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“If you want a history lesson, go see Danse at the Wall.”
Sparrow smiled and murmured a thank you to the Diamond City guard standing between Arturo and Myrna’s shops. In another time and place, the settlement would have been considered a shantytown with its roughshod construction and shabby denizens. Now it was the great green jewel of the Commonwealth, sheltered by walls thicker than anywhere else in the region and possessed of electricity, clean water and even a schoolhouse. For someone looking to re-establish herself in this strange new world of rust and ruin, the repurposed Fenway Park was the place to be.
A few more salvaging runs and I can afford Home Plate, she thought, looking at the house in question wistfully. Picking the ruins of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology clean was both profitable and a pleasant means of revenge, given what they’d done to her and Nate in the years before the bombs fell. What wasn’t valuable in its entirety could be broken down into raw materials, which could be sold as shipments to the caravaners like Old Man Stockton at Bunker Hill. Sparrow left salvaged steel and wood to other scavengers, focusing on high-end resources like screws, gears, circuitry, springs and fibre optics that she could stuff into a backpack and carry.
The problem with that tactic, of course, was she became a target for the raiders who frequented Bunker Hill. Sparrow had learned to run, hide and shoot first remarkably well for someone they called a Vault Dweller. Thankfully, most of the guns and armour could be salvaged for the components she traded in.
That reminds me – I need Arturo to mod my sniper rifle. She was still getting the knack of modifying weapons, the job requiring a technical precision she lacked. Boiling Brahmin hide to make stronger leather armour was something she could manage, but guns required a finicky attention to detail that only someone like her dead husband possessed.
She passed Commonwealth Weaponry, seeing that Arturo was busy with a customer, and ignored Moe’s invitation to buy a baseball bat. The two loathed each other because he refused to believe her explanations on how baseball had truly been played, so she rounded the corner and ducked down Third Street past a few residences and Nick Valentine’s office. The synth detective was out on a job and Ellie would be neck-deep in organising his files in his absence.
The outer field was now farmland, a greenhouse producing the more delicate herbs that Diamond City’s doctors and chemists required while rows of hardier tatos, gourds, melons and mutfruit trees were planted ten deep and tended by a dedicated corps of residents, who were paid in a basket of fruit and vegetables every week instead of caps. City employees – the Mayor and his secretary, the security guards and the civilian staff – had the first right of harvest, so she was told, with the Colonial Taphouse and Dugout Inn coming in second, and the citizens a distant third.
Beyond the crops was a set of bleachers and a dais where elections for various jobs around the city were held and then the Wall, which was maintained with a fervour once reserved for religious zealots. The residents of Diamond City held it in reverence, believing that there was a benevolent force in those green-painted bricks.
A lone figure stood by the Wall, scraping around a tin of paint with concern written in his posture – it had to be Danse, the resident historian. Not really having anything else to do, Sparrow approached him, impressed by the muscular frame barely contained by a mended flannel shirt and denim jeans. Long brown-black hair was tied back, falling past his wide shoulders towards an ass that was as fine as any she’d seen pre-War.
He heard her boots crunch on the gravel scattered at the base of the Wall, turning around to face her, and Sparrow nearly swallowed her tongue. The front was as fine as the back, rugged, battle-worn features outlined by a thick, neatly trimmed beard and sad dirt-brown eyes shadowed by heavy eyebrows. Danse might be the local handyman, but it looked like he maintained himself with the same care as he did the Wall.
“So the Vault Dweller comes to visit the Wall,” he growled in the kind of baritone that used to do bad things to Sparrow’s virtue when she was at college. “How may I help you?”
“I’m curious as to the history of Diamond City,” she told him, voice huskier than it should be. “When I last walked around here, it was a baseball stadium called Fenway Park.”
“That’s what the records say,” Danse confirmed gravely. “Is it true that battles to the death were held here?”
Sparrow’s mouth quirked to the side as she stifled the urge to laugh in the poor man’s face. “Baseball was serious business in Boston, but the only time someone died on the field was when an overzealous fan had a heart attack after getting the chance to pitch during a game.”
His full lips twitched. “I always thought Moe was full of Brahmin shit.”
“Oh, he is. And he hates me because I correct him every time.” Sparrow chuckled softly.
“Tell me of Fenway Park and I will tell you of Diamond City,” Danse offered. “Ah – wait, forgive me, what’s your name? I’ve only heard you referred to as the Vault Dweller or-“
“The Woman Out of Time,” Sparrow finished with a sigh, damning Piper yet again for coining that title. “My name is Sparrow Killian.”
She’d shed Finlay after finding Nate and Shaun were dead, cracked apart from ice damage, and stumbling into the Wasteland. Her heart still ached but she was slowly adapting to this new world.
“I, as you no doubt know, am Danse,” the handyman responded. “It is good to meet you.”
“And you, Danse.”
He turned his attention towards the Wall. “Forgive me if I work while we talk, but I have to cover as much as I can before the paint dries up. Mayor McDonough won’t authorise a security patrol to collect more at Hardware Town, so I’ll need to find someone who will go for me or I’ll never hear the end of it at the next election.”
“McDonough’s an ass,” Sparrow muttered under her breath. The man was the epitome of slimeball politician, a breed that was obviously as resilient as the roaches in the wake of a nuclear holocaust.
Danse flashed a quick smile. “I see you’re an excellent judge of character.”
“I’m a scavver these days,” Sparrow countered, dry as the paint can in Danse’s hand. “I have to be.”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Could you…? I can pay in some caps. Not a lot, but-“
“I might drag Piper out of Publick Occurrences for a day and take her with me to Hardware Town,” Sparrow said wryly. “She owes me one, after all, and a feel-good story about restoring the Wall might sell a few papers.”
“It might even sell as many as your interview did,” Danse agreed softly.
He began to paint the Wall again. “I know what it’s like to be an outsider. I’m from Rivet City in the Capital Wasteland.”
“What was it like there?” Sparrow asked, watching the muscles of his shoulders move more than she should.
“I grew up scavenging for anything I could find,” he admitted with a sigh. “Opened up a junk shop with a friend – we’d scrap ruined items to repair things that could be salvaged and sell them – until we decided to go to the Commonwealth, to its jewel.”
There was old pain in his gravelly tones. “Your friend didn’t make it?” Sparrow asked gently.
“He was captured by super mutants at Trinity Tower.”
She winced. No more needed to be said. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I. Cutler was the closest thing I had to family.” The paintbrush was swiped aggressively across the concrete, leaving weak streaks of green paint in its wake. “I managed to put him out of his misery. The only way I could repay a decade of friendship.”
“I know this sounds like a platitude, but whatever of Cutler was left would have welcomed the bullet,” Sparrow observed grimly. “Super mutants, feral ghouls… All you can do is shoot them and end whatever misery they’re in.”
“Precisely.” Danse ran out of paint and cursed softly. “I’m sorry, I promised you a history lesson.”
“It’s okay. I learned there’s civilisation in Washington,” Sparrow assured him.
“I’m not sure civilisation is the word. The Brotherhood of Steel’s been taking over the place and making it safer, but the price they demand for protection is perhaps too high.” Danse shrugged. “Taphouse or Dugout?”
“Dugout,” Sparrow said quietly. “I rent a room there.”
His eyebrow shot up and she realised exactly what she’d implied. “I mean, until I have the money to buy Home Plate, I…”
Danse’s mouth quirked amusedly. “Of course. Shall we?”
She nodded as he put the paint can and brush aside. It would be good to learn about Danse… and Diamond City.
...
When the Woman Out of Time returned by noon the next day, Piper Wright in tow and both of them carrying enough tins of green paint to maintain the Wall for the next year, Danse could have performed a jig out of sheer joy. There was an election coming up and while McDonough was likely to win the job of Mayor for the third time running, the position of tending the Wall was a hotly contested one because it was relatively easy work for damn good pay. Sparrow had saved him from returning to the life of a scavenger when Diamond City was now his reason for existence.
It had taken all of Danse’s willpower not to pick the delicate Vault Dweller up and carry her back to his house on the western stands, once owned by some ruthless mercenary who disappeared a few years back. She was beautiful, patch of vitiligo and ragged scars on the left side of her face included, and that faded Vault suit showed a slender, small-breasted body that had him palming himself last night. The interview had given a glimpse of her personality but the reality showed a woman who somehow found hope in the Wasteland after losing everything.
“You look almost happy,” Piper observed as they stacked the paint cans neatly by the Wall.
Danse quirked an eyebrow as he studied the short, compactly curvaceous reporter. “I can do my job without fear of running out of supplies,” he pointed out. “That’s enough to give anyone a sense of satisfaction.”
Green-hazel eyes rolled heavenward. Piper was always pressing for the nitty-gritty of a person, be it their past, present or plans for the future, and she didn’t much like being stonewalled. Danse respected the woman and her devotion to truth, even if it was likely to get her killed, but he wasn’t minded to become a front-page story in the newspaper just so she could sell a few more copies.
“Leave him alone,” Sparrow suggested in that whiskey-warm voice of hers. “You’ve got your story, Piper.”
“These days I’m either writing about synths or you,” the dark-curled woman retorted. “Writing a story about one of Diamond City’s most eligible bachelors would break up the monotony.”
“I have a suggestion for your headline,” Danse growled as he turned away. “’Local man says no’.”
Piper growled in frustration. “Come on, Danse! Even just a profile!”
The handyman ignored her, cracking open a tin of green paint and dipping his brush into it. “Go bother someone else, Piper. I’m sure Anne Codman would happily tell you her life story.”
“I want to focus on the lives of the Lower Field residents,” Piper complained.
“Go bother Myrna then. Her beliefs on synths match nicely with your own.” Danse offered the wet paintbrush to Sparrow. “Would you care to make sure the colour matches?”
“Sure.” She took the brush and with a few quick strokes painted the patch he’d barely covered yesterday. Danse leaned over and examined it, nodding in satisfaction.
“Perfect,” he said, plucking the brush from her hand and laying it across the open paint can. “I believe I promised you some caps?”
“Give the caps to Piper,” Sparrow replied. “I did take up a day’s worth of her time, after all.”
“I don’t need your charity,” the reporter said flatly.
“I found a decent amount of salvage in Hardware Town that I can go back and scrap later,” Sparrow countered. “You, on the other hand, have a power bill due and we both know that McDonough wants a chance to throw you out.”
Piper mumbled but accepted the hundred caps – Danse’s monthly wage – when he dropped the box into her hand. For the price of a year’s supply of paint, drinking pump water and eating the gleanings of the greenfield was cheap. “Thank you, Piper,” he told her sincerely.
“Thank me by doing an interview,” she retorted before turning to Sparrow. “I’m going to head off and check on the printer, Blue.”
“I’ll see you around soon,” Sparrow promised.
Piper waved and left, vanishing behind the mutfruit orchard. Danse sighed in relief once those red leather boots were gone. “I know she means well, but…”
“It can be a little intense,” Sparrow agreed softly. “How do you tell someone that as good as it is here, Diamond City’s prosperity is but a shadow of what came before, civil unrest and all?”
“She pushes too much,” Danse observed as he reached across for the paintbrush. “One day, she and her sister will be out of Diamond City. She’d better hope she survives to reach Goodneighbour.”
“Security versus liberty,” Sparrow sighed. “Always a hard choice.”
“Do you believe in Gen-3 synths?” Danse asked as he began to paint the Wall.
“Given the strides that the organisation that likely became this Institute were making in my time, I would not be surprised,” Sparrow said grimly. “If the Institute is as amoral and dedicated to science as the Commonwealth Institute of Technology was, then yes, I can believe in Gen-3 synths.”
“And?”
“I believe in free will. So long as synths leave me alone, I shall leave them alone.” Sparrow rubbed the back of her neck with a grimy hand. “Nick Valentine is a fine man, even if he’s a synth.”
Danse nodded in agreement. “I’ve occasionally had to patch him up after a rough fight. He’s a very good person indeed.”
“I just hope he’s alright on this job of his,” Sparrow said with a sigh. “If I hadn’t been on a scavenging run to Cambridge, I would have gone with him.”
“If he isn’t back in a couple days, better check with Ellie,” Danse advised, covering up the last of the faded paint.
“I’ll do that. If he’s in trouble, I’ll need to hire MacCready from Goodneighbour and bail him out.” Sparrow shrugged off her backpack and sniper rifle. “Do you mind if I clean my rifle while we talk? If I’m out here, I’m not getting nagged by someone to find them something for little to no reward.”
That was the first time Danse had ever heard of the Woman Out of Time being exasperated at all the good deeds she did for Diamond City. “Oh?”
Sparrow pulled out some oil and a rag to clean her sniper rifle after sitting down. “Yes. I keep on getting told ‘keep the loot’ but unfortunately, most of the loot is too heavy for me to carry. I deal in low-volume, high-value resources like gears, screws, circuitry and that I scavenge from the old C.I.T ruins in Cambridge, so that limits me to what I can scrap and carry safely.”
“Most scavvers trade in whatever they can carry,” Danse noted, wiping the brush off on the Wall and putting the lid back on the paint.
“Most scavvers have two or three inches of height on me and a good deal more strength,” Sparrow pointed out wryly. “Since I’m saving up to buy Home Plate, every cap I spend on hiring someone else is one less I have towards not providing for the Bobrov Brothers’ retirement.”
“Why didn’t you take the caps I offered?” Danse asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Because I didn’t feel comfortable taking money from you in return for a favour,” Sparrow confessed, tanned cheeks reddening a little.
“I pay my debts,” he told her.
“There’s no debt between us, Danse. I did you a favour without expecting anything in return.”
“Why?” Danse wanted to know.
Her cheeks darkened and she focused on her rifle, which was in dire need of modding. “Because… you’re a good man, Danse. One of the few in Diamond City not out for everything he can get.”
“I have a house of my own and meaningful work with the right to glean from the harvest,” Danse said simply. “What more do I need?”
Sparrow tilted her head at him. “You’re not lonely?”
If he was reading her voice right- “Why, are you?”
“I am.” Her radstag-doe eyes watched him carefully.
Danse hammered the lid in with a light punch from his fist. “I wanted to take you home last night.”
Now her cheeks were dark red. “When are you done with your work today?”
“The Wall’s repainted and it’s too late to start checking the stands for loose screws and bolts,” he said with a broad smile, wondering if he’d fallen asleep on the job. Why would the Woman Out of Time be interested in him? “So I might call it a day.”
There was no mistaking the pleasure in her smile as she put away her gun-cleaning things and got to her feet, grabbing her backpack and rifle. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” Danse breathed, unable to resist the urge to pick her up – belongings and all – for transport to his house in the western stands.
“What the-?” Sparrow began to ask, ending with a delighted laugh. “You won’t put out your back doing this?”
“You’re very light,” he told her. “I… wanted to do this. If you’d rather walk-“
“No,” she laughed. “I, ah, don’t mind being kidnapped like this.”
Danse couldn’t get back to his house soon enough.
…
The big man put her down gently on the couch before locking his door. Sparrow looked around at the spartan interior, which looked like it had been gutted, with only a large toolbox and some metal shelves as storage. A little hotplate and coffeepot sat on a battered kitchen table while downstairs, only the couch was available for someone to sit on. She got the feeling Danse didn’t have a lot of guests here.
“Some merc named Kellogg used to live here until he disappeared a couple years ago,” Danse said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The house was foreclosed upon by the city and I got to live here when I became the handyman.”
“That’s good, right?” Sparrow curled up on the couch, watching Danse as he went around and switched on the two lamps.
“So long as Kellogg remains missing, yes.” Danse’s tone was wry.
“Here’s to hoping.”
Silence fell upon them as Danse looked down at her, dirt-brown eyes burning in a way that was painfully familiar. “You’re lovely,” he murmured. “I want-“
She rose to her feet and padded over to him. “What do you want, Danse?”
Now it was his turn to blush, barely visible with that thick beard of his. “I want my cock in you, your legs wrapped around me as you say my name,” he growled.
“I sincerely hope there’s going to be some foreplay first,” Sparrow observed dryly, looking down at the bulge in his jeans pointedly. “You look like a big man in every sense and I’m… fairly small in comparison. In more ways than one.”
Danse stared at her for a moment before flinging his head back and laughing, long hair falling over his shoulder. Sparrow looked forward to twining her fingers through it. “I don’t know what possessed you to find me attractive, but I’m not going to argue with it,” the handyman finally said after a couple last hiccups of laughter. “What do you want, Sparrow?”
She smiled up at him. “I like the idea of your head between my legs.”
His nostrils flared and then she found herself on the couch again with a big, warm man on top of her, kissing greedily as he palmed her breasts through the Vault suit. She arched as his thick thigh spread her legs and rubbed pleasingly against her mound, kissing the top of his head where she could reach before pulling his hair from its ponytail.
Brown-black hair fell around them like a curtain, softer than she expected and a little greasy but smelling like hubflower and carrot flower paste, the Wastelander’s soap. Danse’s mouth tasted like sugar and fake cream – Fancy Lads Snack Cakes – and his skin like honest sweat with a hint of earth. His fingers were rough with callus and scratches as he unzipped her Vault suit, chest smattered with a thick layer of hair as she unbuttoned his shirt.
How long had it been? She and Nate had fizzled out shortly after Shaun’s conception, though she still mourned him as she did her dead baby. Four or five months in the Commonwealth, through the barren browns of fall into the bitter snows of winter and now the first tentative faded hues of spring, and her grief was less painful, her need fiercer. Danse with his hard mouth and gentle hands was everything she needed.
His thumbs rasped her nipples until they hardened through the soft dingy cotton of her ancient bra, drawing a wicked moan from her. “Read about you in the paper,” he muttered, mouthing at her collarbone until a red mark was left. “Wanted to meet you. Now I know how beautiful you are…”
She gasped when his mouth closed over her breast after undoing the front clasp of the bra, teeth scraping across the soft globe. “If I’d known you were… ah! This good with your mouth…”
Danse chuckled in pure male satisfaction. “You do now.”
He tugged her arms free of the Vault suit and bra and peeled the faded, dirty blue material down until her torso was bare. She shimmied up the couch a little to help him with his shirt, tonguing his nipples to return the favour until he grunted in pleasure.
Sparrow looked up at him, saw the rapt expression on his face, and without thought caressed the scar that bisected his right eyebrow. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” she breathed.
Danse’s tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. “I am one of Diamond City’s most eligible bachelors,” he pointed out huskily.
“Humble, too.” She grinned up at him.
“It is no arrogance when it is fact,” he retorted, sliding a broad palm down her torso until he reached the end of the opened top, drawing a shudder of pleasure from her. “Just as you are the most beautiful woman in this place.”
“So what, we’re the next power couple of Diamond City?” Sparrow asked with a laugh.
He slid his fingers under the Vault suit and her panties, finding her wet and hot. “If you want to be.”
“Oh fuck-“ The Vault suit tore under his thick fingers when he tried to slip them inside her and Danse echoed her curse.
“I’m sorry,” he said, though his tone certainly didn’t match the apology.
“I have a spare one,” she told him.
“A pity. I wanted you to wear my clothing.” Danse’s strong hands made short work of her Vault suit, tearing it at the seams until only tatters remained tucked into her boots. Sparrow found that insanely arousing and when he hooked her legs over his shoulders to gain easy access to her cunt, she was almost ready to come then and there.
In fact, she was so aroused that after a few laves of his tongue against her clit, Sparrow climaxed with a loud keen, hands tightening in Danse’s hair.
“Oh Mary, Jesus and Joseph,” she panted once she caught her breath.
Danse grinned boyishly. “I’ll assume that’s a compliment.”
“Yes, yes it is.”
The handyman continued to grin as he lowered her legs and knelt on the couch to pull his jeans down.
Sparrow sucked in a breath at the thick, heavy cock that sprung from his messy pubes when freed from the denim – he went without underpants, it seemed – and the balls that hung beneath, begging to be sucked. “I’m going to return the favour,” she informed him. “That is, if you want.”
“God yes,” Danse breathed. Then added, very politely, “Please?”
It was Sparrow’s turn to push him down until he lay on his back before kissing her way down his chest and abdomen, enjoying the pleading moans that he made. Her lips closed around his cock, tasting bitter salt-musk, and she took what she could of him in her mouth as his hips thrust desperately. Almost as quickly as she’d come, he did, and she swallowed it all until he softened.
Danse pulled her up to him and kissed her, chasing the taste of his own seed in her mouth as his hands kneaded her buttocks. His hair was messy and tangled, his dirt-brown eyes sated as she brushed away some errant locks. Her own chestnut-brown hair had been cropped a while ago after a nasty infestation of lice in Goodneighbour.
“Perhaps it is forward of me to expect more than a night’s pleasure from you,” he said gravely. “In the Capital Wasteland, courting tends to be over very quickly, and there’s usually some kind of benefit for both parties beyond simple attraction. It’s much the same in the Commonwealth, though affection appears to play a larger part in such unions.”
“I think it depends,” Sparrow murmured, thinking back to her own marriage. Part necessity, part arrangement, part shared history and background. Would she and Nate have grown to love each other as the years went by if the bombs and Vault-Tec had given them that chance? “My own marriage was rather like what you describe.”
“Ah, so it’s not that strange an idea for you.” Danse’s large hand cupped the side of her face. “We have much in common, I think. Both outsiders who have come to love Diamond City, who know its history better than the locals. I have the longevity and reputation with the citizens while you have the connections with Nick and Piper plus notoriety all your own.”
Sparrow arched an eyebrow. “Political aspirations, Danse?”
“I am content with my job. I’m no politician, though I’ve observed how McDonough plays the game.” His fingers trailed down her cheek as his cock twitched between her thighs. “McDonough is so caught up in his power and prestige that he’s been treating the Lower Field residents like they’re dirt under his feet. He refuses to address the kidnappings that Piper swears are the Institute’s doing. He won’t send security guards out to scrounge for needed resources and to clear out the raider, super mutant and ghoul infestations around the settlement. He scrimps and scants with the traders who bring our supplies, which is beginning to have an effect on trade.”
She sucked in a breath. “You want me to run for Mayor?”
“I’d like you to consider it while you’re working towards Home Plate,” Danse confirmed softly. “There are three ways you can become a citizen in Diamond City – marriage, owning a residence and being made one by the Mayor after being vouched for by two citizens. With me, you’d get one, you’re well on the way to earning the second, and the third could be Nick and Ellie – you obviously know them.”
“Nick has the memories of an old friend from before the War,” Sparrow said with a sigh. “It’s… complicated.”
Danse heaved a sigh of his own. “If I’m pushing too fast-“
“I… need to consider some things. Learn more about you.” Sparrow smiled gently at him. “I’m not saying no, but I’m not one for rushing into something like this either.”
“That is enough for me,” Danse murmured. “Would it be too much, too soon, if I were to offer you the spare key to this place? It would save you staying at the Dugout Inn.”
Sparrow shook her head. “Not really. I can pay my share in scavenged food, if you’d like.”
“Snack cakes?” The yearning in his voice was undeniable.
“When I can find them,” she promised.
His hands slid up to her breasts, kneading them tenderly. “You remind me of Cutler, a little. Not in looks but… in attitude. He was the smart one. I just fixed things.”
“You’re no idiot,” Sparrow assured him.
“No, but I think you’re smarter than me. Most scavvers would trade whatever they could, but you focus on what you can find that is light and worth a lot. A shipment of screws, for instance, is worth a month’s pay at least. And I have to practically beg to get some.”
“I’ll pay my share in screws and copper then,” Sparrow told him with a smile.
It felt so easy to talk about living with Danse despite only knowing him for a few days. There was something about that grave, gentle reserve and the sorrow in his eyes that drew her.
Nate had been broken, precise and sharp. Danse was battered but undiminished, stronger for his griefs. She wondered how close he and Cutler had been; Wastelanders weren’t as hung up about people pairing with whatever sex they chose as they had been pre-War. Piper had made some subtle overtures until Sparrow made it clear she truly preferred men and then promptly switched her attentions to Magnolia at the Third Rail.
“I would welcome that,” Danse said sincerely. “We have wiring that needs fixing too.”
His cock was erect now and Sparrow found herself lifted up, sliding onto its thick girth with a hint of burn and a needy moan from her mouth. She sat there, adjusting to it after so long without, and then began to rock slowly until Danse’s hips were snapping hard enough to leave bruises on her thighs.
Sparrow moaned again, wondering where this man had been since she emerged from the Vault.
…
Danse kept a grip on Sparrow as he thrust upwards into tight wet warmth, the slight woman’s breasts jiggling with every movement. He hadn’t been so skilfully sucked off since Cutler died – not that he was going to confide that in Sparrow just yet. No doubt she was comparing him to her late husband. He just hoped he came off favourably.
Months in the Wasteland had given her a lean, hungry look and wiry musculature but there was still hints of pre-War – the relatively smoothness of her skin and her perfect teeth, for instance – in her appearance. When she was properly settled in Diamond City, she could regain some weight, put the layer of softness that she should have on her flesh. Fresh fruit and vegetables would help with that.
Sparrow slid her hand down to her cunt and began to rub her clit. “I, uh, need the help,” she gasped.
Danse entwined his fingers with hers, adding a little pressure until the inner walls of her cunt contracted around his cock. Being ridden like this – it was amazing. He could imagine doing this every day, if she’d let him.
Ever since he’d read about her in the paper, he’d imagined this woman as a source of hope for Diamond City. When he met her, his thoughts turned more carnal, seeing the woman as well as the symbol. Now-
He wanted her in his life, both of them helping Diamond City. He wanted-
Sparrow suddenly climaxed, throwing her head back, and the tightening of her cunt around his cock drove him over the edge. Danse cried out hoarsely, driving himself up into her until he was done, and then slumped back in exhaustion.
Once the euphoric aftermath had passed, Sparrow pulled herself free of his softened cock and collapsed on his chest with a groan. “Oh Lord,” she breathed. “I’m going to be bruised for days. But totally worth it.”
Danse sat up on the couch, keeping Sparrow in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he apologised.
“Why? That was amazing.” Sparrow smiled down at him. Her chin-length hair was in disarray around her flushed face.
Danse grinned broadly. “Affirmative,” he agreed.
He felt her relax against him. “Can I sleep?” she asked wearily.
“Of course.”
“Good.” Within moments she was lying across his lap, using the couch’s arm as a pillow, and snoring lightly.
Danse slid out from under her and then picked her up. His bed would fit her and he needed to find some food for them both.
Sparrow mumbled sleepily when he lay her on the mattress, tucking his straw pillow under her head. “I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, brushing away some of the hair on her face.
Downstairs, he made up a couple noodle cups on the hotplate, humming in contentment. Life was good at the moment, for the first time since Cutler died. He had a home, meaningful work and something that might blossom into a relationship.
He hoped she gave thought to what he said. Once you were accepted into Diamond City, you were part of it like you’d been born there. Sparrow was well on her way to that status.
McDonough needs to go. He’s a selfish, shady son of a bitch, Danse thought grimly as he ate both noodle cups. He’d make one up for Sparrow when she woke up.
There was a lot more going on than people realised. The raiders, feral ghouls and super mutants had pressed in closer to Diamond City’s borders – once, someone could have travelled between here and Bunker Hill relatively unmolested. But with the decline of the Minutemen, the scum had crept up to the Wall again. Not a day went by without a guard getting shot by a super mutant.
We shouldn’t have thrown out the sentient ghouls. Many of them had been founding citizens and so long as an eye was kept on them, they could share their memories of the past. It had been a ghoul who set up the power infrastructure, after all, though you wouldn’t hear anyone admitting that these days.
Danse believed in Diamond City and what it could be. As he washed down his noodles with the last of the broth, he looked around his home – once the abode of a ruthless mercenary – and came to a decision.
He was going to fix Diamond City in more ways than just its infrastructure. And he knew exactly who could help him.