Neuroplasticity - Elendira/Legato - NC-17
Title: Neuroplasticity
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Pairing: Trigun Maximum, ElendiraxLegato
Summary: Nueroplasticity is the way in which the brain reassigns the sensation of paralized limbs to other nerves.
Disclaimer: Nightow owns, whereas I am rather lame. And poor, did I mention poor? Characters are all of the fictional, but not of the belonging to me or the making me money.
Warnings: Quadriplegiac sex. No, really. Also a little bit of a dub-con issue because of the mad pain killers. And oh yeah RAW AS HECK. God, I need an editor.
She shouldn’t have come back. It was only further temptation and further failure. There were so many cables and tubes and little machines and it would be easy, but her fingers shook whenever she even thought about it.
But she was back. The injury, Conrad said, plus the further complications (which were, of course, her fault) had caused seizures. It was, he said, to be expected. It still made her worry so much she was eating the lipstick off her lips.
One thing she noticed is that no one had cut his hair in a damn long time, but it must have been washed recently, because it fell so nicely on the pillow. She reached out slightly and brushed a bit of it out of his face. It was really one of the first times she’d actually touched him in, well, years. She thought she should maybe be nostalgic, but mostly she was pissed because his hair was still softer than hers and that just wasn’t fair.
It was hard to tell if he was sleeping these days, because no matter what his chest always rose and fell evenly as if he was unconscious. She checked his eyes and could see them moving like little bugs beneath his eyelids.
Yeah, he was probably dead to the world right now. Bullet to the brain, seizure, etc. etc. If he wasn’t unconscious she was the Queen of England, wherever that was.
She brushed her fingers through his hair, combing it out into different patterns on the pillow, enjoying the feel of it between her fingers and ignoring everything else about the situation. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed it, ran her other hand down his cheek, where the skin was soft and clean.
“What are you doing?” His voice was so old and broken sounding for a moment she thought it was Conrad. But since it wasn’t, she didn’t really feel a need to stop or be embarrassed or something.
“What do you think?” she taunted.
“Stop,” he told her. “Now.” But she’d didn’t really think he’d do anything to her, or he’d have done it for something much worse than petting his hair.
“You’re too doped up to stop me,” she told him bluntly. He didn’t respond, because it was true of course. His pupils were different sizes and he probably could barely see her.
She dragged the pads of her fingers down his face and over his chin. His neck was long and smooth and where she’d seen dirt in the creases of his skin just a few days ago there was nothing but the sterile smell of a dry bath. Her nails caught just on the corner of his jaw bone and he made a little noise somewhere between a breathe and something else. She scrutinized him for a moment, resting her hands where they fell.
“You’re getting all red, do I need to get the doctor?” she asked, forcing annoyance into her voice instead of worry.
“No,” he replied. She could feel him swallow a few times and it seemed like his pupils were getting bigger.
“Fuck,” she whispered just under her breath. She didn’t know what a seizure looked like really or what the warning signs might be, but she wouldn’t need to kill him if he started seizing again so soon.
“Don’t bail on me,” she muttered to herself.
“I won’t,” he replied. She wasn’t really surprised that he could hear her.
“You should stop touching me,” he explained.
“Why?” she responded on reflex, but she was already pulling her hands away. She just. Just didn’t want to risk it.
She felt a touch on her thigh, unnerved she smoothed out her skirt. Then another on her back, soft strokes like a whole hand against her back and down her legs and her arms and just touching her everywhere. Something like nails across her stomach, but light. She was vastly unnerved, but it was also just nice.
“Stop it,” she told him, because it had to be his doing.
“Take your hand off of me,” he told her.
Her mind made a connection faster than it should have, because normally he was cryptic and she could never understand him. There were still hands on her back, or pressure at least and warmth.
“This is?” she questioned. “What I’m doing?”
There wasn’t any answer, for a while actually. She brushed her hand through his hair again, softly, gently. The feeling of hands ran down her back, smooth and gentle.
She smirked.
She put two fingers of her free hand against his jaw, one side was one arm and the other the other arm. Holding his chin made her feel as if someone was embracing both her hands. His cheeks, his forehead in different places where his chest, his stomach, his legs. The corner next to his right eyelid was the inside of his thigh. The back of his let ear was the top of the back of his thigh, and just the right touches made her feel, honestly, groped.
It was beginning to get awkward. She wasn’t. Wasn’t desperate or anything and he was drugged and fucking paralyzed and even if Elendira lacked in morals she wasn’t a rapist.
She touched his lips, just lightly, and there it was. She was hard already, but that-- that was what she really needed. She looked down, though the cables and tubes made her shudder and he was hard as well. She reached down and stroked his erection through the thin sheet.
“Don’t bother,” he told her. She blinked for a moment, but when she understood she felt stupid.
“Too bad you don’t have hands to jerk me off with,” she joked. “I should at least get a hand job out of this.”
She probably shouldn’t have taunted him, because the sudden feeling of two hands groping at her genitals had her hunching over with pleasure. That was so cheating.
God, it felt like they were teenagers again, groping each other expertly and insulting each other to the point of orgasm. Except of course, that a few hours ago she’d nearly mercy killed him, a few days ago he’d gotten a bullet lodged in his brain, a few months ago she’d help scraped his broken body off the ground. She pushed the thoughts aside like she did all the time and kissed him.
What she felt, she knew was no longer what he felt, but she imagined that this must have felt something like a blowjob. She suddenly regretted the fact that they’d never done anything like that. Nothing that serious.
He groaned under her mouth and she groaned back because the phantom hands on her body were working her like mad. This wasn’t going to last long. They’d just spent too long without anyone even touching them.
She imagined what he must be feeling, what the hard brush of her tongue across his hard palette must really feel like. She had to open her eyes, this close to her face and they stared each other down from a few centimeters away. His eyes were unfocused and almost scary, but his hair was still soft between her fingers and his face hot with arousal.
She had to guess that he came when he bit her lower lip so hard it split. A moment latter she came in the delicate fabric of her underwear and was too shaky to want to kill him for the indignity. It took a long time, longer than it should have, for her breath to come back to her.
She looked over, he’d fallen asleep again. Except for the forced rise and fall of his chest, he looked dead. She touched his neck lightly, knowing that he could feel her as if she was touching his side, and checked his pulse. Breathing was easier every time his heart beat.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Pairing: Trigun Maximum, ElendiraxLegato
Summary: Nueroplasticity is the way in which the brain reassigns the sensation of paralized limbs to other nerves.
Disclaimer: Nightow owns, whereas I am rather lame. And poor, did I mention poor? Characters are all of the fictional, but not of the belonging to me or the making me money.
Warnings: Quadriplegiac sex. No, really. Also a little bit of a dub-con issue because of the mad pain killers. And oh yeah RAW AS HECK. God, I need an editor.
She shouldn’t have come back. It was only further temptation and further failure. There were so many cables and tubes and little machines and it would be easy, but her fingers shook whenever she even thought about it.
But she was back. The injury, Conrad said, plus the further complications (which were, of course, her fault) had caused seizures. It was, he said, to be expected. It still made her worry so much she was eating the lipstick off her lips.
One thing she noticed is that no one had cut his hair in a damn long time, but it must have been washed recently, because it fell so nicely on the pillow. She reached out slightly and brushed a bit of it out of his face. It was really one of the first times she’d actually touched him in, well, years. She thought she should maybe be nostalgic, but mostly she was pissed because his hair was still softer than hers and that just wasn’t fair.
It was hard to tell if he was sleeping these days, because no matter what his chest always rose and fell evenly as if he was unconscious. She checked his eyes and could see them moving like little bugs beneath his eyelids.
Yeah, he was probably dead to the world right now. Bullet to the brain, seizure, etc. etc. If he wasn’t unconscious she was the Queen of England, wherever that was.
She brushed her fingers through his hair, combing it out into different patterns on the pillow, enjoying the feel of it between her fingers and ignoring everything else about the situation. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed it, ran her other hand down his cheek, where the skin was soft and clean.
“What are you doing?” His voice was so old and broken sounding for a moment she thought it was Conrad. But since it wasn’t, she didn’t really feel a need to stop or be embarrassed or something.
“What do you think?” she taunted.
“Stop,” he told her. “Now.” But she’d didn’t really think he’d do anything to her, or he’d have done it for something much worse than petting his hair.
“You’re too doped up to stop me,” she told him bluntly. He didn’t respond, because it was true of course. His pupils were different sizes and he probably could barely see her.
She dragged the pads of her fingers down his face and over his chin. His neck was long and smooth and where she’d seen dirt in the creases of his skin just a few days ago there was nothing but the sterile smell of a dry bath. Her nails caught just on the corner of his jaw bone and he made a little noise somewhere between a breathe and something else. She scrutinized him for a moment, resting her hands where they fell.
“You’re getting all red, do I need to get the doctor?” she asked, forcing annoyance into her voice instead of worry.
“No,” he replied. She could feel him swallow a few times and it seemed like his pupils were getting bigger.
“Fuck,” she whispered just under her breath. She didn’t know what a seizure looked like really or what the warning signs might be, but she wouldn’t need to kill him if he started seizing again so soon.
“Don’t bail on me,” she muttered to herself.
“I won’t,” he replied. She wasn’t really surprised that he could hear her.
“You should stop touching me,” he explained.
“Why?” she responded on reflex, but she was already pulling her hands away. She just. Just didn’t want to risk it.
She felt a touch on her thigh, unnerved she smoothed out her skirt. Then another on her back, soft strokes like a whole hand against her back and down her legs and her arms and just touching her everywhere. Something like nails across her stomach, but light. She was vastly unnerved, but it was also just nice.
“Stop it,” she told him, because it had to be his doing.
“Take your hand off of me,” he told her.
Her mind made a connection faster than it should have, because normally he was cryptic and she could never understand him. There were still hands on her back, or pressure at least and warmth.
“This is?” she questioned. “What I’m doing?”
There wasn’t any answer, for a while actually. She brushed her hand through his hair again, softly, gently. The feeling of hands ran down her back, smooth and gentle.
She smirked.
She put two fingers of her free hand against his jaw, one side was one arm and the other the other arm. Holding his chin made her feel as if someone was embracing both her hands. His cheeks, his forehead in different places where his chest, his stomach, his legs. The corner next to his right eyelid was the inside of his thigh. The back of his let ear was the top of the back of his thigh, and just the right touches made her feel, honestly, groped.
It was beginning to get awkward. She wasn’t. Wasn’t desperate or anything and he was drugged and fucking paralyzed and even if Elendira lacked in morals she wasn’t a rapist.
She touched his lips, just lightly, and there it was. She was hard already, but that-- that was what she really needed. She looked down, though the cables and tubes made her shudder and he was hard as well. She reached down and stroked his erection through the thin sheet.
“Don’t bother,” he told her. She blinked for a moment, but when she understood she felt stupid.
“Too bad you don’t have hands to jerk me off with,” she joked. “I should at least get a hand job out of this.”
She probably shouldn’t have taunted him, because the sudden feeling of two hands groping at her genitals had her hunching over with pleasure. That was so cheating.
God, it felt like they were teenagers again, groping each other expertly and insulting each other to the point of orgasm. Except of course, that a few hours ago she’d nearly mercy killed him, a few days ago he’d gotten a bullet lodged in his brain, a few months ago she’d help scraped his broken body off the ground. She pushed the thoughts aside like she did all the time and kissed him.
What she felt, she knew was no longer what he felt, but she imagined that this must have felt something like a blowjob. She suddenly regretted the fact that they’d never done anything like that. Nothing that serious.
He groaned under her mouth and she groaned back because the phantom hands on her body were working her like mad. This wasn’t going to last long. They’d just spent too long without anyone even touching them.
She imagined what he must be feeling, what the hard brush of her tongue across his hard palette must really feel like. She had to open her eyes, this close to her face and they stared each other down from a few centimeters away. His eyes were unfocused and almost scary, but his hair was still soft between her fingers and his face hot with arousal.
She had to guess that he came when he bit her lower lip so hard it split. A moment latter she came in the delicate fabric of her underwear and was too shaky to want to kill him for the indignity. It took a long time, longer than it should have, for her breath to come back to her.
She looked over, he’d fallen asleep again. Except for the forced rise and fall of his chest, he looked dead. She touched his neck lightly, knowing that he could feel her as if she was touching his side, and checked his pulse. Breathing was easier every time his heart beat.