"Impatient today, aren't ya?"

Not any worse than any other time they'd been like this really, though the opportunity didn't present itself nearly as much as he'd like, now that they were in the small quarters of the agency, in the well populated Diamond City.

But oh today had been perfect- no cases lined up, no Minutemen business needed to be attended to, Ellie at Maria and Piper's for a girls day. Perfect. And speaking of,

Nick smirked at the groan muffled into his neck, which might've concerned him at an earlier time when it had just been a gaping hole in the material. It was hard to remember he was finally...repaired? He didn't like to think of it that way, but that's what it was.

Same with his hand, the one that had been formerly a metal skeleton, now covered and seamless, which found itself trailing mindlessly up and down Danse's spine through his shirt, no need to be careful of pressure or cuts like before. No worries that a loose wire would shock. No more thinking about being a shambling beast, literally falling apart. It made him wonder why he didn't do it sooner, but he suspects it's a mix of thinking he didn't deserve it and really not trusting anyone to be literally working on him. All the better he have a handy lover, he supposes.

"Nick ," and thank god really, because it had been more self control on his part, making sure his synthetic body didn't harm. It was hard enough right now, to hold back so long with the prettiest man he's ever seen gasping and needy on him.

It'd become one of their more common arrangements: Nick at his desk, sat with a pile of papers that long needed organizing or updated info but nothing dark in matter or urgent. He'd let his legs part a bit, to accommodate Danse, one knee in-between his and the other on the edge of the chair, heavy in his lap. He'd sort through them in faux nonchalance and inattention, and Danse…

He had to lean into Nick's shoulder for balance, his arms handcuffed tightly behind him, chest pushed out and off center because of it. Otherwise he'd fall, rutting against him and his thigh through jeans, trying and failing to find more friction, but with just enough to keep him worked up.

It'd make him feel bad at first, the way Nick knew Danse wanted it rougher than he was willing to give, had asked for things that weren't even that severe, but even pretend roughness left a bad taste in his mouth. But Danse understood, didn't push, and besides, they'd long since found their compromise, the happy in-between. Especially like this,

Because there still was the wait, the denial, the power play and pretend but this close Nick could still keep an arm around him, switch his attention for a few moments to kiss at his jaw or mumble praise into his ear, to tell him how good and pretty he is, how much he loves him. It wouldn't leave marks on his skin. He could pet through his hair and feel him up. He gets to hear Danse's desperate noises just beside his ears, see his flush and the sweat building at his hairline.

"I'm almost done, I'm sure you can wait a little longer."

Danse shivers, already shaking like a leaf, but it'd been with enough assurance and experience that Nick understood that to be a good thing, and something to tease about if the mood was right. But he would wait, always did, always waited until the papers were tapped into a neat pile and pushed safely out of the way. But the clock was so loud in the otherwise quiet building and Nick's hand hadn't moved from that one pattern and it couldn't of been that long but god it felt so long, he was so hard, it felt like it'd been hours-

"There we go. Not too bad, was it?"

Danse hadn't even noticed he'd finished and placed everything aside, or that the hand had stopped. But it was for the better he didn't process time passing, because they could finally get to it, something other than the constant pressure of Nick's thigh against his crotch.

"No," he replies still, proud of the way his voice doesn't shake despite his ragged breathing. He'd spent more years in endurance training than he'd been a Paladin, he could keep his composure. Most of it, anyways. Enough to put up a fight.

"Oh?" Nick grins then, pushing up the smile lines worn into the material of his face. "So you could probably handle if I finished up some other chores then?"

"I-I could." That did it, effectively brought his voice quieter and unsteady with the threat and render those years worthless, even if if it was a blatant lie. There was no other chores, nothing to be cleaned or finished. What else could he possibly do outside of outright rearranging the furniture? There was better things to be doing. "But I wouldn't want to."

"Mm." Nick leans back in the chair, pen twirling in his free hand, like he's in no rush and the show makes his pulse quicken. And oh how wonderful it was, how far out of his shell Nick had gotten, to be cocky and playful like this because it was so much, so perfect. Only for him, which Danse didn't find himself particularly deserving of. But they were past that, past useless self-depreciation when there was better things to be doing that they'll both enjoy. "And I do so love doing what you want me to."

Thank god, because he wants badly, has wanted for what must've been an hour now.

"So what do you want me to do, Doll?"

"Please, t-"

At that moment, the combined weight as Danse leaned back puts just enough pressure on one of the wheels of the old chair, breaking it off and sending it rolling across the room. They fell forwards, but Nick had good reflexes and arm movement, enough so to brace his free one across the desk, and just barely stop the back of his head from hitting the metal.

He was practically laying on it now, with his hips higher than his head and Nick hunched forward over him, both staring incredulously at the wheel where it lay uselessly on its side several feet away.

Blinking a few times, Nick eventually huffs, something bordering on both a sigh and a chuckle. "Honestly, kind of surprised that hasn't happened sooner."

"I can probably fix that."

He laughs for real his time. "I'm sure you can, but I think we've got something to take care of first."

Danse shifts, snapped out of it, and not particularly mad about how they are now. It's not comfortable, but neither was it before, purposely so. He had his legs around Nick's waist, pressed up ever so slightly at the middle, a pressure that reminds but doesn't relieve anything. He's slightly upside down, having to look up at the other, and the bend makes his muscles pull, feels delightfully domineering.

And from the way he's being stared at, it must not particularly bother Nick either, and he can't help but flush and preen under the gaze. Enough of him is on the desk that he doesn't shift or fall when Nick releases the arm holding his thigh up to pull a scarf out of his desk drawer and bunch it up, slip it under his head in place of the the other so it's not hard against his skull. And the manhandling is nice, he's normally far too big and heavy for it, but like this he's poseable, malleable. "Comfortable enough? I have more in there."

"It's fine," it is, maybe not enough to sleep on but as tired and useless as he tended to be after, he wasn't pass-out-immediately bad. "Please."

"Right, now what was that you wanted me to do?"

Danse swallowed, shifting, embarrassed and reveling in it. A lot of things, anything really, anything Nick could want because he didn't usually boss him around but oh god when he did-

"Touch me."

It's simple, open, but it works every time, leaves so many possibilities. Never lets him know what to expect.

"Can do, handsome." And when a hand finally slides up Danse's torso he could probably cry from relief, albeit with a slight cringe at how sweat-sticky he is, noticing it now as his tank top is pushed up above his pecs. His flannel was already unbuttoned and pushed aside long ago, had a hand explore and tease him before Nick had even been halfway through the pile. The same hand prods at and feels up his abs now, still toned from keeping a similar upkeep routine, and he shivers, grateful seeing as Nick can't even necessarily "feel" them yet touches as if he could. But he'd said it himself, he liked the view, liked doing . Danse couldn't possibly mind, being a plaything like this. Could lay here as long as the other wanted.

He plays with his chest, alternating, until it grows stale and travels down, to the hair dipping underneath his waistband. But Nick's hand presses, the softer space between hip and pelvis, the pressure all too close to where he was still aching and twitching, enough to make him aware of it but not relieve at all. He knows it, too, the jerk. He taps synthetic fingers against the spot, acting like he had to think about his next step, and Danse pushes against him, thrusting a bit without meaning to.

It pushes the pre-war cardigan he wore up a bit and untucks his button-up, and Nick tsks, giving the hardest slap he's willing to give (that is, not very) to his thigh and makes him jump. "Careful, told you how hard it is to find nice clothes in this day and age."

Nick doesn't undress anything but his outerwear, not wanting to see his own body or be seen, but Danse couldn't complain. He thought it was a bit ridiculous at first, the synth deciding to wear different outfits when he didn't sweat. And only in Diamond City, where they couldn't be dirtied or roughed up. He'd even made a a kind of mean comment about it. But oh he'd admired those pre-war ensembles something awful on billboards and magazines, always a little confused with the fascination, seeing as he didn't like to dress in them himself. But Nick wore them incredibly, rolled sleeves and belts tight at the waist, suspenders and wingtips. There's was something to be said about someone who bothered to keep presentable even out in the wastes, and he'd hate to actually ruin any of it when it survived that long, and with how much he enjoyed seeing it on his lover.

Just another old comment that came back to bite him in the ass, he supposes. He almost suggests that, actually, but the button of his fly is undone and his jeans tugged down his thighs as far as they can go without changing position. Danse looks away, embarrassed despite himself, like he didn't dress himself purposefully this morning. But his arousal is bleeding through the worn material of his jockstrap and Nick's chuckling at him again as he pulls one strap back, lets it snap against him and watch him startle, but admires the view nonetheless. "For me, doll? You shouldn't have."

"They're comfortable-." And they are, but he'd found they were perfect in times like this, when the fabric's pulled aside with ease and he chokes as he's freed, cramming his eyes shut to avoid the view of himself swollen and red.

Nick doesn't do anything, not immediately, pressing kisses to his knee and inner thigh and letting him lay there exposed, breathing heavy and unstable. He doesn't bite, he can't "feel" and thus never knows how much pressure he truly applies, so he never does, despite Danse insisting there's no way he could make it hurt that bad. Hell, he's been stabbed, shot, burned, Maria lit him on fire with a fucking rocket, a harsh bite would be barely anything, nothing he didn't enjoy. But he doesn't push, knows that even now this is still something incredibly fresh and raw for them both, Nick especially. They had discomforts they couldn't shed, but that's the rather beautiful part of it, they ways they found to work around it.

The tease of touch is still maddening though, and he pushes the heels of his feet into the other's back, trying to goad him into touching him, going in him, to do something . He earns a gentle slap to his thigh again for it, a little more intense with the skin bared like it is. Nick, ever a beacon of patience (figures, when he has no physical need himself to urge him along) just scolds him. "Use your words, handsome."

"J-just, anything, please. Just do something."

The synth hums, fingertips trailing up and down his leg as he thinks. "Want me to draw it out or be quick?"

"Q-Quick."

"Inside or outside?"

Oh he'd love those fingers in him about now but that takes time, preparation, and it's certainly never quick, not with who's doing it and when, despite his best efforts, Danse is so reactionary. He always draws it out, always makes him shamefully loud and overwhelmed, not something fit for an impulsive desk fuck. "Come on . Just do something, Valentine ."

The surname does it, and Nick lets one leg go to open a drawer, the other this time. Without his elbows underneath Danse's knees his leg drops, and even that movement is almost too much, every part of him painfully wound up and expectant.

The material Nick's "skin" is made of isn't course or hard by any means, but it could chafe like hell, and even so it was just all the better with a lubricant, as he pulls a small tin out of hiding and dips into it. Something that doesn't ruin the material or irritate human skin, a strange little equalizer between them in that way. It's cold, too, and the contrast makes Danse shudder harder, with the heat under his skin.

"That alright love?" He has to check, because Nick does his best to remember how much he needs to curl or uncurl his hand to make the right amount of pressure without hurting, seeing as he has no nerves and can't tell what's too tight or loose. But oh he was so used to this, had learned so well what makes him come undone. Danse mutters an affirmative and cries out as his head is prodded, before the fist tightens and pushes down his length.

He can't look, knows the sight of grey on flesh will end it before they even truly begin, so he throws an arm over his eyes and just tries to breathe as he's taken care off, tries not to be too loud lest the neighbors hear. His own little place he'd obtained on the outskirts was soundproof enough but the agency sure as hell wasn't, and Danse got enough stares as it was (whether it was the Ex-Brotherhood status, or if they somehow caught on to him and Nick's relationship he doesn't dare ponder). Any other time he'd probably get chided and told not to hold back, but they had to be careful like this. The door was locked but any person in need of service could be outside it and knock, unaware the good detective was far too tied up right then.

He'd smirk a bit knowing Nick was doing him instead of his job, though there hadn't been a new case in weeks, but time apart due to Minutemen duties had left him pent up and Nick was just too skilled for his own good and rambling off praises and compliments as he went, as his fist tightened and loosened just right to get him so close but so far, too obvious with his reactions that made him easy to read and toy with. Even with that however it ends fast. Some words about being a pretty thing that send his hips jerking, and the easy, casual and so natural way Nick slips out a love you that does him in, makes him cry out a little louder than he should before he can really stop it.

And stop it he should have, not only because a fist bangs from the wall shared with the home on the other side but because the position means he sends his own release all over himself, which sounds attractive in theory but felt rather gross as it happened. Still, Nick eases him through it before slowing his fist to a stop, helping him lower safely onto the desk in full as he goes slack and boneless.

He was bad about that, always high and floating after he climaxes, flooded with good chemicals and left blank and brainless. It was embarrassing, but Nick apparently found it endearing, so he doesn't fight it and lets himself be cleaned up until Nick returns and can be cuddled up to.

But they forgot to get a rag and water can over here, and it's up to his damn neck, and even Nick's a bit dumbfounded by it. "We...did not think this through."

"We did not." In fact even through the haze he's scared to move, not really wanting to acknowledge that and just trying to enjoy the feeling before it faded instead of making the mess worst. But Nick kisses his knee and leaves, returning with what they needed and wipes him up. Danse is lucid enough to stand by then, though wavering on his feet, and lets his pants fall down and be slipped into some old robe Nick keeps around for him. The cuffs come undone easily, the skin on his wrists irritated and rubbed red but not unpleasantly so.

He practically falls into the sheets, Nick retrieves some old novel to keep bedside, seeing as he doesn't sleep and remains awake when they retire for the night. His clothes are folded on the floor underneath, out of view of anyone who'd come inside who'd know what happened. He's not too concerned, just too glad for the soft cotton of the bathrobe and sheets, the warmth and hum of Nick's torso and inner workings as he takes his favorite spot, on his chest and tucked under his chin when the synth finally lays down beside him.

"Feeling alright doll?"

"Gods, yes." Danse noses into his neck again, pressing his lips there even if Nick can't feel it, happy to see the holes gone so he doesn't fear wires and gears so close to his face. He looks healthier, even if that didn't really make sense given his...biology? Mechanics? Oh well. "Missed you."

Someone's gotta Nick almost quips, but right, they were trying to stop that, even if it was joking. Instead, he returns the sentiment, because he'd felt the soldier's absence harder than usual this time. "Missed you too, but you're here now. How many days leave did you get?"

Danse groans. "Two weeks, as well as the time it took to get here. I told her I could keep training the recruits, but she made me promise to take days off."

"As you should, you work hard," Nick lets his hand run through his hair, wishing he could feel the silkiness of it, with all the effort the other put into keeping it lush and healthy. But Danse sighs and leans into it, looking blissed out and sleepy, and he can be happy with that. "And unless someone that isn't Ellie walks in that door I've got an indefinite vacation. I'm going to hope you're staying."

As the heavy covers are pulled up over him, and he's pulled in tighter, any hopes of keeping awake had been thoroughly dashed. But he could let it slide, as long as he woke up right here, to Nick's voice and arms. Things had changed, unexpected but so much better. There was no danger or doom. They had time now. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."