Mishi's Journal of Stuff

Under normal circumstances, Butch would never have any trouble telling a girl how he felt about her. He knows he's hot shit. Any girl should consider herself lucky to have his attention. But Toni has always been the exception. Confessing to her carries a lot more risk than asking Susie Mack out to movie night.

Best case scenario, she’ll think he’s joking. The thought of her, Poindexter, the class outcast, holding his heart in her hands... He had spent too much of his life personally seeing to it that the very concept of Antonia Kouichi having any power over him whatsoever was absurd. By the time he'd started to realize his mistake, it was too late. What an absolute fucking idiot he'd been.

The most likely scenario is outright rejection. She wouldn't be cruel, not even to him, but there’s no way she would ever reciprocate. She's made that equally clear over the years. He must make his peace with that. No matter how much he wants to tell her how brilliant, how brave, how gorgeous, how tough she is, how much he loves those things about her, she would never believe it coming from him. And that’s... well, it’s not fine, but he could live with the rejection.

Just as long as she doesn’t ask him to leave. That’s the worst case scenario. Not that she won't take him seriously or that she won't reciprocate, but that his feelings are so intolerable to her that she couldn't bear to have him around anymore. That’s a possibility he can't rule out, and it scares the shit out of him.

She'd been so kind and generous to him already, far more than he had any right to expect. So he had made his decision to suck it up. That they’re partners, that they live together, that they’re friends, that he’s able to protect her and watch her back when they go out on missions... all of that is already too good to be true. So for once in his life, he tried to be content with what he had, and not to want more.

But, trapped in a closet, with Toni right there, in his arms, so small and light... he hadn't been able to resist. Oh, sure, he suggested the plan in earnest; it's just that it happened to have the added bonus of an excuse to kiss her. Just one kiss. One kiss and that would be it.

Yeah, right. No one ever takes 'just one bite' of a sweetroll. And he's kidding himself if he really thought he could stop at the first taste of her.

On top of that, not only had she agreed, not only had she let him kiss her, not only did she kiss back, but then she started feeling him up? How was he supposed to stop after that?

Nevertheless, he marshalled his rapidly evaporating fears, the crumbling remains of his self control, and his overeager hopes that he might actually have a chance into some semblance of a compromise. Maybe she got so wrapped up in the act that she forgot who her partner was. Maybe she wanted to make it look extra convincing for the Wellingtons. He has to tread carefully. He's got to make sure.

-------

Toni had always had an awareness that Butch was a handsome specimen, but until now it had mostly been immaterial, like the colour of steel or the taste of water. Yes, Butch was attractive, but that had no bearing on her relationship with him. The few times this fact had intruded itself upon her notice, she'd been successful in her efforts to dismiss it. He was the enemy. The fact that he was good-looking was just one more reason why he was insufferable. And even now that he's not the enemy, she can't forgive him just like that. Does he think he can just flash her his wicked smile and she'll let him walk all over her? Their troubled history cannot be ignored. There have to be standards. She has her pride to consider.

When she passed by his bed in the morning, covers bunched to the side, naked from the waist up after a hot night: "yes, Toni, that's just Butch, your childhood nemesis. He snores. And in a minute Dogmeat is going to press his cold wet dog nose against his face and it's going to be hilarious."

When he emerged from the bathroom, halfway through styling his hair, his t-shirt clinging to his damp skin: "what's he gonna do when he runs out of pomade? I wonder if he'll cry. Ugh. It's gonna be a pain to scavenge for hair products out in the waste... come to think of it, how do raiders manage their mohawks?"

When he made a point of examining her injuries, even though she's a way better medic and insisted that she could treat herself and it wasn't that serious, but his gaze lingered carefully over her for far too long before he admitted he had no clue what to do: "no, it's not sweet that he's concerned, it's annoying and a waste of time and there could be radroaches just around the corner."

But that pride of hers has taken more of a beating than she'd like recently. That kiss they'd had at Tenpenny Tower... For now he seems content to pretend it hadn't happened, but she's living in fear that he'll bring it up. Bad enough that she'd enjoyed it so much, but worse, she still can't come up with a satisfying explanation for why she slipped her hands under his shirt. Not only was that far beyond what the plan had called for but it's so unlike her. Well. It's not like she's ever been kissed like that before so who can say if she would be so handsy with anyone else? Looking at it edgewise, she could call it retaliation for making her knees buckle... But even admitting that is just grasping at straws and ridiculous besides. The fact remains. She had felt up Butch Deloria. Just remembering it makes her want to sink below the Earth and never come up for air.

And this morning, when he'd come up behind her as she was making breakfast and leaned over to reach for the instant coffee and muttered 'morning, beautiful', she couldn't help being caught off guard.

"G-good m-morning t-to... good morning. Yeah. You too." She stammers out. It's been ages since she mangled a simple greeting this badly and she hates it.

She's sure his answering, much too charming, smile is just hiding his amusement at her blunder.

In her defense, 'beautiful' is a new one on her.

--- 

'Beautiful' was just the start. Butch's plan to doublecheck whether Toni was into him before making a move on her was essentially just making a different, smaller move. What he really wanted to do was tell her how much she meant to him and snog her until the heat death of the universe, so he thought himself very wise and cautious for enacting the better, more subtle tactic of simply escalating his usual behaviors. Flirting harder. Finding more pretexts to enter her personal space. Maybe slipping in the odd compliment edgewise. He's not holding out hope for an unambiguously positive response, but if it truly upsets her he'll stop. And if she reacts with her usual grudgingly fond irritation, he'll at least have a new, fun way to get a rise out of her.

He had not counted on how adorably flustered a simple 'beautiful' would make her.

Like what's he supposed to do with that blush?! She's never had that reaction to him before. He really shouldn't, but it's driving him wild and he has to push his luck. (Just because he loves her doesn't mean he stopped loving to push her buttons.)

"You're awful cute today."

"Wha-what did you say? To me?" Her tone is one of anger, but she seems more agitated than mad.

Butch affects an air of injured innocence. "Can't I say good morning to my best gal and fellow Tunnel Snake?"

The glare she's giving him communicates very well that she's seen through his feigned ignorance, but it doesn't seem like she's willing to confront him head on. At least not until she feels more settled. "J-just shut up and make your coffee."

---

Insolent was a good word to describe Butch. Also irreverent, disrespectful, inconsiderate, ungrateful, reckless. Cheeky was good too, and irritating, annoying, grating. Insufferable was her favorite, though, come to think of it, she willingly suffered him daily.

The trouble was they'd become entirely too comfortable around one another. So she couldn't say that he was deliberately going around the house shirtless to spite her. He'd done it before, on hot days. She'd gone around in nothing but a camisole and boxer shorts on occasion. And this *was* a hot day.

But somehow this time was different, and it wasn't just that this time she knew those abs were as delicious to touch as they were to look at. It definitely wasn't that. She was not getting turned on by her childhood nemesis. And even if she was, it wasn't her fault. She was sure he had contrived to become hotter in some way. She could swear his back wasn't so broad yesterday, nor his muscles so defined. It must be the hard wasteland living because he definitely hadn't been so damn sexy in the Vault.

He caught her eye and grinned and she was very worried he'd somehow read her mind. "Something wrong, babe? You're frowning."

"N-N-NOTHING!"

Okay, okay. Calm down. Think it through, Toni. Guys just don't get way hotter overnight. It's just a trick of your memory. Looking at it objectively, my mental picture of him hasn't really changed since prom night, so it's entirely possible that he had a growth spurt from age 17 to age 20. That would account for why he feels taller to me now. As for how built he is, he's usually the one doing the heavy lifting so it wouldn't be surprising if he'd gotten stronger since we started traveling together. Finally, even though it was just an act to escape out of Tenpenny Tower without being exposed as robbers, we did kiss, so it's only natural I'm looking at him differently, whether I want to or not.

I can't deal with this attractive Butch. Give me back the dumb pain-in-the-ass one who gets drunk and starts believing in dragons!

"You're really red. Do you have a fever or something?" He asks, genuine concern written across his features. The tone of his voice and the expression on his face is completely different from his attitude earlier, when he was calling me cute in such a teasing way. This asshole... does he or does he not know exactly what he's doing to me? It's hard to look him in the face when his chest is exposed like that.

"P-p-put on a shirt! A shirt! Before, before sitting at breakfast, you... you Gr-grognak!"

Barbarian. I wanted to say barbarian, but it's too late to correct myself now. His expression instantly switches back to his old smirk.

"Doth my manners offend milady?" He says mockingly, leaning over the table. I bury my face in my hands, not willing to meet his eyes.

"Just... fuckin... go change."

"Your wish is my command, babe." And off he skips to the spare room.

"And 'doth' is singular! 'Manners' is plural! If you're gonna make fun of me in Shakespearean, at least use proper grammar!"

I don't hear any response, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was something like 'whatever, Poindexter'. Honestly I would prefer if he yelled that back at me. Please, give me another reason not to be attracted to you!

... is it my imagination, or is the t-shirt he came back wearing scarcely any better than no shirt at all? I can still more or less make out his build even through the thin white cloth. Neither of us have worn a vault suit since leaving Vault 101 but I wish he would have put it on... the unflattering one-size-fits-all bagginess of it would help calm my beating heart. In fact, maybe I should have worn mine as protection from his gaze. But it's not like I can tell him to change without exposing my embarrassing concerns.

... in the end, even though it was supposed to be my turn to make breakfast, he's doing the rest on his own. Having him do the cooking is a nice break. He's not focused on me and I can focus on what his hands are doing instead of... more dangerous parts of his body.

Part of the reason I've been having a hard time tearing my eyes away from his body is that I also want to avoid looking him in the eye. Since the other day whenever I see his face he has that glint in his eye, like he knows exactly how this is going to play out and he's just toying with me until the inevitable conclusion. It honestly pisses me off. I feel like this mixture of embarrassment and anger and attraction is just playing into his hands, but I don't know what to do about it. I need to get the upper hand again.