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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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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*
Especially when Nick's tremors relapse and his voice spikes into a second jagged crescendo; when the pressure around their constricted dicks wrings tight and claws a few more mewling shocks of bliss out of them. Bonus points, and he wasn't even trying! Good to know that's something he can aim for, whenever they endeavor to hop into the VR suite together. If he's not trying to top his own high score, what's even the point of videogames?
A pair of panting prideful chuckles prowl around either side of Nick's skull; obviously, his complaints are dearly appreciated. It's easier for Firefly to melt against the edge of the tub, but the youngest aspect has to do a bit of shuffling before imminent collapse; his hiss wavers into a groan as (with a little lifting of Nick's knees, accommodated by his stronger self) he pulls free from the skin-tight sleeve of Nick's insides and crumples like crushed origami next to his fiancé and himself. ]
See, I know I did a good job when ya pull out the first name. Only sounds good when you're the one sayin' it, know that?
[ He's vaguely aware they they should change the water now. Firefly lazily stretches a foot through the water, toes groping blind for the plug; the reach is not happening, but a half-assed attempt is being made, sluggishly jostling Nick inside his lap. ]
Hold on, you're not tryin' to make a softie outta me, are ya? -Couldn't- have that...
[ All clumsy half-drunk affection, Firefly sways forward and kisses the raw ruddy bite he'd left on Nick's shoulder. ]
Tch... you want him muzzled next time, just say so
LMAO it happens to the best of us.
Who's to say I won't be doing the muzzling? [It's only half sensical. Nick's brainfried attempt at sass. A few seconds later he just chuckles and lets his head fall against one or the other of them, he's not sure anymore and his eyes are heavy as hell. It's far easier to just close them.]
I can't wait to see if the synth program works.
[And that sounds much more like a threat than the actual attempt at one. Still, his face is dreamily happy, if exhausted. Hancock has all of Nick's sympathies for his own sluggishness after they dance. Nick's running on nothing. It's going to be jarring as hell to be back in himself and the thought tinges his overwhelming afterglow with something a little darker than a smarting shoulder.]
Hey--uh, you mind being...just you for a while?
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His thoughts sluggishly bounce about teasing Nick over his first and failed attempt in the bathtub to rein Firefly by his own chains-- and then reel onto a new canvas to start imagining all the possibilities of porting himself into Nick's synth senses--
But the third thing Nick says wins topmost priority and he endeavors to address that first. ]
Yeah, sure-- a Decent While, even. Ain't like your askin for somethin that don't come natural to me
Yeah, yeah, brother's startin' to miss the Good Looks anyway... So how do we...?
[ Grand ghoulish arms close around Nick (where did the chains go? Cognitive Magic-- it's a thing) and effortlessly detangle them. A sage silk hiss leaves it at the moment their bodies disconnect and a blonde brow twitches in quiet betrayal that they are still feeling everything at once.
Neither of them get to finish the question, because the soft neon lines of mood-light etched into walls glow a little brighter around the bathroom mirror. ]
Huh... Intuitive
[ Since this much is familiar to him, it takes a mere moment for (the pair of) him to hop out of the tub, tap the glass (together) and scroll to the appropriate reflection. It doesn't even feel too bizarre to be pieced back together in one stream of consciousness-- though for a second, his mind keeps looking for other 'comic panels' that don't exist. His vision blurs for a heartbeat and it feels fiercely proper when his own hands lift to scrub at his eyes. Not smooth and human, not green and radiant, just his (declared) original mint, gloriously ghoulishly himself. ]
...Aw hell, weren't we supposed to be hashing out wedding details? What'd ya let me go and distract ya like that for? [ Black eyes glittering, grin all fondness and adoring mischief. ]
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He looks like absolute hell, but he's still got that lopsided half-smile on.
Hancock chides him for derailing wedding planning and Nick can't help but bark out a laugh. Then a grimace--because, oof, turns out being sore makes laughing into a real pain.]
Always knew I was a bad influence.
[Finally, Nick drags himself up out of the bathtub. He hadn't noticed, not until taking a step onto the tile, that his feet were all pruned up. It's weirdly novel and, when he pulls up the command prompt for fix_sexmess.exe, he omits that shining detail along with all the glorious aches, pains, and bite-marks.
Now that he's dry and largely clean, Nick ambles over to the mirror and drapes his arms over Hancock's shoulders. He's rarely this forward, or touchy, but it's a good look on the human him.]
Got one more thing I'd like to do first, if you're interested?
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And dear-damn does Nick's laugh ever sound hot all banged up with the typical aches of flesh biology. It's a stark contrast to how the synth always boots up so peppy-- and what will that feel like, exactly, when Hancock tries it himself? ]
Repressed guys are always Freaks in the Sheets, like a law of the universe or somethin'
[ Hancock agrees conversationally, feeling the odd alchemy of himself flow back together along every natural confliction; hazy-happy, sated-sleepy, and hazardous-hunger, roused by the barest whiff of a meal. A beast with no physical capacity for true satisfaction. But cleaved between exactly these two creatures is where John Hancock makes himself home. ]
For you? Might need a hit or a shot and five minutes, but yeah. There an itch I ain't scratched for ya yet, Sunshine? [ He briefly runs through his thoughts for appropriate organic enjoyments. ] You wanna massage? A hot drink? How 'bout splittin'a spliff?
[ He all but melts into the presence of his paramour behind him; his heads rests on Nick's shoulder and his grin goes merry and besotted, even with his eyes closed. ]
I'm all ears... sans ears actually, but you get my drift
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Which is why he's got just one more request before they log out.]
Sleep with me?
[It sounds so ridiculous considering how fucked out he looks, but he means it. This is just about the only place where he'll get to fall asleep with Hancock. He'd like to try it once.]
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[ He's going to blame that pun on all the endorphins-- and he's superficially disappointed in himself for not thinking of as much first. As far as pleasant organic experiences go, sleep is a damn good one. Especially when it's going to be in their bed, something Nick has technically never done before. Makes sense why Nick wouldn't offer to slip on his original skin if he wants to try something it technically can't do.
He twists and twines his bare arms around either side of Nick's ribs, giving him a brief but bear-like squeeze before detangling himself just as quick, grasp retrieved all but for Hancock's fingers around his fiancé's wrist. ]
Come on then, spoilin' me over here. Gettin' pillow talk with actual pillows. Sky's the limit with you huh, Slick? Ain't nothin' my man can't do
[ Is he laying it on kind of thick? But does Nick also deserve that and the moon? Yes and hell to the yes. It's mostly muscle memory that takes them around the few short corners to the bedroom, and the feeling is not unlike an uncanny lucid dream. ]
I'll even let ya have the better pillow, since this is your first time an' all
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Nick's small smile becomes a bright grin with his amusement before they've even left the bathroom.]
There's a better pillow?
[Nick had no idea. That's probably not a detail he managed to capture, but hopefully he cloned the good pillow and not one of the less than.
It's still chilly in the rest of the apartment, the A/C left running in the background. When they get to the bed, Hancock still leading him while mostly walking backwards, Nick's exhaustion is really seeping in. He hadn't considered wearing anything to bed and, frankly, he's not going to start now. The only thing he does really want to try is something Hancock rarely bothers with--when they hit the bedside, Nick bends to pull back the duvet and the topsheet first.
If he only gets to snuggle like a human in here, he's going to pull that whole downy blanket around them like a cocoon.]
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[ of course Hancock would burn his favorite pillow-- nothing he puts his hands on stays mint condition for long. Do details outside of Nick's perception get logged? Did Snow input some perception on the fly? And what exactly can their handy AI butler sense, come to think of it? Hancock does not have enough brain power to tackle the issue right now, especially since he's mostly concerned with popping Nick's nap cherry (and making sure, if it exists, that he gets the superior pillow).
A small shiver runs through him along the short trek to the bedroom; he's not nearly as warm as his most carnal self, but he's not so soft-skinned as his human print, either. The cold lingers on the outside of his tough hide, enough that he's glad for Nick's foresight to sweep back the duvet. ]
Hey, good thinkin'
[ He crows in breezy agreement, seeming to stand just as tall as usual, sans his boots; this isn't a trick of Firefly's, it's all comfortable bravado and lived in allure; a man perfectly in his element, ready to gorge another feast for his sins, even though sloth is typically the least spoiled. Everything is better when he gets to share it with Nick, they are gunna slay and bury this nap.
Hancock crawls onto the sheets (though they do feel a little flat without the cushy duvet underneath) and inspects the pillows-- both of which feature small circular burns on the left bottom corner. So they're both the best pillow? How does that track? Whatever-- he gives them each a decent friendly thwack, getting them nice and fluffed. ]
You feelin for first spoon or second? Or is that little fiddle or big one? Fuckin hell, think I'm too spent keep my euphemisms straight...
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