Set in Fallout 3. Romance between the Sarah Lyons and Dante, the Lone Wanderer. Short oneshot exploring their relationship from my other, longer story "I'm the Enemy".

"Wait. Sarah, your elbow is in my ribs," Dante grunted. Giggling, Sarah shifted from lying on her side to lying on her back, allowing him to hover over her. "There. Much better."

"Injury report, soldier," she joked, tugging at his ear.

"Critical. Probable internal bleeding. High chance of fatality," he mocked, "I'd give me a couple of hours at the most."

"I'll give you a couple of minutes at the most," retorted Sarah and pulled Dante down to her by the neck, covering his mouth with her own before he was able to protest.

The kiss was short, but it was quickly replaced with slower, deeper ones. Their hands eventually found their individual ways underneath each other's shirts; Sarah traced her fingers along the pronounced lines his muscles made on his chest as Dante caressed the curve of her body, right above the hip. Dante pulled back. Sarah smiled at him.

"What?" he asked. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Do you have any idea how fortunate you are, you lucky bastard?"

"You mean how many guys I had to contend with for you? Well from what I've seen they're all too shy to even try anything. They don't want to upset your dad, for fear of having their heads torn off. And let's be honest, I'm cuter than most of them, so…" he trailed off.

"I meant how lucky you are to be alive, stupid," Sarah interjected.

"I knew what you meant," he said, his smile replaced with a serious expression, "And yeah, I know." Her mention of his near- no, near-est death experience clearly depressed him.

Sarah frowned and kissed him once to apologize, and the vicious cycle of passion began again. She tugged at his ragged shirt and he permitted her to slide it over his head. His mouth then moved to her pale neck. Dante was patient and continued exploring with his lips and tongue until he found a spot that caused a small, involuntary gasp to escape her throat. Then he attacked it, sucking and biting. Dante pulled up her shirt to expose her toned stomach, then even further up to her breasts, caressing them through the bra. Sarah could only lay there, reassuring him he was doing a good job by squeezing his arms. It felt so good, but he was taking so long. Sarah responded to his advances by grabbing the bulge in his pants, lovingly (more or less). He sharply exhaled, looking up to face her. That got his attention. The two brown-eyed lovers locked gazes, wild and bright ideas hidden beneath the surface. They both knew what they wanted. Arms and legs flailed in a mad rush to get the other's clothes off. Fortunately, neither one was hurt in the flurry of dirty and frayed articles of clothing.

Dante kept his position above her, moving down to kiss her now naked breasts, playing at a nipple with his tongue, his hands discovering the rest of her body. Sarah sighed and closed her eyes, letting him do what he wished without resisting. The sensations made her squirm, and Dante absolutely loved it. Sarah soon got tired of this game. It was time to teach him a lesson. She stealthily reached down between their legs and began to rub his cock, much to his surprise, but Dante didn't move to stop her. He met her mouth again, cupping her jaw in the palm of his hand, and gave her one last kiss before he froze, panting, silently asking permission. Sarah held the back of his neck and braced herself.

"Do it," she breathed into his ear.

Dante obeyed, entering her a moment later. Sarah cried out, burying her face into his shoulder. Dante held her against him, stroking her back and kissing her forehead to make sure she was okay before he continued. He rocked slowly and gently at first, to let her adjust, but he quickly picked up the pace. Sarah moaned and moved her hips with him, as Dante grunted and thrust against her. They relied on instinct more than knowledge; neither one was very sexually practiced. To them, if it felt good, they were doing it right.

She and Dante stole kisses in the midst of the activity every so often. Their breathing became labored, as Dante got deeper and used more force. Sweat started beading on their brows and on his chest. The pressure was building; she closed her eyes and held the back of his head, clenching a fistful of his hair. She was close. So was he. Dante started to make even more unintentional noises into her shoulder. Another eternity passed. It was Sarah who was the first to finish and scream out into the night, followed shortly by Dante's low roar. He stopped and rested, pulling his head up to face her.

Sarah was unsure how long they had been going at it. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? She didn't care - she wasn't done yet. She pushed on hard his chest and shoulder and somehow was able to get Dante on his back. Still joined at the abdomen, Sarah took over the responsibility of being on top. They moved on his erection at a new, slower rate together, which was dictated by her. It was agonizing to him, she could tell. Good, she thought and smirked. He cast a knowing grin up at her, then grabbed at her hips and moved his own along with hers. Flexible as she was, Sarah leaned forward and found his lips. This time, it was Dante who came first, throwing his head back and curving his spine as he gave in to the sensations of orgasm. Sarah even managed to get a squeak out of him. That was adorable.

They both were spent. Sarah dismounted and lay onto her back once more. Dante rolled over on his side and continued their kissing, his hand cupping her cheek and hers roaming over his back. She felt the spray of small scars across his shoulder, caused by a super mutant brute's submachine gun that was emptied at him in the heart of D.C. That was the very first time Sarah saw him. She and the Pride neutralized the super mutant threat quickly, found Dante and dressed his wounds. If Sarah and Dante had never met, it was almost guaranteed he would be dead, many times over. A single chance encounter in the Capital Wasteland had led to such a strong friendship between them, and now a relationship.

Dante was a different person then. Now, he was a living legend. The lone wanderer who saved the desolate, unforgiving wasteland - despite everything he had seen and experienced - because he felt that humanity was still worth saving. His tale would be passed down for generations, no doubt. She wasn't sure if she should hate or be fond of the scars. They were a reminder of the time they first met – a grim reminder – but a reminder nonetheless.

The two made out until they were both completely out of breath and left exhausted by one another. "Sarah," he whispered.

"Hm?"

He tilted his head and looked straight into her eyes. "I love you," he admitted strongly, his voice unwavering, "You know that, right?"

"I know, Dante. I don't know where'd I would be if I had lost you. I mean I'd be lost- I'd-" she stuttered, trying to find the right words.

"Shh. I know," He kissed her, then slid down her body, resting his head on her stomach. He lay with an arm draped around her hips, hugging her lower waist like he was holding on for dear life. His other hand Sarah held in her own. In no time, Dante fell asleep, cradling his lover in his arms. His breathing was slow, measured and calming. Sarah ran her fingers through his deep brown hair. It was warm and soft and wonderful to the touch.

"I love you too," she whispered before surrendering her consciousness to the hazy confines of slumber.