F!LW (neutral karma) uses her old friend Butch for more than just a horrible haircut. M for sexual content and language. I was somewhat irritated by Butch in my most recent playthrough, so my characterization of him may be a little off. Apologies in advance!
As always, feedback/criticism is welcome. Characters, locations etc. the property of Bethesda/Zenimax.
"Fuck off, Butch" She didn't need to look behind her to know he was hovering over her shoulder.
"This is driving me fucking crazy. If you're not going to do anything about it, then I will."
Two days she had put up with his incessant nagging. The man didn't bat an eye when they were slaughtering raiders, but the mere fact that she didn't care that her hair was collateral damage irritated the hell out of him. Sure it looked horrid, with a jagged chunk singed off the left side, but she was just happy the raider with the flamer had horrible aim. She always wore her shady hat whenever they were on the move, so it's not like it was obvious. Well, at least to anyone who was not Butch.
The shack they had found didn't appear to be occupied. She had to kick a couple of skeletons into a corner, but that didn't bother her. The place even had rudimentary plumbing. After hiking across the wastes, all she wanted to do was relax. Now even that was out of the question. Should have left the fucker in the Muddy Rudder.
"Fine!" The onetime Hero for Hire flounced down on a dilapidated chair with a huff, "If it will get you offa my back then have at it."
"Yeah!" Butch pulled out a pair of scissors seemingly from nowhere with a flourish. "Hang on to your panties girlie, 'cause I'm going to barber the hell out of that hair!"
The Lone Wanderer was still coming to terms with her childhood companion's passion for hair. She had witnessed the teacher's pronouncement of Butch's G.O.A.T. results, but she had figured it was a joke. Butch was definitely obsessed with his hair, that much was obvious, but she had no idea that it was more than his vanity. It wasn't until she answered Amata's distress call that she found that not only was Butch a hairdresser... err barber, he took pride in it.
Guess the test was right on that one. What was my result again? It took her a few minutes to remember. The test was patently absurd, but there had to be a reason it was relied upon to assign careers for all the new vault hopefuls. Marriage counselor, that's right! Hah! Fat lot of good that did her. Of course, the G.O.A.T. couldn't have predicted her escape from the vault and subsequent adventures across the wasteland.
Lost in her reminiscing, she hadn't noticed what Butch was finished until he thrust a little Vault-Tec mirror into hands with a smirk.
"I call this one the Tunnel Snake!"
All thought flew from her head as she looked at her slightly distorted reflection in the small mirror. On top of her familiar face sat an abomination; a near replica of Butch's own greasy locks. It took her a few seconds to register Butch's laughter in her dazed state.
She shot from her chair and whipped around to face him. Butch was doubled over, his face red as he tried to catch his breath in between spurts of laughter. The Lone Wanderer was never one quick to anger, and was well known throughout the wastelands as completely dispassionate. She grew up with Butch, and was well versed in his awful attempts at pranks. This though, crossed one too many lines.
With an unintelligible scream of rage, she launched herself at him. The scuffle was intense, but brief and surprisingly non-violent. While Butch was bemoaning being trapped in the vault, she had been refined into a solo dealer of destruction by the wastes. Her several near death experiences and numerous fist fights made dealing with the vault boy laughably easy. In the end, she had him pinned under her. Her arms keeping his in place as he struggled.
"Now Butchie-boy, you're going to fix this." She grated through clenched teeth. "You wouldn't like it if I got really angry. I might have to put my trench knife to use."
Butch huffed, "You and your freakish strength." He struggled a final time to get loose, then relaxed with a grunt. "Fine. You wouldn't look half so manly if you would have let me take care of it in the first place. You could almost be a looker, you know."
She gritted her teeth. Manly? She had most of the men of the wasteland wrapped around her little finger, despite some of the things Three Dog said about her. Butch needed to get his head out of the vault. As she surveyed his yielding form under hers, a thought came to her on how to accomplish this. Time for little Butchie to grow up.
"Almost a looker, Butchie? Did you think I didn't notice how often you stare at my ass? I think it's about time you came to terms with just how much of a woman I am."
She released his arms and with practiced grace removed the top of her favorite Merc Adventurer outfit. She gave up a silent thanks to not having a clean bra to put on that morning. The moment would have slightly less impact if Butch saw the ratty bras she was left with upon leaving the vault instead of her deliciously round orbs.
"Uhh... what?" Butch's lost expression damn near made he burst into laughter, but she was nothing if not determined.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she cooed out a small moan as she pulled one of his hands up to her breast. Butch was still laying there dumbstruck as she began a slow grind of her hips against his. Just as she was about to get frustrated at his lack of enthusiasm, Butch seemed to realize that this wasn't a dream after all and began to reciprocate.
His touch was hesitant at first, and she could tell by his clumsy caresses that he wasn't as experienced at this as he let on. Maybe his talk about Amata was just that after all. It didn't really matter in the end. She knew how to get herself off, and besides he was a safer bet than most of the guys in the wastes. She most likely wouldn't end up needing an ointment from Doc Hoff like the last time.
His breath smelled of whiskey as she leaned in to kiss him. It didn't surprise her. Butch was always complaining about being sober, and the way they tore through the wastelands, there was never a lack of alcohol around. As they kissed, she began unbuckling his trousers, thankful that she wouldn't have to deal with the dreaded one-piece vault jumpsuit after snagging him a set of leather armor.
Butch started fumbling with the button of her trousers, and let out a grunt as she stopped him.
"I gave your hands a task Butch, honey." No doubt he would take far too long anyway. "Don't you dare stop now" she practically purred. Never mind the fact that his idea of breast-play was kneading fervently – it was rough enough to turn her on. No reason she didn't have to enjoy this lesson as well.
Having opened access to his underwear, she turned her attention on her own remaining clothing. She undid the button on her trousers and whipped them off with a practiced gesture while barely breaking contact. Butch's face was flushed, and she could tell by the rigid lump through her underwear that he was fully ready for what she was dishing out.
"Couldn't resist the Butch-man, could you baby?" That almost killed it. If he had added his usual 'Tunnel snakes rule' exclamation to that, blood would definitely be spilled. As it was, 101 put her finger to his lips, and whispered "No talking," punctuating the statement with a sharp nibble on his earlobe.
Keeping one finger to his lips, she slipped two fingers from her other hand into her mouth. She sucked them provocatively for a few seconds before slipping them past her underwear and between her lower lips. She let out a soft moan for Butch's benefit as she affirmed that she was readied enough without the need for additional lubrication.
It was Butch's turn to moan when she eased him from his underwear, pulled hers to the side, then slid him into her folds. His hands slid from their post at her breasts and grabbed her ass as she began rocking against him.
The Lone Wanderer was lost in her own world as she closed her eyes. She tried to focus on the sensation of being filled, and tried to forget the fact that it was her childhood friend doing the filling. She re-wet her fingers, and slid them in around the hood of her clit, adding to the friction.
It didn't take her long to work up towards an orgasm she knew she would not be able to attain if she left it to Butch. As it was, he was tangential to her pleasure at this point. She barely registered his moans as she rode him with increasing fervor, bucking against the increasing pressure of her fingers with even more force against his cock.
With a cry, she felt the orgasm blossom as she slammed down on top of Butch with a final few brutal thrusts. As she came to a shuddering stop, she was relieved to see that Butch was shaking with his own release.
Before he could pull his thoughts together enough to utter some inane statement, she pulled off of him, and sat back down on the chair she previously occupied.
"Fix the hair."
As she heard Butch moan and grumble behind her, she began planning a trip to Rivet City. Butch needed some alone time to marinate in this lesson, she affirmed to herself. Maybe that Jericho fella from Megaton can keep me company in the meantime. Something to consider, to be sure.