"You'll be more useful well rested and you know it," he huffs, and literally has to look away once he notices that cocky smile, because it only makes him want to touch Danse more. God, this is stupid.
"Please. I am the rumor mill," he mutters, a lie of course, but one he could easily make true with all his bullshitting. If Danse is worried about his fellow drifters whispering about him messing around with Deacon, well, they don't have to see them together. They could see Danse seemingly alone. Or with a vast array of sunglasses-wearing characters. For example...
Deacon steps behind Danse and Jane Doe completes the circle around him, smirking over her shoulder as she heads down the road. "Come on, stubborn-ass. Don't slow me down."
Danse isn't really worried about that, partly because he doesn't think anyone else will take notice or comment, but also because he wouldn't care if they did. He really doesn't do secrets, after all. One wants to avoid PDA around the underaged, and he certainly thinks they can be quieter than certain others have been known to be, but it wouldn't be the end of the world if people knew who he was kissing. There's no rank or protocol to worry about anymore.
But he knows by now that Deacon likes to keep things clandestine whether it's necessary or not--and Danse doesn't even know the extent of it, doesn't know that everyone else here except Nora knows him by various different names, but he's aware enough to make an uncharacteristic effort at discretion for Deacon's comfort. "You would be," he says, of the one-man rumor mill, because--well, of course Deacon would be. That's precisely the kind of thing he'd want to control and know how to go about doing it.
Anything else he could say about this is promptly cut off, as Deacon surely knew it would be, by Danse's blushing silence at the reappearance of this particularly appealing illusion for the first time since the dressing room debacle. There's no reason to panic about it now, or to feel angry at his own response to it, when they've fully surrendered now to this undeniable need for each other whether it's a good idea or not. It just sets his stomach fluttering again, but with a little redirection of that energy, he can give as good as he gets with that sass.
If Deacon was really honest with himself (which he isn't; he can't be honest with anyone with any regularity), he'd admit that his charades were pointless in the convoy. He wasn't involved in any secret mission, and outside of Danse and Nora, who both knew who he was and what he was involved in, not a soul would care about Deacon's habits back home. But Deacon acts this way out of habit, and he doesn't know anyone else enough to trust them too deeply, so why bother being seen as vulnerable? Relationships can be exploited, after all.
With a scoff, Jane's head whips around to him again, eyebrows raised above her shades. "Why? You offering up a ride?"
They all do things here that aren't necessary, that aren't their jobs anymore, clinging to mindsets and patterns from the past because it's just about all any of them have left from home. Danse might not be generally inclined to condone Deacon's particular ingrained habits of shadow-hiding and track-covering, but nobody's being harmed here, either--except maybe Deacon himself, but this is all far too new and cautious and tentative for Danse to feel like he should prod at that.
There are perhaps other things he's being invited to prod at, and he turns his attention to this particularly provocative wording. "That depends what kind of ride you're talking about," he says, back to trying to conceal his tantalized amusement behind his usual clipped bark, and only managing it halfway. "If you want to go piggyback, that's a pretty big ask without my power armor, but I guess I could haul you for a little while."
He doubts this is the kind of ride Jane meant, but wonders if the offer might get taken up anyway.
Deacon likes the little banter they get into, the way Danse tries to play things cool, the way he sometimes blushes despite himself, or how even if he doesn't, his tail gives him away. A spin on Doe's heel has her walking backwards, smiling cheekily at Danse as he replies.
"That wouldn't be seated now, would it?" A question she doesn't really want the answer to, because its purpose was to subtly assure him that the proposition was for another time, one where she might explore a few different takes on the concept.
"You're injured, anyway. You'll have plenty excuse to expend energy later.
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"Please. I am the rumor mill," he mutters, a lie of course, but one he could easily make true with all his bullshitting. If Danse is worried about his fellow drifters whispering about him messing around with Deacon, well, they don't have to see them together. They could see Danse seemingly alone. Or with a vast array of sunglasses-wearing characters. For example...
Deacon steps behind Danse and Jane Doe completes the circle around him, smirking over her shoulder as she heads down the road. "Come on, stubborn-ass. Don't slow me down."
no subject
But he knows by now that Deacon likes to keep things clandestine whether it's necessary or not--and Danse doesn't even know the extent of it, doesn't know that everyone else here except Nora knows him by various different names, but he's aware enough to make an uncharacteristic effort at discretion for Deacon's comfort. "You would be," he says, of the one-man rumor mill, because--well, of course Deacon would be. That's precisely the kind of thing he'd want to control and know how to go about doing it.
Anything else he could say about this is promptly cut off, as Deacon surely knew it would be, by Danse's blushing silence at the reappearance of this particularly appealing illusion for the first time since the dressing room debacle. There's no reason to panic about it now, or to feel angry at his own response to it, when they've fully surrendered now to this undeniable need for each other whether it's a good idea or not. It just sets his stomach fluttering again, but with a little redirection of that energy, he can give as good as he gets with that sass.
"Or what? You'll sit on me again?"
no subject
With a scoff, Jane's head whips around to him again, eyebrows raised above her shades. "Why? You offering up a ride?"
no subject
There are perhaps other things he's being invited to prod at, and he turns his attention to this particularly provocative wording. "That depends what kind of ride you're talking about," he says, back to trying to conceal his tantalized amusement behind his usual clipped bark, and only managing it halfway. "If you want to go piggyback, that's a pretty big ask without my power armor, but I guess I could haul you for a little while."
He doubts this is the kind of ride Jane meant, but wonders if the offer might get taken up anyway.
no subject
"That wouldn't be seated now, would it?" A question she doesn't really want the answer to, because its purpose was to subtly assure him that the proposition was for another time, one where she might explore a few different takes on the concept.
"You're injured, anyway. You'll have plenty excuse to expend energy later.