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“Lose enough caps yet?”
The ghoul’s smirk is easy, the same one he was wearing when he found Haydn being aggressively frisked by the bouncer over his smart mouth. He’d wrapped an arm around Haydn’s shoulders with a dismissive wave to the bouncer, whisking him down into the depths of the Third Rail with nothing more than his name.
But that was probably hours ago. Haydn isn’t exactly sure how long they’ve been drinking and playing cards but most of the other patrons have stumbled out by now.
Haydn looks his hand over again. It’s nothing he can win with, which has been the last three hands. He’d think Hancock was cheating if it weren’t a laid back game. He folds, placing his hand on the table and pushes a small handful of caps towards the victor.
“Yeah, probably.”
Hancock grins again, pulling the caps to him. He makes a shot out of the last of his drink and watches Haydn over the edge of his glass. “So. You’re really not from the Commonwealth, then?”
Haydn shakes his head, “That obvious? Capital Wasteland.”
Hancock whistles low, amusement still crinkling the edges of his dark eyes. “You’re a long way from home, brother. One irradiated hellscape not enough for you?”
Haydn laughs, “I had my reasons.”
In the short silence that follows Haydn takes a look around the bar. It’s nearly empty; Magnolia rests her voice with a glass of something dark, sitting at the bar where Whitechapel Charlie idly cleans a row of glasses. The music is louder without the thrum of conversation the night started out with, and Haydn finds he misses the noise.
“Well, kid. Care to continue this at the State House?”
Haydn looks back at Hancock and grins.
“Absolutely.”
He stands, fixes his sledgehammer through the straps in the back of his armor. He’s nearly Hancock’s height, which makes it easy for the ghoul to wrap his arm around Haydn’s shoulders once more.
They tumble up the steps, and in the end Haydn ends up following closely behind Hancock, smirking at the bouncer’s disapproving glare.
The cold night air hits Haydn’s face, liquor warm cheeks burning under the light of the streetlamps as Hancock leads them down an alley. He turns to Haydn as if to say something but it’s lost as Haydn, bold on liquid courage, presses their mouths together.
Hancock’s mouth is harder, more chapped beneath his, but Haydn quickly finds he doesn’t mind when the ghoul starts kissing him back. Hancock’s hands fall to his hips as he pushes Haydn’s back against the alley wall. They’re not hidden, easily spotted by any number of the Neighborhood Watch patrolling the streets, any wanderers out late.
He doesn’t care.
If he’s being honest the slight publicity is making his stomach lighter from more than just the kisses.
Haydn moans into Hancock’s mouth when the ghoul presses their bodies as close as he can, a tongue sliding past Haydn’s teeth to roll against his own. Hancock palms the front of Haydn’s jeans and his hips grind up into his hand, a shiver running down his spine.
They grind together for a minute, slowly, Hancock smirking into his mouth and biting at his lip when they pull apart from their kiss.
“Couldn’t make it a few more feet?” Hancock teases, sucking at a space behind Haydn’s jawline.
Haydn swallows a groan as he pushes Hancock back, backing him up against the opposite wall. Hancock’s brows would have raised if he had any, but the look in his eye is all the expression Haydn needs as he drops down on his knees.
“Shit, brother,” Hancock breathes.
Haydn rests his hands on Hancock’s hips, smirking as he leans in to mouth at the ghoul’s clothed cock. He can feel Hancock starting to harden against his lips, pressing a kiss to where he imagines the head of his cock is.
“Gonna tell me to stop?” He asks, teasing heavy in his tone.
“You’re something else,” Hancock says, but if it’s meant to chastise him Haydn isn’t so sure. Hancock’s definitely enjoying it, if the tiny movements of his hips says anything. “You really couldn’t wait for the State house? Have to have me here, where anyone could see you on your knees?”
There’s something excited and desperate in the ghoul’s playful, breathless tone. Haydn drags his tongue up the front of Hancock’s pants; it’s filthy, tastes like old dirt and sweat, but it earns him a long groan from Hancock.
Haydn holds eye contact, mouth tingling from the friction of the fabric. He can only imagine what he looks like, plays into it as he leans up into Hancock a little more. “Please?”
Hancock swears under his breath, tangles a hand in Haydn’s hair as he says, “Fuck, yeah. Let’s give ‘em a show.”
He’s quick to unbuckle Hancock’s belt, letting it hang loose off his hips as he works on the ghoul’s fly. Pants and underwear halfway down his thighs, the only thing blocking most of Hancock’s dick from side sight is his jacket.
Hancock makes a small noise of approval as Haydn takes his cock in hand, pumping his fist around it. The head is already starting to wet with pre-cum, red and as textured as the rest of Hancock’s body. Haydn isn’t sure what to expect as he leans in and wraps his lips around the head, tongue brushing the underside as he slowly starts to sink down.
He’s salty and heavy in Haydn’s mouth, twitching as Hancock grows harder on his tongue. It’s not an unpleasant texture, which is good, because there’s no way in hell he’s stopping now. Haydn sucks his cheeks in, moving down the ghoul’s cock with ease. What isn’t in his mouth is gripped tightly in one fist, pumping Hancock in time with his lips.
“ Shit ,” Hancock breathes, the hand in Haydn’s hair tightening as he tries to stop his hips from bucking into Haydn’s mouth.
Haydn grins, as much as one can with a cock in their mouth, picking up a bit of speed as he goes.
The alley is filled with soft, slick sounds — almost too loud to Haydn’s ear. The added thrill of someone catching them has him undeniably hard, free hand moving to grip his own crotch to grind into the heel of his hand for some friction.
“Could get used to seein’ this,” Hancock says, as breathless as Haydn feels.
Haydn groans around him, pushes Hancock deeper into his mouth. The head of the ghoul’s cock hits the back of his throat and Haydn swallows past his gag reflex, breathing hard through his broken nose. He whines as Hancock’s hips buck into him, throwing off his momentum.
Hancock looks like he’s about to apologize but Haydn grabs his hips and pulls him forward, looking up through his lashes at the ghoul.
“Want me to fuck your face?” Hancock asks, the hand in Haydn’s hair tightening. His fingers start pulling at the roots and Haydn nods a little, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes at the edge of pain. “Tap my thigh if you need me to stop, sunshine.”
Haydn loosens his grip on Hancock’s hips, giving him free reign to press his hips forward. Hancock pulls himself almost all the way out of Haydn’s mouth, cursing under his breath as Haydn’s tongue curls around his cock, before pressing back in.
The pace Hancock sets is light, at first. Testing the resistance of Haydn’s jaw, not quite pushing into his throat. It quickly picks up, hips snapping forward harshly as Haydn swallows around him.
Hancock holds Haydn’s hair, his face, thumb under his jaw to feel the weight of his cock stretching Haydn’s mouth. He holds Haydn’s face still, losing himself in the feeling of Haydn’s mouth as his hips buck forward.
Every thrust is quickly met with the head of his cock at the back of Haydn’s throat, sometimes holding it there for a second, sometimes just moving again. Haydn breathes hard through his nose, tears now fully in the corners of his eyes, jaw strained as he lifts his head a little more, gives Hancock a better angle to use him.
Haydn’s hand is at his cock again, his own hips stuttering forward into his palm. Hancock watches him hungrily, biting his bottom lip as dark black eyes don’t leave his face. Haydn’s lungs burn and he gasps around Hancock’s dick, pushing past it to swallow him down again.
“Holy — fuck,” Hancock rasps. “Haydn, I’m gonna—”
Haydn can feel it too, the tight coil in his stomach as he grinds against his own hand. His skin feels on fire despite the wind that picks up around them.
His world narrows to the face staring down at him; nearly forgets that they’re in public, until someone walks too close, their footsteps carrying on the cobblestone.
Their eyes meet, and as Hancock starts to pull away Haydn pushes forward, swallowing him down entirely. Hancock bites his lower lip hard when he comes, hips out of rhythm as he spills over Haydn’s tongue.
It’s a little like what he’d imagine battery acid would taste like, mixed with salt. Haydn tips his head back a little to swallow the pool lingering on his tongue. Hancock releases his face, steadies himself against the wall as he reluctantly pulls his cock from between Haydn’s lips.
The owner of the footsteps is long gone. If they even came down the alley at all.
He’s still grinding into the heel of his hand, catches Hancock’s attention with a low whimper. He’s so fucking close his nerves are burning, tipping him closer to an edge he’s desperate to fall over. Black eyes capture his face, and Haydn’s chest aches as his breath leaves him.
“Gonna come, kid?” He asks, voice harsh and just above a whisper. Haydn nods feverishly, a small whine catching in his throat as Hancock puts his foot over Haydn’s hand, adding more pressure. “Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he says, hand under Haydn’s chin to lift it, “wanna see your face.”
Hancock grinds his foot down and Haydn is gone . Body tightening as a shiver runs down his spine, strangled noise caught in his chest. He would curl in on himself if Hancock’s tight grip on his chin didn’t keep him in place, panting hard as his eyes shut.
“God- damn ,” Hancock breathes.
His foot is still pressing down into Haydn’s crotch, and Haydn squirms with oversensitivity until Hancock moves it. He’s slow to stand up, gets a head rush that has him leaning against the wall for a second, unsteady on his aching knees.
Hancock doesn’t give him the opportunity to speak as he uses Haydn’s hair to pull him into a kiss, releasing his white knuckled grip to run his hand through the tangled auburn mess. “You know what,” he says against Haydn’s lips, “you might just be my type of crazy.”
Haydn laughs, arches his back a bit to press into Hancock. “Guilty as charged.”
Hancock smiles, something more genuine than the cocky grin in the bar, something less needy than before. It’s a good look on him. “Come on,” he pulls away from the wall, takes Haydn by the arm, “I think you’ve earned yourself some Jet.”