Chapter Text
Behind thick eyelashes lay dark, sultry eyes which focused themselves on the undressed, contemplative former Paladin. Despite his reluctance to meet them, Danse felt them burrow into his back as he slipped on a dingy, formerly white tank top - a piece of Nate’s collection that had somehow survived the blast. They made him regret his insecurity, that hypersensitivity to his nature which acted as the final obstacle that he couldn’t best.
Licking his lips, Danse turned to overrule his decision, but Nate’s low voice had beat his.
“We can go slow, Danse.” He was faced the floor somewhat, but retained eye contact as they spoke. “I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”
“Known better…?”
“Yeah. I should have known you’d have your limits, especially now.”
Danse was sitting on top of the bed, as Nate stood between the doorway and the armchair. The two had quickly moved away from each other in the moments following the suspension of their first time together. Nate’s positioning had made Danse consider one heinous possibility that forced his stomach to flip; one that involved Nate wordlessly exiting the room as an invitation to forget this whole thing altogether. He would never be so uncaring, Danse knew that well, but his rationality would always give in to the guilt that floated within his already crowded head. He wouldn’t say it now, but Danse knew that Nate wouldn’t want to ‘go slow’. In fact, the rod that threatened to break through the crotch of Nate’s jeans was screaming quite the opposite, deafening Danse even with a wall of material between them. The image of it, struggling even as Nate had put on a brave face, made Danse want to fall to his knees in order to make atonement for his foolishness. He wanted to kiss the throbbing head and beg for forgiveness.
Having gotten to know Nate all this time as more of a close companion than a superior, Danse had become incredibly familiar with how not-slow Nate was when sex was in the conversation. It was to a point that he pondered how Shaun ended up being Nate’s only child. The pre-war veteran was fluent in many languages, and flirtation was at least six of them. Fortunately, he knew better than to use that charming tongue around members of the Brotherhood, all so overwhelmingly chaste after years of conditioning, but it ran free in the wastes. It wasn’t as though he jumped into bed with anybody, however, the risks of any real intercourse with random people far outweighed Nate’s philandering. He wouldn't abstain from sex, of course, he was just more careful about vetting his options - which, unfortunately, meant interactions with the same individuals, in largely the same places.
To Danse’s dismay, Nate’s cock had traversed the whole of Goodneighbor through the winding streets and caverns of its eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. The man wasn’t so callous to force his companion to stay in the room during these encounters, but Danse wasn’t one for wandering far, and so, was almost always unintentionally attuned to the sounds of lovemaking. Danse didn’t know how Nate found the energy, or the patience, to go for so long with some of these people. And, though he tried, no attempts at holding the Brotherhood’s morals over his head worked.
Although Nate didn’t discriminate, and, despite the sheer amount of meat he ran through, he had never been with someone of the synthetic persuasion - at least, to Danse’s knowledge. That should have made him happy, to know that Nate was relatively ‘clean’. It certainly made the human portion of Danse, the part of his brain that was still a flesh-and-bone Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, happy. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave that place of ignorance, to consider the other option. The idea that Nate, despite his supposed love for Danse, would eventually move on to a genuine lover, someone whose blood, sweat, tears, and ejaculate weren’t manufactured within a test tube. Maybe he was going to use Danse’s hesitancy as an invitation to do exactly that: move on.
The top fit tightly on Danse’s broad torso, and he soon realized he didn’t have any pants. He looked back at Nate with an almost pleading expression, though he wasn’t sure if he was pleading for Nate to stay or for something to cover himself up. Nate was still standing, a contemplative look in his eyes as they scanned the room and then Danse. Despite their struggle to speak, he was quick to figure out what Danse needed.
Taking a breath, he finally spoke again.
“I can, um, ask Preston to get you some clothes. Or- would you rather…?”
“No, it’s alright.” Danse stood up, already resenting the position of nude helplessness he had forced himself into,.
“There’s also Carla. I think I saw her brahmin wandering around.” Nate almost looked nervous, which made Danse extra nervous.
They stood in front of each other, the bed between them. Even if they wanted to get closer to each other, they couldn’t. Nate sighed and looked down, some pieces of his hair falling in front of his face.
Frowning, Danse tilted his head. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You’re disappointed. And-” he vaguely gestured at Nate’s crotch, “-it’s…” He searched his mind for the words, but Nate caught on quickly.
Covering the evidence of his desperation, Nate cleared his throat and swore under his breath. His tan cheeks grew dark with embarrassment, a state that Danse had never witnessed in anyone but himself before now. When he couldn’t find a solution to the problem, the older man simply turned to the wall.
“It’s not- I’m not disappointed.” He turned his head. “This will go away. It just happens sometimes, I haven’t done something like that in a little bit.”
He stumbled over his words so much that, eventually, it became more productive to keep his mouth shut.
Once again, the two stood in silence. They did everything but look each other in the eye, neither knowing what the other would do if their gazes met. Nate was utterly unprepared for this kind of rejection, if it could even be considered a rejection. He adjusted himself, and looked towards the window. Fortunately, the ever-present Preston Garvey was patrolling right outside, and Nate used that as a decent excuse for his exit. He motioned towards Garvey and Danse nodded, watching as Nate hurriedly left the room to retrieve a pair of comfortable pants.
Falling back into the bed, Danse groaned.
He didn’t understand synth psychology well, but he certainly wished that embarrassment wasn’t included within the vast catalogue of emotions that they were capable of - or, was that an anomaly as well? It was such a hateful emotion, he wasn’t sure what use the Institute would have in installing it within their Third-Gen synths. It turned his stomach in ten different directions. It was like a poison, the result of his body and mind punishing him for going against the natural flow of the melodrama that was his existence at the moment. The revelation of his true self was followed by isolation which was followed by rescue and then a confession; and, of course, that confession should have been followed by consummation.
The world was crumbling, and it was all due to his dismissal of this formula.
Such rigidity and, perhaps, predictability was what made Danse so successful in a world that he often found difficult to navigate. It was how he became Paladin despite a supreme lack of social skills and any form of a life. Under Maxson’s tutelage, Danse didn’t need to worry about things as trivial as personality or the nuances of relationships. He just needed to be a decent commander, and an even better soldier, following the unspoken rule in the Brotherhood of being just as robotic as their enemies. Maybe Danse took that all too literally. Danse could still feel Nate’s breath against his clothed bulge, the way his stubble tickled Danse’s normally untouched skin, how it made his hair stand straight. Hands placed atop his crotch to make sure it still existed, and wasn’t as smooth as the mannequins’ that littered the wasteland, Danse stared up at the unmoving, dust-coated ceiling fan; his embarrassment and self-consciousness transitioning into contemplation. That rigidity was all but gone, Danse a rogue automaton, no leader to tell him how to act or what to think in a scenario that no amount of training could have prepared him for.
He paused, wondering what good would have come out of it if he hadn’t had stopped them.
Would it have even been pleasurable? Was the discontentment of his previous lovers the result of his synthetic biology rather than a lack of skill - and, if so, would Nate be willing to continue? Would it be any better than making love to the makeshift devices Danse caught some soldiers with at their loneliest, tin cans filled with beans and foam?
Pleasurable or not, it wasn’t as though it would become a regular occurrence, with Nate traveling so often and Danse essentially being a fugitive in a land infested with Maxson’s influence. Perhaps he would just be an addition to Nate’s now centuries-long inventory of lovers. He wondered if he could live with that status. Not quite a normal settler, but not quite anything more.
What would he be when they inevitably brought little Shaun home?
Thinking about Shaun made Danse think about Nora, Nate’s wife that he had ‘met’ from her cryogenic coffin. She was gorgeous, despite the ice and the bullet planted deep in her forehead. Long, dark hair that resembled Danse’s own in shade and texture, with skin the color of porcelain - though, he wouldn’t know what it looked like with blood running warm beneath. Danse remembered reassuring Nate, telling him to take his time, but in some ways he was asking for time. Just a few minutes to look at the woman whose golden wedding ring Nate wore around his neck and polished daily. The woman whose husband had kept him up at night with desire.
The guilt bubbled up again. Soon, a more self-centered thought crept into his mind. Would Nate leave him, who no longer had a substantial purpose or life, frozen in time within Sanctuary Hills; loved, but ultimately, alone?
The creaking of the front door woke him from this spiraling slumber, and Danse sat up, looking back at Nate as he entered. A decent pile of folded clothes sat nicely in his long arms, and a shy smile painted his face.
“Pants for you. Overalls, jeans… oh- and Preston mentioned something about getting some shoes for you, too. But, you can use mine for now. They always fit a little big on me...” His voice was low as he placed the selection beside Danse, passing a proper pair of dark blue jeans to the former Paladin. They were close once more, and Nate knew it well. Like a researcher who had somehow gotten close to a rare bird, Nate moved slowly and gently, sitting next to Danse. Danse pulled them up his thick legs slowly, as if he had never worn pants before.
Watching him, Nate softly said, “Can I ask you something, Danse?”
“Always.” Danse answered, retaining eye contact.
“Do you still want to be… involved? I know you don’t want to have sex right now, and that’s fine, but… is it okay if we do other stuff?”
Taking a breath, Danse’s eyes widened somewhat, and he searched for words. “Other stuff?”
“Kiss,” Nate said it eagerly, though the tone he used following revealed how unintentional that was. “I- you know. Kiss and… sleep in the same bed together. I want you to live in this house. With me. Or- I want this to be your house, too. I’m aware that it’s sudden, but soon enough I’ll probably be away again to check on some Settlements, so it’s more like you’re living alone.”
There was a type of uncertainty lingering between the two.
They hadn’t exactly discussed Danse’s living arrangements in Sanctuary in detail, other than his placement in the neighborhood as a guard to put his training and armor into use. He knew he likely wouldn’t be put in a house with any of the other settlers, considering the now open secret of his synth biology, which, of course, was a problem considering how Nate had structured its living quarters. Wanting to make Sanctuary Hills a more open refuge for anyone that needed it, each house that still had walls and a decent roof was fashioned into a sort of barrack, with beds lining the walls. While its people were surely more accepting than the Brotherhood, there was still a wariness around knowingly walking and resting beside a non-human. The Vault-Tec representative had experienced some of that distrust, though it would never compare to what Danse may experience as a creature who had never been human. Nate’s home was the only one with a singular bed, save for the old crib that sat in Shaun’s room.
There was also the matter of being ‘involved’. Romantic relationships were largely forbidden in the Brotherhood under Elder Maxson’s leadership, the young commander deeming them as ‘distractions’ from the Brotherhood’s primary goals. This meant that any form of physical affection, including Nate’s proposed kissing, was to be done with no witnesses, or else there was a risk of punishment. For that reason, any coupling that Danse had known about, despite being relatively open secrets, remained behind closed doors - figuratively and literally, depending on rank and the associated dwellings. Danse himself had a private room, but his bed would never be occupied by anyone other than himself. He recalled Maxson speaking candidly about the topic of marriage, an institution that was known as a privilege in the Commonwealth.
“Anyone willing to devote themselves to another like that have no place in the Brotherhood,” he said with a growl, “that devotion should be focused on the Brotherhood. Anything else could mean distraction, betrayal. Imagine if I had a wife and she was replaced by an Institute spy, I would be too blinded with emotion to stay on track. We’d be destroyed.”
Would Danse, taking the role as the synth wife, be jeopardizing everything Nate had built or will build if they were ‘involved’?
Though he wouldn’t consider it as a possibility as it made him nauseous, subconsciously Danse knew that this hesitation also stemmed from a more simple, wildly less dramatic fact. Despite not being well versed in what the word meant, Danse knew enough to be aware that he had never been ‘involved’ with anyone in his entire life, while Nate had previously been so involved that he was willing to dedicate himself to that person for the rest of his life. Embarrassingly, the longest lasting relationship Danse had ever had was with the Brotherhood of Steel and, by that logic, Elder Maxson.
Somewhat overwhelmed, Danse glanced at Nate’s hands, which sat dangerously close to his thigh. He could feel his heart pump harder, his temperature rising. In that moment, his body and brain introduced an alternative concept. No amount of dead wives, kidnapped sons, questionable restrictions, or apprehension could invalidate the small detail that was his unequivocal and irreversible infatuation with the other man.
Swallowing saliva that wasn’t there and taking a much needed breath, Danse nodded.
“There are some things that I would like to consider for the moment, but…” He hummed, “I would like that.”
Unaware of what Danse was going to say, the relief in Nate’s body language was more than obvious. He released a heavy breath, having held it in worry, though neither of them were aware of it. Venturing to reveal the former Paladin’s legs to the world again, Nate leaned forward, putting his weight onto Danse’s thighs as he seized control of the other man’s stubble-lined lips. A groan escaped one of them, but they were so occupied with one another they didn’t pay attention to who. In the face of romance, the impassioned pair seemed to break down, their bodies vibrating with eagerness despite all of the time they had to cool down. Danse sat up against the wall, allowing Nate to approach between his thighs, his jeans suddenly feeling all too tight. Nate’s hands found their way onto Danse’s hips and remained there.
When Danse ultimately pulled away, hand finding its place on Nate’s broad chest once again, a bridge of saliva tied them together. His face was the brightest shade of red, burning hot with desire and the slightest ounce of surprise. Once again, his body roared with a horrifying degree of restlessness. He wanted Nate, badly. He wanted Nate to touch him, to eat him alive, to just slip inside of him and make him forget every one of Elder Maxson’s words. But, he could still sense that man’s cruel gaze, as if he were sitting in the corner, waiting for a disgusting display of unnatural, monstrous lust.
Nate, dazed with want yet powerfully respectful of Danse’s boundaries, would remain unaware of these thoughts; even as his chest lay against Danse’s unyielding horn and he looked upon his nervous face. His head dropped and rested against Danse, and he inched closer, his hands running up Danse’s ribs before his arms wrapped around his robust frame in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry. Too fast.” The older man muttered, adjusting himself to more comfortably fit into the curve of Danse’s torso. Perhaps drunk with longing, he remarked,
“I haven’t gone slow like this since I dated Nora.”
As though Nate would run away like a startled radstag doe, Danse simply looked forward, surprised but unwilling to call attention to the comment.
* * *
Unfortunately for the two men, their timing was all off.
Considering the fact that the sun was still high and Sanctuary’s settlers were just barely done digesting their lunches, it was all too early for Danse and Nate to call it a day and trap themselves in the bubble that was Nate’s bedroom. Although their lips would occasionally find each other again to connect in a gentle embrace, their bodies melted into each other, Nate resting against Danse, they knew they couldn’t stay like this for long. After what felt like years but was likely only an hour or two, Nate finally peeled himself from Danse’s chest, a weight that the soldier’s body would ache for even as he straightened himself and followed Nate’s lead.
In a kind of unspoken understanding, the couple abstained from making their newfound bond obvious to the people of Sanctuary, at least for the time being.
Waiting for them was the last Minuteman, wearing his oddly nostalgic garb, an intimidating laser rifle humming in his hands. He stood across the street, a stern look on his face that generated little intimidation. He was no more than three years older than Elder Maxson, but the differences in how the two presented themselves was astounding. As Danse ogled at Garvey, he couldn’t help but gauge a sort of naive goodness that he could never find in Arthur, a naive goodness that made the former Paladin question his leadership capacity.
Preston nodded at the two, almost as if he expected them to arrive as a pair.
“General.” He stepped forward, at attention.
The title had confused Danse somewhat, obvious from his furrowed brow. He looked to Nate, but the man was now occupied with the Minuteman.
With a friendly smile, Nate returned Preston’s formality, “Good afternoon, Preston.” He said, seemingly unfazed by what Preston had called him.
“I believe you’ve met Paladin Danse, or-“
He turned to Danse, “What is your first name?”
Another cause for perplexity. Naturally, the title of ‘Paladin’ was no longer appropriate, seeing as he was stripped of that rank and his association with the Brotherhood. But, he had been called ‘Paladin Danse’ for so long that even he couldn’t remember what his real name was. Perhaps, when he was placed or lost by the Institute, his first name was never registered. Perhaps, it didn’t even exist. Danse was left agape, something that puzzled Nate and Preston. It was such a simple question, yet one that Danse had no idea how to answer. It wasn’t as though he had a mother or father to ask about his birth name, for there was no birth to reference; nor did it feel particularly proper to make one up on the spot. The only names he could think of were Nate, Preston, and Arthur.
Evidently, the Institute wasn’t particularly adept at installing creativity into their spies.
In the most awkward manner possible, he shrugged somewhat, and answered,
“Just,” he thought, “Paladin. Paladin Danse.”
Even the normally straight-faced Preston Garvey looked surprised. He then squinted a little, tilting his head somewhat, wondering if this was some attempt at a joke. When no punchline was given, his eyes flicked to Nate, and then back to Danse.
“Alright…”
His voice trailed somewhat, as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.
Nate stared up at Danse, who looked somewhat nervously back at him, and mouthed a simple What? Before turning to Preston again. It was fortunate that he had gotten used to the strangeness of Wasteland natives, as he strove to get back into conversation.
“So,” he straightened up somewhat, “I thought it would be good if Danse acted as a guard here. He has the combat experience, the armor.”
Preston was still looking at Danse, still trying to figure him out.
Nate cleared his throat, “How does that sound, Preston?”
At attention once more, Preston simply nodded. “Yeah- uh-“ he blinked a few times, “Yes! Yes, General. That sounds like a very good idea.”
Danse supposed it was for the best, getting his assignments as soon as possible. If it didn’t make his transition into settlement living any easier, it would provide him with some purpose outside of wandering (though he was more than willing to do that for the time being), giving his fellow settler and refugee reason to trust him. If anything, he could fade into the backdrop of Sanctuary’s many defense turrets, robotic figures set on leaving any would-be raider riddled with holes. The prospect of this newfound procedure sent a shiver of reassurance through him.
Pulled aside by Sturges, Sanctuary’s resident hunk who looked at Danse with an odd sense of familiarity, Nate wouldn’t join Preston as he led Danse through the town, towards his post. They spoke sparingly, giving Danse a tour of the area wasn’t necessary, and neither of them were feeling particularly talkative. Although the Minutemen and Brotherhood of Steel were neutral towards one another, it still felt like a slight betrayal of his previous organization to work alongside the noble group, even if it was just communicating with its leader. Danse still remained profoundly bothered by the title that Garvey used to refer to Nate. Initially, he wanted to assume that it was the designation given to the pre-war vet prior to his retirement, but nothing about Nate’s recollections of his time in the military gave any indication that he was anything more than a highly regarded sergeant.
Danse resented his second thought, that Nate had been working close enough with the Minutemen alongside the Brotherhood to gain such status. It would make sense, considering the long periods of time Nate would spend away from the Prydwen without him and his seeming close bond with Preston Garvey; but it would also mean that, despite their bond and supposed love, Nate was willing to keep secrets.
Preston seemed aware of Danse’s questioning stare. Unsure of the motives behind it, and somewhat unnerved, he offered him a smile, “I can position you at our front gate, though… you might intimidate any newcomers.”
“I can patrol the area.”
“Then that might intimidate our residents.” Preston laughed a little, and insisted that he was joking despite being fully serious. “The General thinks highly of you, thinks you’ll make a good addition. I know that. But, it’ll take a while for that good faith to spread, you know?” They stopped by Sanctuary’s front gates, which Preston looked at to avoid keeping eye contact with a man he personally found terrifying.
“We don’t get raiders often, just the occasional attack from Gunners, but even then they run off when they see our fortifications. All you’d probably do is walk around and make sure everything’s accounted for.” He shrugged. “It gets boring after a while, but we’re still glad that you’re doing it.’
In spite of his anxiety around Danse, Preston was still incredibly polite, a trait that soothed him. It was something he didn’t expect outside of the Brotherhood, and reminded him, to an extent, of Scribe Haylen. Loyal to his cause, but still kindhearted even to those perceived as outsiders.
Although he wouldn’t make it obvious, Danse would remain eternally grateful for this.