robotdick | HUB 360

HUB 360

This merry little haunt wasn't familiar to Nick, but the address was correct, for what it was worth. There weren't many buildings with penthouses intact, but Hancock had told him to show up here, so here he was. Honestly, as he came up the stairs, Nick wasn't entirely certain what to expect.

Was it a stash house? No, Hancock and he had a tentative understanding about chems. Nick didn't comment and Hancock didn't do them right in front of him if he could help it. It was about the best the synth could hope for, and a fair improvement on their previous arrangement of: nothing.

Was it a new settlement? Bit of a stretch but Evaris did have ecclectic moods.

Maybe he...Nick came up blank. He didn't have a clue or a chance in hell of divining one, so he shouldn't waste the breath (figurative) trying to hash it out. He just stuffed his hands in his pockets, kept his revolver at the ready in case this locale wasn't secure yet, and trudged up more flights of stairs than he cared to count.

At the top he stepped out of the stairwell and through time. One second he was in the Commonwealth and the next he was standing on fine plush carpet in Boston, MA. This place was an absolute time warp, like walking into a photograph, and Nick was entirely thrown as he let the door behind him close and cautiously wandered in.

No turrets...so that was a start.

Cameras? Didn't spot one, didn't see any mics either but he was sure there were a few. This place had electricity and...was that hum an airconditioner?

"Where the hell am I?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Watching Hancock fish...what looks like a brand new pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket and pull one out is almos as surreal as the room they're in. He looks delighed, borderline smug and, given the shock of this penthouse, he's earned it. His sass is smoothly delivered and Nick can't help the slight tug at his lip.

And...place like this? All alone? There may as well be someone playing a baby grand in the corner for all the class in here. With all this, who is he to refuse?]

That so?

[He asks as he starts across the room. If his outfit weren't worn through like an old shoe, and if he weren't an even older amalgam of spare parts, he'd be fairly in keeping with their surroundings. Hancock stands out but Nick doubts that he'd have it any other way.

He stops in front of the ghoul and pulls a book of matches from his shirt pocket. The ease with which he breaks one off, one handed, and recloses the book is a testament to how much he smokes. It takes two hands to light it and, after striking it, he obligingly holds the flame up to the end of that pristine cigarette with its fancy gold filter.]

How's that going?

[ There's just something so smooth about an addict's thoughtless muscle memory. Hancock's just going to be silently pleased with himself for finding a note they can vibe on together, with this. Not like he also wouldn't gladly get smashed with the guy, if Nick could actually drink drinks. Hancock's nothing if not resourceful, and endlessly devoted to finding where he can bend ~~over~~ the rules. ]

Pending Review [ The amount of sheer Charisma he can inject into the objectively dull statement is quite staggering to behold. He could get away with a saucy wink, but he doesn't need to, his voice does all the heavy lifting. Then the Ghoul leans in to catch the match's flame and inhale, the pulled oxygen makes the fire jump and brighten. His unblinking eyes look like black mirrors.

He takes a long drag-- the smoke feels and tastes different, but it still burns, scratches the itch, and nicotine is not something his body is completely desensitized to, either.

Hancock lets the cigarette slide to one one side of his mouth and changes the press of his lips so he can exhale a neat stream of smoke angled to the ground. It's all muscle memory too; same steps, different music. ]

Thanks. Remind me to leave one'a my backup lighters in your coat some time. We keep catchin' each other with our asses out, eventually, someone's gunna end up sore [ In regards. To The. Not having a Lighter. Thing. Obviously. Why is Hancock like this? ]

[Nick's brow goes up as his smooth response. For a moment or two, it doesn't even register as sass, it feels like it fits in this penthouse, like Hancock is the original owner of the place. And here, a moment ago, Nick was just thinking he stood out against the swanky interior, like he clashed. Turns out he stands out for entirely separate reasons.

Hancock smokes that vintage cigarette like they were put there for him and Nick knows one of his fans is about to kick on. He clears his throat to cover the sound and then gestures to the ceiling vaguely.]

You going to give me a tour of the place, or do I have to summon Jeeves?

[ His Town, his Penthouse. That's Logic. Not that he's not willing to pass the deed to The Right Guy. But that's coming on a little strong, right? So yeah, he's stick to plain showing off for now.

Is he hearing a fan, or does he just want to? Hancock draws his own hand up slow, not a quite a sauntering motion, and takes the filter of the smoke between two fingers; this time when he exhales all of the smoke flows down over his mouth. ]

You wanna puff first? [ Not like his fingers are deliberately low on the filter, or anything.]

[That fan better stay just a quiet hum, but Nick doubts it will with Hancock so self-assured. The offer has Nick's eyes darting from Hancock's mouth to the cigarette in hand.

Objectively, Nick knows there's no reason for him to smoke. He does it as a fixation, an automatic movement that his limbs fall in to. That it humanizes him and makes him feel more whole is a byproduct. He doesn't feel a need to smoke like someone with real lungs might.

But he is also not about to turn down an offer like that.]

Sure.

[Nick, notably, does not make any move to take that cigarette with his hands and just returns his lamplight gaze back to Hancock's face.]

[ Aw, Nick. Those are just Typical Mechanics of Addiction. Organics just got actual lungs in the package, too. Maybe that's a point the Ghoul is making-- or rather, having a hell of a time with. Different, but the same.

Despite all the necrosis, Hanock's fingers are just as dexterous as his mouth. He still takes his time in turning the not-too-delicate cylinder around his fingers, pointing the smoldering cherry towards his own savoring smirk, and offering Nick the filter.

His hand dips forward, does %90 of the work, stops just shy of salvaging any real friction against Nick's mouth. ]

Lucky for you, I like the taste'a smoke

[They've done this a couple times since their trip to the soda fountain. This heavy, meaningful sort of flirting. Nick's a sucker for it, even if he might not look it in the moment, and Hancock is getting alarmingly good at it. There's nothing to say to that last line and Nick can't hide the sound of the second fan kicking on.

He makes no comment as he leans that last bare span and catches the cigarette. His lips glance over Hancock's fingers and that is an excellent little thrill to go along with the breath he draws.

Nick is in no hurry, but once he has a breath he stands back upright and resettles his hands in his pockets, looking all the world like the noir character he fancies himself to be. It's a second or two before Nick exhales and he does it in a thin, trickling stream that curls up to the ceiling. The fully in-tact, paneled ceiling.

A guy could get used to this--being pampered in a place like this. He nearly says so but thinks better of it--the weight of the pause is exactly the kind he likes.]

[ There's the fan. Hancock's a quick learner about things that win his fixation, and while he doesn't verbally tease Nick about it, he doesn't need to. The glint off his grin and tiny, reactive twitch of his fingers just against Nick's mouth paints up plenty a smug reaction.

He lets out a slow, sated breath. The way his own teeth chew his lip, thoughtful-like, as he watches Nick inhale seem to imply some heady recollections.

He doesn't quite say 'Good boy'.

Doesn't need to. ]

Don't you look cozy. Careful, I'll ya a taste for the High Life

[ He makes half a lazy gesture to the swanky surroundings, meanwhile stealing back his own cig and setting it at the corner of his mouth. He snickers at his own awful pun, shoulders slack, and looks up at Nick from under the brim of his hat. Enjoying, lounging in the height difference between them.]

You're the guest, aincha'? Tell me what ya wanna see first.

[The extra smugness, that little bit of self satisfaction, really completes the picture here. Nick's first instinct is to keep playing the game, the back and forth is so satisfying, and Hancock and smugness aren't exactly rare together. But...fundamentally, he's got a choice to make here. Either he has Hancock show him around, they banter back and forth through the other rooms, and he risks that they end up indisposed somewhere more utilitarian than this....or.]

Place like this has to have an impressive master. [Nick says and he manages to make it sound casual, like this is an every-day conversation between two associates. He can't quite keep up the facade after that sentence, though, not with Hancock staring up at him luxuriating in the moment, commanding the room.

It's a bit of a dance after that, as Nick gives in to the romanticism of this absurd, impossible place. Nick breaks eye contact first and reaches up to rest his skeletal hand against his neck, fingers curled around the back of it. If he had hair, he'd be playing at fixing it.] I'd--uh--love to see the bedroom.

[ What can he say? The Ghoul likes to give Nick Choices and watch his processor tick. He would be down for a slower burn, too-- trading riskier flirts while trekking through the rooms. Moving from a simmer to a boil.

But damn if it ain't gratifying when Nick Valentine takes the shorter route to the bedroom, no euphemism required. Nice to know he can get the guy's blood up so easy... especially without the actual blood part. ]

Sweet-talker [ He all but purrs the accusation, once again a panther personified. He lingers in their shared smoke a moment longer before rolling back-- but not without taking Nick's tie in a firm grasp along the way. ]

C'mon, bed's this way [ He pulls that tie like a leash, taking them both through the main area, through an open set of glass-and-metal doors, to the master bedroom. ]

Look, modern amenities n' shit

[ Getting a bit bolder now, he uses that unrelenting grip on Nick's tie to steer his back, not too rough, against the doorframe. ]

Whacha think? [ is his raspy goad. ]

[He isn't expecting the ghoul to take him by the tie and, at first, Nick takes a surprised, clumsy step after him. Once his shock has worn off, however, he follows where Hancock leads him. He'd like to think he's not an easy target but, honestly, he is. He takes a look at the bedroom, gorgeous space that it is, but has only a moment to take it in before Hancock is back and crowds him back against the doorframe.

Damn, but having a smug, bossy ghoul drag him around is just about the most impossibly alluring thing he's ever experienced. He cannot let Hancock know how well this is working so, valiantly, Nick tries to play it cool.]

Spacious. [One word answers are not conducive to Nick's desire to appear unaffected. Unfortunately the answer past that isn't as succinct or flirtatious.] Gotta admit, it feels like I'm tracking mud in just standing here.

[But that's not important. Their first date was in the worlds dustiest soda shop. He can track mud in, it's fine, it's absolutely not making Nick's fastidiousness go haywire. Fortunately, with Hancock right there, it's easy to focus on one thing and ignore the rest. Nick clears his throat again, something Hancock knows full well he doesn't need to do.]

Anything else you want to show off?

[He actually means rooms or fancy stuff about this place, but the double entendre is equally valid.]

[ Aw C'mon Nick, he's not gunna keep you pinned to the door the whole time. He'll get moments, probably, to take in the scenery. The one word thing can play aloof, even if that's not the vibe Hancock's getting. To be fair, he's smart enough now to keep an ear for those particular fans. ]

Anyone else trash this place and I'd make 'em foot the bill... not you, Slick Nick. Think I'd like to see the kinda mess you'd make

[ Really Synth-dude, you left the door wide open for that one. Hancock's not going to NOT take that invitation. He makes a show of twisting Nick's tie slowly around his fist, forcing the taller framed man to bend to meet him. ]

Yeah. Definitely the night stands. They're mini-fridges. [ Hancock usually rides the razor's edge between sarcasm and sincerity, but this statement veers firmly towards the prior. ] I can have a couple seconds first, right...?

[ Mocking-mischief softness because, he had spent this whole event playing King Pin so far. ]

[And if he's listening for those fans, boy, he can hear them. Both because they are certainly going and now Nick is bent down to eye level with him. He actually has to reach up and adjust his hat before he loses it. So much for his slick private eye veneer, now he just looks like a door to door vault interviewer.

Hancock does him a favor though and bucks the current trend, voice pitched low because they're so close, and the shift takes Nick right out of this surreal fantasy he's stumbled in to. It's for the best and because he'd rather be in room with Hancock than with Hancock in a Room, contrary and ridiculous as that sounded.]

For you? [I got all the time in the world.]

Whatever you need, I'm in no hurry to get anywhere.

[Nick, in that same pitched quiet tone.] Are they actually? Fridges that is? How the hell was this joint just sitting here with nobody the wiser?

[ Okay, you want the Ghoul to multitask? Apperently, Nicotine makes him feel sharp. Muti-tasking? On the menu. ]

Didn't wanna make no assumptions [ He lays on the sweetness a bit thick-- playful, friendly poking-fun. It's not untrue, though. That tie stays tight in the Ghoul's fist though, even as he takes his time combing his gaze from the Synth's eyes, down his throat. It's harder to see sparks in the florescent light. He's perfectly comfortable playing the contradicting tunes of Sweet and Commanding romance, at once. ]

Uh-huh. Wish you could taste the Nuka Cherry I popped out

[ As he speaks he drifts in, lets the words drag his rough lips against the synthetic skin of Nick's throat. It's familiar ground, yeah, but sue him for using what he knows. He doesn't go straight for the kill, spending a few moments in not-quite clumsy, affectionate nuzzling. ]

Jesus it was actually a fuckin' pain in the ass to crack this place. Meant running half-way around the damn Commonwealth and back and no less than 3 different shoot outs.

[ This time it's just the barest brush of teeth that catch the ragged edge of Nick's synth-skin. ]

Worth it, I'm thinkin'. Not easy to make an ol' Synth smile like a new model

[Nick's gaze darts briefly toward the nightstands--just the novelty of a working fridge is astounding to him. But Hancock's answer is spoken just against--no, just slightly less than against--his neck and Nick's attention refuses to stay divided. He doesn't shiver, but he does stay perfectly still as Hancock just tucks his head into that space--

It has him remembering that thumb on his lip, that little gesture, of all things, stuck with Nick. It was such a delicate, precise move, enough that it didn't come close to snagging on anything, and stayed that way even when Hancock was crawling out of his skin with the need to move. Between this and that, a facet of John Hancock is coming into focus for him.

For just a moment, Nick actually wonders if he did honestly romance him. If he has a fondness for these sorts of gestures, it's possible--

He has trouble hanging on to that meandering train of thought as Hancock delicately presses up. He's been explaining about this place, what it took to get in--Nick hadn't been paying even the slightest attention to the story. The drag of teeth, barely there, connecting a circut for a flickering second, does very little to help him pay more attention.]

Yeah?

[The question is pitched low and has more gravel to it than Nick is usually wont. A second later his brain catches up with what Hancock said and his dazed expression goes suprised. So, he hadn't just been invited to show it off. Showing it off had been for him, it was Hancock's inversion of Nick's own contrary line of thought.

He'd been going for forward, had been eager to live a shade of that fantasy, but he has to ask:]

You wanna show me the rest first?

Edited (what is grammar) 2024-05-04 04:12 (UTC)

Mmm... in a sec [ Between This and That is exactly where John Hancock fancies being most, point in case. He wants Nick on the wall, on the bed, on the floor-- but yeah, also to show off the spiffy new digs. The Minifridges, the pool table, the dartboard. He figures he's got time though, that all the boxes will get checked and he doesn't mind much what the order is.

... Okay, okay, he's more than a little gratified by Nick's-- eagerness? Can he call it that? Feels nice in his head anyway-- and kicks up a nice vivid replay of the look on the Synth's face when he was swallowing Hancock down like it was a built in design function. Perfectly, blissfully agonized. Yeah, Eager, the Ghoul likes. ]

Not like we ain't got time. [ Another memory registers-- something Hancock didn't get much time to experiment with, last time. His motions veer back towards affectionate composition as he gently butts his cheek against Nick's, not unlike a cat.

Then the flat of his tongue (so much bolder than the timid tip) traces up the shell of Nick's ear, lewd. ]

Guess I'm flattered to be your Top Priority here

[Like this, it's something of a challenge for Nick to have any other priorities. There's not much contact outside of Nick's comfortable baseline, true, but he finds himself straining for it, anticipating it so hard that it's almost a resource drain in and of itself. Checking and rechecking whether any sensors have tripped is a really terrible use of processing power, but he can't help himself.

The weight of Hancock's hand pulling down on his tie is just about the only thing keeping Nick's processors happy at the moment. He might go a little stir crazy without it. If he weren't a synth, being held bent down like this would have gotten uncomfortable by now. Fortunately, the servos in his lower back are still in good condition. He can stay like this as long as Hancock wants him to.

When Hancock nuzzles back up, Nick has officially be lulled into the moment, thinking this is what the ghoul is driving at. The sudden influx of touch and texture and that rasping, primising, lurid tone is enough to shock his system. Nick hitches, everything about him except for those fans going still for a beat or two. When he's back, it's with a silent huff of laughter through his nose. He tugs on his makeshift leash to shift and try looking at Hancock's face but he'll only manage it if Hancock feels like it.]

Know how much you like the limelight.

[That thought trips some distant one in the back of Nick's head. In a place this well kept, surely the owner would have left some fancy duds in their closet. He shoves that aside for future investigation--getting someone dressed up is hardly what he'd prefer right now. No, what he's prefer right now is more contact--he's already straining himself rechecking inputs over and over.

Hancock keeps teasing him and he's going to have to do something about it.]

I'm glad to be of service.

[ It's a branch off Hancock's love of power play, leading Nick around like he's got him leashed; reality usually means he can only push the envelope for so long with this kind of game, caught between his own conflicting sadism and sweetness. He likes bending a willing partner into enduring some suffering (a trade for the promise of a sweeter pay-off), but he doesn't let his real cruelty off-leash on the undeserving. The whole thing plays different with Nick; like he's built for (metaphorically...?) bedding a beast.

The Ghoul does slip into half a moment of caution when that telling glitch locks up his partner; it's gratifying, yeah, but it also wouldn't be very suave of Hancock to let his date drop onto the polished hardwood. The Synth is fully cognizant a moment later though, and it's a glitch coded as just the type of flustered reaction Hancock's aiming for. His grip on Nick's tie loosens after a beat, just enough for him to enjoy the split second of loaded, commanding quiet. ]

Yeah well... I did go and clear my whole evening for ya, so we got the time. Dinner, Show, Afterparty. Metaphorically. [ The last word he says like a filthy cuss, sparing a moment to reach up and adjust his own hat, the motion bragging a far cooler state of relaxation than the Ghoul truly exists in. He's got a killer poker face, incidentally.

He starts to recede in slow, lounging strides; hand still locked on Nick's tie but not pulling, just grasping the slacked fabric, more an invitation to follow than a demand.

The bed is easily the centerpiece of the room, set in the dead middle of the space, framed by a large window protected with thick metal shutters. Aside from the fancy night stands there's also a massive desk, built in wall shelving, a computer terminal, a closet-- not to mention a bunch of ritzy, expensive clutter.]

C'mon then [ he gives the tie the slightest of pulls ] Heel. [ He figures it's more than fair to turn the command on Nick; after all, he had offered it to the Synth first, on their initial date. ]

[Hancock backs up, fingers idly holding onto Nick's tie as he does. Nick takes him up on that invitation before the fabric so much as goes taut. The room is forgotten, the expensive dressings and curios, the terminal and desk, they're all nice enough but they aren't why Nick's here.

Damn, old age is making him exceptionally sappy. He's always been a romantic but being this besotted is a little unbecoming.

He resigns himself to being unbecoming and, at that tug and command, does as ordered. He moves to stand just at Hancock's side, watching him with lamplit eyes and an expression of absolute interested. All his focus is devoted to Hancock but, embarassing as that might read, Nick doesn't bother to play it off.

Nick doesn't move beyond that, though, given that the original command was one to back off. He fairly sure that's not what Hancock has in mind, scolding him for getting a little out of hand, requesting he let up, but he briefly entertains the idea.]

Bit of a mixed message there, Johnny. [Said conversationally, like he isn't currently being led on a leash. Nick's being cheeky as he adds his next thought. It's mostly said for the tease in it; Nick's doubtful they'll ever require the insurance of a legitimate safe word.] Might need a new word if you use it like that.

[ Nick had been absolutely correct; Hancock loves the limelight, and he soaks up the devoted attention like his body is chemically addicted. It's an undeniable rush, watching Nick follow every letter, devoted, while the Ghoul does his best to trip him up and keep him off balance. The old Synth might not play Smooth Criminal as well as Hancock, but he could stand to give himself a little more credit, sometimes.

Point in Case. Calling a guy a 'John' is fairly common slang, especially in the context of such hot blooded romance-- it just also so happens to be Hancock's first name, and something in the way Nick says it throws the Ghoul for an unexpected loop. He feels like he missed several stairs without realizing he was on a staircase. Good-dizzy, grasping for a words, for a few more seconds than it usually takes. ]

Good point. Guess I'll stick to quitting if ya tell me stop, unless you wanna pick something fancier

[ He doesn't quite fumble his composure, but the call is close. His gaze directs the Synth with the warmth and force of a physical touch to the edge of the master bed. ]

G'on, sit. [ He holds harder onto his own commanding aura, like testing the familiar comfort of a gun's grip when the shots start to sound. His pulse feels like his heart has jumped into this throat. Thank god for that (almost) flawless Poker Face. ]

[Hancock's pokerface is good, it only falters for a moment as he's thinking. Nick assumes he's set him for a loop with the comment about safe words, like maybe Hancock is into them--and of course he is. He has a streak of sadism through him, but he's also quick to help people out, why wouldn't he be into them? It tracks and is weirdly, endearingly responsible.

The order is given with a heavy glance and Nick watches as he looks down and back up before he can bring himself to move. When he turns and sits on the edge of the bed, there is a bit of tentativeness to the move. He knows his own bed is reinforced and he's not keen on being the first to sit on this one and the last just because he weighs the same as a box of lead. Nick sinks further than he expects into the bedding, a testament to its luxuriousness, and then comes to a comfortable stop--but not a solid one.

Are you kidding? It's not strung up? This fucking thing has a box spring on it too?

He's immediately distracted by that thought and turns his head to glance back at the rest of it, pulling the fabric of his tie taut against Hancock's grip.]

[ Oh yeah, safe words are on The List-- but only if he thinks he seriously needs one. Or, if it's a delightful conversation piece. Neither fits right in the moment, but Hancock shelves the idea for maybe some cute pillow talk, afterwards. You can deduce a lot from a guy by what he picks for a safe word.

Ah, well. He was going to try his luck with 'Down' and see if he could get Nick onto his back by voice alone-- but this works, too. The curious inclination Nick takes to turn and twist, is something the Ghoul can use to knock him down. It only takes a few short seconds-- the fabric of the tie going from strict to slack crumples, Hancock's palm flat on Nick's chest and then the blue-black comforter sweeping up behind Nick's back. ]

Comfy, right? Won't lie, may'a jumped on it once or twice. Didn't want it falling into the lobby at a real... inconvenient moment

[ Conversational, like Nick had been, despite Hancock's knees framing the Synth's hips as he looms above. The hand still grasping Nick's tie is also pinning him down, Hancock's weight resting firmly against the center of his partner's chest. His free hand moves to cup Nick's cheek and-- on a greedy whim, the Ghoul's thumb slides along his bottom lip, pressing smoothly across the synthetic flesh. ]

Damn [ The growl is pure, simmering appreciation. ]

[Nick's not expecting to get bowled over, that's no shocker, and he loses his hat in the process. He'd mind more but then he's got Hancock towering over him, pressing him into the bedding with his whole weight. It's quite a sight and Nick's internal temperature ticks up a few degrees just watching.

Hancock, unexpectedly, gives Nick a redux of that thumb against his lips. The moment's different, so is the meaning, but Nick's heart (or reasonable facsimile thereof) kicks a bit as he does it. The weight and texture of his finger soaks up a small but persistant amount of his bandwidth, but not nearly so much as the look on the ghoul's face as he assesses him.

Felt under-dressed before and...well, frankly, he still feels under-dressed. The look Hancock's got leveled on his face is one Nick's only seen on his face and the longer it persists the more it makes him squirm. It's flattering but ~~undeserved he doesn't need to be flattered.]~~

Glad it passed the test. [Unbidden, his hands shift to Hancock's clothed knees and move idly up his thighs. It's not a gesture with intent so much as just feeling to confirm this isn't a dream.]

Also glad that I'm more comfortable to sit on. Didn't expect that one.

[ His eyes sink towards half-shut when Nick's mismatched hands graze up his thighs; any contact is good contact when it plays like this, just as much about the Touching as Being Touched. ]

You need a better hat [ He teases, cutting into his Kin Pin persona with another shot of sugar, sweetness the composition as he momentarily leans over Nick, to rescue his hat were it landed on the bed. He spends a moment scooping the thing up and placing it neatly onto the modern shelving/headboard combo. He even dusts it off unnecessarily before sliding back into place. ]

Hey, isn't it your socks I'm supposed to knock off? [ The comment about how comfortable Nick is to sit on falls in perfect time with Hancock readjusting his position, creating an irresistible opportunity for him to up the ante. He hadn't been %100 on Nick's lap at first, some of the weight shared on his own knees on the mattress. But since Hancock is sitting back anyway, he makes a point of seating himself, saddle-tight, entirely in Nick's lap.

To drive the point of just how comfortable Hancock finds the position, the Ghoul rolls his shoulders into a lavish stretch, twins one arm above his head and then the other. Comfortable is not heavy enough a word for what he is. ]

Don't you worry about me, I like it just fine up here.

Says the guy in duds from the 1700's.

[How someone can look haughty and commanding while dusting off and rescuing his hat, he has no idea, but Nick digs it. Hancock, all lithe and rasping, shifts his weight and rocks back, making himself comfortable. His thighs flank and press into Nick's midsection the rest of him settles against the flat of Nick's pelvis like he's a worn old chair.

Nick is more than happy to have Hancock draped over him, but this particular feature (or lack thereof) isn't something they've discussed. Not in any way more serious than traded jabs during conversation. The weight of the ghoul lights up part of Nick's brain all the same, regardless of his lacking features. He fogs Nick's thoughts up, but that stream of data comes with a flash of anxiety, like a warning notification. Nick's temperature ticks up again and an apologetic grimace dances across his face.]

Glad to hear it...but you--uh--might not find it all that engaging?

[Hell, maybe they should have set up a safe word. Suddenly, Nick feels like he's going to overheat.]

You're golden no worries

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Spinny beachball of death buffering.

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Nick spamming f5.

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