Now or Never: Elder Maxson x Reader - Part 2

16 - 'Aint That A Kick In The Head?

For the first time in days, the sun is not hiding behind that blasted sheet of grey-white clouds. It spills through the few-and-far-between windows of the Brotherhood airship, casting a beam of dust-filled light into the Elder's quarters. Arthur cannot remember the last time he slept in so long that he was up after the sun. He can imagine the response of those he has to remind of their subordinate positions, though. Lancer-Captain Kells is an intelligent man; chances are that Delaney informed him of Uri's appearance. The man has always taken quite the caring role for Arthur, as much as he attempts to shrug that off. Yes, Kells will have informed those that had scheduled appointments with him that the Elder is catching up on some much-needed rest.

If it were not for the body entangled with his own Arthur would be furious. Sleeping in sets a terrible example to those under his command; how can they look up to him if he can't even get up to be there when they come running with questions? To deliver vital information? To discuss what will happen next with the Relay, or Prime?

His thoughts pause as Uri lets out a slight huff. Her breath fans across his shoulder, and the Elder cannot resist turning his head to check on her. She is still lost in sleep, but she must have sensed his body tense under her own. Half of her slight frame has draped over his through the night, and he takes the gesture as a reminder of her deeper feelings for him. Despite the current overcast in their relationship, his Knight in combat armour still trusts him enough to share his bed. The thought warms his chest. Gives him hope.

He finds it odd how intimacy can change his perception of her. The logical side of him knows that Uri is very average in looks, with eyes set just the tiniest fraction too-close together and a chin that juts out ever-so-slightly. There is a certain roundness to her cheeks that speaks of her pre-war past; and a handful of scars across her forehead that he presumes are from the chicken pox. Now that her hair has somewhat grown out, it sticks up at odd angles in a way that makes her unique face shape stand out. The nearly unnoticeable lack of symmetry has been marred by the scar coating her cheek, which has done nothing if not make her flaws stand out even more.

But those full, pouty lips of hers are magnetising. And her eyes... He is yet to find a colour he likes more than their amber hue. Then there is her smile, which barely ever comes without that mischievous glimmer in those whiskey depths. It intoxicates him far more than his favourite liquor ever could. She has lost some of the softness her pre-war figure once had, but the curvaceous rise of her ass and hips speak of a life where she was once very well-fed. She has always enjoyed running, and that is something one must become very familiar with in the wastes. Uri returned to the Prydwen with improved muscle mass that he finds his palms drawn to; remembering the time that her thighs wrapped around him... The sound of his name - first name - dripping from her tongue as he lavished her with his affections. The soft muttering she often does while she dreams. The way she bites her lip when she is frustrated; the slight blush that blotches her olive cheeks when she is flustered or lost in the throes of pleasure.

She is a work of art, and art doesn't have to be perfect. Arthur doesn't want perfect. He thinks back to the women Kells hinted at in the past; they were the stereotypical pre-war ideals, minus the pin-up figures and blinding white smiles. Renowned soldiers, daughters of the Heads of X or Y, pretty scientists with keen eyes and sharp minds. But not a single one had appealed to him. Until Uri, he thought himself mad. Arthur blamed it on Sarah's death; not due to the loss of his childhood crush, but the strain that her death put on the remnants of his youth... He catches himself smiling as he imagines introducing them to one another. Uri and Sarah would get on like a house on fire, he just knows it.

If he was more self-aware, Arthur would be able to put a label on the tightness in his chest and flutter of his stomach. But he has been groomed into a role that disallowed emotional exploration, so he takes it all at face value as he raises a hand to comb through locks of unruly raven hair. He doesn't mean to wake her, but is far from apologetic as amber meets blue.