#curies accent is chefs kiss

[kratosnaturals]

WIP Saturday Thursday #5

Because I am positively on a roll right now. Nick lovers rise up.

“That ash is going to burn your shirt, Nicky,” Hancock mentioned casually with a hint of upturned lips, putting out his own cigarette on the bar’s ashtray. Nick snapped out of his thoughts with a questioning hum. He removed the rolled tobacco from between his lips with the intend of flicking off the burned excess, but when the orange embers landed on his chest he mumbled out an annoyed ‘shit!’ and quickly tried to brush it off of the white fabric. His friend simply gave him an amused ‘told you so.’

“You’re acting odd tonight. Even more than usual,” Hancock breached carefully, following the other man's gaze, “penny for your thoughts?”

Nick stalled. Was he really acting strange? He always thought he’s good at hiding his feelings… or perhaps Hancock was simply teasing him. The mayor did so love riling people up.

“Simply a little worn out after the past few months,” Nick brushed off, focusing his eyes on all the strung up lights around the area now. An understanding hum slipped Hancock’s lips, and the synth assumed their conversation would end there, but his companion had other plans. A toothy grin slowly spread across Hancock’s lips, and those metaphorical cogs in his head started moving. He poured himself another finger or two of whiskey, and slipped just a little closer to Nick.

“So. Are you really going to let mister ‘lasts-a-minute’ and the former tin woman upstage you?” Hancock asked innocently, bumping his hip into Nick’s. The latter looked bewildered now, as much as his synthetic flesh allowed him to grimace his displeasure. A grumble, low and a tinge threatening, “John.”

Jackpot, John thought, that hit a nerve. It was absolutely no surprise, to anyone, really, that the smooth-talking sleuth held a torch for his new co-detective. Those two could be fucking out in the open and it would be less obnoxious than whatever weird game of ‘will-they-won’t they’ those idiots were playing for ages now.

“I’m just sayin’. It’s really obvious,” John tutted, no longer feigning that poor display of innocence. Nick stirred uncomfortably besides him.

“John-”

“Are you going to keep doing this ‘I’m an old synth’ spiel or are you actually going to…” Hancock paused, looking the other man up and down, “steel up and tell the ‘dame’ she gets your coolant pumps workin’ overtime?”

Nick opened his mouth, but Hancock cut him off again with a raised finger as he took a quick sip, “don’t ‘John’ me, sleuth. Now get your rusty ass and loose screws over there and ask her for a dance.”

Another song played on the radio. Rock and roll. The synth nearly crushed the glass he was still holding with his metal hand. His claws scratched the material with a squeak that made him cringe, “I- no. I think you’re misunderstanding something.”

Hancock huffed, “Do I? Because to me it seems like you’re both just dancing around each other. Are you going to keep stalling and watch her get swept up by someone else? Well, she doesn’t seem all too shy, so maybe you could wait. I’m sure she’d come around. No promises, though.”

With a sombre expression Nick went back to watching his frolicking friend among the crowd, still held by Curie. The two swung and tip-toed around to the upbeat music with glee, ignoring the world around them. She danced, and danced, and danced. Much like she did with Preston, and Nate, and Piper, and even Codsworth-

“You know, for the best detective the Commonwealth has to offer, you’re really dense. Even denser than the metal you’re made out of, brother,” said Hancock before finishing his drink in one big gulp, “well, if you’re not planning to go for it, I might as well shoot my shot. Sir ‘short, pale and handsome’ has been touchy with not just you, Nicky.”

She liked being called sir?

That train of thought quickly spiralled off of its rails at the thought of John getting handsy with Eliza; wooing her, seducing her, getting with her-

It made his mechanical insides churn. It made him sick.