Dancin until dawn.

[robotdick]

[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.]

Comments

[chem_break]

[ Hancock had been turning the subject over in his brain, picking out the best angle to start with, when Nick starts up the conversation himself. He's extremely content to listen, these are exactly some of the things he wanted to know. He nods along agreeably, meanwhile taking a (needlessly vicious) bite of poached angler and ruminating as he chews. ]

Best I figure it, marriage usually comes with three aspects of rearranging circumstance. Finance, Living Arrangement, and Romance. Guess we're startin' on number three. Fine by me, the first two are kinda less relevant for us than the typical couple'a newlyweds

[ Commitment makes him feel edgy; the amount of thought he's putting into this must be to counteract that. Thoughtfully, he sips the melon punch with a small 'Mmm' of appreciation at the fresh fruity taste. He nudges his cup along the table towards Nick, a silent invitation for him to try some, if he fancies. ]

It's not just me I'm thinkin' about here, ya know. Folk all tied up in romance -me included, heh- don't always consider the natural inclination we all got for variety. Ya want a collection'a... I dunno, cats, comics, industrial properties, friends, adopted family, houseplants, guys who're into that one weird kink ya got, that's all considered dandy, right?

But ya start crossin those categories, that's what makes folk start'a sweat

[ The look he gives Nick is nothing short of dreamy as the sinker of the synth's statement hits home. ]

Oh, that all? Well that much I'll sign off on right the hell now. Just seen this arrangement fail too many times to give ya my John Hancock -too late, right?- without checkin' the fine print, first. Assumptions pave the way to hell, right? [... dude. Get your metaphors and euphemisms sorted god damn. ]

And ain't just flings I'm thinkin' about, either. I don't, do not wanna be the one thing that stands in your way if ya find somethin' -or someone- that makes ya happy. Not like I'm immune to jealousy mind ya, just feel like I'd rather be a little green than see ya passin' on somethin that could make ya smile, feel me?

[robotdick]

[Nick's smile goes dreamy and then lopsided as Hancock clarifies. He takes a sip of that offered drink as he listens and rolls the glass like it's fine scotch once he's had enough. It's funny, Hancock's dedication to not standing in his way, what with him being the only person he's ever considered. Nick's not exactly popular with the ladies or fellas.]

I gotcha. Don't figure it'll come up much, but I'll keep that in mind. Promise.

[Back to the earlier point though, Nick is very amused.]

You know we already live together practically all the time, and seein how I don't eat, after paying Ellie and bills, I usually got a surplus of caps. Don't really figure either of those are going to be a problem.

[It sounds like this is all in the bag, assuming there are no futher points of contention.]

[chem_break]

Just feels kinda... selfish, wantin' to be the One and Only source'a your happiness. Not a bad possession to hold mind ya, but who knows what'll happen? We already had to load a grizzled old merc into your OS-- what if one day ViMa loads someone or another and ya decide ya want a giant polycule gig? [ He chuckles in genuine amusement, and samples some of the closet thing Var could create to mini pigs in a blanket. Damn, why do cooked bugs always taste so unfairly... good. Seriously, something that ugly should not be so delicious. ]

That's just one example, mind ya; point is I'm not worried about you traded up, cuz it's not a trade at all. You find someone else ya love? Don't mean ya gotta stop lovin' me. We just gotta hash it out, ya feel me? And just cuz ya figure it won't come up, doesn't mean it won't. This kinda deal? I don't wanna win by default. And it's only fair if we both got the same freedom. Don't mean I'm gunna go scopin' bars for tail mind ya-- never do get a chance to work up too much of an apatite with you around

[ The third facet of matrimony is probably the one that needed most clarification for the ghoul; it's a particular tightrope his beliefs walk, tied up in contradictions, pulled taught between Morals and Wants. ]

But yeah, in terms'a that other stuff? I'm not seein' a need to merge our bank accounts exactly [ That's a metaphor, no one has actual bank accounts anymore-- and in Hancock's experience, it typically ends up a huge point of contention anyway. Having to feed yourself (and your kids) can be such a drag when most food is either poisoned, expensive, or both. ]

And I'm pretty sure we can keep doin' what we're doin' with the housing thing. My old place and our place are across the damn street so... guess I can skip over convincin' ya to move into my city, huh?

[ From his hat, Hancock takes one of those colorful plastic tubes with a doobie inside. He sets the bright pink cylinder on the table and spins it, like a game of spin the bottle for two; even his inclination to fidget has taken a romantic turn. ]

[robotdick]

Yeah you got that part out of the way a while ago.

[Nick answers with an amused huff and places the glass down alongside Hancock's plate. It's all very reasonable, and he can see where Hancock's coming from. Pondering it over on his own, however, ain't exactly the most helpful choice.]

I ever want to try out a polycule and you bet you're gonna be the first person I talk to. [He gamely resists commenting and playing up that he's undesireable. Self deprecation doesn't fit the vibe and he's not about to knock himself knowing Hancock just agreed to marry him. It's a roundabout way to self-worth, but he might as well take it.]

The way I always figured it is that wearing this is just a reminder that you got at least one person who'll help you, who's in your corner, regardless of whatever else is going on. I suppose that doesn't clash with the idea of other loves drifting in and out of my life or yours, so yeah, I'm alright with that.

Now, I don't plan on meeting anybody else, but I get your meaning. Gotta go for happiness where you find it--lucky me, I just so happen to be staring at it right now. But something else may come along that you or I want too.

[Nick is talking in circles, agreeing with nearly parallel lines of thought. He doesn't have a reference for this apart from Hancock himself, but he's really giving it his all when it comes to showing he comprehends the full weight of the suggestion. Open Marriage it is.]

You hang out with any regular smooth-skin folk, you may want to leave off that ring. I promise I won't take it personally, it's just made from a scrap of my core shielding, so it throws a few more rads than most folk can tolerate long term.

[chem_break]

[ a rich rough edged chuckle is the ghoul's first reply to Nick's statement; yeah, impulsiveness does serve him well now and again, and he would have felt... different, about asking Nick to move into Goodneighbor specifically For him, as opposed to just handing him the keys and letting him do as he pleased; that freedom without obligation worked both ways, because Hancock naturally started spending more and more time at Neon Flats as well. They were simply free to enjoy each other's company because they wanted to, not because they had to.

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'

[robotdick]

[Hancock complains after declaring his ring choice romantic and Nick's first reaction is a gravelly chuckle. He thought it was a bit on the nose, honestly. Making a ring out of the lining of his artificial heart isn't exactly a subtle metaphor. He's glad that Hancock finds it as romantic as he did.]

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?

[chem_break]

I know I know, but come on, no way I'm not gunna try and match your energy here. You're inprinin' me to think'a somethin' fancy, just lemme go with it

[ 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

[robotdick]

[Nick would roll his eyes at Hancock's scandalized response to his request, but he's chuffed about the ghoul agreeing. He'd have figured something else out, but he really wanted something permanent. Something that a wipe or an error wouldn't be able to touch. And...speaking of touch--Hancock wasn't in the market for a foot rub, at least not the kind Nick was expecting. That second foot, set precisely against the sliver of chair at the apex of his legs, is an invitation is he's ever seen one.

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.

[chem_break]

[ It's amusing Nick reads the daring placement of Hancock's foot as an explicit invitation, because the ghoul hasn't forgotten Nick's propriety and the present live entertainment; he only intended to push the envelope so far, maybe listen for those fans to spin up and, also maybe, slide into his lap for a salacious cuddle.

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?

[robotdick]

[Nick goes back with the pressure of that shoe like he was made for it, sitting straight then back against his chair. That sight, Hancock propped like that, the pressure of his shoe against his chest, the long line of his legs and the dramatic shadows occluding the spaces where the dreamy prom lighting doesn't touch. If Nick weren't already in love, he'd be in love.

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.

[chem_break]

[ Hancock finds himself quite enjoying the way Nick leans back under the press of that heel; it looks damn good. Photograph worthy, and the ghoul feels the itch to find that polaroid camera a little later to take a couple shots. His dagger-thin heel on Nick's chest, his throat, his cheek... leathered fingers spin that plastic tube around and around, venting the energy shock provided by his colorful imaginings.

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

[robotdick]

[Hancock doesn't give him hell about it, and for that Nick's grateful. It's a passing fancy and seems to have caught the ghoul's imagination as well. Nick hadn't considered that he'd be making noise but his imagination was running a little to the left of Hancock's. It's part and parcel of being present with two different Ids, he supposes. (Or, at least, that's what he's going to blame that crazy fantasy on.)]

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?

[chem_break]

You were thinkin' about gettin' reamed without somethin' jammin' your windpipe and didn't figure I'd take full advantage of the opportunity? Heh, now I'm curious... what were ya thinkin' about, explicitly?

[ 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

[robotdick]

That trip through your head got me thinkin in multiples. I wasn't uh figuring my mouth'd be free.

[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.

[chem_break]

Oh, yeah, seein' the math on that notion, now. Not sure how you're thinkin' it's so outta reach though... we got The Memory Den, with a sweet high tech upgrade. If ya wanna do the dance digital, hm... could maybe see about doubling my avatar, depending on how hard I wanna tempt the fates

[ 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

[robotdick]

Wouldn't dream of it. [Questioning his taste in men, that is.]

[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?

[chem_break]

A man? Hold on-- that mean another Far Harbor trip? If ya need Faraday, let's call his ass here

[ Nick had mentioned his first bodymod came at the hands of was 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. ]

[robotdick]

Well, good thing I agreed to help you take it off, huh?

[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?

[chem_break]

Uhh...

[ 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. ]

[robotdick]

[Watching Hancock stumble over the double entendre has Nick grinning wildly. Whatever he'd smoked had hit the ghoul much harder than expected and Nick could nearly see the gears grinding in his head as he tried to follow the plot. Hancock realized he was higher than expected shortly after asking and meandered his way through a request, one that was backed up by the nemure shift of his legs to make space for Nick.

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.]

[chem_break]

[ That after twilight promise, those oil-fire street-light eyes, and the motion of Nick invading that sparse little cede of space all siege Hancock's perception, hijacking every sense and forcefully steering them to crash upon his stunning paramour-- his new fiancée.

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. ]

[robotdick]

[Admittedly, Nick is taking his sweet time, really soaking in the ambiance, making a high def recording for his own archives. This is such a beautiful scene, Hancock very nearly squirming under his attention, toes curling as his dick swells and presses up against the underside of those ruby sequins. He'd be a fool not to appreciate this all for a moment--but his paramour is complaining and Nick chuckles.]

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.]

[chem_break]

N-not a hurry, exactly... [ Fuck it, gravity is not making sense like it should; Hancock abandons the intent to keep himself propped, fully flattening on his back so he can reach for the back of Nick's head. His fingers slide along the familiar path as Nick leans in and paints his atypically moist tongue along the obscene bulge below his paramour's navel. Hancock is constantly marveled by how these familiar carnal sensations always play so fresh and new on his nerves when it's Nick who's the Maestro of his baritone bliss. He's not a damn teenager, he can usually manage his blood-flow about as well as his liquor; some concentration, some focused breathing...

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. ]

[robotdick]

[Hancock's fingers fit perfectly over the spaces where those indents once were, where some shadow of them still remains, and Nick holds him deep in his throat for one lovely, long moment. He falls into the motions, the familiarity, like sweeping Hancock into a dance. It's the same exchange here, leading and following in equal measure, heart racing and perpetual awareness of his partner sinking into every rivet.

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.]

[chem_break]

[ Every moment is impossibly divine; being sheathed in Nick's throat is perfect, the suction flowing down his shaft is perfect, the circular trace of the synth's too-warm tongue around the turgid tip of Hancock's dick is fucking perfect. ]

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