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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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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He curls his fingers around Jet's, capturing them in a measure of hold that's not painful but definitely secure and affectionate even as he picks up the pace with his hips. He's getting close and he's fairy certain Jet can't take much more with the shivers that he can feel running through the thinner man's frame. Albert pulls his other arm around his partner's waist, taking that groping hand with it and holding it just like the first. The German pants and groans against his back, still jostling Jet up and down in his lap but keeping his arms tight around him. "Jet..."
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He could tell he was close and he was pretty certain Albert was too. He moved his hips in time with his lover's movements in an effort to help them both reach the edge that much sooner. "Al-!" The slight change caused him to gasp and his whole body to tense, his hands clenching tightly around the metal ones on his body.
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He plants a light kiss again in the middle of Jet's back, so certain now that this had been the right decision, that letting Jet back in is the right thing. He can't stay closed off forever. He doesn't want to. With Jet here, he doesn't need to.
This is the world he'd wished for, silently, while Francoise had made her own wish. This was the foolish little hope he kept clinging to despite all his wealth of experience stacked against it. This is home. This is peace.
Albert curls his fingers more securely in Jet's, a silent thanks for staying.
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His heart panged with the feeling of loss that spiked up when he thought of all the years they'd wasted being petty and stubborn and how it had been mostly his fault, not completely, but mostly. He wasn't going to let any of that ruin anything again, he was going to make it up to Albert and he wasn't going to be so stupid as to leave the arms that made him feel human and accepted again.
With a quiet but shuddering breath, Jet slowly moved and changed positions so he could face the older cyborg. He pushed the German into leaning back against the couch and pulled the blanket--that had long since fallen to the floor--up and around both of their shoulders as he settled back onto his partner's lap. One of his hands sought the other's once more as he silently peppered Albert's jaw, chin, and lips with light and simple kisses. He felt a bit like he should say something, like there was something that needed to be shared, but his words had failed him a while ago and he was left with only his actions and the desire to remain as close to Albert as possible.
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"I do have a bed you know." It's an amused comment, said with the obvious knowledge that they likely wouldn't be using it that night. The couch is good enough, even if Jet has to pull his legs in tightly to avoid hanging off the end. It's so perfectly ordinary, something that could happen to anyone else, that it gives the silver-haired cyborg a warm feeling in his chest.
He makes no move to get up, simply adjusting the blanket around them and loosely dropping his arms to hold Jet once more, fingers resting lightly on the plates of his mid and lower back. He lets his eyes drift shut, focusing on how this feels. On how good and right it feels to have his partner, the person he loves, back in his arms.
He rubs small, light circles with his thumb, slowly tapering off as Albert drifts to sleep.