Fic: Blackguards
Title: Blackguards
Disclaimer: All of this happened fictionally, in an alternate universe, between two adults who are both over 18. Also, none you know are belong to us.
Warnings: M/M semi-schmoop; references to disfiguring accidents and cybernetic implants
Characters: Jared, Jensen
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: AU RPS; Cyberpunk-ish sensation play-wannabe not-really-PWP.
Words: 470
A/N: hugemind more or less made me do it. She also beta'ed this, even though this didn't turn out like I thought it would. Damn the bunnies. Give me my porn, damnit! :p
He counts the stepping stones of Jensen's spine, each knob memorized. He rubs over the ribs, careful, tense, the servos softly purring with each movement as his new fingertips skim the skin. Its warmth never reaches his living nerves, the science failing to replicate the nature, the skin willingly denting under the steel.
Jensen doesn't make a sound, arms under his chin, eyes closed in the cold glow of the screen; goosebumps between his shoulder blades mixing with the freckles.
Jared raises his own arm, watches the calculated grace of metal and wire mimic life. It all still feels a little like a dream, a bad trip of the worst kind.
Stupid, really.
"Jay?"
Jensen shifts, fingers flesh-dull around steel, green eyes seeking out Jared's. In the meager light, he can't make out the Nikkor he knows to be printed on the designer iris.
He offers a smile in reply, feels the muscles tugging the corners of his lips weakly.
Jensen's gaze is steady on him, warm hand cupping his cheek, the skin-on-skin scorching, his senses too wired to feel.
"It's gonna take a while anyway, Jay," Jensen whispers. "Don't rush it."
Empty platitudes, but Jensen knows what he's talking about. Thing is, Jared's not sure whether his partner's referring to getting used to the sight of the damn thing or the feel of it.
What he wants is to forget it all, the stupid rookie mistake, the crash, the hospital. The family leaving him high and dry.
Then again, there's Jensen, who he wouldn't have probably met otherwise.
The plated fingers curl over Jensen's and it's hard to not crush the frail flesh.
But Jensen says nothing, just draws the construction closer to himself, coaxes the cold fingers open. The green eyes don't stray from Jared's as Jensen's breath kisses the polished metal, the very tips against the soft, yielding lips.
He knows what he should be feeling, can remember the texture, the warmth, the taste of Jensen's mouth. But like this it's like getting too close to the screen. Graphics without feelings. Sex without substance.
"Close your eyes, Jay," Jensen whispers, the dead fingers led over the lips, caressing the cheek.
He does, if only because then he doesn't need to see his failure.
He can feel Jensen's other hand skimming over the still sore nerves of his shoulder, the echoing emptiness beyond the burn.
He can hear Jensen shifting on the bed, the breaths that brush over his own naked body.
He lets himself be pulled down, arranged so there's no weight on his wounded side.
He refuses to open his eyes, even when both of Jensen's hands reach his flesh, massaging his neck, tender around his shoulder, firm over his abdomen. It feels good, but none of it changes the fact that his right arm's dead.