Java's Room at Mega's Headquarters: Java, Mega
((OOC:A more family-friendly continuation of this lovely smut thread.))
As her heartbeat gradually slowed, the rush of their lovemaking wearing off, a smirk slipped across Java's lips. She stretched out on her back, serpentine, her arms stretching along the blankets above her head as she smiled up at the ceiling, with the heat of Mega's arm comforting beneath her breasts. It wasn't comforting because she took comfort in his presence, of course; the man had had her tortured, had had her drugged and beaten like a dog, and there was no amount of sex in the world that would erase such sins in Java's eyes. No, it was comforting because it meant that he was coming to terms with the idea of her belonging to him; even after he'd had his needs met, Mega still chose to touch her, to lay claim to her. This, Java thought, as she turned her head to look at him, was a very good sign.
She moved over slightly, giving him more room to rest, and offered a smile that, had it been on anyone else, might have passed for warm. On Java, it had a slightly different flavor, more akin to a cat with a canary than to a woman in the arms of her lover, but was no less sincere for it. Dark eyes, sharp and analytical behind a veneer of post-coital drowsiness, ran over Mega's face as small hands came up to remove his glasses. She twisted slightly, setting them aside, and graced his brow with a kiss, a Queen blessing her subject, before laying back again, her eyes slipping closed.
She listened to him breathing beside her for a long moment, listened as breathing shaky from passion slowly mellowed into a slow, steady rhythm, listened as his heartbeat, as loud as her own, slowed to a normal pace. It was strange, she thought, to think of Mega as a man, as a physical being. While Ram, for all of his intellectual abilities and preoccupations with Reality Space, had been intimately tied to his body and its limitations, while it had always been impossible to tend to her husband and -not- think of his corporeality, Mega had always been far more removed from the realm of the flesh; her husband's adviser had always seemed more machine than man, a perfect, brilliant computer that just happened to exist inside a somewhat human form. He had neither weaknesses nor passions; neither joy nor hatred; even in training programs, when the sweat made their skin gleam, Java had never been able to imagine the blood coursing through Mega's veins, had never been able to think of the skeleton beneath his skin. Now, lying beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his lungs as his arm rested across her, warm and firm and real, Mega's physical reality and weakness struck her as clearly as his emotional reality had impressed itself upon her as they made love.
Pressed beneath him, listening to him groan for her, Java had understood that Mega was indeed human, that his mind and his heart could be swayed by desire, by lust, by a need to believe that she might think he was worth believing in. And now, as she turned her eyes back to him, his seed inside of her, Java truly understood, on more than just a theoretical level, the full implications of Mega's physical mortality. He was only human. The knife she'd left on the pile of her clothing could slip into his stomach, could turn him in an instant from a man into a pile of meat. He was vulnerable to illness, like Ram, vulnerable to injury, like Java herself, vulnerable to the same drugs he was having run into her veins like a saline drip. He could, she realized, be stopped. It was a simple enough truth, of course; Java had, after all, fantasized about killing him for the better part of their time together. And yet it was only now the possibility seemed more than just an idea, more than just a dream. She -could- kill him. Easily. She'd altered his most basic of functions, had made his heart race, his lungs struggle, without even really trying. He was just a human, vulnerable and weak. He could be stopped.
"I'm sorry if I've kept you from anything... horribly important," Java mused, in a low, teasing voice made lazy by sex. A wry smile, and then, "This wasn't exactly the plan."
As her heartbeat gradually slowed, the rush of their lovemaking wearing off, a smirk slipped across Java's lips. She stretched out on her back, serpentine, her arms stretching along the blankets above her head as she smiled up at the ceiling, with the heat of Mega's arm comforting beneath her breasts. It wasn't comforting because she took comfort in his presence, of course; the man had had her tortured, had had her drugged and beaten like a dog, and there was no amount of sex in the world that would erase such sins in Java's eyes. No, it was comforting because it meant that he was coming to terms with the idea of her belonging to him; even after he'd had his needs met, Mega still chose to touch her, to lay claim to her. This, Java thought, as she turned her head to look at him, was a very good sign.
She moved over slightly, giving him more room to rest, and offered a smile that, had it been on anyone else, might have passed for warm. On Java, it had a slightly different flavor, more akin to a cat with a canary than to a woman in the arms of her lover, but was no less sincere for it. Dark eyes, sharp and analytical behind a veneer of post-coital drowsiness, ran over Mega's face as small hands came up to remove his glasses. She twisted slightly, setting them aside, and graced his brow with a kiss, a Queen blessing her subject, before laying back again, her eyes slipping closed.
She listened to him breathing beside her for a long moment, listened as breathing shaky from passion slowly mellowed into a slow, steady rhythm, listened as his heartbeat, as loud as her own, slowed to a normal pace. It was strange, she thought, to think of Mega as a man, as a physical being. While Ram, for all of his intellectual abilities and preoccupations with Reality Space, had been intimately tied to his body and its limitations, while it had always been impossible to tend to her husband and -not- think of his corporeality, Mega had always been far more removed from the realm of the flesh; her husband's adviser had always seemed more machine than man, a perfect, brilliant computer that just happened to exist inside a somewhat human form. He had neither weaknesses nor passions; neither joy nor hatred; even in training programs, when the sweat made their skin gleam, Java had never been able to imagine the blood coursing through Mega's veins, had never been able to think of the skeleton beneath his skin. Now, lying beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his lungs as his arm rested across her, warm and firm and real, Mega's physical reality and weakness struck her as clearly as his emotional reality had impressed itself upon her as they made love.
Pressed beneath him, listening to him groan for her, Java had understood that Mega was indeed human, that his mind and his heart could be swayed by desire, by lust, by a need to believe that she might think he was worth believing in. And now, as she turned her eyes back to him, his seed inside of her, Java truly understood, on more than just a theoretical level, the full implications of Mega's physical mortality. He was only human. The knife she'd left on the pile of her clothing could slip into his stomach, could turn him in an instant from a man into a pile of meat. He was vulnerable to illness, like Ram, vulnerable to injury, like Java herself, vulnerable to the same drugs he was having run into her veins like a saline drip. He could, she realized, be stopped. It was a simple enough truth, of course; Java had, after all, fantasized about killing him for the better part of their time together. And yet it was only now the possibility seemed more than just an idea, more than just a dream. She -could- kill him. Easily. She'd altered his most basic of functions, had made his heart race, his lungs struggle, without even really trying. He was just a human, vulnerable and weak. He could be stopped.
"I'm sorry if I've kept you from anything... horribly important," Java mused, in a low, teasing voice made lazy by sex. A wry smile, and then, "This wasn't exactly the plan."