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Dancin until dawn.
[The hardest part about keeping a secret is the waiting around. Nick's better at surprises and delayed gratification than most, but even he's having a hard time keeping a lid on this one. It takes planning, though, setting up a really romantic evening, even one as juvenile and silly as this. Thankfully, between Ellie and the Vaultie's pack-rat tendencies, Nick's managed to set up something genuinely pretty nice.
Nick had thought about clearing out the upstairs, but the odds of Hancock just wandering up there were too high. Instead, he cleared out the floor below theirs and went to work. The decorations were top notch, he'd figured out how to get SNOW to play music down here. Had set up spotlights, metallic streamers, the whole nine yards.
No high school prom had ever looked more prom-like. Vaultie had even provided balloons.
He had the whole thing sewed up, prom, romantic food, he even wore the nice outfit that the Vaultie had given him. All he required now was Hancock.
Nick tried to remain inconspicuous as he meandered through the Old Statehouse, but he was dressed to the nines. The look Farenheit gave him was longsuffering, but she didn't say anything otherwise. When he finally got to Hancock's door--he knocked and adjusted his tie.]
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Nick doesn't heat up like an organic, but he sure heats up. The sounds of his breathing and fans struggling to vent off that heat shouldn't be as bone-deep satisfying as it is, like the ghoul has some kind of natural instinct to chase the uniquely-Nick sound.
And as utterly gratifying as this activity is, it becomes even better when Nick starts to speak. Hancock's eyes crack open, slits of black diamond and watch the synth as he strokes his cheek. The simple, pure affirmation runs through Hancock's veins like a spark chasing down lines of gunpowder.
He cant's speak, but his expression briefly gloats; yes he is amazing, yes this his fantastic, how good of you to notice. His chuckle is really just a crumpled knot of vibrations that never clears his throat. He didn't expect to be able to make Nick crash like this, but that doesn't mean he won't try. Those sounds he's making, voicebox just barely askew, hit Hancock like a sudden rad rainstorm; they burns in his bones, they charge and enthrall and empower him. Newly inspired, steadily stubborn, Hancock shoots his lover an absolutely devious stare.
He reaches for Nick's good hand and guides his fingers from his chin to his throat; the intent press of leathered digits insists Nick keep his hands in place for whatever trick he's about to pull. It takes concentration and sheer force of will, but it's not like he's never done this before.
He swallows and sways forward in the same moment-- he almost chokes, he feels his throat muscles seize but he focuses , relaxes, calms the instinctual kick of panic when his air supply gets cut. He concentrates on unwinding the tension in his jaw, and this time when he swallows and sways it's a smooth intrusion.
And just in case Nick's hardware alone doesn't register enough sensation, the synth should get to feel from the pads of fingers, his dick slide down and sleeved in Hancock's throat. It's damn difficult to actually moan with such a present invasion, but Hancock gives it the old college try. ]
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There is literally not one damn thing he can actively compare this to and while he's searching his templates for anything to use as a baseline, all his processing is stacking up, putting him deeper and deeper into processing debt. It's only a few seconds between when Nick blanks and when he abandons the search for a template and arrives back in the moment--but a few seconds to a computer is quite a long time.
Nick comes back to himself only to find three quarters of his processing threads are stalled out and on fire (metaphorically). He has the capacity to stay in the moment, but only just, and he makes a punched out sound that skips across his voicebox at a strange metallic angle. He's overloaded--he can't remember ever being overloaded like this--this too is entirely new.
Nick's left eye gives a valiant flicker before clicking off but the synth only remains put, good hand falling reverently across Hancock's stuffed throat. He's about an inch from either an overheat or a crash and he's not sure which is going to happen first--either way, what a wild ride.]
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A symphony of sensation in painted across Nick's steely hardware as Hancock sways back; his tongue, lips, and teeth all drag in variant levels of worshipping pressure, sped by his haste to steal back the heat of his own body before it becomes-- maybe not Too Much (Too Much, in the best way, is kind of the whole point), but potentially problematic.
The same lurid pop that freed Nick's fingers from the ghoul's mouth punctures the air as his prick slides free; a slick cable of saliva traces a prurient arc between Hancock's mouth and the object of his obsessive oral worship, broken like a spider's thread while he purses his lips and blows a cooled stream of breath across Nick's cock. ]
Got that safe word if it's too much for ya, love
[A tender reminder all wrapped in feral felicity; his voice is especially hoarse, tattered more from the salacious squeeze against his voice-box than all the smoke he steadily sips on the regular. ]
Hn... looks like you're about to crash so damn hard for me... come on Slick, almost there, wanna watch you come undone
[ Caught between carnal entrancement and the caution he's learned, Hancock cannot help but lean in and graze his cheek against that wonderfully wicked install with all the heat and hunger he has for his paramour alight in his adoring eyes. ]
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The teasing in that hoarse voice is what undoes him in the end. Nick watches Hancock rub his cheek on the length of him one last time and the last of his memory is eaten up. Nick doesn't quite crash, not like normal, this time he more overloads. There's too much vying for attention and all the stalled out processes trip across his mind in a cascade of individual little discharges. It's almost a glittery sensation, like the look of that dress or the dancing lights from the disco ball. It leaves Nick with enough processing to moan in fractured electronic bliss and to spill the remaining resevoir of lubricant as he's tipped over the edge.
With a sensation like a cathode monitor being suddenly shut off, and the accompanying burst of radiation, Nick crashes. Both his eyes go dark, his limbs go slack, and he slumps back in his chair like a limp marionette. There's actually a not insignificant plume of steam rising from his open mouth as he goes dark--the overheated remnants of that sip of punch he took.]
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He is familiar with how Nick's hardware works, but he'd guessed incorrectly that his fiancée had already emptied his tanks. The sheer generosity of lurid liquid slicking the side of his face has Hancock pleasure-drunk, has him tip his head to catch a burst of vanilla on his tongue.
That lick of familiar radiation is the ghoul's affirmation of time well spent and skill well applied; he's wrecked Nick so perfectly, he's even surprised with himself; he did not expect such a light show, and now he's thinking he's going to have to invest a little (a lot) more time and attention between Nick's legs. The score is so skewed-- he's gotta even out these unflattering numbers.
Hancock is by now accustomed to the variant lag in restarting that keeps Nick unconscious; he's starting to find it kind of cute, the blunt black-out like an overzealous sedative, sort of like Nick passed out working at his desk-- only synths don't quite do that, so the effect gets achieved with mind-blowing sex.
What dire circomstance, what ever will Hancock do?
For the moment, he lets his head rest heavy against Nick's thigh, in no hurry to vacate his position. His knees are aching absently but his head is spinning like he'd been dancing, the severity of his unsated arousal creating all kinds of grit and glitter across his senses. The floor feels fiercely cold under his shins but he still feels hot, in so little fabric but unable to evade the summer drum beat between his legs. His sequins are sugared-slick, Nick's mess and his own (sans a second orgasm but still leaking lewd, good thing they have in-house laundry) but the slinky dress is all he's wearing, and he isn't exactly alone.
The Vaultie has never seen Hancock in no little, nor had he seen Nick crash outside a few borrowed memories from his resident king of greed. He really is going to have to thank his companions for the one of a kind entertainment, it's absolutely worth the ache in his fingers and the rasp in his throat. He quiets for the moment, sits still, and promptly flattens onto his back on the stage like he'd just run a mile. That was certainly... stimulating. ]
Y'alright over there? [ Hancock croaks as he casts his gaze towards the splayed Gen 3, who replies with closed eyes, a crooked grin, and a few strummed chords]
Bet my fingers don't hurt half as much as your knees
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Nick wakes back up after a few moments and, for once, finds himself feeling out of breath (or the synth equivalent). The near overheat is clearing but lingers, so Nick's still feeling the exertion there. It's a novel, limited version of what happens to Hancock after he climaxes--the ease that turns him loose limbed and clumsy. Nick leans forward and sways a little, a loopy smile pulling across his face, and he takes Hancock's face in both hands.]
You're amazing.
[Not that Hancock needed glazing up, mind you, but Nick's just had a handful of truly unique experiences and he has no other way to express that. He has to shift in his chair to bend far enough to kiss the ghoul, but he does. And a moment after he does, he realizes just how absolutely debauched they both are and how filthy their lovely promwear has become.
He...is going to need to do so much laundry.]
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And don't ya ever forget it
[ He does not in fact need glazing up but he certainly enjoys it; his prideful grin gets smothered by that kiss and just like that he's found a rhythm even without musical accompaniment; leisurely, fathomless, faintly fervent. His limbs feel like they're full of sand so there's a certain lack of grace to the way he slings his arms around Nick's shoulders. ]
Always love findin' new and risqué ways to pass the time with ya... that's definitely gunna be a repeat performance. Pretty sure every time I taste somethin' vanilla now there's gunna be... associations.
[ He wants-- too many contradicting things. A hug, a cuddle, a bath, a nap, a decent railing, a snack, a drink, a smoke-- Id has no priorities, he just demands. Consciously it's all the ghoul can do to shift his weight on his knees, attempt to stand, and fail promptly enough to fall (with grace) the fraction of a foot to the floor. His bare ass hits the hardwood, one knee bent, and he grasps tight onto Nick's leg to keep from toppling flat on his back. ]
Nhg... think we need some softer floors
[ Misty midnight eyes peer up at his paramour, his fiancée, his Sunshine; the ghoul's smile goes silken-soft. It's an utterly love-struck stare, like Cupid nailed him right through the chest in that very moment; he doesn't say 'I love you', he doesn't need to. It's written all over his face. ]
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I'll see about getting a nice rug or two.
[Nick could sweep him up in a waltz right now, but Hancock's knees are the ones aching (another benefit of being a synth is that he's never had to worry about that). Nick gives him a quick once over, the jut of his second erection doesn't go unnoticed here, and then glances back at the Vaultie, splayed out flat on the stage.]
For now, though, I think we should call it a night. You all look pretty partied out. [Not that Nick plans on calling it a night overall, but he wants any excuse to go and change clothes.]
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So long as they're machine washable... otherwise we're gunna be goin through a lot'a rugs
[ Hancock's not exactly obnoxiously entitled, not every single erection needs immediate accommodation; he can breathe, think Unsexy thoughts, wade through the next few minutes until his body clues in that the current activity doesn't require 'active hardware'.
Nick makes thinking unsexy thoughts a real challenge though-- almost an impossibility. For the moment Hancock seems perfectly comfortable (utterly shameless) strolling around with enough of an erection that pulling down his dress is deemed too much effort. Absolutely no one present should be surprised. ]
I'm never partied out, it's just a clever illusion so the normal folk don't get too jealous of my ungodly stamina
[ Despite his theatrical boast (the mess on his face and clothing) the ghoul sways forward, fitting himself comfortably against Nick's collar and wrapping his arms around his ribs. Hancock squeezes with affection fiercer than his fatigue, a pleased hum in his chest as he nuzzles against the side of Nick's throat. ]
Ya wanna retire somewhere private? I'm game, just don't say it's because I'm tappin out, got a reputation n'all
[ Ala Hancock's good spirits, he's blowing smoke out of his ass. ]
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[Nick admits quietly, really basking in that lovestruck look on Hancock's messy face while he can. This party is about as private as their own bedroom, the Vaultie's presence doesn't shift the needle much for Nick anymore. The mess they've made of themselves, though, is both unbecoming and vaguely sticky and..well...Nick's gotten a little spoiled with his clean, hermetically sealed apartment. Being able to keep clean really lines up nicely with his fastidiousness and obsessive compulsive nature.]
Anyone asks, we can blame it on me. It's gettin past my bedtime.
[Nick runs a hand up Hancock's back, holding him as he nuzzles his neck. He casts a look at the buffet table of food and then glances at the Vaultie on the stage. A bit of thought has Nick whistling to the supine synth.]
I can pack it all up in a few, take the rest of the night off, yeah? Thanks for the music...and the accompanyment.
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[ He murmurs without a hint of hesitance against Nick's collar, extremely contented to be cradled (filthy) to the spot. Happy is a particular choice of word for Hancock here; not comfy, not fine, but happy. He lingers where he is for a few more seconds before drifting back on a rasping reluctant sigh. ]
Deal. Needed a new fall man, nice'a you to volunteer
[ Hancock chuckles like warm cider as he weaves his fingers through Nick's and draws him along at a leisurely pace across the (mostly) sparkling open space. ] Anythin' I don't feel like doin'? Sorry, Husband's got a bed time, I gotta book it
[ Evaris, meanwhile, affirms his new quest acquisition with a 'thumbs up' gesture and an agreeable hum in his throat. ]
You got it Nick-otine~ Outta here as soon as I can find my legs
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It isn't until Nick steps through, into the elevator, that he realizes just how much dancing they've done. In the party room time seemed like a suggestion, everything was a hazy blend of now, then, and the future, and he was living for it. The elevator exists in stone cold reality and even Nick can feel the last few hours in his joints. He huffs a happy but tired sigh as he hits the button for the floor above.]
I'm thinkin that might actually be the best night of my life. So far, that is.
[He can feel the ring on Hancock's fingers, tangled between his.]
Can't seem to stop smilin. Must be a glitch.
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[ It's not a real question, despite the inflection; the way his thumb affectionately traces Nick's knuckles suggests he's more than glad for the sprawling time-limit promised by the ring on his finger. The gentlest hum of radiation from the metal is doing wonders to dull the aches the evening had carved into him, slowly and steadily easing the pains in his knees and the rawness of his throat. ]
I could think'a worse positions for your mouth to lock up
[ Hancock lounges against the wall of the elevator for the brief duration of the ride, seeming to enjoy the display of debauchery he's been made into. He tries again (deliberate, sensual) to arrange the clingy dress down his front but-- no, nuh-uh, naddah dice, the thing is too soiled. Instead he abandons the dicey display and wriggles out of the garment, pulling it over his head and balling it up casually under his arm. ]
Think I can make it from here to our place without anyone catching me streakin?
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[Nick teases. Watching him wriggle out of that dress was a sight, but seeing him standing there in the buff--except, of course, for his new jewelry--is one better. The elevator ride is a short one, but Nick still can't quite make himself wait. He steps closer, free hand bracing against the wall alongside his lounging fiancee, casual as you please.
His smile is fixed, even as he goes for debonaire, there's nothing for it. He's just too happy.]
I was gonna help you out of that. Seeing how you're freed up, want to help me out of mine?
Not like anyone else might need to use the elevator.... >>;
Oh, right. I'd offer to put it back on, but... look I don't got many taboos, but crawling back into a well used dress is solidly in the 'Maybe' category [ It's good natured banter as much as it's actually true, the ghoul's voice all warm and wry with amiable avidity. ]
What, right here? In the elevator? What'll the neighbors say?
[ He's laying it on pretty thick here, a serpentine smirk underscoring his languid rasping teasing. Hancock's hands go wandering down Nick's front and then floating back up beneath his shirt, bunching the fabric against his wrists. ]
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Let 'em yap. [Nick has to bend down to press his forehead against his fiancee's. It had been comfortable with him in heels, same height all evening, but this little bend is the motion Nick's worn into his servoes. This is more comfortable. However, no sooner has Nick bent to kiss his brashly nude date than the elevator slows to a halt.
The doors chime and open, and Nick draws back with a little sigh.]
Such a short ride, what a shame.
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[ It's a real mockery of a complaint; really, Hancock is just having way too much fun playing at one of his favorite kinks; they've done it before, played at imaginary audiences, but Hancock can't turn own engaging in one of his classics, even just a little. An imaginary cage suits him just fine; making a game from the simple urge to be close to his loved one is exactly to the ghoul's taste. ]
Wait a sec [ Hancock folds himself against Nick's chest, head tucked against his collarbone in a posture like suggests meekness even while his tone is brazen and teasing. ] I changed my mind, don't want no one to see me in the buff... cover me up, won'cha love...?
[ Absolutely a play to steal his signature Few More Seconds, but the way he huddles up against Nick's chest (as though there is actually a chance of an unwanted witness) is pretty convincing, aside from his snide savoring chuckle. ]
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[Nick asks, even as he shrugs off his suit jacket and, like a proper gentleman, drapes it over his poor under-dressed date's shoulders. Seeing Hancock play at meekness is a real trip, Nick'll admit it, but he can try to play the opposite of that little role. Nick's suit jacket sits narrow on Hancock's shoulders, but that doesn't make much difference. Just for the show of it, Nick wraps an arm around his waist and draws him in closer, even as he turns to the apartment.]
Well you just stay real close. I'll protect that modesty of yours. [How he says this with a straight face, even Nick doesn't know, but he manages and puffs up like a big man as he guides his newly demure fiancee into their own apartment. It's absurd, but he's in an absurd mood, flying high on sheer delight.]
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[ Of course the offer of Nick's coat is utterly unnecessary, so Hancock shows his appreciation of the debonair play by huddling into the jacket proper, as though he actually has a scrap of propriety left worth protecting from the imaginary by-standers in the imaginary hallway that does not even exist. ]
Mighty kind'a ya. Don't want the neighbors to think you're steppin' out with some kinda jezebel or somethin now, do we?
[ He had not intended to ham up this act so much-- but Nick is just too precious, puffed up with an arm locked around the ghoul's waist, that the jet-eyed man can't help but fall in step, folding himself tightly against the synth's side and keeping his stride confined inside the other man's. He can't quite shake off his impish grin, but he does his best to conceal it turning his head and 'shyly' hiding his face against Nick's collar. ]
I can't bare to look, please tell me no one's watchin'
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Not Hancock escalating. If John Hancock had a middle name, Escalation was a real contender. The escalation is to be expected in this and any situation involving the two of them--what Nick didn't figure was how hard demure, shy Hancock would hit. It's got him dumbstruck, the way he ducks his head against Nick's collar. If Nick's coat hadn't been abandoned upstairs, Hancock would have damn near tucked himself inside it and--well--he--
Nick takes a few easy steps into the apartment, arm wrapped securely around Hancock, and has to clear his throat before he can speak. He's damn lucky he can't blush, but he's only got a second or two of grace before his fans kick up and give him away entirely. Nick straightens up, folds his other hand into his pocket and tries for cocksure. He gets about halfway to the mark on that one.]
Nah--don't you worry, nobody around here's got the gall.
It's easy to throw around names until you figure out that jezebel is his Wife. Then, it gets less easy, on account of having their teeth punched out.
[Hancock fits into his side easy. The ghoul is just short enough, and just svelte enough that the spot right at Nick's shoulder and down are practically made for him to slide into. Having him curl up against Nick like this is--well, yeah, it's pretend and a joke at that, but damn. Just--damn.]
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The composes a relieved little sigh, and peeks up from his cozily nestled position; his head tips slightly to the left and right, as though checking for bystanders, before the ghoul takes a turn so he's standing at Nick's front, still wearing that arm slung around his waist. Typically the debonair fellow would favor a unabashed press, draping himself across Nick's chest like silk, but today he allows only the heat of his body to invade the synth. After a beat, his hands settle on Nick's collar, feather-light, and the shorter man carefully puts himself on the balls of his feet to close those sparse inches between them. He's mighty fond of leading Nick around by the tie, but this suits his gambit better.
He 'hesitates' with another quick glance around, stalling in the lead-up before a kiss, absolutely aiming to tease with the promise he bides through false vacillation. The friction he grants is barely a kiss, more a swaying brush of lips at the very corner of Nick's mouth. ]
So protective... makin' me weak in the knees
[ Typically a drawled predatory purr, this time softly uttered with synthetic bashfulness, as the ghoul catches Nick's eyes and then 'hides' as though flustered by the dicey nature of a stolen kiss and murmured confession coupled. He's rarely without a hat (his chosen for the night still chilling upstairs with Nick's trench coat) so he takes advantage of the lacking, tucking his head beneath Nick's jaw and huddling close. ]
Walk me to the bathroom, would ya? Feelin' kinda swoony over here...
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That realization has Nick's fans kicking up higher and this time they pair with something adjacent to shame? Defensiveness? He's not--he isn't some creep--he--but then he's got a bare brush of lips over his and Hancock tucks himself right up under his chin, and Nick's through the other side of his objections.
Turns out he has a weakness for blondes, red dresses, and opportunities for chivalry. He's got some damned predictable turn-ons but he can't even regret that overmuch, not with Hancock in the circle of his arms.]
Yeah?
Don't you worry; I gotcha.
[Nick's first instinct with someone who claims to be swooning isn't to walk them backward toward a door. He really shouldn't, but Hancock's so committed to this that it feels a little bit like a cop out if he doesn't commit alongside him. Nick bends a little bit and shifts his arms, sweeping the ghoul up off his feet and into a bridal carry.
Last time they did this was out of necessity, but the framing had been about protecting his reputation as a chivalrous guy. This time, it's just because he wants to. Nick politely averts his eyes from his passenger's general nudity and meanders across his apartment toward the bathroom.]
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So he formulates a surprised little gasp that is almost Nick's name as the synth sweeps him off his bare feet and curls himself demurely into the support of his chest. He remembers the last time Nick carried him like this-- but what they're doing now? A fun, freestyle remix, and a much kinder memory than post torture patch up. Hancock will take it, gratified in the grit of his atoms that he's found another of Nick's (of their) unspoken enjoyments to absolutely abuse. ]
My Hero
[ Probably too easy to sling that quiet awed praise; it fits the script of dazzled doll, but it's drawn off his dusty past, a context Hancock already provided passing over that precious comic of his. Ah, whatever, good actors use what they got.
That politely averted gaze inspires some coy improv; Hancock huddles into the cover of his borrowed suit jacket, slides one hand
sensuallyshyly across his chest (protecting a modesty he does not in fact have) and delicately crosses one knee over the other as though terribly bashful about his half-aroused, thoroughly debauched state. ]You're such a stand up guy, Mr. Valentine. Takin' such good care'a little ol' me. How did I ever get so lucky?
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The look he throws Hancock is closer to a cringe than anything else, but his expression is all adoration for the ghoul in his arms.]
Gonna have my fans stalling out, you keep that up. [Nick can't blush but he's doing his best impression of someone that can. If he had blood, he'd be red up to his ears. Amused, he adds, softly:] Damned predictable is what I am, and you got me on the edge of an overheat just being cute.
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[ The way that last word crosses his tongue sounds obscene, somehow. Hancock has eased the throttle on his demure coquette act for the moment, slid into a casual friendly affection that is amorously defensive on Nick's behalf. ]
Be a real shame to overheat ya just by talkin to ya... without meaning to, anyway.
[ Hancock shifts his weight to suggest he's ready to be placed down, and his approximating-overclocked fiancée seems to get the idea. With his feet on the floor, Hancock still doesn't go far, leaning atypically gentle against Nick's chest and unweaving the knot of his tie. ]
If you're feelin hot under the collar... maybe time to ditch the collar? I was supposed to help you outta this mildly soiled attire, wasn't I...?
[ He removes Nick's tie criminally slow. ]
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