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Boone woke up, from a very different dream than usual. Without thinking he rolled and reached out to pull her over, back atop him, where she had been a second ago.
She wasn’t there. This wasn’t - no. Right. They were holed up in that shack they found last night, with the too-small pallet on the floor. Trading out watch. His turn to sleep. He rolled again, the other way, rough blanket twisting around him and dragging uncomfortably over his hardon. There she was at the door, just a silhouette in front of the stripes of moonlit desert showing between the ill-fitted boards.
Boone crawled over and knelt beside her. She leaned in close, very close. He could feel the heat of her body. Just like in the dream. Would be so easy to lay her down right here… they never did it in the mornings but maybe if it was still dark there could be an exception.
The spotter’s scope pushed into his hands. He looked through the biggest gap.
“Legion explorer, one o’clock, about a quarter mile out down the plain,” she whispered right in his ear.
“Yeah, I see him,” Boone said. Goddamn Legion had no right to be this far in NCR territory.
“Good timing, by the way, I was just about to wake you. Pretty sure he’s alone. Let’s take him out.” Flora said.
Didn’t seem like good timing to him. Few minutes one way or the other would have been much better.
“You or me?” he whispered.
“You. That’s a long shot,” she chuckled, with a light punch in the arm.
“You could use the practice,” he said, but he was already putting his fatigues on. A little reluctantly, but duty called. Shirt. Belt. Socks and boots. Beret, of course. No sunglasses yet. The moon was bright, but not that bright. Rifle. Five cartridges in his pocket, not that he’d need them. Now he was ready.
He eased the door open just enough to fit the barrel through. They were on a little rise above the road, only darkness inside the shack. Nothing to see here.
Boone steadied his rifle and fired. The legionary toppled in the distance, and he shut the door again. She gave him the signal, two little slaps on the arm. Good job.
“Nice shot,” Flora whispered. “Now let’s make sure I was right,”
She kept watching and he waited, but the desert stayed quiet. He tried to keep his attention on the horizon but his mind kept drifting. He’d seen in the moonlight she had her jumpsuit on but unzipped to the waist. Just the cutoff tank top on underneath, and only a few inches of zipper left to undo before it could just slide off.
“Guess that’s it,” Flora said. Then she yawned, leaning her head back. Huge, breathy sound. Sometimes she sounded like that when he had his face buried between her legs.
Boone gave in. Reached out, grabbed her arm the way he would to hold her down just how she liked.
Flora only shook him off.
“Not now,” she said, with a friendly and incredibly frustrating elbow in his side. “Not enough time for that. Got a good hike ahead if we’re gonna make it to McCarran today. And now that we’re up and dressed we might as well get going.” McCarran. NCR headquarters in the Mojave, where they grudgingly let the contractors stay. Separately, in the men and women’s barracks. Safe, but the opposite of private, and she wouldn’t be there if he woke up. He hated staying at McCarran.
“... Yeah,” he said.
As they left the shack, Boone was glad to take point. She walked behind him, out of sight, if not out of mind. It kept coming back to him. They stopped for a water break once the midmorning heat rose and she took a gulp with a huge ahh of satisfaction and he only thought of other noises she could make. They came across another Legion scouting party - a pair this time - and after they both went down she gave him the double slap and grinned, the same look that was often an invitation.
He spent a good part of the day at half mast and when he wasn’t thinking about her he was circling through the same wonder, over and over. Why?
It never got to him like this. Some things had their time and sex was strictly for bedtime. When the fighting was over and it was okay to relax. Blow off steam. Fall asleep with only quiet in his head. And normally he had no trouble putting any stray thoughts in a box to be dealt with in their own time.
It put him in a bad mood. When she spoke he felt less like talking than usual, gave only brief responses. She got the hint quickly. He stalked along the barren road, eyes focused ahead, mind lagging behind in memories. Hours passed with nothing but the sun and wind. A tumbleweed, once, but they never put up a fight. Disappointing. More than ever he felt like shooting something.
Late afternoon a structure rose in the distance. A homestead, small farmhouse next to a cornfield sprouting stalks.
Sad, broken stalks, long dead and dried up. An abandoned homestead. Eagerly she headed in. Abandoned places might have all kinds of interesting things, she always said. Interesting to her, maybe. Boone just wanted to get to McCarran. With all the downsides, at least it had showers. And the food would be hot, and the bed would be clean. And his feet hurt.
She skirted the field; Boone cut through just so he could kick over a few dead stalks and crunch them under his boots. The first one fell nicely but as he went for the stomp his foot broke through the ground, sank calf-deep.
“What the hell-” he hopped back, pulling free, and with his foot came the stink.
“Ah, fuck,” Flora sighed, and pulled around her shotgun as they began to boil up out of the ground. What probably killed the crop. Drove out the homesteaders too. Radscorpions, burrowed beneath the field. Several burrows, or maybe a really big one with multiple mouths. Didn’t matter. What mattered was how the things swarmed them in a seemingly never-ending stream. The babies, only the size of his foot, could just be stomped, but the burrow held plenty of adults, too. Three, four-footers with the tails and claws to match.
His rifle was meant for distance so Boone switched to his pistol. A shot in the eyes worked on almost everything. Even things that had eight of them. They weren’t hard to deal with on their own but there were just so many. Ten minutes in and he could tell Flora was about to lose it.
“Fucking shitbastards-” he heard, between shotgun blasts. “Wasting all my shells on these fucking bugs!”
She was going to go for the kit, he knew it. He started counting in his head.
“Fuck this. Cover me, gonna use the kit,” Flora said, after only seven more shots. Called it. She shoved her shotgun at him; he took it and stepped in front, blasting only the ones that got too close. Might as well save her ammo now.
He didn’t like it when she used the kit. Her pack thudded on the ground, kit zipped open. A little grunt of pain behind him, and then a long sigh. Snaps as she loosed the fire axe strapped to her pack.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she growled, and Boone retreated out of range as Flora charged past him. She waded into the seething mass screaming curses and swinging the axe, pissed as hell and high as a kite on her own custom cocktail of drugs. Antivenin, pain killers. Jet and Buffout at least, probably other combat chems. He refused to touch the stuff. Never liked the way they felt and the comedown looked - not worth it.
Scorpions chittered, segmented limbs flew all around her. The noise of chitin splintering. Grunts and growls and curse after curse, until the insectile bodies were piled around her and the only sound was her own noisy breathing. Still she ran, stomping heavily through the field, trampling what little was left of the corn, sinking into the now-empty burrows and pulling herself out again. Stomping back over to her pile of victories.
“Yeah. Yeah! Fuck all you little bastards!” she screamed, waving the axe at them. Then she leaned over, bracing herself on it. Then tossed it aside and sat heavily.
“You good?” Boone said.
“Fuckin fantastic,” she panted, with a scowl.
He handed her a canteen anyway. She drank greedily. With the way her hands shook, not all the water made it into her mouth. The rest poured down her face, fell wasted into the dirt. He turned his back while the kit extracted its due price and kept an eye on the holey patch of dirt for a few minutes.
“... okay. I’m good,” Flora spoke up eventually. He offered her a hand and hauled her back to her feet. She grunted, stretched her arms over her head.
Her shape was blocky in her dented armor. She stood there still frowning like she still might kick his ass since it was the only one left unkicked at this point. She was filthy and sticky with scorpion goo and she stank.
He would have gladly bent her over whatever furniture was left in the dilapidated house, right that moment.
Christ, keep it together!
“Ugh, I’m covered in this shit. I can’t stroll into the base like this. Let’s take a break, get cleaned up. Maybe cook up some of those claws from the big ones,” she suggested. A break. Cooking. Big meal, there was way more than they could eat here. So full. Could stop here overnight. Maybe she wanted to be convinced to stop. Pretty early, not much to do. How to fill the time …
“And then to McCarran,” Flora added. His idle daydreams evaporated yet again into a sullen frustration that he swallowed down.
“You get cleaned off. I’ll get the food,” Boone said.
“Nah, I’m already gross, I’ll do that first. Wanna clean the guns? That radscorpion shit gets everywhere,” Flora said. A joke. He always wanted to clean the guns.
The renewed crack of chitin and sticky, meaty noises faded into the background as Boone sat on the porch with his kit. The canvas bag that unfolded into a clean workspace. Special bore brushes and the oil and soft rags and roll of tools. Everything he needed to make sure he could do his job.
It wasn’t a chore to Boone, it was like - a ritual. Calming. But the rote process of stripping his gun to its pieces wasn’t enough to occupy his thoughts this time. They kept drifting no matter how hard he wrenched them away. A bedroom. Hell, any room with a door. That rickety shack. A tent. One of those tiny canyons, just cracks in the mountainside that twisted and turned. A really quiet back alley somewhere in Freeside. Anywhere he could have that moment, when he had her arching her back, silently begging for him. The moment before he let himself go.
Boone shook his head, scowling. Keep. It. Together. Take a deep breath. Smell of gun oil and dust, nothing else. Well, also the scorpions.
“Hey look, a pump! Thought I might have to take a dust bath,” Flora appeared by him with an oozing armful of ‘food’.
“Lucky,” Boone agreed. The bolt slotted smoothly back into place. Now for her shotgun. More complicated action meant more pieces to take apart. Good.
He darted the occasional glance her way. Now she was rinsing the claws, humming tunelessly. Now, kneeling by the pump in her jumpsuit and bare feet, scrubbing her armor. The magazine banged painfully into his knee as he yanked it loose. He stared angrily at the weapon, daring it to lose his attention one more time.
But he looked up again anyway at the sound of a zipper to see her peeling off her jumpsuit, stained at wrists and calves and everywhere else the stuff had seeped in through the joints of her armor. She’d found an old tin tub and some abraxo somewhere, and the jumpsuit went in for a thorough beating. Then she scrubbed her arms and legs just as roughly, sluiced down her face, and stood again, dripping. Only her tank top and panties on. He realized he’d been just watching for a few minutes now, and bent again to his task, scowling, as she disappeared into the farmhouse with her pack.
It didn’t help. Methodically he laid out the parts but all he saw was Flora stripping off her suit. Muscled shoulders moving as she shrugged out of it, paler skin of her stomach and thighs. The scars on her back. He knew each one, traced them many times with his eyes. Hands were usually busy then.
Something slipped and flew from his hands - goddamnit, the mainspring - he tried to catch it but all he managed to do was knock the open bottle of gun oil over, splashing his shirt.
“Goddamnit!” Boone growled. Took off his beret and sunglasses and yanked off the shirt to frantically scrub it with the harsh soap - couldn’t waste it, he only had the two. Into the tub to soak and hope that was good enough. Beret and glasses back on for now while he found the goddamned mainspring and cleaned off the new layer of goddamned dust and tried to ignore the goddamned hardon crammed up against his goddamned leg.
He had things mostly under control and her gun nearly back together when Flora’s voice came through the door.
“Hey Boone, c’mere,” she yelled.
“Almost finished,” he called back. Whatever it was could wait until he was done.
“Need your help right now!” she insisted. With a sigh he folded the canvas over it and headed into the house.
The room was empty, other than their packs on the floor and a bunch of cleaned scorpion claws on a spindly table.
“Back here,” she called. A curtain hung where a door might have been once and he ducked through. In the room was a little bed with Flora sprawled naked on it. Almost lazily she beckoned.
“What about…” he trailed off. There were things that had to be done. Of course there were. Just couldn’t remember them, looking at her.
“I’m ready for a break. Aren’t you?” she said. Her legs spread a little wider.
“Yeah,” he said. Undid his belt, zipper down - no. He needed the freedom to do anything.
Sitting on the sagging edge of the bed, resenting every second, he wrestled with the double-knotted laces of his boots, nearly tripped in his haste to get his fatigues off.
Finally. Finally. He took his rightful place, knelt before her. She put a foot on his chest, an invitation. He dragged her closer, right where he wanted her.
As he shifted to sink gratefully in she reached down.
One calloused finger pressed right against the head of his dick and he stilled instantly.
“Not so fast,” Flora said.
“What?” Boone said, confused. It was dim in the house; forgot to take his shades off. He lowered his head to look at her over them.
“You’ve been off all day, ever since I told you there wasn’t time this morning. I keep catching you looking at me, you’re distracted, cranky. It’s very…unlike you,”
Boone found himself pressing forward against her finger, but only a little. It was really uncomfortable.
“So? Time now, and I’m tired of waiting,” he said. She slid it back and forth across the head, right over the slit. Too sensitive. Made him want to squirm.
“Stop it,” he growled. The finger stilled, but didn’t move out of the way.
“I said, not so fast. I’d like to hear you beg first,” Flora said.
That shocked him. His breath came harder, the tension rose in his shoulders, warring desires knotting up his muscles. No, this wasn’t - no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Wasn’t a game. The heat in him grew, a sudden flame of rage in the middle of the lust, but all he could do was stare at her.
She grinned at him.
“It’s okay. I can wait,” she said. He wanted to get up. He wanted to shout, to tell her he hated this. He wanted to yank her hand out of the way and hold her down and take her the way she wanted him to. Usually wanted him to. Right now there was this indefinable line, this danger in the air, knowledge that he couldn’t break these goddamn rules. Even just by refusing to play.
“... Don’t like games,” was all he could manage.
“If you want it that bad, you have to say it,” she murmured. The single touch became a stroke. Her fingers weren’t harsh but they weren’t soft either. It was worse than nothing.
“You really don’t have anything else to say?” she teased, cruelly.
Maybe he would. Maybe he would leave her lying there with that goddamn smile and - and -
And what?
He wanted it so bad, so bad it hurt, a thousand times more than he wanted to pay her back for this. She was right there, right below him. Almost his. All he had to do was give in, play along. Let her think she won.
Boone closed his eyes so he at least wouldn’t see the look of satisfaction on her face.
“...please,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Flora teased.
“Please,” he repeated, teeth grit.
“I know you can do better than that,” she said, and squeezed him. Hard.
“Please, goddamnit!” he growled. Her fingers finally left him alone, settled on his ass instead.
“All you had to do was ask,” Flora said, and pulled him in.
As always, that first thrust in was ecstasy, but this time it came with such relief, the release of all that tension and frustration and longing, that he felt weak. Finally opened his eyes and found they were way too close, faces just inches apart. She grinned at him again. He didn’t like it. Her eyes were too - something. Made it worse. Made him angrier.
She did this to him. She wanted him angry. Boone shoved himself up onto his knees, looked down on her. She was going to get everything she asked for.
Flora always liked it hard and fast and rough and so did he, but this time he was merciless. Folded her legs up to her chest so he could get deepest, and just slammed in. If she wanted it different she could ask, she could say please - that was how it always went, how it was supposed to go, her begging him for what she wanted. Anything else was wrong.
She didn’t ask for anything, only moaned. No. Not even moaned, breathy little sounds, gasps. Every time their bodies slapped together it forced out another. Flora gripped his wrists, pulled.
You want more? Boone pressed harder, more weight on the back of her thighs, digging his fingers in until she cried out. Daring her to say something. Say please.
The littlest sound. Maybe a word. He eased up to hear her. No stopping now, she felt too good on him to stop.
“What?” he said.
“Hah - tried to say, like that, just like it was before,” she panted.
“Say please,” he growled, and found he could stop, to revel in the moment that was coming.
“Please,” Flora begged.
“No,” he whispered, and shoved himself up, away from her. The sudden - blankness, the absence of feeling her - it almost hurt, and the noise she made echoed it, but the look on her face was exhilarating. Realizing just what she earned for what she did.
This time she gave no argument as he grabbed her arm and rolled her over, pressed her face into the ancient mattress with a heavy hand between her shoulderblades, but she arched her back for him as he raised her ass up. He didn’t even take the moment to savor it, he just mounted her like the animal he was, caging her legs with his, thrusting back in, deep in. So hard he could feel himself hit something inside.
Flora writhed beneath him. Desperately she gripped the headboard. Her thighs beneath him tensed, tried to spread, but he held them close together between his knees. She’d have to ask for it. Maybe he’d say yes this time. Maybe.
Yeah. Even harder, until he had to let go to brace himself on the bed. He’d pushed her all the way down on the bed. Wrong angle.
He hauled her up again, iron grip on her hips to keep her in place. Her torso bent down, the muscles in her arms tensed as she shoved herself back into his pistoning hips. Almost. Almost there. She always pushed back when she was almost there. Fighting in her own way.
Broken words poured out of her then.
“Ah fuck - hah, God - yes - please - fuck, Boo-oo-oone -” even his name was broken, cut into pieces by the violent thrusts. Almost. I’ll make you do it. Tighter on him, her voice even higher. Legs quivering as she bucked back against him. Had to hold on, hold on just a little longer - maybe she would have deserved it if he just unloaded in her and left her there, maybe then she’d be really sorry, but he needed to feel her, hear her, he needed it more than ever -
So tight, was it her or him so close - he couldn’t hold on, it was coming, he’d give her everything he had, she’d take it - Flora’s entire body stiffened, all her strength shoving back against him as everything got tighter still oh Christ it was coming - he slammed hardest of all, seeking deepest for what he deserved, what she deserved.
Her cry was muffled in the pillow crumpled beneath her but his growl filled the room, loud even in his pounding ears. Just a few more strokes into the impossible pleasure of her, surrounding him with her sound and her scent and the hold, a few more because she begged with her body, because he always held on for her until she went weak beneath him, until now, finally time, so much wanting coiled up inside and ready to force its way out - he clutched her hips and buried himself, grinding, hunching over her, one more harsh thrust each time he spurted.
Boone gasped, maybe the sweetest breath he’d ever had. The world came back, Flora crumpled, panting and quivering, beneath him.
His fingers ached. He loosened his grip, saw the white marks beneath them, and sat back on his heels, sliding out. A ghost of that feeling, a lonely little ache as he flopped down, soft and used up. Weakly she wiggled onto her side with another little moan. Even as he watched she shook another time or two, and the white dribbled out over her angry-red flesh.
Boone rubbed his thumb over one of the indents he’d left, tried to smooth it out. It’d be a bruise tomorrow. She just lay there, sides heaving, but otherwise still. Unease pooled in his gut.
Flora always wanted it rough, but there was rough and then there was rough. He put a hand on her back, gentle now. His fingers brushed over one of the puckered scars.
“Hey. You good?” he said.
“Hnnnngyeah,” she grunted. A shaky hand reached back and found his thigh and gave him the signal. Two little slaps. Good job. Then she did it again. Really good job. Relief washed over him and he shifted, sitting beside her. Knees were sore, now.
“Been a long day, feeling beat. Wanna take an early night, get to McCarran tomorrow?” He said. Stupid question. He knew she couldn’t keep going now even if she wanted to. But that was how it worked between them.
She was there during the nights, when he woke up, and she didn’t ask questions.
He ‘didn’t notice’ when she was weak, or at least, helped silently. But silent was easy for him.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just - hah - gimme a few. I’ll get a fire going for those claws in a little.”
“Not really hungry,” he lied. They could eat in the morning. “Just want to sleep.”
“Okay,” she said, and stretched again, and shivered. “Fuck, Boone. Just …fuck,” she said, and reached back again. Her hand wandered and he let it, feeling up his thigh until it found his dick. No pokes now, just a very gentle little pat-pat for that too. Since she couldn’t see he let himself smile.
When she rolled over Boone gently stood her up like always, guided her wobbly steps to the bathroom, or at least, the little closet with a bucket in it that passed for one in a place like this. Steadied her back to bed and fetched the blanket from her pack to throw over her, before going to piss and get cleaned up. Gingerly, because he was a little sore himself.
Remember to bring the guns inside against the dust. Clothes could stay, would probably be better for the long soak. Scorpion claws would go bad by morning, but he had other food in his pack, and they tasted like shit anyway.
When he got back she was already curled up on her half of the bed, eyes closed. He set his beret and sunglasses out carefully for tomorrow and laid down, to watch dust motes wink in and out of existence as they floated through the sunset-red ray of light that made it between the curtains.
He should have been drowsing. He was tired, empty in the good way. A little proud of a job well done, as usual. But that. That had been …weird. Something about it held on to him.
Her hand laid on his arm, hot on his skin, startling him.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Thought you were asleep,” Boone said.
“Almost. You good?” Flora said.
Yes. No. Don’t know.
“Don’t… don’t do that again.” A few of the words bouncing around his mind found their way out.
“Seemed like it really got you going,” she said.
“Made me angry. Don’t like being angry,” he muttered.
“Okay,” Flora said softly. And it was true. He’d always hated angry sex. But the anger was all used up now and it had felt so goddamn good getting it out. Doing what he wanted, knowing she knew why. Almost like - winning her game. Even if she set him up.
Maybe. Again. Sometime later. Not often. Don’t like games. Don’t want to like games.
He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t make himself. Closed it again.
For once Flora scooted right up to him, pressing against his back, sticky with sweat as he was. So close her arm had to drape over his waist.
He knew she didn’t like lying that close. Apology? She was bad at those. They both were.
Didn’t matter. Enough thinking. Boone lay there and felt instead. Body loose on the old mattress, every ounce of tension fled, every bit of energy used up. Her breath on the back of his neck, the weight of her arm on his side. All the things anchoring him here, to this time, when it was peaceful and quiet. Drowsing after all.
“‘Night, Boone,” she whispered sleepily.
“Night,” he returned.
Behind him Flora sighed and leaned into him a little more. Boone closed his eyes.