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Degenerate	By : Pervymonk Category: +A through F > Fallout (Series) > Fallout (Series) Views: 12383 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic, or Fallout New Vegas. They are the intellectual property of Bethesda Softworks and Obsidian Entertainment. I get no monetary gain from this. It's just for funsies. :D

Chapter List
- 1-Degenerate
- 1
This is non-con, and a rape-fic. If this is going to upset you in anyway, please do not read this. Thank you.

All hell breaks loose outside of Vulpes’ tent.
                The courier lifts herself off of the ground where she had been laying listlessly ever since Vulpes left her there. She struggles to get to her knees, and tugs at the bonds around her wrists. Gunshots echo in her ears, and she struggles against her bonds harder.
                She hopes that bastard Vulpes is among the first causalities.
                The flap of the tent flings up, and Courier is staring up into the face of a flustered and exuberant Cass. Her smile fades when she sees the courier’s bondage.
                “That bastard,” Cass growls.
                “Untie me, yeah?” she asks, and Cass is on her knees in an instant, machete slicing away at the ropes that hold the courier. “What the hell is going on out there?” Cass flashes what Courier likes to call her whiskey grin.
                “Me and soldier boy decided to start up some revolution,” she says smugly, pulling the ropes away from her wrists. She starts working on the ropes around her ankles.
                “And the others? Veronica?” Courier asks, a cold dread washing over her as she remembers Vulpes’ remarks about the Brotherhood scribe.
                “She managed to find a ballistic fist. She’s currently beating the hell out of any legionary stupid enough to come near her,” Cass answers gleefully. Courier nods, rubbing the feeling back into her wrists and ankles. Cass hands her a machete, and she takes it gratefully.
                “Use this to score a gun,” Cass says.
                “Thanks,” Courier says, standing. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
                If Courier had doubted her friend’s ability to kick ass and take names, she became a believer after walking out of the tent with Cass. Countless legionaries lay dead before them, and countless more were fleeing past the two women. Courier looks over the carnage like a queen. Boone reloads the hunting rifle he managed to wrestle from one of the legionary blacksmiths. When he sees the courier, he raises a hand in recognition. She smiles and waves back.
                Cass and Courier fight their way through escaping legionaries, occasionally taking on the brave ones who want to fight.
                “Not very organized, are they?” Cass comments, cutting down an attacking foe blocking her path.
                “Looks like these are mainly new recruits,” Courier comments, knocking a particularly young one unconscious.
                “Yeah, Caesar sent most of the experienced ones to scope out Hoover Dam and raid NCR patrols. Not the best war strategy,” Cass says, lunging at a fleeing recruit.
                “Is that why we’re partaking in this suicide mission?”
                “Mr. Shades and Hat said this would be as good a time as any.” Courier feels a sense of pride at learning that Boone is in charge of the escape mission. Maybe he hadn’t lost all hope after all. They meet the rest of the group at the gate out of the main camp, none of them looking worse for wear except for Arcade.
                “You ok?” Courier mouths over the dull roar of the activity around them. He smiles weakly and nods. Lily barrels up to them with a missile launcher slung over her shoulder.
                “Are you all right, dearies?” she bellows. Courier laughs at the ridiculousness of the group’s situation.
                “Fine, grandma. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
                “Sounds good to me!” Veronica chirps. Raul pats her on the back affectionately, and Boone nods.
                “You ready to use that missile launcher, Lily?” the sniper asks. Lily’s face breaks into a hideous grin.
                “Always, dearie!” she roars, and Boone throws open the gate. The rest take cover as Lily fires missiles at the other two gates at the Fort. She fires missiles until she runs out, and the rest of the group charges. Boone begins sniping the legionaries farthest from them as Veronica punches the ones closest into oblivion. Raul takes out entire groups at a time with nothing but a hunting revolver taken from the corpse of a dead centurion, and Arcade manages to punch out a few strays. Cass and Courier bring up the rear, fighting side by side and covered in a torrent of blood.
                They make it to the docks, and find only one raft.
                “We can’t all fit on it,” Courier says in dismay. Boone swears vehemently, and Cass waves it off.
                “Some of us can swim,” she says.
                “Someone would have to stay behind to make sure the others didn’t get shot,” Courier points out.
                “I’ll do it,” Boone says, rifle gripped tight in whitening hands.
                “The hell you will,” Courier snaps. “We’re all going to get out of here.”
                She looks at the group and back at the raft with a whispered “Shit.”
                “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Arcade says. “But those legionaries that we didn’t manage to kill are making their way to us.” Courier looks behind her to see a large group of crimson clad soldiers maneuvering their way over their dead comrades. She lets out a string of impressive obscenities before turning to the nightkin.
                “How long can you hold your breath, grandma?” she asks.
                “A good while longer than you can, dearie,” the super mutant answers. Courier nods to herself.
                “Ok. You take off swimming, and make it quick when you come up for air. You might be able to take bullets better than us, but you aren’t immortal.” The mutant nods before holstering her missile launcher, and disappearing into the water. The courier winces as a piece of wood from the raft floats toward them. “Raul, how many people do you think that raft can hold?”
                “Three tops, boss,” Raul answers quietly.
                “Hell. So three of us stay behind,” she says, looking at the remainder of her group in despair. How could she possibly make that choice? “I’ll be one of the three to stay.” Boone nods.
                “Same here,” he says gruffly.
                “Me too,” Veronica answers. Courier shakes her head. I may even take them to bed myself, and teach that Brotherhood wench how to appreciate the male form.
                “No. You and Cass get out of here,” she says firmly.
                “What the hell, Courier!” Veronica demands. Cass snorts.
                “I can take whatever these Legion boys throw at me,” she says. “Arcade, on the other hand, might want to get his pretty blonde ass outta here.” The doctor shakes his head.
                “Caesar likes me. I may be able to talk him out of crucifying the ones left behind,” he says, shooting a pointed look at Boone.
                “I’m familiar with the Legion from my time in Arizona,” Raul says. “There’s nothing they can do to this old man they haven’t already done before.” Courier looks at the approaching legionaries with a sick feeling in her stomach.
                “Damn it,” she says desperately.
                “The women should leave,” Boone says, nudging Courier toward the raft. She doesn’t budge.
                “I’m staying,” she says, attempting a weak smile. “But otherwise, I agree with you.”
                “Get out of here,” Boone growls.
                “What kind of leader would leave her troops to certain death?” She and Boone glare heatedly at each other. “I’m staying,” she repeats. “Veronica, Cass and Arcade get on the raft.” The three start to vehemently protest but Courier holds up her hand.
                “No time,” she says, her eyes meeting Arcade’s. “Get on the raft.” Arcade nods slowly.
                “All right. You heard our esteemed leader,” he says quietly, ushering Veronica and Cass onto the shaky mass of rotting wood. Once the three are on, Raul unties the rope keeping it tethered to the dock. Arcade holds his hand out to the ghoul.
                “Take care of yourself,” he says. Raul takes the doctor’s hand in a firm grip.
                “You too, hijo,” the ghoul says in a low voice. He moves to take his hand out of Arcade’s as the raft moves away from the dock. The doctor holds on, and a look of recognition flashes in the ghoul’s old eyes. “Don’t you-“
                “Sorry. But I know what I’m doing,” Arcade says before pulling the ghoul onto the raft, and nimbly jumps from freedom back to captivity. Courier and Raul swear simultaneously in different languages and a faint smile feathers over Boone’s face.
                Cass laughs loudly, and calls,
                “Stay alive, you sly son of a bitch! The same goes for the rest of you!” Courier turns her frenzied gaze to Arcade, and he points at the group of legionaries stopping short of the three of them.
                “Staying alive, remember?” he murmurs. “You can lecture me after we’re out of this mess.” Boone pats Arcade on the back before aiming his rifle at the group. Every single one jumps back in response. Courier sighs, holding her machete up. Arcade, for all the good it will do, raises his bloodied fists.
                “Take them alive!” a booming voice rings out, and the Courier recognizes Lucius, the leader of Caesar’s Praetorian Guard, as having said it. The two forces lunge at each other, and more than a few legionaries fall as a result of Boone’s bullets. Courier fights machete on machete, with more than a few new scars as a result. Arcade’s glasses get knocked away in the ensuing scuffle with a legionary that easily renders him immobile. Boone swears as he runs out of bullets, and begins bludgeoning recruits with his hunting rifle. Courier tries to make her way to Arcade before getting overwhelmed, machete knocked out of her hand. She loses sight of both her companions, and bellows out a war cry.
                The legionaries unsteadily lead her to the slave pens.
                They push her into the cage, and she stumbles. She whips around to face them, snarling like a beast. They take a step back when she flings herself at the wire door, growling.
                “That’s enough of that, profligate,” a familiar voice says, and she looks up to see Lucius leading a bound Arcade by the arm. Blood streams from his nose over his chin, and he squints without his glasses.
                “Are you all right?” she cries, hands reaching through the wire meshing desperately. He gives her a weak smile, a parody of the one he gave her before their attempted escape. Lucius sneers in disgust, leading the blonde man away. She watches them until they’re out of sight. She turns to look at her surroundings. The slaves are huddled together, murmuring what sounds like prayers with choked voices. She desperately searches for Boone among their ranks, but she doesn’t see him. Her eyes strain to focus on the crosses in the distance.
                She can’t see a damn thing.

                Days later, Vulpes returns to a very different Fort.
                He pulls a recruit shoveling rubble aside by the arm.
                “What the hell happened?” he demands. The recruit looks at him drearily.
                “Your new fuck toy and her cursed friends,” he answers, before going back to shoveling. Any other time, Vulpes would have had the recruit strung up for his disrespect. But he surveys the destruction around him in awe.
                And he throws his head back and laughs.
                Lucius walks up to him with an angry scowl disfiguring his face.
                “Lord Caesar wishes to speak with you,” he says tersely. Vulpes smiles wickedly.
                “Of course,” he says, and the pair begins walking toward Caesar’s tent.
                “That woman of yours did this,” Lucuis accuses. Vulpes chuckles.
                “I am well aware. Rest assured, she will be punished for this,” he answers.
                “Lord Caesar will want her crucified,” Lucuis warns. “That woman is nothing but a plague to this army, and more trouble than she is worth.” Vulpes waves his words away.
                “I will break her. I’m sure Lord Caesar will grant me that much,” he tells the praetorian as he enters Caesar’s tent.
                Arcade wipes sweat from Caesar’s brow as the flap to the back area is swung open.
                “No visitors,” Arcade says dully. Caesar takes Arcade’s hand in his, gently pulling it away from his forehead.
                “I believe I was summoned,” an amused voice says.
                “Vulpes,” Caesar croaks, and Arcade’s blood runs cold.
                Caesar sends Arcade out of the area, and he stands next to a sour looking Lucius. He strains to hear the conversation, and by the way Lucius is standing, he thinks the praetorian is doing the same.
                “Vulpes, that woman,” Caesar begins, his voice fading in and out. Arcade almost pities the aging dictator. “I want her punished.”
                “Of course, my Lord,” Vulpes answers smoothly. “I have the perfect punishment. I take it my Lord won’t be adverse to a crucifixion of an NCR dog?” Arcade inhales sharply, earning a soft reprimand from Lucius. Caesar’s laugh sounds like what Arcade would imagine the grim reaper’s laugh would be like.
                “Of course not, Vulpes,” Caesar wheezes affectionately. “And the woman?”
                “I believe that will push her to her breaking point,” Vulpes answers smugly. “If not I have,” he pauses for a moment before finishing. “Other ways to punish her.”
                “Very well. Leave me. My head begins to ache with all of this talk,” Caesar whispers. Arcade hears Vulpes bow before leaving Caesar’s side. Lucius grabs Arcade’s arm to lead him back to Caesar, but Arcade pulls away from him to follow the frumentarius.
                “Vulpes!” he calls once they’re outside of the tent. Vulpes turns to him with an amused smirk.
                “Oh, it’s Lord Caesars pet,” he says. Arcade bristles at that. “What do you want, mutt?”
                “About Boone,” he starts, but Vulpes cuts him off.
                “Spare me your rhetoric. You can’t save your friend,” he says, a hint of boredom in his voice. Arcade’s mind works furiously.
                “My friend? I hate that bastard,” spills out of his mouth. Vulpes raises an eyebrow.
                “Oh?” he says, a hint of disbelief coloring his voice. Arcade nods a little too rapidly.
                “Yeah. I was thinking, why kill him out right? Surely you can make him suffer more by keeping him alive,” Arcade offers. Vulpes tilts his head, as if considering Arcade’s words.
                “I don’t believe you,” Vulpes says, and Arcade fights off the surge of panic that wells up in his chest.
                “I’m sure a man of your, er, skills, can come up with something,” Arcade hopes the other man doesn’t notice the desperate tremble to his voice.
                “You’ll say anything to keep me from killing that dog of the NCR, won’t you?” Vulpes chuckles lowly. “Very well. I’ll keep your friend alive.” Arcade lets out the sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding. “But know that what you see as a mercy will be anything but for your friend.”
                The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Arcade Gannon, the doctor thinks to himself.
                “Boone can take anything you throw at him,” Arcade says with more confidence than he feels. Vulpes laughs, and the sound makes Arcade want to duck for cover.
                “We’ll see about that.”

                Vulpes finds the courier in the slave pens, tending to the wounds of those not fortunate enough to escape a legionary’s wrath.
                “I’m gone for less than a week, and you manage to turn this whole camp into a warzone,” he says, amused. She cuts her eyes over to him for a quick moment before returning to the slave’s arm she is bandaging
“And here I was hoping you had gotten killed in the crossfire,” she says, seemingly unafraid. But Vulpes knows better by the way her breasts heave, as if she couldn’t breathe in enough air. He lets himself into the pen. He stands behind her, and wraps his arms around her waist.
“I’m afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily, darling,” he whispers against her ear, relishing her fearful shudder.   He pulls her away from tending the slaves, and drags her back to his tent.
He throws her onto the hard dirt floor, loving the way she bites back a cry of pain.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you,” he says. She lifts her head up to see the outline of a man in the shadows.
“While your friend watches?” she says, gesturing to the hidden legionary in disgust. “You’re a degenerate.” Vulpes chuckles, kneeling down and grabbing her thighs painfully as she tries to scoot away. He leans forward to bury his face in her shoulder.
“I missed you,” he says, nuzzling her neck in a show of false intimacy. “Did you miss me?” She gives a derisive snort, and attempts to push him away with shaky hands.
“Hardly. If I never had to see you again, it would be too soon,” she growls. He bites her neck in response, sucking until a shiny red bruise mars her pale skin. He shudders at the way she hisses in response.
“You wound me, dear gentlewoman,” he says, pressing a kiss to her lips. She bites his lips, and he moans in delight, kissing her harder. His hands find their way to her neck, and he gives her one harsh squeeze. She chokes, breaking the kiss. His hands skim down to the front of her shirt, fondling her breasts before grabbing the fabric and ripping it from her unwilling flesh. She punches him in the jaw, and he laughs. She scrambles to her feet, and runs toward the entrance of the tent. He is on her in a flash, arms locking like a vice around her waist. She chokes something out past bruised lips, and he smiles against her hair.
“What was that?” he asks, fingers splayed against her tight stomach.
“Why don’t you just kill me?” she whispers, and he presses a gleeful kiss to her cheek. His hands travel down into the waistband of her pants, and she rubs against him in her struggle to break free. He moans at the sensation of her ass against his manhood.
“Aren’t you adorable?” he murmurs, turning her around to face him. He kisses the side of her mouth, and is surprised to feel a cold tear land on his cheek. “You’re crying.” When she doesn’t answer, he leads her to the bedroll in the middle of the floor. He shoots a smirk to the man trapped in the shadows.
He sits on the bedroll, pulling the courier down into his lap. She is a strong woman, but Vulpes is stronger. He kisses her swollen lips, her tear-stained cheeks, and makes his way to her chest, pressing soft kisses to both of her breasts. Her hands clench his shoulders. He pushes her down with surprising gentleness, body suspended above her. His hands slide down the length of her body, hands fisting in the material of her pants to pull them down her legs with agonizing slowness. She aims a kick at his head, and he catches her leg. He nuzzles her foot, pressing a kiss to her ankle.
“You should stop fighting me,” he purrs. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.” He trembles with longing underneath her heated, hateful gaze. “If it helps,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to her womanhood. “You can lie back and think of Vegas.”
“I won’t think of you, that’s for damn sure,” she snarls, the ferocity of it dimmed by the broken gasps she unwillingly makes. Her head falls back as he runs his tongue along the outside of her folds. From this angle, she can see the silhouette of the man watching them. Her eyes narrow in disgust as her hips buck up into Vulpes’ mouth. His tongue flicks her clit, and she bites back a soft moan. He laughs quietly into her, and the vibrations of it cause her to squirm. She tries closing her legs, but his hands hold them firmly down. The more she struggles, the tighter his grip becomes. She gasps as his tongue enters her, and she lets out a high-pitch wail despite herself.
“I hate you,” she moans. His fingers are digging into her flesh, and when he removes them she can see crimson crescent moon indents. He flips her over onto her stomach, and holds her firmly by her hips when she attempts to crawl away. He leans over her, his lips tracing the line of her spine. She can feel his member brushing ominously against her now slick folds. She focuses on the ground, trying to imagine patterns in the clumps of dirt below her. That one looks like the Lucky 38. If she tilts her head, the one to the left of it looks like an NCR beret. A hand tangles in her hair, and pulls her head up almost painfully.
She stares directly at the man in the shadows, and feels that he is staring back.
“Look,” Vulpes hisses, and she isn’t sure who he is speaking to.
“Putting a show on for your boyfriend? How unsubtle,” she bites back at him. She feels him stiffen in anger, pleased with herself at finally breaking his cool exterior.
That pleasure is fleeting as he forcefully shoves himself inside of her. She whimpers, fingers clawing at the dirt, destroying the pictures she had imagined only moments before. He slams into her violently, her breasts bouncing back and forth erratically.
“You’re so tight,” he groans into her hair, and she hears an echoing groan from the man hiding in the shadows. It sounds muffled, like he put his hand over his mouth in an effort to silence himself. Vulpes rakes his nails down her back, hand running over the fading marks on her ass left by his last ministrations. His hand swings down with a harsh slap, and she tries to muffle her cries.
“Cry for me,” he growls, his hand swinging down again. He tugs her hair harshly. “Scream my name as I make you orgasm.”
“I-I won’t!” she yells, and her fingernails begin to splinter at the pressure she exerts against the hard dirt floor. He slams into her again, and her breath catches in her throat because of her efforts to not cry out. She blinks the tears away from her eyes, but they continue to stream down her cheeks anyway.
Vulpes groans, pulling her ass closer to him.
“Are you thinking of that dog? Did he ever do this to you? Move you like this?” he demands, punctuating each sentence with a grunt. “Did he fuck you? Love you?” His words dissolve into Latin, and she is glad she can’t understand his words anymore. The moaning from the shadows escalates with each word.
Vulpes comes with a hoarse shout, and she screams Boone’s name just to piss him off.
He lets go of her, standing up. She collapses onto the ground in a trembling heap. She stares numbly at the silhouette of the man watching them. Vulpes kneels in front of her, blocking her vision. Her eyes meet his as he lifts her head up to kiss her. She half-heartedly bites his lower lip, reopening the wound she gave him earlier. He kisses her cheek, leaving a bloody streak across it.
“Loving you is painful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, stroking her hair. He sets her down and stands. “I’m going to go get you something to wear. Try not to destroy anything.” She stays silent, numbly watching him leave. When the man in the shadows doesn’t follow, she says dully,
“It’s over. You can leave now.” When she doesn’t get a response, she looks over at the shadowy corner he is in. She can see the silhouette shaking. She forces herself to get up, and walk over to him.
“Hey, shows over, God damn it. Go finish jerking off somewhere el-“ she stops short when she sees the man clearly for the first time in days. He is on his knees, bound and gagged. He trembles violently, and lets out a strangled cry.
“Boone,” she breathes, sinking down on her knees next to him.
- 1
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Degenerate