Prompt Post Round 1
Prompts go here! This will be closed and a new post made at 3000 comments. Please link all fills to the Round 1 Fill Post.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
He's not dead, not really, and that's not good enough.
The silence is nice, gives her time to really think again. She now knows about brain mapping and the creation of AI and it occurs to her that there is a way to make sure he really dies. But first, he must really live.
There are hundreds of bodies at her disposal, and a few with just the right amount of damage. The brains can control the basic motor skills necessary to keep the bodies going but the consciousness is gone. It is now just a matter of preference and she finds one that is suitably pathetic (more so than the average human, anyway) for her purposes.
Him
He comes back on line to a pain he can't even scream through, bathed in yellow light. There is a heaviness and a strangeness to him that wasn't there before but he can't comprehend it, can't even see right or move enough to know where he is. Flesh quivers and he is assaulted by foreign sensations. She is holding him in her cables, just enough points of contact to keep him alive as he dangles, helpless.
Something sparks and burns behind him and he smells singed hair (smells?). With his eyes shut, she accesses his old optical inputs and forces him to look through her senses. It's terrifying how very small and insignificant he has become with not even the strength of metal and wires to preserve him. He begins to quake and whimper and he can feel a lewd sort of joy seeping into the mechanical part of his brain from her.
She explains to him that he is now powered by this frail body. When it dies, and it will, so does he. But before that, she wants him to live a long life for a fragile organism and she has ensured that he will. He doesn't understand what she says about time and a discovery made in the depths of the facility. Water leaks out of his new eyes.
A robotic arm sticks a tag on his chest, the white-on-red letters reading "Hi, my name is" garish against blue regulation jumpsuit fabric. She say's this will make sure that the crazy woman recognizes him. His name is typed neatly in black under those words.
It's all too much and everything fizzes out and grows muddy around him. There are vague sensations of moving, something hot wrenching out of his skull, something cold and hard holding him up, lights blurring around him as he rises in a glass tube, then a light more blinding than he has ever seen and a vaguely familiar silhouette peering in at him from that light.
"Hello again," he rasps before falling forward into her soft, yielding arms.
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His body is soft and shaking and fragile, but she recognizes him regardless. The name take makes her smirk; the machine can never resist an opportunity to make a jab at her when it's presented. It has become somewhat endearing. How he came to be as he is now she can't imagine but she's seen stranger things and knows he will tell her what he can when he can.
It's easy to forgive him when he looks so pathetic. Not that she ever harbored much resentment in the first place; it wasn't his fault. The first thing he does upon waking is apologize and cry then apologize for crying. She smiles and wipes his face with an old rag and tries to make him comfortable against what surely must be a lot of pain (the wound in his head oozes a small amount of blood still).
Sometime in the night, after they've found shelter, he wakes in her lap whimpering. He's never dreamed before and she does her best to comfort him, making small soothing noises and pillowing his cheek against her breast.
A Little...
The sun rises and sets a few times, a sight more beautiful than he ever knew, but not as beautiful as her stretching in its light each dawn. They sleep huddled together for warmth and sometimes he stays awake, her heart beating against his ear, his foreign body sending jolts and shivers of some unidentifiable pleasure through him.
He doesn't know how far they've gone or where they are anymore. It doesn't really matter with her by his side. She always seemed lonely to him before, in the facility, but there is a liveliness to her now as she leads him down an empty, endless road to a place he can't imagine. They don't see anyone else on the road and it doesn't matter to either of them.
They take shelter from the rain in an abandoned gas station (so much falling water still unnerves him even though he doesn't have any cracks that would allow it to leak into his vital systems anymore). It's not particularly cold but she presses against him anyway, smiling. He feels his skin growing hot and tries to stammer out another story to keep them company. The words begin to stumble when she cups a hand to his cheek and pulls his head down.
His question dies against her lips and he begins to quiver. She quirks an eyebrow as she slides a hand down his neck, his chest... He burns and grins like an idiot and doesn't tell her to stop. She slides her hands over and through his clothes, baring more of him than he's used to seeing. Her teeth nip at his neck, under his chin, and all he can do is whimper and pant as her fingers find places he never knew about.
One of her shoulders holds him pinned against a wall, her teeth hard against his lower lip, when he shorts out. A strangled, begging whimper escapes him and the world disappears in a crescendo of heat. He comes back to existence sweating and gasping, his slack-jawed astonishment meeting a devilish grin on her face.
She washes her hand clean in the downpour and he tries to wrap his mind around what she's done. It was alien and terrifying and glorious. He thinks that in that moment of white heat and nothingness, he was on the edge of death. Perhaps, as the other sentients within the facility used to whisper, she really is some sort of goddess with power over life and death.
If this is so, and even if it is not, he thinks he will worship her the rest of his days.
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Can't wait for more!
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Under the Sun
There is no rain for days, though the sky is cloudy. She watches him from the corner of an eye, smiling inside. He has become uncharacteristically quiet, attempting to start some speech only for the words to die when he looks at her, his face going red and his brows knitted with confusion. She feels a little bad for him, but not as much as she would have thought.
He tries to find a comfortable spot on the dirt by himself that night, looking at the sky, the fire, anywhere but her. Smirking, she watches his hand shift and his shoulders tense. He's trying to work it out with his back to her, thinking perhaps that she can't guess what he's doing, can't see him if he can't see her.
When she wraps herself around his taunt back he screams like a child and she shakes with laughter against him. He sulks, but only for as long as it takes her hand to trace it's way down his arm.
After she's done, his lower lip is bloody where he bit down too hard. A small noise escapes him when she kisses it, tasting thick metal and salt. There's nothing to wash her hand with this time so she dismissively wipes it on his white regulation t-shirt.
This is what finally loosens his tongue and questions she can never hope to answer spill out of him. For as much time as he spent among humans, he really doesn't know anything about them. The fire is burning low when he finally confesses that he's afraid of more than the dark. His mind can't wrap around what she does to him, how it reminds him of testing and that promise of death she made and everything wonderful he's ever known all at once.
She smiles into his back and holds him tight; it's all the reassurance she can give. He puts a shaky hand over hers resting against his beating heart and confesses that, in spite of everything, he feels safe because she is there. A warmth settles in her chest to coincide with the weight of responsibility that already rests on her shoulders. She doesn't know if she can ever be enough for him but she vows then to try.
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Also because we are all anonymous here I will go ahead and admit that the picture you painted of him 'working it out' (shifting hands and tensing shoulders and all) is fucking hot.
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...In the Wind
They come to an abandoned city and she knows her way through it. It takes two days to reach a decrepit housing complex. The sad droop of her shoulders isn't worth the walk, he thinks. She drifts around the building, looking up sadly into a specific window, but it's too run-down to safely go inside.
Instead of staying where she used to live they take shelter in an abandoned book store. Some of what's in it is still legible and he has fun carrying around the bigger volumes, pretending that he's read them all. When she drops a dusty copy of Machiavelli's "The Prince" in his lap he is horrified until he sees her shaking with laughter. It's the first smile she's given him since they left the crumbling apartments. He grins and pretends to discuss philosophy, some old wound inside him finally closing up.
For a change, he holds her that night and ignores his inner fires. He vows that she will never want for companionship so long as he lives.
The next day, they walk back down the big road in the direction they came from, hand in hand.
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Crescendo
He's connecting the dots, tracing his index finger up her arm from one pock mark to the next.
"What about this one? Looks like...another bullet hole?"
She nods, a bit grim, and he kisses the little dent in her shoulder.
"There! Better?"
She can't help but grin. It's a silly game but it makes him happy and it's too hot to do anything more strenuous than sit in the tree shade by a river. The next one is a thin ridge along her neck. His breath against her skin makes her hair stand on end and a delightful shiver travels down her spine.
"How did that happen?" She shrugs. "Fair enough."
Shirtless with his pants legs rolled up past the knees, he sits just behind her. His bare skin against her shoulders is a heat she doesn't mind. She curls her toes in the cool water.
The next is a tiny hole in one ear. She assumes it was pierced when she was young but doesn't remember. He makes contemplative sounds, both hands resting on her shoulders, and gently runs his lips over the minuscule hole. She bites her lip and leans into his chest.
"Well, that's the last one I can see from here." He wraps his arms casually around her, hands crossed over her collar bones.
Idly, she captures one of his hands and pulls it down, guiding a finger into another tiny divot over her heart. Now it's his turn to squirm. A devilish grin crosses her lips as his free hand twitches reflexively. The other hand is frozen where she holds it so she moves it for him, guiding his finger around the scar and pretending not to notice the rest brushing hesitantly over her skin. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him turning pink in the face.
"Ah, well, that's a new...old...interesting one. I didn't know you had any, uh...there. Oh, and look at that, two more...lower...down..."
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"You're...doing this on purpose, aren't you?" His voice is a little strained, his hand hot against the bare skin under her shirt.
She tilts her head, grinning, and looks him in the eye from the corner of her own. He shifts, pulling her closer, his hand sliding a little lower. One finger brushes over a taut nipple, then two.
"So you wouldn't mind if I do...this?" he rolls the nipple between his fingers and carefully slides his free hand down her side. "Where else do you have scars?"
His hand slips under the hem of her shirt and she guides it over one hip, his fingers trailing over the track left by stitches. The other hand is tentatively exploring her breasts, cupping and lifting one before carefully drifting to the other or sliding between them. He curls over her, completely engrossed, breathing into her hair.
"These...this...you are amazing..." he murmurs to himself.
Grinning, she slides the hand resting against her stomach down, past the loosely-knotted jumpsuit sleeves. She leans back against him, "accidentally" caressing the bulge in his pants. He shivers and whimpers softly.
Sliding her fingers down his shaking hand she easily finds her own sweet spot. He is somewhat left to his own devices, breath growing ragged as he follows the path of her hand down. This is something new to him but, for all that she thought him a moron, he's a quick learner. While she dances her lithe fingers over that pearl of flesh, he moves his down. Using her small, satisfied noises as a guide, he carefully dips his own fingers into her.
They stay thus for what feels like a blissful eternity, sweating and moving together in infinitesimal ways. She gradually builds up speed, shifting against him, and he follows her lead without thought, so caught up in her that he forgets himself. At last she arcs against him, breathless and shuddering. He feels it crash through her, squeezing his fingers in a glorious way. It's more beautiful than anything he has ever seen.
She rests languid against his taut body, confident and pleased, a faint smile on her lips. When she looks up at his stunned expression she can't help but laugh. She shifts his arms and hands for him, wriggling until they are face to face. Her lips against his are soft and insistent and he looks almost as if he might cry. Stroking one hand gently down his neck she guides him back, down, shifting out of her pants unnoticed.
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