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Lucy didn’t have scars when she started this adventure. Sure, maybe one here or there on her knees from scraping against hard concrete and steel when she was a kid in Vault 33, but nothing major or anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing like the scars that decorated Monty’s skin, jagged and raw like the raider himself. Nothing like she saw on Maximus, or any of the other people she’d met out here on the waste. She had a few more now, the most obvious one her finger – was that really a scar so much as a line where two different fingers met? – but the one that bothered her the most was the one that her dead husband had given her.
She supposed it was fitting, the first wake-up call in a long line of many. Sometimes she swore she could still see the handle of the blade he’d stabbed her with, sticking out of the white dress she’d been so happy to wear. She’d never forget what his face looked like when she was done with it either, the big chunk of skin hanging loosely from the muscle, the smell of iron as the blood poured down his chest.
She ran her fingers over it, the flat scar tissue shining even in the low light. Even on the part of her torso that wasn’t exposed to the sunlight, it was a few shades lighter than her already pale skin. At least the staple scars healed, she thought with an audible sigh.
“Now I know you ain’t sighin’ like that after the fuck I just gave you.” The Ghoul gave her side eye, despite his arm loosely wrapped around her bare shoulders.
“Sorry.” She snapped back to reality, to the dirty mattress in the run-down trailer they were using for shelter. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t get her mind to stop, despite the three rounds they’d had already. She was starting to feel the radiation poisoning creep up and make her feel unwell. She was starting to get sick to her stomach and, despite his noble attempts to help, her brain hadn’t stopped running in circles. Playing the night she’d gotten married, stabbed, and watched her new husband die by her Father’s hand over and over again.
“Darlin’…” He laughed softly, running his fingers through her brown locks, surprisingly soft despite it having been days since it’d been washed. “I can keep this goin’ all night, but it’s not gonna do you any good if you don’t get some shut eye.”
She chewed the inside of her mouth, looking up to the ceiling where she could see the moon and some twinkling stars.
“I want to sleep. My brain won’t shut off.” The mattress was uncomfortable beneath her, and it didn’t have a great odor, either.
“You said that already.” He promised, tucking his chin on top of her shoulder and pulling her closer against him. He could tell just by the dark circles and the frustration that she was genuinely exhausted. Cranky, no doubt sore. She was due for a dose of rad-away soon, too. She almost reminded him of Janey when she skipped her nap.
“I know.” She ran her fingers over that scar again and Cooper watched this time, dark eyes following even in the sparse moonlight coming through the rusted-out roof.
“Is it botherin’ you, sweetheart?”
She nodded, glancing up at him now with the corner of her mouth turned down in a frown.
“Does it hurt?” He asked, seemingly more concerned now. At least more concerned than he’d been when he’d cut off her finger.
He had chems, of course, but he didn’t particularly like to share for multiple reasons, the most important one was that they carried a high chance of addiction and he didn’t want to put her pretty little body to go through that. 200 years of being tortured and hooked up to a steady IV of very high quality drugs meant there was no hope for him.
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. The scar itself didn’t hurt. Not physically, at least, but it felt so silly to say it hurt in so many other ways.
He seemed to know though, sitting up despite her visible pout. He reached for his jacket, digging around in the pocket until he came back with a clean handkerchief and his well-worn canteen.
Lucy frowned now, unsure of what he was doing, but she watched intently in the low light. He opened the canteen, offering it to her wordlessly. She took it graciously, drinking down a few gulps and nodding, handing it back.
“Thanks.” She said softly. She had to admit the little gesture felt nice, even if it was just sharing his water despite her having her own. Something he wouldn’t have done in the not-so-distant past, and it felt nice. Good.
He nudged her knees open and she felt her face fluster, her last orgasm having subsided and most of her arousal having ebbed too, still slick with a cocktail of their juices.
“What’re you-“
“Tsk, you trust me, don’t you, Vaultie?” He poured the water on the handkerchief, carefully folded into a smaller square. He pressed it gently against her still slick slit next, careful not to add too much pressure. Some of his seed dribbled out and he had to admit that turned him on as he wiped it away, but that was for another time.
“That’s a waste of water.” She said solemnly, but didn’t make a move to stop him. It felt nice, even if it was a little cool. Her labia were still puffy and swollen from the last round, which had been particularly rough in a last-ditch effort to get her thoughts to stop racing in circles.
“We’ve got plenty of water, darlin’.” He shook his head, refusing to hear it. “We can even boil more when we make our breakfast in the mornin’ if you’re worried.”
She sighed softly but nodded, watching him with that same intensity. He was surprisingly gentle and soft, cleaning between her folds and wiping away whatever cocktail of their fluids that dripped out. He’d never spent this much time admiring her little pussy, bright pink and surrounded by dark curls.
She had to admit it felt luxurious, using such a finite and precious resource to clean up. And his gentle touches gave her *butterflies*. Like she was some dumb teenager, crushing on some man, and not a grown woman who had just been fucked multiple times by a Ghoul *much* older than her. Forget old enough to be her Dad, he could’ve been her Great-Great-Grandpa if he’d really been alive when he said he was.
The Ghoul unfolded the part he’d used to clean between her legs, making sure that he used a clean portion. He poured more of the precious, clean water onto it and then he brought it up to that scar, gently stroking it with the cloth. It was soft against her skin, maybe even real cotton.
“That feels nice.” She admitted softly, touching his cheekbone gently with the back of two of her fingers. This felt soft, sweet, in a way that she’d never felt before, not even with Chet. It made her feel shy, and it wasn’t a feeling she was particularly used to, and she didn’t know if she liked it very much.
His calloused hands were on her hips, kissing up from her prominent hip bones to that scar just below her ribcage. She’d told him what had happened, but he hadn’t realized how large the scar was on her otherwise unmarred skin until he was this close to it. He kissed it, hard mouth against sensitive skin.
She gasped softly, almost out of surprise. Soft, well as soft as he could kiss without lips, kisses devolved into little licks quickly. She couldn’t help but giggle, her nose wrinkling. It tickled, and that wasn’t a feeling she’d felt in a long time.
He only pulled away when she had dissolved into soft giggles, pressing her hands into her face. He smirked, admiring her for just a moment before moving to tuck back the canteen and the now soiled cloth.
“Tell you what, Vaultie. I’ll even hold you tonight if it’ll get you to get some fuckin’ rest.”
“What about the rad-away?” She murmured, not fighting against him as he lay back down beside her. His strong arms wrapped around her and she swallowed a surprised noise.
“You’re strong. You’ll make it ‘till mornin’.” He gave one more gentle kiss behind her ear, and he felt her relax in his arms in no time, soft snoring filling the small trailer shortly after.
The Ghoul didn’t even want to admit to himself how much he had been itching for this kind of comfort, telling himself over and over again as the girl slumbered in his arms, safe and warm.