Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5992927.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fallout_4, Fallout_3
  Relationship:
      Robert_Joseph_MacCready/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Robert_Joseph_MacCready, Original_Male_Character_(Jack)
  Additional Tags:
      Psychic_Wolves, Psychic_Wolves_For_Lupercalia, Abuse_of_the_Packbond,
      noncon, dubcon, Rape, Coercion, Sexual_Coercion, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Canon-Typical_Violence, Wolfheat, Wolfbitches, wolf_pups, Little
      Lamplight's_Education_System, Lamplight_Kids_have_weird_upbringings,
      Lamplighters_are_woefully_underprepared_for_real_life, Can't_Trust
      Mungos, Emotional_Manipulation, Childhood_Deaths, Manipulation_of_the
      Packbond, Mac’s_childhood_wasn’t_sunshine_and_daisies, Gunners, Packbond,
      Isolation, Emotional_Abuse, Emotional_Dependancy, Potential_Drug_Abuse,
      Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Porn_With_Plot, labor, No_mpreg, 16_is_Adulthood
      in_Lamplight, Mac's_First_Year_in_the_Wasteland, Verbal_Abuse, Grooming,
      Sympathy_Pains
  Series:
      Part 10 of Like_Good_Soldiers, Part 2 of Knives_to_a_Gunfight
  Collections:
      The_Sun_in_a_Jar, Psychic_Wolves_for_Lupercalia
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-13 Words: 16635
****** Little Lady ******
by EgoDominusTuus, ProwlingThunder
Summary
     He left Little Lamplight, and life spiraled out from there.
     (Companion Piece to My Favorite Word)
Notes
     There are unmarked time jumps in this fic. Ask and receive
     clarification of things!
     -
     The events of this work transpire exactly the same in the normal
     verse, minus the wolves.
Sixteen was the limit in Little Lamplight; he had no illusions that some of the
younger kids might want him to stay, but sixteen was the limit for a reason.
The laws hadn’t changed in MacCready’s tenure, and his successor Coppertin was
actually more likely to enforce them than he had been.No Mungos in Lamplight;
that was just how things were.
He spent his last week in the armory, helping Haze update his ledger and
showing little George how to take apart a basic rifle and put it back together
again. George sat on the table next to him, deciding this piece time and time
again, becoming surer and surer the more he did. Four years old with Princess’
sharp eyes, he’d make an excellent gate guard in a few more years.
Princess, who’d left last year for her Sixteenth, and George had been left
behind by a mother who hadn’t looked back.
MacCready wanted to take him with him, but after they had eaten the cake and
everybody walked with him to the Gate, Haze held onto George’s hand to keep him
there, and Coppertin peered at MacCready from behind the iron of a rifle, face
set hard in a way he would have been proud of, if he weren’t being kicked from
the only home he had ever known and the little boy he’d helped raise from
infancy wasn’t being taken away in the same fel swoop.
But mungos couldn’t be trusted, especially not with the little ones. And that’s
who MacCready was now. His heart ached for it, but he’d nodded, sharp and in
understanding, and made his way for the mouth of the cavern. Biwwy’s gift had
been a sleek and shiny .10mm pistol. He raised it to the side as he walked out
of the lights, a wordless salute to anyone who bothered to watch.
Maybe he’d run into them again out here, and maybe he wouldn’t. The only thing
he did know was that he would never be able to come back here, no matter what.
Too many memories...
He looked back, in the dim starlight, to see Haze scooping George up, and
Coppertin closing the Gate. But at least he’d looked back.
--
Two months in the Gunners was hell, but he could see marked improvements from
his time already.
He had never been particularly chubby-- food went to the younger kids first, in
Lamplight, even though Eclair tried to extend their supplies by making stew as
often as possible. Stew hardly made a lot of fat. The medics had clucked at him
like overbearing docs when Jack had escorted him up, and the cook had been
piled his portions full with a firm, if somewhat poisonous, expression,
threatening bodily harm if any went to waste. Weirdly there was muscle on him
now. Some of it was from those precious few months as a caravan guard, but most
of it was from the demanding physical exercises the trainers were putting him
and the other recruits through.
Mungos, the lot of them, just like he was. And if he disliked the instructions,
well, he was usually too tired at sunset to give a damn about anything except
Casey and Jackson, who usually stayed up to talk instead of sleep.
MacCready didn’t sleep well without the glowing roof of Lamplight over his
head, the security of solid stone. He had no idea how Casey and Jackson managed
to function every morning without a mug of swill coffee, because he sure as
fuck couldn’t.
He nudged a piece of deadwood into the fire and waited for the pot to start
boiling. It might have been easier to make one of the jackasses do it, but he
wanted coffee at some point, not tar. Casey couldn’t cook and Jackson
wouldn’tcook. Fuck, but he missed Eclair some mornings.
“--and I heard they’re bringing a round of puppies down from Theta. Supposedly
if a pup takes to us, we’ll be real Gunners.”
Jackson made an inquisitive sound. MacCready poked at the fire again, trying to
stay awake. “Yeah? When’s that supposed to happen?”
“Later tonight, I think. Maybe tomorrow? Who cares, man; we’re going to get our
own tags and everything! Real beds, Jackson, real beds.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a real bed…”
They were saved from hot sticks to the eyeballs by blessed coffee, mana from
wherever. It was a gift to mankind. He poured himself a tall tin cup of it and
tuned out dumbass recruit one and two. Coffee, fuck yes.
He was finishing his second cup when the call for inspection came. The training
officer had probably been close enough to see his dumbass teammates not picking
up camp for the last thirty minutes, but they were hardly being ranked on team
effort and he had already picked up his space, packed his rucksack.
He poured the man a cup of coffee anyway. It wasn’t as fun, to drink it alone,
and if at some point in life he had to kill the guy, it would go a lot quicker
if he thought MacCready was a friend of some sort.
Instructor Thrace took it, surveying the camp, noting MacCready and his things,
Jackson and Casey and their things. When he finished the cup, he passed it back
to him, frowning intently. “Grab your kit and come with me. You two stay here
and get this camp in order; I want it gone when I come back for you.”
They snapped off salutes. MacCready… didn’t.
It didn’t appear to make a difference.
MacCready hoisted his pack up onto his shoulders, falling into step behind him.
They headed up the hill to the lift, just far enough away to be out of sight of
the camp he’d been crashing at for the last few weeks. At the top of the lift
were the remains of the old highway, which held the Gunner’s proper.
There were mattresses, coolers, a roof-- not as good as a cave ceiling, but at
least it gave protection from the rain, even if it didn’t do jack shit for a
radstorm-- and the wolf-dens. Or, at least, that was what he’d heard them
called, actual legitimate steel and wood constructs to provide almost total
coverage, each one big enough for a couple wolves and grown adults to climb in
and pile together.
Thrace looked at him, then motioned to the centermost den. “Drop your gear, go
see if anybody takes to you.”
Two cups of coffee and he was still too tired to be disgruntled about the
ordering thing. He sat his rucksack down on a nearby crate and moved forward.
He had to duck down pretty far to get inside, but at least he didn’t have to go
all the way down on his knees.
Even before his eyes adjusted, the rest of his senses attuned themselves; the
scent of musty blankets in a too-warm den, the sound of scuffling bodies too
small to be the grown wolves the Gunners ran with. When his eyes adjusted he
saw the dusty gray male that belonged to the instructor, and a half-dozen
puppies of varying colors.
They were young, only a couple months old, and nobody paid MacCready any mind
as he climbed into the den, settling down on a blue blanket depicting rocket
ships. He greeted the grown wolf for the same reason he gave his brother
coffee, because it was a thing Mungos did with each other, and Chicago greeted
him back. Then he righted a pair of tumbling puppies. They realized he was
there as soon as he touched them and turned, yipping and spilling all over
themselves to get to him, to say hello.
One of them sat back on it’s haunches, a dark shadow in the low light with eyes
that glowed like cave-moss. He reached out and offered his hand to the whelp,
palm up, his other hand being tugged on by the rest of the litter. She leaned
forward, delicate, like the ladies in old books; touched her nose to the tips
of his fingers.
For a moment, MacCready was back in Lamplight, on a cool damp morning in the
spring, when the moss was rife and the poisonous belladonna was opening it’s
colors. He could smell the rank of the cave pools, the spores in the air.
Then the pup laid it’s head-- her head-- into his palm and stared up at him.
Cautiously, he scratched at her throat. “Aren’t you just a dame? Pretty little
lady.” She yipped, licking at his wrist. It was filthy from days on the ground,
and he wasn’t going to wash with his canteen water when he needed to drink
that. He’d just have to wait for the rain. “Can I call you Lady?”
She followed his arm and crawled up into his lap, nipping at the noses of her
brothers and sisters that hadn’t already lost interest in him. They went back
to tumbling over each other, the novelty of a new person wearing off, but the
joy was infectious.
Those eyes burned like a radiation storm, looking up at him. He reached up to
scratch her behind the ears. “Guess so. I’m MacCready.” Lady tipped her nose up
and brushed his own, and there was an explosion of gunpowder in his head,
heated cordite and fire sharp and poignant enough to rock his head back.
He knew that scent. He had smelled it so often since he was a child. The smell
of a fresh-fired rifle.
His scent.
The instructor rapped on the outside of the den, metal shuddering. It wouldn’t
fall down, MacCready knew, and it was thick enough to muffle a lot of the
sound, but he could hear it anyway.
“Come on out, boy; I’m told you got yourself a puppy.”
He glanced down at Lady in his lap. She watched him expectantly, exuberance
blowing up in the back of his mind, in his heart. Of course he had; he was
hers. And where he went, she would follow, like a proper lady.
--
At six months old, Lady’s favorite game was going hunting, and they were
fucking damned good at it, an elegant synchronized machine of teeth and
bullets, laying waste to anything beyond the business end of his rifle. It was
a thrill he hadn’t had, back before the Gunners. And even still, most of the
time he was perched back on a ridge, peering down his sight to take them out
before the enemy ever managed to figure out they were there.
But sometimes, like now, the ruins were too tight for a sniper to be of any
real use. Moments like now were times of movement, jogging after Lady’s easy
lope as they cleared streets and alleyways. The area was a nest for ferals,
which made multiple sweeps necessary, even with wolves. They were all gaunt and
spindly thin, capable of getting into locations MacCready had long since grown
out of and Lady was working on.
He’d seen them climb out of sewer drains. More of them in the last twenty
minutes than he had ever wanted to see, or ever wanted to see again. Lady
couldn’t even sink her teeth into them, for the same reason she had to take
care not to get over-run or get caught in the blow-back. The memory of rad-
sickness still burned his in veins, several months later. He wanted her to have
to go through it even less than he wanted a repeat event, and ferals were all
rotted teeth and blackened gums, bleeding radiation. At least he hadn’t run
into any of the fuckers that glowed.
But Lady could smell ghouls coming, and she thought they were finally gone now.
All that was left was a final sweep to ensure the area was secure and make his
way to the rendezvous with the rest of the squad near the center.
They moved in tandem, poking into some of the buildings as they passed them,
picking their way careful through the rubble. There wasn’t much to find.
Anything that had been sane had either fled when the ferals moved in, or else
were the ferals, at which point it didn’t matter either way. But they hadn’t
left much behind, either; mostly empty tin cans and bottles, which were useless
to him. He usually left them where they lay, or else kicked them aside to clear
a path for Lady to walk behind him.
His only score was an old issue of Guns and Bullets , mostly intact. He had the
right to claim it as part of his payment for the job, being the one who found
it. There wasn’t anything else really interesting--
He turned at a corner and stopped, stunned. A small figure was crouched nearby,
a girl-child by the looks of her dress, and she sat there blowing at her knees.
They were scratched pretty bad, skin thin enough blood soaked to the surface,
but when she registered his shadow standing at the end of the alley, she jerked
and scrambled to face him.
A street rat; a tiny little waif, only about as old as George… and the look of
fear in her was a knife in his chest. They stared at each other for several
long heartbeats, all three of them staying perfectly still; if they were
careful, maybe he and Lady wouldn’t spook her too bad.
Maybe--
“Yo MacCready! Did you find something down here?”
--or not. The child jerked, scrambling higher up on top of the small mountain
of rubble she sat on. She slipped and caught herself on her knees, if just
barely, and he looped his rifle strap around his wrist and held his hands to
the side, palms facing her so she knew he was empty.
“Woah there, easy, easy-- I’m not here to hurt you.” He had to keep his voice
pitched not to carry, because he could hear Austin coming up the main road to
find him. Let him know the area was secured, probably. He lowered himself to
the ground, edging closer; she sat atop a fallen metal beam and watched him. He
must have looked like some sort of really trustworthy demon, though, because
she waited.
“Are you okay?” She didn’t answer him, and he wasn’t sure why that stung. It
wasn’t surprising, at any rate. “Does it hurt? I’ve got some water and a rag.
I’m sure it’d feel a lot better clean, don’t you?” Dark eyes watched him
warily, flicking to the gun looped to his wrist for a moment and then back to
his hands in a rush, following them into his coat as he pulled out a bottle of
water and the handkerchief from one of the deep pockets in his uniform. He
showed them both to her, slow and deliberate so she could see that was all
there was.
Her brows pinched together, but she stayed still as he approached, let him
settle at a lower level on the pile.
“Damn it, MacCready! Answer me!”
Not a lot of time, he decided, fingers working to open the water and wet the
rag down. He didn’t wring it out, touching it sopping against the knee closest
to him with just the tips of his fingers. When she didn’t protest or move away,
he figured it was okay to wash it and her other knee too, wiping away blood and
dirt. While he worked, he wondered where her parents were; didn’t children have
them, outside of Lamplight? Mungos dedicated to their welfare?
He had no idea. Maybe they were no longer among the list of sane people. She
couldn’t be blamed; she was just a little thing, and the dress looked like it
had seen better days, but she wasn’t that old. The little ones were always the
ones who had trouble looking after themselves. That she was alive and looked
decently well-fed at all was a miracle in and of itself, hinting at
resourcefulness and a will live, the ability to scavenge.
But what was she even doing out here? How long had it been since there were
people here?
“Hows that feel now? Bet it still stings a bit. It probably will for a while,
but you’ll be okay.” She must have been trying to climb the rubble and get out
of the killzone, only to slip and land hard. Lady’s senses were sharp and he
could smell low panic from her, the scent of everywhere she’s tried to scramble
for purchase. “You have to keep it clean, okay? But then it will get better.”
He rinsed the handkerchief off and squeezed out what was left. Her dark eyes
were riveted on the little green square, watching it move, tracking it, and he
didn’t even think about it when he laid it on her knee and let of it go
entirely.
He saw her eyes flash up at him, quick as a heartbeat, and her tiny fingers
snatch the square off her leg and to her chest at once, her expression
apprehensive of him and stubborn all at once. Immediate ownership. It was a
good thing he wasn't fool enough to actually want it back; poor kid was never
going to return it to him.
That was fine. It was a gift for her anyway.
Lady's ears twitched, funneling him the ghost-brush sound of Austin and her
wolf coming up, so he stood up from derelict concrete, though he only made it a
few paces before she rounded the corner directly front of him.
She caught sight of the girl behind him, and her fingers fell for her gun in a
flash-- he slid himself sideways so she didn't have a clear shot, a sudden
spike of panic driving itself down into his chest in a sharp no. Her eyes
narrowed on him, lips twisted into an expression he couldn't quite comprehend.
"We've got orders to clear the area."
The words echoed between them across the packbond, prickled in his memories;
clear the area, clear, clear--
He had come here to kill feral ghouls. Austin bit down on the letter of the law
instead, and he knew-- he could feel it-- she wanted to--
No . He wouldn't let her. "I don’t kill kids.”
“You’re going to stand between me and a whelp?” Austin’s face twisted into an
ugly snarl, and she stepped forward to meet him, fingers snagging the scarf
around his throat in a tight grip. He often forgot how tall Austin was; she was
taller than most of the men, and she had at least a head on him. He had to
crane his neck back to look her in the eyes. “Move or I’ll make you, little
bitch.”
There was an undercurrent in her tone that made all the hair on the back of his
neck stand on end.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. There had been people summoning
him that way since he had climbed out of the wolf-den with Lady. Some of them
were joking, teasing things, eyes alight with a mischief he could understand;
some of them were sharp looks and fae smiles he couldn’t, expressions prickling
over his skin like they had finally seen him for the first time. But it was
just a word, just something people called to rib him.
Austin looming over him was the first time it sent a chill down his bones,
prickling danger, watch out to his senses.
He narrowed his eyes and shifted the nose of Biwwy’s gift down, finding a gap
in her armor that let him dig it into her belly in a pointed threat, his teeth
set hard; try it and die.
He could feel the little girl’s eyes on his back, wide, boring to him, and all
he could think was Austin wants to kill her, and he couldn’t let that happen.
He couldn’t let her passed him, no matter what.
He could feel Lady behind him, pacing the width of the alley to bar Austin’s
brother, snapping at his nose whenever he tried to slip passed her. He was
bigger than Lady, older; smaller than most of the other males he’d seen with
Gunners, but Lady didn’t have any of them backing her, and all that meant was
that she’d have to dive even lower to go for the throat--
He went for it, determination thrumming through the packbond, and Lady ducked
under his lunge to snap her jaws around him, barely catching. It was enough to
distract him, and MacCready felt a sharp pain in his thigh as he caught Lady’s
leg and sank his teeth in, drawing blood--
Lady’s rage was a bright hot ember in his mind. He couldn’t track her
movements, but he could feel more streaks of pain blooming quickly, pooling
fire in his veins. Austin’s smile had turned open-mouthed, and it took all his
weight rooted right here not to get shoved aside; he had practice being an
immovable object, and he had a reason not to be moved--
“I’m going to let him shred her to ribbons ,” Austin promised, her voice low
and sharp beneath the snaps and snarls of the wolves. She’d leaned down, moved
forward, invading his space and throwing up warning flags in the back of his
mind. Some thought trickled through to him, snuck up on his hindbrain, and he
knew it was Austin too, even though he couldn’t comprehend anything more than
the sense of overpowering threat.
We’ll put you both in place.
He dug his pistol in deeper, voice frozen; his own rage, or Lady’s, or both.
Cold fear, for Lady and the girl. He didn’t know where it came from. They
couldn’t let them pass. “Call him off, or I fill your belly full of shrapnel.”
Her eyes glittered at him. “You don’t have the balls, bitch.”
The Gunners would murder him, if he did. Shooting one of their own was
tantamount to treason. But he didn’t care, letting the knowledge seep through
the bond back to her. Try me. “Stomach wounds bleed like a waterfall,” he
promised. “And they hurt. It might go all the way through you-- but it would
probably catch inside, and rattle. The shrapnel’ll poison your blood, and
you’ll die a slow death, belly swelling green.”
He had seen it before, and he let the knowledge that he had fall to her,
remembering Tulip, bright little Tulip, slipping out from the Gate to help a
scavenger tripped over a stone in the middle of the attack. A blast of the
raider’s muzzle, and so much blood, the way she had screamed and fallen. He
remembered hauling her himself to the Clinic, to Lucy, and the way she had
screamed the whole time until pain as Lucy tried to dig the metal out shoved
her into unconsciousness, having to hold her down. The way the wounds had
oozed, skin too pale, too thin, and the splotches of green and purple. The
fever that had wracked her body, too weak to even wake.
She had never woken up again.
Her body was in Lamplight’s fungus pools, where everybody went when they died.
Austin’s eyes widened, and he twisted the muzzle of the pistol against her
flesh. Bullets to the stomach were the worst way to go, and he knew it . “Call
him off.”
“Red,” If she was afraid, her voice didn’t show it, and MacCready hated her for
that. Peripherally he could see her gun hand, held out by her side, and the
wolf’s name through the pack-sense filled MacCready’s mouth so full with warm
copper he wanted to vomit. “ Heel.”
Jaws around his Lady’s foreleg left, but the pain lingered in his arm. In his
mind he could see the wolf draw away from her, slinking back to his sister and
licking blood off his lips all the while. Austin’s gaze into his own was hard
and full of promise, but her fingers unthreaded from his scarf, his throat.
“I’m not done with you yet. Don’t think this is over.”
Yes , he thought fiercely, it is.
Austin backed away from him, and the gray wolf followed after her. They turned
their backs, like they thought not watching him would keep him from pulling the
trigger-- and it wouldn’t, what did was the awareness of the rest of the team
too close, who’d never let it stand if he killed one of their hunters-- and
then they turned the corner and were gone from his sight.
He shoved his pistol away and turned. The little girl was long gone, and his
chest twisted with the awareness that she had escaped, the pride and the
sadness of it. He hoped that she was smart enough to know not to trust mungos.
Lady licked at her wounds. He fetched the can of purified water from it’s place
and went to work putting her back together. There’d be no lasting damage,
muscle wise, but fuck if Red hadn’t bitten her a shit ton of times, and
MacCready didn’t know what sort of venom was brewing in his mouth.
They made it to the rendezvous closer to dark than he would have liked. Captain
Yancy greeted him, sharp eyes raking over Lady and her wounds. His brother
sniffed at her, even though Lady limped away from him. “What happened?”
“We ran into a bit of resistance. It’s fine.”
Yancy frowned, and MacCready fervently hoped he believed him. If they figured
out he’d threatened Austin… “Hmph. Well, come get something to eat, get your
strength back up. We’re moving out in the morning.”
He looked over at the fire and frowned. Austin was cooking… Don’t think this is
over. His gut twisted. “Actually Lady and I aren’t hungry. We’re going to go
ahead and find a spot to settle down, if we’re not on watch?”
That frown deepened. “I think considering the circumstances, you two are
excused from duty for the night. Get some sleep.”
The glory of the pack-bond was, they didn’t mind if he slept out of sight.
MacCready found a spot where a stone wall had collapsed over a car, leaving
only a small, narrow path in and out, but a crevice large enough and safe
enough for them to rest easy. Lady went in first, intent on testing the
security of it, and when he felt her worm her way into the car’s back seat, he
shoved his own things inside and joined her. Being small was one of the best
things in life. Austin and her brother were too big to follow them in here, and
so was everybody else.
He slept easy with stone above their heads.
--
Showers were a luxury rarely afforded in Lamplight, but they were fucking
perfect. Mostly there hadn’t been enough rainfall to put water into the system
Locktight had put together, back when MacCready was a boy, and so everybody
subsisted on baths most of the time. The water stretched further that way, and
they had needed every drop to go as far as possible.
That wasn’t so, here, and MacCready couldn’t help but be selfishly grateful for
that. His uniform was beyond filthy as fuck, and he wasn’t much better. He’d
been covered in dirt so long he didn’t remember what color his hair was
anymore.
He thought it was yellow. Lady thought it was yellow. The only way they could
be sure was to wash it off. And the showers, fucking hell yes, were empty.
He dropped his fresh clothes on the bench with his towel and worked himself out
of his soiled ones, toeing the boots underneath and kicking the rest of the
gear next to him. Jacket, scarf, socks, shirt, belt, pants. Then, when he was
finally naked, he knelt and took off Lady’s leather collar. Her pelt had gone
brown with Commonwealth dust too, and that was just unacceptable.
“This is getting a bit small, isn’t it, Lady.. Guess we’re going to have to
find you a proper adult collar, hm? Maybe in one of those pre-war shops, or we
can stop a caravan...” She licked his face and he laughed, pushing her snout
away. “No, seriously, bath first. Under the faucet, here, Lady.”
Technically he wasn’t supposed to have her in here. But like fuck was he going
to get clean before Lady did, and there was plenty of water collected to bathe
the two of them. The heat of the day had probably left it warm, too, assuming
nobody else had used it all already. He had taken cold showers before, in the
autumn rains, and while it wasn’t fun that didn’t mean it wasn’t doable.
He snagged a bar of soap and a coarse rag from the supply locker before he
followed Lady over, twisting on the bar that let the water run. She tipped her
nose up into it, radiation-eyes closed as she pranced under the deluge. He
shoved his supplies onto the shower rack and took a minute to rake most of the
dust out of his own hair, letting it muddy and swirl away. Bits of Lady’s black
were already coming back.
Raking the thickest of mud off his wolf’s body was a task, and she leaned into
his touch as he scratched it away. When he was finished, she waited for him to
soap her down, which took a bit of time, most of the soap, and required turning
off the spray until she was ready to be rinsed off again. Nobody came to
investigate what was taking him so long in the shower, though, so he was
perfectly content to let it happen as it was.
When she was washed and rinsed, he kicked her out of the shower proper, and she
shook herself off and settled down for a nap in the corner, warmed and clean.
He watched her for a moment, fond, and then settled to get himself cleaned up.
He was quicker at this, more efficient; he had less hair and body mass than
Lady did, for starters, and he was less concerned about playing in the water.
That didn’t mean he didn’t stand there and let it rinse him clean, the warmth
suffusing into his bones, lulling him down into a warm embrace. It felt good.
He hadn’t realized how cold he’d gotten these last few weeks, sleeping in the
dirt as he picked his way across the Commonwealth to complete jobs here and
there, polish off his training. Lady would be a year old in a couple of months,
and that threshold would mark him out of grunt stage.
It wouldn’t be enough to get him into a room of his own, but at least it’d get
him off the dirty mattresses outside.
He tipped his head back with a sigh, eyes closed. He could sleep right here…
That wasn’t the water. Water didn’t carass his scars softly, didn’t follow
along the line of ribs he’d broken as a child, feeling along the knotted bone.
It didn’t run down his abs and follow the trail of short-hairs down in an
unbroken, determined stroke, or pet the angle of his hips that didn’t align
quite right from the same rockfall. It didn’t slip further down, pace it’s way
over the top of his thigh and back up again, to there--
He stiffened against the wall, head lifting, eyes snapping open. Except it
couldn’t be the wall, because he was looking at it--
Lips slanted over his own-- someone’s lips , fuck fuckfuck-- and then someone’s
tongue swept into the gap to plunder his breath away like a thief. A low roar
of panic turned on the back of his head, because he couldn’t breathe -- and
then he was too dizzy to think or stand, his fingers grappling at the arm
around his chest for-- support or-- or something , while a broad hand curled
around him and his knees tried to give way.
The kiss broke-- leaving him tasting grapes on his tongue, MacCready had never
even had grapes before-- and the mouth, the tongue , lapped its way back across
his cheek to his ear. “I see my little Sniper is hardly so little where it
counts..” He knew that voice; he did , and goosebumps crawled over his skin as
the man ran his tongue over the shell of his ear, humming.
“Jack--”
“You remembered my name. Good . That needs to be rewarded, I think. Don’t you
agree?” The hand around him sped up, his cock trapped in a tunnel of warmth and
wet friction. He dug blunted nails into Jack’s arm, his head lolling backwards
against his chest. It felt good-- great , even, fuck, but it was Jack--
“Jack, st--”
Jack tasted like grapes. It was a strange thought to have, but he did and
MacCready was dizzy, it was hard to think--
He had to think. He had to breathe.
The plan did not survive contact with the enemy.
The shower walls were made of steel, and MacCready had never been quite so
intimately acquainted with them before. His elbow was held tight in Jack’s
grip, twisted behind his back and secured so that he couldn’t get it free,
couldn’t get enough space for another swing. Jack’s breath was hot on the back
of his neck as he spoke, the contrast so sharp between that and the cool metal
against his skin that it was almost painful.
“Now, don’t be naughty, I do want both of us to enjoy this.” Jack spoke honey-
sweet, but even as he did, he tugged on his elbow, lancing pain up the limb.
For a horrifying moment, MacCready thought he’d dislodge the joint from the
socket; it was his strong arm, the one that held his rifle steady. But Jack
seemed to know that, because the pressure eased away. “Don’t make me change my
mind.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the base of his skull, and all
MacCready’s nerves flared with warning signs.
“I--”
“I know,” Jack promised, brushing aside short blond locks. What-- ohhh . His
body shuddered a bit as Jack’s tongue ran against the shell of his ear again,
and those signs blurred a bit. Or maybe that was MacCready’s vision becoming
unfocused. “Now be a good kitten and purrfor Jack. I know you can.”
He felt Jack’s hand move forward, once settled on his hip, thumb rubbing over
one of his scars. Now it moved forward, parting him from the wall, Jack’s broad
palm slowing to rest secure and possessive over his belly. Something in his gut
twisted uncomfortably with the motion, but Jack was tilting his head to rest it
on his shoulder and press kisses to the hollow of his throat and down, back
over his neck, so he didn’t get to think on that too long.
He missed the moment when Jack let go of his arm, confidant there’d be no more
retaliation. But he didn’t miss the quiet whine that echoed through the shower-
house, or the moan that followed it when Jack pulled him from the wall, his
other hand dropping down to resume the menstrations of his body. He didn’t
recognize the voice. He didn’t know who it belonged to. But they got more and
more frequent, until that was all he could hear, and he didn’t have enough
breath to tell them to stop.
It couldn’t have been... him?
No.
One hand scrambled to find purchase on the wall, his knees trying their
damndest to give way. Only Jack’s hand kept him upright, kept him pinned
against him and the solid proof of desire against his backside, kept him
immobile, only Jack’s--
"Jack--” Jack didn’t stop at the sound of his name. Of course he wouldn’t. But
MacCready was going to explode . “Jack-- fuck--”
“That’s right , kitten..” Jack shifted his hips, the head of his dick pressing
against the line of his ass, and MacCready’s brain seized . He gripped at the
man’s wrist, his eyes wide and mouth open in a silent gasp, and then he did it
again and again, driving the head deeper between his cheeks with each short
thrust. His hand didn’t stop, but no, instead of being entirely immobile, every
upward stroke was accompanied by a movement from Jack, and he was sandwiched
and going to--
Jack pulled away, leaving him cold on both fronts, but his words still sounded
warm and MacCready couldn’t think . “Oh, not yet. Not even close, my little
Sniper. I've waited too long for this for you to be finished so soon."
“Jack--”
Jack turned him around and for a moment MacCready got to look at him, and then
he got to look at the floor as a wash of vertigo took him, Jack’s shoulder
digging into his stomach. He felt calloused fingers rub at the backs of his
thigh, but it was a brief thing, there and gone. The water turned off, lack of
continuous warmth thrusting him into immediate chill despite the temperature.
Then Jack’s hand came back in a stinging rap against his asscheek and he
jumped, more surprised than truly pained. Maybe it’s because he’s wound up so
tight, right on the verge of-- of-- and any stimulation as a result makes his
dick jump like a good little soldier, but a humiliating heat stained his cheeks
anyway. Fucking hell.
“Alright. Let’s get going; I have a specialtreat set up just for you.”
It took far too long for MacCready to register that they were leaving the
shower, his ass bared for all the world to see. There were people he damned
sure didn’t want to ever see him naked. He could hear them, talking and
laughing over the sound of the fire, probably eating their gruel or chasing it
with drink. He couldn’t see them, but that didn’t mean anything, up here. He
twisted on Jack’s shoulder, squirming to try and shove himself off, get back on
his own two feet; grab his clothes, retreat to the safety of the sniper’s loft
down at the end of the road. Jack bounced him on his shoulder, the return
impact chasing all the air from his lungs in a rush.
If he said anything in rebuke, MacCready missed it in favor of remembering how
to breathe.
He was still trying to breathe moments-- hours?-- later when he heard door
hinges groan, and then what precious little breathe he had fled him again as
Jack tossed him down on a scarlet mattress without a drop of ceremony. He had a
moment to cast a look around the room, hunting for his sister; the lights were
low but there she was, in the pack-sense and his vision, shadowed form being
urged into the room by Adonis’ larger frame.
She didn’t look like she understood what was going on, and he couldn’t blame
her. He didn’t understand what was going on.
But then he lost sight of her, Jack crawling onto the bed with him, covering
his body with his own much larger one. He caught MacCready’s mouth before he
could protest, before he could say no , and the taste of grapes left him light
headed, Jack’s tongue warring with his own for exploratory rights. Then he
pulled away, sitting upright, and panting and breathless, he tried to follow,
needing.
His arms pulled him to a stop. He looked up at his wrists in surprise, and
silver shined back at him from the bedposts. Panic flooded his system at once
and he jerked on them, looking down at where Jack sat. Jack rested at the foot
of the bed, bright blue eyes focused on him as he enclosed his other ankle, the
last free limb he’d had--
The smug, infuriating bastard smiled at him, lips twisting into a wicked smirk
as he leaned forward over him, his breath scorching hot against his dick.
MacCready had to crane his neck to watch, partly in hope, partly in
trepidation, every inch of him anxious as all fucking hell.
Then he pressed just the tip of his tongue against the slitted head, brushing
away the beads of liquid and leaving his flesh on fire. His hips jerked
upwards, looking for friction, but Jack had already pulled away, chuckling at
him. “So eager… that’s good, so good. I’ve got so many things to show you,
kitten. So many things that I’m dying for you to learn.”
He moved away entirely, sliding off the bed and getting to his feet. He paraded
himself as he moved, and MacCready watched him until he vanished beyond his
line of sight, right near where Adonis lay. It took a second to process that
the white was laying on Lady, his larger bulk and greater weight holding her
against the floor in a way that let him hold onto her scruff, so she couldn’t
turn her head around to bite him. And he could tell she wanted to, could feel
the quiet outrage from her trying to hammer against the lust coursing through
his body, but it was like listening through a shitty radio, all distant and
scrambled.
This was wrong. All of it. Jack and Adonis and this room , all wrong , he
didn’t want this, he didn’t know why Jack was doing it, what the game was, if
someone had pitched a bet with a shiny pile of caps.
Lady wasn’t the sort of wolf to growl, but he could feel her ire buzzing in the
back of his mind, quiet and dimmed by a warm commanding presence that curled
around their bond and made it hard to listen to, the way the medics quieted it
whenever one of them got shot, so the pain wouldn’t completely overwhelm the
other. He tested his cuffs, but they were secure and the bedposts were solid
wood, and only a very small part of him wanted to get away, the small part of
him that could think, that held Lady’s anger close at hand and tried to get
more space to think because of it.
He couldn’t smell anything but grapes and steel and the thick scent of arousal,
strong enough he knew he had to get out but heady enough that he just fucking
didn’t want to, which was terrifying all on it’s own.
He heard Jack come back into the room on the other side of the bed and turned
to look at him, mouth open to beg him to let him go-- and Robert Joseph
MacCready did not beg for anything-- but Jack was turned away from him, pulling
something from a container below the edge of the bed. A canister of something
purple, scenting strongly of grapes even capped up like it was. He wondered
what it was, what it was for. A ball bearing rattled inside as he shook it,
making a round around the bed.
The door! He hadn’t even seen the door before Jack went to it, checking the
latches, but now he could see it. If he could get himself free and get there…
Jack kept walking after a minute, stopping again to lean down, scratch Adonis
behind his massive ears. His lips were moving, but MacCready couldn’t hear it
for the sound of blood pounding in his ears, the furious hope that he could get
an arm free and get loose before he turned to him proper. He didn’t; the cuffs
were secured tight around him and the short length of chain between each piece
ensured he had too much to get any good pry out of them, but not enough to yank
them apart. When Jack stood and looked at him, his gaze raked like a brand
across him, appraising him like a farmer at a brahmin market hunting for the
the very best bull-calf.
Adonis’ low growl shuddered through his bones. Jack’s lips were pulled into a
thoughtful line, but he felt him press a response back through the pack-sense,
firm and solid in a way that made his dick twitch, the wilted half-mast traitor
that it was.
Soon.
Fuckyesplease. He hadn’t meant to think, hadn’t meant to project. But Jack’s
lips were curling into a devilish smirk that said he’d heard anyway. Fucking
damn it.
“What’s the matter, kitten?” Jack crooned, stepping to the bed to climb up on
it again-- on MacCready again. “Did I leave you waiting too long? I’m sorry…
don’t you still want me?” He opened his mouth to say no , let me go, but it was
the wrong move, because Jack caught him and his tongue dove in to plunder the
depths, and only the sense of danger in the edge of his mind kept him from
biting down. A satisfied rumble shook him, then the older man decided to stop
fucking his mouth with his tongue. He moved to drop wet, open-mouthed kisses on
his flesh instead, moving down his throat to the hard plains of muscles that
made up his torso. He paid special mind to the healed knot of bones at his
ribs, the small pocks where he’d let raiders get too close and take a shot.
Everywhere his mouth touched was left burning, sending heat through his whole
form until he couldn’t think. Jack’s broad hands cradling his hips were the
only thing that kept him still at all. Every once in a while he’d find a spot
that sent a jolt of pleasure through him and he’d stop there, listening to him
keen and try to thrash while he sucked on the patch, slowly working his way
down all the while.
He talked a lot, but never with his voice.
Do you like that, kitten? Here… or here? Yes, good, hold still for me-- oh,
there we go, that’s it, say my name, kitten. Soon-- very soon.
And he did, he was, because if he said it enough, if he said it right , maybe
Jack would stop to listen to him, maybe he’d-- MacCready didn’t know if he
wanted him to continue, but if he stopped he would die.
That’s it, kitten, louder now, I know you can. Because you can’t live without
good ol’ Jack, can you?
“Jack…!! ” His voice was a strangled groan, foreign to his ears, but it was
his, he knew it when he felt Jack’s mouth left from his abs, attention focused
on him.
He was blind with want and he hated it.
“Jack what?” A simple question. Easy. Weighted with the impression that he
wouldn’t touch him with his tongue again unless he got an answer, which was
fucking bullshit , that’s what it was. His fingers shifted from his hips to
slide backward, taking a full cheek in each palm and cupping them, squeezing,
massaging… and MacCready arched his back with a moan, half-desperate. “ Tell
me,kitten, tell Jack what you want him to do.”
“Jack --” he felt one of those hands shift, strong fingers dipping into the
crack, finding the ring of muscle and pressing against him in a promise-threat.
He jerked against it against his own will and his body was flushed with want
and shame and the order, tell me -- “ Jack please, please--!”
Tight wet warmth enveloped his cock in a rush that made him dizzy, Jack’s nose
brushing into his coarse-hairs as he thrust up into him. There were wordless
noises on his tongue, but it was Jack’s voice in his mind, You taste so fucking
good, kitten, yes, cry for me.
He lost himself in the silent praise that filled up his his head, crowding in
through the pack-sense until it was all he could think, Jack’s mouth sheathing
him completely and his thoughts wringing his name in a cascade. All he could
feel was that and Jack’s fingers, the loss of them, and then all he could smell
was the strong scent of hubflowers, of grapes as they came back, cold as a
fucking snowbank but slicked and determined, one hand spreading his cheeks and
the other finding that ring of muscle, a long thick finger forcing it’s way
passed his defenses and inside him until he was fucking himself on it, perfect
and wonderful, just enough pain to offset the pleasure when Jack added a second
digit.
Where the fuck had this been all his life?
So fucking tight and hot, kitten. Are you ready for me, yet?
He might have said words. He probably didn’t say words. He might have thought
words, or gave a strangled cry of Jack’s fucking name when the unrepentant
asshole scissored his fingers, stretching him, working in a third finger; he
arched, needing, wanting something he couldn’t name, knowing, knowing, that the
asshole atop him had the answers he wanted.
Jack sat up, and left him in a rush of cold. He keened, and Jack chuckled,
crawling up his body to smother the sound, settling between his thighs like he
belonged there.
The part of MacCready’s brain that was filled up with the pack-sense thought he
did.
He tasted like grapes, like bitter things made sweet, and it was almost a
sufficient distraction. He could feel him pull his fingers free, the tip of his
dick pressing against the ring of muscles in threat, in promise; those slicked
fingers spread out over his torso, pressing him firm against the bed when he
tried to move closer.
Real words flooded his ears, Jack drawn away just far enough to speak words
against his skin. “Do you want me, kitten?”
Pleaseplease . “ Jack--”
“Do you want me?”
The edge of threat increased fractionally. His head was filled with cotton that
made it hard to focus on anything, but he could tell Jack wanted a real answer,
something more than just his name, and MacCready grappled for real words to
use. If he could move… but he couldn’t, Jack wouldn’t let him, and he was so
close to kissing him again and he wanted him to , he wanted him to put the fire
out that was burning him from the inside-- “ Please Jack ,” it was hard to put
a breath between the words. “ Yes please yes yes!”
Jack caught his lips to spill fire into his lungs, his hips rocking forward in
a single short thrust; MacCready felt the head pass the ring of muscles and
nearly wept, yespleaseyes -- but then he stopped, stilling atop him, and his
broad palm on his belly kept him from rocking into him, drawing him in deeper.
He needed him to fill him, he needed him to, but he hadn’t, he wouldn’t. He
moaned into his mouth and Jack broke the kiss to let it spill into the air.
“You’re going to have to beg harder than that, kitten. I can’t hear how much
you want me.”
The bastard wanted him to beg more -- but he wanted him to fill him up, to make
him full , so he did. He squirmed beneath the securing hand, trying to find
purchase, trying to make it so, while a litany of yes please I want you I want
you spilled off his tongue in a song he didn’t know .
“Ask me to fuck you,” Jack purred.
MacCready dropped his head back and wanted to cry in agony. “Please Jack-- I
want --” Words, there had to be words, Jack wouldn’t give him anything without
words. “Fuck me please.”
Jack thrust forward, a little harder, a little deeper; he yelped, surprised and
a little pained but greedy, hopeful-- and then he stopped again . He could feel
his cock weeping, dripping against his skin, and he pulled on the chains in
protest. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he could barely breathe.
“Who do you belong to, kitten?”
“You you Jack please.”
Satisfaction rolled off Jack in waves. “And you’re always going to,” he told
him, a promise and a threat MacCready couldn’t hear, couldn’t register. Then he
snapped his hips forward in a harsh thrust that buried him firm and deep in his
body, all the way to his hilt, and MacCready screamed.
He lost himself somewhere, his mind tangled up with the want and satisfaction
cloying through his body and mind like tar, smothering the scarlet ember that
wanted to burn it all away. Jack moved against him, every outward stroke slow
until he was nearly free, raking the coals in the flame, and every thrust sharp
and heavy and timed just perfect to make him shout every little breath out back
out. His chains had precious little give, he couldn’t rock back to meet him,
could only hang there as Jack shoved him further into madness, yes , finally.
The ride lasted forever, Jack keeping him right on edge, until at long last
MacCready felt himself erupt, hot thick ropes of essence spilling onto his
belly, his chest, leaving him floating in glorious satisfaction. Jack kept
moving, not yet finished with him, and MacCready could feel him still filling
his body hard and fast, raking over over-sensitized walls for several long,
glorious heartbeats more before he finally came, curling over his body to lay
his mouth over the sniper’s own in a searing, branding kiss as he poured sweet,
hot nectar right into his guts.
Oblivion lay beyond the satisfaction, but the satisfaction was so perfect and
all encompassing that he couldn’t even pay attention to the bold anger in the
bond, and he could still feel Jack’s cock inside of him, wilting but therein a
way that soothed fears he didn’t know he had. “....Jack?”
“You belong to me now, kitten,” he heard back, and then he took that sense of
belonging down to sleep with him.
He woke up with sore muscles he didn’t even know he had. But he woke up warm
and snuggled down into a comfortable mattress, the pack-bond quiet and still in
the early morning and only Lady in his head. She licked at his face, and he
pushed her away sleepily so he could crawl off his mat.
The fall to the floor woke him up in a rush of pain. Lady nudged his shoulder
in apology, and he let warmth and affection flood their connection to show all
was forgiven, reaching up to scratch at her jaw for a few moments.
There were no threats in the room, or Lady would have pressed their locations
to him already. They were alone, and it took Lady pressing the scent of grape
mentats and steel to him through their connection for him to register the room
he was looking at, now that his head was finally clear of outside influence. To
remember what had happened the-- night?-- before.
Had it been the night before? How much time had passed? He felt disturbingly
well-rested, if bruised, sore and over-worked. Bred, Lady supplied unhelpfully,
and the implications curled hot shame into his gut.
Bred. Like the dogs back in Lamplight, and the result was always a litter of
puppies. He remembered when Princess had gotten pregnant, and the way her belly
had swelled with George before he was born. He’d been in the clinic when Lucy
had told her why her stomach was growing that way, citing Red’s claim that it
meant she was going to have a baby. He’d been there, confused and bewildered
but the only person besides Lucy-- Lucy, who had delivered some sort of bad
news, because weren’t babies a good thing? More kids in Little Lamplight was
always a good thing, wasn’t it?-- so he’d been the person Princess had clung to
and cried on instead.
He pressed a hand against his stomach and frowned down at it, trying to imagine
his stomach growing like Princess’ had. Princess had been happy, despite all
her bad days and sleepless nights and list of increasingly dubious food
choices.
But Princess having George hadn’t been like any of the dogs having puppies. She
had screamed for hours, and nobody had gotten any sleep with it echoing in the
caves. The younger kids had all been in tears, and the older kids had been
watching Murder Pass except the couple he’d had posted on the Gate. He’d not
been slotted for guard duty that night, but with one of their best gunners in
the clinic having a baby had made it necessary for MacCready to be up.
The noise had attracted a fucking ton of super mutants at Murder Pass.
There wasn’t a Murder Pass here to keep people busy at, and neither was there a
clinic nor a Lucy. His best shot was one of the Gunner medics and a wolf-den,
or a settlement with a real doctor.
Could it happen after just once? Was there a little George in his belly even
now?
Fucking hell, what was he going to do if there was? A Gunner camp was no place
to raise a child, and he couldn’t take a kid into some of the jobs he ran, he
wouldn’t be able to live with himself if they got hurt. And he couldn’t let
anyone else take care of them. Some of these fucking mungos would drop them off
the bypass just to watch him weep.
He hoped fervently that once wasn’t enough, ignoring the confusion that seeped
from his sister. If he was going to have a baby, shouldn’t he have the baby?
Shouldn’t it be a good thing?
And she wasn’t wrong, that was the thing. But he couldn’t; not here, not now.
He had to find a better place for it, a safer place that was secret and more
secure than an overpass in the middle of the Commonwealth. And to do that he
had to get out of this room.
He climbed to his feet carefully and made his way to the door, grabbing hold of
the handle… and kicking the door in annoyance, when it didn’t open for him. It
barely even rattled. There was no good seam to get his fingers into, and the
hinges were safely hidden behind a metal plate, only accessible when the door
was open. His only exploit was the lock.
Somehow, he didn’t think he’d find a bobby pin and screwdriver in this room,
but he still caught himself turning to look.
The bed was nice, the headboard shoved up against a center wall with plenty of
room to walk on either side, where he could remember Jack vanishing before.
They were red, the same as the bedding, and he had been covered by those
scarlet sheets.
A part of him, a very small, traitorous fucking part, wanted to crawl back
under them and go back to sleep, hope the nightmare was over when he woke up
again. But they smelled like grapes and fucking and sweat to Lady, which meant
they were used and filthy and he would really rather not, if he had a choice.
He forced himself to drop his hands back to his sides when he realized he was
splaying one over his belly, turning his attention to the scarlet cloth hanging
down from the ceiling. Maybe there was another exit? There had to be a room. It
was worth a look, at least.
He padded barefoot across the floor and moved the curtain with the tips of his
fingers, peeking inside. Nothing shot at him, jumped out at him, or otherwise
made a move to cause bodily harm. Lady gave him the sense that she had already
been in here, that there was nothing new to see, but she seemed resigned to the
fact that he was going to explore it anyway.
Another door led to a small bathroom; toilet, sink, a nice shower set. No
windows, which brought the number of potential portals to climb through to a
depressingly small zero. His skin itched with the urge to climb under the
shower head, wash off as much of Jack as he could, as if he could somehow get
rid of the night before. He swallowed hard and turned away from it, poking
around the rest of the small back room.
A small refrigerator, plugged into the wall on a small table. It was partnered
with a yellow chem cooler, and he flipped open the latch to poke through it. It
was filled to the brim with pop-tab sheets, all of them full of little, round,
purple pills that had the locker smelling like hubflowers. The scent was thick
enough that it made his stomach twist in threat, and he snapped the lid down
again, stepping away. The fridge only had cool, clean water in it, and
literally nothing else.
He took one, more thirsty than he’d like to admit, and sipped on it as he
continued his survey.
There was a mirror, miraculously uncracked, hung on one of the walls. The
circles under his eyes had faded from the last time he’d seen himself in
cracked glass, and he wondered how many hours of real rest had helped that. Too
many; he was supposed to head out at sunrise to relieve another sniper out at
the Nest. He hadn’t missed an assignment off the duty roster in… ever. He
didn’t know what time it was. He and Lady both had apparently slept like rocks,
and there were no seams or gaps in the structure at all to hint at where the
sun might be. But he could guess it was likely to be well after dawn, and it
was a blot on his record, a ruined perfectly good streak.
It was Jack’s fault.
His skin was also peppered in bruises, and those were also Jack’s fault. They
looked so damned bad in the mirror, too, like someone had caught him with a
scattergun a few times. There were fainter ones along the scarring, and he ran
his fingers around the jagged seam of an old slaver’s knife. He closed his eyes
and shivered, remembering the attention the asshole had paid to every flaw.
It’d been… nice. Weird, but nice. Not that it mattered, since it looked like he
wasn’t going to go shirtless for a while.
He shook his head and moved back into the main room. There was an elevated
chest of drawers, and he poked his way through them one at a time. They were
full of things he didn’t recognize and also couldn’t use to pick the lock, so
he put them back in their drawers and moved on.
His toes bumped something cool and metal, and he knelt down to investigate it.
Lady slipped over to stand next to him, ears pricked forward in curiosity, and
he spared a hand to scratch her reassuringly.
Sliding the lid of the cooler back revealed palm-sized cylinders, smooth metal
and glass, something hospital grade maybe? The liquid inside was a vibrant
purple and he remembered, suddenly, seeing one of these in Jack’s hand. This
had been something from last night. It couldn’t be some sort of chem, though,
it wasn’t an injector…
The door opened and he jolted, nearly dropping it on the floor. He haphazardly
tucked it back into the cooler, shifting blue eyes to look at the door himself.
The light was poor and the angle was shit; he couldn’t tell what time of day it
was, not from here. Maybe not even from the door. It looked like it was facing
one of the walls.
Lady had turned around to face the door too, her tail tucked tight between her
legs and her body nearly flat on the ground next to him. Inside the entrance
was Jack, one arm holding the door and the other holding a dinner tray. Adonis
slipped into the space beneath his arm, a hunk of bloodied meat in his jaws.
“We brought you dinner, kitten,” Jack smiled, the bastard , and then he pulled
the door closed in a chink of metal that set his teeth on edge. He made his way
to the bed between them, bright-eyed and fully dressed and watching him. “Don’t
you want to come eat with me? Aren’t you hungry?”
For several moments, MacCready could do nothing but stare up at him, palm
pressed to his abdomen where it had fallen to rest. With Jack laden with a
plate, he could probably make it to the door…
Then his stomach rumbled in tandem with Lady’s own, his traitorous addiction to
having real food once a day reminding him that he’d skipped out on dinner last
night to have a go at the showers. He was regretting that choice now, but he
could smell a radstag steak still hot from the grill-fire and it made his mouth
water. He bit his lower lip and weighed his options.
Lady, on her belly, inched closer to the hubcap that apparently constituted a
food bowl. She was hungrier than he was, and he could feel it through their
connection.
But the door…
He ducked his head and made his way back to the bed. It might be a while before
he got food again. But he could always make his escape later on, tomorrow at
the latest.
That plan didn’t survive either.
--
In fact, none of his plans survived.
Every time he thought he had a shot, every chance he thought he had, Jack found
some way to shred every one of them. The door was always locked, and there were
no loose sheets in the walls that he could force to give way. There were no
tools in the shed to help him. No one came to investigate the noise he made.
He lost track of time. He lost time. He lost a lot of time, drowning in the
sensation of satisfaction and belonging. Some of it was even his. Most of it
wasn’t.
Jack brought him food and Adonis brought Lady food. Sometimes they left again.
Sometimes they didn’t. When they didn’t, he slept, after. When they did, he
paced, anxious and antsy. He checked the door often. Eventually his time
devolved into keeping fit, and he exercised a lot. His cage smelled of sex and
sweat, but it was big enough for exercise.
Sometimes he woke to find Lady gone, the bond between them stretched wide, the
exhilaration of running flowing through the link like it was in his own veins.
She always came back with Adonis, and Jack. Most of the times he woke up with
her curled next to him, his face buried in her ruff. Sometimes he woke with
black on one side, and thick dual-toned pelt on the other. Often he woke up
with Jack above him, the scent of desire and hubflowers thick and his skilled
fingers where they didn’t -- where they did need to be , yes kitten.
Sometimes he woke curled up with Jack, snug against his chest like he belonged
there, and it happened often enough that a very small part of him eventually
wondered if he did.
His belly stayed mercifully flat.
He didn’t know how long it had been though. He had no idea, no way of knowing,
how many deployments he had missed. He didn’t dare ask Jack. Lady didn’t know.
Time didn’t mean anything to her.
His hair had grown long enough to begin curling at the ends, brushing at the
nape of his neck. He couldn’t find a knife to cut it, even though he had been
searching for it since he had woken up a few hours ago. It was irritating,
causing his hair to stand on end every time he turned his head, and he had
already discarded his scarf for the same reason.
It was the same reason that he wasn’t on the bed, trying to go back to sleep.
The sheets were too coarse against his skin, which was fucking ridiculous, and
the bed itself was uncomfortable in general, either too hard or too soft, it
didn’t matter, he couldn’t find a position to rest in. Lady seemed to be having
the same miserable luck, pacing around the front room of the shack, trying to
walk off her own anxiety with just as much success as he was having.
There had to be a pair of scissors in here somewhere . Jack had had a razor,
once.
He looked until the room got too hot to continue searching and he hadto stop.
It must have been sweltering outside; it had never been this warm in here, but
the steel construction must have drawn heat and compounded it.
He only knew one way to cool off, but it was no hardship to turn the cool water
of Jack’s shower on and duck under the spray, even though it felt like ice
biting across his flesh. He braced himself against the wall with both hands,
feet set apart for support, and bowed his head low so it pounded across the
back of his neck and shoulders, tracing down his muscles in lines of sweet,
sharp harmony. The difference in the temperature made his body tremble and he
had to close his eyes to focus on breathing. It wrapped him up in a cool
embrace, encircling his limbs, trailing over his hips, caressing his cock and
making him ache so bad he hurt.
But it cooled him off. Or, at least it did for a little while. Nothing he did
managed to bring himself any sort of satisfaction, and the water only managed
to make it worse instead of getting rid of the desire. He was forced to turn
the water off before he ran the store dry.
The drying towels felt like sandpaper in his hands and he resigned to let
himself drip dry instead. In the other room, Lady let out a low, throaty whine
that sent a spike of want through him, and it was answered from beyond the
steel door by a dozen separate scents, all buffeting him through the pack-
sense.
He hadn’t felt the pack-sense in ages; Jack had erected a literal and
proverbial steel wall between him and the rest of the Gunners, and the sudden
awareness of them sent him staggering weak-kneed back into the main room.
The scents turned to noise. Desire and satisfaction settled in Lady’s chest in
a way Mac had never felt before, spilling into his own body strong enough to
make him stumble. He caught himself on the bedpost, sinking down to his knees
and bowing his head, trying to understand what was going on. Behind him he
could hear wolves scratching at the door, men testing the handle, pawing at the
seams.
Want-- want-- need-- let me-- key-- key?-- have to-- break it--
Lady was awash with it, alive with the knowledge that they were going to break
in to them, and it wracked through him strong enough to leave him breathless
and so, so desperate.
He curled in on himself, pressing his forehead against the floor where the air
was thicker, cooler. Lady , he tried, trying to reach out to her through the
overpowering sensations. The floor was cool against too-hot skin, and he let go
of the bedpost to lay his palms on it, trying to soak up the relief. It
scratched, but he was comfortable and he didn’t want to move. Lady.
Yesnow , Lady nosed at the door, and a fresh wave of urgency washed through the
pack-sense. MacCready shivered against it, closing his eyes briefly to ride it
out. Yesyesnowcome yes . Then, she seemed to figure out he was trying to get
her attention and turned away from the door, moving over to press a cold nose
against his ribs. He jerked a bit, sucking in air and stretching out, and she
danced out of his reaching grasp to move away, settling somewhere off to the
side of the open floor, her words a litany of want now and satisfaction.
Something settled inside his head, locking into place like two pieces of a
rifle sealed together, and he pushed himself up off the floor to look at her.
She wasn’t looking back at him; her face was turned to watch the door, waiting,
expectant--
Stay.
The order cracked through the pandemonium in his head and he froze there,
propped up on his hands and knees.
Outside, the world went quiet. The chuffing at the door ceased, the pawing, the
words that weren't; everything had stopped, and somehow that anchored the
anticipation in his gut, the anxiety making him tremble in want. But something
was happening. Someone was coming. He could feel it through the pack-sense, the
way it pressed the order through everything, shoving it so far into MacCready's
head that he could barely breath.
Stay.
The presence was huge. It enveloped his whole self in the network, demanding
obedience , and his muscles spasmed, his body needing . They knew which one
they wanted. That one. The one that cowed everything, the leader of the pack.
Fuck , but he wanted him. That one , right there, bright and powerful in his
awareness. If they had a choice at all . They could feel the strength of
offspring not yet conceived, the raw power of them, and the certainty of Lady
choice echoed through him until he was nothing but sure right along with her.
No other would do.
The order threatened through the pack-sense once more, though he could feel the
rest of the world trying to close in around it, choke it off. Something scraped
against the outside of the door and he trembled, but he couldn't look, stay
thrumming through his very bones. It opened, washing in cold air and scents of
desire, dozens of wolves and people--
It closed, and the sound of the lock falling into place was as loud as a hammer
on a firing pin, jolting through his body with so much heat he could feel his
obedience waver--
Lady bowed her body, turning her head away from the door. A huge wolf with a
muddied pelt climbed over her, teeth catching her scruff in powerful jaws-- the
skin on the back of MacCready's neck prickled, missing the matching hold-- and
then the male settled himself into place and thrust forward--
His muscles clenched down on nothing as he watched them, unable to look away,
the pain of being full and simultaneously empty wringing a desperate whine from
his throat as the stud shoved into Lady, again and again in a pace that his
body desperately wanted to match, their pleasure backed by the outrage and need
from the rest of the pack, locked out.
Then finally he felt someone's strong hand on the back of his neck, shoving him
down until his cheek lay against the carpet, slick fingers pressing against his
entrance-- he thrust himself back onto them, unable to stay any longer,
desperate to be filled, and his partner growled , the sound tearing through his
fragile senses, yes please finally.
Wait. The order was accompanied by a brief tightening of that palm against the
back of his neck, too firm and too sharp to be disobeyed, and he whimpered into
the carpet, green eyes fixed on the two that weren't, and he could feel the
missing weight like a ghost over his back. Those fingers worked him slow and
careful, the hand holding him refusing to let him move, to help.
Staying still, waiting, was torture. His legs trembled from trying to hold
still, muscles screaming in protest of it, and his partner curled his fingers
in his core, teasing, testing his obedience, and he dug his fingers and toes
into the carpet beneath him. He could only whine and whimper at every
sensation, the overbearing press against his mind insistent in its instruction.
He had to wait-- he had to , and he would, even if it shattered him, even if
Lady didn’t--
The fingers left him and he was empty again, utterly befret, and he made a
frustrated, broken sound of need that apparently did something, meant something
to the other, because something else settled against him, finally, finally ,
even if the swollen head pushed forward to fill him at an agonizingly slow
pace. He struggled to move and meet him, but the hand on the back of his neck
didn’t dare, and the pack-sense was sharp and flinted and dangerous, wait.
Stay.
He trembled. He couldn’t wait, not anymore, he had to, he was so close ,
almost, almost... Please.
He didn’t. The hips pressed forward at the same slow pace they had been, moving
precious little at a time, and he clenched to try to encourage him, to pull him
in, because he needed, wanted -- his partner growled at him, low and harsh, and
he felt part of himself come undone with it. The dissonance between him and
Lady was so keen he couldn’t stand it, and he could feel his body weeping with
want.
Lady, who was so full, her mate thrusting inside her again and again as they
worked together to find the end, his body a heavy weight over her own, holding
her down, holding her steady, his teeth set just so--
He panted from exertion as his own partner settled all the way inside him,
finally, right where he belonged, and it was perfect, the way he could feel the
length of him buried all the way inside, the echo from the pack-sense that was
the other buried inside of him , the clenching tightness that he could feel,
the awareness that it was his own body making it so. It made his toes curl in
pleasure. Please , he whined, begging, pleaseplease please.
Something fragile snapped and that authority pounded through the pack-sense
loud enough to quiet everything for a few heartbeats, savage and all consuming.
It arched through him, scorching him, burying itself in every fiber of his
being. Possession, ownership--
And with it he was moving, pulling back, thrusting in, and it wasn’t slow, no
easy thing, it was hard and fast and everything he needed, rocking into him
like lightning strikes and he moved with it, with him. The pace was wrong, the
thrusts ill timed; his partner moved out of him as Lady’s filled her, but the
hand on his neck didn’t leave him, it needed to be there, and the other settled
firm on his hip and held him tight enough to bruise.
Over it, under it, lacing through his veins like whiskey was that one word, a
solid physical weight in his body.
Mine .
--
He woke exhausted, snuggled down in a warm, encompassing darkness and
satisfied, his body aching in all the best ways. He could still feel the
powerful hand against his neck, the memory of teeth set just so, and it was a
dream he didn’t want to wake up from. Not yet. He ducked closer to the body of
warmth in front of him, shoulders twinging, hips protesting the shift in
position.
He could remember-- pieces, of what had happened. Mostly the sense of being
filled, time and again, the burn of the carpet against his skin, need pouring
through every piece of him and his other half burning with the desire to breed
him, the way he’d wanted and needed to be, the way his brother had been
breeding Lady across from them. He could still feel his seed buried deep inside
his body, filling him to the brim, and a stray, sleepy thought wondered if his
belly would swell now, if there would be a little one for him the way Lady was
sure, was certain, there would be little ones for her.
Maybe… Maybe if he was careful…
The arms that encircled him pulled him closer, and he rested his nose in the
hollow of a warm collar, breathing the scent of steel and grape mentats deep
into his lungs. He knew that smell. He knew the warm body before his, the arms
that hooked around him. But the legs tangled with his own were a comfort, the
way he weighted him down in the pack-sense was a relief, and Lady was so saited
that even she, in all her infinite wisdom, only radiated that things were right
in the world.
“...Jack?”
Something made him tip his head back; some instinct, some fae urge, but when he
did there was the taste of grapes on his lips, his tongue, long and soft enough
that he thought he was dreaming, strange enough that he knew he must be. He
relaxed into it, not up for anything more than the softest of dreams, knowing
he wasn’t up to trying to ply for dominance.
He called Jack’s name again, softer, over the pack-sense where just the four of
them were wrapped up. The kiss petered out, unbroken, though his lips remained
against his skin.
“M’here.”
Tension unknotted somewhere he hadn’t been aware it existed, spreading relief
through his bones. Jack after all.
He left himself sink into the feeling of safe and belong , the sense of pack
and the great wealth of mine that hadn’t left him, security the knowledge that
it was Jack who would enforce it.
Sleep pulled at him then, and he went with it. For now, he could bask in this.
Tomorrow he would get up and handle any horribleness the world wanted to throw
at him.
--
“You’re one lucky bitch, MacCready.”
The voice cut through the still air like a knife, settling against his spine,
and MacCready swallowed reflexively at the implied threat in the tone. He knew
the voice, though he hadn’t heard it quite so bitter before. He twisted to peer
over his shoulder up at her, aware of the fact that being stretched out on his
belly left his back and neck exposed, left him in danger. People usually left
him alone when he was watching through his scope, aware that his attention was
elsewhere.
It used to be that turning his back to people was a statement, a point of
you’re not worth the time. Now, since Lady’s heat, there was an overt sense of
expectancy in the pack-sense that made him downright uncomfortable, and people
behind him, over him, only served to make it worse. He had found himself
bristling at the team leaders more and more often, and walking in the back of
formation was the only way to set him at ease.
He wasn’t at ease now. Private Casey stood behind him, her hands planted at her
sides, hips cocked in a way that made her uniform shirt pull taut over her
chest and abdomen. The fire barrel next to her through her shape into sharp
relief, and he felt his heart constrict with a now-familiar want.
His own belly was still flat and firm, but Casey’s was swelling a bit, the way
Princess’ had in the earliest days. Fuck. Why Casey?
“I’m usually pretty lucky,” he agreed, forcibly resisting the urge to roll over
to face her properly. He couldn’t stand exposing his belly either, never had
been able to. It was one thing to do face her when he was fully armed, but
right now all he had was his rifle and that wasn’t exactly the best at short-
range. If he had to, he couldn’t even defend himself right now; Casey was a
Gunner, and swelling with a little one besides.
He didn’tkill kids.
“Fuck you,” Casey bristled. “What right do you have to be so damned chipper?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” MacCready blinked at her, confusion bubbling in his chest.
He could feel her anger buffeting him in waves, but the reason behind it was
lost in it all. He hadn’t done anything recently; no more than he had to, at
least. He had never been particularly social; too many mungos, too few people
to trust.
He’d lost more than a month cooped up in Jack’s shack, and though he knew that,
nobody would tell him how long . The loss of time was disorienting, and the
officers seemed to be under the impression that it was better off he didn’t
know how much time had actually gone by. But being locked away had damaged his
fragile place in the teams. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t actively worked
with Casey since they got their wolves; it didn’t matter that he didn’t like
her. It wasn’t just Casey.
“You fucking would , that’s the fucking problem. Do you think you’re so much
better than the rest of us?”
“Look, Case, I’m not fucking telepathic, you’re going to have to be more
specific here. What the fuck did I do?”
If he’d been meaning to get her to calm down, the opposite effect was true.
Casey stamped her foot and stepped closer, looming over him in a way that
raised his hackles. He twisted on his side, back pressed against the barricade,
and felt Lady’s attention rivet to him from the other side of camp. She’d been
off being social with the cook, not really trying for a meal but certainly
unwilling to complain if he passed her some of the cubes originally meant for
the stew.
It was safe enough for her. But now she was pressing through the distance to
find out if he was safe, and he… wasn’t sure…
“You had a fucking solo with Smiling Jack ,” Casey hissed, her expression
twisting into something MacCready recognized as hate . “He pulled you before
anybody else got a taste of your ass, you asshole.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t like he had wanted that, for
Jack to accost him in the shower, cuffed down to a bed and run roughshod. He
hadn’t wanted to be locked up, away from his job and the fucking sunshine , for
fuck knew how long. He hadn’t wanted to be so quiet in the pack-sense that he’d
managed to forget it was there , that there were people outside the shack who
could hear him and wouldn’t help him , to feel that sense of abandonment and
the weighted knowledge that nobody was going to come after him.
He hadn’t wanted it, this thing everybody was talking about, grinning at him,
open-mouthed and all teeth. He hadn’t wanted to be a notch on Jack’s belt, just
another person he’d taken and bred, left mewling and screaming his name, so
full of need and the drive for satisfaction that he couldn’t think straight
enough to ask him to stop , only please more.
Casey’s shoulders quivered with rage, hand twisting into her shirt so that it
accented her swollen belly. Fuck, but he wanted that.
“When Krestle went into heat, I got fucked by every dick on the base.”
What.
The words didn’t make sense. He knew what they meant; he had picked up more
vocabulary in his year with the Gunners than he had ever strictly wanted to
know. The language was pretty damned colorful, and with plenty of vulgarities
besides, so most people didn’t notice when he skipped over a word that seemed
to be common here.
And yet, he knew what she was saying. He knew what she meant.
His mind flashed back to Lady’s own heat, the sensation of being full and
satisfied, the wealth of desire to be bred, over and over again until it took,
until he was sure his belly was so full of seed there would be babies… Fuck,
please..
“What are you talking about? That’s not how it--”
“That’s exactly how it fucking works . You’re the only bitch that’s ever gotten
a solo, you know that, and you’re not even grateful for it, are you?”
He swallowed hard, drawing his legs up underneath him. Casey blocked him from
any retreat back into the base, and she looked ready to throw him off the
highway. He could feel Lady making her way to him, anxious and distressed and
angry that someone would threaten him, all ready to bite at the attacker.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on post, Private?”
MacCready stiffened at the voice. He saw Casey do the same, surprise dancing
across her features, but she turned around to look, and he lifted his gaze…
further up. Fucking hell but Jack was tall.
And angry. He wanted to find a rock to hide behind, avoid the fury as much as
humanly possible; his tone nearly matched Casey’s, with an undercurrent of
something else he couldn’t figure, something roiling in their bond just beyond
his perception. What mattered was his upset chased it’s way up his spine in a
way that set his teeth on edge, and even when Jack’s expression softened, it
still felt dangerous, his smile lethal all in it’s own way.
He stepped into Casey’s personal space, leaning down to whisper into her ear,
and MacCready’s gut twisted in apprehension. More than one person had said,
since his stint in Jack’s shack, they had warned him, told him not to get
attached, that Jack had his toys and let them go when he was done playing with
them, that he was not the first and was unlikely to be the last...
He hadn’t believed them. Jack had been a constant presence since he had come to
Gunners, always in the background. He’d never paid attention before, of course,
but MacCready was pretty sure he’d never seen Jack.. close.. to anybody. Seeing
him with Casey now though, the way her shoulders shifted, the way her mood
perked up immediately--
He believed it, and wished he didn’t.
Jack rocked back and considered Casey, and he found it hard to keep watching.
“I.. I understand, sir.” Casey’s voice shook a bit. “I.. thank you, sir.”
The purr of Jack’s anger kept his attention, demanded his attention, but when
he leaned in to whisper to her again--
He swallowed and dropped his gaze, unwilling to injure his own sense of pride
by watching it. Jack’s anger couldn’t make him watch him with another person-
- hurt stung at him, making him feel even smaller, and he ducked his head in
hope he could avoid any more . If he made himself submissive enough, apologetic
enough, maybe he’d forgive him…
He heard Casey shuffle away and waited for Jack to do the same, but he didn’t.
Jack moved closer instead, and his gut tightened in apprehension--
Then Jack rested a strong hand on the back of his neck, gripping him lightly,
and MacCready relaxed beneath the touch, going boneless, turning with the grip,
shifting to rest half on his side, nearly on his back. He stared up at him, his
heart sinking. Jack’s expression was.. hard, anger dominant amongst the swirl
in those bright eyes, and he wanted to melt through the old roadway to escape.
Jack’s hand stayed on the back of his neck though, and he wanted to go nowhere
as long as it remained.
The pressure increased slightly and he moved with it, pushing himself up on his
elbow and then his palm until he lingered just beneath him, a mere breath of
space between them. He swallowed hard, scenting grapes, want and hope breeding
low and quiet in his chest. Jack hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t yet done
anything-- but he’d sent Casey away and stayed here, with him, and whatever
MacCready had done to warrant his anger, he’d take his licks eventually.
His fingers stayed on the back of his neck, present and pointed, but they
didn’t stop him when he pushed up the last half-inch to press his lips against
Jack’s.
Brother-mine? Lady queried, startled by the sudden flux through their bond, the
sweep of fear leaving in a rush. He could feel her drawing closer, but more
immediate was the taste on his tongue and the mine burrowing into his bones.
Okay, he managed, reassuring, quiet even between the two of them. His arm shook
from holding him steady, but he could feel that Jack wouldn’t let him fall.
--
Anticipation had settled into his bones and left him restless the whole day,
making it difficult to stay settled at his post, though with Lady settled next
to him, few people dared ventured too close to him throughout the long hours.
At dinner Lady wouldn’t eat. He couldn’t eat, his stomach twisted up in all
sorts of knots for reasons he couldn’t name. Being in the middle of the camp
made him uncomfortable; there were too many people, too many wolves, and Lady
wanted to find somewhere dark and cool to curl up, away from prying eyes and
curious noses.
Somewhere she could be hidden. Somewhere safe.
He would have been happy with a crevice in stone, but there were none to be had
at headquarters. Safe wasn’t one of the words he could apply to most places in
the Commonwealth. None of the Gunner’s nests, not where people could access--  
He bit his lip and buried his nose in his scarf, considering it. Lady lay
nearby, closer to the edge of the overpass than he dared to walk right now. The
view from here was beautiful, honestly; the moon was out low over the horizon,
casting the world in silver and lighting up the landscape for  miles all
around. It honestly felt close enough to reach out and touch.
If he got any closer to the edge, he was reminded just how far off the ground
he was, and the knowledge of it hadn’t bothered him for nearly a year now. He
hated that it itched at him again.
...all the wolf-dens backed against the edge of the highway. Lady could feel
his apprehension and didn’t want them, but she also didn’t want them because
they were open, they could still be invaded, it wasn’t safe there.
He sighed and reached up, running a hand through his hair. No choice then. He
reached out through their bond, quiet, and called her name. She washed back
with apology, heaving herself up from the stonework. He could feel the weight
of pups pull on her like pressure against his own back, shifting and roiling in
his own flat belly.
There was truly only one spot they could go where no one could follow them. He
didn’t want to, but it was safe. It was quiet and dark and secure, with four
walls, a ceiling and a door that could lock.
Lady brushed his hip in gratitude, and he dropped his fingers to scratch
between her shoulder blades. It’s okay , he promised. But he cast blue eyes out
to the rest of the camp, making sure nobody was looking his way. They weren’t;
just joking around, eating dinner he couldn’t stand the smell of. Fuck, but he
loved radstag too… Come on, Lady, let’s go.
The door was unlocked, but that wasn’t surprising. Jack’s place might have been
the only one to have locks, but he didn’t know them to be used unless there was
someone inside. Lady sniffed at the doorway when he pushed it open, passing him
the smells; just Jack and him, Adonis and her, no one else. MacCready swallowed
hard, but Lady stepped inside, her nose still to the ground as she stepped up
the lip and into the shack. He left the light off as he followed her inside,
trusting her senses and his memory of location for keep him safe.
He had tested the lock a hundred times. He knew how to make them fall into
place; it wasn’t hard. Locking the door was the easy part. Getting out again…
Later, Lady pressed against his mind, ducking to sniff beneath the bed. He
didn’t know what she was looking for, but she whimpered and he could feel a
pain in his gut, lingering and not at all his own. She settled down to crawl
under the bed, shoving aside rags heavily scented of hubflowers and blood. She
didn’t want them, and he couldn’t blame her for that. She wanted the bare
floor, cool against her side, and she wanted space to lay out.
She’d wanted safety and now she had it.
He considered the locked door for a few more moments, and then picked his way
to the bed to crawl under there with her. There was plenty of space for it;
Jack’s bed was far enough off the floor that he could rest on his own side,
reach out and pet his girl’s aching belly to try to help. The contact helped a
bit, suffusing not alone into the both of them, but the only relief she’d get
wouldn’t come yet.
The pains continued, arcing through his body at a steady enough pace that he
realized he’d been feeling them for a while now and simply hadn’t noticed. He
napped between them, though they became more lancing as time passed and made it
continually harder to do so. When it was finally, finally time, the pain
coursing through him had him curled over himself, riding it out until there was
sweet relief; Lady pressed the whole of it through to him, the sight of a tiny
little creature beneath his nose, so small and fragile, fur wet but alive,
breathing. He reached out blind, relying on her senses alone as she finished
cleaning it’s-- his belly, a short string of umbilical tangled around a hind
leg.
There was a tiny body beneath his fingers, and he curled his hands around it on
instinct, drawing it up to lay it against her belly, half-wishing the rags were
in reach. A cool steel floor was no place for a baby. She licked his hand,
half-acknowledgement, part apology, but there was a settled surety in her head
that he would keep for now. He relied on that, stroking calloused fingers over
him as he hunted for his first meal.
He could feel him, a tiny hungry awareness that MacCready had never felt
before, looped to him through Lady in a bond that was nothing like any other. A
baby…
There was another soft pain in his side, but Lady stretched her nose over,
hunting in the dark to press it against his own. There was a burst of scent, a
nest of hubflowers in fresh bloom, a name, his name, the baby’s.
Lady drew away and MacCready’s senses flicked forward, hearing a key slide home
in the locks. He felt a bubble of affection in his chest; he should have known
the smell would draw him.
Jack?
Safe came back to him, even before the door opened. Nails clicked on the steel
before the carpet muffled them, sniffing at the foot of the bed briefly. Lady
twitched her tail in discomfort and Adonis retreated away from the frame; he
and Jack pushed protecting back at them together, though MacCready lost track
of them, after, when the pain of their next baby caught him up and that was all
he could handle.
The night was long, and he caught snatches of sleep where he could manage.
Eventually, finally, Lady pressed him the seventh name, the scent of steel so
hot beneath the sun it began to warp, a little girl he knew would be everything
her mother was, and Lady made a satisfied sound. He sighed and laid his head
against the floor in relief. Finally.
His sister licked a stripe of sweat off his forehead. Then she propped herself
up to sniff at his belly, where the first little boy and one of his brothers
had climbed up on his jacket, and she bumped her nose against his belly. Fresh-
fired rifle and newborn puppies , the scent of wet steel and broken water,
after-birth and mother’s milk all wrapped up into one, and he knew what she was
doing immediately.
“..fuck. No way, Lady.”
Is your name . Always your name.
“Lady..” No it wasn’t.
Always , Lady disagreed, sweet and proper. MacCready had never managed to win
an argument with her before, and he didn’t know why he’d manage to start now,
but all his protests were rebuffed by that lone phrase, always your name.
On the bed above them, he thought he heard Jack laugh.
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