Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout New Vegas or any part of the Fallout franchise. I am not making a profit from this.
Note: For the kink meme. Part of The Last King of Vegas series. Explicit.
"I thought I warned you what would happen if I caught you back here again."
She is resplendent. Her hair is slicked back with sweat and dirt, and she is dressed in nothing but blood and blades and the fur of her kills. She is nothing like what the ruler of Vegas should be, nothing like what anyonein Vegas should be, and yet, here she stands, hands on her hips, the setting sun behind her like an inferno at her command.
Benny grins round the filter of his cigarette. He takes a last, long drag and drops it to the floor, crushing it below his heel. He exhales grey, and says, "Promise, promises, pussycat."
She narrows her eyes. Benny's no fool, though, and he thinks having seen her on the verge of dying and the verge of cumming he knows her a little better than he should. There's a lilt of something else behind the steeliness of her gaze, and he's going to dig and dig until he pulls it out.
"I told you not to come back to Vegas," she says. She walks towards him, her hips a wild, rolling mess of all the femininity and allure a deadly, feral bitch like her should never have. She closes in on him, a hand splaying against his chest, pushing him back. She reminds Benny of his younger days, his better days, when politics and luxury and casino lights were none of his damn business. She makes him think of knives and pit fights and days under the hot Mojave sun, and she makes him want to be a different man.
His hand falls to her hip, and she slaps him in the face.
"Aw, c'mon, baby," he purrs, flashing her his patented Chairmen grin. "Let Benny show you the tops."
The hand on his chest tightens, and he can feel sharp nails through the thin cloth of his shirt. Nails. She tears up the desert, carries four guns and a machete, skins the things she kills and eats - and she keeps her nails long and sharp. How the fuck does she do that?
Maybe it's those nails that make him so sure she's right for Vegas after all.
She leans in close and bites his neck, but it isn't seductive, it isn't intimate. It's harsh and cruel and nearly draws blood, and he can't hold in the reedy yelp of sudden pain. She twists his skin; he hisses. Her breath is hot against his neck when she lets him go.
"How many times I have saved you from Legion patrols, Benny? Three times? Four?"
He rolls his shoulders in a casual non-shrug. "What can I say? I'm a hard to miss guy; I attract attention."
"I should just let you die."
"You know you won't do that."
She bites him again. He's ready this time, and suppresses his gasp. She hates it when he doesn't play by the script.
"You're a useless sack of shit, Benny."
"Hey, doll, you're the one who keeps me around."
There's a low, guttural growl building deep in her throat. She drags him away from the corrugated tin of the doors to Freeside, back out into the sand and sun of the wastes. Every time she does this, every time it happens, a part of him is always afraid - just for a second - that she means it. That this time, she'll kill him.
It breeds a sick dampness in his stomach, to feel so out of control, to feel so ,iat the mercy/i of a nutso broad he should've killed right the day he met her. Never counted on Maria for mercy before, but since then, he's always been a little bit more careful with his shots. He hates it, this feeling of uncertainty, and sometimes it gets so bad that a switch goes off inside him and he stops being himself. He reverts, goes back to the days of knife fights and raw meat and camp fires at night. Then, he's a Boot Rider again, and he didn't earn his reputation by being a fucking fink, by letting some girl push him around.
She's dragging him by his collar and doesn't expect it when he stops short and, just as she turns, lunges forward. He knocks her to the dirt and wrestles her down. She claws at his face and he squeezes her wrists so tight he's sure he'll leave marks. She spits at him, or tries to - the Mojave has left her mouth dry. She is radiant in her struggles, writhing beneath him, heels seeking for purchase in the fine dust below.
He kisses her, and she offers him a single, permissive kiss in return. She never yields to him, never, expect in that one kiss - and it's that kiss he treasures when they're apart, that kiss he croons over, because that's the kiss that tells him how much she wants this, too.
He wrestles her to the shack. Her thrashes are half-hearted, and he's pretty sure at least half the grinding, writhing motions she makes are done to turn him on, not escape. Their place is a small one, functional, dull, the kind of place someone would have to be pretty hard up to want to raid. He pushes her bodily against the wood of the door, pinning her hips with his, as he fumbles with the lock. Inside, he drops her to the ground, and starts to peel off his shirt.
He didn't realise until he started living rough again how soft The Tops had made him. That softness is gone now. He's hardened up, gotten taught and tight around the edges, and the muscles have re-emerged beneath his skin. He's tanned, he's scarred, and he's a far cry from both the men he used to be - and the last thing he's got left to hold onto is her.
"Know what, sweet cheeks?" he drawls, dropping his shirt to the floor. He only ever wears his suit these days for their rendevouz. Seems right, somehow. Fitting. "Bet you and me could make some be-yeautiful kids."
She looks up at him with her cheeks and her eyes blazing. "I'd loveto believe you're man enough for that, Benny." Her laugh is defiant, and he wants to hear her beg.
He pins her down, straddling her hips, pushing her shoulders back against the bedroll cast out beneath them. He runs his hands over her arms, pleased to feel her unresisting against him. She's strong, too - he can feel the definition of her muscles, the strength that one of her punches could pack. Hell, he's felt them. She'd be one ferocious mama bear, alright.
He traces the curve of her jaw and she jerks her head upwards, magnificent and regal and prone, at his mercy. It's a strange thing they have, this back and forth, and he's pretty sure neither of them would say it worksbut...shit. There's something between them, something neither of them can trace or pin down or explain, that started the day she punched him in the face then threw him down and fucked him.
His hands find her stomach, stroking the firm flesh he finds there. She quivers a little under his touch, and it always strikes him as fucking hilarious that she's ticklish. He imagines late nights together, stroking this skin and feeling life stir inside her - quiet nights, where there's no kicking and screaming and biting and fighting, just long, soft touches, and each other.
"That maternal instinct's gonna kick in some day," he tells her. "All you gals, you're all the same."
He gets a knee to his shin for his trouble, but he can't help but grin. She's already starting to look a little unfocused, already starting to go slack under his hands.
What is it that makes them feel this way? Why the hell do they want to fuck and kiss and claw at each other instead of shooting for the other's head? Why does he wait for her, every fucking time, and why does she let him take her, pin her, own her, like she's just another girl on the Strip?
She bucks up against him, sending his thoughts scattering. "Maybe it already has," she says. "Maybe I've already found the guy I'm gonna settle down with. Maybe we're already making plans, shopping for kid's clothes, going at it every night -"
Benny leans down close, nipping at her ear. "Well, he's gonna be pretty fucking disappointed when the kid turns out to be mine, huh, pussycat?"
He runs his hands down, pulling the furs off her chest. She's braless underneath, though he didn't expect any different. He squeezes her breasts, pinching her nipples, revelling in her low moans.
"Sorry, Ben-man, I just don't think you've got it in you."
He chuckles into her neck, dragging his lips down to latch onto her breast. "Baby, you know damn well I've got it in me. A fella like me, you'd be lucky to have another one growing inside you. And you and me, we could make some sweet music together."
"Mmm...perhaps." She arches again, and he bites down gently on her nipple, rolling it between his teeth. "Poor kid, though. Don't know if he could handle the shame if he ever found out it was you who - ah!"
She's cut off as he bites down harder, his hands trailing down her sides to tug at her waistband. She nearly naked now, but nearly isn't good enough. She breathes out with his name on her lips, and his cock twitches in his pants.
He pulls off her underwear and leans back, letting her undress him. In their nakedness he holds her, just for a moment, and there's a sick kind of tenderness in the way her hands trace the scars on his back, in the way he kisses all around the bullet marks on her head. Then, it's back in the game, with her nails raking down his skin and his hands knotted in her hair.
Benny leans over her, pressing their bodies together, trailing kisses and bites down her neck. He works a hand down between them and takes hold of his cock, rubbing the head against her thigh. She shudders and moves against him, and he catches the lobe of her ear in his teeth.
"You want it, don't you?" he murmurs. "Something in you just can't help it. You wantme to knock you up. You want to get all big and heavy with my kid, don't ya? Said it before and I'll say it again, but those bullets must've hit you for a loop, kitten." With his free hand he reaches up, grabs her breast hard. "Bet you'd look real ring-a-ding with all the growing your charlies would have to do, doll. Bet you'd love me to bury my face in them when you're getting big; bet you'd get so damn worked up with all those whacked out hormones chinging round..."
He's hard, and his movements trail precum over her skin. She presses up against him, needy and hot, and Benny guides his cock over her sex. She's quivering, practically whining underneath him, and there's this funny kind of thrill that comes from knowing he gets to see her like this.
He eases into her, slow like, letting her feel every inch and ridge of him. She mumbles things like, "Benny, you bastard," and "one of these days I'm gonna put a bullet between your eyes" and "deeper, harder". Pulling back, he pauses, waiting until her eyes open, until she grabs him by the hips and -
She pulls him back in, thrusting her hips up against him. He's on his back before he really knows what is happening, and her breasts and warm and heavy over his face as she pushes herself back along his cock. He grabs her ass, forcing her to take him deeper, bucking up to give her what she's begging for in whispers and moans, under her breath. He angles his hips, finding the spot he knows makes her crazy and hits it, hard. Her eyes roll back and she weakens, and he seizes the chance to flip her down, to mount her, to ride her into the ground.
"Benny-y-y," she says, and it comes out like that, in three parts. There's a thin layer of sweat between her breasts and he leans down, running his tongue along her skin to lick it up. She raises her chest to meet him, and for an instant he's lost between the creamy fullness of her. They know each other's bodies and rhythms way, way too well for a pair of cats who should be enemies, but he can't help this. He loves this. Somedays, he thinks maybe he loves her. Enough to make him think of having a place of their own, of watching her start eating for two and starting to show, of holding her hand, watching her bring his kid into the world. It's in his grasp, almost in his grasp, so close he can practically -
His breath is coming in grunts as he feels her clench around him, and her moans reach a familiar pitch. She claws at the ground, dirt and dust crumbling under her fingers, as she tosses her head back and cums. He feels her tighten around him and lets out a shaky, appreciative groan, quickening his pace and thrusting in short, shallow bursts. He can feel himself getting closer.
"Gonna cum in you, pussycat," he tells her, speaking into the curve of her neck. "Gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine, gonna you and me make ourselves a fam-"
"Benny! Cum for me!" She digs her nails into his shoulders and clenches round him, and it's so sudden and wild and good, that he does.
He rides his climax down with his face in her hair, breathing her in. He's got until she tightens up below him, pushes him off, sends him on his way. Soon enough, he's gonna come back to himself, too, and wonder what it is about this broad that makes him feel so fond about settling down. So he savours this moment, the softness and the smell of her, her hands light against his shoulders.
It's over too soon.
"It'll do, I suppose," she says, as she drapes on her furs. High praise from the queen of Vegas. He gives her a half-sneer.
"Didn't hear you complaining five minutes ago."
She shrugs dismissively, but her eyes glint and she smiles, and maybe he loves her after all.
"Better hope you managed it, this time," she tells him, as she heads for the door. She pauses next to him, looks him up and down, grins. "You're the only thing standing between you, me, and that place up near Jacobstown, you know. Just gotta get it right."
"Babymakin' ain't exactly a science, pussycat."
Her smile softens a little, and she kisses him on the jaw. It's tender, almost appallingly so, but he catches her chin in his hand and meets her eyes.
"We'll make it."
He stays in the shack long after she's gone, long after dark sets it. Maybe they will.