![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.]
no subject
Nick's explicit agreement to pre-discuss the formation of a polycule gets another brighter burst of beach glass and brandy chuckles; he's not exactly gunning for the idea, but it does seem to amuse him. ]
Sounds good, and like I said, don't mean I intend on head-huntin' either. Just watched too much obligation turn into resentment over this kinda stuff, and I don't want that to happen to you n' me.
[ He's more than happy to follow the paralleled statements of Nick's understanding; now he gets the synth experience probably better than any other organic alive, he understands the way Nick's processing works and how he derives and contextualizes meaning and understanding. ]
Yeah, you got it. Know I talk big and bad but... I don't gotta be the only plant in your greenhouse; sure as hell am happy to be, but as long as we all get watered, we all grow. I don't wanna be a reason you ditch a chance for more love n' happiness, and I don't think I'd be happy with a guy who'd feel fine doin' that to me over... what, insecurity? Possessiveness is a killer kink and all, but...
[ He trails off with a vague waving gesture, leaving the background music to complete his point while he drinks more melon punch, and samples some more of the delectable food.
He snaps right back to attention at Nick's explanation of the ring-- that suddenly feels kind of... warm, on his finger? What strange magic is this? Nick just explained the mild radiation, but that shouldn't create a physical sensation, Hancock takes more rads going for a chem run in the rain. He takes another cool sip of punch and lifts his hand, curiously turning the cherished item around his finger with his thumb. ]
What, you kiddin? No way I wanna take it off, now! Not after ya explained all that. Gunna need... I dunno, some kinda radiation-proof case I can hang on my neck or somethin'. This sweet little baby is never leavin' my sights, count on that
[ And he's admiring his ring again, just as though it has a needlessly huge diamond. Actually no, this is even better than some shiny rock .]
That's so unbelievably, fucking romantic Nick! How the hell am I gunna top that? I can't make you a ring outta my insides, that... that doesn't track too good
[ His grin is wild like an unkept garden, overflowing with flowers and thorns. He wants to touch Nick but his hands are busy (punch cup, joint-tube-twirling) so instead Nick gets a spiked coal-colored heel perched upon his thigh; the motion sends those sequins dripping down the ghoul's skin in turn. The move has the equivalent mood of a playfully swatting tiger; affection shown in the inclination to superficially irritate.
It doesn't much sate the ghoul's itch for touch though, so he adds: ]
Think ya can take that off for me? My barks are doggin'
no subject
It's not a contest--
[His protest is cut off when that heel perches on his leg, sending the draped sequin fabric riding up Hancock's thigh and pooling where it joins his hip. That is--certainly a good look. His request hits a moment after he says it, when Nick catches back up, and the synth huffs another bemused chuckle as he takes the ghoul's ankle and the back of that shoe into the careful grip of his skeletal hand. His good hand, feels along the strap until it finds the buckle and takes its sweet time doing so.]
Well, one more thing we agree on: rings made out of viscera? Hard pass.
[He can undo the strappy heel blind, and he finally does, pulling that shoe off and twisting to set it on the floor by one of his chair's legs. He assumes the second heel is incoming, and then probably a foot massage, but he is still floating on cloud nine. Hancock could ask him for just about anything right now and Nick would endeavor to give it.]
I was thinking about rings and I kinda hoped for something a little...peculiar. [His bashfulness doesn't make a full return here, but it brushes the surface again.] Ring's meant to go on the left hand and mine isn't...so good for wearin jewelry. So whatever it ends up being, think I can talk you into welding it in place?
no subject
[ He's already having Ideas; or, one of his trains of thought is all Ideas, while others steam and stream on about Nick's hands on his skin and the relief of pinching pressure off his feet. ]
Thanks for that. Guess I could go with somethin' metaphorically close to my heart... Hmmm... I've gotta think on it for a bit
[ Something he could melt into metal, for one thing. The ghoul flexes his toes as Nick places his punishing shoe aside, and then brings the second foot into the synth's lap. This time, he rests it on the sliver of chair between Nick's legs. ]
This one's not so bad, missin' toe an' all? Not gunna walk around in one shoe like some kinda lunatic though
[ The request only broadens Hancock's gratified grin; clearly, he approves of this idea. He looks like he's about to enthusiastically agree, but then stops himself with hesitation so utterly theatrical that it cannot be genuine. ]
Wait a sec, who the hell got you into body mods? That's some heavy shit, Nick
[ A resurgence of brambly chuckles, whilst his naked foot slides leisurely up and down Nick's thigh. ]
Yeah you got it Sunshine, happy to do it. Maybe I'm a little closer to lunatic than I wanna admit, but that just seems pretty damn romantic to me. Now I just gotta figure out somethin' real sentimental to light on fire
no subject
Nick had been so sorely tempted to drop to his knees and push up that sequinned dress--it's so nice of Hancock to give him another opportunity. Still, he plans on taking him time, so when his skeletal hand takes ahold of this ankle, he decides to let his other hand slide up and feel along the inside of that leg. Nick's fingers wander up to Hancock's knee, along his inner thigh, graze against the ruby fabric of that dress, but they stop there.
Nick is a gentleman (and a tease) and once he reaches the edge of that fabric, he gradually pulls his hand back. He has a shoe to undo after all.]
Been thinkin about some other body mods, too. VR seems easier, though, so they're damn hard to justify.
no subject
Nick surprises him with that daring hand creeping up the inside of his leg, but it's definitely well received. His polite awareness of the third party (presently strumming on his base and crooning for what must be mostly self gratification) flips like a coin and Hancock feels-- warm. He's mentioned the exhibitionism, right? As Nick's hand ascends, the ghoul's obsidian eyes go straight to lamp-light yellow, flit briefly to the stage behind them, and back to Nick again.
A ripple of heat thrums through him; his grin gets crooked and clumsy. ]
Oh yeah? Such as? Now ya got me curious... VR's a great place to test drive if you're not sure about makin a permanent commitment
[ He cannot say that with a straight face. He doesn't, the irony is too delicious he absolutely must grin upon the taste. That present shoe gets lifted as Hancock ups the ante, pressing the ball of his foot and the point of his heel against the center of Nick's chest. The pressure is light, but enough to press him into his chair just slightly. The red sequins of Hancock's clothing are dark in the low dimness and glow under the streamers of bright light, like red wine under sunshine; it pools around his thighs as his leg lifts, revealing inches more of the ghouls bare skin. ]
This one too. Please.
[ A little more pressure against Nick's chest and a charmed serpentine smile for emphasis. That 'please' is more purr and playful command than genuine request. ]
Promise we'll tweak the VR so I can tower over ya next go around, deal?
no subject
The sidelong glance at the Vaultie, still serenading a crowd of two, doesn't escape him. The last time Nick had welcomed this sort of thing had been when Kellogg busted out. That whole debacle could have soured just about anybody on the idea of a voyeur or a third in their experience, but it hadn't soured Nick. Now, after finding out the Vaultie and him had more in common than he thought, Nick was less concerned about his presence.
He doesn't even glance back as his hands move to cradle Hancock's leg. His good one goes to the strap but, as before, Nick takes his sweet time undoing it. The whole time, his love-struck gaze is stuck on Hancock. (It's not that he doesn't have bedroom eyes, it's that his bedroom eyes also happen to be goo-goo eyes generally.)]
Fine by me.
[Nick doesn't object in the slightest. He enjoys towering over his tiny fiancee, but he also enjoyed being towered over by Id. That answer comes fast--the answer to his earlier question however, that one kicks Nick into full tilt embarassment. It's one thing to proclaim his love, to serenade him, to even get physical with a witness, but he still stumbles over the propriety of any given subject. He doesn't have a barometer for this one so he errs on the side of silting and cautious.]
It was--ah--an idea that got put in my head. In part of my head at least. Seemed like a dangerous play at the time, it was kind of a tense moment, but the idea of it was alright.
That is to say--er--hm.
The--uh--baseball metaphors aren't really my forte, so I might be using them wrong. It was about the disparity between how much pitching I get to do and how much catching I do not. I was thinkin it's really not all that different from my...well...usual...preference of ingress.
Goddamnit all. [Nick can't blush but his fans are kicked up and he ducks his head forward in defeat, pressing his forehead against Hancock's shin as he tries to recover some of his misplaced dignity. He sounds amused but helplessly defeated by what he's trying to express when he continues. Help him out here, love, he's floundering.]
Figured I could try out a way to--that is--uh--get fucked. Properly. Not just my face.
no subject
It's as though Nick highjacks manual breathing control from his ghoulfriend by the motion of his drifting hand; Hancock breaths in for every ascended inch, holds when the hand stills, breaths out when it drifts away. God damn it. He finally stops spinning that tube and pops it open. Drugs now, thank you. He doesn't have his lighter, sans his Coat of Many Things, so he'll wait for Nick to finish talking before he asks for his matches.
But Nick is taking his time (adorably) fumbling his point, so Hancock leans in with the drunken-grace of a charmed snake and reaches into the breast pocket inside Nick's coat. He lingers in that increased proximity more than he needs to, letting his hand rest inside the synth's coat as Nick starts to talk about baseball metaphors. Hancock still gets to enjoy towering above Nick so long as he's perched on the table, which works wonderfully for him.
He resists the impulse to rib Nick in such a vulnerable moment, biting back the urge to wonder aloud how those Yankees might feel about Nick fumbling their metaphors. Instead he keeps busy completing the theft of those matches, sitting back, and popping whatever smokeable monstrosity the Vaultie considers a part favor out of its tube.
The struck match lights the moment Hancock catches the meaning behind all Nick's delightful subterfuge; the reflection of the flame is not the only light in his black mirror eyes. Well now. That is a thought, isn't it? Only through sheer practice can Hancock not drop his smoke (tastes like tabaco, cannabis with a touch of bubble hash) when the wild grin splits his mouth. He looks utterly at home dressed in coils of smoke, a blighted dragon so very pleased by this clumsy offering.
He really was just about to jump in with a life line, but wouldn't ya know it, Nick finally manages to spit out his bottom-line. ...Heh. ]
Well now, that sounds like a hell of'a way to pass a weekend. Guess I can see the hesitance with so many... colorful options on the table.
But I gotta tell ya up front. Ya never, ever leave me wanting. You wanna try a new dance I'm here for it, but I ain't exactly board'a what we got goin' already.
[ Comfortable habit leads him to take a punishing inhale. His words ride on steeds of smoke as he continues ] Thought'a your mouth? Gets my blood so hot already... on the other hand, love to hear all the sounds you'd make stuffed full'a me without anythin' blockin that pretty sinin' voice'a yours
no subject
Oh yeah? [Nick asks as he finds the nerve to pick his head up off Hancock's shin. He huffs another silent laugh and his fingers get back to work, undoing that delicate strap.]
I--uh--Hadn't really thought about that.
[Hancock is all legs and dripping red sequins, flashing in the dreamy light. The smoke curls around him in thin tendrils, a haze like fog on water, and catch the rays the disco ball throws off. Nick can't help but be entranced by the sight. The strap on that other shoe goes slack and lets his good hand wander again, sliding casually back and forth across Hancock's shin. He's not going to take the thing off his chest, but he's still holding the shoe whenever Hancock decides he's had enough.]
You wanna make me sing?
no subject
[ The strap has gone loose but the heel is snug enough on Hancock's foot not to slide off without a freeing tug; he gets the sense Nick is enjoying the dramatic change in footwear too, and is suddenly inspired to lift his one adorned foot and all too gently catch Nick's jaw with the coal-shard point of the toe. The hand drifting along his shin has him feeling surprisingly warm beneath his skin; it's a subtle tease of friction, but his nerves seem to catch every passed pour and touched texture the synth's fingers graze. Ghouls can't quite get goosebumps, but a tenuous tremble trips down his spine as he tips Nick's face upwards, bringing their gazes together. ]
All night long, Sunshine. All. Night. Long.
[ His grin is full of pitch promise as he guides the tip of his shoe down the side of Nick's throat, narrowly avoiding a tattered edge along the way. ]
Ya know, ya got a pretty poor idea'a my stamina with how good ya always wreck me, I'd love the chance to return the favor
[ ... his brain is starting to feel like it's blooming, like a flower. Huh. Var wasn't supposed to stick anything too hard hitting into his party favors. Somehow these vivid ideas are just drifting to him like they're riding the disco lights, and he catches himself talking without explicitly deciding to share the notion ]
Think I'm really likin' the idea'a you, on your back, howling my name till ya can't find the line between words and sounds. Wonder if I could leave ya soundin' like ya spent the whole night screamin' for me... pretty gratifying fantasy, I gotta say
no subject
[Nick admits and while it's not a cagey admission, per se, it does kind of sound it with his head tipped back by the point of that shoe. Damned if Nick isn't loving that footwear more and more--he's never wanted someone to step on him, but a voice in the back of his head (Kellogg) is demanding he add that to the list of latent fantasies.]
It's a pipe dream, of course, but--uh--I'm fond of it.
[That shoe drags down his neck, point grazing across his silicon, and Nick's whole being is focused on that one spot. He swallows as it passes over his adam's apple, and again as it dips at the pit of his neck.]
Not sure I'll sound as pretty at the end of the night as you, not unless you like static, but I don't object to finding out.
no subject
[ Considering how spectacularly leaving an impression of himself in the database had worked, last time. The delicate pointed toe-tip of Hancock's heel traces lower, from the middle of Nick's collar down the center of his chest; the ghoul presses a little harder with his foot this time, pinning Nick playful-rough against the chair. ]
Ya wanna try again in Real Time, pretty sure we can find a guy that wants ya just as crazy bad as I do
[ He tips his head to denote the direction of his gaze, behind them at the cinnamon synth having way too much fun with his single-man performance. It's almost like he feels Hancock looking, because those gilt and green eyes dart over to Nick and Hancock as he strums his base, fills the air with the black-velvet vibrations, and happens to be singing the line: 'Does Your God Believe In You?'
... Listening to his set list a little more closely might grant a bit of insight to his topsy-turvy mental state; it's bonus content, not a requirement. Like everything else Evaris does, he's doing this most of all because he Wants to. ]
Assuming Connie isn't gunna jump in again and ruin the mood. Guess he doesn't gotta now, one foot in the door, and one... foot in the.... door
And hey, you let me like what I like. I said yes to gettin' hitched, didn't I? Don't insult my fine taste in men
no subject
[The proposal of the Vaultie doesn't go unnoticed adn Nick, well, finds he's surprisingly alright with that. He gives it a beat of thought and then offers up a dreamy sort of smirk.]
Gonna have to see a man about a bodymod, I guess.
[That shoe has him pinned like a bug to a board and the bass is vibrating against the back of his teeth and Hancock agreed--accepted--his proposal. Nick couldn't possibly be having a better night. He leans into the pressure of that foot, just a bit, and his hands return to Hancock's ankle, feeling him up more than helping undress him.]
I'd ask if you want to move this party somewhere private but, well, it mostly is.
[Nick lets his eyes rove, drawing down from that hat and the curling smoke, down his paramour's face, and to the delicate curves of sequined fabric. It's stretched across his midsection and then pools out again in a silky waterfall of crimson. Nick's never had a dream exactly, but he figures this is what they must feel like.
This time, when his hands wander, his skeletal one moves up the underside of that leg. It's ostensibly holding it up, cold metal against the back of his knee and then the back of his thigh. His silicon hand brushes up his shin and stops right at the edge of that fabric again. As though any of this could be deemed apporpriate just because of that one barrier.]
I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?
no subject
[ Nick had mentioned his first bodymod
came at the hands ofwas installed curtesy of Ms. Mechanist, though far be it from him to pick the parlor here. He just... does not want to go to Far Harbor, again. He absolutely will if Nick is going, but separately, he would feel less genuine stress taking a stroll through The Commonwealth; plenty deadly on a typical Tuesday but they both live here and don't die on the regular. Far Harbor... has a stink on it.Those thoughts all dissolve, a sandcastle sieged by a sudden crashing crest of seawater, as Nick leans against the press of his heel, effectively egging the ghoul into a more dominant press in reply. His expression says how good Nick looks under the ball of his foot and that sharp black heel; a savoring scotch snicker underscores his heady enjoyment and he purrs: ]
Criminal how good ya look like this... gunna have'ta snap a couple pictures one'a these days since you're so keen on bein' underneath my heel. Guess if ya feel like sneakin off now, I could grab a camera on the way
[ He looks like fire breather while he inhales that smoke, eyes pitch and unblinking despite the silver coils caught under his hat. That surprisingly cool hand under his leg shouldn't send such a vivid shiver through him, nor should the shift threaten to knock him onto his back-- but Hancock is actually a lot higher than he thinks he is.
He catches himself on one elbow, narrowly missing his plate as Nick lifts his leg; the motion hadn't been nearly jarring enough to do that and-- and why is the room rocking just so? This feels like joint-- maybe 60? Not... one. He tries to stare incredulously at the mystery smoke still between his lips, but he cannot do that without crossing his eyes, so instead he just squeezes them shut. ]
I could hear it again
[ He still manages a silk-smooth reply, through a stretched and crooked smile. His eyes crack open, narrow tourmaline shards, as he watches Nick like the lights just surged around them. That gentle prickling across his skin accompanies another ripple of heat from his toes to his head. Alright, what's with this hyped sensitivity? He's more curious than seriously worried-- he's sure Evaris wouldn't poison them, even recreationally.
He actually Un-poisoned them, technically.He could sit up, really and truly... but he kind of. Likes where he is? Half-spread on the table like a dessert, one leg hauled up by the back of his knee, with Nick looming between his legs and watching him heat up like nursing coals into a flame. ]
You keep that up for long and this dress is gunna get uncomfortably tight
[ His whole heart isn't in this amused, shorn-satin complaint; it actually feels like it's beating below his stomach. ]
no subject
[Hancock draped back on the table in a pool of red sequins is perfect. Nick's so in love tonight that it's consuming him, he's just drifting on it, and Hancock is drifting on the coils of smoke that dissipate around them. He could stay in this moment forever, comfortably, but time doesn't work that way.
He finally, finally pulls Hancock's last shoe off with one gradual, gentle tug and his chest misses the sharp point of contact almost instantly. The second shoe is set on the table, if only because he's not about to bend while he's got ahold of Hancock's leg. Once his hands are free, Nick bends forward, presses a kiss against the inside of Hancock's knee, and shoots him (for Nick) an absolutely filthy grin.]
What do you say to a little more dancing? [Nick asks, even as he has his cheek against Hancock's lifted leg. It would be absurdly easy for him to shift that leg over his shoulder, to dip his head and push that dress up, but he draws out the suspense as best he can.]
Or we could call it a night?
no subject
[ Is the magnitude of verbal grace that Hancock manages in reply to Nick's invitation to dance; his skin is still pleasantly sizzling inside his knee, a ghost impression of that kiss living in the tips of his nerves. That speck of grit in Nick's blue velvet grin runs through the ghoul like an electric shock and knocks his pulse a few inches lower beneath his gut. Okay, words Hancock, language. ]
Dancin'... you talkin' actual dancin'...? Or... [ He really should have a million different clever ways to say what he's saying, but his tolerance is deviously shot to hell and he is fucking blitzed. Cloud 9? Cloud 900, more like. He feels like he's floating on steam, somehow weightless and heavy at once, the thrum of that base hitting him like warm summer rain as Nick's cheek slides against the inside of his leg. ]
Gunna have to... define the logistics of 'callin it a night' for me, too... Think I'm too blitzed to follow a euphemism right now [ His voice has gone dusky, his eyes at half mast. ] That, and your mouths got my imagination runnin so, so damn hot. What's the option that translates to 'dear god please don't stop'? I'm goin' with that one
[ Hancock's free leg slides an extra inch apart along the table's ledge, and the knee hooked on Nick's hand drifts in the opposite direction; not a subtle invitation, but too demure a motion to classify as a demand; it toes the line of gentle encouragement. His pulse has drifted low enough that those sequins are getting a bit snug, but there isn't enough slack in the fabric (or blood surged southward, yet) to lewdly tent his silhouette.
The slow hiss that slithers from his teeth as he parts his thighs suggests he somewhat feels the sequins strain across his stirring sex, however. Why he's so acutely aware of the lush ruby drag across his navel is weird and beyond him right now, a back-burnered observation as he watches Nick's eyes like a love-drunk moth instinctually magnetized to the light. ]
no subject
Space Nick eagerly moves into.]
Don't stop? I think I can manage that.
[Nick is acutely aware of the Vaultie behind him, providing bass and vocals for his own enjoyment. Evaris won't mind this, at least Nick figures he won't, and the synth's attention zeroes entirely on Hancock, blitzed out and offered up for him.
Nick shifts and, disappointingly, stands up. It's a requirement to push back the chair, though, and he doesn't remain standing for very long. He drops to one knee, like he'd planned on doing while offering up that ring, and with the ease of a man putting on a scarf he drapes Hancock's leg over one shoulder. In the dim, dreamy light, his eyes seem brighter than usual and Hancock's are reflecting a sea of dancing light.
Finally, Nick's fingers dip under the ruby sequins and follow the familiar lines of Hancock's legs. The dress is tight at his hips, too much for Nick to press his hands higher, but the constriction everywhere else is enthralling to look at. Watching that starry fabric move as he feels up his fiancee is almost as beautiful as the floating, blissed expression on Hancock's face.]
no subject
Aside, neither the band nor the DJ are the least bit appalled; Evaris had not expected a show for a show, but he realized long before he (they) finished decorating the party floor that it was, at the very least, a possibility. Such a lovely branch of possibility to find himself hanging on. The biohazard beryl glow from his mutated eye looks especially striking in the decorative dim as he watches his companions tangle. ]
Not gunna leave me with my heart on my sleeve, are ya? Get back here
[ He teases, a mockery of a complaint and a demand, too overflowing with overt affection and genuine rose-tinted rapture. He knows Nick isn't going anywhere, he's back before Hancock can finish his playful griping anyway. His knee grips hard on the frame of Nick's shoulder, pulls him closer while his eager impatience earns a little slack on the lead. ]
Sure do like to take your time, doncha?
[ With Nick down on one knee the ghoul feels a bit better about bending the elbow propping him up, lowering himself so he's not quite flat on his back. ]
Not doin' anythin' ungentlemanly, like tryin' to get me to beg, are ya? Already said 'please' and everything...
[ His skin is especially warm to the touch, his pulse speeding to the chemicals soaking his brain and the sensations charging his nerves with living electricity; the biochemical bliss is utterly unreal; the ghoul suddenly has to close his eyes because he'd been staring so intently he neglected to blink.
A sigh that is almost a groan rushes out of him like a flurry of wishful dandelion fluff; he flattens further against the table, reaching up to his mouth to pluck free the (not quite finished) spliff to extinguish it against the side of his punch-cup. He's getting the distinct impression he's going to forget he's holding fire in his mouth and it would kill the mood if something went up in smoke.
Besides, how the hell is he even this blazed? He's not a friggin green horn.
That's gotta be why the sequins got so tight so quick, right? The drugs? That slightest bit of extra slack in the fabric gained from Nick pushing up the dress is both kind and cruel in allowing a little extra bloodflow; Hancock hisses softly as his turgid dick creates an obscene silhouette below his navel, the pressure-sensation causing his bare toes to twitch and a sheered second of heated wriggling. ]
I get that you're enjoyin' the view... patience ain't exactly my strong suit ya know...?
[ Good natured, heady teasing as Hancock uses his flattened position to arch his hips off the table; he adores that Nick puts so much heart into winding him up, it's written all over the silk and satin, lust and love of his expression. ]
no subject
You in a hurry?
[In Nick's experience, patience and care are two things Hancock exerts considerable effort ensuring. Doing so without complaint, however, is something the synth rarely witnesses. He's not immune to the request though, the dreamy, throaty rasp has Nick snared and he can do very little but oblige.
Nick leans in and, over the taut fabric of that skirt, mouths along the shape of Hancock's prick. The residual moisture from that drink of punch is enough to dampen that sequinned fabric, to make his movements unusually humid and really highlight the heat of his mouth. His hands wander, smoothing over anything they can reasonably manage, until he finally sets them low on Hancock's hips and tugs the ghoul to the very edge of the table with only Nick's shoulder and hands as support. Luckily, his hands and shoulder are rock solid and unwavering.
Once he's had his fill of mouthing along the shape of his cock, Nick uses his teeth and nose to pull that dress up the final few inches and free him from the confines of his slinky skirt. His cock is heavy and painted with dreamy flecks of light; it's just as pretty as the rest of Hancock. Nick could take a few moments, enjoy it, but he's not unsympathetic to Hancock's neediness. He flattens his tongue along the underside of it, pulling root to tip, and then swallows it down like he was built for it.
The constellations of data that spring up are like music, the haze of surreal, romantic light, and the brilliance of sequins winking in and out of the dark. He'll do this hundreds, thousands more times, and will enjoy each instance as much as the first. The new record, this entry in his registry, springs to life and fills with every detail all at once--his pulse, the texture of his skin, the variable heat, weight, and hardness. Every little aspect is another progression of rising chords topped with a twinkling flash of detail, of too much data and a dropped frame or two. Nick can't exactly moan around his cock, but he gives it the old college try once he has Hancock as far down his throat as he'll go.]
no subject
But Nick forever cranks his chain with such unrelenting severity, that despite being in the later half of his forties, he practically does feel like a horny teenager all over again; seriously, where is the self control?
It's out the window and on fire on the street below as Nick's too hot, too addictive mouth keeps up the near worshipful friction through the fabric. The ghoul's hips arch again, and again, pushing his pulsing flesh against that teasing mouth. His growl is shadow soft and stretched like a black dusk's silhouette; it breaks to a trembling note of vocals as Nick suddenly hauls him towards the edge of the table. His knee locks again on the synth's shoulder with surprising strength, hinting Hancock is fumbling his own restraint slightly. But they're both built to take the brunt of each other's brutish designs; he can't hurt Nick unless he's really trying, and vice versa.
It feels so good in his bones to grasp at the back of Nick's skull just as hard as he wants to, especially as that pressure gives and his dick stands lewdly in the light-specks. His lips crack open, tongue darting out to spread too little moisture across his skin as he pants through his mouth like an animal in heat.
His spine bends off the tablecloth and his hands bite at the back of Nick's skull and neck when he finally feels the delightfully wicked drag of the synth's tongue with nothing between them; a red velvet groan gets knocked from his chest when Nick so expertly swallows him, sheaths Hancock's dick in those impossibly rapturous metallic irises. Hancock's gone feverish but Nick is still hotter inside.
It would almost be a shame the synth's vocals end up so smothered if the vibrations weren't painted (in a generously heavy coat) directly against Hancock's skin. He'd love to hear it, loves to feel it, and his toes curl tightly as he grinds, a few shallow bucks of his hips, where there isn't another fraction of an inch to sink in. ]
That's it love, take it all in
[ His encouragement is all rough edged, uncut smokey quartz, riddled with thread-like veins of need and demand intertwined. ]
So fuckin' good, so hot inside, I'm burnin' up
[ Absolutely not a complaint. ]
no subject
Nick pulls a vacuum as he moves back, lips sealed tight around Hancock's length, and then releases it when only the crown of his cock remains. His tongue laves attention on the head of his dick, tracing it like he's trying to recall the precise shape, and then he seals his lips and sinks down again, swallowing him to the hilt.
The way he sits along Nick's throat, the way he fits so snugly, has Nick seeing stars. Every time that rush of data draws him in, rises up, and overwhelms him, but he striggles against it for as long as he can, just to have a little bit more of this closeness. This is perfect, far better than fireworks, and Nick wouldn't trade it for anything.
Hancock's praise settles across Nick's sensor net like a warm blanket, like a haze of endorphins, and Nick is eager to please, picking up his pace, swallowing once he has Hancock all the way down, anything for another mote of adoration from his fiancee. In the background, the strumming of that bass keeps Nick in time, like a metronome, and runs along his sensors as surely as a low current.]
no subject
That's it-- Christ Nick, lemme feel that tongue again, nice n' slow, gunna make me fuckin' lose it--
[ Language Processing crashes and burns as Nick moves again, swallows him again, and Hancock arches sharp off the table as a cry breaks on the damn of his clenched teeth and stars dazzle behind his closed eyes. When they crack open the ghoul's gaze is thrown behind them by the bend of his spine.
For a split second he catches sight of Var, who has flicked off the accompanying recordings and moved himself to the edge of the performance area; he's sitting comfortably upon the lip of the stage, strumming his base in skillful freestyle, drawing off the beat and rhythm of the show he's being treated to. He does not miss that Nick's pace is matched to his chords, and he slows and speeds them in artful composition to see what effect, if any, the variant background music will have. His grin is subtle but so, so hungry as he provides his unique musical accompaniment.
He catches Hancock's eyes for that fractured moment he's looking, and shoots the spread ghoul a libertine wink, cutting the gold from his green-glow gaze. Hancock's heart kicks a little harder against his ribcage, his fingers tightening on the back of Nick's skull as his cock twitches against the insides of his throat. The synth's motions gain speed and momentum, and Hancock's knees bend and his thighs part as far as his muscles can strain in greedy, not quite needy encouragement. He pulls Nick in by the shoulders, by the back of the neck, spearing himself into the synth's throat with each jut of his hips.
His heavy gaze swings back to lock on Nick's mouth, and then up to his eyes in search of that blissfully agonized expression his fiancée wears whenever Hancock fucks his face with such greedy gusto. One fever-warm hand slips down, the pad of Hancock's thumb tracing adoration across the synth's stretched bottom lip. ]
Never, ever get enough of ya... don't want ya to stop, don't want ya to end me too soon either... keep me close, would ya? Right on the razor's edge
no subject
Keeping Hancock on the razor's edge is a challenge, or it would be if Nick weren't drowning in a sweetly agonizing avalanche of Hancock related data. It fills his eyes, his ears, and dances behind his eyelids when he closes them. The data flits by in bursts--the speed of Hancock's heart, the shift of heat and blood with his pulse, the fine tremors in his thighs, and the tension of his hands at the back of Nick's skull, all are tracked meticulously until Nick's nearly overwhelmed.
Then Hancock's thumb is sweeping reverently across his stretched lower lip.
That motion, the tenderness in it even when they are in the throes, gets Nick every time. His blissfully agonized expression is on full display as he revels in sensation of his thumb over stretched silicon. He wants nothing more than to have Hancock fuck his face, but he can modulate, can roll with this new plan, this new tempo. Somehow, the slowing down like this, makes this act almost unbearably intimate, delicate and fragile in a way that they usually aren't. The data is like a rainbow whorl behind his eyes as he takes his paramour apart with the gentle, persistent motions of his tongue and the embrace of his throat.]
no subject
That throbbing baseline slows deliberately as well, muddying the true source of the tempo; is Nick matching the beat, or is Evaris matching the pace he observes? Hancock can't place the distinction, can barely feel the table at his back for all that sweet-slow friction devouring him whole. His eyes are locked on his paramour's, his expression so saccharine with delirious devotion that those nuanced growls, repeating the same composition of sound, over and over to his love, must absolutely translate to Nick's name.
English is failing him entirely but he's still damn near chanting Nick's praises to the deliberate drum beat (baseline) of the synth's ministrations, all in soft samite snarls and blissy-baritone bellows.
There's definitely a cliff's edge looming on the ghoul's dreamy peripheral, but Nick's taking him to it one agonizing inch at a time. He doesn't even need to signal when the momentum gets threatening, when he feels that pleasure-burn flare up like a sunspot; Nick seems to know, to feel it under Hancock's skin as much as the ghoul himself can; he doesn't need the words that are failing him so terribly, Nick can read the throes of his rapture like words on a page.
A handy skill, when the ghoul is murmuring feverishly about how very fucking close he is to busting, how much he's aching in his bones, how much he desperately loves Nick, deliriously loves how he burns him up, and none of it has any words. Hancock's humid hand cups the side of Nick's face, clumsy-gentle, while he bites his own bottom lip from the strain of holding himself to this deliciously torturous languidness. Id is having a full on war with his very own self over wanting to sustain this sluggish greed and wanting to fuck Nick's face with all the strength and vigor he can manage until he's to wrecked and raw to move. ]
no subject
This is such a dreamy, wonderful day, so many of his wants came true that it seems unfair to leverage Hancock for another, but Nick turns his eyes up at his love's and wonders if maybe, this once, he can keep the plush, warm embrace of this moment going even as they reach crescendo. He's not sure, he feels like he's being held in tension, that even he might snap and succumb to the casual brutality they both crave, but it's worth a try.]
You ready to come for me, gorgeous?
[Nick's voice sounds the same as it always does, but just slightly misaligned, deeper, rougher than usual. The intrusion into his throat tends to jar his voicebox. It resets itself when the rest of him does, but he hasn't hit that peak. Nick stares up at Hancock and, in a lurid move that is bolder than he is usually wont, he keeps his gaze as he slowly drags his tongue from his base to tip--doing his best to tease Hancock into spending himself when the head of his cock is pressed against his lips.]
no subject
For you-- for you-- gunna come-- so hard-- for you
[ It's a real pity that that one person here who could translate, isn't. Evaris would absolutely oblige, pouring his translations against Nick's ear in a dusky whisper, but he hasn't been explicitly invited, so he'll stay where he is and provide siren-sensual musical accompaniment and an audience laden with carnivorous, carnal appreciation. He does get to enjoy knowing the language Hancock is speaking-- babbling, pleading, unraveling between his grinding teeth.
Hancock manages a shaky nod that devolves into a few slow thrashes of his head. One hand jumps up to his own mouth because he's startled by the volume and pitch of the sounds that try to break out of him. His eyes are so impossibly wide, like polished disks of jet stone as he holds Nick's gaze and watches his tongue trace purposefully upwards.
He can feel himself tipping, feel the gravity flip around him like he's not sure if he's going to fall or fly. His fingers coil and clamp at the back of Nick's skull, his crescendo's cry crashing initially against his palm as his gaze remains locked on his love's. He watches Nick watching him, as is peripherally aware of being otherwise watched, as well.
Orgasms are typically good for a burst of free dopamine and passing the time, but they don't often rock his very foundations like this. The tremors climb into him slowly, steadily, running their claws through him and settling into his muscles as the rush runs through his dick and he spills. Thick heavy dollops of warm whiteish liquid paint Nick's mouth and his face; burst after burst streaming steady from Hancock's dick as his hand falls from his mouth, and he lets his voice, rising into a raptured roar, strike the open air like a thunderclap. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Not like anyone else might need to use the elevator.... >>;
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)