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Suddenly Lucy realized just how right The Ghoul was when he said her daddy was first in line at the cookout. From a purely ethical standpoint, killing someone for food was questionable. If there were other options, you ought to rely on those. You ought to make your food last as long as possible, even if that means skipping meals. You ought to wait before taking any drastic measures and resorting to… that!
Well, Lucy’s fatal flaw always was foresight. That was always more Norman’s speed. He could spot a million different problems with any given scenario with a smallest available detail.
Lucy wasn’t nearly as gifted with perception as she would've wished. It helped that she was strong and intelligent and, most of all, lucky. Her luck was miraculous at times and now that she was out there with the most unlucky of all creatures to have ever walked the earth, Lucy’s luck had run dry.
They’d been walking the Mojave for a couple of days when it happened. First, it was just the food. They had a few cans of Cram left, one or two cups of tatos—a barely edible nightshade hybrid that reminded her of how corn tasted when it’d gone bad—and a handful of Roger.
Roger was the first to go, The Ghoul having a bigger appetite after so long underground. He’d insisted on taking the tatos next, as his sense of taste had been deadened when half of his olfactory nerves melted with his flesh. Not in those words, of course, as he used a more colorful vocabulary. But the idea was the same.
He got the rotting fruitibers.
The cram was surprisingly difficult to ration. Dogmeat subsisting on grubs early on helped, rad roaches that would scuttle by their campfire before they’d put it out for bed. But not even that had lasted when they reached a low point in the desert. With nothing and no one.
Seven days without food.
The first was the easiest. Her stomach howled at her angrily when she went to sleep, Cooper giving her that knowing look and then teasing her by licking his lips like a dog. That was enough to have her on guard, clutching her pistol to her chest like a child would a teddy bear. Just in case, of course. He wouldn’t actually eat her. It was like he said. She’s a gentle filly, so that must mean she’s useful in… some way. She could only hope.
Lucy made up for it by being silent. Silent, persistent, and helpful. That was how she made up for many things, now and back home. She kept her mouth shut throughout day two—which turned into three, then four—and it proved difficult. When there were no meal times to keep her preoccupied, no reasons for them to build a campfire and chat a little in the evenings, there were less opportunities to really talk. Besides the occasional grumbling, it could be staved off with the water they’d had left.
Day 5:
“There’s got to be something out here!”
Lucy’s voice cracked as she collapsed beside a pile of sand. They’d searched it for any fire ants, but the tunnels were long since abandoned, some holes filled with sand and others stiffened into tiny, cave-like formations. Dogmeat whined beside her, continuing to dig around with them and getting tense the longer they stayed around these sands.
The canine stared at her humans uselessly. Lucy knew, logically, they ought to get going. There was no use in searching what’d already been picked over twice. No, three times, now. Perhaps she was going mad, imagining movement that wasn’t there. Even the dirt looked edible. She might’ve considered a bite of Roger, had it been the only thing available to them. Had they any food available to them. But…
“’S like I said, sweetheart,” Cooper poked around another pile, his back turned, “first to the barbecue.”
Lucy’s face was on fire, stomach pains growing more severe by the minute. She whined, throwing a handful of sand in his general direction. It did nothing. Landing limply onto the ground at his feet and maybe kicking up a cloud of dust. Dirtying his already filthy pants.
“I have already conceded to you the ethics of Roger,” she spat. “By killing my own mother, no less.”
“Weren’t your mama no more,” he shrugged, landing flat on his bottom in the dirt along with her.
“Point being,” she hissed. “There’s nothing left for you to take from me. I give up! You win, you… you—”
“Careful, now, darlin’,” he laughed.
That breathy sound came with a faint wheeze from the hole in his face. And oh how quickly she would’ve bashed his head in, had it not affected her in ways she was coming to loathe.
“Might begin thinkin’ o’ you as more than just meat.”
Lucy howled in frustration.
“Let’s. Go!”
She stumbled over her feet on her way back up, tripping over nothing as they struggled again through scorching desert.
Day 6:
Even the water was running dry. That was bad news.
Lucy knew the human body was capable of surviving for months without food, but water? Most couldn’t make it past three days where the lucky could make it to nine. Lucy was a lucky girl, but betting on nine days, with starvation to accompany it, was a losing strategy.
She stared down at Dogmeat that night, big brown eyes full of stars, and understood perfectly the reason for her name. She’d asked Cooper about it when they started out together, but no amount of expert storytelling could prepare her for what real hunger felt like.
“What if we just…” she suggested that night.
It made her sad, thinking about the possibility of life without the furry critter. She was smart, loyal, useful. All the things Lucy never would be, according to that bastard ghoul. She still slept with her pistol clutched to her chest at night, but he never tried anything and thank goodness for that.
She should’ve been surprised by his hesitation, given… everything else about him. But she wasn’t a bit. He loved that dog more than anything else. More than her, but not quite more than his family. He stared at Dogmeat for a few minutes, looking like he was genuinely considering. His hand hovered over the hilt of his bowie knife and Lucy’s heart leapt a little in her chest.
“How long do you think you can hold out, darlin’?”
Lucy didn’t have an answer for that.
She shrugged.
“Well,” he grumbled, whipping out the knife and hovering it like so over his wrist. “We’re a few more days out from Goodsprings. They oughta have something, but for now…”
Lucy gasped in horror as he drew the knife over his skin, collecting the blood into an empty rustbucket at his feet until the skin healed together. He shoved the bucket her way, offering her red liquid. She blinked, shoved a RadX down her throat, and picked it up.
It wasn’t much. Around a half a cup or so—and it tasted vaguely the way gasoline smelled—but it was something. Even if it didn’t do much.
Cooper grumbled something beneath his breath, wiping the blade on his knee and then sheathing it into his holster.
“Should hold ya for a while.”
Day 7:
It didn’t.
When they rose at the end of that week, it was onto leaden feet. Lucy’s body protested her every movement. Her eyelids squinted, head pounding against the onslaught of sunlight. Her stomach ached with emptiness. His blood did help some through the night, but by noon that next day she was dizzy and tired and just… she wasn’t herself, OK?!
It was no effort at all to keep silent now. Dogmeat huffed and puffed along with them, slowing down to catch her breath. She licked uselessly at the dry ground, as if she’d find a morsel there. Even a drop of water.
Nope. They were… fucked.
Completely and utterly fucked.
“Coop…” Lucy started, glancing sideways in his direction.
Cooper’s eyes were narrowed in a similarly tired expression. He sighed, gazing out towards the horizon. At least sundown was imminent. In a few hours. However little that mattered. Because it would only be a matter of time, a bit of rest, before they’d be awake and suffer through it all again.
Those were her thoughts before they stumbled upon it.
Nestled beside the mouth of a cave, the skull of a deathclaw on the precipice, was a ramshackle wagon. The back two wheels were missing, the steering Brahmin gone, but two figures lay in the ruins. A woman and a man, both figures laying against the ripped, tawny fabric that once covered the contents, which were dismal.
Lucy swallowed when she noticed just how thin they were. They’d given up. Wound up in the middle of nowhere with barely a thing left on them. Part of her ached for their fate.
But another part…
“Well, would ya lookie here?” came Cooper’s rasp. “Seems like the vaultie’s found us some dinner.”
Instead, Lucy picked up her feet and marched head on towards the stragglers. Her mind felt like it was beating its way out of its head. Throbbing, pulsating with every step.
Spurs jangled behind her in matching strides, the panting breath of the canine. The closer she got to the stranded wagon, the more her mouth watered. The idea of protein—as that was how she had to think about it—was enough to get her the remaining feet. To close in on the pair who were… barely alive.
The woman whimpered when Lucy toed her boot, trying to get any reaction from her. Any hint that she knew what was about to happen. She didn’t even blink. She didn’t look to her companion, who was clutching his stomach, his eyes screwed shut. She didn’t say a word. Just stared at Lucy with a dazed expression. The same way a newborn might at their mother:
Helpless. Pleading.
Pathetic.
Lucy ignored that, too. She’d gotten this far and what was beyond this was bigger than killing… eating… a couple of sick human beings. They were on their way out anyway, right?
Right.
Without this—her survival—she wouldn’t be able to prevent the bigger monsters from carrying out their own wrath. They’d do anything to stop the world from recovering, prevent hope from flourishing. To preserve their not-so-beautiful playground in whatever ways they wished. Cooper and her were the only ones trying to destroy that project.
Yes. A necessary evil.
Lucy drew her knife without another thought and slashed the blade over the man’s throat. It elicited the smallest cry from the woman beside him, who shuffled for her pistol. Before she could get her fingers wrapped around it, blood splattered across Lucy’s cheeks.
Fudging booms.
“Y’always kill the live one first, sweetie,” he smiled.
He manhandled the now dead woman, robbing whatever was left in her pockets. So far, one packet of cigarettes.
“Thought you knew better by now,” he said, weighing the pack in his hand, “but I knew you was hungry.”
He grimaced, realizing it wasn’t quite as full as he would have hoped, and plucked one from the container. Lucy grumbled as she searched the man’s pockets, finding not much worth her while.
“I could do with a lot less sass, thank you very much.”
He chuckled, whipping out his lighter. “This comin’ from the queen herself.”
“Just—” she hissed, voice louder than she anticipated.
Lucy dropped the couple amber vials from the man’s butt pockets into her pack. She shook him again. Nothing. Then she knew, by the growl of her stomach and the descent of the sun… knew it was time to…
“Okie dokie,” she breathed.
Lucy took up the knife again and weighed it in her hand. It felt lighter than usual. Everything did. Somehow she was… fine? More fine than she’d hope, anyway.
“Can you start a fire?” she asked.
She could hear him shuffle, hear his spurs sing every step before he surveyed the wagon. The ghoul snapped the remaining supports and began doing just that while Lucy set to undressing the man.
“What do you say, Luce?” he sighed. “Flash fried or slow roasted?”
Silence.
The man’s top came off first, a struggle for the tee over his bloody neck as it snagged on the gash. She ripped the fabric in half and saved what was clean-ish for later, momentarily disturbed by the woosh of flames from behind her.
She glanced between him, the body, “When was your first?”
Lucy dragged the knife from the cut towards his abdomen. Over his hips, over his collarbone, peeling the layers aside. The skin pared away and fascia made a sticky protestation as it separated from muscle and bone. Once the red had run dry and the skin had been ruined, it resembled the meat of any other creature one may eat.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that part.
“Let’s see…” Cooper hummed. “Just started rotting… 52? Somethin’ like that.”
Cooper Howard. October 2027…
“Oh…”
She wasn’t sure what was surprising about it. The fact that he waited that long, suffered that long after the fall? Or that he wasn’t always a blood thirsty maniac…
Well, that was rude. Perhaps not that, but… oh, what did it matter anymore. It wasn’t like she was much better. Not when this sight had her stomach growling. Red and hot and salty. The sternocostal heads of the pectorals oozed, glimmered in the low light of the sunset. Cut like butter under her recently sharpened blade. Not nearly as unappetizing as the rotting ghoul flesh she had carved for him weeks ago.
“Then why do you keep going?”
Lucy lingered on the crackle of the fire behind her. Then a soft collapse, wood being stirred, prodded, and flames rising higher. The glow from behind her grew until the orange light, like a certain ghoul, was all encompassing.
“Don’t play dumb,” he sighed. “You know why well enough.”
“I only know you have a family.”
Lucy paused in her cutting to look down at the woman. Her brains scattered the dirt in a red and yellow mess, skull shattered into various shards wedged in the wagon’s tarp.
“I don’t know if they’re alive, or…” she swallowed, “or if you’re looking for their resting place, or–”
“Tryna figure out the same shit myself,” the ghoul gruffed, sinking to his knees beside the woman’s body. “That answer your question?”
He withdrew his bowie again. Took no care to her clothes, the same way Lucy had the man’s.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Though I’d like to know how you do it. So many years. It seems—“
“Nah,” he laughed. “You ain’t gonna go pickin’ up all my bad habits.”
Lucy had to dismiss that one. Despite… wow… she was, wasn’t she?
But, really, Lucy was doing these poor people a favor. If she tried to get them to the nearest settlement…
Oh, geez.
“I don’t plan on it! It’s just that…” she scoffed, “I don’t know…”
Lucy realized there wasn’t that much meat on the man’s torso by the time she had finished carving his chest and abdominals. All that remained was a thin layer of fat on his organs, a yellow sheen that had Dogmeat’s interest piqued. The canine licked her chops and scooted not-so-discreetly closer to the body.
Lucy threw the fat, along with the entrails, to Dogmeat. The dog jumped for the meat and slurped it up gratefully.
“If I were you,” she continued, “I don’t think I would’ve made it this long. Especially in your condition.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow in her direction.
She swallowed down a burning lump in her throat when he went back to his task. Prattling around the dilapidated wagon and making quite the ruckus as he tossed rusted pipes carelessly into the dirt. Cooper tented the pipes on either side of the fire, anchoring one between the four submerged into the ground.
“Not that I mind your…,” oh, fudge, Lucy, hush, “er… the way you look, I mean. That has no real impact on what truly matters, but—”
The Ghoul stomped over to her direction. The quickened ring of his spurs made her lips seal quicker than anything else.
“Ain’t you got a job to do?”
Lucy fought the grin threatening to split her face.
“I’m doing it,” she said with a quiver.
“And you could do it faster if you shut your trap, couldn’t ya?”
And screw him anyway. Why should she try to be a person when present company operated on a “kick ass, take names basis”, to put it his way?
Do it faster. It didn’t really matter if it was done faster at all. Perhaps to keep the fire closer to sunset, but she knew he didn’t care about that either. In fact, sometimes he’d let it burn late to catch some “extra calories”. Not that that would help them out here tonight.
Bleugh.
She just… really missed Maximus. Sure, he too was questionable—who wasn’t up here?—but darn it he was the best person she’d met on the surface. Heck, she’d even take her chances with Monty if he was still around. At least he was interested in more than chems and… well…
“Look” he sighed like she had asked him to literally bare his heart to her, “it’s nothin’ personal, alright. You’re a nice girl ’n’ all.”
His voice was softer this time. Almost fatherly. Perhaps he might’ve been a good one at one point.
“Good head on your shoulders," he continued. "Just… use it and keep outta my private life. Hear me?”
Lucy nodded. “Loud and clear.”
He grinned from ear to ear, joining her on the ground beside his kill.
“Could fill a grain silo with the mouth on you…”
Lucy hissed under her breath, throwing a badly cut chunk of the man’s pectorals his way. The Ghoul caught it and, never breaking eye contact, slurped the meat up in one bite. Not unlike Dogmeat had earlier, but…
Oh, it had no right making her heart skip a beat like that.
“Miscreant,” she hissed.
Lucy got back to work, as he had, who was laughing away like she had just given him a gosh darn compliment.
The naked woman lay there, more well-endowed than Lucy would’ve expected a wastelander to be. Her breasts were capable of overfilling her hands. Cooper’s covered her whole and… well, Lucy was becoming a bit preoccupied.
Which would not do.
She stood with her bounty and laid the finished pieces onto the pipe. A slice from the man’s chest, his abdomen in one chunk, the flesh from his arms hanging precariously by their elbows with the skin scored. They twitched just slightly from the heat, making her jump when she’d went to adjust them.
Fluids dripped into the flames below and spat smoke in her face. It made her cough.
“Ghoul for a ghoul,” he laughed. “Bon appetit.”
The abdomen of Cooper’s dinner dangled just the same.
“A ghoul?” Lucy asked.
She stared at the perfectly normal skin of his kill. Rubbed her nose instinctively when she saw the woman’s face also intact.
“But… her face…”
He cut into the skin and Lucy nearly gagged as a familiar slime oozed from the epidermis. What landed in the fire burned the flames a light green. He gave her a once over, smiling at the encrusted blood on her tank, and licking his lips.
Lucy groaned. “What do you even want from me?!”
“What makes you think I want anything, sweetie?”
“Oh, so we can’t talk about anything important, but you can look at me like I’m a…,” her voice cracked, “like I’m food?!”
“In the wrong circumstances, you very well could be, cupcake,” he smiled, “That’s not to say of the right ones.”
“The cute pet names are a choice,” she said, stepping into his space. “Make another one.”
“Well, now,” he chirped, “I woulda thought, what with those squeaky clean manners you got, you’d’ve enjoyed a little southern hospitality. Weren’t doin’ nothin’ but that.”
Yeah, she didn’t mind that at all. It was actually this. He had no concept of personal space. And it was really, really getting on her nerves. Each inch closer felt like a threat and not necessarily a violent one by this time, but still enough to make her tremble. Think twice. Raise the hairs on the back of her neck.
Lucy stepped away.
“Do I o-ffend, princess?”
“There’s more carving to do,” she sighed, “more meat.”
Oh, gosh, why did she look down?
He followed her eyeline and that godforsaken smirk peeled his lips in two. It was foul work. So why did it have to be pleasant?
“I better get the rest.”
Lucy made a move for the man—what remained of him—but was quickly stopped when a gloved hand encircled her wrist. She gulped.
“Take your time,” he said, but a whisper. “I’ll get back to cookin’.”
The legs were an easier battle, at least. They couldn’t talk back. Couldn’t kick her in the stomach or remind her how useless and brittle she was. Or put a twig in her pony tail just to make her squirm.
So yeah, by the time Lucy had finished carving the man, she was on edge. Waiting for any little thorn to set them off. She laid out the meat onto their makeshift rotisserie and poked at the nearly done slabs. Cooper looked down at her expectantly.
“Ain’t you gonna take a nibble?”
Lucy stared blankly at the hunks of meat, paying attention to the sizzle. She made it a point to look at him when she picked up a ready slice. Her fingers touched the greasy slab, just slightly too hot to comfortably hold, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Lucy touched the meat to her lips, took a sniff, and bit into it. Her first supper in so long, she wasn’t able to contain the moan that escaped her lips. The protein, despite the source, sat well on her tongue. It wasn’t the best food she’d ever tasted–that was the starvation talking, of course–but in that moment it may as well have been gourmet.
He grinned. That was when she’d lost all sense.
Lucy sank to the ground beside the pit, unable to ignore the one in her stomach any longer. Despite how desperate she was to satiate it, she knew refeeding syndrome was not something she’d want to experience–especially not with him around–so she begrudgingly took her time.
She tugged down another strip of meat after finishing the first and greedily sunk her teeth into the pectoral with a dry squish. Salt and blood filled her mouth and she groaned as her mouth dripped with saliva for the first time in days. Delicious.
He guffawed to himself proudly, staring down at what he’d created. Awful decay.
“Guess we ain’t so squeaky clean now.”
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“I’m not new anymore.”
“Debatable.”
So that’s how it was. Eye for an eye.
“You know,” she said, licking off her fingers. “I don’t think you’re as cocky and foreboding as you make yourself out to be.”
Lucy didn’t see it, but felt it as he closed in on her. She took another greedy bite of the breast.
“Where do you get that idea?” he gruffed.
“You talk a big game–”
“For all you know, I could be the worst person you’ve ever met.–”
“Deep down, I know you’re really–”
“—Could be a molester, a con man, a sicko.–”
“—scared little man with a heart of gold–”
“Kinda monster who oughta eat the rest of your kind–”
“—who hides his true self behind a rotten shell.”
“—before you go blowin’ up what’s left of this wasteland.”
Lucy perked up. She stood from her perch beside the flames, jabbing her gray trigger finger into his chest.
“You take that back,” she growls. “Right,” jab, “now,” jab.
He still had that stupid smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth tilted up, eyes barely concealed under the brim of his hat.
“Or what, pumpkin?”
“Stop. Calling. Me–”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to bargain, MacLean.”
She felt so hot in that moment. She wanted to rip, tear, punch her way out of this. But he would hear her. Even if it took ages for it to reach those primordial ear drums.
“Don’t like that, do ya, hun?”
“I said don’t–”
“Not so fast,” he purred. “Now, I reckon you were all about plans in your little hole in the ground. Have a schedule, an itinerary for every damn thing. So, Miss MacLean… ought’n’t we plan a little funeral party for your daddy?”
Lucy jumped his bones, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud. She raised her fist to his face, but before they could connect he caught her.
Lucy reached beneath him for his bowie and withdrew the knife with a struggle. Pressed the blade up against his neck. She knew it wouldn’t do much. She hadn’t the strength to actually separate head from neck on a ghoul. But it was the thought that counted.
“Little killer,” he panted. Almost sounded like he was enjoying it.
That made her more angry.
“Will you apologize?”
“I think you know the answer, darlin’.”
She pressed down just the slightest bit. She managed to draw a pin prick of blood before the knife was slapped out of her hand and skin stitched sloppily back together. He used the distraction to get some leverage, tossing her off of him and onto her back.
Lucy scrambled beside the wagon, careful to avoid the puddle of blood that had collected from their butchery. Coop wrastled her between his knees, grip tight at her elbows where she was prevented from striking another blow to his head.
Lucy hooked her legs around his hips, tossing him aside, and crushed his hands beneath her knees.
“You’re right,” he chuckled.
And that’s when Lucy felt it. Felt him throbbing beneath her.
“Who needs foreplay…”
He bucked her off, tumbled her for the last time beside the dingy tarp. The pool of blood from the ghoul woman was turning a crusty brown and it stuck tacky where her skin was exposed.
Cooper untied the sleeves of her suit and tugged the fabric down. Her thighs thrashed against him, with his right hand hers above her head. When his roughened lips made contact with her pulse point, she swiveled her hips beneath him. His teeth sunk in, a small nibble, and his grip loosened. Just enough leverage for her to put him on his back.
The blood flaked off her shoulder blades and she found herself wishing he wasn’t wearing so many gosh darn clothes. He should get his fair share. So she smeared it across his face. It streaked his right cheek and stuck to his lips. Of course, he licked up every drop. Ghoul for ghoul.
“Thank ya for the second helpin’ there, Miss MacLean.”
“I said quit it!”
“Nope. ‘Fraid we’re just gettin’ started.”
It took little effort for him to throw her back into the blackened pool. Lucy held her breath for a second as he returned the favor, shoving her face to the side so she, too, got a good taste of iron. Bastard.
She glanced toward the discarded bottom of the ghoul woman. Her tawny skin was just starting to mottle, but it wasn’t nearly as obvious as his. He was right in that she’d turned recently.
“Tasty lil’ slice…” he stopped just short of Lucy’s pubis, gave the damp and dark curls a deep sniff. “God damn, am I lucky fella.”
She stared at him. He had to be out of his mind or just plain odd. Maybe both. Because whatever made his eyes go wide and his pulse race had to be a bad thing. Sex was supposed to be good. Bonding. Not…
This.
“You be a good egg,” he rasped, “’n' I might give you more than one.”
“Wha—? Ohhh!”
He coated his finger in her slick and spread that moisture in tight circles over her clit. His teeth clamped over her pulse point and she sighed into it. A mix of fear and arousal bubbled to the surface its wake. Cooper shifted just before it could burst.
“Bet you’re tight as a snare, ain’t you? Fuckin’…”
He shoved in his forefingers and a ragged groan followed, Lucy could feel his chest vibrate against her before she realized it was him. She whimpered, grinding desperately against him for more friction. Trying to chase it as he pushed, ever closer to that fire he’d stoked earlier, and the precariously pulled away. It left her mad.
“Yup,” he growled, rough lips dragging across her skin. “Just what I figured. God damn, you’re gonna be sweet.”
His eyes darted back up to her, wild. Full of fire and darkened at the edges. Coop pulled away to force open his belts, the button and zip of his pants, and shoved them quick. His cock sprung out of his gray, sweat stained shorts. Red, mottled, and gritty, the same as his face. To anyone else it would be repellent. Lucy didn’t get the memo.
She reached out to touch him, but was almost immediately slapped away. He wrapped his moistened digits around his shaft and bent over her. In one movement, he was in.
“Please,” Lucy anchored her foot into the crook of his knee, but he still took his time.
He dragged it out as he withdrew almost all the way and then slammed back in. She was met with her face in the dirt, blood thrusted into her mouth, and she whined for it again as he tortured her with not enough and too much all at once.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Gonna kill me, vaultie.”
He offered her more blood from the ground. Iron and dirt made a red-blood sludge in her mouth as he force fed her. Lucy whimpered still for more.
“You a dirty fuckin’ girl.”
Lucy growled at that nickname again. Her tongue lapped at his reddened fingers, made his brow raise, his jaw click. He’d never looked at her that way before. Before it was in rage. Now?
“Like mean, huh?”
She didn’t move, but then he was slamming into her anyway. Rocking her so hard that she knew her hair would tangle later, with all of the dirt and blood and spit.
"Mmm... mmm..." she whined.
With that, he pulled out. Lucy glared at him, but before she could protest, he was forcing her onto her knees. She braced herself on her hands, now forced to stare at the evidence of their feast. The dismembered woman had barely been finished, just her ass remaining. Cooper’s favorite pieces, not even carved up yet.
She turned away to look at him, but was swiftly given a face of full of blood again as he took hold of her hips. The finer granules of the dirt hurt a little against her skin. Somehow it was… kinda nice.
“Yeah, vaultie? Ya like that?”
“Fu— fuck!”
“Little god damn whore,” he spat.
She felt it first as a light thump against her back, before the warmth and wet seeped in. Her skin tingled as he grabbed onto her ponytail, pulled it just enough to make her balance on her palms.
“Always the good girls…” he panted between thrusts. “Shoulda known, what with… that god damned… stick up your ass.”
“Shut up,” she groaned, meeting him for each inch just so he’d keep doing that.
Rutting into her like a wild fucking animal.
“You’re the one gruntin’ like a stuck pig,” he laughed.
“Stop being such a—”
He clapped his hand against her mouth, but she could still hear herself despite it.
Just shy of that pleasant fire, she chased him. Slammed backwards into his ever stiffer cock and shut her eyes as the warmth flooded her. Then her eyes opened to the corpse in front of her. The woman’s thighs spread open, revealing everything. Lucy looked up at the picked-clean rib cage. Next thing she knew, she was head first into that same everything.
He was bent over her, still hammering home, and his hand was pressing her into the woman’s body. Into her dry, cold cunt. She twitched, her mouth opened involuntarily, and she got a taste of it. Like battery acid on her tongue, she groaned in protest. Lucy tried to raise her head, but he kept her there.
“You don’t move ’til I say so, vaultie,” he chuckled. “Not a moment before.“
Her reply was muffled by patchy hair and flesh. Lucy growled more out of frustration than anything. It seemed to egg him on.
“Not ’til…” he rasped, “fuck!”
And he came just like that.
Exploded with a burst of heat unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Lucy didn’t expect it to burn, not that pleasantly at least. She melted like a puddle against the woman, her head beside her hip, when Cooper pulled out.
She could almost forgive him for shoving her into it face first. Almost.