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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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tastytempting 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. ]
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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.]
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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?
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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.
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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.]
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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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He doesn't expect the alarm though, and it causes both Blondie and Firefly to give a little jolt. Hematite and malachite eyes both leer off in the direction of the doorway, as if their mild displeasure should be enough to silence the nagging sound. ]
What can I say? Love watchin ya tick
[ There's no small amount of impish pride in Blondie's voice as he drifts further forward; he doesn't exactly mean to end up sharing Firefly's lap with Nick, but somewhere after crowding the ghoul's knees to press up against his paramour, the glowing one spares a quick grab to settle his brother on his broad lap, just behind Nick. It's a tight squeeze, but it could certainly be tighter.
Nick's answer draws a chuckle from his partner in synchronized stereo; both aspects seem to savor the sentiment of indecision, flattered equally by Nick's loyalty to All of Him. ]
Yeah, 'course. Think we're gunna end up wearin' in the seats of our Memory Pods, playin' in this fancy suite. Figured we'd all get a go bein' generously railed eventually... You, and me, and you and me... Gotta be more than twice, Sunshine.
The choice ain't mutually exclusive. But what if it was? Who are ya benching? Me, or him?
[It's a far less dire twist on the question that's been asked before-- and even back then, Nick offered up a piece of himself as opposed to sending any part of Hancock back to the chopping block. This isn't like that-- this is for fun, for making Nick squirm a little in his lap, for making him sweat through his fatigue so Hancock can savor his all too flattering unease.]
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Blondie.
[It's delivered before any squirming unease can set in, but that doesn't mean Nick gets off scott free. The unease hits him right after he says it, once ViMA unlocks the throttle--Nick seems surprised by his answer, himself, because he is. He can trace the logic back in his logs and ViMA's reasoning is actually absurdly simple:
Firefly looks more like Hancock.
It's a gross oversimplification of the situation, naturally. It has to be or they'll be here all day locking Nick up for the sake of a teasing game. But it makes his heart ache, metaphorically and literally, to have picked at all. It's not often that ViMA and Joy disagree, or that Joy takes such firm control of his preferences, and the cognitive split between them actually hurts.
He turns his head to try and catch Blondie's face, to say something funny, or disarming, or something.
On his real face, this whole internal ordeal would be played out as an apologetic grimace and that would be that, but Nick's programmed this suite to give him the full Human(TM) experience. When his vision blurs, he assumes it's a dropped frame or two, some errant process playing catch up and eating into his RAM. It's not. The distortion intensifies and then, abruptly, it drips away. They're in the bath but still Nick is confused by the water suddenly trailing down his face.]
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The choice makes sense to him, to both of them, for the same simple reason that ViMA used; Firefly is most familiar; Hancock had even glowed for a while there in Far Harbor. He's more real to Nick than Blondie is, and really, the both of them also heavily prefer the ghoul skin he wears in reality to existing as (even a pretty blond) human. It's not even a contest. It was supposed to be a purely playful question, and he didn't expect the answer to be so... gratifying? No... to be such a relief? That's still not right...
But as of right now, Nick has no idea that Hancock gave himself the Ghoulish makeover. He can't possibly be accepting of a truth he's blind to... but it's close, and it has a soft twin smile curling either aspect's mouth as poor Nick tumbles into a spell of anxious regret.
There was no right answer, but apparently, that was it. ]
Hey now, everything's cool. Guess I was bustin' your chops a little too hard there, huh? S'alright Sunshine. No harm, no foul
[ It's only kindness and acceptance (and maybe just a speck of that unexpected relief) that compose the human's expression as Nick twists to try and see him. The smaller version shifts some, tucking his face against Nick's shoulder and squeezing around his ribs; whatever expression he'd been smothering is gone when he sits up again, reaching around (looking through Firefly's eyes) to use a softer, smaller hand to sweep away those unexpected tears. ]
Told ya already, figured we both got weaknesses for the Classics. Ghoul me, Synth You. Ain't no shame in that. In real time, I can pull off Ghoul Daddy way better than Twink Blondie anyway. I got nothin to hold against ya here, feel me?
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Think, uh, we might've broken my face.
[Nick offers up wryly. He's out of breath? He's breathing heavily. Does that come with crying? He's never been able to do it before, he has no idea. Swiping at his eyes again stings. He glances up at the glowing ghoulish face of one of Hancock's avatars and grimaces.]
How long's this usually last? Give or take? Once you get the waterworks going?
[It's data he should have, but he doesn't. Nick the former wasn't exactly a tearful guy, neither was Kellogg, and the rest of him is templates or spontneous synthetic generation. He's got no benchmark for this reaction or why his chest is tight and burning. It's alarming and the longer it goes, the worse he feels.
He starts a diagnostic for good measure even as he presses the heel of (what should be) his skeletal hand to his sternum.]
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Was that a cruel question to ask? Hancock didn't mean for it to be painful... but not even he realized how much he'd wanted (needed?) to hear that preference for his chosen face. Chosen. That's the thing-- Nick doesn't know that for sure, does he? Would that knowledge ease his regret, or worsen it? Hancock swallows the confession-- an odd feeling when the knowledge had been offered to others (like Evaris) without so much as batting an eye.
It's different, with Nick. Has it always been different? ]
Unexpected side effect of doubling myself; guess I like the taste of my own foot, huh?
[ as in, he did a good job sticking it right into his own mouth. Firefly offers a faintly somber-toned chuckle and they reach forward together, one radiant hand and the other unmarred, moving in tandem to carefully steal the tears off Nick's face. ]
Lasts as long as ya need it to, sorry I can't tell ya exactly how long. And... sorry for puttin' you on the spot, like that. Aw Nick, I never doubt ya love the man-- the ghoul I am. Gunna take some Hell or High Water to change my mind about that, now
[ Warm powerful arms lift from the water and wind around Nick's sides, firmly but gently inviting Nick to tuck himself against the glowing ghoul's chest, head beneath his chin. They usually don't fit together quite so perfectly like this, but Firefly's larger than life attitude serves him especially well in the VR suite. Despite the sudden shock of sadness, it feels good and right in his bones to be able to cradle his fiancé in just this way. ]
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I know--guess I'm just a crier? Who knew?
[His human face looks worse for the wear on this one but Hancock pulling him into an embrace like this is doing wonders for the tightness in his chest. He's got no idea what that's about, what any of it is, but a warm, larger than life embrace is super effective as a balm for it. The other avatar is right by his side that lopsided smile he's got on finally manages to get this body to stop weeping--well, Nick thinks. It's slowing down at least.
Nick's next rough chuckle sounds more like a cough and there's another new sensation he could do without.]
As parts of the organic experience go, can't say I'm fan of this one.
[The checksum comes back, at long last, and there aren't any problems. Nick's own diagnostic all reads green. This is, apparently, just part of him that he's got buried in there somewhere. Wild, but he figures he's probably due a few emotional outbursts after a century and change.]
Real question is, though--[Nick changes the topic. Sort of. He mostly just reverses it.]--You wanna get taken apart by this me? Original? Nick? You got options now.
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[ Nick's admission of distaste for this particular organic experience draws out a sparse, humorless puff of a chuckle from both Blondie and Firefly, and their voices together, at once, sound exactly like the real ghoul curled up unconscious with Nick, back in reality. ]
Yeah, it's not the greatest. I'll try for tears of joy or orgasmic bliss next time, deal? Probably have a better time that way
[ It's all adoring playfulness, tempered into softness by Hancock's heartfelt concern (and smothered guilt) for his husband to be. He would hold Nick like this for as long as he needed, for hours, until the VR saw fit to prune up their fingers, and longer after still. With Blondie's mental schematics fully active, it's easier for Firefly to lapse into pensive quiet, though his embrace around Nick remains fierce and protective as the moment he wrapped his paramour in his arms.
Nick's question earns a look of pleasant surprise from Blondie, and summons up a black velvet chuckle from deep in the glowing ghoul's chest. ]
Aw Hell, you sure you wanna get me started down that rabbit hole? What if I say 'all of ya at once?' So long as Jenny keeps Kellogg on a leash
[ He's mostly joking. Mostly. ]
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So ViMA's invited too?
[He's joking, mostly. The baseline synth isn't exactly sympatico with all this. Its curious and clingy and analytical...and Nick's not sure he can fully imagine how he'd create and work it without it just becoming a blank him. Abstraction is a weird thing.]
Eh, yeah, I can swing three at once. Maybe four if you change your mind on Kellogg.
[Operating four avatars simultaneously is probably the limit. He's never tried it but, in theory, he would be the person who could pull it off.]
I'll give it a try after some tinkering.
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Hey, I got no problem being the biggest buck in the room. Think ViMA needs a hug more than... anything else
[ Hands as warm as sunbaked concrete lift to drag his rough fingertips up and down Nick's (artificially) battered shoulder-blades; he finds the smooth, flushed skin between the tears from his own nails and traces that space, nonsense lines, letters, and shapes, hearts and diamonds and spades. Nick's next statement earns a smirk from Id and a dry snort from Super Ego, who shakes his head before somewhat a somewhat boneless motion has him dropping his cheek against his brother's broad shoulder. It's Blondie who mimes for Nick to close his eyes, so he'll be able to see the translation of his eldest voice. ]
Yeah, it ain't exactly -me- whose got a Thing for Kellogg, but damn close. You wanna let that hound off the leash -metaphorically, mind- you gotta talk to the Me whose probably indulging his taste for red meat. Maybe among a bunch'a Nicks I wouldn't mind so much...
But Var's possessive streak is messier than mine, just sayin.
You do that tinkering though, just in case. Firefly might'a made up his mind on the guest list already, but me...? Might actually be a different story. How the hell ya figure that works out?
[ Since Firefly and Blondie are the same damn dude, after all. ]
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Last time Vaultie was involved in a tryst evolved into a whole ordeal. It was also, coincidentally, the last time Nick let Kellogg off the chain.
Nick's whole memory of that encounter with Evaris is smudged, blended with the place where Kellogg took control. He recalls enjoying himself, Hancock enjoying himself, and the taste of blood. That's about where his dedicated memory taps out and he's left hanging.
Hancock wants to invite the Vaultie along? Nick doesn't have any particular complaints. The pods can certainly fit a third. The original situation got out of hand when Nick flipped about hurting Hancock. Here? That's not a concern he actually has--the simulated pain is all the same, but sans the direct consequences like exsanguination. Really, the longer he thinks, the more Nick's for it.]
I could go for checking in on Vaultie and company. Shoot him an invite and I'll calibrate the suite.
[Nick's eyes are still closed--it's kind of nice given how much ache crying actually causes--but he's very much present. He's also still not used to having a reactive dick because it does give away the thrust of his considering. He's not leaping straight to full mast, but the idea has merit.]
We got interrupted right at the good part last time. Might be nice to have a redux without all the...Far Harbor.
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Between Blondie and Firefly, between Hancock's human face and his ghoul form, there was a right choice, and Nick made it. He can still tell Nick, and he will... later. He doesn't want to shatter this delicate calm when it feels so good weaving it around them, tying together what he'd so clumsily fractured.
Now, is pulling Vaultie back into their affairs (aside of being a decent distraction in the moment) kind of risky and reckless? Maybe, but that's pretty much every Tuesday in The Wastelands anyway. You can't walk down the street or throw a rock without catching something reckless and risky. Hell, that's exactly the way John Hancock likes most things anyway. ]
Yeah, we can do that. Var's weird fixation on your newest aspect means we really could do an 'All Hands on Deck' type'a deal without anyone left out... [ Blondie's gaze slants sideways to his eldest brother, who shoots him an utterly feral grin. He almost looks like he'd suit a pair of fangs. ] ...so long as you're uh... extra sure everyone who needs a muzzle's got one locked on tight
[Firefly's hand sweeps around to cover Nick's eyes again. ]
You muzzle me and I promise you're gunna miss my mouth
Shaddup, you already do just fine on my leash, Firefly. My chains suit you just fine
[ 'Blondie Twink' he may be, but he still moves and breathes like a king when his hand weaves through the empty air, touches nothing, and then suddenly a glinting silver leash of chains. The links are lighter and smaller than the first time Nick witnessed this manifesting mental leash, but they're still no where near as delicate and demure as the Valutie's spider-strand mental bindings.
Firefly groans in overdrawn exasperation as the chain snakes up to a martingale collar manifesting around his neck, sunk back against the edge of the tub as he begins to grumble about there being no proper need for Super Ego to show off.
The forever-teen's attention is fixed only on Nick, a damn devilish glint in the Lost woods of his eyes. ]
Here, hold this for me a sec
[ He offers the looped leather handle to Nick, grinning like he's sure this Out The Ass Idea can't be as bad as the last one. ]
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You goin' somewhere?
[His question has that very Nick note of incredulous suspicion to it. His skeptical expression fits this face like glove and, with the comfort of this sort of exchange, Nick finally manages to push through the other side of whatever weird mood took hold of him. It'll take a few minutes for the tear tracks on his face to vanish, or for the roughness in his voice to dissipate, but they're firmly on the path out of this strange interlude.]
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--Hey!--
I thought you might enjoy having him on a leash
[ If Blondie was a whole person more than a mental construct, he might have said as much with the bitterness of being chosen to sit out, but there isn't a single sour trace in his voice. He is (as just one piece of the puzzle of Hancock) actually leaning into playfulness, the relief he's not quite ready to explain like sunbeams through a stale overcast. ]
Sure makes a pretty picture... actually--
[ The human aspect shifts in the water, leaning away just far enough that he can fit both Nick and Firefly between the not-quite-connected frame of his fingers and thumbs. ]
You guys wanna sit pretty for me?
Oh hell yeah--
[ Except now Firefly's grabbing the impossibly long, nonsense slack of his own lead and sending it with a flourishing throw to loop around Nick's shoulders. Think fast, Mr. Valentine. ]
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By the time that thought occurs to him, the glowing ghoul behind him has wrapped him up, coiling his shoulders and arms with the leash like an over-excited husky. Nick hadn't thought fast, he hadn't thought fast at all but, in all fairness, he had no idea tonight would end up with him wrapped in few meters of leash.]
Hey--[Nick scolds and twists to shoot a look at the glowing ghoul. He earns another coil around himself for the trouble.]--can't even sit still for a picture? Typical.
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It just might be fun to watch that happen.
(And maybe, just maybe, Blondie really wants to prove that Nothing is Wrong. Or worse, Unsaid.) ]
Think fast-- wait, too late, right?
[ The warning is so late that it's a delighted taunt instead, shaded so by the savoring glint off Blondie's grin. Prowling as he is, he suits a crown more than a pair of fangs. ]
Guess your stuck, Slick [ Nick's got the handle of the leash but Firefly slings the slack of that chain like an expert in rope tricks; Hancock would rather play Pirates than Cowboys but, Firefly in particular is skilled at wringing slack from this particular weave.
A skill he now uses to tighten the bindings around Nick's torso, and twist him into a new position, the human's back plastered snug against a wall of heated verdant flesh.
It's a perfect position to luridly lick along the back of Nick's new ear just as Blondie snaps a photo. ]
Look too fuckin' irresistible at my mercy, my Valentine. How 'bout ya open up your legs for me, so we can get your ink in the next shot?
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That last request, though, takes the cake.
He blusters a moment but they both know Nick has a thing for this particular flavor of degredation. He huffs and plays it off, but he still does as requested. They're perched on the edge of the tub, him drawn against Id, first because his face decided to go haywire about a joke, and now by a coil of chain. There's no way to show off that leg demurely, not with how they're seated, so when he complies it's definitely something.
Nick lifts that leg (with an entirely feigned air of begrudging resignation) but to spread it, he has to lift it over the edge of the sunken tub. It splays his legs apart wider than he'd like and his current reactive cock is certainly reacting.
He aims for waspish when he asks:]
Got a good angle?
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That grousing is certainly all for show, and Hancock could not appreciate it more; Nick's false indignity pulled across that telling flush on his face makes for a fantastic display, enough to strike up and stir the man's (the ghoul's) fathomless, feral apatite. ]
Need a helping hand?
[ There's a questioning lit to his pronounced growling as the ghoul rearranges his hold. One hand stays clamped on the wound slack of his own leash, pinning Nick in place. The second dips beneath the water and exactly follows the curve that is the cleft between his fiancé's butt cheeks. His beyond balmy touch is nothing resembling shy as he flattens his palm and pushes up, lifting his not-synth love another half-inch from the water as he unfurls his leg. ]
Good don't cut it, Slick... you're fuckin perfect. Like this. In the Steel and Silicone [ as opposed to 'in the flesh' ] Under me. Over me. When I'm awake. When I'm dreamin'...
[ He snaps the next photo quick, catches it and sets it aside with much less deliberate appreciation than the first; now his attention it fixed, helplessly magnetized to the mouth-watering display Nick (and himself) have so graciously spread out before him.
Blondie swallows, wets his lips. A certain pressing, solid warmth taps Firefly's hand where he's made it into an impromptu half-seat. He has no clue what a Vulcan salute is, so he can't make the comparison when his fingers split and spread Nick apart, so the all too eager stiffening crown of his dick can fill the stretched crevasse instead. ]
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The crown of Firefly's feverishly overheated cock grinds right against it as he rocks himself to hardness and Nick can only gasp and cuss at the unexpected bolt of toe-curling (literally--what the hell is he, a damsel in a romance novel?) pleasure that hits him. He arches back against Firefly and grips that leather lead handle like a lifeline.
Of course, he doesn't expect the ghoulish representation of Hancock's Id to resist temptation, so he's not surprised by the next, firmer grinding press. He isn't prepared for it, but at least it's not surprising.
The second pass has Nick getting embarassingly vocal and twisting in his metal bindings to try and get some leverage back. His own prick had gone from stirring at the mild foray into degredation to fully hard in record time but Nick, when he can actually think, is still just this side of able to feel shame--and boy, this is a doozy. His whole face is beet red and he's panting and he's still got a leg in the bathtub for fuck's sake.]
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Aw, your toes actually curlin' for me, gorgeous? I ain't even touched you proper, yet...
[ By which he means, of course, that he hasn't touched Nick's newly straining, sorely ignored sex just yet. Blondie's voice is all adoring praise and tender-yet-tenacious taunting, at once. The healthy human glow off Nick's face is all kinds of dangerously encouraging. The blonde teen clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leans forward (like a cobra, half-resiting a charmer) and runs the pad of a single smooth finger from the tip of Nick's cock to the hilt, and back again. ]
You sure we banged you good enough the first time? Looks like you're more than ready for an encore
[ Apparently when split just this way, it's easy for Hancock to compartmentalize his own unlacing; Blondie is slick and confident in his lording position, taking his sweet time to perfectly frame another photo...
But Firefly is panting like a winded wasteland dog, breath edged in the remnants of swallowed growls. Impatient and reckless, where Blondie is patient and measured, the glowing ghoul had been bucking for yield-- but this? Making Nick arch and curl his toes and groan like he can't think beyond the gravity of this feeling?
Worthy detour, for a hot humid moment, at least. ]
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HOW DID THIS TAG ESCAPE ME WTF */ROLLS*
LMAO it happens to the best of us.
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