It was difficult to sleep in the Wasteland. Not only was the threat of an attack nearly constant, but the air often roiled with disgusting smells and radiations. Ava always slept with one eye open out there, even with Danse to watch her back.
She was worried about him. She always did worry so, about everything, and everyone.
"So fretful," Nate used to say, laughing as he swept her into his arms. "You've got Shaun, and you've got me. Everything will be fine."
But they had both been taken from her, and she had woken to a world where she had no one to keep her grounded.
Until she met Danse. Always so sure of himself. Always looking forward. To victory.
But then had come the terrible truth; that he was part of those he had strived to destroy his entire life. A lie. A fraud. A synth.
Ever since that day, when she had convinced Elder Maxson to spare his life, Danse had been pensive, silent, and morose.
Yes, she could not help but worry about him, even more so than she worried about everything else. Though that, in combination with the inherent dangerousness of the Commonwealth, it was different in Sanctuary Hills. In the room she had shared with her husband two centuries ago, the derelict remnants of their bed had been cleared away to make room for a single bed. A table, a chair and a heavy metal chest had been placed into the room to fill the empty space, and a concerned Codsworth had hung faded curtains where times had eaten away the wall, leaving nothing in its stead but open air. A new door had been fitted in the previously empty doorway, a coat of bright red paint giving the wood the shine of something new, so rare in the Wasteland. That had been the settlers' gift to her, and something as simple as paint had brought tears to her eyes.
Every time she opened that door, she was reminded of Nate, of Shaun, and of everything, everyone, she had lost. but she was also reminded that her old world was gone, and that she should move on, lest she end up another unfortunate soul trapped in the Memory Den, grasping at the straws of the few happy memories that were left to her. So whenever she stepped into her room in Sanctuary Hills, scrubbed pink from a rare bath and cleaner than she had been in days, she thought of everything she had done and everyone she had met since she had woken in that Vault, to remind herself that, after all, life was still worth living.
But when she stepped into the room that night, it did not calm her as it usually did. She was thinking about Danse, and worrying.
She could see it in his face, in his eyes, every day: he had so many questions, about his 'childhood', the memories that didn't belong to him, about his friend, Cutler. Was any of it real? Was he a pawn of the Institute, to inevitably betray and kill his friends one day, without warning? Or was he free, a synth lost to the storm?
She wished she could help. She wished she had answers. But she could do nothing but listen, and wait.
Her worries kept her awake a long time that night, even as the Commonwealth's fat yellow moon climbed higher and higher in the sky. She tossed and turned, wrapped tightly in her ragged blanket of soft wool, until finally, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, surrendering her mind to the mercifully empty embrace of night. The night was cool and calm, the occasional hoot from an owl or a settler's patrolling footsteps the only sounds to be heard.
Ava had been sleeping for what seemed to be mere minutes when she was woken by warm fingertips caressing her ankle. Though she woke at once, her mind was still foggy from the deep sleep she only allowed herself in Sanctuary as she propped herself up on one elbow, spying a familiar face at the end of her bed.
"Danse?"
He was kneeling before her, an intent look she had never seen before in his eyes. One hand hovered near her ankle still, barely touching yet molten against her cool skin, while the other was balled into a fist at the edge of the mattress, knuckles white. His powerful shoulders were bare, and his hair still messy from sleep. Yet there was a determined set to his mouth, and the furrow in his brows was from concentration, not anger.
"Danse?" she repeated.
Perhaps she should have felt exposed, only wearing a thin, mended nightshirt for protection, her blanket having slipped off her in her sleep. But she did not. She knew Danse. Better than anyone. And she trusted him.
So she only gasped in surprise when he took her ankles and dragged her to him, battle-hardened hands drawing her knees to his ears, looking up at her again when his warm breath fanned over the apex of her thighs for the first time, sending a jolt of something forgotten through her. More.
"Danse…" she was breathless already. Not from fear she knew. From excitement. "What are – "
"I need to – " he cut her off. Hesitated. Dug blunt nails into the knee he held, just hard anough for her to suck in a breath. "I want to do this."
Without allowing her to answer, he pressed a first kiss to the inside of her knee, where his nails had been. Gentle. Warm. Such rare things they were in the Wasteland. Ava felt herself realx. More. He kissed his way up her thigh slowly, never lingering for long but making her wait for an eternity before he granted another, climbing steadily, until his nose nudged the edge of her undergarments. She exhaled shakily. It would have been a lie to say she had never had such thoughts. She ahd come to care a great deal for Danse. As a friend. As a brother-in-arms. There had even been a few kisses. A few whispered promises. But the moment to cross the line had never come, always pushed further and further back. But he was here. And she wanted to give him everything.
He kissed the white cotton of her undergarments, an open-mouthed kiss that sent sparks dancing through her belly. Her fingers scrabbled at the ratty sheet below her, gathering a fistful and holding it as tight as she coud in her balled fist. He kissed her there again before kissing higher, and higher still, reaching just below her navel before dragging his lips back to her center. By then she felt ready to burst, her cheeks painted as red as the door she loved so well.
"Danse, please – "
The thumb he pressed against the cloth, to her entrance, was enough to make her gasp. She could feel herself soaking the fabric, and suddenly she could see it clearly in Danse's eyes: the most primal, the most human of hungers.
More.
She felt his fingers pluck at the waistband of her underwear, and hen he began to pull them down her legs she wiggled and whimpered so he'd hurry, but as before he was slow, excruciatingly so, pressing a kiss here and there until, finally, she was bare before him.
"Ava…"
Her whispered name made her eyes flutter shut, her chest heaving as she sighed. She felt his breath travelling up her thighs, the roughened pad of his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake, until, finally, he was there again, where she wanted him most. She dared not open her eyes.
When she felt his tongue part her folds, she threw her head back with a smothered shout, one hand flying to Danses's head, fingers raking through his hair. It had been so long, she had forgotten how it could feel – but she wanted to remember.
More.
She arched her back, desperate for more friction, more heat; anything he would give, she would take. She was too warm, even the thin material of her nightshirt seemingly burning as a forgotten fire roared to life within her. He was skilled and thorough, as he was in everything else, wrenching long moans from her as easily as he bore the weight of his power armour. Strong fingers stroked circles on her hip, and when his tongue finally came to circle the center of her pleasure, the hand she kept in his hair flew to hold his, desperate for something, anything to hold on to. It was almost too much, yet the abyss of her pleasure still loomed before her, unfulfilled, and she knew she needed more.
The finger he slowly pressed inside her was an answer to her silent demand, and it was all she could do to cross her ankles behind his head in an effort to bring him even closer than he already was, ecen as his tongue worked relentlessly, wave after wave of fire washing over her. She forced her eyes open, meeting Danse's gaze, a flash of warm brown peering up at her from between her thighs. The second finger that slipped inside her made her vision swim, but she forced her hands to move, inch by painstaking inch until she could grasp his head and draw him, slowly, to her. With a last swiped of his tongue, he obeyed, putting one knee up on the bed while his fingers still slowly worked inside her. Ava could feel herself falter and come undone under his ministrations, but she held on to the last shreds of her conscious thoughts, at least for another minute, another moment.
The fingers of one hand curled around his ear, while the others pressed against his jaw when finally he was holding himself over her, and she drew him down for a kiss before finally allowing herself to fall apart in his hands. She whimpered into his mouth before she tore away, gripping the back of his neck as tightly as she could as electricity coursed through her entire body, holding him against her so she could bury her face in the crook of his neck. He kissed her cheek as he eased her through her orgasm, her breath coming in pants and gasps still even as her pleasure ebbed away. He had removed his fingers from her, and she could feel her own wetness on his fingertips as he smoothed his hand down her thigh, his mouth leaving featherlight kisses on her brow as he slowly regained her senses. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze, and she drew him in for another kiss, slow and gentle and warm. She tasted herself on his tongue and felt him, hard against her thigh. Yet when she reached down, trailing her fingers from his jaw to his stomach, he caught her wrist, gently bringing her hand to his lips.
"No," he whispered. "Tonight is not for me. For you. Only for you."
"For me?" she asked, drawing him down to lie next to her. The bed would have been much too small for them both had they not been holding each other so tightly, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a long-lost puzzle. Beneath the fingers she pressed to his chest, she could feel his heart beating.
"I just wanted to – do this for you," he began. "To thank you. For making me feel alive. Making me feel human. Because I know you worry. But you don't have to worry about me." He looked down at her, and smiled, dazzling bright in the gloom. "I've got you now. Everything will be fine."
She smiled at that, and the kiss he laid on her forehead made her close her eyes, sleep suddenly overcoming her. She worried. She would always worry. But Danse, she thought, might just be fine.