albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[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?

[There's a flicker of interest behind the frigid gold of Nisha's eyes, teeth sinking down into her lower lip as she follows suit - pressing upright away from the wall to match the distance he's set between them. The hum of worker bots echoes idly off the angled glass overhead.]

I don't need you to keep me comfortable, handsome. Never have. [Tepid and even and more a positive remark than something negative: she knows he's used to looking after countless beating hearts, Nisha never minds being the odd one out. All things considered he probably needs it.] And if my memory's accurate I've been cooperating all day. Cut me some slack.

[Her fingers curl around the ones he keeps tight across her whip, moving to feel out any agitated twitches.] It sure as hell ain't easy going from murdering bandits to hitting up gift shops and guided tours.

[And Wilhelm's not here to commiserate with, so...]

[She's lucky she's so hot. There's something about the way she says "Handsome" that mellows him just enough to let her rest her hand on his without repercussion.

Jack waits for a minute and then scoffs. So that's the real problem here, is it?]

There's no reason you can't have both, kiddo. Don't forget why we're doin' this. Bandits dont know how to follow rules. I make the rules, everyone follows the rules, bandits flounder cluelessly, everyone lives happy ever after. You'll get used to it.

[His head tilts, and the light reflects off his mask.]

And then you'll kick the everliving daylights out of the ones who don't.

Edited 2015-02-12 21:56 (UTC)

[She snorts out a breathy little response. A laugh, from the way her mouth tugs at the edge as she leans in to set it against his hand, just over the curve of her own. Maybe a scoff. Maybe both.

But it's her lips and the heat of her breath against his skin, the scent of worn, familiar leather front and center with every inhale. Every careful, teeth-scuffed kiss. Quiet. Simple. Almost caring, if Nisha ever knew how to be.

She doesn't though. Never had it from her mother, her father was too afraid-- she understands nothing of affection the same way she understands nothing of a pristine, sparkling city full of pristine, sparkling people. He can promise she'll have a place all he likes, but Nisha? Nisha isn't certain that's a promise he could keep, even if he wanted to.]

Sounds perfect. [Her profile noses in across his knuckles, eyes lidded for a brief moment or two.]

[This is where he'd roll his eyes, if only because she knew exactly how to get back into his good graces. Jack uncurls his fingers from her's to allow her better access and simply smiles. In spite of the fact that he should know that Nisha is one person he doesn't have to look after, he can't help but do it anyway. The world is full of terrible people after all. Terrible, lying, backstabbing cowards all trying to get a piece of the action without putting the work in.

That's why he had body doubles. That's why Nisha was here in Opportunity now where he had to focus his attention. That's why he was trying to change the shithole that was Pandora. That was why he wore the mask--]

I know.

[His ring finger strokes her cheek. He could ignore the bots. They'd be on their way soon.]

[Nisha never feels the urge to go toe-to-toe with him over the trivial. Petty bullshit better off plugged up like open wounds instead of picked at till it festers. Her fingers tug the whip from his hands as his grip goes lax, cheek replacing it, sliding down so that she's settled like a solid weight against him.] You worry too much.

[All cool confidence while her arms move to bracket his hips, while she parts her lips and marks the fine bones of his wrist with her teeth to end where her kisses have left off.] We've got the key, we've got the bandit trash on the run - Pandora's my turf: they get too close for comfort, I'll take care of it.

I always do.

[Because he might not be saying it out loud, but he's on edge. Has been for a long time. And with scars like that under the edge of his mask, Nisha doesn't stop for a second to blame him.]

Excusez-moi, I worry just the right amount.

[It isn't that he doesn't trust her to get the job done, but she knows first hand what too much trust does to a person. He had trusted so many people, and every single one of them had tried to kill him.

And that was before he had a taste for bloodshed.

Whether Nisha knows it or not, she still matters to him as much as people could matter. He uncurls his fingers and gives her the access she requests, exhaling just a little. Maybe she doesn't know the worth of affection, but its occasionally a nice novelty.

Novelty. Not a constant.]

OK? OK.

Mmm. [Her grin widens when she offers up a purposefully indifferent little noise, inching in away from his arm, nails at the small of his back, profile set against his own. He's tall. It's one of the many, many things he has going for him, but so is she, and the bridge of her nose isn't all that far away from the line of his own.] Not sure if I buy it.

[A point she punctuates by chasing his lips with a sharp, familiar sort of bite. Sup, hotshot.]

[Jack the bite makes his jaw set firmly, but the facade falls away to the little tickle that sits at the base of his spine. He chuckles with some delight and falls back in step to what Nisha had started in the first place.

She's already got a grip on him, and he let's her keep it. This time he leans into her nails, brings his hand down to the rear pocket of her jeans and squeezes her close.

The other hand slips under her jacket, but not the shirt beneath it.]

Call me handsome again.

[Pressure not at all unwanted where the curve of her hips is set against his own, teeth moving across to find the low seam of his mask where it traces the jut of his jaw. Experimental in the way that she tests it with scuffs and scrapes to see exactly how much he can feel through the artificial. It's not the first time, but it's a fascination that never wears thin.

Nisha waits until her mouth finds his ear to whisper off what he wants to hear.] I changed my mind.

I want privacy, Handsome Jack. [The slow roll of his name nothing more than an easy purr under her careful drawl.]

[There it is.

The chuckle turns deeper, a sort of sadistic delight that is mirrored in his movements. He digs his nails in and reaches for the back of her neck to drag her back to the elevator around the corner. He isn't going to wait until they're in his office though.

Jack slams her straight into the wall of the elevator without much mercy and kicks the button to send them up. By the time they are moving, his hand is already down her pants while the other holds the back of her neck to keep her under his thumb -- literally. It sits at a pressure point, but doesn't push. Not yet.

He has a feeling he'll need the leverage.]

[It works. She's not picky (they've got construction crews on every corner and a handful of overseers manning the entire progress, but amenities like this don't see regular use the way the scaffolding outside does) and as a sharp pang of pain from the metal back of the elevator rides the curve of her spine, Nisha doesn't even bother with stifling a sincere laugh: teeth set, nails at his neck digging in half-circles around the very edge of his mask to bleed a few red, livid lines. All foreplay, all stupid little gestures while she locks up under those precise points where he's got her pinned.

There's something wild and hungry in her eyes - his work doesn't even begin to stop her from going for the latches keeping his mask in place.

It's why she wanted privacy in the first place, after all. The rest of it? They could fuck under the statue of him for all she cares.]

[He doesn't register what she's doing until she's already figured the latches out. and he immediately stutters with some stiffness when the elevator jerks to a stop. It doesn't kill the mood like the cleaning crew had, but it catches him uncomfortably in the middle of foreplay.

Handsome Jack wears the mask for a reason, after all. His breathing is heavy and angry and though he's gone a bit sharp under her hands, it hasn't stopped him from manhandling her.

His voice is all skeptical humor to hide his discomfort. Its not like she hasn't seen him without the mask before, but there was a sort of unspoken agreement that they'd never mention it again.]

What're you doing?

[Unspoken for him, maybe. He's indulged in those insecurities for the most part, but Nisha loves pain-- the thrill of unearthing what's underneath skin and flesh-- and the mask is...tempting to say the least. Has her curious after all this time to see what's healed and where.

To map his features with her mouth instead of retracing old memories.

One of the latches at his temple is carefully unlocked. She's even more careful with her answer, lips still drawn up into an easy smile:] I want to see you again.

[He's obviously still resistant, judging by the way his fingers dig, but there's no verbal demand to stop her or any actual reach for her hands. There is a dangerous sort of venom in his green eye in particular. Its much more obviously artificial when the latches come loose, as it doesn't move from Nisha's face.

He knows what is under the mask. He had checked for so long in hopes that it would heal on its own, but it never had. Not even skin grafts would've fixed the horrid brand, and his eye -- well.

He won't understand her curiosity, so he doesn't try. He'll just get mad...more mad. He twists his nails the second he feels like she's looking at him for too long.]

Can we move on?

Mmhm. [Mouth finding his temple, mask still in-hand and no closer to being replaced. She can feel him anxiously bearing down, but it's not the reason Nisha's pressing the limit by breathing low over skin that's stayed too long in the shadows.

Of course that doesn't mean she's not enjoying it, either.

Besides, there's a certain tension to the fingers he's left tucked well below the edge of her waistband, and she'd have to be numb five times over not to notice-- or care. The elevator doors stuck open at his back reflected in the glint of the arm she's draped over his shoulder, just where the edge of his mask catches the light.]

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