He could get used to this.
Beneath a star-speckled sky, two men recline on a scrappy, worn-out couch on the roof of the Starlight Drive-In — or at least, the remains of the Starlight Drive-In — with empty bottles of whiskey littering wherever there was space to occupy, and talk.
The warmth from the firelight plays soft against their rough features; Russell knocks back the rest of his whiskey, sets the empty bottle on the table, and sighs contentedly.
The soft crackle of music carries through the night air — Billie Holiday. Easy Living, was it? — from a rusted old radio that Russell had managed to tune into the only station for miles.
''Gotta say, Russ, I wasn't sure how this'd play out once we left Goodneighbor... but I'm pleasantly surprised.'' Hancock grins drowsily, raising his half-empty bottle to the sky in testament. Russell snorts.
''Glad to see I've delivered.'' His lips quirk in amusement and he watches Hancock throw back the last of his drink with little effort. Russell considers another bottle, but decides he's had enough for one night.
''More than delivered. You and I... now, that's a good combination.'' If the slur in his words aren't an indication that he's drunk, the cocky-half grin certainly is.
''A good combination, huh?'' Russell smiled at him; he couldn't seem to help it. ''You comin' onto me? I'm flattered.''
Hancock scoffs. ''Am I? Hadn't noticed.'' He reaches for another bottle. It almost slips from his fingers and he laughs at his own clumsiness, and Russell can't deny doing the same.
''If you keep this up you're gonna end up passing out again,'' Russell chides, but the smile remains.
Hancock shrugs. ''Heh. S'never stopped me before, has it?'' He pops the cap off and tosses it into the fire, takes a mouthful and sighs.
''You've gotta learn to have more fun, Russ. Really. Learn to live on the edge.''
''There's living on the edge, and there's being so goddamn drunk that you end up falling off the edge completely. I'll take my chances.''
''Hey, I ain't suggestin' that you go off the rails or anything. Just... have a little more fun, that's all.'' He shakes his head with a soft chuckle. ''Hell, what's the trouble in that?''
Half-empty, he's already searching for another bottle to drink. Russell scoffs.
''I'm open to suggestions,'' he says mock-solemn honestly, and Hancock arches a brow, smug grin playing on his lips.
He hands Russell the whiskey bottle. ''Drink.''
Russell protests, but Hancock persists. With a sigh of defeat, he takes it, lifts it to his lips.
The mouth of the bottle is still warm, eliciting an unusual giddiness as he tips his head back and drinks in it's contents.
At first he doesn't notice the hand coming to rest gently against his thigh, and it catches him off-guard. He shoots Hancock a questioning look.
''Like I said, you and I, we make a good combination, and... I've gotta admit, my thoughts towards you haven't exactly been the purest as of late.'' Hancock's smile is impish.
It takes a moment for the words to register; he has the alcohol to blame for that.
When they do, he chuckles. ''You had to get me drunk just to make a move?'' He doesn't bother to keep the sarcasm from his voice, ''Now who needs to learn to live on the edge?''
He could feel his blood hightailing it through his veins, taking the southern route, pooling in his groin.
Hancock snorts, slipping his hand further along the inside of Russell's thigh, and without warning he presses the heel of his palm against the stiffening erection. ''I ain't hearin' any complaints.''
Russell's breath hitches at that, silencing any remark that he would have undoubtedly shot back at the ghoul, and Hancock smirks. ''My point exactly.''
''Nights still young,'' Russell murmurs, only half-aware of the bottle that had slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the floor. His focus is elsewhere.
There's a tense silence, and Hancock opens his mouth to speak, but the words are snatched from his throat before he's given a chance as Russell shifts, hands gripping the ghoul's collar, tugging him forward in a clumsy, drunken kiss, and he feels it in every nerve of his body.
Hancock's lips taste of whiskey and cigarettes, and Russell doubts he'll ever get used to the strangeness of kissing a ghoul, but when those rough lips move along his jaw, and down his neck, nibbling his collarbones, he welcomes the change.
He can feel Hancock smirking against his neck as he presses himself between Russell's thighs impatiently, hands slipping between them to unbuckle his belt.
''If this is your idea of fun-'' he says with a breathless little laugh, wincing as Hancock's hand presses firm against his erection- ''then I'm- I'm definitely open to suggestions.''
He tries to hold back, but his body responds before his mind can form a coherent thought and his hips lean into the touch impatiently. He's light-headed, heart hammering in his chest and flushed with intoxication, and it isn't from the alcohol.
''Thought so,'' Hancock says, with a sly grin.
He could get used to this.