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?"

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[A challenge? Nick's eyebrows go up but he doesn't pull back a bare inch. Nick was all for a nice night, but with Hancock cheerfully upping the ante, he can't say he isn't delighted to follow suit.]

Now that's an invitation if I ever heard one.

[Challenge accepted. Nick reverses course, dragging and lips and tongue over the underside of his arm, stopping at his wrist to put pressure on those tendons with his teeth. Then, frustratingly, Nick backs up. He rocks up on his knees, both planted firmly on the bed, and shifts, comes around from the foot of the bed so he's perpendicular, settles himself halfway to the pillows and lazily takes Hancock's other arm.

This one he extends fully, winding fingers between Hancock's and locking eyes as he kisses hot and hard toward his shoulder. These are unforgiving, hard and languid, as though Nick has finally gotten a taste of Hancock's skin and wants nothing more than to devour him. He reaches the ghoul's shoulder before long and, as he leans in to graze his lips across Hancock's--

There's a mechanical click and ratchet sound as he cuffs that extended wrist. A moment later, there's another as he fixes that pair of cuffs to the headboard.]

Invitation? Nah. Flat out Dare. Surprise me

[ Upping the ante is another favorite impulse of the Ghoul's; one he's always riding to new heights and this is no exception. What he doesn't expect is for the execution to happen so fast. It's too easy to let his focus slide, melt and dissolve into the dangerously addictive burn of Nick's deliberate attentions at the tendon of his wrist. That's... new! Hancock has no previous experience to match it-- none of his previous lovers having quite the right combination of temperament and attention to detail to think of going for the Ghoul's wrists.

He's got no idea what Nick's going to do but he's ready to watch every single searing second. His grip on the Synth's hand is fierce, his free hand snaking craven up the center of Nick's back. A string of badly slurred cusses hiss through his teeth as he fights off the urge to nuzzle in close; he doesn't want to push Nick into the red anymore than he has, and it's an odd leash to put on his typically terrible self control.

The click of handcuff gears all too promptly answers Hancock's request; the Ghoul is certainly surprised. It only costs him a few stunned seconds while his mind reels to follow, and rolls between gear shifts. ]

Shit [ He sounds impressed and amused, enticed and enwrapped and skirting the far, distant shores off obsessed. ]... Yeah... gotta be the fastest anyone ever bull's-eyed one'a my requests. Breakin' all kinds'a records tonight, huh? [ he still plays insufferably cool, without the slightest hint of even playful distress from having lost the use of one of his hands. He's still got the other, for the moment, and he doesn't seem concerned with keeping it away from Nick, or not.

The one tell that gives him away is the speedy, insistent drum of his heart inside his ribs. ]

[Hancock goes haywire for a beat or two and Nick can't help but smirk in delight. He settles himself over the ghoul, not pinning him but certainly caging him in with the bed at his back. His expression is smug but there's a genuine note of curiosity.]

Got a second pair, but I might save them for later.

[As though this pair was going to expire. But really, handcuffing a punk like Hancock had been risky business before he was a ghoul and nowadays he wasn't nearly so benign. Nick has no idea how he'd handle being surprised twice, cuffed with arms wide, nude on a bed, so he gives him a moment to absorb. After that's passed, Nick takes his other hand and brings it to his mouth.

The way Handcock had flexed that hand, gripped him hard and started spitting curse words as he got a little rought with it, well all of that was fair evidence that Nick had been barking up a viable tree. So this wrist gets the same slow treatment, but a much sharper application of teeth. The synth isn't a sadist--jury's out on whether he's a masochist, but sadism just isn't his bag--so application of force is rarely on his short list of activities. With Handcock cuffed up, however, it seems like the ideal time to indulge the more violent shades of the ghoul's preferences.

Those biting kisses move from wrist to elbow to shoulder and end with Nick's face buried in his neck, biting more than kissing, listening for the rattle and strain of those handcuffs in the background. Hancock's been absolutely considerate, giving Nick's cooling fans time to get his temperature down, but as he drags teeth against the corner of Hancock's jaw, his left eye comes back online, and abruptly there are no holds barred.

Nick's skeletal hand creeps under the small of Hancock's back and pulls him close, presses their hips flush and just lets the heat bleed into the man beneath him.]

Probably could'a got both my hands strung up in one pair if ya asked; I'm turnin' into such a sucker for anything outta your mouth

[ The Ghoul's fingers twitch under Nick's touch, hinting gluttony for the sensation. He appreciates the moment for adjustment, but knocked for a loop, on his ass, ceiling-for-floor dizzy and off balance is exactly where he likes to be. He's a risk taker, a thrill seeker, but it's not just anyone he'd trust enough to make him tumble so close to something like real vulnerability.

Stripped, and cuffed to a pre-war bedframe, for example. But for Nick, with Nick, he's relaxed above thrilled, heart-hammering a newfound bliss to the tip of every nerve. The attentive, devoted bites to Hancock's wrist are pulling deeper and sharper breaths into his chest; the sensations piling in, pleasurably crushing his senses as they mount. ]

Jesus-- and Detect he did

[ The words tumble out because being a smartass is more familiar than witnessing himself unravel to this intense degree. It's not like the Ghoul doesn't have sex-- it not like he doesn't have good sex, even. But it's nothing like this. He can't even begin to stick meanings to why.

This time when Nick's mouth draws close to his throat, the Ghoul rolls his head to the side and brazenly offers his neck. The rattling of the cuffs is satisfying in the marrow of his bones; the sounds, but also the bite of the metal that will only bruise so hard as he struggles. But Hancock likes to struggle, likes the idea of wearing bruises like bracelets for days. ]

Guess I gotta be more careful... much as I like when it burns, can barely stand not touchin' you everywhere [ Hancock eagerly tangles their legs, a knee locking over the back of Nick's calf. He moves to shift, roll up against the Synth's body but the cuffs catch him half-way. He hadn't forgotten, but the sudden jolt knocks on odd sound from his throat, somewhere between a growl and a frustrated whine. The friction against the Ghoul's pelvis makes the stakes of his arousal painstakingly clear. ]

Was more fun as a surprise. [Is Nick's answer, given as his mouth travels from Hancock's throat to his juggular. Nick's cooling off fast enough but the drop in temperature isn't making his processing any better--he's already neck deep in sensation and data. It's less overwhelming this time than it was in the soda fountain, he's better able to pick out baseline data now, but it still eats all of his attention.]

You wanna overheat me, just gotta ask. [That's a dangerous promise, Nick knows, but it's true. He'd toe that catastrophic line for Hancock, and probably only for Hancock. The ghoul is mercurial and a sadist, but Nick can't imagine a world where Hancock would just leave him in a heap if he shut down. (Let alone any universe where he'd be parted out after going offline.) It was the highest level of trust for Wastelanders, he knew the ghoul would neither kill him nor allow him to be killed, even at great risk to himself.]

You get good at microsoldering and we can even wave the asking part.

[Describing technical details against a man's juggular, biting and mouthing to his shoulder, is a very odd combination. But they're both more than their fair share of odd. He offers up one last, hard bite to the ghoul's shoulder and then rocks back onto his knees again. His skeletal hand is still spread across the small of Hancock's back and he shifts it under the waistband of his trousers.

He doubts there will be many other opportunities to enjoy full nudity, so he plans on taking in the sights. He reclaims his other hand, if only to make it easier to strip those pants off, and casts them aside. Then Nick moves right back to where he was, except now he knows exactly how to position his thigh to put pressure on the cock beneath him, to give that little bit of friction the ghoul is seeking.

He rocks down, dragging his thigh and pressing his weight against Hancock, chest to chest, arms proping him up at the elbow, and promptly claims his mouth again.]

Heh-- now you're the one playin' sweetheart. If ya wanna indulge my taste for heat, I got safer ways. Don't gotta burn up a fever just for little ol' me [ his eyes flash with the same kind of hunger as chemical fire ] unless that's a streak'a masochism I detect...? [ his head cants, perfectly the feral feline.

Oh, he's definitely learning some microsoldering. Three Guesses which mutual friend knows a thing or two about Robotics ~~fucking Player Character Stats Bullshit Evaris~~. Actually the ever resourceful Vaultie had already been corralled by a very demanding Ghoul Mayor into teaching him how to make Robot Repair Kits-- the mechanical equivalent to a stimpak. Good use for fusion cells he's never gunna shoot, who knew? It doesn't seem like the right moment to drop the info though, not with the Synth feeding his fire on a trail of gasoline.

Miraculously he manages to shift out of the remainder of his clothing without getting tangled, trapped, or losing his footing. An impressive accomplishment, by how unsteady his limbs feel. It's so very alien to be completely stripped-- he can't even remember the last time he'd worn only skin and air. Even rough haphazard bathing tends to be done in rushed patches, cleaning where the need is greatest and leaving the rest for Later. There's never a need to remove everything, all at once.

Calling it a Need feels accurate now. He clenches his jaw and bites back the urge to repress the full-body shiver that climbs through him; it kicks up strange textures and patterns on his skin, tightening pours and blooming blood vessels in the remnant reaction of goosebumps.

Hancock's fiercely grateful for the kiss that swallows most of the eagerness in his groan; the sound jailbreaks from his throat when Nick's thigh slides against his dick and the friction is too, too addictive. Playing up the rock of his hips to purposefully drive Nick into a frenzy? One thing.

To rut against the synth's leg because Hancock's brain is too pleasure-fried for even an approximation of dignity is... another thing. There's a troubling lag when his brain insists he stop himself (from acting so poorly trained, at least) but then Nick's kissing him hard, and suddenly it's so much more important to grab and hold and pull with the one free hand Hancock has. The ghoul's grip eventually finds a familiar perch at the back of Nick's neck, clings there hard enough to make his own fingers ache. ]

[It's a good thing Hancock's hand was free to drag him in and keep him there, otherwise he might have done some damn, fool thing like admitting to a stripe of masochism. The headboard strains as Hancock pulls up, as he ruts his hips adainst Nick's clothed thigh.

Oh, but wouldn't it be sweet to drive him to frantic distraction right here? To watch the ghoul come undone against his leg and wring the rest of his energy from him with a round two. How long could he drag Hancock along? Nick's curious but those fingers bite into the silicon on his scalp and Nick's got his own rush of heat to contend with.

He's so glad he showed him that spot, it's going to trigger that memory for a long time.

Nick's definitely overdressed now, no question, but he can't pull away to correct that. No, he barely draws back to let Hancock breathe as he bites hard kisses against his mouth, each spiraling and escalating to new levels of abandon and feverish desire. The only time Nick even parts from him is to glance down and take Hancock's dick in hand.

Silicon (or at least Nick's formulation) slides easier on skin than skin does. His hand glides across that sweat spotted, flushed, textured skin like its been oiled for the purpose. The crawling shiver that prickles through Hancock's skin, the raised reminiscence of goosebumps, it's like a symphony of touch and Nick can't get enough.

Nick's grip on Hancock is tight and he moves it gradually. The pressure of his good hand on the ghoul's cock is unyielding, tensing further as he reaches the head, then loosening just enough so that he can pump back down again. Nick is focused, wringing his cock like a man desperate to feel it pulse under his fingers--because he is.]

[ A lack of a solid answer is still an answer in itself; something in Hancock's mind takes a hasty note; not that he could blame Nick for losing their thread of conversation when his mouth is otherwise occupied, but. An indulgent sadist's observations can be especially keen for signs of masochism, hidden even in silences and dodged replies.

Having found another comfortable-uncomfortable contradiction to reside between, Hancock finds his senses burning bliss off Nick's state of dress. The Ghoul both wants his partner stripped, and is much enjoying the fact that he's not. The imaginary imbalance implied is perfectly intoxicating. Makes it easy to steal a few more seconds allowing himself to grind for friction against the Synth's clothed thigh.

That, and the ravenous tone of their kiss would have been more than enough, within minor minutes, to blissfully break him. But Nick's got more deliberate attention in mind, and Hancock doesn't bother to swallow the gasp that takes the air out of their kiss as those fingers coil oil-smooth around his cock. It's almost as though Nick's somehow hijacked manual control of the ghoul's breathing; a tight upwards stroke makes his chest swell, and a downwards pump deflates his lungs on a thick throaty groan. ]

How are you so damn good-- [ at this, the end of his statement gets smothered by a heady, half-delirious hiss. The blood vessels, so near beneath the surface of Nick's stroking fingers, seem to fizzle with a rush of warmth as the ready-flesh twitches keenly against the Synth's palm. Later, Hancock might find some slight solace in mirthful complaining; Nick's painting a very poor picture of the ghoul's sexual stamina, here.]

[Nick's focused, he doesn't plan on being distracted this time, he's going to get the full experience of Hancock coming unspooled. He can only chuckle at that question, at how it gets lost in the sounds coming out of the man beneath him. Fuck--what did he used to do for fun before this? Nick can't remember.]

I got good inspiration.

[Hancock's one hand is free, gripping the back of Nick's head like he's hanging on for the ride. He's keyed up and close to his limit and Nick is watching with rapt attention. He's ready to capture the video in 4k, and more than a little glad to have both his eyes and depth perception on deck.

Nick draw's back just far enough to get a clear look at Hancock's face, and boy, does he want to say all sorts of things. Hancock looks tortured and delighted, hissing and groaning, sweat pooling in the divots and hollows of his skin.

There's a wealth of sass to be had, here. He could jibe about the apartment, about their mixed state of undress, about how Hancock's dick slides the groove of his palm like they'd been form-fitted in factory--Nick's absolutely spoiled for choice. And yet, in what Nick considers a phenomenal failure of his acerbic wit, the only thing that spills out of his mouth at the sight of Hancock so close? Is quiet, rasped encouragement.]

So close, you can do it--come for me, sweetheart.

[ The impossibly slick drag up his dick is driving the drumbeat that speeds him towards crescendo, but the details of the symphony all sing in harmonious contribution to the music; it wouldn't feel so perfect if Nick wasn't watching his face, wearing just that expression, murmuring too wicked-soft.

The ghoul is glad for somewhere to grasp where he can back-burner the reminder to keep his strength restrained. It feels fantastic to grip almost as hard as he can and not worry about breaking the mood by snapping a vertebrae. Not like the Synth doesn't have limits, but they're all out of line with the frailty of mortals. It's not an excuse for outright sadism, but it's more than enough to entice the ghoul to be rough.

Smooth Sonova Bitch; probably could have tipped Hancock overboard with his voice alone. As much as habit and inclination kick at Hancock to say something, anything with just a scrap of wit, create some kind of parry, he absolutely cannot.

All he can do is arch and roar and thrash, thoughts shattered like a sugar-glass kaleidoscope. It's a stark rarity when John Hancock does what he's told, when he's told, to the precise letter. This is one of those rarities. This orgasm has sharper teeth and keener claws than the last Nick had inflicted upon him; it utterly rends the ghoul, relentless.

It's longer, louder, messier. Leaves the ghoul's throat raw and his heart unevenly jack-hammering inside his ribs. Thighs slack, slick; knees braced against trembling.

He goes boneless off the coattails of the aftershocks, no longer straining against the delightful control of the cuffs. He finally relents the grasp at the base of Nick's skull and his clumsy, heavy fingers trace down the approximation of his neck and spine.

He tries to speak. Can't, yet. Dissolves into a puff of self-depreciative chuckles that he's too beat to complete. What he can manage is affectionately thumping his forehead against Nick's, though. Jury's out on if he's got the proper coordination for a kiss; he still can't seem to catch his breath. ]

[This time Nick gets to watch the main event and, frankly, it doesn't disappoint. The sensory data that floods over Nick is a firework show of individual details and it's unrelenting, he almost can't take it all in. It's no wonder he'd tipped into overload last time. Just watching Hancock sieze up and thrash, feeling his everything convulse in time with the spend now coating Nick's hand and his thighs, had Nick feeling winded. That wasn't even touching the absolutely carnal, rasping sounds that clawed up out of his chest.

And all of this in even, white electric lighting, framed by a pristine duvet made for one hell of a recording.

He couldn't imagine a honeymoon being this sweet--but that's a thought he ought to shut down before it creeps up on him. Hard to, of course, as he wrings the last jolts of pleasure out of Hancock's dick before letting it go. Hancock doesn't make it easier either, what with his heavy, clumsy hand stumbling over Nick's neck as he gives him that fond stare.]

Gorgeous.

[Hancock's headbutt goes right to Nick's heart and the synth bends down to press a languid kiss against his exhausted mouth. After a beat, Nick draws up, all the way up, and absently fishes into his pants pocket for the keys to those cuffs. His slacks already had a smeared mess of spend on them, what was a little more? Either way they needed laundering.

He uncuffed Hancock in the next moment or two, but left the keys in and the cuffs dangling for the moment. He could retrieve them all later--right now, he wanted nothing more than to return that fond stare.]

[ To the ghoul's credit he dives into the kiss with no less zeal than usual-- but it's all tempered with fatigue and twice as clumsy. He still doesn't have full control of his faculties-- and his nerves are still humming, some sensation drastically overclocked and superimposed.

Maybe it's a small mercy Hancock hasn't yet realized the Synth can actually record him-- even if the logic tracks. The extra, insidious grain of knowing might have tipped his scales hard enough to risk the briefest blip of a blissed-blackout during that ravenous orgasm. Not that Hancock would have the slightest inclination to complain.]

Mmm... [ Is all he can initially manage in reply to Nick's compliment. His rough textured hands move together once the cuff comes off, scraping up Nick's sides and ribs, and pulling him close where there's not a fraction of an inch more to do so. His wrist is nursing an enticing ache and he spares a moment to test and twist it-- glance to where he hopes he'll be lucky enough to see a bruise. Busting up Ghoul skin isn't easy, and he wasn't really trying... but it's a kinky twist on friendship bracelets, anyway. ]

Can I, uh.... return the favor? [ This is where the man's priorities form, just as he's figuring out how to process language again. His breathing is closer to even than not, but still tattered notably, rasping at the very edge as he breaths through his mouth like a tired animal.]

[Hancock gets his faculties back and the first question has Nick leaning in and giving the ghoul another lazy kiss. Nick's honestly not to sure on the answer of that one--yes, he certainly can, but it's not like the synth's whole deal functions the same way. Make no mistake, it's fun when it does, but tripping him into a systems' crash isn't strictly necessary.]

Now who's in a hurry?

[Hancock is recovering fast, but Nick's also just enjoying the proximity (and the scenery). He can give the man five minutes before suggesting another round. Also, the pause will give Nick time to figure out a less than crass way to request a cock down his throat and a bit of brutalization.]

I won't object to additional fun and games, but you've given me one hell of a show already. Anything else is icing.

[ This time Hancock returns the kiss with the grace he's managed to scrape together over the passing minutes; he turns slow and lazy into deliberate and intense, catching Nick's tongue between his teeth for a sharp split second before the Synth recedes enough to playfully tease. ]

If you get me all amped and eager to return the favor, that's on you. Not my fault your impossibly good in bed.

[ He watches Nick through a few quiet moments, mentally carding through conversational topics. He's got a couple things crossing his mind, quietly vying as his breath more or less evens out. ]

Yeah, and I gathered already you ain't wired like a typical guy. Got your own needs, ticks, buttons. [ It must be a perk of his Charisma score that he can take such mundane words and pack them with so much filthy implication]

Gunna have to guide me through what ya like, Slick. Explicit-like. My instincts are good, but you're not like anyone else I've fooled around with. And, far as I'm concerned? Cake's no good without icing.

[Hancock's bounced back fast--last time he'd been happy and meandering all the way back to Goodneighbor. Now, he's sharp as that bowie knife he waves around, and there's a bright, sinister sort of curiosity in those black eyes. That bite on Nick's tongue, quick and sharp, is something he can still feel, though and...well...with an opening so politely splayed out in front of him, he'd be a fool not to take it.

It's absurd to be embarassed right now, but Nick still reaches up to rub the back of his neck as he makes this little admission.]

Explicit, huh? Well...s'pose I should start with how all this feels--just the touching, the data itself, is a rush...doesn't much matter where you're touching, or what the data is. Getting overclocked by a terminal, having my throat fucked clear, getting shocked by a stray circuit?

Information, pleasure...pain, they're all the same in my book.

[Nick lets that hand drop forward a bit and covers his mouth as he clears his throat. It's a pantomime to give that sentence time to sink in, both for Hancock and himself.]

'Fraid the thing that gets me, really, is the romance in between. That makes it...[Fun? Exciting? Pleasurable? Nick searches for a word but can't quite conjure one. He gives Hancock a helpless sort of look and shrugs.] I'm a bit of a sap, at the end of the day.

[ He's definitely still happy-- but he's got enough brains in his head to be curious, now. Curious, and completely enwrapped by the explanation. His dark eyes flash, his grin quirked with a hungry kind of excitement. Oddly, the explanation is easily enough for the Ghoul to relate to. ]

Hey, that ain't so different. Just means out wiring is kinda similar. Takin' the thrill outta any sensation... guess I was kinda on track with that masochism comment, huh?

[ Okay, hello brand new embers beneath his gut. That's a thought. ]

Guess it tracks; you look like a guy who goes rough; anyone worth their salt dishes what they take, and takes what they dish...

[ All that and some Romance, huh? That's Nick's secret elixir? The Ghoul can most definitely oblige. In the spirit of that, he reaches up and smooths his fingers down the hard line of Nick's jaw, not quite cupping the side of his face. ]

Guess that makes me a sucker for a sap [ and suddenly his addictions wheel clicks onto 'gamble' and he takes a risky risk. ] Sap with a nice Penthouse, anyway.

[Nick's glad Hancock's taken that all as well as he has, like he gets it and, overall, he supposes the ghoul would. It's nice to be understood, though Nick gives a short, dry look of disbelief at the comment about his looks. Looking like a guy who goes rough? Please. He looks rough. Those aren't really the same thing.

But then he's got textured fingers delicately drawing down his face and he's back to contently staring like the besotted toaster he is. That is, right up until Hancock's admission of fondness crosses straight into crazy town. Nick's brows furrow and he has to retrack, play that memory again in his head, and make sure he isn't just hearin' things. Sap...with a--]

W-what? [Nick is positively gobsmacked, the expression is the same one he wore when he first walked in. He'd figured, at the very best, this would be a fun place for a tryst once or twice but--Hancock was...giving this penthouse--?

To him?

Nick's absolutely tonguetied. He's never gotten a gift of any substance--maybe some trinkets from Piper or Ellie, a stray drawing from one kid or another, but nothing with value. Especially not value like this place had. Nick's fans kick back on as his whole CPU devotes itself to this, but he keeps coming up short--]

You serious?

Well-- I know the wall's not green, neighborhood's a bit wild... [ Crazy Town is right, but here he is, playing it cool like he's just handing Nick an extra fancy pack of smokes. Smooth, but no big deal. As much as, a couple hours ago, he was Not Sweating handing Nick the metaphorical keys. ]

Kinda failed spectacularly at showing the place off before ya so successfully loosened my tongue, but... yeah. We're at the main digs, lobby/work area on the bottom floor. Upstairs is big and empty with a tiny kitchen. Useful, if ya happen to employ staff that needs to eat.

[ Now it's Hancock's turn to flip them, but he does it slowly, wrapping Nick in his arms and watching his eyes as he deliberately, not quite delicately rolls them across the duvet. He doesn't press too close upon taking his new position, instead propping himself up on his hands and stealing a few moments to just appreciate what Nick looks like underneath him. He looks like he could get used to the view. ]

... if ya want it, mind [ a quiet murmur.]

[Nick goes with him as eaasy as that, watching him with shock written on his face the whole way. The ghoul leaning over him like this, watching with his own brand of fond written across his face, has Nick's metaphorical heart twisting in his chest.]

Well...does cut down on walking. Suppose I could set the agency up out here.

[The cool back and forth banter is not within Nick's current capacity, not as his mind races over this place and this gift and what it means. Eventually, he just gives up the ghost and laughs.]

Of course I want it, have you seen this place? I hear the nightstands are mini-fridges.

[ Hancock doesn't quite realize he's holding his breath, watching the reels spinning and mentally pleading 'Jackpot'.

And then he's seeing triple sevens.

Nick... likes the idea? Wants the apartment? Doesn't think it's too grand a gesture, too much of an overstep? Guy's been in Diamond City for Hancock's entire life. A permanent change in location is a big step, isn't it? Doesn't it mean a lot?

... Or, hell, maybe he's just thinking about it too hard. Minifridge nightstands, right? It's truly unreal digs, maybe the ghoul underestimated the sheer property value?

Hancock lets the wild grin stain his face while a single finger traces down the dead center of Nick's throat. ]

Then it's all yours, Valentine. I'll stick up a big, red neon heart outside myself.

[That sentence is so surreal Nick's not sure what to do with it. He's overwhelmed, stunned, elated, ready to object--his expression hitches as he thinks. He has a lot to plan, a lot to arrange--will Ellie want to come with? Piper is going to lose it. Everyone else in Diamond City will be happy to see the back of him, but he's been a fixture. It'll be a shift. Then again, he's become a fixture in Goodneighbor as well. Dallying with Hancock has only made that more true.

He's glad to have that finger tracing down his throat, it's a single thread in the chaos of his processing and Hancock tugging on it makes all those other processes unravel. There's a time and place to figure all this out and right here, right now isn't it.]

Damn--I don't know what to say--

[Thank you feels a little lacking. Nick would kiss him but, well, they just were and will be again. He has nothing of even remotely similar value to give Hancock in return and, even if he did, he doubts the ghoul would accept it. Nick's expression can't help but go a little sheepish.]

Not that uh, I only mean this as a "thank you," or anything, and I do mean that: thank you... But I suppose now's as good time as any to admit: I was tryin' to figure out a polite way to ask you to choke me on your cock.

You know, assuming you're done looking like a painting, just reclining on my bedspread--shit, that's a weird thought. Mine? Hah.

[ Hancock's almost a worried that Nick has tipped into processing the actual reality of what they've both just agreed too-- and man, he was just sneaking away from that! But a moment later he's present again, seemingly anchored into his body by the ghoul's finger tracing down his throat. ]

You don't gotta say anything; you and me? We're golden

[ Still, he's not gunna stop a guy from painting him a word picture. Nick takes the awkward, wordy route into a thank you-- and then torpedos the ghoul's inclination to rib him with the sinker of his statement. Oh, is that all?

The finger down Nick's throat is suddenly a binding fist at the base of his neck. The Synth doesn't actually need to breathe, so the action is more for the flash of it, and for the gritty bliss of ruthlessly grabbing at a jugular, or the approximation of. The feel of command and control is so good, even if the little details don't exactly fall in line.

The ghoul lets his weight drop again, this time settling straddled just above where the Synth's navel would be. ]

Don't act like you don't know how'ta be polite. It's easy.

[ One hand like a cruel vice on Nick's throat, the other a stark contrast in soft affection, knuckles brushing Nick's cheek.]

Just. Say. Please.

[Nick's stomach flips on him as that delicate drawing touch becomes textured fingers crushing his silicon back against his metal superstructure. His chest jerks with the attempt to gasp, lungs straining to pull vacuum but stoppered at the rise of his voice box. His face hitches as the sudden spike in data throws him for a loop.

When he comes back to himself, Hancock is astride his stomach, knees flanking his ribs. Nick gasps again but the gesture fails, just ends up as a rippling convulsion of of his diaphragm and chest. Nick's fans are going top speed, but without his jacket they aren't utterly blocked. Even sunk into the duvet, he maintains the better part of his temperature.

The knuckles brushing his cheek have his eyes fluttering closed and his throat working, trying to swallow around the obstruction and failing. His hands shift and settle against the outsides of Hancock's thighs, resting with a tenderness in exact opposition to the strength crushing his throat into his gears--goddamn--and Hancock thought Nick was a quick study?

Nick hasn't got an ounce of air available to speak, but he mouths the word obediently, nonetheless.]

[ The instinctive (programmed?) jerk of Nick's chest as he fights to breathe (even when he doesn't need to) hits the Ghoul's blood like a shot of morphine, made all the sweeter by the twisted little notion that Nick actually wants Hancock to hurt him. How can he possibly feel such a furnace fire at his core when he's just been so thoroughly wrung out?

Nothing about the way Nick makes him feel makes any sense at all. ]

Sshhh... [ His softer hand slides a single finger across Nick's lips, punctuating his request with a too-sweet shushing motion. It's more for show than anything-- actually Hancock adores each and every new noise he discovers means pleasure for Nick. But, romance, Nick had said. ] I gocha [ his crushing grasp lets up for a split second-- enough to shift the pressure from the pads of his fingers to the crescents of his nails. He could lift Nick by the throat if he wanted to, just like this. But for the moment, the ghoul keeps him pinned. ]

Hmm? Can't hear ya [ Hancock is aware he can't keep this up for too long, but he's greedy for as much of it as he can steal. He likes the Synth underneath him far too much to be forever trapped with only a few minutes to savor before the guy bursts into flames. ]

You can gimme a few more seconds, can't ya? Wanna see if your eyes roll back [now it's both of the Ghoul's hands that close on either side of Nick's throat; something a few fractions tighter would be less cruel, but the explicit amount of pressure is (a best guess) at aiming to keep Nick right at the point where it feels like a hard, desperate enough attempt to inhale might just draw in a scrap of breath.

The kiss he grazes across Nick's lips is almost mockingly chaste; an excuse so the Synth can feel Hancock's lips move and shape his words. ]

I'll lecha have a nice big breath before I fill that request'a yours, slick. Just wanna watch you writhe a couple more beats. Ya did such a good job stringing me out, and stringin' me up... [ his tongue swipes lewd across the synth's lips. ] but seein' you, like this? Fuck is my blood gettin' hot all over again

[The balance that Hancock strikes, between brutality and tenderness, is so perfect that Nick can't do anything but comply. The crushing force on his neck becomes lighter, textured flesh replaced with the sharp edge of nails--his silicon is too thick to puncture meaningfully with nails, Hancock could lift him by his neck like this if he wanted to, without a care in the world. The shift in data that the new sharpness brings is a whorl of information and Nick sinks into it.

A few more seconds? He could take however long he needed.

Hancock wants to see his eyes roll back? That won't be hard for the ghoul to pull off.

With both those hands bracketing his throat, Hancock's managed to bring the tattered edges of Nick's neck back together. That particular circuit hasn't connected in years and the sudden jolt, the renewed influx of information, has Nick gasping desperately again. He convulses, eyes rolling back, and an arches his neck up into Hancock's grip. Between Hancock above him and the bed below, Nick is practically writhing--his hands grip harder on the ghouls hips but he's careful not to do anything that could be construed as legitimate resistance.

He tries breathing again. The pressure on his neck and his chest make it tricky but, unlike a human, Nick can keep trying indefinitely.

It's like breathing through a coffee-stirrer and it never gets easier. Nick's left pulling and pulling against the pressure, diaphragm siezing, and mouth agape like a fish out of water. The strain on his internals is achingly perfect and only made better by the mouth against his, prasing him for their previous tumble. Then Hancock's tongue suddenly sweeps over his lip and has him dropping frames. It's a new sensation unlike all the rest and promptly takes up it's own thread in his rapidly dwindling processing.

Beneath his hands, Nick groans, and the vibrations of his voicebox judder uselessly against Hancock's fingers.]

Some Gomez and Morticia shit right here.

Anything Adams' approved is usually good stuff~

Tru that.

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Nick is going to need to be knocked down a peg after this, he's gonna get smug. (justifiably smug))

Justifiably indeed~

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Nick's very scattered right now, as is to be expected when you give a guy the nicest house ever.

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Nick: "I wonder if I'm a masochist?" 5min later: