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communi_kateFandom: Terminator: Salvation
Rating: 18
Warning: Explicit. Disturbing imagery. Dubious consent. Violation of Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics.
Pairing: Marcus/Blair (sort of)
Summary: One of the Resistance ladies decides to satisfy her curiosity...
Better
A Terminator: Salvation fan fiction by xahra99
Warning: Contains scenes of graphic sex between copyrighted characters, dubious consent, and absolutely no WAFF. You have been warned.
"Do you think he's awake?"
The voice was a woman's, hard and suspicious, with some accent Marcus couldn't place. It was the first thing that he heard.
His jaw ached. His chest ached. Hell, his whole body ached. He tried to move. He couldn't.
"Nah," somebody else said. "Besides, you heard what Connor said. We'd know. It's a machine, like those hydrobots. It's here to kill us all."
I can hear you, he tried to say; only the words wouldn't come out. I'm not what you think.
"Hey, you wonder..." The woman's voice again.
"What?"
"Y'know, how accurate..?"
"Get lost!" The man's voice was filled with disgust. "We're supposed to be guarding it, not molesting it. Besides, I know you like them pretty and confused, but not homicidal."
"Come on, take a look."
"Christ, Mattie."
He heard the sound of boots on concrete. She was beside him now, unzipping his fly. He heard the click of metal teeth as she dragged the zipper down.
Pressure. Not entirely unwelcome.
"Looks human, anyway."
"How would you know?"
"Better than you, Zane. Hey, he's pretty good looking. Imagine if you could make these on an assembly line." She giggled. Marcus didn't get the joke.
"Don't mess around," the man snapped. "Those things're killers. You don't want to end up like Blair."
"Oh, boo -hoo. Poor Blair. She got taken in. Silly girl."
She massaged his groin. It had been a long, long time. His hips twitched, and she giggled.
"Look at that."
"I'd rather not."
"Come on. Just like real life."
Her grip had changed, tender now. She dragged down the waistband of his boxers. He felt a rush of cold air. He tried to protest, but couldn't, although he managed to move his left hand enough to feel the tightness of restraints.
Blair's hidden base. Some hope that had turned out to be. Bunch of crazies, every one.
Except Blair.
The air was cold on Marcus's arms. Somebody had taken his coat. He could feel moistness drying in the hollow of his throat. He guessed it was blood.
He moaned.
"Think he can hear us?" the man asked anxiously.
"Nah. But something's working."
"You're disgusting."
"Nah." She laughed again. "Just research."
There was a coldness in her voice that made Marcus realize he really wasn't human to them.
I should never have followed her, he thought.
"Kate won't approve," the man warned, but he made no move to help. "Neither will John."
"They won't know. And even if they did, they wouldn't care." She bent down to Marcus. He felt her breath hot upon his cheek. "Think about robot page three girls, you hear me?" Her left hand crushed down on his palm. Her right hand moved rhythmically. Up and down. It was a familiar rhythm.
Great, Marcus thought. Don't know who I am or what the hell these people want, but I know that I had sex before. Great. Just...great.
Because that's really gonna help.
He remembered the smell of the pilot, Blair, in the bunker, the sight of her smooth brown shoulder in the rain.
"That's my boy."
Arousal blotted out the pain and the confusion. It felt so natural Marcus knew he couldn't be whatever they thought he was.
In his memory he pulled Blair close and held her, felt her chilled hands warm against his chest. She wasn't wearing enough for the night. Neither was he.
Just before he came he had an image of Serena Kogan's's face, her breath on his cheek. Warm. Human. Alive. Sweet from chemo drugs that weren't working.
So that's what death tastes like, he heard himself say.
He hadn't meant the sentence to sound as bitter as it did, but he could see death on her as clearly as he could on himself...
Nguuuuh...
He climaxed like a second death, gasping and jerking in a rush of sensation. The woman waited until he had finished, then withdrew her hand. "Ewww."
"Robot come." The man's voice was amused.
"Must be oil."
"Looks like come to me."
"Shit."
Marcus heard a chair, scraping back, and then the man's voice. "Quickly. Somebody's coming."
The woman cursed. Marcus heard a crumpling sound, like cloth, as she wiped he hand off. Then her hands were on him again. She tucked him back into his borrowed boxers, patted his crotch gently but impersonally, and zipped up his fly. She jerked her hand away just as the sound of footsteps reached the door, like a small child caught doing something naughty.
"He just twitched," the man observed
"I bet he did."
The door creaked open.
"What is going on?" The voice was familiar.
With a superhuman effort, Marcus opened his eyes. The skinny blond woman at his side flinched. "Shit."
Marcus saw a green corrugated iron roof, red blinking lights on some sort of equipment, concrete floor and Blair, standing open mouthed in the door.
"I dreamed about you," he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. He licked blistered lips.
The woman rose from her chair in a panic, reaching for a black box with a large red button that lay on a side table.
"Hit it!" the man shouted.
The woman grabbed the control. She fumbled with it for a moment and then twisted the button.
Marcus arched his back as the signal hit him, sunfishing off the gurney. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. He could feel metal against his shaven skull, flashes of bright agony at his wrists as the cuffs cut his skin.
Blair's voice was ragged. "Turn it up." Her paint-streaked eyes were filled with sadness and the first gleam of pity Marcus had seen in anybody's face since the doctor tore his shirt open.
Silence. Darkness.
Peace.
