Chapter Text
｡ ⋆˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚☽˚ ｡ ⋆
The mental and psychological strain of being forced into hiding in a claustrophobic gas station from a gang of pyromaniac convicts ate at Ringo like a parasite. It was only worsened by the clawing heat of the confined space that burned at his skin. He’d been holed up there for at least a week, bathing when it rained, which was frequently enough, and making use of the sink and washroom when needed. The plumbing was fully functional in the gas station, mercifully.
The isolation was starting to fray at Ringo’s mind. There were only a few small windows to crack open for some desert air and to scope out for approachers and Powder Gangers, but they didn’t help much with the heat. Sweat slicked his forehead, neck, coated his chest. He ran a hot hand through his chestnut brown hair, the combination of stress and heat almost pushing him to delirium.
The cumulative stress of the week spent in hiding and on constant alert made Ringo jumpy, had his trigger finger twitching. He had heard footsteps approaching the station and swiftly got up, shotgun ready and pointed at the person who entered the gas station. He expected the door to be kicked down, Cobb’s face twisted in hate, his gang members in tow and eager to spill Ringo's blood in vengeance, only for the door to pleasantly swing open and for him to be met with the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Petite, lit in a halo by the Mojave sun behind her, and just lovely.
Still distrusting, the caravaneer questions her, but she makes it clear that she means no harm. She’s a kind soul, sympathetic to his predicament. Says she’s willing to help him however she can. His shoulders finally relax, eyes now drawn to the bandage wrapped around her forehead.
…Oh, this? I was shot in the head and left for dead. Can you believe that?
Ringo can’t believe she’s able to giggle after that mortifying statement. Her optimism uplifts him, pulls him out of his gloom by the rotted roots. He feels a genuine smile spread at his lips, the first after a week of the anxiety and despondency of sitting stagnant like a mold; pinned to his position, unable to emerge from his prison and get back to his normal life.
And I intend to find the bastard. But not before helping you.
He wants to tell her that he doesn’t deserve her kindness. Because he really doesn’t. But he needs the help.
Grateful for Six’s willingness to help, and wanting to make it up to her for pointing a gun at her face, Ringo had offered to teach her how to play Caravan. She cheerfully accepted, accepting his deck. The gal proved a fast learner, and by the time their game ended (and he won, of course), she actually nearly had beat him. He was proud of her, and as he was collecting the cards back up after their game, his calloused fingers accidentally brushed over hers. Soft, warm and smooth, just like her. They both looked up, and his heart skipped a beat when he found her blushing.
God she was pretty, softly lit by the lantern like that.
The caravaneer swallowed nervously and resumed collecting the cards.
…Interesting outfit you’ve got on. Was Ringo’s attempt to change the subject. And her clothing was indeed unique. She explained that Doc Mitchell offered her two outfits to step out into the Mojave with. Either a grimy, faded vault suit that ill-fitted her, or this quirky stage outfit that his wife had stored in the closet for all these years. Six went with the latter, sensing that Doc was sentimentally attached to the vault suit. After all, it was his late wife’s too, and all the grime and faded print numbers on it wouldn’t make it any less special to him than the first day he saw her in it.
But quirky wasn’t quite the right descriptor for Six’s outfit. The short skirt showed off her gorgeous thighs real well, the cropped blouse revealing her shapely, toned, feminine waist. She looked like one of those pre-war girls on magazine covers, dressed up all for the male gaze, movie-star smile with a flirty wink. Except she was here in the flesh, smiling at him so sweetly and softly, glowing like an angel despite being left for dead by some cold-hearted suit out in the Mojave. How she could still have such a pure smile and trusting eyes after an experience like that, Ringo didn't know.
Eventually, after keeping Ringo company for a little while, Six had gotten up to scope out the rest of Goodsprings and then talk to Sunny. She bid him goodbye, for now, and he watched her depart with longing eyes, not wanting her to leave just yet.
But Ringo could wait. He was depending on Six pretty much entirely, much to the detriment of his pride, so he had no right to be impatient. In the meantime, he’d keep watch and have his shotgun ready if Cobb wanted to make a move. The caravaneer wipes a drop of sweat from his chin, feeling parched. He turns to the crate of purified water, cursing with a scowl when he finds it empty. He’d forgotten that he drank the last bottle this morning. Weary eyes scanning over the rest of the gas station, he spots a shelf housing a few bottles of whiskey, glowing amber in the lamp-light, the liquid looking downright inviting in his bleariness of thirst. Ringo licks his lips.
Soon, the sky blooms into a soft lavender as the sun starts to set. Nightfall follows, the cool air a massive relief to his heat-battered skin coated in a sheen of perspiration. He takes a swig of whiskey, already nearly down to the bottom of the large bottle and lays his head back against the wall, seated behind the counter on his bedroll.
God, he sorely missed his bunk bed back at the Crimson Caravan base. Come morning, Six ought to be back. Lord knows he’d have done all this himself and gathered a militia a week ago if he could have. Ringo had the caps to hire guns and pay them handsomely but was stuck, reluctant to reveal his position to Cobb or any scouting Ganger.
Shouldn’t be too long now. Just a night’s sleep… He thinks to himself, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it before laying back on his bedroll. Ringo tucks a hand beneath his head, the other resting idly on his hip, gazing up at the worn ceiling. A languid breeze drifts into the station from the ajar window above, caressing him. His thoughts meander, and it's not long until they drift back to his first meeting with the courier.
“If you’re going to shoot, you better not miss.”
Six’s fearless expression and unwavering tone still struck fresh in his mind. It was laden with threat but… sexy. He could only stand there dumbly with his shotgun still trained on her, processing the situation. In the present, Ringo exhales harshly through his nose, blinking in intrigue.
That was before they had gotten friendly though, after that initial tense encounter. It was his damn fault for greeting her like that, but he had no choice. Ringo couldn’t afford to let his guard down. After clearing things up, she was kind enough to grant him some company, happy to meet another well-meaning soul after nearly losing hers at the hands of some snake in a checkered suit.
He imagines her thighs again, illuminated by the flickering glow of the lantern. So soft-looking and unmarred, the caravaneer had wanted to reach out and touch them. To feel how his hand would engulf her thigh, impart his heat onto her skin.
She was sat like a lady while they played Caravan, legs together and swept to the side since she was in a skirt and all. Wouldn’t do to be showing her panties like that, even unintentionally. Except mid-way through their game she focuses real hard on the cards in her hand, leaning forward to study her caravans, her thighs shifting apart slightly. Ringo couldn’t help but steal a glance up her skirt, wanting to see up those inviting thighs of hers, peek at her mound. While she leaned, he was able to get a better look at her chest too, admiring the humble, cute swell of her breasts under that lace-hemmed, open-chested blouse of hers.
Ringo’s cock hardens under his jeans at the thought, the whiskey swirling in his head, heating his neck. Fuck. Stop that. You just met the damn girl. Are you that much of a pervert that you’d think of her like that? When all she wants to do is help you and save your goddamn life?
The caravaneer's jaw tenses, his breathing growing heavier in frustration, puffing out through his nostrils. But damn it, he’d been holed up in this damn station so long that even just the smell of her was a burning memory that wouldn’t leave his mind. Her scent like white horsenettle flowers and cinnamon, a pacifying aroma that made him forget about his troubles, if only for a blissful moment.
He closes his eyes and palms his half-hard cock through his jeans, gritting his teeth in shame. Maybe if she had come in wearing that vault suit instead… Yeah. It’d be too big for her, would hang off her like a bag, hide her curves. Give his eyes way less reason to wander over her body.
But it wouldn’t hide her face. Her face, so pretty it could make a man cry. And those lips… Rosy. Sweet. Curled up in such a cute way when she smiled.
He’s certain they’d look even better wrapped around his cock.
Ringo hisses, hardening fully now. His cock strains against his jeans, yearning to be free of its confines. "Fuck... " He unbuttons his trousers, clumsily unzipping himself no-thanks to the whiskey clouding his mind. The caravaneer releases himself from his pants and underwear, cock springing up, pre-cum leaking from the tip.
He doesn’t remember the last time a woman got him this hard. And she wasn’t even here anymore. He palms his tip, rubbing his pre-cum over his shaft, coating it fully. Then grips the base of his shaft and starts slowly stroking himself, letting out a soft groan.
Ringo had told her he was from California. She couldn’t remember where she was from. It made her both mysterious and pure at the same time. A blank canvas. Innocent and untouched by the wasteland, as far as either of them knew. What was she like before her amnesia? Was she just as sweet? Or was she more like that deadly edge he saw in her down the barrel of his shotgun?
He liked her either way. She was just so genuine. Fiery, yet tender, thoughtful and gentle at the same time.
…Are you sure about that? All these conclusions just based on a first impression? Get yourself together. The more pragmatic part of his mind scolds.
Ringo frowns, conflicted. He should’ve offered her some of his whiskey. Convinced her to stay for longer. So he could see her blush again, see how the whiskey might relax her, put both of them more at ease and allow them to just forget about the Powder Gangers and the rat that shot her and wherever the hell he slunk off to.
Maybe she’d drink a little too much and fall into his arms. He’d suggest that Six spend the night with him. After all, she didn’t want to impose on Doc any more by sleeping at his place, right? So here would be okay. Their little nook where no one would bother them. She’d nuzzle into Ringo’s chest, laid on top of him. Her weight atop his form would be light, comforting. Then… Six would bring her thigh over his hip and softly grind her clothed pussy into his crotch, gazing at him with sultry bedroom eyes.
Ringo let out a shaky gasp, cock twitching in his hand, another squirt of pre-cum shooting from his member and dripping down his fingers. His fist pumps faster as he his eyes screw shut, hopelessly lost in his fantasy of the courier.
Would she play it off as an accident? He liked imagining her coy smile.
Ah! Oops… I’m so sorry…
No, no. It’s fine, sweetheart. I don’t mind.
You don’t…?
Not at all. In fact… I quite liked it. You’re a drop-dead gorgeous woman.
His fantasy version of her giggled at his poorly-timed descriptor, thinking back to how Doc was gravely telling her about she very nearly died back at the cemetery. He’d chuckle in embarrassment, then stroke her dark, silky hair.
I’m sorry. Bad timing. But you really are beautiful. It’s like you stepped out of my dreams.
Mhmm? Six would respond, grinding on his crotch again, knocking a breath right out of his lungs. She’d sit up and slowly pull the front of her blouse down, revealing her breasts for him.
And they’re as beautiful as he imagined them to be. Reaching up to knead them in admiration, she’d fiddle at the front of his trousers, pulling his underwear down to free his cock. Six would gasp and marvel at his size, bringing a hand to her lips.
…Will it fit?
It will, baby. We’ll make it fit.
Ringo groans, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, behind his ear, down his nape to soak into his bedroll. He reaches down to softly grip his balls that tightened in arousal. He slows a bit in pumping his cock, not wanting to finish too early.
Mmmmm… Six would hum and moan, pushing her panties aside to rub herself on his shaft, her slick arousal coating his pulsing member, gliding her clit along the underside of his length. That she didn’t bother taking off her panties turned him on even more.
She’d look at him with babydoll eyes before asking, Is it okay if we do it raw?
Ringo nearly trembles in want. He has no idea how he could possibly say no to that question, or if he’d ever have the restraint to say no to that.
Yeah, baby. That’s how I want you. It’s the only way I want you.
Mmm… Six would sigh in approval, and lift herself up to line the tip of his cock with her tight entrance. At first, she’d be too tight to penetrate, even as wet as she was. It’d make Ringo wonder if she was a virgin. But any focused pondering of that would melt away as the courier would push past the initial resistance, brows furrowed with effort, breaching past her nervous ring to slowly sink down onto his cock with a moan he’d remember for the rest of his days. Her head would loll back as she seats herself fully atop him, gasping at how far back his cock reaches inside her. Six would bite her lip at how the head of his cock presses insistently against her cervix, his curved shaft simultaneously pressuring her G-spot.
Oooh, Ringooo... You’re filling me up so much… I could just burst...
He throws his head back and pants, eyes squeezed shut, thighs flexing as he pumps himself faster. Harder. His bare chest heaves, slicked with sweat, chestnut hair damp with the humidity of the night air. His stomach tenses, abs shifting as he fights between wanting to stave off his release and hastening his pumps to send himself over the edge. After a moment of turmoil, he yanks his hand away from his throbbing member with a whine, breathing raggedly as he forces himself away from the precipice of his climax. The warm night air in the station simmers with his desire.
As lovely as Six looked on top of him, Ringo wasn’t a man content with being on the receiving end for very long. On the contrary, he had a preference for the opposite. He’d scoop her up and lay her on her back, atop his bedroll, holding his up weight above her flushed form. Leaning down, he’d kiss her, feel those plush, rosy lips of hers against his. Meet her shy tongue with his confident one, relishing how she’d moan into his mouth and hook her leg over his hip in demure yearning.
He rubs his cock against her sopping clit, looking down at her, half-lidded fog-blue eyes glazed over with lust, smoldering with unadulterated passion.
“Let me finish inside you, baby. I can fill you up plenty times tonight. It’ll feel good…” He promises in that masculine drawl of his, driven entirely by desire, wanting to devour this woman that walked into his nest, completely unaware of how pent-up of a man he’s been. “You like a good creampie?”
“Mmm... Yeah… Cum inside me, Ringo. Fill me up until you're shooting blanks. You want to be a daddy…?” She asks in a honeyed tone that was impossible to say no to. Not that he’d even want to. He just loves the way she says daddy, and loves the thought of her being so willing for him unload everything he’s got into her and make her his. Her heels dig into his buttocks, beckoning him to plunge into her once more.
Ringo’s leaking cock twitches desperately, a loud, drawn out groan from deep within his throat escaping his lips. It tapers into a desperate whimper that spoke of how unraveled he’d become. His trembling hand flits to his desperate cock again, stroking himself at a fevered pace to the dirty dialogue he was conjuring in his mind of Six. The image of her opening herself up to him, drawing him in with those irresistible bedroom eyes, tempting him to take her.
Her permission is all Ringo would need to ram back into her, evoking from her lips the sweetest, hottest moan he’d ever heard in his life. In his fantasy world, he could be as rough with Six as he wanted, so he’d grip her hips and slam into her, ramming his dick home and carving her depths. She’d be breathlessly tight around him, her cunt sucking him in, almost seeming to move of its own accord with a longing to milk him for all he’s worth and steal away all the seed his balls could offer her.
You’re so fucking tight… He’d growl, hiking up her legs to rest on his shoulders, thrusting into her at a savage pace. She’d hold onto Ringo for dear life, wracked with pleasure, a melody of cries and moans spilling from her lips. Anticipating the moment he releases into her hot, gripping tunnel, buried balls-deep into her dripping folds.
Her orgasm hits her so suddenly, she doesn’t even have time to warn Ringo. She climaxes with a girlish, almost musical cry, contracting around him so tightly that he thinks he’s seen heaven, as she convulses under his labored form. Six cries out his name when she cums, so genuine and full of love, lost in bliss and like he was her lifeline, clutching onto him tightly and making him feel more like a man than he ever had.
“Ungh… Six…” Ringo lets out a prolonged groan of sheer ecstasy, his body shooting upward, back arching as he cums hard enough to see stars. His cock pulses violently in his fist, shooting up thick spurts of seed that he imagined unloading deep into Six’s womb, her soaking cunt twitching and pulling him in as he bathes her cervix with jets of his potent seed. He gasps, ragged and delirious pants falling from his whiskey-warm lips before twitching and spurting out another stream of white cum. All the while picturing himself crashing his lips into hers once more, feeling how she whimpers against his mouth when he continues to fill her with his seed as deeply as their bodies would allow.
It's now that Ringo’s eyes lift open, only halfway, because he is exhausted. Semen coats his bare chest and stomach, and in the short wisps of post-nut clarity mingling with the aftershocks of his mind-blowing orgasm, the caravaneer can smell how strongly he reeks of whiskey and sweat. His head flops back down to his bedroll as he catches his breath, heart still pounding. Outside the small window he can see the Nevada stars twinkling. Only a few of them grace the night sky above, but they calm him and serve as visual anchors as he floats back down to reality. He looks for a cloth rag, wiping himself down when he finds one in a nearby crate of Sunset Sarsaparilla.
Ringo looks down at the now-empty whiskey bottle, as drained as his balls felt. …Fuck. How was he going to face her tomorrow after fantasizing about her that wildly? He feels like he won’t be able to look her in the eye after that.
…No. How could she ever know? It’s just business tomorrow. No, a friend helping him out in his time of need. He’d be more than happy to repay her in caps, generously, courtesy of himself and the Crimson Caravan Company. And even after that, he’d consider himself in her debt for awhile. A good friend. Kind.
And maybe after everything’s all settled and calm, Ringo could finally visit the Saloon freely and have himself a cold drink instead of this hot whiskey. The thought made his mouth water. He hoped Six would join him. Sit with him at the bar, see her relieved smile, maybe she’d be jittery from the fight. He wasn’t green to killing men to defend himself and his Caravan, but Six might still be soft. Hell, her gunshot wound won’t have even healed by then.
No, he’d take care of her. Yeah… The bar would be a good place to propose the idea to her.
Let’s travel to the Crimson Caravan base together. Watch each other’s backs. You did good out there, kept your cool, your gun steady. I know I can trust you. And you can trust me. It’s near the Strip anyway, and that’s where you’re headed, right?
Ringo smiles, hopeful. He felt braver now, at the thought of facing Cobb’s gang with the help of everyone. Braver, because there was no way in hell he’d let anything bad happen to Six. Things were looking up.
If she did agree to travel with him to the Crimson headquarters, he’d see if she was game for another round of Caravan at some point. Maybe that time, she’d win.
And just maybe, he’d let her win, just to see the delight on her pretty, radiant face.