Fic: Like Falling Leaves
I feel so behind. I go on a roadtrip for a few days and when I come back the comm's exploded with posts and all over the internet there are suddenly things that demand I read them. People I beta for have posted things I haven't seen but they want me to see now, Kayla's alive... Oh my dear, I've missed a lot. xD Anyway, I wrote this while crammed in the back of a pick-up truck I sincerely doubt was meant to have a back people could cram into. I don't especially like it, but I don't especially hate it either.
I used Kayla's vaultie and was horribly mean to her because I wanted to and because Kayla told me I should write Charon/Autumn while on my roadtrip.
Title: Like Falling Leaves
Author: Cyprith
Pairing: Charon/Autumn
Rating: PG-13 for bad word
Summary: Charon meets Autumn again on the dias and is rather pleased to have his lover back and get away from this goddamned annoying vaultie.
Like Falling Leaves
Charon entered the rotunda first, as ordered, and stopped dead at the sight of the man behind the glass. The chamber had been sealed and the bulletproof plexi was clouded and filmed with dirt, but there was no mistaking those artic blue eyes widening in shock at the sight of him.
“Charon?” the vaultie asked behind him, her voice taunt with fear. “My father’s in there, Charon. Shoot them!”
Slowly, long unused muscles protesting the movement, Charon smiled. The warning tingle behind his eyes was gone, his muscles loose and ready and firmly under his own command. There was nothing forcing him to obey. For the first time in years, he wanted.
He wanted to shoot her. He wanted to be done with this naïve little girl with sugar plum delusions of grandeur and her constant throwing him headlong into battles that were not his to fight. He wanted his old sniper rifle back.
He wanted the man with the crocodile grin and graying hair-dark as honey in his memory-ordering open the chamber door.
Behind him, Kate whispered his name, fear hanging shrill in her voice but Charon didn’t care enough to glance her way. His eyes were locked on the man picking his easy way down the acid eaten steps, tracing every curve and hollow of his body under that dusty trench. Catching his gaze, Charon smirked.
“More to you than I remember.”
Autumn looked at him and laughed, lines crinkling around his eyes in a way Charon did remember, resting a long fingered hand on his stomach.
“I’m afraid my position lends itself to paperwork more and more these days without your… welcome distractions,” he purred, southern drawl blessedly unchanged still skittering like electricity over Charon’s skin. “I must say, I was under the impression you were dead.”
“Buried.” Charon said, eyes locked with Autumn’s. “Not dead.”
“Really?” he asked, eyes glinting with playful mischief. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.” And then, to one of the many indistinguishable suits, “Peterson, see that Sergeant Jones is dealt with, would you? I really do detest a liar.”
It was only then with Autumn’s attention momentarily elsewhere that Charon finally noticed Kate pressed up against his back, quivering like a badly strung bowstring. There was a determined set to her jaw though, the girl trying for bravery despite the empty, near useless gun dangling from her limp fingers.
“What do you want?” she asked, voice brittle.
Autumn only spread his hands, smiling beatifically.
“Ah, you must be the young protégé. I do apologize. It would seem I’ve forgotten my manners in the face of an old friend. Allow me to introduce myself.”
“Look, I don’t care who the hell you think you are. Charon-”
“Yes, Charon,” Autumn’s cool control blanketed her protests as if she’d never spoken. “I am rather interested in hearing how you managed to stumble upon his contract.”
Kate glared at him.
“I bought it,” she snapped, but anyone could read the truth in the defensive line of her shoulders. Charon shrugged her hand off, tired of standing on the wrong side of the war and crossed the room to stand at Autumn’s side where he belonged, comfortably within arm’s reach.
“Did you by any chance happen to read it?” Autumn asked, reaching up to knead the always sore muscles at the base of Charon’s neck. “Had you, I’m afraid you would have found it terribly unwise to take him anywhere near Enclave operations.”
He chuckled then, shaking his head. “And to send him charging in, no less.”
Kate stood in the middle of the room, utterly defenseless with fear vibrating through every line of her body, watching as her bodyguard leaned ever so slightly into the man about to destroy everything her father had ever worked for, as close to happy as Kate had ever seen him.
“The contract says I’m your employer, Charon. You have to… have to do what I tell you.”
But Charon only shook his head and Autumn laughed, letting his arm fall.
“Unless of course, his original employer stakes his claim. And I regret to inform you, Miss-Kate, was it?-that Charon and I go… quite a ways back.”
Eyes darting between them, the girl took an anxious step back and Charon felt almost sorry for her. Almost. She was too young and too stupid to make her way in the world and she should have known it the second she stepped out of her hole in the ground looking for a man who obviously hadn’t wanted to be found. When she’d finally realized she couldn’t make it in the world, she’d spent a week under the bar sucking Azhrukhal off at regular intervals until he finally gave her Charon’s contract so long as she swore to come visit. She couldn’t fight; she could barely walk a straight line without running into him and she’d ordered him into hopeless situations she then inevitably screwed up more times than he could count.
No, she was an idiot, and he was more than happy to be rid of her.
“Charon, please,” she pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do anything. Do… do what you want, Charon.”
August laughed at that, musical and intoxicating in a way that never failed to leave Charon shifting in his armor, one eye out for any convenient, shady corridors.
“I am under standing orders to do as I please, Miss Kate,” he ground out with a nod to Autumn, remembering the look on the man’s broad face as he’d added so long as you don’t go ravaging me in front of the boys. “I must admit I am pleased to be free of your service.”
She gaped at him, wide eyed like a heart broken goldfish, as if a few fucks in the wasteland made them lovers. Next to him, Autumn grinned, hooking his fingers casually under Charon’s belt in such a way that neither his men or the girl could see what he was doing.
“Well, now that we’ve got that ugly business settled-Charon, if you wouldn’t mind aiming that truly magnificent shot gun of yours at her head-I believe it’s time to teach this young girl’s father the meaning of the word leverage.”
Charon smirked, recognizing the lilt in his voice and the lust in his eyes and swung his shotgun down from his back, careful not to dislodge the questing fingers playing over his hip. He aimed with practiced ease even distracted, leveling his shotgun at a spot just above the vaultie’s gaping mouth.
“No, better yet,” Autumn purred, breath hot in Charon’s ear. “Use my gun. And aim for the knees. It’ll… heighten the anticipation, don’t you think?”
I used Kayla's vaultie and was horribly mean to her because I wanted to and because Kayla told me I should write Charon/Autumn while on my roadtrip.
Title: Like Falling Leaves
Author: Cyprith
Pairing: Charon/Autumn
Rating: PG-13 for bad word
Summary: Charon meets Autumn again on the dias and is rather pleased to have his lover back and get away from this goddamned annoying vaultie.
Like Falling Leaves
Charon entered the rotunda first, as ordered, and stopped dead at the sight of the man behind the glass. The chamber had been sealed and the bulletproof plexi was clouded and filmed with dirt, but there was no mistaking those artic blue eyes widening in shock at the sight of him.
“Charon?” the vaultie asked behind him, her voice taunt with fear. “My father’s in there, Charon. Shoot them!”
Slowly, long unused muscles protesting the movement, Charon smiled. The warning tingle behind his eyes was gone, his muscles loose and ready and firmly under his own command. There was nothing forcing him to obey. For the first time in years, he wanted.
He wanted to shoot her. He wanted to be done with this naïve little girl with sugar plum delusions of grandeur and her constant throwing him headlong into battles that were not his to fight. He wanted his old sniper rifle back.
He wanted the man with the crocodile grin and graying hair-dark as honey in his memory-ordering open the chamber door.
Behind him, Kate whispered his name, fear hanging shrill in her voice but Charon didn’t care enough to glance her way. His eyes were locked on the man picking his easy way down the acid eaten steps, tracing every curve and hollow of his body under that dusty trench. Catching his gaze, Charon smirked.
“More to you than I remember.”
Autumn looked at him and laughed, lines crinkling around his eyes in a way Charon did remember, resting a long fingered hand on his stomach.
“I’m afraid my position lends itself to paperwork more and more these days without your… welcome distractions,” he purred, southern drawl blessedly unchanged still skittering like electricity over Charon’s skin. “I must say, I was under the impression you were dead.”
“Buried.” Charon said, eyes locked with Autumn’s. “Not dead.”
“Really?” he asked, eyes glinting with playful mischief. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.” And then, to one of the many indistinguishable suits, “Peterson, see that Sergeant Jones is dealt with, would you? I really do detest a liar.”
It was only then with Autumn’s attention momentarily elsewhere that Charon finally noticed Kate pressed up against his back, quivering like a badly strung bowstring. There was a determined set to her jaw though, the girl trying for bravery despite the empty, near useless gun dangling from her limp fingers.
“What do you want?” she asked, voice brittle.
Autumn only spread his hands, smiling beatifically.
“Ah, you must be the young protégé. I do apologize. It would seem I’ve forgotten my manners in the face of an old friend. Allow me to introduce myself.”
“Look, I don’t care who the hell you think you are. Charon-”
“Yes, Charon,” Autumn’s cool control blanketed her protests as if she’d never spoken. “I am rather interested in hearing how you managed to stumble upon his contract.”
Kate glared at him.
“I bought it,” she snapped, but anyone could read the truth in the defensive line of her shoulders. Charon shrugged her hand off, tired of standing on the wrong side of the war and crossed the room to stand at Autumn’s side where he belonged, comfortably within arm’s reach.
“Did you by any chance happen to read it?” Autumn asked, reaching up to knead the always sore muscles at the base of Charon’s neck. “Had you, I’m afraid you would have found it terribly unwise to take him anywhere near Enclave operations.”
He chuckled then, shaking his head. “And to send him charging in, no less.”
Kate stood in the middle of the room, utterly defenseless with fear vibrating through every line of her body, watching as her bodyguard leaned ever so slightly into the man about to destroy everything her father had ever worked for, as close to happy as Kate had ever seen him.
“The contract says I’m your employer, Charon. You have to… have to do what I tell you.”
But Charon only shook his head and Autumn laughed, letting his arm fall.
“Unless of course, his original employer stakes his claim. And I regret to inform you, Miss-Kate, was it?-that Charon and I go… quite a ways back.”
Eyes darting between them, the girl took an anxious step back and Charon felt almost sorry for her. Almost. She was too young and too stupid to make her way in the world and she should have known it the second she stepped out of her hole in the ground looking for a man who obviously hadn’t wanted to be found. When she’d finally realized she couldn’t make it in the world, she’d spent a week under the bar sucking Azhrukhal off at regular intervals until he finally gave her Charon’s contract so long as she swore to come visit. She couldn’t fight; she could barely walk a straight line without running into him and she’d ordered him into hopeless situations she then inevitably screwed up more times than he could count.
No, she was an idiot, and he was more than happy to be rid of her.
“Charon, please,” she pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do anything. Do… do what you want, Charon.”
August laughed at that, musical and intoxicating in a way that never failed to leave Charon shifting in his armor, one eye out for any convenient, shady corridors.
“I am under standing orders to do as I please, Miss Kate,” he ground out with a nod to Autumn, remembering the look on the man’s broad face as he’d added so long as you don’t go ravaging me in front of the boys. “I must admit I am pleased to be free of your service.”
She gaped at him, wide eyed like a heart broken goldfish, as if a few fucks in the wasteland made them lovers. Next to him, Autumn grinned, hooking his fingers casually under Charon’s belt in such a way that neither his men or the girl could see what he was doing.
“Well, now that we’ve got that ugly business settled-Charon, if you wouldn’t mind aiming that truly magnificent shot gun of yours at her head-I believe it’s time to teach this young girl’s father the meaning of the word leverage.”
Charon smirked, recognizing the lilt in his voice and the lust in his eyes and swung his shotgun down from his back, careful not to dislodge the questing fingers playing over his hip. He aimed with practiced ease even distracted, leveling his shotgun at a spot just above the vaultie’s gaping mouth.
“No, better yet,” Autumn purred, breath hot in Charon’s ear. “Use my gun. And aim for the knees. It’ll… heighten the anticipation, don’t you think?”