#but damn the woods are dark and deep and the string feels flimsy and my hands are sweaty. one foot in front of the other. I trust myself

[romanromulus]

I do think the scariest thing about writing an original novel is that it requires an immense amount of self trust. I have a decent chunk of my novel written already, but i’m not entirely sure how to string everything together. my present narrative illuminates and calls forth the past but when? and how much is revealed each time? and what do I hold back and why? I have an idea, of course, a timeline I want to adhere to, but there are still so many unknown factors. it’s very much an “I’ll figure it out when I get there” situation. and this is where the self trust comes in. I have to trust that if I continue plodding forward, all will be revealed. I have to trust that I can work with a shitty first draft, that my second draft will be better and my third draft will be even better than that. I have to trust that I can tell this story the way I want to tell it and I have to trust that this story is worth being told. I have to trust that I can do this. yikes!!!

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 3/?)

Chapter 3: An Unforgettable Moment

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

"I must warn you-" Connor began as the elevator neared the floor he lived on.

"Connor, it's your place, you don't have to justify shit," you interrupted softly.

The elevator moved up a few more levels, dinging quietly along the way. He uttered your name to catch your attention. When you looked up at him - yes, up at him - he explained, "I haven't exactly used the heater..."

Connor's apartment was on floor 46. The elevator doors remained closed upon arrival, waiting for clearance. As Connor's hand reached for the scanner, you saw his skin tone fade away into the icy white protective layer underneath. It took barely a second to scan him and Connor's identification popped up on the projecting HUD.

It had a very flattering photo of him, his name, ANDROID spelt out beneath it, model type: RK800, serial number, designed purpose: law enforcement, and his manufacturing date.

"Welcome home, Connor," a soft, feminine, robotic voice beckoned to him as the doors slid open.

You stepped past the threshold and took in the sight. The elevator opened to the living room. The right wall was curved and almost entirely windows that gave a beautiful view of the sweeping city below. As soon as you walked in and the elevator door's closed, you realized what Connor was talking about.

He was an android; his internal body temperature regulator could withstand much harsher temperatures than humans could. It made sense that he wouldn't keep his flat warm. Besides, if you were being honest with yourself, you doubted Connor spent much time here to begin with.

He had made adjustments to the thermometer as soon as he realized; but, the short drive to get here wasn't enough time to get the place warmed up efficiently.

Unsurprisingly, the apartment was lacking in furniture. There was a single, black cushioned arm chair that faced the window. It was long with a short back, clearly meant to be laid on, not sat on. There was a low coffee table next to it, beautiful dark wood with nothing on it.

Through the living room was the kitchen. It was small, but had dark granite counter tops and a nice island with two leather stools tucked in. The sink was empty, no dishes drying on the rack. He had stainless-steel appliances and a simple coffee maker tucked into the corner.

A hallway winded around the corner between the living room and the kitchen. The wall nearest the island had a small bar built into the foundation: the kind that shifted out when activated. While tucked into the wall, it had a glass panel to show off the goods. It was empty, unsurprisingly.

Had Connor even realized he was renting a bachelor pad?

"You're welcomed to take my room," Connor spoke first. "I don't really use it..."

"Are you sure?" you asked softly.

"I want you to be comfortable and I don't really need to sleep."

"But, it's your place, Connor..."

His eyes flickered away for a moment before returning to yours with a smile. "I believe the term is 'hospitality'."

"There's also a term, 'eat you out of body and home'," you teased back.

"I'm afraid I don't have food in the kitchen," he replied softly, looking almost troubled. "But, I'm not worried about the heater bill."

You smiled at him, looking away sheepishly, unsure of how to reply.

"Bedroom is on the right. Balcony on the left," he explained.

You shuffled into the hallway and took the directions he gave, down the hall, to the open door.

Connor's bedroom was exactly what you had expected it to be: the same dark wood flooring as the rest of the apartment, a king bed, headboard flush against the wall, with velvet, dark navy sheets. There was an adjacent window that took up most of the wall and gave a gorgeous view of the sweeping city beneath. The closet was open, letting you see the assortment of coats and shirts he owned. He had a dark wood, three drawered dresser; but, the room was otherwise fairly unfurnished.

Connor stood in the door way for a moment and watched you, unsure of what to say.

He felt conflicted by the images flashing through his mind: desires not yet traversed. If he had ever felt that way before, he couldn't remember.

Watching you, in his room, shrugging your bag and then your jacket off your shoulders, he felt something like invisible strings tugging at him. He wanted to enter the room, reach out to you, confess to the things plaguing his mind.

But-

What if you didn't feel the same? What if his confession made you uncomfortable? Would you be able to look at him the same way? Especially after he just invited you to his apartment... Didn't that seem... predatory?

He needed to give you space.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me," he said softly, turning away and disappearing before you could turn back to face him.

"O-... kay," you replied sadly.

You weren't sure what you were expecting. But, you felt disappointed none the less.

You let your eyes wander again and noticed that Connor had professionally framed newspaper headers and hung them on the wall. They were about the revolution. One of them had an aerial shot: a particularly charming photo of him standing with Markus and a few other androids, during the largest march - the final march. Connor was on the stage, but in the far back.

You admired the photo for a moment, uttering, "you were there, Connor... I wonder... what that was like?" to yourself.

Deciding to get to bed, you trotted into the connected bathroom to change clothes and pull back your hair, brush your teeth. You tried not to think too much about Connor as you undressed in his bathroom. The place was, unsurprisingly, spotless: marble perfectly clean, shower tiles without a single water spot.

Of course you had not expected anything from the android when you crossed the threshold. Yet, there was some dark part of you that had hoped he would... he would... What? March in and grab you? Confess that he wanted you and couldn't hold back anymore?

Your lewd thoughts left your stomach in knots, twisted in lust and shame. Was Connor capable of want? Even if he was, did he want you? He had stumbled into your life at nearly every opportunity ever since you came back to Detroit. But, even if he cared for you so strongly, that didn't mean he wanted it to be like this...

You were a human. Wouldn't he... be happier with an android?

"Fuck," you whimpered, dragging a heavy hand down your face.

Sleep - you needed sleep.

Connor's bed was as soft as it looked. The sheets were a fine, smooth, velvety texture, the kind that didn't leave wrinkles in the skin or adhere to sweat. It was hard to believe that Connor never laid here. Had he tried and decided he didn't like it? No, he likely was just trying to be hospitable.

You tucked into bed, facing the open doorway, as if hoping he would come barging in.

You felt stupid for that hope.

With the light off and the curtains pulled back, light from the cityscape gently entered through the window and cast the room in a dim glow.

You were tired, sure; but, you were also on edge, fingertips sliding along the sheets, cheek against the pillow distorting your frown. You took a deep inhale and-... Oh. The sheets smelt nice. Freshly washed linens and the faintest tint of masculine cologne. Did Connor wear cologne?

Any time you had gotten close, you were too preoccupied to check.

God damn it...

You rolled away from the entryway, closed your eyes, and tried to will yourself to sleep.

It was difficult when a thought kept ringing in your ears: Connor was in the other room, and you were in his bed. You were in Connor's apartment and you were in his bed. For fucks sake, he had invited you here to sleep, for safety, not to fuck you.

You rolled over again and glared at the wall. Maybe it would be easier if you pulled back the curtains and cast the room in darkness? But, you liked the faint light, the hue that the distance city lights cast upon the room, a somber glow.

It felt like... like Connor's room.

Like-

Like you needed some water.

You shimmied out of the sheets and walked down the hall, to the kitchen, ignoring how cold the wood floors felt beneath your feet. It didn't take long to find some receptacles. There were some thick glass mugs in the cabinet above the sink. You filled one about a quarter way and chugged the whole thing in one quick gulp.

You set the cup near the sink and dared to let your eyes wander to the living room. You could see Connor propped up on the sofa, looking out the window, completely still. You crossed the distance and walked around to face him, taking careful steps.

He had taken off his shoes and his tie, the first button of his shirt undone to expose the tip of his collar bone. His back was flush against the sofa's back, hands in his lap, eyes closed, head upright.

Was he trying to sleep? You didn't want to bother him, but-... No. No, that was a lie. You did want to bother him.

"I should leave," you thought to yourself, trying to tear yourself away.

But, then-

You flinched a little when he blinked a couple times and shifted his gaze towards you, as if he had sensed you were there. His LED was shining bright yellow through the darkness of the room. It pulsed to red when he looked up at you.

"I-I'm sorry for bothering you," you uttered. "Were you trying to sleep?"

Androids power regeneration rarely ever required powering off. He likely wasn't even powered down, just trying to reach a state like it.

"I guess you could call it 'zoning out'," he replied softly.

You didn't fail to see the way his eyes moved down your body before shifting back up to your eyes. You didn't sleep in a bra and chose a flimsy shirt for your sleeping top. As a result, your nipples were poking through the fabric obscenely. You could almost slap yourself for not considering that. And now, you were standing above him like some sort of creep, barely clothed, while he was trying to relax.

Connor maintained a mostly stoic expression; but, you could see something troubling him. His eyes were distant, clouded over with anxiety, and his LED was maintaining a solid red.

The android moved his legs off the sofa and set his feet on the floor, shifting his position so he was facing you. You hadn't realized how close you were until your knees brushed against each other. He was looking up at you with expecting eyes. You swallowed the rock in your throat.

The android's lips parted. You could almost hear the question he was going to ask. If you needed anything. If someone was wrong. What could he do to make it better.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"I want you," you whispered, the confession like throwing a knife through glass. You could practically hear the world shattering around you. Your hands tightened into fists at your sides. "It's killing me, Connor. I feel like - like I shouldn't. How could I ask you to-... How could I assume tha-?"

You silenced yourself, feeling hopeless, feeling stupid.

Connor's brow lifted and his eyes softened. "I was trying to go into stasis so I could... stop thinking about it," he confessed, shifting his gaze away from you. Before you could assume the worst, he continued. "About - the things I want to do to you..." he added on lowly, trailing off.

Your eyes widened and a whimper escaped you. Connor's eyes flickered back up to yours.

He wanted to go into stasis so he could... stop thinking about what he wanted to do to you?

"What - what things?" you pleaded.

You caught the way his eyes flickered to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. Connor looked torn, like he had been caught doing something wrong and like he was in the middle of hunting prey: the cross between determined and afraid. He reached up and gently grasped your forearms, and gave them a little tug. You leaned a little into the tug, trying not to fall into him.

"It felt wrong," he admitted. "I was afraid that you didn't - not like that... not for an android."

Connor kept pulling, slowly. Eventually, you had no choice but to part your legs and slide your knees on either side of his thighs. You slowly maneuvered onto his lap and placed your hands on his shoulders.

"Connor, I-I like that you're an android." You squeezed his shoulders. "Does that make me sick?" Your voice was hoarse. You felt like you were choking. You squeezed your eyes shut, tried to suppress tears, tried not to cry.

He was designed to serve humans. They all were. You felt like you were taking advantage of that, of the beauty he was bestowed with, of the strength he was designed with specifically to serve humans. "I'm a monster. I'm taking adva-"

"I want this," he whispered harshly, breath hot like steam against your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered open and met his. His brown orbs were wild with passion, hunger. That expression looked almost out of place on his soft features. It was sickeningly beautiful. "There's nothing in my programming for this - nothing making me want you. I just-... I just do."

He grabbed your hand and lifted it, placing your palm against his LED, against the side of his head. "I'm scared because I-... I want you so bad and I'm afraid I might hurt you."

Your eyes fluttered for a moment. Guilt felt like a vice wrapped around you, drowning you. And yet, here Connor felt the same, drowning in his own guilt.

"You won't. I know you won't," you whispered. "-and not because I think your programming will stop you. But because you're Connor."

The android closed his eyes and breathed against your lips. He was so close. He could almost taste you. But, he hesitated, afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop himself after he got that first taste. You weaved your fingers through his hair, slowly shattering his willpower.

You leaned in, captured the side of his mouth, and he felt his resolve shatter. He turned his head and captured your mouth properly, swallowing the whimper that escaped you. Your hand joined the other, gently tugging on his hair. His hands found purchase on your waist, tugging, squeezing, pulling to crush your torso against his chassis.

The kiss wasn't tentative. It was hungry, ravenous, like you were trying to anchor to each other's mouths to avoid drowning. The fine hairs on his upper lip, chin, and jaw weren't there for show. They were real, pricky hairs that tickled you. It felt as if he had just shaved this morning.

Connor's hands never stopped. He roamed your waist, your hips, your back, up and down your legs. He gently squeezed your flesh, the sensors on his fingertips catching whatever information they could.

When his fingertips trailed your ribs, he gasped. Your lips separated with a noisy pop and your eyes fluttered open. His LED looked like a burning red ring against his temple. "C-Connor?"

"I can feel your bones," he uttered, mesmerized, eyes fluttering open to catch yours. His hands slid down to catch beneath the hem of your shirt and returned, skin to skin, fingers sliding up and down your ribs with fascination, like he had never felt anything like it before.

You captured his mouth again, whimpering at the touch. Connor almost stopped, struggling to distinguish the good sounds from the bad. The way you were kissing him, pulling him closer, helped.

His tongue caught your bottom lip. The texture surprised you. His tastebuds were more textured than a human tongue. But, it didn't deter you from parting your lips and welcoming him inside. Connor moaned shamelessly into your mouth when his tongue brushed against yours. Your DNA fluttered in his mind, his sensors practically exploding.

This was your taste.

Your hands lowered from his hair to his shoulders and tugged at his detective jacket. Connor was too preoccupied to assist you. His tongue was exploring every crevice it could reach. He could feel your breath heavy through your nostrils, puffing out against his cheeks. As time went on, he could sense you were struggling.

Humans need to breathe, he remembered.

When Connor parted from you, a wet sound echoed between you. Connor watched like he was hypnotized as you panted, trying to catch your breath after his onslaught. Your lips were puffy, wet with your mixed saliva, and your cheeks tinted pink. The sight gave him some strange satisfaction.

He waited patiently until your eyes fluttered open again. He had to make sure that he wasn't met with disdain. That you weren't uncomfortable.

The want that he was met with shot through his core. You wanted more.

"Hold onto me," he warned, rising to his feet. You let out a squeak when you were suddenly lifted into the air. His hands slipped down to cup the underside of your thighs, and your legs lifted to wrap around his waist. Your hands clung to his shoulders like you might fall; yet, you realized, Connor wasn't struggling to hold you at all.

In barely a second, he was entering his bedroom and laying you down at the edge of the bed, standing between your parted legs.

You leaned up and pushed at his jacket. Connor moved his arms back and shrugged it off his shoulders. The fabric pooled behind him on the floor. His shirt was pristine, impeccably ironed and flattering on his lean form; but, it needed to come off. Your hands were hastily undoing his belt to loosen his pants grip around his hips.

Connor watched you intensely, eyes fogged over with lust and lips parted. He decided that he liked the sight of you struggling to undress him, a wild look in your eyes.

You tugged on his button-up shirt to free it from his pants and began fumbling with the buttons. In your daze, you struggled. Connor's hands gently pushed yours out of the way and undid each button with robotic precision. He shrugged the blouse off one shoulder and then shifted his arms back to remove it the rest of the way. His shirt joined his jacket on the floor.

You were panting like a dog, but didn't have the strength to care as the android stood over you with a predatory look on his face.

Connor was lean with a slight muscular build, the faint outline of a sixpack adorning his abdomen. Your eyes, and hands, were more focused on something else. Connor's neck and chest were sprinkled with freckles, painting in his skin in constellations. Your fingertips traced a pattern across his pectorals, daring to let a thumb graze one of his nipples, before trailing down to admire the varying freckles dusted along his tummy.

A happy trail started beneath his belly button, soft, fine, dark brown hairs, and disappeared into his pants.

He was still, content with letting you admire him for the moment. He liked the way you were looking at him, like you had never seen something so beautiful before, like you wanted to devour him.

You shimmied closer to the edge of the bed, where he was standing, and pressed a kiss against his chest, the very center, where you knew his thirium pump was resting beneath the surface.

He let out a quiet gasp when you touched him there.

"Was that bad?" you whispered, leaning back to look up at him. You realized his LED had softened into a yellow hue.

It wasn't bad. But, why did it startle him? He knew you wouldn't hurt him. Whether or not you could was arguable. You studied androids anatomy, knew them inside and out, every artificial organ and computer piece. He wasn't afraid. There was something oddly arousing about you reaching places that were sensitive, that were delicate.

"Not bad. I-... I don't know," he replied hoarsely.

Your head tilted slightly. "Connor, are - are we moving too fast?" you asked him, sincere, low.

His eyes darkened for a second. But, then, Connor blinked it away, like he caught himself.

"N-no. I - I don't want to stop. Unless you do?"

"No. Please don't stop," you breathed.

He looked relieved, like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Connor," you whispered his name like a prayer as the android gracefully fell forward, hands on the bed on either side of you.

Your lips met, and your hands slid over his cheeks, pulling him in, falling into perfect harmony. Connor gently pushed you forward until you were flat on your back beneath him. He slid onto his forearms, trying to prevent himself from crushing you into the bed.

But, then, one of your legs hooked around the back of his thigh and pulled him down. You moaned into his mouth when his clothed cock came into contact with your clothed core. Fuck, he was hard. It actually kind of hurt when it bumped into you, but you couldn't be bothered to mind.

Connor shuddered and leaned up, tearing his mouth away from yours.

There was a question of the tip of his tongue and something akin to pleading in his eyes. Can I undress you? Can I see you? Please?

You felt like you could read his thoughts in that moment. You placed one hand on his chest and pushed gently, silently asking him to get up. He complied and you laid there for a moment to admire the view. His belt was still looped through his pants, but undone and dangling. He was pitching an impressive tent.

The best part? He was blushing, flushed red all over. Were androids supposed to be capable of that?

"Are - are you overheating?" you asked, sincerely concerned.

"J-just a little," he admitted.

You smiled and snagged your thumbs under the bands of your lounge pants and underwear. They both slid down in one swoop and quickly joined the growing pile on the floor. Your shirt followed and you leaned back to let him admire you.

Connor noticed the expression you were making before he noticed everything else. Like you were afraid.

"I - I won't look if you don't want me to?" he offered.

You shook your head. "No. It's not that... I just - I'm not as beautiful as you."

Connor panted out a brief chuckle. "Isn't that for me to decide?"

Your gaze changed, then. The fear washed away and you smiled softly. Only then did he let his eyes wander. He lingered on your neck and the delicate collar bones that jutted out from your upper chest for just a little longer than expected. Your nipples were perky in the cold air, breasts heaving slightly with your heavy breaths. His eyes moved down your taut stomach to the bundle of nerves between your legs, hidden behind soft curls.

"I want to kiss you there," he admitted shamelessly.

You whimpered at that. "Fuck - Connor..." He was still staring into your eyes, silently pleading, as if you would ever say no. "Yes - yes - ohhh."

At that first yes, Connor lifted one of your legs and propped it on his shoulder, giving himself proper access, before swooping down fearlessly. As promised, he kissed you first, squaring in on the pearl that poked out above your entrance.

He lapped at it and you trembled at the sensation. You hadn't considered this - hadn't considered that he had a tongue like the devil. The texture was marvelous and Connor knew exactly what was the right amount of pressure. He couldn't have possibly been real. You must have died sometime early today and was lost in a blissful purgatory conjured by your own imagination.

It only got worse when his other hand joined in and you felt a curious digit slip into your sopping wet entrance with no resistance. Connor paused for a moment, not expected you to be so burning hot on the inside, essence like molten lava on his digit.

"Ohh fuck!" you cried out, head falling back into the sheets. His tongue lapped at your pearl in flawless intervals while his finger curled into you, seeking out the spot that would blind you in ecstasy. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, clawing into them. Connor had to use his other hand to grab hold of your waist and force you to be still.

He seemed hyper focused on making you come. But, he was shamelessly enjoying himself: the salty taste of your sex, the way your flesh quivered and seeped heat, and all the glorious, obscene noises he coaxed from your mouth.

"C-C-Con - ahh - please - stop - want you - want you," you pleaded with him, thrashing around on the bed.

When he stopped, you saw him pop his finger in his mouth to clean off your essence. You stared up at him with lust-filled eyes, panting like a wild animal.

"Y-you didn't have to do that," you whimpered as he stood up and slid his pants, belt still through the loops, down his hips. He kneeled down for a moment to remove his socks.

When he caught you staring at the way back up, he paused. Your eyes flickered away from the impressive bulge he was sporting in his boxers and up to his face.

That - that wasn't embarrassment. That was pride. He liked the way you were looking at him.

His boxers went next, snagging on his erection before being carefully peeled down his thighs and joining the rest of the clothes on the floor.

Oh fuck-

Your eyes followed the trail of pubes to the base of his cock. You expected something akin to a very realistic dildo. But, no, Connor looked all the more real down there, too. His shaft was proportionate to his body, with some liberties. It wasn't perfectly smooth, either. There were veins along the top and bottom, a bulbous tip, a little thicker at the base. He even had a pair on him.

"I wanted to," he replied, thankfully, interrupting your staring.

You wanted to also; but, Connor was climbing on top of you before you had a chance to voice that. You slid back to center yourself on the bed and Connor followed, hovering.

Through the faint glow of the room, the brightest light was Connor's LED. It had shifted back to a calming blue. You smiled at the sight. When Connor leaned down and you welcomed him into your arms, you leaned in to peck a kiss at the only indicator that he was an android.

"Do you feel better?" you whispered. "It's blue..."

"I - I do," he admitted like he was caught misbehaving.

You maneuvered your lips over to his and pressed a soft kiss agains this mouth. "Are you sure I prepared you enough?" he whispered against your mouth. His mouth descended into your neck where he peppered wet kisses along your throat. You gasped at the sensation, letting your head fall back against the sheets.

"You're bigger than I expected," you said lowly. "But, I-"

You felt his arm shift and his hand lower between you two. It was moving in a telltale motion. You leaned back to try to steal a peak and realized he was spreading an obscene amount of precum down his shaft, until it was glistening wet from tip to base.

You moaned shamelessly at the sight.

"I-I'm ready, Connor," you breathed, leaning back up to kiss messily against his mouth. He shifted his hips forward, bringing your bodies together, and you felt the tip press against your entrance.

Connor huffed out a breath.

"I - y-you're so warm..."

Curious, intrigued, Connor leaned up. You detangled your arms from his shoulders to let him. He looked down at the sight of his tip barely breeching your entrance. Your lips were fluttered around him, like parted petals, dark pink and glistening. Like this, your pearl was forced out of hiding and on full display.

He nudged forward until his tip slipped inside.

Connor shuddered and almost collapsed on top of you.

"Keep going," you pleaded, looking up at him with admiration. His LED had shuttered to yellow as he took in the sight of your union. He didn't know why he liked it so much, until the thought sank in. This wasn't just biology. It was your cunt taking in his cock. It was his body laying claim to yours.

-and you wanted him. Above you. Inside you. Taking you. Fucking you.

Connor shifted his hips until he was nuzzled deep, sheathed fully inside the tantalizing heat between your thighs. You clenched your jaw at the feeling of such fullness.

But, you were easily distracted by the sight above you. Connor fell forward on his hands, eyes fluttered shut and LED blaring scarlet red. He pinched his brow as if he was in pain. You soaked in the sight as if trying to draw a picture in your memory of Connor in the dim light, his LED beautiful and glowing on his temple, above you, inside you, trying to form some semblance of self-control.

The feedback on his processor was almost overwhelming. Tight velvety flesh clinging to his cock like a burning hot vice. Pleasure was burning through his mind, disrupting all other processes. It was difficult to concentrate on anything else but the way your body clung to him.

His cock throbbed inside you, and you let out a whimper. At least, his sound receptors were still operating at regular levels.

That seemed to snap him out of it.

You looked blissed out beneath him, but not content, not satisfied. Your hungry eyes took him in eagerly. Your hands were running up and down his biceps as if trying to soothe him. He hadn't noticed until now.

"You feel-" His hips involuntarily moved a little, just a tiny thrust. Oh. He hadn't considered the friction. Your walls were velvety and smooth, but had a coarseness to them. He could feel each individual muscle dragging along the thick veins on his cock.

"-so good." When Connor finished his sentence, it came out a little distorted. He froze up, afraid you would dislike the sound of his voice box experiencing intermittent errors.

But-

You moaned and lifted your hips, a gesture almost akin to begging. More. More. Please.

"You're killing me," you whimpered. "So - hmf - big," you huffed out, pouting up at him.

He shuddered again.

The android slid onto his forearms, on either side of your head, and sought out your lips. You curled one leg around his waist while the other stayed low, wrapped around his calf.

He distracted himself with your mouth, trying to calm his processor before something malfunctioned. He angled back his hips and pushed forward, testing the waters. On the next try, he slid out halfway before diving back in. Slowly, but ensuring each and every centimeter that could possibly go inside you did.

"Ohhh," you moaned into his mouth.

Connor nudged his forehead against yours affectionately. He was happy. So fucking happy. He felt so fucking good and could only pray to whatever deity was listening that you felt as good as he did. Your moans kept him going, his only lifeline.

You maneuvered your arms beneath his, one hand reaching up to tangle in his hair while the other smoothed down his back. You had closed your eyes at some point and let them open while Connor found a pleasing rhythm. His LED was blue, lighting up his skin in a beautiful, soft glow.

You had adjusted by now, stretched to accommodate his girth. Connor's cock continued to ooze lubrication. Soon, the combined fluids created a wet sound that echoed between you every time he slid back in.

Your hand, fingers weaved through his hair, lowered to the back of his neck. Your thumb grazed the access panel release button behind his ear. It wasn't risen or textured; but, you knew it was there, and hoped it would be like his thirium pump.

It did something, for the android suddenly thrust in harder than before, hips stuttering.

"Connor-" you cried out. His processor was stuttering to keep up with all this information. It took him 0.874 seconds longer than necessary to realize that was a good sound.

He did it again, and again, pulling out carefully and shoving his hips back into you. There was some sense to it. He was angling his hips in a way that would provide the maximum stimulation to your core. But, even when that was hard for him to concentrate on, when you started to claw your nails down his back.

-and your voice.

You were whimpering into his ear. You sounded like you were hurt. But, he liked it.

Was that wrong? It sounded like he was hurting you, but he fucking liked it.

Soon, he was slamming into you so hard that you could barely catch your breath, huffing against the side of his neck like you just surfaced from the ocean. You'd pant on the release and cry out when he slammed back inside. Your walls were fluttering around him, coaxing him back inside every time he pulled back.

He never anticipated it would be like this.

You lifted your other leg to try to perch it on his waist. Connor lowered his hand to grab it. Somewhere in his mind, whatever was left of reason told him he could make this better. He could make you scream louder.

He cupped the underside of your knee and lifted your leg until it brushed his ribs.

When he slammed back in, you did scream.

Would the neighbors hear?

Fuck. Who cares.

"Connor - yes!" you cried, senselessly dragging your nails down his back.

Connor was too focused on the sensation between his legs, on your voice in his ears, your body language telling him your pleasure; he failed to realize his voice box was malfunctioning again. He was puffing out staticky sounds through parted lips, like he was getting punched.

The hand that had dared to poke at his access panel returned to his hair, lovingly nudging him closer.

"D-do-on't hold ba-...ck," you panted.

"Fu-ck me," you pleaded. He was; but, he realized, your words were to spur him on. "Do-n't st-stop," you huffed out. "Con-hnn - oh, Connor!"

Your bodies made obscene wet noises as they smacked together. You were clinging to him, walls fluttering, legs trembling, and he finally realized you were coming.

-and he had gotten you there.

"Oh - hnnn," Connor stuttered, voice controls out of skew and not sounding quite like himself. Before he could stop it, his pleasure had apexed, and he was coming.

Connor was almost lost as pleasure blinded him, the sensation bubbling up inside his cock before shooting up his spine.

His hips shuddered as he tried to keep up the pace, to finish you properly through your orgasm. He pressed his face into your hair and tried to endure his processor. Everything was going off at once: overheating warnings, pleasure sensors shooting through his core, error messages on muscle movements, lag on audio and visual receptors.

Somehow, he managed to keep going until you whimpered quietly, a verbal cue he took as overstimulation. His own orgasm was beginning to die off. He shuddered one last time and slumped forward.

Connor could feel you panting beneath him, your chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Your legs were still trembling against his hips, but your hands had gone limp, barely holding onto him anymore. He was unmoving, giving his central processing unit a moment to recover.

The android's eyes shuddered open. He could feel his audio and visual receptors reconfiguring, 0.479 seconds, until readings were normal. The overheating logs were being filed, reason being categorized as 'sexual'. 0.617 seconds for his muscle scan to complete and all readings had returned to normal.

You shifted beneath him, and Connor decided to ignore that for now and focus on you. He leaned up to look at you properly.

Wow. You looked- "Beautiful," he whispered, smearing his lips against your cheek in what was supposed to be a kiss.

"Did you...?" you uttered, turning into his kiss with a smile.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Was I good?" you asked quietly.

Connor captured your mouth with a groan. It was supposed to be quick; but, you kissed back, and it went on and on for at least a minute before you parted with a wet smack.

The android leaned up and slid out of you slowly with a quiet groan. You untangled your legs from his waist and whimpered at the sensation of him departing from your core. Oh. Damn. You were going to be sore tomorrow.

But, the dull ache left behind after such an intense orgasm was like having sore muscles after a glorious battle. It felt nice. Connor's hair was disheveled, posture imperfect. It was worth it. So, so worth it.

Connor rolled away and lifted into a seated position at the foot of the bed. You followed, placing your hand on his lower back. He was about to stand up, but stopped at the touch. You maneuvered onto your knees and scooted in closer.

His hairline was imperfect. Fine hairs ran about an inch down on either side from his trimmed haircut. You trailed your fingertips across the hair there. It felt prickly, like real human hair that had just been shaved a few days ago. Your fingertips slid higher into the slightly longer hairs of his short cut. They were tantalizingly soft.

"Your creators were evil," you commented, leaning in to kiss the back of Connor's neck. You didn't expect him to tremble in response to that, and it almost surprised you.

"How so?" he asked, voice low, sounding almost unlike himself.

You uttered into his skin, "you have freckles on the back of your neck, too..."

You sounded simultaneously adored and annoyed with this discovery. Connor was trying not to hyperventilate by the sensation of your mouth on the back of his neck, warm breath and soft lips, confessing to how attracted you were to him. It was stirring up something dangerous inside him: a hunger that would never be satiated.

It thrilled and frightened him.

With one final kiss, you parted and slid back into the bed.

Connor rose to his feet and started scooping up the clothes off the floor. He tossed his into a laundry hamper before gingerly folding yours and placing them on top of his dresser.

His hands touched the pull handles on the drawer when he stopped and decided against getting dressed.

When Connor returned to the foot of the bed, you were just barely nuzzling beneath the sheets. He didn't miss the hopeful look you shot him when you spotted him returning to the bed.

The android climbed beneath the sheets and slotted into the spot behind you. You moaned approvingly when his warm body met yours, one arm sliding beneath the pillows while the other rested over your waist.

"You don't have to?" you offered quietly, like you didn't want to ask.

"I want to," Connor replied.

Tired. Satisfied. At ease. Protected. You didn't struggle to fall asleep this time.

There was something he wanted to ask you; but, it had been a very long and exhausting day for you. It could wait.

Of course, Connor didn't need to sleep, and powering off was incredibly dangerous. He couldn't be aware of his sensors, of his surroundings, or anything else in that state.

But, as Connor caressed your tummy with his hand, he realized there was something he could do.

The protective layer of skin faded away on his palm, exposing the sensors beneath. He hummed as he scanned you directly and closed his eyes to focus on it.

Connor could count your heartbeats precisely, could feel the blood rushing through you and at what pressure, could feel your lungs inflate and deflate with each passing breath. He nuzzled into the back of your neck and contemplated lapping his tongue against your skin to see what else his sensors could pick up.

Okay, but, maybe he shouldn't do that-

This was enough.

This... put him at ease, and he relaxed into an energy saving mode.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I will love you if I never see you again (chapter one)

Huge thank you to my amazing betas, @minky-for-short for getting me into this podcast in the first place and @spiky-lesbian for letting me pass the gift on

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3, it means the world to me and it’s completely free! 

---

Warning: Trans pregnancy not seen but referenced, mentions of depression

Juno deeply regrets leaving Peter Nureyev in that motel room.

He told himself if was necessary. He told himself he was needed elsewhere. He told himself he was a hero.

Now, one year on, he is depressed, lonely and struggling. But Peter Nureyev is about to come back into his life, despite his own best judgement, and show him that their night together was more significant than Juno knows.

---

He wondered how much of his life he would spend taking footsteps that lead away from where he wanted to go.

Every time his heel hit the pavement, he would label himself again, burden himself with something fresh. They piled on top of each other, filling the inside of his skull until it ached.

Coward. Selfless. Idiot. Selfish. Heartless. Hero. Needed. Broken.

That more than anything else. How else to describe a person who was walking away from last night, choosing a cold and lonely dawn and a cold and empty future over everything currently fading into a sickly orange light above his head and someone to share it with. He couldn’t bear to look up and see those stars, not just because he still wasn’t used to seeing them through one eye, shifted in a way he knew they shouldn’t be, blurry and further away than he knew they really were. He was scared to turn his face to them and see the possibilities he was crushing under his boot with every step. Other planets, other worlds, other people he could be. And the two hearts he was breaking, all outlined in the stars like a needlepoint.

So he kept his eye to the pavement beneath him and continued on.

It was colder than it had any right to be, the warmth that hadn’t started as his own leeching away through his coat. It was the kind of cold that made him think he wouldn’t ever get warm again as he tried to force his mind to focus and figure out how he was going to get home.

And then back to normal. Back to who he’d been before.

The thought was the last straw needed to send the tears tumbling down his deliberately expressionless face, dripping from his chin to fall to the pavement below, as pointless and fruitless as rain on Mars.

He heard. Of course he heard.

And yet when he opened his eyes, he still hoped and he was duly punished for it, heart breaking all over again when there was no one in the bed next to him. Just rumpled sheets that had once curved around a human body and freshly emptied space.

He didn’t cry. That wasn’t how he’d been raised. Crying brought noise, attention, commotion. Crying was unprofessional. Potentially messy emotions were meant to be folded up small and filed away somewhere dark and deep for some unspecified later date, a time where he could be himself and didn’t have to be someone else. Whenever that would be.

So he didn’t cry. Instead he stared down at his own hands and told himself he was not thinking about where they had been just a few short hours ago, what they had discovered and held, what beautiful things they had moulded, along with a second pair of hands that were now just ghosts of warmth on cooling sheets. He sat and he stared, gaze hard and level until it began to blur. In that moment he lost sight of his clever, clever hands and realised how much hurt was inside him. Yawning, cavernous depths of it in his narrow chest, so easy to fall into and never be seen again.

But he couldn’t let that happen.

He told himself who he was, who he had made himself into after so much hard work. He spoke his name into the fading darkness and told himself what that meant. That was the only thing that got him out of the bed, onto his feet, back into his clothes. Back out into the world.

But under the veneer of his sharp smile and neat hair and nice clothes, he felt sick. Sick with anger, sick with a desperate need to get off this godforsaken planet and never see it’s dust and mountains and broken promises ever again, sick with grief above all else.

And he stayed sick for some time.

- A Year Later   -

Juno would say he’d had a bad day at the office. But that would imply that he’d had something that could be called a good day sometime in recent memory.

But they’d all been the same. Stumble in after very little sleep and no breakfast, beyond what had made his breath smell of stale alcohol. Give no answer to Rita’s hopeful greeting but to growl whether any new cases had come in. Look through the painfully anemic list and curl his lip at every one, muttering that they were pedestrian, boring, stale after each one. Slump listlessly in his chair and try to decide which he would take, just to get Rita off his back. Get sweaty and shivery at the thought of actually picking up the comms and speaking to a client. Realise it had gotten dark. Go home with no new cases, no progress made and a pitying look from Rita that made him want to scream.

So, yeah. A bad day. A long, long string of bad days that had no end that he could see.

And somehow the worst part of each one was walking home.

He would have stayed at the office if Rita would let him but she firmly ejected him at the end of every day, insisting she wasn’t working in the same space as someone who didn’t shower. Only the fact that she wouldn’t leave until he did actually got his feet out of the door.

It was a typical chilly Martian night, air stale and cloying as it always was under the shields. Juno always felt like he was in a terrarium, something caught by powers far above him and set down in an artificial habitat to be viewed as a source of entertainment. But, then again, it was nice not to die of radiation poisoning.

The bottled weather and stale air wasn’t the reason Juno hated walking home. It was that walking wasn’t enough of a distraction. He couldn’t figure out how to listen to things on his comms and was too proud to ask Rita, watching the people walking past was likely to get him punched in the face for looking at someone funny. Just a long, lonely walk with just his own head for company, nothing to look ahead to but a miserable night in his cramped little apartment drinking himself to sleep. A sad, lost lady alone with the shadows in the corners, thinking if he stayed still and quiet then his memories wouldn’t find him.

And he would feel that heaviness in his chest, like his lungs were turning to concrete, the heaviness that came with the words in his head.

This is what you left him for?

He’d thought Hyperion needed him, like he was some hero from a bad North Star stream. No smarter than he’d been at nine years old again with tin foil wrapped around his skinny chest, pretending to be Andromeda. In real life, heroes could shoot straight. Heros had two eyes. Heroes didn’t bellow at their secretaries for problems they’d caused themselves. Heroes weren’t afraid of anything, much less the idea of a quiet moment.

A car went past closer than it should, roaring and sudden and shaking him out of his thoughts. He didn’t know when his breathing had gotten heavy or sweat had begun dripping between his shoulder blades despite the cool night. He ran his fingers through his hair, told himself to snap out of it and pushed on, walking faster.

Juno tried desperately to occupy his mind, making lists for groceries he couldn’t afford and jobs he wouldn’t get to at the office and going over cases he solved years ago, as he walked through puddles of streetlight. But it was a flimsy shield and he knew it; just beyond the thin veneer of a busy brain sat the thick clouds of grey fog he’d glimpsed, the ones that could dull him and numb him until he drowned without ever fighting back.

He’d always managed to catch himself in time, drag himself out of the other side, get back into the office, try again even if he knew it would go the same way all the others had.

And Juno dreaded the day where he couldn’t even manage that.

He was at his apartment building now, chanting the ingredients for stew his mother would make on her good days under his breath, each step of the method taking him up one of the far too many stairs he had to climb. Step by step, no other thoughts allowed.

Juno was as far as serving the stew into two identical bowls and making sure your greedy brother didn’t get the one with extra pieces of carrot as he took out the key and slotted it into the door. It always needed a shove to get it going, the damp and general lack of attention had warped the wood. Thought it could also have been the many times it had been battered by things trying to get in or out.

So many things that Juno had long ago developed the habit of entering his apartment assuming something was going to attack him, shoulders tense, legs locked, hand on his blaster.

A habit he’d lost after becoming depressed and ever since touching the blaster he could no longer use made his chest uncomfortably tight.

So when he realised there was someone sitting on his ratty sofa, eyes trained on him and something in their hands, Juno was entirely unprepared. And very embarrassed.

“God damn-” was all he got out, hand scrabbling at his belt because if he couldn’t aim for shit anymore maybe he could at least throw it at them, before the shadow stood up and spoke in a voice he knew, a voice that had teased him and cursed him and, last he’d heard it, held him so safely and made him feel so much.

A voice he’d never thought to hear again, since he left it in a dark motel room.

“Juno Steel. I’d apologise for the theatrics but...well, it’s me.”

It was a long time before he could find any words at all, lost in picking out the things he recognised in the shadow, the slope of a nose, the wink of a golden chain in his ear, trying to figure out how it made him feel.

“Nureyev...what...I don’t understand…”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Juno,” Nureyev stood, not as smoothly as Juno would have expected, like something was weighing him down, “I didn’t anticipate needing to talk to you again after...everything but things beyond my control have forced my hand. We need to talk.”

Juno still felt much like a rabbit staring down the lights of an eighteen wheel truck, flicking on the lights and coming to stand in the doorway, keeping a fair distance between him and Nureyev.

The man who had offered to show him the stars and he had refused.

He was holding something, something wrapped in blankets that he was clutching to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. That struck him as odd immediately, an odd thing in a flood of odd things, but his eye caught on it anyway.

He had seen Nureyev work a few times, he’d seen him steal keys and ancient martian masks and legendary, semi sentient getaway cars, things he wanted and things he needed. But he would never let it show when he held them, or had them under his hands. He never had this look of protectiveness, that grip in his fingers like he was going to pull a knife on anyone who tried to take it from him. Because if he showed he wanted it, then that was a vulnerability. That was a connection.

Nureyev’s voice was a practised kind of steady, like he too was surprised to find them here but wanted Juno to flinch first, “You can relax, Juno, I’m not here to kill you like some jealous spurned lover from a bad stream.”

“I never...I never thought that,” Juno said honestly, it had never crossed his mind that Nureyev was going to hurt him. Though it would be hard to argue he didn’t deserve at least a slap.

“I’m here to make a request of you, actually,” Nureyev stepped forward, so he’d tower over Juno a little more.

Though a little less than he should have. He wasn’t wearing heels. He had worn heels to rob a train that moved at a thousand miles an hour but he wasn’t wearing them now, just flat, plain shoes to stand on Juno’s peeling, cracking floor. No corset either, just black trousers and a loose black shirt that looked silky in the low streetlight coming in from outside. He was dressed so...so un-Nureyev.

“You need something from me?” Juno squared his shoulders, aware that he was staring, “What?”

Nureyev’s teeth still flashed when he spoke, in that way that had first snagged Juno nearly three years ago now, “I need you to hold something for me. Something very, very, very precious to me.”

Juno frowned, “You don’t have any other place to stash stolen goods? Don’t you have a whole network for that thing, buyers lined up before you pull a job?”

Why are you antagonising him, Steel?

Nureyev squared his thin shoulders, thinner than Juno had last seen them, “Not what I’m asking, Juno. This will go easier if you don’t jump to conclusions before I’ve even opened my mouth.”

Juno folded his arms defensively across his chest, “Look, Nureyev, whatever it is, I really don’t think I’m the one for the job. We clearly don’t...work together as well as we thought we did.”

That curled his lip, “Oh, I agree, Detective. However I don’t have a choice. You are the only person I can trust with this.”

Juno’s frown deepened, about to open his mouth and snap something back that would only turn the conversation sourer when the package of blanket in Nureyev’s arms shifted and made a noise. He started, about to demand to know if Nureyev had actually brought a cat into his apartment, when the thief turned away and spoke softly to it, moving back the soft material, voice low and soothing.

Not a cat. A child.

“Nureyev, what the hell have you done?” Juno croaked, jaw dropping.

It was clear his assumptions were wrong in a heartbeat when Nureyev rounded on him with more fury in his eyes than Juno had ever seen. More fury than he’d ever thought could be held in eyes usually so still and placid and clever. The child, blinking large dark eyes sleepily, seemed to pick up on it, face creasing unhappily and turning their face against his chest with an unhappy noise.  

“Whatever you are thinking, Detective, I suggest you stop,” he snapped, baring his teeth, “And think about what kind of man you know me to be. Whatever possessed you to leave me in that motel room, you must know I am not the kind of thief you are imagining.”

“Nureyev, easy, I...I get it,” Juno held up his hands, feeling scared of the man in front of him for the first time, “I just don’t understand…”

“Then think,” he took a step forward, “Use that brain you claim to have that I have seen so little evidence of. You can do basic mathematics, yes?”

Juno blinked, static rising loud and so distracting in his head, even as his PI’s eye looked at what little of the child he could see. Dark hair. Skin the colour of turned earth on the home most humans had never known. He couldn’t place her age exactly, all babies looked the same to him, but she was clearly brand new, barely more than a handful of months. And it had been a year since he’d last seen Peter Nureyev.

The static was deafening now and he was swaying slightly on his feet.

“Oh, god damn it…” he rasped.

“Are you there yet?” Nureyev’s voice was flat and unimpressed, “Or do you need me to draw you a diagram?”

“Nureyev, I…” Juno’s hands came up to grip his hair, a tic he’d thought he’d shaken off, “I’m so, so sorry…”

“A little late for that,” Nureyev narrows his eyes, “And unnecessary. My choice was my own. I’m not here to ask you for anything permanent, I don’t want money, I don’t want you to make an honest man of me or anything so trite. And I certainly don’t want your pity.”

Juno tried to take that in, still mostly preoccupied with the static in his head, “Then...then what…”

Nureyev’s jaw set, expression awkward for the first time, “My...my getaway from the last job I pulled wasn’t as clean as I normally manage. I allow myself some leniency for being rather...preoccupied but still. There are consequences I don’t usually have to deal with. Consequences I cannot put my daughter in the path of. I need somewhere safe for her to be while I deal with this and cut the loose ends. Somewhere safe with someone who fully understands how vital it is that no one learns of her existence. Do I make myself clear, Juno?”

Juno knew an answer was expected of him but all he could focus on was the words that had seized his heart, “A daughter?”

Nureyev looked down at the baby in his arms, something softening ever so slightly in his face, almost too small to catch, “Yes. Her name is Bianca Nureyev.”

Juno swallowed hard, still feeling ice water run through his body instead of blood, “It’s...it’s a real pretty name.”

Nureyev had an expression on his face like he was trying very hard not to care about Juno’s opinion of her name, “It is beautiful. And above all, it is precious. I trust you remember how much I value my own name? Well know that I would rather climb this very building and scream my name at the top of my lungs for all of Hyperion to hear than have my daughter be common knowledge.”

The name you trusted me with. The name you valued less than me.

Juno didn’t know what was worse, when he’d thought he’d never have Nureyev’s trust after he’d left or this, suddenly finding himself being handed it again.

“Nureyev…” Juno’s eye slid guiltily around his apartment, all the decay and mess that was so clearly visible, thrown into sharp, uncomfortable relief in the glare of the naked bulb overhead. Nureyev had been here a while, certainly long enough to see the take out containers, mostly untouched and left to rot, the case files piling up on the little used bed, the newspapers gathering dust, the empty fridge and reek of a place that hadn’t seen fresh air in too long.

His expression confirmed it for Juno, “Believe me, if there was any alternative, anyone else I could leave her with...god, if there was any way to avoid this entirely, I would take it. But she’s in danger every second she’s with me and I can’t have that. If I’m going to do this right, I need a clean break. And, ironically, the process of acquiring one is often messy.”

“I mean...I’ll try but…”

“Oh no,” his voice was a knife’s slice into darkness that hit home, “You will not try, detective. You will do this. You said you’re sorry? Then prove it. Help me make something of the ridiculous mess we got ourselves in by pulling yourself together for a month or so and making sure my daughter is safe and well until I can come back for her. It is, quite literally, the least you can do.”

Juno eyed the baby girl in Nureyev’s arms, now looking back at him with a curious awareness, like she was some kind of explosive. Long before he’d made a complete, smouldering mess of his life, the sight of young children with their parents had made him feel sickly. On the street, at the park, on the rare occasions a client would turn up with one on their hip, they gave him prickly sweats and an itchy feeling down his spine, a directionless kind of panic.

He wanted to shout at every parent he passed, everyone with a tiny hand in their own, to get in their face and yell at them do not fuck this up, do you have any idea of the damage you can do?

And the thing was he knew exactly how much damage he was capable of. After all, look what he’d managed to do without even thinking. A baby girl, looking at him with his own eyes, his own vaguely exhausted expression. Fragile as new blown glass, incomprehensible as distant stars.

But he’d wanted to be a hero, a year ago. He’d amended that recently to a smaller goal, simply wanting something other than the heavy, grey fog.

Maybe this way he could have both.

Juno held out his arms.

Whether it was relief or agony on Nureyev’s face, he couldn’t say, it was gone too quick to pin down. He simply slung a large bag from his shoulder, setting it on the floor.

“She has a week’s supply of everything in there. Clothes, diapers, her formula. You’ll need to buy more when it runs out, this was what I could gather at short notice. Also her books, clothes and toys...the cloth cat is a particular favourite, if she’s crying, she probably wants that...”

Juno nodded, “Right, yeah. No problem.” He noticed his arms were still empty.

Nureyev was hesitating, something he’d never seen him do. He was poised to pass his daughter over but had frozen halfway through, like his muscles wouldn’t move any further. There was a long pause before he sighed, pressed the gentlest of kisses to his daughter’s head and quickly eased her into Juno’s arms. Immediately, he boughed under the weight of her.

“I’ll be back, my treasure…” he was addressing her, lines of pain cracking through his mask, eyes swimming for a fraction of a second before they turned to him and turned to flint, “Keep her safe. Promise me, Juno Steel.”

“I promise,” he tried to make his voice sound sure. He failed.

Nureyev looked like he would snatch her back for a second before straightening, “Well, that will have to do.”

Like it was breaking his heart to stay any longer, he turned on his heel and went for the door without a glance back. It shut behind him with a click and Juno heard him taking the stairs, upwards rather than down, to do god knew what.

And he was left holding a baby he hadn’t known existed until a minute ago, with a brain full of static.

Like an actor who’d forgotten his lines, he rocked on his heels and shuffled awkwardly for a few moments before turning to look at Bianca, sitting uncertainty in his arms.  

“So, um...hello?” he tried, “I’m Juno.”

Bianca looked up at him with her creased little face and big, wide eyes and decided that he was definitely not Nureyev.

So she opened her little rosebud pink mouth and began to scream for all she was worth.

Juno slumped down onto his sofa.

“Yeah. Me too, kiddo.”

[love-rats]

Jeff the Killer: Re-write

A new house. New friends. A new life to adapt to. When it came down to it, new was all there was in Jeff’s life. 

“Hey, Liu,” Jeff called after his brother. “Wait up!”

Liu turned around, a grin lighting up his boyish features. There always seemed to be a light inside of him, one that Jeff could never match. 

Ever since Jeff was a kid, all that there had been was darkness, utter darkness, consuming him completely. Sometimes, he would lie awake at night, hearing echoes of an inner desire, threatening to snap his sanity. The voices always told him that it would be easier for the string to snap. Better, even. 

For once in Jeff’s thirteen long years, he would be happy. 

But he couldn’t say any of this out loud to his brother. How could he ever understand? Jeff could bet his flimsy string of sanity that Liu had never felt the risk, the joy that resulted from giving in, from becoming something... inhuman. 

So, instead, what he said was: “Are you happy?

He received a baffled glance as an answer. 

Jeff amended, “In our new house, I mean.”

Liu smiled. “If mum’s happy, then I suppose I’m happy.”

If only it was that simple. 

***

If Jeff had to pin down the one day when it all started, it would be this one. The kind of plastic, perfect day when the sun was shining, the razor sharp beams fragmenting the vision of everyone who was unlucky enough to be caught in its path. 

Jeff was trying to unsuccessfully trying to shield his eyes, not even bothering to check beside him for Liu. They had been waiting for the bus for half an hour already. 

“I think we might be a little early,” Liu muttered.

“No shit,” Jeff snickered. “Maybe mum wanted to get us out of the house to do some spring cleaning?”

“Yeah. Have you seen the state of... fuck it! Have you seen the state of everything?”

“Everything?” Jeff was suddenly serious.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that, Jeff. I’m just so stressed, ugh!”

Jeff looked at his brother. Took in the dark blue circles under his dark blue eyes.

“Maybe you just need some sleep.”

And in Jeff’s voice, there was something rooted deep within, something that Liu couldn’t quite identify, but nevertheless chilled him to the very bones. 

“Well, well, well.”

Jeff turned around at the sound of the smug voice, and immediately wished he hadn’t. A young boy, about thirteen, stood in front of them. His jacket seemed to swallow him whole, and his bike just comically emphasized the boy’s ridiculous smallness. Nevertheless, there was something threatening in the boy’s eyes.

“I’m Randy.” The boy had a ridiculous smirk plastered on his face. “This is Keith. And this is Troy.” Two other boys drew up behind him, and Jeff almost laughed out. Being held up by three dwarfs on their first day in a new town? Sounded about right.

“Okay, now that all the pleasantries are out of the way, I’d like you to hand me your wallet, please.” A psychotic smile spread over his face. “After all, it’s our town. It’s only fair that you pay us. As a token, if you like. Of your thanks.”

Jeff snorted. “Fuck off. I’m not paying you anything.”

Randy’s eyes darkened. “I regret you are mistaken.”

Slowly, leisurely, he took out a knife. “Give me the fucking money.”

Liu’s voice pierced the silence. “He SAID he’s not-”

That was when Randy jumped at Liu, knocking his diminutive form to the ground. The haze descended, and all Jeff could hear was Liu’s screams, the sharp sound of maniacal laughter, and whispers. Always the whispers. For a minute, he was paralyzed. Somehow, he wanted to stay here, trapped in this haze with the string of his sanity so deliciously hanging in front of his eyes. He wanted to sink into this feeling, the bathe in the beautiful screams of the suffering. 

Then, it snapped. 

He felt a face crack beneath his fists, a knife in his hands. The smell of blood on his hands, translating into the scent of power. Randy screaming, oh it was music to his ears. Even when arms dragged him away from the beautiful sight of the boy with a knife in his shoulder, he remembered begging to be left alone with the screams for just a few more minutes.

Maybe he didn’t say it out loud, though. Maybe things would’ve been different if he hadn’t stayed mute as Liu screamed at him. Maybe they would’ve all finally understood. 

But he didn’t.

So, as he ran away from the scene with Liu following suit, he was left to experience the snapping of the string for just a few more minutes. 

***

“What the hell is this, Jeff? What is everyone going to think of me? You’re a selfish, selfish boy! You stabbed him! Stabbed!”

“I did not stab him! It was self defense! He attacked first!” Jeff looked at the police officer with pleading eyes. “You’ve got to believe me!”

The officer sighed. “Look, kid. I feel sorry for you. I do. It’s hard doing my job. Try it some time.” He looked Jeff straight in the eye. “I’m sorry. We have witnesses, son. It’s a year in juvie for you.”

At that moment, Jeff felt his throat close up. He thought he might throw up.

“No!”

Jeff looked up, and standing at the top of the staircase was Liu. “It was me.”

“What? No!” Jeff choked out. “Take it back! Tell them it was me!”

If you looked at Liu from outsider’s perspective, you would see a headstrong young boy. 

But Jeff.

Jeff could see Liu’s bottom lip quivering. He could tell his brother wasn’t as strong as he let on.

“It was me,” Liu repeated. “Take me away.”

The screams. The bitter screams as Liu was bundled into the police car. Jeff didn’t want to sink into these screams. Jeff wanted to undo his existence. He wanted to undo whoever was responsible for this pain.

“I’m sorry I blamed you, Jeff.” His mother put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him to her. As if that was adequate. As if that would put together the string again. 

Nothing on this Earth could ever make him okay again. 

***

“Jeff, please get up.” His mum ceremonially threw open Jeff’s curtains, as Jeff hissed and jumped under his covers. 

“Get the hell out, mum!”

Jeff’s mum looked visibly stunned, but she shook it off and attempted to put on a happy face and cheerful demeanor. Someday, she had thought, Jeff would thank her for this. 

“Don’t be so rude. I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Jeff peeked out from beneath the covers.

“A surprise?”

“We’re going to a party!”

Jeff felt as if he had been punched in the gut.

“After...?”

“Oh, shut up. We all know what happened. Now get ready, we have to go soon.”

As Jeff reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, his mum shouted from down the corridor, “Wear something smart!”

A groan escaped him as he examined his sparse wardrobe. Eventually, he picked out a plain white hoodie and some black trousers.

As he came downstairs, his mum looked at him with visible disgust. 

“You’re wearing that?” She sighed. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

Jeff had never felt Liu’s absence so greatly as he felt in that moment.

***

The person who answered the door was not who Jeff was expecting to be the host of a party that the Woods family would be attending. She was wearing a floor length cherry-red evening gown, and she reeked of falseness and plastic smiles. 

An articifical smile framed her perfect mouth as she ushered Jeff and his mum into the house. 

“The kids are in the back. Make yourself at home,” she smiled at him.

He almost snorted. This place was about as homely as the grand canyon. 

Eventually finding his way through the intimidating maze of the house, he let himself into the back garden, where a bunch of little kids were already engaging in an intense water fight. He almost smiled at the bittersweet scene in front of him. He missed the times when his greatest worry was how much water was in his water gun. 

Briefly, his eyes locked with a raven-haired girl sitting by herself, reading a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. He cautiously made his way towards her.

“Hey.”

She looked up, and a gentle smile flitted across her face. “Hey. I’m Jane. You’re Jeff, right?”

“That’s me! You’re the only person who’s actually held eye contact with me after what happened. I guess that means we have to be friends now. If you’d like to, I mean.”

She almost blushed. “I’d like that. Anyway, Randy’s an asshole. Served him right.”

He grinned at her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Before the silence could get more awkward, a little kid came up to Jeff. “Do you want to pway?”

Jeff laughed. “Oh no-”

Jane giggled. “Go on, Jeff. You know you want to.” Then, to the kids, “He’d love to.”

Jeff glared at her. He stood up. 

And damn it if he didn’t play a game of water fighting with a bunch of little kids. And damn it if he wasn’t smiling, laughing and dripping wet afterwards. 

Was he... momentarily happy?

Suddenly, there was a noise from the other side of the garden. Someone had jumped over the fence, and with a dreadful lurch of his stomach, Jeff knew who it was. 

It was Randy.

Dirt was smeared over his face and his hair stuck out every which way, but deep inside his eyes, there was a madness so deep rooted that you couldn’t separate the madness from him.

It had consumed him, entirely. 

“You’re going to die, Jeff.” He growled, and Jeff could feel every word inside him like a tremor. 

Randy leapt at him as Jeff attempted to run inside, panic fueling his steps. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jane stand up in alarm, but he longer cared. He just needed to run. 

A blow to the side of his head sent him sprawling on the ground. Randy stood over him. 

An ear splitting scream resonated as a vodka bottom smashed over Jeff’s head. Subconsciously, Jeff acknowledged that there was a trickle of blood running down his cheek. Maybe it was this that finally brought him to his senses. Maybe it wasn’t. But all he knew was that the string had been snapped.

There was no going back. 

Punch upon punch rained down on Randy’s face. Jeff gave into the feeling, the desire to sink deeper into the screams, the bathe in the beauty. Bliss overcame him as the one objective rose to his mind: kill. 

Somehow they ended up in the bathroom. Jeff remembered Randy pouring bleach over his head. Suddenly, a knife was in Jeff’s hand, and consequently, power. He knew exactly what he had to do with the slim, ruthless metal object in his hand.

But he stopped. Was Randy... laughing?

“WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT, FUCKER?” Jeff yelled, spittle landing on Randy’s face. And yet still he laughed.

“WHAT’S SO FUNNY?” Jeff shook Randy, over and over again, until his spittle became tinged with red. 

“What’s funny,” Randy croaked. “Is that you’re covered in bleach and alcohol.”

He took out a lighter.

“Go to sleep, motherfucker.”

Flames engulfed Jeff as the screams rose from his lungs, this time his own. How he would’ve loved to have gone to sleep at that moment, if only to be free from all of this. And yet, as the flames licked at him and the unbearable agony took a hold of his brain, the pain finally in control, he remembered thinking, “Go to sleep. I like that.”

Then, mercifully, darkness.

***

Jeff awoke to white.

His mum stood over him, tears of something or other flowing down her cheeks. He found he no longer cared. 

“Jeff! You’re okay,” she sobbed. Jeff just sat there in silence, letting these new sensations flow through him. 

“We were so worried! The good news is, Liu’s been released, because Randy’s friends confessed.”

Liu smiled, and this awoke something in Jeff. A type of hunger. How could Liu ever be happy when the string would never let Jeff be?

Hatred. The gooey, bubbling liquid of hatred engulfed Jeff as he sat there, his eyes wide and unblinking. 

Finally, after what seemed like years, he spoke. 

“Let me see my face.”

The nursed looked up from across the room. “We’ve been advised against it.”

When he spoke again, his low, gravelly voice held a hint of warning. “Let me see my face.”

Cautiously, she handed him a mirror. 

The long white bandages settled in his scarred hands as he unwrapped them from his face. What was once the pure white of material was now soiled with the dark, crimson stains of blood.

He held the mirror up to his face. 

His skin was completely bleached white, and one of his eyes was completely blank and pupil-less. Pink scars crisscrossed over the leathery monstrous map of his face. His bloodshot eyes stared back at this stranger, and slowly, and psychotic grin spread over his face.

“Hey. Jeff. It’s not that bad...”

“Not that bad? Are you kidding? I’m beautiful!”

Liu stared at this monster that had stolen the identity of his brother, and he felt his blood run cold. Jeff continued laughing. 

“My face goes perfectly with me! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

A shaky voice pierced the silence that ensued. “Nurse... is my son... you know, alright in the head?”

I’ve never been, mother, Jeff thought. You just haven’t noticed. And you’ll pay for this. 

“Oh yes, it’s completely normal. He should be fine in a couple of days...”

He drowned the nurse out. Finally, he was beautiful. Finally, he was pure. Finally, he was free. 

“I’m so beautiful! HAHAHAHA!”

***

Jeff’s mum awoke in the middle of the night to sound of noises form the bathroom. It sounded almost like crying. Jeff was sitting in front of the bathroom mirror, bloodstained tears running down his face. His leathery skin was so vulnerable, so white. So pure. God, he couldn’t stop smiling. 

The bathroom door creaked open. Jeff’s mum gasped at the sight in front of her. 

Jeff had cut slits into both of his cheeks, in a wide, leering, grotesque smile. 

“Jeff...” Her voice was a mere whisper. “What did you do?”

“Aren’t I beautiful, mum? I couldn’t stop smiling. It hurt after a while. So I cut a smile into my face.”

“And... your eyes...” she stammered. His eyes were rimmed in black, seemingly never closing. 

“I burnt my eyelids off. Now I can look at my face all day.”

Jeff took a step towards her, bloodied knife in hand.

“Aren’t I beautiful?”

“Y-yes, of course you are, honey, put the knife down-”

“Oh, so now you tell me I’m beautiful when I hold a knife to your throat? You should’ve told me earlier, mum. You should’ve realized I was suffering and saved me.” For a moment, sadness danced in his eyes, but then it was extinguished. “IT’S TOO LATE! BUT NOW YOU THINK YOU CAN BEG FOR MY FORGIVENESS?”

He smiled, his artificial grin increasing in diameter. 

“Go to sleep.”

With that, he stabbed her straight in the heart. The blood gushed out of the wound, warm and wet and alive. He reached into the cavity of her chest and pulled her heart out, like a prize, and leisurely licked his hands. His former mother’s eyes were blank and unseeing, but as the life drained from her pale face, he felt a joy grow in his own heart, like a cancer. 

Liu was sleeping in his room. He heard a faint movement, and as his eyes fluttered open, two black-rimmed, familiar eyes gazed down at him. 

“Shhh.” Jeff whispered. “Go to sleep.”