Excerpt #3
"I just want to set a flame in your heart,"
After finding out about her rather...unfortunate incident with Vulpes Inculta, Boone changes. The shift is infintesimal, minute. Had she not been made hyper-aware by her raw emotions, she would've never noticed. It isn't something that's polite in common conversation, or to even think about. So she tries not to.
Hawkins tries not to think about how he touches her more than he used to. More than he safely should.
Trailing behind him as they make their way to Camp Mccarran, the Courier inspects the back of his head as if it did her harm. The robot is off inspecting some dead coyote, out of her way as she prefers it. Now there's nothing to distract her from very carefully not thinking about the way Boone's hand brushed her waist this morning.
Or the way his thigh brushed her shoulder as he spotted for her two days ago.
She shuddered and amped up the volume on her pip-boy. Movement caught her eye, a grin forming on her sunburned face as the sniper twitched violently. He despised the noise, unable to detect danger as well as he could when she was silent.
"Mind turning it down?" he asked gruffly, glancing back at her.
Feeling cheeky, Hawkins skipped up next to him, turning the dial twice more. Her smile was saccharine sweet.
"Sorry, what was that kitten? Speak up."
Boone scowled at her, his sunglasses only intensifying his displeasure. Her grin grew wicked.
Reaching forward, she lay a hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly. His muscles were tense and he only stiffened further at her touch. Boone glanced down at her, still cross.
"Loosen up a bit, will ya?" her tone was gentle, only just loud enough to be heard over the music.
Before her hand slid away, she massaged his shoulder slightly, fingers digging firmly and languidly into him. The hitch in his breath and the slackening of his lips made her shiver in delight.
Dancing away, she could tell he was confused. Her mood was the complete opposite of what she'd been like the past week. She didn't blame him.
It was probably the heat.
Later that night, in a tent tucked away from the rest of the camp, Boone got his revenge.
After the back breaking, yet gratifying, assassinations they'd carried out for some NCR prick (her words, not his), Hawkins was worn out. Having exerted herself mightily against Driver Nephi and Cook-Cook, she was tense and irritable. It had taken great restraint to keep their heads intact, and even more so to wrestle it from their bodies.
She lay face down in the cot, whimpering slightly into the musty pillow. Her arms were splayed rather uncomfortably at her sides but she couldn't bring herself to move. Maybe if she just stayed in one spot, she'd become happily numb and...
Hawkins began to drift, still in pain, when a heavy weight settled on either side of her body. She started, groaning as her back ached in protest. She opened her mouth to ask just what the fuck Boone thought he was doing when her world exploded into red and white.
His hands kneaded her muscles deeply, his fingers pushing around expertly. Her mouth was open in an O of shock, unable to comprehend their position.
Boone shifted and his fingers ground mercilessly into a particularly stubborn knot. Hawkins buried her face into the mattress and let loose a low groan, her hands gripping the bars of the bedframe tightly. His hands skirted hotly over her neck, rubbing gently rubbing the sunburned skin and the knots beneath it.
The weight shifted as Boone leaned forward, his breath ghosting over her ear.
"Relax," he murmured, palming her ribcage and rubbing deeply into her sides.
Hawkins felt her brain short out, pleasure arcing up and down her spine. He would have to stop, soon.
Before this turns into something much less innocent and kindly, she thought weakly, refusing the burn that flared in her lower stomach.
Trying to let it go, she found that simply focusing on his hands made it much easier.
In no time at all, the courier was sleeping contentedly, a very frustrated yet satisfied sniper looming over her.
Two could play at this game, but it wasn't much use on her part, for Craig Boone was a very crafty player indeed.
Smirking, he sat back and watched her sleep, feeling very much the victor.