robotdick | Dancin until dawn.

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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[ Of course Evaris will help you Nick, you don't even have to ask. As aggressively altruistic as always, the Not-Quite-a-Vaultie provides above and beyond the synth's requests. Decorations? Certainly, here's 300 balloons. Metallic streamers, galore. White icicle Christmas lights (specifically, those are a must), and a fog machine. What, no? No fog machine? Fine, he'll scrap it for parts.

Snacks? Absolutely, the mad science this dude can do with a pot over a fire. Drinks? Sure, here's every variety of Nuka Cola, and Vim, a (metric) boat load and a half of booze, and classic punch inside a giant mutant melon bowl that is certainly not spiked but extremely Refreshing. Plus a small mountain of ice, but you gotta chip that yourself dude come on now.

Music? No problem, already installing the same massive stereo speakers as in The Third Rail, because clearly he already has schematics for those laying around no big deal. That's not a stage, don't be so over dramatic, it's just an extremely fancy karaoke bar.

Somewhere amid the Vaultie's extremely fucking manic re-do of the floor beneath Nick and Hancock's flat, the version of Snow currently operating Neon Flats will kindly provide the synth a little context. Aspects of Synthetic Neural Operating Window Version 2 still exist in the Gen 3's hardware; it repaired vital parts of his OS, and can't separated without irreparable damage. One of Snow's original functions, a task they took and valued and cherished before even coming to know Themselves, was interior design.

Specifically, Snow had been tasked with designing Neon Flats. They are the architect behind Nick's snazzy flat, those crisp neon lights and mini-fridge night-stands that he and his paramour so much appreciate and enjoy.

So Evaris (with his one green eye and his one white braid) are doing a Thing now, please forgive the bordering obsessive dedication to the task.

That's gotta be why the extreme excess of effort here, right? No additional, Glowing Green reasons could possibly exist? ... Anyway.

Over at The Old Statehouse, Hancock is doing Taxes. There's an ashtray brimming with several variety of spend smoke butts, a glass that's empty and a bottle of whatever Charlie gave him that's half-way there. There's even a few scattered ceramic cups, implying someone cooked up something at the coffee station downstairs and brought it up here, too.

The ghoul sighs to himself as he attempts to balance his books-- the keys of his terminal clacking with his mounting irritation at the numbers on his computer's screen. ]

C'mon Allen you're killin' me here...

[ He mutters to himself, trying to make 100 caps into 500 is going to take some-- well, that's just a couple bounties, right? He can probably cover that himself if he goes out and does the actual work. Not an impossible bridge to gap.

Besides, he's the one who cut his own stash of Cognitive Cocktail in half. That's the math he's trying to balance out, because one of his two remaining shots is due to go to Fred soon, which means--

There's a knock and Hancock shoves himself up from the desk, striding away from his computer like it offended him and he has to step back before he decks it. If this is Fahrenheit, he's gunna send her on a run to snag a handful of of righteous bounties for him-- ]

Oh-- Nick, hey, I need to grab a couple-- [ Record scratch. Hold on. Nick looks... fancy. The blunt wolfish attraction is the first expression to flicker across the ghoul's face, followed by mildly concerned befuddlement. Had he forgotten something, here? ]

Are... we supposed to be dancin, tonight?

[ A wild guess, while his smile is faintly reluctant for a fraction of a second. He should solve this issue--

He can leave it for later.

He wants to see why Nick looks so especially dashing this evening. ]

Don't tell me I forget about those Lindy lessons? Told ya I got a brain like holey cheese... er, pretty sure I did.

[Watching Hancock drop a frame or two is a thrilling happenstance and it boosts Nick's confidence in this plan by leaps and bounds. Hancock looks harried, but he usually has that expression on after a few days working away at that terminal.]

Yeah, actually--I figured I'd see if you wanted to step out tonight? I know a spot and it's been a while since we danced.

[Nick, in all his old fashioned glory, has been holding a corsage in one hand. Not too many types of flower in the wasteland, but he's snatched up a few. He's got a couple affixed to the lapel of his coat. He clears his throat and offers up the floral wristband. It's a little awkward, but it's a required step for a prom.]

So what d'you say? Be my date?

You kiddin? Get me the hell outta here-- if I never see a godamn number again in my life, it'll be too soon

[ His exasperation plays second fiddle to his jubilant appreciation, here; he's already shedding his stress and fatigue like a snake shucking and old set of scales; suddenly soft and flexible and ready to wriggle.

He thinks to ask what new spot Nick could have possibly discovered-- but the guy goes and offers him an actual corsage (Hubflowers? His Fucking Favorite Flowers, probably because you can make Psycho out of them) and asks like it's a whole formal affair. Very romantic, and Hancock's grin goes crooked with overflowing delight. ]

This some kinda formal affair? Got me feelin' kinda under-dressed all the sudden...

[ an odd comment from a man constantly dressed in historical cosplay, and a token complaint; it's more a vehicle to pass Nick his surprised and appreciative approval by tone alone. Hancock shuffles his sleeve (coast and ruffles) down his wrist a few inches and offers his hand to Nick, so he can fasten the band of flowers upon it as the tradition of corsages dictate. ]

Ya think I should hop over to Neon Flats real quick to change? Got that Silver Shroud get up Var gave me... and that red dress too, come to think of it. Maybe both? How far we walkin? Heels ain't so kind outside'a VR

Yeah, I think we can make a stop back home.

[Nick confirms as he finishes fastening the corsage onto Hancock's wrist. It's a ridiculous tradition, but the hubflowers look great and it all aligns almost uncannily with the memories in his head that Nick recorded. Nick (the synth) steps aside so Hancock can flee his office and then follows right after as they head to and down the stairs.]

And I can't say I'd object to the heels, but you sure you want to lindy in them?

[Nick had envisioned Hancock in that red sequined dress while planning this. It wasn't a dealbreaker if he wanted to wear something else, but the idea of that dress under the fancy icecicle lights and makeshift disco ball? That sends his mechanical heart all aflutter. Farenheit gives him the same longsuffering look as they exit the building and Nick has the good grace to look a little sheepish about comandeering the mayor.]

Nice-- always appreciate being the best dressed guy in the room-- no offense Nick, you're a close second

[ Hancock is more than happy to abandon his terminal (and accompanying Mayoral Duties) for another day of the week. Once Nick is finished with the floral adornment Hancock spares a moment to examine it with an appreciative grin, turning his wrist so he can view the fancy floral arrangement from a few different angles. Not quite as possessive as a tattoo, but it's a lovely romantic declaration that makes Hancock feel like he's being flaunted-- a sensation that provides a decent little thrill beneath the flowery romance. ]

How'd you know I like Hubflowers? [ Aside from that he picks every bunch they cross-- it's more a complement to Nick's observational skills than a genuine question. ] And-- yeah, I'm thinkin' on it. Heels in the closet 'er about two inches taller than what I'm wearin right now... not too bad on the toes, and ya did say ya like me tall

[ As he walks, he bumps his shoulder affectionately against Nick's and shoots him a sprightly smirk.

The Mayor's red-headed muscle gets a dismissive wave and absolutely no eye contact, because he doesn't wanna give the stern woman half a chance to ask him-- anything. He's done, stick a fork in him. Her disapproving head-shake and eyeroll only see Hancock's back as he cuts down the short hall and heads to the doorway that will lead them outside. He holds the door for Nick as they exit The Old Statehouse, and step into the unseasonably brisk evening air. ]

Don't mind dressin' up for ya, but I'm takin' your coat if I end up chilly

[ It's all doting mischief, tender teasing as he slides an arm through Nick's and folds his own at the elbow, adopting an impishly formal posture as he strides towards their apartment building. ]

Of course.

[Nick does stand a little straighter as Hancock weaves his arm through, and there's an ease to his step as they meander toward Neon Flats. The cold night air almost makes him wish they had to walk somewhere else, but he tables that thought. The look on Hancock's face when he pushes open the doors on that floor? That'll be well worth skipping the walk.

The lobby of the building is as it always is and Nick knocks the button to summon the elevator with his elbow. Sweeping in with Hancock on his arm has him, well, for lack of a better term: strutting. Nick's doing his best to contain his excitement about this all, but it's a rough task and he's only mostly managing to keep it on lock. He can't really stop smiling which is, in and of itself, a dead giveaway.]

I was hoping you'd wear that dress. [Nick confides in a stage whisper as they step into the elevator.] Though, admittedly, don't think I actually considered the Silver Shroud outfit. Doesn't match the heels, though.

You ever got a craving I kill for ya, you just let me know

[ He means in regards to playing dress up, but he also means in general. As the elevator doors slide shut, the ghoul folds himself against Nick's chest as though one leads naturally to the other. He's an exhibitionist with a habitually reserved (but extremely indulgent) boyfriend; he waits until the doors close to lean in and press Nick to the wall of the elevator, eyes gleaming like polished hematite while his smile adopts a devilish bloom of hunger. ]

Someone's lookin' like the cat who ate the canary [ He notes with feral-tinged curiosity, head slanted in a tell of his engaged wonder; the motion carries farther and his head continues to cant, lining his smirk aside Nick's throat. ]

Tell ya what, that dress actually has a bitch of a zipper. You promise to help me into it, and outta it, I'll doll up in red sequins. That copasetic, love?

[ He still might nab the scarlet scarf off The Shroud outfit, though; what if his shoulders get chilly, or they need some impromptu bondage? Always good to have a spare scarf laying around.

Also the elevator interrupts by very rudely bringing them to the requested floor-- damn it Snow, read the room. Hancock lingers where he is a few extra moments; they are On Task, but all he wants is a few more seconds to graze his teeth teasing-close to one of the torn edges down the side of Nick's throat.

He will absolutely move. Shortly. ]

I was already plannin on one of those, picking up the other's no problem.

[You know it's amazing how Hancock can perpetually knock Nick off his feet. But, for once, Nick can't actually be tempted away from the current course of action. Much though he would really love to indulge with his exhibitionist ghoulfriend in the elevator here, they have a prom to get to, and Nick's just...itching to get there.

He's not adamant enough to actually step away from Hancock, what with him plastered so nicely against him with his teeth just above his neck and his breath humid against Nick's raw sensor edges.]

Think this is our floor, sweetheart.

[Nick reminds him. It's not like the elevator has anywhere else to go, save perhaps the floor below, but if Evaris calls the elevator now Nick is going to flip out. They're so close. After a beat, Nick makes a command decision, he shifts his hand to the small of Hancock's back and walks him backward, like they're dancing. Even just like this, without music, it feels perfect.]

You got yourself a deal; don't be surprised if I hold ya to it

[ He's far too content where he is, stealing second after second of heady proximity, painting the side of Nick's throat with his breath and the threatening promise of teeth on those exposed sensors. He hasn't forgotten they've got an itinerary here -get changed, go see Nick's new hang out- but he's struck through the chest and the pit of his gut when Nick leverages that cute little petname against him.

It's enough to bridge that teasing gap he lingers inside, enough to trace the tip of his tongue along along one shorn silicone edge. ]

Is it? You sure about that? Absolutely? [ a slower drag of friction, like he's developing an addiction for the taste of electricity. ] Positively? [ his teeth graze across the minimal moisture left by the lave of his tongue ] Completely?

[ 'Bing', the elevator politely insists, remaining utterly motionless. Yes, this is the correct floor, actually. Then Nick's hand is on the small of his back and they're moving together; Hancock goes with the flow, a red velvet chuckle in throat as they sway through the small space and through the open doors. ]

Alright, alright, home sweet home, I'm goin' already

[ It's theatrical, good-natured complaining; Hancock follows along, falls into step beside Nick and then, just as quickly, trots off ahead towards the bedroom. His hat ends up worn by the computer terminal and his cherished red coat on the accompanying chair. He's undoing buttons while he foots open the closet and steps inside. ]

Ya think the tricorn is gunna work with the sequins? Think I saw a top hat in here but that's not really my style...

[Nick's a little dazed as Hancock flits off, disrobing as he goes. Nick's fans have already kicked on, carried by the surge of data that always follows Hancock's mouth. His smile is, admittedly, a little dopey and he tries to school it into something deboinaire as he crosses the room into the bedroom. Hancock's already in the closet digging through for that dress and Nick moves to the terminal, leaning his hip against it, half sitting as he waits.]

Never considered it, but yeah, I figure it could.

[He wants to tell Hancock to wear whatever he wants, but that's redundant. Hancock will wear whatever he wants regardless and Nick's only real preference is for that dress. As he waits, he idly fusses with the hub flowers tucked into his lapel and adjusts the tip of his hat. He's so glad he had something to change into that was nicer than his usual fare. This fits the mood he's going for far better than his ratty day to day coat.]

If you're gonna change styles, though, I'd go fedora before top hat.

Honestly? Good ol' tricorn can probably accessorize anything

[ He's talking like there's something in his mouth-- because there is. The bracelet of that corsage is perched delicately between his teeth as Hancock emerges from the closet, both hands twisted behind himself in at attempt to coral the zipper up his spine. That dress is tighter in Real Life HD; like a second skin of sanguine sequins making artful angles of Hancock's (actually, secretly) slighter frame. He's certainly grown since his 19th birthday, but his coat and boots lend a little more grandeur than is immediately apparent. ]

Nah, you don't want me rippin' off your style, what if I pull it off better? Then I'm gunna feel like a jack-ass, you'll have to find a whole new vibe...

[ As usual when Hancock is feeling chill, he's blowing smoke out his ass. Meanwhile his shoulders dip and rise as he wriggles proper into the temptress-tight fabric, trying to roll the demure straps onto his shoulders and reach for the zipper at the same time. He's also wearing only one of his boots, giving his stride a comical sense of unbalance as he exits the closet. ]

Christ, this thing is tighter outside VR

[ It's more sheepish amusement than a real complaint; Hancock can't imagine how someone with actual breasts is supposed to wear this thing and actually succeed in breathing. It's also salaciously low cut, front and back, and cinches at the waist enough to squeeze at the dip of his navel.

That texture is. Texture-y. Hancock abandons his attempt to zip the zipper (half-way done) and adjusts the fabric across his stomach instead. ]

Alright, officially requestin' back up here. Gunna need your hands, Valentine-o'-mine

[Hancock walks out with that red sequined dress all but painted on him. He's struggling with the zipper and, for a moment, Nick forgets that's his job. He's too caught up staring at the way that fabric catches the light and shifts, almost like water, over Hancock's skin beneath it. Nick's staring, he knows he's staring, he can't really stop staring, especially at the drape of the front cut and the fall of the dress around his legs.

Finally, when Hancock invokes his name (after a fashion), Nick remembers himself and bolts upright. It's three quick strides to the ghoul's side and Nick's long legs eat that distance eagerly. All at once he has both hands on the fabric at Hancock's back. His good hand holds it closed while his skeletal one takes the zipper head in hand and draws it upright. It fights him a little, threatening to snag on each individual sequin, but he's got the right angle on it. In about thirty seconds he's got that zipper drawn up and is watching that tight sequin fabric against the tapestry of Hancock's back.

Nick doesn't have to breathe but damned if he doesn't look breathtaking.]

Looks amazing on you, think you can dance in it?

[ Hancock is absolutely aware he's being stared at; he lets it slide, which is to say he simultaneously basks and pretends not to notice for as long as he can stand to keep his mouth shut, which is not long. ]

Way you're lookin' at me's almost enough to make me rethink my style

[ He lets out all the breath he can squeeze from his lungs as Nick gives that zipper a piece of his mind; finally the stubborn thing complies and the ghoul feels the fabric hug his ribs like an oil-spill on water; it practically floats on his skin. ]

Think I can manage, really hope no one's gunna be shootin at us from Here to There though

[ He kicks off his second boot, achieving maximum short king energy for a few moments. He twists and tests the range of motion he has in skin-tight sequins, which is not terrible, assuming he doesn't need to drop kick anyone this evening.

Satisfied, Hancock makes a second closet dive for an accompanying pair of heels. When he emerges, the corsage is back on his wrist and he's toting a pair of sharp black heels. He's also wearing a different tricorn, one that leans a little more towards Pirate than American Solider, which is appropriate because the thing came from Far Harbor. Evaris really has to stop forgetting when he asks his companions to tote around his crap because it's just going to end up in Nick and Hancock's closet.

The ghoul drops himself on the edge of the bed with the posture and candor of someone not accustomed to wearing a skirt; showing skin isn't something he sweats so the fabric creeping up his thighs whilst he bends to breach the buckle of the heel's strap is not a concern. Especially not here, present company so appreciative. ]

[The swap of the hat really ties that whole getup together and Nick doesn't even bother pretending he's not raking his gaze over Hancock in that dress. The way he sits, letting the dress ride up his thighs, is pretty as a picture. If Nick didn't have such an elaborate plan staged and ready to go, he'd drop to his knees and do something about all this--but he does so he doesn't, but it's a near thing.]

This time of day, we ought to be in the clear. [Nick says, tossing that red herring on the bed with all the ease of a fisherman.] But I heard they got live entertainment tonight, so there's really no telling.

[Nick's doing his best to keep his hands to himself, to just stare, but it's a real challenge. He can only hope his acting chops are up to snuff--the fact that he is genuinely excited to show this off makes it easier to feign eagerness.]

Gonna have to get you to confirm that when we get there--I'm not sure I'll be able to take my eyes off you long enough to get a peek at the band.

[ The dress is tight enough that even his breathing causes the scarlet sequins to shift and shed their shine like throwing off drops of glimmering moisture. The low clean blue-tinged lights absolutely drench him in motes of glitter. When he stands in those heels he's the same height as Nick, an assessment he makes with a disapproving click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ]

Not quite tall enough. Gotta see a guy about some new shoes

[ Evaris probably has 16 pairs of taller cut heels somewhere; and if not, he has the schematics and/or knows a master-shoe-smith. Or he'll learn shoe-smithing. He'll handle it and get his ghoul-buddy appropriately height-enhancing footwear so he can tower over his paramour, is the long and short of it. ]

Yeah? Think I could probably strap a pistol to my leg without ruinin' the look if ya think we ought'a show up armed

[ That is a perfectly reasonable looking fish, sir. Nothing out of sorts with that sanguine herring. ]

Don't got enough meat on my bones to conceal a blade either; tryin'ta hide a knife under this dress is just gunna make it look like I'm real happy to see ya

[ His saunter doesn't even stutter in those heels; they're not too much higher than his typical variety, and wood floors are much easier to cross than the usual Wasteland Bullshit terrain. The ghoul stands eye-to-eye across from his debonair date, 'thoughtfully' lifting his hand (the warmth in those purple Hubflowers practically glowing against his clothing) and resting his fingers across the naked slant of his collarbone. ]

Oh yeah? I can throw on a scarf if that'll help ya, just don't start think about all the creative stuff I could do with red silk

[ Which is to say, do imagine all of those things. His grin absolutely dares Nick to. ]

[Nick's eyes track that hand, the corsage, the delicate (and scandalous) neckline of that dress, and it takes him a moment to compute a response. He almost fumbles it, too, which is not a mark in the debonaire catagory for him.]

I-uh--that would match pretty nicely. [He is absolutely thinking about all the things that can be done with red silk. Nick lets his gaze drift and, damn, Hancock really is a sight. Thankfully, the ghoul has that corsage held right up in line of sight and it reminds him just how much setup went into tonights little plan. Nick, briefly, looks like he wants to curse before he lets out a plosive sort of laugh.]

Any other place, any other night, sweetheart--I-uh--we should. Get goin. You're gorgeous as is, but we don't need any guns tonight.

[Probably.]

You want to keep me fantasizing all night, that scarf's a good addition, but I'll probably be doing that anyway.

[ Hancock grins, a wild thing quite unreasonably suited for the color red. Ah-ha, he told Nick not to think about it and he is (mission achieved) so now, Hancock is absolutely stealing a moment to stride over to the dresser where the scarlet scarf from the Silver Shroud cosplay is stashed. He hangs the flashy silk around his elbows, the arch of the fabric resting against the slight dip at the small of his back. ]

I hear ya-- apparently we got a show to catch?

[ He stills steals one more second to stand in front of Nick, flaunt the full effect of his dolled up look. He adjusts his hat, the corsage, the fabric stretched not quite too-tightly across his navel; only one of those actions isn't comletely superfluous. ]

Promise I won't keep ya fantasizing -all- night long

[ He delivers that loaded statement with extra gravel in his voice, shooting Nick a narrow craven stare over his shoulder, even as he recedes towards the doorway of the room upon the especially pronounced clicking of those heels. ]

Well, ya comin? Ain't ya gunna grab the door? Chivalry die when I was gettin' changed?

[ It's silly solicitous teasing as he struts towards the front of the apartment, watching to make sure Nick is watching him depart. ]

[Nick is absolutely watching him depart, but he's also hot on Hancock's heels and nearly dives to get the elevator for him. The elevator hasn't gone anywhere since they departed so the doors swing open right as Hancock approaches, letting the ghoul stride seamlessly from the apartment. Nick waits for him to enter and turn before sliding into the elevator himself.

And here's the moment that Nick's been waiting for. They'd planned, rebuilt the floor practically, and now Nick got to show it all off for the person that had inspired all the effort. The elevator doors close and Nick clears his throat before reaching and pressing the button for the floor right below theirs. The button lights up in amber, as does the number above the door, and Nick steps back, looking pleased as punch.

The elevator moves and Nick gamely offers up his elbow to the ghoul at his side. If Hancock thought he looked like the cat who ate the canary before, well, Nick's not even bothering to hide that expression now. The elevator slows quickly, given they are only going one floor, and Nick doesn't even turn as the doors catch on the outer ones and start to open.

The light that spills into the elevator is colorful and dappled. The room beyond bathed in the ambient bubbles of gold light that spill off those icecicle lights. The disco ball, throws shards of sharp light across the room and one of them just happens to catch the sequins on that red dress. A burst of ruby flecks cover the elevator and the floor in front of them. The metallic streamers and balloons disguise the walls well enough and they frame the stage (it is a stage) and the "band". There are snack tables, drinks, the whole nine yards.

If it weren't for the fact that they were the only people in attendance, this would be a rather fancy party.]

Shall we?

[ A brow ridge quirks at Nick's near-dive for the elevator; pulling a Lazarus on that chivalry, Nick? Hancock catches the odd haste but lets it slide, strolling into the elevator like he's a man accustomed to never having to open his own door. The moment those doors close Hancock's eyes are on Nick like he wishes his hands could be-- actually, elevator-rides do seem to inspire a certain friskiness in him, but Hancock manages to keep himself on a leash, if only because the ride is so very short.

He does take that offered arm though; wraps both his arms around Nick's elbow and practically melts against his side, an easy enough task with almost less layers of fabric between them than usual. Minus one bulky coat, a shirt with an excessive amount of ruffles, plus a hat with slightly narrower corners, Hancock can more or less hang off his paramour's metal frame; he was offered a sip of proximity and he takes a greedy gulp, but to his credit, remains otherwise well behaved.

For a split second, as those doors start to open so soon, he looks befuddled; but Nick does not. Nick looks like his slots just spun up a jackpot, and the expression only lacks full context until the doors are invitingly spread. The ghoul's ink splotch eyes go wide with stark surprise and delight as he steps into the most fancy shindig he's ever attended. A long low impressed whistle passed his puckered lips as he steps into the redecorated floor, momentarily forgetting to keep his pace slow and salacious. ]

Hole-eee shit. You wern't kiddin'. This place is cooler than a cryolater. Is that bar? Is that a dance floor? Is that a stage? Is-- [ Manic appreciation mode halted as, ahem, Super Ego slaps Id upside the head with a very important notif. Hancock turns from his wild excitement, faces Nick again with a huge gratified grin of excited glee. ]

This all for me?

[ Apparently Id passed back his own strongly worded memo, because Hancock is suddenly flinging his arms around Nick's shoulders and pressing a brief but jubilant kiss to his mouth. ]

This place looks-- I don't got the words. It's incredible, you're incredible.

[The confused and awestruck look on Hancock's face is worth the picture Nick snaps of it. He can't seem to look at anything for more than a few seconds before something else grabs his attention. It's exactly the reaction Nick had hoped for and he relishes in it. When Hancock rounds on him, delighted and gleeful, Nick just offers up a short nod before he suddenly has arms full of ghoul.]

Glad you like it. Wanted to do something special.

[Nick wraps his arms around Hancock in turn, smoothing his good hand across the small of his back and setting those sequins in line. The ruby sparkle around them is enchanting and he's oh, so glad that Hancock suggested changing.

How he manages to tear his eyes away, Nick's not sure, but he gives a nod to the Vaultie and their resident DJ kicks on some dancing music. Lucky him, with Hancock already pressed close, he can just sweep him up into a dance right off the bat. He leads them into the center of the floor and spins him just to see the way he lights up the room.]

Well, ya nailed it! Think I ought'a make you the official city party planner-- this is way too fancy for just me, and I'm so glad it is [ He must be happy if he's offering Nick bullshit jobs again. ] I was checkin the math, ya'see, comin' up due for some TLC

[ True and not, because Nick never ever leaves him wanting, but the recent kidnapping, torture, and cognitive adventures had very little to offer in the way of filling his fun bar. As per usual, the technical complaint is just a means to pass his paramour his approval like an imp.

His gaze follows Nick's and he gives their shared companion a friendly nod; looks like the guy hauled over his electric base and a microphone and it does not surprise the ghoul that his flashy buddy would not miss a chance to show off, even for just the two of them. But then, he's got even more reason to grease Nick's wheels than usual, what with that glowing green stow away of his--

And then Nick's pulling him towards the space cleared for dancing and Hancock shelves the previous thought. It don't matter, they're all good now. A couple bars into the music the Vaultie is adding along some live instrumentals, the thrum of electrified chords charging the light dappled air.

Hancock flows so enthusiastically into that spin that he almost loses his new hat; he lurches to catch it on his way back around and chuckles like hot cinnamon whiskey as he does, riding the momentum of the move until he almost crashes against Nick's chest. ]

So this is what the world looks like from up here, huh?

[ The playful jab is just a work around to draw attention to Hancock's heady enjoyment of this new equal height they share; it means he can pin his eyes to Nick's with very narrow space remaining between them; it means very little effort expended to steal a kiss, and while he doesn't, the idea sits presently behind his hedonist's smirk. ]

It's nice, but the air's a little thinner.

[It's so easy to lean in with Hancock of the same height as him, Nick ends up talking, dancing with his face about as close as he can manage without actually toppling one or the other's hat off their head. He's in an odd mood, though, because his gaze doesn't drift once to Hancock's mouth or that telling smirk, instead he's just staring into the black depths of his eyes, tracing the slight edge of an iris in the dreamy half-light. Nick truly and literally only has eyes for him.

The music is upbeat and just old-fashioned enough to fit Nick's preferences to a T. He leads, pulling Hancock with him in an energetic simple dance as a warm up. Nick can already feel his fans on beneath his coat--he'll have to shuck it before long, but for now he's over the moon to just be dancing with Hancock in private.

In truth, Nick had considered inviting other people to this shindig, but he'd tossed that idea out almost immediately. This was a lavish setup for one person, but that was the idea, wasn't it? To spoil and treat Hancock without the weight of other eyes and attitudes. Nick also wanted a touch of privacy for this particular evening--just in the event that Hancock turned him down at the end of the night. It would save both their pride if they didn't have an audience.]

I mentioned lately that I love you?

Oh, that why I'm feelin so light headed?

[ Almost impossible to see (unless you're an obsessive detail orientated synth that can see outside the normal spectrum of light, as a random nonspecific example) in the low dancing light, Hancock's pupils are blown wide like he's on the best chemical high-- and oxytocin is definitely top of his list. If only he could bottle this feeling-- but he doesn't really need to, he has Nick right here, the source of all his favorite soaring enjoyments. He feels utterly spoiled in the best possible way, his gleeful grin lingering stubbornly enough to set a slight ache in his face. ]

You lose somethin' over here?

[ He all but purrs as the sole subject of Nick's adoring gaze; his dancing still has more zeal than grace, but he's creative and clever with the basics he grasps. He even spins Nick once or twice through the warm up dance, an easy enough move with their heights handily leveled. The way Nick's coat flares and catches all those specks of light is art-worthy, at least to Hancock's (admittedly, mildly obsessed) mind.

That tender declaration of love has Hancock's heart skipping a beat and knocking against his ribs; apparently it strikes him through the chest quite viscerally, like a cupid's arrow, because the utterly lovestruck fool (whilst dancing, holding Nick by his good hand and shoulder) replies in song:]

'Have I told you lately that I love you? Have I told you there's no one else above you? Fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness, ease my troubles that's what you do.'

[They're truly disgusting together, in how sappy and romantic they are. Nick listens with rapt attention as Hancock serenades him, grinning the whole time. They dance, coming together and breaking apart to increasingly lively music. The only through line on any of it is Evaris playing the bass and that works out wonderfully. Hancock spins him as often as Nick does and if he were anyone else, his cheeks would be hurting by the time they finally got a slow song.

When the slow song does hit, Nick pulls Hancock in close, skeletal hand splayed across the small of his back, and other holding his hand with almost delicate care. He'd be delighted to dance the whole night away, to watch his own eyes and the glittering lights reflected in Hancock's. But even Nick knows that those shoes are hardly a long-term decision.]

We need to do Karaoke sometime. [Nick says as they come together.] I could listen to you sing all night.

[Flattery aside, Nick's expression goes a little concerned and he cocks a brow at the ghoul.]

How's the heels?

[ They do deserve some happiness after the various dramas inflicted upon them as of late; they're allowed to be so romantically disgusting until the scales inevitably tip again. Every time a song changes, Hancock gets the urge to flit off and explore some other fancy aspect of the room; he wants to check out the bar for both the assorted snacks and drinks, and he's pretty sure he spotted a dartboard somewhere? And a smoke, he needs some kind of smoke, and what goes better with a smoke than a shot--?

But Nick keeps distracting him; not actively, not by keeping him put, but by existing on such a beautiful vibration that Hancock is simply drawn to him, and keeps declining the recurring interest in parting for even a moment.

When the slower music begins to play it's definitely not the moment Hancock is going to break to go grab a snack; it's all the excuse he needs to get close and stay close. He enjoys the ease with which he can drape his arms over Nick's shoulders, the way steering him doesn't come with that extra brunt of gravity. The gravity is all on his feet, but as previously established, Hancock is fantastic at compartmentalizing pain. ]

Funny you should mention that, think I know a guy with one hellova fancy karaoke bar at his place; things practically a stage [ Snowvaris had to Design, okay. Leave him/them alone. ] There's ground rules, though. I sing a song for you? You sing a song for me. Pro quid quo, deal?

[ Oh, his feet hurt. Pain is just Pain entering the body. It's an extremely decent trade for getting to peer across such a small space and meet his paramour's eyes. In fact, without waiting for an answer to his own damn question the ghoul finally smothers that small space between them and brushes his lips across Nick's in a kiss just beyond the boarders of chaste. It lingers just too long to be so.

The shoes will probably come off before the night is over, but Hancock wants as much salacious strutting as he can possibly get away with; he has limits, he's just not anywhere near them right now. ~~Continued heel wearing approved by Ego~~. ]

You worry to much [ he says it like a complement somehow; steals another light brush-stroke kiss. ]

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Dancin until dawn.

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