Searching
Title: Searching
Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Characters/Pairings: John/Cameron
Rating: R. Coarse sexual ponderings from a teenage boy.
Spoilers: Up to 1x03
Description: One day, John Connor googled robot human sex... and sometimes, Google just doesn't have all the answers.
Author's Note: Yes, I googled. I googled and now I have to go clear my browser's history and cache. Just FYI - the MSNBC article is real. Google it!
One day, John Connor googled robot human sex.
An article entitled Sex and marriage with robots? It could happen was the number four search result. John read every word of it, furtively hunched down in his seat in the computer lab, all the while paying keen attention to surrounding movements and noises - just in case someone walked by and decided to take a glance at his screen. A classmate, a teacher... Cameron.
It wasn't scandalous. It was a legitimate article from MSNBC's Technology & Science section. There were a million and one innocent explanations for anyone who might be reading it, but when you're a teenage boy with uncontrollable recurring wet dreams about robots, a million and one innocent explanations give way to a guilty demeanor and nervous stammering.
No, not robots. Robot. Cyborg, actually.
And it wasn't his fault. Not really. He was fifteen years old, and Cameron was... Cameron.
Wispy, doe-eyed Cameron. Wispy, doe-eyed Cameron who could punch through eight inches of solid concrete and tear through metal with her bare hands. He wondered if it was weird that he found that hot. Then he decided that weird didn't even begin to cover the situation.
What sucked most was that there was literally not a single person he could tell. Not his new friends at school, not his mom, and definitely not Cameron. Not even the all-mighty Google, the place where the kids say held all the answers. As a new transplant to 2008, it took John all of two weeks to fully incorporate "googled" into his vocabulary as a legitimate verb. Search engines weren't like this in "his day". Google knew everything. It told John everything that he missed out on from '99 to '08 (not much that were good), it told him how to hide an erection (khaki pants were John's new best friends), and what to do when going down on a girl (the occasion hasn't presented itself yet, but you never know when). Google told him everything that his mom couldn't. Except "What do I do if I can't stop fantasizing about my cyborg bodyguard from the future?" Or maybe Google had an answer to that too. John didn't dare try that question. There were robots trying to kill him.
So John didn't have anyone to ask, "How the fuck can a robot smell so fucking good?" When she walked past him, when she brushed her fingertips against his neck (he didn't know what the hell that was about - and frankly, didn't care), when he picked up a shirt that she had lying around the house, he inhaled just a little sharper. And it wasn't vanilla or peach or cinnamon or any of those bullshit bottle scents. It was - and he knew that this didn't make any sense, but he swore that she smelled human. She just smelled like Cameron.
Google tells him about robots who smell humans (like bacon, apparently), but nothing about robots who smell like humans.
When she touched him, her skin was warm and soft and seductive. He couldn't help but wonder what other parts of her were warm and soft and seductive. He knew what it all looked like (time travelers don't wear clothes, and you can bet that he got a good, full view that night), but not what it felt like. Or how it felt, you know, inside. How much of her was human? Would it feel like it would any normal girl? (Not that John knew what that felt like.) Or would it feel like his dick was being trapped by a metal clamp?
Google couldn't tell him how much of Cameron was human. But it did tell him that the physical sensations from silicone sex dolls can be better than the real thing.
Cameron didn't feel pain, and presumably, pleasure. If - if - in some alternate universe, or a freak turn of events, or we're-about-to-die situation and he got to be with her, would she feel anything? Maybe she'd just lie there and stare at him blankly. Maybe she'd ask him why he was making those funny faces and noises.
He was close to his mom, as close as a boy could be. But no amount of closeness would allow him to ask, "If Cameron gave me a blowjob, and I came in her mouth, would she be able to swallow?" But, John reasoned, if her cyborg body can process corn chips, it- she can process protein. But that's a speculation, not an answer.
There was nobody to ask, and nobody to talk to. Maybe his father, if he was still alive. But in 2008, Kyle Reese was still just an infant. Time travel fucks everything up like that. Or maybe Future John, the John that Cameron talks of so admiringly, the John that she wants him to be. The rebel leader, the savior of mankind, the messiah. The John who had the courage and intelligence to lead an insurrection against deadly machines, but not the good sense to send back a cyborg who didn't walk around half-naked to protect his fifteen-year-old self. One day, like Cameron said, this John will become the John who has all the answers.
Until then, John Connor googles.
Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Characters/Pairings: John/Cameron
Rating: R. Coarse sexual ponderings from a teenage boy.
Spoilers: Up to 1x03
Description: One day, John Connor googled robot human sex... and sometimes, Google just doesn't have all the answers.
Author's Note: Yes, I googled. I googled and now I have to go clear my browser's history and cache. Just FYI - the MSNBC article is real. Google it!
One day, John Connor googled robot human sex.
An article entitled Sex and marriage with robots? It could happen was the number four search result. John read every word of it, furtively hunched down in his seat in the computer lab, all the while paying keen attention to surrounding movements and noises - just in case someone walked by and decided to take a glance at his screen. A classmate, a teacher... Cameron.
It wasn't scandalous. It was a legitimate article from MSNBC's Technology & Science section. There were a million and one innocent explanations for anyone who might be reading it, but when you're a teenage boy with uncontrollable recurring wet dreams about robots, a million and one innocent explanations give way to a guilty demeanor and nervous stammering.
No, not robots. Robot. Cyborg, actually.
And it wasn't his fault. Not really. He was fifteen years old, and Cameron was... Cameron.
Wispy, doe-eyed Cameron. Wispy, doe-eyed Cameron who could punch through eight inches of solid concrete and tear through metal with her bare hands. He wondered if it was weird that he found that hot. Then he decided that weird didn't even begin to cover the situation.
What sucked most was that there was literally not a single person he could tell. Not his new friends at school, not his mom, and definitely not Cameron. Not even the all-mighty Google, the place where the kids say held all the answers. As a new transplant to 2008, it took John all of two weeks to fully incorporate "googled" into his vocabulary as a legitimate verb. Search engines weren't like this in "his day". Google knew everything. It told John everything that he missed out on from '99 to '08 (not much that were good), it told him how to hide an erection (khaki pants were John's new best friends), and what to do when going down on a girl (the occasion hasn't presented itself yet, but you never know when). Google told him everything that his mom couldn't. Except "What do I do if I can't stop fantasizing about my cyborg bodyguard from the future?" Or maybe Google had an answer to that too. John didn't dare try that question. There were robots trying to kill him.
So John didn't have anyone to ask, "How the fuck can a robot smell so fucking good?" When she walked past him, when she brushed her fingertips against his neck (he didn't know what the hell that was about - and frankly, didn't care), when he picked up a shirt that she had lying around the house, he inhaled just a little sharper. And it wasn't vanilla or peach or cinnamon or any of those bullshit bottle scents. It was - and he knew that this didn't make any sense, but he swore that she smelled human. She just smelled like Cameron.
Google tells him about robots who smell humans (like bacon, apparently), but nothing about robots who smell like humans.
When she touched him, her skin was warm and soft and seductive. He couldn't help but wonder what other parts of her were warm and soft and seductive. He knew what it all looked like (time travelers don't wear clothes, and you can bet that he got a good, full view that night), but not what it felt like. Or how it felt, you know, inside. How much of her was human? Would it feel like it would any normal girl? (Not that John knew what that felt like.) Or would it feel like his dick was being trapped by a metal clamp?
Google couldn't tell him how much of Cameron was human. But it did tell him that the physical sensations from silicone sex dolls can be better than the real thing.
Cameron didn't feel pain, and presumably, pleasure. If - if - in some alternate universe, or a freak turn of events, or we're-about-to-die situation and he got to be with her, would she feel anything? Maybe she'd just lie there and stare at him blankly. Maybe she'd ask him why he was making those funny faces and noises.
He was close to his mom, as close as a boy could be. But no amount of closeness would allow him to ask, "If Cameron gave me a blowjob, and I came in her mouth, would she be able to swallow?" But, John reasoned, if her cyborg body can process corn chips, it- she can process protein. But that's a speculation, not an answer.
There was nobody to ask, and nobody to talk to. Maybe his father, if he was still alive. But in 2008, Kyle Reese was still just an infant. Time travel fucks everything up like that. Or maybe Future John, the John that Cameron talks of so admiringly, the John that she wants him to be. The rebel leader, the savior of mankind, the messiah. The John who had the courage and intelligence to lead an insurrection against deadly machines, but not the good sense to send back a cyborg who didn't walk around half-naked to protect his fifteen-year-old self. One day, like Cameron said, this John will become the John who has all the answers.
Until then, John Connor googles.