Boone wasn't a man of many words yet his lips and tongue lovingly wrote lengthy, beautifully worded sonnets on her body. His hands that normally brought death instead stroked, pinched, and scratched life into her nerves. And his dick, well Mina was certain it could reduce entire armies to their knees if they were all run by women. Right now it was reducing her to a quivering puddle of courier, how could it do anything but bring peace, love, and mutual orgasms for the Mojave?
The hard man that normally sat in the background as emotional as a Securitron was a passionate mess behind closed doors. Whispered words of loyalty, faith, and a willingness to die for her cause slipped into her ears and increased the heat between her thighs.
He never said he loved her and she never asked him too. Mina didn't delude herself with that nonsense. She was a warm body, a woman who cared and never asked him to fix what was broken in him. She allowed him the blood lust for the Legion, shared it with him. Mina was there to support him when he came to terms with the travesty at Bitter Springs. He had always been protective of her if not slightly possessive but it brought her comfort from an unfamiliar place. The place her memories were taking their hiatus.
At the moment his tongue was writing a love song on her breasts while his deadly fingers gripped her hips desperately. Mina was riding his peace bringing cock for all it could give her, seeking the release to the pressure welling in her loins. Boone was biting his lip to hold out for her and she took a minute to admire his determination. The stoic sniper meet her gaze and his eyes hardened in concentration.
Mina loved that he would take off the sunglasses in the bedroom but not the beret. The beret never came off, not even to sleep. She had often fantasized about the man wearing nothing but the hat and didn't even slightly hide her amusement when she discovered the truth in her thoughts. Ever since then he had made a habit of showing up in her bed wearing it and nothing else. It became the unspoken symbol of want on his part and she gladly accepted it.
The fact of the matter was their relationship was abnormal even by Mojave standards. During the day there was no indication of being anything other than professional but at night, in their suite, it was naked flesh and slapping bodies. They weren't affectionate, Boone didn't touch her unless necessary and Mina wasn't needy. He was there at night, she wasn't lonely, and neither of them needed the daytime reassurances. Outside of the Lucky 38 was all business but inside was all carnal desires and uncomfortable companions.
They had an unspoken communication that no one outside their circle would recognize. The way she would slip extra Stimpacks and ammo into his bag. The way he kept all others at a physical distance with just a set of squared shoulders and clenched jaw. The way Mina went out of her way to kill the Legion raiding parties that were a half a mile out from their path. The way he would always enter an unfamiliar building first even though she was the close quarters fighter. And no one outside the group saw the sniper that impatiently waited for her in Novac after she disappeared at the drive in.
He railed at Veronica about the Brotherhood bunker that took them to the damned Sierra Madre. He screamed at Cass about the Happy Trails Caravan that led Mina to the Malpais Legate. Arcade got the worst of it with a full blown rehashing of the disaster that was Vault 22. Arcade was also the only one that saw the man shed tears for her. He had asked Arcade if he deserved to have her back after everything he had done then proceeded to try to use ED-E for target practice. The last thing Arcade had heard Boone yelling was how the eye bot was the worst of them all because she had been utterly alone in the Divide. Arcade snatched the bot and saved him because although technically the eye bot hadn't actually been there but had been in a way. ED-E had followed her the only way he could, hell bent on protecting the woman that had saved him.
Now Boone was making up for the lost time. He had seen her new scars, noticed her new ticks, and held her silently while she sobbed about the events of the Big MT. She couldn't tell him where she had been or what she had learned but he got that it was awful. He never told her that they had given up on her but instead told her how they all kept coming there to check on him for her.
Those things only happened when they were alone. Those were things that happened behind closed doors. Those were the things the Mojave didn't need to know about their Messiah. In this room, in the middle of New Vegas, in the Penthouse suite of the Lucky 38, only they existed. The other would let them disappear, knowing but not acknowledging the relationship between between their leader and her broken sniper.