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moving to the tempo
show me what it takes

speeding up my heartbeat
playing in the flames
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You and Hancock had been traveling together for quite some time. Together, you founded and defended settlements for the Minutemen, and you rescued and relocated synths for the Railroad. No strings attached, no gimmicks or pretenses. You genuinely found joy in helping those that needed it. And that's what you were doing when the fiasco happened.

Strolling through College Square, you two were on the way to clear out some feral ghouls from an old subway station. It was midday, and the sun's rays scalded the earth.

Hancock surveyed the abandoned square warily as you scanned the map on your PipBoy, searching for the location of the subway station.

"You sure this is a good idea? Dealing with ghouls can get pretty nasty." He faced you and with a wicked grin, he added with a wink, "Trust me. I'd know."

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, a faint blush rising to your cheeks. Over the course of your time together, you had grown fond of Hancock. How could you not? The ghoul was fierce and resilient. He emitted confidence and authority, and always looked someone in the eye when speaking to them. He could weasel his way into anything, and was very charismatic.

Surprisingly enough, he had a softer side.

He shared your joy of defending the helpless, and he loved to make people laugh. A soft smile always found its way to your face when you watched him cause a worried or tense settler to relax by telling them some joke. When he succeeded in brightening someone's day, a goofy, lop-sided grin spread across his face and his eyes gleamed.

You wondered if he ever looked at you like that.

You were so immersed in your thoughts that you jumped when Hancock's hand shot in front you to stop you, pulling you back to the present. His brows furrowed, and his eyes darted around the square.

"Somethin' ain't right here," He muttered.

His eyes darted past you, and you followed his stare, standing on your toes to peer through the windows of an old diner about thirty feet away from you. Something shifted inside. After a few moments, haggard hand knocked a coffee cup  that was previously resting on a table to the ground. The cup shattered, with a resounding crash. The rotted feral pulled itself up, and stood disoriented for a moment before fixing its beady eyes on you and Hancock.

You unholstered your pistol, and Hancock cocked his shotgun when you heard other ferals beginning to stir. You heard the growls and groans of the irradiated humans coming from all directions: inside shops, alleyways, behind over-turned vehicles. There were way too many. You could never shoot your way out of this one.

Your eyes rapidly scanned the square for a way out when they rested on familiar blue pod. As the mob of feral ghouls began to dart into the open, you yelled, "Come on, let's go!" and sprinted towards the Pulowski Preservation Shelter with a death grip on his hand. His fingers were warm, and the sensation shot chills down your spine. You pushed the thought to the back of your head as you shot the ferals that came within arm's length.

You and Hancock only had to dodge a few ferals before you reached the shelter. Hancock shot ghouls that came to close as you fumbled with the latch. In your hurry to open the door, your weapon clattered to the ground. Eventually it gave way, and you pulled Hancock in after you and slammed the door shut.

You could see the translucent outline of hands through the walls of the shelter, searching for a crack or break in the wall. After a few moments, the hands disappeared and were replaced with low groans: the sound of lingering ferals.

For now, the danger was over. After a few deep breaths, your adrenaline faded.

Your chest was nearly against Hancock's, arms glued to your side. The pod extremely dim, and you could only see an outline of his face. You wondered if his ghoulification caused him to gain the ability to see in the dark.

"You're blushing," he said bluntly. Crap. He could see in the dark.

"It's just a little, um. . .cramped in here," You sputtered, looking away. Due to the whole close quarters situation, all you could manage was to look to the side sharply.

A low chuckle escaped his lips, and he said, "Sorry, love. Beats being out there with those ferals."

Once again, you felt heat rise to your cheeks at the nickname.

That was the only downside to traveling with Hancock: those flirtatious comments. Maybe you were reading too much into the whole thing, but you're weren't sure if he was really flirting with you, or he thought it was funny to get you flustered.

Either way, you were tired of the speculation.

You looked up at where you thought his eyes would be. "Ferals or not, I'd much rather be in here with you, John," you said, testing the waters.

He was silent for a few moments. Evidently, saying his first name threw him for a loop. However, he regained composure and swallowed before he spoke again. The smirk was evident in his voice, which was husky and an octave lower. "Yeah?"

You nodded, and a sheepish smile crawled onto your lips. Even through the darkness, you saw that familiar gleam in his eyes. It gave you  enough confidence to skim his sides with your fingertips. Before your hands reached his chest, he grabbed your wrists suddenly.

His grip was authoritative, as was his tone of voice. "I don't think so, love." He leaned forward, mere inches away from your face. Still holding your wrists, he plastered them to your side so that his arms were on either side of you. You felt his warm breath on your lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

"Show me what you've got, John," you teased, internally pleading.

"Happily," he purred, before his lips crashed with yours.

His lips were rugged, dry, and surprisingly warm. The kiss was short but sweet. He pulled back, gazing down at you. "This good?" He asked, tilting his head a bit.

It took everything you had to not laugh at the absurdity of the comment. "Of course. Kiss me again."

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss was different this time—passionate. He kissed you as if his life depended on it. Several months of compressed emotions and fantastical thoughts came bursting forth as his tongue slipped into your mouth. He released his grip on your wrists to run his hands up and down your body. You gripped his shoulders as
you pressed your chest against his, desperate to get as close to him as possible. Hancock's hands found the back of your head, and tugged your hair back.

Instinctively, you tilted your head backwards to avoid the pain. Smoothly, he began kissing your jaw and neck, leaving love bites all the way down. He pulled aside the collar of your shirt to gain access to your collarbone, but he hovered above it, pausing abruptly.

Frustrated, you groaned. You were about to ask why he stopped when you noticed the lack of growls coming from outside. With a wicked grin, he stepped away from you and clicked open the pod's sliding door. Brilliant sunlight flooded your senses, blinding you for several moments as he slid past you.

When your vision recovered, he stood with both of your weapons in hand with that wide grin. You rolled your eyes fondly as he tossed you your pistol.

"Come on, love," he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "Let's get this freakshow on the road."

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hey hey !! here's that oneshot for Tempesto , hope it's alright !!

xoxo, rambler