Jet Link | 002 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metalicarus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makinglies2013-06-02 03:20 pm
metalicarus) wrote in makinglies2013-06-02 03:20 pm
Entry tags:
You cannot change what you are, only what you do.
The room was too quiet. The only sound that accompanied his thoughts was the ticking of the clock on the wall and that was too loud. It reminded him that time would keep moving even if he sat here, nothing was going to change just because he didn't move and, most of all, time only ever moved onwards.
As much as he may want to, he couldn't wind back the clock and undo what had been done. He didn't regret his decision to fly into space and save his best friend, without him Joe would have drifted forever and none of them would have seen him again, at least now Francoise wouldn't have to cry anymore. But...maybe it would have been better if he hadn't been saved, if he'd just died like he'd been prepared to do. Of course, sitting there, alive, it was harder to find that kind of resolve again. But, in the end, what was the cost of his living?
He looked down at his hands and how his wrists ended in the crease of a panel, the first sign of a difference. His eyes followed up from his wrist to his shoulders and then back down his own chest, creases ran along the surface of his too-pale skin like a web. They were closed now, but he knew it only took a second, a thought, and nearly all of them could flair up, open, or even separate to allow him better maneuverability and speed.
He knew this was like Pyunma, the doctor had only been trying to save him, to make him stronger. But he wasn't like the eighth cyborg, he couldn't have plated armor to defend from hits; he needed to be fast and light and aerodynamic. What he now had in speed and evasiveness he had gained at the cost of the defense he didn't have much of to begin with. He'd always been light on defense and built more for the get in quick and hit hard tactic rather than the barrel through approach for Albert or G, but he felt fragile and he hated it. Logically, he knew he could still take a hit better than most people, but he would have to rely more on not being hit in comparison to what he'd had before.
It was frustrating beyond belief, he didn't want to feel like this...and he certainly didn't want to look like this. He understood now, what his partners had been through and how they felt about being mostly machine. And it sucked. But it was more than even that. He looked up and into the mirror across the room where someone unrecognizable stared back. Blue eyes, finer features, and blonde hair stood out like beacons and he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Part of him thought that maybe, if he looked long enough and hard enough, he'd be able to see something that told him yes this was still Jet Link...but he hadn't found it yet.
Everyone always said it was what was inside that counted, not outside, but when you couldn't recognize anything of yourself, it was like you were in someone else's body, like one of those movies where it's some mistake and by the end of it everything would be back to normal. Except there wasn't an ending like that waiting for him, only blue eyes, blonde hair, and panels.
As much as he may want to, he couldn't wind back the clock and undo what had been done. He didn't regret his decision to fly into space and save his best friend, without him Joe would have drifted forever and none of them would have seen him again, at least now Francoise wouldn't have to cry anymore. But...maybe it would have been better if he hadn't been saved, if he'd just died like he'd been prepared to do. Of course, sitting there, alive, it was harder to find that kind of resolve again. But, in the end, what was the cost of his living?
He looked down at his hands and how his wrists ended in the crease of a panel, the first sign of a difference. His eyes followed up from his wrist to his shoulders and then back down his own chest, creases ran along the surface of his too-pale skin like a web. They were closed now, but he knew it only took a second, a thought, and nearly all of them could flair up, open, or even separate to allow him better maneuverability and speed.
He knew this was like Pyunma, the doctor had only been trying to save him, to make him stronger. But he wasn't like the eighth cyborg, he couldn't have plated armor to defend from hits; he needed to be fast and light and aerodynamic. What he now had in speed and evasiveness he had gained at the cost of the defense he didn't have much of to begin with. He'd always been light on defense and built more for the get in quick and hit hard tactic rather than the barrel through approach for Albert or G, but he felt fragile and he hated it. Logically, he knew he could still take a hit better than most people, but he would have to rely more on not being hit in comparison to what he'd had before.
It was frustrating beyond belief, he didn't want to feel like this...and he certainly didn't want to look like this. He understood now, what his partners had been through and how they felt about being mostly machine. And it sucked. But it was more than even that. He looked up and into the mirror across the room where someone unrecognizable stared back. Blue eyes, finer features, and blonde hair stood out like beacons and he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Part of him thought that maybe, if he looked long enough and hard enough, he'd be able to see something that told him yes this was still Jet Link...but he hadn't found it yet.
Everyone always said it was what was inside that counted, not outside, but when you couldn't recognize anything of yourself, it was like you were in someone else's body, like one of those movies where it's some mistake and by the end of it everything would be back to normal. Except there wasn't an ending like that waiting for him, only blue eyes, blonde hair, and panels.
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He kept one arm firmly around 004 while the other crept up just enough to find it's way to white hair. He had to say something, he had to start somewhere. He wasn't good with his words, but that very thing had been the cause of so many issues. He could have lost Albert forever because of his inability to express himself in words. Actions might speak louder, but they were more limited.
He'd always wanted people to see him as the adult he felt he was and not the teen (although now, he at least looked early twenties) he had always looked and this was his chance to start that. He'd been gone for so long, he had to prove that he had grown up and that meant finding the words to say what he felt.
"I...I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I really am sorry. I'm sorry for putting you through that again...and for the last 27 years. For not calling when I thought about it at least once a day, for leaving you when it wasn't even you I was mad at, for being mad about so many things that I took the first stupid reason to blow up." He paused. That part was easy cause he'd had the last 27 years to think over what he'd done and regret it. The rest of it was the hard part.
"...I know I hurt you then...and that I've hurt you now...but I wish I could take it back cause it's the last thing I want." He contemplated stopping, but now the words were coming and he knew that if he didn't say it all now he wouldn't be able to get it out again. "You might not want to hear it cause it probably just sounds like an excuse, but I want you to know why I made my decision to go after Joe again. I knew what he was intending to do and, if I hadn't, the bomb would have gone off and I didn't want you or the others to suffer from that." But that wasn't all of it because there was no way he could have predicted that Joe would be knocked off the damn thing. "I...admit that I initially went up there to take his place. He'd risked himself and Gilmore's trust in him just to help me, even after everything. That with everything else that had been going on, I felt like I had to be the one to do it." He'd messed up every other way.
The words were getting harder now, the more painful and personal he got. It was one thing to admit failings and attempts at redemption, it was entirely different to talk about fears and the strong feelings he had for Albert. "...I did think of our promise, you know. Before I made my decision and while I was up there. I wanted to talk to you then as well...but I...I knew Joe had Francoise but...it's been almost thirty years, I didn't even know if you remembered that promise or if it meant anything to you...and I'd be lying if I said that didn't play a part in my decision." He felt the urge to look down at Albert, to try and catch his eye or see his expression, but he resisted; if he looked at anything but the wall now, he wouldn't be able to finish.
"That probably wasn't fair...but, even if you're hopelessly mad at me and just want to shoot me in the face...I'm glad I did get to see you again and say all this...cause, the truth is, I-" And then it was like the record had ended and was left spinning with no sound. He hadn't been able to finish anyway. He couldn't hide the look of pained frustration that crossed his face and he hoped Albert wasn't looking at him to see it cause it was so stupid. Normal people in normal relationships were able to express how they felt with three simple words and they made it seem easy, but even at their best, he'd never been able to say it. Now he felt like he needed to, like it was exactly how he needed to end this overflow of emotion and words that might not ever happen again and it was as if he'd run right into a brick wall. He'd faced assassins and alien threats and God's own voice and yet three words terrified him enough to stop him in his tracks.
...but why shouldn't he be terrified? He'd never said them to anyone before, he'd never had the reason. Sure he felt it, certainly since becoming a family with the other cyborgs, but he'd never had real cause to say it. Plus, they were important words, right? They weren't supposed to be taken lightly...and they marked a threshold that was a little terrifying to cross. Especially since saying them would put him in a position more vulnerable than he'd ever been before; how easy would it be for Albert to crush them entirely simply because he didn't feel it too? And Jet couldn't even be mad if he didn't. The pain and frustration on his face changed to disappointment and resignation and he closed his eyes a moment before leaning his head back against the wall. That was it, his show was over...he could only hope it was enough.
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The explanation doesn't help, though the apologies do. Marginally. He tenses again at Jet's admission that he'd gone to replace Joe, not simply tried to save him. Even Albert hadn't been certain if he could withstand the trip this time. A part of him had hoped, with all that Gilmore had repaired and upgraded Jet back then, if he'd prepared for the same event happening twice. He'd hoped but he hadn't expected it. Standing there on the submarine's deck, watching what for the rest of the world looked to be falling stars, Albert had felt as if he was watching the inevitable end. They'd saved and lost the world all at once.
Francoise, always optimistic, even to the point of stubbornness, had said it would be fine, that God wouldn't let that happen, not after all they'd been through. She said He'd heard her voice and would set it right. He'd just nodded. What could he say? That she was an idiot? That they were all idiots for fighting so long and so hard for a peace that would just be shattered over and over again, never to be found in truth to the point where he had to wonder what was the point? The new Albert Heinrich, the one who'd learned to care after losing everything, who'd made a pact with a fallen star, died on that submarine watching the Earth's salvation.
In a way, he'd kept their promise.
This is the dead Albert, the shell of a man that Jet holds in his arms now. The fight is out of him and he simply rests heavy on Jet's shoulder, leaning into him for support and refusing to raise his head. He's done. He's done with all of it. It's easier to simply not feel.
Only emotions aren't cybernetic parts. They can't be turned on and off at will, and as Jet explains the all too familiar scenarios - almost picking up the phone but never quite getting there, unsure of if the other continued to value what they'd had and lost - Albert shifts just enough to free his hands from where they'd been trapped between the two cyborgs and wraps them gingerly around Jet's more lithe torso in a tight hug.
"You don't have to say it." Albert's voice is raspy and raw, almost painful to even his own ears, muffled as it is in the collar of Jet's coat. "I never forgot."
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He turned his face slightly, enough to plant a kiss on soft white hair, before shifting to lean back against the wall and tightened his hold. It was stupid and sappy, but he half wished the world could stop a moment so he could just hold Albert like this. He could remember plenty of times when Jet had been the one being held and a few times when he'd been the one comforted, the role reversal was something he was willing to keep up for as long as the older man needed it.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and he hoped the tired edge to it was something only in his own ears. It was a tiredness that came from almost dying for the world twice and almost losing the only thing that mattered in the process. For once, he really didn't feel that pugnacious bite that was always in him; the one that made it so easy to argue about everything, the one that had caused this whole mess in the first place. It seemed to have broken apart along with his body in the atmosphere. "I won't leave again. Not unless you're with me." What idiot went anywhere without his partner, after all? "And...no more trips into space, no matter what's at stake. If the world's going to blow up then I know exactly where I need to be."
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He wouldn't. He knows he wouldn't. If the group was again faced with a threat from the stratosphere, Jet's the only one who can even make it that high, and he's heroic to a fault. He may say that now, that he'd hang it all and die standing on the planet with Albert, but deep down 004 is aware he'll likely go flying off again. It's not that he means to lie, in fact Albert is certain that the flyer means it with all his heart, it's just that Jet is far more sensitive than he lets on and, well...
They all value humanity too much to let it go up in flames, even by its own stupidity.
But the fact that he'd say is comforting, even if Albert doesn't believe it for a minute, because it shows what he wants to put first, even if they can't. He takes the words with quiet acknowledgement, finally lifting his head so he can look at Jet now that he's certain he's mastered himself enough to do so. He's back to the same stolid expression, the proverbial still waters even if the parts that run deep are still turbulent.
He wants to offer promises of his own, that they can pick up right back where they left off. What's 27 years to a cyborg? But it's still too raw and tender and he still needs time to adjust to Jet suddenly falling head first into his life again. He decides to be practical instead. Practical is safe and necessary, practical won't send him on a ridiculous tirade like the one he'd just gone through.
"What are you going to do now?"
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He looked away again, settling for his oh-so-interesting jacket sleeve to say what he was feeling. Maybe it would get easier to do that as time went on, but he certainly couldn't look at the person he was addressing and do it, not voluntarily. "I don't have anywhere else to go, which is fine, cause I wouldn't choose anywhere else but here even if there was."
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Suddenly uncomfortable, Albert rises to his feet and shuffles to the open kitchen only a few feet away, not entirely able to shake the hunch in his shoulders brought on by just how draining this all was. Mechanically, he reaches into the fridge for a beer, then pauses and reaches for a second. He closes the door with his foot and takes out a single beer mug, pops both bottle caps with fingers alone, and pours one into the glass. The other he brings over as is and hands the bottle down to Jet, still seated on the floor. It's a subtle thing, but Albert still knows by heart how Jet takes his beer.
He still knows a lot of things by heart, like how if he doesn't give the man an explicit clue that he's invited to stay, he'll spend the night out and Albert will find him sleeping in the stoop by morning. He nearly grins at the memory of one of their many fights, this time when he'd been staying in New York with Jet for a time, just a visit really. They'd had a fight, he can't remember about what at all now, something stupid most likely, and the hot head had flown out the window quite literally. Albert had found him sleeping against the apartment door in the morning, dragged him inside, and made him breakfast.
Even when in the wrong, Jet had this way about him that made Albert want to care for him regardless. He can never shake it, not even now when things seem so uncertain. "Alright, stay here then."
"You can have the couch for now." He turns back to the kitchen, intending to make something more sustaining than beer but more importantly to busy himself so he doesn't have to talk anymore. He still needs time. He wants to make it work, he wants to believe what Jet is telling him, but he needs the time to process. Yet the 'for now' is deliberate, a promise of further invitation if Jet could only be patient with him.
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Really, this was fine with him, it was the distraction he needed to shut down whatever floodgate had opened and just let what he'd said sit. It was all true and he didn't regret a word of it, but he didn't have any other words to give and he was glad he was no longer in a position where he felt he had to say something.
What he really hadn't expected was to be offered a place to sleep in the same vicinity as the other cyborg. He didn't know how mad Albert still was, but he figured he wasn't going to be allowed in the house at least for that night. In any case, he would happily take the couch over being booted, so he didn't question it.
Silently, he followed Albert into the kitchen, more just to sit at the table than to offer to help; he knew better. Whether Albert wanted to talk about nothing or just not talk Jet was willing to go with it. He was just grateful he hadn't been kicked out.
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Albert's aware he's being standoffish. It's by design that after their talk, the cyborg went about the rest of his evening as if he were alone, only the food and drink for two evidence that he even really acknowledged Jet's presence. He knows it's cruel but what else is he supposed to do?
Albert pulls off his shirt and changes into loose pants for bed, long since gotten over his issues with his cyborg body. He can't just let Jet in again without some kind of breaker, a barrier to protect himself from making the same mistake again. A third time, even. Yes Jet was apologetic and yes all Albert really wanted to do was hold onto him until the world actually ended, but where does that get him?
He flops back with a sigh, arms behind his head, and tries not to feel as if he's being too hard on the other man, tries not to think of what Jet must think of him right now. He doesn't care. He won't care.
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By the time he's left with an arm full of blankets and a growing sense of confusion and hurt, he felt as if he just spent the evening with one of the more strict army generals of the NSA; it put him at a loss for what to do. After a moment or two of just standing there, he finally decided sleep was really in order either way and just pushed the whole thing out of his mind for the moment.
He set the blankets down and slowly began to remove the layers he wore during the day. Long coat, vest, tie, and dress shirt end up laid across the chair with his shoes set up neatly nearby. He tried to make his place on the couch as comfortable as possible, but with his feet just shy of actually being on the arm rest of the couch, it was a bit of a challenge. When he eventually did get to sleep it was with apprehension as to what the morning would bring and if this night had been more of a dream, an idea of how it could be if Albert accepted him back, before the reality came and he was kicked out for good.
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He should be sleeping. He needs the sleep. Lord only knows what the day tomorrow will bring. More awkwardness, most like. More of his own inability to function, to be as trusting and welcoming as the rest of the group. They'd been happy to have Jet back with no trace of animosity. In fact they'd been trying to pull him back into the fold for years, GB with his updates to Jet about them all. The Englishman had done the same for Albert, keeping him updated in that outmoded way since cell phones were hackable. At least that was his reason. Albert's fairly sure the old man just liked to see them all.
He'd never asked about Jet in particular, GB giving that information freely and without prompting but Albert always gave the same response. He lifted his beer, took a drink, set it down, and asked about someone or something else. Anything else. GB never pushed, just moving on with the conversation. Albert had been grateful each time he didn't have to face that, grateful for GB's restraint, but in the quiet ticking of the wall clock, Albert has to wonder what would have happened if he'd stopped running and confronted Jet long ago, knowing full well that's what the group had been hoping he would do.
He'd always been the one to talk sense into Jet. He knew how to handle his moods and tantrums. That's what the last 27 years had been really, just one interminably long tantrum. Only Jet hadn't been the only one throwing it. What it really boiled down to was stubbornness, the 'I'll only apologize if he does first' that school children get involved in, not adults. The truth was Joe had never been angry, Gilmore had gotten over it quickly (though his ire grew back the longer Jet stayed gone), and the rest of the group just didn't understand why Jet hadn't come back like he always had. Not until they realized that the one person who'd always talked him down, who'd never have let this go on so long in the past, wasn't saying anything.
That's his problem, isn't it? Albert traces patterns in the ceiling with his gaze. Too cold, too mechanical to open back up now, even in this brave new world of Francoise's. She called it a new start but if that's what it is then why is there still so much baggage? So much that hurts? Jet may be the one to crawl back like a kicked dog even after so many years, but Albert knows he's the one being childish. The American had sucked it up, bared his heart and soul to Albert, and all he'd given the blond back was a place on the couch. At the time it had seemed kindness, throwing the dog a bone so to speak, but with each tick of the clock Albert wishes he'd said something, done something more.
He's still angry, not because of the slights or the lack of talking but because he was scared. He's so very rarely scared and the only person still in this world who can set his veins running cold with fear is Jet. Idiotic Jet who goes flying off into space, who pushes himself past his limits, who breaks himself for the sake of others. Stupid, caring Jet who's willing to sacrifice everything for a higher goal. That bastard Jet, who'd still come back even after 27 years, who'd never really given up hope that they could make it work somehow.
In the crux of time between the ticks, Albert realized he had and the guilt ate at him. Jet coming back meant he still cared, that he'd never stopped caring, and while neither had Albert he'd grown to assume it was one sided on his part. With the outpouring of all this new information, his world view is once again stilted under the weight of all the wasted time, all of the untaken chances he could have had to fix this if he'd just stopped being a child himself and picked up a damn phone.
He doesn't want to be a wall. He doesn't want Jet to think he hates him when the truth is the opposite. He doesn't want to wake up in the morning and find that Jet's decided Albert will never forgive him and has gone. He doesn't want to wait any longer.
It's a quarter past three in the morning and here's Albert silently slipping back downstairs. Here he is moving silently to the couch where he can't help but be at least marginally amused that Jet's feet hang over the edge. In that moment it's the most welcome sight he's ever seen.
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Growing up in the slums of New York, especially in the company of gangs and gang-rivalries, it was almost necessary to be a light sleeper; who knew when a rival gang member would want to sneak up and do you in and that 'sixth sense' as it were was still ingrained in him. Consequently, when Albert stood over him, watching him sleep, that sense kicked in and pulled Jet from his sleep so he could find out what was causing the weird feeling he was getting. Blue eyes snapped open and his whole body tensed, half expecting he would need to jump into action, but when it registered who he was looking at, he relaxed. A little bit.
Now hesitation was replacing his apprehension as he gave Albert a confused look and sat up. Was the German going to kick him out after all and not even wait till morning to do it? Was Jet that unwelcome? He was a little afraid to ask. "Hey...something wrong?"
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Fighting down the urge to simply go for the kitchen and save face by getting a glass of water, Albert instead pads his way to the couch and situates himself straddling Jet's lap; the couch may be small, but its deep and they can both fit on it comfortably. The German's hand reaches out to rest on Jet's chest, fingers splayed as he gently but firmly presses Jet back into laying down.
"I'm sorry." The words are soft and gentle, a complete 180 from where Albert had been mentally before he'd retreated to his room. "You still messed up, but you know that and I haven't been fair."
He leans over, hesitating just for a moment in doubt before gingerly pressing his lips to Jet's. He'd thought the connection would be electric, a spark between them once again just like before, but it's different. It's quiet and unsteady but still somehow familiar and comforting. It feels good, right, and gives Albert the courage to keep talking.
"I messed up too. I should have called you." He rests one hand on Jet's cheek, barely able to make out his expression in the dim light. "So it's not all on you. I'm sorry."
The rest he can't bring himself to say in words a so he takes a page from Jet's book and acts instead, leaning in for another kiss, trying to say what he needs to that way.
I don't hate you.
The kiss grows a bit sharper, more needy and intense.
I want you here. I need you here.
His fingers begin to wander as he deepens the lip lock, nipping at Jet's lower lip.
I love you.
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He leaned into the hand on his cheek a bit and carefully made sure not to interrupt whatever Albert wanted to say, he wanted to make sure he listened and understood, Jet's track record with 'hearing' and 'listening' was not the best. That kiss, however, spoke volumes to him and he didn't hesitate to respond to and match Albert's growing enthusiasm; it was his way of finishing what he hadn't been able to say earlier.
He let his hands run along the contours of Albert's chest, but the slowed and stopped when they reached his shoulders. This didn't feel right, it wasn't the 'construct' he had memorized over time and could still remember now, it was smoother and felt...better built than how his lover's chest had been before.
As much as he was loathe to, he broke the kiss and pulled back a bit, just enough to try and see Albert's face a little better. He was hesitant to bring it up since it had always just been on the list of 'Things We Don't Talk About,' but his curiosity was strong. "You feel different. What happened?" He couldn't imagine the shorter man asking for an upgrade, but he was sort of hoping it was that and not that something dire had happened that GB had never told him about.
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Jet talking is a surprise. Albert had thought the other man would be too elated and relieved to have much else on his mind, though he detatchedly supposes that if Jet thinks something terrible happened to him to spark the change in physique it would trump what they're heading for now.
Not that Albert's going to allow it. He's done talking for the moment, needing his actions to speak for him, and a little vindictive piece wants the blond to stew for a bit, let him worry, get a taste of his own medicine for a change.
The older cyborg shifts his hips against the man under him, taking his hands and sliding them down Jet's torso as he raises back up to sitting, those mechanical but somehow still deft fingers culminating their journey in slipping the button of Jet's dress pants from the hole and lowering the zipper, that and the sound of their breathing the only things heard in the room, though Albert had plans to change that.
Instead of slipping Jet's bottoms down right away, he slides his left hand below both hems, tracing curves and coaxing reactions. He leans back over, not just to better hear said reactions but to pepper the American's neck and chin with kisses and nips, passing his fingers lightly over each point of pressure as he moved to the next to sooth them, finally returning to those familiar soft lips and running his thumb over the bottom one before recapturing Jet's mouth in another deep kiss, clutching with his other hand as he does so.
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The gun hand running across his lip made his heart quicken and only turned him on more. He'd always considered his life safe in Albert's hands, now that was in a way being tested and it only added to the intense feelings coursing through him.
That second kiss, however, opened all the doors on those intense feelings and let them come pouring out in just how enthusiastically he responded. The feeling of familiar hands on him doing things he'd sometimes longed for them to do over the last few decades, the exhilaration of being with the person he loved again, all of the feelings he'd tried to pour out earlier and hadn't all mixed together and fueled the fire running through him. Even his recent surge of concern over why Albert had been modified twisted and was joined by the fear that he might have lost the German and never known until after, which was joined by the things he felt when he thought about the fact that he'd almost lost all of this anyway only by his own actions and morphed into pure desperation.
One hand found the back of the other man's neck because even the small distance between them was too much while his other hand tried to get somewhere with removing Albert's pants, even from the restricting angle he had, because any clothes remaining needed to vanish now.
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Well, maybe not humane...
He indulges the kiss for a long moment, fighting not to drown in it entirely, but catches Jet's hands with his gun arm. He'll remove his pants when he's good and ready, thank you. Singlehandedly, Albert tugs the blonde's hands up behind the blond's head, moving his other hand from the slow caresses he'd been giving in order to sit up and flip Jet bodily onto his stomach underneath him with 002's shoulders propped up on the arm of the couch.
He can't help but smirk a bit as he leans over his prone partner, reaching for the American's tie from its resting place on the nearby chair. He slips the silk under, around, and between Jet's wrists, tying it off deftly but not too tightly. It's enough to get the point across, but not nearly inescapable. Albert may have a bit of a sadistic streak tonight but its still tempered by affection, by finally having Jet back in his arms. Back in his life even. It could be taken as a symbolic gesture, if Jet's so inclined to view it as such. A physical symbol of Albert's desire to keep Jet right where he is.
Though the white-haired cyborg slipping Jet's pants down his thighs is a symbol of another sort of desire. Albert nips and kisses at Jet's ear, pressing against him bodily and pausing only to lick the fingers of his right hand before slipping it back between his partner's legs.
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Between the nips, kisses and eventual feeling of probing fingers that pulled some very undignified and aroused noises from him, it took Jet a moment to actually find words to protest. "...Albert...you can't just leave me like this." Well, Jet knew he could, but his hands ached to touch the other cyborg and to participate and he couldn't understand why he wasn't allowed to.
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He won't tell the other man that this is his form of revenge, that hearing Jet beg for release will make him feel better about being left behind and missing all that time. It's ludicrous if he thinks about it too hard, so saying it is out of the question.
If Jet really wanted out, really didn't want this at all, the American had never been shy about voicing his dislike, and the tie was hardly an ample hold. Yet even as Albert stroked and started planting kisses one by one down the man's spine, Jet did nothing to attempt an escape, just keened and shifted under Albert's ministrations.
Damn but he can't get enough of those sounds. Honestly it just makes him want to drag this out longer, deny himself just for the sake of hearing Jet pant and groan, maybe even beg.
The kisses turn to bushes of teeth and tongue as he moves lower, the German nipping at what he knows to be real flesh at Jet's hips rather than the synthetic kind that covers metal instead of muscle. He takes a moment to suck, hard, leaving an angry red mark in pale flesh. He'd be loathe to call it a brand of ownership but privately Albert deigns it so and plants another, quite gentle kiss over the mark, waiting bemusedly for Jet's complaints over such treatment.
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Part of him wanted to be difficult and keep silent in protest but, try as he might, he wasn't being very successful; the best he'd managed was trying to muffle the sounds with the arm of the couch. It was the unexpected (but thoroughly enjoyed) bite that drags an un-stifled sound from him. It's quickly followed by a bit of a growl as he tries to fight the angle he was in to look back at Albert. "Didn't realize I was sleeping with a dog. This rough treatment how you intend to play things?" Not...that he'd...actually mind if it was, but still!
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Albert sucks in a breath between his teeth as he finishes the movement, not expecting it to feel just that good. He wants Jet to actually ask for it so he'd refrained from simply going at it but damn if it isn't tempting. So damned tempting.
He moves again, the exact same way but slower, savoring it and the subsequent sounds the man under him makes in reaction.
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Albert's hand on him, moving like that, pulled what could have been mistaken for a yelp from the blond and his hands clenched in their silken binds. Fine. Fine. If that was what got this sexual torment to end, then he would just have to suck up his pride. Besides, in the long run, this was less about pride and more about finding their way together again, right? He hoped. He was really too lost in the moment to think on it much. "Dammit, Albert, will you just do me already?"
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Carefully, slipping both hands to Jet's hips for leverage, he slides inside, letting out a slow, vaguely shuttering breath at the tight heat. He pauses then, allowing Jet to adjust, but not before leaning over the blond and planting much lighter kisses on his shoulders and spine. Not like the voracious, hungry kisses before; these are affectionate and sweet.
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The fact that his body was adjusting quickly matched with those soft and loving kisses being peppered along his back just made it feel like there hadn't been such an extreme gap of time between them and that just sent a warmth through him that had everything to do with the man at his back.
"Albert..." He didn't even realize he was saying anything until the he heard it, laced in a soft tone that hadn't been there only moments before. He pressed his hips back as best he could, a silent plea for more, to be closer to the only person who made him feel like this.
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The German is more than happy to give Jet what he wants, what they both want, and he starts moving at a brisk pace, holding Jet's hips in place with one hand as he moves, the other hand returning to give attention to Jet's own arousal, not wanting to leave the other cyborg unfulfilled in that way either.
After only a few short moments, Albert decides this isn't close enough, not nearly. He pauses, shifting backwards and hooking his arm around Jet's waist to pull him into a sitting position in the German's lap, consequently driving himself deeper and letting out a heady gasp against Jet's back, holding him close and breathing hard right against the American's spine. He presses his face against that flesh, kissing and biting and still moving his hand on Jet while the other holds the younger man against him, metallic palm and fingers splayed out against pale synthetic flesh.
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He maneuvered his hands out from the blue silk's hold and threw the tie to the ground, forgotten the moment it was off his skin. One of his hands splayed out over the hand on his torso while the other sought desperate purchase on the older man's side, hip, other hand, anything that he could grab onto.
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