I actually have a WIP for Wednesday! It features the sfw part of something I started writing while in the car yesterday. It's going to be Sweetjane x Killian and the most explicit part of this WIP is basically them discussing their D/S situation.
Killian belongs to @newvegascowboy.
***
Sweetjane leans against the railing of her apartment in Goodneighbor, looking up at the nighttime sky above Boston proper. She tugs her lacy shawl a bit more closely around her shoulders, the breeze warm even though it was nearly autumn.
"I think there's somethin' different now between us, I don't know what exactly. Just been feelin' like things are different since we started this… arrangement," she says. Her companion isn't responding, though this wasn't unusual for as long as she had known him. It's more concerning in the way he's holding himself, like he's bracing for something. "Now don't git wrong… I've been enjoyin' myself a great deal. I hope you've been enjoyin' things too."
She smiles softly, hoping to set him more at ease. Killian merely watches her, the lines between his brows deepening. There's something on his mind indeed.
~Get to the damned point, Sweetjane Donna. Don't fill his silence with your chatter because you're anxious.~
She doesn't think this whole time has been a mistake on her end, taking up with him like they have been for almost a year now. Sweetjane's never been one for regrets. It's entirely reasonable to act on her tension, in order to alleviate it.
It's only that it seems like some other tension has grown between them in its place, harder to explain… and less readily dismissed.
"I suppose dat it feels like dere's somethin' else, somethin' ya don't wanna tell me. Maybe it's somethin' ya fell like ya cain't tell me. I wantcha ta know dat… it's fine with me if what we've been doin' isn't what you want from me." In her chest a low ache is starting to bloom, but she keeps her gaze level with his. "I do like ya as a friend, dat's more important and I don't wanna lose it."
Silence again hangs between them for quite some time, each moment making her throat tighten the more she ignores it. There is more at stake her than her own feelings. Killian finally speaks, there's a rough edge in his voice as though he too is uncertain. "Do you want to stop?"
Sweetjane blinks; she wasn't expecting that to be his response. "…Non? But I would neva want ya ta feel… like it's an obligation, out of fear of hurtin' me. I do want yo to feel free to tell me anythin' dat's on yer mind."
He seems to consider, silent again for a time. Then, “For all the things we’ve done…you’ve hardly let me touch you at all. I never get to do, well, much of anything in return.” His frown deepens, just a little. “Is it that you don’t want me to?”
Sweetjane takes in his meaning, before giving a weak chuckle her smile widening a bit in nervousness. "That's not… it isn't dat at all. I just… I feel I have ta be careful, ya know?"
The look on Killian's fae doesn't change. "You think I want to hurt you?" The question wasn't one of accusation, but instead a genuine wondering. A pang of conscience wrings through her, nearly painful in itself. She finds herself going over to him, taking his rough scarred hands into both of hers.
"Mais oui, it ain't nothin' against ya, not at all! It's just… a bit of a habit, I guess. Ta keep some form of control, when so much of my life has been under de control of others."
"Others?" he repeats.
"I was a slave, Killian. I've been at someone's whim in some way since I was 19 years old. I have a literal millstone on my neck fer a near decade. I don't want anyone to have dat sort of control over me ever again."
He looks down almost guiltily at their hands, then back up at her. The annoying thing was that she can look him directly in the eye. "I know that, Sweetjane. I've seen these kinds of things happen before. Do you really think it would trouble me? That my goal is to break your guard and sell you?"
"I… I suppose not." Sweetjane lowers her eyes. For a moment, neither of them says anything, then she heaves a great sigh, blowing the wisps of curls off of her forehead. "I've been goin' about this whole thing all wrong, haven't I?"
Killian tilts his head curiously. "How so?"
"I've been treatin' ya like… well like one of my submissives at Whiplash ova in Goodneighbor. But dat isn't de whole story, ain't it?"
"It's… not my only interest. But," he laughs, "You made it clear that you don't switch, at least with men."
She shakes her head. "I can never afford to lose my control around men, men where the ones that sold me over an over. I can't possibly lay that down."
"Does that mean that you never let any of your partners please you? Do you never just… enjoy it, without worrying about who you're with?"
Sweetjane's mismatched eyes widen. "Non, no, I do… sometimes. I'd neva be able ta give ya the kind of experience ya've given to me, but… of course you would want to do more than just let me whip ya and such." She chuckles for a moment before straitening herself. "Like I said.. I fell inta a sort of habit with ya. Honestly, a bad habit, meant ta keep my distance and my self safe. But Killian, you are mon phral, somebody I do care abotu very much." She looks down at his large hand in her long one. "Someone I find myself already lose to."
She lifts his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to the scarred knuckles. "What I'm tryin' ta say is, I'm sorry if all this made ya feel… unwanted. I promise ya, dat's not de case." She smiles again, and this time his expression softens in return.
"I should have said something," he offers. "But I… I wasn't sure how to approach the topic. I'm not the best at communication, you should know by now."
~I need to say more than this to her but that's for another time.~
She gives another wry smile. "To be fair, I suppose I don't leave much room for conversation I guess. If I'd done thins right, anyhow."
They laugh together this time, color rising in her cheeks, remembering. "Well then, I'm saying something now." His hand curls in her grip. "Next time… will you let me please you?"
She pretends to consider, a finger tapping her scarred lips. "I think we could do that." she arches a brow at him. "When do ya want ta meet next?"
He gives her a certain look from under his dark lashes. "Don't you have an apartment downstairs as we speak?"
***
Tagging (no pressure): @bokatan @voidthewanderer @advictoriams @gardening--tools @typosandtea @ragedaisy @secondhand-lions @notanandalitebandit @leavingautumn13 and open tag to whoever wants to participate
He didn't really want to be here. A large party such as this usually made him nervous and he honestly would prefer to be back in the kitchen. But they had said that he had made enough and wanted him to come out and at least enjoy some of it. Near the table laden with his creations is where Killian was standing when he saw her.
Well not her exactly, just a slip of green silk styled fabric, then in a flash she was gone, disappearing into the crowded makeshift dance floor. He tried to follow her, then lost her again for a moment in the throng. Finally finding her again in the circle that had gathered around a pair of dancers, the anniversary couple they were celebrating if he wasn't mistaken.
It was a beautiful dress and the color was what caught his eye. But there were a lot of beautiful dresses there that night as well, too many to count or notice. So he was sure it was the dress that held his attention but the way she wore it. It seemed that she was both nervous and self conscious about it. She was touching it with a hint of apprehension, adjusting and readjusting it. Her pale palms pressing down on the shoulder pads.
It was borrowed or maybe scavved. She'd never worn a dress like it before. In a way it terrified her, because she wasn't sure if the people around looked at her with lust, envy, or pity. She'd caught Killian watching as she fidgeted and pulled her thumb out from under her slip strap. Her blue eyes dropped and a flush started to rush up from her neck, where he noticed that she had on a fucking bomb collar. These were all free-people, what was a slave doing here? He thought in a moment of outrage. The thought was lost when she looked back up and he held her eyes, smiled and thought, I feel so stupid in this get up too. He willed that thought across the floor.
Maybe it worked because she smiled back, less flirtatious than a grateful smile. Killian left for her. By the time he passed through the sweaty siege of dancers, he realized he had nothing to say. What was he going to say? Nice dress? Who do I need to kill to get you away? You have beautiful eyes?
"Ya lost or do ya need somethin?" That accent was from Louisiana either Creole or Cajun but he couldn't tell right now.
He spun around and found himself looking straight at her. She couldn't possibly be his height because she looked smaller. Still outrageously pretty under the scarring. Not in a tidy way, like all of the other women there with perfect noses and hair and lips. There was something unkempt about her face, eyes that were slightly too far apart, lips that held no cupid's bow and were so thick they seemed messy on her small face, a chin that was uncertain. The scars were her most prominent feature though, they were all the same age and whoever patched her back together didn't do a good job because the muscles under didn't move correctly.
"A bit," he said.
"Well in dat case, whatcha lookin for?"
He said it before he could think to stop himself, "You."
Her eyes widened and he noticed a flaw, the tremor in them hid the small speckle of grey in the left iris. He felt horror sweep through his body as he realized he'd blown it. He made it look as if he was coming off too smooth, too full of himself. You. Where the fuck did he come up with that one? What the fuck was he..?
"Well," she gave a slight giggle... He wanted to run. He couldn't bear to look at her another second. "...at least ya didn't hafta walk far."
He felt a goofy grin break across his face, felt himself reflecting in her dancing eyes. A goof. An oaf. Too happy to breathe. "No, miss, I guess I didn't."
"Whoo-ee," she said, leaning back slightly, her bottle of nuka-cherry pressed to her chest.
"What?"
"Yer as outta place hya as I am!"
***
Which is how Killian found himself an hour or two later, sitting out of the way of the party across from the woman, heavily discussing different themes in certain poets. She called herself Sweetjane, and thankfully she wasn't currently a slave. He found her fascinating and would be glad to see more of her.
She dipped inside the boardwalk tourist shop as soon as she started to see the sky gain a green overcast and the geiger counter on her pip-boy started ticking. It wasn't the safest place, but it was mostly enclosed. However, there were cracks in the store window and some of the ceiling had fallen. Some spots were large enough where the rain could still come through. Otherwise, the place was empty of anything dangerous except for two quickly quashed radroaches. Without thinking, Sweetjane slides her flat palm horizontally across the front of her neck, making a sound like she was about to spit.
Through the green cast from the window, she could see in the distance some dinlo couyon fighting a mirelurk. She supposed they were actually trying to do the same thing she was when the crab caught them off-guard. The stranger quickly took it down and cut off one of its arms before heading towards the shop she was in. Maybe they saw her come in here and thought it would be safe for the both of them to wait out the storm? Or did they see her come in here and thought she would be an easy target to kill or rape? She shakes the thought away. No, they wouldn't have waited till the storm started to do all that. She smiled when she saw who was approaching her. She opens the door for her friend, quickly shutting it after him so the brunt of the radiation stayed outside.
"Ah, it is you. How have you been these past few months?"
She offered him one of the threadbare towels to dry himself off with. He obliges, roughly shaking it through his hair. Sweetjane notices a few patches of blood on the towel and the man's clothing. Fuck, open wounds and radstorms don't mix, and she didn't want him to start to ghoulify while she watches.
"Killian," she says his name in a stern tone, pointing with a finger and her eyes at the blood. He looks at her a moment before noticing his own self.
"I'll be fine. Just give me a little while and I'll be right. Really it does take a lot to get rid of me, if you can believe it." He tosses the towel to a corner. Sweetjane tosses him a stimpack and radaway just in case. "Sweetjane, thank you but I'm serious. I'll be fine in a few minutes, an hour at most." He says but still inject the stimpack. A pale hand holding a canister of purified water appeared in front of him and he gladly took it. She just watches him to make sure the blood splotches don't spread with movement. He then says something to her but she doesn't hear. "I wanted to know how you've been doing. I've been... thinking about you."
"Oh?" she questioned in a teasing tone. "Ya paused. Was it dat good dat yer still thinkin of me months lata? Ta actually ansa yer question, I'd say I've been doin good, just earnin my caps an tryin to keep my own self intact."
He ignored her teasing. Killian had never thought to ask before what she did for a living. She didn't have the hands or build of a farmer and he didn't think she was a whore. Maybe a scavver? Definitely a trader of some sort. It seems she is known by the Minutemen, at least going by the reports, though she doesn't have the same air about her as one. There are no rail signs on her house and she most definitely isn't Brotherhood. All evidence points to her not really being part of any faction... "What do you do? For a living I mean."
"Survive. But I earn my caps through fortunes. If I'm in Goodneighbor an feel like it, I may taxi dance fer a night." There's a hint of amusement in her voice. "My dukrels are worthless. Ya don't want any fortunes from me, cher."
"Dukrels?" he asked, unfamiliar with the word.
"Fortunes. If I like ya I'm very good but most times it's gadjekane dinle that are askin and I don't like dose. But caps is caps. I talk ta ghosts too, an sometimes I see'em. I don't like dealin wid dead folks too often, but I tend ta attract them and dey tend ta attach demselves ta raidas and mulle and anythin else dat was either is or once was human and is dangerous."
"Incredible. How do you tell your fortunes?" He ignores the ghost thing. He had heard and experienced some strange things, so maybe she was telling the truth. But he had the feeling she was testing him to see his reaction.
"Cat or snake bones sometimes, most times regula old playin cards. How about yerself?"
"I... don't tell fortunes?" he answered, unsure of what she was asking.
"Mais oui", she says, making her family's hand gesture once again. "I know dat ya don't. I'm talkin' about what'd'ya do?"
He goes off for a moment to gather some of the wood from the caved in roof as well as other kindling he could find. It looks to be a long storm this time and while he does enjoy the company he's with, he'd rather she'd be warm and dry.
"Killian, why're ya avoidin' my question?"
"I'm not avoiding you. Just noticed that the storm outside is going to go on for quite a while and thought you'd like to be dry and have some of the mirelurk claw."
"Can't have de mirelurk claw, I'll die." she says. "besides I have my own food.
"Noted. Now, to answer your question," He takes one of the beams that once held a rack of clothing and files it to a point with his knife. He then skewers the claw through it to cook on top the fire as Sweetjane unwraps her sandwiches and Nuka-cherry. He puts a hand up to refuse the offer of some of her soda. "I'm a minuteman. Sometimes I do construction on settlements, most times I scav or trade."
"Do ya do fights? Like paid ones or somethin' because yer body doesn't... Killian I've seen ya naked an more twice now so don't get bashful on me... yer body doesn't git like dat unless ya git inta alotta fights, not just with thins like Mirelurks." She says, with a tone of concern.
"...I guess you could say that. But that was me from... a different time. A time I, despite the fact that we've fucked..."
"Twice." she said between chews. " We've done dat ting twice."
"...Twice, I don't feel you should have the privilege of knowing about it yet. Just like I'm sure you don't want to get into the circumstances surrounding your collar."
"My baby died and my husbint got sad and drank himself inta a lot of debt and I got sold inta slavery ta pay fer it."
"You're married?"
Sweetjane shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't seen'im in..." her eyes stopped twitching for a few seconds to focus on her forehead. "8? Maybe 9? years now. 'Sides he's in Tennessee area an we're up hya in de Commonwealth, he ain't gonna come across us. I 'spect he's dead anyway, all that drinkin he did."
"Was he ever... violent with you?"
"No. He was sad an stayed in our room or he was sad an stayed in de bar. Only got up to piss and then refill himself with alcohol only ta piss it out agin an hour later. Repeat until de barman knocks on yer door an ya have a contract shoved in yer face ta taxi dance an serve de bar patrons until de cap's is paid."
He didn't press the issue further. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. It's done an I ain't shamed of it. Just won't let it happen ta me agin... ever." She punctuates with a swig of her soda. "By de way... speakin of dat other ting, about when we fucked last time? Ya left something..."
Killian started to panic. She didn't look pregnant but she's so skinny and how could he tell for real and didn't she say that... "I'll help you raise it. I'm not fit to be a father but I guess if you at least want money or something to help..."
"De fuck you talkin' about? I kin't have no babies, I ain't got de parts dat make'em anymore. Why dat is is a secret. I told ya dis afta de first time. Anyway..." She slips the right sleeve of her dress down over her shoulder, just barely exposing her breast. There even in the dim light of the fire, he could see a red scar still in the puffed up stage in the shape of human teeth. His teeth, he recalls. "Ya done bit me ta bleedin' an it got a little infected. Had ta get ta a docta an git it treated an I don't like doin' dat. Now dere's a little bit of ya I git ta carry 'round ev'rywhere forever. Just thought ya'd like ta know that."
"I guess that means you and I are forever attached now." He took a bite of the claw. "I've got too many scars to explain so succinctly."
"Really not a one? Dat's fine though. I'm not up fer comparin things when I'm obviously gonna lose. Somethin else I've been noticin'... maybe because I'm a fortune tella, maybe just coincidence."
"And that is?"
"We tend ta run inta each otha a lot. Despite not runnin' in de same circles, maybe somethin's tryna say somethin' about it. Maybe we should catch what it's sayin. Or maybe I'm just crazy." she says finishing her soda.
"No, I like that. I haven't had someone fascinate me in such a way in a very long time. I haven't been one for making friends... or at least good ones, in a very long time."
"Ya kin also fuck me all ya want without me comin round nine months lata with a little stranga. I didn't mind it ya know, the sex. I like talkin to ya an' de sex we've had. I guess we're meant ta be some sort of friends with benefits situation. At the very least friends." She gets up to sit beside him. "Let's try to see each other on purpose once a month. Maybe to just talk, maybe we could have sex, hell, even just seein each otha and sharin one of your foods in complete silence and enjoyin the company. Ya said ya thought ya loved me the last time," she lifts his hand to place it over the scar. "Love me as yer friend."
After arriving in Oberland Station, Sweetjane receives an expected visitor.
With @newvegascowboy's Killian.
Rating: X
Word Count: 2,556
Warnings: There are feelings, religious comparisons and sex with feelings
Inspired and influenced by Angel of the Morning by Merrilee Rush not the cover by Juice Newton.
Reuploading as it pertains to a future fic.
***
***
When they arrived at Oberland Station about a day or so later, Killian decided to stay for a small while there. He had gotten them both there safe just as he had promised. Not that there was much danger on the road between Lexington and Graygarden, nor when crossing over the rail bridge to Oberland.
She was right about her "house". It was a bus in the pre-war, but now it was transformed into a mobile home. The wheels were taken from eithe a tank or an APC, he guessed, and painted red. It was decorated with paintings of flowers and birds as well as a painting of a flag he couldn't quite place at that moment. The flag was sky blue and green in equal halves of a rectangle, with a red painted chakra wheel in the center. She had some pre-war posters attached to the door. Overtop the door she had a violet neon sign that said psychic readings here and another that red Girls Girls Girls in pink and yellow on the opposite door from the posters, both being refurbished pre-war items. The Ggntle rattle of a machinegun turret was coming from the roof. Smoke rose from a chimney cut into the left sidewall for a stove.
Sweetjane gave a whistle and the nightstriker leaped on to the ledge in the back of the vehicle before curling and laying his muzzle on his front paws. His rattle was still, and his blue eyes regarded Killian, almost daring him to come near. Good thing that he knew he was safe unless Sweetjane commanded the creature to attack. He noticed that there was no such alcove made for the molerat, unless it was in the undercarriage.
He didn't ask to go inside without permission. Instead, he opted to test the defenses of the settlement as well as help with anything they needed an extra hand for.
***
He would have to tell her he was leaving. It wouldn't be easy, he knew, it was just impossible to simply go without seeing her again. His emotional bond to the albino woman felt too strong now to allow it. In truth, Killian could not put a name to this emotion, nor did he really want too. It was not love, certainly, not as he had known it. Lust seemed more accurate. Sheer physical attraction. Chemistry maybe. Yet there seems to be more to it than just those factors alone. She was simply a fascinating woman, nothing more. No, it would not be easy to simply just leave.
As he turned and stood in front of the caravan that hadn't left yet, he tried and rejected a number of the opening remarks he wanted to say to the woman inside. There was no way to soften it. In a way, he told himself, it was good that this business with the Minutemen had come up now. He knew that eventually he would have to break off from her, and the longer he put it off, the more difficult it would be. Her hold on him would grow with every meeting. It was almost like some strange, sweet sickness.
Eddies of dust curled along the tracks in the light breeze. The shadows of afternoon had barely begun to darken the Boston outskirts. He reached up and gave the door a knock. The windchime over the door clinked, an incongruously merry sound that did not match his mood. He peered around in the dim neon light of the signs.
The door open and she appeared, wearing a long skirt that reached her ankles and a striped blouse that was open nearly to her waist, revealing an amulet on a gold chain that hung down between her breasts.
"Bonsoir," she said. "I wasn't expectin' ya. Where y'at? T'as soif? I'm makin tea."
Without waiting for him to answer or even decipher what she had said, Sweetjane went to her small range near the entrance of her caravan and turned up the flame under a copper teakettle. From a canister she spooned a few crumpled leaves into a chipped cup, then added a few drops of honey from an opaque bottle. Killian watched, fascinated by the grace of even her smallest movements. She looks up noticing that he was still standing in her doorway. "Come in! I'm fixin' ya some."
When the water was boiling, she poured it into the cup and stirred the mixture. She then placed the cups on the table sides built into a sofa. "Let it set fer a minute fo' ya drink it." she said. After shutting the door, she sat down on the sofa part, patting the cushion next to her. Killian took her up on her offer and sat down beside her, careful not to let their bodies touch. To keep from making eye contact, he busied himself by stirring the tea. It offered an aroma of spices and wasteland flowers with a hint of something bitter.
"Why ya here? Somethin wrong? Is everythin okay?" she asks in a cheerful matter.
"Nothing's wrong exactly. I've got a message from the Minutemen. I'm going away and I just want to know if you will be alright if I'm gone." He says.
"Yer leavin?"
"I have to."
"Well, I don't understand why ya needed ta axe my permission ta go. We ain't contracted or nothin else dat'll bind us. Ya folla'd me here an' some sex don't mean we're married or anythin." For the briefest fraction of a second while Sweetjane was talking her body stiffened. The pale blue eyes dropped down, and Killian saw a flash of some emotion that didn't match the words she was saying. In a normal circumstance it would have irritated him. However, in the moment the expression was gone. Sweetjane was poised again, smiling and cheery. Killian though he must have imagined it. "When ya leavin?"
"Tomorrow. I just would've hated to leave you without knowing you'll be alright. I just wanted you to know this wasn't a... a fling, I guess I could say... yes, a fling for me. You've been the first person in a very long time that has completely fascinated me. You've become very special to me, and I just felt that I couldn't leave with knowing that you'll be alright. I'm not asking your permission."
"No," she said softly. "You're not. Anyways, thank you for lettin me know." Sweetjane leaned toward him, reaching over and placing her hand on his thigh. Her pale slender fingers almost seemed like they were searing through the cloth and into his flesh. In that moment, his world shrank to this woman, in the confines of this time and place. He touched her hair then moved his hand to the back of her neck, guiding her towards him. They kissed with their mouths open and tongues mating. Their breaths were heavy when at last they pulled apart.
"I think..." he said shakily. "... I love you."
Sweetjane gave a small shake of her head, her hair a fluffy cloud about her face. Even in the dim light she looked angelic. "No, ya aren't. Ya think I'm pretty. Ya want an maybe even need me. Butchya don't even know me. So ya cain't love me." Killian looked like he wanted to say something more until she placed her index finger to his lips. "At least not yet ya don't. But I'm damned sure ya will eventually."
Instead of responding, he kisses her again. His hand strokes down the long smooth curve of her back to the firm curve of her ass. Sweetjane's body gave a shudder under his hand. He can feel her smiling into the kiss. Sweetjane drew back her head and looked into his eyes. She gave a crooked smile, the corners of her mouth curling upward in a mismatched manner due to the scarring. It was still beautiful. She was beautiful.
"Tell me what ya really wanna do to me." She ran her tongue across her teeth. "What is it ya really came here for?"
"I want to make love to you again," he said, his breathing ragged.
"Not like dat. Say it fer real, like when we were naked togetha in Lexington."
"I want to fuck you."
"Oh really?" she said in mock indignation. "What else do ya wanna do?"
"I want to taste you. Your tits..."
"I ain't got any tits."
He continues as if he didn't hear her. "...Your cunt. You're fucking delicious and I want to kiss and taste you all over."
"Is that all? Dontcha wanna be inside me?" she teased.
"Oh, fuck yes. I want to be deep inside, all the way inside. I want us to meld together until we become one."
"Do ya wanna bite me agin? Mark me up so dat afta ya leave everyone here will see exactly who I belong ta?"
"Jesus, fuck, Sweetjane, yes!"
That was the last rational though before his pounding desire drove all others from his mind. He wanted to possess this ethereal, angelic woman with every fiber of his being. He wanted her totally, sexually and carnally. Nothing else was real but her. Had it been necessary at that precise moment, Killian would have killed anything in his way to get her.
Sweetjane rose, slipping out of his grasp as she stood. She undid the remaining buttons of her blouse, slowly sliding it off her shoulders, tossing it away haphazardly. She leans down to place her hand on each of his thighs, spreading his legs and stepping between them. He sat looking up at her as she moved her hands into his hair weaving her fingers through it until they clasped together. Placing a quick peck to his brow, she guided him toward the soft warm space between her breasts. The scent of rosemary and thyme as well as some sort of alcohol, maybe brandy filled him as he inhaled. He kissed her there, tasting the salt of her flesh. Turning his head slightly, tasted the metal as he bit down on the delicate chain until it snapped causing the amulet to fall.
Sweetjane released her grasp as she backed away again. Killian half stood, fumbling with his pants as she slipped out of the skirt. It slid tantalizingly down her legs ending in a puddle at her feet. She delicately kicked it away in the direction of her blouse. It was the first time he had seen her truly naked. She stood before him in a confident manner, the dim light glinting off her skin and hair. There was a slight soft roundness in her belly that indicated that, despite her claims of being barren, she had been pregnant at least once. There just above her pubis a pink scar slashed through the pale skin, confirming his momentary suspicion. Not that it mattered now to him.
Killian moves toward her until he is stopped by a touch of her gentle hand on his chest. Her hand slowly moves lower, dipping between them. Her fingers curl around his cock, giving it a few soft strokes. Releasing him, Sweetjane turned and dropped to her knees.
Blood roars in his head as he positions himself behind her. Using one of his hands to guide into her, the other cupping her face. He kisses her as he breaches her entrance. Embracing her again, he moves her head to the side. She lets out a gasp as he bites her feeling the mechanical hum of her collar against his cheek. The danger of the device made him bite her harder until he tasted blood. He moves both hands to her hips, his mouth keeping her in place as he slowly worked himself into her. Her could feel Sweetjane's thighs shaking when with a final painful shove, he buried his full length into her. Killian was held fast in a burning vice-like grip. He removes his teeth from her shoulder as small rivulets of crimson dripped from the wound. Fuck this was better than in Lexington.
Sweetjane slowly lowered herself to the floor, the side of her face pressed against the roughhewn wood. A soft growl came from deep within her throat.
He started to stroke her with both hands- beginning at her shoulders then sliding down her back. He repeated the stoke again before sliding a hand under her belly and raising her hips. He felt even bigger inside her like this, so painfully wonderfully big. He started to drive himself into her with a brutal rhythmic fashion. Half a dozen times it seemed like he was only a blink of an eye from finishing, if only it weren't for the phenomenal control of the woman's muscles holding him in check.
The span of time that followed could have only been five minutes or hours. They led each other down such paths of physical bliss. Almost by some unfailing instinct, she seemed to do the thing he needed at exactly the right moment. There were several times where he was sure to be on the brink of orgasm when she would stop him and bring him back to earth.
The shadows of evening moved over Boston and darkened the windows of the tiny caravan. But within the couple had no sense of time, for them the universe consisted of the hills and dips of each other's bodies and wandering knowing hands. Somehow, they had ended up on her bed.
At last, she allowed him to finish. They were in a kneeling position, Sweetjane was on her back, elbows bracing her, and her legs wrapped around his hips. So close where they that their movements were barely an inch apart. Sweetjane's blue eyes never left his. She drew out another low husky growl when he let go, leaning over her and clamping his teeth on her shoulder near the first mark. He felt as if the explosion was pulling him inside out. Every good sensation of his life was jammed into this intense heaving moment, coming hot and hard as he emptied himself into her. The only noise he could hear was the ragged breaths and cries of Sweetjane over the roar of rushing blood in his ears.
Entirely spent, Killian fell on top of her and for several motionless minutes he lay there as she lightly stroked his back and body. Everywhere the slender fingertips went sent a sensation that felt like his nerves had been completely severed. He didn't have enough strength to even make a fist in this state, just allowing himself to feel the slow soothing strokes down his back and arms.
***
It was still dark the next morning when they woke and disentangled themselves. Sweetjane sat silently cross legged in the shadows as Killian silently and methodically dressed himself. He crossed to the door before hesitating and turning, his expression looking like he wanted to say something to her. Instead of saying anything, he just caresses her cheek. She leans into the caress as she shakes her head no. The he turns again and closes the door behind him.
Finally alone, Sweetjane and Killian spend a rather exciting first night as a married couple.
Second part to When We're Hungry, Love Will Keep Us Alive. Both are early birthday presents to @newvegascowboy and also features their oc, Killian.
Rating: Hard XXX
Word Count: 2498
Warnings: femdom, bondage, chastity play, Killian being a masochist
Title comes from One of These Nights by the Eagles. Also uses lyrics from Is That All There Is by Peggy Lee.
***
Love was over, and her man was sleeping beside her.
Her man. That's right, Killian was her husband now.
Sweetjane gave a little smile in the darkness, Killian's warm seed still trickling slowly from between her slightly parted thighs. Her smile was both rueful and pleased. Her man had summoned several conflicting feelings still, each when examined by itself was still bewildering. In the floating darkness that leads them to sleep, together, the feelings were like a distant tune in a smoky near deserted bar, pleasing with a dose of ennui.
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is...
Who was that? Billie Holiday? No, it was someone more prosaic... Peggy Lee. It didn't matter anyway. It was low and torchy, and in the silence of the dark it played in her head mellowly. It was as if she were listening to one of those pre-war jukes, somewhere in the back of a seedy room like she had encountered in Chicago, a half hour before closing.
***
Sometime later, and several pieces of wedding finery fewer, the night air had begun to thicken with sweat and hot breaths. All around the couple, the intangible static of sexual energy has been building to a peak.
"Yer squirmin'" Sweetjane says with a hint of disapproval sharpening her voice. It's enough to make her new husband instantly motionless, frozen with a word. Below his blindfold, a blush starts to stain his scarred cheeks. "Betta. Much betta." Killian can hear the smile.
-This is something she has always loved about him, the responsiveness he has to any hint whether positive or negative. Especially the power it gives her over him, a former Nukaworld Overboss.-
He's absolutely gorgeous like this, displayed for her pleasure. His arms are taut above his head with the wrists tied together and fastened to the makeshift headboard, ankles bound to a spreader bar that kept his knees (comfortably for him) bent and splayed around his impressive cock. The irritating suit had long since been discarded but he wasn't naked - Killian looks so pretty when he lets Sweetjane decorate him. Two vicious little clamps bite down on his nipples, a chain connecting them to the leather collar around his neck, another chain extends all the way down to the steel contraption around his manhood.
-Sweetjane has long since learned that when she takes control like this, that she has to prevent the climax he begs for in his eagerness until he's really pleading for it.
The cock cage lets his balls dangle freely, so Sweetjane pays attention to them next. The moment that she strokes them with a single elegant finger, his body desperately tries to suppress the movement. The hiss that escapes his gritted teeth proves that he remembers vividly the ways she's tormented them in the past all too clearly. He's not wrong to be afraid. Sweetjane laughs quietly to herself as he tries to keep himself still, running a single fingertip of the softly furred globes, then pinch a fold of loose skin gently. Then, with her free hand she picked up a clamp and let teeth bite down on the sensitive fold of skin. Killian tries to let a half-scream out, he's shuddering openly now. Still his bride doesn't pause in her work, not until one, two, three, the little clamps bite down on the skin of his balls, an even six in total.
"Oh, chou," Sweetjane purrs as she rises from her handiwork to kiss her new husband. "Yer bein so good fer me, tryin so hard. Ya kin do it, I know ya could love."
Killian returns the kiss, his mouth loose and wet, slack with desperation. He submits to her tongue so sweetly she has to linger for another moment. Her hands are teasingly close to the clamps at his nipples, giving the barest tug of the chain causing a sharp gasp from the man. Sweetjane kisses him across his face until she reaches his ear. "Je t'aime, Killian" she whispers and she could feel his smile against her cheek.
"Love you too," he could barely speak, just mouthing the words against her scarred cheek. The albino beams in admiration at how well-trained she has him. When they first started playing together like this, the man couldn't stop himself from making noise. Now he's trained to keep his noises to himself, silent on her command. She knows that her denial only heightens his urgency.
Speaking of, she had a job to finish. She momentarily leaves him to cross the room, taking the wooden plug from the top drawer. As she crosses back she smears it with oil. A hiss of pain escapes him as she begins to press it into Killian's hole, so pretty displayed between his bent legs. This wasn't the smallest toy in her arsenal, and she didn't prepare him with her fingers first like usual. But there was no call of the safeword, so she continued slow and steady, until the toy was inside him to the hilt. "C'est bon," she purrs, taking the base of the toy and twisting it to rest against his sweet spot, making sure it rubs and presses against the place that she knows will make him fall apart. He didn't quite scream this time, but his mouth is wide and gasping desperately, his cock in its confines growing more rigid. A clear bead of precum starts to well up at the tip of his prick. Sweetjane leans down and rolls the foreskin back slightly before licking it off him. The press of her soft tongue makes his hips buck despite himself, causing her to pull away.
"None o'dat now," Sweetjane mocks. Her cool fingertips wrap around the steel cockcage and the touch has an immediate effect on her husband. A deep groan escapes his mouth. She continues to lightly stroke him, every so often rolling the foreskin back, causing his cock to shiver and strain at its cage. Just for fun, she runs the fingers of her opposite hand over his balls and following the lines of the scars along his thick thighs, goosepimples rising in their wake.
She steps back again to survey her work. Fine tremors are running through him, his face tilted to the side, gasping as if he has been running hard. "This is de most resilient man in de Commonwealth and..." She climbs over him, kneeling over his head. "... He should be treated fer bein so so good ta me."
Sweetjane lowers herself until she feels the tickle of his beard against her inner thighs and his lips pressing up against her cunt. The sensation feels amazing that she allows herself to slide against him a few times, feeling his nose and lips against her, eliciting a moan from her. "I want ya ta lick me 'til I come.", she breathes out her command. She feels his small nod against her thighs. Ever obedient, Killian doesn't do a thing until commanded.
For small bit, she does allow him to work up a good rhythm. He sucks at her clit, licking her petals, plunging into her for a deeper taste before focusing his efforts on her clit again. She fucks his face in a lazy manner, almost as if she was bored. She wasn't of course, pushing down until she is the only thing he can taste. She threads her fingers in his thick black wavy hair and holds his head in place. She of course doesn't make it easy for him since he has gotten so good at pleasing her it doesn't take too much of his attention. To raise the stakes and both of them to new heights, she reaches over for the crop that has been waiting for this exact moment. As soon as he returns to her clit, Sweetjane flicks the crop against the cage.
Killian emits a scream in pleasure, before increasing his attention in a fury to her cunt. Sweetjane grins and begins to pepper his body with swift little flicks and blows. From gentle taps on his cock to firmer slaps against his thighs and stomach, quite a few full strength blows against his lower stomach and soft teasing brushes over the clamps pinching the skin of his balls. Whenever the pain seems to distract him and his tongue starts to falter, she grinds down against him to remind him of his place beneath her.
She doesn't do it too often because he is always good to her. Even as his body twitches in the aftermath of the impacts, Killian continues to obediently lick and suck at her with every blow until she comes with a blissful throaty cry. She lifts off his face to give him a few moments to catch his breath.
-Fuck, Killian is gorgeous like this.-
His crimson face shines with her juices, lips all swollen, and a few locks of his greying black hair are plastered to his forehead with sweat.
-He's absolutely debauched, and utterly delicious-
"Kiss me, Killian," she murmurs as she bends down to press her lips to his, tasting herself on his lips. "I tink I should keep ya like dis all de time."
Under the blindfold, he smiles back at her with a blissed out grin. He would be completely happy with that if that's what she wanted. For a moment Sweetjane almost regrets agreeing to the blindfold for a moment, even though he was the one to suggest it in the first place... to get him in the right headspace he had said. She loves him so much right now that she wants him to see it. There's other ways to get her point across.
"We gonna make dis a proper weddin' night soon," she promises. "I just need ta check dose clamps on yer nipples. Don't want ta kill yer circalation, ya know?"
He quietly snorts in amusement as she reaches down for the first one before yanking it off. She sees the moment the feeling starts to return. Killian starts to convulse with a full-body twitch and gasping for breath. "It's okay," she soothes, rubbing the tender nipple to get circulation going again. Then, just as his breathing starts to get under control, she repeats the process again with the other nipple.
"Ya still hya?" she asks. He responds with a quick nod. "Good." His nipples are red and still slightly distended from the clamps. Sweetjane gives in to the temptation of leaning down and giving one a small gentle bite at the sensitive skin. She is rewarded with an ample groan.
She gets a feeling that they both are not going to last much longer, and she did promise a proper wedding night. She turns her attention to places a little further down. After removing the clamps from his balls, so deftly that he doesn't even have time to react before all six are gone, she begins to release him from the cock cage. It's a bit difficult because of both Killian's size, the fact that he's as hard as the device will allow, and her hands being slippery from oil and sweat. But with some careful manhandling, she manages to release him. She also releases his ankles from the spreader bar and soon everything is out of her way for...
"Yer not allowed ta cum 'til I say ya kin," she warns and he nods in eager agreement.
She moves to position herself over him, before guiding his cock inch by careful inch into her, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. She is so incredibly slick that it doesn't take much until she's full up to the hilt.
-Fuck, Jesus Christ this is it. There's no better feeling than this. -
The sight of her husband between her thighs, all laid out and tied like a gift. Incredibly thick and eager inside of her. Sweetjane stays still for a few moments to just feel his need inside her, the delicious contours of his cock against her inner walls. For good measure, she gives a squeeze of her inner core, just to feel him jolt inside with pleasurable surprise.
She doesn't stay still for very long though - not with the incredible sight below her. Falling into a swift urgent rhythm, Sweetjane begins to ride Killian, rocking her hips up and down, up and down. With one hand she pinches his still sensitive nipples, toying with them one by one, testing his obedience; with the other, she reaches down between them to rube her own bud in time with every thrust, hurdling herself to a second climax. Pressure starts to build inside her and the pleasure of the sensations renders Sweetjane incoherent. His hips are an echo to her thrusts, pushing himself even deeper inside. The albino is filled with giddiness caused by the power and delight she has and she starts to rid him faster and faster, until the rhythm turns frantic and starts to dissolve in its peak...
"-NOW. Come fer me," she cries in a moment of lucidity. She feels herself coming undone around him. She feels his instantaneous response inside her, his motions desperate feral rutting as he fills her with his cum. They ride out their combined orgasm together to the last shivering aftershocks. Afterwards, Sweetjane lets out a peal of breathless, delighted laughter. "Cher, dat was... ya were perfect." she manages to gasp out.
She reaches to undo his blindfold to signal this was the last of their play for the time being, revealing the blinking brown eyes she loves so much. "Killian, ya okay? Ya were... I don't know if der are some otha betta words than perfect right now? If dere are, dat's ya!"
She can't stop smiling as much as her face could as she tugs out the plug and unfastens his wrists and ankles, helping massage the blood back into the limbs. After she gets up to go back to the dress where there was a jug of water. She places the jug with a washcloth and saucer by the bed before rejoining her husband. He allows her to gently wipe his face with the lukewarm water. She continues down to his body gently cleansing the traces of sweat and cum. He lets out a content sigh and arches into the touch, and she kisses him again. Not too long ago, he resisted the aftercare. He claimed it was unnecessary, though it was clear that this kind of service made him uncomfortable to receive. But now, today, he allows her to minister to him without any complaint.
Once they were both clean, Sweetane curls up into her new husband on the bed. The toys will have to be put away eventually, but that could wait until morning. For now, cradled against the firm muscles of his chest, she's exactly where she wishes to be.
Killian and Sweetjane celebrate their commitment to each other.
Part 1 of a two part early birthday gift for @newvegascowboy also featuring their oc Killian.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1517
Warnings: None
Title comes from and fic was inspired by Love Will Keep Us Alive by the Eagles.
C’est tout un sucre. - It's all good (lit. It's all sugar)
Fais-do-do - Louisiana French for a party
***
This had all started at a wedding anniversary two years ago, and now here they are again, like fate may have commanded it. Everyone gathered for the chance to celebrate love and union and, of course, one hell of a party.
They were married in a small grove in the woods on a crisp day in late September and afterward they and everyone they knew had a wedding supper at the Wicked Fleet Shipping warehouse. Between July when they confirmed to each other on the floor of his old house and their wedding day, Killian was slowly fixing up the old Speakeasy in Concord to become an inn. It was one of the things Sweetjane suggested, that they start an inn where he could cook if he wanted and she could stay in one place but still meet people. He didn't have time to completely finish it, this wedding gift to her. There was no furniture in it yet just a mattress he had placed on the floor and tried to clean as best he could, but that didn't matter. He wanted them to sleep there on their wedding night.
Within days it seemed like almost everyone was streaming into Sweetjane's little cabin behind Abernathy Farm as well as the farm itself. They had decided to clear as best they could of Wicked Shipping fleet, and it had taken them a few days. The warehouse was clear of the shipping containers and other debris. Then they hung swaths of fabric around the walls. Since it was late September, they also festooned it with garlands made of falling leaves and late blooming flowers as well as gourds and little plastic pumpkins. All in all this feast of love and unity was simple and lovely. Anything more and they both would have been uncomfortable.
Blake had somehow convinced the pastor in Diamond City to come all this way and officiate. To Killian's right was Jame, Sweetjane's adopted son, who was convinced to come all the way from Chicago with his partner. He was a tiny skinny plain-looking youth, only coming up to Killian's eyebrows. He didn't say a word to Killian, and he got the feeling that even if the boy could talk he would stay silent. His partner made it clear that Jame liked him, despite his demeanor. Killian was relieved that Sweetjane was telling the truth, her son was a young man and could handle himself.
***
Killian didn't expect to cry this time, he doesn't remember if he did with Nora. But there he stood under the arbor, dressed in an ill-fitted suit that was so mildly uncomfortable he'll be glad when Sweetjane took it off later that night.
As soon as he saw her at the end of the aisle, her semi-adoptive father on her arm, dressed in a gown she had fashioned from old doilies and lace curtains, all that was forgotten the instant he had seen her. As she came closer and gently grasped his hands in her long soft ones, he noticed she had started to cry too.
They could hardly listen to the words of the brief ceremony. He had baked the loaf of bread himself that they now broke and after each pricking their fingers and letting the droplets fall on the bread. They traded the pieces and took a bite. This was something Sweetjane's family did, she didn't know if other Roma did so. After the bread, they could barely remember to repeat the vows until Sweetjane stroked her thumb over his fingers mouthing the words "it's alright". In her own way telling him she's fine if they could just stop if he had wanted. But he definitely heard the part where they were asked to kiss. She kissed him, laughing and shrieking as he lifted her by the waist. He claimed her mouth with his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He was surprised when she opened her mouth and slipped a little more tongue than necessary in front of all these people.
Afterwards, the reception filled with about a hundred neighbors and kin was simple and lively. Three long tables had been set up, laden with all kinds of foods, some Killian had tried to make himself when time allowed him. Homemade mutfruit wine had been in abundance. Jame stood with his partner Seth, and gave the small toast of "I hope you treat her well and I wish you both all the joy and happiness." Before sitting back down with a small flourish of their cups.
Sweetjane was sparkling, happy, revealing a side to her he was also glad to see. Others rose and spoke, but he couldn't hear what they had to say. The cake Connie, Lucy and Sweetjane had baked (he thought it turned out well enough despite not being much of a baker and so couldn't judge them on it) was wheeled into the room. It had been iced with a homemade frosting, and decorated with candied flowers and mutfruits, they had filled it with fruit jelly and spices. The giddy couple laughingly cut it and fed each other as was tradition. Pieces were passed out until by the end of the evening not a crumb was left.
Now for the dancing. An old holotape player was refurbished and also wheeled into the warehouse after they moved the tables. Killian dreaded dancing and really wanted to leave that to his...
-wife. Despite what she said, that's the most basic term for what she is now. Dressing it up as life partner doesn't have the same...-
The word still felt strange when he applied it to Sweetjane. The sparkling pretty thing that loved him so very much despite everything and inspired him everyday to be better. He knows he will never reach the same effort she does to be so good. But just being near her will be enough. Even amongst the whoops and cheers from the gathered crowd, she was all that mattered to him and he to her.
There she is in front of him now, blue eyes beaming at him as she tugs gently at his arm to get him to come to the dance floor with her. She was right, and Killian soon found himself on the floor with her in his arms. For all the awkwardness he felt, they were in the middle of a party. Everyone was giddy, they were happy and in love, allowing themselves to feel that love without reservations, and most important of all, they were the right people for each other.
Her smile was infectious as he started to sway with her there in the middle of everybody. "Why ya so stiff, cher? Sorry dat a dance is kinda expected fer us."
Killian starts to fidget a little, tightening the fingers of his right hand around Sweetjane's and giving it a small squeeze. His eyes flick around to everyone surrounding them. "Mmm, sorry."
"It's alright, cher. We're just out of place agin is all. Only dis time we're kinda expected to be here." He gave a small nervous chuckle. The first words she had said to him.
-Mais oui, ya're as out of place hya as I am.-
Sweetjane presses a chaste kiss to Killian's scarred cheek. She couldn't resist pulling a few strands free of his half ponytail as she smiled again as wide as the scars would allow her. "C’est tout un sucre, cher. Let's just get dis fais do-do over'n'done wid so we kin git away fer some time fer us while dey's all happy'n'drunk fer us."
Even through his awkwardness, Killian makes it through most of the dance without stepping one Sweetjane's toes. He spends most of the dance looking down at his own feet so he doesn't misstep. He only meets the mesmerizing blue of his wife's dancing eyes when she moves to tip his chin. "Sorry, babe. Just concentrating."
She lets out a gentle reassuring laugh, and smiling
-She hasn't stopped smiling since they began-
Pulls him in closer for another gentle kiss. The cheers from the crowd around them were barely audible to the pair. "What's de matter? It's just this night and de rest of our lives. Killian, I'm in dis fer real real an I would've left long before now if I wasn't."
His shoulders finally relax as he presses his forehead to hers, a smile coming to his face as well. "I could live with that."
***
At the end of the dance, Killian picks up Sweetjane in his arms and carries her across the farm and all the way into Concord. Behind them people were singing, cheering and laughing. He carried her all the way to the door of the speakeasy and through it. After they crossed the threshold, he gently put her down. There were tears in her eyes again as she took in the sight of their home.
"It's not finished yet, but.."
"It's most definitely a start." She wipes the tears from her eyes and smooths her hands over her dress. "Now which room is ours?"
Sweetjane and Killian discuss more on what marriage would be for them.
featuring @newvegascowboy's Killian.
Rating: PG-16 (There is a small sex scene at the end)
Word Count: 2339
Title and inspiration comes from Somewhere Other Than the Night by Garth Brooks.
Bleu would like people to know that he does know the accusations against Garth and stands with the victim in this case. He did not know about the accusations before writing this fic and wishes for that not to be used against him.
***
She had just heard the rumble and crackle of an incoming radstorm. She heard the door of the cabin in Sunshine Tidings slam shut, and a "Damn it all. It's wasted now." in a gruff voice from behind her. Turning the hot plate down a bit to let the pot's contents simmer, she turned to face the owner of the voice, who had taken his bandana from his back pocket in an attempt to dry the black stands.
"What'dja mean wasted?" She asked.
"Didn't you hear the radstorm start?" he said plainly. "A few of the ghouls have offered to keep planting but there is a lot of it to do. Not to mention repairing some of the roofs that fell in during the winter." Killian puts his bandana back into his back pocket. He finally looks up at his fiancee? Wife? he honestly doesn't know what she wanted to be called now.
He had proposed marriage to her back in February on her birthday. He had done it this time, unlike in the time before with Nora. Her answer had honestly surprised him and in a way confused him. He wondered if it was another one of her cultural things. She told him that she wanted to marry him but the thought of being married again made her uncomfortable. Sweetjane never revealed why it made her uncomfortable. He knew that she was married before and that she claimed to have learned that marriage wasn't for her. But she never said anything plainly, especially when she's uncomfortable with a subject. It's one of the things that infuriates him about her. But it was a small annoyance compared to the rest of her. She also hasn't brought up the subject since, neither of them have. The picture they had taken that night was in a frame on top the dresser in the bus she had transformed into a home. That picture proved that he didn't imagine it nor was it the result of the hallucinations of a chem filled haze.
He still had his cravings but found that he tended to use less often the more he was around her. They never had and would never disappear completely, it just seemed like he needed it less often in her presence. He knew that by now for him becoming truly sober would be an absolute impossibility. However, he wasn't lying when his addiction was a factor in the problems of his former life. He just doesn't want it, despite her claims of not caring, to ruin this second chance he had been given.
Shaking his head of these thoughts, Killian stood there for a moment and observed Sweetjane as she went about preparing their supper. It took him a moment to realize she's wearing one of his tanks and that was all. She may have matched his height but was many times leaner. So much so that his tank as if by magic had almost seemed a very short dress on her. He became overwhelmed in the intimacy of this small act. She may have just thrown it on because she knew she couldn't just run around naked, not that Killian found any problem with that, but it just seemed so familiar that she had chosen one of his shirts. He came to his senses and ran his fingers threw his hair to shake the last few remaining droplets of rain out.
Sweetjane had turned to looks at him and in the moment their eyes met, they smiled. He strode over to her, enfolding her in his arms in a quick embrace. "You're wearing my shirt." He whispers in her ear.
"So? Is it a problem? I kin go nekkid if ya wont..." she laughs, before releasing the embrace and returning to her cooking. It smelled good. He wraps his arms around her waist as she stirs the roux mixed with radchicken and some of the spices she had brought with her.
"What are you making?"
"'Tis radchicken étouffée. Yer supposed ta make it with some sort of 'lurk meat, but I kint have dat. So I make it with radchicken instead. De rice is already made." She points to a small bowl. "Just sit fer a moment. Tis' almost done."
They ate as they often did, in a comfortable silence. He complimented and thanked her for the food, offering to wash the dishes. He knew how she washed them in her specific way, and he followed it. She took the blanket she had crocheted over the winter off the bed and went outside in the cool spring air "Havin' a smoke. Ya kin join if ya wont."
***
He did join her, not long after finishing the dishes, and making a pot of some melon flower tea. She was sitting on the porch swing he had made from some chain and scrap wood. The radstorm had passed and all it left was some heavy rain. Her cigarette had apparently finished, and she was lightly pushing the swing with one foot, the other folded under her knee. She was staring out at the twilight rain, listening to the drumming of it on metal roof and DCR vaguely playing on the radio on the side table. She reached out an arm as he sat down, the fluffy curls of pale blonde hair tickling his jaw as she rests her head on his shoulder. They sat in more silence, simply watching the storm and enjoying being in the other's presence.
"Sweetjane... I love you." The words had started to come out slowly, but still he said them now. He wants, no, needs her to know he does.
"Do ya like me?"
Her answer had thrown him for a loop. Of course, he liked her. "I just said I love you. Of course I like you."
"Ya said ya loved me. Ya were a book teacha, surely ya know dat dere's a difference in dose words. I've been thinkin dat I loved Joel. Dat I- I loved'im a whole lot. I didn't like'im though. We was too young fer all dat... I think it would've bin different if I liked'im first."
He had never thought of this perspective. "Well then," he places his mug on the sidetable and grasps her cool hand under the blanket. "I like you."
He can feel her nod on his shoulder. "I like ya too. When I was growin' up in de show, I shared a caravan with my sistas. Dere would be thunderin' an' lightnin' and rain fallin on de tin roof like it's doin now. An I wasn't sceered at all lyin' un'er de blankets, feelin' so snug an' good an' warm. " cause I was safe. I was safe an' I was loved an' I knew my family cared if Devla made somethin happen. I tole ya I wanted ta be witcha ya cause I'm gettin that same feelin roun ya like when I was une petit fille. I think dat's what it means ta like somebody."
Thunder rolled, but it was the normal kind, the clouds were too thick to see lightning. He loved her, her smoke, her smell, the pale blue eyes. Sweetjane was very much the opposite of his first wife. Maybe there's something to what she was saying. She couldn't possibly have him as a husband, she felt that he loved her too much... and that he didn't like her.
"I like you, Sweetjane. If that's what you prefer to hear right now, I like you very much. You make me want to try to be better... that has been my goal for a long time. But with you specifically, I want to be better. You're... you're good and pure and kind. In a way, you're too good. Too good to be real and I'll never be so good. I fear that this is all a hallucination. At any moment, I'll have a moment of clarity in a drug haze and this will all be gone." He didn't realize it, but he was crying.
He felt a prick of something against one of his fingers. Then he notices the pen knife she keeps to sometimes roll her cigarettes in her hand. There was a small droplet of blood going down his forefinger and he watched it.
"I'm real. You wouldn't bleed if I wasn't." She took his finger into her mouth, giving a quick suck to stop the blood. "I'm also not a naturally good person. I've made de effort ta become a good person. Efforts dat I fight every fuckin' day an it's very hard. But it is possible. I kin help ya, Killian den we kin be good people togetha." He gets up with such momentum the swing gives a jiggle. He needed to think. It wasn't long until he heard the door shut and the soft padding of her feet. Wordlessly, the pale woman slipped out of his shirt and laid in the bed. He went out for a smoke himself alone, then returned to get in the bed with her warm form.
***
Sanctuary needed help this time... It was close enough that she simply followed him. After the short battle was over, he offered to stay and help rebuild. He hated this settlement. It brought memories and thoughts that he'd rather not think about.
The settlement itself was almost as bare as a scar, the houses still torn and dusty. Some had been reroofed and rebuilt but a lot of the cul-de-sac was skeletal and open. He led her through the house he was currently working on. It was clean, the exterior mostly redone and smelt of raw sawdust and bad times. He showed her the new cabinetry in the kitchen, the built-in bookcases. He could see the sun glinting off her hair as he did so. A vision came from when he lived in this exact house over 200 years before. He can see her standing in the window in the place of Nora, beautiful in the early light. He doesn't think she'd survive very long in the pre-war world. There's too much of the present in her.
"I lived in a house like this when I was married," he said, running his hand over knots in one of the frame posts. He doesn't know what to make of the second bedroom. Sweetjane's sterile, so he knows that there won't be any children. He's never asked her how she felt about it. While it would be nice, he knows he wasn't meant for fatherhood even when he had Shaun. She's said that she does have a kid in Chicago who's in his late teens. However, he's never met the boy and according to Sweetjane, Jame doesn't want to leave.
She follows him into the master bedroom, where he showed her more of his finished work. Sweetjane imagined what the room wood look like once finished. Maybe the settlers would put a bed in here. She doesn't know what she would do in a large house with multiple rooms. Everywhere she's lived her whole life has always been one room. The Vardo in the medicine show she shared with her sisters, later in the apartment above the funeral home with Joel, the apartment in Diremall, her bus. It would scare her. She watches the browns and greens of his clothing, the wide square scarred hands spread on either side of the window frame, as he looked out into the settlement. "What're ya thinkin?"
"That they weren't happy," he said quietly.
"Who wasn't be happy?"
"The people that lived in this house in the old world."
She came closer to him. "Why weren't they?"
He presses his forehead to the window. "Because it wasn't right. There was a lot of animosity here."
In that moment Sweetjane realizes where they were and what this place meant to him. She puts her hands around his waist, closing her eyes and pressing her face into the scratchy wool between his shoulder blades. "Dere's ghosts hya isn't dere?"
He didn't say anything or move, just gave a shuddering sigh. "You wouldn't be able to comprehend how many of your ghosts are here."
For a moment, everything was still again as he stood there, his hands opened on the window frame. Then he caught the slender hands, turning them over and kissing the palms, pressing them to his face. He turned and held her. It was precisely how she had wanted to be held by someone all her life — by strong arms and a broad, wool-shirted chest. She threw her head back and kissed him, opening her mouth for him to taste her, her lips, her tongue. She couldn't stop shaking unless he held her tight.
He pushed her away gently. "Are you sure?"
Of course she was sure. He was the man she'd always wanted.
She took off her plaid flannel shirt, tossing it on the bare floor. She let him see her, lean and very pale, the opposite of Nora, but Sweetjane, all he had. She unties her boots, kicking them off. She slips the skirt over wide hips, delicately kicking the pool away.
Killian looked sad right then, like someone he knew was dying, his back pressed against the smudged window. "I didn't want it to happen," he said.
"It doesn't have to happen that way now," she says.
Then he was kneeling in front of her, his arms around those pale hips. He kissed her belly over the surgical scar, her thighs, his hands on the ample bottom, fingers moving to the silky wetness between her legs, spreading her thighs enough to taste her there. She knelt down with him, ran her hands over his body. She opened his clothes and felt for him. She pulled her on top of him and she rode him, her forehead against his chest, their coupling ending in a ray of sparks.
He liked her. He loved her. What's better is that she knows it and she likes and loves him too.
