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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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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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The crown of Firefly's cock catches against his well fucked hole on the next press. Thanks to Nick's aggressively realistic programming, the pressure stretches him and the remnants of Firefly's spend leaks out, dripping messily along his glowing length. He doesn't need to relax this time which is useful as he doesn't get the chance. Firefly sinks into him, burying himself to the hilt, slicked by his own spend. Nick's head falls back against his chest and he groans as the ghoul makes green light bloom behind his eyelids.
The first withdrawal is punctuated with the click of photographs. The next thrust in is hard enough to rattle his teeth, hard enough that Nick yelps at the sudden, bruising grip holding him in place for it. His hold on the lead twists and Nick exhales a sharp curse as Firefly (presumably) gets ready to ruin his ability to think.]
Watch it--not made of metal at the moment, sweetheart.
[To Nick's hazy, arousal-clouded shock, the collar around Firefly's neck tightens and the chain between him and the length binding Nick pulls taut. It doesn't make a damn lick of sense to Nick, how that all works, but he'll take it.]
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The sentiment lends hungry zeal to the buck of his hips and the black velvet of his purring growl, poured against the side of Nick's neck as he lances his insides. ]
Heh... Proper command's 'Heel', but I think you got it
[ Super Ego waves another photo back and forth in the air (as though to help it 'develop') but it's all theatrical flair. He's got a small stack now, piled up by the counter's corner. A quick glance (or a search through the image registry) will show varied shots; some photos feature a full view of Nick and Firefly, while others are unabashed close ups. That green glowing tongue sliding up Nick's neck, the chains strung across his singular nipple piercing, or Firefly's girthy dick disappearing into the seal of Nick's hole beneath his balls. ]
Come on Shutterbug, this'll be better if we work together...
[ That throaty, wanton growling is actually directed to Blondie, despite the fact that it's poured against Nick's ear and followed by the flat humid stroke of his tongue. He swallows and hums in heady enjoyment, biting the shell of Nick's ear with another short sharp thrust. ]
Tch... Think he likes when you pull the lead
[ There's no camera to put away, which is extremely convenient. It means John can surge forward with all the animal ferocity that compels him, revel in the impossible way thier human bodies fit together (chest to chest) and the way they both fit inside the circle of Firefly's large lap. They adopt that impossible synchronicity again, Blondie trapping Nick in a demanding kiss while the ghoul finally abandons his hold on the leash, because he needs both hands to arrange Nick's knees over the slighter human's shoulders. ]
So, Slick--
--ready for more?
[ If the question doesn't paint a clear enough picture, the second prick pressing not quite needily against Nick's stretched and stuffed hole, should. Blondie is facing Nick and the semi-drunken sway forward is meant to bump his forehead against his fiancés. He misses, just off the mark, and the not-quite-brothers end up forehead to forehead, almost nose-to nose, drinking down the same hissing breath as they both press in. ]
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Green, phantom words dance behind his eyelids and Nick does his damndest to focus up and keep an eye on Blondie. The moments do seem to bleed together, though, so the teen goes from waving a photo like a polaroid to being mere millimeters away, green eyes eclipsing all of Nick's vision, mouth devouring him as Nick tries to return the favor.
Firefly feels like Hancock--every ridged stretch of skin, the brutality in his thrusts, the indulgent drag of his tongue--but Blondie tastes like him. Nick's appreciation for lips in general varies, but the hot bruising press of Blondie's has him reeling, struggling for breath between thrusts that knock it right back out of him. He's lightheaded, overwhelmed, and so happy he can't really quantify it.
He barely registers that dual question, or his knees over Blondie's shoulders, before there's the press of second cock against the taut muscles of his entrance. Firefly feels impossibly huge, filling every last bit of space whenever he drives in--Blondie--Nick has no idea how he's going to--
Firefly draws back and there's a beautifully painful stretch and, suddenly, Nick's lost the ability to be coherent. The only sensation he can follow is the impossible stretch, the tight press of two cocks inside him, and the way they both feel like they're hitting the back of his throat. Together there's nothing they don't hit--Firefly forced Blondie's cock forward, pummeling his brand new prostate--Blondie's cock drags against that patch of sensitive skin with each movement--and when Firefly bottoms out, Nick sees stars every time.
Nick goes from punched out silence, to mouth agape and gasping, to noisier than a discount whore. Most of it is gutteral moans and groaning, but a good slew is just repeating his fiancee's name like he's praying to aa particularly capricious god. The sensations they wring from him are boggling and overwhelming. Everything aches or burns, to the point where pain and pleasure have blurred and his human senses feel like his sensor net. He keeps hold of the lead only because he knows that if he drops it, it'll read as a request to pause the proceedings and Nick is already hopelessly addicted to the sensation.
The chains around him trap his arms at his sides--honestly, Nick forgets he has arms. Given how they're both scrambling his temporarily human brain, that's not terribly shocking. In fact the only part of him not pressed hard against or around one of them is his dick--that bit is rock hard and aching, leaking fluid and making a mess of him and Blondie. He's come untouched once tonight, he has no doubt he'll do it again--you know, assuming they don't accidentally kill first.]
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He--they synchronize and diverge in focus, like water droplets joining and separating over and over as they skate down a pane. After a few ragged seconds Blondie's forehead slides off Firefly's, his face resting flush against the ghoul's collar, and then further down against Nick's. It bends the poor speared human almost entirely in half, with his legs so splayed and puttied over the youth's faintly trembling shoulders.
It takes focus and finesse to keep the exact position and pace that makes this work, but somehow Hancock manages, through the miasma of impossible, unfamiliar feelings. The realism of their homey bathroom sits in stark contrast to the composure of their debauchery. None of this is actually possible in the real world-- it's only possible through Nick's brilliant programing. Even with a third party involved, Hancock couldn't feel himself while feeling back in turn, all whilst lancing into Nick's hot human flesh. The sensations are doubled back on his cleaved senses, comic-panels melting together, linework overlayed, colors bleeding.
And it all gets better with the sounds Nick is making. ]
That's it pretty boy...
Sing for me... for -us-
Take is -all- in...
Let it all out
[ Nick gets treated to stereo-sound, Firefly growling in one ear while Blondie groans into the other as they swap back and forth who's speaking. They change their rhythm too, now that Nick's muscles are complying to the unreasonable invasion. Firefly draws back while Blondie bucks forward, then vice-versa, and back again. It creates a gritty, unrelenting friction between the two aspects of Hancock as they switch off who drives inward and who recedes, leaving Nick not a moment of reprieve from the demanding stretch of being brutally fucked.
But hearing their name-- his name is enough to unite the opposing aspects once more; their opposing thrusts melt together again, powerful leathered hands biting at Nick's hips and hauling him down. The vicious tempo is suddenly paused when he's-- when they're both buried to the hilt. Firefly even lifts a leg from the water and twines it, easy as can be, around the small of his brother's back. The ghoul's groan is savoring and sinful, the blonde's surprised and unbidden as he's hauled forward in the water, and locked in place by the strongest present player. ]
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With his eyes crushed shut, he can see Firefly's curling subtitles like foglights through the haze in his head. They pair nicely with Blondie's voice just alongside his ear. They trade off sentences and then trade off who is buried in him . They never quite pull out, but the perpetual sensation of being filled has got Nick babbling nonsense.
Then he gets the lightshow--the coup de grace--both of them bury themselves in one brutal thrust that steals all of Nick's air. Firefly adjusts them and somehow drives himself deeper, and Nick forgets that breathing was ever something he'd done. The lightheadedness settles over him as he gapes for air--
Nick had been mulling over doing a body mod of this sort, and while this whole activity isn't exactly one for one to what the real world has to offer, this is making a damn good case for it. Nick sucks down a breath as he struggles to hold both of them inside--even fucked as loose and open as he has been, there aare limits to the (simulated) human body and they're right up against them. It's all he can do to let out a punched out moan--he's so very, very close--]
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They are-- he is dangling right on the cliff's edge, holding onto the edge with tooth and nail. It's worth it, every stollen second, every inch further he can push (can stretch) this limit. Part of him wants to keep going, part of him knows they can't, all of him wants to ride the same rail-cart with Nick off the damn tracks. The sheer impossibility is what makes everything so special, so insanely addictive, keeps his chasing the finish-line and stalling at the tape. While Hancock is sure they could play a tune close to this one, in the flesh and bolts, they've once again managed to create something so uniquely special to them. It's a jolt of romantic bliss among all this carnal felicity, and it's Blondie who sits back just enough to try and catch Nick's gaze. ]
H-hey... look at me
[ That last tremulant moan has Blondie wetting his lips and Firefly struggling not to heedlessly rut where there is not an inch more space to move. Soft peach fingers skate down Nick's jawline; an equally satiny touch draped down with dulcet devotion around the tip of his cock and south down his shaft. The singular steady stroke meets Nick's hilt and suddenly both aspects are quivering from their bones.
They both roar Nick's name across the pulsating shocks riddled through the riptide; Firefly's voice is brutishly muffled as his teeth find his favorite place to bite, along the tough crest of Nick's shoulder. They didn't need to move to go crashing into climax, they just had to feel their paramour pulsate around them as he did.
The bath really is the perfect place for such a glorious mess; the payout of Hancock's bliss is never lacking but here and now it's utterly obscene. ]
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Blondie pulls his attention, moss eyes and damp hair soaking in the light from the fancy neon trim of their apartment. Nick tries so hard to look at him, to obey as requested, but between his slack mouth and half-lidded eyes, it's clear he's tripping through a haze. He doesn't really have a concept of "overstimulated" but if he did, he'd be in the thick of it.
Fingertips ghost across his jaw and Nick's amazed he can feel that, apart and whole, separate from everything else. They fall away and, once again, Hancock amazes him. It takes one stroke, or rather that is all Nick can take. He curls foward, straining the fictitious chain Firefly's got him tangled in, broken cry dropping from his mouth in place of words, and he's done.
Nick siezes up around them with the force of his climax, locking up as he would in all his robotic natural glory. He doesn't go limp though, but jerks and trembles as he spends himself against Blondie's hand, the chain, god knows what else--they call his name, pin explodes across his shoulder and dances, sparkling and brutal beneath the consuming rush of pleasure. Before he can breathe, they've tipped him again--his cry this time is choked, but the way his body strains and pulses around them is very clear.
Nick--he had no idea humans could do that--and there's only a distant recognition of that sudden second wave as he rides the endorphin high and slumps aginst them both. He's breathing like he just ran marathon, limp s a boned fish, and the first thing he does is rock his head back nd to the side, pressing it up against Firefly's neck. When Nick catches his breath, and remembers how to think again, the first word out of his mouth is like a prayer.]
John--fuck--you--you tryin to kill me? [Nick can't quite pick his head up yet, but his wry smile spreads across his otherwise exhausted face. He has no idea how this memory will render outside of VR, but he fully plans on recalling it at will.] There's easier ways.
HOW DID THIS TAG ESCAPE ME WTF */ROLLS*
LMAO it happens to the best of us.
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