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A Casual Conversation
[It turns out, to Nick's chagrin, that programming a whole new VR sensory interface isn't quite as easy as hacking into a high security terminal. It requires a wealth of creative thinking that Nick, in particular, doesn't excel at. Ever since the conversation came up, though, Nick's has had the idea of trying out a new body mod, and maybe doubling each other for the fun of it, taking up considerable real-estate in the back of his head.
Surprisingly, though, after enlisting Dr. Amari to assist him with bits of the programming, Nick's interest in this little project shifted a bit to the left. Sure, he wanted to indulge in new sensation, wanted to see what it was like to be human, to play catcher, to maybe have a duplicate self (or partner) available, but the deeper he got into the code, the more other aspects started to shine.
To get duplicates working, for instance, required being able to clone perception. Nick could do that, given how he had backup files of himself on hand, but how was he supposed to do that with a human? Amari could give him baselines for real living people so Nick could blend the experience for himself, but...could he run a human through the opposite? Filter them through his experience? Turned out, accomplishing both of those was about the same level of pain in the ass and Nick, well, he was intrigued.
Hancock had waded through his busted old memories like he was walking in the park, had rolled through synth perception like he was taking in a lightshow. Nick was sure he could handle this--it wasn't going to be as deep or foundational, not as abstract, and that ought to make it easier, right?
It would be...very different. Hancock would probably agree to do it, both because he was usually game for radical shifts in mental faculties and...because it would be Nick doing the asking.
Nick wasn't sure, however, that he should ask.
Nick, well, he wasn't exactly the best gague of what was and was not addictive. He hadn't even had an ID to assuage until pretty recently, but even before he'd had an ID, he'd gotten hooked on the rush of crashing. After a hundred years without more than the stray dance here and there, Hancock had him utterly invested, enough that he'd already gotten one body mod and was eyeing a second. It was a little self-absorbed to think that his experience was so superior, but Nick practically ran on worry. What if his own climax actually was that much more of an endorphin hit? It could be risky business running someone else through that, especially someone with an addictive personality.
Although, by that same token, it could be risky running himself through an accurate template of the organic perception. Not just running through the vague amalgam of records on hand, but through a modern, accurate set of guidelines. That...could be complicated...but Nick was designed to absorb templates, to install and remove stuff like that. That gave him a leg up...right?
He was still mulling over the ethical concerns in this whole shindig when he finally finished the coding suite. Once he had, Nick came to the conclusion that, ultimately, the decision about whether Hancock should or should not do something wasn't his to make. Just because it was an option on the menu didn't mean he'd choose to use it, and even if he did port his perception through Nick's experience, Hancock was a better judge of what he could handle than Nick could ever be. Hancock trusted him to tap out if it was too much and Nick just had to do the same.
He was relieved to settle the unexpected, impromptu ethical dilema so easily. Unfortunately, Nick was still stuck with another material complication. How in the hell did he just...bring this up in casual conversation?]
How is it that I manage to get a call for every runaway pet in the wasteland?
[Nick is exhausted (insofar as he can be). The last few errands they'd run (routing a few raiders, delivering a package, rescuing a cat from a tree and returning it to its owner) had been unusually grueling. The first rule of the wasteland was a constant, they got sidetracked every few steps, but the sidetracking didn't usually lead to more sidetracking. As is, Nick is glad to see Goodneighbor in the distance.
He's even more glad that he no longer has to carry a livid pampered house-cat through supermutant territory.]
Surprisingly, though, after enlisting Dr. Amari to assist him with bits of the programming, Nick's interest in this little project shifted a bit to the left. Sure, he wanted to indulge in new sensation, wanted to see what it was like to be human, to play catcher, to maybe have a duplicate self (or partner) available, but the deeper he got into the code, the more other aspects started to shine.
To get duplicates working, for instance, required being able to clone perception. Nick could do that, given how he had backup files of himself on hand, but how was he supposed to do that with a human? Amari could give him baselines for real living people so Nick could blend the experience for himself, but...could he run a human through the opposite? Filter them through his experience? Turned out, accomplishing both of those was about the same level of pain in the ass and Nick, well, he was intrigued.
Hancock had waded through his busted old memories like he was walking in the park, had rolled through synth perception like he was taking in a lightshow. Nick was sure he could handle this--it wasn't going to be as deep or foundational, not as abstract, and that ought to make it easier, right?
It would be...very different. Hancock would probably agree to do it, both because he was usually game for radical shifts in mental faculties and...because it would be Nick doing the asking.
Nick wasn't sure, however, that he should ask.
Nick, well, he wasn't exactly the best gague of what was and was not addictive. He hadn't even had an ID to assuage until pretty recently, but even before he'd had an ID, he'd gotten hooked on the rush of crashing. After a hundred years without more than the stray dance here and there, Hancock had him utterly invested, enough that he'd already gotten one body mod and was eyeing a second. It was a little self-absorbed to think that his experience was so superior, but Nick practically ran on worry. What if his own climax actually was that much more of an endorphin hit? It could be risky business running someone else through that, especially someone with an addictive personality.
Although, by that same token, it could be risky running himself through an accurate template of the organic perception. Not just running through the vague amalgam of records on hand, but through a modern, accurate set of guidelines. That...could be complicated...but Nick was designed to absorb templates, to install and remove stuff like that. That gave him a leg up...right?
He was still mulling over the ethical concerns in this whole shindig when he finally finished the coding suite. Once he had, Nick came to the conclusion that, ultimately, the decision about whether Hancock should or should not do something wasn't his to make. Just because it was an option on the menu didn't mean he'd choose to use it, and even if he did port his perception through Nick's experience, Hancock was a better judge of what he could handle than Nick could ever be. Hancock trusted him to tap out if it was too much and Nick just had to do the same.
He was relieved to settle the unexpected, impromptu ethical dilema so easily. Unfortunately, Nick was still stuck with another material complication. How in the hell did he just...bring this up in casual conversation?]
How is it that I manage to get a call for every runaway pet in the wasteland?
[Nick is exhausted (insofar as he can be). The last few errands they'd run (routing a few raiders, delivering a package, rescuing a cat from a tree and returning it to its owner) had been unusually grueling. The first rule of the wasteland was a constant, they got sidetracked every few steps, but the sidetracking didn't usually lead to more sidetracking. As is, Nick is glad to see Goodneighbor in the distance.
He's even more glad that he no longer has to carry a livid pampered house-cat through supermutant territory.]
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Nick looks up in surprise and nearly loses his hat in the process. It knocks his dark hair askew and, immediately, he tries to blow it out of his face. It doesn't work.
Hancock wasn't just a teenager, he was split into Super Ego and Id--but this wasn't the drunk on power edition, he still had the phantom links of chains rattling around, just out of sight. Nick breathes a little easier at that realization and twists a little to look at both of them. This...wasn't exactly how he'd pictured this but...he can't deny the appeal.]
I..uh...didn't mean for that to happen, I must have split the cognition too far. [Oh but that sounded awful--content wise, that is. Nick's chosen voice here is a carbon copy of his usual one, a feature none of his composite parts shared. Nick grimaces and then offers up a lopsided, tentative smile--first to Super Ego, then to Id.]
My mistake--if it bothers you, I can climb out and fix it--
[But Super Ego is right there, hands holding his face, and Nick...he doesn't really want to climb out and it shows in the way he leans into those hands, and the gentle, besotted look he gives the blonde in front of him. He's never felt warm and soft like this--temperature and pressure, yeah, but this is something else--he wants Hancock to just hold him like this forever, if possible.]
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[ The shorter aspect seems sheepish, sparing his free hand to try and push his hair out of his face for a moment before abandoning the task entirely, and locking his hands on either side of Nick's neck. Those expressive mossy eyes are all awe and adoration, soaking in every new and yet Not New detail Nick has composed around himself. All his love and appreciation shines through this aspect like a stage-light, and Nick is the star of his show. ]
Besides, you leavin means I'd have to let ya go... that's the last thing I wanna do now that you're here...
[ That emerald silk growl precedes the humid trace of Hancock's tongue along the shell of Nick's ear; one of these aspects has some chill, the other does not. At least the younger presenting aspect has the good grace to look slightly sheepish (with a dusting of rose-dusk blush) while his counterpart grazes his teeth down the side of Nick's neck and squeezes the warm (comparatively) supple human possessively against his chest. ]
Heh, sorry, he, uh, we... like how ya taste. Ya know The Word if ya want me to tug his leash...
[ One smooth-skinned hand drifts back up to Nick's cheek, angled just so the not-ghoul can trace his thumb along that zero-percent silicone bottom lip. His gaze gets humid like an overgrown Arizona swamp where he is both the soft dewy ferns and the lurking hungry gators. ]
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That soft pretty face, mossy eyes and ragged hair, is staring at him with such adoration that Nick can't hardly find words. This Hancock looks so young to Nick--and he is, but he's also not--not anymore than Nick is forty-five or however old this face ended up looking. (He's a terrible judge.) Nick's just finding his way around to thinking when that curl of ghoulish growling drags itself up Nick's spine. The mouth on his ear is certainly something--but even in this body, Nick's still got a sensitive neck.]
Oh--okay--
[Nick's voice is laced with pleased surprise until that thumb slides warm over his lip and those emerald eyes are closer. This aspect may have some chill, but Nick's more on Id's page at the moment. The feel of that thumb against his lips is so different and tingles so strangely compared to how he normally feels--and Hancock's mouth is right there for the kissing. Nick leans in and catches his lips--the motion is soft, just how he does it as a synth, but without the synth strength to back it up it's got a delicacy to it.
Stretching forward like that just exposes more of his neck for the ghoul at his back and Nick can't think of any reason he'd be trying to avoid that. The heat pouring off Id is soaking into him in a way he's never experienced--warming him down to his bones, though his coat and clothes, like he's a sun-lamp on high. Sunbathing makes so much more sense to him now, but that doesn't matter--
What matters is Nick's hands settling on Super Ego's face, both warm, both flesh covered, one with a wedding band wrapped around it. He smooths his thumbs over the young man's cheeks and pulls him in for another, less delicate kiss. He already feels drunk on this--he'd been right to be worried about addiction, but foolish to think that it was Hancock who was at risk here.]
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In that brief interlude his hand (with a glimmer of that metal band) drifts up and touches his own mouth, like he's confused how his own skin could register such highly defined sensations.
Behind Nick the towering ghoul aspect gives a wordless growl of appreciation as more skin is bared for the pleasures of his carnal (not quite carnivorous) consumption. His hands bite at the fabric of Nick's clothing, haul the synth-made-human back where there is not an inch closer for them to be; his summer-scalding lips graze down the side of Nick's neck (along exactly where a shorn edge should be) and his teeth clip and press the flesh until it turns flushed-fever-pink and saliva-slick. ]
Fuck are you gunna look gorgeous covered in bruises and my teeth marks...
[ The nuanced growling is poured against those fresh bites as Nick draws his human paramour into a kiss that is less chaste. The pair that is Hancock moves together, synchronized in concentration and intent like two separate people couldn't possibly hope to achieve.
The slighter aspect folds himself against Nick's chest where he fits so well, free hand splaying fingers so he can feel that human heart beat. He returns the kiss with his tender awe at a low-burning simmer, lost easily in the simple sensations of brushing, pressing lips. Meanwhile, the Glowing ghoul impatiently dips back and starts peeling off that fancy detective's coat. ]
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Id draws back just so to pull it off and a shiver has gooseflesh rising on the kissmarked nape of his neck. It's briefly cold but only briefly. Hancock's got a talent for teasing, but he never leaves Nick wanting. That heat against his back returns and Nick presses back against it, pulling the younger aspect with. His fingertips read things so differently than he's used to--it's like lightning in fog--the storm of sensation is there, everpresent, but it obscures until suddenly it doesn't and everything is brought into one piece of focus.
Super Ego's palm against his chest, bracing against his new, racing heart--then a miasma of warmth and familiarity--then the bite of teeth against his ear and a growling cadence that spills over him. Snow can't quite manage to implant subtitles behind his eyes this time around, but the hazy ones on the inside of his eyelids are working well enough.
Nick had figured that it would be different, using contemporary templates rather than pre-war recordings, but he didn't figure it would be this different. All at once he's elated and struck with a pang of despair at just how much of Nick the original was lost to time. The thought is fleeting, driven away by the sunbaked heat of a hand and the romantic tenderness of another.
Nick's lungs are burning before long and the sensation is so deeply unusual that it takes him a moment to figure it out. Fortunately, this new template doesn't really need his input to go about correcting things. Nick has to break from their kissing to suck down a breath--the oxygen hits like a drug, tipping him into lightheadedness--and he lets out a debauched chuckle.]
I see you got the hang of yours--mine--[Nick has to breathe deep a moment.]--Gimme another minute or two and I'll get used to it.
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Without Nick's coat the towering fellow returns with the inevitability of a tide; his rougher, larger, calescent hands slither around Nick's front, jam between him and Super Ego, and start to brutishly tug open any buttons he finds. His strength, set next to a pair of humans, is monstrously staggering; he could rip off Nick's clothing like tissue paper, if something in the entire ghoul didn't want to show Nick the feeling of clothing peeled off skin. ]
Just a minute, huh?
Sure
We can figure out somethin to pass the time
[ Considering these are the two aspects that butt heads the most, it's a testament to Nick's programming that they manifest so cohesively; they are separate but Not, two sides of one coin that has been impossibly doubled. They are Hancock, they just don't have to alchemize their desires into one cohesive action; they don't have to compromise with each other. Hancock can both kiss Nick soft and sweet and deep, and sink his teeth into the tempting yield of goose-bumped skin at his throat.
He can paint his paramour in bruises and kiss him breathless at once.
Or Id and Super Ego can take advantage of their rare agreement, and each settle at either side of Nick's throat.
The ghoul has to bend down as much as the human has to steal some height propped on the balls of his feet; they move at once, eerily synchronized. The teenaged aspect's kisses are softer, reverent, affectionate; his bites betwixt those brushes of lips are teasing and playful.
The ghoul's bites are sharp, demanding, hungry. He peppers a kiss here and there amid the ravenous scrapes of his teeth. ]
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The feeling of blood rising in flesh almost makes Nick sad he doesn't have any. The heat of it, drawn to the surface, the tingling ache, even the bright frission of pain illuminating his nerves is divine. He made this humansona pale as it was meant to resemble his synth self so red marks and bruises rise almost eagerly along Id's path. His lips are flush from even Super Ego's soft kissing.
And, most mortifying of all, when they both turn their attention on his neck, the blush that rises hot on his face is instantly apparent. When he tries to speak, to lessen the impact of this sudden stimulation, Nick's human voice isn't as unaffected as he expects. He sounds rough and wanting and that just intensifies that latent blush.]
You're lapping me here--[An accidental and atrocious pun chased by what was meant to be a chuckle but ended out more as a hoarse groan.] Damn.
[Id is pulling apart his shirt--mostly metaphorically but one or two buttons don't survive the ghoul's unabashed eagerness. Nick's not even sure what to do with his hands, flanked as he is. He decides to rest one on the small of Super Ego's back and uses the other, the hand with his wedding ring, to loosen the knot of his tie. He doesn't usually wear his shirts buttoned all the way up, but he had done with this representation. He ends up slipping his hand up beneath his paramour(s) so he can undo those top two buttons and pull his collar through.
An orderly task gives Nick something to focus on--to marshall his thoughts--but the moment he accomplishes it he slides right back into the stark inkblot contrast of Hancock the human, tender and adoring, and Hancock the glowing one, burning up and devouring like a rad storm. His attention flips back and forth between them and Nick is glad, all at once, that he picked somewhere familiar to set this tableau. He didn't have the spare bandwidth (metaphorical) to acknowledge where they were.
Hell he barely has the bandwidth to remember breathing--which, by the way, he should do. Id helps him out, bites sharply on a tender spot, and Nick gasps.]
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That don't exactly sound like a complaint [ The blond drawls, lips shaping the words he drips down the kiss-flush slick slope of Nick's neck; he sits back just enough to gaze into Nick's eyes but the sight of that brilliant blush turns his adoration a shade sultry. However it's the ghoul, still sieging that soft peach-flesh skin with bites, who growls in savoring appreciation of the vision. ]
Certainly don't -look- like you're complainin'
[ With the definition of Short King candor, the youngest aspect levels a lightly lording lurid leer at his fatally flushed paramour and smiles with the silent promise of blissful menace. His palms slot snug against Nick's jaw on either side, and his fine fingers span too delicately, deliberately over the sizzling stains beneath Nick's perfectly pale skin. His appreciation gets humid and hazy watching Nick gasp beneath the sting of his ghoulish self's bite. ]
Oh yeah, this is a real good look for ya, Slick. Blushin so bright and gaspin under my teeth
[ Those fingers fanned across Nick's cheeks stiffen and steer the not-sythn's face a fraction to the left, and then right whilst those pale modavite eyes overflow with almost artistic adoration. ]
Gunna need a second to appreciate the view
[ Meanwhile, Nick's shirt comes off easily enough, without the tie. It barely gets ripped at all beneath Id's impatient unwrapping technique; he wants more skin to taste but he wants to return to those already blooming bruises and see how dark he can make those purple petals beneath his teeth. How far will Nick's masochisms run in a human body?
The radiant ghoul slides his hands around his fiancée's front and holds him fiercely, possessively, as though they could not possibly be close enough together. ]
Good thing I can multitask
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His appreciation of that fact is shunted aside as teeth and tongue fix against the side of his neck. Hancock takes initiative, trying to darken the ruddy, spotted flush of Nick's neck, and Nick lets out the most debauched sound as he does. The sweet ache of flesh, left to be tender and recover, prodded too soon, is not something he expected. It's a great surprise but if Nick thought blushing was embarassing, the way he swoons back against the superheated bulk behind him is beyond the pale.
Like some old timey rich dame, Nick actually does swoon. His hand reaches back and grabs blindly at the ghoul behind him, eventually fitting his fingers around the back of his neck. Nick's not trying to pull him away, though--quite the opposite. His knees go a little weak and the room is spinning, and suddenly he's sagging back into Hancock like someone slugged him.
Distantly, he realizes that this isn't something he'll live down--and then he remembers that this is Hancock, who's never been anything but delighted while overwhelming him. Nick blinks at the blonde edition, at those pretty grass colored eyes, and looks like he plans on saying something sassy--whatever it is never actually leaves his mouth as Id behind him bites hard on that same bruised flesh, turing pink and red to black and blue and making Nick see stars.]
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If Nick-the-synth so happened to swoon for Hancock-the-ghoul, the wasteland beast of a man could catch his paramour, metal frame and all, without being crushed, easy. As is, the ghoul feels a powerful rush from the ease he expends in catching Nick's lighter, warmer, softer human form against his broad chest. It's like he barely weighs a thing, an aspect falling in line nicely with the old timey rich dame vibe. ]
Shhhh, darlin'
We gocha
[ Hands just hotter than sunbaked concrete snake around Nick's waist, one locked around the front of his stomach while the other braces up the front of his fiancée's chest. He holds Nick on his feet almost effortlessly-- in fact most of his effort is angled not to squeeze too hard. The ghoul's mouth wanders with idle curiosity, drifting down to the crook where Nick's neck meets his shoulder. ]
Lookin' a little flushed there Slick... feelin' kinda toasty? Here, lemme give ya a hand...
[ The blond teen makes the offer but he takes his time with it, perhaps to tease, perhaps to allow Nick the organic indulgence of catching his breath.
His hands drift down from Nick's face, ghost those brutal bruises, slide down his chest and lower still as the young man casually lowers himself to his haunches and then drops abruptly the rest of the way to his knees. His expression is devotion more than deviousness, but still somewhere between them, as he admires all the ways Nick's pleasures play across his newest form.
His motions are slow by design to savor each action as he leans forward, and catches the leather of Nick's belt at the buckle with his teeth. ]
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When he made this body, he'd done it in his usual meticulous detail. He was a little vain and, being that he generally looked like a shoe in need of polish, he'd really gone all in making this shape look precisely how he wanted. Now, by in large, all the detail that Nick is most proud of is too small, too banal to really register for most people--he's svelte, not particularly muscular, and the general shape of him aligns almost perfectly with his synth body, sans the various seams and holes littered throughout. Those little touches though, a mole here or there, a smattering of faint freckles, even the slight pucker of an old healed gut wound, they make him seem like...just some guy.
Nick looks painfully normal like this, that was his whole goal, but he must have goofed up somewhere.
With Hancock's gold hair and moss colored eyes framed against his stomach, Nick feels gorgeous by association. He can't tear his eyes away from the human edition as he drops down like that--and when he takes Nick's belt by the teeth and tugs, well. Nick was either prone to lightheadedness or Hancock was a real casanova. If he weren't being held upright with the greatest of ease (a feature he has to put a pin in for later) he'd be swooning again as all his blood rushes out of his skull.
Nick's never waited with baited breath before, on account of not generally needing to breathe, but he's right there now. He swallows, throat working against Id's mouth as he does, and cracks the most charming grin he can manage.]
Not sure...that's gonna help me cool off, sweetheart.
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That being said, the synth-made-human wears this form exactly like it was made for him; he looks real in a way that's difficult to describe. The alignment with his synth body helps, but that's not the entirety of it. He's stunning because he's Nick and because he's wearing a form he poured so much heart and attention into; this approximation of Normal isn't Natural but it feels like it is, like maybe this is Nick in another life (and Hancock, too) and now, by some quirk of technology, they get to dip their toes together into this wild alternate reality. ]
Gettin' to that part
[ The leather in his mouth muffles his words and his smirk, so the blonde man tosses in a sultry wink for full effect. His hands drift up and brace Nick by the hips so when he pulls back with his teeth the buckle of the belt unlatches; his eyes are like enchanted lost woods to get spirited away inside as he holds Nick's gaze and pulls his belt completely free. It clanks clumsily onto the floor as he lets it slide from his mouth. ]
... But ya know what? Ya got a point. Hey, Snow? Turn down the temperature, if ya please?
[ Is this really Snow, or just a command that mimics Snow's abilities in the scope of their apartment? Hancock supposes it doesn't actually matter as the vents puff a small breath of mist that marks the activation of their (digital) suite's central air conditioning.
It's quite cooler than it needs to be-- or maybe it's just cool enough, to encourage Nick to crave for the warmth off the ghoul bracing his back. Satisfied with his devious little play (the cold certainly does interesting things to naked human nipples) the youngest aspect leans forward and laves a warm wet kiss just below Nick's navel as he peels open his paramour's trousers and pushes them down his thighs. ]
That any better, love...?
[ The question ends with a red velvet growl trickled down Nick's ear. Id shifts his weight needlessly, adjusts his arms around Nick's body to demonstrate the monstrous ease with which he could literally sweep the not-synth off his feet.]
You're so flushed ...but your almost shiverin... look so damn good comin' apart for me darlin', wanna watch you unravel all night long
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The drop in temperature is pretty sharp--better and faster than their air conditioning, that's for sure--and the chill dances across all his exposed skin, bruised and unmarked alike. He doesn't notice the way the gooseflesh raises all over him, but he does notice as his nipples tense up. In honor of the last time they did this, Nick's got a little blue anodyzed ring through his right nipple. They've been too close for him to parade around the decorations he's built into this body (like that tattoo of his for instance), but now he's keenly aware of that one.]
Yeah--it's, uh, good--very good.
[The heat of the ghoul behind him is keeping him from shivering, but then the human aspect is doing just about everything he can to make Nick shiver. The velvet growl that spills over his shoulder isn't helping either, but he still wraps himself up in it like a blanket.
Unlike his normal configuration, human Nick has all the bells and whistles--for instance: a normal cock. And between the overwhelming sensation, being hauled back into a looming Hancock, and having those green eyes stare up at him, lips and teeth hooked on his belt--well, it's not really shocking that Nick's at half mast. Except, that it is because his dick usually doesn't work until he turns it on--this one just goes.
Nick's not sure how folk deal with that, it's sapping his ability to think, but he absolutely cannot complain about any of this.
His left hand, ring and all, are stretched behind him and wrapped around the back of Id's bent neck. The grip is equal parts clutching and encouragement and his fingers just soak up the heat pouring off him. As his trousers drop, his right moves to comb through the unruly blonde hair of the human knelt in front of him. Just tangling his fingers in Hancock's hair is enough to have his cock twitch about it and Nick feels just slightly exasperated. These tells were no harder to read than his fans.]
Wanna do this here?
[In truth, he has no idea what Hancock wants to do, but seeing him at this angle, framed against his growing erection paints a pretty picture. Assumptions are risky but Nick makes this one because, honestly? He's worried about Hancock's knees. Sure, its a digital reconstruction, but accurate, physical sensation is kind of the whole point. Hardwood, like the dance floor, isn't terribly forgiving...and if they're going to leave tonight aching, he'd rather it be intentionally inflicted.]
Got a couch over there--that is, it's got a plush rug and everything.
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The whole show? Nah, but the next couple'a minutes? Think my knees can take it. Wasn't exactly picturin' ya on the couch...
[ As he speaks the blonde dips down and devotes some serious dexterity to parting Nick from his shoes. Once they're gone (seriously, did he cut the laces or something?) Nick's pants are removed completely and tossed aside, along with his socks, leaving him exactly one article of clothing to fail at concealing his organic body's natural eagerness.
Super Ego leans back to salaciously supervise as glowing ghoulish hands finally quit their fixated fiddling (turning that ring through the healed puncture it's pierced through) and descend, dipping with daring hungry haste beneath the waistband of Nick's underwear. Peeling the last remaining shred of clothing away isn't the final design of those questing radiant fingers; the Glowing One pushes his hands down the backs of Nick's thighs until he can hook his fingers beneath the man's knees and lift.
It could almost be a downright cozy seat, if the ghoul didn't also pull Nick's knees apart. ]
Yeah, picture perfect
[ The teenaged aspect touches his finger tips to his thumbs, creating a square 'frame' of his digits like an imagined camera. He closes one peridot eye to better square his image, and clicks his tongue like he's snapping a photo of the delightfully debauched display before him. ]
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Even if he'd been paying attention, Hancock's skill--his speed at stripping him would have seemed impossible. Right now, to Nick, it seems like in the blink of an eye he's gone from half dressed to nearly nude. He can't quite think right until Id lets go of his piercing and by the time he actually has any thoughts on the matter, he's stark naked and lifted up, splayed open and on display.
The human aspect leans back, frames him, and Nick releases Id's neck to try and gesture: 'No'--
But it's a bit too late for all that. He'd designed this suite but Snow had written several of the command functions, the ones that needed latitude in their inputs, and one of them was for taking pictures. Hancock pantomimes but, in response, there's a mechanical shutter sound and a picture, the size and shape of his fake frame, manifests in front of his hands. It hangs there a second before gravity kicks in and it falls to the floor.
It glides down and slides across the floor with a quiet, laminated whisper of sound and Nick's blush practically consumes his face.]
I was--uh--that is--going to mention that. Snapshot. Feature.
[Nick makes a valiant effort to explain but, truly, he doesn't seem to have any objections to this. In fact, he'd built it in because he'd liked the last time they took photos so much. They couldn't print them out or anything, but there was something salacious in snapping them--he just--he didn't intend that feature to be a surprise--and he wants to say as much, but he's suspended against Id, held open, and his brain is a bit fuzzy around the throbbing insistence of his now embarassingly erect cock.]
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The 'real' photo feature is a particularly striking crescendo; despite the heavenly chord struck, Hancock's grin goes utterly devilish across the board. ]
Well now, you just thought'a every. little. thing. didn't ya? [ It's a filthy talent of the man's to turn such plain as day language into something seeming so sullied and salacious, dirty words dared not uttered by anyone save perhaps a ravaging scoundrel. This soon to be ravaging scoundrel. ]
It's alright, save the tutorial. Pretty sure I got it figured out. Though, just to be completely sure...
[ The hands beneath Nick's knees lift the joints an inch higher and hitch his thighs another few fractions askew, creating quite the detailed view for the young man still lounging on his knees. The demure blonde bombshell blasts through several snapshots, peppering the floor with a small flurry of racy photographs. ]
Hm... intuitive [ He purrs in hedonistic approval as he stands and saunters towards his splayed fiancé. ]
Look so damn good all stripped and spread for me... hardly know what I wanna do to ya first
[ There's a muffled metal click as Nick's nipple piercing touches the tinted teal titanium of Super Ego's tongue stud among the warmth and wet of his languid, exploring kiss. He's suddenly plastered against Nick's chest, pressed against his eager erection-- but also shuffling behind him, draping one of Nick's knees over the blonde man's shoulder so the ghoul can steal back a hand to unhook his own belt.
Nick's helplessly organic tells of arousal are a shockingly potent aphrodisiac; Hancock is achingly hard, both bucking shallow and absent against Nick's front ( almost Hancock's typical stature, lacking very little) and freed from behind to stand and curl against the spread cup of Nick's cheeks (like everything else about The Glowing One, Upsized.) ]
Real nice that I don't gotta choose
[ The blonde gruffy groans his agreement and pulls Nick's piercing between his teeth. ]
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The floor is scattered with pictures of himself, spread lewdly and held aloft by one Hancock. The other pulls his nipple ring with his teeth and a bolt of pleasure blows through Nick's system. The room is cool and there are hot hands everywhere, it seems--his own find their way into the blonde hair in front of him and his fingers eagerly tangle in it.
Id is pressed up against him from behind and there's a moment where the touch of his dick seems like it's not quite possible. It curves up under Nick's spread cheeks so well, that it almost feels like it's going to graze his own cock--and like the rest of Id, it's almost searingly hot.
Oh no.
This is going to spoil Nick utterly, isn't it?
He hopes so.]Well--don't keep a fella in suspense--
[Nick's voice is hoarse and he's breathing like he's just finished jogging around the block. Taking all these giving touches and gifts of fantasy is a challenge. He wants to move, to touch back, but he's positioned in a way that makes that damned difficult to manage. Hopefully, in their next orientation he can do more than just look pretty for the camera.]
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He's freestyling indulgence for everyone involved; whatever wicked whim crosses his mind or is passed from his paramour gets a play. And currently?
He's still wondering if Nick tastes like vanilla. ]
Patience, Nicky, patience. Suspense is part'a the fun
[ As though to drive his point the ghoul's hips roll, grinding his stiff sweltering dick inwards of Nick's cheeks; the motion teases that tense organic orifice with the broad oddly textured crown of the glowing ghoul's cock. It takes staggering amounts of self restraint to tease on this razor's edge, to keep himself on the brink of this carnal felicity--
--but he won't actually hurt Nick, not unless he wants him to; not unless he asks. Super Ego half-staggers a pace back, like he's drunker than he thought, and fixes Nick with a sugared smirk that is a sure sign he's about to make himself a menace. ]
Think ya can wait for me to duck into the kitchen for half a second? Organics bruise up easy and Firefly ain't exactly what ya'd call demurely sized. I don't wanna hurt ya-- gunna grab that jar'a honey from the fridge, assuming your attention to detail thought to stick it where it ought'a be
[ His 'doubts' are rhetorical and he's already ducking around the corner, gone for barely a breath to fetch his prize while the Glowing ghoul purrs and ruts with lazy indulgence against Nick's entrance. ]
Alone at last
Haha, you're fucking hilarious
[ Strutting back into the livingroom proper, the young blonde man is already generously pouring chilled honey from the bottle over his curling, sinisterly-smooth digits. His eyes catch Nick's and his smirk is full of fathomless promise. ]
Hey brother? On the couch, and keep Nick in your lap, spread. He's right, we shouldn't keep him in suspense too long
[ He spreads his slick fingers to let the threads of warming honey web out between them. ]
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Hancock returns, already dousing his fingers, and Nick decides he doesn't care--if he wants to paint him up and lick it off, if he plans on using it as lubricant, if he plans on sticking those fingers in Nick's mouth and having him lick them off? There's not a single instance he can conjure where the answer wouldn't be: yes, please. Nick, therefore, attempts to keep his trap shut as he watches the strands of amber honey stretch between Hancock's fingers like the world's most promising treat.
Firefly behind him barely seems to notice he's carrying anybody and meanders to the couch. He sits down like Hancock usually does, a whole body flop, but this time that little bounce as the couch springs him back up has him rutting against all the sensitive spots that Nick didn't know about. The hell--nobody told him the space behind balls was such a lightshow, or that balls themselves weren't half bad. He's been missing a lot of data for the last hundred years.
Nick would complain about it, but now that Id is seated and, as Hancock is wont, slouching back against the couch, Nick can drape himself back. He ends up with his hands on the glowing arms on either side, holding on as if he had any say in whether he was put down or not, and relaxes back against the hard hot chest and the traditional ruffles of Hancock's outfit. The new arrangement manages to tilt his hips just a little more, and Nick only groans because it's damn cold in here.]
I must be gettin predictable if you knew honey was going to be in the fridge.
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That upwards bounce off the couch cushion is ridden with a little extra gusto; it is always a pleasure to have Nick in his lap but there is something uniquely satisfying about feeling him just slightly smaller, so much softer, and scented to wake his monster's most carnal cravings. The ghoul's mouth waters beneath his black velvet growl as, in his idle moments awaiting his 'brother', his tongue finds Nick's pulse point aside his throat and deliberately traces that thrumming artery beneath his skin. ]
Didn't I ask ya put it in the fridge? I meant to-- dunno, gone into the Chem Ether, that memory. Doesn't matter--
Seein' as how this is your first time and all? I'll take a second to warm it up for ya
[ It's a fun, whimsical shade of irony to turn that line on Nick's new Human-Sona (quite obviously and apparently Adult) from such an objectively young appearing face. Hancock always plays Brat far too easily but this face suits the gambit better than usual; the simple circular motions of spreading the golden slickness across his digits is impossibly lurid, adding depth, detail and depravity to his promising threat. There is a Cheshire panther quality to his grin as he approaches the couch, casually stalking, and looms above Nick like a small god of golden lurid lunar lunacy. ]
Whatever am I gunna do while I wait?
[ He's already lowering himself to his knees-- a position he could hypothetically hold a lot longer now, thanks to that plush rug. His cheek grazes the inside of Nick's thigh and his skin feels impossibly soft and cool by comparison to that of the emerald beast-ghoul behind them, who is still too tenderly nipping those nubile love-bites down Nick's neck and holding him around the waist with exuberant ferocity.
The young man's eyes are all malachite mischief while he deliberately moistens his lips with a sweep of his pierced tongue. ]
Open to requests
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Yeah? Well, if you're taking requests--
[As a synth, Nick's voice only distorted through artifacting. He ultimately sounded the same regardless of what was happening. Human Nick is not afforded that level of aloof disengagement and his tone is wanting, pleading even as he tries to say something suave. This body has no poker face at all.]
You want to do a taste test? Tell me if I still taste like vanilla?
[Nick has no idea that Hancock has been thinking the same thing, it is just the most obtuse and polite way to ask for head that Nick can conjure up.]
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I do [ The slighter aspect purrs between a falsely shy fan of (clean) fingers across his face. His honeyed hand hovers humid just above Nick's balls and the warmed fluid sheds a few slick shinning drops across the velvet-soft skin below. ]
Now it's my turn to feel predictable... I really vibe that I wanna suck you off that bad? Tch... Good thing I'm kinda beyond shame at this point, might almost be insulted...
[ He's absolutely teasing, serene yet serpentine smirk suspended beneath moss-agate eyes ringed in gold lashes. For all his desire to tease and draw out the act, Nick's pleading undoes him; the blonde youth surges forward and seals his lips around the turgid tip of Nick's cock. His gratified groan plays in almost eerie stereo, from between Nick's legs and behind his back, while the new iteration of the familiar taste and texture flood Hancock's cleaved senses.
It's a challenge for Super Ego to keep groaning out his near-delirious bliss the more he takes inside his mouth (softer than it should be, a smaller tighter space with a single metal stud) but it's not a problem for the Glowing One; his growls shift towards silken and his dick jumps eagerly between Nick's thighs, nudging the soft honeyed flesh there while his animalistic vocals strike the air. ]
Christ Nick-- love havin you in my mouth-- hands in my hair, now c'mon-- hold onto me tight
[ An effortlessly powerful hand takes Nick by the wrist and leads his palm down toward the teen's tousled tresses; the ghoul's firm guidance encourages Nick's fingers to tangle into the tawny threads and pull less than gently. ]
Don't let him keep teasin' ya... g'won now, fuck his smug, sweet, smart-mouth; can tell ya exactly how bad he's dyin' to choke on your cock, Slick
[ In some strange twisted split of cognition, that humid malachite glare shot from between Nick's knees is underscored with a bright miasma of candy apple blush. ]
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His hand is placed on Hancock's soft tawny head and the other joins it immediately, of it's own volition. His fingers card in, tangled themselves, and he grips hard pulling them taut against his scalp. Nick's caution is still somewhere in the wind as he pulls Hancock forward, pushing the rest of the way into his mouth and forcing himself into his throat.
The groan that leaves him is pure sin and satisfaction--Nick's own cock was not nearly this sensitive, not in the same way--this one has a mainline up his spine and into the center of his brain. Every thought, every emotion is filtered around and through the hot, aching spike of needy pleasure that shoots through him. How in the hell does anyone get anything done with one of these?
Nick manages to force his eyes open, to stare down at Hancock and his grip slackens just so, but that blush across his face is another thrill and Nick is moving on automatic as he pulls Hancock's head back and then pulls him down again.]
You feel amazing--
[Not the most original line to choke out, but Nick manages it as he sets a slow, but unrelenting pace. He pulls the blonde all the way down himself, and then all the way back, reveling in the feeling, eyes half-lidded and almost glassy. Nick may be the one doing the face-fucking, but his pleasure is already written all over his face.]
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The sensation of matched hands in his hair feels oddly askew for a moment, aside that Hancock has been bald for the last decade or so, and set against the comfortable grooves of expectations born off habit. Hancock likes the strange inhuman divide of Nick's real (synth? physical) hands-- the dangerous strength matched with a lack of sensory-reading of his skeletal-robotic hand, and the contrasting (charmingly worn-in, like a beloved book) organic imitation that is the other.
But as far as Virtual Realities go? This one's absolutely a keeper. Hancock can definitely see himself wanting to revisit the feeling of (this) human Nick's flesh and blood hands weaving into his hair and using the grip to control exactly how greedily he fucks his face. The blonde on his knees shuffles forward as he's pulled, bracing his hands on the inside of Nick's thighs and becoming utterly compliant to the hands (Nick's, and one of Firefly's) hauling him by the hair; he looks dazed, blitzed, fucking high as an astronaut on acid but it's all nectarous oxytocin blowing out his pupils and making slim shinning jade rings out of what's left of his irises. His lips are flushed and lurid-moist like the flesh inside a split strawberry as they seal at the hilt of Nick's cock; smears of saliva slide off his skin like sparkles off a diamond as those fucked-flushed lips get dragged back.
Nick could say anything to him like this-- the corniest line, said a thousand times before, but it would still be special and unique, done in the way only Nick Valentine would do for John Hancock; so the statement sends out swarms of infatuated butterflies to twist up the ghoul's (the teen's) gut regardless. The Glowing One's grin veers towards sweet because the blonde can't exactly smile. ]
So do you
[ This time when the glowing ghoul's girth grinds upwards against the clenched inlet between Nick's cheeks the crown of his dick is absurdly slick. It's honey-- warmed into a drizzly consistency and spread generously by a hand slipped discretely between Nick's legs. Said digits are still honey-slick while they navigate blind on pleasure-drunken motions, feeling the space behind Nick's balls and further back still to the circle of cinched muscle he can span (again, again, and again) with the too-soft pad of his finger.
Behind Nick, the waves of heat thrown by the bucking bull of a ghoul seem to match with his heart beat, and they are getting faster. The orchestra of sensation encapsulates rapture in this very moment, even preceding the climactic crescendo; the sound of Nick's heartbeat, the scent of his skin and his sweat and blood-- it hits carnivorous inclinations that somehow make his dick hard and his mouth water and it feels safe enough to just enjoy the buzz when it's all VR anyway. ]
Probably goes without sayin' darlin, but ya gotta -relax- for me. [ Hot breath rolls against Nick's throat from behind like scorching wind off the Glowing Sea but the sophisticated program weeds out the perception of pain, making it feel like a balmy dragging kiss of summer. ]
I ain't rushin' ya... but I'm dyin' to know, as the programmer an' all, what exactly ya thought bein' inside you should feel like
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He's not exactly expecting the honeyed finger, but only insofar as Nick is not expecting anything in particular. Warmed to body heat, the honey is smooth, thick, and just a little cloying, tugging his organic skin as Hancock's finger sails over it. At first, Nick's not sure he knows how to comply--relax? As he's fucking into Super Ego's pretty rosy mouth? With Id behind him and Hancock piloting them both like he'd done it all his life?
Nick's head drops back, eyes closed, and rests against the ghoul's shoulder. The move lets him really surrender himself to the push and pull of their combined hands, to drag Hancock against him without distraction, and fully exposes the length of his neck.]
I'm tryin--and--I--I don't know it's--it was--I tried for authentic--
[He doesn't really have a template for relaxation, or for what his own human interior ought to feel like, and even if he did...he's not exactly himself at the moment. Nick blows out a long breath and makes himself slow--it takes focus to willingly relax muscles he's never had before. After a beat or two, he manages, but it's tennuous. When Nick lets those muscles soften, Hancock's honeyed fingers slip inside. They're too soft, too smooth, and the warmed honey sands off all the rough edges that might've been.
The way he feels now was cobbled together through a few hundred experiences by as many patients of Dr. Amari. He wants to shake each and every one of their hands because even that slight pressure, that breaching finger, is a glorious bath of sensation. It's so different from how his own programs overwhelm him--Nick tenses against the intrusion for a moment but breathes and releases again.
His pace has slowed with his distraction, but Nick's cock is still throbbing with his heartbeat, hot and heavy where it's buried in the tightness of Hancock's throat. He's not sure what climax in this body will look or feel like, though--and as much as he wants to lose himself in this, spitroasting isn't exactly his only fantasy. So, reluctantly, as Nick drags Hancock back, he pulls him off entirely.
The cold air in the faux-apartment almost stings when it hits his spit-slicked dick. He grimaces and finally, finally manages to crack an eye and look down--his voice has more gravel than a trainyard as he marshalls all of his wits and asks an important question:]
Will you be disappointed if I want to paint that pretty face?
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short because headache but I had to tag
Quality not quantity <3
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HOW DID THIS TAG ESCAPE ME WTF */ROLLS*
LMAO it happens to the best of us.
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