robotdick | HUB 360

HUB 360

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

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

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

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

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

No turrets...so that was a start.

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

"Where the hell am I?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah?

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

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

You wanna show me the rest first?

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

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

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

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

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

Guess I'm flattered to be your Top Priority here

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

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

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

Know how much you like the limelight.

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

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

I'm glad to be of service.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn [ The growl is pure, simmering appreciation. ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Says the guy in duds from the 1700's.

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

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

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

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

My style is Iconic and you're not gunna say one more about it [ The Ghoul playfully scolds, extremely comfortable in his lounging, lording position. Nick might worry the Ghoul's got Assumptions about his Hardware (haha) but that's not the case. Living as a Ghoul means you don't really have all your Bits by default. Following that, neither does living as a Synth, and neither does living as a human, honestly. Even when he was smooth-skinned John McDonough he thought making assumptions about the state of other people's genitals is rude.]

Gettin' a little ahead of yourself there, ain'tcha? I'm right where I wanna be; no more to it than that. [ he measures a certain tenderness into his words-- it's a small issue to sweat, so far as Hancock is concerned, because Nick had already done pretty damn will with only his current hardware installed. ]

S'alright, alright? Didn't I already say, 'Interest, but no Assumptions'?

[ He takes Nick by each wrist, guiding the Synth's hands under his coat and up his ribs. ]

'Sides, you sayin you ain't enjoying this? My ego ain't fragile, but damn...

[The reassurance is precisely what Nick needs to hear, he doesn't even mind getting teased about heading that off at the pass. Something in him relaxes at Hancock's nonchalance, though he'd be hard pressed to say what it was.

Certainly not saying that.

[Nick is enjoying everything about this, as evidenced by his struggling fans. They've kicked on high and even with it, he just gets warmer and warmer. His thoughts are a fuzzy misasma with Hancock at the center. He has no hesitation in following the path Hancock's set him on. Nick's hands smooth over his shirt, carefully mapping the skin beneath through the fabric, traveling along his sides and up his back just for the hell of it. It's another layer of sensory data--the texture of the shirt, the warmth and coolness, the hand on his wrist.

The lighting in here is far more diffused and bright than the wasteland usually offers. It's a smooth, dull white with an electric blue edge, Nick's never been anywhere with lighting like this. It makes Hancock's eyes look all the blacker, but reflects in cool grey and stripes of occasional blue. His coat looks damn near black in here, and all the familiar shades of skin have a dreamy almost purplish quality.

Nick's not a painter, but times like this make him want to give it a go.]

I could stare up at you all night. If that's the plan, you won't hear me groaning about it.

[Though hot under the collar might be an understatement. Nick ignores it and, since neither of them have ever owned a laptop, neither of them seem to realize what happens when you press computer fans against bedding for a while.]

Yeah, thought so [ He can only grin with smug pride at his own skillful diffusion of any real tension before it could fully manifest. Yeah, dude. Calm your circuits. No one's expecting anything beyond lowkey, casual worship, and Nick's already proven he's exceptionally skilled with making the Ghoul see Outer Space.

The contrasting temperatures of Nick's hands over his shirt pull a long tattered sigh from the Ghoul's chest, lifting and sinking his ribs beneath the exploratory touch. His eyes shut and his head tips back a small fraction as he soaks in the pure tactile bliss.]

Well... guess I'm hopin' you do a little more than stare [ it takes some shifting of his weight for Hancock to be able to set his hands on his own buttons beneath the ruffles of his shirt. Perhaps in spite of his own eagerness, the Ghoul slows his pace and plucks open the buttons one by one. Sliver after sliver of skin greets the open air, until Hancock can peer down and watch exactly what Nick's hands look like, coasting along his torso. It looks good-- enough to cost him a few seconds before the next smart-ass thing tumbles out of his smirking mouth.]

Not that I could blame ya if that's all ya manage. I am pretty damn breathtaking, n'all

[Oh, so it's like this? Hancock framed against a hazy white and blue backdrop, looming and waiting for Nick to attend him? That's quite an appetizer and Nick hasn't the slightest issue diving right in. his hands trace down Hancock's ribs to his waist, then down to the crest of his hips. Nick watches him intently as he draws that shirt out from where it's loosely caught up in his belt and waistband. (Nothing so formal as tucked in, not for Hancock, but it's close.)

His movements crawl as Hancock undoes the front of it but, even so, he finishes first. It's no chore, though, reaching up through that parting fabric to draw fingertips over his stomach. Watching Hancock move above him, watching the small shifts as muscles in his core, his side, neck and chest move, is a sight that Nick takes in greedily.

It's a dirty trick, sitting on him as Hancock has. He can't quite sit up and he's not close enough to kiss anything. It makes him all the more aware of what his hands are doing--and what one of them is feeling.]

You really are.

[That was meant to be sass, a cheeky bit of agreement. It came out as a soft statement couched in the gravel of Nick's voice, so sincere that the neutral expression Nick usually wears is revealed for the fond look that it actually is.]

Too far away for a slow dance, though.

[ Almost everything Hancock does is a dirty trick, if he's thinking about it right. Bedroom antics are no exception. Still, hard to spin sinister plans with Nick touching him of his own accord, now. Bold, eager hands that make his skin prickle with the best kind of heat. The bizarre, completely inhuman contrast of them both is somehow strangely enchanting; metal and mutated-flesh, both somehow so tied up with the same lingering ribbon of humanity. ]

Tryin' make me blush? Not sure that's-- [ his voice catches slightly as Nick's hand wonders low, dipping dangerously below his navel.] --on the table, with my Ghoulish [ said like 'Girlish'] complexation.

[ He's caught between Too Many Desires again; wanting to melt onto Nick and kiss him until he can't breathe, wanting to shift his position and roll the back of his thighs against Nick's lap to eagerly prop open a thigh under the threat of those wandering fingers, and--

Well, he can do the thing that will take the least amount of time, first.]

Ya want me closer, huh? Alright...

[ He's moving again, shifting his weight until it's spread evenly across his own knees and Nick's lap. The way it lends him the freedom of motion to lift and drop his hips is largely frivolous-- but maybe it doesn't feel that way, to someone with at least a couple memories that should fall in line.

There's a notable amount of heat coming off of Hancock's bare chest as he drapes himself over his partner once more. His breath is too hot, too ragged all of the sudden against the Synth's ear; his hips rock through a subtle, but shamelessly lewd pantomime. Missing hardware? No worries-- Hancock will burn them both on the mere idea of what could be.

His loaded groan trails through the moments, so distorted it's almost not recognizable as the Synth's name. ]

[Hancock obliges and all at once Nick has him pressed up, against him. Hancock's warm and Nick just gets warmer as he shifts and rocks his hips, legs flexing against Nick's sides, grinding against a cock that Nick doesn't have. Nick's breath stutters and then Hancock's groaning his name--

Nick's never been so hot and bothered as he is right now--he's barely running any data but his processors are chugging. He feels like he ought to be panting, sucking down air like he's running a marathon, with Hancock writhing and making the show that he's making. Nick's hands settle at his hips, just to feel the flexion of his pantomime. He turns his head to get a look at Hancock's face but, abruptly, his left eye flashes a warning and then cuts out entirely.

What? That only happens when he's--]

Ah, shit.

[Nick quickly tilts his head away from Hancock's mouth and grips his hips. It's quick, hurried, and direct the way he takes hold and flips them on this impossibly comfortable, cushy bed. Reversing their positions drops the ghoul into the spot Nick had just occupied and it's a stunning contrast to the room around them. The blankets are hot like they'd just moved the iron away and Nick's fans, unblocked, are hitching and struggling under his coat.]

Just a second, sweetheart--

[Nick is knelt on the bed just between Hancock's legs and he reels back to hurriedly strip off his coat. The change in temperature when he does is severe and Nick sighs as his core temperature stops rising. His left eye is still throwing an error, but it'll come back online in a moment. Crisis averted, Nick tosses his coat on the bed and takes a deep breath.]

So hot you got me ready to catch fire. What a show.

[ Hancock's plenty familiar with just how dangerous an idea (just and idea) can be; one of the many tools he'll use to his advantage and this just seemed like the perfect play. He's still not doubting it, not even when the room unexpectedly flips around him. Maybe the Ghoul got a little into his own theatrics, with the infectious idea running up his own fever as well; so the sudden flip caught him totally by surprise.

He was about to say-- something more intelligible than nothing, but the next thing Nick says finally successfully knocks the language right out of the Ghoul, for at least a few seconds. It's an undeniable record scratch moment that leaves Hancock with his mouth hung open for a split second, staring up at those electric-yellow eyes like some liquid bliss just hit his bloodstream. 'Sweetheart'... he likes that off Nick's lips just as much as 'Johnny'.]

Y'alright? [ He finally realizes the heat clinging to the sheets is actually not coming from his own body and-- yeah, iron-hot is right. It doesn't hurt but it makes him realize he should, maybe, at least strip Nick off a bit before playing that particular tune. ] There I go, gettin' over-zealous again...

[ Ah, but, while he's here... Hancock sinks into the insanely plush mattress, lounging lavishly while sipping on the sight of Nick looming over him. Hot, disheveled, de-coated. Now it's Hancock's turn to take his time reaching for and fixing his own hand, just right, as though he doesn't have much better things to be doing with his hands. ]

Thought I might indulge ya [ Hancock come on it was very self gratifying ] Not that the views bad from where I'm sittin', either.

Consider me indulged.

[Nick's mind is clearing as he gradually cools down, but now that he's got Hancock spread out over the blankets, lounging like the big cat Nick always compares him to, he can pay proper tribute to the ghoul. Nick shifts so his other knee is next to Hancock's hip, one of his thighs straddled, and leans over, caging Hancock in without resting down on him.

His eye's still out, so he knows his head is hot enough to burn if he isn't careful, which means nuzzling in return is straight out. He might be able to get away with mapping him out with his mouth and that thought appeals just as well. Nick decides to just carry on paying quiet tribute, keep the game going until Hancock shifts things.]

Tell me if it's too hot. Don't want to go burnin' you.

[His warning is chased by his leaning in and brushing a soft kiss against the space right by Hancock's mouth, then his chin, and then the skin across Hancock's throat. He drags his lips, just barely grazing, and travels idly down to his adam's apple, then to the pit of his neck.

Once his gradual path is done, he shifts back up, puts his weight on the hands bracketing Hancock's head, and maps along his jaw, tracing more featherlight kisses from his pulse to the top of his shoulder. Nick savors this, romantic that he is. He may not be able to sell something lewd as well as Hancock can, he's too straightlaced, but he can do this and do it well.

Each of Nick's passes stop when he hits fabric, he's in no rush and Hancock wanted the full evening. It's more than enough to worship what peeks out of his open shirt, and worship Nick does. Hancock's still the boss here, the mantle is his so long as he wants it, and Nick being above him doesn't necessarily change a thing...except, perhaps, perspective.

The new fall of shadows and light across the ghoul is just as charming as the last, so Nick has no complaints.]

[ It's not really being physically flipped onto his back that makes Hancock feel like the floor has swapped with the ceiling-- not that he's gunna spell it out, exactly; taking full advantage of the moments he can scramble to gather his thoughts, the Ghoul lets out a slow breath, attempting to level his breathing. His face does feel a little warm, but he knows it's definitely not a visible flush. ~~Far as he knows there's only one way to make his face go red red~~.

And then Nick's mouth is just on the shy side of too-hot, like a dull knife's edge that had been under a tongue of fire. It startles and confuses Hancock's nerves in a damn delicious way; intense pleasure overcutting the softest suggestion (or idea) of pain. ]

Yeah, this ain't the sound'a me complainin'. [ At least his skin is too strong to go red from the heat-- a testament to how sturdy built the Ghoul is, how much punishment he can take without the barest hint of effort. In this case, it's only fair Hancock feel the results of the overheating he caused his reckless-damn-self. ]

Shit, is the light in one'a your eyes out? Is that cuz'a me? [ He would really and truly be more concerned if Nick wasn't-- well, still so attentively worshipping him. He trusts the Synth to be able to handle himself, but it's also a tick he hasn't noticed before, even with a keen eye for details. ]

Left side's got a bad solder. [Nick explains against Hancock's clavicle as he follows it across toward his shoulder]

Tends to detatch partially if I overheat. 'S a decent warning system.

[Nick's not terribly bothered by it, not in the safety and seclusion of the penthouse, not with Hancock here with him. This is fairly obvious given how lazily he travels along Hancock's body.]

When it cools off it'll come back.

[Nick slows his pace once he moves to Hancock's chest, kissing with less chastity, still straddling the line of too hot, regardless of how hard his fans work.]

Might take a minute, this time, seeing how I don't plan on stepping away anytime soon.

[He glances up, along Hancock's body, and tests a biting kiss as he watches the ghoul's face.]

Not unless you tell me to.

[ Were the circumstances composed a little differently, Hancock would probably manage a greater amount of concern over his partner's glitchy eye; but Nick's so casual-smooth, talking easy as his almost-too-hot-mouth shapes the words against the Ghoul's skin. Jesus, and Hancock thought he had felt the heat on their first encounter. The sheets, his own clothing, his own body-- and then Nick so impossibly, inhumanly hot on top of him has Hancock sweating under his clothing but too spun up to crawl out of it.

His hands reel through the air and grab at nothing, just the emptiness at either side of Nick's head. The Ghoul aches to grab and cling and pull-- but he's more cautious of actually overheating the Synth than burning his own hands. Obviously the call had been close-- Hancock can't recall ever seeing the light go off behind one of Nick's eyes. ]

Guess I better dig it while I can-- not selfish enough to overheat ya just cuz I like when your mouth gets so damn hot

[ His fingers bite restlessly into the comforter at either side of his own head, because he has to hold onto something; his spine bends to appreciatively press upwards while Nick's mouth drifts lower down his chest. He likes holding the Synth's gaze, watching him watching, but he can't keep steady enough beneath that experimental press of teeth. ]

Don't you dare [ Once again between this and that Hancock finds himself balanced perfectly on the razor's edge between a growling command and a demanding plead. He's mildly surprised to hear his own voice compose quite like that-- a pretty rare occasion, not quite as common as a blue moon. ]

Not gunna happen [ Feels like a better take on the tone of his answer, the growling amendment coming off the hint of a sheepish smirk. ]

[Of course his overheating mouth is something Hancock is into. Nick almost laughs against his stomach. He's smart enough not to grip at Nick's head, but that doesn't give him much to hang on to. Which is a pity for Hancock, but deeply amusing for Nick.

Naturally, the lazy kissing involves more contact after that, just to let Hancock enjoy the anomaly, but not an ounce more giddyup. He likes eye contact, but watching Hancock arch and grip the duvet by his head in mixed frustration and pleasure is just as good. It's made all the better when Nick notices the sheen of sweat gathering across his chest.]

Not to besmirch your drip, but I'm low on space and you seem a little warm yourself. Want any help getting out of it?

[Idly, Nick undoes the knot in Hancock's flag belt. He doesn't remove it, or bother with his pants beneath it, just...a suggestion.]

no subject

no subject

Spinny beachball of death buffering.

no subject

Nick spamming f5.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

*/takes a loooooooooooooooooooong hit of Chem Pie

LMAO

I need something to anchor my soul to the mortal plane xD

Nick just casually throwing out the heart clenching pet names.

He doesn't know how hot he is xD

hancock was so hot nick went temporarily blind

no subject

Not Nick doing quick calculations about how he can get this hot and not reball his systems.