Work Text:
Automatism
3: A theory that views the body as a machine and consciousness as a non-controlling adjunct of the body.
Hakkai hadn't expected it to turn out so beautiful. There, floating in the nutrient bath, a nimbus of deeply, darkly red hair. Skin that had never seen the sun, skin that had started as a pale little swatch of skin, had colored and settled, as the nanobots' building progressed, to a warm, golden tan. Nondescript enough to pass as local, if local were perfect down to the distribution of pores. Hakkai didn't have the skill to build in defects.
It had been a torment and a temptation to touch that skin, but Hakkai had resisted. He didn't want to damage it or pass on a disease, though he sterilized thoroughly and often. It was one of the hazards of working with cybernetics and flesh. A full android would have been better, but it was too expensive for him to do anything but sigh about. He'd barely been able to buy the inorganic parts which were completely vital: the brain structure, some of the spinal fittings, and a few other bits and pieces that would complement the grown organics, things that could compensate for and supplement the relatively frail, innate capabilities of an all-flesh body.
He pressed his lips together, tight, as he remembered just how frail, how vulnerable she had been. It would be better when he shared his memories and his purpose with this man he created. It would be better because this man would understand him, would understand why. But first, Hakkai would have to wake him.
A kiss would do, just like in a fairytale. A kiss and the subtle brush of his thumb against the single-use switch at the back of the skull that would connect all the currents between body and brain and allow the cyborg to breathe its first real breath.
Hakkai hadn't expected the eyes to be red. His subconscious, perhaps, had taken a freer reign in the coding phases than he remembered. It startled him and pleased him all the same. The eyes blinked, narrowed, and the pupils contracted. It was almost as if the cyborg recognized him. Perhaps it did.
"Master," said the cyborg.
It sat up in the bath, pulled its knees up and gathered its legs underneath it. The cyborg stood. The nutrient liquid poured off the flesh and back into the tub, leaving behind a faintly slick sheen. Hakkai swallowed.
The cyborg, animated, was beautiful. Perfectly formed, from the crown of his head to the toes that curled, keeping balance against the enameled floor of the tub. And then it smiled at him. Hakkai felt dizzy with accomplishment.
"You know who I am," Hakkai said.
"Yes, master."
"You remember," said Hakkai. “Your name is Gojyo.”
"Yes."
"Tell me," said Hakkai.
The cyborg advanced, and Hakkai found himself with his back against the wall.
"I feel," it said. "I feel…"
"Yes?" said Hakkai.
The living fingers of the cyborg reached for Hakkai's hand. It drew his hand and placed it flat against its chest.
"Here," it said. "I feel. Here."
Hakkai marveled at the perfect precision of the heart that beat in the cyborg's chest. The warmth of the skin, the steady in and out of breath. The heartbeat.
"Master," Gojyo said.
It moved Hakkai's hand to its throat, and Hakkai felt the processes of life even more clearly. Breath, heart, and the vibrations of its voice. In that moment, Hakkai felt Gojyo transform from a cybernetic it to a warm, human, he.
"Do you feel?" Gojyo said.
Hakkai nodded.
Gojyo smiled at him. Hakkai couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking.
"Good," Gojyo said.
Killing Hyakugen Maoh was easy. His security was sloppy, the members of his gang crude. And Gojyo was far, far more than Hakkai had hoped for. He was an instrument of destruction, a solider hatched from nanobots and fed on shared and stolen memories to give him purpose, to guide him and show him why.
Hakkai loved how Gojyo smiled even as he killed. It made Hakkai’s revenge feel pure. Gojyo understood him, understood his reasoning and his emotions but wasn’t strangled by either. Killing was what they were made for, and Gojyo did it so perfectly. The wounds he took were cosmetic and shallow: just enough to reflect the efforts he made in fulfilling his purpose. Hakkai’s purpose. The weals across Gojyo’s cheek hardly even bled.
Later, upon returning to the apartment-slash-lab, it occurred to Hakkai that Gojyo might have unseen damage somewhere, something that Gojyo hadn‘t told him. Gojyo didn’t get to have secrets from him.
“Clothes off, please,” said Hakkai. “I need to examine you.”
Gojyo stripped and lay down on the exam table. His hair spilled over the edge, red against the silver of the steel. Although he did not move, Hakkai could feel Gojyo's eyes following him as he moved around the cramped space.
“Did you think we could do it?” said Gojyo. “Hyakugen Maoh? Did you think we would die?”
Gojyo was incurious, but there was something in those red eyes that Hakkai couldn't decipher.
“I thought we might,” said Hakkai. “Although I hoped we might succeed.”
Hakkai applied a bit of accelerating compound to the scratches on Gojyo’s cheek. As he watched, the gel evaporated, leaving fresh scars behind. Hakkai looked him over, starting at the feet and ending with his scalp, dabbing the compound on bruises and scratches as he went.
“My Master has doubts,” said Gojyo.
“I have always had doubts,” said Hakkai.
Gojyo ran warm, a side effect of his cybernetic components and an adjusted metabolism. His hand was shockingly hot, and his fingers hotter still, over the skin of Hakkai's temple and cheek. Hakkai hadn't seen him move to touch.
"Master," said Gojyo.
Gojyo's eyes glowed, and Hakkai felt a flush rising up his back. The way Gojyo looked at him made him feel squirmy and ill and hot, all at once, now anticipating something he wasn't sure was supposed to happen.
"I hadn't intended," said Hakkai. “I mean, you were never…”
He looked around the room half-expecting someone to be there, to interrupt them, but there was no one. Gojyo sat up, held his hands out to Hakkai, who couldn’t help but admire what he had made, and what his creation had become.
"Don't doubt this," Gojyo said.
He slithered off the table, stood. Gojyo pressed his cheek against Hakkai's, and Hakkai felt the ridges of the scars.
"You can say no," said Gojyo. “Master. My Master.”
His lips brushed against Hakkai’s skin as he spoke. Hakkai shook his head. He couldn't, wouldn't say no. There was no escape from this.
Gojyo crushed Hakkai to him then, one hand between his shoulder blades, the other bruisingly tight at the lowest part of Hakkai's ass, where it joined, soft, at the thigh. Hakkai was shocked to find Gojyo was hard. A second later he realized he also was.
Gojyo rolled against him, and Hakkai groaned and bit his lip. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but this was so very, very good. Gojyo unbuttoned Hakkai’s pants, unbuckled his belt. The khakis dropped to the floor fast, weighed by the belt and, Hakkai imagined, his guilt.
“I didn’t make you for this,” said Hakkai.
He’d been alone for so long now, three years and counting, but it was no excuse to grab the first chance he had for intimacy.
“I know what you like,” said Gojyo. “It’s all in here, in the memories you gave me.”
He kissed Hakkai’s hands, first one and then the other.
“You gave me life,” said Gojyo. “You gave me purpose.”
Gojyo kissed a line down Hakkai’s throat. One of his hands went to the waistband of Hakkai’s underwear. The other rested over Hakkai’s heart.
“I feel it here,” Gojyo said. “I understand you.”
“But I--” said Hakkai.
Gojyo knelt, pulling down the underwear with him. Hakkai couldn't comprehend it all, the suddenness, the switch from whatever they had been before to who they were now becoming.
“Why?” Hakkai said. "Just—why?"
Gojyo looked up. His breath was warm against Hakkai’s feverish skin, and his fingers crept from hip to the length of him. Hakkai strained not to move, to simply take.
“I will give you peace,” Gojyo said.
Gojyo’s fingers were strong and sure, his mouth a furnace even hotter than Hakkai could have imagined. His knees felt watery, and he grasped desperately for the edge of the exam table. He felt the shape of Gojyo’s mouth around him change, tighter, stronger, settling into a brutal, deep, slow rhythm.
Hakkai squeezed his eyes shut with pleasure. Abstractly, he wondered about the memories he’d shared with Gojyo could have led to this. The slide of Gojyo’s tongue against him was exquisite. Hakkai panted and shivered. The metal he hung onto was warmed now, and sweaty. Hakkai thrust, lost his grip, chased the feel of skin and saliva and heat and strangled breath.
He slipped, started to fall, but Gojyo’s hands kept him from cracking his head open. Gojyo pulled away suddenly. Hakkai could have cried for the loss. He struggled to breathe on his own, without Gojyo’s rhythm dictating his every move.
“Table,” said Gojyo.
Before Hakkai could nod, Gojyo was pushing at him, sliding him to stability with his legs and arms and head and shoulders all dangling because the table was narrow this way. It was cold, too, where he hadn’t been leaning against it, but Gojyo’s mouth was back and Hakkai was dizzy with lust. He felt his heart pumping harder and harder, felt the blood rushing to his head. Needs and wants collided in the pit of his stomach.
“Gojyo,” he said.
A hot finger wormed its way between his buttocks, mimicking Gojyo’s tongue as it laved him. The very tip of the finger scraped against him, rubbed, penetrated. Hakkai shouted. His whole body tensed, and he came with lights blossoming behind his eyelids. Gojyo kept sucking, swallowing around him until Hakkai finished and groaned at the feeling of too much.
Reluctantly, slowly, Gojyo drew back and left Hakkai panting, cooling down but not alone, still muzzy and loose.
“Hakkai,” said Gojyo. “Master.”
His tone of voice made something in Hakkai snap to. He hauled himself up to see.
Gojyo, leaning against the table by Hakkai’s feet, was still hard.
“I’m sorry, I--” said Hakkai.
He reached for Gojyo, but Gojyo cut him off.
“Tell me, Master,” said Gojyo. “Tell me I can.”
Hakkai watched Gojyo watching him and shuddered with unexpected pleasure. He knew what Gojyo wanted, and he wanted it for Gojyo, too.
“Stroke yourself,” said Hakkai. “Please, Gojyo.”
Gojyo stroked. He licked his lips and stroked, up and down, faster and faster. His eyes were burning red, burning into Hakkai.
“Master,” said Gojyo. “Oh, my Master.”
Hakkai felt hot and greedy, watching him. He’d created this, he’d made this.
Gojyo groaned. His eyes closed, and he bit his lip hard enough to make the skin around his teeth go white. A few more bare strokes and he came, striping Hakkai’s feet and legs with little patches of wet warmth.
Gojyo slid to the floor then, and laid himself out. Hakkai watched his chest moving up and down as he breathed. Gojyo was sweaty and his hair was tangling against the floor. Hakkai was tempted, so tempted to just get up and touch and feel, but his extremeties were still tingling and strange.
“I want you,” said Hakkai. “I want you again and again.”
Gojyo’s eyes upon him were scathingly intense.
“I want you to fuck me,” said Gojyo. “Master.”
Gojyo kept looking at him. He smiled the same smile he’d made when they were killing. Hakkai felt his body stirring again, felt the need for more, more, more.
Life after revenge wasn’t what he’d expected. He hadn’t expected to outlive his ambitions, but he was glad he had.
He locked eyes with Gojyo and smiled back.
Oh, yes. He was certainly glad.