so desperate. It feels like the fire in her belly has only been stoked, as her fingers lift. Sticky and gleaming, and Lucy can’t help the curiosity that burns inside her.
Finally settling on a name to that swirling feeling inside her, because it feels that way.
A crush, threatening to overwhelm her.
He catches her wrist, just as her lips part.
“Much as I’d love to see you take a taste,” He groans, “Don’t have the RadAway to spare.”
She hums thoughtfully. Drowzily - as he slips off the bed, reaching into his pack.
Something passed over that she takes without thought. Cool in her hand - a can of purified water.
Her eyes brightening, “When did you get this?”
“Earlier.” He huffs, but there’s no animosity in it. The curl of a smile as he find an old handkerchief, shoved deep in a pocket.
It’s bliss, the cool splashing against her tongue. Tasting like the water back home, a sigh as her hand wipes across the back of her mouth. Taking no more than a sip, trying to ration it.
“Take what you need.” He grunts, “Got a couple more.”
Her teeth sink into her lip, as she smiles. Another sip, eyes closing. A little sound when his hands are at her hips again, the second the lid fixes back on the can.
Rolling her to face the ceiling. The pucker of her brow ebbing when the dampened cloth works at the tips of her fingers. Letting her thighs fall open, so he can work at his mess.
The dip of a head, a gasp punched from her chest when something warm tongues at her slit. A low groan, when he tastes her - the salt of his spend mixing with the sweet tang of her cunt.
There’s the bite of her fingers against his shoulder, clinging to his vest. Knees digging in, urging him closer, and he’s all too happy to comply.
Doesn't work the same for him, after all.
He can taste all he’d like.
Cooper wakes to warmth, for the first time in ages. Muscles tense - blinking between dreams and the morning in an instant, before he realizes.
So different than the lingering embers of a fire. The heat of a desert sun.
This heat molds to him. Soft, where his lithe hips press against another - all that skin touching skin. His hand splayed out against the curve of a hip. Fingers dipping to trace the scar of a survivor.
“Should get moving.” Cooper rasps, his rough voice even lower with sleep.
Shifting away, trying to break the contact between the curve of her ass and the part of him that’s been awake for some time now.
Lucy only burrows down further. Chasing him, his groan stifled when she presses flush again.
“A little longer,” She murmurs, “Wanna stay.”
She can’t see the smile that curves at his lips. It’s a small thing, no more than the slight tilt - the wrinkle at his eyes.
Can’t help another nudge, “Thought you couldn’t wait to leave, sweetheart.”
“Changed my mind,” Lucy yawns, sleepily, “That okay?”
The curve grows, as he settles back down.
“Yeah.” His voice is soft, “Suppose it is.”
A little longer sounds mighty nice, after all.