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Suffice to say, the first time you watched Mayor John Hancock use the combat knife he carries at all times, it was… startling. Overwhelming. And oddly enough, arousing.
Yeah, watching him stab a guy shouldn’t be hot, but… Finn hadn’t even really done anything to you. You told him to back off, and he even acquiesced, and still Hancock straight up murdered him for you. When you asked him about it later, he said it was to protect his reputation and keep trouble-makers out of Goodneighbor, but you won’t forget anytime soon the look on his face as he approached the you and Finn. He was pissed off even before Finn said Hancock wouldn’t be mayor for long if he kept letting outsiders walk all over him.
Nonetheless, you got past Hancock’s steely exterior, and you learned about his past, and all his insecurities, apparently. The point is, you’re attracted to him anyway, and the knife stuff you had mostly forgotten about, or you do until you see him flipping his knife easily in hand, not even paying attention to the movement. Like it’s second nature.
You were supposed to be meeting Deacon in Goodneighbor for some info on a railroad op, but Hancock got sidetracked by Fahrenheit, so you’re quietly chatting with Deacon (or, more accurately, he is quietly talking at you), while Hancock talks with Fahrenheit near the statehouse.
Deacon’s trying to tell you some important information, you think, but not only is it all in railroad code (which mostly goes over your head anyway), but your gaze is directed at Hancock instead, so you’re not really hearing the spy.
Hancock glances over at you once, but mostly focuses on Fahrenheit, nodding along once in a while as she updates him, saying hi to the drifters that wander by, exchanging a couple words with Goodneighbor security. It wouldn’t be so distracting, except he’s pulling out his knife idly, and is spinning it in hand, eyes drifting from Fahrenheit and off into the distance as he expertly twirls the knife in hand.
The sight of how effortlessly he uses the knife unexpectedly makes your mouth dry, which is great, because if it wasn’t you’re pretty sure you’d be drooling. You occasionally see him use it in combat when he’s out with you, but he prefers his shotgun mostly, so this is almost a treat.
“You stare any harder, and you are gonna drive two holes right through the good Mayor’s head,” Deacon’s voice startles you as he goes back to speaking at a normal volume.
You turn your gaze back to him, ignoring the way his mouth curls in amusement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I just told you we were going into the glowing sea to rescue an alpha deathclaw from a nest of radscorpions, and you didn’t bat an eye,” Deacon points out.
“Well, I don’t think we are doing that, so that’s- that’s not important,” you sniff, crossing your arms.
“Y’know, you should look into wearing glasses like mine so nobody can see where you’re looking. Because first of all, Hancock isn’t as fucked up as he seems to be all the time. He’s going to notice you looking. And second of all, the eyes are little screens to the soul.”
“That’s… not how that saying goes. And I am not staring. I am… keeping an eye on my partner. I’m looking out for trouble.”
Deacon actually laughs at that. “The way he’s handling that knife, you know he can handle any trouble that comes his way.”
At your responding flush, which of course he sees, the smile on his mouth changes. “Oh, is that what this is about?”
“Shut up,” you grumble, arms tightening as you avoid the salacious look Deacon is giving you.
“Just didn’t peg you for a violent lover, Charmer.”
It’s at this point Hancock seems to be finishing up with Fahrenheit, which is just fucking great.
“I swear to God, Deacon, if you say anything, I’m gonna…” the usual threats fail to come to your mind as you watch Hancock flip the knife one more time before putting it away.
“What, get your mayor boyfriend to stab me?” Deacon wiggles his eyebrows, and then Hancock is walking back over.
“Not a word,” you hiss, before turning back to Hancock with a smile.
He’s high, per usual, but he can tell he missed something in the way he looks between the two of you.
“My favorite mayor. How is everything?” Deacon asks, but you squint at him because he’s still got that smile on his face.
“Cut the shit, Deacon. What mission are you sending us on this time?” Hancock gets to the point, pulling out a cigarette to light it.
Deacon takes a brief moment to explain it again, also mostly for your benefit, because you hadn’t heard a word before. Not with the way Hancock was fingering his knife. Fuck.
“We’ll handle it,” you assure Deacon, who’s finished explaining but is still looking like the cat that got the canary.
“Good luck,” Deacon says solemnly, and you’re about to thank him, when he finishes with, “Have a knife time.”
“Deacon,” you threaten, and now Hancock is looking blankly between the two of you again, unsure of what’s going on.
“I’m just saying, I hope you get a good cut of spoils.”
“Deacon.”
“Just take your best stab at it.”
“We’re leaving now,” you announce, shooting Deacon one last glare before turning to the entrance to Goodneighbor, Hancock on your heels. Last you see, Deacon is trying (and failing) to stifle a smirk as he watches you leave.
Then it’s on to the mission, because the railroad always needs help. You’re never sure if Hancock is thrilled to be on these missions, because he generally turns a blind eye to them and their dealings, but he’s never complained. He’s generally quiet, like usual, occasionally offering you chems or advice vis a vis chems. You get through the mission okay, and you think Hancock’s forgotten Deacon’s teasing, when there’s one last raider standing between you and the cache.
Before you can get a shot in, Hancock is whipping out his knife and stabbing the raider one, two, and he flops down onto the ground, dead. Hancock wipes the knife on a cloth he has on him, before flipping it once and putting it away again.
You’re stuck in place, the whole interaction sending a wave of heat through you, and fuck it’s not even supposed to be hot because there is a dead guy on the floor but when Hancock looks over at you, you clear your throat and approach the cache, checking it over and taking some ammo.
“So, what was going on with you and Deacon?”
“Hm? Oh, nothing,” you reply with careful casualness, keeping your back to Hancock as you rifle through a chest so he doesn’t see the embarrassed flush rising in your cheeks.
“You don’t need to lie to me, y’know. You looked about ready to run him through with that sword of yours.”
Funny choice of words. You swallow, turning to face Hancock with an easy smile on your face. “You know he just likes to rile people up. It only works sometimes on me.”
Hancock seems to take it for the truth (and really, it is), and he frowns. “Was he bothering you?”
God, it’s like a pre-war scene in a bar. Your brave hero comes up with a “is this guy bothering you?”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “What would you do if he was? Stab him?”
“I told you, Finn was questioning my leadership-“ Hancock starts.
“Sure, sure,” you interrupt him, shrugging and moving past him to leave the cache area.
Instead, Hancock catches you on the arm, stopping you in place. “Is that why Deacon was making those damn knife puns? Because I’d do it again, you know I would.”
You shake your head, “No, it wasn’t- it’s not about Finn. It was, uh…”
With his hand on your arm, still holding you but not hard enough you couldn’t escape, and his eyes looking earnestly into yours, you can’t really lie. “He was… teasing me, nothing malicious, because I like… the way you use your knife.”
His hand lets go of you, and you briefly mourn the loss of his skin touching yours as he looks at you, confused. You’re pretty sure he’s high right now, anyway, and you can see him struggling through the haze of jet to understand what you’re saying exactly. “What do you mean, you like my kn…”
Hancock trails off then, separate incidents connecting themselves in his mind. The way you looked at him after he stabbed Finn in front of you, a little shocked, a little curious, that he had written off because most people look at ghouls that way. Every time he had used it in combat, and the stupid way you let yourself almost get shot because you’re too distracted by the raider he just gutted. He had also written that off, these as disgust, because who would want to travel with a ghoul that prefers a knife? And the way you looked at him when you caught him cleaning his knife in between missions. That one… was harder to write off. And now it made sense.
As the puzzle pieces come together, Hancock’s smile curls into something salacious, something filthy that you had seen him throw at some poor, unsuspecting folks in Goodneighbor. It makes your flush even worse, and your eyes flick down to the ground, unable to deal with the look he’s giving you, almost hungry.
“Well, now. Isn’t that something,” Hancock says instead, and his words are too casual for the way he’s clearly currently weighing how to get you and his knife into a bed.
“It’s not- obviously, if you’re not interested, I’ll leave it alone, it was just that stupid Deacon noticed and he was obviously gonna say something because he can’t not tell you-“ you start rambling, still staring resolutely at the floor, so you miss the way the smile slides from Hancock’s face and is replaced by a frown.
Before you can even blink, Hancock’s body is pressing you against the wall, back snug against the cold metal as your mouth drops open, suddenly very close to Hancock’s face.
“Hancock-“
“Let’s get one thing straight, sunshine,” Hancock starts, and despite his voice already being deep and crackly and hot, his voice has somehow dropped even further and it goes right to your core. “I’m all for taking this partnership to the next level. Hell, I would’ve suggested it myself with all the impure thoughts I’ve had about you, but you seemed pretty entrenched in faction shit, so I didn’t say anything. But if you’re saying you like me, and you like the way I use my knife, I’m thinking we can settle into something… comfortable.”
He pauses, and even though you’ve been pretty fucking enraptured by the way he’s talking, you realize he wants a response. “Yeah-“ you croak out, then clear your throat. “Yeah, yes, fuck. Okay.”
“I’m also thinking that we should take care of this before we get back to Deacon, somewhere we aren’t surrounded by dead raiders,” Hancock hums in thought, taking a cursory glance around at the bodies before his glittering black eyes settle back on you.
“Uh huh,” you absent-mindedly agree, before shaking your head. “Yeah, yes, hang on.”
His hand creeping up your hip is incredibly distracting, but you are brave enough to open your pip-boy to see what’s nearby. Luckily, there seems to be a settlement right nearby, one you cleared out a few days earlier but hadn’t set up a beacon yet, so there shouldn’t be anyone there.
“Find someplace good?” Hancock murmurs, his leg nudging its way in between yours, and you’re half a mind to fuck him right there, dead raiders be damned.
But no, you shake your head to clear it and push Hancock gently back, heading towards the exit again. “As much as I’d like to, dead bodies are just not on my list of things I like around during sex.”
Your blunt statement has Hancock chuckling, but he follows dutifully as you lead him the short distance to the settlement. You thought it would be weird, but Hancock walks quietly beside you, hand swinging and occasionally catching yours. And occasionally sliding over your waist. Each time, you smack his hand away, eventually saying, “If you keep that up, we aren’t even going to get to the settlement.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” he replies with a dirty grin, which has you flushing and struggling for a response.
Luckily, you get to the settlement, which has (score!) an enclosed house, and some mattresses, and you had already removed the dead bugs you had to kill to clear the house. Truly, the universe is smiling on you, and you have been given a boon.
Hancock follows you inside and shuts the door, obviously intent on getting his hands on you, but you start scouring the place, making sure it really is clear and also you’ve gotten all the junk and ammo you could find.
“What are you looking for?” Hancock asks, sidling up behind you as you look through the drawers in a desk.
“Just making sure I really cleared this place out. I didn’t have a lot of time to clear it and I-“ you stop suddenly, realizing Hancock wasn’t really asking as his hands find your hips, pushing you against the desk.
You feel his breath on your neck as his gravelly voice asks, “And is that what you want to be doing right now?”
“There was also a radroach infestation. Just making sure-“ you choke on your words as his mouth finds your neck, placing kisses before suddenly biting down.
He pulls back, leaving a parting lick on the bite, and then he’s placing his knife on the desk in front of you, fingers lightly resting on the handle. “If there are any intruders, I’ll take care of them. Won’t I?”
You hum in assent, eyes locked onto the knife as Hancock’s other hand slowly creeps up your side.
“Hancock…” you breathe out as his hand lands on your chest, massaging one of your breasts before tugging you back flush against his body. You can feel his interest pressing up against you, and he lets out a little groan as you press back into it.
The sound he makes goes right to the arousal building in your abdomen, and you decide he needs to make more of those noises immediately. You turn around in his hold, linking your arms around his neck and finally planting your mouth on his. He kisses you back eagerly with a growl, crowding you up against the desk as his hand grips your thigh. You spread your legs in invitation, and he takes it, pressing forward so his hard cock is resting against your core while he teases at your lips with his tongue. You kind of like the violent side, and nip at his tongue with your teeth, prompting another growl as he pulls you off the desk, manhandling (ghoulhandling?) you over to the mattress.
He helps you down and presses you into the mattress with his body, neither his hands nor his mouth leaving your body for an instant. When you start letting out needy whines, he switches to mouthing at your neck, leaving harsh bites that you seem to like, if the moans you let out are any indication.
He’s still got his knife in his other hand, and the press of the blade to your bare arm has you tensing up, eyes opening to see what he’s doing.
Hancock pulls back, using his grip on your thigh to tug you a little closer as he slides the knife against your arm. “You trust me, don’t you, sunshine?” he says with an easy grin.
Your eyes flick from his face to the knife, and then you nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out.
Then he’s moving the knife to the bottom of your shirt, and you don’t even have time to complain before he’s sliding the knife between your shirt and abdomen, then slicing upwards to cut your shirt off.
After the initial spark of heat that races down your spine, as well as the way you suddenly can’t breathe, you frown. “I liked that shirt, Hancock.”
“Oh no, you have to walk back to Sanctuary naked. What will the minutemen think?” Hancock replies, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice, because you know he’d like that.
Before you can bitch at him some more, he’s pulling off the remains of your shirt, and then your bra, which you’re grateful he did not cut up because it has been a bitch finding bras in the apocalypse. Then he seems kind of distracted by the view, which pleases you in an ego-boosting kind of way, and he’s just pressing the knife against your bare abdomen as he leans down.
He uses the non-knife hand to tease at a nipple while his tongue lavishes attention on the other one. The sudden wetness as his mouth closes around your nipple makes you sigh breathily and lean your head back, closing your eyes as you arch up into his touch. In the past, you haven’t been that into your nipples being played with, but the way he seems to worship your breasts, switching to the other one so he can get that one wet too…
You kind of want him between your legs.
“Hancock,” you whisper when the teasing gets to be too much, and only the cold steel of his knife is offsetting the heat in your body.
“If you want something, you can ask for it, sunshine,” Hancock replies, and his tone is sickly sweet, even if his words are a little mean.
“I want you to hurry it up,” you grumble, and then the side of the knife is pressing against your flesh, not enough to cut you but enough that the threat is there.
“I don’t think you get to demand anything,” Hancock growls, having sat back on his knees, non-knife hand returning to your thigh. “Good girls ask for what they want.”
And fuck if he isn’t finding kinks you didn’t even know you had. Fuck. It’s like he sniffs them out. No wonder everyone in Goodneighbor wants to get with him.
You flush, your stubbornness warring with your arousal, locking eyes with him while he doesn’t move a muscle. Finally, your arousal wins out, and you groan, “Please let’s get a little more naked.”
“That’s all you had to say,” the easy grin returns to his face, and then he’s undoing the button on your jeans. You think he’s going to just tug them off, but then the knife returns, and it’s a little more dangerous with how tightly your jeans cling to your legs. Of course, the danger just makes your heart beat faster, watching him with bated breath as he slices down them with a practiced ease.
Once your jeans have been cut off, reserving your complaints this time, his hands return to your thighs, admiring the view- most likely how soaked through your panties you are.
“If I’d known you like the knife that much, I would’ve been using it a lot more,” Hancock says, still grinning, as he lies down so he’s face to… well, face to lips? With your clothed core.
You groan, and intend to make a snarky remark, but “Please do,” comes out instead.
He chuckles, and the sound goes right to your core, while you can practically feel his warm breath puffing up against your underwear. He flicks out his tongue, just to tease you and feel you jump in response, and then the knife is expertly sliding between the fabric of your underwear and your skin. Just like before, you hold your breath as he slices the fabric off, and then there is nothing between his mouth and your cunt and he very quickly takes advantage of that, still holding the knife against your thigh as he slides his tongue inside you.
The sudden contact after so much teasing has you gasping, and twitching into his touch, wanting so badly to just grind your hips against his face but still feeling the threat of the knife against your skin. His grip tightens on your thigh as he starts tongue-fucking you in earnest, and you’re sure he’s strong enough to just hold you down if he wanted to, but instead, he’s pressing his knife against you, and fuck if that isn’t hot.
He's tongue-fucking you fast, and you try very hard not to squirm in his grip, hands tight against the mattress as you tilt your head back and cry out. He’s good at this, because of course he fucking is, he’s good at everything, and when he switches to sucking on your clit you want to cry. Somehow, he has the brainpower to also be drawing little circles with the knife against your thigh, pressure still enough to feel it but not enough to break the skin, and the combined feelings of pleasure and danger are making your head swim.
You start begging, variations of his name and “please” and “don’t stop” spilling unbidden from your mouth, and it seems to spur him on, groaning against your clit and sending vibrations up your spine.
“Hancock, I- I’m-“ you fight to get the words out, trying to tell him you’re going to come, but he seems to get the gist as your brainpower leaves you, digging the knife in just a little bit deeper as his mouth creates suction on your clit, tongue flicking against it.
Whatever does it, it’s enough to tip you over the edge, sobbing out your orgasm as your buck your hips against his face. He seems to still have the fucking brain cells to move the knife with your movements, making sure you can feel it but it doesn’t hurt you.
You have to change that.
He still lazily lapping at your clit when you nudge at him with your leg, and he’s leaving your core to kneel over you, smug grin on his face and his mouth is soaked. You groan and pull him down for a kiss, ignoring that your own juices are on his mouth, and then roll the both of you over, settling over his hips as you lay a parting kiss on his mouth.
Now, you think it’s a little unfair (and a little hot) that you’re naked and he’s still got his dumb outfit on, so you decide it’s time to even the odds. Especially since you can see how hard he is in his pants, and if you didn’t know any better, is that a little wet spot where his head presses against the fabric?
When he tries to rise up to meet you, you press him down again, and he stays down, apparently content to let you play dominant for a little while. You tug his shirt up, wrestling with the flag a little bit before getting it off and tugging his pants down. You thought about using the knife, but unlike you, he does not have replacement clothes, and also you’d probably cut him to bits.
He groans as his cock hits the cool air, and you don’t even finish tugging his pants down because fuck. Privately, you’d thought about what his cock might look like (and even more privately, fantasized about), but it’s pretty much what you expected. It looks like the rest of him, skin charred and veiny, but the head is leaking precome, very visible against his skin, and he’s thick and hard.
You only spend a moment eyeing his cock before you put your hand on the base, because any longer and he would get insecure despite having just given you the best orgasm you’ve had in 200 years. He lets out a hiss as you start stroking him, taking a second to get the hang of it, seeing what he likes, and when his eyes close in pleasure as your swirl your thumb around the head, you wriggle into place so you can lean down.
At the touch of your tongue to his swollen head, his eyes fly open and you can just see them looking down at you in rapture.
“Fuck, sunshine…” Hancock groans as you seal your mouth around the head, and you pegged him for a talker, but hearing his voice as it gets deep and breathy is sending heat right to your core and you already came.
You’ve almost forgotten the reason for this, when his knife is pressing against your cheek, tapping against it and his cock in the process. It’s a weird sensation, but then he’s using the knife to urge you further onto his cock, and you comply, watching his face contort in pleasure and you start really sucking him off.
You hollow your cheeks and run your tongue up the side as you slowly bob your head, and you know you’re teasing him, and the insistent pressing of the knife against your chin makes that clear. You bob your head a little faster, sliding the flat of your tongue against the head of his cock each time you make it to the top, and each time, it makes him a little more tense, makes him give a little groan. When you reach the bottom of his cock is when he starts talking.
“Fuck, that’s so good, sunshine… so good… so glad you said something today, I’ve been thinking about you for weeks… thinking about getting my hands under those tight pants… can’t believe you like my knife so much, fuck, I wanna do so much to you with it… you’re not gonna have any clothes at all in a few weeks if we keep this up… you just look so good when I’m cutting those clothes off of you… and when you suck my cock…”
You moan at his words, and the ensuing vibrations make him shiver while you slide your tongue up the side of his cock. Truly, the texture isn’t like anything you felt before, but the way he groans when you slide your tongue between the little slats on the side is worth the sore jaw you’re definitely going to have later. You shift onto your hands, using one to grip the base of his cock to hold it in place and work the base while you suck and tease at the head.
Hancock growls, hips bucking up against your face to get you to go back down, and fuck, you want him to bend you over and take you rough whenever he wants. You didn’t think of yourself as a submissive person before you met Hancock, but the way his voice goes deep when he’s angry at someone makes you want to suck his cock until your choke. Or let him fuck you until you cry.
If you didn’t have his cock in your mouth, you’d probably articulate as much to him, but instead you settle for moaning, definitely exaggeratedly, but it’s worth it for the way his breaths start to get sharper and his sentences choppier.
“Fuck- fuck- up-“ he growls out, using the knife to lift your chin up, pulling your mouth off his cock. You almost whine at the loss, and are about to complain, when he’s bucking his hips into your tight grip as his eyes close and he curses out his orgasm. You realize quickly, as his eyes re-open and settle on your face, that he just wanted to see his come on your face.
“Fuck. I thought that’d make a nice picture,” he grins, frustratingly lucid after his orgasm, and pulls you up so you’re leaning over him.
“I hope the stickiness is worth your nice picture,” you grumble, but your faux-anger goes away when he starts licking his come off your face. Because of course. It should be gross, but it is inexplicably sending heat down to your core, and you groan and push him back down, wiping the rest off before you do something dumb like try and come on his face again.
You settle beside him instead, night having fallen and you might as well stay the night before getting back to Deacon. Because he can wait. Although maybe he deserves a nice gift basket for this. But that would mean admitting to him what happened.
“So is it just knives?” Hancock’s question interrupts your thought process.
“What?”
“I mean, do you have a thing for guns too, or just dangerous things in general? Like me?” he asks with a grin.
“What? No, it’s just you and your knife,” you emphasize with a grumble, snuggling into his side.
“So you wouldn’t be into my shotgun, then?”
You skip over the obvious joke about his shotgun, and reply, “No. Just your knife. Now shh and let me sleep.”
He hums in acquiescence, seemingly content to let that train of thought rest as you fall asleep.