HUB 360

[robotdick]

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?"

Comments

[chem_break]

[ The ghoul's hands are out of commission, but he's got a mouth to say 'SOS' as much as he could tap his knuckles against the table for the actual Morse code. He does not. It's been established that Hancock Pitches more than he Catches, and it's been established that muscle memory is a mechanism of addiction.

He's not extremely addicted to sex, but his muscles sure have memory. It somewhat equates to jacking the wrong port; the mechanics don't work for this, but they do. He's not built for nailing like a chick; those 'irises' don't open fast enough. Hancock's body strains to accommodate the sudden intrusion, then swallows it with the yielding downwards drag of ringed muscle forced apart. His insides are hot and close around the synth's dick like a second skin.

He doesn't mean to let out such a heedless cry. Nick drags him to that perfect place where pain and pleasure blur into one pulse pounding entity. It takes all the air out of him; it hurts, he almost, almost crashes into an orgasm carved from the ludicrously delightful humiliation as much as the cock spearing his insides. ]

One. More. Bullet.

[ He can barely get the words out, barely scrape together the venom to make his threat sizzle. He sounds just a hair shy of begging, like he's hanging on by the skin of his teeth. When he catches himself using his knees to pull Nick in he twists, turns his face away and restarts his bratty thrashing in short exhausted bursts. He only pushes Nick away in half-hearted fits, like he can barely remember that he should.

Apparently this Kingpin is a real slut for cop-dick.

(Or, Hancock is incredibly into his Beau.) ]

[robotdick]

[Hancock doesn't tap out, despite the tightness Nick's driving through. He keeps in character, even, and Nick is so impressed he huffs a laugh. It doesn't play as his corrupt persona, though, so he just sneers, grinds into him and blow him a kiss.]

Put it on my tab.

[When Nick starts up again, he mostly ignores Hancock's thrashing, hands shift off his hips to grip his thighs. He snaps a few pictures as he slides home--Hancock with his head turned to one side, looking like he'd rather be moaning than seething--the way he arches up as he tries to twist and object--the way his neglected dick drags lines of moisture across his stomach, his shirt. Another few images and Nick reaches to take his chin again, twists his face up, and forces the ghoul to look at him.]

Smile for the camera, Mr. Mayor.

[chem_break]

[ Every single inward stab drives the ghoul a little closer to the brink; moans he can no longer continue to swallow crash against his clenched teeth and somewhere along the way, he's shut his eyes. The humiliation is all fake but somehow it's turning this thrashing to writhing, breaking sounds out of his chest that any other circumstance would allow him to swallow. He's agitated, cornered, wild; desperate, tripping into eager, shamefully needy.

His face is shockingly warm when Nick's fingers catch his chin. It's a weakness the synth learned quickly to exploit, but it hits so different in this game. He tries to resist it, tries to keep his face turned away and twisted up in a snarl, but the command hits him sideways and it's one of those extremely rare moments of obedience he offers to Nick and only Nick.

He doesn't smile though, but he stares the synth in the eyes, dazed and lifting on a raising tide. Synthesized horror and shame war on his expression (built off a small scrap of real bashfulness) as he realizes his body is about to brutally betray him. Smashing into a brain-melting climax without his dick so much as being touched is-- well, a testament to Nick's skill and dedication, really. Some of the ghoul's hardware kicks out a baseline of savage pleasure (the knot of nerves hidden so wickedly inside of him) but the sum of these sensations is so much more than just that.

It's starting to feel like carnal clockwork; the climax Hancock goes smashing into by the sweet depravity Nick can pack into the silk and velvet of his words.

The sound that comes out of him is dangerously close to a whine. The synth's delightful new mechanics had already made a mess, but with measure and intention. Hancock has neither of those things as his dick spills every ounce of the damning evidence of his obscene enjoyment. It's more of a mess than he usually makes; the wicked convulsions ripple through him again and again and he's still just starring at Nick, silently howling as the payoff of organic climax utterly douses his bliss-twisted face. ]

[robotdick]

[In that one brilliant moment, all of Nick's embarrased suffering in the presence of the machinist is validated.

He catches a burst of photographs as Hancock comes undone, as he paints himself in his own spend, body rippling and straining with the pleasure of it. It's a beautiful sight, the ghoul blissed out and turned into a sloppy mess. It's definitely not in keeping with the game, but Nick can't quite resist the urge to cup his face and drag his thumb straight through those painted lines, smearing them across Hancock's cheek.]

That's a good look on you.

[It's said too fondly even as Nick aims for neutrality. He's fairly sure the game is up, but that's Hancock's call. He's reluctant to move just yet, his sensors caught in a comfortable state. As he waits for the ghoul's mind to gather itself up, Nick just lazily grinds against him, savoring the heat and tension on his new hardware.]

[chem_break]

[ Hancock is never going to be able to hear a camera-click (or near-enough approximation) again without having some powerful physical reactions. His brain folds the taunting sounds into the ripples of his climax, wringing every ounce of rapture off his nerves. For a few moments his whole body trembles his his insides clamp, painting the force of his convulsions through Nick's brand new hardware. The knees that had been biting so brutally at the synth's shoulders go boneless, slack. One limp leg slides down Nick's side and settles heavy at his hip.

It's a motion of fatigue more than anything, but the result is a taut, distinct pull across his parted thighs that adds some delightful, undefinable depth to the casual grind of Nick's silicone-flesh against his insides.

The fondness that breaks their script is well received; Hancock tips his sodden face into the synth's hand and nuzzles against his palm. Might be an end to the charades, might be a brief pause. Might even be that the Kingpin and Beat Cop are secretly in love with each other, who knows? ]Fair [ His winded complaints don't make the distinction much clearer. His teeth are still grinding, his indignity all drowning in reverent disbelief. ] You can just-- you can just keep going-- [ the realization is gut-clenching; just another lazy inward grind and something sends fireworks up the ghoul's still-raw nerves. His spine arches sharp off the table, chains rattling against the bolt. ]

That's--fucking--monstrous

[ Waiting for Hancock to gather is thoughts is going to take a while if Nick's so content just casually impaling him with such inhuman stamina and resilience. ]

[robotdick]

[Nick's been hanging around Hancock and Evaris for too long, his first instinct is to tell him 'that's what she said'. He bites it back, though, grinning as he draws back and then sinks right back in. Nick can tell when he's hit the tangle of nerves inside his exhausted beau based on how his muscles tense and seem to ripple around him. Nick's dick isn't more sensitive than the rest of him, but just the visuals of this little interlude have him running hot already--he sinks into him lazily, casually, as if he has all day. Because he does.

The data from their connection has been steadily eating up more of his processing but, honestly, what really has him going is the texture of come across Hancock's face. Come to think of it (hah), he's not tried this since he'd picked up new systems--Nick swipes some of that spend from Hancock's cheek and slides that fingertip into his mouth, sucking it dry as he rocks into the man beneath him. That is--well, not what he expected, but the details of that flavor lodge themselves in his buffer.

Nick's surprise is evident on his face, but it's just a flicker--his expression moves through it, settling on something a little more appropriate for the role. Smug and superior, Nick pops that finger from his mouth and finally says something.]

What was that? [Nick asks dispassionately as he gradually adopts a new, lazy pace.] Didn't catch that. Want to add something to the record?

[chem_break]

[ It feels terribly short sighted to have not anticipated this exact happenstance. Hancock wasn't sure how he expected Synth Sex tech to work exactly, just that anything off a Gen 3 was indistinguishable from an organic human. But Nick's not a Gen 3, even if there are some similar pieces. So it follows that his parts, whatever parts, wouldn't function exactly along the same lines as organics, either.

This is just one of those drastically unfair advantages that comes with being what Nick is. He gets to wreck his ghoul beyond the boundaries of biologically determined stamina. Even Nick The Original couldn't fuck like a machine with the constraints and demand that follow flesh and bone. And Hancock certainly seems here for the performance. ]

I said, I hope you like the taste'a that [ The synth's committed dispassionate drawl inspires the return of the Kingpin's snarling, but it's a far cry from all the venom he started this encounter with. His Poker Face is stained, after all. He cannot believe Nick just did that-- can't repress the sudden demanding desire to taste his own flavor in a profoundly penetrating kiss. He bites back the urge to lean forward against the chains but he can't quite cut how his gaze hangs so hungry on the synth's mouth. ]

Just keep... diggin' your grave... [ Fireworks, again. Hancock's eyes screw shut and his whole body jerks, cruel blood-flow engorging sensitive veins. This time the light show drags through the dark and his spine stays bent, body wound tight. His head thrashes back and forth in stubborn refusal, not so much of what Nick's doing, but of the too-eager way his body is so ready to soak up the assault and comply. ]

Can't fuckin believe... the audacity on you... Thinkin' you deserve much, much worse than bullets, Val.

[ It would be a much more effective bluff if the ghoul's quivering legs were not devoting what little strength they could muster to encouraging every leisurely inward stab. ]

Nah... think I'm gunna make you burn so hot you'll wish I killed you

[robotdick]

You're all talk, Johnny.

[Nick thinks it's irrationally lovely how Hancock looks, oversensitive and thrashing as he fucks into him with lazy abandon. His dedication to the game makes a thrill run through the synth, gets him a little more invested in it and...frankly, he'd already been a bit excessive. Nick grabs that leg at his hip and hikes it up pinning it at his waist. He runs his tongue over his fingertip in a lewd show of self-satisfaction and then picks up the baton at the edge of the table.

He can lean back, now, and he does. It makes his thrusts less jarring but certainly helps him hit that tangle of nerse that have Hancock jumping like a live-wire. With that baton, prodding under the ghoul's chin digging into his throat from afar, is so easy he barely has to think about it.

At this angle, it's not the most damning photo he can take, but it catches Hancock stretched out and the file behind him, spilled across the table into the circle of a spotlight. It's a lovely momento of tonight and Nick snaps a image. He might have to print that one off and put it frame by the bed.]

Look at you. Writhing, begging for it. I keep this up, you'll be painting your face again real fast.

[Nick's dirtbag cop voice is weirdly easy to maintain as he drops it a register and plasters a wicked grin on his face.]

All that talk about how pretty I am--I think you let me catch you. Think maybe you were aching for it.

[chem_break]

[ He can only breathe on every other pendulum swing, when the press of the baton at his throat is at its least brutal. It's still a struggle to drag in the breath against the hard metal bar crushed against his windpipe, but it's the kind of struggle that shamelessly shamefully gets him off.

The shift in angle that allows Nick to inflict such a violent pleasure is executively evil; the ghoul's grasp on himself is already so poorly splintered. His dignity's already shot, and bleeding. No need to make it a pin-cushion. ]

I'm not-- I'm not fuckin' beggin you, I'm not-- [ His rage is shorting out under an overload of desperation. He sounds like he's pleading, even his the words claim denial. ] I won't-- you can't-- you're not gunna make me-- [ The language center in his brain glitches as he's slipped back into that snarling tongue. He keep shaking his head and rattling the cuffs and bending like a bow. Then abruptly neural pathways swap, and the ghoul's animal growls cut into English mid sentence. ]--shut your fucking mouth you self-righteous jackass! You're wrong, you're wrong, you're-- I didn't, I wouldn't, I--

[ The helplessly blissed-out cry that clashes against his clenched teeth his quite contrary. His knees grip the synth harder, hauling him forward on every inward thrust; an obscene slapping sound punctuates each zealously accepted lunge inward. His greedy motions whisper confessions he's still trying to deny; how much he adores every single second of this. ]

Val--Please--shut the fuck up-- [ Because really and truly, the synth gets under Hancock's skin the most by the wonderfully wicked things he says. And those (probably true) accusations, murmured so low and smug, are certainly no exception. It broke the virgin 'please' off his lips, in a moment of heightened fever. Frustrated, humiliated, oxidizing and aching, the ghoul turns his head away and teeters, trembling, over another drop into oblivion. ]

[robotdick]

Well, since you asked so nice?

[Nick's whole attention is on Hancock. He's enjoying the feel of fucking him, quite a lot, but that broken off please, the pounding of his pulse, and all the little details have Nick closer to tipping over that edge than anything. His hand shifts off Hancock's leg and, just for the feel of it, he draws fingertips along his persistently ignored cock. The feel of that, the way it makes the ghoul's muscles jump, has him dropping frames as he tries to capture it all.

Nick supposes he's a voyeur at heart, or he would, if he weren't so totally entranced by the show Hancock was putting on. (Both real and fictitious.) He wants nothing more than to knock the ghoul for another loop, to watch as he unravels, feel him do it while buried deep in him--but most of all he wants to feel the way his cock jerks as he comes. Nick's touch is light, largely out of an overabundance of caution, but he wraps his whole hand around Hancock's prick and strokes in slow duet with his thrusting.]

[chem_break]

[ He might have been able to hold on for a few more seconds, if not for the too-gentle touch curling around the hyper-sensitive flesh of his dick. It knocks another hissing groan from his chest, his voice rising in sharp ragged huffs with each soft brush of Nick's hand.

Nick does go mercifully quiet, saving The Mayor the sweet-burning disgrace of a second orgasm without the slightest touch to his neglected cock. The trade off is brutal though, the physical touch triggering a different set of nerves to light and sing. He's out of the pan and into the fire but it doesn't matter because it's what he asked for-- this is all what he asked for and that thought throbs through him like the toll of a bell, vibrating.

A second crash is typically rougher than the first; Hancock's already raw and shattered, with nothing left in him to fight or repress the severity of this blissful assault on his senses. He thrashes harder, arches tighter, roars and cries out until his voice is failing, flickering to nothing but rasping breath.

There shouldn't be more payoff than the first round, but there is. Blame Nick's (Val's?) smart mouth for that one. The first climax had indeed made a mess but this time it's especially obscene, burst after moist burst painting the ghoul's gasping mouth and screwed shut eyes. He looks like he's taken far more than two rounds of bliss to the face by the time the last warm wet drops are wrung from his dick and spatter across his soiled skin.

Even when he goes boneless against the table, he's still breathing like there's not enough oxygen. He can't hold on anymore; his legs slide off of Nick's shoulders, only able to rest at a slack spread, still half-bent. It's as far gone, mind blown, fucked-stupid as he's ever been, but he's got no words to say so and he can hardly believe Nick brought him here, to this place of utter rapture.

The payback is going to have to be very, very sweet. ]

[robotdick]

[Nick almost has an out of body experience when Hancock climaxes--he clenches down tight on Nick's new hardware and then his cock jerks in Nick's hand. At this angle, between the stroking and the way Hancock arches, it feels almost like Nick's the one painting Hancock's face. That thought is enough to trip up Nick's senses, to fool them into a feedback loop, and his processors strain under the load--Hancock goes boneless beneath him, face and neck shining in the spotlight and Nick finally trips over into a system's crash.

He'd checked with the mechanist, during that bout of excruciating personaly conversation, and made sure there was a dead man's switch on his new junk. He didn't fancy the idea of himself dropping into a heap while sporting a leaking erection so: cut power meant cut hydraulics.

When Nick follows Hancock his new parts behave comparably to the old ones (albeit with less clattering metal on metal sounds and a somewhat smoother descent). He goes still, eyes blanking as his systems reboot. His grip, both the delicate on Hancock's dick and the hard one holding the baton, goes slack and both his arms and posture slump. His new generation legs last longer than the previous ones, they're better balanced. But Nick takes a while to spin back up, unlike his series 3 relatives. When they finally buckle, his softening dick slips out of Hancock and Nick falls into a loose heap at the side of the table.

Sure it looks dramatic and all that, collapsing always does, but Nick could not be happier with how this went--once he's rebooted, he'll be the cat who ate the canary. Absolutely insufferable in his delight.]

[chem_break]

[ He didn't expect Nick to Crash; he didn't expect him not to; Hancock couldn't verbalize an expectation to fucking save his life. Later, he might even remember what shame feels like for half a second. About three trillion questions about Nick's new hardware have all formulated in the back of Hancock's mind, waiting for the capacity to take an ounce of his fragmented focus. Everything gets chucked categorically into 'Later' save for breathing and rediscovering how gravity works.

That dead man's switch is a brilliant stroke of mercy. All the air abandons him when Nick Powers Downs, the ceaseless stabbing recedes and the ghoul's insides can finally recalibrate and stop overloading his nerves with pyrotechnics in fantastical explosions of color.

Hancock is fairly sure that it's his own legs creaking like that as he finally, tentatively corrects his posture to the best of his ability. His feet find the ground by the miracle guidance of gravity, and little by little, the severity of his breathlessness ebbs. Usually, resilience akin to the undead means Hancock can recover some level of-- something, while Nick cycles into reset mode. Even if his wrists weren't still shackled, Hancock cannot see it in himself to move one damn inch. If anything, the cuffs are keeping him off of the floor.

Ah-ha, there's that half a flicker of... not shame, but Jesus H. Christ, he kinda got into that didn't he? Real riled up? Bashfulness is probably a more accurate term. Shame implies regret.

Aaaand...

He's over it. Yup. No more Bashful feeling. (He's over it, god damn it. Also he needs to wash his... everything.)]

Nick [ his voice is absolutely trashed ] Hope ya... get up soon... I got an itch

[robotdick]

[Hancock doesn't have to wait long for Nick to spin back up, a few minutes maybe, and Nick boots back into himself with a pleased groan. He's on the floor, as usual, and Nick's legs feel oddly weak as he pulls himself back up. His knees even hurt? Well, insofar as anything on Nick can hurt. Either way, it's an interesting new feature that has him waking up to new strings of data.

The old synth is a little distracted by the new feedback, but he pulls it together. He hasn't felt this refreshed and clear since he woke up in Acadia (well, much more clear than that, but it's a reboot thing). Hancock still looks absolutely fucked out, filthy and dangling from the table, wrists still--Oh, right.]

Remind me to leave the keys on the table next time, Doll.

[He has to fish around his various pockets for a moment before he locates them, jangling in his back trouser pocket, and starts uncuffing his thoroughly debauched boyfriend.]

[chem_break]

Realism [ He croaks, and then winces at how especially destroyed his voice sounds. If he had been left like that much longer, he would have... maybe not fallen asleep, something closer to passed the fuck out. But Nick pops back On like he's running on pure caffeine, peppy asshole. Hancock loves him. Actually there does seem to be a little more realism to the drag of his movements, but Hancock is not feeling especially observant in the moment.

Unless he's about to observe the floor come right up under him. The ghoul's feet catch the ground but his knees go 'nope' and immediately fold. Exhausted, sweaty hands grab at Nick's arms just beneath the shoulders. ]

Oh shit there's the gravity...

[ Catch your boyfriend, Nick. ]

[robotdick]

[Nick fumbles the keys as he suddenly has an armful of clinging ghoul. He catches him before Hancock's knees hit the floor but sack-of-tatoes style hoisting is not ideal. The mess on Hancock is suddenly also a mess on all of Nick but he can't find it in himself to care, not as his dazed paramour sags against him.]

Woah! Hey, I gotcha--

[And he does. It's awkward, shifting one arm under Hancock's and the other under his knees, but Nick manages to sweep him up into an easier carrying position. Hancock is a loose and limbless as Nick after a good crash and, for some reason, that just fills the synth with extreme satisfaction.]

Nice of you to try to join me on the floor, but I think we can probably crash somewhere more comfortable.

[Nick sures up his grip and starts for the stairs down to the main level of his fancy penthouse. His pants sag but that belt had been mostly for show. He still has a set of suspenders holding the waistband up, and he's glad for that even if it feels a bit silly to have his newest addition swinging in the breeze as he heads down a floor.

He's tempted to drop Hancock right onto bed but, given the mess across both of them, Nick opts for a different route. He turns on the lights with one of his elbows and the blue trim ticks on with a hum of neon. With just a touch of illumination, it's an easy walk to the bedroom but once he's through the door, he veers off to one side and heads for the bathroom. He hasn't had much call to try the absurd tub in this place, but given the state of him, dipping Hancock in hot water before depositing him between the sheets seems like a solid idea.]

[chem_break]

Mighty kind'a ya

[ His limbs don't understand exactly how to operate, and the sated exhaustion that coils around his bones is damn pleased to be indulged. If the ghoul had enough energy left to grouse he would be complaining, without any real heart, about being toted around like either a blushing bride or a sack of flour (he's not sure which metaphor he likes better) but he doesn't. ]

Mmph... definitely the most incriminating part of that blackmail, right here

[ His words are all slurred with lethargy, exceedingly tender with affection. He cuddles right into the crook of Nick's neck and allows himself to be manhandled; it's extraordinarily debonair of the synth to wisk him around from room to room, and Hancock cannot help but feel prodigiously spoiled. His boyfriend is the best boyfriend, clearly. Lookit him here, just killing all the high scores, massacring the scoreboards without breaking a sweat. Because he can't. ]

Good thinkin'... guess I need a hose off

[ Hancock mutters with just a sprinkling of bashfulness across his typical sarcastic humor, as Nick eases him into the fanciest bathtub the ghoul has ever seen in his life. By some miracle of the gods, the taps in this place spit water and even the heating still works, a solid %75 of the time. The piping barely even screeches, as long as you find the right balance between the hot and cold faucets. ]

... Ya think you're waterproof enough to take a soak with me? Already died twice back there, once more would be the definition'a overkill

[robotdick]

You really want an old toaster to climb in the tub with ya?

[Nick shoots him a sidelong glance as he tries to strip Hancock while the water runs. Soaking his clothing with the running tap is really just a pre-wash, and isn't that fancy as all hell. Nick's dubious tone speaks volumes, but his arms sure aren't shorting out as he sticks them in the rising water. He considers whether or not to dive in after he fishes Hancock's boots and trousers out of the drink and sets them aside. The shirt is easier--the wool coat is heavier--he does have the good grace to look apologetic as he takes the hat, but even that didn't quite make it out of the interrogation unscathed.]

You don't plan on splashing, right?

[The pipes make a really encouraging squealing noise as he drains the last of the hot water from the tanks and into his tub. It's a little low, but with two people it'll be full enough. Nick shuts off the fancy taps and takes a moment just considering Hancock. He hadn't planned on trying his luck in a tub today, but he isn't exactly free from mess, himself. And it's not as if his clothes don't need a good once over with a rag...so it's easy to rationalize this crazy decision, but he doesn't really need to.

In the end it's not a hard decision to make, really, with Hancock looking all lovey-dovey and comfortable, asking if he's gonna join.]

Alright, scoot over.

[chem_break]

[ Good god he's still wearing things. Tracks, but he had been certain that at least the pants were gone. But a glance downward is quick to prove that he'd been reduced to such a babbling heap, he had forgotten that his clothing is not, in fact, his skin. Go figure. ]

You are such a sweetheart, fussin' over me like I didn't get exactly what I wanted

[ It feels wonderful, the stupid-crazy romance of it all. Like this is some classy Live & Love Comic and Hancock's coat should be a red sequin dress. He does what appropriate, weak-limbed wriggling he can to assist in peeling off his sweat-soaked clothing. ]

Nice [ It's a small victorious declaration the ghoul makes to himself, like he's especially pleased with the accomplishment of convincing Nick into the tub with him (as though he did much more than lounge there like Ghoul Jello). Scoot over he does, to the best of his ability, which makes the water pull and ebb around each sluggish motion. In the low blue neon lights, to his tired darkness-toned eyes, the way the water churns and splits the blue glow is stunning. ]

[robotdick]

Yeah? Was a little worried I went overboard.

[Nick admits as he sets his hat aside and strips off his coat. He undresses casually--not because he's worried about partially submerging himself in water, or anything, because he isn't, he swears it. His trousers follow the rest of his discarded gear and, very last, he divests himself of his hat.

Hancock has given 'scooting over' the old college try but he hasn't managed much distance. Nick huffs a laugh and, since he's as refreshed and alert as Hancock isn't, he figures out the logistics. Turns out, the path of least resistance is to slide in behind Hancock rather than alongside him. Nick decides to do that and sits on the edge of the tub, but the moment he drops his feet in that plan goes a little sideways.

Nick's relationship to liquids is a fraught one, at best. He has never been consciously submerged in anything except for that plunge he took with the angler. Now, with his new watertight skin spanning all along him, it's safe enough that he doesn't need to panic. He did not, however, not account for how strange it would be to just...put parts of himself in warm water. His sensitive thermal sensors started going haywire the moment he stuck his feet in, tangled up in tracking the whorls and eddies that came along with fluid dynamics.

Nick ends up frozen for a long moment before he catches back up to himself.]

Oh, maybe this ain't such a great idea--[He's only in the tub up to his knees but he's already got more processor devoted to this than he likes. This is a whole new class of sensory interactions and Nick is not prepared--]

[chem_break]

Nah, it was perfect. Can't believe ya made a rap-sheet. That's some real dedication. Think I'm gonna hang that thing in my office.

[ Hancock is mildly impressed with himself for stitching together a whole couple of sentences like that. He needs... what's that thing he had up North? Fire Belly? That. A Far Harbor specialty that equates to a Hot Toddy. The ghoul coughs from deep in his chest to try and soothe the rawness inside his throat but it's not happening.

Whilst Nick undresses, Hancock cups the luxuriously warm water in his hands and splashes it across his face. He repeats the motion several times, the textures, dips, and rivets of his skin unkind in relenting the last traces of clinging mess. Then he shakes his head back and forth, not unlike a dog throwing off water.

His attentions tip back to Nick when the synth's legs dip into the water. There's no sudden spiderwebs of electricity across the liquid's surface, and so far, everything looks good. Well, almost. ]

Hey, s'alright [since Nick had aimed to climb in behind him, Hancock doesn't have far to go. The shades of weightlessness lent to him by the water makes it easier for his aching body to turn, so he can carefully catch Nick's eyes whilst placing a steadying hand on his knee. ] Water, m'I right? Shit's insane. If you're good like this? I'm good too. You can get in behind, sit right there, or towel off your legs if ya'd rather.

Just want the pleasure of your company, that's all. Bonus points if ya can keep makin' sure my heads above the water [ John's smile is so tender and attentive, it's almost hard to believe the guy will knife a back-talker just as quick as look at him. Guy's a cinnamon roll covered in blood, but you're dating him, Nick. ]

[robotdick]

[He sure is dating him. More than that, he's soft on him.]

It's not all that bad--just, a lot. Think I'll settle here for now.

[Nick hunches forward, bracing his arms on his knees, just because it seems a little less strange to chat with someone in a tub like this than with perfect posture. Hancock's wet hand on his knee is easier for his sensors to parse, less overwhelming and more familiar. The temperature gagues are having none of it, though, and insist on dancing back and forth at a fever pitch.]

Glad ya liked it. I, uh, sorta hacked your terminal for some of the logs, figured you wouldn't mind too much.

[Nick's not sure how he feels about hanging it in the actual office of the Mayor of Good Neighbor, but who is he to complain. It's Hancock's rap sheet.]

That was...pretty fun, I will admit. I get the appeal.

[chem_break]

Works for me. Lemme know if I gotta fiddle the temperature or somethin'

[ The ghoul's hand slides back into the water with a casual 'plunk'. Nick seems... okay, and definitely not the type of guy that needs babying. Hancock is very much about letting people make their own mistakes, pick their own poisons as much as pleasures. It's more his style to let Nick move at his own pace, opposed to active fussing or encouragement.

Sometimes it's important for folk to do things of their own volition. Maybe that seems silly, when it comes to deciding exactly how far into a bath one should climb... but making decisions is a defining act of Self. Nick needs those, just like Hancock does. ]

Yeah I noticed as much. Gotta love the attention to detail on this guy-- you just put your whole heart into it, huh? Got me over here feelin' all twitter-patted.

Also don't think it would'a been half as fun if it wasn't with you. So uh... thanks, I guess? For indulgin' me. You're a knock out lover Nick, and a damn good friend. How'd a ghoul get so lucky?

[robotdick]

[Nick scrubs a hand up the back of his head, suddenly bashfull about his part in things. He's proud of it, and glad he did it well, but Hancock's talking so sweetly at him that he's not sure what to do with all of it. He loves this too, the romance that settles in the between moments, and Nick decides: fuck it.

He huffs out a breath and, carefully, slides into the water behind Hancock. Neither of them are electrocuted but the wash of new readings has Nick stuttering for a few seconds. He can handle it and pulling Hancock into his lap and against his chest makes it easier.]

Keep all that in mind when I accidentally shock us both.

[Nick's not going to be able to stay in very long, not without a substantial risk of crashing, but he's going to enjoy a soft moment and wash himself off in the process.]

Gotta say, glad you agreed to go for a walk, get a drink.

[chem_break]

[ Hancock would have been quite pleased with as much as he had; it was still nice to be handed a little more. His smile brightens a few watts as Nick decides to bite the bullet and test the waters further, joining him in the luxurious warmth. Poor guy looks like he's worried the water is gunna grow teeth and bite him. ]

You... could never do this before, huh? Take a soak in a bath, or get too wet, even... and you're here poppin' another cherry with me?

[ Nick had been the one to choose his place, but Hancock is still reasonably cautious about leaning back against him too quickly. He had not, would not forget what Nick had taken the care to explain, how differently he experiences sensation. He imagines just 'water' is plenty for the synth's sensors, without a handsy ghoul suddenly all over him.

He is feeling lazy and cuddly though, so sated and oxytocin-buzzed. So melt back against Nick's chest he will, albeit a touch tenderly. ]

Uh-huh, and look where that got me. Guess I'm in love with a dumbass. Pretty much tracks for me, I got awful taste. [ he can't keep the smile out of his sore voice. ]