albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

I got designs, kiddo. And those designs wrapping up in a timely fashion determine where the attention goes after that. Following the plot is important, especially if the end of the plot involves saving the world.

[He stays quiet for a bit, though eventually smiles when the Hyperion AI chimes in with a clean-up call in city center. A deep breath goes in through his nostrils and out of his mouth in a contented sigh.]

Ah, the sound of perfectly tuned programming. Yeup. Still got it.

Designs involving a 'body double pleasure palace'? [She slips away from him, arms propped up on the railing just in front of him so the cool metal rests against the low point of her back. Smug, smug smile in place.

Yeah buddy, she took the tour you set her up on.

And paid attention.]

Different designs, but those designs are important too. Jobs! Inspiration! And on top of all that, they'll learn some freakin' class. Or they're fired.

[Jack turns to Nisha and hugs her a little closer in order to grab her cheek.]

Don't tell me you're jealous that a few Opportunists are gonna get some alone time with me.

[Oh, that makes her laugh, the curve of her cheek digging in against his thumb like a challenge.] We talking the 'you' you or the double down rodeo again, hotshot.

[Purely rhetorical: Nisha and jealousy are words that don't exactly coexist in the same space. If Jack wants her, he's got her, if he doesn't...well, they'll work out severance pay in the form of bullets and multi-million dollar targets.] We'll talk when one of those Opportunists learns how to shoot a bandit leader between the eyes from the top of a moving train.

Oh-ho, I love it when you're a badass.

[He does want her -- its always such a dance, walking the line between being Handsome Jack, head of Hyperion and Hero of Pandora...and just enjoying simple pleasures.

Or, not so simple pleasures. Like Nisha. He scratches under her chin fondly, and stops just short of flicking her...or pulling on the choker around her neck.]

Not so much when you play hard to get.

[Hard to get might as well be stamped on her arm, true a statement as it is, but Jack? Jack is one of the few-- the only person, to be exact-- that doesn't need to worry about keeping the fingers that catch under her chin. Or anything else for that matter.

Nisha leans forward to lessen the space between their near-level profiles, palms still braced against the railing.]

Lying's a dangerous game, Jack.

Handsome Jack doesn't lie, babe.

[He keeps his spine straight, but she's actively in his space now which makes it harder for him not to react. The point under her chin goes a little sharper and somewhere under the mask, his eye twitches.

His jaw opens like he's going to add something but it cracks awkwardly instead and is followed by a clearing of his throat. If he seems too eager, she'll wrap him around her finger.

He's absolutely enamored, but he's not an idiot.]

They call that defamation of character, y'know.

[Fortunately-- or maybe unfortunately at times-- for them both, Nisha still remembers clearly the way he'd stuttered and stumbled his way through their first few conversations. Through the discussion logged on the ECHOnet before that. It gives her an edge, it always has, but that (tempting as it might be) has never been abused.

Does she abuse? Absolutely. But it's purely physical. Mostly. Mostly physical. Nisha tortures and torments the deserving, the monstrous and the wicked. She's a lawbringer - Jack's the law. Unlike someone whose name ends in -xxi, emotional manipulation isn't on the table.

Maybe that's why Jack trusts her. Or maybe he's just desperate to have someone to trust after all they've been through.]

You gonna throw me in jail, cowboy? [Inch for inch, step by step, she keeps whatever assertiveness he has tucked away in her hand; it takes more than a little effort to keep a grin from pulling at her lips.]

Jails cost too much money for not enough payoff.

[And though he wouldn't say it out loud, Nisha kept him from getting his hands too dirty. Not to say he didn't enjoy popping off a few skulls from time to time, but--well.

It depended on the skull, an it depended what-for. Nisha took uncertainty out of the equation. He found it easier to just turn his back and let her handle the rabble. He's got way bigger fish to fry.]

So no. I'm not.

[This time she says nothing, shoving herself forward via straightening her arms and catching his mouth with her own. The scrape of tongue against teeth without either permission or hesitation; the heat of his breath versus the cold, artificial surface of his mask.

He's being too serious. Which is fine - his business is his business, and usually it involves enough mass-murder for Nisha to keep focused - but here? Now? Serious is all around them.

She figures he could use something grounding; she also figures it'll keep her from having to talk about shopping malls, so win-win.]

[Now that's the kind of payoff he had in mind.

There's a bloodbath just below them still going on, a few overworked men arguing about how to divide up the work now that their cash cow is dead, but it quickly becomes white noise. Jack's teeth part only enough to catch the tip of her tongue. If she was aiming to get physical...well, she's about to get her wish.

He grabs her throat, at odds between desires to pull her closer or to push her away. He's supposed to be focusing on Opportunity, funding his plans to uproot the Warrior--but Nisha is right here. So what she ends up with is a vice grip.

But he does force his teeth apart to give her her tongue back. He hasn't moved their faces too far, and he hasn't let go of her. There is definitely something grounding in having someone force their tongue down your throat, something that makes his skin warm. All she had to do was ask.

But then again, he likes it better when she doesn't.]

[It might as well have been expected (it was), given that there's no recoil when his hand clamps down, when she bears herself forward against the harsh curve of his palm to keep distance at a minimum over him finding an opportunity to retreat. Railing forgotten along with the echoing shouts below them, fingertips clamping down at his shirt collar and twisting it like a noose around his neck in turn. She's killed bandits like this. Breath cut off till their lips go blue and their throats bleed from the dig of fabric, but Jack, no matter the cold-blooded glint in her eye or the numerous dead left in her wake, Jack isn't on the list.

He's the one protected by it.

She angles herself in, checks his strength, his reflexes, testing to see if he'll flinch enough for her to kiss him properly or just collapse under the weight of what he obviously wants. Teeth bared, eyes locked on his own. Never routine. ]

Edited 2015-02-12 04:30 (UTC)

[Her insistence on pushing him pulls out a somewhat predictable tightening of limbs as he pushes back against her. She may have forgotten the railing, but he hasn't -- it'd be so easy to just...

Exhale. Inhale again to feel the shortness of his own breath against the pull around his neck.]

You're really a pain in my ass.

[Its said fondly, and with only a hint of a wheeze. He trusts her enough to stay where they are, and let the adrenaline of his own paranoia (They're high, there's a railing, she's choking him) sink deep into the marrow of his bones.

And he likes it.]

Could be more of one. [Vocal cords tight and strained as she works to get the words out where the webbing of his thumb's pressed down across her collar. This time she doesn't hesitate to grin. Doesn't miss the reflected glimpse of crimson in the mirror-polished windows angled high overhead. The hand at his neck stays wound in cloth, the other--

Nisha slips her nails in under the hem of his waiscoat, down along the curve of his stomach till they find skin.]

[Not to say he wasn't expecting this turn-around. He's left her alone for most of the day without anything exciting to do, and he's made certain she stayed in Opportunity rather than camp out on Pandora killing bandits.

The latter might've been more productive, in the long run. The nails that find his stomach reward her with an inhale that Jack manages to disguise as a cough. Then he's forcefully dragging her away from the edge back to the shadow of an overhang to shove her straight into a wall.

Its not that he's shy. Dull light just means there's more suspense, and it gives him more confidence.]

You sound a little too excited about that idea if you ask me.

[He can't scare her -- he knows he can't, but its less about trying to scare her and more about winding the spring.]

[Fear is foreign to Nisha. Has been since she was a little girl with blood on her throat and a shovel in her hands. Everything since is a high or a low (with a clear preference for the former) and the only thing his shove manages to pull from her is the flash of teeth and a sharp, vivid surge of adrenaline. Keeps her hungry with that distance between them, and possibly too eager to bite.

Besides, taking the shade personally is a notch too juvenile for her tastes.] Yeah? And here I thought it was just the right amount.

[A point she proves by dropping her hold on his throat - both hands at his waist with a solid, not-so-subtle grip as she undoes the buckle there, knee working at the inside of his leg to coax him into giving her room.]

[Jack clearly has no interest in making this easy for her any more than she intends to hand him the free handjob. He forcefully tilts her chin upward, straining the muscle until he can feel it pulling uncomfortably under his fingers. He almost misses the feel of skin against skin at his neck in combination with the strange rush asphyxiation had given him.

But considering where her hands have gone, he isn't complaining. His fingers force their way into her mouth and press down on her tongue to return the favor. He's so delighted that he can't do anything but scoff when he says:]

Stop it.

[His hand drops from her throat and is replaced by his mouth, cool metal of his mask contrasting with the heat of his breath and the slide of his tongue across skin.]

[She takes to it well enough despite the strain of the angle and the weight of his fingers across the flat of her tongue, arching up away from the frigid, immovable wall at her back and well into his grip. Teeth against his knuckles, dragging him in to the point of near choking. It's not so much about following his request to the letter (though her fingertips go still, curled under the very edge of his waistband) but it is about his ever-active imagination - about easing him into the idea of more than just his hand against her mouth.

That said, she's far from ashamed of the blatant shiver that hits when his tongue finds its mark. Yeah, he's got it.

It's just the slow, steady roll of her tongue under controlled breaths that proves she's got it just as much.]

[The fact that her hands have stopped makes him growl after it registers that she doesn't plan to start again anytime soon. His teeth sink right into that mark to get her attention. She's pressing against him, she's encouraging his imagination, but she's not capitalizing on it as far as he's concerned.

Jack was patient. The bite is incentive...maybe just a bit of uncomfortable incentive.

He's listened to the ECHOnet too.]

[Someone else might take it as a slap on the wrist, but Nisha lives for the sting of every breath and the way pain spirals through nerves, so where his teeth find flesh she does nothing more than smile, sucking in a quick breath around the shape of his knuckles.

The rest of her doesn't budge.

His expectations might always be met, but they run on her time, and there's nothing rushed about the way her leg edges in against his thigh, low and pressing just under the still-latched line of his belt buckle. No matter how he scrapes and digs, Nisha's insistence stays a steady, steady constant.

He never signed her on for the overabundant luxury of blind obedience.]

[The thigh helps get him on the proper track, rather than keep him coasting on the sadistic high she inspires in him so easily. His fingers curl reflexively in her mouth and his hand comes off her throat to pull at the opposite hip. Jack makes encouraging noises against her neck, and the buzz in front of his eyes drowns out the sounds of the cleaning bots moving in to scrub the square clean of blood behind them.

Wait.

Ok, so thats a little bit of a mood killer, judging by the way he picks his head up just slightly off her skin and the tightening of his spine in frustration. His knuckles go white, but he slips his fingers from her throat and takes the time to wipe the saliva on Nisha's shoulder.

The buzz gets louder. Its not pleasurable anymore. Its just red.]

My office.

Edited 2015-02-12 09:52 (UTC)

[This time (particularly once he's drawn back enough to wipe his fingers clean) he's met with clear signs of exasperation on Nisha's part. Flush lips still slick with spit drawn out in an unamused, unhappy line.]

Seriously? [Her grip on him tightens by degrees, locked in over beltloops to get her point across - just in case the deadpan delivery somehow managed not to.]

Look, we had a moment. Moment's over. Very simple. Make me a new one now, or meet me in my office and I'll do it for you. I'm so freakin' full of moments that I might just burst at the seams any moment. Your choice, sweetheart.

[The gripping of his belt loops makes her point clear, but vain old Handsome Jack clearly has an idea of what he wants set in his mind, and it doesn't include CL3N-TP units or their Loader stewards.

The skin where the mask is grafted pulls a little when his brows furrow. If she refuses both options, he has a plan C.

Plan C is likely what she is banking on, if she's really into feeling the pain today.]

[She's always into it - same as him. Same as the quiet, reluctant scoff that precedes her hold on him going lax altogether. His office means more travel, more distractions, more time away from killing and possibly more delays and some part of her (the wild, gun slinging, perpetually unsuppressed part of her) just isn't feeling the notion. It's too formal, too...planned.

On top of a day full of planning as is.

Nisha shrugs. Lifts her hands to feign a somewhat unenthusiastic surrender-- just before stamping out that image entirely.]

Nah. [Tough luck, Jack.] Sounds like a lot of work.

Edited 2015-02-12 12:22 (UTC)

[He has half a mind to walk off and do something more productive, but as always, he is at odds with what might happen if he walks now without asserting himself as top dog.

He exhales, presumably to shake off his tension.]

You know, Nisha, I do my best to keep you comfortable here and I think I did a damn good job too.

[Somewhere between talking and pulling himself off of her, he had made a grab for the whip at her side. He'll hold it where its visible, straining himself from cracking off at the first thing that moves.

Because that would make him feel better.]

Would a little cooperation kill you?

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