Another Charon fic. I'm working on another Predators fic, but this idea grasped me and wouldn't let go, so here it is!
The title is from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Forsaken.
Charon glared at the impudent little girl now staring up at him expectantly.
"Go spe-."
"Nah-uh-uh. Got your contract, big guy." She grinned at him, revealing too white teeth in her too soft face. He shifted at her words, actually looking at her and finally noticing the sheet of paper she was brandishing.
"You now own my contract?" he asked, uncrossing his arms. She nodded and leaned forward, hair falling over her shoulder and hiding her face from the world, looking up at him conspiratorially. "So what say we blow this popsicle stand?" she said.
"Wait here," Charon said abruptly, moving past her to his former master. He didn't hear what the shit eater said, just saw the familiar liquid grin before the head dissolved into a fine mist of gore and bone.
When he returned to her, her jaw was hanging open, brown eyes wide. She looked between him and the bloody pulp decorating the back wall and part of the liquor cabinet. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.
"He was a bad person," he said, explanation done. She raised her eyebrows and blinked a few times before shaking herself and nodding at him. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it and turned around.
He followed obediently.
Before they stepped out of the Museum, she stopped and turned to him, brown eyes searching his face. Charon scowled down at her, the scowl deepening when her lips pulled into a grin, eyes bright with some sort of secret mirth. She never said anything, but Charon had a feeling he'd just passed some sort of silent test.
"You know, if I'm being stupid, you can tell me. And I've been told I'm terribly loquacious at times, overly so, sometimes, so you can also tell me to shut up if it gets to be too annoying."
Charon glanced up from where he was gutting a mole rat, the thick blood running down hill and away from them. "Where did that come from?" he asked, centuries of forced politeness and silence exhibiting in him etiquette he felt nothing for.
She shrugged, staring at him, tracing patterns in the hard dirt with a stick. "Just, I read your contract and it makes you out to be a programmable doll. I don't want that, I don't like that. You have a brain, you can use it. Just don't kill me and always lie if I'm worried about my weight; other than that, your mind, actions, and words are your own."
Charon finished gutting the rat, slicing off a hank and passing her the raw meat. She smiled and tipped her head slightly before tearing into the meat, clean little teeth digging into the tough piece of flesh, mouth and jaw working to masticate it.
"Deal?" she asked, words slightly muffled as she tried to swallow her food.
"Deal," Charon replied, tearing into his own meat. "And don't fucking talk with your mouth full."
She grinned at him, a slightly macabre sight with blood staining her teeth.
"Hey, so why's your name Charon?"
He grunted, helping her up a rocky cliff face. She brushed herself off when she finally stood at the top and gazed around before consulting her Pip-Boy. She pointed west and they continued on to Vault-Tec Headquarters.
"Someone had a sense of humour, I guess?" she continued.
He grunted again, scanning the horizon. She followed behind him, stumbling slightly to keep up with his long strides. He slowed down just a bit, glancing sideways to find her watching him. She stumbled again and he rolled his eyes. "Keep your gaze ahead," he growled, "and you won't fucking trip all the time."
She grinned at him. "In other words, shut the fuck up." He grunted and she laughed.
She was actually a pretty good shot. Shit at hand to hand, but observed by a professional sniper, she seemed to know what she was doing. Didn't mean she wasn't a naïve idiot.
"You don't have much purified water," Charon pointed out when they were leaving Rivet City, the bum at the top of the stairs quenching his thirst with her hard earned water. She turned around and frowned, a small smile playing at her lips.
"You only drink irradiated," she said, turning back to navigate the ramp.
Charon rolled his eyes. "I meant for you, jackass."
She snorted, bouncing slightly when she got to the ground. She hated not having her feet on dirt, Charon noticed. She said it was a hold-over from the vault, that there were places she could see the rock that surrounded her home and it was comforting to know that home was always near. She got antsy when she couldn't feel the earth beneath her toes and hated staring at the sky because she said it made her feel nauseous.
"I'm fine. I've got Rad-x, and, besides, I rarely see him, I doubt many others have the resources that I have, and it makes me feel good." She turned to him and reached out, tugging on his hand as they made their way to the Jefferson Memorial, one more step toward the X on her treasure map. That was another thing, the touching. She did it with everyone. It had at first weirded him out, how she would lean over and brush her hand over his skin. Then he noticed she did that with everybody, although she would usually lay a hand on their arm or shoulder instead of just lightly caressing. He never asked and she either didn't want to explain or it was so subconscious she didn't even realize she did it.
He picked up the pace and she hummed, annoyed at the radio but addicted to the music. When he'd suggested one day, after three straight hours of off-key humming, that she listen to the music and shut it off when Three Dog came on, she'd informed him it was the principle of the thing. But she'd stopped humming for a couple of days.
"So, hey."
Charon stopped and turned to the girl, she bouncing on her toes, brown eyes bright with mirth. God help him but he was getting used to her moods, and this mood was firmly in the 'prepare to laugh, cause I'm gonna' category.
"So, two clowns are eating a cannibal…wait, no. Okay, wait."
Charon grumbled and turned back around, starting forward again. She followed along behind him as she gathered her thoughts. "Okay, two cannibals are eating a clown. One turns to the other and says, 'Does this taste funny to you?'"
She snorted, amused at her own joke. Charon shook his head, not quite sure where the hell she got this shit.
"Okay, fine. Did you know protons have mass? I didn't even know they were Catholic." Charon sighed, scanning the landscape and pointedly ignoring her. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, one of displeasure.
"Seriously. That one made me giggle for so long. Heh, I still get a kick out of it. Okay, okay, okay. Did you know the best con-."
Charon snarled, cutting her off abruptly. Turning on her, he was surprised to see a large grin on her face. She bit her lower lip and watched him with her bright brown eyes. She tilted her head and stared at him, as if silently urging him.
Charon gritted his teeth, unwilling to give in to an order even when it was for his own good but when she opened her mouth, he submitted. "Just shut up," he ground out.
She raised her finger to her lips and walked forward, humming to herself. Charon shook his head and followed. Hopefully her father had a better sense of humour.
He wasn't quite sure what to do. They'd cleared out the mutants from the Gift Shop and the sub-basement, and now she'd locked herself into what looked like a bedroom after loading a holotape onto her Pip-Boy.
Charon sat at the door, shot gun ready but he knew no one was coming down those steps. The building was empty and it was going to stay that way, the super mutant infestation too well known to draw raiders. He couldn't hear anything but she'd specifically asked him not to disturb her, and even though it wasn't necessarily an order, it was still an essential part of himself to accommodate his master. Even though she hated that term.
"Charon?"
He tensed, her voice a little tight and too high. Fuck. "Yeah?" he rasped, hoping to hell she wouldn't call him in. Because she was crying, or had been, and he didn't know how to deal with that and didn't want to.
There was silence. He waited, worry starting to gnaw at him before her voice called out, slightly stronger but with a weary edge. "Just checking."
He nodded, knowing she couldn't see him but suspecting she didn't want an answer. They spent the night there, her quietly locked in the room, he stoically sitting watch.
"I'd never heard her voice before," she said softly, a small fire crackling between them and illuminating the rotting and dirty wood of the greeting desk in the Gift Shop. "I always imagined…I don't know. You know, when you dream and you have the dream in your head but you can't articulate it? I'd always imagined, but I could never realize it."
Charon stared at the fire, trying not to get drawn into her odd stream of consciousness. She sighed, knees drawn up to her chest. "He's in a vault somewhere. Or, that's where he said he was going, at least. Don't know if he's still there; he was supposed to be here." The firelight played over her dark hair, casting her eyes into deeper shadow and making her look more skeletal than she really was.
"You need to eat more," Charon offered, glancing at her. She cocked her head, resting her cheek on her knee, and looked over at him. Her eyes were slightly hooded with exhaustion.
"Need to find better food." She smiled softly when he snorted. Charon watched her shift and lay down on the floor, cushioning her head in the crook of her arm. One of her booted feet pushed through the debris until her sole pressed against his thigh, a sigh escaping her lips. He placed a hand on her ankle, watching the fire and listening to the crackle.
Charon stared up at Tenpenny Tower, a sneer plastered onto his face. She was looking up at it as well, her expression a little more pensive.
"It's very phallic, isn't it?"
Charon snorted. She continued. "I've met him, tried to get me to blow up Megaton." Her face twisted into a grimace, something like pain flitting across her eyes and tightening her mouth. "Fucker deserved it." Charon looked at her, but she'd already turned away.
"But I won't let Roy Phillips destroy innocent lives and I can't convince their bigoted asses to share the large space, so they'll just have to deal." She turned away and consulted her Pip-Boy, continuing on toward the vault hidden in some garage. Charon stared up at the building once more before turning and following her.
This was torture. Absolute fucking torture. She was in that glass death trap, the tranquility lounger, and her stats were fluctuating madly, her stress levels reported as EXTREME. He paced, watching through the tinted glass as her fingers twitched, her face hidden by the screen inside the pod.
Whatever was happening, he couldn't help and he was left outside, again. She did that a lot, although usually just figuratively, her brain working at a puzzle and locking him out. She didn't seem to do it intentionally, but she valued her independence, so fuck knew why she had him following her around. Better than standing in a corner and shit kicking drunks, though. A hell of a lot better than biting pillows when Arzrukhul got it into his head that Charon needed to be reminded of the hierarchy. There was none, no possible way to get one; Charon was a slave, pure and simple and though he hated the term and all its implications, he found out early on bitterness was a hard pill to swallow when it accompanied beaten pride.
But the little girl was different. She frowned whenever he pulled out the 'yes maam' crap and rolled her eyes whenever he asked permission to give a suggestion. He'd spent two centuries with no outlet for his thoughts except violence, and now that he was pretty much free to do and say whatever he wanted, he found he still preferred violence. She didn't seem to mind, though, always finding a smirk for him when their eyes met over ruined bodies. He found himself studying her more and more, watching her in whatever she was doing. She wasn't beautiful, he decided one day as she carefully repaired her Ranger armour with some from the Talon Company. They were sitting in a Metro, close to the gate and her tongue stuck out slightly, touching her toplip, as she patiently welded the metal together. Her messy dark hair slid in front of her eyes and she impatiently blew it away. She never ordered him to do anything, preferring to take care of personal things herself. She wasn't beautiful, but, in an odd backwards way, she'd become his merely by length of association. And he was hers by choice.
He'd gotten used to not doing anything he didn't want to and now he might lose that little bit of freedom. He wasn't sure he could do that; he'd never had it before so the thought was just a half-coherent dream, something, as the girl said, he could never actually realize. But now that he'd had it, had the ability to insult and suggest and stay quiet on his own terms, he wasn't sure he could accept being figuratively tied up again.
So he sat down and waited, telling himself it was his own fate that weighted him down with worry.
She was more talkative with her father, her brown eyes constantly finding his, her hand tugging at his arm, sleeve, hand, anything within reach and decorum. For James' part he seemed just as happy, though his was more sedate. And though there was an air of disapproval when he'd met Charon, he was polite and inquisitive, a father's caution for his daughter. And he had the same sense of stupid humour, much to the little family's shared amusement and Charon's chagrin.
It was during one night while her father slept that she turned to him, leaning against the wall of an overpass, the thick cement hiding them from the world. "Thank you," she whispered, pressing her lips to his ruined cheek, soft mouth warm and wet against the leather of his skin and exposed muscle.
Charon tensed in the darkness, moonlight unable to penetrate their little hidey-hole and the Wasteland too dangerous to light a fire. Her lips lingered, hand pressing against his thigh for leverage, chest almost touching his arm, brushing his bicep with every inhale. He waited for her to move, she waited for he didn't know what.
Her hair moved over his skin when she turned her face, fitting her body against his, forehead resting on his shoulder. He heard her take a deep breath and let it out on a yawn. He sat there, watching the clouds move across the sky and feeling her warmth pressing into his arm. He felt something stir and glanced down at her messy hair resting against his shoulder. He didn't notice that his hand had moved until he saw it pressing against her hair. He flinched away, swallowing when she made a small sighing noise at the movement. By the time she and her father woke, Charon had moved her onto a blanket and taken up watch a few feet away. She'd glanced at him once, something painful flitting over her face before he looked away, muscle jumping in his jaw.
She and her father sat in the mezzanine, her dark head bent close to his salt and pepper one. No one spared him a word or glance, preferring to ignore the large ghoul scowling in a corner. She hadn't spoken to him in days, besides the necessities.
Her father didn't notice anything, or didn't let on. She'd avoided him, hard thing to do but James wasn't aware of their previous dynamic and that made things easier. Charon was at a loss, not quite sure if he should be missing her or not. He was still under her contract, still able to do basically anything he damn well wanted to as long as he didn't leave, but it seemed wrong.
She laughed, her father smiling at her, an old, water stained blue print laid out between them on the grated floor. Charon's jaw clenched, muscle jumping in his cheek. They continued to speak, now tracing some path on the blue prints.
She glanced up at him, a small crease appearing between her brows. He scowled back. Her father said something and brushed a hand over her hair, a smile on his face. She stood and made her way over, brushing by him as she spoke.
"We need to check fuses and flood gates."
Charon nodded and adjusted his shot gun, following her silently.
She fiddled with the fuse box, her father's smooth baritone gliding through the speakers and asking them to come back up for more instructions. She stood at the fuse panel, gripping the little pieces of plastic.
She breathed out deeply and turned to Charon, eyes averted. "Um, about the other day," she began, twisting her fingers even as she tried bravely to meet his gaze, her eyes flitting between his and the wall behind him. "Listen, I…I'm sorry. It was an invasion of privacy and I shouldn't have assumed anything."
Charon stood still, ramrod straight and stiff as she babbled through her apology, face flushing every time she met his milky gaze. "Um, so, yeah, listen. Once this is all done, when we have everything settled and the purifier's up and running, you…I guess you're fired? Free? Not now," she said quickly, raising her hands when he narrowed his eyes. "Just, is that how it works?"
Charon stood there, breathing shallowly when he felt something squeeze in his chest when she spoke of his freedom. She looked up at him and he suddenly realized she wanted a response. Nodding curtly, he gave her a sharp "Yes," not meeting her eyes.
She sighed and searched him, biting her lip in that way that meant she was dying to ask him something. Thankfully, her father interrupted, cautiously asking if all was well and could they please come up soon? She stood there, indecisive for a moment before leaning forward and gripping one of his fingers and tugging. Charon followed behind her, feeling that something had fallen back into place.
"What's he doing?" Li asked, panicked. Charon ignored her, focussed on the girl as she pounded at the glass, running back and forth between the airlock controls and door, desperately trying to get something to move. He watched as the reactor blew up, toxic green gases filling the room, bodies dropping to the floor.
She was on her knees at the glass, tears trailing down her face and marking their path through the grime. He heard James' gasped good bye and the anguished sob before Li's panicked voice cut through it all, urging them into action.
She needed more time. Charon was about to snap at the doctor when he felt a hand grip his forearm and looked down at bloodshot brown eyes. Her mouth was set, face pale and traced by white lines of pain and determination. She nodded at him and cocked her repeater, the long, antiquated rifle hefted easily into her arms. Li turned and ran down the steps, shouting about some underground tunnel system. The girl couldn't control a sob as she ran after Li, though, a strange, unattractive hiccough that had Charon clenching his jaw and swallowing.
She was brutal. Everything he'd seen, all her shots up until that moment seemed like target practice. She was methodical and mechanic, raising the gun, firing, hitting the target, and repeating. Her feet moved rhythmically, eyes ahead, stopping only to dole out Stimpaks.
She didn't stop, just kept moving and Charon knew what she was doing, had done it himself a million times. But she was going to stop, and he needed her to be okay when she did. She was glassy-eyed, staring ahead even when spoken to. Charon nodded curtly at the initiate who showed them her room, ignoring the look when he followed her inside.
She stared around, shocked at finding herself at a dead end. Charon moved forward, leather armour creaking, the sound obscenely loud in the small room. She turned to him and frowned, a look of confusion on her face, emotions flitting behind her eyes. She opened her mouth, her gaze unfocussed as she tried to work through her thoughts. Closing her mouth abruptly, she looked around, walked to the desk and opened a drawer.
Charon watched as she threw up, stepping forward and holding back the hair that had slipped from her ponytail and was dangerously close to collecting bits of vomit. She gripped the drawer, her body heaving, neck muscles straining as she simultaneously tried to sob and throw up. When she finished, she collapsed, small body sagging against Charon's chest.
He closed the drawer and wrapped his arms around her. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stood there as she clung to him, mouth open against his armour, sobs muffled by the leather. Guiding her to the bed, he clumsily sat the both of them down, her arms never loosening around his waist. When he was leaning against the wall, supporting the both of them, she climbed onto his lap and buried her face in his neck. Her tears were warm and wet, her breath gasping out of her with every sob and she clung to him.
It took awhile, her body stilling and breath quieting before she'd begin again. They dozed in and out between her bouts of grief, his back pressing into the metal wall, her front pressing to his chest.
They were on their way to find the G.E.C.K, one week after her father's death. She turned to him, brown eyes dull but still pulling up at the corners when she smiled. It seemed wrong, like opening the curtains on an abandoned stage; there was nothing there to see. The passion that always lit her up, the zest that threatened to overtake him some days, was missing, leaving her hollow. He swallowed, not quite sure how much longer he could take it.
"I think I'm tired," she finally admitted one night as they lay underneath a large car fort, watching the stars blink into existence, then wink away with a passing cloud.
"Then sleep," Charon grumbled, his hands laced behind his head, long body stretched out on the dirty ground.
"Not that kind of tired," she informed him, her voice soft. Charon tensed and turned his head, finding her eyes in the dark. "I'm not quite sure what to do," she admitted, the dirt grinding slightly as she turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand. There was nonchalance in her voice, an odd sort of relaxation mixed with a bemused confusion. "I just feel…empty. Like, I can't be the hero anymore. How? How do people push through it, how can they continue to help when they can't feel?"
Charon sat up and crawled over to her, laying down and gathering her close. He'd avoided touching for the past few days, because touching was confusing and confusion made him antsy. But she needed him, so he pushed the discomfort away and held her close, rough fingers running through her hair as he tried to comfort her.
"The thing about a hero," he began, his voice rough, "is even when it doesn't look like there's a light at the end of the tunnel, he's going to keep digging, he's going to keep trying to do right and make up for what's gone before, just because that's who he is." He held her tighter, watching the stars and clouds. She was quiet, her breathing even and deep and if it weren't for the wetness spreading over his bicep, he would have thought she was asleep.
"Who said that?" she asked when the tears finally stopped, her hand clutching onto the straps of his armour.
"A friend, a long time ago." He listened to her breathe and let his own eyes drift shut.
The next day, as they were passing the campgrounds on the way to Little Lamplight, she stopped and turned to him. Peering up at his face with her shuttered eyes, she leaned up, hand on his chest, cheek brushing his chin. Pressing her lips to his jaw, she whispered, "Thank you."
He swallowed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her tight for a moment. She relaxed into him and Charon was afraid she would cry again. But she pulled back, and when she did he caught a glimmer of something in her eyes. It wasn't enough, but it was a start.
She'd left him. Or asked him to leave. They were standing outside the entrance to Vault 87, and she turned to him. "Charon." She'd stopped and stared at him with her eerily empty eyes, the brightness still hidden behind veils of pain. "Charon," she continued, "I can't let you do this with me." She said that with such finality, the fatalism lurking in her psyche finally pushing forward.
Charon clenched his jaw. "Don't have much of a fucking choice," he growled, turning and pushing the rickety door open. Because he'd forgotten, she'd made him forget. But now, now she took a deep breath. "Charon, wait for me at Underworld." She flinched when he turned on her and held his gaze bravely. "That's an order."
He froze, his body snapping to a routine attention, mind slammed back into a cage left open for so long, he had forgotten it was there. He stared at her, but she was avoiding him again, her mouth twisting down into a pained frown.
As he left, feet taking him to the familiar hell hole, he thought it might be worth it just to have seen the emotion return to her face.
He sat at Carol's nursing a shitty scotch in a chipped glass. Greta leaned against the counter, sketching as she usually was. Carol bustled around in the back, occasionally pausing to slide him a glance filled with sympathy, careful not to linger too long because she hated offending anybody.
Three fucking weeks. Three weeks since she'd sent him away, and absolutely nothing. She said to wait for her, which implied she was coming back for him. She had to, because he didn't know what to do without her. He kept hearing things, the radio announcing old news for the world to hear, but nothing about where she was at that moment.
He'd spent the first week sitting outside Underworld, elbows propped on bent knees, hands hanging between his legs as he waited for the Museum doors to open and the petite shape to be highlighted in the entrance. Then Greta had suggested, during one of her smoke breaks, that maybe he should be in fighting shape when the girl returned. So he'd bunked at Carol's, eating the food and listening to the woman prattle and hum, unable to convince himself that the twisting in his gut was due to shitty food.
He didn't know when it happened, probably sometime outside that little bedroom where she reassured herself of his company, half understood underneath that car fort, but he realized, to his chagrin, that he'd developed feelings for the vaultie. It was odd, he decided, and annoying, the feeling of his intestines curling, a hot ball of nausea pressing against his stomach everyday she didn't show.
Carol, being that sort, waited for the restaurant to empty before pulling up a stool. She waited and he spoke, nothing flowery or verbose or romantic; just the pragmatic, bare bones insecurity and slight resentment. Carol patted him on the back and left him with a reassuring word. She arrived two days later, her eyes brighter.
He didn't speak to her. She seemed to be in a rush, but he was only just dealing with his revelations and newly awoken passions, and, for some reason, she waited for him although she couldn't have known why.
So when he found her sitting on his rented bed, eyes bright like they used to be, he couldn't help himself. He yelled, thankful the door was closed but doubting it would muffle his voice. "What the fuck were you thinking? Were you? You sent me away! You could have fucking died and…and-fuck!" She jerked back, eyes wide before they lowered to gaze at the ruined bed sheets, holes torn in the flowery material, permanent stains ruining the pattern of roses.
He grabbed her upper arms, forcing her to look at him. "I'm here to protect you, you idiot," he hissed, his grip bruising. He could feel her muscles jumping underneath his hands, her brown eyes narrowing in pain every time he shook her. But she stayed silent, watching him as he finally let all the rage, hurt, indecision and confusion out.
"I can't do that if I'm not with you. What the fuck would I have done? Where would I go? What if you had died? I would be here, wondering where you were, sitting here and you would never have come back." Charon was shaking now, fingers digging into her arms. "You…you wouldn't have come back."
She was breathing hard, her brown eyes closed and it infuriated him. Grabbing her hair, he jerked her head back, her eyes flying open with the pain, mouth parting on a gasp. He swallowed, sick and tired of thinking, and leaned down, crushing his lips over hers.
He had only done this a couple of times before, and only under the will of the contract, so to feel her smooth hands grip his arms, her slick lips move against his, was heaven to both his ego and libido.
He released her hair and fell to his knees, hands smoothing down her trembling back and underneath her butt, gripping the cloth covered cheeks and pulling her closer. He thought back to what Azrukhul would make him do, disgust and hatred threatening to overtake the situation and he wondered if she truly wanted this or if this was a penance for her. Before he could pull back, she moaned, her tongue playing at the seam of his lips. Her hands released his arms and wound around his neck. She tilted her head and he took the invitation, pushing his tongue against hers, feeling her nails dig into the nape of his neck.
He fumbled with the button of her khaki pants, his hands shaking with need and emotion. She deserved better, he thought when he tore her pants and underwear off and undid his lower armour enough to pull his erection out. But she wasn't slowing him down, and he'd wanted this for weeks.
He quickly ran a finger through her folds, finding her wet and hot. She gasped into his mouth when he pushed a finger inside of her, quickly followed by another that had her whining. She was tight, the thought of her virginity crossing his mind. He broke the kiss and pulled back, gasping. She ran her hands up and down his biceps, the action at once soothing and urging, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
"Are you-?"
She nodded before he finished, a flush spreading across her face. Her hands tightened minutely with embarrassment. "Yeah. Just-just slow, alright?" Charon nodded, gently tugging her shirt off. She raised her arms, the material catching on her fingertips before it was discarded with her underwear and pants. She was still sitting and him still kneeling on the floor with his armour on. She made to take it off, but he didn't want to feel self-conscious right now, the moment already too infused with so much. So he grabbed her wrists and placed her hands on his erection, enjoying the way her eyes widened and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
Easing a finger back into her, then another, he stretched her, listening to her gasps and moans. Her small hand pulled on his cock, and when she tried to look down, he captured her lips in a kiss. His free hand came up and cupped her breast, pinching the hard nipple. He savoured her deep moan, her small hand sliding on his cock and squeezing slightly every time he twisted his fingers inside her. Moaning and wishing he were better at the romantics, he shuffled forward, her hand leaving him and pressing into the mattress behind her, bracing herself and tilting her pelvis. Her other reached up and gripped his shoulder, fingernails digging into his thick skin.
He lined himself up, her entrance hot and wet. He brushed the head against her, pressing into her clit and eliciting a high moan from her. With a swallow, he grasped her hip and began to ease himself in, groaning at the tight heat enveloping him. She gasped and tensed when the head popped in and Charon stopped, giving her time to get used to the intrusion. She breathed deep before she opened her eyes and nodded. Her thighs squeezed his hips, lean muscle pulling him closer.
Charon pulled out slightly before pushing more of his cock into her, convinced he was going to come then and there. She cried out, legs lifting to wrap around his waist, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other stayed planted on the bed. Her head dropped, chin resting on her chest. He felt some resistance and pushed, hearing her gasp as her hymen broke.
He pulled out again and pushed back in, her legs tensing around him when he pressed flush against her pelvis, her slick wetness spreading around the base of his cock. He waited, breathing hard, his knees protesting against the hard marble floor. When she leaned up and kissed him, he shifted slightly, gripping her butt and pulling her closer before lifting her, his armour creaking when he moved them up onto the bed. On her back, she wrapped her legs around him and he shifted, his cock moving within her.
She cried out, fingernails digging into his shoulders, hands moving, trying to find a purchase on the rough leather. He pulled out and thrust back in, a growl escaping his throat when her muscles tightened around him. She pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, arms wrapped around his neck.
Charon held her close, his armour probably rough against her bare skin, her dark hair comforting and cool. He buried his face in her hair, took a breath, and began to fuck her. Pulling out, he slammed back in, his grunts muffled by her hair, his loud curses mingling with her louder groans and cries. She held onto him, a litany of 'yes'es and 'fuck's rolling off her tongue and encouraging his hips. He felt the sheets slide underneath his knees, the bed springs creaking with their movements.
He couldn't last long, her body too tight and hot and wet. But she needed to come and he was so close. Charon grasped her hips and lifted them off the bed slightly, changing the angle. She cried out, her head pressing into the mattress as her body arched. She cried his name, ending on a slight sob when he came right after her, snapping his hips into hers roughly as he filled her.
He shucked his armour when her eyes started to drift closed, her bee-stung lips curled into a soft smile.
They woke a few hours later, still groggy and high from the sex. She parted her legs and he nestled between her thighs, strong arms holding her close, face buried in her dark hair. It was slow and quick, their passionate cries replaced with muted groans and breathy sighs. He reached down and lifted one of her legs, nipping her earlobe when she came. He controlled himself, the sex beginning to wake him up. Pulling out, he smiled at her whimper, nudging her. She blinked at him, sleep still fogging her eyes, and turned over onto her stomach.
Charon lifted her hips slightly, settling between her parted legs and entering her again. She gasped at the new position, whining when every thrust pushed against that little bundle of nerves, her clitoris stimulated by the rough cloth of the bedspread. Charon panted into her ear, quickening the pace, feeling her begin to tighten around him again.
"Mmm, cum with me," she panted, and if he'd been capable of speech, Charon would have informed her he didn't have a choice. When she came with a throaty moan, her face turned to the side so he could kiss her, he pushed deep into her, coming.
They left that afternoon.
He loved her, he decided, watching her follow behind a giant tin can yelling about communism. Through thick and thin, he loved her and he hoped she knew that. He'd watched her do favours and save lives, at first chalking it up to naivety, then to her need to do good, before realizing she actually got a kick out of helping people. He'd seen her beat down slavers and free androids, all with the growing ball of oddness in his abdomen he now recognized as passion and emotion for the pretty little girl from the vault. He loved her, was pretty sure she loved him, and when this was all over, he couldn't wait to drag her away into some dark corner and fuck her until they were both boneless and incapable of thought.
They fought through the Jefferson Memorial again, Enclave soldiers just as easy to take down as Super Mutants. She ran into the mezzanine, Autumn there to give her one last chance. She could have given him one as well, but even though she was a saint on a daily basis, she was still controlled by mortal whims and emotions. Charon wasn't surprised when she shot Autumn down without a word, the expression of anger and surprise on the Colonel's face slightly ruined when the top right part of his skull disappeared.
Sarah Lyons was there at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide and panicked. "We need to manually start the purifier!" she yelled above the noise. Charon frowned at her, the sentinel's words taking awhile to sink in. He looked around and found the girl staring into the greenish haze of the purifier, a look of resolution hardening her features.
"Fuck no," Charon yelled, grabbing her arm. She turned, anguish and resolve on her face. He shook her, knowing the radiation would kill her, was pretty sure that level would turn him feral, but he preferred losing himself to losing her.
"I have to," she yelled back, glancing at the door where Sarah dispatched a rogue Enclave soldier. Charon gripped her tightly, gaze moving between her and the room where her father still lay, prone form moved slightly. He stared at her and she bit her lip. "Charon." He watched her as she faltered, the klaxon blaring loudly, Sarah yelling somewhere in the front room. It was just them, and it was so fucking unfair that this seemed like a good-bye.
She leaned up and kissed him, her lips wet and salty. "Stay here," she ordered, and he felt his limbs lock with the command, staring at her helplessly as she moved away from him.
He watched her open the door then, just before she stepped inside, she turned to him and offered a sad smile.
"Charon?" He looked up, hoping she'd changed her mind, knowing he could easily take her place without any effects to his body, just more disintegration inside his mind. But she would never do that, because good people were only good because they refused every other option.
"I love you and," her smiled widened slightly, tears spilling down her cheeks, "you're fired."
It took him a moment to register her words, but he could feel his limbs again, moved from his position and felt himself truly free. But it was a moment wasted. He ran to the glass door, watching as she retched, Rad-x and Rad-Away pouring into her system.
Then she was typing and the alarm changed, a more even sound filling the Memorial building. Bubbles started to rise up around the statue of Thomas Jefferson and she slumped against the console, poison and exertion sapping her strength. Charon slammed on the door, yelling. She turned and smiled, her face wan and pale, lines of pain carved across her brow and bracketing her eyes. But her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were flushed like they'd been that night, beautiful even when she collapsed and leaned her forehead against the thick glass.
He fell to his knees, ignorant of the brightening in the mezzanine, the computers overloading, electricity arcing around the little space like bright blue gates. Somewhere far away, something exploded and he could feel a buzzing energy moving through his system. She pressed her hand against the glass, one last Rad-Away entering her system. Charon was breathing hard; he didn't think he'd find a better moment than staring into her eyes and breathing freely, watching her brown eyes stare at him with such commitment. He pressed his hand over hers, pushing hard against the glass and imagining her warmth.
It was suddenly too bright and the alarm cut off abruptly.
Without the Broken Steel add-on, the player dies. Even if they make Fawkes or Charon go in, the game still ends and I sort of think that anything caught in the mezzanine gets 'sploded, somehow.
I had to get this out because it was interfering with my essay ideas. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
As always, R&R supremely appreciated.