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Kisses are mere manifestations of building trust between two people. Trust takes time, and kisses come slowly to those who are broken.
(Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four)
Part five – A kiss after hard truths
This kiss comes after a realisation.
The Institute hall had an odour of antiseptic and-- nothing. Vacant of smells, sounds and the empathy he expected from others, from himself.
He wanted to repair the relationship he had with his son, sixty years absent of a father can’t be good for a man. Mitch wondered if he had anyone to rely on. If Shaun had anyone who told him it didn’t matter if he failed or succeeded. Did someone tell him they loved him? Was that declaration of love unconditional and unburdened by a want of a favor?
Mitch grew up in a loving family, he’d say nuclear if it didn’t sound so odd, given the circumstances of the world’s destruction. Happy, he’d been fucking happy. And love? He’d known love in spades. As a boy, as a teenager, as a young man. Backed up with the knowledge if anything ever fucked up, his mother, his father, his brother were there to welcome him home. Open arms and open hearts when he needed it most. He wanted it to be that way with his son too.
What that bastard Kellogg said was true: In another life you probably would have been a good father. But here-- in this terrible reality? You just don’t get that chance.
He didn’t want that chance anymore, he didn’t want to play dad to an aging manipulative version of himself. There was only one way, and it’s the Brotherhood way now.
Madison Li wanted information. On an old colleague, a lover maybe, it didn't matter what this man Brian Virgil is to her. But it mattered who he is to someone, enough that they lied about him, lied about his research, lied about his death.
“It’s that fucking simple,” he said to Danse after Li was safely ensconced on the Prydwen.
“Really, just like that? You’re going to give up your son? Am I even talking to Mitch MacGyver?”
He’d nodded and stepped out of his power armor. “Not sure what you expected I’d do, Danse. It’s not as if I had a fucking choice. What’s done is done. The moment that bastard's bullet killed my wife, the moment Shaun was stolen from her arms. Fuck them, fuck the Institute and fuck--." He was going to say ‘fuck Shaun’ but the words were thick in his mouth. Those words and thoughts, black and choking with enough power that he wasn’t sure they were his thoughts at all.
Danse tilted his head, moved forward and placed a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but-- Ad Victoriam, Brother.”
“Ad Victoriam,” Mitch replied. The sentiment hollow, his feelings, convoluted.
On the Prydwen, there’s no privacy; most times, he didn’t care. Neither did anyone else for that matter. How many times had he turned in his bunk to see soldiers fucking one another? More than a five-fingered widow can count. His hand would be slick on his cock, and he’d always come with a groan. No one looked at him; he was only another grunt relieving himself into his hand.
Six months passed since he joined the Brotherhood, and at times, he questioned why he joined. He knew it was right because it felt like slipping into an old habit. It didn’t take long for him to settle in, enjoy the routines it provided as well as its comforts. He could get three square meals a day. No repercussions for bartering weapons, alcohol or cigarettes. Chems too, but they weren’t his thing. Then the sex -- it always came back down to that --freely available.
Tonight he didn’t want his bunk, didn’t want to see others or for them to hear or see him. He just wanted Danse. At night, their fingertips searched for one another but were no more than languid touches. Kisses were frequent, soft and wanting, but not much more than a peck. Mitch wanted more, he needed it, and he was sure Danse did too.
At midnight, they found themselves wandering the flight deck. Then behind a bunch of crates. Their bodies pressed against one another and against the soft cloth of burlap sacks. Danse leaned against him and kissed him, his stubble tickling Mitch’s chin.
Mitch leaned his head back and smirked at the smiling and jovial paladin. “What was that? Have you finally removed the stick from your ass?”
Danse frowned. “What? I find myself, comfortable-- in your company.”
“You find yourself comfortable in my company.” Mitch gave a loud chortle. “Wow, such formality.”
“Shut up MacGyver,” he said and kissed Mitch again.
Mitch responded with a laugh into Danse’s mouth.
Danse broke from the kiss and shook his head. “Well at least that’s the Mitch MacGyver I know.”
Mitch’s brow furrowed as a hand moved to behind Danse’s neck. “What do you mean?”
“I mean today, when you came back with Doctor Li from the Institute. That wasn’t you. Not how I know you.” He shook his head and frowned again. “I know it’s been tough for you. Your son-- I’ve seen you struggle with what the Brotherhood is, but it hasn’t stopped me from --“
“From what?”
“Being invested in you, and your, well-- happiness I guess.”
Mitch gave a low chuckle and kissed him. “Invested. I like that. The truth is--” He looked down and away, swallowing back every negative thought he had on the Institute, on Shaun. “This is harder than I thought. Playing this role. The Institute will fall, and I’ll be there to watch it.”
Danse caressed Mitch’s chin. “We don’t know what’s to come; hell may rain down, on all of us, or maybe just us.”
He stared into Danse’s wide soulful brown eyes. “It’s not how I thought it would be, you and I. You get me, on a level I didn’t think--”
Danse paused to let Mitch finish but he said nothing further. “We can’t all be the hard man. I’m dutiful and fight for a cause. Courage is not turning away from hard truths. The Brotherhood is my life, and having you here, has made it-- better.”
Mitch gave him a soft smile. “I’ve never been a hard man either-- wait, that’s not true.” He bucked against him.
Danse gave a surprised laugh, gravelly and resonant in the small space they occupied.
“Now that is a sound I can get used to,” Mitch said and leaned in for another kiss.
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. - D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Chapter 16 - Hell or high water
MacCready recovers at the Homestead after the conflict with the Gunners. However, a letter from Molly sees him desperate to return with Duncan to the Commonwealth and to Sanctuary Hills.
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. - D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Chapter 15 - Aftermath
After the fall of the Institute and with the support of settlers and friends, Molly recovers in Sanctuary Hills and prepares for the next phase of her life in the Wasteland, one without MacCready by her side.
Thankyou to my ever faithful Beta @thievinghippo
Read on Ao3 (This chapter is a little longer than my usual standard, but it being the penultimate chapter I needed to tie up some loose ends before heading into the last one!)
Kisses are mere manifestations of building trust between two people. Trust takes time, and kisses come slowly to those who are broken.
(Part one, Part two, Part three)
Part four – An undisciplined kiss
The fourth kiss is a rising passion and kinship that leads nowhere.
On any given day in the absence of a weather forecast, you never know which way the wind will turn. Today it blew from the south west. A storm brewed above, signaling an increase in rads and a faint green glow shimmered across the horizon. Mitch stood on the deck of the Prydwen, in front of Elder Maxson and a handful of other soldiers. It was bitterly cold despite it being well into spring, but Mitch didn’t feel it.
A week ago he reached the Institute, the boy behind glass though wasn’t his son, it was only when ‘Father’ stared into his eyes that Mitch knew, for it was his face, his eyes, reflected in a sixty year old man.
He didn’t move when Maxson dismissed the group. Instead he remained until all had left and the wind changed direction.
Back in Danse’s quarters he sat and watched as the Paladin packed his bags.
“You’re ready to do this, then?” Danse asked.
Mitch gulped and shook his head. He knew the task. He was to be the betrayer of trust in this instance. Giving up the Railroad Headquarters was never going to be easy but Maxson had wrested this from him and when Mitch learned the reason why he was horrified. He’d spent little time with them, but these were just the little guys helping the little guys. Mitch was always about the little guys.
“I’m going to sit this one out,” Mitch said. “I know it’s the coward’s way, but I can’t face them.”
“You can’t. Elder Maxson gave an order, the Sentinel co-signed it. Are you going to disobey an order, Knight MacGyver?”
And there it was, Mitch thought, that incredulous tone Danse carried whenever Mitch told him he’s was going to do something Danse didn’t approve of or like. The man should have know him by now, if Mitch MacGyver has a way out of a situation, he’ll take it.
“I’ll do more than that.” Mitch lifted his pipboy and pressed on the transporter button to take him back to the Institute.
There’s bar near Boston Airport where Mitch used to frequent before the war. It was the kind of place that if you were a regular and you paid your tab in a timely manner, it was as though you were returning to your own living room. Deep club lounge chairs, a pool table and jukebox with nothing too modern on it—crooners and jazz singers. If you wanted a drink and it was busy, you could walk behind the bar and retrieve it yourself, no questions asked.
This is where Danse found him, sitting at the bar and listening to a whining jukebox, a bottle of scotch in his hand.
Mitch didn’t turn his head when Danse entered.
“I thought I’d find you here, this is— becoming a pattern,” he said.
“I should get an unlisted number. Maxson send you?” Mitch said and took a swig and dropped the empty bottle at his feet.
“I made an excuse for you, told him you had a lead on the Institute.”
Mitch turned and stared at him. “Why would you do that? You play by the book, you don’t lie, you chastise me every chance you get when I fall out of line.”
Danse looked down and away from Mitch’s gaze and kicked the empty bottle away. “I see what’s going on with you, what you’ve told me sounds like a nightmare. And I didn’t lie. You went to the Institute didn’t you?”
“And you went to kill a bunch of people that I betrayed.”
Danse looked up and crossed his arms. “There was no one there. No tech, some trace stuff, but nothing of value and no leads as to where they’d gone. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
He turned back to the bar with a smirk across his lips. “Nope.”
Danse walked over and sat next to him. “MacGyver, you’re playing a dangerous game.”
Mitch swiveled his seat to face him. “Being scared of anyone who runs free seems like a whole waste of time. How is it dangerous to not want conflict? To look for a way out of this goddamn mess and where more people don’t lose their lives. Feels like the opposite of dangerous to me.”
“You can’t go AWOL again, I can’t cover for you.”
He tilted his head. “Why did you this time?”
Danse remained quiet.
“I tell you why then,” Mitch said and pointed at him. “You’re finally coming around. Learning to relax, see the world through other people’s eyes. People other than Elder Maxson and those buttoned up Brotherhood types.” Mitch could see he’d hit a nerve when Danse rubbed at his throat and a nervous tick twitched at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in close enough to hear Danse’s breath quicken and his own pulse raced in response. “Admit it Paladin, you think what I say has merit. That violence isn't always the answer. We’re a team and like a good team, we think alike, that’s how we hit home runs—a winning combination of moves.”
Danse gave a huff of a laugh. “You’re going to drag me from one disaster to another, MacGyver. Aren’t you?”
“One in, all in, Danse.” Mitch reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder, butting his forehead against Danse’s. The Paladin didn’t back away. “Give me some time, I’ll get there, I’ve just-- got a few things to sort out. I’ll step in line.”
“Somehow I doubt it, Knight,” he said.
Mitch ran his finger along the deep scar that graced one side of Danse’s face. “Some scars take time to heal. Some scars you can’t see. Give me time.”
To Mitch’s surprise Danse’s pressed his lips to Mitch’s, hurried and stiff as though someone might see them.
Mitch responded by putting his hand on Danse’s neck and squeezing the muscle. Danse softened and leaned in to him but Mitch broke from the kiss and placed his palms on either side of Danse’s head, stared into his eyes and pulled him in for an intense and passionate kiss. He wanted to draw Danse closer but the bar stools made for an awkward slant into one another. Danse’s hands flailed and then rested on Mitch’s knees. Mitch felt the tingle of Danse’s stubble and the salty taste of sweat on his upper lip mingled with aftertaste of the scotch.
When they finally broke, Danse’s cheeks were flushed and a dazed smile sat across his features. “I should get back to the Prydwen. When will you return?”
“Give me a day or two. Back on duty and ready to wreak havoc on the Commonwealth once again.” He sighed and gave him a large grin.
Danse stood, pursed his lips and nodded. “Are you sure?”
"Only a fool is sure of anything, a wise man keeps on guessing." Mitch gave a mock salute.
He shook his head. “What does that even mean in this context, MacGyver?”
Mitch shrugged. “I don’t know, I read it on the back of a cigarette pack once, seemed fitting.”
Danse appeared on the verge of replying, but instead he turned and walked towards the exit and out the door.
Mitch gestured to the skeleton on the other side of the bar. “Fill 'er up, Glen, looks like I lucked out tonight.”
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. - D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Chapter 13 - Dulce et decorum est
Molly and the Minutemen prepare to fightback when the Institute begin their retaliation for the actions at Graygarden Homestead. Before the big battle, she has time to reflect on her losses since leaving the vault, and the decisions that changed her life.
'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori' is translated as 'It is sweet and proper to die for one's country'. In the context of this chapter-- the imagery of the battle within the Institue is heavily influenced by Wilfred Owens WW1 poem 'Dulce et decorum est' -- whereupon he showed us the horrific consequences of war. And as we all know by now, war never changes.
Thankyou to my ever faithful Beta @thievinghippo (and also to @venatohru and @solas-you-nerd for allowing me to sound out the trickier parts in this chapter)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: ½
Fandom: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Vetra Nyx/Female Ryder | Sara
Characters: Vetra Nyx, Female Ryder | Sara
Additional Tags: Fingering, Oral, Alien Banging, I learned way more about bird tongues and genitals than I wanted to know on google, but this is pretty hot if I do say so myself, Squirting, Vetra is a top
Summary:
After Vetra burns the steak she made for Ryder, she’s determined to make up for it and prove she has other talents.
PS: I hope y’all appreciate how fast I wrote this!!!
A little fanfic I wrote after Anna gave me this surprise belated Valentine’s gift and I’ve been staring at it whenever I’m sitting at the computer. Anna you are a gem and thankyou for inspiring me!
Molly and MacCready are trying to wing their growing attraction, not realising that they are slowly falling for each other. Pre Tea and Sympathy.
Okay so I made this for my original Fallout fanfic Tea and Sympathy. I kinda like it. Definitely gonna make some of these for friends whose fics I love.
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. - D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Chapter 10 - The Return of the Prodigal Mayor
The Homesteaders begin their journey to Little Lamplight, with MacCready hoping that once they arrive, their pleas for temporary shelter won't be dismissed.
Read on Ao3
Or read the whole thing from the start here!
Thanks to the ever awesome @thievinghippo for the beta.
Today started off extra shitty, but the excellent @bugsieplusone made it a 100 times better with the following ficlet. Total OC kissing week material, starring her sole survivor, Molly Gould, and my shitty fictional prodigal son Ned Johnson (cue my 12-yo self squeeing like an excited idiot on the train). Thank you so much <3
Thundering footsteps come from the bottom of the hill. Molly incredulous that the Brotherhood have made good on a promise. Preston nudges her in the side. Creepy Croup manor, besieged by feral ghouls from a ferry run aground. The settlers unable to handle it call on the scant resources of the Minutemen, but they’re busy fighting fires elsewhere. Two soldiers in power armor approach. “Ned is the name, killing feral ghouls my game,” Ned says. Danse rolls his eyes, Molly supresses a laugh.
“You look familiar. Do I know you?” Molly says and tilts her head. Red hair, freckled, ginger haired and green eyes. If they were side by side you’d think they could be siblings. Up close though, his jaw is jutting and square, where Molly’s is fine and pointed. His eyes of green have a sparkle of mischievousness where her eyes of grey blue are layered with sadness. Still, the spark of recognition sees her remembering a time before the war, one where she laughed and danced.
Danced. Now she remembers. She thought he was rude. “How much do you weigh?” he asks as he grabs her hand and pulls her onto the dance floor. He wears baggy pants and a loose shirt, Nate, his commanding officer gives Molly a wink and nods. “Just watch out, Johnson here is a two legged animal on the dance floor.” The freckled soldier makes her giggle like a teenager, his arms tight around her torso. When he swings her into the air she’s never felt lighter.
His feet move as if they’re on air, as if the troubles of the world live in another universe. Molly soars like a paper plane as he Lindy whips her around then moves into a Texas Tommy. “Life don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing,” he says as the music breaks for the next song. Molly extends her hand and he looks at it and laughs, takes it and pulls her close and pecks her on the mouth. “You’re a real swell gal, Mrs Gould.” She leaves the dance rosy cheeked and light headed.
“All of them? The whole boat load?” Molly says. “Yes Ma’am,” Danse replies. She looks to Preston and shrugs, the job done easily. They stay and Molly catches Ned on the porch as Preston organises supplies with Danse. “I know you,” she says. “You dance well.” He stares at her and laughs, “There was a star danced, and under that was I born,” he replies. Molly laughs and a sudden wooziness hits her at the memory. As they leave Ned turns to her, “You’re a real swell gal, General Gould.”
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. - D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Chapter 9 - Negotiations- Part 2
Molly's attempts at negotiating a deal with with the Brotherhood of Steel come to fruition, giving her the one thing that had eluded her in the Wasteland for some time-- a sense of control about her future. However, a trip back to The Institute changes everything.
Read on Ao3
Thanks to the ever awesome @thievinghippo for the beta.
Also I’d like to thank synthgorillas for loaning me her OCs Doris Silva and Elaine Bryce for this chapter, I hope I’ve done them justice!
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