Title: Freakshow
Chapter: 4/?
Fandom: Fallout 4, god help me
Pairings: Hancock/vault dweller (male)
Rating: pg-13 to R depending on how you view mentions of execution
Chapter word count: 1,320
Warnings: Slash, angst, body image shit, fictional drug use, dicks everywhere, and sometimes not in the best condition, fluff, angst, communist propoganda
Summary: Hancock’s insecurities surface as he compares himself with his lover. The institute offers a solution, but are the consequences worth it?
In this chapter: Dinner, anniversary gifts and some soul baring.
Dinner was a brahmin roast with vegetables prepared to perfection by Codsworth, with his famous chocolate mousse for dessert (god only knew how he’d pulled that one off). The setting was perfect as well, from the snow white tablecloth, the best (if mismatched) china set for two, the salvaged silver returned to a gleaming shine by the industrious robot.
Sebastian had lit candles for romance rather than out of necessity, bathed even more fastidiously than he usually did, done his hair, painted his face, and slid into pumps and a tight little black dress that displayed long shapely legs, and applied a spritz of Shalimar to his throat and wrists. He had even opened one of the good prewar bottles of wine, and it was breathing on the counter. He’d also paid a truly unjustifiable number of caps for Hancock’s present, but he’d wanted tonight to be perfect. He wanted to show the ex-mayor how much he truly did value him, how much he wanted him there, and how their weird, wild, utterly unconventional life was the life he wanted more than anything. He had no desire to be normal, and no idea what that would even mean in this world, and their decadent bohemian existence suited him down to the ground.
Hancock had also taken time with his appearance, brushing his hair until it fell in glossy dark waves framing that handsome hawkish face, touching up eyeliner and adding a hint of gloss on the full lips, and changing into the fresh frock coat and breeches Sebastian had had made for him, deciding to wear just the waistcoat and skip the shirt in favor of a plethora of necklaces on that broad, bare chest, lending a hint of sin to the historic costume. He shot his reflection a smirk in the mirror before heading downstairs, following the scent of delicious cooking food. The table with its candles and fresh flowers was a sight to behold, and his lover, as beautiful as ever with his long dark hair perfectly arranged, and his gift sparkling on his pale throat was… well there weren’t words for what he felt. He took that beautiful, manicured hand and raised it to his lips.
“Goddamn, is this all for me?” purred the ghoul huskily, looking more at Sebastian than at the spread.
“All of it,” replied the Englishman with a smirk, moving closer to his lover.
Hancock smirked. “Smells delicious,” he replied, inhaling the leather-vanilla scent of Sebastian’s throat.
“Fresh,” scolded the vault dweller, giving Hancock a playful smack, “anyway it would be ashame to let dinner get cold.”
“Would it really, though?” asked the ghoul, running a thumb over Sebastian’s plump painted lower lip.
“Yes, and it would put Codsworth in a mood and you know how impossible he is when he’s in a mood,” said Sebastian, brushing his fingertips lightly over the other man’s crotch, “besides,” he purred, “I want you to open your present.”
Hancock pouted, slightly disappointed. “And here I was hoping you were my present.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“Stop being charming or we will miss dinner,” he purred, and Hancock perhaps just a touch reluctantly agreed, and the two sat down. For a druggy from Goodneighbor Hancock had surprisingly delicate table manners. He ate neatly, and sipped gracefully from his wine glass. Watching him always made Sebastian smile, and seeing him now with that smudgy dark eye makeup and bare chest was no exception.
He looked up and caught the Englishman staring.
“What’re you staring at, babe?” he asked, quirking a shapely eyebrow.
“You,” replied Sebastian,
“I s’pose I am worth staring at now,” said the ghoul with a smirk, striking a pose for a moment before turning to meet the other man’s gaze, “you’re kinda worth looking at yourself, dollface.”
Sebastian gave him a vulpine smile from across the table. “Oh I know, but please don’t constrain yourself to merely looking at me, darling,” he purred.
Dinner was finished rather quickly after that. Once it was time for dessert, Sebastian retrieved a large box wrapped in blue and gold paper festooned with golden ribbon, and handed it to his lover who took it with a raised eyebrow, undoing the ribbon and paper with gentle care, and opening the gift box almost reverently as Sebastian watched in anticipation. He unfolded the tissue paper and gasped.
“Holy hell, baby, I didn’t think there were any of these left…” he said staring at the gleaming Gibson Les Paul, with its sparkling gold finish “how the fuck did you get your hands on it?”
“I got it from a music store in Boston, picked up some parts from traders and had Sturges fix it up,” he said with a modest smile, “figured it was an upgrade.”
“Damned right it is,” said Hancock, caressing the smooth neck, “she’s a beauty.”
He plugged into a homemade amp, a gift from the Atom Cats after helping them deal with some raiders, and strummed, already perfectly tuned.
The ghoul gave Sebastian a curious look. “I didn’t know you could play.”
Sebastian smiled his enigmatic feline smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, love.”
“Oh?” asked the ghoul with a glint of interest in his eye, “like what?”
Sebastian traced circles on the table with a fingertip and tilted his head to the side. There was rather a lot, who he’d been, what he’d done… all those lies, the irony of how the war might very well have saved his life. “Oh all sorts of things, how I was nearly executed as a traitor during one of the anti-communist witch hunts, how I got out of it because I knew too much about a certain general’s sex life… “ he said with a laugh at the memory “how when I was growing up I wanted to be a rockstar, how in a fucked up way, I like this world better than the one before, because this one isn’t all pastel colors and short back and sides to hide the barbarism… pre-war life was brutal too, we just kept it out of sight with proxy wars and told ourselves feasting while others starved left our hands clean… and now… there’s no big bad, not like the overarching inescapable all American rah rah jingoist bullshit that there was then… the good guys maybe have a chance, maybe we can learn something, build a society that was better than the one before, and I know the loss of life is unjustifiable… but really, I’d rather be here.” It all came out in a torrent, although still there was more. Keeping secrets had become a habit for him back then, during the war, during his ILCO days. There was no one left except maybe for Liberty Prime who cared, but here he was with all his old cloak and dagger instincts, keeping ancient irrelevant history under lock and key, but this was a start. Hancock leaned in to stroke his cheek, to press a kiss to those plush lips. Neither of them was exactly an open book, both of them regardless of beauty and flamboyant dress sense, were hard men, used not to saying more than needed to be said, and frankly it was nice to be allowed a glimpse inside his lover’s head. He couldn’t help but be charmed by what he saw.
The ghoul met his eyes. “Christ, you’re so decent and idealistic and all that crap, but it’s okay, so am I kinda,” he said with a wry smile, and Sebastian smiled back as he plucked out the opening notes to Fashion by Hanoi Rocks. “You know, I probably shouldn’t find that sexy, but I do, babe,” he added, a gleam in his mist grey eyes “c’mere, I wanna get weird.”
“You don’t even know how weird I get, love,” retorted the vault dweller, meeting his gaze again, this time with a hint of something half challenge, half invitation in his gaze.
Thoughts From The Peacock Angel 