In which Danse gets kicked out of the club and Hancock has to go beat his ass and tell him he's pretty.

Oh crap, now with actual story? Take a quick break from all the dicks, it's good for you. Just a quick break tho, let's not go overboard here. There's still dicks.


There was shouting nearby. Something urgent… He was asleep, but still had that dreamy, disoriented presence of mind to realize it as he drifted back up, yanked by whoever was making such a damn racket. Familiar, whoever it was.

"Hancock!"

His eyes snapped wide open on the sky and immediately winced back closed against the brightness. Fucking what. He rolled over on the hot roof and automatically dragged a hand over his hip, feeling for his knife as he came up on his hands and knees. His groggy mind finally sorted out what he was hearing and where it was coming from. It was Shaina below him, coming closer and calling for him with fear in her voice. Not the usual, pleasant, isn't-this-a-lovely-time-we're-having voice; she sounded almost desperate.

He'd fallen asleep a few... oooh... yeah, a few hours ago, lost in his thoughts and his jet, and now his head was thumping with the sudden adrenaline and an overdose of sun. He scrambled over to the edge and peered down, spotting the vaultie-turned-brotherhood-knight about to try to storm up his porch steps still wearing her power armor suit.

"Hey, where's the fire, baby doll?" he called, easy words covering up the alarm that was sneaking up on him.

She reversed and stopped under his perch, face turning up to meet his. The normally placid eyes were wild and her hair was matted down with sweat and some kind of mystery sludge. Skin streaked with dirt and days-old blood. "It's Danse."

Hancock's heart thudded. Hard. Hurt? Dying? Then fast on the heels of that, defensive, why come tell me?

In a flash his mind framed up the last time he'd seen the paladin and the knight. Three weeks or so past they'd both left the settlement together. Both in their brotherhood-issue power armor, a tiny contingent of yet more tin cans a little ways behind them, waiting to escort the two of them wherever they were off to. For days prior the two had been antsy and overflowing with nerves, jumping when spoken to and words always curt if not outright sharp. He'd later found out from Preston, ever abreast of the goings on, that it had been a full expedition to the southern Glowing Sea and finally understood the shaky air of trepidation surrounding the whole thing.

He'd been reading outside when the entire clanking group of them finally set off, Shaina waving back regally and Danse quickly looking his way and tapping the barrel of his rifle against his helmet in a covert salute. Hancock had shot enthusiastic finger-guns and a wink back at them and watched until their backs slowly vanished over the hill. No contact in all that time, but given how far they were traveling, not too concerning.

But now she was back here alone and looking thoroughly beat up; her partner conspicuously absent.

"What? Shay, what the hell is it?"

"He's... well. Shoot." The little composure she had was cracking. The loss of control there scared him and he was quickly up and dropping down to the ground to stand with her. "I suppose this is going to come out eventually." He had no idea what that meant. She rested her hands on his slim shoulders and lowered her voice to speak only to him. "He's found out he's a synth."

"A synth. Danse." The words made no sense as he said them.

"Yeah, I was there when the call came in. Straight from the Institute's databanks, there's no mistake." She let go of him and looked like she immediately regretted it, her hands nervously clasping on nothing. "We had to fight our way out through Reeve and… damnit, and the other knights there. And then he ran off and he's holed himself up in an old monitoring bunker and doesn't want to talk to me or see anyone." She paused to gulp in a breath and steady herself. "He's... Hancock, he's so damn lost. I wanted to help him but I think I was just making it worse." Frustrated tears were threatening her eyes but she was keeping them in. "Would you... please, as fast as you can, please go talk to him. I don't know what he's going to do and I'm scared for him."

Hancock's mind reeled as the sun beat down on the two of them. Sweat was creeping down his back but it wasn't from the heat. Her words echoed in his head and two phrases kept coming back stronger, 'He's a synth' and 'I don't know what he's going to do'. Something added up there. She hadn't come out and said the words, but maybe she didn't need to. He was suddenly close to panic. But me? Why? "Wouldn't Nicky be better at explaining this shit to him? Curie? Even Deac? They know almost exactly what-"

But she shook her head, eyes squinted shut and mouth curled down in a pained frown. "Maybe when he's thinking right that'll do him good, but right now I think Deacon or a synth are probably the last people he wants to see." Her eyes had a pleading cast to them and her voice was falling into that serious, probing drive it got when she really wanted something and wasn't going to take a no for it.

"I know you two have... something going on." She raised a hand to curb any protests before they started and Hancock relented, closing his mouth and letting her continue. He knew. He knew they did. It was so hard for him to keep his fucking feelings out of it, but yeah, there it was. They had something.

"I don't know what it is, but I saw the way you used to act around each other. Then the avoidance, and then the, maybe not friendliness exactly, but like you understand each other. Like he knows you. Danse doesn't do that. With anyone. He's only just starting to get used to me." That last had looked painful to admit, but she'd gone ahead and said it, maybe thinking it important. He supposed it was. "I can't help him; he doesn't want help from me. I think it's you or it's no one." Her next words were dull and hollow. "He's lost everything. Elder Maxson knows."

His eyes closed. Fucking fuck. This wasn't the way this was supposed to be. He wanted to go on pretending to hate Danse, reveling in the loathing and secretly enjoying that ugly weakness they had for each other. But would he chase him down and try to hammer some sense into him if that was what he needed? His fists curled tight against his legs.

Fuck yeah, without question.

"Where is he?"

[-|-]

Listening Post Bravo. A squat, concrete structure wedged into a short valley comprised mostly of jagged, grey rock faces. Hancock cast a wary eye up at the smoking and spitting remains of two turret embankments on the roof of the bunker. The absolute silence filling the area was giving him some serious creeps and he couldn't quell the urge to keep making furtive glances behind him. Some mentats might have helped the incessant yammer of paranoia but he'd sadly left in too much of a damn hurry to think about bringing anything like that.

As he looked at the metal door set into the stone wall of the listening post, he felt anxiety of another kind, mixing in with the simpler fear of a physical threat. What would he find in there? What the hell had Danse done or said to move his partner to near tears like that back at the co-op? And then a final unbidden thought, quiet and sinister: the hope that he hadn't come too late.

Trying to push that aside, he passed through the open door and through a small, ransacked entry room, tapping in the access code he'd been given into the elevator console with a grumble. He hated trusting his life to these two-hundred year old mechanical coffins. But it clicked to full power with a buzzing jolt, spilling faint light out onto the floor and he was on his way underground.

The smell of wetness and powdery stone met him as the doors slid open on a brightly-lit section of room. Stacks of wooden crates lined the wall in front of him and blocked most of the view of what looked like a low-ceilinged stone box filled with dirty drifts of electronic trash and big banks of ancient computers. He stepped out and around into the darker center of the room, the light behind him casting a tall, spindly shadow ahead.

A lance of burning red energy sailed by his head, momentarily fouling his vision and then sizzling into the wall behind him as he froze absolutely still. The smell of ozone and burnt concrete wafted up past him.

Danse's voice came from a separate room past a smashed-out window in the far wall. It sounded hoarse and like it had been over-strained recently. Hancock could see him crouched behind the window, face and shoulders partly visible and the bore of his laser rifle trained outwards to where Hancock was standing. "That was a warning shot, the next one won't miss. Who the hell is that and what do you want?"

The thrill of happiness at seeing Danse, alive, his mind whispered, was only a little dampened by the laser blast and the brusque greeting. "For Christ's sake, it's Hancock! Chill out, okay?" He moved into a lit section of the room.

The rifle faltered and then dropped back. Danse stood and just looked at him, not moving. His armor was nowhere to be seen; the charred and ripped remains of his jumpsuit hung on him and he looked to be in about as good of shape as Shaina had been. Hair stuck up in crazy spikes, gore and traces of dirt on his skin, only partially cleaned away, cheeks hollower than they should be, and a wild, faraway look in his eyes. And god, his hands. The knuckles looked oddly flat and the skin looked like it'd been scraped away, healed, and then scraped away again.

"What are you doing here?" The voice was petulant, moody, and it sent a worried chill over Hancock's back. He'd never heard that tone coming from Danse.

"Man, I don't fuckin' know, does it look like I had a plan for this?" Hancock spread his empty hands to his sides and took a cautious step forward, not quite so sure of himself anymore. The movement was partly shrug and partly to show he was unarmed, though why he felt the need to show Danse he wasn't dangerous, he wasn't sure. Maybe because of the way the big rifle was still cradled tensely in his hands. Danse knew he was here to help, right? "Shaina said you were in trouble so I'm here, that's all. Hello to you too, by the way." Another step toward the window.

"Your concern is appreciated but I don't need your help. I already told her I would stay here until I decide to move on. You should go."

Mechanical. Military. Detached. It ground on him, the utter disconnect between them something of a shock. Danse sounded a lot like he had the very first day they'd been introduced. The awkward, hostile meeting being nervously mediated by Shaina with a big, fake smile on her face.

"'Move on'? You were just gonna ghost us?"

He was met with silence.

"...You won't talk to me?"

An annoyed breath was Danse's response.

Something was definitely wrong. He pushed through his misgivings and tried again.

"Look, Curie and Preston made me bring this stupid lunch for you, can you at least take it?"

Still nothing.

"I mean, I also brought an ass-kicking from RJ and myself for scaring everyone, but I thought I'd offer to feed you first before I embarrass you. You're lookin' a little haggard." He waited. Not funny? He took another step.

Danse finally showed his displeasure at how close Hancock was getting and brought his rifle back up to bear, eyebrows furrowing over dark eyes and lips lifting in a silent snarl. "I don't need your meddling. Get out."

Hancock stopped and the tentative smile on his face fell away. Anger washed through him, feeling not unlike a wave of boiling acid as he looked into the emitter on the rifle and then back up at Danse's face. "Don't you point that goddamn gun at me." Outrage was clear in his voice, quiet and deadly. It was one thing to fire at an unknown intruder, this was something else entirely.

And the finger was twitching tighter on the trigger. He was actually about to fucking do it. Hancock spun away, feet grinding against the floor and ducked behind a thick pipe jutting from the ceiling. He winced as he heard the blast of the rifle go off. Blood pounding in his ears, he sprinted around the room, keeping out of Danse's line of sight and then vaulted through the broken window at a difficult sideways angle, kicking out as Danse turned toward him again. The rifle shrieked out one more blinding beam of light into the ceiling before Hancock slammed it out of Danse's grip and sent it clattering to the floor. Hearts hammering, they grappled and wrenched against each other, and eventually ended up with Hancock pressed up against the back wall and one of Danse's hands dug deep into the lapels of his coat.

Why the hell was he acting like this? Hancock's breath spilled out hot and heavy and he glared up at Danse, feeling the other thick arm pressing against his neck and shoulder. "I'm not leaving here without you, Danse. Now how 'bout you wake up and get outta my face before I do something we both regret, huh?"

Pain was warring with the sullen anger in Danse's eyes. "You're gonna have to," he grunted, and then spit in Hancock's face.

He broke apart, mind dissolving into nothing but sheeting flares of mindless rage. He was dimly aware of screaming 'You fucking bitch!' before shoving back as hard as he could and chasing after the stumbling Danse with his fists flying at anything they could reach. They crashed around the tiny room trading blows, though it quickly became apparent Hancock was getting the extreme upper hand. Knuckles cracked against jaw and cheek and nose, feet tensed and propelled and shifted back. As his fists got bloodier and Danse got less and less responsive, either unwilling or unable to fight back, his clarity slowly came back. He got an idea what Danse was trying to do and he angrily ceased the attack. After another scramble, Hancock looped his foot around the back of Danse's ankle and gave him one last big shove that sent him to the ground. He just lay there, surrendered; nose and mouth coated in red, eyes closed, and chest heaving.

Hancock stumbled back against the desk in the room and frowned down at the man sprawled out in front of him as he sucked harsh breaths of air in through his mouth. "Why are you shutting me out, you prick? Why'd you send Shaina away? Why are you trying to chase me away?" He waited, voice quieting down from the shouts to a low tone. "You'd better answer me cuz I ain't leaving."

Minutes ticked by. Hancock was fully prepared to wait right there until Danse either said something or tried to get up so he could crush him back down again. After a time, it looked like something finally broke. The sticky lips parted and took a breath. "Why do you even care?" The words sounded like they were being spoken by an actual person again instead of the alien coldness he'd been getting before. A dark eye slit open and looked up at him. Still full of pain, but now just exhausted.

"Oh, fuck you. You're a selfish jerk but you're one of us, you idiot. How have you not realized that? You're not that fuckin' dense." Hancock dragged his hands over his pants, wiping away some of the blood but most of it sticking in the dips of his skin. He dropped them down to his sides again and stared hard down at Danse. "We were all really goddamn worried about you. Shay nearly had to tie down Curie and Nick to keep them from following after me. Nicky was cursing up a storm and Curie started in with her 'Monsieur 'ancock, let me go with you, s'il vous plaît.'"

Danse looked stunned and fell into another silence.

"Yeah! Surprise. People care about you. You could probably see that if you got your head out of your ass every once in a while."

Sighing, Hancock got up and moved next to him, flopping down to sit cross-legged by his hip. He stretched out a hand and placed it on Danse's chest, feeling the flinch and the speed of his heartbeats. This was going swimmingly. He'd been shot at, spit on, had cursed out Danse and then given him a bloody nose like a waterfall. In the running for the Negotiator of the Year award for sure.

Danse lifted a hand and gingerly rested it atop Hancock's. His eyes closed and his body seemed to deflate with relief when he wasn't rebuffed, sinking back into the floor. "How can you stand to touch me?"

Hancock smiled, partially in annoyance at how blockheaded Danse was and partially at the warm, dry hand covering his own. "Look, we've already had this stupid fight once. 'Oh no, you're a ghoul' but now it's 'Oh no, I'm a synth'."

Danse finally cracked a tiny smile and turned his face away; Hancock could feel his breaths jerking out in a laugh. It was way more of a relief than he wanted to admit. He really, really didn't like that other side he'd just seen. "C'mon, sit up, princess. You look like you're dead," he said, not unkindly.

Danse sighed and struggled up, leaning against the wall behind them with a strained 'Alright'. He lifted a hand and scrubbed ineffectively at the blood drying to a tacky gloss over his chin and clumping into his beard. When he realized it wasn't working he abandoned the effort, dropping his hands to his legs and looking over at Hancock with a sardonic raise of an eyebrow. "Well, let's talk if that's what you came here for, you stubborn ass."

Yeah, he supposed it was. Hancock turned and crowded up against him, resting his back against Danse's chest and bending his legs out in front of them. Enjoyed the heat of him and the way Danse's big arms twitched in surprise and then comfortably crossed over his shoulders and wrapped around his waist, engulfing him. A low rumble passed through his chest from the body behind him.

"I missed... this," Danse said, sounding like he may have been about to say something else. Hancock wasn't going to press it.

They sat in silence for a short while, just staring forward at the wall and old file cabinets in front of them and listening to each other's slow breaths. Then Danse sighed again, heavy and loud, a noise of defeat. "I'm... a synth." He struggled over the words. It sounded like it might have been the first time he'd said them aloud.

Hancock stayed quiet, letting Danse get whatever he wanted out and not really knowing what input to give, besides. He'd heard plenty of stories or confessions from the myriad synths that visited Amari, but all that hadn't given him any deep insights on how to comfort someone going through the human-to-synth identity crisis. Eventually he might convince Danse to join him on one of his trips back to Goodneighbor and actually talk to the lady herself. But for now, maybe all Danse needed was an ear to listen to him.

"Arden Danse. That's who I… thought I was. But this body is just 'M7-97'. I have no idea how much of my life actually happened or how many people I thought I knew don't actually exist." The words came out in short staggers and rushes, each sentence being bit off. They slowly got smoother as he went on, but it was a rocky start. "I'm terrified of myself and didn't want anyone else to see me like this."

He paused and bent forward, touching his forehead to the back of Hancock's skull and sounding very contrite as he spoke. "I apologize for firing at you. The shot wouldn't have connected, but I shouldn't have done that. And for spitting on you. I think I was hoping to make you so angry you'd stop trying and leave me here."

Hancock wiped at where the hit had landed and theatrically smeared his dry hand over Danse's forearm. "Yeah yeah, you're very clever," he smiled a little. "Believe me, I've had way worse shit on my face before, so don't worry about it too much." Danse nodded against him and tightened his grip, shifting Hancock closer. He was silent again for a time and then continued.

"I never wanted to get attached to anything that wasn't the brotherhood. I lost someone important to me a long time ago, and didn't want to go through that again." He quieted and Hancock squeezed his arm, hoping it was reassuring in some way. "I was hoping to duck out before I got even more attached to ... these one-sided friendships people have been so generous to extend to me. And now that I'm ... I don't know. This. I feel like I have even less to offer.

"I put everything I had… all my faith into the brotherhood because I thought they were safe. Stupid of me. Thought that they'd be there forever, and now... Well, they're still there but I can't... I'm not… not a paladin anymore." Danse paused, breathing hard and voice an uneven warble but not yet cracking. Hancock felt he would cheerfully shoot Elder Maxson and proceed to piss on his dying corpse if the opportunity presented itself. "The scribe under my... damnit... used to be under my command helped Knight Shaina find me here, but those two are the only ones who are still on my side. Any of the rest who see me will be obligated to kill me on sight."

The disloyal bastards, Hancock thought.

As he'd been speaking, Danse's hands had been absently wandering. Up Hancock's waist, thumbing over his stomach, smoothing over his chest, and now the blunt fingertips were tracing along the curve of his jaw and down the tendons of his neck. Hancock hummed quietly and tilted his head back, a little mystified but not at all put off. The fingers tensed and jerked away, as if Danse was only just now realizing where they were. "Ah. Is this... inappropriate?" he asked haltingly.

Hancock relaxed backwards, giving Danse easier access to the rest of his neck and shoulders and let his hands fall to rest just above Danse's knees. "I'm kind of partial to inappropriate, to be honest. I'd just as soon the guy I'm having a heart-to-heart with feel me up as not."

Danse choked on a laugh and Hancock felt the long thigh muscles jump under his hands.

Hancock twisted around to tilt an eye up to Danse's face. "And about the brotherhood, I know it's not the same, but you've still got us. All of us. We're a team." He smiled wide. "Not to get too mushy, but at the very least you've got a place with me if you ever happen to need it. What's the point of being the corrupt mayor of a city if you can't play favorites with your buddies?"

Danse snorted. "Huh. I don't know that I deserve it, but I appreciate it." Lips pressed delicately against the skin behind Hancock's ear and he shivered. Danse murmured to him, low and rumbling. "Hnnnh, I don't want to keep dwelling on this. I've already had nearly a week for that and it didn't get me anywhere good."

Hancock dragged his hands higher, sliding up the inseams nearly into dangerous territory. "Yeah, I bet. Sounds like a distraction might be good for you." Fingers tightened and Danse breathed heavily against the side of his neck.

"These fallback locations aren't meant to be used like this, but I suppose it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Danse said, sounding nearly wistful as his hand slid through the V-shaped gap of Hancock's shirt and thumbed short strokes across his collarbones. The touch was warm and solid and, by now, familiar enough. Though the long breaks they seemed to like to insert between meetings served as a good buffer against getting too familiar with each other. Long enough to get the guards up again. Always just weird enough to have that little extra spark of excitement.

"Nah, fuck 'em. We can dirty it up real good for whoever comes here next." He wasn't sure if the storm was past or not, but at least this he knew how to do. It was easier than talking, anyway. Hancock turned, rolling over onto his knees between Danse's legs and walking in closer. He leaned in, placing a hand on the wall behind Danse and Danse's lips parted, eyes wide and interested. "Make a big fuckin' mess, what do you think?"

"Sure," Danse breathed. "Whatever you want, just..." His fingers curled around the back of Hancock's neck and drew him down and in; lips chapped and bloody, scruff sharp against his face, and the unique stink of the Glowing Sea still hanging on him. He was perfect. Whatever else he thought he was, he was still just Danse.

The kiss started sweet, nearly chaste. More of a greeting or reassurance of existence than anything else. Then it deepened, and Hancock sighed against him, enjoying the fit of Danse's bigger lips against his thin ones. He reached up and threaded his fingers into Danse's grimy mass of hair, gripping tight and pulling him roughly against him, biting his lip and sucking the slippery flesh into his mouth. A quiet moan came from Danse and he gripped hard onto Hancock's hips with a desperate kind of strength, nearly pulling him over.

Hancock held Danse's face in his hands, palms rubbing up through the flakes of blood and dirty beard and holding him still to whisper against his lips. "What do you need from me, huh? What can I give you?" Held him still and kissed him again, short and quick.

A low, listless sigh from Danse blew air back across him, warm in the cool air. "Just… make me forget. For a little while." His eyes opened, dark and still hurting to look into Hancock's fathomless black ones. His head tipped to the side, pressing his cheek into Hancock's hand. "You can do that, you're good at it."

Argh, my heart. "Do what I can, man. Get up here then," he said, tugging at Danse and then standing. He'd do a lot, in fact, to get that kicked-dog look off Danse's face. By the time Danse was up and leaning against the wall, Hancock had dropped his coat and shirt to the floor and kicked off his boots.

"And take that thing off, alright? I don't think you need it anymore." The jumpsuit itself was a wreck. Full of holes and smudged char. Hancock had brought a change of clothes for Danse at the behest of Shaina, knowing it was in bad shape and that he didn't have anything else with him. But even beyond that, there was no reason for him to ever put the brotherhood uniform on again. Whenever they left, it would stay right there on the floor, maybe until a scout eventually passed through here again and wondered at it. I don't think you need them anymore, his mind amended.

Danse hesitated for just a moment, then nodded and started unbuckling the collar for the last time. His eyes and face shifted as he threaded the strap through the buckle, realization at Hancock's words giving way to sadness then anger and finally somber acceptance as he unzipped and pulled his arms through the sleeves.

Hancock was torn as Danse's form was exposed to him. On the one hand, he had one of the most perfect male bodies he'd ever seen and he could never not appreciate it. Thick with muscle and tendon, soft and rounded in all the right places, hard and flat in all the others. But on the other hand, Hancock's mouth twisted down at what this mission and the aftermath had done to Danse. Ribs showing through too starkly, shiny pink marks where he'd been burned by laser fire and had only partially healed, wide scrapes of scabbed-up flesh over his upper arms and chest, and a massive, yellowed bruise covering most of his right side. Even with his height and the very sturdy shape of his body, all the injuries and the obvious wasting made him look so… vulnerable. Maybe he could get Nick to help him out with Maxson's imagined murder and subsequent piss baptism, he thought as he drew Danse back into his arms and held him there tightly.

"That's better," Hancock said, kicking the jumble of cloth away. It already looked like part of the faded debris that was scattered around the place.

Their lips came together again, hard and eager. Hancock walked them backwards til he hit what he wanted with his heel. He released Danse and spun him around to press him into the low metal desk, one hand holding his hip and the other pushing his back down to lay him over the cold surface. Danse hissed and twitched his stomach away, but didn't move to get up, letting Hancock hold him down and run his hands over his skin.

"Yeah, sorry. You might be thankful for the cold in a few minutes though."

He pushed up against Danse, rubbing his dick against the backs of his naked thighs and trailed his fingertips down the soft skin of Danse's back. Skimmed over the indent of his spine, down to the two shallow dimples right at the base of his back, and palmed across the pale, rounded globes of his ass. His cock throbbed at the thought of all this lovely flesh spread out for him to enjoy and his hands squeezed down hard. Whatever Danse had been created with, he had sure honed it into a masterpiece. Fuck. It was making him feel all poetic about it.

"You're fuckin' beautiful, Danny."

Danse snorted and turned his head to the side, resting it on a folded arm and casting a derisive look down at his dirty and torn-up body while still managing to look fairly embarrassed. "Seriously?"

Unable to resist anymore, Hancock pulled the soft cheeks apart and kissed a wet line down to the tight pucker of skin. He smoothed a finger over it and flicked his tongue out lightly, getting a squirm and a harsh gasp of breath from Danse. "Believe it."

Danse huffed but couldn't keep it going, abruptly falling back into ragged breaths and quiet grunts as Hancock continued snaking his tongue around his slicked up finger. A filthy suck of his lips and tongue, and then he pressed in with his fingers and spread Danse open slowly, taking in the hot press of muscle around him and the high, keening cries Danse was voicing.

This was a maddening test of patience. The need to drive his dick into that tight, pulsing hole was screaming in his head, but he waited. Two spit-slick fingers, stretching and relaxing, drove in and then pulled so so slowly back out. A long intermission of tongue and lips making hideously embarrassing sucking and slurping noises, but to hell with it. It was only the two of them and Hancock was loving it, and Danse was too busy trying to crush dual crimps into the far end of the desk and breathing out rough, unintelligible words to care at all. Then a third finger added in and Danse couldn't take the wait anymore.

"Damnit. John, please," he groaned.

He hadn't expected Danse to be the one to crack, but that was more than fine. Hancock's pants were down and off in seconds and he spat into his hand to rub it over his cock real fuckin' quick. He leaned down to give one last long, twisting lick before standing back up and pausing. "Are you sure, I was kinda hoping to just keep my tongue in here all night," he said, even as he rolled a thumb lovingly over Danse's hole and pumped his dick through his own curled fist.

Danse turned around again to fix him with a filthy look. Hancock ignored it and giggled to himself as he lined himself up with Danse. He rubbed against Danse's asscrack and finally looked over at him where he was still glaring. "What? Got something to say?" He bucked harder and Danse snarled. "Wanna tell me to shut the fuck up and fuck your ass already?"

Danse rolled his eyes and turned away, Hancock still laughing at him. The ghoul smacked his hip good-naturedly and finally eased in. They both groaned aloud, Danse's breath catching at each short press and Hancock captivated by the tight grasp around his dick. He rolled forward, pressing in deeper and feeling Danse clench around him. As he finally bottomed out, grinding his thighs and hips against hot skin, Danse jerked and moaned out a low, shuddery breath and reached a hand back to clamp Hancock's leg still against his own.

"I'm pretty close." His voice was husky with arousal and had a slight whine of apologetic urgency to it. "Haven't gotten off in a month."

The hand fell away and Hancock rolled his hips as slowly as he could, watching himself sink deep into Danse and feeling the light flutter of his muscles as he relaxed. Poor guy. He started feeling testy and on edge after a week of no action and couldn't imagine how frantic he'd feel after a full month.

Hancock leaned down over his back, still making short, smooth thrusts into Danse. He kissed over Danse's shoulders and breathed against him. "Alright, flip over then and move up a little."

They readjusted, Danse laying on his back and Hancock scrambling up after him, hoping this shitty desk didn't collapse under their combined weight. Well, he'd fuck him in the dirt if it did, probably wouldn't hurt either of their looks much. Hancock slid back in and Danse grabbed his hips, drawing him forward and deeper. His head fell back, and the tendons in his neck and arms stuck out as he tensed and bucked. "What for?"

Hancock smiled and pressed Danse's legs back against his body, leaning forward to hunch over him. He held Danse's shoulders as he rocked slowly against him, looking at Danse's half-shut eyes, the little scar curving through his right eyebrow, the strong blade of his nose, the damp and perfectly-shaped bows of his lips. If he was going to get sentimental, why not now? Perfect time. "I just like watching your face when you come."

The scarred eyebrow lifted, inquiring, and then scrunched back down into a pleasured grimace as his muscles clenched hard again. "Why?" he panted out.

"I get to see all the restraint that's usually there melt away. Watch you give in," Hancock said, feeling the start of that low, deep throb as he leaned even closer and felt Danse's dick jump against his stomach. He kissed Danse, barely a brush against the non-responsive, gasping lips. "My god, it gets me going."

And it did. Danse clung harder to him, all muscles tight and grasping to the point of pain… and then it loosened and flowed away. Hands eased and slid down Hancock's arms, legs gently looped around his back instead of the vice-like grappling hold, shoulders slumped down, and the constant look of concern that was usually on Danse's face fell away. Brow relaxed and lips parted as he moaned and shifted through his orgasm. His eyes opened to look up at Hancock through dark lashes as he came back down, and that set Hancock off as well. Not as lovely as Danse's, surely, but good enough for him. He felt the hot flood surge up and out as he clawed into Danse's huge shoulders, still mindful enough to avoid the web of scratches covering his skin.

Breaths heaved out of Hancock's mouth and his eyes fell closed. He felt Danse's hands stroke up his arms and squeeze closed on his biceps. A soft, barely-heard 'Thank you', and he looked down again. Danse's face was naked and open there, innocent and untroubled before slowly getting back into that focused mask he liked to wear. Hancock pulled out and leaned down one more time, a soft kiss above and between Danse's eyebrows. He wasn't sure what he was being thanked for exactly, but that was okay. "You got it." He slapped Danse's arm. "Let's get back home, man."

Hancock hopped back down to the floor, scrounging up his pants and Danse sat up, grimacing at what was probably a sore and slimy ass. "Yeah," he muttered, scratching dirty nails through dirtier hair and heaving one last resolute sigh. "Let's go home."