Morgs tickle art blog

            “That’s true,” you said, ruffling your son’s hair. The fact that his hair was identical to that of Nate’s had at first given you pangs in your heart, but overtime, you got used to it. Shaun had no idea how much he looked like his dad, but that was okay. He had a new family now, one that was a bit complex, but it was still a family.

            “I’ve searched the whole house,” Shaun said, tugging at your wrist and pulling you toward the door. This wasn’t your old house, no. This was a neighbor’s house down the cul-de-sac. It hadn’t been as destroyed by the bombs, nor did it remind you of your dead husband. Your old house had become Cait’s new abode, which she shared with Dogmeat, as he had an affinity for her the first time they met. Codsworth also would linger around the house, the desire to be there and his general programming made it so he had the urge to be there as much as possible. Not that anyone minded, and it made it easier to find him if he was needed.

            “Where else have you looked?” you squeezed your son’s hand, looking around Sanctuary and the general populace of the community, many of which were busy going to and from tasks. The sky was a vibrant blue today, so everyone’s spirits seemed to be raised higher than usual.

            “Just the house. He said he wasn’t gonna go far,” Shaun dropped your hand and took a few steps in front of you, looking around exaggeratedly just as any boy his age would do. While you knew he was a synth, sometimes his mannerisms and actions made it easier to see him as your son and not just a creation by the Institute. “Hey, I’m gonna search that house. Wanna search Preston’s?”

            “Sure, bud,” the boy smiled at your answer, then took off running toward one of the bigger houses that was used to house two families of settlers. Watching him disappear into their home, you let out a long sigh, the turned around to face your house, eyes locked on the roof. With a soft smile, you walked back through the house, past the various knickknacks that you and town had been collecting for Shaun, ranging from toys that had survived the bombs to miscellaneous gears and springs that the boy used to build new contraptions. He had been brilliant at building new things since you saved him from the fall of the Institute, and while you had a knack for technology and, post-fallout, creating modifications for your weapons, you always wondered if it was something he inherited, or it was a trait he picked up from the Institute.

            Stepping out of the back door, which was just a gaping hole in the wall where the refrigerator used to be, you rounded the corner of the house to a few miscellaneous crates of old car parts. Taking no time at all to scale the obstacle, you stood atop the roof and stared at the man you had been looking for.

            “Buffout?” Hancock’s face was hidden behind his hat as he reached out his hand, a nearly empty pill bottle on display. He was laying flat against the roof, the back of his head resting against his left arm. Jacket and dress shirt unbuttoned, Hancock’s scarred skin absorbed the sun’s heat as he lay.

            “I’ve been told you’re playing hide-and-seek with Shaun,” you replied, taking the pill bottle, and placing down by your side once you took a seat next to him.

            “I am,” the ghoul grunted, then waved his hand over himself, “I’m hiding.”

            “I see that,” letting out a small chuckle, you reached for the bottle of bourbon that stood beside Hancock’s hip, then let out an annoyed noise once you tipped it back and only a drop fell into your mouth. “I can see that sulking too. What’s going on, love?”

            “Stuck in my stupid head again,” his reply was quiet. It was clear he had started this game with Shaun to have an excuse to hide away alone, but he still cared enough about your presence that he handed you one of the bottles of wine that rested on the other side of him. “We’re outta bourbon. Sorry.”

            “You must be feeling like shit if you’re drinking this fucking thing,” you smiled a bit when you heard him chuckle, then took a swig of the bottle. Red wine had never been your favorite, but there was some charm to the mostly vinegar flavored drink. Aged wine was the best wine, they had always said. Two hundred years old was pretty damn aged, so while it tasted like the worst salad dressing ever, you still felt like a snooty wine connoisseur. A hint of California red grape here and a splash of pure plutonium. A fine combination, truly.

            “’ve had worse,” Hancock let out a sigh, then took the bottle from your hand. Tipping his hat back, you could finally see a bit of his face. Lips curled down slightly, a stark contrast from his usual cocky smirk, it was clear he was hurting. “Been thinkin’ of him.”

            “Ah,” was all you could reply with.

            “For some reason, whenever I look at the boy, I think of my brother. Fuckin’ stupid, I know, but…”

            “It’s not stupid,” you retorted quickly, startling the man just a bit. “Grief’s weird. Sometimes, when you and I are laying in bed together, and you’re fast asleep, I look at you and think of Nate.”

            “Sorry,” Hancock’s voice had lowered.

            “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault, trust me, love,” letting out a sigh, you pulled your knees against your chest, hugging your legs as you did. “I’ve moved past him, I know that. But, sometimes when I feel truly happy, I just think of him. He and Shaun; they were the last things that made me truly happy before the bombs dropped. Then I thought I lost the ability to be happy, to ever feel true happiness ever again. But, then I met you.”

            “My body is irresistible, now ain’t it?” You blushed at his statement, then rolled your eyes. His charming, raspy drawl made its presence known in his voice again.

            “It sure fucking is,” with a short laugh, you leaned closer to him and gently scratched at his exposed belly. Lurching a bit forward, knees bending in the slightest, Hancock suppressed an embarrassingly high pitched yelp in his throat.

            “What’s wrong, darling?” Cooing, you snatched his hat and placed it atop your own head. Hancock’s dark eyes were full of the playful nervousness that you had grown to love in situations like this. Sure, the anticipation killed him, but he desired your mischief in more ways than one.

            “You don’t need to do this, sweetheart,” Hancock sputtered as he tried to sit up, but was prevented, your body slipping onto his, settling on his thighs once you got comfortable. “I’m feeling better, see,” using his two index fingers, Hancock pressed the corner of his lips into a dorky, artificial smile. This gesture elicited a short and sincere laugh from you, which made Hancock smile for real, his lips staying curled upward as he brought his hands down to hold yours. “Sometimes I forget how sweet your laugh is.”

            “Same here,” with a smile, you leaned over and kissed him tenderly. Once you pulled back, however, all the tenderness vanished. “Let’s hear yours now.”

            Slipping your hands out of his, your ten fingers began to dance along his bare torso. Feeling no need to hold back, Hancock’s laugh was free and uncaring as the pads of your fingers slid over the different sensitive spots. His laugh was deep and raspy and uniquely his; a sound that you adored more than most things in the world. While he usually had a carefree attitude when around you, Hancock had the tendency to let things get to him even if he never showed it. This rarely affected his mayoral duties, but it was something you quickly picked up on the more you got to know him. As you fell for his charm, you also began to fall in love with these little quirks. Even if it was something he hated, it was still part of him, and you loved every bit of it.

            “Hey Shaun! I found him!” you called excitedly, just then remembering what your main task was that led you to this situation. Sure, when you had asked Shaun where he was at, you had mostly just wanted to know his general whereabouts and if he was okay. Shaun however, he was a boy on a mission.

            “You found Uncle Hancock?” Shaun had started calling him Uncle Hancock early on, despite you and Hancock being lovers and certainly not related in anyway. However, there was not really a good term for what Hancock was to Shaun. He wasn’t really a father figure, which was something you told Hancock to not be pressured into being, as you occasionally had qualms about being a parent to the synth boy. He still called you as such, but to you, it felt more like a general group effort in the raising of Shaun. Everyone in Sanctuary took turns playing and caring for the boy, so you never felt the need to be by his side permanently. You, of course, still had things to do. As the general of the Minutemen, you had a job to do. There were lives to save and nothing was going to stop you from helping everyone you could.

            “There goes our alone time,” Hancock teased, giving you a specific look that always made you feel a certain kind of way. Ignoring this, your hands shot between his arms and his torso, fingers worming their way into his armpits. Laughter heightening, Hancock began to stutter and stumble over his words. “Sunsh-sh-shine! N-n-not th-there!”

            “Bad spot, huh?” Hancock squeaked out a sound of affirmation, but you knew that this was his most ticklish spot on his body. While his skin was damaged enough that he didn’t feel a lot of rougher touch or pain, he sure as hell could feel the softer touch of your fingers as you held him close as night or traced his jawline before pulling him in for a kiss. This also meant that he was devastatingly ticklish underneath your gentle touch, a fact that you abused whenever you could get away with it. Of course, he would retaliate tenfold, but being able to reduce Hancock into raspy laughter was always a fun pastime.

            “There you are,” you heard Shaun’s young voice announce from the stack of crates against the side of the house. Stilling your fingers, you glanced over at the boy, only able to see the top of his head and the shine of his eyes as he was still trying to get atop the last crate.

            “Careful there, Shaun,” you warned, parental voice coming out before you could do anything about it. Shaun paused, staring at you and your, to him, unusual position. “Don’t want you to fall.”

            “I wouldn’t get hurt if I did,” Shaun said matter-of-factly.

            “You should say that to Nick. When he fell down that cliff, it certainly hurt,” you muttered, turning back to Hancock. Chest rising and falling quicker than normal in attempts to regulate his breathing, Hancock’s eyes shined as he looked into yours. “Well, hey there handsome.”

            “Hello, darlin’. Come here often?”

            “Often enough,” you cupped his face, ignoring the gagging sounds Shaun was making behind you, having crawled up enough to fully see what you were doing. “I love you, John.”

            “I love you too,” Hancock sat up and gently rested his hand against the back of your head, leading you into the kiss.

            “You two are gross,” Shaun groaned. “I’m going to play hide-and-seek with Curie instead. She isn’t gross like you two.”

            “As her about Marburg,” Hancock yelled out, speaking from experience. “She can be really gross then.”

            “Dammit, John. Now I’m going to have to listen to him talk about hemorrhagic fevers for the next two days.”

            “I still can’t get some of the shit she told me out of my head,” Hancock responded with a shrug. “But until then,” he handed you the bottle of wine. “Shall we?”