Chapter Text
“Well if it ain’t my favorite Vaultie.”
Hancock regarded the Sole Survivor, who leaned in his doorway at the Old State House, arms crossed over her chest.
“Hancock, I’m the only Vault dweller you know.”
“Doesn’t mean you ain’t my favorite,” he pointed out, and patted the couch next to him. She sunk into the sagging cushions with relief. He reached for a bottle of whiskey on the sideboard and twisted it open. “Drink and tell me all about it? I’ve heard stories.”
“I’m sure you have, Hancock. And I’m sure they’re far more exciting than what really happened.” She took a gulp of the drink. “I needed that.”
“Don’t sell ya self short, sunshine. Half the Commonwealth has ya to thank for one thing or another.” He took the bottle from her and helped himself to it.
His Vaultie settled herself further on the broken-down furniture, scooting so that she was hip to hip with him, just that tight little vault suit separating him from her warmth—
She leaned her head against his shoulder and Hancock felt his heart turn over in his chest; not for the first time was he struck by the urge to hold onto her and not let go.
“Mine,” she said, reaching for the bottle and plucking it out of his hands, and who was he to say no to her? ( he found it difficult to say no to her)
She took a long drink and regarded him under thick, dark lashes. “Y’know, I could say the same about you.”
“Huh?”
“The amount of good you do for the Commonwealth doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“Gonna turn a Ghoul’s head with talk like that, sunshine. I just do what I have to do for the people.” He reached into the pocket of his frock for his cigarettes, and pulled an extra one out for her—her secret vice was always a cigarette or two when she drank.
She murmured a quiet “thanks”, and took it with gratitude, sitting up as he reached for his lighter. Was he imagining it, or was there something undeniably there as he leaned in to light her smoke? Intangible, as delicate as spun silk, gone in a whisper of smoke. He took a long drag, sighing in satisfaction with the buzz of nicotine.
“You always know what I need before I say a damn thing,” she said, cigarette in one hand as she took another swallow of whiskey.
‘S what friends are for, sunshine,” he replied.
She leaned in, so close that their foreheads were practically touching; Hancock could smell the booze on her breath. “Is that what we are?” A tricky smile. “Friends?”
She was practically straddling him and she asks him this? Fucking hell. He willed his hand not to shake as he took another drag off his cigarette. “Well, I ‘spose I’ve been having some impure thoughts lately,” he said lightly. Had he ever, not that she needed to know that. He’d been longing for her for, hell, he didn’t even know how long. He highly doubted she would ever take him seriously, though. Good things like her didn’t land in his lap, and he was prone to fuck it all up if it did. The last thing he wanted was to fuck it up and throw it all away with her.
He leaned over past her and put out the cigarette, hand brushing against the side of her vault suit. No, he wasn’t imagining it—she definitely shivered at his touch. Fuck.
“I’ve had more than impure thoughts.” Ashing her cigarette, eyes matching his dark gaze.
Taking another drag, well aware his eyes were locked on her lips, every line and indent, the soft “o” she made when she blew out smoke.
This was more than he had ever expected. Sure, she had flirted with him before on the road and he had given it right back—everything casual, everything a joke. Plausible deniability. Even now, he had kept his tone light, never betraying anything close to wanting, close to yearning. That would be too much, and John Hancock didn’t do too much.
She had still managed to worm her way into his heart regardless.
“Rain,” he said. Her name as a warning. As a last chance—she could take it back; they could just be friends, not whatever this was.
“John,” she lobbed back.
It was strange hearing his name from her lips—she usually called him Hancock. Then again, he usually called her sunshine or Vaultie. She extinguished her cigarette and grabbed the lapels of his frock, lowering herself onto his lap to straddle him.
“Ya sure this is what ya want, sunshine?”
Her hand traced the side of his face, gentle on the ruined skin. “I’ve wanted you since we met, Hancock.”
“Didn’t know knifing a guy was such a turn on.”
She frowned for a moment, then cupped his chin in her hands, leaning in so her lips were mere centimeters away. “Sticking your neck out for me like that, when you didn’t even know me? Extremely sexy.”
He could kiss her. He could kiss her and every part of him ached to, but he won’t, not until she kisses him first.
“Noted,” he breathed.
His hands moved to settle on her waist; she sure was a pretty picture like this, pressed close to him, cheeks flushed from the drink. He caught her scent through what remained of his nose; she was warm and sweet and like the earth after a rainstorm, not the acid, nuclear fallout they often got now. Rain like her name.
And then she was kissing him, pressing her lips to his ruined ones, and he’d be damned if he didn’t melt into it, melt into her. His hands moved to entangle themselves into her hair, tongue slipping into her mouth; he caught a quiet moan from her as she met him. She tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and he couldn’t get enough of her. She seemingly felt the same way; as she kissed him she began to grind up against him, seeking friction, seeking him. His hips met her movement, rutting against her as their kisses grew more sloppy; he was breathless with the taste of her. He moved to kiss her jaw, her neck, earning a high pitched whine from her when he nipped at the sensitive skin. Encouraged, he sucked at the patch right below her ear; she arched her back in response, hissing his name.
He took his mouth off her neck (that would surely leave a mark) and grinned. “Ya need somethin’, sunshine?”
“You know damn well what I need, Hancock.”
“Zat so?”
Her hands wandered under his frock, along his blouse, tracing the outlines of his body until she reached the flag tied at his waist. His cock twitched in his pants in anticipation—he was already achingly hard with her in his lap in that vault suit, rubbing herself against him in desperate desire. As impatient as she was, he was hardly one to rush a good thing—at least not this time. He had plenty of romps that were the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but the thought of his Vaultie’s brown eyes welled with hurt at being used for a quick fuck made him feel ill.
He was in too deep with her all right, that was for damn sure.
He took her hand that had been on his belt and brought it to his ruined lips, kissing the inner part of her wrist. She sighed, brown eyes wide and pupils blown.
“Let me take my time with ya,” he said, and she nodded, eyes locked on him.
He kissed her again, and she met his kiss with eagerness, entwining her tongue with his. His hand moved to the zipper on her vault suit, inching it downwards to reveal the most perfect pair of tits (in his humble opinion) spilling out of an old white cotton bra.
Hancock couldn’t help himself, slipping his hand into the worn fabric to grasp her, tweaking the nipple between two fingers. That elicited another moan from her, teeth sinking into his lower lip with a desperate kiss.
Boots kicked off and her vault suit pooled at her ankles, Hancock resumed his explorations, down the curves of her waist to her ass—fuck, she had a nice ass, squeezing it in appreciation—reaching the waistband of her panties.
“Ya really sure—“
The look Rain gave him was one of a woman on the brink. “Fucking touch me, John, please.”
Well, he sure as shit wasn’t going to argue with that.
Slipping his hand beneath the waistband to brush against her, one finger slipping within her slick heat.
She didn’t hold back her moan, and he inserted a second finger, pumping them in and out, causing her to buck her hips. “All this for me, sunshine?”
“I—I—I—“
“Got ya struck dumb and I ain’t even fucked ya yet.” He pressed an affectionate kiss to her temple, and with calculated gentleness, brushed the pad of his thumb against her clit.
She practically squealed, her breath coming in short pants. “Fuck, I—“
He continued his ministrations, curling his fingers gently within her to reach a spot that caused her to cry out in pleasure, her legs beginning to shake. “That’s it, that’s my good girl—“ she clenched around him further at that, he noted. “Are you gonna cum for me, sunshine?”
She nodded eagerly, sweat sticking her bangs to her forehead. “Fuck, yes, Hancock, I’m so fucking close—“
He dove back into her neck, kissing, licking, and sucking, taking in her scent, the taste of her skin, his thumb rubbing small circles on her clit, and she shattered in his arms, her slick dripping down his fingers.
She came back to Earth a few moments later, dazed but eyes bright, a slight whine when he removed his fingers from her slick heat.
“Mmm.” He licked his fingers clean, and his Vaultie buried herself into the crook of his neck.
“I’ve wanted this so badly,” she murmured, beginning to press kisses into the sweet spot by his collarbone. Her hands wandered southward, back to the flag tied at his hips. “And I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Like he could blame her. How many times had his thoughts wandered to her, hand down his pants, only for him to chase the shame and self-loathing in a cloud of Jet?
Flag untied, she worked to free his cock from his pants, a look of desperate hunger in her eyes. And just when she had, she paused, scrambling off his lap.
Of course she doesn’t want to sleep with your ugly mug.
“Shit! Fuck!” The Sole Survivor was crouched in front of her pack, rooting through it. “I know I didn’t lose them….wait! There it is.” Procuring a bottle of Rad-X, and shaking out a couple of pills, washing them down with the whiskey on the coffee table.
She turned back to Hancock, and slipped off her panties. “Now where were we?” She purred in his ear, settling herself back on his lap, her wet cunt brushing against his aching cock.
His fingers dug into her ass and squeezed. “I think I was about to bend ya over this couch and fuck ya till ya can’t see straight.”
“Please.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled off his lap and gripped the edge of the armrest, bending over at the waist. Coming up behind her, he couldn’t help but reach between her legs, brushing against her clit, earning him a needy whine.
“Ya ready for me, sunshine?”
The impatient look she threw over her shoulder had him shaking his head.
“Figured I would ask,” he offered, and she laughed.
He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. God, god, she was beautiful like this, and good enough to eat all splayed out in front of him; his craving for her pushed him forward until he was inside her.
Fuck did she feel good, warm and wet and so fucking tight; when he began to move she gripped the edge of the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“All right?” He leaned over and kissed behind her ear.
“More than okay,” she replied. “I need more.”
Truth be told, he was greedy for more, too, as he rocked against her, and she clenched at the movement. He picked up the pace, reaching between her legs to brush against her clit; she cried out in response.
“I….I….I…fuck!”
“That’s it, baby,” he said. “That’s my good girl.”
It didn’t take long for her to begin to tighten further around him; encouraged, he snapped his hips, fucking her with renewed vigor.
“Gonna–gonna cum,” she gasped, hands uselessly flexing against the couch. “Oh, John, oh fuck–”
The muscles of her core contracted around him as she cried out; he fucked her through her release, letting her ride out the high until she came back into consciousness, sweat slick on her skin and lips bitten, It didn’t take much for him to follow her, pumping her full of his spend with jagged thrusts.
After, disentangling their limbs, sweat sticking her bangs to her forehead, she seemed almost shy: looking down at the ground while she slipped her panties back on, gnawing on her lower lip, focusing on the chems scattered on the coffee table in front of them. Hancock had slipped his frock coat over her shoulders and was rewarded with one of her genuine smiles; this hesitancy and quiet was unlike the Rain he knew. Though fuck if he knew what was actually going on in her head, after all this. He thought he had a good read on his Vaultie, after all the time they had spent together, but maybe he was just full of shit. He sunk into the couch cushions, thoughts beginning to spiral, when she sidled up to him, looking up at him (those doe eyes of hers were bound to be his undoing).
“Can I…?” She was staring at his lap, and comprehension dawned on him. Oh. She knew him, knew his ways–likely she thought she wasn’t the exception to the rule.
How very wrong she was.
“‘Course, sunshine.”
She settled onto his lap, burying her face into the crook of his neck, and something inside him melted. He placed a hand on the small of her back, thumb rubbing small circles.
A clattering outside, followed by the door being pushed open, broke the spell.
“Hancock, I got a report that–” Fahrenheit stepped into the room, and immediately took in the scene in front of her: the chems and whiskey on the table, Rain and Hancock in varying states of undress, the Sole Survivor in Hancock’s lap. “Right.” Fahrenheit rolled her eyes and shut the door once more.
Rain lifted her head from where she was buried in Hancock’s neck. “Well. There goes my ability to look her in the eye for a while.”
“If it helps, she’s seen worse.”
“That’s not the reassurance you think it is, Hancock.”
—
After a while Rain began to feel cold in just her underwear (even with Hancock’s frock) and slipped her vault suit back on, scrambling off Hancock’s lap and sinking back onto the couch cushions. He reached towards the scattered chems on the coffee table for an inhaler of Jet and took a hit, offering it to her when he was finished. Impulsivity rushed through her veins; she nodded and took a hit of the chem, exhaling a cloud through her nostrils. Jet wasn’t her first choice; her go-to was Day Tripper for making all the sharp edges softer. But at least Jet slowed down the near constant buzzing in her brain.
The silence that’s fallen between them wasn't their usual easygoing one. It feels heavy with all the things she longs to say but was afraid to. That she wants to stay with him. That he made her feel like this Wasteland could be home. That he set something ablaze in her that not even Nate did. But fuck, she didn’t know what she would do if she poured her heart out and he just left it there on the coffee table with the rest of the chems, withering. Better to cut herself and bleed out than having someone else do the wounding.
“Hancock?”
“Hm?”
“You’re my best friend, y’know that?”
There’s something far away in his black eyes. “Right back atcha, sister.”
There. They were just friends, that was all. Friends who flirted, sometimes. Friends who had fucked. Maybe if she was lucky, they’d keep fucking, every once in a while. But he never needed to know how she truly felt; how deeply she cared for him. He didn’t need to know that she was covering her own heart in a thousand cuts in her insistence they stay just friends.
Hell, if she got her way, he would never know.