"Where have you been all day?" Arcadia asked with her eyes still in her magazine.
"Nowhere."
But the bloodied boots and smoking gun said otherwise.
"Why don't you join me for a drink and tell me about this place called Nowhere?"
Boone grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of scotch for them to share. Two klonks on wood and two songs of the pouring liquid rising in pitch as it filled the small tumblers. Boone leaned back with her feet on the table and chair legs in the air. She cradled the glass of scotch like a precious egg. Though the look on her face would have one thinking she wanted to crush the thing.
"Ahh, Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur."
"How can you speak that shit? You know what they do to women?" Boone growled.
"Who? The Romans? I'd like to think I'd be the handmaiden to a noble family. And I would have a scandalous affair with the matriarch. Pity I couldn't vote, though," Arcadia shrugged and tossed the magazine to the table. A sip of scotch before Boone could squeeze a reply through her gritted teeth.
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Yes. Latin. The dead language of the Romans."
Boone kicked her feet from the table and stomped them on the floor, glaring hard as Arcadia twisted her short white blond locks. She was skilled in coy assholery and it made Boone itch. The pair would share a drink, a brusque exchange of words, then retreat. Like dogs hunting prey. Neither quite finding the upper hand.
"There's that Boone we know and love. For a second there, I thought you might have been relaxing."
Another silent scowl behind dark sunglasses as the sniper finished her glass and poured another. So it's going to be that kind of night, is it? Arcadia thought to herself. She followed suit. Finished her glass and poured another, but with a look less angry and more smug.
This lasted for longer than it should have. Bitter glares, smart ass remarks. All in the name of passing the time. The next couple of drinks were consumed slowly, each drop savored like massaging a sore muscle. The good kind of hurt.
"You always treat people like a cunt?" Boone asked, tersely tucking stray hairs behind her ears.
Too bad Boone was looking a little ragged, otherwise Arcadia would reply If I treated people like cunts, I'd use a lot more tongue.
"Not usually. You've caught me on a good night."
A scoff. A ding of the elevator and a loud clammering Cass barges in with a young flirty girl in tote. Her red painted nails scratched at his beard while he chuckled and blindly searched for more alcohol.
"I'm going to continue my reading in the Courier's room since he seems to be out for the next few days."
Boone grabbed the bottle of scotch and followed Arcadia away from the dry humping drunkards occupying the kitchen.
Boone locked the door behind her. The last thing they needed was an inebriated Cass barging in with his fix for the evening. She resumed a similar position on the couch, smeared boots up on the coffee table. Arcadia grabbed an old Today's Physician and flipped through, trying to find the article on male sterilization.
"Hate it when he does this," Boone said aloud, seemingly wanting conversation.
"Jealous?"
Another scoff. "Good shot, but not my type."
"Not much for red heads, huh? Maybe you prefer leggy blondes?"
There was a very faint smirk when Boone shrugged and offered Arcadia the scotch.
Well, this is interesting. Arcadia took a sip, licking her lips after, but in no way attempting to be seductive. Yet Boone stared, watching the other woman's movements carefully. The young sniper was drunk and glossy, but nothing shameful. Nothing that caused regrets.
A few more minutes of tense silence as they relaxed on the couches. A sparkling graze of fingers as they passed the alcohol back and forth. Arcadia was comfortably sprawled, far too awake to consider crawling to bed. Boone kept her eyes down, scratching the tight skin of her stomach and rolling her neck.
Their quiet was interrupted again by Cass, jiggling the door handle before grunting and moving on to the next room. Muffled noises and giggles echoed behind Arcadia's head. She rolled her eyes and Boone chuckled out a breath. The sounds pulled out an unfortunate envy from Arcadia. She wasn't attracted to the pretty brunette Cass brought home, but she was attracted to the idea of sharing a night with something other than a book. It was difficult to find a quality woman in New Vegas. Especially since she hadn't been looking. She was just too busy curing cancers and making stimpaks from dirt. Feelings like this usually resulted in a delightful series of risque thoughts and a busy set of fingers.
Instead she was stuck in a room with a sardonic ex-soldier that awkwardly teased the line between friend and flirt. An appealing prospect that resulted in nothing because having a husband kidnapped by the Legion doesn't exactly leave the wife horny and suddenly interested in the same sex.
But a girl can dream, can't she? So while 'reading' her magazine, she took solace in the lack of psykers in the world and imagined Boone's sunburned face between her pale legs. Mouth buried and sweet blue eyes looking up for approval. The brief thought was enough to make her squirm a little.
Cass was the kind of man that developed tunnel vision when in the presence of a potential lay. And that tunnel vision did not cease until about 30 seconds after orgasming into (or onto) that lay. So the two reclining women should not have been surprised when the bed in the next room was slammed repeatedly in the wall directly behind Arcadia.
"Di meliora!" Arcadia grunted in frustration and stood, wobbling for a moment from intoxication.
The two women stared at each other, a miserable moment as one goes through a list of possible decisions to alleviate the unease of hearing a roommate fucking his one night stand.
"Radio?" Arcadia asked and stepped forward. She could have easily walked around the other side of the coffee table, but found herself stopping at Boone's outstretched legs. The younger woman looked up anxiously—opening her mouth to speak, but letting the words stay hidden. Arcadia stepped one leg over Boone's and before she could get the other one across, Boone reached out with a too-sudden jerk of her hand.
The burning of Boone's fingers on her knee was almost enough to drown out Cass's sex noises. A heated flutter expanded through the tall fidgety doctor. The finer effects of the scotch gave her the composure to turn smoothly, and straddle Boone's lap with an expert proficiency.
Time slowed as Arcadia gripped Boone's waist, attempting to calm the quick breaths and tensing jaw. It only made it worse. Boone felt an unbearable fire on her skin as she looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact that would cause eruptions. Her face flushed as if she had been pricked by needles, that strange spurt of adrenaline accompanied the pained touch. The doctor hovered above her, blocking the light and casting a weighted shadow.
Cass was grunting loudly and the woman beneath (or above him) was wailing. More heavy slams into the wall.
Unspoken feelings clawed at Boone's surface. Confusion. Need. Curiosity. It pushed forth threatening to break through her flesh. It took one decision to set the spiral and she still had not decided if it was something she truly desired. There were small pieces of her that felt wrong, but other parts that wanted to meddle, wanted to know.
Arcadia had been here before. Straight girl getting curious from alcoholic influence. Boone was different (Arcadia told herself) because she was actually attracted to the younger woman. She liked something about angry strength and the quiet types. It was such the opposite of who she was and also nearly the same. A conflict of self, life, and environment. Wanting one thing but having it all turn to shit. She dealt with it in her way, and seeing someone take the same lemons of life and suck them dry—it made her eager.
And here she was, stroking Boone's arm empirically, waiting for a deep breath followed by a jut of the chest and—there it was. That tension of carnal need that caused the most interesting physical reactions to contact. No kiss. Just hands exploring the hard tired shape of the woman beneath her, smooth and salted from dried sweat. Boone's hands had retreated to the couch cushions, gripping with white knuckles.
"Geez, am I hurting you?"
Boone shook her head, because she wanted to know. With hesitance, she hooked her fingers in Arcadia's pockets and pulled her closer.
To further test the boiling waters, Arcadia slowly dipped her hand between Boone's thighs, moving lightly to the rhythm of Cass's obnoxious groans. Another wonderful reaction as Boone bit and licked her lips, guardedly clenching her hips forward. Eyes shut tight beneath the dark sunglasses. Her other hand was steady on Boone's ribs, gradually bringing her thumb to the sniper's clothed nipple. Boone bit her lip harder, shut her eyes tighter, moved her fingers from Arcadia's pockets and rested them on the woman's thighs instead. More trembling than resting. More hungry than calm. But still just as wary and hesitant as before.
She was enjoying herself, definitely. She just didn't know how to respond to another woman. Men were easy. The man would finger her while she jerked him off. They'd fuck. It would be over when he came. How did women even have sex without a penis involved? She had a vague notion of it from Corporal Betsy telling stories, but it still didn't make enough sense to her. What did a woman get out of fingering another woman? Oh, your tight pussy made my fingers feel great.
Her confusion stopped when Arcadia began unbuckling her belt and loosening her pants. The hand that was once working above the fabric found it's way beneath her underwear, pulling at the elastic and delicately stroking her clit with one finger. That finger dipped down to her opening and spread wetness between her thick lips before returning to her swollen clit. Back and forth. Up and down. Boone gasped with each pass that was punctuated by the bed banging against the wall. The air was cloudy with sex. The noises from the next room. The soft moans being pulled from her throat by the experienced woman above her. The skin contact. The closeness of another being that she hadn't felt in months.
Two manicured fingers slipped inside of Boone—making her instinctively bite into Arcadia's shoulder with a groan. It was a perfect curling rhythm that kept pace with the drunks next door. Suddenly Boone felt nails digging into her back, guiding her body into Arcadia's deft thrusting fingers.
Arcadia sensed Boone's legs quivering which was a fantastic assurance that she hadn't lost her skill. She shouldn't have been surprised for Boone to be so quiet, though in the back of her mind she had hoped for a little more fury and aggression. What did she expect from a straight girl's first time? Maybe after the second or third fling, when the girl wasn't quite so straight anymore, Arcadia could find a way to make her scream. That was added to her list of goals.
1. Cure cancer.
2. Mass produce affordable stimpaks.
3. Make Boone scream.
Boone came with a light shudder and firm squeeze of her thighs. She settled to slower breaths before finally looking up at Arcadia with nervous eyes. She wanted to return the favor but had no fucking clue what to do.
Arcadia should have been scorning herself for breaking a vow made four years prior during New Years' celebrations. A waitress at the Atomic Wrangler had been her tutor, finalizing a lesson she'd received several times over and only on that night had it sunk in completely.
Stop finger-fucking straight women. They do not have the skills reciprocate and I am too old to be wasting my time trying to teach them.
But instead she found the opportunity to teach to be a positive experience. She can show Boone exactly what she likes, in case their rendezvous repeats itself, and she can quell the frustrating arousal borne from their neighbors' groaning and Boone's pretty pink lips and small sad eyes asking for emotionless comfort. Her night became a storm of deja vu. It was the fall of 2264 all over again as she turned around and sat between Boone's legs, guiding the sniper's hand down.
"Do it like you're doing it to yourself," she twisted her head back and whispered.
It was a strange disconnect for Boone, as she worked without thinking to unbutton Arcadia's pants and guide the zipper down. Instead of feeling the looseness of her pants, she felt Arcadia's back rubbing against her. She worked her clumsy hands into the doctor's underwear and stopped briefly. If she was doing this to herself, she would rub one out quickly, roll over and pass out. Or should she tease the way men had teased her before? Taking their time and chuckling their rough voices in her ear while she moaned, annoyed by the scratching stubble on their chins.
But the order seemed direct enough so she set out to work Arcadia the simple way she worked herself. In the back of her mind, she worried if women were honest in their explicit directions and if she had ever been so explicit with a man before. She had two fingers pressing flat on Arcadia's clit and rubbing in tight circles. Blunt, solid pressure, like it had become second-nature. She didn't bother timing it with the thrusts of Cass in the next room. She didn't respond when Arcadia gripped her knees and threw her head back, grinding her teeth. She nudged the wavy blonde locks out of her face and kept going, a slow burn building in her forearm and wrist.
Arcadia pushed her further into the couch cushion. She was expected a little more work to be put in, but Boone hit the target on the first try. Beginner's luck. Boone moved her fingers at the same speed, never letting them trail south for a more invasive procedure. Or to even spread arousal for more lubricated action. No, she let Arcadia soak into her underwear and tense from the prolonged amplification of potential release.
She could have played with her nipples while Boone stayed busy, but she was enjoying the lack of complex contact. It was as curt as their conversational interactions. No point in dawdling with pleasantries. It was strictly business. She wondered briefly what Boone was like with men. If she was the kind of woman to lay down and let the partner do what he pleased, or if she was a more active participant, hands and mouth and scraping nails. From what she could tell, Boone must have been a fantastic soldier if she was this obedient sexually. No questions, just following commands.
At some point during her thoughts, Cass must have come in, on, or near his nameless fox because the room had become quiet. All she could hear were Boone's heated breaths on her neck and the shallow moans escaping her own throat. She was thirty-five, but felt like a giddy teenager in the back of a blown-out bus. She wanted to explore Boone's body, find the sensitive areas, tease the nape of her neck. Her attraction to Boone was embarrassing, like a school-girl crush. And when the sniper's rough hands finally pulled the orgasm from her, she was all gelatin-bones and giggly.
She relaxed against the young woman behind her, before fastening her pants back. The rush of blood made for jerky movements as she moved to Boone's side. Her stoic friend stood immediately, rushing to redress herself as well. She reached for the door lock and Arcadia had to ask.
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere."
Yep. It was high school all over again. The scotch had sent her back in time, but with more wisdom than she had at 18. She was courting the shortstop of the baseball team, a still-closeted woman with tan skin and crooked teeth. She didn't think that Boone was closeted, but she held her feelings close to her chest and protected them the way a mother held her frail child. Any threat of exposure was met with defensive fury. Arcadia wasn't looking for a way in, but maybe some fun to distract the constant hazard of death and war over the single oasis in the Mojave.
A/N: Prompter wanted a Fem!Booncade. I've never really written either character and I'm not nearly 'articulate' enough to write Arcade. If I ever met the character, I'm certain I'd need a dictionary to understand half of what he would say. But it was fun to write, nonetheless!
also, "Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur" means "It is a wise man who speaks little." and "Di meliora" means "Heaven send us better times"