Chapter Text
“Christ almighty, Colonel! What the hell did you do?!” Tracey says as she presses a cold compact against Preston’s cheek.
“Probably something bad, I’m sure,” Preston says sarcastically, hissing when the cold compact presses against the already forming bruise. The old leather seats of the airport are a lot more comfortable than the rickety chairs in that meeting room at least.
“I just don’t understand how you of all people could get into a fistfight with Elder Maxson,” Danse says beside them, cleaning oil off of his hands. He’d been making some adjustments to his power armor, — away from Proctor Ingram’s judgemental eyes— when Garvey showed up, looking worse for wear, “More surprising is that you won, ” he says with a hint of awe in his voice.
“I didn’t mean to, Danse. It just… happened,” Preston takes the compress and holds it, “You were right though, Maxson’s an ass.” He keeps thinking of how the man almost mentioned Quincy, smearing its name and memory like it were brahmin shit on his boots. The memory makes his gut wrench in anger.
Danse looks off to the side, muttering, “I didn’t say that… ”
Tracey sighs, “Well, at least you get the chance to grovel at his feet tomorrow.”
“I’ll apologize for starting the fight, but I’m not going to beg for forgiveness for what he said about us, Lieutenant,” Preston says, looking up at the woman. He spots a bit of concern in her brown eyes. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted.
“Well good for you Garvey!” Knight Williams cheers atop her own power armor as she works on the frame, “At least you’ve proven you got a backbone,” she says with a laugh.
“Knight Williams!” Danse chastises.
“What? From what I heard, Elder Maxson likes ‘em tough,” Williams says while taking a swig from a bottle of Nuka Cola.
Preston blinks, “Excuse me?”
Williams laughs, “Nothing!”
Preston looks over to Danse, a curious expression on his face. Danse’s menacing glare flicks from Williams to him and softens considerably. He coughs, “It’s nothing, Garvey. You’ll be fine.”
Arthur walks into the mess hall and everything suddenly stops. His brothers and sisters looking at the large bruise on his nose and split lip. With one keen glare, everyone quickly goes back to what they were doing.
All except one.
“Maxson!” Comes a jovial voice. He feels a large hand tug him down onto a seat.
Arthur grunts, “Lancer Knight Jordan…” He can feel his eye twitching.
“You know you can just call me Jordan, or ya know… Henry. We’ve known each other since we were both Initiates,” Jordan says with an exaggerated pout.
Arthur gives up and turns in his seat, facing the table. Henry slides over a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes as an offering, “What do you want?” He glares at his old companion.
Jordan smiles, “Oh nothing! Just wanna know how you got that shiner,” he points to the bruise on Maxson’s nose, “You didn’t happen to get into a fight with another Deathclaw, did ya?”
“No, just…” Arthur stops himself from saying anything more and instead, grabs a snack cake and shoves it in his mouth. He feels like a child.
“ Just… ?” Henry slides closer to him.
Arthur glares at him, “Did you ever stop to wonder why you’ve never been promoted to Lancer-Sargent, Jordan?”
“Nepotism?” He smirks. Arthur groans.
Jordan wouldn’t be wrong per se. Arthur had known him for a long time, probably one of his first real friends he ever had at the Citadel. Hell, Henry was there, after the fight with the deathclaw, dragging an injured Maxson back to the rest of the troops. But fondness wasn’t entirely the reason Henry hasn’t been promoted yet. No, it was his constant need to get Arthur’s attention, even if that meant bugging the living hell out of him.
“You know that when you’ve proven yourself capable, I won’t hesitate to give you what you deserve,” Arthur says with honesty, “But until then, most of the reports I’m handed about you are complaints.”
“Does that,” Jordan points to the bruise again, as though proving the other’s point, “Have anything to do with that Minuteman guy that came here?”
“You’re an ass …” Arthur deadpans.
Jordan snorts, “What? I was just asking.” A pause, “Did you like it?”
Arthur feels himself fluster. He turns, “Jordan!”
“Oh my god…” Henry says, eyes widening, “You did. ”
“Lancer Jordan, I am warning you—”
He goes quiet, “He pressed… you’re one button.”
Arthur stands then, stomping away. He tries to ignore the blush creeping up his neck and the loud laughter of his friend.
When he gets to his private quarters, he roughly digs through the pocket of his coat, pulling out Garvey’s green scarf. He thumbs the stitch work for a moment, imagining Preston mending it beside a fire. His face set in a concentrated pinch, a pink tongue peeking out. The fire casting gold flecks against his umber skin.
Imagines the man turning towards him then, shooting him a scathing glare with those beautiful brown eyes, before calling Arthur out on his behavior. Degrading him, calling him names, taking him down a peg or two. Things no one else dared to do since Sarah was still around.
Arthur sighs in frustration, feeling his face heat up as he buries it in the scarf.
Arthur finds himself on the ground. It’s night and the air is freezing against his skin but feels nice on the bruise. He walks inside the airport walls, trying to find the spare rooms they set up specifically to house the Minutemen during the negotiations.
He still has Garvey’s scarf folded neatly in his pocket.
Grumbling to himself he nods to the Initiates standing guard. They salute with panicked expressions on their faces and eyes wide with admiration, but still clearly wondering what the Elder is doing there at this time of night.
They stutter as he asks where Garvey’s quarters are, surprised that they’re even being addressed in the first place. It’s… irritating to think that his own men feel as though he can’t be approached. He’s been treated as though he were some kind of god ever since his rise to power, and while sometimes useful, he’s never felt good about the image the Brotherhood has given him. He’s simply human, a soldier like all the rest. There’s no need to worship the ground he walks on like some kind of savior.The Lyons saw that, and treated him no differently. Sarah especially. Why is it so hard for everyone else to do the same?
At least Preston seems to have gotten the idea, with his biting remarks and hard punches.
Saint Monica, he needed help.
After excruciatingly gathering some intel, he’s back on his path, beelining it to Preston’s small room.
Arthur stops in front of the door, shifting from foot to foot, not entirely sure how to proceed. He’s never been this flustered before. It’s ridiculous.
A voice in his head, sounding an awful lot like Lancer Jordan talks about button pushing, and Maxson shakes his head to rid himself of it. This is absurd, he’s the Elder of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel. Not some love-struck teenager.
He clears his throat and knocks on the door. After a few moments, Preston’s tired face appears as the door opens.
Preston blinks at him, clearly surprised by Arthur’s presence. It’s obvious that the man was about to go to sleep, only wearing his pants and a long sleeve shirt. After a moment of staring at each other, Garvey speaks,
“Oh! Elder Maxson! Uhh… Can I help you?” He looks as confused as he sounds.
Arthur feels heat coming to his face and tries to will it away. He coughs, “Yes, I…” He pauses as he holds out Preston’s scarf, “I wanted to give this back to you.”
Garvey looks at it, “You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”
Arthur’s thoughts stutter. Why didn’t he wait? Garvey sighs after getting no answer and opens the door a little more and steps out of the way.
“Come in then, since you’re here. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
Arthur clears his throat and obeys.
Once inside the tiny makeshift room, he turns to find Preston looking uneasy. Maxson avoids eye contact, feeling a little bad about causing such an awkward rift.
“Look, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about getting worked up the way I did,” Preston begins, “I just… Quincy is a tough subject.” He goes quiet for a moment.
Arthur looks at him and sees the uncomfortableness in him. To the way he stands to the pinched look on his face, it all screams unsettled. Arthur wonders if the man has gotten enough sleep as he observes the bags under Preston’s eyes. He notes the laser musket beside the cot, right within reach and just knows then and there what the answer is. Arthur knows what bad experiences can do to a person. Has seen the glazed look Danse sometimes gets when he’s wandering the Prydwen at night. Has watched the way Jordan flinches from loud, sudden sounds on occasion. Hell, he’s had his own fair share of nightmares over bad choices made. Regret tinging his voice as he wakes up with a scream caught in his throat.
“And I’m sorry about bringing it up. Quincy was a tragedy, but the Minutemen have come a long way since then,” he keeps his gaze on the ground, still not sure if he can look the other in the eye just yet. He’s half afraid of the response he’ll get. The other half is afraid his mind will go to inappropriate places if he looks at Preston again. It doesn’t help the building awkward tension in the tiny room.
He hears the man sigh, “It’s just… Look, Elder Maxson, I know we’re both frustrated about the supply routes. I can tell you it constantly worries me whether settlers will get enough to get through a month let alone a season. But it feels as though you haven’t taken into consideration anything I’ve said.” Arthur looks up to see Garvey looking away with annoyance. He lets the man continue to air his grievances, remaining silent out of respect.
“It’s not just supply routes or food I have to spend all my concern on, though. I have raiders, Gunners, super mutants, synths and coursers running around, attacking settlements almost every day. The people need someone to help them, and the Minutemen are trying their best, but we haven’t fully recovered yet,” Preston pushes himself off the wall and begins pacing. Arthur watches him with caution, recognizing the building frustration. He’s… He’s getting a lecture, an honest to God, lecture. Arthur feels a pull in his gut and tenses. His thoughts and body betraying him in the worst way.
Garvey continues, not having noticed the change in Arthur, “I more than anyone else hates to admit it, but the Minutemen need support from the Brotherhood. Without help, the settlements just… get wiped off the map, die. We can’t keep up with all the problems that currently plague the Commonwealth.
“But then the Brotherhood arrives and starts demanding supplies from people just barely scraping by, becoming another problem on that long list. And I have to deal with it. I’ve tried to be reasonable, but it feels like the Brotherhood is just here to make a mess and leave for someone else to clean up,” Garvey complains.
“I understand your frustration—” Arthur begins, voice cracking as he tries in desperation to banish the blush coming up his neck.
Garvey snaps at him, “No, I don’t think you do, Maxson! I don’t know how you think things run down here, but let me tell you, whatever you’re thinking is wrong! I know the Brotherhood is here to deal with the Institute. I understand the threat you’re trying to combat, as does everyone else. It’s admirable, but we’ve been living with it for over a hundred years! If you think that just by showing up, you’ll suddenly get the respect of the Commonwealth and its people, you’re an idiot,” Garvey stops pacing and gets into Maxson’s space again, just as he did on the Prydwen earlier. Arthur has to fight off the flush he knows is coming. He feels like a child being berated.
“Look at how long and how much it took for the Minutemen to get that respect back! You can’t just go around and— and strong-arm people into doing what you want. You can’t walk around as though your God’s gift to mankind. I don’t know how it is in the Capital Wasteland, but here, that’s not gonna fly,” Garvey is closer again, looking Arthur in the eye, “So, are you gonna finally get off your high horse or are we going to continue to have a problems?”
Fuck, Arthur feels himself getting hard again. What was wrong with him?
He grabs onto Garvey’s shirt, clenching it in his fist. Preston tries to move back, taking the other’s arm and trying to wrench it away. When he can’t he looks up at Arthur with a heated glare.
Jordan was wrong.
Garvey didn’t just press the button.
He’s pressing all his buttons.
Arthur has exactly one second to think about the consequences of this revelation. To think about how Jordan is gonna rub this in his face for years. To think about how this might make him enemy number one with the entirety of the Minutemen.
He finds himself not caring all that much and pulls Garvey in and kisses him.
Preston feels his back hit the wall of his small room with a light thud. Maxson’s mouth is on his with a desperate intensity that leaves him overwhelmed and shocked and speechless. He feels the rising heat in his body as Arthur’s mouth opens and a tongue grazes his bottom lip, his beard scratching at his face pleasantly.
Preston grabs ahold of Maxson’s coat, when the man rolls his hips against him, feeling the bulge there. He manages to push Arthur away enough to finally get a word in.
“ Seriously? ” He sounds as shocked as he feels.
Maxson’s face is a pretty shade of pink as he stares at Preston with wide, blue-steel eyes, “I…” His hips twitch again, probably not of his own volition, yet Maxson’s face grows redder, almost mortified by himself.
The awkward tension grows, but Preston can’t help but feel a familiar pull in his gut at the heat growing between their bodies. He watches Arthur’s gaze flick back and forth between his lips and the wall, partially out of embarrassment, partially from arousal. Steel-blue eyes suddenly meet his own and Preston’s breath leaves him as he sees the glazed lust there. Not many people have looked at him like that in a while, and it’s definitely doing things.
For a moment, they watch each other, wonder what the other will say or do, but when nothing happens, Maxson releases a shaky sigh before leaning back in for another kiss. This time, when he licks at Preston’s mouth, the other obliges. Preston sighs as he feels the heat of a tongue sliding next to his, licking into his mouth with sloppy incoordination. In his slight haze, he finds himself surprised by Arthur’s inexperience in this, but the eagerness more than makes up for it.
Arthur finally lets his hands relax from Preston’s shirt, becoming softer, gentler, as they slowly slide down Preston’s ribs, feeling the bone and muscle through the thin, cotton shirt. Preston shudders and carefully wraps his hands around Arthur’s shoulders, gripping at the leather coat.
Arthur breaks the kiss first and buries his face in Preston’s neck. Leaves a trail of wet kisses down to the shirt collar before nipping at the junction between neck and shoulder. Preston bites his lip as he feels Arthur’s scratchy beard against his skin, rubbing it raw. He’ll definitely have marks tomorrow. At least Arthur brought his scarf back.
Then, Maxson is suddenly on his knees.
Preston’s mind goes completely blank as the younger unbuttons his pants. The only thought in his head being, “He looks good down there.”
He watches with wide eyes as Maxson pulls down both his pants and briefs at once and his brain kickstarts back into reality with a panic. A sharp feeling tugs at his chest as he grabs Arthur’s shoulders, ready to push the man away and bolt out the door, but Arthur simply buries his mouth between his legs. Preston feels a startle sound catch in his throat as he feels a hot, wet tongue run from slit to nub.
Preston has just enough time to grab Arthur’s hair and twist his grasp before a shudder runs up his body. He gasps loudly as Arthur licks at his clit then trails back down to his opening, running his mouth around his sensitive folds. He feels himself getting wetter as Arthur’s tongue traces his slit, dipping in occasionally. Thumbs press into his hips, rubbing against the jutting bone, but refrains from bruising. Arthur’s beard roughly leaves marks on his inner thighs, marking them too.
Preston hears himself groan before his other hand can come up to silence himself. Maxson echoes the sound and licks deeper inside him. He feels the vibration go through him and he shudders, feeling himself gush. He’s completely overwhelmed, head knocking back against the wall and catching every sound he wants to make in his throat. He feels another moan rock through him as Arthur flicks his nub again. Preston yanks Maxson’s head back, watching his adam's apple bob. Arthur gasps before looking right at him and licking his lips. Preston feels heat travel up his neck as he looks at Maxson’s glazed eyes and red face. His beard and mouth covered in Preston’s slick.
It’s been… a long time since he’d last slept with someone. Trusted someone enough to let them this close, make him this vulnerable. But the way Arthur looks, kneeling for him with a pretty flush on his serious face, makes Preston’s pulse jump. A feeling of control he’s never felt like he had in a long time, sends a spike of arousal through him that makes him tremble.
How can he go from a fistfight to fucking with the same man in one day? What has gotten into him? Was this normal for the Brotherhood?
Preston bites back a whimper when Arthur’s hands move from his hips, down to his thighs, squeezing them in order to spread them. Preston gently smacks them away, pushing them down with one hand, too overwhelmed by all of this.
To his surprise, Arthur relents and moves his arms down onto his lap, fingers clutching at his legs, looking dejected.
Punished.
Waiting for permission.
Preston trembles at the sight and takes his pants the rest of the way off, leaving him bare from the waist down. He hears Maxson whimper, and it does things to him he didn’t expect at all.
Preston licks his lips as he looks down at Arthur, feeling charged in a way he can’t explain. Experimentally, he says, “Sit,” and watching in awe as Maxson shifts from his knees to his ass, spread legs bent in front of him. He releases a shaky breath, letting the warmth and musk in the air take fill his lungs with need. He then kneels astride the other, planting himself squarely in Maxson’s lap.
Arthur groans softly with a reedy sound to it, but still trying to keep himself quiet. Looking wanton even with an irritated expression, like he’s struggling against his own needs, he bites his bottom lip red and breathes. Preston feels Maxson’s hips twitch against him, the bulge rubbing against his opening. He makes a shaky, quiet sound as the hard leather of the Brotherhood suit rubs against his clit.
Preston finds himself chuckling breathlessly then, running his hands against the shaved sides of Maxson’s head before grabbing at the strands in the back and tugging gently. He’s rewarded with Arthur’s choked off moan and it makes his gut twist in the most pleasant of ways.
Preston rolls his hips with a grunt, hearing Arthur gasp at the friction between him. He keeps his hands on the ground, but his arms shake with pleasure as he ruts up slightly to meet the rolling movement the other man is torturing him with.
Preston leans in and kisses the younger. His tongue presses inside that infuriating mouth and sighs as Arthur moans again. Slowly, he moves his hand down to cup Arthur’s cock through the ridiculous Brotherhood uniform he’s always wearing. He feels the man cant his hips against his palm and gently rubs it, eliciting a shudder from Arthur.
“Ah— fuck…” he whispers through clentched teeth.
“You were the one to put me in a closet with walls as thin as paper,” Preston whispers back, an amused smirk on his lips.
“I know ,” Arthur grunts, cutting himself off as another soft sound leaves him.
Preston chuckles, “Don’t take that tone with me.” He watches in delight as Arthur flush deepends.
He starts tugging at the buckles and belts of the uniform, growing more frustrated, before he finally pries himself away with, “How the hell do you take this thing off?”
Arthur chuckles with amusement, a deep sound that does a lot of things to Preston, and large, trembling hands join his, pulling at a few things. Preston watches with a warm feeling in his gut as Arthur pulls out his cock and lets it rest on Preston’s inner thigh. It’s thick and uncut, almost a painful red at the head of the long shaft. Preston takes it, rubbing against the long vein with his thumb and feels it twitch in his palm. Arthur bites his fist, groaning around it as Preston pumps his cock slowly.
He grabs a chunk of Arthur’s hair and pulls his head back, leaving a trail of kisses into his beard as he pulls back the foreskin and teases the slit. Preston feels the vibration of another moan against his lips as he sucks a mark into Arthur’s neck. He kneels up on trembling legs, taking Maxson’s cock and rubs the head against his cunt, letting the other feel how wet he is from nub to slit. Arthur whimpers, one hand clawing at the ground as he tries to keep both him and Preston up. The other covers his mouth, making a pretty sight for Preston.
After a few minutes of relentlessly teasing Arthur, Preston finally slides his cock inside him, feeling the girth stretch him slowly as he settles. When he’s fully seated, he clenches down, shuddering at the feel of Arthur twitching inside him. He cants his hips slightly, wanting more, moaning quietly in the space between them. Preston hears Arthur choke off a groan and looks up to find the man breathing heavily, eyes closed, and a deep flush on his face. He looks gorgeous.
“Hey,” he waits until the younger looks up at him with glazed eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, “You okay?” Preston asks gently, breathing deeply. He scratches the back of Arthur’s scalp causing the man to tremble.
Arthur removes his hand, but the only thing that comes out is a whimper, making Preston clench around him again. At that, Arthur ruts up, diving impossibly deeper than he already is. Preston shuts his eyes, shuddering, and begins rolling his hips, soft groans leave his lips.
The slide of Arthur’s cock against his walls becomes slicker, shallow thrusts. Preston presses his forehead against the other’s, both panting into the space between them.
Quietly, Arthur says, “C-can I?”
“Can you what?” Preston asks breathlessly as Arthur gently rolls his hips up, hitting that spot that makes him see stars.
“Touch you?”
Preston nods without hesitation, biting back a whimper as large, warm hands rub up his thighs, leaving goosebumps behind. Rough fingertips and callus palms run further and further up, toying and teasing skin just under the hem of Preston’s shirt. Arthur never travels farther, waiting for permission, to be told he can. It sparks a fire in Preston’s gut.
Spreading his legs, Preston grabs one of Arthur’s hands and presses callused fingers against his clit, encouraging Maxson to move in circles. When Arthur gets the idea quickly, he presses roughly against the bundle of nerves, earning reedy moans from the older man that’s just on the edge of too loud.
“That’s—” Preston twitches his hips faster, nearly bouncing in Maxson’s lap, “Yes, right there— S’good,” he praises, tugging at Arthur’s hair. He brings him in for a sloppy kiss, hearing Arthur whine against his mouth. There's a squelching sound as Preston moves faster, fucking himself on Arthur’s cock, getting closer to his release. Arthur bucks his hips up to meet him, hitting that spot over and over, making Preston tremble.
He grows louder with each bounce of his hips, no longer able to quiet himself, and not really in a state of mind to care. Arthur whimpering with him with every thrust of his hips and drag of his finger tips. Preston pulls Arthur close, brushing his cheek against Arthur’s temple, planting kisses down the side of his face in an attempt to quiet himself. Maxson catches his lips with a sloppy finesse that has him moaning loudly.
Suddenly, everything crescendos into something taught and bright and hot. Preston’s body going rigid as he twists his grip in Maxson’s hair. He bites down on his lip and covers his mouth to quiet himself even if it’s far too late, and Maxson’s cock shallowly continues thrusting into him milking him for all he’s got. Arthur’s fingers still rub circles through his release making his body twitch as he clenches around the other like a vice. Maxson himself is breathing hard, hiding a whimper with each pull of his lungs.
As Preston starts to come down, everything slows to a crawl. His body feels like rubber as he massages the back of Arthur’s scalp, hips stuttering as Arthur removes his hands and leans back on them again. He kisses a warm trail over the younger's face, following the scar, then over his bruised nose, and down to his lips. Maxson whines into it with a wanton flinch of his hips.
“Shhh, I got you,” Preston says as he pulls himself off Arthur’s still hard cock. He cups Arthur’s face with one hand, while the other gently grabs a hold of Arthur’s dick. Feeling Arthur shudder, he mercilessly teases the head only for a moment before stroking him. He gently kisses Arthur’s bearded cheek, watching with sudden delight at how glazed the other’s eyes are.
It only takes three pumps before Arthur’s voice pitches and he shudders. Thick, white fluid runs down Preston’s hand as he rubs the younger through his release. He feels each pulse through his palm as Arthur trembles beside him.
They both sit there for a long time, both panting as they come back to themselves. Preston grimaces as he looks at his hand. Arthur reaches into his coat then, pulling out a small handkerchief with a shaky hand and cleaning them both with it with slow precision.
He mutters a, “Sorry…”
Preston locks eyes with him, watching his stoic face despite how disheveled he looked everywhere else, “For what?”
Arthur’s face goes tato red and ducks, concentrating on wiping away his own spend on Preston’s hand, “For finishing without permission,” he mutters, embarrassed.
Preston stares at him. Blinks. Opens his mouth and pauses. Closes it.
“I said I got you...” he croaks, not exactly knowing how to respond.
Arthur pauses, eyes going a little wide before coughing into his hand, “I see…”
The two sit in silence again, the minutes going by, Preston looking at his scarf that was dropped on the floor earlier. When Arthur’s done with the handkerchief, he throws it into a corner and sits up properly, looking Preston in the eyes. There’s a seriousness there that makes Preston uneasy.
“I should… also apologize for earlier. I behaved poorly,” he says.
Preston finds the honestly there, but still jokes, “Now you apologize? After the sex.”
He watches with a smirk as Arthur sputters, “No, I— Well, yes, but that’s not why I was here— ”
Preston laughs, quieting the other, “I’m teasing, Arthur.”
He turns then, finding Arthur giving him an incredulous look with wide, blue-steel eyes and mouth slightly parted, it’s adorable. It makes him look a lot younger than he wants to appear.
“What?” Preston huffs.
“You called me by my first name,” he says, as though it answered Preston’s question.
“ Okay… Do you want me to go back to Elder Maxson?” Preston asks.
“No, I—” Arthur clears his throat, trying to look less flustered and eager, “I think it’s perfectly fine. We’ll be entering an agreement soon and I’d prefer we skip the formalities.”
Preston looks at himself, bare from the waist down, and then at Arthur, whose flaccid cock was still hanging out of his uniform, “Pretty sure we skipped formalities about forty minutes ago,” he deadpans.
“Yes— Well—” Arthur stutters. Preston laughs.
“Seriously, Pres… How did you do it?” Nora asks as she watches a Vertibird land in Sanctuary. A Brotherhood Scribe exits with a crate of supplies to hand off to Marcy.
“I… have no idea,” Preston says honestly, chuckling to himself, “I guess my evil plan worked?”
“Nonsense, Garvey! You simply took my advice,” Danse greets as he walks up to them in his power armor, “When dealing with Elder Maxson, be assertive ,” he says with a proud smile.
Nora turns to Preston, “ Assertive , huh?”
Preston gives her a sheepish look and opens his mouth to speak, but a familiar voice comes from behind Danse.
“ Assertive , huh?”
Danse clears his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable, and steps out of the way to let Arthur Maxson step forward. He looks every bit the commander of the Brotherhood, back straight and face expressionless as he observes his Scribes and Initiates dropping off supplies and weapons in exchange for crates of food.
“General,” he addressed Nora with a polite nod before turning to Preston, “Colonel Garvey, good to see you again,” His tone carefully neutral, “I wanted to discuss with you the new patrol routes we’ll be establishing in Southern Boston. Also about the collaboration between the Minutemen and Brotherhood in dealing with those Gunner outposts.”
Nora blinks at Preston, then back to Maxson, looking rather surprised, “I see you’re quite the negotiator, Preston.”
Maxson smirks, “Colonel Garvey certainly has quite a way with words, General. You should promote him.”
Nora gives Arthur a lopsided grin, “He’s my second-in-command. Don’t think I can give him a higher position without resigning.”
Arthur hums, “Shame.”
Preston notices the annoyed twitch Nora’s eye gives and quickly steps in with a nervous chuckle, “Alright, that’s enough with the flattery,” he steps forward, closer to Arthur, “Elder Maxson, I have a map set up over here,” he points to one of the Sanctuary homes, “I’ve also wanted to talk to you about special negotiations regarding certain settlements under the Minutemen’s protection. Follow me.”
No “please” or “if you’d kindly” , simply a polite command. Arthur nods and follows Preston without another word. Both smiling as they make their way into the privacy of the pre-war house.
They hear Nora ask Danse, “The hell did I miss?”
To which Danse replies, “It… I want to say I know, but I’m not entirely sure now,” sounding equally confused.