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“Why?” Lucy’s ax cuts through the air.
“Won’t?” It lands in the side of the creature before her, and only gets feral snarls in return.
“You?” A swing.
“Die??” And a miss.
The Ghoul watches her from the half-broken chair he’d positioned himself in. He would let her flounder for a minute more. It was as close to entertainment as he got these days. It had been her task to scrounge up eats for the evening, and she’d done a piss-poor job of it thusfar. She’d broken the poison gland of the radscorpion she’d been trying to butcher, and rendered it inedible.
“Now, I may be so inclined as to eat people,” he had said to her, tossing the end of his cigarette onto the carcass to watch it burn a strange shade of green. “But what I ain’t doin, is goin’ gettin’ myself poisoned ‘cause’a your dumbass. Find somethin’ else. ‘N don’t fuck up this time, or it’ll be you I’m eatin’’.”
A few dull thuds. No more squealing.
“Quit swingin’ that thing, MacLean, it’s already fuckin’ dead. Gonna take your damn arm off,” He makes no effort to move from where he’s parked.
“I don’t see you helping!” She protests, coming up from her last swing with blood splashed across her chest.
“I earned the right not to help you, Vaultie.” He lights a cigarette to further punctuate his point. “You’re the one who fucked up our perfectly good dinner, that need I remind you —— was shot by me.”
“UUUUUUURGH!” Lucy stomps her feet, throwing her ax in his general direction. It misses by a foot, but it had only been a half-hearted attempt at best. She raises her dead finger, and points it scornfully. “Y’know, I—“
The Ghoul raises his naked brows in silent question. You, what?
The dark-haired girl splutters, clearly expecting resistance. He had pressed against her every button so far, and now he had nothing to say?
“I—“ She almost loses it. It almost dies right there on her tongue. But seeing him peer at her over his cigarette, hat pulled low and ankles crossed like he hadn’t ‘a care in the wastes? She had fucking HAD it!
“I cannot STAND YOU!”
He laughs. Fucking laughs! And not even that snobby, condescending laugh that she had grown a mild immunity to. He really laughs. Makes his whole frame shake with the effort of it, howling and wiping irradiated tears away. And seeing her face? All twisted up in a snarl like she wanted to rip his heart out? Well that was even fuckin’ funnier!
When he finally regains control of himself, that snarky, shit-eating grin stuck to his face, he levels with her. Their eyes lock in a silent challenge. And he breaks first, to look at his boots, and then back to her with a fierce wet hunger.
“So, kneel.”
“Excuse me?”
“Did I fuckin’ stutter? On your knees. Now, MacLean.”
Even though her face pinches into an indigatious scowl, she does as he says. Kneels in a pool of blood. He can tell the second it soaks through her suit to her knees. Curls his lip, and watches her squirm. Blows smoke rings. Gloats. “Closer.”
She moves almost infinitesimally.
“If I have to repeat myself one more goddamn time——“
Lucy scrambles towards him, until she’s nearly hugging his leg. He uncrosses his feet, and presses a firm boot to her cunt. “See? Now was that so hard?”
She blows a firm puff of air from her nostrils, face screwed into something she probably thinks is a scowl. But really, it’s the face of defeat. Of submission. She had finally broken. And The Ghoul was not about to pass up his Golden Opportunity.
She had her almighty Golden Rule. Well, so did he. Thou shalt not pass up the opportunity to humiliate the spoiled brat he was unlucky enough to call his companion.
He tilts his head back, eyes trained on the caving ceiling above. “Fuck yourself.”
He looks bored. It’s infuriating! It would be one thing, okay? One thing, if he acted like he was at least getting off on it! But to act bored? Lucy burns. Aches. Wants to reach out and claw his eyes from his skull. Little killer. She shudders involuntarily. And she can see him grinning. Watches the muscles in his neck pull with the effort.
“No, you fu—“
He does not move his head, simply removes his foot, and decidedly shifts away from her. There was no room for argument here. She would do as he said, or she would starve, and he paid no-nevermind to either option.
She shuffles closer. Braces herself on her ankles, and rocks towards him.
“So she can listen. . .” He closes in on her then, one hand firmly gripping her jaw, his foot resuming its place wedged firmly between her thighs. His eyes are alight with desire. He looked half-devil in the dim light.
He does not leave her eyes, even if she leaves his. Looks away, off to the left like she’s trying to be somewhere else. With someone else, perhaps.
“Lookitme.” He barks. “Lemme see them pretty eyes, killer.”
She meets his gaze with a fiery determination. Even as her suit squeals against her folds in betrayal. Her cheeks were burning as hot as her core.
“Now,” Cooper presses his thumb firmly between her lips, keeping her tongue trapped against her bottom palette. “You gon’ do as I say, Miss MacLean?”
She nods dumbly, eyes blown-out like she’d been rolling on chems for days. And it was all his doing.
Cooper twitches in his drawers. Had been half-hard watching her fail at killin’. Now? Well, now he may still make good on his promise of eating her alive.
“Good fuckin’ girl,” it’s nearly a snarl, almost animalistic, the way her tongue flails against his thumb only spurs him on. He presses up harder. And she groans for his efforts and my if that ain’t music to his fuckin’ ears.
“I’m gonna do the same, you just. . . Hmmmmmmnnn, you just keep goin’, honey.”
Honey. It’s half-tender and almost-sweet and it nearly snaps Lucy in half. A tear rolls down her cheek, and she chokes on her own spit, and The Ghoul’s thumb. It’s rough with embedded dirt and grit and she doesn’t even want to consider just where his thumb could have possibly been in the last 200 years, and that just makes it worse. She bucks against him, drool pooling out the side of her slack mouth. “Ha’e yuh,” she grumbles, nearly stealing another finger. She thinks about it. He watches it flash behind her eyes, until her eyes flick briefly to where she had been shamelessly rubbing herself, and then to the knife on his belt, and back to him. The fear that nearly makes her gag is so fuckin’ worth it.
“What was that, darlin’?” The Ghoul asks, wrenching his thumb from her mouth, collecting her drool and wetting her lower lip with it. She shines and fuckin’ Christ the ache, throbbing-boarding-on-pain, and what she whispers is near-heavenly. “Hate’chu.”
Hate him? “Sweetheart, there ain’t a book big ‘nuff to fill with people that hate me.” She squirms again, begging for friction with her sloppy rhythm. The Ghoul presses a firm palm to his cock, and draws Lucy closer. His belt clicks loudly in the heady silence her heavy breathing leaves. He hadn’t so much as gasped since she’d plopped herself down on his foot like an obedient little bitch.
He goes fucking commando, of course he does, big-dick-swinging-motherfu—-
Lucy doesn’t have time to finish her thought because holy fuckknuckles he was big.
She nearly whines, rolls against the toe of his boot like it would quell the emptiness her cunt clenched around.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Cooper squeezes himself, watching her glaze over at the sight of him. The smell of her arousal hits him like a brick-shithouse. He lays his cock against her face, and watches her eyes roll back as she spasms against him.
“Take that fuckin’ thing off.” He orders, and Lucy is quick to comply. It leaves her in only a singlet and her white cotton panties. They cling, damp and see-through to her lips. Cooper groans, tongue rolling across his bottom lip. “Look at you,”
It makes her fidget where she stands, blood-stained knees and soaked panties, nipples peaked through her undershirt. So she pulls it off, leaving her with only one last shred of dignity.
The Ghoul groans, rough hand moving unceremoniously over his rough cock, and she bites her lip, rapt with anticipation.
“Ain’t gonna suck itself, MacLean.” he growls at her from under hooded lids and she nearly trips, trying to resume her place between his knees. She’s nearly delirious now, humping his boot like a bitch in heat while she makes a vain attempt to fit him into her mouth. Cooper gathers a handful of her hair, and pulls her off of him with a wet pop. “I didn’t tell you to rut, whore. I said suck my goddamn cock.”
So Lucy does, with fervor; tongue pressed as far out as she could manage, choking on gags and turning them into rolls of her eyes and hips, fucking the air and gargling against his shallow thrusts.
“That’s it, Lucy, just like that darlin’.”
Fuckin’ hell, she was a sight. Hands braced against his knees, lips stretched wide around him, tits rolling as she tried to find a rhythm. She’d done it before, that much was clear. But never with someone so thick. The way she struggled, nostrils flared and gulping for air when he pulls his hips back. His joints would not thank him later, but his sac certainly would.
Truthfully, it hadn’t been long since he’d last relieved himself. He’d been thinking about this for weeks, watching that stupid suit hug her ass, resisting the temptation to cut it off her right up the spine. It would be easy work, his knives more than sharp enough. A simple flick of his wrist. Slotting himself between her cheeks and rutting until she was begging for it. But what he had laid out before him was much, much sweeter.
Wishes, for a moment, that he had left himself tucked away, and made her grind her swollen clit against the buckle of his belt until she shuddered in his arms, but beggars can’t be choosers, after all.
This would make more than due.
Lets her work him until she’s just the wrong side of comfortable, pushin’ up against cocky, thinkin’ she’s turnin’ him to putty in her hands. The glint of light from her snail-trail across his boots hatches him a delicious, disgusting idea.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He plays into it, see how far she’s willin’ to go. She licks a filthy wet stripe up the seam of his sac and he nearly yanks out the hair he’s got wrapped up in his fist. “I need you to do somethin’ for me,”
“Yeah?”
“Clean up your fuckin’ mess.” He raises his shoe to her face, and waits. And she sucks it clean like it was just an extension of his cock and it might as well have been the way he throbs, using her spit to stroke himself as he watches.
He allows her the grace to rub herself through her panties while she does it, but that doesn’t mean he lets it go unnoticed.
“Nasty little thing, you are, Miss MacLean. Rubbin’ that sweet little cunt’a yours, suckin’ on an old man’s boots. Your Daddy would be fuckin’ ashamed ’a you, girl.”
“Don’t.” She snaps upright, shuffling away from him, eyes burning with a different kind of fire now. No less delicious than the burn of desire, maybe even moreso. Little Killer. Wants to bite those pretty lips right off when she bares her teeth at him like that.
“Oooo-oooh! Struck a nerve, did I?” He sits up straighter, satisfied. Watches her war with herself, torn between her body’s need to satisfy itself and her instinct to rebel against him. Grabs her roughly by the cheeks.
“‘Course not.” Lucy grumbles, squaring her jaw and making decided eye contact.
“Good.” The Ghoul nods, letting her go and tapping her chin with his knuckles. “Now, Miss MacLean, cause it is Miss, iddinit?”
“My ex-husband is one: dead, two: a traitorous bastard, and three: tried to kill me. So, yeah, it is.”
“You do it?”
“What, fuck’im?”
“Not…” If he had one, Cooper would have pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you kill him?”
“Almost.”
Fuck. The Ghoul’s cock twitches, and he grins wickedly at her. “Got some rules for ya, Little Miss Femme Fatale.”
Lucy nods.
“You gon’ look at me when I speak to you. You gon’ say yes, sir…”
“Y-yes, yes, sir.”
“and no, sir…”
“No, sir.”
“and please put your big ghoul cock in my pink little slit, sir.”
She glares at him, shifting her weight, but repeats him anyway. “Please, put your big ghoul cock in my pink little slit, Sir.”
“That’s what I like to hear…” He pats her head in a mock of affection, and lets her bask in it for a moment. “You gonna get rid’a them panties, or do I have to cut’em off ya, Killer?”
She protests, even as she shimmies them down her legs, kicking them off the ankle they hooked around. “I didn’t—“
“You tried. Just ‘cause you didn’t finish the job, don’t mean you ain’t got the demon in you. Now… Spread them legs nice ‘n wide for me, sweetheart.”
She does, even spreads her lips open so he can watch her twitch and weep. He didn’t even have to ask. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He was so… so fucking fucked.
She would kill him, too, it seemed. Or try, as she had been so adamant to correct him.
He cages her with his body then, lets her naked skin feel the scrape of his unwashed clothes, the gnarled skin of his hands and lips. Pinches at her nipples to watch her blush and buck her hips. Sticks two fingers inside to press up against her button.
And lord-almighty she is tight, and wet, and scorching. It would take a few minutes of this, rolling her pearl back and forth beneath his thumb and beckoning her towards him internally before she was ready to take what he had to give. Already half-stupid as she was, all she could do was whimper: “please, sir, please, sir, please, sir!”
“Good, good,” The Ghoul coaxes, spitting roughly between her legs to watch her writhe against the sting and tingle of radiation. “You think you can take me now, honey?”
He rubs the head of his cock through her folds, gathering her slick and impatiently tapping her clit. Lucy bucks towards him, a collection of “yes, sir, please, sir, give me your fucking cock already, Cooper!”
It rings so clear that he can’t hold back anymore. He has to get in there right-goddamn-now or he may just up and fucking die all over again. He gives her two shallow pumps, feeling her catch on the head of him, before he’s fully seated inside her. It’s not until he pauses to take in her flushed face and rolled-back-eyes that he absorbs what she’d said.
His name. He hadn’t heard it, not like that in so long he nearly deflates. She had ruined it, he thinks. But all that comes out is:
“You… knew?”
“I watched your movies every Saturday night with my… of course I knew. I recognized that goofy shirt. Man From Deadhorse, right?”
He cums. He fucking cums. And all he can think to say to her after he catches his wheezing breath is:
“Pass me that Jet, MacLean.”
She shuffles uncomfortably to do as he asks, and catches her lower lip between her teeth when she hands it over. She stifles a giggle, and he’s staring at her then; smoke trailing from the side of his mouth and eyes narrowed.
”The fuck’s so funny?”
”Don’t…” She bites back another small chuckle and tries to regain her composure. “Don’t feel bad, Coop…” She soothes, but with that grin she’s got on he’d reckon it was a surface-level attempt at best.
He doesn’t like where this is going, but he listens intently anyways.
“It happens…” She wheezes. “It happens a lot to…” Snorts. “Happens a lot to men of your age,” Loses it and cackles below him when he looks like he’s ready to strike her down.
This…. was gonna be so much fun.