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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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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.]
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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
Nick: "I wonder if I'm a masochist?" 5min later:
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.]
Hancock: please everyone likes getting choked practically vanilla :P
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. ]
choking is wasteland 2nd base
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.]
For realz. Also tagging this first because it takes longer for my brain to process ^^;;
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.
Lmao it's all good, tag whichever is easiest that's fine. (Can you tell I'm listening to Hozier.)
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.]
My brain slows down on steamy stuff it's not helpful xD;;
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. ]
Given how much of it we write, I feel compelled to apologize.
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.]
YA GOOD BB Nick can't do much TBH xDDD just S U F F E R ~
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. ]
alsdkfj
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.]
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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. ]
I don't have icons for this. I should make more.
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--
I don't think they make the correct facial expressions in game xD
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?~
I'm sure there's a mod for that. There's a mod for everything. Gonna make the cutscenes awkward tho
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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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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First thing he sees is Hancock, propped against the desk and staring at him, expression soft and laced with the post-sex haze that consumes him every time. Nick gives him a fond look in return and, in the background, all his sensors kick back on. His brow furrows as a surprising list flags flow up behind his eyes. He reads through them, if reading is the right verb at all to describe it, and then gives an amused snort--he'd meant to curse but his throat had siezed shut the moment he'd powered up.
The sensors above and below that point were online, readings were just fine (including the one that told him he'd been opted in to "swallow" which, frankly, he'd have happily expressed). One segment of his throat had just decided to give up and turn off. Nick's gaze went distant as he called up his fragmented logs. When he finds the error, his huff of laughter is a high wheeze, not unlike the breaths he took under Hancock's grip.
Sound like that might be alarming without context, but Nick just gives the ghoul that lopsided smile of his, leans back a little, and stretches. His servos are stiff, but that's nothing new. His neck and shoulders readjusted noisily but Nick seemed pretty content. Apart from those two hiccups he Nick was right as rain.
Satisfied with the diagnostic, and with the view of Hancock perched on that--his desk, Nick is pretty content to just revel in it. Hancock probably wouldn't enjoy being left in the dark, though, so Nick holds up his hands and pantomimes writing on a piece of paper. Hancock had found a damned camera and film in that desk, surely there was a pen in there somewhere.]
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You always look so fresh after. Smug bastard. [ Said with all the fondness. Hancock makes a lazy gesture to his own throat, around about the place he thought he spotted a cord pop out during all the fireworks. ]
Think I might'a broke somethin'? Thought I saw somethin' snap... my logistics were all fucked at the time, think you know what I mean
[ Oh yeah, sounds like something's messed up with Nick's airflow; but if the Synth himself doesn't seem too troubled, Hancock's not going to get all bent outta shape about it. Nick looked blissed beyond language to take all that affectionate abuse. There is... something to that train of thought, though. Hancock keeps it in mind while he leans sideways across the desk, yanks open a drawer, and fishes inside for something to write with. A moment later he's found a pad of yellow sticky notes and a loaded mechanical pencil. There are pens, but they're probably dry. ]
Here ya go, slick. If I thought it'd help, I'd offer ya a cup'a tea for that sore throat. [ he smirks, reclining. ]
Promise this has stuff to do with stuff, but just answer me this: you know Morse code, right?
[ While the ghoul speaks he pushes himself onto his feet. He does not quite wobble two steps, and then melts back onto Nick's lavish duvet with a contented sigh. He still lounges like he owns the place, casting a curious look at his deliciously damaged partner. ]
Quick tag here as I write action elsewhere.
Yeah ...?
[The second, which he started writing first, is a bit longer. Nick gets back to writing it as soon as that first one's changed hands. It takes him another few seconds to finish up then he passes that one too.]
Got it in one. Fucked me so hard you unplugged my throat. Easy fix.
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Ah, well. As long as it's an easy fix. Glad you had a good time, I sure as hell did. But I thought, hey, in case I ever do cross a line...
[ Hancock rolls onto his back, stretches out to the brink of his comfort and drops himself against the plush with a lazy, savoring sigh. ]
You could do the SOS thing? Three quick taps, three longer taps, three quick taps. Two fingers makin' a point, for clarity. Thought it'd work since safe words, bein' actual words, require the use of your mouth. And apparently, I got real appetites for your mouth.
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This time, when he passes it over, he sits on the edge of the bed and sticks it to Hancock's chest.]
Good idea. I was gonna install a warning light. Yours needs less soldering.
[Nick goes back to writing and this one's quick enough.]
Mind plugging me back in?
[He could do it himself, all he'd need was something decently reflective and a screwdriver, but it'd be easier for Hancock to reach in and reconnect that cable.
...thinking it in so many words did make it sound more macabre than Nick expected.
He held off writing another note, though. He didn't expect Hancock would mind, but he might have to wait a minute or two for the ghoul to regain his finer motor skills.]
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He plucks the note off his chest and squints at it whilst giving a read. ]
I'm full'a brilliance and you should come to expect it by now [ He replies to the first written note before taking a gander at the second. With a hazy kind of nod and a general good nature Hancock sits himself up again, though not without a tired groan. ]
Yeah, I got it. Lemme see what that asshole did to ya... [ He jokes fondly, swaying more than leaning towards Nick, taking a closer look at the distraught, moist mechanics of his throat. ]
Think I see the cord that popped... is it this one?
[ His touch isn't timid, but it's reasonably cautious. His fingertips coax the displaced cable into his grasp, and he holds it with absolute tenderness, the exact opposite of the blissful brutality he'd used to inflict the damage in the first place. ]
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It's easier to get at the socket without his shirt on so Nick takes the moment to finally shuck his rumpled button down and tie. When he bows his head forward, if Hancock looks carefully, there's a port and a board just behind the back of his throat. The inner workings of his trachea are fascinating, a series of mechanical irises and long woven cabling, all drawn through hydraulics and free wires. None of the other open ports match the end of that cable, though, so it's not hard to guess where it fits in.
Nick can't feel those cables, not in the same sense that he can feel touch. He knows when one disconnects, but when they do it drops the sensor data for everything downstream of it. This is a simple job, but it's about as dangerous as setting a broken bone. Hancock's delicacy is noted and appreciated more than Nick can say (hah).
The note he tossed down just says: You should see the other guy.]
NGL nice to have these two tones of interaction to bounce between
Right? Though there are some really disconcerting parallels here at the moment.
XD It's accidental foreshadowing?
Does it count as foreshadowing if we finish the other one first? LMAO.
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Do we call it for interrogation?