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The day had been eventful but the night was largely a blur. They’d been celebrating their takeover of the Institute, having cleared out the rest of the synths before stationing soldiers inside the massive building. Nora had to deal with her son, of course, unable to leave him dying alone and suffering. And then there was the synth boy…
She needed time to think. But first, she needed to forget.
Once Arthur, Nora, and Danse returned to the Prydwen, Arthur opened multiple bottles of alcohol according to their individual tastes, and the trio found themselves celebrating their victory in the privacy of the Elder’s quarters. But it was after Nora’s third glass of wine that she felt its effects beginning to take hold, and somewhere after her fifth or sixth glass—alongside numerous shots of apocalypse-manufactured bourbon and whiskey taken between them—that her memory started to fade in and out.
Or maybe it was a dream, because surely Arthur wouldn’t have allowed Danse between her legs while the Elder had his cock in her mouth.
It was difficult to recall, most of the memories fractured; they were brief recollections throughout the night that didn’t last long, like short clips of herself in different positions with both men.
She remembered Danse being beneath her, his chest flush with her back, while Arthur was above them and between her legs. Both men had their cocks in her—Danse in her ass and Arthur in her pussy—and she recalled herself moaning in pleasure as they roughly fucked her.
At one point, she saw Arthur stroking himself as he watched his best friend fuck her from behind, Danse pinning her to the bed while his much larger frame loomed over her, his cock sawing against her sweet spot while he held her down. She gripped his wrists, her gaze stuck on Arthur as he intently watched.
An even briefer memory was of both men standing in front of her while she was on her knees, Arthur’s dick down her throat while she stroked Danse’s length, only to switch between who she sucked and who she stroked.
Nora wasn’t sure when they’d finished and fell asleep, nor how long they’d slept, but there was another foggy memory—this one a bit clearer than the others—of being woken up to the sound of Arthur’s moans.
She remembered opening her eyes, her vision blurry, only to see Arthur bent over the table with Danse behind him, strong hands grasping the Elder’s hips as the older man fucked him from behind.
“Harder,” Maxson hissed.
Arthur was shoved forward and flat against the table with a grunt, Danse’s palm staying in the middle of his back while the Paladin adjusted his stance and abided, fucking the younger man even harder. The sound of their bodies colliding nearly echoed in the small room.
Nora’s vision was still a little fuzzy from sleep and drink, but she was almost certain Arthur met her gaze as he gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of the table.
“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna cum,” he growled.
She watched as his eyes rolled up before tightly closing, pleasure washing over his face, but he didn’t seem to cum. Not that she could tell, at least.
A quiet, sleepy noise escaped her, though neither man paid her any more mind, Arthur still focusing on his pleasure and Danse still roughly thrusting.
She wasn’t sure when she dozed back off, the effect of alcohol still wading around in her blood, but she knew the men weren’t done when she did.
By the time she woke up, Danse was gone and Arthur was sitting at his desk doing paperwork. He greeted her just as he always did, even pausing his work to eat breakfast with her. She didn’t dare bring up the night before, though, and he didn’t seem interested in talking about it, either.
That was fine. She could always visit the Memory Den.