Archive of Our Own

Cooper hated how she made him feel.

200 years. 200 fucking years of grinding his humanity down to its practical functions, while his body metastasized, became a stranger to him. His derealization from his own flesh had made it easier to give it all up, the need for affection, companionship, things that only slowed him down. There wasn’t room for any of that soft bullshit in this world anymore, nor was there room in him. That part had been easy. Harder still was banishing his baser instincts, wanting to eat something that didn’t taste like rot or blood or shit, wanting to put his dick in something other than his hand.

It took some time, but long ago had he stopped wasting caps on the sad-eyed, decaying whores when his resolve broke and he needed to feel that release the chems couldn’t give him. He realized he just hadn’t done enough drugs at that point.

But then the vault brat came along, with her big fucking doll eyes, her stupid ideals, and her inexhaustible humanity- it disgusted him. From the moment he saw her in Filly, doe eyes pleading, clean and put together, he knew she was something he wanted to destroy.

The problem started when he put the rope around her neck, dragging her along with him like she was a Brahmin in his caravan. The look of pure loathing on her delicate features when he glanced back at her, the cord around her neck biting into that tender flesh- it woke something up. It was a hunger he had bitten back for so long that when it returned, it seemed to take hold of him entirely. He spent most that day distracted fighting off vulgar images of the vaultie bound up every which way, glaring at him with revulsion. Despite his best efforts, he remained half hard no matter how long they walked.

When he finally gave up, released her to make her walk ahead of him, something in her eyes had bothered him. It wasn’t hope, no after he almost fed her to the gulper she had lost any hope he’d let her go, but a flash of whatever had been eating away at his thoughts reflected back at him. He chalked it up to imagination and filed it away with all the other horrible things that lived in his head that he tried to never think about.

That night, he waited for her to fall asleep before finishing himself off, and didn’t think about her that way again until after they had teamed up to find her piece of shit father.

200 years of the resolve that can only be built by spite, and she had already formed a crack in his foundation with just a glare, just a pursed lip.

It was easy to hate her, from her pedantic tone when she lectured him about ethics (the gall to lecture him when she’d grown up in a box in the ground and he’d been around for upwards of 200 years) to the way she represented everything about his old self that had made him weak. He had expected traveling with her to be a nightmare- and it was in some regards, the way she was so set on her little routines and up keep, putting up her hair, trying to scrub bloodstains out of her clothes, how she was so fucking adamant to help any sad sack in their path- but it has also been fun. He at least got to enjoy the satisfaction of grinding her idealism underfoot, watching her worldview implode in her eyes when he revealed yet another horror of the wasteland, or when one of her dumbass acts of kindness blew up in her face. He craved the way her tender, Hollywood mouth would twist into a scowl of disgust whenever he partook in cannibalism or any other act of thoughtless inhumanity. It was almost as satisfying as getting high, and probably much more satisfying than he imagined her tight little cunt would be- at least he told himself that.

And then there was the way she acted so damn familiar, as if just because they were working together she could take his arm to get his attention, or walk by his side close enough that she would brush against him. He hated how easily it made the images of her naked and hog tied flood his mind, and how he began to anticipate her touches. She practically oozed with the need for affection, made soft and needy by her little world of safety and emotional openness. It made him want to put her in her place, to fuck her into submission so that she learned to keep her hands to herself for once. The fact that he didn’t almost made him feel like a better man than he was.

He had honestly been glad when she abandoned him at the hospital to help the Legion slave, another reason to despise her, to make it easier to trade her like a gun part if and when the time came. The idea that she was more loyal to the performative principles of who she thought she was than to the man who had been saving her ass for weeks was just another mark against her he was happy to note. But then, when he cut the scorpion venom out of his leg and it was quiet again, her absence was heavy. It finally forced him to realize the mistake he had made: hate is the opposite of indifference.

So vigilant was he in maintaining his antagonism of her that her absence left him nothing to focus on, no yapping about her rules or vault etiquette, or mocking her for knowing fuck all about anything, just the vague memories of Barb and Janey that he usually pushed to the back of his mind. Now he was out of practice. He had to admit, to his dismay, that trying to not like her took a lot of energy. It wasn’t easy anymore.

When did that happen? He wondered. Was it when she left him the chems he needed to stop from going feral? Or when he heard her muffled sobs at night when they camped? Or was it the way she looked right into his face the way no one else seemed to be able to, as if it wasn’t a war zone, as if he was still a person?

When he rescued her from the Legion camp, he could no longer deny something had shifted. He found her lying in the dirt, reminiscent of a broken little bird Janey had found outside their house. He tried not to think about the hopeless tears rolling down his daughter’s cheeks, her small hands cupping the bundle of lifeless blue feathers.

Can you fix it Dad? Her small voice echoed in his head.

I’ll try.

Looking down at Lucy’s crumpled form in the dirt, the vacant look on her face, any trace of the hope that lit her eyes gone, he felt the ability to dismiss her as just another casualty, give way, and suddenly she was his problem.

Some habits don’t die, they just return to you, a rotted, twisted version of what they once were.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, feel the feeble structure of her bones beneath his fingers, against his chest, so deliciously breakable, and carry her out of the hell she had been through. It would have been a lie, he thought, just trading one hell for another. So he made her walk, her weight heavy against him, but still on her own two feet. He tried to tell himself it was practical, that it would remind her he wasn’t her hero, just a man dragging her down with him.

But then she had collapsed in his arms, her pretty face sallow and hollowed out, that soft mouth kissed by death, and suddenly he was running. Not running towards a pointed gun or away from a wasteland monster, but towards a hope, that the stupid vaultie wasn’t about to die on him after he’d busted his ass to bring her this far. He just needed her for his plan to work, he didn’t notice how she was practically weightless in his arms, or how even after days of torture she smelled sweet, or how good it felt to just hold someone.

“I thought you were done helping people.” Rodriguez said after she had finished hooking Lucy up to drip of Buffout.

“Need this one.” He croaked, cracking his neck from side to side, leaned back in his chair, his legs sprawled in front of him, arms folded casually, as if he didn’t have a huge knot of anxiety in his chest.

“For what exactly?” Her tone was accusing, her eyebrow arched in the way women did when they thought you were up to no good.

“Ain’t like that.” He growled, the warning in his voice.

“Good. She’s a bit young for you anyway.”

He scoffed, “The hell do y’ take me fer?”

“A man.” Rodriguez said with resignation. “I don’t think you’re a bad guy, but I know you’re not necessarily a good one either. You think you’re the first man I’ve come across with nothing to lose?”

“Ya think I’m takin’ liberties or somethin’?”

“No. But I know men like you, men who like to take something beautiful and break it.”

He laughed coldly at her accusation, as if the nightmare of the surface wasn’t already enough to break the little vaultie. Obviously it was true, he had had more than a few impure thoughts about the girl, and reveled in her disenchantment like a fine whiskey, but the judgement in Rodriguez’s eyes, while she pretended she didn’t see him as the monster he was, made him want to actually act on the crude impulse.

“Don’t ya worry bout me, Cap, I’m nothin’ if not saint-like.” He said, giving her an unabashed toothy grin, enjoying how his words only made the woman grimace in response.

When Lucy finally woke up, there was a visible change in her. Her face was harder, the light behind those doe eyes was less from hope and more from fury. He couldn’t help but take in the view of her hips, swinging with a new resolve, as she strode over to the table next to him to gather up her things, or help the bitter smile that crept across his face as she dismissed Rodriguez’s offer to join the NCR.

As they marched towards New Vegas beneath the heat of the Mojave sun, he turned what she said after leaving the camp over in his head.

I wasn’t gonna stay if that’s what you’re worried about.

Before the rescue, he would have snapped at her that he didn’t give a damn what she did, or more likely just would have rolled his eyes and ignored her. But instead he just looked at her in surprise, not quite as pissed as he should have been about the smug, knowing expression she wore.

All I saw there was just more matching jackets.

He was having trouble accepting that the twinge in his chest was pride. Cooper had felt a lot of things about the vaultie, but being impressed had never been one of them. The Lucy he knew from a week ago would have probably bought their line of bullshit, but she was finally starting to see things as they were, a feat he had come to doubt she’d ever surpass.

His hooks were finally in her, poison seeping in to tinge her tidy world with the stain of his influence. Now when she looked at him, there was this need for confirmation, for approval from him. The part of him that was still Cooper Howard, knew it was a sin to enjoy it as much as he did.

“Is it just me or is the air extra itchy today?” He was yanked from his thoughts by the shrill edge of concern and frustration in her voice. “You you ever feel like that? And also Hungry for like- not food?”

You have no idea, Vaultie.

She scratched at her neck furiously like a flea ridden bitch, her slender shoulders tensed, rigidity in every step.

“Yes I am very familiar with that feeling.” He felt the incredulous smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he slowed his steps.

“Why the fudge are we stopping?”

A sick glee bubbled up in him when he realized what had happened. He watched her bounce on the balls of her feet, twitching and itching, and looking to him for some explanation.

“You addicted to drugs.” He smirked at her, her wide eyes growing wider. It was hilarious to him, seeing the prim school teacher tweaked out like some junky.

He began digging through his saddle bag, in the hopes that her resolve to be a good little American citizen was weaker than the hold of the addiction, while she prattled on about how she couldn’t be addicted. Part of his reasoning was practical, he didn't want to have to camp for five days while she shit and vomited herself into oblivion, it would be a massive waste of time and he doubted her body could take such a beating after recovering from her severe dehydration. The other part was far more vicious and self serving, he wanted to see what she was like sating an urge, getting high for the sake of it.

“Way I see it, the second option is the only way to go.”

“Whats the second option?”

“Do more drugs.” A devilish grin cracked the dessication of his face. Of course she gave in, and of course she used her oh-so-precious golden rule to justify it. The woman never ceased to amaze him.

“Give me the drugs.”

He tossed her the rattling bottle of pills, relishing the look of uncertainty she gave him as she turned it over in her hands, before quickly yanking it open and popping a pill into her mouth. But there it was again, as she swallowed the pill, for a split second, that spark returned to her eyes, the same one that had given him pause when he released her from the cord around her neck what now felt like a lifetime ago.

Whatever poison that lived in him was lurking in her, and it was his fault. He should feel ashamed, Cooper Howard would. But he wasn’t that man and he didn’t feel ashamed. Instead he felt electricity in his gut, making him twitch in a way not too far off from her withdrawal reactions. His mind was assaulted by a stream of lewd images: Lucy naked, bound up, hanging upside down, his head buried between her legs- Lucy on her knees in front of him, mouth as full of him as her eyes were with hatred- Lucy on top of him, delicate hands around his throat, rolling her hips down on his-

“You okay?” She asked, bringing him out of his perverse trance.

He cleared his throat, walking ahead so she couldn’t see his face. “Fine. Ya got yer fix so let’s get goin’.”

Had she seen it in his eyes? No, he decided. He knew she wasn’t a virgin, they had been living together in close proximity for awhile, so she had already explained to him the massive scar on her abdomen from her husband, and what had preceded it, but it didn’t seem she had much experience with sex outside of that. Sure she was book smart, but she was also naive when it came to just about everything else, and he doubted she’d be able to tell when someone was fucking her in their head.

He hoped the person she was when she was high was annoying enough to banish any further onslaughts of vaultie fantasies, but unfortunately, Cooper found that he quite liked Lucy when she was high. She seemed to oscillate between a silent fixation on the horizon, her pupils dilated, her hand resting on the hand guard of her pistol, or talking about whatever popped into her head at a million miles a minute as she gesticulated wildly. He was used to her constant yapping, but instead of lecturing him on the plot of A Christmas Carol or vault ethics, she complained, she ranted, she gossiped, she was actually funny. She vented about people in her vault who annoyed her, vault rules she found stupid, and her annoying cousin who was in love with her and couldn’t accept that she was “done with cousin stuff”- whatever the fuck that meant, Cooper didn’t want to know. She ranted about her treatment at the hands of wastelanders and how she could have justified shooting a lot more people than she had.

Usually such incessant chatter would have irritated him to high hell, but to his surprise he found it oddly entertaining. He had never heard the vaultie express her frustrations so openly, and it was endearing in a way, to see how much she held back to fit into the box of who she thought she supposed to be. Another positive was listening to her kept his mind from wandering where it shouldn't.

“Can you believe that!” She was saying.

“Uh-huh.” He grunted, unsure if she was even talking to him anymore at this point. “Anyone ever told ya y’ been supressin’ sumthin’, Sweetheart?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, taking a step towards her, unable to resist the urge to get into her space, “you’ve spent yer whole damn life bein’ yer Daddy’s good girl huh? Doin’ what yer told, goin’ where yer ‘spose t’, pushin’ down all yer bad thoughts fer yer golden rule.”

“That’s not necessarily accurate, and even if it was, what’s your point? What’s so bad about setting aside one’s own feelings for the greater good?” She looked uncomfortable, but held her ground.

“My point, Miss MacLean, is that y’ spend yer whole life pushin’ everythin’ down, pretendin’ y’ ain’t got impulses, but eventually, it comes out. N’ y’ may not like how it looks when it does.”

She gave him one of those delicious scowls he loved. “Well good thing I’m not repressing anything.”

“Y’ sure bout that?” He smirked at her and her eyes fixated on his mouth for a moment.

“Just because I have to do drugs temporarily while we look for my dad does not mean I'm going to start rebelling.” She huffed.

“Sure thing, Darlin.” He leaned in even closer, face only inches from her own. Her lips parted, regarding him warily, yet she did not recoil still. “But when yer ready to blow off sum steam, y’ let me know.”

He sauntered off, letting the suggestion hang in the air between them. Cooper knew he was only making things harder on himself by indulging his impulses, his magnetic pull towards her, but he couldn’t resist, especially now that his corruption of her had truly taken hold. Pushing her buttons felt as good as a hit off his inhaler.

When they arrived at the strip he knew she was itching for a fight. She had been quiet for the rest of the walk after what he said, and he could practically feel the pent up manic energy coming off of her. That’s why he hung back as she marched over to the staggering mob of ghouls, amused by her new found fervor.

“Hear me out, me and my partner I gonna just head on throu-“

He had barely registered her aiming and firing the rifle, more than a little impressed at her reaction time. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes searching him for approval and he felt something he hadn’t felt in 200 years. Something warm and less impure, yet entangled with the dark impulses she evoked in him. It didn’t even scare him this time, his ability to weigh the consequences of feeling whatever the fuck it was he felt towards Lucy MacLean abandoned somewhere in the road.

He gave her a knowing wink, the kind he used to give girls when he was handsome, the kind that said you know exactly what I want from you. She beamed at him innocently in response before racking the lever action on her rifle and proceeding to massacre the feral ghouls.

It was a sight to behold, his sweet little vaultie going on a drug fueled rampage. Her stance was focused, her form with the gun- impeccable. She even beat him to the punch, downing the jailhouse-rock clad ghoul that came up behind him before his own gun was even in hand, and all he could do was watch in awe, arousal making its presence known. He had always suspected there was a part of her that enjoyed violence as he did, and it only made him want to tear into her all the more, to feel her elegant throat beneath his teeth and feel her bite back.

“I’m good for heads! They’re just ghouls, right?”

The weight of her words settled in his chest with a grimace. He was unsure of what made him more uncomfortable, the fact that she didn’t realize this was his ultimate fate, or that he was so human to her, she couldn’t register that he was a ghoul. Regardless, her enthusiasm was more contagious than he’d care to admit, and the big dumb grin he had been wearing returned to his face as she downed the last of the Kings. When she was finished she turned back to look at him, expectant bambi eyes crinkling up with joy when she saw his obvious approval. He didn’t even try to tamp down his pride in her.

“Got any cigarettes? I’d like to try one.”

“One addiction at a time.” He said chuckling, but then he realized he had her right where he wanted, her budding rebellion just begging to be egged on. “Y’know what, reckon we need a break anyway.”

Despite the urgency to continue their journey that had driven her to confront the feral ghouls, she didn't protest when he led her over to an abandoned Cadillac, eager to indulge in another new experience. She unzipped her vault suit and let it hang around her waist so she could cool off after working up a sweat, and pulled herself up on the hood of the car. He set to rolling them a cig and pretended not to notice how warm her olive skin looked in the sunshine, or toned her slender arms had become, or how her tank top hung off her chest as she rested her elbows on her knees.

“Now take yer time with it, else it’ll make you feel sick.” He said through the cigarette between his lips as he used the lighter Charlie gave him to start a steady cherry.

“What’s it supposed to feel like?”

“Sum folks say it relaxes em, sum say it gets em amped up, but I think it's a bit of both. Makes ya feel like yer skull is opening up.”

“And that's good?” She said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

He laughed, blowing smoke in her face as he did so, before handing her the lit cig. “I ‘spose with this stuff it ain’t bout feel good or bad, just feelin’ sumthin else.”

Her expression fell when he said it, as if she remembered something she had been trying to forget. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was. “I think I know what you mean.”

She put the cig between her pouty lips taking an experimental drag. She coughed a few times, as was expected, and then took another light drag, closing her eyes as the smoke poured from her lips, obscuring her face from him.

It reminded him of a painting he’d seen with Barb out on a date to an art exhibition in LA. He hated art museums, but Barb had always been a bit of an art history nerd, so he took her and tried to listen as she explained each piece to him. Then they came across a painting with a young woman sitting upon a high stool, her skin pale and luminous, eyes closed in earnest, her soft features partially obscured by the shadow of her blood red veil. Smoke rose up from a crack in the floor beneath her and she hunched forward to breathe it in. It was called Priestess of Delphi by James Collier. Cooper had never been so transfixed by a picture, and he never understood why the piece had stuck with him, so much so that 200 years later he could recall her peaceful yet focused expression well enough to know that Lucy bore a striking resemblance. He mused at what visions this smoke would bring her.

“You’re staring again.” She said, nudging the cigarette back towards him.

“Do y’ like it?”

“What? You staring?” A blush rose in her cheeks.

“Nah, the cig.” He savored her flustered reaction, how her face bloomed crimson as red as the Priestess’s veil.

“Oh um- yeah it's actually kinda nice. I get what you mean by feeling something else.”

She reached for the cigarette and he pulled it back, “Slow down there, Sweetheart, don’t want ya turnin’ green in the face on me now.”

“I’ll be fine.” She huffed, reaching towards the hand he held away from her. Straining to reach it, she came dangerously close to him, so close he could see the splash of freckles across her cheeks, the flecks of gold in her green eyes, and could smell the blood and gunpowder on her.

He turned his head to the side taking a long drag, the dome of the nicotine rising up in him, before blowing a compressed cloud of smoke in her face again. Instead of snapping about how rude he was or pushing him away, as he predicted, she brought her face even closer to his still, parted her lips, and breathed in the cloud as he exhaled. Fuck.

Cooper wasn’t thinking, couldn’t think when he stepped between her legs, slamming his hands on the hood of the car on either side of her. She leaned back in surprise, but didn’t recoil, bambi eyes as big as saucers as he hunched over her, crowding her in.

“The fuck was that?” He growled. There it was again, her dilated pupils glittered with carnality, this time he knew he hadn't imagined it.

“I- I don’t know I just-”

“Just what?”

“I just wanted to try something.” She squeaked.

“Yer just full of surprises today ain’t ya?” He dropped his head to her ear, speaking in a dangerous tone he meant to scare her, to make her cower away from him before whatever this was, went any further. “I know yer havin’ fun bendin’ all yer lil rules, but I promise bendin’ that one will break ya, Darlin’.”

Her face flushed an even deeper red as he pulled back, but there was no fear, just wide eyes full of a challenge. “I believe you,” she said breathlessly, “but right now I don’t think I care.”

“That’s the drugs talkin’.”

She scoffed, “I’m not as clueless as you think I am.” She was clearly trying to sound defiant, but the muscles in her throat trembled when she spoke. “I’m not blind, I can see the way you look at me.”

“And how’s that?” He should walk away, he should tell her off, he should remind her he was a fucking monster, but his hands remained planted on either side of her hips.

“Like you want to have sex with me.” She said in her school teacher voice, as if it was a matter of fact. It was, but he hated knowing it was that obvious, that he was that transparent. Maybe he was losing his edge. If he was, it had to be her fault.

“Oh Sweetheart," He grabbed her by her ponytail, wrenching her head back so she had to look at him, “It ain’t sex I want. I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you so hard that yer Daddy will see it on yer face when we find him, and know that I broke his good girl in.”

She gasped, finally at a loss for words for once her damn life. He took a drag from the cig with his free hand, bringing her face close to his so that his rough lips barely brushed hers, and blew the bitter smoke into her mouth. To his pleasure, she sucked it down greedily, straining against his grip so that their lips finally made contact.

It was comical how chaste the moment felt. In the midst of their twisted game they lingered on the kiss, their mouths scarcely touching. He pulled back to look at her, barely cognizant that his gloved fingers had dropped the cig and now gripped her thighs. She exhaled the pale tendrils of smoke through her nose, looking up at him from beneath her long lashes, eyes sparking with self destruction like a Delphi priestess who had been inhaling volcanic vapors. The moment was too pure, too sweet for the dark ruminations brewing in his head: Lucy bent over the car, Lucy with his belt around her throat, Lucy glaring at him over her shoulder.

Cooper Howard was a good man. He was gentle and kind, he wouldn’t fuck a girl hopped up on buffout and adrenaline who was 20 years his younger, and he certainly wouldn’t have such vulgar thoughts while she kissed him so innocently. But he wasn’t really Cooper Howard anymore, he was a mockery of humanity stripped down to hunger and violence. He didn’t know how to be affectionate, or romantic anymore, but he knew how to corrupt, how to covet, and god help him, he coveted Lucy.

Some habits don’t die, they just return to us as abominations of what we once were.

She watched him transfixed as they pulled away, the air static around them. He took the leather of his glove between his teeth and pulled it off, tossing it aside. He was gentle- sliding his hand beneath her bloodstained tank top, then her bra- gentle because he knew he could not be after this. She arched her back, leaning into his touch as he felt the swell of her breast, the bud of her nipple tight with arousal. She was soft as silk, the softest thing he’d felt in 200 years.

He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with her, but she really wanted this. He took a fistful of her vault suit that had pooled around her waist, and she lifted her hips so he could yank it down. She kicked the suit and her boots off ungracefully, while he undid his belt with a snap.

She squealed as hooked his arms under her thighs and dragged her closer, ass at the very edge of the car.

“Y’sure Darlin’?” He asked as if they hadn’t already crossed the line, as if they could turn back now.

Her gaze flicked down to his member pressed against her only separated by the fabric of his pants, eyebrows furrowing in quiet desperation. “Obviously.” she snapped as if she feared he would change his mind.

He chuckled, “Well excuse my hesitation, but y’ ain’t got many notches in yer belt.”

She twitched with irritation, still affected by the buffout. “I’m a fast learner.” She insisted.

“I don’t doubt it.” He chuckled, running his hands down the backs of her thighs to grab her ass, pulling her even closer against his bulge. She wriggled in his grasp, scowling at him with impatience. “But I don’t do gentle, Darlin’, don’t know that dance. ‘Specially with you.”

“Why especially with me?” It was an earnest question, but behind her naive demeanor there was a conniving curiosity, like she wanted to hear him admit to all the vile things he had been imagining.

A dark, insatiable hunger rolled through him as he looked down at her, fully comprehending that he was living in one of his crude day dreams. The sight of her, tank top hiked up, perky tits fully exposed, naked and splayed open for him, was almost too much to bear, and he felt his restraint quickly giving way.

“Cuz,” he reached under her leg and slid his index finger inside her, then pressed his thumb to her clit. She gasped and shuddered, already dripping wet and grinding down on his hand. He lightly squeezed his thumb and forefinger together to hold her in place, and she screeched in pleasure-pain. “Yer just so fuckin’ perfect, so fuckin’ clean ain’t ya? Since the day we met I reckon I been fixin’ to fuck the perfect out of you, Sweetheart. So once I start, reckon I won’t be keen on stoppin’.”

Quickly, her look of stunned arousal shifted, lips curled into a condescending smile, sending a jolt of rage through his muscles, like she had known what he had been thinking the whole time.

“Don’t hold back then.” She challenged the buffout giving her an irrational confidence.. “You’ve never gone easy on me with anything before anyway.”

She reached down and unceremoniously worked open his button, freeing him from his trousers, making a little oh of surprise when she saw it. From awe or disgust, he didn’t really care.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He gave her a wicked grin, before pushing into her to his hilt.

She gasped, clinging to the lapels of his duster for dear life. He had been wrong, nothing, no drug, nor vice felt as good as Lucy MacLean enveloping him. She was tight and made of velvet, her muscles flexing around him as she released a shaky moan. For a moment he worried he was hurting her, until she rolled her hips against him. Her cunt gripping his cock had been the most satisfaction he’d felt in 200 years, but with the addition of movement, it was excruciating bliss.

He held her down on him, savoring the feeling of her adjusting to him, watching her face contort from relieved pleasure, to frustrated urgency.

“Is this your version of not holding back?” She snipped, trying to roll her hips down on him again.

In response he threw one of her legs over his shoulder so he could grab her by the throat. His first strokes were long, drawn out, and deep, as he watched her keen in fascination. But soon that escalation that seemed to be a byproduct of the drugs and her stubbornness returned to her eyes and he was impaling her with fast, brutal strokes, reducing her drug fueled vibrato to a whimpering mess.

“Oh f-fudge, oh-“ She whined as he bottomed out in her, curling his hips in the way he knew would hit the good spot, the one that made girls call you back every time.

“Don’t fuckin’ do that, Sweetheart. Don’t pretend yer still a good girl while y’ let a disgustin’ cannibal plow y’ into next week.” He laughed, bouncing her on him like she had been built for it.

“Shut up.” She whimpered, burying her face in his shoulder as she shuddered and spasmed around him, the urgency of her moans telling him she was already close.

“Oh sweet thing, already?” He cooed slowly his pace to torture her a little more. His enjoyment of how good she felt paled in comparison to watching her come apart. The elegant composition of her face now glowered up at him, reflecting his own carnal rage. “Y’ ain’t gettin’ off that easy.”

She wound her fingers in the lapels of his duster yanking him close to her, bambi eyes scorching his ruined face. He hadn’t seen such fury in her since he watched her drink puddle water. What are you? She had asked, looking into him as if he was an abyss she was destined to fall into. Now she looked into him earnestly, like he was a puzzle she had finally put together.

It gave him so much pause that he didn’t stop her from pulling him in, planting her mouth on his, kissing him like what they were doing was more than just a mockery of affection. The quaking ephemera of what it meant to touch and be touched returned to his hands. He loosened his grip on her throat to explore the delicate construction of her jaw, her collarbone, tracing her like a memory he couldn’t bring himself to forget. He was unable to help himself from enjoying the supple tenderness of her mouth, unable to help himself from moving his lips down the length of her throat just to know it felt between his teeth.

Despair wasn’t a stranger, in fact, that empty feeling had become a comfort, it was familiar, an old friend at this point. He had spent 200 years cleaving his humanity from his body, and now Lucy was pouring life back into him, filling him up with things that would only serve to destroy him, and he was powerless to stop it.

Some habits don’t die…

“I-I t-thought you said you didn’t do this d-dance.” Maintaining her sass even as she stuttered on his cock. He pulled back to glare at her, reminded of his carnality. She took a deep breath, able to gather herself now that he had paused his thrusts. “You act like you’re some bad guy, but I know you’re not. The only one you’re fooling is yourself.”

“Foolin’ myself am I?”

“Mhmmm,” she smirked up at him like she thought she’d won.

Without warning, he pulled out and spun her around, palming her back and forcing her down on the hood of the car. She gasped in surprise, eyes widening before she arched her back and gave him a challenging look over her shoulder. But then she saw the belt in his hand.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Darlin’.” He snarled, gripping her ass so hard it’d leave bruises. “I can show ya exactly how mean I can be.”

“W-wha-”

He snapped the belt against her ass, causing her to yelp. He waited for her to ask him to stop, but she only threw him a glare over her shoulder, making him so hard it hurt. “Reckon you don’t like gentle, do y’?”

He cracked the belt against her again, leaving a red welt against the pale flesh. This time she moaned, the little freak that she was. “Reckon’ behind all them rules and upstandin’ citizen bullshit, yer a lil slut. Y’ like it rough as can be, don’t ya?”

She whined and turned her head away to bite down on her forearm, but arched her back even further, pushing her hips back against him.

“Answer me.” He whipped her again, and she yowled, hands scrambling across the car’s rusting hood for purchase.

“Y-yes! Yes yes, yes.” She admitted. “Now would you just-”

She gasped as he swiped his finger along her clit, tracing up to her entrance, before plunging it inside. “Yer fuckin sinful, Miss MacLean, wetter than a goddamn monsoon after that.”

He ignored her protests when he removed the digit quickly, and she watched with wide eyes as he brought it to his mouth to taste her. She was bitter and sweet at the same time, tasting like life itself, and he couldn’t hold in the groan that escaped him. If only he wasn’t trying to prove a point, he’d spend the rest of the day devouring her. Instead he pushed inside her again.

The muscles in her back flexed, making his eyes fixate on the pair of divets that looked like thumbprints every girl had at the base of her spine. His thumbs fit perfectly in the space as he gripped her hips, pulling her back onto him. He held her there, enjoying how she squirmed and twitched, and trembled on him, the same desperation in her movements that had been there when he offered her the Buffout. He pressed against her, pinning her hips between him and the car, leaning over her to kiss up the length of her spine, tasting the salt on her back.

“Oh please, oh please,” she begged, before he wrapped the belt around her throat, his fantasy finally taking shape in front of him.

He waited, watching her for any signs of trepidation. Her half moon eyes became full when she felt the bite of the leather, before her mouth curled into a twisted smile. Only then did he begin, starting with slow and long thrusts that made her claw at the car’s chipping paint.

“What are you waiting for?” She growled like a cornered cat. “I thought-” she began to taunt before he yanked the belt backward, cutting off her air supply.

Every muscle tightened around him, as if her cunt didn’t want to let him go.

“That’s it,” he cooed, relishing the way she whimpered as he increased his pace, “no more fuckin’ sass out of you.” She clenched even tighter.

He laughed, “I just cain’t do wrong by y’ can I?”

Her breath quickened with his strokes, and when he bottomed out she would beg him, plead, promise him anything, until he cut off her false devotion with a tightening of the leather.

“I-I.”

He interrupted her with a particularly deep stroke, the pleasure enveloping him paling in comparison to his self-satisfaction. “Yes, Sweetheart? Ya got sumthin’ to say.”

“I wish I knew your name.” She mewled, rolling her hips back to meet his thrusts. “I want to- I-”

His fingers reached under her thigh to find the pucker of her clit, moving in quick, stuttering circles to shut her up. That wasn’t a line of dialogue he was ready to include in their game. He had already crossed too many borders he had sworn he never would, he should have just bent her over and been done with it. But now he knew how plush her lips felt, how she sighed like a cool breeze when he touched her gently.

“Y’ got other things to worry about, like convincin’ me t’ let y’ finish after how rude ya been.”

“I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” He growled, the rusted wagon creaking violently with the force of his strokes.

“Y-yeah- oh fuck.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Darlin’.”

She sounded like she was singing when she came, her breathy moans so high pitched yet delicate, vibrating her intonations. “Ya sing fer me.” He heard himself say, nearly sent over the edge himself by the sight and feeling of her convulsing on him, her moon eyes squeezed shut, her Hollywood mouth crimson and quivering. It had been a solid 30 seconds before her cunt stopped fluttering around him and he stilled, letting her bask in the afterglow for a moment as he stroked her back and caressed her thighs.

It wasn’t long before she was talking again, it never was.

“That was,” she panted, glancing up at him with half moons, “That was-”

“Best ya ever had it?” It was cocky, sure, but he knew it was the truth.

“Yeah, you definitely have some skills.” She admitted.

“Well don’t sound so surprised, Vaultie. Not all of us grew up in a shoebox.” He reached for one of her breasts casually, only mildly perturbed by how instinctual the action was, as if he had done it a hundred times before.

She laughed and it sounded like the happy tang of wind chimes as she pushed him off of her so she could face him, totally unabashed by the setting sunlight on her nakedness. “I know I know. But I hope…its not the last time.” Her eyes searched him.

“We ain’t even done yet.” He took her by the shoulders, pushing her to her knees. “There’s more ways than one to say thank you.”

She eyed the length of him, slick with her own pleasure, warily. “N’ don’t tell me yer shy all of a sudden. I ain’t gonna force ya but-”

He was cut off by her swallowing him to the hilt, her eyes glittering with defiance. A strangled noise left him as she pressed her tongue to the underside of him, her perfect lips taught as she bobbed her head slowly, gaze never leaving his. The message was clear: this was revenge.

He was stuck still, helpless as she hooked her fingers in his belt loops for traction, gliding her mouth up and down up and down in a way that made his knees buckle. Whenever she reached his tip she would flick her tongue across his head, filling him with a lustful rage that was immediately sated as she forced him down her own throat.

“Fuck, Lucy, goddamnit, fuck.” His own voice sounded far away, only registered when she gave him a look that said finally at a loss for words huh? “Where’d y’ learn to do it like this, Vaultie?”

The only response she gave was a hum of satisfaction that traveled up his spine, muscles in his legs tightening, he was already close. Every time he thought he had seen all her tricks, she would try something new, a flick of the tongue, a calculated glare, taking him so deep in her throat she would gag, but she never let up.

Finally she released him with a pop, doe eyes filled with salacious ideas. “I knew you were a pervert, that you were thinking disgusting things about me.”

Her taunt brought him back to his senses, and he took her by the ponytail. “Y’ knew or y’ hoped, Darlin’?”

From the way her brow furrowed and the red flowering across her cheeks, he had his answer. How could she be embarrassed now? On her knees in front of him, lips swollen by her efforts.

He chuckled darkly, “that’s what I thought.”

Incapable of resisting the urge to steal her win from her, he hoisted her to her feet, pushing her back down against the car and throwing one of her legs over his shoulder. She whimpered as he reentered her, still sensitive from her last climax, but he only needed a few forceful strokes for him to come undone by the shuddering velvet of her womb. It was a shame to pull out, letting his seed spill down the side of the car instead of on her or in her as he would’ve preferred, but the last thing he needed was to give her radiation poisoning.

Besides, he had other plans in mind, dropping to his knees, prying her thighs apart to finally feast on her. He took his time, lapping her up like she was water and he hadn’t had a drink in years, really savoring her, until she pleaded with him to let her cum again, and he did.

Some habits truly don’t die at all.

When they were finally finished, the sun had dipped behind the hills at their backs, and Lucy had zipped up her vault suit, and Cooper re-looped his belt.They sat in silence on the hood of the car, smoking another cigarette he had rolled them.

Lucy was pensive, the cherry of the cig casting an ominous glow across the sharp shadows of her face as she stared into the darkness, her expression unreadable. He could guess what she was thinking, he didn’t know how to feel about what had just happened either.

This time the nicotine would do nothing to unwind the knot of tension in his chest, soon he knew he would need another hit from his inhaler, and her itching told him he wasn’t the only one in need of a fix. He worried about her, no ounce of begrudging left to nurse his ego for it. He worried he had been too rough with her. He worried she regretted it, that she would blame it on the drugs, or think he had manipulated her somehow. He told himself he didn’t, he had asked, but it’s one thing to say yes in the heat of the moment, hopped up on buffout, and another in your head after, sober.

Against his better judgement, as if he could consider his judgement sound after everything he’d done that day, he touched her shoulder gently. She looked up at him confused, but didn’t pull away. Instead she read his face like a book, just as she had back at the NCR camp.

“I’m okay.” She said, her smile full of knowing, touching her eyes to his relief. “Just been thinking.”

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout.” He hadn’t asked anyone that in a long time.

She raised her eyebrows, just as surprised to hear him say it as he was. “Well, it’s just been awhile since I’ve been touched- I mean honestly it’s the first time I’ve been touched like that. But it’s just been awhile since I had any real affection. It’s nice.” She took a long drag, already a pro at smoking. “I miss it.”

“Me too.” He said quietly, not meaning to speak it aloud at all.

He expected her to look surprised again, but instead she gave him a pitying smile, as if it was obvious. Maybe it was. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it.

Then she regarded him with a new intensity, her face as yielding as an open sky, moon eyes swimming with pronounced loneliness. It was a question, she wanted to know if he could give her something they weren’t supposed to ask each other for. She looked into him as if he was the solution and not the problem. And the sick truth was he wanted to tell her he could be, that he could give her the comfort she needed, even if it was a lie.

Instead, he said nothing, but held the edge of his duster like the wing of a bat, so he could tuck her beneath it as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. The fine muscles around her scapula relaxed, and she melted into him, pressing her face into his collarbone. He felt the movement of air as she breathed him in, making small noises of contentment despite herself.

It was a mistake, only wrenching the splinter that was Lucy MacLean deeper beneath his skin. Something buried in the abyss of him ached so fiercely he knew it could not be undone.

“You think you’re gonna get rid of me someday.” Her voice was muffled by his lapels, yet the certainty was clear as day.

“What’s that, Sweetheart?”

She lifted her head to scrutinize him. “I know you think that someday this will all be done with, and we’ll go our separate ways, and never think of each other again, but you’re wrong. I fear our fate is that we’ll always be in each other’s heads from now on. We can’t escape it.”

Her eyes glinted with a prophetic certainty that genuinely scared him in its conviction. He kissed her forehead, unable to respond for the terror of speaking it into existence. She didn’t know what she was talking about, she was still in the afterglow, high off of the only affection they had ever shared.

But later that night, as they laid on the hard ground, not together but side by side, he could not sleep. Even after hitting his inhaler and having a healthy drink of whiskey from his flask, stars spinning above him relentlessly, he stayed awake, too aware of the warmth radiating off the woman beside him. It may have been the drugs, but the stars kept spinning and screaming at him, telling him the same thing over and over.

That only fools run from their fate.