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"I've seen things, done things," the vault dweller growls, his voice a harsh whisper against her ear. His hands, rough from years of survival, trace the lines of her face, the stark white warpaint contrasting with her flushed skin. She shivers, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze. He pushes her against a nearby rock, his body hard against hers. She can feel his desire, hot and insistent, pressing against her thigh. He grunts, a sound of pure need, as he thrusts into her, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself.