Fallout Kink Meme Part I: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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He fidgeted, then picked up his guitar. “You want to hear a song I’ve been working on, since the neighbors can’t complain about the ruckus anymore?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to strum those strings since I sat down,” she teased. Her hair had fallen to the side, revealing the rough edge of the scar. He wondered again about that story, but was selfishly glad she hadn’t volunteered it. He liked her smiling.
“I’ve only got the opening so far,” he said, and sang:
From this wasteland they say you are going
We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
For they say you are taking the sunshine
that has brightened our world for a while
He strummed the verse a couple more times, enjoying the sound of it drifting over the valley without the skittering of ants to break up the beats. He certainly wasn’t stalling, trying to come up with a line that wouldn’t creep her right out of his campsite if her intentions weren’t in line with his hopes.
“You got a good cowboy voice,” she told him. “Earnest, not showy. Leaves someone wantin’ to hear more.”
“Do you now?” he teased, wrapping the guitar in a tanned gecko skin. The night air could play hell with the old wood. “If that’s so, you’ll have to hang around a mite longer than first light.”
She hmmmed, neither yes or no. “Looks to be a chilly night ahead. Two bedrolls would be warmer than one.”
He thanked the stars above for roundheeled women.
It went too quickly, the way life’s sweet moments always seemed to pass. Her hand curled around his neck when he kissed her, sweet and chaste, then dropped to playfully pinch his ass. They got in each other’s way, trying to strip away clothes and fondle skin still hidden at the same time. He called her beautiful, nuzzling her breast; she called his moustache tickly and demanded he tickle her someplace better. Her thighs clamped around his ears, then minutes later his hips, pulling him in deeper like she could never get enough. He muffled his groans in her neck, tasting sweat and smoke.
And she was right; two cuddled up in two blankets was a damn sight warmer than one of each, and he dropped into sleep like a deep well.
He woke with his bedroll tucked around his shoulders to find her stuffing the collapsed smoker into her bag. The cured meat was neatly laid out on a clean rock.
“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” she said. “Your hair’s truly a sight to behold.”
He ran his fingers through the offending locks. It was morning to only a very generous beholder, the eastern sky a lighter indigo than the west and both still speckled with stars.
“I can’t convince you to stay a spell?” he tried. “Rest up for the hard travelling ahead?”
She shook her head.
“Breakfast?”
No answer.
“Coffee?”
“Thanks for the gentlemanly offer, but no.” Her bag was ready, her smile half-hearted. “Aim to make Boulder City by dusk.”
He sat up, alarmed. Goosebumps broke out on his bare chest, bereft of the bedroll’s cozy heat. “That’s just a ruin, and the trail there’s full of the worst sorta savages. Why would you…?”
She touched her forehead. “Got to see a man about a bullet, and before anyone else gets to him first.”
He felt a chill unrelated to the desert’s cold. She didn’t look like a traveller planning a return trip. The bright friendliness of the varmint-sniper he’d welcomed to his fire was now packed away as securely as her gear, carried by a different kind of hunter.
He’d just have to count his blessings, he decided, and wished her godspeed. Still, he couldn’t resist, “If you get back round here, I’ll have the rest of my song ready to sing for ya.”
She softened at that, and leaned over for a kiss, dropping it not on the lips but his forehead. “I’m grateful the road put a good soul like you in my path, after so many wicked. Maybe it’ll be kind again. If not…I hope you find who you’re looking for.”
He tipped an imaginary hat, since his real one was lying next to the embers of the fire. “Wish I could say the same.”
He watched her go until the desert swallowed her up.
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. . . one of the best short stories I've read in a damn long time.
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