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Arthur Maxson had what he considered to be a perfect memory. Sensations and details most people would have long forgotten remained crystal clear to him. He remembered accidentally shooting Sarah in his overeager attempt to kill a mutant. He remembered the scribes shooing him from the labs every time he found a new way back in. He remembered the look on the Lone Wanderer's face when she stormed into the Citadel with death in her eyes, bone-pale and soaked with rain, a team of terrified scientists in her wake.
He remembered the massive ghoul she brought with her, and, even worse, that infuriating little brat - two inches taller back then and always two years his elder. Arthur was only ten, still battling his childhood shyness, while the other smirked and walked the wasteland like he owned it.
So when that same brat came waltzing onto the Prydwen behind yet another strong, beautiful woman, ten years older with the same fucking smirk, Arthur recognized him immediately.
Knight Bautista - and he liked how the title flowed into the surname, but he liked River even better - had brought any number of inappropriate guests onto the Prydwen: civilians like that nosy reporter from Diamond City who asked too many questions, or the scowling redhead with bruises on her knuckles, even a synth, more metal than man despite the sharpness to his eyes and speech.
And yet when she walked through the door with him on her heels, Arthur knew without a doubt that MacCready was the most offensive person she'd ever bring before him.
"Elder Maxson," she greeted him politely. Titles weren't in her nature, he could hear it when she'd first used his, but she'd grown accustomed to it. Now it rolled naturally off her tongue.
"Knight," he responded, watching her companion through narrowed eyes.
MacCready looked more bored than anything else, no apparent interest in their conversation at all as he leaned against the doorway. Like he could've been anywhere, as if this were just another errand in the busy Commonwealth hero's day, and that carelessness was just so him Arthur wanted to spit.
It was like some cruel cosmic joke that this woman who had touched his dreams with wisps of white hair would somehow have stumbled upon the one person he absolutely could not stand.
It isn't fair.
He gritted his teeth at the wave of frustration that tore through him. He resented his youth with every fiber of his being, and the thought made him feel so petulant and so very young.
He stared down at the petite woman before him, white hair pulled up into a neat, practical bun, a worn set of leathers peeking out from between mismatched armor. He didn't understand why she refused to take one of the many sets of armor the Brotherhood had to offer. He personally instructed Proctor Teagan to set some aside for her, yet he'd never seen her wear it. So he could never be entirely sure where her loyalties lie, but she did good work when she was here. She'd just come back from training another squire, the third one this month, and if it reminded him a little too much of Sarah, he refused to acknowledge it.
It wasn't River's skill set that suited her for Brotherhood work, but her constitution. She had steel in her soul, in the gold of her eyes, so despite any resignations concerning her experience as a soldier, he admired her spirit.
"Thank you for guiding our scribes, Knight," he said.
Amber eyes met his, pensive and curious. "It's my pleasure, really." Her smile was easy, and even though she kept herself well-guarded, it seemed genuine. "I like kids. The world may have changed, but kids always stay the same."
"They really do."
River heard the contempt in his tone and glanced between him and her companion, who was covering a yawn with his elbow. Arthur tamed the scorn from his expression. "Please, take what supplies you need while you're here, Knight. The Brotherhood takes care of its soldiers."
"Thank you."
He nodded curtly. "Dismissed."
MacCready's mouth twitched, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his cap, but Arthur knew he was laughing at him.
He turned back to the glass, hands clasped tightly behind his back, staring down over the night-darkened Commonwealth below and trying to ease the sudden tension from his body.
Arthur paced the lower catwalks of the Prydwen's main deck. It was late into the night of what had been a very long day, and his body was tired, but his mind refused to rest. He listened to the mechanical sounds of the ship operating around him, the occasional shift of metal against metal, or distant footsteps as someone walked the main deck above him. Usually a few laps up and down the length of the ship were enough to clear his mind; he'd been having trouble sleeping since their arrival in the Commonwealth.
River's presence tonight didn't help in the slightest. The first few nights after they met, he'd dreamt of white hair filling his hands - just that simple, haunting image that seemed to stick to the backs of his eyelids, where it stayed for a week while he did everything in his power to ignore it. She was quiet and soft-spoken, but undeniably confident, and fierce in personality - he could see that in her eyes - but what killed him the most was how small she was, so delightfully small he imagined it would be only too easy to lift her into his hands and pin her against the nearest wall.
Arthur sighed heavily, driving a knuckle into one of his temples to alleviate the headache growing there. He was half-hard at just the fantasy, and retreating back to his room to pleasure himself felt like a shameful way to end the night, but the hours of potential sleep were quickly dwindling.
He was heading back for the stairs when he heard hushed voices. He stopped in place, straining to listen over the ambient noises around him. After a few moments, there was another faint whisper, quiet but close, high and feminine in timbre. He drifted toward the noise, slowly, keeping his footsteps quiet as he crept down the stairs.
Arthur pressed himself close to the wall and peeked through the open space between the descending stairs and the level above. At the first glimpse of white hair, his whole body went rigid. River was perched on a wooden supply crate with her back to him, half-hidden from his view by the heavy shadows, while MacCready leaned over her, hands braced on either side of her. Arthur struggled to make sense of what he was witnessing until she looped an arm around his neck and drew him down into a passionate kiss. His hands were confident and familiar on her hips; they'd clearly done this before, and Arthur felt his hands curl into fists at the wave of intense envy and arousal that went through him.
That the insolent civilian's boots touched Prydwen steel was already insult enough. And now he had his hands all over the woman Arthur had been fantasizing about for weeks. . . The sudden urge to throw something made his hands shake, and he flexed them open and closed, the leather of his gloves creaking ominously from the motion.
River wrapped her legs around MacCready's waist and pulled him closer, tilting her head back to bare her throat to him, and that simple action was so beautifully submissive Arthur had to hold back a strangled groan.
MacCready leaned his head in and whispered something Arthur couldn't catch, and while he sucked at her throat with his mouth, she reached up to pull first a few bobby pins, then an elastic band from around her hair, letting the white locks flow loose down her back. She always wore it up on the Prydwen - he'd only ever imagined it like this in his dreams, in his fantasies - and just seeing the soft tresses long and free made his hands itch to wind through them.
As if reading his mind, MacCready smirked and took a handful of the silky strands into a fist, holding her firmly in place and nipping softly at her jaw. It coaxed a husky moan from her that Arthur could just barely hear over the thrumming engines, and it sent a shock of electric heat down his spine.
River made an impatient little noise in her throat, then shuddered when he ground himself against her. His teeth were at her neck and throat, hand tugging her shirt roughly aside so they could continue down her shoulder. Arthur wouldn't have guessed that she liked pain - she was so small the idea never would have occurred to him - but the sinful delight nearing on relief was clear as day in her every breath.
MacCready had her shirt open, and he lifted her bra out of the way to nuzzle at her breasts. Her hands slid into his hair, holding him close. They spoke to each other in hushed whispers, and if Arthur held his breath, he could just pick apart a few of the words.
". . . nowhere else, huh?"
". . . camping at the airport in the rain. . ."
". . . pick the flying tin can over wet clothes, I guess."
Arthur's eyes narrowed into an indignant glare. That was forty thousand tons of Brotherhood engineering marvel he'd just dismissed in that arrogant, amused tone of voice - but then he was sliding his mouth over one of her taut nipples, suckling eagerly, and she let out a high, keening whine in response that made Arthur's clothes feel suddenly stifling and far too tight on his body. His cock twitched, painfully hard and uncomfortable in his trousers, but he didn't dare move for fear of alerting them to his presence.
River shrugged out of her shirt, baring smooth, pale skin while MacCready tugged open his belt. After a few moments of quiet fumbling, he slung one of her legs up over his shoulder and thrust into her. They both stiffened at the sensation, clinging to each other as he slowly pulled out and drove into her again.
"Oh," River gasped, before he leaned in to kiss her - keeping her quiet, Arthur realized, when the sounds of her muffled moans hit his ear. MacCready's hands dug into her hips, urging her legs open as he fucked her roughly. Even smothered under MacCready's mouth, her whimpers and sighs were still audible, and absolutely irresistible. She clutched wildly at him with her hands, scraping nails over his shoulders and arms, and Arthur burned so badly to feel the sting of them.
He gripped the railing with white knuckles. He hadn't thought it was possible to hate a human being more, but the sight of MacCready's dirt-streaked hands on her bare skin made his blood run hot with rage.
Everything about this was wrong - from the insolent, disrespectful civilian fucking a Knight on the main deck of the Prydwen to the Elder himself watching them, shamefully and undeniably aroused. He laid a hand over the hard weight of his cock in his pants, choking back a moan of relief at even that light pressure. Wrong it definitely was, but the lust wound tight in the pit of his belly kept him rooted to the spot.
MacCready shifted her closer to the edge of the crate, and when he pushed into her again, River threw her head back, lips parting around a silent scream of pleasure. It took only a few deep thrusts like that for her to come, muscles flexing as she shuddered her way through her release. Arthur would've given anything in that moment to hear the sounds she struggled to keep quiet, loud and wild in his ears as he felt her clench and squeeze around him.
She stroked his jaw with her fingertips and he leaned in to kiss her. One of his hands cradled her face, hips pumping faster, his formerly steady rhythm faltering as he neared climax. He gave a few last deep thrusts and finally stiffened and came inside of her, muffling a groan into her shoulder.
They held each other, quietly catching their breath. Arthur should've left ages ago, the moment he realized who he was spying on, or marched down there at once and broken them up; but he hadn't done either of those things, and now it was too late. He stood pinned to the spot, transfixed on River's bare, flushed skin mere feet away from him.
Then, as if he'd known of his presence the entire time, MacCready's gaze shifted up to meet his over her shoulder. Arthur went stiff in shock as, without breaking eye contact, MacCready dipped his head and pressed his lips to River's throat, sliding his hand possessively up her spine. Then he pulled away with that familiar smirk that Arthur would've loved to have punched off his smug face.
Arthur waited in a brief panic to see if MacCready would inform her that they'd had an audience, but they only dressed themselves in silence. The arrogant prick never so much as looked his way, and neither did she.
MacCready had made his point loud and clear, and now he was letting him leave undetected. The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach, but, failing to come up with any better plans of action, cock aching and throbbing for attention in his pants, he turned on his heel and marched straight back to his room.
Arthur was grateful for his near-perfect memory when he finally made it back to his room and closed the door behind him. He tugged the clothes impatiently from his body and threw himself down onto the creaking mattress, short of breath, heart racing with the sounds of River's moans still lingering in his head.
His cock was hard as steel when he freed it from his briefs. He wrapped a hand around the base and squeezed, giving himself a few impatient pumps. His palm was rough and calloused, but in his mind, River's mouth would be soft as velvet.
She would look so pretty on her knees, amber eyes staring up at him from under heavy lids. He'd bury his hands in her hair, watch her drag her tongue up his cock and suck the swollen head into her mouth. He pictured her lips sliding down around him, leaving purple lipstick stains on his skin. He thumbed the head of his cock with his other hand, and imagined River's tongue, stroking teasingly around the engorged tip as she took him deeper.
Eventually she would grow impatient, panting and pink-cheeked, begging for him in that low, sultry voice. He would lift her up into his arms, her slender legs parting around his waist, and press her up against the wall. Pinned between his broad chest and cool metal, she would tremble and whimper and sigh his name, not his title, not his bloodline, but his name as he decorated the column of her throat with his teeth. Then he would kiss her, feel all of those beautiful little noises smothered under his hungry mouth; but he would be sure to leave her lips free when he finally pushed into her, so that her screams of pleasure would echo through the whole damn Prydwen.
Arthur would start slow. Despite any proclivities she may have had for pain, River was much smaller than him. He'd learn the curve of her throat with his mouth while she adjusted to his size, caress her smooth, soft thighs in his hands. He leaned his head back, eyes screwed shut as he stroked himself, fist tightening and sliding more urgently up and down his cock. In his fantasy, River moaned his name and dug her fingernails into the rippling muscle of his shoulders.
Once she started growing restless again - and she inevitably would, eager little thing - he would wrap her hair around his fist and take her throat between his teeth, pinning her down as he fucked her. He imagined sinking over and over into the tight, silky heat between her thighs and growled deep in his chest, hips bucking uncontrollably into his hand. He'd fuck her until she forgot every other man who'd ever touched her beautiful, perfect skin, until his was the only name she thought of in the throes of ecstasy.
His head fell back against the mattress, thighs trembling at the lashes of sharp, hot pleasure that raced from his cock into the pit of his belly. He threw his free arm over the side of the bed, a groan in his throat as his thumb traced over the slit at the head of his cock, spreading slick, warm precum.
Arthur could practically see River on top of him, tossing that wave of long white hair over her shoulder and sinking down onto his cock, gasping at the feel of him. He imagined the curves of her hips in his hands, soft flesh and smooth skin, like no lover he'd ever had. She would lean down to kiss and nibble at his chest, murmuring his name in that hoarse, lovely voice he'd only gotten a hint of earlier, when - when he'd watched that insufferable MacCready fuck her.
Gritting his teeth, he banished the memory of them together from his thoughts and pictured River alone, rolling onto her back and guiding him between her thighs, moaning softly when he pushed back into her. He'd pin her hands up above her head, leaving her defenseless against his wandering mouth, closing his lips over one heaving breast and then the other, stroking her sensitive nipples to points with his tongue until she was writhing and pleading beneath him.
She would feel so small in the strong curl of his arm, arching up into his chest and crying out at the apex of each deep thrust. His beard might leave red marks over her pale skin, and his teeth definitely would, red-violet stains over the column of her throat that would mark her as his for everyone to see.
The sinful fantasy broke apart into fragmentary images as he stroked himself closer and closer to climax: River on her back, bent over his desk, kneeling on all fours while he spread her thighs and shoved into her from behind. His head spun, and he wondered in a daze what she tasted like - probably something fucking sweet, like pre-war candy.
Arthur groaned out a strangled breath, picturing her pale thighs parted over his head, grinding the silky folds of her sex down into his mouth.
Patience, Knight, he would tease her, and lick the taste of her from his lips.
He could almost hear the soft, sultry roll of her laughter in response, lust-rough and husky. You've got the wrong girl if you want patience, Elder.
Arthur wanted her under him when he came, where he could watch the pleasure dance over her features and feel her hair like silk over his fingers, feel her thighs clench and squeeze around his waist. He would bite at her neck and throat, leaving a few last precious welts behind.
He pumped his cock in a grip just too tight, hips tensed and flexing as he toed the line of release. His other hand slid down the dips of his abdominal muscles to his aching balls, kneading the sensitive flesh gently under his fingers. He felt the pressure building deep in his body, and in his head he heard River's voice, urging him on as he seized up and came inside of her. His hips rocked through the waves of pleasure, jets of cum streaking from his cock and landing warm over his thighs and belly.
Slowly the pounding rush of blood faded from his ears, chest heaving with exertion. He hunted along the floor for his shirt and used it to wipe his hands and skin clean, letting his head fall back against the mattress.
With the maddening lust finally sated, Arthur felt his muscles growing heavy with exhaustion, his mind quiet after the rush of his climax.
He fell asleep within minutes, and dreamt of white hair filling his hands.
The next morning, as if by some stroke of horrible luck, Arthur ran into them on the command deck. River started at the sight of him, her cheeks blushing pink while MacCready met the Elder's glare with a level gaze, amusement and something like pride in the deep blue of his irises.
"Elder," the Knight said evenly, and if not for the rosy tint to her cheeks, he almost might've believed the bastard hadn't told her.
"Knight," he replied just as coolly. His eyes fell to the red-blue bruises on her throat peeking over the edge of her collar, her coat not quite tall enough to conceal them fully, and that same twist of searing envy and arousal churned in his gut.
She nodded wordlessly in farewell and turned for the door, moving with an unusual swiftness in her step. MacCready lingered only a moment longer, locking eyes with the taller man. "Nice seein' ya again . . . Elder," he said, a ghost of that infuriating smirk on his face. Then he walked away, following River out onto the flight deck and disappearing from his sight, hopefully for a very, very long time.