A/N: Lemons and violence ahead—last warning!
"Damnit, Charlie, you almost got yourself killed," Monroe's voice was matter-of-fact, but his heart was racing. She had no idea how close he'd been to killing this intruder first, asking questions later. Taking a few steps back, he asked, "What the hell are you doing out here? I thought you were back at the hotel."
"What about you?" she snapped back. "Why aren't you back at the bar basking in your glory with your hordes of admirers?"
Monroe snorted. Charlie was such a child sometimes. He'd come out this far into the desert to get away from all that, wasn't it obvious? Nowhere in New Vegas provided any refuge, and he'd needed to be alone with his thoughts. As soon as Gould had let him, he'd thrown a t-shirt and boots on and made his way out into the wilderness.
Normally after a fight, he was happy to find the whore who best suited his mood that evening-tall, short, exotic, plain, lush, spare-and take her back to his trailer and do unspeakable things to her. So he'd been disturbed to find himself brushing off the various gorgeous women who were flinging themselves at him after the fight, searching the crowd with increasing distraction for one woman in particular-Charlie.
He'd known he was in trouble for a long time. He'd tried to fight it, telling himself she was literally half his age, that his best friend Miles would surely murder him for even thinking about her that way, let alone acting on it. Part of him had chalked it up to being in Willoughby, and then on the road, where female company was in short supply to say the least. Not that a man had to be desperate to appreciate Charlie's full lips, curvy ass, and long legs. He'd gotten to the point where he couldn't resist finding excuses to be close to her, touch her. But he'd figured that a return to New Vegas, with its wealth of pulchritude, would clear his head. Now he realized he was just as infatuated with her here as anywhere else.
Still, she was frustrating, always seeming to expect the worst of him. "My hordes of admirers? Are you serious? We needed that money, Charlie. Or have you forgotten why we're here?"
After a few seconds of quiet, she asked, "Okay, we need the money now. But what about before? You fought here for months. Are you telling me you didn't do it for the fame? The women?"
Monroe barked a bitter laugh. How ironic that she was lecturing him about other women when she was the one he couldn't get out of his mind. Was she jealous? Maybe so, and in any case, she was dead wrong about his reasons for fighting.
Stepping closer to her, he darkly informed her, "I did it for the pain. The blood. It was a way to survive doing what I do best. And it was a release that kept me on the right side of sanity. Mostly." He thought of a few whores who'd born the brunt when it hadn't.
"What about now that you're not fighting?" she challenged him.
"I have other things to distract me. Like keeping you and your family alive."
"Funny, you didn't seem too concerned with keeping my family alive when you were the General," she retorted.
Monroe flinched inwardly at this reminder of the pain he'd caused her. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he spat. "What I've done. What's in my head. None of it."
In the dim light, he saw her shrug. "Just saying. Must be hard to stay sane, as you put it, without beating someone to a bloody pulp every night. How do you get that release you need oh-so-badly?" she asked in a mocking tone.
Part of him wanted to tell her the truth, to wipe the smirk off her face. He now had that release only when thinking of her. His hand wrapped around his hard cock, fisting his straining erection, mind racing with thoughts of Charlie… her legs spread as wide as they would go, for him… touching herself… lifting a moist finger to dip it between her lips, holding his hot gaze all the while... His body clenching with a powerful orgasm as he groaned her name… He wrenched himself back to the present, trying to ignore the effect his brief thoughts had on his body.
"The fuck do you care how I do or don't get release?" He stepped toward her again, closing the gap between them completely. Bending down to her ear, he growled, "Are you going to give it to me?"
Charlie gasped as he rubbed himself against her, making her feel his arousal pressing her body into the rock surface. His low voice continued, "Cause I'm telling you, Charlotte. I could really fucking use it." With that, he smashed his lips into hers, pulling a surprised moan from her throat. She opened to him immediately, and their tongues and teeth clashed heatedly. God, she tasted amazing. His hands worked up and down her body, touching everywhere, running over her breasts, up her arms now twined around his neck, and back down, dipping quickly between her legs and around to her ass. He grabbed onto it, pulling her hard against him, dry humping her, making his intentions clear.
In response, Charlie threw her legs up around his waist, and he groaned with desire. He pulled down one strap of her tank top, sucking on the exposed flesh there, on her neck, then back to her mouth with urgency. Her hands were glued to his back, holding him close as she shifted her hips back and forth against him. Just as she found a steady pace, he pulled her away from the rock, and her feet hit the ground. "Pants off. Now." he commanded, and she quickly unlaced and kicked off her boots. They were both breathing hard as she hesitated with her hands at her waist. Impatiently, Monroe grabbed her waistband and pulled her toward him, popping the button and zipper open with all-too-practiced aplomb. He thrust her jeans halfway down her thighs then ran his hand up and over her mound, trailing up her stomach then back down into her center.
She was so wet for him, he was shocked. It was the confirmation he'd been waiting for, that this thing, whatever it was, wasn't one-sided. She felt it too. She wanted him too. His fingers roughly explored her flesh, dipping inside her to coat his fingers with her juices. Charlie moaned, and he immediately pulled his hand away and thrust his now-damp fingers into her waiting mouth. She latched on eagerly, sucking them, bathing them with her tongue. Goddamnit. She was unbelievable.
Unable to stand it any longer, Monroe turned Charlie so her back was to him, her hands pressed against the rock in front of her, her ass pushed out toward him. Wasting no time, he grabbed for the ties of his leather pants and undid them, pushing them slightly down his hips and pulling out his pulsing erection. He noticed that at some point, Charlie had taken her pants the rest of the way off. She now waited, pressed against the wall, open and ready for him. He molded himself to her back, his cock pressing up against her ass cheeks. Reaching his arms around her and up under her tank top, kneading her breasts, drawing her into him, he murmured, "This is it, Charlotte. After this, you're mine. No going back." In response, she looked over her shoulder at him, eyes half-closed with lust, lips full from his kisses, and whispered simply, "Okay."
That single word was everything. One of his hands braced on her hip, and the other grabbed his hard cock, guiding it along her slippery folds. He found her entrance and, wracked with lust, he thrust into her in one long stroke, eliciting a loud cry from her that echoed in the quiet desert like a shot. God, Charlie was so tight, so wet, so hot for him. Monroe thrust at a punishing tempo, slamming into her with brutal strength. He'd waited so long, and all the anticipation and frustration and need erupted in that moment. Dimly, he registered that Charlie's face and chest were pressed into the wall and she was barely holding herself up. She arched her back, and he felt himself hitting her at another angle, bottoming out inside her. In this new position, she began moaning his name. "Bass… Bass… Oh God uhh, Bass…" Without warning, her body spasmed into orgasm, soaking them both in her pleasure.
The sound of his name dropping from her lips, the feel of her tight sheath shuddering, the raw hunger he felt, propelled him over the edge. Releasing an animalistic groan, hands digging cruelly into her hips, he pushed himself as far into her as he could go as he exploded, filling her with his seed. He thrust into her a few more times as he came down from his high, letting Charlie back to the ground as he realized he'd pushed her up the wall with his force. Still inside her, he pulled her back into his arms, pressing his forehead into her neck and emitting a vocal sigh. Charlie panted quietly, clinging to his forearms that were wrapped around her chest.
After a few minutes, he released her and stepped back, pulling up his pants. Charlie found hers and did the same, turning toward him but not looking up at him. With her hair falling in her face, illuminated by white moonlight, she suddenly looked so very young and innocent. Shit. Monroe thought. What did I just do? But though he knew he should probably be feeling guilt or regret, all he wanted to do was laugh out loud. He was practically giddy. He, who was always so angry, so calculating, felt more carefree than he had in years, here in this dark desert with her and what they'd just shared. Release, indeed.
Finally, he noticed that she was completely silent. "You okay?" he asked carefully. Charlie nodded, keeping her head down. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. "You gonna say anything?"
"I'm fine," she said shortly, looking away. "I'm great."
This was not the reaction of a woman overwhelmed by joy. Immediately, he felt like a jerk. What had he done wrong? Had he pushed too fast? Had he taken advantage of her? The uncertainty irritated him, and he spoke briskly. "Alright, well, I should get back and sleep. I've got the fight tomorrow, and I'm meeting Duncan in the morning." He took a few steps and noticed Charlie was still rooted in place. "You coming?"
"No," she said. "You go ahead. I'm gonna stay out here awhile longer." She gazed off into space as if deep in thought.
Frustrated, he threw his arms out and rolled his eyes to the sky. "Seriously, Charlie? You're going to stay alone out here? Where anyone can find you, rape you, and murder you? For how long?"
"I was doing just fine until I ran into you," she replied calmly.
Her use of the word "until" did not go unnoticed. So, what, now she wasn't fine? He gave up. Fixing her for a few seconds with a furious glare, he finally turned and strode back toward New Vegas, feeling the pull of her behind him the entire way.
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The sound of a barker outside his window woke Monroe with a start. "Best breakfast in New Vegas, get your morning after cure here! Get the day started off right at Lenny's, two for one special for your someone special! Breakfast here!" His arm smoothed across the bed next to him. Empty. Of course. Remembering last night, he closed his eyes with pleasure. Kissing Charlie. Holding her. Fucking her. Then leaving her in the desert…
His eyes sprang open. Jesus, did she even make it back last night? An irrational need to see her overcame him. Quickly, he jumped out of bed where he'd been lying naked, threw on a pair of jeans from his pack, and stormed out of his hotel room.
He got to her door and wrenched it open, breathless with panic, only to see her lying tangled in her sheets in the morning sunlight. Alone. His stomach dropped in relief. Thank God. Monroe hadn't even realized how desperate he was to confirm that she wasn't with someone else, until he had. For a few seconds, he gazed at her, his expression stoic, amazed at how beautiful she was asleep. He almost always rose before her and loved seeing her peaceful and vulnerable in sleep.
Now that the urgency had left him, he tried to step back into the hallway, but of course his crashing into her room had woken Charlie. She lifted her head, still groggy, and focused on him standing before her clad only in jeans. Monroe saw the moment the memories of last night came flooding back to her. Her eyes widened in what looked like equal parts panic, fear, and excitement. Quickly, she sat up, pulling the sheet up over her chest and hooking her arms around her knees defensively.
"Why the hell are you in my room?" she asked, her anger a bit overdone, in his opinion. "What do you want?"
Well, now that he had her attention. He closed the door behind him and walked over so that his knees were nearly touching the edge of her bed. Her eyes were glued to his face, her head tilting up to follow him. "I may not have been entirely clear about something last night," he said. He paused, not sure if he should go further, say it all. Charlie's blue eyes stared at him, her brow furrowed adorably in confusion. Fuck it.
"I want you," he continued. "Not just against a rock in the fucking desert in the middle of the night. Every night. Every day. Right now." Her face dawned with realization, and he thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on her lips. She began to open her mouth to respond, but before she could, he took one of her forearms in his hand and pulled her slowly out of the bed to stand before him. As the sheet slid away, he saw that she also slept naked, and he grunted his approval. Standing facing him, not touching other than where his hand was still on her arm, Charlie waited.
Slowly, Monroe ran his hand up her arm, over her shoulder and behind her neck, pulling her face toward his. Their lips met in a light, gentle kiss, contrasting with the ferocity of the night before. His other hand traveled up her hip, her waist, to cover her breast, which he rubbed and kneaded, pinching her nipple lightly, eliciting a squeak against his lips. He pressed against her lips more urgently in response, plunging his tongue into her mouth, placing both thumbs over her nipples to feel the swell of her breasts beneath his hands. She was so perfectly formed.
Then Monroe did something he almost never did, period: sank to his knees. On the floor before Charlie, he knelt, licking his way down her stomach as he went. She watched him. He pulled her thighs apart and immediately thrust his tongue into her cunt, tasting her. Charlie was already soaking wet, her sex swollen with want for him. He ran his tongue up and down her slit until she was crying out with pleasure. Working her clit expertly, he plunged two fingers into her, moving steadily, responding to her moans and movements. Suddenly, her hips bucked against him and she buried her hands in his hair, holding him in place as she came.
Leaning back slightly, Monroe rested his cheek against her briefly, then got up and took her naked body in his arms again. Charlie raised her hands to his chest and pushed at him. "Your turn now," she said. Monroe was confused as she kept pushing him backward, til his knees hit the small desk chair in her hotel room. A silly relic, that, he thought idly, a holdover from times when people actually did business in hotel rooms. When business travel was a thing. He shook his head as he sat down. Focus.
Charlie knelt on the floor in front of him and ran her hands up his jean-clad legs. "Hmm… what have we here?" she mused impishly as she ran her hands lightly over the bulge of his erection, straining against the worn denim. She glanced up teasingly at Monroe, who gave her a stern look. Don't tease me. At that, she smiled even wider and ran her hands under his waistband, along his flat stomach, her fingers brushing the head of his cock. Monroe made a strangled sound and exhaled sharply.
Finally, Charlie unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock. From the look on her face as she ran her small hands over it, she approved. Monroe moved slightly, trying to get more friction out of her. In response, she lowered her mouth toward his crotch, taking the head of his penis into her mouth. She was all softness and wetness and heat, and Monroe thought nothing had ever felt so good. Up and down she worked, taking more and more of him with each pass, until he felt himself touch the back of her throat. She gagged on him, pulled off, and plunged down, gagging harder as he rammed into her soft palate. Monroe rolled his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to last long if she kept doing that.
After a few more strokes, he put his hand in her hair and grabbed a fistful of it to still her movements. She looked up at him, her hand still wrapped around his rock hard penis. He met her eyes and pulled her up toward him by the hair, commanding her: "Ride me."
Clambering up his body somewhat awkwardly, Charlie straddled his lap, his cock resting against her mound. She found her footing and raised herself up, taking him in her hand. Biting her lip in concentration to maintain her balance, she worked his cock against her slit, wetting it, driving him insane with need of her. Just before he lost it and grabbed her to slam her onto the bed and into her at his own pace, she placed him at her entrance and sank down. He hissed as if in pain with the ecstasy of it. Spreading her legs wide to get him as deep as possible, Charlie rocked back and forth on him, pounding her clit against his public bone, her breasts bouncing with her gyrations. It felt like she was pulling him into her, and he began to lose control. Beneath her, his balls tightened, and he pulled her down on him violently as he came inside her. "Charlotte," he breathed out. "Charlotte." He captured her mouth in a kiss he hoped said it all, how much she meant to him, how happy he was, how he felt so empty in the best possible way.
Charlie rested her forehead in the side of his neck and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She seemed content to stay put for a long time. After a while, regretfully, Monroe pulled her back. Their gazes met, and she leaned in for another kiss. He responded, languidly moving his lips across hers, running his hands across her back. When they parted, he pushed his hips up in an unspoken, "Get up." She frowned at him, and he explained, "I gotta go get ready to meet Duncan." She flinched and scrambled up immediately, turning her back to him and pulling on clothes.
Probably could have phrased that better, he thought, stepping into his own jeans. "Are you coming to the fight tonight?" he asked, seeking to make amends.
Charlie shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't see much last night." She now stood before him in her own jeans and a tight, faded red t-shirt.
Monroe pulled her into his arms, but she held her face back, looking up at him. He stared into her eyes. "Come. I want you there." With that, he dropped her head to hers for one last, searing kiss. She nodded. Then he was out the door.
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Entering the tent that night, Monroe was coiled with tension, even though everything had gone fine with Duncan that morning. She'd accepted his price of five hundred diamonds for twenty men, and he'd selected the group that would be departing with him and Charlie in the morning. If the fight goes okay, that is, he thought. If I live.
For tonight's fight was the ultimate battle-a fight to the death. He'd done plenty of them when he'd first arrived in New Vegas after the bombs fell. Back then, he hardly valued his own life. Gambling with it for a significantly higher payday was worth it, and somehow feeling the life pulsing out of the men in the ring with him helped. Soothed the screaming demon inside, at least for a while. But as the weeks passed and he returned to reality, to sanity, he told Gould no more. It wasn't worth it. He wanted to live. Though he'd never lost a fight, anything could happen in the ring. He'd delivered the unexpected to enough men to know it.
Locating Gould, Monroe strode up to him, front and center of the crowd. Gould didn't usually deign to come to regular matches, but fights to the death were something special. Even in the hellscape that the world had become, public murder was still somewhat taboo. "Jimmy!" Gould exclaimed, his glee evident in his broad grin. He held up a hand as if to slap Monroe on the back, but the deathly glare on Monroe's face stopped him. The hand dropped uselessly, and he gamely asked, "You ready for tonight? I see your personal fan club showed up." He gestured across the ring at Charlie.
Monroe's glare dropped as his face cleared with surprise. Charlie was there, all right, but she hardly looked like herself. She'd swapped her jeans and t-shirt for a short, green, spaghetti-strap dress. The dress was thin, and even across the ring, he could see the outline of her hard nipples, the full curve of her breasts. She looked like just another whore or townie, which he guessed was her aim. Charlie recognized the value of blending in, though a woman as gorgeous as her couldn't help but attract attention anyway. In fact, the dress seemed to have the opposite effect, as he noticed a tall, dark-skinned man next to her smiling and chatting her up. As Charlie smiled and tipped her head back in laughter, the man casually slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side.
Monroe's blood rushed with fury, but he stayed still. There was nothing he could do about it right then. Still, he stared Charlie down until she looked around, finally locking onto his gaze. She raised her mouth in a half-smirk and turned back to the man next to her, exaggeratedly interested in what he was saying. Monroe clenched his fists and whipped back toward Gould.
"Are we doing this, or what?" he demanded. He needed to kill someone. He really needed to kill someone, now.
Gould nodded to the announcer, who stepped into the middle of the ring and shouted in a loud, nasal voice: "Ladies and gentlemen! Back for the second night of a two-night appearance, prepare yourselves to witness the savage brutality of the one, the legend… JIMMY KING!" The crowd cheered and hollered, and the announcer continued. "IF you missed him last night, folks, don't worry-for tonight is the GRRRRAND FINALE! A fight… to the death!" The cheers grew louder, wilder.
"And his challenger… you've all gotten to know him well. Our current undefeated champion… Mister BUCK WALKER!" The dark man next to Charlie stepped forward, roaring at the crowd and doffing his shirt, throwing it to a screaming woman nearby. Monroe smiled grimly. Perfect.
Monroe and Walker stepped forward, facing each other on either side of the announcer. Walker bared his teeth, glowering, stomping back and forth. Monroe stared back at him evenly, lightly balanced on his toes, legs tensed, ready to spring. He realized he had no idea what this man was capable of.
"Fighters! You remember our house RULE! This is a fight to the death which means only one of you leaves alive! No truces, no draws, no compromises-our men are guarding every door to make sure of it!" He paused and wiggled his eyebrows at the crowd, drawing laughs and hoots. "Fighters ready?" Walker nodded eagerly; Monroe remained motionless. The bell clanged, starting the fight.
Monroe immediately lurched backward, giving himself precious seconds to take the measure of his opponent. The man was aggressive, following him forward, belting Monroe with a shot to the stomach. Monroe nearly always took the first hit-it gave him the information he needed to end things quickly. Walker was a righty. He swung under and up. He followed through with his torso. His eyes followed his fists. He was heavy on his feet. His legs were huge and muscular. Monroe knew he couldn't let himself get pinned, or it was over.
All this he thought in a split second, then came swinging back with a hard cut to Walker's jaw, followed by a quick jab to his eye. Walker roared, pushing his head down and charging at Monroe. Monroe used the opportunity to bash his knee up into Walker's throat, hunching forward to absorb the impact of Walker's skull on his ribs. Monroe stumbled, recovered, and launched a kick to Walker's neck that threw him backward.
Walker was still on his feet as Monroe stalked forward. Walker reached out to grab Monroe's shoulder, but Monroe intercepted his wrist, pulled the man toward him, and pummeled his nose and mouth with a quick series of hits. Blood spurted from Walker's face, splattering on Monroe's face, chest, and arms. Monroe grinned madly. This was where it got fun.
Still holding Walker's wrist in a vice grip, he yanked the man's arm back at an unnatural angle, relishing the crack of tendons and bones. Walker flailed with his other arm, bashing his fist into the side of Monroe's head with a loud smack, once, twice. Stars exploded in Monroe's vision. He roared and twisted away, creating space between himself and Walker. He had to get the man on the ground.
Both men collected themselves, Monroe shaking his head and hand, Walker wobbling on his feet. Walker found his footing and flew at Monroe with his powerful leg raised for a kick to Monroe's face. Monroe turned slightly just in time, absorbing the blow with his back, and quickly returning a kick of his own to Walker's planted leg. He hit his opponent just where he'd aimed, right below the kneecap. Walker howled and fell to the ground, the bones of his leg jutting against his skin.
Monroe leapt on top of Walker and began punching his face in absolute concentration. Pain surged through his fists, and his knuckles split open, oozing blood. Monroe felt his mouth curl into a cruel smile. Blood flew everywhere, peppering Monroe, Walker, and the crowd nearby. Walker continued to struggle against the blows, but with his useless arm and broken leg, he was no match for Monroe anymore. Monroe worked him over longer than was probably necessary, as a brief image flashed in his mind of the man flirting with Charlie. His Charlie.
Now it was obvious the fight was over. Walker lay nearly motionless on the ground, and it was time for Monroe to finish it. As his opponent coughed and moaned, and the crowd watched in breathless quiet, Monroe raised himself up, his bruised ribs lancing pain through his body. He dropped onto Walker with one knee on the man's throat, grabbing his shoulders for leverage, and pushed down on his windpipe. Walker's eyes widened, shiny with tears, as he struggled upward. And then he fell, his eyes closed, his body limp. Dead.
The crowd exploded into cheers, and Monroe sat back on his heels. His nerves were jangling with adrenaline. He felt incredible. There was no feeling on earth like killing a man in raw combat, a clash of warring flesh. Euphoria flooded through his body, and he arched backward, his chin jutting forward, eyes closed, both arms lofted over his head, his hands clenched into fists. The announcer grabbed one of them and declared, "The winner! Tonight's champion and still the deadliest fighter in the Wasteland… JIMMY KING!"
Monroe rose slowly to his feet, still shaky from the strain of the fight. He ran his hand across his blood-soaked face, and someone handed him a towel. Absently, he wiped his forehead, eyes, mouth, neck, then threw it on the ground. Slowly coming back to earth, he searched the crowd for one face. Charlie.
She was still there, standing as if in shock, just a few feet away from him, her mouth agape in horror. When his eyes met hers, a pained grimace twisted her beautiful face, and she backed up until she knocked into the person behind her. That seemed to shake her out of her trance, and she quickly turned and raced back through the crowd and out of the tent. Yanking away from the adoring hands now grabbing for his attention, Monroe rushed after her.
Charlie wasn't moving very fast, stumbling between the tents as if her feet weren't quite under her. Monroe easily caught up, grabbed her upper arm, and pushed her around to face him.
"Where the hell are you going?" he asked angrily. "Don't you want to congratulate me on a great fight?" His diction was sharp with biting sarcasm.
Charlie shoved him off of her. "You killed that man," she shouted accusingly.
"Yeah, no shit, Charlie. It was fight to the death."
"How could you?" she demanded.
"You'd rather I'd lost? You'd rather he was the one standing out here with you?" Monroe sneered, inwardly urging her to say no.
She blanched. "God, of course not. I just-I wish you didn't have to kill him."
Monroe laughed bitterly. "I got news for you, babe. There are only a few ways to earn enough diamonds for twenty men in two days. My guess is that you don't care to fuck Gould and all his VIPs for the money, so I did what I had to do."
"Bullshit," she countered. "What you 'had' to do. You loved it. You loved killing him."
Monroe paused for a few long seconds, then leaned into Charlie, getting in her face. "You know what? I did. I did love killing him." She gulped, either at his proximity or at his confession. "But you know what else I think?" His voice dropped into a seductive murmur. "I think you loved it too. I think you loved watching me."
Startled eyes met his, and there Monroe saw the truth of what he'd said. Charlie's eyes were full of fear, hatred, but also worship. Of him.
"I think you loved seeing how ruthless I am. How powerful. How invincible. Maybe…" he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Through antagonistically curled lips, he continued, "Maybe seeing me in the hot blood of a death match… turned you on."
She took a shuddering breath at this, let it out, then seemed to regain her composure. "You really think I'm that sick?" she said, trying to twist away from him, but he held her pinned against him.
"I think you and me, we're two of a kind," he answered.