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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[ 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.]

[ He's gratified quicker than he expects to be, watching those backlit eyes roll; Nick takes the punishment like an unbreakable professional, like he's built for pain. Hancock's attention splits down to the grip at his hips, because yeah, he doesn't want to push too far. Just because Nick doesn't break like a human doesn't mean he doesn't break. And a Ghoul's strength is nothing to scoff at. Hancock's more likely to think maybe a safe word isn't a bad idea, from this side of the equation. Not that he's giving Nick much chance to speak. Safe Signal, then? It gets a pin in it. ]

Gunna have to get you a collar, Nicky. Gettin' far too accustomed to watchin' you choke

[ The ghoul looks pleased, almost proud when Nick finally manages to find the tiniest draw of air being left for him. A human would most certainly be suffocating-- but Hancock's attention is tuned to what he can feel under his hands, to the way Nick's chest jolts and the sounds of his struggling, stuttering machinery. ]

That look on your face is just too damn sweet... [ his teeth sink into his own bottom lip, his growl savoring and unravelling. The synth's mouth stretched open is far too tempting an invitation to ignore. And Hancock is hard now; harder than he should be, considering the events of the evening. But he got so spun up on his new understanding of Nick's senses, the not-quite, but close-enough masochism that stirred awake something in the Ghoul that doesn't ever feel full satisfaction no matter now desperately it's quenched. Usually sadism is a bottomless pit.

Usually.]

Alright... ready? I'm lettin ya up now...

[ But he doesn't, not right away; instead he steals moment after moment of tracing the creases where the shreds of Nick's throat touch together, with the hot humid tip of his tongue. ]

[The way Nick jerks when that tongue introduces liquid to the equation is something an organic creature couldn't possibly mimic. It's like watching an assaultron calibrate, a slow-motion thrash, and is followed by several seconds of buffering.

The hands on Hancock's hips are the only real method of conversation available to Nick at the moment, but even when he jerks they don't tense further. If anything, after he catches back up, they seem to consciously relax.

Nick's eyes are half lidded, staring at Hancock like he's drunk. He is, for a given value of it. His head is swimming and his limbs are uncoordinated. He can't quite find purchase with his socked feet against the bedspread, but the motion is just an absent one either way.

When Hancock finally lets the pressure off his throat, the first thing that happens is Nick saying a ragged "Please". Then, once he has, he gasps down a lungfull of air.

At this rate, just feeling Hancock on his tongue is going to tip Nick over into a systems crash. Hancock has managed to move Nick from a comfortable neutral state to right at the edge of the cliff in, what? Three minutes? It's literally blowing his mind.]

[ That starkly mechanical reaction catches Hancock off guard for half a second; Nick's buffering gives the ghoul time to do roughly the same, assessing for signs that the reaction is still codded positive. Sadist, yes? But also, relentlessly kind enough to make sure his partner is also having a hell of a time. Seems like a good thing though, so Hancock commits the little trick to memory.

That 'please' off the synth's lips is just too pretty; it hits Hancock like a control command; his grasp on Nick's throat fiercely fastens and for a few blaring moments, the ghoul traps Nick in a demanding, biting kiss.

But the next moment he's drawing back, climbing down the bed and reversing himself into a seated position on the metallic desk set a few feet back from the foot of the bed. He lounges there like the impromptu seat is a throne, knees expectantly slack as he beckons Nick over with the meaningful curl of a single finger.

With sharp gestures of command, he also directs the Synth to kneel in front of him. ]

C'mere, gorgeous. On your knees, nice and slow. [ He takes a deliberately steady breath through his teeth. ] That's right... now. Eyes closed. Open that pretty mouth for me.

[Nick brushes right up to the line, processors chugging at full capacity for the duration of that biting kiss. Then Hancock draws back and all that contact vanishes--the feed of data unwinds, each thread processing out to nothing, and Nick is left bereft. His sensors kick back negatives, zeroes, and Nick shivers (or near enough to it) as he sits back up.

Hancock perches himself on the desk, on Nick's desk, and the image is one that requires a moment of admiration. He beckons and damned if Nick isn't on his feet the next second, stumbling over, balance struggling to catch up as his processors drop back to baseline.

He doesn't even think to contest the new nickname--gorgeous? He almost feels like it as he obeys, eager as anything to drop to his knees like a penitent in front of the ghoul. When he does, bent in supplication between Hancock's knees, his expression is bordering on love-struck adoration.

Nick's hands slide up Hancock's legs, tracing that textured skin with something close to reverence, eventually coming to rest on his knees. His mouth falls open and, despite his wanting to keep his eyes open, he dutifully closes them.]

So well behaved [ Hancock praises, voice undone like desert dusk. He always gets so caught up in the expressions that capture Nick's face and this moment is more of the same, Hancock straining his eyes not to blink so he can soak in every searing second of the sights. A stray thought wonders across his cognition and he thinks, nah, there's no way he's that lucky--

But he is. Glancing across Nick's desk, Hancock is carnally delighted to spot a damn near pristine polaroid camera peeking out from behind the computer. Oh, fuck yes. Hancock snatches the thing with record speed, leaving Nick with only the sounds of his motions to go off of. ]

Hold still now [ Hancock purrs, one hand snatching Nick by the chin and tipping his head up half an inch. There's a short, ill-defined quiet before the telling click and flash of the polaroid camera. ]

Look so damn good like this, Slick. Feelin' inspired to start a personal collection here...

[ Despite Nick's playful accusations about Hancock being in a rush, the ghoul sure seems content in dragging out the moments. His fingers curl under Nick's jaw and his thumb swipes smooth across the Synth's bottom lip; taking the familiar action a little further Hancock presses his thumb inward, invading Nick's mouth and deliberately stroking his tongue.

The camera clicks and flashes again, another photo fluttering onto the desk's surface. ]

[Nick hears the first click of the aperture and carraige return as the camera snaps a photo. The light through his eyelids is dull but obvious. His fingers tense almost reflexively on Hancock's knees, but he doesn't shift, doesn't move back.

His mind is racing, though, drawn out of his submission by a thrill of panic. Not that Hancock was taking pictures of him, that was hardly an issue, but that the ghoul had somehow caught him out for the video he'd logged a few minutes ago. It was impossible, of course, but the thought rattled through his conscious mind like a loose bolt, snapping him out of his adoring haze and back to reality.

The swipe across his lip has Nick's focus again. When Hancock presses that thumb into his mouth, against his tongue, Nick finally gives into the temptation to open his eyes. They flutter back open to stare up at Hancock just as he presses that shutter button. The camera flash is brilliant but his own eyes calibrate quickly in the wake of it. There's precious little Nick can do to hurry the ghoul along, contrarian that he is, but he doesn't hesitate to close his lips around that digit and suck it.

It may not have been hitting his every button, but it certainly hit a few.]

[ A sharp cuss slices the air just off Hancock's mouth as those lips close around his thumb; the suction against his skin paints too tempting an invitation, and for a few dangerous seconds, Hancock almost chucks his kingly self control out the window. He wants in to that mouth and on to that tongue and he wants to watch Nick's expression twist in sweet agony while the ghoul fucks his mouth hard enough to break a human's jaw--

But the camera in his hands is also whispering soft, wicked ideas.

So Hancock growls a wordless warning and turns the sharp point of his nail against Nick's tongue. ]

Mouth open, eyes shut [ He snarls, grasping tight at Nick's jaw in a motion designed to demand compliance. And Hancock waits for that compliance to continue. ]

Don't move [ His fingers give a warning squeeze before releasing the Synth's jaw. It's only a few moments that Nick is left in the blind quiet. Another click and camera flash punctuate the press of the tip of Hancock's dick against Nick's mouth; the ghoul's got a hand on his own hilt, tracing a lazy-lewd smear of moisture around (and around, and around) Nick's lips.

Then the heftier weight of his shaft thunks-- slaps the side of Nick's face to the flash of another photo and the distant-thunder rumble of the ghoul's approving growl. ]

[The rebuke is prompt and pointed--the bite of a fingernail, a snarl and squeezing lateral pressure that pushes his jaw down regardless. There's a flood of pinpoint sensation and a few flags thrown from his superstructure. The pressure is just enough to set off warning bells in his skull and those trip a bright cascade down his spine.

Nick shudders and complies, eyes closing and mouth falling open, face at the perfect ache under Hancock's fingers. He stays put even as that hand pulls away, even as he waits in blind silence, desperate for something to flag one sensor or another. When the head of Hancock's dick touches Nick's lower lip, it takes all his restraint not to shift forward, to stay in place and follow directions.

Damn, Hancock was better at this than Nick could have hoped.

The light, lewd smearing of flesh around his slack lips has Nick's full focus, all his processing dedicated to that one particular point of contact. When it pulls back and the weight of his cock slaps across across his cheek, it honestly startles him. He keeps still but his surprise is written in the angle of his brows and the set of his shoulders.

He doesn't beg, largely because he's been told off already for skirting the instructions, but he certainly considers it. Waiting is a type of agony Nick hadn't considered when he envisioned this all, it's torturous. His internal clock is just ticking by at a frustrating crawl, perception skewing with his desperation to move--Hancock has him forgetting that time exists. The more the ghoul drags it out, the more excruciating it is for Nick.

It's perfect.]

Good [ Hancock praises in red velvet purrs when Nick complies to each command, shutting his eyes and opening his mouth in sinfully delicious obedience. It's still so wild and unreal that this should be the way to trip Nick into his own shade of technicolor bliss, as though the ghoul riding his face into brutal vision blurring climax isn't also completely self gratifying.

Did Hancock decide he wants to hear Nick plead, himself?

Or did he somehow catch the desire flashing across the Synth's cognition?]

Now. Beg. [ He says it like a command trigger, not quite aware of the savoring sadism that's stained his own expression; there's a corrosive quality to his grin, something feral in a way entirely his own. Both eyes are locked onto Nick, but one leers through the lens of the camera, still focused on the Synth's face.

And just so it's not too easy? Hancock keeps a steering grasp on the base of his own dick, guiding the girth of it to faintly, obscenely tap the side of Nick's face (or slide against the corner of his mouth) at erratic intervals. ]

[That instruction barely has a moment to land before Nick's complying, his voice rough and artifacting in a way that makes him sound almost hoarse. He's sure he looks a sight in his rumpled clothing, necktie hanging askew and wrinkled, pants with a drying stain from their last round--he can't imagine what his blind pleading looks like. Especially not with the weight and heat of his cock taunting him as he does.]

Fuck, John--[Nick starts, his fingers pressing just so against Hancock's knees as he does. His face is a study in desperation.]--Please. I was close, too close, and I can almost taste it.

[He couldn't taste anything, in truth, but that was semantics. Taste was relative and just having Hancock's thumb in his mouth ran so similar to the feel of his dick that Nick was primed for it. Hancock's shaft bounces off his cheek and Nick briefly strains in the direction it came from.

Nick's not great at begging, not in normal circumstances, but he's certainly trying his hardest now. He's imagined a few things since their last date and all of them line up on his tongue immediately.]

Throw me for a loop--knock me offline so hard I come to in the morning with a hangover--put indents in my hydraulics--make me feel like I ought to bruise--choke me until I forget I can breathe--short every transistor under my skin--

Please--

[ Hancock's fingers snake down one side of Nick's jaw, curl around the back of his neck and haul him forward like he's made of tin. ]

I was waitin' on the 'please', but thank ya kindly for all those colorful suggestions

[ The ghoul growls, gritty-gracious, while his dick finally, finally spears the synth's throat. He's rougher this time than he had been the first, with a variant grasp on his own desires. With one orgasm already wrung off his nerves, the ghoul's got better, clearer, more vicious control of himself-- of how rough he can be and how much he can push before triggering that perfect-sweet overload.

He bucks wild for too near to a minute, all but forgetting about the camera he's holding. His grip on the thing slacks and it thumps against his chest, while the ghoul's head rolls forward on his neck and the vicious, unholy sounds start to tear out of his throat.

Then he stops very suddenly, sheathed to the hilt. Hancock has remembered the camera, and takes a long savoring moment to line up and focus the perfect shot of Nick's mouth stretched so wide around him. ]

Lemme see those eyes wide open now, Nick. Gotta look pretty for the money shot, doncha?~

[Nick would feel a bit embarassed for overstepping if he wasn't then, immediately, granted the thing he'd been begging for. Hancock drives in and Nick's almost startled by it--his throat stutters in a vague attempt to swallow as it's forced open, contracting and tensing around his dick. Between the hand against his neck, almost pulling him off balance, and the cock bottoming out hard somewhere around his voicebox, Nick's stuck buffering for more than a second, trying to keep up.

When he comes back around to awareness, awash in data, Nick couldn't be happier. He groans with the feeling of that wild thrusting and tries to suck down a breath. The extra vacuum just tenses his trachea, makes it a tighter fit for Hancock and a more dramatic spike in data for himself.

Speaking of--Hancock is singing him a symphony of debauched, gutteral noises. Nick's happy to listen to every one even as Hancock's hips snap into his face, but then all motion halts. His processing load drops from the high seventies to somewhere in the low teens immediately and Nick tries to lean further forward, to chase the movement, but there's nowhere to go. He isn't whining, not aloud, but when he follows Hancock's next order he looks about as needy as he feels.

His gaze meets the iris of that camera--another flash--another carraige return--and the fingers on Hancock's knees grip a little firmer against the flesh.

He's not desperate and clawing, but he's right on the border.

Hancock takes another, and another, and Nick's diaphragm tries to draw breath around the still, thick weight stoppering up his lungs. His fans, having slowed as his temperature dropped, kick back up and it's all Nick can do to plead with his eyes. He strains a bit against the hand that's got a hold of his skull, tries to draw back, but he doesn't want to exert the force necessary to move. The odds of that being read as discomfort, a plea to stop, are far too high.]

[ Nick feeling embarrassed is part of the strategy of the game. Makes him look even hotter taking dick down the sleeve of this throat like a damn pro if there's just a small dash of frivolous shame in the mix, too. The unnatural-mechanical drag when his throat swallows, the way the cables and chamber squeeze so impossibly tight; it feels like some kind of impossible sex-dream, the kind that defy logic and reality for sheer carnal value.

But it's all so very real, and Hancock's got the photographic evidence to prove it. ]

Lookit you, pretty boy. [ Click. ] Patience of a damn saint. [ Click. The ghoul's dick gently jerks against Nick's tongue. ] That look on your face... ya wanna fight me, but ya don't want me to stop, huh...? [ Click. Finally, outta film. Hancock sets the camera down amid the flurry of photos. ]

Guess we are gunna need a safe word. Heh... C'mon now, hands on the edge'a the desk, just like before. That's it.

[ All it takes is Nick's compliance to sound the gunshot that starts a race. The sheer brutality of Hancock's movements is a startling testament to how much he must have held back on their first date. Nick will absolutely have the slightest indents at the back of his neck and base of his skull, shaped perfectly to the rough pads of Hancock's fingers at their fiercest grip.

And for all the ghoul's teasing, back and forth manner of things, this time? He's aiming not to stop until Nick finally catches and crashes against that burning brink of oblivion. ]

[Nick's hands shift to the desk and, just as he's got a hold of it, Hancock delivers all the intensity Nick could ever want for. The stream of sensory data floods the space behind Nick's eyes and, despite himself, he closes them again. The back of his skull throws flags as Hancock's grip bites in. He bends the casing into a subtle, impromptu handhold, and Nick's cognitive functions stutter trying to keep up. It's excruciating, debasing, and exactly what he wanted. Hancock executes this with overwhelming force and attentive generosity.

Nick's heart clenches at it, at how readily Hancock dove into satisfy this request, and that's just about the last coherent thought he has for the duration. His hands tense against the desktop, but only to keep hold as Hancock's brutal pace threatens to tip him over.

Beneath the tips of his fingers, in those new little indents the ghoul won't have the any problem feeling the heat as Nick winds back up. Nick's choking on it, drowning in the sensations, and Hancock just keeps ratchetting him higher and higher. It's so good--another flag trips as his left eye's connection flickers, the servos in his jaw are straining their designed angle, and his auxiliary fans are grinding without--

Nick hasn't the faintest.

A cable comes loose at the nape of his neck and that thread collapses. The sudden instability kicks off a blinding cascade crash. Nick sucks in one deep, powerful gasp as one system trips another and another. He freezes up as that little spark of extra dances right across the edges of his perception--then his whole mind blanks out with that terminal snap and hum. A crash of rads bubbles over his silicon skin and, all at once, Nick goes completely slack.]

[ New sensations flicker under the ghoul's fingertips, beneath the subtle indents (so much better than love-bites) he's left in a crescent up the back of Nick's neck. Maybe he should be worried-- there isn't nothing in him that's worried-- but it all seems to be harmony in the same symphony, if Hancock's reading things right.

All in all this is more about Crashing Nick than Smashing himself, but that sweet-wicked spike of radiation catches the ghoul by surprise, rolling up his nerves off his core, spider-webbing up his dick and into his stomach. It's not quite electric, not a typically tangible shade of energy. Something hard to define, especially all wrapped in the bliss of brutally fucking Nick's mouth via his so sweetly pleaded request.

The ghoul trembles as the synth unwinds, slack and quiet. If he wasn't so enthusiastically invited, Hancock might start to feel bad about making such a mess of the synth's throat. Doesn't exactly give the choice between spit or swallow, does he? A hiss slithers from the ghoul's clenched teeth as he carefully extracts himself from that dangerously addictive mouth. ]

How the fuck did you do that?

[ He knows Nick can't answer, it's rhetorical. Hancock does his best to keep himself and his indisposed partner upright, one hand on Nick's shoulder and the other on the edge of the desk. Hazy jet-black eyes paint the spent synth over and over again with drunken adoration.

The guy must really, really trust him. Might as well be a neon sign. Just that thought is enough to put a flutter in Hancock's chest. ]

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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:

Hancock: please everyone likes getting choked practically vanilla :P

choking is wasteland 2nd base

For realz. Also tagging this first because it takes longer for my brain to process ^^;;

Lmao it's all good, tag whichever is easiest that's fine. (Can you tell I'm listening to Hozier.)

My brain slows down on steamy stuff it's not helpful xD;;

Given how much of it we write, I feel compelled to apologize.

YA GOOD BB Nick can't do much TBH xDDD just S U F F E R ~

alsdkfj

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I don't have icons for this. I should make more.

I don't think they make the correct facial expressions in game xD

I'm sure there's a mod for that. There's a mod for everything. Gonna make the cutscenes awkward tho

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