robotdick | A Casual Conversation

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Air rushes back in for Nick right alongside the reminder to breathe--Nick's eyes flit open and he stares up at the blonde above him as he traces his slack mouth with the head of his cock. Nick's lungs strain to make up for the oxygen-free interlude there, and they're doing a fine job catching up, but he's still nowhere near ready to answer--at least, not with words.

Firefly isn't helping with that.

The shift in his attention is quick and keen, just like his aim, and while the change in tempo gives Nick more room to breathe, the first grinding thrust against the target punches all the air out of him. Nick gapes silently, fingers going tight on Hancock's hips, and a trembling shiver ricochets up and then down his spine. Another thrust has him seeing stars but the only sound Firefly gets is a wheezing whine. The third is payday--the ghoul hits just right and Nick lets out a crooning, debauched sound--]

Fuck--I--

[He wants more, wants his throat filled again, but asking pretty? He can do that--he thinks. Nick swallows, almost choking on another groan because Firefly hasn't (and won't) let up.]

Please?

[That's all Nick manages for a moment, as distracted as he is, but he marshalls up his reserves to try again. When a real sentence forms on his tongue, it comes out gravelly and wrecked, torn in half by the ragged pleasure carving into him and the suffocating interlude with Hancock's dick down his throat. Synth Nick can't sound like he smokes a pack a day, even though he nearly does, but right now the human edition sure has that burned out rasp to it.]

Just can't get enough of you, sweetheart.

[ Hancock is aware the task he's given is a challenging one-- or rather, he's taking too much pleasure in making it as challenging for Nick as possible. Asking him to speak while splitting him open and driving against his prostate is a tall order, and it's too fucking good watching him struggle and strain to appease while those sounds crawl helplessly out of him.

Hancock doesn't expect more than a word, or two-- and Nick makes the most out of the limited language his unraveling thoughts can provide; that 'please' is so damn pretty on his fucked-raw mouth, Hancock could hear it over and over-- but Nick offers him even more, his heavenly hoarse voice demonstrating delirious devotion, tacking on that sweet pet name that always makes Hancock's heart skip a beat. ]

Ya had me at 'please', Slick

[ comes the warm red velvet praise as a hand swoops adoringly across Nick's cheek, and his mouth is all at once lanced with an over-eager thrust. The sound out of Blondie's mouth is rough and breathless by the measure of his voice but still too smooth and smokeless-- alchemizing it with the debauched animal growl pouring down Nick's spine (from the glowing ghoul draped panting over him from behind) is exactly the math behind Hancock's pleasured howls.]

Christ-- you are so fuckin' addictive, ya know that? Like this--

--all soft and flesh that makes my mouth water--

--in Classic Synth Style

--a godamn fucking machine--

Hell even when I dream about ya-- Always so damn irresistible-- Fuck, I-I can't--

I can't get enough either, never, ever enough of ya--

[ They find a rhythm and rapidly fray it as the words start to divide between them-- when one speaks the other dissolves into heady panting, gasping and growling as they design to follow a sturdy back and forth beat, one invasion met with a twin recession, back and forth, again and again, until Blondie buckles and drops himself onto the coffee table. He can't quite keep standing, but the seated position allows him the lurid indulgence of spreading his thighs as he bucks into Nick's mouth. ]

[Nick's request was pretty enough and all at once he's back to being better filled than he thought possible. This whole simulation, and Hancock's stellar use of the local splitscreen, is making a pretty solid case for that body-mod. Not that Nick can really think about anything but what's happening now--not the fact that this is a simulation, or even that he's actually a synth. It's a small miracle but he feels so overwhelmed by sensation that he's certain this is the authentic experience.

Hancock's words are split between hearing and seeing, like flashes of color behind his eyes and most of them drift over him without his noticing. The ones that don't catch him right between the ribs. Hancock dreams about him? That seems so absurdly personal--and that tracks, given Nick doesn't dream at all--

The rythym is fraying and Nick is seeing stars. Nick's not used to being tired, let alone exhausted, but he can feel it creeping up his bones. He moves with Hancock, insofar as he can, and the frantic storm of sensation consumes as much of his scarce air as the activity. The heat in him (not just Firefly) is coiled up tight and despite the lack of attention his new organic cock has had, Nick's treading water--he's right there, lungs burning, fingers sore from gripping into Hancock's hips, legs turned to jelly by Firefly's impossible pace and power. He's ready to come crashing down but the one thought rattling around in his skull is that he really, really wants to take them along.

He can hold out.

Until Hancock trips the light fantastic, at least.]

[ Hancock has completely forgotten he could be making a case for a Real Life show to match this digital jam session; it would cost certain highlights of this split-screen sensation, but swap in others, like power dynamics that could shift across three players, as opposed to two; Firefly had only briefly played with the notion of 'ganging up' on himself with Nick (purring filthy encouragements to pound Blondie's impossibly tender mouth) but a third player complicates those dynamics. How would this feeling differ if it were Hancock at one end of the spit, and Evaris at the other?

On the other hand, how could it feel to have the fanged Gen 3's expertise and compliance in unraveling his often cocky ghoul paramour? Nick can't exactly rally one aspect against the other here-- not unless Hancock chooses to play into it, which is fun but different than pitting a completely different predator against him.

And on the other other hand, Nick could always try that Duplicate filter on himself if an accomplice in Hancock's undoing is his aim.

The possibilities swim in the ether of his humid swampy subconscious, glimpses and wisps of thought that don't quite break through the intensity of the moment. Nick doesn't have to tread that dark water long, lungs burning as his new sense of exhaustion creeps in; Hancock's not sure if it feels like falling or flying, either way he's panting like he's fending off a wicked overheating, chasing Nick to that inevitable edge, that brink of bliss that shatters the air. His attention is cleaved mercilessly between Firefly and Blondie, between impossibly organic orifices so diligently and devotedly devouring him. Nick's loosing grace and finesse but his desperation is climbing, a bitten down urgency that builds in his blood and Hancock gets to watch while he steers them both off this cliff's edge and it is fucking perfect. ]

Godamn Christ Nick--

[ Firefly is the first to bolt upright and then bend his broad torso across Nick's back, breathing hard against the base of his neck while one hand swaps its grip, and settles for leverage on that bitten-bruised shoulder. The split grasp allows him a more brutal pull as he tows Nick back into every further frantic thrust; Firefly's pulse played against Nick's insides by pace of the heatwaves he sheds is racing. ]

You are so fuckin' beautiful and you're all mine-- mine-- mine

[ A scalpel sharp gasp cuts down Blondie's throat as his toes curl against Nick's shoulders and his spine archs off the coffee table. The quaking parted thighs and fingers in Nick's hair almost imply that that's how he'll greet his finale, but at the last moment the prone aspects bolts up and draws Nick back by the hair. It's Firefly who snarls at the sting of that cold air while the sultry moss-eyed man murmurs on an oxytocin high:]

Tongue out, Slick Nick. Give me a real pretty face to make a mess of

[ Firefly roars into the icy air (bright clouds of steam tinged green by his radiance) as his nails drag down Nick's back, trailing pretty red rivets as the ghoul finally trips those fan-fucking-tastic lights.

And Hancock proceeds to make a terrible, beautiful mess of his fiancé.

Firefly's movements drive his sweltering seed deeper with each thrashing thrust, while Blondie rings himself out all over Nick's face, kindly returning the favor from earlier that evening. His hazy jungle grass eyes are glued to his paramour's expression as he deliberately aims each lurid burst of liquid; he slathers Nick's mouth, his cheek, his hair as he rides out those wicked riptides. ]

[Nick can't handle it, the brutal drag of searing flesh, the growled letters that paint poetry across his eyelids--he feels like he's dangling at the precipice. It's the grip in his hair, hauling him back by his aching scalp that does it. That little twist of extra, the look on Blondie's face--eyes blown wide, voice breathy and luxurious--is what finally kicks Nick over that next crest.

He's obedient, opens his mouth and tips his head back into that grip, but the moan that reverberates up through him is obscene. Nick trembles, back arching as he spends himself over the digital clone of their rug. He stares up at Blondie throughout, face the picture of bliss and devotion as he makes a mess of the floor and gets his face painted all at once. He doesn't have the wherewithal to lean into or away from any of the mess, just takes the stripes of warm ejaculate as they come.

Firefly digs furrows along his back, bright and painful ones as he fills Nick up and fucks the whole mess deeper at once. The sounds of him are impossibly loud in this quiet room and each drag across his oversensitive core is shuddering, beautiful agony. The room isn't quite cool enough to see Nick's labored, racing breath, but it's close. His cock gives a final, feeble jerk as he spends himself dry and Nick, well, all he can manage is a lopsided smile.]

[ It feels too amazing to hold Nick while he trembles through the rending claws of his climax-- by the hair, by the shoulder, by the hip, Hancock's fingers bite down and cling with strength a human could not possibly possess as he rides those vicious whirlpools betwixt riptides of visceral bliss. He paints Nick's face as filthy as his insides as they burn together on the same pyre, clinging tighter to each other than the fire to its tinder.

By the time that fervid fever breaks they are both gasping and boneless-- Firefly on the couch, sweating bullets into his clothing, while Blondie has collapsed back onto the coffee table, barely propped up on one trembling elbow. The ghoul's humid embrace immediately encircles Nick from behind, hauling the pleasure-hollowed fellow up into his lap with what is still remarkable ease. His hands scrape up Nick's chest and lock in a fierce possessive cuddle.

A split second later, a very noodle-limbed Super Ego is crawling into Nick's (into Firefly's) lap and dropping his sodden face against his fiancé's collarbone. He makes a series of unintelligible murmurs that all fail to be words, gives up in speaking, and strings his humid arms around Nick's neck. After a few solid seconds of nothing more than breathing and recuperation-cuddling, he manages to force the words through his pleasure-raw voice:]

I fuckin' love you so godamn much

[It's lucky that Hancock's ghoul half pulls him up, Nick wouldn't have been capable of sitting upright without a hand. Then again, he'd have been pretty alright with just kneeling on the carpet and using the human half's thigh as a pillow. Being pulled into a warm embrace is, by far and away, the superior option though, so Nick's not going to start grousing about being manhandled. When the slighter Hancock slides into Nick's lap, Nick's arms come around him as well and he draws him close, tucking his tawny hair and the crown of his head under his chin.

The silence is nice, the only sounds that interrupt it are the background hum of the air conditioning and the ragged breathing of everyone involved as they hold each other. Nick feels absolutely boneless--more than--perhaps even de-boned? All of him aches enough that he could have had a few bones torn out and not noticed. But he's warm and, more than anything, happy as he plays middle spoon to his fiancee's halves.

It's Hancock that talks first which is pretty par for the course, and his raw, satiated voice is like music for Nick. He's huffing a dry chuckle as Hancock declares his love with about as much cursing as you can fit into that short statement. One of Nick's hands cards lazily through Blondie's hair and settles against the back of his neck.]

Good, cause I plan on stickin' around a while.

[Idly, Nick shifts his head so that his cheek is against that gold hair and he presses a kiss into the top of Blondie's head.]

I love you too--two--three? You. All of you.

[ It's nice that Nick easily accepts the somewhat brutish manhandling-- because Hancock, or Firefly specifically (the part of him most beastial) loves the flex of being able to tow him around like he's made for greedy glowing green hands. Having Nick in his lap with his own softening prick still half stuffed inside his fiancé is a pleasure as lovely as lewd and the ghoul is keen on keeping his spent and debauched love in place, unless he voices any preference for climbing off of Firefly's lap and way from the skewer of his prick.

And as much as he loves holding Nick he loves being held-- and by the brilliance of his paramour's programing, Hancock gets both at once. A contented, tattered sigh is shared by the ghoul and the human both, while the former tightens his grip on Nick's ribcage and the later curls more comfortably into the luring warmth (a counterpoint to the still very chilly air) of Nick's lap in Firefly's. ]

You'd gotta, least until ya can feel your legs again

[ Hancock croaks with a sated smirk against the bruises blooming more prominently against Nick's throat. He likes this spot, this one human aspect fitted so perfectly against another, though neither technically exist like this at all. ]

And I don't plan on movin any time soon either... not without some damn good inspiration

[ The teen-presenting aspect's voice almost, almost sounds like Hancock's current print; maybe if he stopped smoking for a month. That affectionate touch carding through his tawny tresses draws out a luxuriously comfortable sigh, and Blondie plasters a clumsy kiss against Nick's bruise-blotted skin. ]

Tragically lookin like you're stuck here with me, us, whatever. You sure ya ain't sick'a me yet?

[ There's an impish note of teasing to the youth's overblown uncertainty, because his question is answering Nick's 'I love you'.' He grins-- they grin, one pair of smooth lithe arms twined around Nick's neck and another, dressed in far thicker ropes of muscles, snaking around Nick's waist and up his chest. They each nuzzle an opposing side of his throat. ]

Can't believe ya made all this for us-- you're amazing, ya know that?

Definitely wanna try all the features, eventually. Kissin' you without losin' my breath sounds like a ride I'd really enjoy

[The comment about feeling his legs earns an honest laugh out of Nick, shakes his chest and shoulders and the arms wrapped so snugly around him. The chit chat is nice, easy, and Nick can see why people fall into it so often after sex. He's floating on endorphins (simulated but realistic) and he just wants to hear Hancock's voice. Doesn't much matter to him what he's saying--the fact that it's all praise and jesting, well, just fuels the smile that settles on Nick's face.

Nick's got his eyes closed when Firefly pipes up. The growling commentary earns another laugh for the trouble.]

Breathing is certainly something. Not sure I care for it, frankly.

[Nick draws a deep breath, despite his criticism, and all the little aches and blooming bruises over his body seem to light up as he does. They twinge and prickle and then fade into the comfortable warmth around him. His filter, for words at least, feels like it's been burned up in all the activity. Where he'd normally just think it, instead, Nick says this part out loud:]

I can just imagine the menace you're gonna make of yourself. You might not like it, though. It's apples and oranges to all this.

[ Either aspect wears a sated wolf's crooked, hazy grin as they extensively enjoy feeling that warm summery laughter vibrate up Nick's chest and spill out his throat like sunshine. His paramour is so warm and comfortable and perfect inside the toothless beartrap of his ghoulish grasp, Firefly savors the lingering closeness sustained by his demanding clinging; an as well, the lightly lurid flair of their remaining slick and sodden connection. The fizzling pleasure jolts through his boneless limbs in waves, each encouraging a stronger rally to action than the last. All Hancock's ghoulish resilience and stamina is on one side of the equation, here; Blondie is still struggling to even out his breathing.

All his human fatigue is on one side of the equation, too. ]

Can imagine how it could be a pain. Like... when ya accidentally start manually controlling your own blinking, and then ya can't quit 'cuz your eyes get all pasty?

[ He could easily be half-way drunk, or high, or some floaty combination; he's buzzed on endorphins but weighed down by human lethargy, the combination almost has Blondie slurring his speech. His smile is as peaceful as askew, the tone of his embrace set towards tender and romantic. His humid human hands cup Nick's face with a softness the Hancock in reality can no longer quite manage, and Blondie repeats that familiar tick of overflowing affection, gently bumping their foreheads together. ]

I'll try anything once, and I couldn't ask for a better dance partner. Right now I'm feelin the powerful need to rinse off, but the bathroom is... so damn far away, seriously, I think I might pass out on the way

[ The rough edged growl of a chuckle that emanates from behind the pair of debauched humans is not quite sinister, but.

Suddenly Firefly is standing, lifting Nick and Blondie both beneath the legs, like they weigh little more than a bag of tatos between them. The youngest aspect actually gives a quick shallow gasp of surprises, and scrambles to get hold of Nick and Firefly in a way that doesn't leave him sprawled and dependent like a ragdoll. ]

Jesus brother, warn a guy?

Thought you knew? Pay attention, slacker.

[ The Glowing One is most definitely recovering his strength, stamina, focus, and will to be a menace quicker than his human counterpart. ]

I'll get us to the bath, just gotta... [ There is no language equivocal to the shredded lurid growl that smolders in his throat while he lifts Nick (and his counterpoint in time) as easily and effortlessly and breathing, and frees his spent prick (One. Agonizing. Inch. At a time) from its refuge from the cold. ]

H-hey, we're tryin' to have a conversation, can ya not--?

Enjoy myself so much? [ The far too casual, almost lazy rolling of the ghouls hips obscenely slides his soft slick sex bewteen Nick's cheeks. ] Not really my style, little man.

[ And now Blondie is blushing hot beneath his incredulous, toothless glare. ]

[The sudden shift in altitude is unexpected--Nick's getting used to having arms like iron bars around him, though. He doesn't start as badly as Blondie when Firefly plucks them up off the couch, but the slide of that glowing length out of him makes it impossible to think for a moment. His everything is a sensitive mess and the fact that he can feel a thick drop of fluid creeping down the back of his thigh has his flush returning in spades. Before long, he matches Blondie.

It's ridiculous, of course, getting embarassed now--after all that--but Nick's always been a little straight-laced.

Firefly carries them easily, flexing his comparatively absurd strength, and meanders the short distance to the restroom. The program is a perfect mirror of their apartment, down to the honey in the fridge, so it's no shock that the bathroom is dead accurate. Nick, however, seems a little surprised to be in here at all--then it dawns on him: he can take a (virtual) bath without worry. The novelty there is enormous and he huffs an amused sound, twisting just so to bump his nose against the side of Firefly's jaw.]

Didn't figure we'd end up here, but I can't say I'm opposed. [His voice still sounds debauched, but he's recovering. He spares a glance at the room and the inset tub and shifts, arm squeezing around Blondie as he does. Nick's pretty sure he's not going to be elegant, but he can maneuver his way into a tub.]

You wanna set me down a second so I can kick on the tap?

[ Neither aspect misses Nick's endearing flourish of blush but Firefly's smugness has more weight to it, while Blondie's is more demure. ]

I see why ya enjoy the human filter on yours truly [ The human aspect affectionately cups Nick's cheek, tracing the brilliant warmth of color with the pad of his thumb. ] It's a good look for you, too... like seein' you blush for me

[ The narrative would like to establish that Hancock likes his honey in the fridge so it can be used to cool off his coffee; lewd applications of the sweet slick substance are just a happy bonus. It occurs to Hancock as he's walking--carrying-- as they step into the bathroom, that clean up could be eliminated by simply unplugging from the Memory Pod. He hasn't forgotten that none of this is technically real so much as failed to think of it directly-- Nick's math on the programing of this whole experience is pristine. Feeling besmirched naturally led the hazy-happy side of this thoughts to water, just like it would outside the datascape.

And now it just seems like too good an idea to pass up. He can imagine, proactively empathize with how different the experience of a bath would be in human skin-- and also, he hasn't been for a dunk sans his Ghoulification for a damn age. It's usually not really an option. He's just going to quietly take some credit for the brilliant idea as though it was anything more than lazy habit. ]

Do I wanna? Not really... can I stand to? Mm... [ The chilled air conveniently shadows the most monstrous aspect, making his heat the preferable, easy to crave comfort in every projected instance; he turns towards the nose bumped into his jaw and catches Nick in a brief but voracious kiss whilst reluctantly easing his paramour (and Blondie, bent against him) to the ground. ]

Just barely

[ The ghoul towers above Nick's human frame like an alter of emerald spires sworn in dedication to fierce and fathomless hunger; he throws his shadow over his lover (himself) like a pall across a mass of reverent worshipers. ]

Careful now darlin... you feel another swoon comin' on, you just say my name. I gocha

[Nick's blush doesn't fade after that gentle compliment and the less gentle kiss. He's tempted to point out that Hancock's had him overheating more than once--this is just the visual version of his fans spinning up--but he decides against it. Hancock's ego (er Id and Superego) doesn't need the stroking. His eyes are open when Id offers to catch him, but the sentiment carries over on that towering look he levels at Nick (and Blondie).]

Thanks.

[Nick's still got an armful of Blondie and he sets the human aspect on his feet, waiting a beat before he loosens his hold and steps away to turn on the tap. Nick's recreation is faithful and the pipes in the walls protest loudly as he runs the bath. As the water fills, he tosses a look over his shoulder (way over) at Firefly who is lighting up the room and still wearing more clothing than Nick or Blondie.]

Want me to make it cold, figure you'll probably heat it up fast enough?

Mmph, thanks

[ The slighter aspect does not quite slur as Nick places him down; he gets his feet under himself quickly enough, finding he'd forgotten how stubbornly the fatigue can linger in mere human anatomy. He still feels comfortably sluggish, limbs made of impossible leaden-jello, thoughts sprawling and sporadic.

Firefly, on the other hand, already seems to be finding his second wind. He's breathing even, just barely sweating beneath his clothing-- he intends to shuck it entirely, but gets caught in a moment watching Nick so tenderly place Blondie down along with him. ]

Good thinkin'... usually it's you that benefits from the liquid cooling

[ The reply comes in English from the youngest aspect, so Nick needn't close his eyes for the direct translation; meanwhile Firefly is peeling off his clothing and flinging it away, already quite aware his real threads are in no danger at all from the negligent disregard. His compulsion for hoarding what's precious can't fixate on his clothing here, and it's a bit of a relief.

While the tall glowing and handsome ghoul undresses, his human half casts Nick a hazy happy smile as he wanders languidly to the tub. ]

Ya know, I didn't expect ya to Not include the whiny taps, but damn. Steller attention to detail my love, really. Five Gold Stars-- Hell, Six. It all feels so damn real... so natural. I'm havin' a damn blast, so uh... Thank you, for makin' this for us.

Seriously, from the bottom'a my heart. This is amazing, you are amazing-- I'd say 'let's do the whole wedding in here' if I wasn't thinkin' about havin family around for the ordeal

Uh, yours. I mean. Because fuck Rob, obviously. Kinda goes without sayin.

[Nick ducks his head a little at the praise, lifting a hand in the way that Nick the former used to, scrubbing it back from the base of his neck to ruffle his short hair. Nick's easily the most proud of the interface, of the fact that he can experience this, that Hancock can experience that, that they're safe while they do? But...there is some artistry to the mundane bits of the simulation.

It had taken him far longer than he'd admit, making this place a carbon copy, but nowhere else would have done for this sort of thing. He didn't want to make somewhere else, he wanted to make home, and it feels deeply gratifying to hear the sleepy, happy-hazy sentiment from Hancock. Nick shrugs a little, shoulders inching a little higher toward his ears (they felt hot? could ears blush? This had never come up before for a variety of reasons) and the tub before him gradually fills with cool water.

With the chill in the air, Nick can think of few things he wants less than climbing into a cold bath, but that won't take much to fix. He'd joke about it, but Hancock hits him with that sideways thought--have the wedding here? There's something a touch repellant about that--He scrubs his hair back down and that other detail finally settles across his processors.

Having Nick's family around? It's strange to think that he even has family to have around...but he does, doesn't he?]

Might be easier for DiMA to have it here, all things considered....but--uh--fun as it is...not sure I want to wear this face to my own wedding. And, while both these looks are stellar on you, sweetheart, I'd kinda miss seeing the whole package.

Well I wasn't thinkin'a wearing these filters in particular to the main event-- more like we could come up with wedding threads -for ourselves, for each other- that defy my kinda lackluster ability to sew. [ Blondie further illustrates his thoughts on wedding hypotheticals as he saunters towards the edge of the tub, and takes a seat at the ledge. ] Feels more like an afterparty thing, now that I'm sayin it, 'cuz yeah. I feel ya. I'd rather wear my own face -and see yours- when that beautiful day rolls around

[ Meanwhile, Firefly swiftly succeeds in completely devesting himself, and casually stalks towards the tub and his pair of human pretty boys. He spares a moment to pin Nick beneath a craven carnivorous grin, rake his fathomless emerald ember eyes from his fiance's face to his toes and back again. This unique dichotomy demonstrates quite clearly the conflict Hancock usually calculates after a round of lurid delight with Nick-- he's conflicted between lovey-dovely laziness, and the persistent compulsive hunger for more.

Split like this, they're not exactly conflicted; they can both enact their inclination without compromise.

So Firefly can slide up behind Nick and start brazenly kissing his bruise-littered throat (like he's searching sparking edges that don't exist here) whilst exuding the effortless thrall of a charming pied piper, and his human aspect is free to relinquish a comfortable sigh and continue on his thought train of matrimony logistics. ]

Wouldn't be opposed to doin the whole thing in Far Harbor. Much as it feels like tempting fate. Unless ya wanna see if DiMA can get his ass down here? Not sure I like the logistics on bringing him closer to The Institute and their bullshit... wedding party ain't exactly discrete.

We do get into some serious shit every time we head up that way, though. I dunno, what do ya think?-- Brother, come on, I'm trying to have a semi-important conversation here

[ Firefly chuckles like smooth tequila rose and slides his tongue along those shadows of his own teeth marks and up towards Nick's blush-touched ears. ]

His ears are blushin, I can't resist. He's just too damn adorable... [ The ghoul's teeth catch the shell of Nick's ear and pull with a playful predator's growl. ]

[Nick's not exactly equipped to deal with both aspects of Hancock at once, not entirely, but what a way to be overwhelmed. Firefly sweeps in behind him, radiated and huge, gets arms like solid metal around him and Nick can only blush harder as the ghoul starts in on his neck again. Nick's exhale is shaky and with a quiet whine before the chuckle.

In their normal bodies, Nick can think of few things that he likes better than watching the crest of pleasure consume his ghoulish fiancee. Knowing he can pull it off, making him see stars, wringing all the endorphins out of him, is an almost addictive rush. That look on Id's face tells him all about how Hancock feels the same. Here, well, as stated: he's not exactly equipped to deal with both--well, maybe he is. Might need more lubrication, though.]

DiMA's even more of an antique than I am. We try to get him to travel and Faraday might have us both killed.

[Nick's answer is humorous and he tries to match his tone, but he's got a ghoul catching his ear in between abnormally sharp teeth. He's...distracted.]

Far Harbor...is a really rough destination for a wedding.

[Given their track record, Nick was liable to have to save both Hancock and Evaris from mortal danger, this time around. That's a pretty big gamble to take on his wedding day...and yet he's still considering rolling those dice. Firefly's teeth catch Nick by surprise (insofar as they can) and he sucks in a sharp breath as the ghoul bites along the back of his neck.

The tub's full enough for three people. Nick fumbles the tap as he tries to shut it off--takes two tries to twist the knob--and then tries to free himself from Firefly's grasp. He doesn't try very hard, mind, but enough that he can twist and shoot the glowing ghoul a dry, fond look.]

Alright, hop in lightning bug, so I can climb in on top of ya and avoid freezing.

[ That shaky exhale preceding a quiet whine hit Hancock like a the sweetest Chem cocktail; his perception strains to catch every minute detail, the strength in Firefly's grasp feels especially pronounced when locked around a body so much more yielding than metal and silicone. ]

I feel that-- guy's so far up the ass that DiMA probably doesn't even have, they should just spoon and get it over with already.

[ The avatar of Hancock's moral reasoning slides his legs into the chilly water first, causing the gooseflesh to lift the pale peach-fuzz as the small of his back. That's. A feeling he half forgot about. He's not climbing in until after they toss in the hot rocks-- or approximating radioactive ghoul, in this case. He looks mildly miffed to be waiting for his eldest brother as Nick tries to Charisma the lusty fellow into the water.

His brow-ridge quirks at the new nickname-- to assign something so fond and cutesy to the face of Hancock's (ghoul-related) trauma takes massive levels of acceptance, which Hancock should not be startled to find in his future husband, but. Hancock could have killed Nick when he looked like this in reality-- Jailbreaker (whom Id is still a deadringer for, sans those fangs) could have hurt Nick terribly when they last danced. So many things could have gone wrong and yet, here they are, moments away from washing off their post coitus bliss together.

What kinda odds were those even?

You know what he doesn't actually need that math. Firefly climbs into the cool water and it steams softly; temperature transfer is a thing that happens, the water gets warm and Firefly shivers just slightly, already grabbing for Nick and pulling him into water to leech off his heat. And while he's at it, manhandling his fiancé back into his lap, one large leathered hand closes over Nick's eyes, guiding his lids shut. ]

I kinda like Far Harbor

Of course you would

I mean for a wedding destination, unbunch your panties. Be a big bold flip off to everything that tried to kill us, throwin' a huge party there. Celebratin' me and you. My heart ain't exactly set on it... but the idea's got charm

[ Point made, the ghoul allows his fingers to slide off Nick's face-- and trace with subtle wicked pride down the bitten bruises littered along his throat. ]

... I do like the idea of havin' DiMA there, however we manage it [ Blondie concedes, finally sliding into the water with a pensive hum. ]

[What might be acceptance bordering on cognitive dissonance for Hancock, doesn't even register with Nick. He's good at compartmentalizing--built for it, in fact--and even when he was stunned and staring down Jailbreaker, all Nick could see was Hancock. Maybe a part that Hancock doesn't like, sure, but still him all the same. When he looks at Id, the first thing that always comes to mind is the sight of him huddled, hatless, in his oubliette, startled that someone came to find him after hauling him out of torture.

It's probably some cousin of projection, but Nick's aspects are all equally incomplete/whole. He can't bring himself to treat Hancock's any differently than himself...and if there is one thing that Hancock has harped on about for ages, it's that Nick needs to be nicer to himself. Ergo: he's nice to all of Hancock, regardless of how much they resemble a lit fuse.

Firefly dips into the tub and the water hisses as it hits his skin. The steam rising from it is dramatic enough that Nick's surprised when the ghoul snatches him off the sidelines and drags him into the warming water and his lap. Nick doesn't flail exactly, but there aren't many other words to describe how he fumbles and blindly grabs onto Id and the lip of the tub. The hand that comes down over his eyes is just as unexpected as being dragged into the water, but Nick catches on fast.]

It'd be nice. [Nick replies vaguely and settles into the water. Relaxing is much easier now, after all they've done, and the heat off the water helps.]

Having DiMA around, that is. Beyond that I uh--hadn't put much thought into it.

[It's a weird admission to make, given the lengths Nick had gone to in his proposal, but it's not shocking. Nick's never been married and Nick the former hadn't been to a wedding when he was recording his memories, if he ever went to one. He knew he wanted that, the solid evidence of this thing they had, but flowers? Venues? Outfits? Guests? Nick hadn't given them more than the most cursory attention.

The only person he wanted to be there was Hancock. Everything else was icing.]

I draw the line at inviting the mirelurks and cultists to the wedding, but I'd bet we could have it in Acadia without anyone getting up in arms.

[He doesn't mind the Not-Flailing Nick is doing; the variation in strength between them in the moment makes the ghoul feel like he's hauling a beloved but ultimately harmless pet into the bath. A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest at the fond comparative; heh, kinky. Firefly's impulsivity is showing here; he doesn't demurely ask Nick to join him, he just grabs him and pulls the ~~tasty~~ tempting human heartthrob into his lap. He figured if his radiation doesn't hurt Nick, he should also be safe enough from being burned by the water, by proxy.

Ergo, grabby ghoul. ]

Ssshhh, I gocha [ the rose-red velvet from which he cuts that purr is sullied suggestively, much like their poor (digital) living-room rug. His hands wander no where especially lurid, but there's a lurking hunger in the light and heat he throws, something possessive and forever-wanton about the way he holds Nick around the ribs and crowds into him. ]

S'alright love, we're talkin' about it ain't we? Perfect time to get the ball rollin together

[ Blondie is all sunny afterglow, smiling half crooked at Nick every other moment, when he's not splashing water on his face. Ah, human skin cleans off so easy. After a few repeated cleanly splashes, the blonde abruptly cups his hands on the surface of the water, and uses some strange trick of suction between his palms to launch a thin ribbon of water right at Nick's nose. ]

No Mirelurks and no Cultists, got it. Seems fair. Acadia sounds like a decent choice, probably one of the safest places on the island to boot. Otherwise we gotta plan for... what, threads? Considering the location, I'm thinkin' the food's gunna be buffet seafood

[ He continues on easily, as though he didn't just squirt Nick between the eyes. What? He's being helpful, right? His smile tweaks just towards impish. ]

[Nick's never been shot in the face with a water pistol, miraculously, so he's a bit slow on the uptake as Hancock nails him between the eyes while casually discussing their reception details. If Nick hadn't just seen it happen, he'd think he was mistaken--but that impish twitch to his lopsided, sunny smile is all too familiar.]

A wise guy, huh?

[Nick's a guy who loves a good plan, details are his bread and butter, and Hancock knows that full well. Fortunately, he's got a bad influence of a fiancee egging him on to relax and have more fun so, for once, he shelves the important conversation and opts for playful and (admittedly) reckless.

Nick the former wasn't a water park sort of guy but, lucky for Nick the current, Jenny was. Nick has a whole wealth of memories about getting sneakily splashed during every pool party he every wallflowered at. One of her favorites was a fancy little one-handed trick, she'd line her fist up to the surface, squeeze it, and hit Nick in the hat with a little bolt of water. Her innocent face was far worse than Hancock's.

Nick mimes the maneuver, casual as anything, and to his complete shock it actually works. He squirts the blonde menace in front of him with a bolt of water like he'd been doing it sll his life. His aim isn't quite as refined as Hancock's, he catches him on the side of the head, but it's close enough for government work.]

Hey! [His grin blooms beneath the small streak of water that playfully splashes the side of his unmarred face.]

Who, me? Think you're confused there Slick, I'm the well behaved one

[ The warm water and rejuvenating company seem to be steadily dissolving Blondie's fatigue, bit by bit. His expression is still mildly dazed, but there's a telling, utterly feral glint in his moss-agate eyes as he suddenly sits up, possessed by a (maybe wicked) whim that has him drifting forward towards Nick and his alternate. ]

And along those lines, think I got another Non-wedding question for ya...

[ Nick can no longer watch that promising prowling when powerful emerald hands grasp at his hips and begin the steady motions to twist his lover around in his lap. While the youngest aspect drawls, the eldest deliberately flips Nick around, so he and the Glowing ghoul are set chest-to chest. ]

Pretty sure we each got preference for the Classic models-- Ghoul Me, Synth You. But if you were gunna double me, and it had to be either me--

--or me--

[ Nick doesn't have to guess where his human partner is for long-- suddenly Hancock's slighter aspect is draped across Nick's back, sparring a moment to affectionately kiss the red ruddy rivets left (that he left) down the slope of Nick's shoulder blades. ]

Who's it gunna be?

[For a hot second there, Nick's not exactly sure what's being asked.

Staring up at Firefly while Blondie moves behind him is a shift, as is having to straddle the larger ghoul's lap instead of simply sitting in it. Nick's not opposed, mind you, he wouldn't have built the suite if he wasn't all in on the concept. He doesn't speak ghoul though, so he's worried he's missed something before he figures out the question. When he does, the look he gives Firefly is one of his own face's classics--cocked brow and a stare that asks: did you hit your head or something?]

You lost me there, John.

[Nick knows that both of these are Hancock, just with a split screen between them.

Picking one or the other doesn't represent anything apart from aesthetics. His fantasies about this weren't really about Hancock's Id looming or the uncanny young man with the moss colored eyes. Neither of those aspects hurt the fantasy, of course, but they're not the point--]

Guess I wasn't clear when I conjured up this whole scenario, huh? I-uh, I built this all so I could have two of you.

[He may be talking to Firefly, looking sheepish about it, but he's really talking to the ghoul he's in the pod with. He understands what's being asked, sure, but picking an aesthetic matters a lot less than who he's here with.

If that's not an easy read, Nick adds:]

You want to double up either of these guys, it's fine by me, so long as you're the one doing it.

[ The question of aesthetics is actually exactly what the ghoul is getting at, frivolous as it is. ]

I feel ya, but I'm talking more 'Two of You. One of Me', here. You're not the only one who likes being spoiled, ya know. Figured you wouldn't mind giving me a go

[ Hearing Nick say he wants two of him (all of him) does things to Hancock's nerves, makes him tingle beneath his skin, draws him up and alive like a seed splitting and crawling up out of the dirt towards the sun. From behind it's Blondie murmuring against Nick's ear, mindful of that tricky language barrier that can only be vaulted with Nick's closed eyes. ]

This is a Future Hypothetical, mind ya. Didn't mean to imply we were done with ya or anythin'. I'm just curious what kinda Top this Human Flavor of ya is. Given the strict choice, ya wanna bust down a beast, or blonde pretty boy?

Cuz I'm both, so I ain't gunna be insulted by the choice

[ As though to drive the point, that salacious murmuring is punctuated by Firefly leaning forward and affectionately bumping his forehead against Nick's, while the younger aspect loops his arms around Nick's ribs, effectively sandwiching his paramour between the two aspects of himself. ]

Speak for yourself. I might be a little insulted. I'm the real pleasure glutton, outta me and you, kid.

[ It's a joke, the soft pronounced growls poured through a smirk as Firefly's gaze skates over his love's shoulder toward his youngest counterpart.]

[The correction slams into Nick like a truck and, despite their current focus, manages to hang Nick's systems as he processes that question. He's so deep into processing that he misses the follow-up statements and question entirely. A system lock looks really strange on a human face and even Firefly's rare act of delicacy doesn't quite stir him.

He hangs for longer than is alotted, in fact, and trips a separate code in their little VR getaway. The terminal outside the pods takes a moment or two to compile and, inside, the TrDelay manifests as the (until this point entirely unused) alarm clock on their bedside table going off. It starts blaring and Nick comes back to himself with a start.

All in all, the protocol takes about milisecond to run in real world time. In their perception, Nick goes from zoned out to disoriented after about thirty seconds.

He blinks and stares at Firefly, forehead pressed to his, and shivers a bit at the cooler embrace of Blondie behind. His smile is dopey and besotted, even as he complains:]

Give a guy a warning before springing an idea like that--gonna give me a heart attack.

[And to be fair, his heart is racing in the simulation, caught up on the high of the idea of a reversed scenario. Nick laughs, and it's a decent echo of his dry chuckle--a bit more full bodied, a bit less rasp. He'd designed that TrDelay in case he locked Hancock up in the synth perception version of this simulation. Turns out, it was a quality safeguard all around.

Nick's tempted to give the thought its fair consideration but figures he better table it until they're not in the pod. Crashing the suite would be a damned shame. He offers up a sassy reply instead but that threatens to lock him up all the same and his current heart skips a beat.]

Can't we do it twice?

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