Gage did not even know what his damn face looked like. It was like he never took that helmet off. The few times that he went up to Fizztop Grille early in the morning to deliver a report, perhaps a little earlier than necessary just in the hope to catch a fuck glimpse of his face, the new Overboss was already awake and dressed. Sometimes that ghoul he was so fond of was still asleep, other times the bastard was awake too; arms around the slightly taller man's waist, speaking in his raspy voice as he rested his head on Cecil's shoulder and watched him cook their first meal of the day.
But it didn't matter because, speaking of voices, the Overboss had the best one he had ever heard. Slightly deep, smooth, expressive, and warm. It should have been illegal how good that voice sounded. The first time he heard it, crackled over the intercom, he was hard in seconds. He had never been more thankful for Colter and his showboating bullshit, all the cheering and Colter's own irritating voice keeping him from rubbing one out in the booth while Cecil and the now late Overboss went at each other.
But, once the new Overboss and his damn voice that wrapped over you like silk and his ghoul got out of the Gauntlet… It was a whole different story. He could not even think of Cecil talking without having to quickly rifle through every turn off that was still stuck in his brain. It was even worse in person, and he was thankful the other man never seemed to notice how he shifted in an effort to keep his dick from pitching a tent in the middle of discussing raider business. While the Overboss never seemed to notice, Gage knew damn well the ghoul did. The way that bastard's eyes narrowed anytime he entered a room, and how he moved minutely closer to Cecil, was clue enough.
But, thankful, neither of them were presently at the Fizztop Grille; according to what the Overboss said yesterday they were going to clear another section of the park. Good… Because he was sure if he was caught doing what he was about to do he would either die from flat out embarrassment or that ghoul would kill him.
The Overboss had discarded a shirt yesterday as Gage had been leaving, one he had mumbled about liking and wished he could salvage and that it was a shame that the robots had managed to get a few shots off on him while he was wearing it. Gage had been momentarily disappointed he had not been able to see the other change out of the shirt, his choice in clothing telling him that there was a tight body he was missing out on, but he quickly looked on the Brightside; the shirt would smell like him. Musky, with hints of something cold and sharp… like the Spearmint flavored bubblegum one could sometimes find.
Moving around the large room, careful not to disturb anything, he managed to find the shirt sticking out of a trashcan. He picked it out of the trash, holding it in his hands, and paused. Thumbs ran over the fabric, hesitation flooding him for the first time in a long time. Gage frowned, shoving down the feeling, and holding the shirt to his face. He inhaled deeply, groaning at the smell and the sensation of his dick hardening. Fuck… it smelled just like him. His eyes opened, Gage not even knowing he closed them, and darted about. Finding nothing to be concerned with, his eyes landed on the bed across the room. Feet carried him there, quicker than he would like to admit. He sat down on the edge of the bed, one hand bringing the shirt back to his nose and the other going to the zipper of his pants.
He had to make this quick, because he would be damned if anyone caught him jerking off on the Overboss's bed… especially the Overboss himself, or his pet ghoul.
His cock easily sprung free of its confines, standing hard in the air. Gage closed his eyes, focusing wholly on the scent of Cecil and the memories of how his voice sounded. He twisted his words with his imagination, same with the entirety of what he was about to experience.
He imagined Cecil kneeling between his legs, but was unable to settle on what his face would look like, one hand on his left knee and the other wrapped around him. He decided not to try and force it, just letting his mind provide what it will.
"Fuck, Gage, I don't know how I'm going to take all that." His fingers moved up the shaft, thumb rubbing small tight circles on the top of the head.
He moaned, breathing in hard and sharp. "I'm sure you'll manage."
A deep, throaty, chuckle left Cecil. His hand let go of his cock and smoothed over his thigh, head leaning forward and tongue darting out. Starting at the base, it licked a straight line all the way up. He hummed, lips parting and taking in the tip. Gage's hips jerked forward, pushing more of himself into the more than willing mouth offered to him. Eyes glanced up at him, before he lowered himself further down. He paused half way, throat constricting and corners of his eyes watering as he fought back against his gag reflex. Gage, impatient, grabbed his hair and wound his fingers through it and pressed down; forcing Cecil all the way to the base. The Overboss struggled for a second, trying to figure out how to breathe with such girth forced down his throat, but then relaxed.
He guided Cecil, up and down, on his cock and let his head fall back with a pleased groan leave him.
"Fuck, ah fuck. I want you so bad. I want to fuck your ass until you can't walk, like you're a fucking whore."
Cecil moaned around him, the hand that had been on his thigh creeping low and squeezing his balls just right. His hips rolled, breath catching in his throat. Gage untangled his fingers from the other man's hair, but kept just enough of a hold to pull him off his dick and force him up. Lips pressed to lips, his tongue plundering the other man's mouth. He tasted himself, and he laid back against the bed. His hands found the slimmer man's hips, sliding back and cupping his ass. He gave a firm squeeze, and was rewarded with a needy, wanting, groan.
"Gage, please. I need you in me. God, fuck me; I need your cock."
The sound of the homemade elevator, gears hauling up a hastily constructed wooden platform, yanked him harshly from his fantasy. His eyes flew open, blood running cold, when he heard the quickly approaching sound of melodic laughter and harsh chuckles.
He panicked, like a teenager about to get caught jerking it by his parents; he zipped himself up and dashed across the room with ruined shirt in hand as fast as he could manage with his dick still throbbing angrily against his thigh. He had just managed to slam the shirt back in the trash where it belonged and reach for a bottle of vodka when the lift stopped.
He casually glanced over his shoulder, hoping that the sweat that had broken out across his brow from his early activities was not noticeable. "Hey boss, hope ya don't mind that I'm borrowing a bottle of booze; damn market is overpriced."
"No problem," Damn that voice. Whatever softening he had gone through from sheer panic was gone in a second. "Help yourself. I'm not really that big on liquor and we've got plenty of it."
"Thanks." He stuffed the bottle under his arm and walked around the counter and towards the lift. "I'm heading out then. How'd clean up go by the way?"
"Piece of cake. Cecil decided to give it to The Pack." The reply came from the ghoul, who was glaring hard at him. Harder than usual actually… Gage got the feeling that somehow the bastard just knew what he had been doing. Or maybe he was just paranoid.
"Good, good. I'll see ya both around." He pressed his thumb on the button to take him down harder than was necessary, but he just wanted out of there and fast.