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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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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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What, and give up looking at your handsome mug?
[He's not even being the slightest bit sarcastic. He pulls Hancock in chest to chest, wrapping an arm around his waist and carding their legs together. It's an absolute clinging mess, a jumble of limbs, but Nick couldn't be happier with it, especially once they're both sharing the good pillow(s).
But damned if laying down doesn't immediately hit him hard. There's just something about being horizontal with a pillow under your head that makes a guy groggy as hell. Still, it feels like all the little aches and pains, the soreness and the bite marks, are all soothed away by the warming sheets or being cuddled close to his fiancee.]
Oh--gotta say, this is already looking like a good choice.
[Sleep, he means. But also this whole VR adventure.]
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[ Size differences are fun to entertain in the VR realm, but the way they fit together, while closer in stature, is no small pleasure either. Hancock is exceptionally pleased to be wrapped up in every limb Nick has available. One of his arms snakes between Nick's ribs and the sheets while his knees lock into the affectionate entanglement, clinging with wavering strength.
At first he tucks his head underneath Nick's jaw to be an imp-- no sights of gorgeous ghoulishness for you, Nick!-- but a curious sound catches his attention and causes him to shift, sinking half an inch and pressing his Not-an-ear to the middle of Nick's chest. After a second, Hancock's fingers start tapping the steady thrum of Nick's heartbeat against his chest. ]
What can I say? My faience's a damn genius, I got it too good. Almost, almost makes me feel bad for derailing the wedding planning. Quick, decide somethin' before we nod off-- sushi, or a seafood boil?
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[Nick answers, deftly avoiding the question by closing his eyes and heaving a comfortable sigh. To prove just how much he's sleeping, Nick moves an arm to hold his head against his chest. Obviously only a sleeping person would pin their fiancee in an awkward position with the blankets pulled up to his nonexistant ears.
Honestly, though, Nick's unbelievably happy that this worked,and that he got to experience it all with Hancock. Hell, even if it hadn't worked, just the second half would have been enough to content him. With genuine sleep in his voice, Nick adds a mumbled:]
Love you.