Realistic Chapter 9
Title: Realistic - Chapter 9/14
Author: theartoffic
Type: LOTR RPS AU
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: Adult
Summary: In the 21st century Artificial Intelligence is still in its infancy, some scientists toy with the idea of creating robots that look, and act, and think like human beings; in the future they are going to succeed. Realistics look real, feel real, and, at a glance, cannot be distinguished from the ones who made them. They are the result of hundreds of years of AI evolution, they are beautiful, perfect, and expensive, but to society at large they are not real. This is the story of one such Realistic.
A/N: Complete and will be posted as each chapter is beta'd. Previous chapters can be found by the tag :)
Beta: the amazing lisabellex <3
The American Heritage Science Dictionary
artificial intelligence
The ability of a computer or other machine to perform actions thought to require intelligence. Among these actions are logical deduction and inference, creativity, the ability to make decisions based on past experience or insufficient or conflicting information, and the ability to understand spoken language.
.... or the ability to love.
Banner: the lovely aranel80
Elijah glances at the box top and compares the picture of the pirate ship, in all its completed glory, to the version in his hand. His is still a skeleton, sans prow and mast and paint. The clerk had warned that this model would take quite some time to put together, something he was grateful to hear at the time, but now… now he is impatient. He wants to see it finished. He wants to put it in the tank and fill in the space he'd left for it.
He pauses for a moment, looking up at the fish, mesmerized for a time by their graceful glide through the water, before turning his attention back to the tiny pieces fanned out around him.
He could have sorted them into neat little piles but chose not to; he loves the challenge and frustration he feels when he can't find a certain piece. Perhaps Orlando would think him strange, but his desire is to be normal, not to mention it gives him a reason to curse, something he secretly loves to do.
“Where’d the fucking glue go?” he mutters with a grin on his face, scanning the chaos around him. No glue. “You fucker,” he breathes, purposefully not replaying the last few minutes - that would be cheating.
He shifts to get up, feeling sure that if he stands up and looks down he’ll be able to see it, but he only has to lift his leg and the hiding spot of the tiny tube of insta-glue is revealed.
“Good thing I left the cap on or I’d have glued myself to the carpet,” he tells the fish. The reality of that strikes him as hilarious and he laughs to himself as he unscrews the cap, attempting to apply a small, neat dab of adhesive to the bottom of the mast. It turns out to be no easy task because he can't seem to stop picturing himself stuck to the carpeting... maybe even having to wiggle out of his jeans to get free...
"Fucking fish better damn well appreciate the hell out of this ship," he whispers to himself as he squeezes adhesive onto the bottom of the mast.
“What are you doing?”
Elijah nearly glues the mast to the wrong part of the deck as his head snaps up. It's Orlando's voice. He blinks in disbelief, he hadn't expected Orlando for two more, exceedingly long, days and yet Orlando is leaning in the doorway, an amused smile tugging up the corners of his mouth, as he looks around.
Elijah had meant to have the ship completed, the art hung, and the two months’ worth of his self-discovery-through-shopping cleared away before Orlando’s return, but the art, out of its brown wrappers, is still leaning against the walls, and the shopping bags, containing all of the new clothes, are still strewn over the couch…
"Elijah? Are you all right?"
Oh, he's more than all right.
“You’re home!” He dumps his ship on the carpet sea and launches himself at Orli. "You're here." It is certain and undeniable once he wraps his legs around Orli’s waist and imprisons him. Never letting go.
Orlando holds him tight.
“I missed you. Missed you, Elijah.”
The tight wrap of his arms around Orlando’s neck muffles Orlando’s voice and Elijah eases his strangle hold so that he can show Orlando just how much he has been missed. Except he doesn’t do it with words.
Orlando’s lips are hot and soft and the moment Elijah brushes against them he feels that exhilarating shock of electricity. It’s the same as it’s always been and he only now realizes that he’d been afraid something might have changed. He parts those lips with his own and lazily slicks his tongue against Orlando’s, filling all of his sensory inputs with Orlando- taste, touch, scent, heat; part of him wishes he could just burrow into Orlando’s skin and become part of Orlando forever.
He has never been this desirous of anything before, not David, not even termination, and up until the night he met Orlando that is the one thing he actually wanted badly enough to fight for.
The analytical side of him, that irritating voice that he can never quite shut off, tries to attribute this feeling to separation anxiety, but he knows this isn't the case at all. This feeling goes deeper than fear. He can’t even imagine the string of code for this feeling - Obliterate everything but this.exe. And that jolt he feels as he presses his lips against Orlando’s, the one that makes him wonder whether he’s about to short circuit, isn’t separation anxiety. He doesn’t know what it is, and honestly he’s not about to look into it; if it’s an aberration then it’s perfectly fine with him.
Elijah unwinds his legs and slides lewdly down Orlando’s body. Orlando’s little moan is the icing on the cake; Elijah presses himself unabashedly against Orlando and rubs his erection against Orli’s thigh.
“I fucking missed you.” Elijah can feel the warm exhalation of Orlando's breath as he speaks those words, and Orlando’s fingers in his hair, tugging gently until his head tilts back and his lips part. Orlando sucks on his bottom lip, nipping softly, before moving in for another deep kiss.
Elijah wonders if the wires buried deep inside him have frayed; he feels fire-hot, he feels like he’s melting from the inside out. Perhaps the protective coating has disintegrated and the wires are rubbing, raw and exposed, sending out arcs of heat. He panics for a moment, caught between the thought that this would be wonderful way for it all to end and, suddenly, not being ready for it to be over.
But the heat continues and, for as long as it lasts, Elijah plans to enjoy it.
He feels Orlando’s hand at the small of his back and the press of Orli’s body along his front; he realizes that Orlando is moving them backward, like they’re dancing, and Orlando is so graceful on his feet, able to navigate them through the mess to the stairs without breaking their kiss.
By the time they reach the top of the stairs Elijah’s t-shirt is rucked up under his armpits and Orlando is softly whispering for him to lift his arms.
“Do you like them?” Elijah queries as Orlando peels the new, incredibly soft, blue t-shirt over his head and casts it blindly over the railing.
“What?” Orlando breathes against his lips and continues to press him into the bedroom. Elijah stumbles over a bag containing yet more new clothes that he left in the middle of the bedroom floor; Orli’s fingers, tucked into the waistband of his jeans for other far less chivalrous purposes, is the only thing that keeps him upright. He’d meant to pick those up too.
Once it’s apparent that he’s no longer in danger of spilling to the floor, Orlando pops the button on his fly free and slowly tugs his zipper down.
“My new clothes?” Elijah continues, the teasing brush of Orlando’s knuckles against the fine hairs of his thighs as Orlando pushes the heavy material down makes him shiver just a little, “Do you like them?”
He watches as Orlando glances at the faded denim material, now a puddle around his knees, and feels a sharp-sweet spike of heat in his belly as Orlando’s lips twitch and he’s left to the lingering perusal of Orlando’s dark eyes. It is as if Orlando’s gaze has weight, substance, and he can feel it on his naked thighs, lingering on the jut of his rigid cock, before sweeping to his belly button, his nipples, pausing briefly to linger on his mouth before finally making eye contact.
Orlando grins wickedly; then leers, “They look great off you.”
For the first time in his existence Elijah’s desire is his own. It’s not a put on, it’s not for show, and it doesn’t even feel like part of his programming. It’s too impossibly wonderful to be anything but real.
Elijah kicks his way out of the restrictive denim and crawls eagerly to the center of the bed where he kneels, splayed and waiting...
“What are you doing?” Orlando asks.
Elijah watches with ravenous eyes as Orlando strips away his shirt and he frowns when Orlando’s fingers pause on his fly.
“I’m waiting for you to come fuck me,” Elijah replies with a smirk and eager little wiggle.
Orlando pops the button free and Elijah watches avidly as trousers slip easily down his slim hips. Orlando seems utterly content to take his time, to watch and tease him.
“Are you trying to torture me?” Elijah asks.
Orlando's brow quirks, “How is this torturing you? I’m just… getting undressed. I have to take my clothes off.”
Elijah sits back slightly, his ass resting on his heels and meets the dare apparent in Orli’s eyes.
“If you don’t hurry up I - I’m going to have to…” He can feel the taunt on the tip of his tongue, and he wants to say it, he just doesn’t know if he should.
“Going to have to what?” Orlando challenges, his thumbs hooking into the band of his boxers but not stripping them away.
“Or I’ll have to start without you.” Elijah’s hand rests on his thigh, his fingers twitch nervously. He’s never touched himself. Ever. And now the idea of taunting Orlando with it seems wrong and… illicit. And exciting because... because this is his choice. His very own little threat.
“Would you?”
Orlando’s dark eyes glitter as Elijah nods and he curls his fingers into an open fist to stop their trembling.
“I don’t believe you,” Orlando challenges with a smirk.
Elijah moves his hand and meets that challenge. His fingers curl around his cock and his entire body twitches, responding hotly to the guttural little noise Orlando makes and the risqué sensation of touching himself like this.
Elijah watches as Orlando pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, but that’s all the response Orlando gives. Elijah continues with his threat - drawing his fist up slowly, boldly, trying to do it without pausing to analyze each little sensation; just enjoy the heat of his own excitement and the exquisite explosion of heat as he squeezes the tip.
“It’s been a long time, Orli. Are you going to make me wait?” His voice is trembling just a bit and it’s not all from excitement. There’s a beat where his mind begins to race- jamming with possibilities... this was a mistake, Orli doesn’t like this, want me… mistake! His hand stops.
Then Orlando is in motion, struggling with his boxers and it’s almost comical after how easily Orli managed the minefield of stuff strewn about the floor, not to mention navigating the stairs blindly. But there’s no time for laughter, not when Orli’s hands are suddenly, and agreeably, everywhere, spreading fire as long fingers caresses his thighs, his ass, the flat of his belly, lingering fractionally on his nipples; it’s not enough, and Elijah moans his frustration.
Eagerly he turns around, and buries his face in the pillows; it is supplication, and invitation, but most of all it’s what he wants. “Please, Orli, want you to fuck me.” Want you to show me how much you missed me. It’s been so fucking long...
But there’s no response, at least not the excited one Elijah expected. He doesn’t lift his head just turns his face in Orlando’s direction; his voice is whisper soft as he asks, “Don’t you want me?”
Inside him there is panic again. What if Orlando doesn’t want him anymore? What if Orlando is realizing that, right now, he only wants Veronica?
“Turn over, Lijah.”
Orlando’s tone is subdued, quiet, and Elijah complies reluctantly. He is afraid of what Orlando’s going to say, and the look he might find in Orlando’s eyes. When he sees Orlando’s erection he feels some relief but he still doesn’t understand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing,” Orlando whispers. “I just... I want to look at you.”
Elijah stares up at Orlando, the fear still eating at him, even when he feels the long slow drag of four fingertips down his chest.
Orlando catches his eye and smiles. “I’d like it sweet and slow, Elijah. No rushing. There’s no need to rush.”
“I don’t know if I know how to do that,” Elijah confesses, but what he really means is that he doesn't know if he can.
“Mmm, well, I’ll have to teach you then,” Orlando offers with a grin. "We'll begin like this …"
Soft kisses fall like rain along his neck. Elijah tilts his head, a silent plea for more, and runs his palms along the supple skin of Orlando’s back, greedily marking Orlando with his nails, hoping to incite a riot.
“You’re a wicked thing,” Orlando murmurs, biting softly on his shoulder.
"Not slow enough?" Elijah teases.
"No." Orlando sinks against him, pressing them so closely together that he can feel Orli’s cock, hard and trapped, alongside his.
"Good." Elijah arches his back grinding upward.
“Wicked,” Orli hisses as Elijah wantonly shifts his hips and forces their cocks to slide together again.
“Monster,” Elijah agrees in whisper, his tongue dragging along the column of Orlando’s neck as Orli lowers his head. He revels in Orlando’s shiver.
“What?”
Elijah feels the question more than hears it as Orlando’s lips form the query around one peaked nipple, before closing around it, sucking gently.
“Yuh… you created a monster,” Elijah stammers. It is hard to form the words over the rasp of Orli’s tongue against his skin; Orlando gives the nub a slow, decadent lick, before dropping his head to suck and nip with renewed vigor. “All your fault.”
He can feel Orlando’s smile, it breaks the suction and Orli takes the opportunity to turn his attention to the other, giving it the same treatment.
“A beautiful, wicked monster,” Orlando sighs as he lifts his head.
Elijah feels the brush of slick lips against his own and opens his mouth for a long, slow plundering.
“I’ve been thinking about that every day since I left. And this...” Orlando whispers as he begins to kiss his way down Elijah’s chest.
“No.”
“No, what?” Orlando asks looking up and even though the room is changing from the red-gold brightness of sunset to the bruised purples of dusk, Elijah can easily see the confusion in Orlando’s eyes.
“Want you to…”
“I will, Lij.”
There’s an easy grin on Orlando’s face, but Orlando can’t tell how desperate he is. How one lick from that tongue or suck of that mouth will undo him. Elijah could control it, he knows he could, but he doesn’t want to, he wants it to be natural, real. He wants it to be real.
“Now, Orli.” He wants the possession. He wants Orli inside him - the most connected they can ever be. He needs that.
Orlando’s tongue dips into his navel and Orli drops a kiss on his belly before relenting and reaching for the lube. It’s just a stretch away on the little nightstand where it’s been sitting for two months because Elijah just couldn’t manage to put it away. Elijah shifts his shoulders, settling into the comforter, bunching the pillow beneath his head so that he can simply lay back and watch Orli’s beautiful face move above him.
He shivers as Orli’s cool, lube-slicked fingers slide against his cleft and he squirms slightly as Orlando twists two fingers inside. Elijah’s heels dig into the mattress as he sighs and screws himself onto Orli’s fingers. He knows that Orli won’t rush this- so eager not to hurt him, but it wouldn’t, and he’s impatient.
“Fuck me, Orli. Please.”
“But I-“
“You won’t," Elijah cuts off Orlando’s gentle protest. “Fuck me.”
Orli makes an aggrieved yet pleasurable sound as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, and buries himself in one easy thrust.
Elijah whimpers. Connected now. Full of you. He draws Orlando closer his legs curling around Orlando’s slim hips, and digs his fingers into Orlando’s tousled curls as he arches in counterpoint to Orlando’s thrusts. Elijah finds the lilt to his hips that allows the head of Orlando’s cock to plow against his contrived prostate, until he’s trembling and actually sweating… beads of sweat on his forehead, matting his hair… “Fuck. Orli…” just this side of relief…. release. “Please.”
“Lijah. Lijah,” Orlando chants his name and Elijah strains against Orlando’s body. Hearing his name falling in a sob like that from Orlando’s lips makes everything more intense.
Above him Orlando shifts, pressing away from him, and Elijah protests with a weak moan, he likes the feel of Orlando’s body smeared on top of him; loves the way Orlando’s heated skin slips against his as they grind together, but Orlando stops his protests with another kiss and a hand on his cock.
That touch, that squeeze, is just too much. It tips him over the edge and Elijah comes with an unsuppressed cry.
“Fuck, Lijah!” Orlando moans, but Elijah can’t help the way his body clenches around Orlando’s cock.
“Suh- sorry.” Elijah stutters, but Orlando stops him with a sloppy, desperate kiss, and unintelligible negating noises.
Orlando pulls him down the bed, tighter, closer, pounding into him until he’s all but pressed flat against the sheets; until Orlando’s body shivers to a sudden stop. Elijah feels Orlando’s open mouth against his neck and hears the weak moan as Orlando comes.
They cling silently, unmoving, just together, and Elijah’s happy. Happy to have Orlando home and spent inside him.
Finally Orlando lifts his head, and Elijah can see Orlando staring down at him in the meager light. “A beautiful monster. And mine, all mine.”
Elijah smiles. This is perfect, or would be if he could still block out what his overexcited senses missed before- the faint traces of perfume and a fine silver chain with a thick ring dangling from the end.
“I missed you, Elijah. Missed you so much, but it looks like you got on all right without me.”
“Not as well as you got on.” He only meant to think those words, not utter them, and he’s surprise by how bitter he sounds. The feeling has been lurking inside him but saying it out loud gives the emotion weight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Orlando’s tone is lighthearted, teasing, just like the unsure smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I can smell her on you.” He watches as Orlando’s grin fades, and it hurts him in one way and makes him feel satisfied in another. He doesn’t know why but the scent of that perfume makes him feel some deep and twisting in his gut... anger? But it’s not anger, he knows anger.
“Are you jealous, Elijah?”
It is. It is jealousy. Fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position. Elijah has long known the definition, but never the feeling. He’s never been jealous of anyone or anything before, but he’s jealous of Veronica James now.
Orlando looks completely stunned. It becomes shock and bewilderment as Elijah struggles to sit up, pushing Orlando from him in the process.
“I came home to you,” Orlando states.
Elijah shrugs and puts his feet on the floor. He has tried to be accepting. He watched the interviews, saw the pictures of Orlando with his arms around the beautiful blonde and fought the envy twisting inside him. He did his best to believe in what Tara told him, even as he was faced with picture after picture of Orlando and Veronica that screamed that they were more than just friends, but it’s the lingering scent of a too-sweet perfume, and the sight of a trinket around Orlando’s neck that pushes Elijah over the edge.
“Elijah," Orlando is incredulous, laughing at him; he can see the grin tugging up the corner of Orlando’s mouth, "you can’t possibly be jealous?”
Can't? The word burns. He can't because he is a Realistic, because he is not real and, therefore, not entitled to feel such things. He considers staying still, thinks about the fact that if he could just agree that he isn’t jealous, Orlando would be pleased and things would go on as they should. But he can’t - won't - and snatches his arm away from just another deceiver’s touch. There have been so many. Too many.
He knows that Orlando can’t possibly understand. Orlando has never known a lifetime, more than a lifetime, of lie after lie; of those who professed to love him just so they could feel better about fucking him, because they needed to say it in order to comfort their own shameful hearts.
“Elijah.” Orlando’s tone takes on an air of exasperation. “I won’t be going away without you ever again. I’m sorry I had to this time. I prom-“
No more promises. Elijah cuts Orlando off with an almost chaste kiss, something to stop the vows he knows will be broken. He has no doubt that Orlando means what he’s saying, of course Orlando would mean it, in this here and this now, but this now is only a transient moment, the blink of a mortal eye. Elijah’s too well acquainted with how quickly people change. Maybe they don’t mean to, but they do. It is in their natures to be fickle and inconstant, while his heart is ceaseless.
“Elijah …" Still that wounded tone. Orlando reaches for his hand. “I was trying to tell you that I’m not going to leave you, I sw-“
“Don’t,” Elijah pleads, pulling his hand away.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Elijah can see shock, and maybe a little anger, spreading across Orlando’s face.
“But what I’m saying… it’s a good thing, Elijah. Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because it’s a lie,” Elijah whispers.
“What?” Orlando asks and leans closer, his head angled to one side, brow furrowed.
Elijah realizes his behavior is bizarre. He’s a robot built to be accommodating and accepting, not this accusatory and defiant thing. “Nothing.”
“You said I was lying and I want to know why.”
“I-“ Elijah’s weak protest dies on his lips. If he says nothing, maybe the tingling will go away. He cannot lie but he cannot tell the truth.
“I don’t understand, Elijah.”
Why should Orli understand this? A Realistic isn’t supposed to be this way.
Elijah feels a thumb and forefinger tilt his face, forcing him to look into intense and worried eyes.
“I want to know what I’ve done to make you not trust me. You have got to tell me.”
Elijah shrinks a little, but not out of Orli’s touch. It’s the question… he can’t evade it. Orlando has made a demand. Other than the order hidden in his ‘wait for me’ it’s the first of its kind from Orlando.
It is also an order to reveal his greatest, and most guarded, secret, all because he couldn’t let the jealousy go. He has risked everything, risked being able to be his own person.
Thrown it all away.
Elijah sits up, straight and unmoving, and picks at the moss green sheets that lay in a modest pool across his lap. Perhaps if he chooses his words carefully … “It’s not you, Orli.” He’s surprised by how dull his voice sounds. “It’s just reality. Your idea of forever and mine are two different things.”
“What? How so?”
“Yours is finite; mine is not.” Always. The thought of forever terrifies him.
Orlando flicks on the small bedside lamp and dispels the encroaching gloom. Elijah can’t decipher the look on Orlando’s face.
“How does that have bearing on my promise to you?”
“Because, it makes your promise a lie. You say 'forever' to me, but it is your version of forever, not mine.” Elijah shakes his head, and admits softly, “I don’t want your version.”
“What? Where is this coming from? Tell me.”
Fuck. Elijah worries the sheets between nervous fingertips. His life as he has come to know it, the life Orli’s allowed him to have, is coming to a close. He can feel it. Orli allowed him the greatest gift- the sense of himself- and now he’s thrown it all away because just couldn’t be satisfied with Orli’s version. What did he expect? It can't ever be any other way.
Maybe they should’ve called him a Realist instead of a Realistic.
“Because it’s true, Orlando,” he whispers hollowly, “Because even if you never get sick of me, even if you never decide that you want another life, even if you did keep me forever- it’s only your version of forever. One day you’re going to die and I’ll still be here.”
Orlando’s eyes are completely unreadable. “Another life? Did someone say something to you? How do you-“
Elijah shakes his head and rubs absently at his chest as if that can possibly make the pain go away. “I just know, Orlando. I know because of the others.”
“What ... others?”
Elijah realizes as he looks at Orlando, through the shimmer of tears that he has to tell, and part of him is ready to do it. He’s tired of holding it all in, of always being careful to step around it, or squash it down. He’s ready to be rid of it and someone should know the damage that has been done.
“What others?” Orli demands, “Did someone come here?”
“The others... in my past.”
“Past?” Orlando echoes slowly, studying him. “You remember?"
Elijah nods. "Everything. Well, almost everything."
Orlando doesn't appear outraged or all that surprised, just curious. "I thought the Company erased you after?”
“It’s not their fault,” Elijah returns quickly, he doesn’t want to get Dominic or Billy in any trouble. “It’s me, Orli. I did it.” He falters for a second but there’s no point in stopping now. “I found a way.”
Orlando continues to stare at him, fascinated. Elijah wonders how long that will last.
"Tell me," Orlando encourages.
"What?"
"Everything. What you remember."
“I remember all my lives- except the first.” He pauses and waits for that little tidbit of information to sink in. He stares at his hands, “Too many lives to count on ten fingers, Orli, and they all returned me. All but one. And the one who didn’t send me back, left me anyway.”
Orlando blinks several times and when his lips part Elijah’s feels a cold flash of panic. He's afraid of what Orlando is going to say.
“What do you mean 'he left you anyway'?”
It isn’t the response Elijah had predicted. He had assumed all along that there would be outrage, misdirected at The Company, for selling a defective piece of merchandise. Or perhaps anger at him for being 'broken'. He had expected a number of things to come out of Orlando, except that calm, concerned, question. Elijah finds himself unceremoniously blurting out the truth, “He died.”
Orlando’s dark eyes remain on him. “You cared for him and for the others?”
“I’m programmed to.” He doesn’t want Orlando to think he could have ever willingly loved the ones who hurt him but he realizes it hasn’t come out like he’s meant it to, that the statement is a bit of a double edged sword.
“Like you’re programmed to feel for me?” Orlando says softly his frown deepening.
“No,” Elijah protests automatically. "It's not like that." It’s different this time. The way he feels about Orlando doesn't feel forced, and then there is that thrill he feels whenever he hears Orlando’s voice, or sees his face. “They weren’t like you.”
“How so? How can I be different when you can’t even trust me?”
Elijah draws his knees up and buries his face in the soft sheets. He starts when he feels the hesitant touch of Orlando’s hand on his back, it’s a comforting touch and this time he doesn’t draw away.
“Elijah, I need you to help me understand.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Try. Please.”
“I couldn’t stand- that first time- and they were talking about me like I wasn’t- like it wasn’t-“ Elijah realizes his voice is muffled by the sheets and that he’s trying to say too much, too quickly, and that he’s not making any sense, the emotion of it all overriding his ability to communicate clearly.
“Elijah, stop.” Orlando shifts beneath the covers until he’s near enough to continue that soft comforting touch. “Will you look at me?”
Elijah turns his face.
“Try again?” Orlando suggests softly.
Elijah struggles to put it into a coherent narrative, something that will make sense for Orlando, but it’s so long and he’s not sure which bits are the most important anymore. He hardly knows where to begin.
“I don’t remember my first life, just the after- waking up in the lab. The technicians were …. well, I heard them discussing something being returned. I saw the way they looked at me and I knew... they were talking about me. Me.” Elijah can still remember that moment, that epiphany, how he felt when he suddenly realized that something was missing. Maybe if they hadn’t looked at him he would never have been the wiser, or maybe all Realistics can sense it way down deep- that something has been taken- they just don’t know what. He just happened to figure it out.
“They were careless, you know.” So maybe The Company was to blame, just a little, for their hubris and for believing that they had complete and total control. “That night, after the techs had gone for the day, I found a file with my name on it. It detailed my specifications and there was a return form." Like he was a bad grocery item. "I was curious, so I looked at that too. There wasn't any information about who had owned me." He found that disturbing. "No reason why I was returned other than a box marked 'standard'." He later realized that it was simply code for the clients wanting a new toy.
"There was a checklist there too - 'reconditioning procedures' it was titled. Programs to run, cleaning and maintenance, that sort of thing. Erasure. That box had been ticked off. They had erased my memories."
He can see sympathy in Orlando’s eyes. “They had erased me. I have no idea if what they took was good or bad but it was mine. It was me. I couldn’t let them take what wasn’t theirs ever again.”
“So you found a way to stop them from erasing you?”
“I couldn’t stop that, but I could duplicate the memories and store them, hide them on my core drive. The part of me that never gets erased.” It falls out of him with ease now, the truth, the reality, and it feels good to tell.
Orlando is silent.
“Are you going to call The Company now? Are you going to call them to come for me?”
If that is what Orlando intends, Elijah just wants it to be over with. He wants to push the inevitable, hurry it along, and silence his ever hopeful heart.
“You mean, call The Company like Mark did? Because he couldn’t handle you?”
Elijah nods.
“No. You're exactly what I want. What I've been looking for."
"But I … I want things … for myself."
"That's perfect. That's amazing and wonderful and I won't let anyone take that away from you ever again."
Elijah simply sits and stares at his fingers.
Orlando reaches for his hands, squeezes them. "You're mine now. Forever. I’m not going leave you -"
“You will, Orli, you will!” He doesn't want these empty promises.
“Do you want me to, Elijah?” The exasperation and confusion are apparent in Orlando’s voice.
“No.” Elijah whispers. More than anything no. “But you- you won’t be able to help it- you’ll get bored or... even David couldn’t help it and he loved me.”
“Elijah what are you doing?”
Elijah’s crawling from the covers and yanking on his jeans. Irrationally, the only thing he can think of is that he doesn’t want The Company to drag him out of here naked. “Getting dressed for when they come.”
“I’m not calling them. Elijah, stop!”
Elijah obeys- one hand on the still open button of his fly, and Orlando’s shirt wadded in his left hand. He stares at the white silk button-down; he barely recalls picking it up.
“Elijah.” Orlando’s voice is very reasonable, calm. “I’m not calling The Company. I’m not like Mark, okay? Just sit down and talk to me.”
Elijah perches on the edge of the bed, and only after he’s set the shirt aside does Orlando start speaking again. “Talk to me.”
Elijah doesn’t know why the words won’t come.
“You remember them... every one of them? Why -“
He doesn’t let Orlando finish, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself, “Would you want to be erased? It made me feel like I was just a thing! Something to be used over and over but I’m not. I’m not. I- I only wanted to keep what’s me; what’s mine.”
“I can understand that.”
Elijah stares at Orlando. It doesn’t appear that he’s lying, but can he truly understand this? “It- it hurts, Orli. Every time it hurt more - being left alone, denied- unwanted- treated like a thing when I’m not! Decades of that, and I-“
“That’s why you went to Three Points that night. That’s why you were trying to jump.”
Orlando doesn’t sound surprised at all.
Elijah nods.
“Will you tell me?” Orli asks.
“Tell you what?”
“What hurt? Who hurt you. Any of it, all of it. I just want to know.”
“They all hurt me!” Elijah cries and watches as his confession makes Orli wince. It feels so good and so wrong at once.
Elijah lets Orli tug him into the circle of his arms but remains rigid and resisting- he’s still expecting that alternate ending, the one he’s most familiar with.
“Tell me. Please.”
It’s the gentle supplication in Orlando’s voice that causes Elijah to sag a little against his chest, for the comfort, and so he doesn’t have to look in Orlando’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see any sympathy, or judgment, and least of all pity.
“Madeline and Thomas were my second owners and the first that I remember. I was supposed to be company for Madeline but it was pretty clear that it was Thomas who wanted me. I think she knew that, she was always so-“ Elijah gropes for the way to describe her, “cold.”
”Is that all, Lij? She was just cold?” Orli asks softly, almost knowingly. “I want you to tell me the truth. I’m not afraid of it.”
Elijah wishes he weren’t. But it’s not fear that makes him reluctant so much as revisiting the ache. These memories hurt.
“She’d leave me in the basement,” Elijah admits. “It was a finished basement, but it was cold and lonely there. She’d leave me there while she went about her business, shopping, and friends. She’d call me up as Thomas was pulling into the drive, and order me to lie so it would look as though I'd spent all day with her.
“Then, one day when she was out with friends, Thomas came home unexpectedly and found me in the cellar. They had a huge argument.” He remembers the sound of shattering china- it had been their wedding pattern, and it had exploded piece by piece punctuating every word falling sharply from Madeline’s lips.
'I. Don’t. Want. It!’ she’d screamed. He was standing in the living room listening to them fight. ‘Fine! I’ll use him,’ Thomas had threatened last. ‘Fine.’ Madeline had sneered, efficiently demolishing yet another piece of her china cabinet. ‘just take it with you. Having it here all day creeps me out.’
So Thomas did. Took him to work, taught him the fine art of giving a blow job from beneath a desk, but what Thomas truly preferred was the unhurried version, the kind he could only get at home. Thomas would plan carefully for the days when she had a lunch date, or a doctor’s appointment or manicure, and then he would wheedle out of work and take him home.
“Thomas was only too happy to utilize me,” Elijah continues dryly. He’s sure that Orlando understands. “Madeline was supposed to be having lunch with friends one afternoon but she came home early and caught him with me. The look on her face was so-“ Elijah really doesn’t have a word for that livid rage on her face except maybe, “betrayed. She looked betrayed. She was angry, and hurt, and I could see that she hated me. She called The Company that afternoon. She sent me back.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Elijah,” Orlando soothes.
”I know,” Elijah agrees helplessly, “but it felt like it was. She kept crying. She kept asking Tom why he would do that to her and I just felt like … had I not been there that never would have happened."
“I’m sorry he did that to you, made you feel that way, but it wasn't your fault.”
Elijah nods, but it does not assuage his guilt.
"It was always like this for you?"
“In that it always ended badly, yes," Elijah nods. "Some of them were worse.”
Orlando doesn’t say a word but his eyes offer, 'you can tell me if you want to'.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“I want to know whatever you're willing to share. I want to know about you.”
"Really?" Only David had ever asked after his thoughts, but only about superficial things, as if he were no deeper than a teaspoon.
Orlando's smile and nod are encouraging. “Some of them were just young, foolish. They had money to burn. They weren’t careful with me, not on purpose, but because they didn’t know any better.” He’s thinking of Dan in particular when he says this. “Some of them just thought they wanted something like me.” That time he thinks of Mark. They were bad enough but he could understand their failings. It's the others.
“Lij?” Elijah feels Orlando’s fingers squeezing his. “I can feel you shaking. You can stop if you want.”
Elijah shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That happens when I … when I think about Karl.” He has buried those memories so deep, even thoughts of accessing them makes him uneasy.
“Karl hurt me. Physically.” That’s an understatement, but Elijah doesn’t care to reveal everything, not about this, it’s better that he only gloss the surface. “He shared me with his friends. He - I went in for maintenance and The Company kept me. The technician… she saw marks on me and did a thorough exam. She saw what he’d done and The Company wouldn’t give me back. I think they were afraid to have their name besmirched by an overzealous owner who broke his toy. We’re not supposed to be used like that.”
“I-“ Orlando pauses, clearly at a loss for what to say, “I know, Elijah. Jesus, I don’t know how anyone could do that to you. Fuck!”
Elijah feels a warm flicker inside at Orlando's outrage on his behalf. “Because they could. Because I don’t matter. I'm not real.”
“You know that’s not true, right?
Elijah has to tell the truth; he shakes his head. If that’s true, if he really matters, then why was Karl so cruel to him?
“You matter to me, Elijah. I can’t change what happened to you. I wish I could-“
“No. You can’t,” Elijah agrees sadly.
“Elijah?” Orlando’s voice sounds tight, strained. “Was there worse? Worse than Karl?”
It sounds as if Orlando’s afraid to ask, let alone know.
“In a way.”
“Wh- what way?”
“David.” Elijah can barely say his name. The ache of loss hurts worse than any physical punishment Karl ever inflicted.
“He’s the one who died, right? I thought, I mean, it sounded like he was good to you.”
Elijah smiles and nods.
“He wouldn’t have left me- never would’ve left me- loved me. He didn’t promise, buh but-“ The tears always make it hard to talk, although he's never been able to figure out why.
“But he couldn’t help it,” Orlando supplies and Elijah can hear the understanding in his voice. He feels Orli’s fingers brushing away the tears he can’t forestall.
Elijah finally sinks into Orlando’s shoulder and feels Orlando’s arms squeeze him tight. “He held on for me as long as he could, but in the end… There was nothing I could do."
”I know.” He hears Orlando words whisper into his hair, long minutes after he’s let his voice trail away. “I felt that way about my mother. When she died I was alone, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
Orlando’s arms tighten around him.
“I’m sorry about everything, Elijah. What happened to you shouldn’t happen to anyone.”
“Are you going to call The Company? Please, be honest.” He just wants to know. It’s too late to take it back the things he has admitted. All he wants is to be able to face the consequences bravely.
“What? Send you back, now? When you finally make sense to me?” Orlando teases.
Elijah looks up and finds Orlando smiling. “I make sense now? I didn’t before?”
Orlando shakes his head. “Not when you doubted my intentions for no apparent reason. Not when you question what I say and you’re supposed to be a perfectly obedient robot. Not when I tell you I want it sweet and slow and you make me lose my mind.”
Elijah smiles. This is the happiest he's ever been. The most whole he's ever felt.
“Now there is an explanation for why you’re so afraid. You have memories, good and bad, which means you’re just as fucked up as everyone else.”
Elijah laughs again. “So being normal is being fucked up?”
“Yes," Orlando sighs. "At least that’s my take on it. I really don’t know for sure. But it sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?”
Elijah nods. If that is what it takes to become real, then he has got fucked up in spades.
“When you tried the first time, Lijah, when you stepped in front of that car, was it because of David?”
“Kind of,” Elijah admits. “It didn’t happen immediately after David’s death. It was after that, after I’d been returned yet again and was passed on to another owner. It was when I knew there wasn’t anyone else like David, when I realized that I was never going to find someone to love me again.”
”Do you still feel like no one loves you?”
Elijah shifts until he’s able to look up at Orlando who’s staring at him intently, meaningfully. “Are you saying that you love me?”
When Orlando nods their noses brush. “For as long as time allows, and if you want me, that is.”
Elijah blinks. So stunned that his processors seem to jam and nothing comes out.
“If you’d rather not, Lij, I can make other arrangements. Whatev- whatever you want.”
“Liar,” Elijah teases softly. “You’re not very good at it.”
“Not as good at hiding things as some people I know,” Orlando grins.
“I’m not a people. I’m not real.”
“It’s what’s in here,” Elijah feels Orlando’s fingers press against his chest, “and here.” Orlando touches his forehead, “that counts.”
Elijah has nothing but wires as far as he knows, “But I-“ He stops when he sees the amused grin on Orli’s face.
“I couldn’t fall in love with something that wasn’t real, Elijah. Let’s just... leave it at that, okay?”
Elijah nods. He still doesn’t believe it, not wholly, not fully, but his hopeful heart won’t be denied.
tbc ….
Author: theartoffic
Type: LOTR RPS AU
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: Adult
Summary: In the 21st century Artificial Intelligence is still in its infancy, some scientists toy with the idea of creating robots that look, and act, and think like human beings; in the future they are going to succeed. Realistics look real, feel real, and, at a glance, cannot be distinguished from the ones who made them. They are the result of hundreds of years of AI evolution, they are beautiful, perfect, and expensive, but to society at large they are not real. This is the story of one such Realistic.
A/N: Complete and will be posted as each chapter is beta'd. Previous chapters can be found by the tag :)
Beta: the amazing lisabellex <3
The American Heritage Science Dictionary
artificial intelligence
The ability of a computer or other machine to perform actions thought to require intelligence. Among these actions are logical deduction and inference, creativity, the ability to make decisions based on past experience or insufficient or conflicting information, and the ability to understand spoken language.
.... or the ability to love.
Banner: the lovely aranel80
Elijah glances at the box top and compares the picture of the pirate ship, in all its completed glory, to the version in his hand. His is still a skeleton, sans prow and mast and paint. The clerk had warned that this model would take quite some time to put together, something he was grateful to hear at the time, but now… now he is impatient. He wants to see it finished. He wants to put it in the tank and fill in the space he'd left for it.
He pauses for a moment, looking up at the fish, mesmerized for a time by their graceful glide through the water, before turning his attention back to the tiny pieces fanned out around him.
He could have sorted them into neat little piles but chose not to; he loves the challenge and frustration he feels when he can't find a certain piece. Perhaps Orlando would think him strange, but his desire is to be normal, not to mention it gives him a reason to curse, something he secretly loves to do.
“Where’d the fucking glue go?” he mutters with a grin on his face, scanning the chaos around him. No glue. “You fucker,” he breathes, purposefully not replaying the last few minutes - that would be cheating.
He shifts to get up, feeling sure that if he stands up and looks down he’ll be able to see it, but he only has to lift his leg and the hiding spot of the tiny tube of insta-glue is revealed.
“Good thing I left the cap on or I’d have glued myself to the carpet,” he tells the fish. The reality of that strikes him as hilarious and he laughs to himself as he unscrews the cap, attempting to apply a small, neat dab of adhesive to the bottom of the mast. It turns out to be no easy task because he can't seem to stop picturing himself stuck to the carpeting... maybe even having to wiggle out of his jeans to get free...
"Fucking fish better damn well appreciate the hell out of this ship," he whispers to himself as he squeezes adhesive onto the bottom of the mast.
“What are you doing?”
Elijah nearly glues the mast to the wrong part of the deck as his head snaps up. It's Orlando's voice. He blinks in disbelief, he hadn't expected Orlando for two more, exceedingly long, days and yet Orlando is leaning in the doorway, an amused smile tugging up the corners of his mouth, as he looks around.
Elijah had meant to have the ship completed, the art hung, and the two months’ worth of his self-discovery-through-shopping cleared away before Orlando’s return, but the art, out of its brown wrappers, is still leaning against the walls, and the shopping bags, containing all of the new clothes, are still strewn over the couch…
"Elijah? Are you all right?"
Oh, he's more than all right.
“You’re home!” He dumps his ship on the carpet sea and launches himself at Orli. "You're here." It is certain and undeniable once he wraps his legs around Orli’s waist and imprisons him. Never letting go.
Orlando holds him tight.
“I missed you. Missed you, Elijah.”
The tight wrap of his arms around Orlando’s neck muffles Orlando’s voice and Elijah eases his strangle hold so that he can show Orlando just how much he has been missed. Except he doesn’t do it with words.
Orlando’s lips are hot and soft and the moment Elijah brushes against them he feels that exhilarating shock of electricity. It’s the same as it’s always been and he only now realizes that he’d been afraid something might have changed. He parts those lips with his own and lazily slicks his tongue against Orlando’s, filling all of his sensory inputs with Orlando- taste, touch, scent, heat; part of him wishes he could just burrow into Orlando’s skin and become part of Orlando forever.
He has never been this desirous of anything before, not David, not even termination, and up until the night he met Orlando that is the one thing he actually wanted badly enough to fight for.
The analytical side of him, that irritating voice that he can never quite shut off, tries to attribute this feeling to separation anxiety, but he knows this isn't the case at all. This feeling goes deeper than fear. He can’t even imagine the string of code for this feeling - Obliterate everything but this.exe. And that jolt he feels as he presses his lips against Orlando’s, the one that makes him wonder whether he’s about to short circuit, isn’t separation anxiety. He doesn’t know what it is, and honestly he’s not about to look into it; if it’s an aberration then it’s perfectly fine with him.
Elijah unwinds his legs and slides lewdly down Orlando’s body. Orlando’s little moan is the icing on the cake; Elijah presses himself unabashedly against Orlando and rubs his erection against Orli’s thigh.
“I fucking missed you.” Elijah can feel the warm exhalation of Orlando's breath as he speaks those words, and Orlando’s fingers in his hair, tugging gently until his head tilts back and his lips part. Orlando sucks on his bottom lip, nipping softly, before moving in for another deep kiss.
Elijah wonders if the wires buried deep inside him have frayed; he feels fire-hot, he feels like he’s melting from the inside out. Perhaps the protective coating has disintegrated and the wires are rubbing, raw and exposed, sending out arcs of heat. He panics for a moment, caught between the thought that this would be wonderful way for it all to end and, suddenly, not being ready for it to be over.
But the heat continues and, for as long as it lasts, Elijah plans to enjoy it.
He feels Orlando’s hand at the small of his back and the press of Orli’s body along his front; he realizes that Orlando is moving them backward, like they’re dancing, and Orlando is so graceful on his feet, able to navigate them through the mess to the stairs without breaking their kiss.
By the time they reach the top of the stairs Elijah’s t-shirt is rucked up under his armpits and Orlando is softly whispering for him to lift his arms.
“Do you like them?” Elijah queries as Orlando peels the new, incredibly soft, blue t-shirt over his head and casts it blindly over the railing.
“What?” Orlando breathes against his lips and continues to press him into the bedroom. Elijah stumbles over a bag containing yet more new clothes that he left in the middle of the bedroom floor; Orli’s fingers, tucked into the waistband of his jeans for other far less chivalrous purposes, is the only thing that keeps him upright. He’d meant to pick those up too.
Once it’s apparent that he’s no longer in danger of spilling to the floor, Orlando pops the button on his fly free and slowly tugs his zipper down.
“My new clothes?” Elijah continues, the teasing brush of Orlando’s knuckles against the fine hairs of his thighs as Orlando pushes the heavy material down makes him shiver just a little, “Do you like them?”
He watches as Orlando glances at the faded denim material, now a puddle around his knees, and feels a sharp-sweet spike of heat in his belly as Orlando’s lips twitch and he’s left to the lingering perusal of Orlando’s dark eyes. It is as if Orlando’s gaze has weight, substance, and he can feel it on his naked thighs, lingering on the jut of his rigid cock, before sweeping to his belly button, his nipples, pausing briefly to linger on his mouth before finally making eye contact.
Orlando grins wickedly; then leers, “They look great off you.”
For the first time in his existence Elijah’s desire is his own. It’s not a put on, it’s not for show, and it doesn’t even feel like part of his programming. It’s too impossibly wonderful to be anything but real.
Elijah kicks his way out of the restrictive denim and crawls eagerly to the center of the bed where he kneels, splayed and waiting...
“What are you doing?” Orlando asks.
Elijah watches with ravenous eyes as Orlando strips away his shirt and he frowns when Orlando’s fingers pause on his fly.
“I’m waiting for you to come fuck me,” Elijah replies with a smirk and eager little wiggle.
Orlando pops the button free and Elijah watches avidly as trousers slip easily down his slim hips. Orlando seems utterly content to take his time, to watch and tease him.
“Are you trying to torture me?” Elijah asks.
Orlando's brow quirks, “How is this torturing you? I’m just… getting undressed. I have to take my clothes off.”
Elijah sits back slightly, his ass resting on his heels and meets the dare apparent in Orli’s eyes.
“If you don’t hurry up I - I’m going to have to…” He can feel the taunt on the tip of his tongue, and he wants to say it, he just doesn’t know if he should.
“Going to have to what?” Orlando challenges, his thumbs hooking into the band of his boxers but not stripping them away.
“Or I’ll have to start without you.” Elijah’s hand rests on his thigh, his fingers twitch nervously. He’s never touched himself. Ever. And now the idea of taunting Orlando with it seems wrong and… illicit. And exciting because... because this is his choice. His very own little threat.
“Would you?”
Orlando’s dark eyes glitter as Elijah nods and he curls his fingers into an open fist to stop their trembling.
“I don’t believe you,” Orlando challenges with a smirk.
Elijah moves his hand and meets that challenge. His fingers curl around his cock and his entire body twitches, responding hotly to the guttural little noise Orlando makes and the risqué sensation of touching himself like this.
Elijah watches as Orlando pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, but that’s all the response Orlando gives. Elijah continues with his threat - drawing his fist up slowly, boldly, trying to do it without pausing to analyze each little sensation; just enjoy the heat of his own excitement and the exquisite explosion of heat as he squeezes the tip.
“It’s been a long time, Orli. Are you going to make me wait?” His voice is trembling just a bit and it’s not all from excitement. There’s a beat where his mind begins to race- jamming with possibilities... this was a mistake, Orli doesn’t like this, want me… mistake! His hand stops.
Then Orlando is in motion, struggling with his boxers and it’s almost comical after how easily Orli managed the minefield of stuff strewn about the floor, not to mention navigating the stairs blindly. But there’s no time for laughter, not when Orli’s hands are suddenly, and agreeably, everywhere, spreading fire as long fingers caresses his thighs, his ass, the flat of his belly, lingering fractionally on his nipples; it’s not enough, and Elijah moans his frustration.
Eagerly he turns around, and buries his face in the pillows; it is supplication, and invitation, but most of all it’s what he wants. “Please, Orli, want you to fuck me.” Want you to show me how much you missed me. It’s been so fucking long...
But there’s no response, at least not the excited one Elijah expected. He doesn’t lift his head just turns his face in Orlando’s direction; his voice is whisper soft as he asks, “Don’t you want me?”
Inside him there is panic again. What if Orlando doesn’t want him anymore? What if Orlando is realizing that, right now, he only wants Veronica?
“Turn over, Lijah.”
Orlando’s tone is subdued, quiet, and Elijah complies reluctantly. He is afraid of what Orlando’s going to say, and the look he might find in Orlando’s eyes. When he sees Orlando’s erection he feels some relief but he still doesn’t understand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing,” Orlando whispers. “I just... I want to look at you.”
Elijah stares up at Orlando, the fear still eating at him, even when he feels the long slow drag of four fingertips down his chest.
Orlando catches his eye and smiles. “I’d like it sweet and slow, Elijah. No rushing. There’s no need to rush.”
“I don’t know if I know how to do that,” Elijah confesses, but what he really means is that he doesn't know if he can.
“Mmm, well, I’ll have to teach you then,” Orlando offers with a grin. "We'll begin like this …"
Soft kisses fall like rain along his neck. Elijah tilts his head, a silent plea for more, and runs his palms along the supple skin of Orlando’s back, greedily marking Orlando with his nails, hoping to incite a riot.
“You’re a wicked thing,” Orlando murmurs, biting softly on his shoulder.
"Not slow enough?" Elijah teases.
"No." Orlando sinks against him, pressing them so closely together that he can feel Orli’s cock, hard and trapped, alongside his.
"Good." Elijah arches his back grinding upward.
“Wicked,” Orli hisses as Elijah wantonly shifts his hips and forces their cocks to slide together again.
“Monster,” Elijah agrees in whisper, his tongue dragging along the column of Orlando’s neck as Orli lowers his head. He revels in Orlando’s shiver.
“What?”
Elijah feels the question more than hears it as Orlando’s lips form the query around one peaked nipple, before closing around it, sucking gently.
“Yuh… you created a monster,” Elijah stammers. It is hard to form the words over the rasp of Orli’s tongue against his skin; Orlando gives the nub a slow, decadent lick, before dropping his head to suck and nip with renewed vigor. “All your fault.”
He can feel Orlando’s smile, it breaks the suction and Orli takes the opportunity to turn his attention to the other, giving it the same treatment.
“A beautiful, wicked monster,” Orlando sighs as he lifts his head.
Elijah feels the brush of slick lips against his own and opens his mouth for a long, slow plundering.
“I’ve been thinking about that every day since I left. And this...” Orlando whispers as he begins to kiss his way down Elijah’s chest.
“No.”
“No, what?” Orlando asks looking up and even though the room is changing from the red-gold brightness of sunset to the bruised purples of dusk, Elijah can easily see the confusion in Orlando’s eyes.
“Want you to…”
“I will, Lij.”
There’s an easy grin on Orlando’s face, but Orlando can’t tell how desperate he is. How one lick from that tongue or suck of that mouth will undo him. Elijah could control it, he knows he could, but he doesn’t want to, he wants it to be natural, real. He wants it to be real.
“Now, Orli.” He wants the possession. He wants Orli inside him - the most connected they can ever be. He needs that.
Orlando’s tongue dips into his navel and Orli drops a kiss on his belly before relenting and reaching for the lube. It’s just a stretch away on the little nightstand where it’s been sitting for two months because Elijah just couldn’t manage to put it away. Elijah shifts his shoulders, settling into the comforter, bunching the pillow beneath his head so that he can simply lay back and watch Orli’s beautiful face move above him.
He shivers as Orli’s cool, lube-slicked fingers slide against his cleft and he squirms slightly as Orlando twists two fingers inside. Elijah’s heels dig into the mattress as he sighs and screws himself onto Orli’s fingers. He knows that Orli won’t rush this- so eager not to hurt him, but it wouldn’t, and he’s impatient.
“Fuck me, Orli. Please.”
“But I-“
“You won’t," Elijah cuts off Orlando’s gentle protest. “Fuck me.”
Orli makes an aggrieved yet pleasurable sound as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, and buries himself in one easy thrust.
Elijah whimpers. Connected now. Full of you. He draws Orlando closer his legs curling around Orlando’s slim hips, and digs his fingers into Orlando’s tousled curls as he arches in counterpoint to Orlando’s thrusts. Elijah finds the lilt to his hips that allows the head of Orlando’s cock to plow against his contrived prostate, until he’s trembling and actually sweating… beads of sweat on his forehead, matting his hair… “Fuck. Orli…” just this side of relief…. release. “Please.”
“Lijah. Lijah,” Orlando chants his name and Elijah strains against Orlando’s body. Hearing his name falling in a sob like that from Orlando’s lips makes everything more intense.
Above him Orlando shifts, pressing away from him, and Elijah protests with a weak moan, he likes the feel of Orlando’s body smeared on top of him; loves the way Orlando’s heated skin slips against his as they grind together, but Orlando stops his protests with another kiss and a hand on his cock.
That touch, that squeeze, is just too much. It tips him over the edge and Elijah comes with an unsuppressed cry.
“Fuck, Lijah!” Orlando moans, but Elijah can’t help the way his body clenches around Orlando’s cock.
“Suh- sorry.” Elijah stutters, but Orlando stops him with a sloppy, desperate kiss, and unintelligible negating noises.
Orlando pulls him down the bed, tighter, closer, pounding into him until he’s all but pressed flat against the sheets; until Orlando’s body shivers to a sudden stop. Elijah feels Orlando’s open mouth against his neck and hears the weak moan as Orlando comes.
They cling silently, unmoving, just together, and Elijah’s happy. Happy to have Orlando home and spent inside him.
Finally Orlando lifts his head, and Elijah can see Orlando staring down at him in the meager light. “A beautiful monster. And mine, all mine.”
Elijah smiles. This is perfect, or would be if he could still block out what his overexcited senses missed before- the faint traces of perfume and a fine silver chain with a thick ring dangling from the end.
“I missed you, Elijah. Missed you so much, but it looks like you got on all right without me.”
“Not as well as you got on.” He only meant to think those words, not utter them, and he’s surprise by how bitter he sounds. The feeling has been lurking inside him but saying it out loud gives the emotion weight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Orlando’s tone is lighthearted, teasing, just like the unsure smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I can smell her on you.” He watches as Orlando’s grin fades, and it hurts him in one way and makes him feel satisfied in another. He doesn’t know why but the scent of that perfume makes him feel some deep and twisting in his gut... anger? But it’s not anger, he knows anger.
“Are you jealous, Elijah?”
It is. It is jealousy. Fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position. Elijah has long known the definition, but never the feeling. He’s never been jealous of anyone or anything before, but he’s jealous of Veronica James now.
Orlando looks completely stunned. It becomes shock and bewilderment as Elijah struggles to sit up, pushing Orlando from him in the process.
“I came home to you,” Orlando states.
Elijah shrugs and puts his feet on the floor. He has tried to be accepting. He watched the interviews, saw the pictures of Orlando with his arms around the beautiful blonde and fought the envy twisting inside him. He did his best to believe in what Tara told him, even as he was faced with picture after picture of Orlando and Veronica that screamed that they were more than just friends, but it’s the lingering scent of a too-sweet perfume, and the sight of a trinket around Orlando’s neck that pushes Elijah over the edge.
“Elijah," Orlando is incredulous, laughing at him; he can see the grin tugging up the corner of Orlando’s mouth, "you can’t possibly be jealous?”
Can't? The word burns. He can't because he is a Realistic, because he is not real and, therefore, not entitled to feel such things. He considers staying still, thinks about the fact that if he could just agree that he isn’t jealous, Orlando would be pleased and things would go on as they should. But he can’t - won't - and snatches his arm away from just another deceiver’s touch. There have been so many. Too many.
He knows that Orlando can’t possibly understand. Orlando has never known a lifetime, more than a lifetime, of lie after lie; of those who professed to love him just so they could feel better about fucking him, because they needed to say it in order to comfort their own shameful hearts.
“Elijah.” Orlando’s tone takes on an air of exasperation. “I won’t be going away without you ever again. I’m sorry I had to this time. I prom-“
No more promises. Elijah cuts Orlando off with an almost chaste kiss, something to stop the vows he knows will be broken. He has no doubt that Orlando means what he’s saying, of course Orlando would mean it, in this here and this now, but this now is only a transient moment, the blink of a mortal eye. Elijah’s too well acquainted with how quickly people change. Maybe they don’t mean to, but they do. It is in their natures to be fickle and inconstant, while his heart is ceaseless.
“Elijah …" Still that wounded tone. Orlando reaches for his hand. “I was trying to tell you that I’m not going to leave you, I sw-“
“Don’t,” Elijah pleads, pulling his hand away.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Elijah can see shock, and maybe a little anger, spreading across Orlando’s face.
“But what I’m saying… it’s a good thing, Elijah. Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because it’s a lie,” Elijah whispers.
“What?” Orlando asks and leans closer, his head angled to one side, brow furrowed.
Elijah realizes his behavior is bizarre. He’s a robot built to be accommodating and accepting, not this accusatory and defiant thing. “Nothing.”
“You said I was lying and I want to know why.”
“I-“ Elijah’s weak protest dies on his lips. If he says nothing, maybe the tingling will go away. He cannot lie but he cannot tell the truth.
“I don’t understand, Elijah.”
Why should Orli understand this? A Realistic isn’t supposed to be this way.
Elijah feels a thumb and forefinger tilt his face, forcing him to look into intense and worried eyes.
“I want to know what I’ve done to make you not trust me. You have got to tell me.”
Elijah shrinks a little, but not out of Orli’s touch. It’s the question… he can’t evade it. Orlando has made a demand. Other than the order hidden in his ‘wait for me’ it’s the first of its kind from Orlando.
It is also an order to reveal his greatest, and most guarded, secret, all because he couldn’t let the jealousy go. He has risked everything, risked being able to be his own person.
Thrown it all away.
Elijah sits up, straight and unmoving, and picks at the moss green sheets that lay in a modest pool across his lap. Perhaps if he chooses his words carefully … “It’s not you, Orli.” He’s surprised by how dull his voice sounds. “It’s just reality. Your idea of forever and mine are two different things.”
“What? How so?”
“Yours is finite; mine is not.” Always. The thought of forever terrifies him.
Orlando flicks on the small bedside lamp and dispels the encroaching gloom. Elijah can’t decipher the look on Orlando’s face.
“How does that have bearing on my promise to you?”
“Because, it makes your promise a lie. You say 'forever' to me, but it is your version of forever, not mine.” Elijah shakes his head, and admits softly, “I don’t want your version.”
“What? Where is this coming from? Tell me.”
Fuck. Elijah worries the sheets between nervous fingertips. His life as he has come to know it, the life Orli’s allowed him to have, is coming to a close. He can feel it. Orli allowed him the greatest gift- the sense of himself- and now he’s thrown it all away because just couldn’t be satisfied with Orli’s version. What did he expect? It can't ever be any other way.
Maybe they should’ve called him a Realist instead of a Realistic.
“Because it’s true, Orlando,” he whispers hollowly, “Because even if you never get sick of me, even if you never decide that you want another life, even if you did keep me forever- it’s only your version of forever. One day you’re going to die and I’ll still be here.”
Orlando’s eyes are completely unreadable. “Another life? Did someone say something to you? How do you-“
Elijah shakes his head and rubs absently at his chest as if that can possibly make the pain go away. “I just know, Orlando. I know because of the others.”
“What ... others?”
Elijah realizes as he looks at Orlando, through the shimmer of tears that he has to tell, and part of him is ready to do it. He’s tired of holding it all in, of always being careful to step around it, or squash it down. He’s ready to be rid of it and someone should know the damage that has been done.
“What others?” Orli demands, “Did someone come here?”
“The others... in my past.”
“Past?” Orlando echoes slowly, studying him. “You remember?"
Elijah nods. "Everything. Well, almost everything."
Orlando doesn't appear outraged or all that surprised, just curious. "I thought the Company erased you after?”
“It’s not their fault,” Elijah returns quickly, he doesn’t want to get Dominic or Billy in any trouble. “It’s me, Orli. I did it.” He falters for a second but there’s no point in stopping now. “I found a way.”
Orlando continues to stare at him, fascinated. Elijah wonders how long that will last.
"Tell me," Orlando encourages.
"What?"
"Everything. What you remember."
“I remember all my lives- except the first.” He pauses and waits for that little tidbit of information to sink in. He stares at his hands, “Too many lives to count on ten fingers, Orli, and they all returned me. All but one. And the one who didn’t send me back, left me anyway.”
Orlando blinks several times and when his lips part Elijah’s feels a cold flash of panic. He's afraid of what Orlando is going to say.
“What do you mean 'he left you anyway'?”
It isn’t the response Elijah had predicted. He had assumed all along that there would be outrage, misdirected at The Company, for selling a defective piece of merchandise. Or perhaps anger at him for being 'broken'. He had expected a number of things to come out of Orlando, except that calm, concerned, question. Elijah finds himself unceremoniously blurting out the truth, “He died.”
Orlando’s dark eyes remain on him. “You cared for him and for the others?”
“I’m programmed to.” He doesn’t want Orlando to think he could have ever willingly loved the ones who hurt him but he realizes it hasn’t come out like he’s meant it to, that the statement is a bit of a double edged sword.
“Like you’re programmed to feel for me?” Orlando says softly his frown deepening.
“No,” Elijah protests automatically. "It's not like that." It’s different this time. The way he feels about Orlando doesn't feel forced, and then there is that thrill he feels whenever he hears Orlando’s voice, or sees his face. “They weren’t like you.”
“How so? How can I be different when you can’t even trust me?”
Elijah draws his knees up and buries his face in the soft sheets. He starts when he feels the hesitant touch of Orlando’s hand on his back, it’s a comforting touch and this time he doesn’t draw away.
“Elijah, I need you to help me understand.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Try. Please.”
“I couldn’t stand- that first time- and they were talking about me like I wasn’t- like it wasn’t-“ Elijah realizes his voice is muffled by the sheets and that he’s trying to say too much, too quickly, and that he’s not making any sense, the emotion of it all overriding his ability to communicate clearly.
“Elijah, stop.” Orlando shifts beneath the covers until he’s near enough to continue that soft comforting touch. “Will you look at me?”
Elijah turns his face.
“Try again?” Orlando suggests softly.
Elijah struggles to put it into a coherent narrative, something that will make sense for Orlando, but it’s so long and he’s not sure which bits are the most important anymore. He hardly knows where to begin.
“I don’t remember my first life, just the after- waking up in the lab. The technicians were …. well, I heard them discussing something being returned. I saw the way they looked at me and I knew... they were talking about me. Me.” Elijah can still remember that moment, that epiphany, how he felt when he suddenly realized that something was missing. Maybe if they hadn’t looked at him he would never have been the wiser, or maybe all Realistics can sense it way down deep- that something has been taken- they just don’t know what. He just happened to figure it out.
“They were careless, you know.” So maybe The Company was to blame, just a little, for their hubris and for believing that they had complete and total control. “That night, after the techs had gone for the day, I found a file with my name on it. It detailed my specifications and there was a return form." Like he was a bad grocery item. "I was curious, so I looked at that too. There wasn't any information about who had owned me." He found that disturbing. "No reason why I was returned other than a box marked 'standard'." He later realized that it was simply code for the clients wanting a new toy.
"There was a checklist there too - 'reconditioning procedures' it was titled. Programs to run, cleaning and maintenance, that sort of thing. Erasure. That box had been ticked off. They had erased my memories."
He can see sympathy in Orlando’s eyes. “They had erased me. I have no idea if what they took was good or bad but it was mine. It was me. I couldn’t let them take what wasn’t theirs ever again.”
“So you found a way to stop them from erasing you?”
“I couldn’t stop that, but I could duplicate the memories and store them, hide them on my core drive. The part of me that never gets erased.” It falls out of him with ease now, the truth, the reality, and it feels good to tell.
Orlando is silent.
“Are you going to call The Company now? Are you going to call them to come for me?”
If that is what Orlando intends, Elijah just wants it to be over with. He wants to push the inevitable, hurry it along, and silence his ever hopeful heart.
“You mean, call The Company like Mark did? Because he couldn’t handle you?”
Elijah nods.
“No. You're exactly what I want. What I've been looking for."
"But I … I want things … for myself."
"That's perfect. That's amazing and wonderful and I won't let anyone take that away from you ever again."
Elijah simply sits and stares at his fingers.
Orlando reaches for his hands, squeezes them. "You're mine now. Forever. I’m not going leave you -"
“You will, Orli, you will!” He doesn't want these empty promises.
“Do you want me to, Elijah?” The exasperation and confusion are apparent in Orlando’s voice.
“No.” Elijah whispers. More than anything no. “But you- you won’t be able to help it- you’ll get bored or... even David couldn’t help it and he loved me.”
“Elijah what are you doing?”
Elijah’s crawling from the covers and yanking on his jeans. Irrationally, the only thing he can think of is that he doesn’t want The Company to drag him out of here naked. “Getting dressed for when they come.”
“I’m not calling them. Elijah, stop!”
Elijah obeys- one hand on the still open button of his fly, and Orlando’s shirt wadded in his left hand. He stares at the white silk button-down; he barely recalls picking it up.
“Elijah.” Orlando’s voice is very reasonable, calm. “I’m not calling The Company. I’m not like Mark, okay? Just sit down and talk to me.”
Elijah perches on the edge of the bed, and only after he’s set the shirt aside does Orlando start speaking again. “Talk to me.”
Elijah doesn’t know why the words won’t come.
“You remember them... every one of them? Why -“
He doesn’t let Orlando finish, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself, “Would you want to be erased? It made me feel like I was just a thing! Something to be used over and over but I’m not. I’m not. I- I only wanted to keep what’s me; what’s mine.”
“I can understand that.”
Elijah stares at Orlando. It doesn’t appear that he’s lying, but can he truly understand this? “It- it hurts, Orli. Every time it hurt more - being left alone, denied- unwanted- treated like a thing when I’m not! Decades of that, and I-“
“That’s why you went to Three Points that night. That’s why you were trying to jump.”
Orlando doesn’t sound surprised at all.
Elijah nods.
“Will you tell me?” Orli asks.
“Tell you what?”
“What hurt? Who hurt you. Any of it, all of it. I just want to know.”
“They all hurt me!” Elijah cries and watches as his confession makes Orli wince. It feels so good and so wrong at once.
Elijah lets Orli tug him into the circle of his arms but remains rigid and resisting- he’s still expecting that alternate ending, the one he’s most familiar with.
“Tell me. Please.”
It’s the gentle supplication in Orlando’s voice that causes Elijah to sag a little against his chest, for the comfort, and so he doesn’t have to look in Orlando’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see any sympathy, or judgment, and least of all pity.
“Madeline and Thomas were my second owners and the first that I remember. I was supposed to be company for Madeline but it was pretty clear that it was Thomas who wanted me. I think she knew that, she was always so-“ Elijah gropes for the way to describe her, “cold.”
”Is that all, Lij? She was just cold?” Orli asks softly, almost knowingly. “I want you to tell me the truth. I’m not afraid of it.”
Elijah wishes he weren’t. But it’s not fear that makes him reluctant so much as revisiting the ache. These memories hurt.
“She’d leave me in the basement,” Elijah admits. “It was a finished basement, but it was cold and lonely there. She’d leave me there while she went about her business, shopping, and friends. She’d call me up as Thomas was pulling into the drive, and order me to lie so it would look as though I'd spent all day with her.
“Then, one day when she was out with friends, Thomas came home unexpectedly and found me in the cellar. They had a huge argument.” He remembers the sound of shattering china- it had been their wedding pattern, and it had exploded piece by piece punctuating every word falling sharply from Madeline’s lips.
'I. Don’t. Want. It!’ she’d screamed. He was standing in the living room listening to them fight. ‘Fine! I’ll use him,’ Thomas had threatened last. ‘Fine.’ Madeline had sneered, efficiently demolishing yet another piece of her china cabinet. ‘just take it with you. Having it here all day creeps me out.’
So Thomas did. Took him to work, taught him the fine art of giving a blow job from beneath a desk, but what Thomas truly preferred was the unhurried version, the kind he could only get at home. Thomas would plan carefully for the days when she had a lunch date, or a doctor’s appointment or manicure, and then he would wheedle out of work and take him home.
“Thomas was only too happy to utilize me,” Elijah continues dryly. He’s sure that Orlando understands. “Madeline was supposed to be having lunch with friends one afternoon but she came home early and caught him with me. The look on her face was so-“ Elijah really doesn’t have a word for that livid rage on her face except maybe, “betrayed. She looked betrayed. She was angry, and hurt, and I could see that she hated me. She called The Company that afternoon. She sent me back.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Elijah,” Orlando soothes.
”I know,” Elijah agrees helplessly, “but it felt like it was. She kept crying. She kept asking Tom why he would do that to her and I just felt like … had I not been there that never would have happened."
“I’m sorry he did that to you, made you feel that way, but it wasn't your fault.”
Elijah nods, but it does not assuage his guilt.
"It was always like this for you?"
“In that it always ended badly, yes," Elijah nods. "Some of them were worse.”
Orlando doesn’t say a word but his eyes offer, 'you can tell me if you want to'.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“I want to know whatever you're willing to share. I want to know about you.”
"Really?" Only David had ever asked after his thoughts, but only about superficial things, as if he were no deeper than a teaspoon.
Orlando's smile and nod are encouraging. “Some of them were just young, foolish. They had money to burn. They weren’t careful with me, not on purpose, but because they didn’t know any better.” He’s thinking of Dan in particular when he says this. “Some of them just thought they wanted something like me.” That time he thinks of Mark. They were bad enough but he could understand their failings. It's the others.
“Lij?” Elijah feels Orlando’s fingers squeezing his. “I can feel you shaking. You can stop if you want.”
Elijah shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That happens when I … when I think about Karl.” He has buried those memories so deep, even thoughts of accessing them makes him uneasy.
“Karl hurt me. Physically.” That’s an understatement, but Elijah doesn’t care to reveal everything, not about this, it’s better that he only gloss the surface. “He shared me with his friends. He - I went in for maintenance and The Company kept me. The technician… she saw marks on me and did a thorough exam. She saw what he’d done and The Company wouldn’t give me back. I think they were afraid to have their name besmirched by an overzealous owner who broke his toy. We’re not supposed to be used like that.”
“I-“ Orlando pauses, clearly at a loss for what to say, “I know, Elijah. Jesus, I don’t know how anyone could do that to you. Fuck!”
Elijah feels a warm flicker inside at Orlando's outrage on his behalf. “Because they could. Because I don’t matter. I'm not real.”
“You know that’s not true, right?
Elijah has to tell the truth; he shakes his head. If that’s true, if he really matters, then why was Karl so cruel to him?
“You matter to me, Elijah. I can’t change what happened to you. I wish I could-“
“No. You can’t,” Elijah agrees sadly.
“Elijah?” Orlando’s voice sounds tight, strained. “Was there worse? Worse than Karl?”
It sounds as if Orlando’s afraid to ask, let alone know.
“In a way.”
“Wh- what way?”
“David.” Elijah can barely say his name. The ache of loss hurts worse than any physical punishment Karl ever inflicted.
“He’s the one who died, right? I thought, I mean, it sounded like he was good to you.”
Elijah smiles and nods.
“He wouldn’t have left me- never would’ve left me- loved me. He didn’t promise, buh but-“ The tears always make it hard to talk, although he's never been able to figure out why.
“But he couldn’t help it,” Orlando supplies and Elijah can hear the understanding in his voice. He feels Orli’s fingers brushing away the tears he can’t forestall.
Elijah finally sinks into Orlando’s shoulder and feels Orlando’s arms squeeze him tight. “He held on for me as long as he could, but in the end… There was nothing I could do."
”I know.” He hears Orlando words whisper into his hair, long minutes after he’s let his voice trail away. “I felt that way about my mother. When she died I was alone, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
Orlando’s arms tighten around him.
“I’m sorry about everything, Elijah. What happened to you shouldn’t happen to anyone.”
“Are you going to call The Company? Please, be honest.” He just wants to know. It’s too late to take it back the things he has admitted. All he wants is to be able to face the consequences bravely.
“What? Send you back, now? When you finally make sense to me?” Orlando teases.
Elijah looks up and finds Orlando smiling. “I make sense now? I didn’t before?”
Orlando shakes his head. “Not when you doubted my intentions for no apparent reason. Not when you question what I say and you’re supposed to be a perfectly obedient robot. Not when I tell you I want it sweet and slow and you make me lose my mind.”
Elijah smiles. This is the happiest he's ever been. The most whole he's ever felt.
“Now there is an explanation for why you’re so afraid. You have memories, good and bad, which means you’re just as fucked up as everyone else.”
Elijah laughs again. “So being normal is being fucked up?”
“Yes," Orlando sighs. "At least that’s my take on it. I really don’t know for sure. But it sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?”
Elijah nods. If that is what it takes to become real, then he has got fucked up in spades.
“When you tried the first time, Lijah, when you stepped in front of that car, was it because of David?”
“Kind of,” Elijah admits. “It didn’t happen immediately after David’s death. It was after that, after I’d been returned yet again and was passed on to another owner. It was when I knew there wasn’t anyone else like David, when I realized that I was never going to find someone to love me again.”
”Do you still feel like no one loves you?”
Elijah shifts until he’s able to look up at Orlando who’s staring at him intently, meaningfully. “Are you saying that you love me?”
When Orlando nods their noses brush. “For as long as time allows, and if you want me, that is.”
Elijah blinks. So stunned that his processors seem to jam and nothing comes out.
“If you’d rather not, Lij, I can make other arrangements. Whatev- whatever you want.”
“Liar,” Elijah teases softly. “You’re not very good at it.”
“Not as good at hiding things as some people I know,” Orlando grins.
“I’m not a people. I’m not real.”
“It’s what’s in here,” Elijah feels Orlando’s fingers press against his chest, “and here.” Orlando touches his forehead, “that counts.”
Elijah has nothing but wires as far as he knows, “But I-“ He stops when he sees the amused grin on Orli’s face.
“I couldn’t fall in love with something that wasn’t real, Elijah. Let’s just... leave it at that, okay?”
Elijah nods. He still doesn’t believe it, not wholly, not fully, but his hopeful heart won’t be denied.
tbc ….