"I want her."

"What's this, Smoothskin?" Charon had gone through three cigarettes in the last twenty minutes, burning them down hard and fast while Tate talked to Eulogy Jones. The kid had seemed calm and collected inside the slaver's 'pad.' He sure knew how to talk business with Eulogy. But now that they were back outside Tate was a jumpy, kinetic mess. He kept tugging on the straps on his backpack, drawing it closer and closer to his body.

"I want that girl, the blonde one." Tate's eyes darted back and forth underneath his sunglasses. At first the kid's constant habit of wearing sunglasses struck Charon as just fucking stupid. Now, well, it was still fucking stupid and it wasn't like Tate could hide his emotions underneath them particularly well. Not at close range, at least.

"You mean the other…" Charon started.

"Shut up. Don't say it you bigot."

Charon smiled and sucked on his cigarette. The two of them hadn't started on the best of terms, but the kid was just a little fucked in the head. He wasn't actually an evil bastard. Not like he'd ever speak a word of good aloud about his employer, only that he'd seen much worse in his time. Tate was harmless.

"You wouldn't know the first thing about a woman like that. Do you even know anything about women?" Charon mussed Tate's hair. He fucking hated that, but it was his fault for being so much shorter. Didn't they feed vaulties?

"I don't want to fuck her. I want to get her out of here."

Tate leaned against the building and threw his head back, looking up into the Wasteland sun. Undoubtedly he was concocting some half-assed plan that Charon would have no choice but to follow. It was just so troublesome, always having to save Tate's ass when he decided on what he was doing. If he wasn't asked, Charon couldn't offer an opinion really, so he'd just have to do his best. Hell of a contract that allowed for sarcastic quips but not tactical advice. Probably never occurred to anyone that his contract would end up in the hands of imbeciles instead of decorated war heroes.

"Eulogy wouldn't let me buy her. Said I wasn't her type. Who do you think her type is?"

Of all the goddamn questions, this was the one Tate landed on?

"She likes Eulogy?" Charon shrugged. He needed a new pack of smokes. Tate picked up on that and grabbed a box from his pack, tossing them over. Kid was at least good for something.

"So, evil fuckers, got it." Tate pushed himself off the wall and jumped nearly five feet towards Charon from a standstill. Had to give the kid credit for his aerobatics, just it wasn't a particularly useful skill. "Come on, Charon, lets do some evil shit."

This fucking kid.

As if Charon needed more proof that Tate was somehow cosmically balanced to not be 'an evil fucker,' their week-long romp trying to cause as much mayhem as possible was the icing on the fucking cake.

He used the Mesmetron on a lone raider they found injured and delirious by the side of the road. While the raider was knocked out, Tate tended to her wounds rather than put the collar on her. When she started coming back around, he realized his error, shot off the Mesmetron again in a panic, and accidentally killed her. It was sickeningly hilarious.

They lit three dilapidated homes on fire, watching them burn to ash as the night progressed. The light from the fires blotted out the stars and they ate a meal of canned beans while Tate talked about his father with a mix of hatred and admiration. In the morning, when the flames had gone out, there were no bones, no sign of inhabitants. They had just wrecked three abandoned shacks. Probably did the Wasteland a favor by removing an eyesore.

One more try with the Mesmetron. A struggling trader with a sickly Brahmin and only a half-pack of wares. Tate's aim was terrible and he shot the Brahmin instead, the poor girl collapsing to the ground from exhaustion and dozing peacefully. She snorted in her sleep. Probably the first rest she had gotten in a long time. Tate pulled his knife on the trader and he tossed his pack at Charon before running, screaming the whole time about zombies and crazy ass kids and the caps not being worth it.

They sat with the Brahmin until she woke up and wandered off. Charon remembered the gentle sweetness of cows before mutation. Cows and him both.

Tate became more frustrated as the week wore on, so it didn't strike Charon as odd when he suddenly declared they were heading back to Paradise Falls. They would just take the blonde woman by force. That was what evil fucker did, right?

Like hell Charon was going to dissuade Tate from that plan, even if he had been able to object. Tearing through a shit ton of slavers in their own home sounded like a dream job.

Charon really needed to prioritize teaching Tate to shoot straight. Kid claimed that the grew up practicing with a BB gun back in the vault. But from the way he handled a 10mm it was pretty clear that practicing and becoming proficient were two different matters.

In the end, kid tossed the pistol and got up in the slavers' faces. He aimed for the face and hit hard and fast, darting in between flying bullets and forcing Charon to aim around him. They were getting pretty good at paired combat, Tate rushing in close and throwing someone off guard while Charon finished them off with an assault rifle Tate had bought for him. Fighting like this, Charon couldn't use the shotgun that he preferred, Tate would have ended up full of buckshot no matter how good Charon's aim.

Watching Tate fight was like watching an intricate dance. Charon could admit that much. But not aloud.

They cleared through the slavers who milled about outside as quickly and as violently as they could. Blood seeped down the front of Tate's vault suit in thick, wet patches. At least some of the blood was his, streaming out of his nose and down his chin and neck. He used the butt of Charon's shotgun to bash in the lock and release the pened slaves. He told them to get the fuck out before he shot them himself. In the haze of bloodlust, Charon believed that Tate would do it too.

"Let's go, Charon, she's inside." Tate pulled his knife from his belt as he approached the entrance to Eulogy's living quarters. "You need to protect her, okay? I'll take care of the other two. Just make sure nothing happens to Clover." Command.

This was madness, this idea that Tate got into his head that he had to save this one particular slave. The craziest of all slaves. Far as he could tell from their brief meeting, this Clover girl was fucking nuts. And he used to think that his creators had done a number on him. Whoever had brainwashed this girl had done a much more thorough job, and their intentions hadn't been quite as benign. Charon was just supposed to be the ultimate bodyguard, a super solider who didn't question orders. But he was still a person. This Clover, she was something different.

"Of course, Smoothskin."

Tate threw open the door and bolted as fast as he could towards Eulogy. The slaver had been ready for them, presumably the noise outside had be a hell of a clue that trouble was incoming.

The bullet from Eulogy's .44 only grazed Tate's side. Charon stuck to his orders and located the girl, falling on top of her and pinning her to the ground. She screamed like a fucking banshee underneath him, clawing and screaming and spitting fiercely. So now, maybe, he understood what Tate saw in the woman. She was an asshole just like him.

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME YOU PIECE OF ZOMBIE TRASH." In a desperate attack, she bit the side of Charon's face and pulled. When the flesh gave way a little bit, she released him and started retching.

From his place on the floor, Charon couldn't make out what Tate was doing, only that he was yelling things that weren't words and that Eulogy was definitely not getting the better of him. There was that second slave though. Where the fuck was she?

"CRIMSON, CRIMSON HELP ME YOU FUCKING CUNT." Clover barely got the words out between heaving. Fucking woman was acting like she never had 220 pounds of ghoul on top of her. And he fucking knew that one was a lie, because slavers didn't care who the caps came from as long as they were genuine.

Clumsy footsteps behind him gave away Crimson's position. Tate hadn't said a thing about protecting the other one, only the blonde. Crimson had a sword raised above her head, ready to strike with an exaggerated, amateur blow. Charon kicked her square in the stomach, sending her crumpling to the ground a few feet away. He released Clover and grabbed hold of the sword, running Crimson through the neck and pinning her to the ground. Pressure forced blood through the wound, spraying around her neck and onto the floor. Charon made sure she died because he was not cruel.

When he turned back to assess Clover, she had a shotgun in her hands and she was ready to pull the trigger. He had to react fast.

But Tate was faster, crashing into Clover and knocking her to the ground. The shotgun spun away from her and she started screaming again. Tate had her pinned well and put his hand over her mouth.

"Listen! Listen, we're here to save you, okay? I'll take your collar off and you can be free. Do whatever you want. You can come with us, but you don't have to yeah?" Tate made a pained noise, "stop biting me already, that fucking hurts."

Through the whole thing she thrashed underneath him, not for a moment giving up the fight. This wasn't going to end well, Charon could see that already.

Tate moved his hand and the screaming started up again. "You killed him! You killed Daddy you piece of trash. I'd rather die than go with you!"

Tate visibly winced.

"It's okay, you don't have to come with us. Let me just unhook your collar, okay? I have the key." Tate's voice was soft and uncharacteristically caring. Or maybe it just sounded that way against Clover's venom.

Tate laughed as he worked the lock on the collar. "Funny, I thought you would go for the badass who killed your captor. Thought chicks were into that."

Charon held back his comments on the topic. Tate was already itching for some sort of dramatic emotional episode. He was rapidly becoming predictable in his unpredictability.

Clover screamed through the whole process. Once the collar was removed, Tate knew well enough to back off quickly, rolling off of her and jumping to his feet. He held his hands out, as if he was trying to coax a scared animal out of hiding. "It's okay, you're free now."

Clover's chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her breasts rising and falling under her dingy pink dress. Here it came. Charon kept the assault rifle firmly in his grip. How she had the vocal cords left to scream was beyond Charon.

The scream was wordless, but her intent was clear, she went for the shotgun and trained it on Tate, she was clumsy and clearly injured. Charon tried to raise his weapon, but the tingling in the back of his skull prevented his body from complying. The previous order to protect her was still in place. But she was clearly a threat to the kid, right? That should have overridden everything else. Fuck. If she killed the kid, she'd be the one to end up with his contract. A true psychopath leading him around instead of a dumbass brat. Fuck, he'd much rather have Tate.

Tate wasn't an idiot. Well, he was an idiot, but one with a clear sense of self-preservation. When Clover swung the shotgun in his direction, he pulled what looked like Eulogy's .44. Now, if only the kid could hit a target right in front of his face.

"Clover…" Tate sounded...sad. Like when he talked about the vault, or Amata and Butch, or his father.

She screamed again. The .44 sang. She crumpled to the floor, her dress billowing up like a parachute. For once Tate had managed to hit something. Charon couldn't see Tate's eyes, too much distance, but if he could, it was sure not to be good.

Tate dropped the gun on the floor. Charon knew right then that it was a lost cause, he'd leave the gun behind. Didn't matter how useful or valuable. Wasn't like they needed the caps though. Charon half expected Tate to melt too, just fall to the floor and pass out. The last hour had been traumatic for anyone. Well, anyone who hadn't been repeating the same shit over and over for the last 200 years. Traumatic for anyone who wasn't Charon.

"I couldn't save her."

"I don't know why you even tried, Smoothskin."

"Doesn't matter."

When Tate stopped talking, Charon lit a cigarette. Minutes ticked by while Tate composed himself. Wasn't doing a very good job though. Just clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I wanna fuck."

Not this shit again.

Tate started stripping out of his blood-soaked vault suit as if in a trance. Took off his undershirt too. "Take off your clothes, Charon." Command.

He had no choice but to comply. This fucking crazy ass contract bullshit.

Charon grunted and placed the assault rifle carefully by the side of the bed. Tate had to decide to do this in slaver country, in their home base, without first verifying that they had gotten them all. Great, just great. Stupid kid.

He started on the buckles of his armor, unhooking them with precision. His cock was getting hard already, which didn't even make sense because he sure as shit had not been attracted to men last time he checked. He'd had employers before who had him fuck women, sometimes for caps, sometimes for amusement. Only ever had one female employer, hadn't gotten to fuck her.

Tate had stripped himself down, including removing his sunglasses. His face was still streaked with blood from his nose. It clung to his fists too. Some on his Pip-boy screen, but the trails stopped where his jumpsuit would have covered.

Naked, Tate climbed into Eulogy's bed. He was already erect too, palming himself and breathing heavily. Despite himself, Charon worked faster to be rid of his armor. It was a funny thing, half-knowing that he'd fuck Tate willingly at this point, but full well considering it could always be the work of the contract. Just because Tate got off on being taken like a woman didn't mean his body could ever be mistaken for one. He was all densely packed muscle. Solid shoulders, small, tapered waist, narrow hips. Yeah, definitely not what Charon wanted. But then he did.

"Get over here and fuck me, Charon."

"How?"

It was almost a game at this point. Charon knew the answer, but he needed the command. Needed it so it wouldn't feel like himself doing these things. Tate saying it would remove his responsibility for what was going to transpire between them.

"Hard, make it hurt. I want it," he had to say it with that breathy voice, the one laced with arousal and pain. Didn't need to do say it like that, Charon would have to comply anyway.

Finally rid of his armor, Charon climbed on top of Tate, striking him across the face with his open hand. Not full strength, that would knock the kid out, but hard enough. The blond winced and his head flew to the side. When Tate turned back, his nose was bleeding again. Seeing Tate's face, the conflict in Charon's programming reared its head. Looked like someone he was supposed to kill. Ordered as someone he had to fuck.

"Yeah," Tate moaned, "like that."

Tate hadn't ordered him to talk, so Charon kept silent. He couldn't look at the kid's face anymore, flushed and covered in blood. He might have broken his nose, even though that hadn't been his intention.

Above Eulogy's bed hung a noose. That was a sick fucker for sure. Tate was sick too, but not like that.

He grabbed Tate by his hip and flipped him over, pushing his face into the bed. His hand tangled in the kid's messy blond hair and he held Tate in place against the mattress until he was struggling for air. When Charon pulled up, Tate took big gasps, filling his lungs and wheezing. Blood speckled the already dirty sheets.

Charon pulled Tate up onto his hands and knees, settling between his thighs but not yet penetrating him. He rutted against the curve of Tate's ass until the vaultie thrust frantically back against him. Grabbing Tate's right wrist, Charon pulled him up and drew his arm through the loop of the noose.

"Fuck yeah." Tate kept thrusting, nearly losing his balance.

The left arm with the Pip-boy was more difficult. He should have started with that one. Charon had to grab the arm above where the device ended and force the clunky thing through the loop. The result was that one arm sat further into the noose than the other, Tate's exposed left wrist pressing up against the casing of the Pip-boy.

When he ceased supporting Tate's weight, the blond fell forward and the noose tightened, binding his hands in place and stretching him at an obscene angle. On his knees, Tate's shoulders and back tightened, the muscles underneath his skin distinctly rendered. His back arched under the weight of his torso. He had spread his legs further to try and adjust his balance, but also as a clear invitation.

"Fuck, Charon, fuck…" his voice trailed off and his head dropped between his shoulders.

Tate hadn't requested preparation. So Charon didn't bother. It had been over a week since they last fucked, well before the first trip to Paradise Falls. Charon positioned himself behind the prone blond and parted his ass, lining himself up with Tate's entrance.

When he pushed past the tight ring of muscle, Charon could feel himself growl, but he couldn't quite hear it over Tate's shriek. When he met resistance, Charon wrapped one arm around Tate's torso and pulled him towards his own chest, holding him back and forcing him onto his cock. Tate's joints overextended to compensate for the stretch in his arms. This way, Charon was able to sheath himself fully even though Tate was tight and dry.

He could hear Tate sobbing now. Pain, maybe. But he didn't tell Charon to stop.

"Move, MOVE." Command.

Charon's hips complied, pulling out and thrusting back at about half-strength. Any harder and Tate might pass out. Charon slammed into the vaultie again and again until the movement became slick and pleasurable for him. When he looked down, there was blood on his cock. He had torn Tate open.

Didn't tell him to stop. Sobbed. But didn't tell him to stop.

Releasing Tate's torso, Charon instead grabbed hold of his hair, pulling his head back and extending his neck. His other hand wrapped around Tate's throat gently, but to the correct effect, limiting his breathing but not stopping it altogether. There would be bruises on his throat tomorrow for certain.

Now that he wasn't held tightly in place, Tate thrust his hips back, meeting Charon's. With the added encouragement, the clear desire, Charon quickened his pace, slamming himself into the blond. His hipbones would leave marks on Tate just as well as his hands would. Brutally marking his employer in the bed of a dead slaver. Intoxicating. How could he not want this?

Something warm and wet slid down Charon's hand, the one around Tate's throat. Not blood, not thick enough for blood. Tears.

"Butch."

It was a choked, pained thing. Hard to discern if it was a cry for help or Tate was play acting Charon was someone else. Tate had done this before and it had never become clear.

"Talk." Command.

Charon was not cruel, but he didn't know how to pleasure another man. Didn't really know what to do to make Tate come with his hands. No amount of mastrubating himself would teach Charon how to get this kid off. Good thing he knew how to do it with his voice.

"Shoulda left the collar on her. Kept her alive. I'd make you taste her pussy off my cock."

Tate shuddered and came, shooting his seed across the mattress and shivering in his bindings. His head fell lax again as Charon released his hair and throat. A whine emanated from him as Charon grabbed hold of his hips instead and continued fucking him. He was close, so close. Bleeding like this, it was almost as if Tate were wet for him. Still couldn't mistake the body for a female one, but this would have to do.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." Tate was oversensitive, having already come and still contorted in his binds. He still moved his hips, but only weakly, a token sign that he wouldn't just hang there and take it. "Charon, come."

Not a command. Request.

Charon came, buried in Tate's ass. He grunted, not being required to vocalize any further. His head spun a bit from the high of what he had done, thinking of the purple bruises that had already begun to materialize on Tate's body. But it was over now. He withdrew from Tate's rapidly cooling form, his cock coated with blood and a little bit of cum. Tate needed help out of the noose and Charon lifted the blond's weight up off the bed so the knot would come loose. Tate practically collapsed on the bed.

"We can't stay here, can we?" Tate seemed to already know the answer to his own question.

"Not safe." Charon climbed out of the bed and went for his armor. He wouldn't want to be caught out so defenseless.

"Right," Tate sounded exhausted. Hell, he'd already been exhausted even before they'd fucked. Still, he gingerly slid out of bed, unashamed of his nakedness and unconcerned with the corpses on the floor.

Tate wandered across the room, not outwardly expressing any signs of pain. Too proud for that, Charon supposed. He came to where Clover's body lay and turned it over with his foot. The bullet had gone through her chest, hitting something vital. The skin already looked unnaturally pale. Hell of a shot for a kid who couldn't aim.

"I want out." Command.