A/N: Hey y'all! Sorry for the radio silence on this fic, the road to writing it was rife with problems and lack of inspiration, and I was especially determined in not posting this until I was happy with it because we're getting to the long awaited smut! Feel free to leave me a review to let me know if you enjoyed it or to leave constructive criticism if you think I could improve, because I'm always looking to do so (especially where NSFW is concerned).
The main troubles here were 1.) my crap laptop deleting what I wrote not once but TWICE, and then 2.) painting a more loving, realistic portrait of losing one's virginity to someone who's experienced and attentive. It doesn't always hurt, ladies. Of course it's different for all ladies but to say that it's supposed to be painful is a myth.
Anyways, I'll stop babbling now. Enjoy!
Happy reading, happy writing!
~TheKonfessionist, signing out
Day Two – Late Night/Day Three – Early Morning
With a knee cradled against her chest and the other crossed in front of her for her thigh to prop up her sketchbook, Winona sat on her bed, somber and contemplative, as she sketched her next blueprint, her bedroom light dimmed low. The inventor had tried her hardest to sleep—laid down and rest, shut her eyes, counted sheep launching themselves over a farm fence one by one, but her mind was restless with thoughts of Freddie so she got up to work, but even that wasn't helping to keep her mind occupied.
"I said I was sorry! I'm so God damned sorry, I can't think straight when I'm not with you!"
Winona still hadn't told Butch about what happened with Freddie, and that wasn't for his lack of trying in getting it out of her; no matter how much he poked and pried and prodded, she'd only brush him off with some sarcastic segue into another topic, joking remark, or a distracting smile. She hoped her constant dodging of the subject was telling enough for the Tunnel Snake that she wanted to handle the issue on her own terms... though she could still tell that he was annoyed by not being able to do anything for her. Eventually he gave up bothering her about it, even stopped trying to get the name of the culprit that upset her so much, but he already seemed convinced that it was either Wally or Freddie that had hurt her.
She had still tried her damnedest not to allude to Freddie's guilt, though. She knew Butch would weed him out and make him eat his knuckles, and after all the things Freddie said—
"I want you to leave him and take me back."
"All I want is for us to be something good again."
"In the end I wasn't the most swell guy around, but I always treated you good, didn't I? Didn't I?"
"I want you to marry me, Winona Parker."
"I want you to leave him and take me back."
—something was wrong. Really wrong with him, and she knew that she had to tell someone about it. Her father, Jonas, Freddie's parents, someone who had authority over ensuring that he was in right mindset and taking his medication. As angry and overwhelmed and exhausted as she was with him, she'd never forgive herself if he committed self harm because of her... if he did something to himself when she knew he wasn't okay.
She dropped her pencil in frustration for it to roll away somewhere unseen as the heels of her palms pressed into her eyes. Printed on the underside of her eyelids was Freddie's face, holding the same tight expression of betrayal he had when she accused him of being off his medication, and it was so damning, she still couldn't believe she had such a thing. Surely she only thought it and hadn't said it out loud—but there was his face, clearly hurt and just as stunned as she was. Her palms collapsed from her eyes in hopes that his face would disappear but it only lingered, accusatory yet ashamed as she ruffled her fingers back through her hair to tousle her curls.
She wanted nothing more than to stop thinking about it, to stop thinking about him, to stop the creeping feeling of guilt that made her feel like his current state was her fault, but sleep evaded her like she was unworthy and she didn't blame it.
"I can't bare to hear 'no' this time."
...Maybe I deserve this, Winona thought dismally as a tired exhale recoiled from her mouth. When Freddie retreated, Amata asked if he had threatened Winona, and yes, he did, and it was the most threatening thing anyone had ever said to her. She could never unhear the way his voice sounded, how the desperation clung to his tongue with a genuineness she couldn't overlook, how serious he had been about making amends with her if he was prepared to spend the rest of his life just prove how sorry he was. As far as she was concerned, she only wanted to be left alone to preserve the many good memories that they once shared.
She couldn't deny that she did love him at one time, and was excited to share even the most boring details of her day, when he occupied every vacant crevice of her mind with his face and his tender kisses—... but that was back when she would've given up a lot in order to hold onto him. The inventor had to let go of holding on to someone who was so self-destructive, who took and took from her until she didn't have anything left for herself and yet still demanded for, until she was so drained that even hearing his name in conversation filled her with animosity.
But then he cheated, and she actually felt relieved because it gave her a way out without looking like the bad guy.
Winona still felt awful even admitting that to herself, though.
"All I know is that I want you to marry me, Winona Parker."
Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. The inventor scolded herself gravely as she unceremoniously flipped her sketchbook onto the floor to get it off her lap and threw her legs over the side of the bed to stand with frustrated movements. Stop thinking about it! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna drive myself insane. I've got to get out of here and do something.
So she got out of bed and changed out of her pajamas and into a clean jumpsuit, zipping it up to her hips to tie the arms in a low knot around her hips, pulled on her boots, and then tied her hair up out of her face in a messy ponytail before opening the door to patter out of the room. It rolled open with a klang and the inventor peeked her head out to ensure that the noise hadn't awaken Butch, who sprawled out on the couch bed. She was finally able to fix the rusted joints so the frame could pull out now, and with all that extra room Butch had, he borrowed a mountain of pillows from her and practically buried himself under them while laying on his stomach with his legs tangled up in the bed sheet, having kicked them mostly off during the night.
He stirred before pushing himself up onto his forearms, breaching his pillow mountain to turn himself over onto his side to face her. Slats of light crossed over his body from the partially opened blinds over the front window, capturing him in a barred cage of fluorescent white as the rays illuminated his bare back and strong legs with the waistband of his boxers hugging under his hipbone.
Winona couldn't help but center the thought that entered her head as she openly stared at his picturesque body, and she nearly laughed out loud at her mind calling him pretty. She could already envision saying that to his face just to watch his eyes bulge and his mouth pucker in embarrassment as he angrily insisted that he was a man, not some pretty boy.
The laugh died in her throat when she realized that Butch's blue eyes were lingering on her in a questioning stare, since all this time she had only stared silently back.
"If 'ya see somethin' you like, I ain't gonna stop 'ya from appreciating it closer, Parker." He spoke up cockily with a prideful smirk on his face as he turned over onto his back, propped up by his pillow mountain with his arms folded behind his head, as if he were trying to display his body to her; his chest and stomach were toned but not defined or chiseled, which Winona appreciated because her own body was all cut angles and sharp edges, and she liked a softer body on her partner.
She didn't want to accidentally hurt them with a stray elbow or a bony hip.
"Big words for a guy on a fold out couch sitting on a throne of pillows," Winona shot back with even sarcasm, but her gaze betrayed her as her eyes followed his manicured chest hair down its trail to disappear under his boxers.
"Wanna play Serpent King and sexy servant?" He teased back, his pride never seeming to falter. "I gotta knob that needs polishing."
"...Now that I'm done vomiting in my own mouth," She laughed after a beat with a shake of her head, thankful that she could finally pry her eyes away from the rise in the front of his boxers. "Can I ask what dime-show porno you stole that little gem from?"
"Whaaat, not a fan of roleplay? How 'bout we play doctor instead?" Butch tried instead and then held his side with a dramatically fake cough. "Oooh, doc, I don't feel good! You sure you don't have somethin' that'll make me feel better?" He sang.
"That's Dr. Parker to you," Winona grinned as she leaned a shoulder against the frame of her bedroom door, waiting for the Tunnel Snake leader to register that when someone said 'Dr. Parker', they were usually asking for her father.
"...Moment ruined." He grumbled to himself as he turned back over onto his back with a disappointed look and propped himself up on his pillows again, sitting up now and all she could do was laugh. Butch had a sense of humor, sure, but before this moment she didn't consider him to be goofy.
"I wanna go out." She supplied with a proud smirk on her own face, having been quite pleased with herself in 'ruining the moment' once her laughter ceased.
"...Then go out. What am I, yer husband?" He snorted. "'Ya ain't gotta ask for permission."
"I'm not asking for permission—what I'm trying to ask is if you want to come with me. And do a 'something'. Together. Genius." Winona jested lightheartedly. She actually hadn't thought about bringing Butch with her when she first decided to go out, but since he was awake and she could use the company, especially from someone who was very good at distracting her—...
"You askin' me out?" A, for lack of a better description, shit-eating grin encompassed his mouth, spanning from ear to ear with a flash of his teeth. "I ain't a cheap date, Parker. I expect the Royal treatment."
"I'm not playing Serpent King and sexy servant with you," The inventor remarked in amusement as she crossed the room to pluck up his discarded jumpsuit from the floor and whipped it at him, laughing when he grabbed one of his many pillows to whip back at her in retaliation, trying not to shamelessly stare at him again as she scurried to the door to escape.
...Okay, she snuck a little peek. The boy had gorgeous arms.
"So are you coming or not?" Winona asked with finality.
"Depends on where we're goin' and whose gunna see us," He pointed out with less enthusiasm in his voice.
Winona hadn't even thought about that. If they came across anyone outside of her apartment, they'd have to pretend to be a married couple; they'd have to wear their rings and hold hands at minimum so they wouldn't get written up for not 'upholding a happy, productive marriage' or whatever if they came across a Security guard. They both knew that the Overseer would nail them for anything he could scrape up that violated the rules outlined in The Official Vault-Tec Certified Booklet on How to Retain A Prosperous Union.
The book title alone haunted her dreams.
"Movies?" She suggested to avoid the headache of being out in the open for very long. "No guards there."
"...Movies, huh?" Butch responded thoughtfully.
"Yeah, movies. You know, those moving pictures they put up on a big screen, with a magic camera?" Winona preened jubilantly despite the thick sarcasm that encompassed her words. "I'll even buy you snaaacks."
"If 'ya think for a damn second you can lure me out with popcorn, you're dead wrong, Parker." He grinned in response. "We Tunnel Snakes got instinct."
"Then how's your 'Serpent Instinct' feel about a licorice whip? Or the big box of Mars Men sours? I'll even buy you Goobers." His eyebrows went to his hairline in disbelief of her meager bribes but he couldn't help but laugh. "That's right, Goobers, I said it. You want to turn that down? C'mon, don't make me beg, Butch-man."
Butch couldn't help but let a partially amused, partially satisfied smirk to come to his face at the mention of his nickname, definitely seeming too proud as a half-naked man surrounded by pillows, but Winona could certainly feel a coil spring free at the spectacular burst of blues in his eyes at the calling of his nickname. It was the first time she had ever said it out loud, and damn if he didn't look like it had been a dream come true for him to hear it.
"Fine, lemme get my damn suit on... and I want the licorice whip, too! The red one!"
Well, the movies were a bust, because apparently their only projector was acting up or burnt out or something and the theater set out a sign saying that it wouldn't be fixed until the morning before the 10 AM showing. Instead, the two decided to go find something else to do because they weren't ready to head back home yet, now being wide awake and expecting some fun.
So their next stop was the Game Room. It was once called Game Room 1, but given the fact that most of the vault had shut down over the last couple of decades due to population decrease and energy preservation, it was the only Game Room in use, and so, it lost it's numerical value. Butch kept watch for Security with his eyes panning from one end of the hall to the other as Winona overrode the door's lock with her maintenance clearance; her Pip-Boy access plug hooked into the console as she tapped in her code and the door parted open in keen greeting for them. Upon entering the lobby, the door shut swiftly behind them and they went to each window to shut all the open blinds before Winona turned the inside lights on and then locked the door.
"Damn, girlie. Any door 'ya can't get open?" He whistled low with hands that smoothed over the combed back sides of his slicked hair, his boots scuffing squeakily over the green and white tiled floor.
"Security Headquarters, the armory, the Overseer's Office, and resident apartments unless they're on a work ticket... but that's just on moral principle. I could still get into them if I wanted to." She responded boldly as she went to the pool table and hopped onto the corner edge to sit with her toes barely brushing the floor.
"Ain't the Goody Two Shoes everyone thinks 'ya are, huh, Parker?" Butch chortled as he walked around the gaming counter, ducking under the bar top to dig through the bins of recreational games. There were various board games, decks of cards, dominoes, darts, bean bags, bingo chips and balls with printed numbers, and other assorted pieces for games. He finally found the bin that held the pool balls and the pool rack and carried it off toward the table, along with a pool cue from the holding rack, also behind the counter.
"You and my dad are probably the only people who're convinced that I'm a 'Goody Two Shoes', DeLoria," Winona replied with candid cheek. "I've got stories you wouldn't even believe if I told."
"Real—lyyyy?" He crooned gleefully as he dumped out the billiards from the bin, settled the rack, and began filling the triangle. "Care t'share with the class?"
"What, breaking into the hairdresser's to steal hair dye doesn't get you all kinds of hot under the collar?" She jested with a small smile as she gathered up all of her hair, twisting it up out of her face to pin under a large hair clip at the back of her head.
"That ain't count 'cause I caught 'ya, girl." Butch pointed out as he pulled the pool triangle, set down the cue ball, and bent low with the pool cue held in his practiced hands to line up a calculated shot for the break. "S'not a good story if you're caught."
He cracked the cue ball into the collection of billiards and straightened up to his full height to watch them scatter. A striped ball was sunk and he grumbled at a second striped ball that dinged off the corner, just missing the pocket there. When he lifted his eyes to Winona and offered her the pool cue in silent question of her playing him, she had a contemplative look on her face that suggested she was trying to decide on what story to tell. Finally seeming to think of one, she shrugged in response to his question, took the cue, and walked about the table to find a good shot to take.
"So stealing from my own dad doesn't count, either?" She replied goodnaturedly. "I never got caught for that."
"Sure, that was ballsy as hell, but that's old news! C'mon, Parker, don't leave me hangin' or else I'll think yer full'a shit." He insisted with crossed arms as she finally found her opening and bent at the table edge, lining up her pool cue. The Tunnel Snake gladly took it as fortunate opportunity to openly stare at the curve of her rear without shame.
"...Weeeeell," She began reluctantly as if trying to build suspense for her totally awesome story as she briefly adjusted her angle. "My best story's probably the time I broke into Security Headquarters."
"What?" He snapped with rounded eyes just as she took her shot, and his outburst caused her to flinch mid-way and miss the pocket by a noticeable margin. She shot him a dirty look. "You're totally screwin' with me!"
"Hand to Overseer," She replied in sarcastic quip of their 'benevolent leader' with a flat hand over her heart, as if she were taking a solemn oath, and the dirty look faded to a cavalier smile at the fact that she managed to impress him. "I just started my apprenticeship under Stanley when Officer O'Brian caught me working on some blueprints for my inventions and confiscated my sketchbook, saying that they posed a 'safety risk' to the vault. Really, he was just mad at the fact that he couldn't pin me for all the stuff I stole—"
"The fuck, what'd you steal?" Butch balked in genuine shock.
"Before I got sorted into maintenance, I use to—... 'borrow' stuff from the lower levels a lot. Stanley's forgetful so he misplaced things all the time and never noticed, so I'd take what was useful and O'Brian thought it was me but could never prove it." She explained with now rambunctious pride. "Anyway, a couple days after he took my blueprints, he put in a work ticket for Paul to swing by Headquarters and pick it up for the incinerator. I accepted the ticket before it reached him, submitted it as finished, went down to Headquarters after hours with the clearance code I got and took my stuff back. O'Brian never followed up so no one came to check that Paul was the one who collected it."
"You're full'a shit!" Butch replied with a disarmed laugh when his shock faded. "That's some next level fuckery right there."
"Thank you, thank you—please, hold your applause." Winona replied with a dramatic, flourishing bow and a grin that fully exposed her dimples. When she smiled at him like that—all dimples and devilish intent—fuck, it did things to him. Dangerous things.
"Maybe you've got some real Tunnel Snake venom in 'ya after all, girl." Butch mused out loud as he finally reclaimed enough sense to take his next turn. It was executed with startling precision given how quickly he lined up the shot, scattering the billiards again to sink two stripes.
"It took you this long to figure that out? I consider that an insult to my character! I'll be taking my honorary Tunnel Snakes jacket now as compensation for my emotional distress, and I demand you teach me the official secret handshake." She jeered sweetly as she put her weight onto one palm on the edge of the pool table and took a moment to calculate what her next best move would be.
"We ain't gotta handshake." He replied jokingly.
"Lame-ooooo, I'm outta this gang." Winona sang in response as she brandished her pool cue, bent at the table side, cracked the shot, and wrecked it by pocketing the 8-ball.
"Well we didn't need 'ya, anyway! No girls allowed!" He laughed at her wrecked shot with a playful sneer as she dug out all the sunk billiard balls from their pockets. Relishing in his small victory, he went to the Nuka-Cola machine on the far side of the Game Room and dispensed a credit into the vending machine, retrieving his ice cold soda from the bin.
"Please, if I was a Tunnel Snake, Vault 101 wouldn't have a prayer against the two of us." She stated as she racked the balls to set up for the next game, and he watched from the sidelines as he utilized Toothpick to pop open his soda and took a few rough swigs. "We're both too smart for our own goods and like messing with the authority around here. That's a dangerous combo times two."
Once the pool triangle was removed, she declared 'winner starts' and swiftly stole (or 'borrowed', as she called it) his soda bottle from his possession. With a coy smile thrown in his direction at the grumpy expression growing on his face, she took a sip straight from the bottle, uncaring of the fact that his mouth had been on the same lip just a moment beforehand and his brow softened at the memory it registered in his head.
Well, it was actually a dream he had, which he hadn't thought about in years. They were just kids then, being 10 years old, and he dreamt that they were sitting in the diner together while she drank a soda he bought her, and then she slid onto his bench on his side of the table and kissed him. It was quick, but a kiss on the mouth had still counted to him all the same because he hadn't kissed anyone before. At least willingly, anyway, since Dolly would try and kiss him all the time back then without his permission.
But now they were at 20—shooting pool, cracking jokes, and drinking Nuka straight from the same bottle.
And here he was, wanting so badly to kiss her.
Normally he would've acted on it already, especially since, for fuck's sake, they flirted all the time and implied having casual sex even though they hadn't even kissed yet, but something was beginning to hold him back. It was a feeling of dread that was telling him to turn back before he hurt himself and he tried to shake it off as he took his first break on the billiards. Unfortunately, he was still too distracted by his anxiety to pay the same attention he had in the earlier game, and his skill was effectively thrown off when he didn't pocket any of the balls. Winona gleefully took her turn without any notice of his preoccupied thoughts, or the almost adoring way he looked at her when she shot him with a lame finger gun, and started the game off with solids. The game went on as pool cues and cold Nuka-Cola exchanged hands between playing and drinking, and at one point Winona even bought a snack cake from the food dispenser for them to share.
Butch couldn't look at her anymore without thinking of all the hell they put each other through while growing up, him being more of an asshole than she ever was, and feeling immense guilt; he called her names, blackmailed her, shit, he even manipulated the vault against her just to name a few unforgivable crimes. He couldn't look at her without suddenly remembering the anger and jealousy he tried to ignore whenever he saw Freddie with her. He couldn't look at her without thinking of all the ways he tried to self-medicate his crush by wreaking havoc throughout Vault 101 with his brothers, partying to the point of black outs, and burying himself inside Dolly every other night.
Butch couldn't look at Winona without wondering why she didn't absolutely hate his guts, because knowing that she did would've made him feel better.
Even with everything he saw when he looked at her, even with all the crimes he committed against her that he was now forced to witness and take responsibility for, the one thing that overwhelmed him when he looked into her face was the fact that—despite how hard he tried to stop caring—his feelings for her had never really gone away. He had only buried it as deep as he could possibly dig down inside himself, and apparently even that hadn't been deep enough.
When Winona leaned over the table and sunk the 8-ball after pocketing all her solids, she shot him with a triumphant grin over her shoulder that showed her dimples once more and he couldn't help but think that, yeah, she was more Tunnel Snake than he realized. She was more than he could've ever hoped for in a woman and at the same time was more than he ever deserved to have, even temporarily. The only thing he could accept about all this was the fact that he never wanted someone as God damn badly as he wanted fucking Winona Parker, and he knew that he was selfish enough to want to keep pulling her close rather than pushing her away out of his guilt.
He could also accept that that made him an unforgivable asshole... but hey, he never claimed he was a stand up guy.
"Ready for another game or should I give you a chance at darts?" Winona ribbed playfully as she began digging the balls out of their pockets to set them back on the pool table, setting up for another round. "If I kick your ass at that too, though, you'll never get me to shut up."
"I don't think anythin' could get 'ya to shut up." Butch replied with a sharp smirk as he shouldered his pool cue across the back of his neck, his wrists hanging off of either side, and galumphed about the table toward her.
"Says the pot calling the kettle black!" She laughed as she shoved a hand against his chest in a playful push away from her.
"What, 'ya think I can't enjoy a little silence now and again?" He inquired goodnaturedly.
"No, what I think is that you like the sound of your own voice more than the Overseer likes his own." Winona responded with an innocuous bat of her white eyelashes.
"...Oooh," He hissed on an inhale through his teeth. "That's a low blow, Parker."
"What're you going to do about it?" She tempted with a jab to her voice and a wide smile. "Talk 'til my ears fall off or I die of boredom?"
"Lookit you, talkin' shit! Bet I could shut 'ya up without saying a word."
"You don't think I could do the same?"
"Is that right?" Butch raised his hands from where his wrists were slung over each end of the pool cue still hooked behind his neck in a 'come at me' gesture, his brows up and his expression dubious. "Hit me with your best shot."
At his invitation, Winona hooked two of her fingers into the neckline of his undershirt, which peeked from between the open zippers of his vault suit and leather jacket, and used the leverage to pull him down to her in one swift yank that caused her mouth to immediately collide with his own. He was too stunned to immediately reciprocate, his arms still awkwardly locked behind the pool cue so it kept his hands from grabbing for her as she heatedly led the kiss, and he felt his stomach grow blissfully heavy with a flood of desire that made his head swim and his heart fight for release. He could feel himself coming undone just at the wanting touch of her lips.
Too soon she pulled away. Vigor filled her hazel eyes when they fluttered open, ringed by a deep olive green and brown that peeped at him brazenly from under colorless lashes, and the apples of her cheeks were rosy with a hot blush. Butch stared back down at her silently, mouth parted and gaze lost in the sanctuary of her eyes that only catapaulted the climbing of his heartbeat, and he found himself unable to form a sentence. Shit, he couldn't get himself to even say a word, or make a sound.
"...Told you I could make you be quiet." She muttered without the sprightly tone she had earlier, seeming deeply thoughtful herself as her eyes flickered back down to his lips, the gesture alone enough to betray her. They lingered there momentarily as he felt her hand detach from his shirt's collar, cupping his jaw in a palm with her thumb sweeping down the point of his chin and her gaze reconnected with his own again.
"...My turn," Butch mumbled back through his own lust-driven haze and untangled his arms from the pool cue to hook it over her head so it settled against the low curve of her back, using it to pull her in against him.
And he kissed her. Hard. Kissed her like he'd never kiss her again, that made her exhale a small breath through her nose like it was a barely contained sigh of relief, and she closed the distance between them with her hands pulling on the lapels of his jacket. He led it with unbridled enthusiasm as his hands tightened on the pool cue before doing away with it completely, tossing it onto the table just to get it out of the way, and then he captured her hips with possessive hands but a gentle squeeze. He felt Winona's mouth press harder against his in appreciation and it effectively snuffed out the last thought that lingered in his head telling him to exercise some self control when her tongue traced his bottom lip and his own darted out from his mouth to make contact with hers. They tangled momentarily in an unpracticed dance before melding together hotly, finding a passionate rhythm that made her deliver a deep throated moan.
The sound alone prompted Butch to free his mouth from the kiss to bury his lips against her throat, wanting to torture her soft spots to pull more out of her. His sharp teeth framed her pulse, his mouth leaving in it's wake unabashedly red marks in hickies and soft bites and her skin felt like fire when his tongue soothed over them. She was crumpling against him, breathing raggedly with an arm hooking behind his shoulders to use him as support, with the only other thing keeping her upright being the pool table behind her as she whimpered, half breathless moans dripping from her parted lips. He didn't care about how her shaking fingers coiled themselves into his hair at the back of his scalp, feeling only the eroticism in how she desperately clung to him and lustfully murmured a spill of words he couldn't decipher, and he helped her up onto the table edge by picking her up by the hips to sit. When she was settled with her arms refusing to unwrap themselves from around him, he made himself at home between her thighs with her knees framing his waist, and he took a moment to get his air back in him and to look down into her glowing face. Her eyes were unfocused but a big grin had placated her dimpled mouth.
"Take Toothpick outta your pocket, it's poking me." She murmured hazily.
"That ain't Toothpick you're feeling, sweetheart." He replied proudly.
"Bullshit—" She laughed under a laborious breath.
"Language," He teased with lighthearted cadence as if he were shocked by her swearing, and her hiccup of laughter made him want to pepper her mouth with more kisses despite her looking like she needed a breather. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel immense pride in seeing her like this—making her like this—all needy and touchy and losing her thoughts. She was always difficult to shake up, even in times where he thought he was winning.
"Too much for 'ya? You asked for the Butch-man, Parker—" He teased again.
"Call me Winnie." She corrected gently as her eyes lifted to meet his, her demand sounding more like a pressing request.
"...Winnie," He whispered her nickname softly like he wasn't deserving of saying it out loud. The Tunnel Snake felt like he was given passage to a place he never thought he'd find himself in—receiving the affections that came with being someone she considered remarkably close to her. Only Amata and Jonas called her that. Paul slipped it once. Butch always called her by one of many colorful names inspired by her hair or intelligence or craftiness, and then her last name when they became friends in secret. Even rarer did he call her by her first name.
To be given permission to call her Winnie, he felt a shifting of the cosmos between them.
And he had to have her.
Now.
"Say mercy for me," He whispered, sounding more like he was begging for permission to continue than taking control of the situation and he pressed himself deeper between her thighs with a small forward rock of his hips, tilting her chin up with a thumb under the edge of her jaw, his palm cradling her cheek.
"No." Winona replied, almost like a pouting child, as pressure built between the meeting of their hips as she pressed back against him, meeting the roll of his hips with her own. She was more wild in her movements, losing her typically reserved self, and he noticed.
"C'mon, girl—you're practically purrin' for it."
"And you're not?" She said through a glib smile and heavy exhales. "You broke first. You say it. Admit it."
"You're a pain in the ass—always gotta make shit difficult," He grumbled as he lowered his head with his nose brushing along hers. Her hand cuffed the wrist of his hand that still cupped her face, her thumb slipping up the backside of his knuckles, and when her eyes looked back into his he saw a challenging fire burning inside them—and God dammit, he knew that she knew that she was winning. That she was the only one in this whole fucking tub who could make him say mercy. She felt the shift that came between them, too.
"I consider it an art form to annoy you," Winona announced with a throaty chuckle as she nuzzled her nose along his, her lips ghosting over his as if teasing him with the promise of another kiss, lingering right there— "You can say it, Butch. You can say mercy for me."
"You got me so fuckin' twisted—" He mumbled to himself in a complaint her ears barely caught, and her eyes connected with his, patient and expecting, and there wasn't any challenge within them. Only a gentle honesty, a promise of complete acceptance. To say he was twisted suddenly felt like the wrong word to use when he was unraveling on the inside, feeling the plea rising in his throat, filling his mouth, and he actually thought about allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of her for that one moment because he knew she wouldn't judge him—she never had, why would she now?—
And it finally spilled out, like a burdening breath he had been withholding, like a weight off his shoulders.
"God dammit—mercy." He exhaled breathlessly as he sent his mouth colliding into her own again in another kiss. His hand tilted her head back, making her arch against him, and when her leg hooked behind his hip and thigh to invite him to press more firmly against her, feeling the wanton grinding of her own hips, the Tunnel Snake knew that he was a fucking goner.
Winona almost wished that she hadn't insisted on going back to the apartment right when things were seriously getting heated—because if she was about to have sex for the first time, she didn't know how to rekindle the passion after having to press pause to find privacy. Would they just return where they left off? Would they awkwardly have to start all over again? She tried to convince herself to stop overthinking about unimportant matters like whether or not she should shower first or if she was even wearing a matching set of bra and panties, but the more she agonized over the situation the more her nerves skyrocketed above and beyond any point of return.
Yep, she should've just had sex with him on the billiards table and not cared about the possibility of someone finding them.
She looked at Butch, who was impatiently striding just ahead of her but not fast enough where she couldn't keep up, and she tightened her hand clutched around his for him to squeeze back in response, feeling the wedding band on his finger imprint itself on her hand. Her anxiety took center stage once more as they turned the corner down the living quarters hall and arrived at her front door, leaving her to wave it open with a shaking hand, flicking on the lights once the door shut behind them.
The inventor couldn't tell if the shaking was from the excitement, the boundless sexual tension, or the nerves.
...Does he know I've never had sex before? Winona wondered with a nervous flush warming her face as they stepped into her apartment. Should I tell him? Should I not and pretend I have? Would he figure it out anyways—? Is it a totally dick move to not tell him just because I'm scar—
The rest of her fussing thought died in her mind as she felt Butch's hands frame her hips to turn her around and he kissed her deeply. It was enough to startle her out of her anxiety-ridden thoughts—being swept up in the excitement of how aroused they both were, feeling like two opposing forces wanting only to conspire in the middle—and she returned it eagerly. Her hands snaked themselves around his neck with a grip on the folded collar of his leather jacket just to hold onto him as their mouths meshed together in an extended kiss, his own hands pulling her in against his firm body.
Her concerned thoughts were dampened to nothing as her mind was filled with a sensual mist, and her anxiety molded itself into something more manageable. Even as they moved back towards the pull out bed she felt a calmness overcoming her, and she briefly broke the contact of the kiss just to make sure she didn't embarrass herself by banging her knees on the metal frame or floundering in an unexpected fall onto it. She managed to take a seat on the edge with a metal squeaking under her weight as Butch remained standing in front of her, hurriedly yanking off his jacket to toss it unceremoniously behind him. His jumpsuit was zipped all the way down to his waist, meeting above the tenting that was tightly cupped by the industrial fabric, and once he unhooked his Pip-Boy from his arm with his hex key—being mindful enough to do the same to hers and she shot him with a sweet smile of thanks—he yanked his arms from the sleeves so the upper half of his jumpsuit was shed and hung at his hips.
After kicking off his boots he knelt with one knee on the bed beside Winona, where he reclined her back on the mattress to loom over her with is eyes alight with wild desire. His mother covered her own in another heated kiss that sent her thoughts scattering. She found her hands flittering down to the hem of his undershirt of their own instinctual accord, burying her hands underneath the thin cloth to appreciate the tenderness in his stomach and sides as his tongue dipped into the cavern of her mouth to meet with hers, moving eagerly, pressing hungrily. The purring of her jumpsuit zipper barely broke through their make out as his free hand pulled for the tab all the way down to the belt that cinched it to better fit her small frame, and the kiss remained unbroken as she removed her hands from under his shirt to help pull her arms out of the sleeves. Stupid suits, who the fuck thought that these were practical—they're so awkward—
Winona's puckered mouth immediately abandoned his own when she felt Butch pulling her undershirt upward, her hands gripping his wrists before he could even tug it over her naval.
"Bu- Butch, wait—" She interrupted in small alarm, but when he looked down at the inventor questioningly, she turned sheepish—feeling embarrassed, almost stupid, for the insecurity she felt in her small breasts and momentarily thought of just ignoring her discomfort so she wouldn't seem silly. "I—uh—... wa- wanna leave my shirt on..."
"Whatever 'ya want, baby," He replied certainly without any change in his face that suggested disapproval, or judgment, or scrutinizing of her request; but calling her baby caught her attention. It sent a throng of heat straight down her body to ring home between her legs and she almost clamped them together in response to the dampness pooling there, and the only thing keeping her from fully doing so was Butch's bent knee between her own, keeping them open.
"Thanks," Winona mumbled in genuine relief as Butch's mouth migrated toward her throat to press blazing, open mouthed kisses along where her throat bobbed in a hard swallow. Each kiss felt like it was soothing away her worries, leaving her notion of 'being stupid' to ebb silently away.
When she felt the blunt edge of his teeth in a teasing graze before the delicious suction of possessive hickies, which marred the side of her neck in a trail of red and purple, a building pressure of warmth began to tighten in the pit of her stomach. Her back arched and her clothed sex registered on his bent knee between her legs, sending a shivering thrill through the expanse of her body and she ground her hips helplessly against him, desperate to relieve that pressure. It only continued to build the more she gyrated and the more he toyed at every sensitive spot he found on her neck, leaving her to quiver and whine pathetically. Her intense arousal left her feeling blatantly empty with a heightened desire to be filled in any way she could, and she whimpered unevenly at the lost contact of Butch's knee as he lifted his weight off the bed, leaving her. Her eyes and mouth snapped open in protest just in time to witness him unbuckling the belt around her waist to drop it on the floor, pulling her jumpsuit the rest of the way down her legs with the removal of her boots.
"Need it bad—don'cha, girlie?" He teased, followed by a stumbled mutter of 'holy shit' to no one in particular at the sight of her arousal darkening her panties and she immediately clenched her thighs shut as her sheepishness returned to her, blushing furiously. "Hey, I ain't done with you yet—" He began to protest.
"Then don't stare like that! It's weird!" She cried with a bashful laugh as her closed knees drew into her abdomen in a partial fetal position while still remaining on her back, grabbing at one of his many pillows to hit him with.
"Fine, where else am I gunna stare, huh? Guess I'll just stare at the ceilin' the whole time," He said with a laugh as he bat the pillow away. "What, you gettin' all shy on me now, professor? Now that ain't like you."
Through a fleeting lapse of clarity in her all encompassing desire, Winona again considered telling him the truth about her virginity as their silly back and forth kept her comfortably buoyed above her worries. In that same thought she had of divulging truth, however, she wanted to sarcastically counter him (because at this point it was basically on reflex) just so she could further hide her insecurities away from his prying gaze.
"I ain't good at this kinda stuff... bein' patient and whatever, but I wanna be good t'you,Win." He spoke when her silence validated his teasing and his words came like a murmured promise in the back corner of a room full of people—secretive and touching, his reassurance warming. "Just lemme in—just the one time."
Winona's hand outstretched itself for the Tunnel Snake and he leaned himself over her again, his jaw finding the cradle of her palm. She lured him into a quick kiss with her legs uncurling from her body to rest against the bed, thighs still clamped together under him as he settled on a forearm beside her head. She was filled with a resolute trust in him and his words, and it stamped out any remaining fight she felt with her anxiety, where it was instead replaced by an excitement as his fingertips drummed against the top of her thigh, inching towards the private junction of her thighs. Winona permitted him entry with the parting of her knees as her hand moved from his jaw, hooking behind his neck to keep him close as she led him into a more impassioned kiss, feeling her body reacting intensely with her sex throbbing with aching need in her underwear. When she felt his fingers gliding themselves over her damp panties, the shock that wracked through her lower body forced a sharp inhale into his mouth.
Butch's deft fingers worked slowly, deliberately, being surprisingly patient in his enjoyment. In her distraction of his stroking fingers her lips moved laxly with their kiss until he took dominance over it—his mouth having been soft at first but hardening with a fervency as his fingers moved toward the waistband of her panties to pry his hand under it. The ache of lost connection lasted for only a second before his fingers delivered a a blissful sweetness that came with them pressing coyly against her dripping entrance, slicking his digits in her juices with a languid caress of his middle finger against her clit that made her hips jerk in sensitivity with a keening moan. He broke from the kiss with a self aggrandizing smile and as he circled his fingertip around her clit once more to pull another moan from her, just to steal it off her tongue with his mouth on hers again, his tongue coiling past her lips to make contact with her own.
The inventor didn't think she could overcome how criminally good his kisses were, prodding at something primal deep within her belly, like it was intentionally searching for something to awaken; her thoughts were swimming far away, practically chased right out of her brain when all she could feel was the blissful haze of pleasure overcoming her and how desperate he felt, his hands gentle yet devoted to exploring further, making her feel cared for. Wanted. Irresistible.
Butch's mouth moved back down to her neck to return to it the same treatment as earlier—his suckling lips and nibbling teeth easing from her dark skin love bruises and possessive marks—and just as Winona was about to complain that he was tormenting her to the point of madness, his fingers slipped in between the folds of her sex, slick and soft as satin in her excitement, to press one curling finger inside her. Her toes immediately buckled into the bed at the intrusion with the delicious push and slow pull of his digit laboring at soothing the knot inside her. Relief flooded the inventor's lungs and it chased the moans she was too shy to vocalize right out of her throat.
"Fuck—God—Butch," Winona heaved in a whimper. After some working of his finger inside her, he picked up easily on the way her body moved; like when she tried to gyrate her hips against his hand to coax his ministrations into just the right spot, he was perceptive enough to see what she wanted and would align his finger accordingly.
"'Ya make it sound so good." He admitted through his own laborious breathing, and when she opened her eyes, she couldn't help but shyly retreat her stare somewhere else when she realized he was, very intently, watching her face. "Look at me." Butch demanded, and she couldn't help but draw her gaze back toward his.
With a pecking kiss pressed to her cheek, he spoke again, and his voice was commanding despite the blatant aching need it held.
"Look at me when you say my name."
"Butch," She answered with her eyes locked dutifully with his own, and just as she was losing herself to the steadiness of his pumping digit and the lightning serenity in his blue eyes, her obedience was rewarded with the retrieving of his finger from inside her to be replaced with the accompaniment of a second one.
His fingers, having been thicker than her own in times when she masturbated, were greeted with minor resistance that kept him from reaching as deeply as his first finger had. Feeling herself stretch around them in accommodation, coupled with how fucking arousing it was to hear the sloppy noises of them working her insides, made her knees buckle once his thumb began tracing shapes over her swollen clit in unison with his insistent fingers. It didn't take much more stroking to hurdle the inventor towards her rapidly building orgasm once he found a rhythm that her body graciously reacted to; one where he churned his digits in just the right spot with the drawing of slow circles between the pumping, and each new feminine sound that spilled from her betrayed her more than the one that came before it. Her erotic moans steadily reached higher in note as she became dangerously aware of her impending euphoric end and she grew insatiable in reaching for it.
If Butch made her orgasm before she had the chance to be filled properly by him, however, she'd never forgive him for it.
Winona didn't know if he could sense this from her or if it was pure coincidence, but he pulled his fingers slowly out of her with one last grind of the pad of his thumb against her clit that had her jerking sensitively. Her legs quaked against the bed with curled toes as she stifled a whine, her head lifting from the mattress to look up at him desperately as his hand recoiled from her underwear, his fingers glistening with her want. Amusement passed through his eyes at the strangled noise of complaint she made as she propped herself back on her elbows, at attention as he straightened up on his knees with a protesting squeal of the metal bed frame under them. He unzipped his suit the rest of the way down over the tenting and between the teeth of the zipper was the heavy outline of his cock straining inside his boxers. Her eyes alone could appraise the proportionate weight of his girth—a seemingly perfect size, not too big with a delicate curve to it—and something about it made her mouth water, feeling the immediate effects her desire had as it reinvigorated the wetness that spilled between her thighs with new life.
Soon he eased himself out of his boxers, his aching cock bobbing free from its confines, and an almost panicked excitement momentarily seized her heart at the realization that that was going to be inside her. He was going to be inside her.
Butch noticed her attentive gaze tracing the shape of his member, and was soon fighting his way out of the rest of his vault suit when she rolled back on the bed with her knees up in the air, shimmying herself out of her panties. With the way his eyes were entranced by the sight of her soaked sex below a small patch of coily white hair, she was immediately pricked by the thorns of self-scrutiny and wished she had kept the lights off. It should've been her first and only defense against his intent gaze. At the same time, however, the way his eyes lingered on her—starved and thankful—his mouth parting, tongue licking along his dried lips as his Adam's apple bobbed thickly—his cheeks emblazoned with an aroused blush—she knew the way he looked right now was something she wouldn't be able to get out of her head for weeks.
The Tunnel Snake was on her again with his bare hips wedged between her thighs, pinning one of her legs against the bed with a hand under her knee and the other was bent against his side, framing his hip. With their positioning she immediately felt the overwhelming heat of his stiff member grinding itself against her slick sex. It skimmed over the swollen bundle of her nerves that was her clit and she swore that she may have had a mini, fluttering orgasm just from the contact because she momentarily couldn't find where her mind had run off to as her eyes drew shut.
"You ready for it, baby?" Butch asked huskily, but his question felt like it held more than just dirty talk—and when she dared to open her eyes again, he was staring down at her, pleading and yet controlled as he waited for her answer.
He was asking for permission.
Winona nodded briskly as her hand hooked behind his neck with her thumb framing his ear, pulling his face in closer to skim her lips over his Adam's apple with her other hand resting against his lower back, gliding tentative fingertips up his side and along the back of his ribs where his muscles flexed under her touch; she cursed this desire, of wanting to touch him everywhere there was skin waiting to be scorched by her lips and tongue and teeth, and yet she didn't have enough hands or mouths. When did she start feeling like this? Feeling like she couldn't have enough of him? When did she start wanting him in this way?
"I'm yours." She muttered against his ear in steadfast affirmation and topped it off with her lips capturing his earlobe, sucking lightly before letting it slip back from her mouth with the scrape of her teeth. There was a weight to her words that she decided needed further exploration at a later time, because right now wasn't it, when she felt like she was going to lose control over her body at any second and her mouth would go with it—saying things she shouldn't say, powered by her lust. It felt too comfortable, too natural, like she was meant to be here, pinned underneath him, helpless and wanting him beyond all desire—
Luckily she didn't have to worry about it for even a second longer, because at her admission Butch was already breaching her entrance. His thick member, sleek with her juices, entered her easily until he met tight resistance several inches in, and he released a prolonged groan under his breath with a crinkled brow, dewy with sweat. Winona shifted her hips to get a bit more settled, the way he stretched her equal parts uncomfortable and pleasurable. As young girls they were told the first time was supposed to hurt, and she was fully prepared for it—so to feel how perfectly he fit inside her, so mind-numblingly good with only some discomfort, was a welcomed surprise.
"I love it," She mumbled absentmindedly as he tried to hold himself steady, and she could see his self control was hanging by a single unraveling thread, causing a lust drunk grin to spread across her blushing face. Winona relished in how Butch looked at her right now, like nothing else existed and nothing was as good as her, as her eyes filled with glistering stars.
"What?" He questioned, seeming too distracted to have heard her.
"Love how you feel inside me—" She admitted, still absentminded, as if she didn't realize she was saying these things out loud and her confession spurned him into action; when he withdrew his hips she was plagued by such a delicious friction it made her eyes roll back and her back arch, her cunt aching for more.
"God dammit—don't say shit like that, Parker," He warned tightly as he thrust his hips back into her and she whimpered with the grin still on her face, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her gaze stared off into nothing, trained on the ceiling. Winona threw her arms around his neck to pull him in closer and he graciously complied, burying his face in the nook of her shoulder and neck like it was home with his sweaty forehead pressed to her super heated skin, and her nails walked down his spine, making him shiver at the contact as he entered her again and again in steady rhythm.
Everything felt perfect. Again, too natural.
"You're perfect." She spoke against his hair, her whispering breath tickling his ear, and she felt his broad shoulders and toned back stiffen under her arms. Suddenly he was driving his hips back into her with a tempered impatience, driving as deeply as he could without hurting her, and every thrust chipped away at the sanity that was keeping her grounded. She was floating away, to somewhere where he was the only tether keeping her from disappearing all together, and yet all at once she was here; her hand digging into his shoulder blades, the other settling against the curve of his lower back to goad him into moving faster, once she was relaxed enough to take more of him, her leg pressed against his side hooking a foot over his thigh to keep his pelvis pinned against her, silently telling him that he wasn't getting away even if he wanted to run for the hills.
From the way he openly groaned into her neck, spilling incoherent threats of making her come again and again and again until she was begging him to stop—he didn't seem to have any objection to that.
Butch continued in an insatiable dance, his hips churning her insides until she felt every nerve sparking with liquefied electricity, feeling a live wire coiling inside her of concentrated pleasure and she couldn't help but constrict tightly around him. Every time he drove his cock back into her it drew a little more pleasure out, doing very little to release the pressure in her abdomen, and she didn't realize until that moment that he was coaxing loud moans out of the bowels of her lungs, which rung back to her ears off the metal walls of her living room. Her leg hooked over his hips, drawing in tighter when his mouth moved from her throat to plant it against her own. Their teeth nearly clattered together in their open mouthed kiss as his tongue reached for hers, and when they tangled together passionately, she could feel it drawing every breath out of her until she couldn't breathe.
All she could do was sob against his lips, her eyes rolling back under fluttering eyelids as the driving of his hips became more relentless, the pull of his cock coming in shorter strokes and she could feel her end coming as fatally near as his own was. The inventor could feel him trying to alleviate the tight twisting build of his finish by slowing his speed, softening his movements, and her hand against his back moved to grip his hip, trying to provoke him into finishing with fingers that dug in needily.
"No, no, no, no, no—" Winona pleaded brokenly on a high whine when she retreated from the kiss, and his mouth pressed to her collar bone with the clipping of his teeth. "C'mon, no, please—"
"I needa minute—shit, girl—" Butch insisted but she was pushing his hips against her own, gyrating with her silken core clamping on his length and he vocalized his frustration—and appreciation—with an almost lyrical groan as he forced his hips still, his body pressing against hers so she couldn't move her own hips, either. "Woman," He warned, but it was weak with masculine want. "Knock it off, I'm gonna burst. Waited for this for too damn long—"
"I want it inside me," She begged dizzily. "Butch, please, I'm so close—I need you—"
"...Say that again," He spoke with his soft lips ghosting over the base of her throat, his voice sounding almost surprised and certainly tender despite the growl that followed. "Tell me you need me."
"I need you. I need you so badly—" She repeated unabashedly, the final word cut short as a moan was ripped from her. His hips rammed thoughtlessly against her, just rough enough where it built a curling friction inside her and in only one more driving thrust her vision went bleary and the pit in her gut was released—blazing endless trails of euphoria down her legs from hips to toes under the sweeping force of her orgasm and she shuddered fitfully under him. Her walls confined his almost fully sheathed length in one flittery convulsion after another, feeling the pleasure being chased out of her to leave nothing in its wake but a beautiful, moonlit afterglow.
Butch quickly jumped from the ledge seconds shy of her own orgasm, her leg over his hips keeping them flush against hers with no hope of pulling out, and jets of warmth flooded her insides with each small, lurching thrust as he exhaled deeply with a shuddery grunt of release. She could feel his body tightening under her arms again and she stroked his hair soothingly, cradling him against her breast when he was finished with an ear pinned over her thrumming heart. The inventor could feel the warmth in his panting breaths even through her undershirt.
The two remained comfortably sprawled out on the pull out couch, Butch lethargically draped atop her and his body weighing down on Winona's felt comfortable—easy, forever—as her hands continued carding themselves through his hair and their breathing slowed to normal levels. They reveled silently in the pleasure as it seeped away to exhaustion along with the afterglow.
No one told her how messy, and sweaty, and sticky you could feel afterward. She could see herself getting use to it, although a hot shower sounded amazing right now but she was too content (and too tired) to move.
Butch slowly withdrew himself from her, with the intention of being gently careful, and he rolled his weight off of her to lay on his back beside her, rocking the couch. She opened her eyes and looked to him, trying to get the discreet trembling of her legs to cease, and with the blinding luxury of her arousal having been drained out of her, she found a certain sheepishness creeping back into her. What did they do now? Go to sleep? Talk? Were there things she had to address? There shouldn't have been a doubt in her mind that he enjoyed himself or that she was good, but still, her thoughts lingered on wondering if their love making was quality.
Again, the thoughts were shushed out of her mind as his arm curled under her to pull her against his side, her head resting against his bare chest and shoulder. She ventured further by straddling a leg over his naked body and his cheek lolled toward the top of her head lazily, his breathing easy and content though there was a dragging exhaustion to them as his fingertips pressed keen shapes against her bicep where they settled.
She coiled her fingers through his chest hair idly and allowed her eyes to draw shut, sinking her body against his as she relaxed, feeling the worries sagging off her bones like a relief.
"...Aren't'cha glad 'ya said mercy first?" Butch questioned with a drained playfulness and she guffawed quietly, pulling slightly on his chest hair in retaliation. He grunted in disapproval, but otherwise made no move to stop her.
"Mnm. Too tired to be sarcastic." She mumbled drowsily with her jaw clamping around a yawn to keep it from emerging as she nuzzled herself closer into his side. He reacted with his arm pulling tighter around her, feeling almost possessive.
"...I don't wanna be 'that square'," He began after a pregnant pause, sounding cautious. "But you're on somethin', right?"
"Hmn—?" Her thoughts were too sluggish to register on what he was asking. "Oh. Yeah, I'm on birth control." She pat his face tiredly with a broad hand in mock reassurance and he snorted in contained laughter, slapping her hand off harmlessly.
"How'd you get a hold of birth control? You stealin' that too?" Butch poked jokingly.
"Har-har. No, I didn't steal it." She didn't want to admit that she was on birth control in off and on torrents for years while she was with Freddie—but hell, she didn't want to think about him at all, and so swiftly changed her story without much thought. "Jonas gave me a pallet, said to come back if I needed a refill. Write it up as an inventory mix up or something. You can thank him in the morning."
"I'll send him a care package. He like flowers?" He inquired with outspoken amusement and she chuckled sleepily with a small smile on her face.
"On second thought, maybe I'll just thank him for the both of us. I can be discreet." She decided and he pulled her in just to plant a firm kiss against her forehead, and the feel of his lips against her skin for a lingering moment made her heart flutter warmly.
"'Discreet' like the Overseer jerkin' it on Founder's Day."
"First things first, gross, and to quote you—low blow."
"I learned from the best."
Soon, with the steady rise and fall of Butch's chest, Winona could tell that he had fallen into a serene sleep underneath her with his cheek still laid against the top of her head. She stayed up for some time longer—calmed by the sound of his heartbeat under her ear and the inviting warmth of his bare body against hers—and she came to a contemplative state of mind. Things would be different between them now, she felt the ground shifting under her feet the moment she dared to kiss him in the Game Room, and it was too soon for her to say if that change could become something better or something that would damn them beyond a salvageable relationship. Now, she was too cautious, too careful, to want to delve any deeper into it because overthinking was a thief of her happiness more often than not; she'd overthink and the completely irrational scenarios that were conjured up in her head never happened, leaving her worrying and agonizing over nothing. This time probably wasn't any different than all the other times she over thought about something and so she didn't want to fling herself off the ship before she was prodded out onto the dead man's plank with tied hands.
But there was a happy glow that cradled her heart that she couldn't ignore, that made her think—no way, but maybe, but possibly, and then certainly—she was feeling some type of strong way about Butch DeLoria. That was the only part of her thoughts that didn't seem to worry her in the slightest as she finally chased after him into a deep sleep, her thumb rotating her wedding band thoughtfully around her finger.