About 25 years ago
Maleficent
I don't know where the fuck we are, to be honest.
I stopped using the Pip-boy's map function a while ago. Too many errors, and the merchants knew their routes, so I didn't bother. The only thing I used it for was to search for hostiles, pretty much, which had saved everyone's asses more times than I could count. I can see an ambush from half a mile away with this thing.
I find the will to open my eyes, and I'm met with a wonderful view of a cracked ceiling. Ah, yeah – we're at an inn. He mumbles in his sleep, kicks beneath the sheets. I've never asked him what his dreams were about – he never asked about mine, either, and I'm grateful.
More kicking; a pathetic whimper. "Mama."
I freeze. I have never uttered that word, ever, that I know of – I never had a mother – but I can understand the anguish in his voice. I've been with him for about twenty years now; I know the ins and outs of what little emotion he shows.
I curl up behind him, wrap an arm around his chest – or, try to anyway. I'm by no means small – about five-seven, tall for a woman in the wasteland – and somewhat muscular, but he still looms over me. Everything about him is big. Everything.
I squeeze him gently, lean up to where his ear used to be. "Shhh…" I say, and start to rock him back and forth, with no small amount of effort. Gradually, he quiets. His massive paw closes around my hand as he begins to stir. "Good morning," I croon, and kiss the nape of his neck.
"Couldn't keep your hands off me, huh?" he asks. It's a running joke with us – on caravans, we have to be discreet, so our 'romantic interludes' tend to be intense. "Something like that." My hands start to roam his body – hey, if he's up for it, I'm not gonna say no.
"Scoot over, so I don't mash you flat." I giggle. It almost happened a couple of times. Even without his armor, he's awfully heavy. In top physical condition when he turned, he's practically a slab of muscle.
He rolls over and looks into my eyes, at my face, my dark tangled hair. He says that I'm most beautiful in the morning – that I look comfortable; I haven't put up my guard yet – but I don't see it. When I look in the mirror, I see deepening crow's feet and a rat's nest of hair, starting to gray at the temples – but I suppose he's looked at me more than I've looked in a mirror at myself.
He cups my face with his palm, rubs my cheek with a calloused thumb. It's only a matter of time before he – "Oh!" He seizes me and rolls me flat on top of him. "I see," I say, "you want me to do all the work, you lazy thing." His hands squeeze my buttocks, then creep up my nightshirt, caressing my back. I've long since eschewed underwear off the trail – it tends to impede progress, so to speak. I can feel his erection, hard, pressing against my pubic bone, against my belly. "I think there might be something you need to –" he thrusts his hips for emphasis, digging against me painfully, "– take care of."
I creep forward, then lean back onto him, both of us gasping. I rock back and forward, back and forward, slowly, savoring his length inside me, the sensation of being filled. When I sense his frustration, I lean back, and – oh, how he loves this – I grab the bottom of my nightshirt, and pull it over my head, revealing my naked body to him. He growls, reaches up and grabs my left breast, massaging the hard knot beneath it. Picking up speed, I lift myself up and down, up and down, thighs burning, his hips thrusting up to meet mine as I come down atop him. The old bedframe creaks, smacks against the wall, his growls and my moans surely carrying beyond our room.
I reach down between my legs; play with myself while he's inside me. He likes that, too.
I bring myself to orgasm, squeezing him forcefully. His hands grip my thighs, digging into them painfully, as he releases himself deep inside me with a loud, satisfied grunt, eyes rolling back.
As I collapse atop him, I wonder, how long will this last?
Even if it only lasts another day, another hour, another second…it will have been worth it.
