Archive of Our Own

Keep Me Too
- o -

Cooper had liked it better when the girl had been all jittered up.

Relaxed. Talkative. Loose in that particular way only an addict ever was—always wanting more juice, always orbiting the next hit.

At least it had been entertaining. Fun, even, to watch.

Now she'd be back to her usual, fun-trampling self.

It had taken her nearly until morning to sleep off the heavy nausea the healing drug left behind after she'd injected it herself. Lucy's round eyes didn't look any more haunted than usual, but Cooper could tell something had shifted while she'd been out.

He'd managed to doze off at some point in the night. Daylight stirring through the ruins woke him, and he roused Lucy gently with a gloved hand.

She turned, squinting up at him, still thick with sleep.

He peeled the glove from her shoulder.

"Ready?"

Lucy folded into a sitting position, ankles crossing. "Ready for what?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I reckon we'll figure somethin' out."

Suddenly she was shuffling off the bed, scrambling for the contraption she'd dragged back with her. She held it out proudly for him to see. "I snagged this!"

A huff of laughter slipped from him. "Yeah. I saw that." Cooper took a slow step around her where she sat on the floor, eyeing her with open amusement. "You even know how to use that thing?"

A confident smirk tugged at her mouth. "Well. If I don't, I will."

Cooper turned toward the window. The tower loomed in the distance.

Lucky 38.

He exhaled.

"Can't we just… not?"

His gaze drifted back to her, puzzled. "What do you mean, not?"

She corrected herself quickly. "I mean—not right now. I need a minute. Just… a day. A night. I wanna sleep here one more time."

He studied her, then lifted a shoulder in a dismayed shrug.

"O-kay."

"I—"

His eyes glinted. "What?"

"I want to drink alcohol." The words came out firm, decided—clearly premeditated.

"You wanna drink?" he asked, incredulous. "After how sick you been?"

Lucy waved him off. "Not too much," she said. "Just enough."

"Enough for what?"

She sighed, frustrated, staring hard at a crack in the wall. "Enough to forget all the terrible shit I've seen."

That stilled him.

She'd been swearing more lately—sharp little curses falling out in moments even she hadn't expected. 

Hadn't quit saying fudge yet though.

He considered his answer, landing on the truest one.

"Honey," he said quietly, "there ain't enough alcohol in the world to make you forget those kinds of things. Trust me. They always come back."

She didn't respond. Her frame sagged, eyes half-lidded, searching for nothing at all.

"But," he went on, already turning away, "if you wanna lush yourself up, fine. Drink too much, and get all Lu-Lu… I won't hesitate to leave you behind."

Lucy's head snapped up. "Lu-Lu?"

"I said what I said." Cooper headed for the door. "C'mon."

- o -

They ambled through the waves of miserable folk, Lucy keeping her eye out. He didn't know what she was searching for exactly, besides something to wet her whistle. He swayed forthrightly with a gruff sigh of impatience.

Lucy held a steady palm at her stomach, looking around. "Check it out—fresh clothing." She blinked down at her blood-soaked top beneath her suit. "I could use something."

"Well, I ain't your sugar daddy," Cooper drawled, a click of his tongue. "Go get it yourself."

She studied him a brief moment, lips pursed with indecision, gaze staring back at the rough-and-tumble boutique that seemed thinning with product. "Stay here," she said. "I'll be right back."

"Uh huh," he leaned against the brick, taking out his medicine. He took a long huff while she dove inside.

It was several minutes later. Cooper had resorted to pacing the windows.

He hadn't wanted them to—the memories—but they continuously came flooding by.

Nights he tried, blue with himself in the face, to reason over, to process.

Days he long tried to forget.

Yet the clock ticked ever onward.

He couldn't say it for true, but with the possibility that his family were alive beneath that tower, so close… they felt still so unreachable.

"Get outta my way, ugly!" Some bastard grumbled at him hatefully, miserably idling by.

Cooper had heard worse.

Any other day, he'd have blasted the man's gut straight through without a second thought.

Right now, he had more important things to be worrying about.

Big fat fish to fry.

Then at last, the vaultie had re-emerged from the crumbling boutique.

She looked more suspicious than he'd have expected, sauntering up to her as she pinched the leather of his coat to hurry on.

"What did you do?"

Lucy had the nerve to scoff. "Nothing you probably wouldn't do."

"Mm. And you think you know me so well now?" He challenged, his mouth turning into a wry smirk. Cooper tried to play tough, but he knew his eyes likely gave him away.

Then, ever more disarming, her shoulder brushed into his arm haphazardly, casually—very amiable-like. Cooper's gaze fell to where her warmth had lingered. He went quiet, but if she noticed, he couldn't tell.

She was onto the next thing, hopping inside the saloon where the townsfolk seemed to multiply. He reluctantly followed, but it was louder than Cooper cared for.

Wagging, arguing tongues. Judgmental, unmerciful stares.

For two hundred years, he kept telling himself he didn't care.

Though with everything going on, the uncertainty—being so near to what felt like the end. It was enough to allow the faintest of doubts to trickle in.

"Hey,"

Cooper stopped her before they could ooze into the thick of the crowd—a rise of laughter, the endless clinking of bottles and glass, sharp in the way that made him ground his teeth.

Lucy felt him pull back on her elbow, gently, but firm—grounding her. "What's up?"

She looked oblivious. Cooper's jaw was set tight. "Where are you going?"

"Hm?"

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should figure that the fuck out before you start wandering around? Jesus, girl. I thought by now you'd have learned at least that."

Lucy glared up at him. "I've learned things. You know that."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Except for the part about wandering off, directionless."

She huffed haughtily, but he drew closer, his voice dropping low.

"Now, do you want a bottle, or do you want to keep being an idiot?"

Her eyes sparkled with what almost looked like admiration. "After you."

His brow quirked, a flash of tomfoolery. "Right this way."

Cooper took a look to make sure they wouldn't be seen, and dashed up the back staircase.

Lucy followed him, gaze always peering around at everything in quiet consideration—as if every speck of dust told a story.

He hated to be the one to break it to her, but not everything was worth giving that long a look at. Cooper knew the truth of it well.

"In here," he cocked his hat into a cozy dining room with small, deserted round tables, the daylight streaming in over an unmaintained upstairs bar.

"Oh." Lucy's eyes flickered over the rows of forgotten bottles and half-empty decanters.

Cooper instantly noticed an amber liquid, enriched with age—like him.

He picked it up, pulling the nozzle and taking a heavy whiff of it beneath what was left of his face. He almost groaned, mouth watering—already warm from its spice.

"Is that what you're drinking?"

Cooper glanced her way. "I never said I'd be… partaking in this little pity-party of yours."

Lucy's lower lip jutted out in a pout. "You're not going to leave me all by myself, are you?"

He gave a slow exhale, leaning closer. "Like I said—only if you get Lu-Lu."

"Mm. Right… yeah, so," her hands fell over her hips, blue and yellow knapsack bouncing behind her. "What exactly… constitutes as me getting Lu-Lu?"

Cooper stepped around her, trying not to catch himself in the mirror behind the liquor stock. "I can't be sure yet," he said. "I'll know it when I see it."

Lucy shrugged, nestling a crystal decanter of something blood red and dangerous. "How about this?" she held it up for him slightly.

Cooper eyed it with great hesitation. "Wine can be a… tricky thing."

"Perfect," she chirped, tucking it beneath her arm. "Looks like it tastes loads better than whatever you got there."

Lucy nodded to his chosen handle, and Cooper swallowed, apprehensive of this whole idea of hers.

Cooper had been around long enough to imagine exactly what might happen with her and him, lonely but together, and nursing on a liquid that eased 'em into a false sense of security. If she drank too much—

He sighed. Only God knew how much exasperation he could take.

At least the scotch would burn away at the anticipation.

- o -

They trolled down the stairs, Lucy simpering in quiet triumph as they made a break for it out a creaky back exit.

She was already unstopping her token, enjoying the way the dark, bittersweet notes of fruit teased at her taste buds.

She'd never had wine before.

Alcohol, tobacco cigarettes—hell, there hadn't even been one crate of champagne in Vault 33.

Just stuff like Stimpaks, and Med-X. Never anything too good.

Lucy had never for one second thought she'd been missing out on anything.

Now she wasn't so sure.

But she was improving every day. What was a little sedation on the side? Some… pleasure.

Lucy didn't forsake pleasure. Absolutely not.

She'd been so worried at first, after her failed false marriage to that stranger danger. What if she had conceived a raider's child?

It would have broken her. Possibly more than most things would.

Lucy had felt a grievous relief when her nausea really had turned out to be radiation sickness all along.

And then Cooper…

Lucy sneaked a glance his way, taking a deep, indulgent pull from her wine. Her senses delighted at the seizing sweet sour of it.

She was almost certain he couldn't stand her.

But he kept her around, if only in alliance toward the same ends.

Lucy held her own out here. She didn't need anyone to praise her, or tell her she was doing a good job.

All she knew, was that she kept on moving.

To face her father… it could wait.

So much had been ripped away from her already. Was it so much to ask for one semblance of comfort?

They rounded underneath a torn awning, its red and white cloth fluttering softly in the wind. Lucy took another slow sip, smacking and wiping her lips.

"Hey sugar,"

Lucy froze—the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Cooper was already facing the source. She turned, shoulders relaxing when she realized it wasn't her father, nor did they appear to be an entity influenced by him.

It wasn't Sugarbomb, but the sugar still unsettled her.

There were three of them; two of them more broad shouldered, with bulgier-eyes that looked haunted, but simple-minded.

The other was the one who addressed her just now, his slow twang too confident for his lack of sex appeal, and far too familiar for someone she didn't even know.

"Nice fit," he went on when he saw she remained stunned in silence.

He leaned closer once.

Yet before he could get a word out, a soft metallic click sounded beside her.

Lucy's eyes drifted to the rifle rested low and patient against Cooper's gloved wrist, angled like a serpent primed to snap.

He didn't even have to speak, the ruffians already backing up slowly.

However, the smaller, more arrogant one called back with grating disdain.

"People will notice the company you keep, little missy," he snickered, black beady eyes flashing at the Ghoul in threat. "And we won't forget."

Before she could stop herself, Lucy had taken one step toward the scavengers in defiance.

"Good," she said flatly. "You better notice, and I hope you don't forget."

She felt Cooper shift slightly close by, but her eyes did not leave the goons before her.

All three of them shared a look with another in succession, before they erupted into a foray of uneasy chuckles. "Is that right?" the ringleader arched a brow at her. "Is that supposed to keep us at an arm's length?"

"Yeah," said another, lumbering heavily. "Isn't scary."

Lucy shut her eyes in puzzled contemplation.

When she opened them, she was staring at the crystal decanter in her hand, its thick-cut, textured glass.

After a beat, she suspended it before her lips, tipping back and pouring the thick red decadence straight down the middle of her throat.

For several long seconds, all eyes were on her, watching as Lucy downed, and swallowed the entire elixir easily.

Then, for good measure, she stared the offenders back in their hesitant faces, undaunted.

Even the Ghoul looked as if he didn't know what to do with her.

Good, then. Just how she liked it.

She tossed the decanter as hard as she could to the dirt where it shattered apart into large, jagged pieces.

"Stay the fuck away from me and my friend,"

She pressed into Cooper's side — not behind him.

Her fist closed around the dusty leather at his chest.

"Or you'll lose a lot more than just an arm's length. You got me?"

Cooper didn't look at her, but his grin deepened.

"Did you hear what she said?"

There was another quiet deliberate click as his thumb prepared the trigger.

"Make like the roaches you are, and scatter."

Lucy watched as they did, not too eager to look weaker—and she had to wonder if they'd be coming around later for vengeance.

She only just realized she hadn't released her hold on the Ghoul, but found herself unwilling to let go.

He didn't seem to mind, a glove steady at her lower back.

Her cheeks burned, but Cooper's eyes… they glowed at her now with something she couldn't name.

She leaned in to the damage of what she was certain was once a perfect ear. "Don't you think we should just kill those guys?"

Then, Lucy saw, charmed as the glow for her intensified. "You know," he murmured, his throat working once. "I was worried all that was gonna go to shit,"

At her spine she could feel his thumb trace a slow circle.

"But well… I might have been all sorts 'a wrong about you, Miss Lucy. You've changed."

Lucy swayed, and hiccupped, the echo of it ricocheting through the city ruins.

Several heads briefly whipped around to assess the rude assault to their senses.

She giggled in apology.

And continued to, a sudden crescendo of laughter spilling from her all the way through the doors.

"What's so funny now?" He glared at her as they took the stairs to their current residence.

Lucy waved him off dismissively. "Oh… it's nothing."

Cooper rolled his eyes.

And then stopped them at the threshold of the room. "What?"

She bounced on her heels, the wine having carried her away somewhere she couldn't place yet. "I was only thinking," she chewed her lips, unsure why it felt so mean of her to say it. "I'd like you a lot more, if you weren't such a no-good cannibal."

Lucy meant it too, stumbling over the carpet and tossing her rucksack to the bed where she collapsed promptly beside it.

"I have to say, I'm hurt," the Ghoul replied after a moment, shutting and locking the door. "Might be escaping my mind, but I recall not too long ago, this no-good cannibal saving you from crucifixion. Or am I not remembering it right?"

He had crossed the room, settling into the cozy armchair by the window.

She tilted her head to observe as he, seemingly unbothered, took a long heavy drink from his bottle.

Then, not for the first time, her focus was drawn to how sticky and sweaty she felt in her suit. Just downright dirty and disgusting. Blood all over her.

Though it wasn't easy to maintain good hygiene out here in the waste, Lucy attempted to keep herself fresh the best she could.

She hadn't taken care of herself much since… before her Legion encounter, and so, peeling both herself and bag from the mattress, Lucy headed for the washroom.

When she emerged, she felt like a new woman.

A drunk woman, but a new one, nonetheless.

Cooper's gaze widened briefly, before carefully lingering over her new getup.

Old, rugged brown boots—so dirty they were almost black—left listlessly untied.

White socks crumpled at her calves, Lucy trying not to notice the way his eyes drifted across her bare legs, her hips as she rotated in the khaki combat shorts.

A black, cropped undershirt stretched over her comfortably, and at her waist, she'd tied the sleeves of a gold and blue plaid shirt.

The heat crept up Lucy's neck as he tore his focus away, landing on that crack in the wall.

Wishing to change the direction of the moment, Lucy slipped onto the floor just at the chair he rested. "Let me try some of that," she asked, pointing to his scotch.

Cooper offered it over, and the smell of it hit Lucy before the bottle was anywhere near her lips.

She coughed once at the suddenness of it, a smirk tugging at Cooper.

"S'nothing like that wine, girl," he stated smugly.

Lucy huffed. "Maybe I don't always like it sweet."

Cooper barked a short cackle. "I think I can see that."

She grinned, pressing the liquor to her mouth and taking a large gulp.

Then proceeded to cringe and sputter, the smoke of it searing over her tongue down her throat.

"That a girl," he purred, the sound of his velveteen rasp sending even deeper tingles through her body.

Damn him.

Lucy really loathed to admit it, but she enjoyed the way Cooper talked to her more than she'd ever say.

His voice.

The safe steadiness that she found beside him.

He had no idea what he was doing to her.

She took another sip, gaze glazed with thought—no cough this time.

Lucy had to pretend she wasn't affected. For his sake, probably.

But she had never been one to cower from the things she'd wanted.

She okey-dokey'd her way through her messes.

That was how she persisted.

Whether through smile, or dissociation—or both, Lucy could face anything.

Or anyone.

Her eyes locked with the Ghoul's, glinting coyly.

"Uh oh," he breathed. "I know that look. Trouble, is what that is."

Lucy clicked her tongue. "I suppose you know it well, then—trouble."

Cooper shook his head with disbelief. "Not that kind of trouble. Not in a long time."

The bottle clunked into his leg, hovering by as she edged closer. "Guess there's not much for… companionship out here, is there?"

She saw the cogs turning in him. "What about you and that fella from the Brotherhood?"

"I was talking more about you," Lucy said. "But I dunno. Maybe I'll see him again. Or maybe… he's already dead and I'm just an idiot for hoping."

Cooper gave her a hard, sympathetic look, and the softness of his eyes surprised her. "You never know. Could still be out there."

"I guess I'll see," she replied, a slow lick of her lips. She was practically perched before him now, fingers drumming over his knee lightly. "But that's not who I'm talking to right now, is it?"

Cooper didn't answer, gaze glazing as he watched where her palm had settled.

"What about your wife?" she pushed, and Cooper's jaw tightened.

"What about my wife?" he grumbled.

"Nothing, nothing," she chuckled sheepishly.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then—

"I have a question."

He still did not meet her eyes. "Shocking."

Lucy ignored the dig. "How old were you? You know, before…" Lucy gave him a once over, plenty of things for her to consider and even admire. "You were like—what—forty when the bombs fell?"

He snickered faintly. "That's cute," he said. "I don't think you really want to know."

"Not that old," she nudged him, genuinely curious.

"Try like, fifty-three. Give or take."

"Well, there you go," said Lucy, batting her lashes subtly. "Like fine wine."

Cooper shook his head once, as if to wake himself up from a dream. Then suddenly, he was rising from the chair, Lucy almost falling over, the contents of the bottle sloshing tempestuously.

He lingered at the window, staring out of it. "Alright—spill. What do you want?"

Lucy blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He leaned an arm over the wall, not returning her stare. "You're being too damn nice. You can't just be saying all that sweet shit, buttering me up… its clear you want something from me—and it's definitely not me—so what is it?"

She could understand why he'd think she had ulterior motives—a secret agenda.

But Lucy only wanted for him to meet her in the middle.

She stood then, stepping toward him, gazing up at him over his extended arm.

Her voice remained light, and sincere. "I'm not asking you for anything," then, softer, "Maybe I just want you to realize that when you say you'll leave me behind… that you're kidding—not just to me, but to yourself."

There was a long beat before the exhaustion flashed over him, the white of his eyes reaching the back of his skull. "Nobody's kidding, sweetheart."

Lucy gave a shake of her head, confident. "You wouldn't," she said. "Not when we're so close. We're both here to meet the same ends."

"Are we?"

He didn't seem so sure.

"Well yeah," Lucy chirped. "We're gonna get to the bottom of this, you and me. You'll find your family, and we'll figure out the truth."

"I've been searching for the truth for over two hundred years," he stated, depleted. "I'm not getting these hopes too high, and you shouldn't either."

With that, he turned and slumped back into the chair, withdrawing his long machete. He picked from his coat pocket a broken chunk of a cinder block—a piece of rubble he carried around with him to sharpen his weapons.

Lucy yawned, shutting the curtain so that the sun wouldn't keep blinding her, and she crumpled onto the bed.

She tried not to look over at him, concentrating on the meticulous slicing of blade over stone.

Lucy hadn't slept well previously—her bones ached.

Though it wasn't long before she was sinking soundly into a wine-induced sleep state.

She hadn't meant to, the hours ticking onward, the sun rising just to fall.

An orange-haze filtered through the sliver between the curtains, and Lucy finally stirred.

What she hadn't expected, was to see the Ghoul had dozed off too. His shoulders were relaxed, hat dipped slightly over his eyes. His breathing was a steady rhythm, machete now safely back in its sheathe at his side.

Was he really asleep? Lucy thought she knew better by now. He hardly ever slept, and when he did, he slept with an eye open, prepared for sabotage.

Lucy liked to flirt with danger.

And Cooper was all danger.

He was certainly both bark and bite, but beneath all that tough leathery exterior, she saw inside him just a softy. When it came to her, well, he was quite lenient, and he had saved her life multiple times now.

He really hadn't needed to, and if, going by what she knew he was like before she'd wedged into his side like a thorn, he wouldn't have.

He wouldn't have gone back for some overly-trusting vault dweller time and again, but he had for her.

They'd had each other's backs. He had looked out for her.

Yet nobody ever really looked after him, did they?

She found herself really caring… a lot.

- o -

Cooper snapped awake.

He'd been having some fever dream. Another nightmare. It was why he dreaded sleep.

There was a hand on his shoulder—Lucy.

Honestly, the dream felt so real. He'd been sure he was a goner, grateful for the sudden wake-up.

He tipped his hat up so he could see better, noticing instantly the sun had gone down. They were drenched in darkness, but he could still vaguely make out the shape of her stepping around the chair.

Cooper would have reached for his gun, his knife, if there had been any obvious threats, but the only threat he could pick up on was her breathless cadence of anticipation as she stared him down.

Her bare legs were glowing in the moonlight. He wondered: could she hear how loud his heart pumped, his blood rushing in his ears.

Most the top half of her was covered in shadows, but her lips—they chewed at themselves with contemplation.

"Restless again, are we?" he queried, a grin dimpling his cheek.

Lucy nodded faintly, an eagerness to her he'd only seen her have when she'd wanted more drugs. She came closer, eyes twinkling against the dark.

"And reckless, I see,"

He already knew where this was headed.

He watched, hypnotized, as her fingers slid teasingly over the brim of her shorts.

Now he knew he was still sleeping. There was no way…

She popped one of the buttons.

"Are you going to stop me?" she asked innocently, but it was a dangerous, dangerous question.

Cooper didn't answer. He didn't know what to tell her, just that he didn't want this to be another fever dream.

When he stayed quiet, heart hammering behind his ribs, Lucy's thumbs drew down her khakis by their belt loops, shorts dropping to her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking them away.

There had been nothing on underneath… no smallclothes, no panties.

He felt both horror and appreciation overcome his features, mouth watering as Lucy's legs split apart and over him, her thighs nestling at either side.

Her hands came to splay tentatively around his neck, thumb skimming his pulse, breath nudging his. Cooper instinctively curled his gloves around her waist, pulling her as close as could be. Her naked warmth ground painfully good against the stiff pole of arousal that'd long grown within his trousers.

A tiny, strangled moan slipped from her as he bucked into her once. Cooper caught her moan with his kiss, teeth dragging her lower lip into his mouth with a suck.

He pulled back instantly, observing her reaction.

She vibrated, ringing like a bell as she closed the space between their lips again.

Softly, Lucy's mouth encapsulated his own, each pivot, each tongue-twine, every breath of hers meeting his.

This was not something he thought would be in the cards today, or ever—not with Lucy. He felt he didn't deserve this.

Their lips unstuck, wet and unwilling to part. She hovered near, cheek to cheek. "Take off your gloves," she whispered. "I want to feel your hands on me."

Cooper shuddered, attempting to comply. As he brought a hand up, Lucy snatched it, glove in her teeth, ripping it from his knuckles.

He stared up into her lovely face, now gripping the curve of her hip with insistence, fingers digging into her softness.

Skin against skin.

She hissed at the firmness of the contact, the coarse friction of him, fumbling with the buttons of his britches. "I can't—"

"Stand up," said Cooper, and Lucy did as demanded.

In one beat, he had his pants loosened, pulling her into him, stealing another kiss. His hand found the bubble of her ass, giving it a hard squeeze.

"Mmf—" she whimpered, her small palm curling around his throbbing cock where every single ounce of his blood was swelled.

It evoked from him an immediate groan, the sweet pleasure of her touch, putting pieces of him back together he hadn't even cared were gone before.

He felt born again.

Wasting no time, his vaultie was kneeling over the bed, propping herself up, pressing her bum tantalizingly into him with impatience.

Cooper wanted to say so many things. He wanted to scold her, to praise her—to ask if this was all real.

But the reasons, and all the why's, and time was irrelevant.

All he knew was that she was guiding herself over him, and before Cooper could stop himself, he was pushing his long, pulsing rod into her juicy tightness.

A broken gasp escaped her, and Cooper—one gloved hand, one bare—deliberately clutched the dip of her tiny waist. His hands almost fit around her entirely, she was so lithe.

"Is this what you want, little killer?" he heard himself say, withdrawing himself from her slowly, just to propel back in with a resounding jerk.

She mewled with approval, her voice crispy and crackly, an alluring satisfaction in it that already had Cooper tipping the edge.

Lucy bounced herself onto him once, moaning, sliding her slickness over him.

Cooper's eyes saw stars, humming in delight.

He advanced on, so painstakingly unhurried at first, he was sure. He was trying to keep it together.

However, he soon eased into a more controlled state, their rhythm quickening, their pace—the hunger.

His hands were smoothing across her back, forcing up her top. He brushed around to her taut tits—a perfect handful. His fingers crushed into her roughly, thumbs dragging and pinching at her hardened little pebbles while he drove into her deep as he could get.

"Fuck, Lucy,"

"Oh yeah," she preened with irresistible anguish. "Oh goddamn yeah,"

She seemed to agree with the sentiment, taking each of his merciless thrusts, hips ruthlessly smacking against her. His belt jingled at his knees, the leather of his coat rustling around them but all he focused on were their wet sounds of reckless abandon.

Cooper felt completely ripped by the tide of her vice-like pools squeezing around him.

He could have fucked her forever.

Lucy arched further over the bed, pulling Cooper with her, his knees falling onto the mattress.

He made to continue, but Lucy stilled, glancing back at him with heavily-lidded, large, pretty eyes.

"I want to be able to see you."

Cooper couldn't believe his ears. He started chuckling, unsure, but she was already turning over, thighs wide open.

With an ache, he gazed reverently over the womanly patch of dark curls, the wetness of her petals, nectar pearling at the entrance.

Did she know that she was perfect?

- o -

Lucy was on fire in the best way.

But when Cooper thudded between her legs, his tongue colliding with her tenderest areas, the fire raged on with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Her eyes shut, taking in every sensation of keen precision, each ardent suckle upon her—a nibble at her thigh, teeth grazing her.

She shivered a hiss. "Ffff—Cooper, mmm,"

Then, a long finger was slipping inside, twisting against her walls, thumb needling the bundle of nerves at her base. Lucy shrieked indecently, enjoying the way he was pounding into her, pressing in another finger, rough tongue sweeping across her in a most deliciously agonizing way.

A crescendo, her body uncoiling, hips rising to buck herself into his mouth as the floodgates opened. Cooper ate at her fresh, leaking juices, devouring her as if she would be his last meal.

She could hardly move, could only breathe—paralyzed from the goodness of it all.

He slanted over her, hand cradling her face. Lucy dizzily blinked into his eyes, snaking her fingers around the back of his neck. His lips found hers, his solid rod squeezing back inside the sensitivity of her nest.

Cooper and she learned a new, comfortable pace this way.

An electric fusion. His groans, once heavy and thick, rose in pitch as he propelled into her over and over. Lucy found she was strictly at the Ghoul's mercy, and she liked it.

His teeth were bared—feral—jaw set, throat tight as he growled against her ear.

"Why'd you let me do this, huh?" he begged her brokenly. "Now I never want to let you go."

Lucy felt herself beam, brushing a tiny, victorious smile upon his kiss. "Then don't."

Something settled over Cooper then, something that felt like acceptance, before he was promptly kicking up rhythm again. Lucy was raised entirely, thighs fixed around his torso as if they belonged there.

His hands swept along her with urgency, grasping at her with a desperation she'd never seen from him, gruff and possessive. His palm claimed a breast, eyes drifting over her, the appreciation ever evident. Fingers crushed firmly into the thickness of a cheek at her backside.

He fucked her to the hilt, stretching her thoroughly bit by bit—the tortuous, sharp pain of it shuttling Lucy straight to the heavens.

He then bestowed into her three hard, lasting thrusts, and Cooper was trembling, gasping a cry of what sounded like splintered disbelief as he collapsed over her.

They stayed there, lazy and listless like two, well-fed house cats. Lucy nuzzled her chin across his nearby neck, the flawed skin that felt even better against hers than she even imagined.

"Thank you," she murmured, shy despite everything.

Slowly, Cooper finally peeled himself away from her, landing beside as they both stared into the ceiling. He rested an arm over his stomach, shaking his head. "Thank me?" he snickered. "No. I believe the thanks goes to you." Then their eyes met. "Miss Lucy."

His voice, his demeanor—he was always pulling her in. She turned, clutching his jacket protectively. "I don't want this moment to end."

He chuckled softly. "All moments come to an end eventually, whether we like it or not," then, even more lightly, "and this one? I'll be keeping forever."

Why did he always sound like he was ready to say goodbye?

"Keep me too, Cooper," she tried, fearless. "Not just the moment."

He sighed, a defeated slump to his shoulders, tipping the hat back over his closing eyes. "Watch over me as I sleep, vaultie, and I'll consider it."

Lucy could have screeched with excitement.

In her book, that totally meant yes.

She relaxed against him for a bit longer, waiting until his breathing steadied, studying the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Then she got up gently, quietly redressing, strapping up and dropping herself down in the chair, pistol primed if need be.

Oh, she'd definitely gone Lu-Lu, alright.

He'd warned her, he had. But Lucy regretted nothing.

All she could do was relive what just happened in her mind, and found that, even if they ended up separated—even if that was tomorrow—nothing could make her forget this evening, or him.

He felt branded to her now, and sooner or later, he'd come to realize he felt it too.

- o -