A/N: Thanks for reading, all! Please consider leaving me a review of what you think. I'm trying to get better.

This is a Fallout Kink Meme fill. Original prompt: "The impracticalities of having a quickie in the wasteland. Any pairing."

The weapon Cara uses is an FNH P90 Tactical, basically a sub-machinegun, which isn't in Fallout: New Vegas but is in the canonical Fallout 2. Consider it a weapon mod.

—

That's some good dick, Cass thought as she took it. Good dick. Good cock. Then she realized she might've said it, not just thought it.

She felt Cara's hands shift from her jerking, bouncing, heaving tits to her waist and one of them to her ass, where she wanted both of them, and then as soon as she could think it he'd done it—a rough, firm slap of her ass, one thick smack and it settled down like its twin on her hips, to hold her still while he fucked her. She moaned loudly, wantonly, breathing deeply.

She just wanted it rough and quick. He'd yielded to temptation before too much foreplay—she'd asked for none and gotten some, more than she wanted, even though she knew that made it better and her a great deal wetter. Cara liked that, but sometimes Cass didn't care what he liked. Sometimes she just wanted to get hers, and just come. Which she still hadn't yet, good as this was, so Cara was kind of failing in her mind. So she told him that, or something like it anyway.

It worked, and so did he. She pushed back against him. Something was building up inside her. He was good. He knew what he was doing, what effect he had on her. He was . . . really, really good.

First it was another good hard spank, along with the good hard dick she was already getting, and she made a loud noise of pleasure, and then he changed his angle and it became just right, perfect. She got wet, all over him, all over again, remembering glimpses of how this had started. This was one of many times they'd fucked, most in Cass's style of quick and dirty, and it was among the best. Sometimes Cass was reminded that she liked being Cass. It'd begun with him feeling her ass as she stood still, or something. Wet hot seconds later Cass remembered feeling his smooth, deliberate movements as he pulled her beat-up jeans and threadbare panties down over the curve of her ass, and feeling the new heat of his skin against her skin, and the gush of lubricants from her pussy at the thrill. And soon seeing another clear gush pouring onto his tongue and smearing on his lips, and the look in his eyes and his big strong arms curling over her legs and holding her down, that feeling of being restricted. That might've been the first time she came, in this instance of sex, but it was hard to tell; she seemed to come a lot with Cara, which was unusual but a real treat.

One of his hands moved.

She was pushed, in the best way—roughly—up on a rock, with him behind her, which she loved but which he didn't often do, a different angle of approach. She couldn't tell what he was doing.

So the huge rip burst of gunfire two heartbeats later was quite a surprise.

Nervously clenching around his cock—he hadn't pulled out—Cass angled her head and neck around to see what the deal was and saw that he'd fired that weird loopy gun he used, one-handed, between thrusts but without actually slowing down. He must've fired 30 times. Cass felt one, or maybe two, of the gun's ejecting bullet casings bounce off her ass, which jiggled afterward in some kind of anatomical recoil. She flinched, consequently squeezing his cock hard, which he was so cool and experienced he hardly seemed to notice, though she knew better. She was pretty sure she'd come down on the head of his cock a little, too; put some hitch in his giddy-up. Looking behind her, she also got an excellent view of his chest, looking oily, glistening with sweat, very well muscled. He had one of those chests so sculpted that if she didn't like it so much it would've made her angry. Without a shirt on he was really something to behold.

"Cara . . . " she breathed, trying to say more, between moaning and panting, trying to scold him and his chest, and not quite pulling it off.

"Deathclaw," he said, his voice rough and hard and exerted, and looked around, and pulled his cock most of the way out of her pussy, before strongly re-sheathing it in her, and then he apparently didn't detect any more threats because he flicked on the safety of his weird little fully-automatic black plastic gun and tossed it down on the ground, put his hands back on her hips, nudged her thighs further apart with his knee, and started thrusting again in earnest.

Cass had never even seen the deathclaw.

Cass came.