[ That kiss cuts off his answer but Hancock is perfectly alright with the happenstance; his own kisses thus far had edged closer towards the realm of chaste by design of gradually feeding Nick's desire for more. When the press of his mouth veers a little closer towards hungry the ghoul gives a gratified purr, almost a growl, and the visceral vibration thrums between their lips. ]
Yeah, I want ya up and at'em all night long, don't go tappin out on me too quick now
[ a vehicle for flirtation more than a serious warning; Hancock's not patient but he's certainly compassionate; if Nick did need a sit down, his ghoulfriend would be the last person to fault him for it, but if Hancock is making himself into a pain that means his mood is soaring high, so it's a good sign. Finally (reluctantly) detangled, Hancock makes a quick detour to grab the closest bottle of liquid refreshment because slicing up that carpet left him with wicked pasties.
While Nick hangs his coat Hancock is snatching a bottle of Nuka Dark as well as a couple colorful plastic tubes (containing appropriately gentle chemical warfare) and tucks the later into the corners of his hat. They slot in nicely to the sticthed chocolate leather and honestly it makes Hancock feel better even if he's too distracted to immediately imbibe more than the lowkey, %35 alcoholic drink. His coat ferries his precious Stuff-- okay, mostly a variety of chems, Robot Repair Kits, and a knife or two-- but the ghoul feels more naked for lack of his comfortable supply than the amount of skin he's showing.
So there's smokables in his hat as he saunters over to the stage (Evaris this is a stage come on now) for a better look at what's happening. The snacks do look and smell amazing, but watching Nick prepare to serenade him definitely scores a higher priority than simple calorie sustenance.
Hancock even forgets about his drink as he watches, and listens. It's an emotional support beverage, keeping his hand (and only his hand) cool while Nick's voice enshrouds him like a folded set of feathered wings. It feels fucking heavenly; he'd close his eyes to listen if he could stand one second of looking away. The song, Nick's voice, this whole event feels like an act of devotion, of loving worship, and Hancock is an utter glutton for the taste.
He moves to clap when the sweet serenade ceases, totally forgetting he'd been holding a drink and almost, almost dousing himself with heavily alcoholic cola. ]
Your voice is a weapon'a mass destruction, ya know that? Dia-fucking-bolical, think I'm actually blushin'
[ Evaris probably added a d4 to the final score there, but Nick's rolling nat 20's across the bored tonight all on his own. Hancock is genuinely (delightedly, comfortably) flustered; he's also completely at ease, charmed like a snake as he gazes at his paramour like an amatory rube. ]
no subject
Yeah, I want ya up and at'em all night long, don't go tappin out on me too quick now
[ a vehicle for flirtation more than a serious warning; Hancock's not patient but he's certainly compassionate; if Nick did need a sit down, his ghoulfriend would be the last person to fault him for it, but if Hancock is making himself into a pain that means his mood is soaring high, so it's a good sign. Finally (reluctantly) detangled, Hancock makes a quick detour to grab the closest bottle of liquid refreshment because slicing up that carpet left him with wicked pasties.
While Nick hangs his coat Hancock is snatching a bottle of Nuka Dark as well as a couple colorful plastic tubes (containing appropriately gentle chemical warfare) and tucks the later into the corners of his hat. They slot in nicely to the sticthed chocolate leather and honestly it makes Hancock feel better even if he's too distracted to immediately imbibe more than the lowkey, %35 alcoholic drink. His coat ferries his precious Stuff-- okay, mostly a variety of chems, Robot Repair Kits, and a knife or two-- but the ghoul feels more naked for lack of his comfortable supply than the amount of skin he's showing.
So there's smokables in his hat as he saunters over to the stage (Evaris this is a stage come on now) for a better look at what's happening. The snacks do look and smell amazing, but watching Nick prepare to serenade him definitely scores a higher priority than simple calorie sustenance.
Hancock even forgets about his drink as he watches, and listens. It's an emotional support beverage, keeping his hand (and only his hand) cool while Nick's voice enshrouds him like a folded set of feathered wings. It feels fucking heavenly; he'd close his eyes to listen if he could stand one second of looking away. The song, Nick's voice, this whole event feels like an act of devotion, of loving worship, and Hancock is an utter glutton for the taste.
He moves to clap when the sweet serenade ceases, totally forgetting he'd been holding a drink and almost, almost dousing himself with heavily alcoholic cola. ]
Your voice is a weapon'a mass destruction, ya know that? Dia-fucking-bolical, think I'm actually blushin'
[ Evaris probably added a d4 to the final score there, but Nick's rolling nat 20's across the bored tonight all on his own. Hancock is genuinely (delightedly, comfortably) flustered; he's also completely at ease, charmed like a snake as he gazes at his paramour like an amatory rube. ]