The Twin Wanderers

'I didn't expect much from him. Why should I have? He was my brother, not my savior, and definitely not my keeper. I wonder if he felt as blinded as I did, the first time I stepped out of the Vault.' - Alicia

Note: This will cross over into New Vegas, eventually. This was originally for a kink meme prompt, but it's sort of turned into this entirely too complicated world of its own, once I began using the twins in a roleplay. I wish that you could select more than four characters, because it involves at least four more, so I only added 'Lone Wanderer' and 'Charon', because it's who we're starting out with. To clarify, however, this is about twins. This will likely change as time goes on. Butch, Raul and the Courier will eventually join them. If violence isn't your thing I'd probably stop reading this now.

When Alicia stepped into Underworld, she was terrified and thin. Altogether too tired of the Wasteland, her Vault-issued jumpsuit was in tatters. When given hints on where to find 'hired help' for her journey, she almost died where she stood. Living dead people... In Megaton, she'd met one of them. A slave, apparently named Gob, who worked for a disgusting man with an odd accent. Though she was nice to her, the fact that he still said 'don't hurt me' so often tore at her in a way that didn't often happen, after witnessing the blatant child abuse of Amata by her father not only during she and her brother's escape but for years prior to the event, like sick whispers echoing in the sorrowful metal walls.

In Rivet City, her brother Jace was drinking himself to sleep in one of the empty beds. Weeks ago, when he himself was looking for their wayward father, a few things had been discovered and some vicious truths said. He'd long-since burned his own jumpsuit, deeming it disgusting prison wear or, more appropriately, his death attire. In some space of his mind, however irrational he was becoming, he tried to forgive Alicia. After all, it was easy for him to get the wool pulled over his eyes about what kind of man their father was and how fragile life in that damned sardine can actually was. It was only natural she'd follow their father, as caring for the populous that didn't give a shit as he was.

Better off in the sardine can, indeed.

Alicia didn't go straight to the Ninth Circle, and Charon wasn't always under Ahzrukhal's controlling, scrutinizing glare. She'd met a female ghoul named Tulip, who could almost taste the fear on her. Trembling and twitching, the skinny vaultie calmed down when she bought a beer or two and they began to talk. Charon, while she went to sleep for the night, went to another woman named Willow who'd unfortunately already made her judgments of the smoothskin before they'd even said a word to each other.

Paradise Lost tucked under her arm, Alicia found an empty bed of her own and tried to sleep. Willow and Charon had an unspoken sort of relationship, the woman able to find a warmth and odd love in the muscled ghoul's growling and oddly displaced emotions.

Maybe, he could have said he loved her, if he hadn't spent a good chunk of his life under different 'employers'. The beginning of his life had been filled with torture and subliminal programming, trained with weapons and told not to feel for as long as he'd remembered, before Ahzrukhal got a hold of his contract. He didn't talk about that part of his life and she never asked, respecting the mutual discomfort about their pasts. It didn't matter how he felt about it, because for the moment he was out of that damn corner in the drug dealer's bar. He had an attractive woman in his lap who knew how to touch him and ease the pulsing emptiness in his chest.

"I've got a really strange feeling," said Willow when she leaned up and against him. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. "Don't you?"

It depended entirely on what kind of 'strange feelings' she was talking about. "Strange feeling?"

Their kisses were usually rushed and sloppy but that night it was slow and dedicated, however messy those kisses remained. Without warning, she'd slipped between Charon's legs and peered up at him, giving him the smile that almost felt better to him than killing. But only almost.

"I think you're going to be leaving soon."

Oh, so what if she was prophesying over a Vault dweller's intentions and reasons for being there? She was dusty and had hair longer than she'd seen in a very, very long time. It was so obvious what she was there for. If Willow hadn't have felt bad for her, she probably would have felt offended by the usual stereotype of dangerous, feral ghoul men and women. However, the girl's face wasn't one of bigotry. Her eyes screamed exhaustion and the way she carried herself wasn't much of an improvement. It didn't take a rocket scientist to determine she desperately needed help.

It'd only be a matter of time, in reality, before Ahzrukhal's disgusting hands would have a hold on that one. "I'm not leavin'," Charon gruffly said. "You been drinking tonight?"

"Have you?"

Before he could answer, she'd gotten his dick out and he couldn't quite think too hard about anything as she teased him. Always, she did this; Seeing how far she could push him, before his feet theoretically dug themselves into the ground, five feet from the edge of the narrow cliff that was his patience.

"I think you know that answer already. You're smart."

He shuddered as nails scraped lightly over the skin that was left in the small of his lower back. So, she really meant to push him. If he were a different man, he would've called it exciting, but for the most part, he called it normal and felt right at home. As she ran her tongue along his prick and looked at him with a gaze he adored, he was always reminded of the first few times he'd done this with her in the on-again, off-again relationship that was his empty shell of an abused life.

Somehow, Willow had caught onto him as though she'd known his body all her life. Taking almost all of it down her throat, she'd never choked or gagged but three times. The fourth, she had him memorized, and figured out a breathing pattern. He couldn't say he loved her, though he did try. Whenever the word was on the tip of his tongue he felt both scared, compelled away from it or was extremely confused. She didn't mind, though. Though there was nothing anybody could (or wanted) to do against Ahzrukhal, she at least intended to try to make it a bit better for him.

He managed to never pull what hair she had left in that ponytail or to simply fuck her mouth. Their sex was never gentle, but this time it seemed a bit different. She couldn't keep her eyes on his and though she took very good care of him that night, actually swallowing his cum instead of spitting, he knew something was off. Ghoul women were able to tolerate the taste because they could barely taste anything, any of them.

They barely talked that night, drinking and smoking cigarettes as they usually did. And as Jace finally blacked out from his liquor, miles and miles away on the boat he'd come to hate in the years to come, Alicia had finally fallen asleep and the tight fetal position she'd curled herself into relaxed into a slight curvature upon the dirty mattress she slept upon.

Willow never said goodbye and neither did he, but something felt very wrong and this odd, unknown choking sensation settled itself in his throat. When he returned to the Ninth Circle, Ahzrukhal still (thankfully) passed out from the drugs he dealt, he stood in his corner and thought about what little they'd said to each other.