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They hadn’t been back in Sanctuary long, but Codsworth was excited to see Mister Nate back in his home. Even with the roof in such a state. Mister Nate kept saying he would fix it, but Codsworth hadn’t seen any real improvement over the last 2000 days or so. It was probably Mister Nate’s bad leg, always acting up. Ever since he’d gone against those raiders 463 days ago, his leg had been troubling him.
Maybe he would grow out of it. That’s what Miss Nora would always say when Shaun was being fussy. After all, Mister Nate was only 54, still spry, barely half his shelf-life. With proper care and preservation, he could easily live for another 50 years.
At any rate, Preston Garvey would only hold him for so long, and in the meantime, Codsworth had not a small bit of cleaning to do. Not much had changed in Sanctuary since they’d left for Diamond City that autumn, and Codsworth was glad for it. Too many things changed these days.
It had been Codsworth that encouraged the move. Diamond City was safe and protected, an excellent place for Mister Nate to spend his days. Soon enough though, the heavy winter began to lift, and Mister Nate had begun restlessly re-fitting his guns downstairs, had spent late nights in the market, chatting up the young caravan hands for news about the quality of travel.
Late January and he’d started stocking up on supplies, and soon they were back on the road. Mister Nate’s cough slowly getting worse. Miss Nora had always made Mister Nate tea, with honey and lemon, even though he’d hated it. Now, he mostly drank coffee, sweetened with syrup. And thank goodness. Codsworth had no idea where he’d get honey.
He drifted through the empty living room, using the air from his saw to blow dust from the furniture. A little mildewed, but acceptable. A statement he’d never have had inhabiting his memory banks without shuddering 200 years ago. Life was now, he had to see if the pots he’d tucked into the upper kitchen cabinet were still there, or if some enterprising settler had stolen them for scrap.
He was in luck.
A few moments later, and water was boiling as Codsworth drifted absently through the kitchen, re-stacking plates, tossing loose shards out the window. From the shelf, ‘Uranium Rock’ played loud and brassy, and Codsworth’s scratchy humming layered over the sound.
Suddenly he felt something cover one of his eyes from behind, and then another, his servos whirring helplessly.
“Who is-” Codsworth said, but from the heavy chuckle, he already knew it could only be one organism in the entire Wasteland.
“Mister Nate!” Codsworth said, extending one eye over and behind his body, to look a surprised but tired Mister Nate eye to eye. “You’re home!”
“I wasn’t gone that long.” Nate said, and Codsworth shimmied, twisting and wiggling gently enough to break free of his friend’s hold, without causing undue harm. “I told you I’d only be twenty minutes.”
“Yes, well.” Codsworth temporized, grabbing the cup he’d just rinsed, and filling it with hot coffee, two spoons of sugar and a good stir.
“You always say it’ll only be twenty minutes.” Codsworth said, and he could hear the sulkiness in his own tones and it made his pincers click nervously. “And then you and Mister Garvey get to talking...”
Codsworth fell silent, and soon he felt pressure from his sensors on either side of his body, and looked down to see Mister Nate’s arms wrapped fully around him.
“Well, not tonight.” Nate said, and his voice was serious, quieter than his normal jovial tones. “Tonight, I came home.”
“Yes, Mister Nate.” Codsworth agreed, but his voice modulator sounded hesitant even to him. “You’re here now.”
“I am.” Nate said simply, and Codsworth let the joints on his limbs whirr to burn some energy. “Let’s do something.”
“All right.” Codsworth floated briefly back and forth. “We could-”
“Maybe not Blast Radius.” Nate said softly, before taking another long swallow of his coffee. “Maybe... a bath?”
His voice was stiff and a little formal. Or maybe, falsely casual? Whatever the change Codsworth knew why, and he held still, zooming in and out absently on the detailed landscape of Mister Nate’s aged visage.
“That would be agreeable.” Codsworth said, and he was sure a second ago he sounded perfectly even keel, and now, with Mister Nate grinning at him over the chipped rim of his coffee mug, hair falling into his eyes, maybe he’d sounded nervous.
Like he felt.
“Would you like me to heat your bathwater?”
“Sure.” Mister Nate replied, and now his voice was warm and steady, like the coffee really had healed and smoothed his throat. Maybe it had. More than ever Codsworth wished he had been one of the Mr. Handy’s equipped with basic first aid. They had been recalled, a day before the bombs went off, but that would hardly matter now. “I’m going to go take off this gear.”
“Yes, sir.” Codsworth said softly, and Nate disappeared from the room once more, leaving him more flustered than before. It had been almost two weeks since Mister Nate had requested a bath. He had washed up but not.
Not like this.
Codsworth could feel the oil pumping heatedly through his piping. No time for speculation. His master was waiting.
:
“You found soap!”
Codsworth whirled around, pupils dilating and focusing rapidly on the fractal bubble dispersion, some even breaking off joyfully and floating through the air.
“Someone from Sunshine has begun selling them. I picked them up with our jerky, but they only had a little, so-”
“I don’t mind.” His voice was soft, and Codsworth watched as he reached out to cup a single bubble where it hung before him, shiny like an ornament. As it touched his hand, it popped and the air held so tenderly inside dispersed once again to the rest of the room.
“I’d rather appreciate it, though.” His voice was deep with intent and interest, and Codsworth focused and unfocused his lenses, unsure of his tone. “You didn’t-”
“Oh, no sir!” Codsworth said, horrified, as he finally cottoned to the problem. “You have a whole bar remaining! I only shaved a bit off the top for the bubbles.”
“Ah.” Nate said, and then he stood there for a moment in the doorway, looking at the bathroom. The ceiling was the worst in here, but the floor had a drain for when it rained. Now though, the sky was clear, and dark and it was plenty warm. The biggest tub they had sat in the center of the floor, and Codsworth had swept all the leaves to the corners of the room, along with chunks of broken tile. He never had found a dust-pan, in all their years of wandering.
The bathtub steamed, minuscule misty particles hanging above the surface. The water had been heated outside, in the second biggest tub they’d owned. It had been cumbersome to drag, but he’d mopped right after, so at least it’d served a purpose.
It was serving its purpose, and Codsworth had to still his limbs, looking away even as one eye stalk peeked over his own metallic frame. Mr Nate just kept pulling his worn cotton t-shirt over his head. He had it almost over his chest, arms criss-crossed so his hands could grip the hem, when he paused, raising one dark brow.
“Can I have some help, actually, Codsworth? You know how my back gets.” He said, and Codsworth nodded vigorously, pincers whirring before he could stop himself.
“Yes, of course, Mister Nate.” Codsworth said suddenly, too quickly. Nate was smiling at him, his expression warm as Codsworth helped lift the shirt from his back, pincers firm, but careful. He had pierced all of the clothes the first time he’d done laundry for Miss Nora, and she’d made him help her stitch them all up.
Now thread was scarce, and coarse compared to the clever plastic blends of his time. Now he was doubly careful not to puncture the delicate, worn cotton.
The shirt hit the floor, and then his master’s pants. And then his underwear, and as Codsworth was guiding them down his hips, he became aware of Nate’s gaze, serious hazel eyes watching his precise movements. It made Codsworth hesitate, suspension wires held tight to keep his pincers steady against the hairy skin of Mister Nate’s thighs. He was warm, and damp with the day’s sweat, and as he slipped him free from the swaddled cloth of his short pants, Codsworth realized he was half hard, his cock just a gentle swell between his legs.
It made his oil pump double time for a moment, his eyes dilating as he took in the sight, and then he slid the garment down and off.
Finally his socks, slipped quickly off of each foot, and he stood naked, his cock a glass half full. Codsworth handed him into the tub, one foot and then the other. Human bones became brittle as they aged, and Codsworth had become wary of a fall. Although they had met a few good doctors in their travel, none were within a stones throw. Mister Nate insisted a stimpak worked just the same, but he couldn’t hide how he shook sometimes after a rough trip, arriving late, wet with sweat, eyes wild the way Miss Nora’s had been when she’d first come back from the war overseas.
So, instead, Codsworth balanced probability against practicality and tried his best to keep his masters path cleared, free of obstacles-living and not. It was the same protocol Codsworth would have used for Master Shaun, if he had been there for his first steps.
They were all robbed of that, and the thought made his pincers click erratically.
“Ahhh.” Nate said, sinking into the bath. His skin creased and rolled gently in the middle, as his lanky frame crumpled into the tub. Codsworth focused his eyes on the pinking skin of his chest. Not too hot, not too cold-
A droplet of water leapt up at him, landing directly on his optics and Codsworth hummed disapprovingly at his smug master, steam wreathing his unique form, smoothing valleys and bulges that time had fitted him with so slowly even Codsworth had trouble tracking the change. The exact moment his temples had begun to gray, the progressive pop of blood vessels in his master’s nose. His smug grin looked exactly the same, chubby cheeks pressing his eyes into slits with the force of his smile.
“You were staring.” Nate said, his voice falling between kind and playful. “I thought it might help magnify the object of your interest-”
“I think the water would better serve in your bath.” Codsworth said, whirling tightly on his ball bearings. He shuttered his lens and the water smeared, coarse surfactants in the soap spreading it messily. He blinked again. “My vision requires neither magnification nor a scrub, unlike you.”
Nate chortled.
“Well, come scrub me then.” Nate smiled lazily, sinking a bit deeper into the tub, by some strange organic chemistry that seemed to allow his body to fold in the heat. Codsworth let out a burst of static at the sight. “Before I get dirtier.”
“That is impossible.” Codsworth snapped, turning away to hide his embarrassment. He could hear Nate’s soft breathy chuckles behind him as his pincers carefully lathered a scrap of cloth. “As I think you know.”
He turned back around only to burst with static when he saw his master, fully erect, the wet, shining head of him crowned by a swipe of white foam. Nate tossed him a wink, like a life preserver.
“Anything’s possible in the Waste.” Nate said with a sigh, air streaming from his lungs. One hand was still smoothing his foreskin over and around his reddened tip. Codsworth approached him slowly, and this late it was silent all around them, so different from the constant clatter of life, teeming all around in Diamond City. Here in Sanctuary all he could pick up was the gentle splash as Nate’s arm rhythmically churned his bathwater, and of course, the ever present whooshing-thrum of his own propulsion system. The heat at the core of him seemed to burn hotter at the sight.
His thermometers showed no increase, but the curious warmth gave him reason to move forward, burn some energy. Nate was watching him, his head resting along the rim of the basin. The fine grain of his beard showed darkly under his skin, already growing back even though Codsworth had gone over his cheeks with the razor only that morning. His hazel eyes were just slits, and he took a moment to marvel at the joyous impracticality of crafting your photoreceptors out of jelly.
They were certainly arresting, gleaming glassily in the light, widening as Codsworth held out the dripping rag.
“Would you like help with the rest of you, then?” Codsworth asked, and Nate didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.” His voice was strained, lusty. One hand raised to rest gently on the floating curve of Codsworth’s body. His sensors pulsed with the strange tactility of warm, wet human skin against him. “Please, and thank you.”
“Better.” Codsworth said, amused. He dipped the rag through the steaming water, ridding it of much of it’s sudsy nature, before reaching up and dragging it down the length of Mister Nate’s chest. He breathed in, a sharp, wet sound that made Codsworth swing an eye stalk toward him, carefully reading his expression for signs of agitation.
His lids were covering the wet shine of his eyes, making him look deactivated, even as he ventilated wet, rasping breaths. The steam would be good for his chest, and Codsworth rubbed firm, soothing circles into the stiff musculature to encourage deep breathing. He could see the trembling of his arms as the muscles released tension into the heat of the water, squeezed out by the steady, unrelenting massage.
His optics dilated, trying to capture every millisecond of Nate’s lips parting.
“You’re staring again.” Nate said, and Codsworth was focused so intently on his lips, the movement was like recording a stop-motion film. “I am not that interesting.”
“I disagree.” Codsworth said, and Nate cracked one eye just to glance at him. Codsworth avoided meeting his curious mien, instead choosing to swivel his eye stalks closer, as though examining the work he was doing on his Master’s chest.
“Unh.” Nate grunted, and Codsworth split a single stalk from the group to instead focus on the renewed motion of his palm, slicking his cock.
“You have no patience.” Codsworth told him reproachfully, but now he was wavering from his goal, the small soapy rag dragging across the soft pouch of his stomach, the muscles in his abdomen jerking in small, fascinating twitches as he did so. “ How did Miss Nora ever put up with you.”
“Same way you do, I suppose.” Nate said, and he smiled, eyes still closed. Codsworth spent a moment tugging on the twists and tufts of hair that surrounded his master’s proud, tall cock, before slipping lower. He prodded gently at the small, rounded sacs between his legs. “Just took me by the balls, and led.”
“Hush.” Codsworth reprimanded, but softly, so softly, and his clawed arm was tracing absent patterns over Nate’s body, exploring where he was soft, or tender or sensitive. His pincer’s closed against a small, dark nipple and Nate grunted again, his hand speeding. His cock spurted weakly in his hand, leaving his ejaculate to drift murkily into the water, smearing away slow enough as to be unable to pinpoint, as the soap had wiped from his opticals. So slowly, aging out of existence, ephemerally. “Let me take care of you.”
“You always do.” Nate said, his breath easy for the first time in weeks and Codworth washed his small, softening genitals more delicately than he had ever handled a piece of laundry, wiping him smooth and clean, just as he used to do for Master Shaun. “Always have.”
“And I always shall.” Codsworth promised.
Around them, Sanctuary curled up small under the cover of night, and slept.