Audience, I'm not even going to lie: the single review I got for the last chapter made me squeal like a damn fool. That review is also the reason you get a chapter of what I hope will be well-written smut. So, y'all can thank FancyLadySnackCakes. Pointers would, uh, totally be welcome, since I've never written anything like this before.
It's probably... Not going to be good in any sense of the word, but at least I tried. And if it went somewhat well... Then maybe I'll try my hand at it again in the future, and it will be improved.
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
She's warm, so warm. It feels like her skin is on fire everywhere fabric covers it, feels like her hair is pulled back too tight, like someone's pulling it away from her scalp while it's still in the tight, pristine bun at the back of her head. The first thing she does once she's in her house is pull the old elastic band from her hair, paying it no mind as it snaps against her fingers and falls to the ground in two pieces. All she does is sigh contentedly and run her hands through her hair. The shocking white strands don't even bother her as they usually do, falling free and thick in waves to brush against her shoulder blades, she's so preoccupied with the heat surging through her veins like fire following a trickle of fuel. It's all just because of Charon (and well, the alcohol may be minutely responsibly for amplifying everything she's feeling right now to such a degree). The fire in her veins, the faint, pleasantly warm pressure nestled in a pool of wetness at the junction of her thighs - even if the massive ghoul doesn't realize it (and she's more than willing to bet that he doesn't), he's the cause. She's aware (if only dimly, at this moment) that love and lust aren't the same thing - not even close; But the more she watches him, muscles rolling both visibly and hidden by skin... For her, at least, there's an overlap, and she doesn't give a damn if she'll be mocked and kicked out of cities and denied entrance to certain places. As long as she stays on the good side of the majority of the population of Megaton, she'll always have a home here, at least; That or the Lincoln Memorial, since Hannibal had offered her a place to stay, should she need it, or even Underworld.
Her hands are rushing to undo the fastenings on her top, because she needs to cool off and she needs to feel rough hands on her skin. Hands on her shoulders make her jolt and freeze and suddenly everything's so much clearer, like the first time she put on a pair of those cheesy tortoiseshell glasses that she'd found out in the wastes (by no means was her vision terrible, and the lenses weren't necessary, but everything lost it's mildly hazy edge with them on). As the hands pull away, she nearly lets out a groan of frustration, turning to find Charon standing much, much closer than she had been expecting. "Go to bed, smoothskin." Before now, she's never realized quite how tall he is - the top of her head is barely level with her shoulders, and standing on her toes lifts her just enough to be eye level with his chin. Narrowing her eyes up at the ghoul, she shakes her head, catches sight of the large bed in the center of the room and nearly grins.
"No." Normally, she would have listened to him - it's so rare that he really speaks, at least to do something other than shout war cries, and even rarer that he tells her to do something rather than suggesting it - but this time, she's got something else in mind. "Go sit on your bed, Charon." she purrs, smirking and watching with half-lidded eyes as the ghoul perches himself on one edge of his bed, watching her with wary eyes. Licking her lips, she takes one, two, three, four steps, coming to a stop directly in front of him. Carefully, she reaches forward, before deciding against the action and retracting her hand. Instead, she slinks onto the bed, pressing her chest against the expanse of Charon's back and resting her head on his shoulder. "If you want me to stop," she pauses, pressing kisses against the skin and muscle of his neck, "just tell me. I can... Take care of myself." Been doin' that for a while, anyways, won't make a damn bit of difference. God, does she ever hope he doesn't say 'no' ; This close, he's deliciously warm, even through her clothes, eliciting another pleased sigh from between slightly parted lips. "Just. Say. No. If you're. Uncomfortable." Her sentence is paused at odd times for her to continue peppering the ghoul's neck with delicate kisses, her arms looping around him to tug at the buckles on the front of his armor when he makes no effort to tell her to stop or make her leave. "I know it's not part of your contract," she adds, because if anything will cause him to say he wants out, that would be it. She waits a few minutes, fingers still working blindly at buckles, and she's prepared to pull away, go upstairs and take care of herself because of the lack of response, when Charon moves, helping her undo the clasps on his armor. Biting down on her tongue to keep some completely undignified noise from escaping her lips, she tugs at bits of armor as they come loose, dropping them onto the floor.
When his top half is bare, she hums appreciatively, running her hands over his shoulder blades (she would be lying through her teeth if she said that she wasn't a sucker for a fantastic pair of shoulders) and around to his front, pressing herself against his back once again, as she traces the well-defined muscles of his chest and abs. "You are drunk." Charon reminds her, and all she does is muster up a snort in reply. "You will regret this, Sallie." A bolt of white-hot lightning shoots through her when he says her name; Instead of instantly protesting, she scrambles off of the bed to stare at him. Funny how the only reason she's taller than him now is because of how low this bed is to the ground. Gently, she pushes him back, straddling his lap and only just stifling a small moan when their hips are flush against each other and she can feel him, warm and hard beneath her. Her fingertips trace over his jaw, over his cheekbones, thread through the remaining strands of his hair. There's some big speech she has planned out in her mind, telling him that he's wrong and she'll never regret this and he's stupid for suggesting it (this speech, admittedly, would have been ended with her rolling her hips against his and telling him that she needs to feel him inside of her, needs to feel him filling her up), but the words never make it out; She's too busy kissing him desperately, delivering affectionate little nips to his bottom lip when he seems hesitant to react. Before she has time to react, Charon is molding his lips against hers, threading his tongue into her mouth. Gasping for breath when the kiss finally breaks, she manages a weak smile.
He's never done this before; Doesn't have a damn clue what he's doing when he finally lifts his hands from their place, hanging limply at his sides, to rest on his employer's hips. All he's doing is emulating her actions when they kiss, occasionally giving her hips a soft squeeze. Where their hips are pressed together, it's blissfully hot, pleasant pressure driving him mad each time the vault girl chooses to roll her hips against his. His pants have grown painfully tight by the time Sallie pulls back to unfasten her top and shrug it off her shoulders, and it only gets worse when he sees what's underneath. Where she'd even found something so thin and sinfully lacy, and in what looks like a relatively unfaded shade of red that contrasts so sharply with the milky skin so consistently hidden by everything she wears, he doesn't know; God, he doesn't even fucking care, just knows he'd be happy to sit and stare at her, especially if there are panties to match. But then the bra is gone and he lets out an audible groan before he even has a chance to think about it. For a moment, he knows he looks about as embarrassed as he can manage - that's shot straight to hell when his hands are guided over delightfully soft flesh and the smoothskin in his lap (his smoothskin) lets out a throaty moan. Mind completely blank, he just gapes at her, hands dead weight on her chest, as she throws her head back. Another roll of the hips brings him back, and he can hear Sallie mumbling something about his hands.
Experimentally, he kneads at the flesh, swallowing nervously when she arches into his hands and sighs. "So good." Blinking, he continues palming one breast, rolling a pebbled nipple between his torn fingertips. Shit, if he knew she'd make those noises, he would have done this a long time ago; Just pinned her down and taken her and not even cared that he was winging it. "Charon." With the vault girl writhing in his lap from his ministrations, he's having a bit of trouble focusing on anything except the way it sounds when she moans out his name; Long and drawn out and breathy. Trailing his hands down to her hips to steady her, he's about to lean forward and gently take a nipple between his teeth when the girl scoots back, carefully undoing his belts and tugging them from their loops. "Lie back." Quirking a brow, he does as instructed, gasping when she finally gets his pants unfastened and exposes his cock to the open air; It's certainly not cold in the room, but it's a whole hell of a lot fucking colder when things are sensitive. Time to dwell on that (and the accompanying rustle of fabric) is brief - there's the feeling of the bed shifting slightly, and the moment he opens his mouth to speak, he's surrounded by tight, wet heat. After the initial shock, it's like everything has clicked into place. He grips Sallie's hips tightly, fingers digging into her flesh as he brings her back down hard. He meets her hips with short, hard thrusts, eyes fixed on her hand as it slips between them to rub at the swollen nub of her clit. Shakily, he manages to lean up, push one hand into her hair and tug her close to start biting at her necking lightly, soothing over the skin with his tongue. Each little bite earns him a unique little gasp or moan; Her fingers grip his shoulders tightly as she rocks against him and he loves every damn second of it.
"Oh, fuck! Mn, Charon!" Then she's clenching down around him like a vice, hot and tight and wet, and throwing her head back, chest heaving. He's still pumping wildly, gritting his teeth, now gripping her hips with bruising force as he slams her down on him. Panting, she leans into him, lays kisses from his collarbone to just below the remnants of his ear as best she can with all the jostling. "Come for me. Come for me, Charon." she murmurs. It's apparently all he needs to hear; At her words, he bites down on her shoulders and spills himself inside of her. Slowly, he loosens his grip on her hips and lets her roll off of him. He expects her to suddenly have a moment of clarity and realization that she's just fucked someone who happens to be missing skin, but instead, she just collapses beside him, breathing deeply. His smoothskin doesn't even seem to realize (or care) that she's currently using his arm as a pillow, or that, if someone were to barge in right now, everything would be on display. In fact, she seems as though she would be content to just lay there for quite a while. He's fairly certain he feels the same. At least the soul-crushing disgust didn't seem to be setting in - she was currently staring at him, eyes half-lidded and a smirk curving over her lips like she's discovered some long lost secret he didn't even know he had.
"What?"
In response, she splays one hand out over his chest, simply looking at the contrast between their skin - hers pale and smooth, aside from the scars, his tanned and torn and missing - and looking mildly worried. "I didn't force you or anything, right? I mean, I know I told you to tell me 'no' if you didn't want to, but you never really answered and..." He stares at her then, long and hard. She really is beautiful, though maybe not conventionally so; It took him seeing her with her hair loose and disheveled around her shoulders to realize it.
"No, smoothskin. You did not."