Chapter Text
When Lucy finds the magazine, she feels a strange sense of giddiness that, frankly, she’d never, ever felt before. Not when she and Chet snuck around, not when the Vault door opened to reveal her new husband, and not when the real Vault door opened to reveal a whole new world of (horrible, terrifying) opportunities for her. She’d been traveling with the Ghoul for a while, and he made it entirely clear that she was a burden, though she had a sneaking suspicion that she was starting to grow on him. He could try and get rid of her as much as he liked, but they had a common goal, and…well, they worked well together. Two sides of the same coin.
But, the magazine. It clearly wasn’t meant for sexual pleasure, though Lucy had heard of Pre-War pornographic images being used to stimulate pleasure. She’d never seen any in person, but there was a rumor that Councilwoman Betty had a few stashed away in her office back at the Vault. Regardless, Lucy had very little experience with any kind of pornography. This wasn’t exactly the kind of store that Lucy imagined often sold smut magazines either. It was a furniture store, and they’d only had a few magazines in the first place. Even fewer survived the effects of the nuclear warfare and the prolonged irradiation. This one was torn at the edges, with a few burnt pages. The back cover was completely torn off, but for the most part…it was intact, and it was beautiful.
This magazine was all things pre-war. Old houses, old cards, old movies – and every page had a new model, posing with one of these things. An actress posing with a Mr. Handy. A model posing with a new car. It was all so…new, to Lucy, that she couldn’t help but sneak it into her pack, if only for the captivating man on the cover.
Lucy didn’t think that she was the sort of person to be shallow enough to simply be attracted to someone based on looks. She looked for markers of a suitable biological partner – strong shoulders, symmetrical musculature, good hygiene – of course, but she didn’t particularly care about the arbitrary pre-war notion of attractiveness.
But this man. He’s a little older than Lucy, from the looks of things. He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other holding a smoking cigarette, and he has the most smug, all-knowing smile on his face that Lucy finds…comforting, somehow. She looks at him and feels like there’s something he’s hiding, something that she wants to find out.
“Find anything good?” Cooper asks, shouldering his rifle, closing his pack. Dogmeat sniffs at his pack, clearly intrigued by whatever goodies he’s stuffed inside.
Lucy immediately tenses – she’s never been a very good liar, but she’d been getting better with time. “Just a few bottle caps and some Cram. What about you?”
He looks her up and down, and Lucy feels awful smug that she didn’t spill about the magazine, “Found some water.” He tosses her the carton of water without any further fanfare, but Lucy knows how precious the resource is. Lucy, who’s not particularly dexterous, manages to catch the carton of water without too much fuss, “We’ll stay here for tonight. Keep moving at first light.”
“Okie dokie.” Lucy agrees easily, which, again, must shock the ghoul because she doesn’t argue and fight back. It was funny how far a little bit of human decency could take their relationship. At the very least, it was doing wonders for their companionship. Lucy didn’t feel the need to bite of any more of his fingers and the Ghoul – hopefully – didn’t feel the need to lasso her. “Sounds good to me.” She takes a long, satisfying gulp from the carton of water, then pulls the blue plastic water bowl she’d started carrying around in her pack, offering Dogmeat a sizable amount of their water. The Ghoul guffaws but says nothing, but the judgement is palpable. He’d rather eat the dog – Lucy would never, ever let that happen. Mostly. Probably.
Her morals had been shaken…kind of a lot since she left the Vault. She was still kind of figuring herself out. Rolling with the flow, or whatever the saying was.
And so, they set up their makeshift campsite near the entrance of the furniture store. It was only one story, easily defensible, and the Ghoul only felt the need to set one trap. That was reassurance enough to Lucy that it was going to be an easy night. They lay their packs across from one another, treating an end table the way they usually treated a campfire. Lucy set the caps she’d found between them, on the lacquered oak table, then the can of Cram. The Ghoul eyes the can of Cram before deciding to offer Pork N’ Beans. Lucy was acquainted with this notion. He felt emasculated by her offering to ‘the pack’ and felt the primal need to offer something in turn. The idea is almost…sweet. She smiles, just a bit, watching as the Ghoul uses his pocket knife to pry the lid of the Pork N’ Beans off, so Lucy pulls the tabbed lid of the Cram, and the two of them feast like kings.
Lucy catches herself staring. She watches the Ghoul carefully, and she isn’t quite sure when she started to think about him like…that. She’d never been sexually invested in someone the way she’d found herself attracted to the Ghoul. Certainly, she didn’t feel that way at first but…as time progressed, she found herself interested in him, then caring for him, and then…wanting him. Romantically. Sexually.
She didn’t even know his name, for Pete’s sake!
“You’re staring.” He says bluntly, having moved to his bedroll. She knew he didn’t sleep much, but he liked to have his own time to himself.
She bristles, glancing down to her lap before moving to her own pack. She didn’t imagine that he wanted a response; no, he just wanted to admonish her for making him feel like something to be stared at, mocked and ridiculed. How could she tell him that she was ogling him? How could she tell him that she was fascinated by the way he looked, and every time their fingers brushed, the loudest parts of her physiology were begging for more?
She must lay there for an hour or so before she realizes that she’s just chasing sleep ‘round and ‘round again. It evades her, so she decides that the only way she’ll be able to fall asleep is to blow off some of the steam she’s got trapped inside her. Ever since she came to this Wasteland, she feels pent up, like a pipe about to burst.
So, very carefully, she opens her pack and pulls out the magazine. She deludes herself for a little while, flipping through the pages, admiring the pre-war houses and the pretty dresses all the women wore. She stops on a page about ‘the household and how to run it’, imagining herself in the place of the woman there. What would it have been like? She couldn’t even conceptualize a day without strife or pain, without the strict rules of the Vault or the madmen in the wastes. What made the woman in this ad smile so widely? What made her children so happy?
Deciding she was done with that, she closes the magazine, admiring the man on the cover. She bites her bottom lip, feeling an awful lot like a criminal as she looks over her shoulder. The Ghoul is breathing steadily, like he’s asleep, so she takes the opportunity to…well, relieve some of that pent up steam.
She unzips her suit, biting her bottom lip, and trails her hand down her body, imagining the rough contours of someone else’s hands dipping down and over her skin. Under the white cotton of her underwear, she can almost picture this man on the magazine cover whispering sweet, dirty promises into her ear, pressing her back to his chest as he rubs the tip of his finger over her clit. She can’t stop herself from gasping as she imagines him, silently hoping that the Ghoul didn’t hear. She purses her lips, pressing her thighs together to keep from overstimulating herself.
She sets the magazine on the floor, lifting herself to her elbow as she pushes her index finger inside, gently rubbing tight circles into her clit. What would this man say to her? Would he give her the life that the woman in the ad had? Would he give her a family? All she wanted was to feel important, to feel loved by something real and honest.
God, and the Ghoul was hardly either of those things. She grabs the magazine with her free hand, squeezing the pages between her fingers to keep her here, to keep her present, but her mind still drifts toward the man across the room. He barely knew who he really was, and he certainly never told the truth. But still, her treacherous mind turns to him, imagining the texture of his skin against hers. What would his chest feel like? What would his…his cock feel like, pressing between her legs? She bites down on the meat of her hand, trying to stifle the waves of pleasure that wash over her as she imagines his hand between her legs. Would she be able to trust him to put his mouth between her legs? She wanted it – desperately, absolutely, she wanted him between her legs, to place that trust in him, misguided as it might be, and she feels herself ebbing towards that peak, the same one she chased in the halls of the Vault, with Chet and with Monty and with her own two fingers because –
“Are you fuckin’ touching yourself over there?” The Ghoul’s raspy voice cuts the orgasm she’d been chasing loose, like a radstag he’d been trying and failing to lasso. “Jesus Christ, Vaultie, you’re serious?”
Lucy, enraged, rolls over with her brows furrowed. She doesn’t care that she’s grabbed the magazine and she doesn’t care that her Vault suit is unzipped and her bra is showing. She has a lecture on the urge to masturbate and the natural order of things and blah, blah, blah. But, she stops in her tracks, watching the Ghoul watch her.
Rather, he watches what’s in her hand.
“Where’d you find that?”
She lifts a brow, looking down at the magazine in her hand. “Here?” She says, though it comes out more like a question. It seemed like such a nonissue to her. Embarrassing, sure, but it certainly wasn’t one of the many, many reasons she thought he was going to get angry with her. “I found it while I was,” she waves the magazine in a vague direction, “dallying.”
He reaches across the end table, snatching the magazine from her. He stares at the cover for a good long while before he asks, “This’s what’s getting you off, huh?”
“I think he looks kind.” Lucy blurts out. She’d never been insecure about her mouth and how quickly she talked before she met the Ghoul. Hell, it’d always been a point of pride, being able to show that she was a viable candidate for bettering America, for rebuilding society. Still, she continues, the words falling out of her mouth like vomit, “I think he looks like someone who would take me to bed and make love to me, and I found it, so I’d like it back.” She holds out her hand expectantly. Then, after a moment she adds, “Please.”
“Make love.” He chuffs out a laugh that fills Lucy’s chest with another spike of anger, “You wanna make love with this fella, then?”
“Give me the magazine.” She says, and physically has to stop herself from saying ‘please’ this time.
Lucy isn’t a stupid girl. She can see the way the Ghoul looks up from the magazine like he’s staring through her, into her, that he’s sexualizing her. She’s suddenly aware that, clothed as she is, that she’s almost naked.
“I don’t think you know what you’re wantin’, sweetheart.”
Damn this asshole and his terms of endearment.
“I want my magazine. I wanted to orgasm so I could stop thinking about you. I want to finish, please.” And damn him for making her say please again.
Genuine surprise flashes on his face, for the briefest of moments. “Thinkin’ about me, hm?” The smug asshole grins at her, like the cat that ate the canary and its cream, and she wants to strangle him.
“If you’d like to rub it in, yes. I’ve been thinking about having sex with you, which is, believe it or a not, a natural reprieve from the stressors that -.”
He pushes the end table to the side, the feet of the wooden piece of furniture scraping against the linoleum tile, and she blinks, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. That was certainly an accurate metaphor for this scenario – she was completely and utterly out of her depth. He stalks over to her like she’s prey, and before she can say anything – an apology, a defense, an insult, whatever – he’s kissing her. Enough of her brain turns off to agree with the moment; this is something she’s wanted, something she’s considered and desired and needed and all she has to do is close her eyes and kiss him back.
It’s easier than she’d ever imagined.
She kisses him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. He’s clearly shocked by that, and he loses the magazine. The last time she had sex, there was a clear goal in mind – an orgasm, chasing the child that Lucy was supposed to bring into the world. This time, there’s just desire. There’s just means and ends and the wants of two people put together by circumstance, and the Ghoul smells like dust and whiskey and smoke, the way cowboys in old western holotapes were supposed to smell.
“You’re out of your mind, sweetheart.” He says, unbuckling his belts with an efficiency that both impresses and excites her. “Look at you…” He mutters, more to himself than to her.
Lucy bites her lip, pushing her Vault suit down and off, definitely too excited for…whatever the two of them were going to do. She kisses him again, desperately trying to tell him I want this, please, I want this and I don’t want you to be angry at me for it. He bites her bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth, and she gasps. She doesn’t think about how those teeth have ripped through flesh before. No, all she thinks about is how she wants him to do it again, lower.
She grips the back of his neck, accidentally knocking his hat off, but neither of them seem to care. He doesn’t remove his shirt, or even his jacket, so she starts to paw at them. He grabs her hands, a little too roughly, but she’s used to the insecurity he’s displaying. “I want to see.” She says, “Please?”
“Shit.” He mutters, and though he only loses the jacket and vest, Lucy considers that to be a small victory, especially when he pushes his pants down.
Then, to make all of her wildest fantasies come true, he does what no man has done to her before. He lowers his head between her thighs, and tastes the slick mess she’s already started taking care of.
“All this for me, sweetheart?” Her eyes are shut, but she can practically feel the smug look on his face, the way he’s looking up at her like he’s winning some unspoken bet between the two of them. “Open your eyes, darlin’. Look at what you’re fucking.”
“Who.” She says, knee jerking as he wraps his lips around her clit, “I’m fucking a who, not a…a wha-uhhh.” She cuts herself off with a low-pitched whine wrapping her leg around his neck, pulling him closer, ever closer, needing him more than she needed to breathe, “You feel so good, you feel so good.” She tries not to raise her voice any higher, because she already knows that Dogmeat is awake and judging them, and she certainly doesn’t want any uninvited guests interrupting this parlay. She’d worked too hard, pined for too long. He moves his hand, moving to replace his mouth with his fingers, and a trill of pleasure shoots through her.
Before her brain catches up to her mouth, she asks, “Can you take your gloves off? I want to feel you.”
He looks at her like she’s something to be studied in a petri dish, which isn’t particularly the sexiest feeling, but she’d do anything to see him smile. “You’re just one surprise after another, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He pulls one glove off, then uses his teeth to pull the other off, tossing them in the pile with his jacket. Lucy shudders, feeling an awful lot like she was doing something wrong, but it just felt so good.
“That’s right, doll.” He says, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh as he traces lazy circles around her clit, sending jolts of pleasure up her spine, “Look at you, all it took was some old pictures and the world’s worst sunburn, and you start begging, huh?”
She furrows her brow, doing her best not to shut her eyes. She looks over to the magazine where it lay, forgotten beside them, the charming actor smiling at her, but all she can think about is the ghoul between her legs, drawing her so close, right up to the edge of an orgasm so anticipated that she felt like she might cry if she didn’t come now.
And so, tears prick her eyes as the Ghoul pulls away, his mouth covered with her slick cum. “Aww.” He condescends, running his leather-clad hand over her cheek, wiping at her tears, “Don’t cry, darlin’. I’m gonna let you cum for me, don’t you fret.”
Pitifully – and if he brought it up ever again, she’d deny that she did it – she lifts her hips toward him, whining some nonsense about her need and what she wanted, and he chuckles, pumping his hand over his cock. Her eyes widen a bit, just glad he had all the working equipment to fuck her. She didn’t want to assume, but she certainly didn’t want to ask.
But she’s here, and so is he. She wants to be desired and loved and needed, and the way he clings to her is almost reassurance enough.
All too quickly, it’s over. Cooper makes sure she comes first, fucking her until she nearly screams, and he ends up coming on the floor. It’s touching, the care he goes to not to come on her bedroll, because that certainly wouldn’t have been ideal. She’s panting, and so is he, and she’s worried about what this is going to mean for their companionship. Would this change everything?
He pulls his pants up without a word, letting Lucy lay there to catch her breath. He’s taking care not to look at her, and she realizes that he’s staring at the cover of her magazine.
“He’s a handsome man.” She says, not quite understanding why the Ghoul was so torn up about this guy, “But I’m glad you finished things up. I’d…like to do that again, if you would?”
He arches a brow, grinning down at her. She thinks he might be kind to her, say something sweet, might scoop her up and kiss her and tell her that they’re going to build a life together, which, deep down, is what she really wants. But, instead, he says, “Of course you do.”