Note: Content warning again, as I said.
It took her all of two days to get him under her spell again. Classic Emily, really.
She took him down into the Metros―said she couldn't afford to go overland, it was too dangerous, something about some assholes called Talon Company. They spent the first day bickering over ammo and armor and other things to keep themselves alive with, like how she refused to share any of her massive amount of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes with him. No wonder she was fat, if that was all she was eating.
It all came to a head when she'd binged on a bunch of cakes and downed a bottle of booze, and threw up not twenty minutes later. Butch held her hair up as she spewed into one of the nasty toliets in the Metro, and tried not to laugh at her. Didn't think she would appreciate it. Might snap and shoot him with that weird rifle she had across her back.
Her sickness did remind him, though. Of better days.
He remembered how she'd hooked up with him the very first time. Back in the Vault, before all that bad shit happened with her dad leaving. Before she got all cranky and sad... before she turned into a whiskey-soaked rag-doll.
They were both down on the reactor level. Emily was sitting on the railing that wrapped around some fancy equipment he'd never bother to learn the name of, him sprawled out in a dark corner where no one would notice him getting drunk. She'd seen him hiding in the shadows and sat there watching, waiting for him to say something.
She was there was because Jonas invited her down. She never told him why. Jonas never showed, anyway. Maybe he came to his senses, maybe he found out Emily wasn't alone and sneaked off somewhere else.
Emily waited for half an hour before she shifted her position and dropped down from the railing. She walked over to his corner, and paused for a moment before speaking. "You gonna be here a while?" she asked, looking down at him.
"Long as I want to," he muttered, staring up at her. She was too cute for him, he thought. Too innocent and too polished. He'd never have a chance at that.
He liked watching her in class, watching her play with her hair and be a suck-up to the Crotch. Was about the only time he could afford to watch her, since he'd had to hide a boner every time he thought about her. In class he had books he could use to hide it, and the Crotch thought he was being studious.
One of these days he was gonna do something real dumb, though. Maybe today. He looked away from her and took a deep breath.
"What are you drinking?" she asked, all cutesy. "Is it alcohol? Can I have some?"
Butch sputtered out a disbelieving laugh. "What the hell would some goody like you want with booze?"
She shrugged. "I've never had any, before. Don't have anything to do, right now. Jonas didn't show, and I'm bored."
His first thought had been she was gonna turn him in the minute he gave her the bottle, but she kept watching him with those funny blue eyes and he caved. Maybe if he got her drunk, he could at least cop a feel. Damn, he was real dumb when it came to dames.
His second thought was why the hell was Jonas meeting her there, but he ignored that because he couldn't think all that straight. He was already buzzed.
"You sell me out, I'll cut you," he muttered, tossing her the whiskey. He didn't mean it. He wasn't that nasty. Didn't even like punching girls no more, wasn't any fun. Got him into too much trouble.
"Now why would I do that, Butch?" she asked, catching it and sniffing at the top. "God, that smells awful. Why the heck would you drink that?"
"It ain't exactly for the taste," he snorted. She made a face at the smell and looked into the bottle with a dubious look on her face.
"You're too damn goody two shoes for this shit," he griped. "Give it back, nosebleed." His hand went out to grab the bottle away from her.
There was a fire lit under her, then. Her eyes actually flashed at him in the dark of the room, and she tipped the bottle up to her lips. When she finally came up for air, Butch was staring at her with his mouth open, barely remembering to shut it before she saw him goggling at her.
Damn! Almost half the goddamn bottle in one go! She was either stupid or damn tough, pulling a stunt like that. She didn't even cough or nothing when she let go of it, handing it over to him. He stashed it inside a pocket as she slumped down beside him and stared at him.
"Did you come down here just to drink?" she asked, lacing her fingers together over her knees. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, a curious look on her face.
"No one bothers me, down here," he said. Shit, he had to lift his own leg to hide his excitement at having her so near. Fuckin' embarrassing, that was. Maybe she knew she did it, maybe she didn't, but she didn't seem to care if she did. He debated on letting her see, but that was pushing it. He knew better.
"Just wondered, is all," she said, staring at him.
They sat for a few minutes without talking. Butch wondered why Jonas had been coming down to see her on the reactor level. He shouldn't need to sneak away to see her―the guy worked in the clinic with her dad, she probably could talk to him at any time she wanted―but maybe he was sneaking around with her for other reasons.
Maybe the same reasons Butch himself was glad to be alone with her and wishing he could afford to try something. That made him disgusted with the man; Emily was his boss' daughter and only fifteen years old, like Butch. Damn pervert... maybe Butch could cash in on that.
Emily gradually relaxed and then laughed headily, putting her palm to her forehead. "Oh, my God," she said, laughing, "oh, my God, Butch, I know why you drink―" She giggled like a stupid kid, her cheeks flushing with blood.
"Oh, fuck you," he muttered, looking away. "Don't need your damn pity." Everyone in the stupid Vault knew about his mother getting drunk like she did. Not everyone knew about the other things that went on. Maybe Emily might, she could get onto her dad's computer in the clinic and read the medical reports. Butch looked away in shame.
Emily put her legs under her and leaned over him, getting real close to his face, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. "I get why you'd drink that nasty stuff," she said, laughing again, moving closer to him. She was almost on top of him before he realized what she was doing, on her knees and messing with her top.
"Jesus," he said, pushing himself backward into the wall. "The hell are you doing―"
One of her hands tugged at her jumpsuit zipper, pulling it down, while the other moved up his neck to his cheek. "Aw, c'mon, Butch," she said. "I know you like me. Maybe... I like you back."
"Shit," he said, and his hands were on her hips, moving her closer, pulling one of her legs over his. Emily pulled her arms out of her top and he saw she wasn't wearing an undershirt―shit, he'd dreamed about that!―and she laid a kiss on him that he would always remember.
God, she was hot. Messy kisses all over his face, whiskey breath in his nose, her tiny moans as he rubbed her ass through the jumpsuit, it was damn near perfect. Emily began to unbutton his jacket, pressing herself into him with little thrusts. Goddamn, he was lucky―
"Stop, stop," he said, all of a sudden. Emily moved backward, looking down at him. Her mouth was parted, panting and flushed and ready to go. Butch moved his hands up to her ribs and stared at her chest, then her face, his mouth gone dry all of a sudden.
Did she come down to the reactor level to have sex with Jonas? Shit, that was more fucked up than he'd thought―and maybe he didn't want her like that. Maybe he liked his imaginary version of her better, all innocent and cute.
"What is it," she said, breathing out the words more than speaking them.
"You―" his mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious about this, nosebleed."
"Butch," she groaned. "If I didn't want to, would I do this?" She ran a hand down his cheek and kissed him, hard.
"I―I guess not," he mumbled. "Just seems too good to be true."
"Maybe you should shut up and enjoy it," she murmured, and kissed him on the mouth again.
Well, hell... Butch didn't want to waste another lonely boner. Had too many to count because of her. Maybe it was time for a little payback.
The afternoon ended with her being pushed into the wall as he screwed her hard, her moans in his ears and his groaning in hers. Working up a sweat in the middle of the warm room was easy, but they were dripping wet by the time they were done.
She was so damn easy, he'd never thought it would happen like that. She moaned his name over and over, asked him to fuck her good, ran her hands through her hair, and pulled his when she came around his dick, pushing her breasts up into his chest and making all sorts of noise. She intimidated the hell out of him, being so intense.
"You keep that up, someone might come bother us," he muttered, leaning into her as he spent himself inside of her. "Fuck, nosebleed, what if―"
"Shut up, Butch," she moaned, sliding down on the wall. He caught her and pulled her back up, hearing her moan again as he shifted position. "God, that was so good. Thank you."
"Don't think it's gonna happen again," Butch told her, lowering her gently to the floor as he pulled away.
"Mmm," she said, kissing him on the tip of his nose. "We'll see."
Emily pried herself off of the toliet and sat back, rubbing her eyes and groaning. "Alright, Butch, you can have the damn snack cakes," she said. "I'm sick of 'em."
"Are they poisoned, because, shit―"
She laughed stupidly at him. "No, they're not poison. I can't eat them anymore. Had too many, already." She shoved her pack across the floor from him and sucked snot up into her nose. She'd been crying. Shit.
Butch grabbed the pack and moved the cakes into his own, remembering their past. She watched him without seeing, her eyes glazed over in the dim light of the dirty bathroom. After a moment she closed them and started breathing evenly, snoring a little.
When had he stopped wanting to mess with her? He remembered she'd taken the G.O.A.T. and gotten assigned to the clinic with her dad. Never picked on him for having been a damn hairdresser―never said he was one, either, she was cool with him being a barber. But they'd never really run in the same circles, and she was all busy in the clinic after that, doing her own thing. Working with her dad and Jonas, and he didn't remember seeing her after that until her dad left.
Butch sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes, staring at her. Wondered what the hell was up with her, that she let herself go so far. Emily had never been that messed up before―when he'd talked to her after Amata opened the Vault, she'd seemed perfectly fine.
But she'd had that weirdo freak walking around behind her. What was that ugly-ass ghoul's name? ...Charon.
So where the hell was he?