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Can’t say he ever expected this.
He hadn’t been with anyone since before. Since Barb, those memories long tucked away. Old wounds, those faded scars still healing.
And yet here she is - pretty little Lucy MacLean, crawling into his lap and practically begging him to make her come.
Funny that out of the two of them, he’s the one who’s got his hackles raised like a wounded animal.
A ’back off’.
A ’you won’t like what you find beneath’.
Self-preservation. You get good at it, after two hundred years.
She’s undeterred. Those doe-eyes cutting straight through him. Hair hanging long and loose around her shoulders. Knows it would feel like silk if he just reached out and touched.
Or wrapped it tightly around a fist, because he isn’t sure he knows what gentle is, anymore.
The ‘doesn’t have to mean anything’ comes softly from the girl who weighs all her options, and does damn near everything with intent. Slow to react unless the anger is burning in her, the stiff curl of his finger tells him that.
Maybe burning in another way, too.
Desperation fueling both.
He can’t pretend he doesn’t feel the same. His hands bite into her hips, tucking beneath the folds of her tied vault suit. Denting soft skin, holding her in place or tugging her closer, he’s not sure.
This was supposed to be easy.
She wasn’t supposed to look at him, same as all the rest. That string of contact snapping, when they see the state of his face. The mask that keeps him safe.
He used to be on movie posters, now people won’t look them in the eye.
Of course it hadn’t gone that way, even after everything he's done. Eyes that catch everything, finding him more often than not. Looking, watching, wanting.
Same as him.
He had allowed himself to do so. Knew it wouldn’t ever come to anything. No harm in letting his eyes wander. His mind even - when the hours got late and he was left alone with his thoughts. A fist around his cock to stave off the desire to touch another way.
Prettier than any film he had a memory of.
There’s a safety and wanting something that will never be yours. A comfort in accepting that, as he watched from beneath the low brim of his hat.
Something changed, though.
Between the long hours on the road. The close scare that had her heart racing. Pushing a person to do something they might regret when the sun dipped below the horizon. When they found shelter - a long-abandoned old house, creeping closer as the fire died out.
Now - she’s in his lap. Fingers hooked around the folded hem of her suit, ready to kick it off. Only hesitating now, despite her earlier boldness.
“You sure you want to do this?” Her eyes flick to his, a little tilt of her head.
As if she hadn’t come to him.
As if this hadn’t been her idea.
As if he was gonna pass this chance up.
There’s a little clear of her throat before she starts rattling off, “Vault 33 regulations emphasize the importance of verbal consent before-”
He sneers - nose wrinkling, if he still had one.
“Haven’t knocked you off my lap yet, have I?”
She gives him a disparaging look. Near lifting off him, except for the way his fingers dig into tender flesh like meat hooks. Keeping her right there, ass pressed against the stiffening curve of his cock.
“You gon’ strip those off?” Cooper’s head dips towards the shades of blue and yellow that encase her legs, “Or you just want me to cut a hole for ya?”
Can’t pretend he hasn’t been wanting her to fight back. His poking, prodding teasing. To skin her teeth into him again, and now - she has.
Lucy makes an annoyed sound, low in her throat. When she makes to stand this time he lets her - waiting for her to stalk back to her makeshift bedroll.
Instead her fingers hook around the waist of the suit. Tugging it down, fumbling with her boots until they hit the floor as well.
He takes every inch in. The curve of her waist and hips. Soft skin stretched over ribs and sinew as she bends, the fabric of her tank pulled tight.
That twist of a fading scar at her side. The modest white fabric of her underwear tugged down next - baring her fully.
It makes him throb. His hips lifting off the couch. His gloves shucked, left on a cushion before he’s palming himself, adjusting.
Eyes fixed on the part of her thighs as she straddles him again, bare skin against his old, faded uniform. The dark, soft curls - peek of her slit, how it gleams in the dying light.
Something he thinks he must have imagined.
Sweet as honey against his tongue if he didn’t - he’s sure of that.
Cooper must make a sound. A rough growl, something needy, from the way she looks at him. A little roll of her hips against the stiff, clothed curve - where it strains against his pants.
His hands twitch. Slipping along the smooth, soft skin of her thighs. Making to cup the swell of her ass, fingers splaying wide.
She catches his hand instead, fingers curling around his wrist. A tap of one - that ruined bit of skin, attached to where he took his prize.
“Yes or no?” Lucy hums - the twitch of her lips as if holding back a smile, feeling how the tendons flex beneath his skin.
The shadow of his hat only increases the depth of his glare. A rough scoff, tongue tucked against his teeth.
Her eyebrows raising, challenging. Persistent when she wants something. Stubborn as a mule. Wouldn’t have made it all the way to the Observatory otherwise, head in hand.
Lucy’s got him where she wants him.
They both know it.
“Yes,” He grits out, “Fuckin’ yes, alright? That what you wanna hear?”
There’s a flash of white teeth - the cat that ate the canary - before she lets go. Pitching forward to press her lips against his. They're as soft as they look - a little sigh as she moulds against him.
Hands slipping over his shoulders, his own stiff before they're curving against her hips. Tugging her closer, his own groan rough when her tongue peeks out to brush against his.
Her mouth slots with his ruined one. One of his hands drifting up to cup her jaw, curling against her throat. He lets her deepen it. Lets her rut her hips against him, if that's what she wants.
For a moment, he's just a man again - until his eyes crack open, seeing the ruined walls closing in around them.
Can give her a good memory, at least. Give him a new one - so he can stop going back to what never will be, again.
His hand shifts, when she pulls back for a shaky breath. The tips of his fingers pressing against her kiss-swollen mouth. Eyes dark when she parts them for him, letting him inside.
Last time they were this close they had been fighting, scuffling in the sand as he pinned her down with his hips. Fingers between her lips then too, until she bit down. He wears a piece of her now, and it’s not hard to think she does the same.
This time there’s the sweet suction of her mouth. Too keyed up to notice his finger paired with hers, when he presses down against her tongue, letting spit pool.
A little, bitten-back groan when he slides them free - only to slip them against her core, though she’s wet enough already.
Even after all time, he hadn't forgotton completely. Had always been good at it. Worshipful, even, with his touches. Nimble fingers that were now more talented with a gun.
She gasps, arching into his touch. A wild look in her eyes like she wasn’t expecting this.
It only spurs him on.
The only tender part of him left is the uncalloused tip of his finger. The rest - inside and out, had been stretched thin, carved away.
It this part of him that he fits against her now. He wonders if it feels familiar. How they feel together, as it slides against her tight little nub.
Finding and circling. Too rough at first, she bucks against him like an unbroken horse. Has to remind himself to slow down.
Swiping against puffy, swollen skin. Her lower lip pinched tight between her teeth, eyes half-shut as her head dips.
Doesn’t want her thinking about anyone else. A cruel pinch against her jaw with his other hand - forefinger and thumb. A soft whine with the next flick of his wrist, as her eyes meet his again.
She must see something in them. See straight through, in a way he can’t.
“Awfully wet for an old ghoul, sweetheart.” He growls, bricks stacking back up in the walls he’s made.
Lucy huffs. Licking her lips, watching how quick his eyes are to drop down. To watch.
“You like it.” She hums, certain. Grinding down against him, the press of her ass against his crotch “You want it just as much as I do.”
If she only knew. He wants it more, he’s damn sure of that.
But he can let her pretend.
Can let her fumble with his belt, too. Redirecting the hands that wander at his chest, dragging them down from his worn vest. Hearing the clink of the buckle as she works, the soft scrape of leather. A grunt when her palm flattens against him, carefully exploring.
He can’t remember the last time his clothes have been peeled from him. Near sewn into his skin - now a part of him as much as the ruined flesh, the part he plays.
Been a ghoul longer than he’s been a man, four times over. Has mourned and forgotten longer than he ever loved. A family and a name. Something that will chase after him when he turns, but he’ll keep it locked inside a box until then.
Tucking it away, when he was reborn.
But it didn’t make him forget this. Even with as long as it’s been. It leaves him on edge - doesn’t know if he wants to her hurry up, or slow down.
She decides for him, quick to grasp at the zipper. Bucking into his touch, panting without realizing it.
There’s a soft sound when she works him free. A finger stroking from base to leaking tip.
Hard not to wonder how he measures up - but from the part of her lips, the way her eyes flick up to his, blinking - he thinks he knows.
Her eyes are saucer-wide. The peek of her tongue between her lips as her fingers circle him, barely meeting.
It’s then that his fingers dip. Mirroring her steps, as he cups her. Slick against his palm. Molten-hot as he nudges at her entrance.
The soft cream of her finger dipping inside her, where it connects to his knuckle. He felt it wrapped around himself, but it’s nothing compared to the rest of her fingers right now, gently squeezing, coaxing him that last bit to full hardness.
She mewls with his thrust. One finger, and then the second slipping alongside it. Feeling how she squeezes around him already. His cock jerking in her fist at the thought of how she’ll feel around him.
Always so silky sweet, as he scissors her open. The movements jerky as he remembers how it goes. With how close she sits, thighs inching even wider for him.
Faces tipping closer. Another inch or two and her lips would be against his again. Eyes meeting instead, something heated sparking as the pad of her thumb circles his tip, smearing precum.
Christ, he’s not going to last long if she keeps doing this.
A ragged groan slips free, when her hand leaves him. The pink of her tongue as she licks her palm. Fingers glossy when they fit around him again, the sight and sound filthy.
“Goddamn.” He rasps, and there’s the curl of her lips. Always surprising him, diverting just enough from the path to keep him unable to look away.
The tight tug of her fist, working him from base to tip. Nothing like the rough scrape of his own hand. Perfunctory, until recently. Even now it’s quick and dirty, getting off with a groan caught in his throat.
Now that he’s had a taste, he realizes it not enough. Coopers hips jerk, pushing himself into her hand.
“Why don’t you show me,” He rasps, “What you learned in them vaults.”
She looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes. A throb against the flex of her fingers - wondering what’s running through her head as her hand slows. His own fingers tucked deep inside her for a moment longer, before he slips them free.
“I’ve only… once. The one time.” She admits, “But I know how it works.”
He wonders if he still does. Wonders if he should feel jealous of a dead man. Another strange symmetry between them. Stringing out.
Last time was with a person that left them swimming with regret. Not sure if he was just a distraction or a choice. Neither one matters to him much, right now.
There's a jerk of his chin, “Go on, then.”
Her hand wraps around him again, with the lift of her hips.
“Thank you.” She moans, eyes dipping down - eager, as she lines him up.
Fucking thanking him, the feel of her palm wrapping around him has air hissing through his teeth. Her eyes quick to flick up - worried that she’s hurt him. On any other day, he’d bark out a laugh.
Her lips part, and it’s too tender. His hands quick to grab hold of her hips - press them downward.
Suddenly he’s wrapped in warmth. A tight, sweet squeeze that has something behind his ribs fluttering, a sharp curse bitten out.
Lucy’s moan pitches high as he splits her open, nails sharp when sink into his shoulders. Marring the leather, half-moon marks he’ll carry with him.
“Fuck!” She cries, and he can’t help the curl of his lips, the flash of teeth. Forcing the curse from her, no time to twist it into something sweet.
Her knees are sharp where they bite into his hips, bruising. Fingernails scraping against his neck as she clings to him, her cunt vise-tight as she bears down.
Cooper can’t help but shift. Widening his feet, firmly planted as his hips jerk upward. Feeling the slick grip of her walls as he nudges just a little bit deeper.
“Wait!” Lucy bleats - squirming, as her body jerks upward. Breath coming in a little huff, eyes still wide.
He goes still, strung-tight. Voice as low and gruff as the scrape of metal on stone.
“You gettin’ off this ride already?”
Hands already slipping to hook beneath her thighs - but her head shakes, hair spilling over her shoulder.
“Just need… just need a minute. You’re-” She huffs, the words dying out. Pink-cheeked and pretty, under the tilt of his gaze.
Stroking both him and his ego. Knows it’s a tight fit. Didn’t work her open enough.
Too eager himself, and she’s paying for it now.
Cooper makes a sound. A rough, low hum - fingers tracing against her belly as if he could keep himself inside her, and then down. The muscles contracting with the sharp inhale of her breath.
A tight clench around him when his fingers fit against her again. Teasingly slow circles, pressing against the tight, slick bud until she’s using him to move - those fingers flattening on his shoulders.
Even with his cock pressed to the hilt, the memory of her mouth against his, he’s expecting her to bolt. To come to her goddamn senses.
A thing this pretty shouldn’t want him.
Maybe the man before, but not now.
But even now she holds on tighter. Fingers in tight fists, using the leverage to her advantage. Rocking her hips, thigh muscles tight as she lifts. Sinking back down until he’s buried in her again in a slow rhythm.
“That’s right.” He coos, “There you go.”
She moans at that. A pretty, needy sound.
His Vaultie is a curious little thing. Greedy too, sucking the juice of a mutfruit from her fingers the night before - his cock swelling at the sight. Getting better at taking what she wanted.
And she takes now, as she gets used to him. Each bounce on his cock growing a little sharper. The slap of skin louder as she leans into him.
Chasing the drag of his length against her walls. Her movements sloppy - still learning how to get there, like this. Those pretty eyes narrowed to slits, the low pitch of her moan arcing up, like the curve of her back.
He wishes he had stripped her bare. The tight tank constricting the heave of her chest, his mouth biting down against her neck instead. Breath hot against her neck as she keens, movie-star teeth scraping against skin. His hand wandering, until he’s cupping where he wishes his lips were.
A thumb swiping against the peak, straining against the layered fabric. Lucy groans, leaning into his touch. Something ragged ripping from her throat.
Too far gone to properly string together words.
“Oh, please-” She whimpers, rutting against him, “It’s, I’m so close-”
There’s a swell of pride. A molten desire to see just how it feels to make her come around his cock. Hoping he can hold off long enough, as his fingers press just a little bit harder.
A guttural sound rips from her as she comes. It does something to him - a throb in his chest, as he feels the way her cunt clenches around him. Little whimpers and panting breath as her movements slow, off-rhythm and jerky.
It’s enough to have him right on the cusp, as if he wasn’t already. His hands fitting to her hips so he can help her move, ride out those waves that have pleasure glittering in her veins.
“Christ. Look at you, comin’ on my cock,” He hears himself drawl, close to praise with how far she’s gone. Knowing she’ll never hear it, with the drunken haze of her eyes, “Good fuckin’ girl, ain’tcha?”
Maybe she does hear him, because she trembles in his arms. A sated hunger in her eyes that still burns.
There’s the tilt of her head as her mouth presses against his again. Licking into his mouth as her hips slow. Languid now, and he can feel the wet drip of her release as it smears across his skin.
It’s too fuckin' much.
The kiss breaks as his hands fit against her hips. She squeaks as he lifts her - ignoring her sound of protest when she drops back to his thighs.
Her indignation forgotten as his hand fists around his cock. Her breath caught in her throat at she watches.
“Don’t want this inside you.” He growls out. Jaw jutting as he smears her release across the rough skin - fingers gliding with how slick she left him, as everything draws up tight.
No more than three jerks before he’s spilling across his knuckles, his groan long and low. His come arcing across her lower belly as he angles himself. Watching how each throb leaks more against her skin, as he works himself empty.
It’s messy. A kindness and a necessity. Not enough of his vials to take care of both of them.
But he finds he doesn’t mind the look - her skin marked up with him. Glinting, in the evening light. Not nearly as pretty as seeing it drip out of her, but this memory will do him just fine. Used to be a good southern boy - knows about gift horses, and all that.
She’s watching, when his eyes meander their way back up. Still meet them, still not running.
Doesn’t have to mean anything.
It hangs between them now, concrete-heavy. The way she looks at him, wide eyes half-lidded. Hazy and pleasure-drunk, makes him think that she might just be reconsidering.
A year ago, hell - a month even - he would’ve protested. Maybe never would have been in this position at all.
But he used to be good at walking the line.
Maybe an old dog could learn again.