Oh shit… What have I done? Ah well, I hope you enjoy it.

EDIT: Just corrected a few errors that, given enough time, would've made my brain implode upon itself.

"There's the high-roller!"

The man in the brown gambler's suit and fedora shifted anxiously, but it just wasn't because he was losing a few caps at the table. Murmurs and hushed whispers suddenly spread through the casino floor like a conflagration. Talk of someone with a lot of pull on the Strip slipped in and out of Vulpes' hearing range, someone with a knack for making a stir all over the Wasteland.

Rumors from far and wide spoke of a courier who was scouring the Mojave for answers. Apparently, a shot to the head wasn't enough to stop this particular soul. And now, the unfortunate screw-up in the checkered suit who couldn't finish the job was going to pay.

Other colorful stories followed, sprinkling the Mojave with tales about impressive feats and acts of compassion enough to make him scowl. Helping the Followers in their need of medical supplies, gaining the favor of the King, coming to the aid of Goodsprings in the Powder Ganger incident—this was the work of someone who could talk down Death himself. To top it all off, who would've thought that the lone stranger he spared in the burning remains of Nipton was the very same person who was granted access to the mysterious Lucky 38?

Caesar's interest was piqued and that was why Vulpes was seated at a table in the Tops for a round of blackjack. Intel from other Frumentarii of the Legion hinted that the Chairman Benny was discreetly shifting the balance of New Vegas and that he would be the source of the courier's answers. How right they were.

While haphazardly casting down cards, he carefully scanned the ebb and flow of the crowds for any sign of the unexpected visitor. Having been provided by Caesar, the caps were superfluous, and his attention was focused on a lone figure making her way to the counter in the lobby. Gambling was a vice that left a bitter taste in his mouth, so there were no feelings of loss when he abruptly rose from the table. The dealer looked up briefly, shrugged, and continued dealing cards to the other washed up gamblers at the table.

The Frumentari pushed his way through the drunken crowd, catching snippets of scathing remarks from indignant guests.

"Who could even stand to keep their hair that ratty?"

"Couldn't she dress more civil? This isn't the damn Wasteland."

Vulpes felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a vague semblance of a smirk. Even the courier strapped in leather armor and a 10mm at her side was less of an animal than these people with their false sense of splendor. She stood at least a dozen yards away, but the spy could feel her presence nonetheless. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her surrendering her weapons and equipment to the man—Swank, he was called—with a coolness he almost envied. Meanwhile, the large amount of grenades and ammo she set on the counter seemed to fluster the Chairman.

Hungrily, he took in every detail; the way her edges of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her hips shifted as she leaned forward, the way her whole demeanor transformed when she casually chatted up the Chairman. Her appearance was plain, yet pleasing. Another noteworthy trait was that she held herself high and proud, unlike the slave women of the Legion. Still, there was no way that this eye-fluttering broad was the same determined stranger who pulled a pistol on him and his recruits.

With a satisfied look on her face, she worked her way towards the main casino hall, discreetly tucking something dark, something he presumed was a weapon, into the one of her pockets. He watched her walk past him. She was so intent on meeting the checkered figure at the back of the establishment that she didn't notice the stares of scorn and awe from the other gamblers. Everyone who had heard the rumors from the Strip and Freeside knew that they were in the presence of someone who was practically a saint, and a heavily armed one at that.

Finally, the fated encounter between the courier and her would-be murderer had begun. Curious as to how this spectacle would play out, the Frumentari seated himself at a vacant table. He would grant the girl her moment of revenge before he approached her on Caesar's behalf.

From where he sat, he couldn't make out their words, but could clearly analyze their expressions. Benny's look of indifference suddenly morphed into one of unspeakable horror when he finally realized to whom he was talking to. The courier was smirking maliciously. Priceless, indeed. Vulpes was expecting things to escalate from there, maybe Benny would call his guards down on her to save his own hide. Or perhaps she would take this moment to stab him or shoot him dead right on the spot.

To his chagrin, nothing happened.

The courier's mouth curled into an unreadable smile and she slowly paced up to the man in the checkered suit. The guards did nothing about her proximity to their boss and she continued to speak. Vulpes frowned to himself; she had turned at an angle that hid her face from view. Nevertheless, he could tell what she was doing when the tips of her fingers dusted the lapels of Benny's suit and her hips swayed ever so slightly. Benny's initial look of disgust gradually shifted to curiosity, as if he was seriously considering whatever offer the courier had whispered to him in low tones.

The spy suddenly felt like the room's temperature had risen a few degrees, but blamed it on the wool suit he was disguised in. The Chairman's hand had wandered to her waist. He fought the itch to adjust his collar.

He watched the pair move towards the elevators that led to the Tops suites, but made no move to follow them. He refused to acknowledge the feeling of unease that wedged it way into his stomach. He rose from his seat and, without a second glance back, made his way towards the exit. Turns out everyone in New Vegas, even those deemed "righteous" will succumb to primal instincts. Leaving the casino plagued with thoughts of ruffled clothing and sharp gasps, he found himself hoping that she carried out her act of vengeance.


Benny was gone. She was awake enough to hear him gather his clothes together and let the door click shut, footsteps echoing away.

Earlier, while the Chairman slept blissfully, she refused to let herself sleep through the course of the night. It was obviously a one-night stand but she couldn't help but ponder how this could end differently. She sat at the edge of the bed thinking while she absently turned the switchblade in her hand. It would be so easy, but she still hesitated. Lord knows, he deserved more than just a slit in his throat for all that he did to her. She liked getting her way with underhanded tactics sometimes, but she wasn't a cold-hearted killer, never was. Killing a man in his sleep felt so damn wrong. But maybe that wasn't the case.

The sex was good, and for once after a very long time, she felt like a woman again. Despite the many cuts and bruises on her rough exterior, he still enthusiastically graced her with his hands and lips. It made her wonder if he had experience with women from the Wastes. All that time spent scrambling up rocky slopes and combating the Mojave wildlife or Fiends had hardened her beyond what she had been as a simple courier. At least back then, she had been focused on one primary goal: to find that son of a bitch who plastered her. But come to think about it, she never really had a plan of what she would do to Benny when she finally caught up to him. Mr. House gave her at least some direction, but the instructions still left a lot of options open for her. Now here she was, seated at the edge of her enemy's bed with no answers.

This was unexpected. And crazy.

She had gotten caught in the moment. She had enjoyed the frightened look on his face so much that she had to push it further. After a couple blatant passes and a few well-placed touches, he had succumbed to her wiles. He had even gone so far as to leave his guards behind for what he presumed was just a booty call.


As she sat next to his sleeping form, knife in hand, she had to admit that it felt good to be the one in charge for once. There was a fleeting moment of excitement when she realized how vulnerable he was beneath her. Their roles were finally reversed, but…something was off. What was she even supposed to feel when the blade slid into the tendons of his neck? Anger? Satisfaction? Whatever it was, it was definitely not supposed to feel like this.

It was just horrible circumstance that he had tried to kill her on the path to achieving a greater goal. And after a night like this, she doubted there were any hard feelings left between them. Nothing personal. He was just a man and she had already gotten her answers. Kiss and make up, they say. Or maybe she actually fell for his charm.

"Bastard," she said under her breath. She tucked the switchblade away and lay down once again, cursing her sentimentality. By the time Benny left, she had already made her decision.

She owned him.

He could run from here to China for all she cared, but she knew she would always find him.

She couldn't help but clutch his hastily-written letter close.


Yes Man was very helpful. A little too helpful at times.

A whole night without sleep with a few additional hours dedicated to poring over the vagrant Securitron's notes were finally taking its toll. All of it was overwhelming. As one of six couriers, she never really had the time to ponder the situation that the Mojave had plunged itself into. After learning of Benny's full-blown plan, she practically had all of New Vegas at her fingertips, but there just wasn't enough information yet. Since Benny had made his escape with the platinum chip again, she concluded that she'd have to talk to Mr. House.

Also, a stiff drink and a nice long nap at her presidential suite was in order.

Leaving the Tops was a turkey shoot. Once Swank learned of Benny's disappearing act, he happily assumed his boss' position as the head of the casino. As he returned her belongings, she was only too eager to leave.

"Good luck, baby," Swank said in the suave manner that only Chairman could produce as he handed her the last of her armaments. "You look like you need it."

"Yeah," the courier mumbled, thankful that he didn't inquire any details of last night's events as she strapped everything back in place.

She pushed her way through the doors that led to the Strip and welcomed the blast of Mojave heat. However nice the place was, being cooped up in a building just wasn't her thing. After spending her whole life out on the Wastes, she realized that she could live without the flashing lights and air conditioning. Plumbing, however, was a godsend.

She breathed in the morning air and stepped onto the sidewalk. It was always depressing spending mornings in New Vegas. The only other people to accompany her on her walk towards the 38 were drunkards who were still trying to make their way home after last night's festivities. And the Securitrons stuck in an endless loop of patrolling. She sullenly kicked an empty beer bottle into the road and watched it spin violently until it hit the side of the street. With a grunt, she carried on.

It was when she was close to the steps of the Lucky 38, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand. For a split second, she felt as if she had left the sheltered protection of the Securitrons and stepped into a den of Deathclaws who were eyeballing their next meal. Someone was watching her and had probably been watching her since the entered the Strip. There were audible footsteps behind her and she turned to find…


From a man dressed like any other casino-goer came the soft, yet sinister voice of Vulpes Inculta, "I'm relieved that you haven't forgotten me."

The courier couldn't believe it. Without the strange dog headdress and the Legionary armor, he looked like any normal man who had come to Vegas to place bets or indulge himself in prostitutes. The sharp angles of his face seemed to compliment the spruced up suit he wore. But what right did a man of the Legion, a scumbag who sadistically slaughtered a whole town with a lottery, have in entering the Strip in broad daylight? God, she didn't want to deal with this right now.

"I didn't blow off shooting you in the back over in Nipton to have you standing around, taking up my time," she growled, hand sliding to the pistol at her hip. "What do you want?"

"No need to resort to violence in broad daylight. The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. He admires your," it took almost every ounce of willpower to refrain from rolling his eyes, "…accomplishments and bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark."

She raised an eyebrow at the tattered paper envelope being held out to her and begrudgingly took it. She tried not to wince when their hands touched for the briefest moment. She tucked the Mark into her pack. "I don't see why this is necessary."

"Any crimes you may have perpetrated against the Legion are hereby forgiven," he said.

"I honestly don't care to be in good favor with you lot, you know?" the courier's eyes narrowed sharply. "What is it he even wants?"

"You will have to find out for yourself when you meet my Lord in person."

An agitated sigh, "You can't even grace me with the kindness of a hint, huh?"

"Come to Cottonwood Cove and all will be explained. As long as you bear the Mark, you should be able to proceed unhindered. And do remember that Caesar will not extend the mercy of his forgiveness a second time."

"Fine, fine, I just don't ever want to see you again," she tiredly waved him off and made as if to leave, but the older man suddenly clenched her wrist. His steely eyes met hers and suddenly, she felt like she was a fly tacked down with a pin for some gruesome scientific display. She wanted to succumb to the instinct that told her to wrench herself away and start beating the living shit out of him for touching her, but the moment she stayed in place, he let go. The way his eyes never left her face made her a bit uneasy.

"Incidentally, it would interest you to know that the man you seek has fled the Strip, and is making his way for Caesar's camp as we speak," the evident feeling of disappointment in his voice made the courier frown.

"Who, Benny?" If she were in different company, she would've slapped herself on the forehead. Oh, that idiot was definitely going to get himself killed, and more importantly, lose the Platinum Chip to the hands of those Legion mongrels.

For good measure, he added, "You must have left quite an impression on him, or he in you."

What the-? His cheeky statement caught the courier off-guard. Just how many tabs did this bastard have on her? Before she had a chance to retaliate, he was already turning away. Knowing that she couldn't stand another second of him, she let him leave and made haste for Freeside.

Screw the nap, she could pump herself full of some kind of chem the Followers had in their possession. After recent events, she felt a strong need to be amongst other people she could trust.


"What do you mean he went with Boone?" At this point, she didn't care how whiny she sounded, it just wasn't fair.

"Sorry, he and Arcade left before the sun went up to get rid of our current Fiend problem," Julie said with a shrug of indifference. "They didn't say when they'd return."

The courier sighed heavily, clutching the bridge of her nose, "Ugh. Could you just tell them to meet me at the Lucky 38 whenever they get back?"

The Follower medic nodded to her briskly before turning back to her patient, "Can do."


Jaded and exhausted, she left the Fort and made her way back to the 38. The meeting with Mr. House went well, despite his ever-present disappointment at her failure to retrieve the Platinum Chip from Benny. However, things were predicted to work out well and the coordinates to Cottonwood Cove were mapped out. The Chip and the next stage in the plan were to be taken care of as soon as possible, but a moment of reprieve was in order.

She didn't even register Victor's greeting at the door and took the elevator to her room where she immediately doused herself in the coldest shower imaginable. Once dry and dressed in comfortable sleepwear, she trudged into her bedroom to sleep until either Boone or Arcade arrived. She blacked out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Only after what felt like a few moments did someone knock on her door. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but I think one of your friends dropped by."

After a quick check on her PipBoy's clock did she realize that what seemed to be a few minutes turned out to be several hours of rest. After getting out of bed, she downed a shot of whiskey and rinsed her face at the nearest sink.

She dressed herself quickly in a simple garb consisting of a button-up farmer's shirt and leather jeans and opened the door to find Victor. "You'd better not be pulling my leg. Please tell me he's still here," she said with a bit more gusto than she expected.

"I sent for him to wait in the cocktail lounge. I reckon he should still be up there," answered Victor. "He was a very polite fellow."

She mumbled a quick thanks to the Securitron and rushed into the elevator. So, first thing first, she would have to explain her situation to everyone, including Veronica, which meant some out-of-the-way traveling. Then, a much needed gear up. There was no telling what would await them at Caesar's camp. As she calculated the expenses of the weapon repairs in her head, the elevator doors slid open.

Her brow furrowed in confusion when she came upon a room full of vacant chairs. She weaved between the empty tables and made her away around the circular bar in hope that someone was around. Who she saw standing at the window at the far end of the room made her heart stop.

"How did you get in here?"

Vulpes turned away from the wide window to meet the courier with his signature expression of steel. Even from where she was standing, she felt the room grow steadily colder. She noticed that he had removed his jacket and hat and had placed them on a nearby couch, signifying that he had been waiting for a while. It slightly disturbed her to see him as dressed down as he was and would've preferred if he'd shown up in that strange Legionary armor she met him in. She was silent as he casually walked up to her place by the bar.

"I see you've made yourself quite at home," he said as he came to a halt, just outside the limits of her personal space. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious of her bare feet and haphazard outfit.

Her hand twitched for a gun that she knew wasn't there. "Answer my question."

His laugh was brief and emotionless. "Ah yes, forgive me. I merely claimed that I was a friend and you had sent for me to wait here. Nothing too difficult, but it was still a pleasant surprise."

Shit. She knew the rest of it. Boone, Arcade, and Veronica came and went on their own quite frequently, and with the way she frequently picked up new friends, the possibility of Victor letting the Legion spy through without too many questions was high. Also, there wasn't any doubt in her mind that he could act as pleasant and harmless as he pleased. It disturbed her to know that others, possibly enemies, could've waltz into the casino with such ease. Maybe it had to do with certain keywords the Securitrons had to pick up…

She shook her head and forced herself back into the current situation, "What do you want?"

"The average class citizen doesn't have the opportunity to enter the Lucky 38 and appreciate the afternoon view of the city. I take it that you're already aware of how intricate and frail things can appear from up here, so you can understand that I wanted to see it for myself," he answered with a smile she knew never reached his eyes. The last time she saw that same expression was amidst the smoke of a dozen carcasses.

With disbelief clear in her voice she sputtered, "And so you've chosen to do so now? Awfully convenient considering no one else is around and Mr. House probably isn't aware of your presence."

A small chuckle. "Can you truly blame a man for going out of his way for extra precautions?"

"You wanna know my point of view? Way I see it, this is practically breaking and entering. Perhaps you should come back when we're all here, you might enjoy the extra company."

He waved his hand in dismissal, "I prefer to avoid being shot at. Speaking of which…" He crossed his arms and raised his chin in challenge, "Why didn't you take the shot?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I laid waste to an entire village. The men I had with me were simple recruits, I had goaded you, and I even left myself open for you," he stated, his piercing eyes narrowing slightly. "To clarify, what we had done was strictly against your interpretation of justice, and you were given ample opportunity."

"As disgusting as the acts committed may be, I can't just shoot people in the back," she said sternly without a millisecond of hesitation.

He nodded without any interest, "So you choose to sleep with them instead?"

"E-Excuse me?" she said with extreme bewilderment in her eyes. No, he couldn't be talking about- She felt the makings of a blush creep onto her face.

So his little snarky comment from earlier had some direction after all. The month-long chase was her own personal matter and how it came to an end was a decision she made on her own, so why was he being all dejected?

He searched her face for something that she couldn't fathom. "Since murdering the people of Nipton wasn't enough to garner your attention, what would it take?"

She swallowed hard, "What are you getting at?"

His cold chuckle made her hair stand on end, "Nothing harmful, I can assure you that, for I'm just curious about your sense of justice. Tell me, if I were the one who held that gun to your head, would you have played this very same game of pursuit? Tell me how it would've ended when you finally caught up to me."

"You're asking if whether or not I would've killed you on the spot," the courier stated. "What's with these meaningless questions I obviously have no answer to? You've just proposed a situation with different circumstances, and therefore a different ending for the both of us. I might kill you, or I might not, I don't know."

"The Chairman planted a bullet in your brain and you pursued him across a great majority of the Mojave," he said candidly. "However, the way you decided to repay him was…unexpected."

"What, are you looking to get lucky in New Vegas, too?" she asked in a low, drawling voice.

He suddenly took a step closer to her, and she struggled against the urge to step away and stood her ground. "Perhaps," he answered.

She got the crushing feeling that this situation had gotten extremely dangerous for herself "What do you want from me?" she whispered.

"For killing soldiers of the Legion, freeing our slaves, and the general resistance of Caesar's will, I would see you crucified. But in rare cases, I'd make an exception, especially for someone like you. It's highly likely that you'd be converted into one of our many slaves." He stepped closer in steady strides, "Slaves can have so many uses before they are put to death," his thin mouth spread into a sinister curve.

Suddenly, thoughts of Boone and his departed wife triggered through the courier's mind. She remembered the brutality they treated their victims with as well as the harsh conditions they had to endure while making their way towards Legion territory. The anguish and defeat Boone suffered when he found out that his wife was taken reminded the courier of how wicked and cruel of a society Caesar built. Caught up in a helpless rage, her hands unconsciously balled up into fists.

His eyes glinted when they passed over her tense form, "With your…assets, you might even fetch a hefty amount of caps."

To his pleasure, that statement finally pushed her over the edge.

With a feral cry, she threw a punch at him, but he had expected it and swatted her arm aside at the last second, throwing her off balance. He then took this opportunity to force her against the nearest table. Resisting this, she toppled over ungracefully and her frantic movements swept empty glass bottles onto the floor in jagged fragments. She bit back a cry of pain when his vice-like grip clenched her elbow and hoisted her up towards him. The courier tried to lash out again, but he was already too close, trapping her against the bar with his body and shoving himself between her legs. Her hands grabbed the edges of the counter behind her in an effort to push away.

They were face-to-face, closer than ever before, with no other sound but their heavy breathing. She tried to suppress the urge to shudder when his eyes bore into her very being, sending one clear message: This was the end of the line. Here she was, frozen, pressed up against a cold psychopath who had made her his prey. A rabbit caught in a bear trap.

His voice suddenly cut through the silence, "Do you know how we process our slaves?" Her heart pounded in her ears when he leaned forward and eliminated what little personal space she had left. No answer.

"First, the women are separated from the men; wives, children, the elderly," he whispered in a dangerous tone, his breath tickling her face. "Some go fighting tooth and nail, while others seem to accept it."

He smirked, "Sounds familiar, yes?"

She could only glare at him, hatred and disgust written all over her face. Even without a reply, he continued, "The male slaves that disagree with our methods are executed while others are left screaming as their loved ones are dragged away."

"Then," he paused as his hand slid upwards and started to work on the buttons that held her shirt together, "clothing is removed and burned."

One-handed, he slowly undid enough buttons to expose the line of her collarbone. He dipped his head into the crook of her neck, nose brushing against her skin.

"Next, comes branding," his hand slipped to her outer thigh, nails digging into her through the fabric. His teeth nipped the soft flesh of her neck and the courier couldn't help but gasp at the pain.

Pleased with this reaction, his lips curled into a smile as they softly pressed against her. He felt her pulse quicken as the hand on her thigh clenched once and slid towards the fabric that lined her waist. It continued upwards until it came to rest on her abdomen.

A finger tapped the left side of her stomach. "Here. It is here they are branded like brahmin with a red 'x'," he chuckled into her neck in a low tone as he drew the symbol out. The vibrations of his voice were making it hard for to concentrate. "This is my favorite part, for this is when they lose all of their privileges as human beings and become the Legion's property to barter and sell."

"What's more exciting is that the cream of the crop are given away to high ranking officials and other more deserving Legionaries like myself." He leaned back with enough room to cast the courier a malicious smile. "Caesar has always been, and always will be, generous to his followers."

"You're all sick bastards," she said, brow furrowing up in anger. "Slavery is supposed to be a thing of the past. In this century, it's archaic and downright barbaric!"

"And what of the gambling and prostitution, such as that of Nipton and New Vegas? Those are ageless vices that plagued civilizations thousands of years ago and yet they still followed us to this current day."

"What those people did on a day-to-day basis made them scum of the earth; but still, they don't deserve to be judged by the likes of you!"

He raised an eyebrow, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Double standards," she said with a huff of annoyance. "You brutally execute people for their own sins when you yourself are just as guilty as them. Sex and gambling in turn for slavery. You even use slaves as whores." She sneered. "Breeding stock, my ass."

"Perhaps the societies from which our morals hail from are vastly different. It's a matter of perspective, my dear. From the eyes of the Legion, the citizens of Nipton weren't even considered as people."

With one hand, she grabbed the collar of his shirt with a tad bit more violence than she expected. "You are just as flawed and corrupt as everyone else under this goddamn sun."

"Enlighten me," he challenged and gripped the wrist of the hand that held his collar hard enough to make the courier hiss in pain.

She let go, but the hand on her wrist wouldn't budge. Seeing no other option, she shakily continued, "Obviously you have issues, otherwise we wouldn't even be in this predicament. Maybe you should've made an arrangement with one of your slave girls, or at least gone so far as to get a whore. There are no shortages of either, I presume."

"Yes, there are possibilities," Vulpes said in a contemplative manner, and let her watch as his eyes wandered over her form. "But I find that I tend to enjoy complexities far more than what used up slaves and whores have to offer." Using her wrist, he suddenly pulled her flat against him, his oppressive presence threatening to smother her alive, "To make myself blunt, I want someone who isn't broken." The courier was left flushed for a few moments.

Her lips were inches from his, "So, you would stoop so low as to choose someone who isn't of the Legion, someone like poor little me?"

"You aren't the most…unpleasant choice. From the stories that have spread through the Mojave, your moral standards are noteworthy enough to be recognized by Caesar himself."

"Well, there's one thing I should remind you about people with morals," she said lowly as she leaned in, lips ghosting over the edge of his ear.

"And what is that?"

"They never practice what they preach." She then cruelly ground her hips hard against his, eliciting an involuntary hiss from the Frumentari. Taking this invitation, he clutched the base of her neck and claimed her mouth with his. With unexpected fervor, the courier returned the violent kiss, hands seeking out his shoulders. She bit his lip hard, and he let out a deep growl while she sadistically hoped that she'd drawn blood. They broke off, breathing heavily, and she pushed him off of her. He didn't look too bad when he was hot and bothered. The spy caught a mischievous glint in her eyes when she grabbed his arm and tugged him down the short steps towards the lounge chairs. With a playful shove, the courier pushed him down onto the couch where he had set his coat. His jacket was pressed flat between him and the couch.

As soon as the Frumentari was seated, she remained standing and started to work on the buttons of her pants. His eyes grew hungrier as she slowly tugged them down and off of her lean legs. Without allowing herself to feel vulnerable under his gaze, she slid into his lap, legs straddling him on either side. His arousal was evident when she rocked her hips against him, the friction of her panties against the course fabric of his slacks was excruciating. She let him slide her shirt upwards before placing his hands on the warm flesh of her waist. She looked straight at him and, without breaking eye-contact, began to remove the offending piece of underwear, discarding it onto the floor behind her.

With the most intimate part of herself displayed just for him, he felt his desire swell into an agonizing ache. His patience was starting to run thin, but he was still complacent enough to watch her reach between her legs to undo the zipper of his pants. A soft sigh escaped him when her fingers finally found him. She freed his length from its confines and stroked it slightly, her teasing causing him to dig his fingers into her. She leaned forward enough to rest her forehead against his, which gave him an excellent view down the already unbuttoned shirt, and lowered herself onto his shaft.

Pressure built up at first, and then gave way. Due to the previous night with Benny, sliding onto him wasn't as painful, but his girth still took some getting used to. With the feeling of her slick walls around him, it was hard to resist the urge to throw her off and onto the floor to fuck her raw and bloody. But for some reason, he found much satisfaction in seeing her enjoy herself. Her hands entwined themselves in his dress shirt for support while she started to set the pace. She forced him in and out of her warmth, breath coming in short gasps. The way her lips clamped around him when he pushed into her was enough for him to groan. His hips rose to meet hers and made the courier wonder just how depraved he was.

It was different this time. There were no words shared between either partners, the only sound in the whole room was their heavy breathing.

The spy tried to pry open the rest of her shirt, but she slapped his hands away. Before he could feel the anger swell up, she began undoing the buttons herself. She unclipped her bra, which followed her other articles of clothing to the floor. He ran his calloused hands upon her freshly exposed skin with fervor, taking the time to marvel at the curves of her breasts and the scars that marred her sides.

She bucked particularly hard, which ended up with her flattened against him. She allowed his fingers to bury themselves in the short locks of her hair and let his mouth trail along her neck.

Somehow, the hero of the Mojave was fucking him and something whispered that it seemed too good to be true. At this point, he just didn't care. The way her body trembled in his lap and the way her head was thrown back in ecstasy were enough to spur him on.

Suddenly, the courier let out a delicious moan and, aided by the wetness of her arousal, moved against him at a much faster pace. With enthusiasm, he thrust up into her harder and bit down on the outer edge of her ear. The pinch of pain was enough to drive her over the edge, walls constricting around his member. While she was rocked by the waves of her orgasm, the sound that tore out of her throat was high-pitched and animalistic. She kissed him in the midst of her groan, and he almost came right then and there.

Her climax faded, he slowly pumped into her, relishing the new sensation of her relaxed muscles. He quivered with the anticipation of drawing this out and having the courier worn and hoarse by the end. She grimaced at his continued invasion and leaned forward to grip the cloth of his suit's jacket draped on the couch behind him.

Building his release, his head tilted back and his eyes slid closed.

But the sound of a pistol cocking nearby jarred him out of his stupor. He opened his eyes to the sight of the courier pulling away from his lap, the silenced pistol from his coat pocket in hand.

Everything was a hoax. She had guessed that there had to be a weapon somewhere on his person and had specifically maneuvered them into this position. Just like Benny, just like every man, he had been lulled into a false sense of security and dropped his guard. The slippery bitch. His face contorted with rage and his voice quivered with fury, "You think you're so clever."

"Yes, I do as a matter of fact. You should probably add vanity to my list of sins," she said with a smug look on her face. She gathered her clothing and quickly shoved them on, all while keeping the gun trained on him.

He rose from the couch while straightening his clothing and turned on her, the very picture of wrath. She had lost nothing and had taken what she'd wanted, while he was kicked to the side like dirt. "I will personally make you pay for this," he hissed.

She shrugged indifferently and said, "Neither you or the Legion scare me, so you can drag your empty threats elsewhere. And if you think of pulling something at Caesar's camp, I won't hesitate to shoot the place up." Her wide grin spread impudently. "And I'll be bringing friends."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't push me." She then motioned towards the elevator with the pistol, "Now you're on my turf, but I'm giving you this last chance to run away with your tail between your legs. Or, I can listen to my conscience this time and, without any remorse, shoot you dead. The Securitrons should have no trouble cleaning up your bloody mess."

With an angry huff, he went to grab his coat off the couch.

"Ah, ah, ah! Leave it, it's mine now," she said.

"You're not serious," he said in a flat tone, his hand falling back to his side.

"Extra caps," she grinned.

His eyes narrowed into vicious slits, but he didn't say a word. The spy was also silent in his swift departure, leaving the courier in the dusty cocktail lounge.

Once she was finally alone and the creaking of the elevator faded, she didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or start throwing things around the room. Take some deep, calming breaths, girl. After setting the rest of her clothing back in proper place, she slumped at one of the bar stools with her face in her hand. Shaken, she wondered how it would've ended if she hadn't found a weapon in one of his pockets. She shuddered once and decided not to dwell on it further. This tendency to get carried away was definitely going to be the death of her someday.


The elevator doors had just only opened when Victor's voice piped up, "Arcade Gannon and Craig Boone have just entered the casino.

"Good. Send them up. We need to have a lengthy discussion about the future of New Vegas."

She made to move past the Securitron, but stopped mid-stride, "Oh, and remove the man who just left from any friend rosters you have programmed in you. He's no friend of mine."

"Yes, ma'am."

She made her way to the dining room. As a mental note, she also needed to inform her comrades on the situation of a certain checkered man whose credibility for keeping promises was questionable. After all, the man still owed her a night on the town.

Also, maybe, just maybe, they deserve the right to know that she threatened and robbed one of the Frumentarii at gunpoint. The other details, she could definitely leave out.

Black widows, represent!