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Six has at least a hundred things that she should be doing right now.
That’s probably why she shouldn’t have spent last night at the Tops. She hasn’t asked Arcade how many caps she lost to her excursions, but it was a lot. When the Courier awoke, she found a note stating that Veronica had taken Rex scouting. Arcade had left painkillers out, but he also had matters to attend to. The good Doctor is probably at the fort answering Varkas’ call, so the Presidential suite is unusually quiet. It’s something Six isn’t used to or comfortable with. It is this discomfort that leads her out of the bedroom and into the elevator.
She finds Boone on the seventh floor.
Whereas the others took residence in the communal room on her floor; Boone decided to find a quiet corner of his own. This did not surprise any of their ragtag group members, so it was never questioned… but, as a general rule, they avoid treading in the Sniper’s space. But Six is hungover, and all she can think about is the horrible silence she had found herself drowning in.
“Boone, are you down here?”
There’s a sudden thud of boots, and then a door not far ahead crashes open. Boone exits the room holding a combat knife - eyes not covered by his shades fly to her.
“What’s happened? Everyone alright?”
“I-- oh, sorry. Um. Nothing bad, don’t worry.”
“Oh,” he slowly lowers the knife; his brow furrows. “What d’you want?”
“I just… wanted company. The others are out.”
Goddamn it, she regrets this. Boone’s eyes her in an intensely suspicious way; making her extremely aware of her presumably terrible-looking state. The Courier is dressed in a too-big flannel shirt, is carrying no weapons and hasn’t so much as dragged a brush through her tangled hair. She would be entirely at House’s mercy should he decide now is the time to take her down, and Six knows Boone’s thinking the same thing.
“Come in,” is his reply, and then he vanishes back into room 7.03.
She had expected him to turn her away. Say ‘not now’ and leave her standing in the dust-riddled hall. Six feels as surprised as she did the day he agreed to travel with her; not understanding his reasoning for being so willing to… well… be kind to her. They are - were - complete strangers. He still kind of feels like a stranger all these months later. Even after Bitter Springs… She knows he is grateful to her, but she finds herself questioning if he cares.
His room is oddly tidy. It has nothing on the size of her suite, but she can understand why he chose it. If Novac was perfectly preserved and had once belonged to a millionaire, she imagines that it would have the same feel as this place. There’s a small kitchenette with a pot of coffee heating on the hob, and a huge double bed sits off to the left. The living area holds a repaired radio, which sits where the old TV must have been, and a dining table with four chairs surrounding it. That’s where she finds Boone. Servicing his beloved rifle.
For as long as she can remember (since waking up from being shot in the head) she has been an expert with laser weapons. You could put anything from a laser pistol to a gauss rifle in her hands, and she’d be able to give you step-by-step instructions on how to care for it. Traditional guns, on the other hand, have her pulling up short. Laser weaponry is rare in the Mojave - so much so that she had visited the Van Graffs just to ask if they knew her. The only other group who have the Courier’s level of knowledge on laser weaponry is the Brotherhood of Steel, but Veronica was quick to reassure her that she had never seen her before their meeting at the outpost. It had been disappointing but, then again, when isn’t life in the Mojave disappointing?
“Coffee’s almost up,” he breaks the silence. God, how long has she been hovering in the doorway? Feeling even more like an idiot than she had before, Six stumbles over to the stove and pulls two mugs from a cupboard. As Boone continues to polish his gun’s bolt, she pours their drinks. Something’s Gotta Give begins to drift from the crackling radio’s speakers, and it strikes her just how domestic the scene really is.
She doesn’t want to scare her companion by pointing that out, though.
“Here you are,” She drifts over as she speaks, and Boone lifts his head. The Sniper takes his coffee with a quiet thanks and places it by his work space. Six eyes his couch, but it feels odd to sit so far away… He is ignoring her in favour of his gun, so she bites the bullet and sits across from him.
He is using a makeshift rod to clean the inside of the barrel; movements expert and precise. Six can’t help but watch, feeling fascinated by how different the process is for him. Servicing her rifle is all about checking wires and repairing heat damage. Boone’s weapon of choice is much longer than hers. Certain areas are much more challenging to reach, and it doesn’t come apart like laser weapons do. Once he’s presumably satisfied that the barrel is clean, Boone sets the rod aside and wipes his grease-stained hands with a dirty cloth. She doesn’t realise she’s staring until she watches the mug meet his lips. Six quickly flits her eyes away.
“Sorry. I’ve, uh, never seen you doing that before.”
“Drinking coffee?” His brow quips. Boone doesn’t smile. Hell, she’s never seen him actually laugh - but he has always been quick to whip out jokes at her expense.
“Funny,” She snorts, “servicing the rifle. Obviously.”
“Wouldn’t say it was the most entertaining thing to watch,” He shrugs.
Six wants to disagree. Sure, the act itself isn’t exactly Tops material - but there is less intensity in his gaze and his shoulders look a little less tense than usual. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans and a faded blue t-shirt. It’s a look he never frequents when he knows he will have company. From the distant smell of abraxo, Six assumes that his military garb is soaking in the tub.
A somewhat comfortable, domestic Boone… Months on the road have robbed them of this. The lack of anxiety. The ability to shrug off their guard for a while. To just be able to sit, drink coffee and clean weapons without worrying you’ll be powerless to sudden enemies. The Courier finally understands the appeal to just stay in one, protected place.
“You got any plans for today?”
“No,” he leans back; placing his empty mug aside to stretch languidly. Six tries not to stare. She really, really does - but his shirt rides up, and she’s only seen him shirtless once but it was a damn gift to be treasured forever and always. He continues to keep up with his NCR training routines; going out for daily jogs around Westside in the mornings, then press-ups, then crunches… It’s left him with a body that barely anyone can resist. Six knows that, if he didn’t carry so much intensity wherever he went, women and men alike would be all over the handsome, ex-first recon soldier. He has stubble today, too, which really doesn’t help make him any less attractive to her. She wonders what it’d feel like under exploring fingertips… how it’d scratch at her cheeks as he leant to whisper in--
“You’re doing it again.”
Being called out like that has her almost dropping her drink. Shit. Six expects him to look angry or at least irritated; but he’s smirking, and that stops her from fleeing there and then. Smirking. An actual, real-life expression of amusement beyond a quick, snorted exhale. He’s got her, but she wants to applaud and tell him she got him.
“Leave me alone, I’m sick."
“Sick?” Another brow-raise, “maybe you shouldn’t drink so damn much.”
“Why not? S’not like I’ve got radscorps to fend off in the city walls.”
“Hmm. Well then, maybe next time you should consider enjoying a night in Gammora instead.”
A fit of coughing follows as Six inhales her mouthful of coffee. She’s blushing horrendously now, but she finds her humiliation dissipating as a low, delicious chuckle fills the room. Through watery eyes she sees Boone smiling - stashing his rifle’s service supplies away as he laughs at her expense.
“As embarrassing as that is, maybe you’re right,” she finally finds her voice. “You ever been with a Gammora girl, Boone?”
Suddenly it’s his face that turns pink. He conveniently begins washing the mugs.
“Once.”
“Scandalous!” She slaps a hand to her mouth, feigning surprise. Every NCR soldier stationed at the strip spends half their nights tripping over each other to get their greasy hands on one of their 'finest’ strippers. Why should Boone be any different?
“It was Carla’s idea,” he mumbles. It’s almost to himself; except he’s put the mugs aside and has turned around to face Six once more. Those damn eyes fix on hers. “I’d said no at first, but she insisted. Truth be told, I didn’t like it. She wanted to put on some big show with the other girl.”
“Not the showman type?” She quips. Boone moves slower, now. Back to his seat across from her. He’s silent as his rifle is moved to stand against the bookshelf to his right.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he finally admits, “but I didn’t want to share. I heard a lot of the others talking about what watching two women did for 'em, but I’ve been told I’m… possessive.”
Oh, God. Six’s breath is knocked off-kilter at the admission.
“Nothing wrong with that,” she grins. “I’ve been with a couple guys since the memory loss, but not since we stared travelling together, ‘cause… uh… well, I wasn’t gonna ditch you to go fuck some stranger behind a hut. The second guy was like that. Possessive.”
“And the first?"
“He was gentle.” God, how did they get onto this topic? Boone actually looks interested and it’s setting fire to the knot in her stomach. “It was okay. He made sure I was… that I finished.”
“The second was better, though?”
“Yeah,” another blush colours her cheeks, and Six has to avert her gaze. “He was a lot more vocal. Less gentle… I’m not exactly made of glass. I survived two headshots, for God sake."
“True enough,” Boone chuckles again, and it sends a shiver creeping down her spine.
“Was Carla the last time for you?”
He pauses, and she curses herself. What a stupid thing to say. Great. Boone has finally stopped holding her at arms length for once and now she’s--
“Yeah,” he nods, then snorts. “Sad, really. There was no one for me in Novac and, well, strippers and prostitutes have never been my thing.”
“So, what is your thing?”
She’s leaning forward as she asks. She doesn’t realise until he looks up at her.
“Something honest. Real. I don’t want to pay caps for some whore to tell me I’m the best she’s ever had. I like to figure it out for myself. Know the woman wants me. Make her wait for it, then take my time figuring out what she likes. What she craves…”
He leaves that thought hanging in the air, and the Courier swallows. Oh, how delicious that sounds. Is he teasing her? Luring her into that same trap? Making her wait to see what she likes? She’s been waiting since that very first night in Novac, and her attraction has only grown. His gruff, cold exterior hardly put her off.
“Whores ain’t all that appealing to me, either. Maybe I’ll be able to pick someone up at the Tops, though…”
“Don’t think that’ll be an issue if you dress like that.”
Six licks her dry lips, begging whatever God is listening to not let him see her quaking hands. Her heart is beating tenfold as she stands.
“You like it?”
“It leaves little to the imagination, is all I’m saying.”
“Do you like doing that?” She cocks her head, staring through lidded eyes. “Imagining?”
Boone’s eyes fall downward, and her heart spikes again. She wonders what he’s thinking about as he gazes at her… But the obvious appreciation in his face has her wanting to be brave. Bold. So she raises her hands to the front of her shirt and begins to unfasten the buttons.
His eyes widen a fraction, and she can see it now. See the erratic movements of his chest as his lungs fight for air. See the way his mouth has pressed into a line. That’s when she knows that she’s not alone in this.
“I prefer seeing,” is his response.
“Me too,” Six whispers. That draws his eyes upwards. She leans against the table now, emulating expectancy, and it’s his turn. Boone is clearly in the midst of some internal battle, and the Courier suspects that has everything to do with his dead wife. He spoke a good game, but will he stick to his words? Six is just beginning to feel uncertain when he finally stands and lifts his t-shirt over his head.
The last thing you’ll never see makes a lot of sense when you see a first recon soldier up close. Boone doesn’t have a bullet wound in sight. There’s a few scars here-and-there from cuts and scrapes, but other than that… He’s Goddamn perfection wrapped up in one man, and Six can’t resist moving closer. Boone moves, too. Probably to stave off any internal arguments about putting a stop to it. But he doesn’t kiss her. His steady arms pull her closer. A calloused hand clasps her leg to hitch it upward; drawing a gasp from the heady Courier.
“Boone…”
The kiss contrasts against his sudden manhandling. Six expected it to be brutal; full of teeth and tongue as he backed her up against the wall. Instead it’s soft. Confident. Claiming. She thought possessive meant rough, but she understands now. She grasps his shoulders and jumps to wrap her legs around his waist. Boone's hands fall to her ass and Six hums contentedly into his lips. That’s when she knows she has him - hook, line and sinker.
She feels like putty in his practiced hands as he takes them backward. He can’t see a damn thing with her kissing him, but he clearly knows where he’s going as he finally sits on the end of his satin sheets. Six shifts so she’s straddling him instead, and Boone uses the opportunity to reach for her bra. The other men she’d been with had trouble fumbling with the clasp, but he seems to be working from muscle memory. It loosens and slides down her arms, so she leans back to toss it aside. It gives the Sniper the view he had evidently been craving - judging by the way his hands still her waist. Prevent her from moving closer.
“Better than I imagined,” he breathes; drawing a delighted, breathy laugh from the woman in his lap.
“So you did imagine.”
Her cockiness soon dissipates as he flicks his tongue over one of her nipples. Six sighs. Her hands trail up to the hold him in place as he begins lavishing it with the soft, attentive affection he had previously given her lips.
“Think you can service me like you do that rifle?”
His teeth are added into the mix; nipping her breast enough to send painful sparks of pleasure flooding through her. He’ll bite, lick, then kiss, and the mix of sensations has her legs quivering. Oh, he’s definitely well-practiced. Six prays that he doesn’t find her lack of experience off-putting. Though her nipples are sensitive, the underside of her breasts are perfect for teasing. He must realise this from the soft gasps that catch in her throat whenever his teeth press into them. So he carries on doing that. One hand splays against her back to help steady her whilst the other traces nonsensical patterns against the outside of her thigh, and that’s around the time that she finally loses her mind.
“Please,” she pants. Her attempts to squeeze her thighs together is futile considering he’s sat snugly between them, but try she does. Six can feel his lips turn up into a smile. Sees it for herself as he tilts his head upwards. The green of his eyes is almost invisible with how dilated his pupils are but, if not for that and the obvious bulge pressed against her thigh, Six wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s aroused. Years of sniping mean that his breaths fall out in perfect rhythm, and she suddenly hates it. The Courier pushes him down so he’s laid back against the mattress and wills herself to calm down. No point rutting against his leg like a damn dog. She needs to get him as riled up as he has her.
“What else did you imagine?”
“Six…”
“Or shall I find out for myself?”
Her lips pepper kisses down his cheek to his jaw. Finally, when she reaches his pulse point, the Sniper releases a slightly jagged breath that she might have missed if she hadn’t been listening out for it. So there she stays; allowing herself the luxury of stroking his tensing abs as she nibbles on his throat. Her other hand glides upward. She softly circles his nipple with her fingernail, and the sensations combined clearly do something worthwhile for she can feel his cock twitch through his jeans. He takes her jaw between his forefinger and thumb to bring her lips back to his, and Boone swallows as her fingers dip into his waistband. She stops at the button; unfastening and unzipping them in a fluid motion. As she begins pulling the jeans over the curve of his ass he bites her lower lip and tugs; finally pulling a needy groan out of her.
“I hope no one gets back anytime soon,” Six breathes as he kicks the loosened jeans elsewhere. They’re left in nothing bar undergarments, now. God, she can hardly believe her luck. This was not what she expected to be doing with Craig Boone, of all people, when she got down here. Maybe she needs to invade his personal space more often.
“Let them,” Boone pushes her onto her back, then smirks at her look of surprise.
“Thought you didn’t like a show.”
“Said I didn’t like watching them.”
“Tou-che,” she gasps, hips snapping up as his hand settles on her inner thigh. He chuckles at the neediness in her response and she huffs - disappointed at the way his fingers do nothing but brush the silky skin close-but-not-close-enough to her panties. The Sniper leans down to press his lips against her ear, and suddenly that blasted stubble is brushing against her cheek just as she’d wanted it to.
“Patience,” he whispers - all gruff and low, and it’s so sexy she might orgasm there and then. “You wanted to be treated like my rifle, right? You can’t rush that,” he slowly hooks her panties with his thumbs and tugs them down; making a noise of approval as she shimmies to help him. “If you rush, then you’ll end up missing the parts that need the most care.”
She can’t wait. She can’t. In a fit of arousal she goes to reach between her legs, but he quickly takes both her wrists in one hand and pins them above her head.
“No,” he growls. Growls. A flood of warmth rushes through her, and she idly wonders if her arousal is going to stain his sheets. “Keep them there or I’ll have to tie them. This is mine: you got that?”
“Yes,” She’s blushing again. The thought of being tied up by Boone is almost too good to resist, but she wants his hands on other parts of her body far too badly to wait for him to find those tools.
“Don’t move your hands until I say,” the Sniper barks - voice full of authoritative rule. She just nods, which earns her a kiss on the cheek.
“Good girl.”
Good girl. Her neglected cunt tightens at that and, embarrassingly, she groans loudly. Seeing how much she enjoys it has him dropping his mouth to her ear again as a finger finally presses against her aching clit.
“Carla hated being a sub,” Boone groans, “missed this. Would never have guessed it from you.”
“Please,” Six whines. She can imagine why he’s surprised. The Mojave has a terrified sort of respect for the Courier. A woman who has cheated death, destroyed countless Legion parties, got in with the Strip’s leader and killed him to take the place for herself. Submission does not go with such a reputation.
Slowly - torturously - he begins stroking her in small circles.
“You can touch me, but keep your hands off yourself.”
She immediately drops her hands to palm his ass generously. Oh, all the time she has spent watching that ass as he sniped distant enemies. He has some excellent self-control, she thinks. His breath catches at her groping hands yet he makes no move to press himself against her; so Six slides her hand under his waistband and reaches for his balls.
“Fuck,” He grunts. His lips fall to hers again, and she begins fondling teasingly - making sure to keep from touching his cock. It strains against his boxers, and she wonders if it’s leaking for her. What noises he’ll make when she finally touches him the way he craves. His fore and middle finger trail down to her folds, and he ends their kiss with a pained grunt.
“You’re a damn treasure, Six. Holy shit.”
“Keep going.”
“I don’t know if I can wait.”
“I don’t want you to!”
“Don’t know how I want you,” his fingers toy with her entrance. Clearing her head entirely. “Think I want to watch you on me. See those pretty tits bounce as you ride my cock.”
“Jesus Christ,” She whines as he finally pushes in, stroking her walls deliciously. “For a quiet guy, you’re perfectly chatty in the bedroom.”
“I’m full of surprises,” The Sniper purrs, and then his fingers are gone. She growls in disdain, but then he’s laying on his back and guiding her to straddle him. Boone takes a moment to shove away the last barricade between them - and Six openly stares. He’s not the longest she’s been with, but certainly the thickest. Thankfully she found herself preferring the feel of that, so she is more than pleased. Not that it would have mattered. All Boone really needs to do is talk dirty and touch her boobs. She’d probably finish in minutes.
But this is definitely preferable, so she says nothing.
She lowers herself onto him slowly; keeping her eyes on his face all the while. It’s been a long time for him, so she finally feels as though she has some control over the situation. Boone’s face strains delectably. Those harsh green eyes of his squeeze shut, and his mouth falls open in a delighted ‘o’. He feels perfect inside her. God, she won’t last long. Not with how riled up he’s got her - not with how beautiful the man below her truly is. He lifts a hand to begin toying with her clit and from then on she finds it impossible to keep still.
Six may be riding him, but Boone is still in charge of what’s going on. His free hand rises from the sheets to her waist, and from there he controls her pace; fingers digging wonderful bruises into her soft skin as she gives him the view he’d wanted. Six throws her head back; tossing her messy brown curls behind her to give him a better look. Never has she seen the Sniper look so entranced, but you’d be hard pressed to say she didn’t look the same. He’s gorgeous. Soft, desert-tanned skin covered in a deep flush and sheen of sweat as their hips meet to keep up that all too needed friction. When he’s finally done staring he pulls her down and takes a fistful of her hair, leaving her to steady herself by planting both hands on the mattress beside him. Their lips mash together in a wet, messy kiss that sounds as filthy as their slapping skin.
In that moment, Six questions whether she’s ever been happier.
“You feel so good,” She wails through swollen lips. His kisses are relentless; he doesn’t even back off to let her speak. Nor when he wants to reply.
“I want you to cum for me, Six. Make me damn happy and cum.”
“Like you h-had to tell me to,” his hand drops back to her clit, and if she’d thought his kiss was brutal - that had nothing on the pace he sets now. She can’t breathe can’t think can’t form coherent words-- she’s whining, sobbing, clawing at the satin in her hands as Boone takes her to highs she never thought she’d reach. His lips are on her boobs, and she wants to beg for him to stop-- too much. All too much. The feel of him stretching and stroking her walls is sofuckinggood, and now he’s hitting that spot that has her toes curling and shecan’tanymore--
The sound she makes when her orgasm finally tears through her is almost a scream; something she’d be embarrassed about if she had any sense of shame left. She collapses onto him in a mess of sweaty limbs, so he flips them. With her walls fluttering around him he quickly follows suit; burying his face into her breasts as he grunts in such a Boone-like way that she would laugh if she had any air left in her lungs.
Neither knows how long they lay there but, as she comes down, Six’s headache has returned tenfold. Maybe having mind-ruining sex when you’re hungover is a bad idea but, holy shit, she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.