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And I’m not here to be the savior you long for
Only the one you don’t
And are you watching me,
with eyes of a predator
As you move towards the door?
Show me those pretty white jaws
Show me where the delicate stops
Show me what you’ve lost,
and why you’re always taking it slow
Show me what wounds you’ve got,
and show me love ~ Jaws - Sleep Token
XX
The cold glass bled through her glove, its icy sting a reminder of what she would lose if she failed. They’d done this so many times now - endless it seemed. He was always the one who held out - the one who thought it was over. She couldn’t let him go, not when he was the one who brought the light back into her soul. The glowing nails of void clacked against the surface, the only thing protecting her body from the radiation on the other side - the only thing that separated the two of them while he told her to go.
Her fist knocked against the surface, desperate, the ache in her chest - the hollow loneliness brought on by years in the void with only constructs to keep her company. Centuries had bleed together with endless torture under the births and deaths of stars high above in the canopy lingering in the sky of her own creation. In all her millennia she’d never felt more alive than when she was with this group - with him - and she’d be damned if she’d let it end here.
Those eyes met hers behind the glass, years of his own loneliness reflecting back at her - the one that still functioned piercing through her with it’s deep slate green, glowing against the backdrop - glowing because of the void that leeched into his body from techrot and attunement alike. She took in his appearance, the stress, the strain - the absolute feeling of defeat he carried and wanted to make it better.
“Entrati?” He wheezed.
“Bailed…” Her hand pressed firmer, sliding her void through the barrier, coaxing him - gently nudging against his mind and he kept her out.
“What are you?” The soft chime of her echoed in the space between them, the golden yellow strands of her transference desperately hanging in the ether - wanting to save him - grasping for that connection.
“No…” He denies, just like every loop before.
Yet, something is different about this one. A soft opening in his mind, a way in - not as closed off as before but still cautious. He’s more willing, but not without gentleness.
“Let’s get out of here, Arthur…” Her voice is soft, coaxing - nearly on the verge of begging. She’s seen him die countless times and her pale, glowing eyes dim waiting - hanging on the precipice between having to start over and praying to Lua above for him to let her in.
He wheezes and she waits on baited breath, her fist at the ready…
“Together…” She whispers…
The seconds tick by and it’s agony, the dragging of breath, the wheeze - the ticking of the clock in the corner.
“Okay…” He breaks the silence, time moves, and she’s not missing the opportunity that he’s given her - sliding into his mind before he can change it.
Pain slices across her as she dives in and even though he’s more hearty than most being mostly armor, the radiation is still painful to the human pieces of himself. She helps him stand, feeling the heaviness of his limbs as she gets him to his feet. Unsteady, uneven, her void moves his feet, the weighted steel much for him to carry now and her aid is the only thing keeping him aloft.
His mind is a blur, thoughts and feelings, the absolute strange way he clings to her unconsciously - like she’s sanity, like air - almost like gasping after holding ones breath. They stagger together, one foot in front of the other, hand pressing against the wall keeping them upright. It feels like the walk takes forever, drunk on poison, and the vision in his good eye fading by the second.
Finally, the door closes behind them and it takes several more steps before she pops out of him, catching him as he falls barely able to stay conscious now. But the danger has passed and through the final beads of their connection she feels his techrot regeneration starting to patch him up, weaving under his skin, replacing damaged cells with new ones. Lettie rushes through, the sparks of Trinity’s healing flowing across them both.
She doesn’t hear the words, doesn’t hear the klaxon blaring, doesn’t hear anything but static and feel a sea of fog rush over her. In all the chaos she’d managed to save them all, the claws of the indifference pushed back one more time - all of them safe from harm.
But the sickly taste of acrid bile still lingers on the back of her tongue, nauseating, burning.
It wasn’t completely over, but the battle had been won.
XXxx
Her eyes linger wherever he is now, the undeniable connection between them burning brightly like a star - endless suns in endless systems - the gravity she feels when near him. Like a planet needing to bask in the warmth of its host - she feels alive for the first time in eons.
An unfamiliar ache settles in her chest; one she can’t quantify - the feeling clenching whenever he laughs or smiles. He laughs more these days, the sound husky and rich like his voice and his smile brightens his face, even the scars that tend to crinkle with the action and the soft wrinkles on the sides of his eyes.
She finds him easy to look at, hiding in corners, watching as he moves, muscles bunching under steel.
Arthur, the name lingers on her tongue when she’s alone unable to voice her thoughts to others - afraid of the implications - of this new-found feeling - of desire.
It’s wrenched from the depths of her soul, a glittering thread, a tendril of connection - the promise of companionship to her touch-starved soul. She wonders what it’s called when another being fills you with longing so deep you can’t even fathom being without them. Wonders if her parents - what she can remember of them - had felt the same way.
XX
A book sits mysteriously on her table, strange - a single post-it note on the cover in elegant script.
Dear Drifter,
May this help ease your troubled mind.
Her brow furrows as she hears the tacky pull of adhesive, separating the note from its binding and the cover is of a man holding a woman, her body leaning into him - the two looking as though they are the only ones in the space. Pale eyes stare at the image for what seems like forever, taking in the smaller details - his hands bunching the dress at her hips, her hand sliding up into his hair, head resting on his shoulder with her loose red-golden strands of hair draped over the muscled surface.
She blinks, an image conjuring in her mind - Arthur behind her, holding her just as hungrily - her lavender hair strewn about his shoulder, a dress matching his eyes - metallic fingers hungry but delicate tracing along the fabric. Heat flares through her, the dredges of something burning and aching - and this was only the cover of the book her mystery helper had gifted her.
Her finger slides between the thick stock and lighter paper beneath, breath hitching as there’s another post-it - the glaring neon green with that same script, and she sees little tabs of color throughout the book noticing each little orange, yellow, and green mark.
I won’t stop you from reading the whole thing,
but if your wandering eye is curious - and your mind certainly is,
then I’ve highlighted a few areas of interest for you
my dear star traveller.
Eleanor…
Again, the note slips off the surface with that same soft sound and she tempts the fates, flipping to an orange tab, the words highlighted in neon yellow. Her face flushes, the scene set - the man - David - sliding his fingers along Lyssa’s slick folds, his body hovering over hers, kissing her - the absence of clothes - flesh to flesh.
The book drops to the table, lilac hair fizzling in static, and she bites her lip.
Lust.
XX
The chance - the faithful, rainy, grim day amidst swings of blades and techrot guts - thunder and downpour, screeches and snarls - she looks out at the scene through the helm of one of many creations she can draw from. Booted feet displace water from puddles, sword swings ringing from collisions with tainted flesh and armor, blood and ichor spilling only to be washed away by the water falling heavily from above in huge splashing droplets. It’s as if the heavens have listened to the need of cleansing and the rain has come to answer.
She looks over at the man who’s stollen her fragile sanity, taken her mind, and the will of her body with just passing glances and soft smiles. The man who cooks for her - squaring her food in tiny cubes, taking in the comfort of home-cooked meals and quiet dinners. Sometimes she swears he looks at her with softness - a fondness - but just as quickly as it comes, it’s gone like a blink …like a flicker.
Arthur pulls his blade from a sparking monitor, his booted foot grinding into sinew and cracked glass - he’s exquisite, powerful - heaving breaths and wet with rain. The path of that water teases her - his metallic hand shoves back his hair, droplets scattering - the sinful path of it sliding down his chest and over the plating of his stomach, lower …lower… down his groin plating, along his thighs, the same muscles bunching as he launches himself at another group, the javelin’s bursting from his focal point.
Pale eyes watch, transfixed, consumed.
His blade is then flying at her, gaze watching as it buries itself in a creature behind her - it’s screech of death echoing in her ear and his piercing eye levels her while the rain continues to fall.
“Drifter, now’s not the time to play statue!”
Thoroughly chastised, she works quickly to clear the rest of the enemies and head back to the mall struggling to keep her composure as they go their separate ways.
XX
Hot water cascades off her form but the chill from the rain still soaks through her skin - popping out of her suit wasn’t the smartest idea but sometimes it’s the risks you don’t take. The communal shower is dimly lit, the pipes creak, but at least it works to warm aching flesh and ease muscles. She tenses, sensing a presence along the ether, void beneath her skin pulsing - a familiar rhythm.
A clack - a creak - the door opens and the sound of boots echo - the stall next to her opens.
Her lungs burn then she wheezes, the breath she didn’t realize she was holding escapes in a long puff swallowed by the pounding of the shower water against the tile. Taps squeak, echoing in the space, louder - things are always louder in the semi-quiet. There’s a groan - eyes wide staring at the wall between her and the new guest.
“You drive me crazy…”
His voice.
Arthur…
Arthur Nightingale.
“You probably don’t mean to.” He continues. “But, Sol, you’re like no one I’ve ever met.”
She swallows, the action rough, strained - mouth dry - throat caught on air, gasping at the sensation.
“Tell me, Drifter…” His voice drops low, baritone pitch - rough and achingly low. It makes her shiver even as the hot water taps against her back - steam thick in the air.
“Tell me …”
“Tell you what…?” She whispers.
“Creature of the void such as you - lived for longer than I’ve been alive, come to the past - sticks around.” The soft clink of his metal hand on the wall. “What makes you stay? You’re free. Can go anywhere while we’re stuck here.”
The words sound odd, but she contemplates the question. Why does she stay?
In truth, nowhere else has felt like home - has given her purpose - belonging. She cares about the Hex - they fill a void in her darkened soul more precious than anything she’s ever known. Learned so many things by being around them and they see her as a person, not a creature, a monster, a devil. They see her. Not a copy of her counterpart - just her.
“Are we just some twisted experiment? Toys?” Suddenly he’s angry and she doesn’t understand why. “Why are you still here?”
The words are out before she can stop them, the secret she’s kept buried for so long now - that burning feeling in her chest, the clenching of her heart - the gruff, haunted, growl of anger from him has her confessing.
“Because I love you…”
It lingers.
Pruned fingers turn the knobs, punctuating her retreat with loud squeaks and dripping water - his shower shutting down soon after, but she grabs the towel and slings away.
She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant for him to know - but now it was out, and she couldn’t take it back.
XX
The bottle touches her lips, burn of liquor in her throat - she wonders what he sees in this drink. It sloshes in the bottle, amber color illuminated by street lights and the lonesome lantern hanging from a loop in a repurposed umbrella. He hadn’t spoken to her since that day - since she let her feelings hang between them in empty air filled with pounding shower water.
That ache lingers in her chest.
It’s insistent and gnarled and feels like stabbing - pain for something that never was but she longs for just the same.
Another sip, another burn - the singe to her esophagus lesser with each pull drowning out the noise of her mind and quieting the song in her blood. Her vision blurs - tears or liquor or both, she’s uncertain - swirls of color and shifts of light as she stands on unsteady legs only to fall into armored arms and the bottle shatters to the concrete of the roof spilling in fractals and the slow flow of a river halted by stones.
“Easy…” His voice in her ears, his warmth - after so long without it makes her cling to him, his absence like a void and his presence refilling the hollow of her heart. She’s lifted, strength - his - knowing he’ll take care of her - safety.
“What to do with you, trouble…” He sighs softly, the door of the roof clacking shut behind them as he carries her, armored boots echoing footfalls in the small hall, trailing down flights of stairs. Her eyes close, the smell of whiskey and old cigarettes fills her senses, tucked into his arms as another door shuts while he moves keeping his effortless grip around her.
A plush surface greets her body, cool, slightly scratchy. Springs squeak with her weight and the fogginess of her mind barely registers where she is only knowing it’s with him. Softness envelopes her, light weight, warm - something placed in her arms, she squeezes, the fabric warm.
“Stay with her, Sebastian.” He mumbles, the creak of his armored knees as he stands. “I’ll be back.”
-
She wakes, a mouth full of cotton and a headache - the sound of soft snores in the room. Her eyes are gritty and she looks down to see she’s holding a stuffed bear. A glass of water sits on the coffee table in front of her - the surface beneath her a couch …the gray blanket slightly threadbare over her form. Arthur is leaned in a recliner, one foot dangling off the arm rest while the other is laying on the outstretched bottom footrest.
He'd taken her to his room.
Tucked her in.
Little round orange tabs sit beside the water, but she doesn’t touch them. Not because she doesn’t trust him, but her headache’s already fading and it’d be a waste of good medicine on her. As if sensing her waking state, his eyes open and he’s meeting her gaze - slow to stand - but then kneeling next to her -hand carding through those lilac strands.
“You okay, love?” His voice is soft, gruff - his metallic hand gentle, focused - makes that feeling in her chest blaze anew.
She nods.
“Want to explain why you took a bottle of my good whiskey to the roof?”
In all honesty she’d rather not and just sighs, pale eyes looking away.
Arthur gently coaxes her gaze back to his, metal finger under her chin, worried but sincere.
“I know I didn’t say anything, but I had to think.” He pauses. “And I didn’t think anything was going to go right in this sodding year…think I’d find someone who makes me feel the way you do.”
Her breath catches, hitching as he leans in, light from the lamps casting shadows on his face - the glittering of silvery hair on his stubbled jaw and she’s lost to the heat of him as he breathes against her lips.
“I thought I had one foot in the grave until you… damned to this hell, sunken under without breath.”
Closer still. “I love you…”
His lips meet hers and it’s nothing like she expected - countless books described it, but it’s so much different than what her mind had conjured up. He’s sweet, slow - deliberate. Lips sliding against hers with gentle pressure, the heat of him and her hands reach for purchase on his armored form, nails digging against sword-steel flesh and armor whimpering at the taste of coffee on his tongue as he parts her lips.
Her breath is short, stuttered, panting against his mouth as he devours her - this ache settles lower - his hand carding in her hair - and she sees spots dance behind her eyelids as she draws back for air, gasping.
Arthur presses his forehead to hers, breathless as she, the glow of that eye focused on her while the dead one twinkles neon blue.
“You’re crazy…” He breathes roughly, strained. “But please…don’t change your mind.”
Xx
Slowly over time his things start filling up her room. It starts small as he spends more nights cooking meals and sleeping on her couch at the end of long days. His shaving kit which he rarely uses at the insistence she likes the stubble - a few books, his sword, clipboards. A coffee cup, and the little gifts she’d given him from the start.
The microwave and toaster oven find their way into the kitchen along with plates and their mismatched cutlery scattered in the drawers. Sebastian is sandwiched between her plushies from the future, his eye sewn back on with a different button, his soft plush fur cleaned with care.
Spare tactical belts hang from loops, his gun in her arsenal.
She asks him to move in.
He does.
--
He quakes against her when she takes him to bed and she doesn’t mind that he can’t remove his armor, it’s a part of him - unique and beautiful - and less stiff, unyielding than a traditional warframe. He’s warm where they’re cold - still alive - still breathing and she groans when he bites her, steel fangs sinking into her skin.
She likes the sensation.
Arthur kisses her, teases her - metallic hands roaming over her body, caressing her breasts, fingers gently rolling her nipples between pinched points watching them harden - shirt riding up to under her chin while he sinks into pleasure, mouth latching onto her chest - tongue swirling around the pink bud, sucking her softly.
She cries out.
He switches between them, her shirt finally discarded - fabric fluttering on top of a lampshade - nimble fingers popping the button of her fly and sliding down her zipper.
She’s bare in the open air, his hot breath panted against her sternum - a reverent kiss.
“We’ll take it slow, love…” He promises, the soft click of metal echoing and she looks down to see him slide out of his armor - the plates of his groin parting to reveal him.
Arthur drips lubrication to the bedspread, pale eyes watching him twitch in the open air, glistening under the soft light of the room and he looks up at her - nervous - knowing he’s not normal anymore but trying his best to be calm about it.
She’s not normal either.
“I’ll understand if you…”
Her fingers on his lips silence him, hand sliding over his shoulder to pull him down - he grinds against her folds - hard, wet - aching. Their wetness mixes together, his unique cock rubbing against her folds, waiting - eagerly wanting to slide into her.
“Drifter…” He groans, pulling back and sinking into her slowly - she clutches him.
It’s different, new- not painful, but odd to be filled in such a way. A place where only her fingers have been and he’s so much wider than that, much longer. It’s a sensation she never knew she needed until he buried himself inside her, holding her close.
“All right?”
She nods and he moves, slow, drawing his hips back and the slow glide is torture, feeling her walls clench around him reflexively - legs widening and as he slides back in, he goes deeper - his moan in her ear nearly undoing her. It’s raw, reflexive - she aches as he drives home again and again, the soft smacks his armored flesh against hers echo with panted breaths.
“Arthur…” She breathes, strung out on sensation, wet and aching - reaching for something she’s only felt on her own but feels so much more intense now.
He grinds.
The downstroke heavenly, the roll of his hips against hers, the top of his plating popping against that bundle of nerves and the wet squelch of them together making her blush - the pretty pale flush of her cheeks makes him smile as he leans in to kiss her again, tongue sliding against hers.
He steals her breath.
Long, aching groans as he picks up the pace - back arching, his fingers sliding between them to press at her clit, rolling the bud, pinching it gently.
She falls.
Her mouth opens as her head arches back, words cut off by the hitch of breath in the back of her throat - what would’ve been a scream swallowed by his hungry mouth as he drives into her a few more times, rhythm erratic and searching for his own end as she squeezes around him.
Arthur groans, pushing deep, a growl bit off as he finds his release in her clutching depths - pulsing, twitching - warmth and heat milking him for every last drop as he collapses, and she catches him as his arms give out.
He stays there pressing kisses to chin and jaw, nuzzling against her cheek - the coarse hairs on his face destined to leave whisker burn, but she doesn’t mind. It’s a nice reminder.
She feels empty when he separates from her, grabbing a rag and some water, sliding it along her sensitive flesh to clean her - his eyes soft as he does so. He climbs back into bed, the blankets drawn over them both, holding her to his chest.
“I love you…” He whispers, the cracking of his voice moves her - emotions - the feeling of being whole.
“I love you, too…”