I'm Not Walking Out On You

A/N: Hey all! I posted this on AO3 a while back but wanted to share over here. Warning for lots of smut ahead. Also keep an eye out for more stuff from me! ❤

Hancock would never admit to how many times he had fallen asleep staring at the immaculate curve of his companion's ass. And the dreams he had following were far better than any chem-induced hallucinations. The ghoul would often wake up shortly before sunrise and have to deal with the aftermath of those glorious night-visions before Warren woke up.

He didn't entirely know why he found Warren attractive. Men weren't usually his thing, but there was something about the guy that was...well, sexy. Warren was tall, toned, with broad shoulders that gently tapered to a well-defined waist. Hancock liked to imagine how well he'd fit curled up into the curve of Warren's side, running his fingers down the lightly stubbled skin of his face, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and whiskey that followed the Vault-Dweller like an aura.

Of course, Hancock couldn't tell Warren about his attraction. Warren was, for lack of a better term, abrasive. Not that Hancock could blame him. After all, the man had lost his wife, his son, his home, pretty much his entire life, before waking up in a future that wasn't his. A future that had to seem pretty bleak compared to what he'd left behind.

And Hancock was certain Warren was pretty rigidly straight. After all, the guy had been married, not to mention the fact that he sort of had a reputation around Goodneighbor as a womanizer. Hancock didn't consider himself a jealous person, but he couldn't deny the fact that every time Warren sauntered off to the Hotel Rexford with some pretty girl on his arm, he felt a burning in his stomach.

Sometimes he pictured himself underneath the Vault-Dweller, crying out like the good little bottom he knew he was.

Hancock snorted, smoke puffing from the hole where his nose used to be. Yeah, he'd never, never, ever tell Warren about that.

Tonight was pretty much like every other. They'd made their way to Goodneighbor so Hancock could stock up on chems and Warren could get wasted one last time before they dragged themselves back to Sanctuary, where Warren was sure Preston would have them running off to rescue some settlement out in the middle of nowhere. But for now, they were holed up in the Third Rail, surrounded by the smell of booze and stale cigarettes.

“We could just stay here in Goodneighbor for a while, you know,” Hancock suggested, leaning against the bar. “There's no rush to go back.”

Warren took his drink from Whitechapel Charlie and snorted. “Yeah, right,” he grumbled. “If I'm not back in the next day or so, Preston'll send out a whole platoon to find me.”

Hancock laughed, snuffing out his cigarette and taking a swig of his vodka. “I wouldn't put it past him, honestly.”

Warren took his third shot of whiskey, letting out a sharp breath as he slammed the shot glass onto the bar. “Listen, I'm not here to talk about him, all right? I'm here to get fucked up and, hopefully, fucked.” He jabbed his thumb towards Magnolia, who looked just as stunning as ever.

Hancock narrowed his eyes, polishing off his vodka. It was no secret that Warren and Magnolia had hooked up on more than one occasion. In this situation, the ghoul didn't really know who to be jealous of. Of all the ladies in Goodneighbor, Magnolia had been the one who turned him down. Several times.

“To getting fucked up!” Hancock shouted, lifting high another glass of vodka.

“To getting fucked!” Warren roared, raising his own drink.

Hancock tipped the liquor down his throat, savoring the burn.

Several drinks later, Hancock was feeling thoroughly drunk, and he was sure the only reason why he and Warren didn't get kicked out of the Third Rail was because he was the mayor. After all, the two of them had nearly gotten into a fist fight with one of the patrons when their discussion turned sour.