Craig Boone stared at the last bits of flames as they died down. Little flicks of fire rose here and there, but the majority of the campfire was reduced to glowing red embers. He and the Courier were camped out in what used to be a house- or maybe a cabin? It was small, only one room and the remains of a bathroom. He sat against the wall facing the front door, with the remains of the small fire between him and the Courier. She was asleep, her back facing towards him, breathing soft and deep.

He thought back to the events of the day. He and the courier had spent hours on the overlook about Cottonwood Cove, picking off Legionaries with their rifles when they wandered too far from the camp. They'd been caught, of course, and he stayed up in the overlook while the Courier made her way down to the camp, shotgun at the ready.

One well placed shot with her shotgun and she'd take out 2, maybe even 3 legionaries at a time. He sniped the rest, the ones she couldn't see in the midst of the chaos around her. At times, she'd use the butt of the gun to knock out an opponent if they got too close for comfort. That only happened when he was aiming elsewhere; it was impossible to stop everyone from getting that close to the Courier when she decided she'd rather be in the action than sniping from a better vantage point.

He admired her, though he'd never admit it. Her skills with a sniper were close to his. She was patient, waiting for the right shot to line up and accounting for the wind before squeezing the trigger. She didn't always get a headshot, but he could forgive her for that. There were times when she'd scrap the rifle and run headfirst into whatever battle they were facing, and that's when she drove him crazy. She'd always yell for him to cover her six, and he did, regardless of how irritated it made him to have to aim, shoot, and reload without being able to enjoy setting up the shot.

They'd taken out pretty much everyone at Cottonwood Cove that day, save for whoever was in the buildings that didn't come outside at the ruckus. Once the courier had killed the last of the legionaries, she ran over to the locked chain-link fence, talked quickly with the slaves, and freed them. He couldn't hear any of their conversations from so far away, but he saw the Courier go up to each of them, fidget quickly with the collars on their necks, and them pat them on the back as they each walked away.

Later on, when she'd made her way back up to the overlook, he asked what that was about. She shrugged and told him "just disarmed the explosive collars so they wouldn't blow up as they left." He didn't reply, but in his mind he was dumbfounded. Since when did she know how to mess around with explosives and not get herself blown to pieces? She was fucking gutsy, always learning what she could, always taking chances when she knew she shouldn't.

Boone shifted, sliding slightly lower against the wall he was leaning against, trying to get comfortable. He should definitely try to get some sleep soon. The Courier usually woke early, trying to stay quiet to not wake him, and as adept as she was at sneaking around, he was usually aware enough to know where she was. Oh, the perks of having been in the 1st Recon.

His mind wandered again. She could handle herself, at least. He liked that he didn't have to constantly defend her from the raiders and animals of the unforgiving Mojave. Plus, she wasn't bad to look at. He turned his head slightly, eyes focusing on the outline of the Courier's sleeping form. Her skin was bronze, tanned from their endless walking in the desert sun. She wore that same stupid tank top and jeans that she always had on whenever she wasn't expecting a fight. She'd picked them up from the Kings and refused to wear anything else (save for her combat armor when fighting) claiming it was the only thing she had to wear that wouldn't make her die of heat stroke. He'd tried telling her that it was better to wear layers to keep her sweat from evaporating and to prevent sun exposure, but she wouldn't hear it. "It's always worked for me," she'd said. At least she'd started wearing his extra 1st Recon beret and a pair of sunglasses to avoid sun blindness.

His eyes roamed to where the tank top had bunched up, right above her waist. He gazed at the dip between her waist and hips, emphasized by her position on her side. Damn, it'd been quite some time since he'd touched a woman and felt the soft, smooth skin women somehow always had. The dim light prevented him from looking at the curve of her ass, but he knew it well from his usual position walking behind her during their travels. He would just love to grab it, feel its shape and firmness in his hands. Boone felt himself getting turned on, his pants becoming somewhat tighter with the beginning of his hard on. He shifted again, trying to remove some of the pressure.

"Boone….." The Courier turned onto her back, eyes still closed. Her breathing had changed, slightly faster but still deep enough to show she was still asleep.

Boone froze, slight panic washing over him because of his inappropriate thoughts about his companion. He looked away and cleared his throat, feeling the tension in his pants fade.

"Hm?"

No answer.

Boone relaxed a little and went back to staring into the embers of the mostly barren campfire. Yeah... he should definitely lie down and try to get some sleep. Who knew what she had planned for tomorrow?

He heard her sigh and begin to move again. He looked over and saw the faint shadow of her hand above her jeans, accompanied by the sound of moving fabric. Her hand made its way down into the front of her jeans.

Oh shit. What the fuck?

He wanted to look away. He did. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

The Courier's hand moved slowly and steadily beneath her jeans. Boone's hard-on was back with a vengeance, and he fought the urge to unzip his own pants.

He should probably stop her, wake her up. Probably. But goddamn if he hadn't imagined her doing this before… may as well let her keep going, at least for a little while.

She inhaled heavily, and he could have sworn he heard a slight moan when she exhaled. Her hand picked up its pace.

FUCK IT.Boone started to undo his zipper, ready to join in his own solitary fun.

She moaned, this time loud enough for him to not question it.

"… Craig."