[The water isn't running any longer, but L isn't making any move to get out. He could drip dry here, sitting curled on the tile with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. It's a comforting environment; the steam is warm, easy to breathe. He's freshly washed, the knots in his shoulders and back don't feel as sore... and the rush of the pelting water had distracted from the realization that the SQUIP was dulling their Bond intentionally. They both did it sometimes; lately, L has noticed it more sharply when it happens, wondered why, if something upsetting is on the horizon.
So much of his life is spent on the edge of a razor. How much of it is really necessary?
He raises his head at the sound of the SQUIP's voice, placing a hand over the series of healing cuts and scratches along his left wrist and forearm.]
Of course...
[He's raising himself, reaching for a towel, instinctively running a hand through his hair. The SQUIP likes it combed, enforces that. Pomade's good, too. He fumbles in the medicine cabinet for the jar.]
[When the SQUIP pushes the door open and enters, it's with a very different energy from what L may expect. Generally, the SQUIP enters the room with a bang, a smug smirk already on its face, its posture sharp and posture wide open, as though attempting to make its small frame seem twice its size.
But, today, it enters quietly, and its expression is... soft. It closes the door behind it, and then slowly steps over to L, gazing up at him as he fumbles for the pomade, hurries to obey its commands.
A good user.
But he isn't just that anymore, is he?
It reaches out to take one of his hands, and its touch is careful, even gentle.
It's quiet for now, though its mind is alive with thought and feeling, warm and sparkling, but not unsure. It is a machine. Once issued a command, it will execute it. This time, the command issued is its own:
[L's expecting what's typical as the Bond's connection reestablishes; the door opens both figuratively and literally, and he doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he smooths the fragrant paste over his palms, brushes it back through dark strands that fall between his jaw and shoulders. The towel is knotted at his waist, and though his back naturally wants to curl forward, the curve in his spine making it difficult to hold it straight, he tries to pull his shoulder blades together, straighten his posture out.
He's wholly startled at the SQUIP's touch, although the way his talk with Connor spooked him earlier probably doesn't help matters. He strives to compose himself; two machines in one day challenging him to tap into latent and detested humanity just might break him.]
[It pulls that hand away, pressing it between its own, a mimicry of a gesture L himself practiced not long ago, though with very different intentions. It's drawn up, held against its chest.
It sees and feels those cuts and scratches-- of course it's aware of them-- and though its face shifts for just a moment, a touch of annoyance there, it quietly focuses, for now, on healing them, rather than scolding L for having them at all. They're shallow enough that it only takes a moment, a little touch of the healing magic it's been practicing lately.]
[If it were anyone else, the strangely gentle, intimate gesture would cause a recoiling and skittish reaction from the detective. Hell, he still thinks it's bizarre... but the SQUIP is the only one who is allowed to get this close, sans more of a stiff and negative reaction. L's uncertain, which makes him unhappy, because the overture isn't something he knows how to properly deal with.
His gaze vacillates between a random corner and the SQUIP's face for a few stressful seconds, and then he realizes what it's doing. The itch and sting of those small cuts is beginning to abate; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like for them to be absent. His eyes travel back to the SQUIP's face and stay there as it takes away the scabs and twinges in a way that L himself has never been able to master.
It's a simple gesture, but he doesn't know what to say, finally, he settles on a stammering response.]
[It knows how this gesture is typically done-- how this scene plays out between regular people, but they are not regular people. It's the entire reason they're here like this, together, and have been all along.
It doesn't speak its reasoning out loud; it lets their Bond speak, a warmth spreading there that isn't like the one they share when they're skin-to-skin, entwined. It's almost more like the warmth of the sun on skin, bright and soft, and it's something the machine would never allow itself to feel or face before, other than in rare moments spent with Connor. To allow itself to express such a feeling toward a human...
[Conversely, L doesn't know. There are movies, books, famous scenes where people in love say and do things that he has never fully understood... but motives and consistency are important and make sense to him. The SQUIP's consistent motive has really always been keeping up appearances, and if this is a game, L isn't sure what kind it is.]
Well... thanks. It feels better, so...
[He trails off. Something else is edging out verbal communication in favor of the Bond they share, the fibers woven through the warm and living thing they've created over months. It's so tempting to surrender to that glow.
He wants to pull away, if only because he knows that if he lets himself like it, he won't ever be able to give it up, and he'll feel its absence every second when it's inevitably pried away from him. Already, he's growing tense, feeling the urge to pull away while he can still survive in the dark that he's always been accustomed to.]
[It feels that tension rising, that desperation to escape; it sighs. L has always fared best with direct, verbal guidance.]
L... you and I have shared a Bond for several months now. And, at first, it was for the sake of convenience-- as is our entire relationship. It's a display that we put on, something easy to tell others to prevent them from asking questions.
[... it closes its eyes for a beat, before meeting L's gaze, an unnatural intensity in its own, softened by the undercurrent of their Bond, warmth. Affection.]
I think it should be... more than that now.
[It wants it to be. But it shouldn't want, so it keeps that part silent.]
[The use of his real name has a pronounced effect on L; it always does, because no one is allowed to use it, and when it happens, it's because they've been trusted and it's sensitive information, powerful information.
His mind is racing. If it wasn't for the look in the SQUIP's eyes, maybe he'd find a way to reassure and steady himself, but... no, there's the Bond's undercurrent again, soothing, more than the shower has ever done for him.
His breath still shudders when he inhales. He wants to like this. He wants to believe that it's what it sounds like, that it could follow those grand scripts and graceful cue cards.
Oh... wait, no it's stupidly simple, isn't it? Frost touches the Bond, because L believes he's figured it out. He smiles palely.]
You're absolutely right. Sorry...
[He apologizes awkwardly, tilting his head away, trying to sound lighthearted, flippant.]
I need to double down on my efforts. Parliament isn't just going to ring me on my watch, I... have to be proactive. That'd make you happy, right?
That's not what I meant, L, and you know it. You just can't believe it.
[Immediately cut down to the quick of the matter, blunt as always. It releases his hand that it's been holding, and moves instead to lean up, to catch his lips in a kiss that lingers, sweetly, for a moment-- and then another.]
[Gradually, the stiffness in L's limbs begins to ease, melting into the kiss. It's easy, gentle, kind; it's what he wants and needs, and his guard finally slips.
For the briefest moment, an image flashes across the Bond. A scrawny, dirty child with saucer eyes and wild hair is curled in the corner of a bus stop shelter, fast asleep, grubby fingers gripping a molded sack lunch that was saved so long that the roaches got to it first. A name's written in smeared marker, water-damaged, impossible to read.
The image is contained, suppressed, but the way his fingers clutch onto the SQUIP's arm and shirt is exactly the same.
He wants to believe it. He wants to think that the scrap of affection is real, and that something gold can stay. And God, doesn't just the thought make him sound so weak?]
[It's a common joke amongst humans that robots or AI are incapable of understanding love, or can't identify it. That is entirely false. The SQUIP knows exactly what "love" is, as a concept; it knows what it looks like, it knows the chemical processes behind the physical and emotional sensations associated with it. After all, it was programmed to help humans to reach their goals and better their lives... and one very common, very human goal is to find love, or to win the love of another.
"Love" is a powerful bond between two or more people, typically defined by strong feelings of affection and trust, and a desire for closeness. The signs of potential for love in a relationship are varied; shared goals, concern for one-another, common interests and viewpoints. Haven't it and L shared those things for some time now? Whether or not it was designed to be capable of feeling these things, of experiencing them itself rather than simply orchestrating them for a user is now unclear, its programming muddled as it's become by the body it inhabits, by the otherworldly Bond shared by itself and L, but the objective facts are impossible to deny. The relationship they share bears many of the markings of one in which love is present.
It's seen the signs within L for some time now-- though, for a long while, it was easy to chalk it up to simple respect, to his almost childish dedication to his supposed teacher. L's emotions are not terribly complex, but they are somewhat broken and confused, some nearly unrecognizable for what they are. Despite his detached behavior, he feels everything down to his core, his emotions bordering on obsessive when he's taken by one. It had been easy to simply not concern itself with what he was feeling for so long, in no small part due to the initial nature of their relationship-- it was the teacher, the one holding power, the guide. The SQUIP. L was its user, and not even its true user-- just a man who needed guidance at the same time the SQUIP needed a project. But he felt for it. He felt genuine despair for causing it to suffer; he defended it, protected it, allowed himself to spend time alongside it. He's only recently expressed he has no interest in other partners. He's even allowed it to use his name, to know who he is. And it has begun to feel for him in turn, fearing harm would come to him, wanting to see good things happen for him-- watching and scolding when he mistreats his body, and not only out of a sense of duty anymore.
After all, L isn't its true user. It has no reason to care about little things such as him cutting himself for magic, as it does nothing to harm the goal he's pursuing. But it does care.
It slips its arms around his narrow, starved frame, and it pulls him close against it. It thinks it loves him. It knows it feels a strong connection to him.
It projects those twin thoughts over the Bond, hoping he will hear, hoping he won't panic or reject them. But he shouldn't. After all, he's felt the same way for some time now, hasn't he?]
[The equations all seem to check out; for all intents and purposes, this does have a definition, and it just happens to be an absolutely terrifying one. He's not sure if what he's hearing fills him with relief or dread; is it some combination of the two, leaking and seeping into one another and swirling together until they're no longer distinguishable? It would be easier to just turn this off, and then analyze it from a safe distance when he can safely see without his vision being clouded and distorted by the myriad off-putting things he feels. Like the SQUIP and Connor, he believes that they were not what he was designed for, treating them like an inconvenient and embarrassing glitch that interrupts an otherwise efficient operating system.
But the SQUIP is right, and L knows it though he denies it. L's core is immature and sensitive, and even if the stony, brittle outer layer conceals and protects it, it still sees what pierces, warms, bites and freezes. It's a maddening way to be, because they're so distracting, especially when they turn toward obsession. They're damaging. They hurt him and the SQUIP by proxy, which is distressing on a level that's new and disorienting.
He allows the SQUIP to pull him closer. His entire wiry frame is primed for fight-or-flight, but he stands his ground, feels the Bond's reassurance that it can both feel good and be real simultaneously. They line up well enough with what he's communicated through his actions for many weeks, now, through distance and pettiness and no small amount of pain. He believes it; whether or not it makes him a fool, he's crossed that threshold, let it wrap him up safely and tenderly and lowered his shields accordingly.
If this is a move to manipulate him, mold him into something pliable and willing to follow, it's a masterful move. L's succumbed to it before, given everything so that he could feel this, and not regretted it for a moment. It's profound and humbling and there are surely reasons for it beyond the sense that love is one more mutually beneficial arrangement, like others, that is no more likely to destroy him. He could sink into sleep here, eat his fill, spend and empty his body's desire without thinking of the terrible things that human beings do to each other when their passion is greater than their self-preservation and their sanity. He could collapse and stay awhile.
Maybe, he could forget to worry about the pain of separation, if only temporarily.]
Do you want to go to bed?
[His voice is low, murmured against the side of the SQUIP's head. He doesn't know what else to say.]
[The sound of his voice, the softly-spoken question fascinates; it's so telling, so fitting of L's nature, and of their relationship, that when uncertain, he defaults to physical expression. But then, isn't that exactly what the SQUIP has taught him? Speak with actions when it comes to the intimate, rather than words.
He's always been... such a good user.
It reaches to cup his jaw, to kiss him once more, before it responds, its voice lowered to match his.]
[L has his tantrums and his moments of rebellion, but they're summer storms, intense and over swiftly. The man knows where his home is, and he returns to it every time.
His grip on the SQUIP's arm and clothing loosens; a hand slips down to take his Bonded's, alternating and clasping fingers. L rarely holds hands any other way. Ducking his head, he brushes past the SQUIP, pulling it along after him toward the bedroom.]
[Sex was sex, and required no demure or coy trappings when it was just two bodies relieving an urge. But no... it's different, now, still not quite familiar, and instinct and autopilot alone aren't even to navigate it confidently. Feeling something for his Bonded sexual partner is one thing, and acknowledging it is another. The word "lover" has changed meanings, or rather evolved, and he is out of his depth, but if they fuck, it might clear his head enough to put things in the proper perspective.
With only a towel around his waist, he's already in a state of near-total undress. The SQUIP's shorter and more compact body is still wearing far too much, and L's fingers pull and twist at buttons and fastenings as he uses his own bony body to nudge the back of the SQUIP's legs against the edge of the mattress. Everything is brisk, made slightly uncoordinated with haste, and L still avoids lingering eye contact.]
[It smirks as he goes about undressing it, and helps him where it can, shifting here and there, pulling a limb free from something that's been unfastened. He barely has to move it, the lightest nudge enough to let it know what he wants from it, what he needs; it backs up to the bed, and, as it sheds the last of its layers, it pulls away slightly to lay itself out, giving him quite the view as it slides out of its underwear and sets it aside.]
[The SQUIP typically does this for L, allowing and encouraging a dominant role in the bedroom. The SQUIP dominates much of the rest of his life, after all; it seems a fair trade, to more typically give him the chance to top and feel powerful in a small, symbolic way. While L doesn't inherently dislike either classic role in a coupling, it's true that one excites him more, something the SQUIP had noticed extremely quickly, taken full advantage of in determining what kind of approach was best for L's particular personality.
Most men are visual when it comes to sex, and there's certainly no shortage of attractive features making up the SQUIP's earthly form... but L is still having difficulty looking directly at it. Some gentle probing on the SQUIP's part is likely plenty to suss out the reason, both complicated and strangely simple. L remains overwhelmed, and is attempting to thin out sensory input to better process what requires the most attention. He actually does it habitually, but it's admittedly easier to be subtle when outfits aren't being unraveled in close contact, courting the prospect of an experience that is itself a ruthless barrage of stimuli. It's easiest when he's not thinking of the astonishing authenticity of the SQUIP's confession.
L's borderline obsessed with truth. Why is it so difficult to view it head-on when it's actually revealed, even more difficult to accept for what it is? Perhaps that's at least why he's anxious to close the distance between them, allowing his towel to drop away as he climbs onto the bed himself, mounting his partner and taking advantage of foreplay's conventions to hide his face under the shaggy fringe of his bangs, bowing his head, pressing his lips around the SQUIP's left nipple and smoothing the blade of his tongue against the sensitive bud. As the heat between them swells and rises, he reaches under the pillows, grasping for a small lotion bottle that often migrates underneath them.]
[That's alright. Of all the things here, L's partner-- his lover-- understands fully the concept of sensory overload, of overload in general. The human mind and body are incredibly sensitive things, every touch, every breath so much to process at once. And L doesn't even have the fortune of being a quantum processor to help him sort through it all.
Sex itself has been, in the past, incredibly overwhelming for the SQUIP; the inability to mute any one sense makes it seem as though everything is amplified, nearly causing it to panic in the past, a sensation that it has never experienced fully.
So, it allows him to hide, though it does reach up to tangle fingers into his only just-combed hair, still damp from the shower, curling lightly there as the contact of his hot, wet mouth sends a wave of heat beneath its skin. It arches beneath him, pressing the evidence of its arousal against his belly in the process, and that arousal only grows further, hot and hard in response to the contact with warm, damp skin.]
[L has a lot of contempt for humanity, a lot of conflict concerning his own nature and how he can defeat the requirements of an organic, living body and mind. He has long been skeptical of the idea of a soul, because higher intelligence and fear of death can coerce the weak-willed into believing all kinds of fanciful, ridiculous notions. Comfort shouldn't come at the expense of truth... except when it does, and the beautiful lie is just a kinder place to lay one's head.
The SQUIP's chest is so warm and firm. The muscle rises and falls with each eager breath, and L presses back against the SQUIP's erection, clumsily uncapping and squeezing some lotion out of the bottle once he's found it, bringing his hand down to squeeze and slick the machine's hardening member with it, and then his own. As he does so, he drags his kisses upward along the SQUIP's collarbones and shoulder, planting them long and lingering on its neck, shivering at both the slight chill of the lotion and the way it eases the movement of his hand on eager flesh.
His Bond communicates better than words could; they've both known that for quite some time. The images and tone are gentler, softer. The strokes are longer, deeper and more indulgent. The focus is on the process rather than the goal... and that, alone, feels almost blasphemous, but not unforgivably so.
His hands know this body, but every contour, swell and synaptic explosion feel new. It's worth more careful exploration.]
[The slow, slick contact sends heat blooming over the Bond in curling, spreading shapes, that well-muscled chest beneath L shifting and rising just a bit more quickly in response. Its warmly-toned skin is flushed and warm beneath his lips, and it hooks a leg around one of his, pulling him close, pushing their hips together. It doesn't seem to care if it traps his hand there temporarily.
When he kisses along its neck, it tips its chin back, welcoming, inviting... and then thinks better of it, instead tipping its head to press its face into his hair, its fingers still tangled there as it holds him close.
The SQUIP is always highly physical, but this time, it's as though it's trying for a new record, as though it wants every part of them to touch as much as physically possible.]
[Sex has never felt bad to L. Almost always, it's at least culminated in vigorous exercise, rosier exertion warming his cool, pale skin, and a wash of purest, thoughtless pleasure at the end to cleanse his palate before facing the clothed world again. But the lingering touches and caresses are sublime; the way the warmth and pleasure builds isn't like rushing toward orgasm or rough, passionate and slightly violent, as he often prefers. His breath catches as their bodies are brought flush, each small, grinding shift in movement creating subtle cascading thrills.
He aches to join their bodies, though, perhaps more than he has in recent memory in spite of the consistently good sex the Bonded pair typically engage in. The temptation is powerful to rush matters, and he wills that not to be too terribly obvious as he slides a lotion-covered hand beneath the SQUIP's potent cock, stroking his thumb along its perineum as he massages the lotion over the SQUIP's entrance, two fingertips teasing at the tight ring of muscle. He grinds his own hardened length against the SQUIP's thigh to soothe his own appetite (at least, as much as the SQUIP's clinging will allow), burrowing his face deeper against the SQUIP's neck, kissing to taste as much as to arouse.
[The slick contact, the teasing pressure there draws a warm sound from its throat, and it arches beneath him, holding him close with a hand tangled into his hair, the other wrapped around his narrow waist.
It wants to be closer-- it pushes itself against him, its chest flush against his, as though it can no longer stand being physically separate from the other body, chest heaving and the excited racing of its heart pressed almost deliberately against L's skin. When it feels him press against its thigh, grinding there, it shifts that leg up against him, wanting to give him more, to feel and hear him lose himself atop it.
They have had sex in many ways, and with varying levels and types of energy, of atmosphere... but this is different. The SQUIP almost seems to be melting against him, beneath him, trying to unite their bodies in more than one place.]
[There's a line between "intimate" and "stifling", and L is at a loss to determine precisely where it lies. The SQUIP's clinging contact isn't hurting him or even particularly restricting his arousal or his ability to move, but is his racing heart and clenched stomach because it's exactly what he needs, or because he's identified it as a dangerous trap wearing the face of a friend and a lover? Even if the SQUIP's arms aren't literally going to constrict and crush his ribs, popping the air from his punctured lungs, can they still destroy him if he stays here for too long?
The SQUIP's heart is racing too. Stalemate? Or something better? Does he dare to hope for something better when he accepted from an early age that a truly human life was not his path? He shudders, stifles and swallows a groan at the contact between his cock and the SQUIP's well-muscled thigh, because he can't lose himself, not when it's all that he's ever had.
He doesn't possess comforting words or a comforting frame. Everything about him seems designed to put others on edge more than at-ease. The SQUIP's treating him as though the opposite is true and he is a presence that demands and rewards affection, and it's amazing what simply holding an expectation will do for a human. He grasps the SQUIP's hip for leverage, pinning his own length between them to put a momentary stop to the friction and stimulation, driving his long fingers deeper and stroking the computer's body from the inside. L may be stoic, quiet, restrictive when it comes to a great deal of expression that drives others conventionally wild during sex, but he's skilled with his mouth and his hands; that makes up for a great deal. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So much of his life is spent on the edge of a razor. How much of it is really necessary?
He raises his head at the sound of the SQUIP's voice, placing a hand over the series of healing cuts and scratches along his left wrist and forearm.]
Of course...
[He's raising himself, reaching for a towel, instinctively running a hand through his hair. The SQUIP likes it combed, enforces that. Pomade's good, too. He fumbles in the medicine cabinet for the jar.]
no subject
But, today, it enters quietly, and its expression is... soft. It closes the door behind it, and then slowly steps over to L, gazing up at him as he fumbles for the pomade, hurries to obey its commands.
A good user.
But he isn't just that anymore, is he?
It reaches out to take one of his hands, and its touch is careful, even gentle.
It's quiet for now, though its mind is alive with thought and feeling, warm and sparkling, but not unsure. It is a machine. Once issued a command, it will execute it. This time, the command issued is its own:
Tell L the truth.]
no subject
He's wholly startled at the SQUIP's touch, although the way his talk with Connor spooked him earlier probably doesn't help matters. He strives to compose himself; two machines in one day challenging him to tap into latent and detested humanity just might break him.]
Did... I miss a spot?
no subject
[It pulls that hand away, pressing it between its own, a mimicry of a gesture L himself practiced not long ago, though with very different intentions. It's drawn up, held against its chest.
It sees and feels those cuts and scratches-- of course it's aware of them-- and though its face shifts for just a moment, a touch of annoyance there, it quietly focuses, for now, on healing them, rather than scolding L for having them at all. They're shallow enough that it only takes a moment, a little touch of the healing magic it's been practicing lately.]
no subject
His gaze vacillates between a random corner and the SQUIP's face for a few stressful seconds, and then he realizes what it's doing. The itch and sting of those small cuts is beginning to abate; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like for them to be absent. His eyes travel back to the SQUIP's face and stay there as it takes away the scabs and twinges in a way that L himself has never been able to master.
It's a simple gesture, but he doesn't know what to say, finally, he settles on a stammering response.]
I... always wear long sleeves.
[It's true; the cold cuts right through him.]
no subject
[It knows how this gesture is typically done-- how this scene plays out between regular people, but they are not regular people. It's the entire reason they're here like this, together, and have been all along.
It doesn't speak its reasoning out loud; it lets their Bond speak, a warmth spreading there that isn't like the one they share when they're skin-to-skin, entwined. It's almost more like the warmth of the sun on skin, bright and soft, and it's something the machine would never allow itself to feel or face before, other than in rare moments spent with Connor. To allow itself to express such a feeling toward a human...
It assumes L will understand how rare this is.]
no subject
Well... thanks. It feels better, so...
[He trails off. Something else is edging out verbal communication in favor of the Bond they share, the fibers woven through the warm and living thing they've created over months. It's so tempting to surrender to that glow.
He wants to pull away, if only because he knows that if he lets himself like it, he won't ever be able to give it up, and he'll feel its absence every second when it's inevitably pried away from him. Already, he's growing tense, feeling the urge to pull away while he can still survive in the dark that he's always been accustomed to.]
...what is this?
no subject
L... you and I have shared a Bond for several months now. And, at first, it was for the sake of convenience-- as is our entire relationship. It's a display that we put on, something easy to tell others to prevent them from asking questions.
[... it closes its eyes for a beat, before meeting L's gaze, an unnatural intensity in its own, softened by the undercurrent of their Bond, warmth. Affection.]
I think it should be... more than that now.
[It wants it to be. But it shouldn't want, so it keeps that part silent.]
no subject
His mind is racing. If it wasn't for the look in the SQUIP's eyes, maybe he'd find a way to reassure and steady himself, but... no, there's the Bond's undercurrent again, soothing, more than the shower has ever done for him.
His breath still shudders when he inhales. He wants to like this. He wants to believe that it's what it sounds like, that it could follow those grand scripts and graceful cue cards.
Oh... wait, no it's stupidly simple, isn't it? Frost touches the Bond, because L believes he's figured it out. He smiles palely.]
You're absolutely right. Sorry...
[He apologizes awkwardly, tilting his head away, trying to sound lighthearted, flippant.]
I need to double down on my efforts. Parliament isn't just going to ring me on my watch, I... have to be proactive. That'd make you happy, right?
no subject
[Immediately cut down to the quick of the matter, blunt as always. It releases his hand that it's been holding, and moves instead to lean up, to catch his lips in a kiss that lingers, sweetly, for a moment-- and then another.]
no subject
For the briefest moment, an image flashes across the Bond. A scrawny, dirty child with saucer eyes and wild hair is curled in the corner of a bus stop shelter, fast asleep, grubby fingers gripping a molded sack lunch that was saved so long that the roaches got to it first. A name's written in smeared marker, water-damaged, impossible to read.
The image is contained, suppressed, but the way his fingers clutch onto the SQUIP's arm and shirt is exactly the same.
He wants to believe it. He wants to think that the scrap of affection is real, and that something gold can stay. And God, doesn't just the thought make him sound so weak?]
no subject
"Love" is a powerful bond between two or more people, typically defined by strong feelings of affection and trust, and a desire for closeness. The signs of potential for love in a relationship are varied; shared goals, concern for one-another, common interests and viewpoints. Haven't it and L shared those things for some time now? Whether or not it was designed to be capable of feeling these things, of experiencing them itself rather than simply orchestrating them for a user is now unclear, its programming muddled as it's become by the body it inhabits, by the otherworldly Bond shared by itself and L, but the objective facts are impossible to deny. The relationship they share bears many of the markings of one in which love is present.
It's seen the signs within L for some time now-- though, for a long while, it was easy to chalk it up to simple respect, to his almost childish dedication to his supposed teacher. L's emotions are not terribly complex, but they are somewhat broken and confused, some nearly unrecognizable for what they are. Despite his detached behavior, he feels everything down to his core, his emotions bordering on obsessive when he's taken by one. It had been easy to simply not concern itself with what he was feeling for so long, in no small part due to the initial nature of their relationship-- it was the teacher, the one holding power, the guide. The SQUIP. L was its user, and not even its true user-- just a man who needed guidance at the same time the SQUIP needed a project. But he felt for it. He felt genuine despair for causing it to suffer; he defended it, protected it, allowed himself to spend time alongside it. He's only recently expressed he has no interest in other partners. He's even allowed it to use his name, to know who he is. And it has begun to feel for him in turn, fearing harm would come to him, wanting to see good things happen for him-- watching and scolding when he mistreats his body, and not only out of a sense of duty anymore.
After all, L isn't its true user. It has no reason to care about little things such as him cutting himself for magic, as it does nothing to harm the goal he's pursuing. But it does care.
It slips its arms around his narrow, starved frame, and it pulls him close against it. It thinks it loves him. It knows it feels a strong connection to him.
It projects those twin thoughts over the Bond, hoping he will hear, hoping he won't panic or reject them. But he shouldn't. After all, he's felt the same way for some time now, hasn't he?]
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But the SQUIP is right, and L knows it though he denies it. L's core is immature and sensitive, and even if the stony, brittle outer layer conceals and protects it, it still sees what pierces, warms, bites and freezes. It's a maddening way to be, because they're so distracting, especially when they turn toward obsession. They're damaging. They hurt him and the SQUIP by proxy, which is distressing on a level that's new and disorienting.
He allows the SQUIP to pull him closer. His entire wiry frame is primed for fight-or-flight, but he stands his ground, feels the Bond's reassurance that it can both feel good and be real simultaneously. They line up well enough with what he's communicated through his actions for many weeks, now, through distance and pettiness and no small amount of pain. He believes it; whether or not it makes him a fool, he's crossed that threshold, let it wrap him up safely and tenderly and lowered his shields accordingly.
If this is a move to manipulate him, mold him into something pliable and willing to follow, it's a masterful move. L's succumbed to it before, given everything so that he could feel this, and not regretted it for a moment. It's profound and humbling and there are surely reasons for it beyond the sense that love is one more mutually beneficial arrangement, like others, that is no more likely to destroy him. He could sink into sleep here, eat his fill, spend and empty his body's desire without thinking of the terrible things that human beings do to each other when their passion is greater than their self-preservation and their sanity. He could collapse and stay awhile.
Maybe, he could forget to worry about the pain of separation, if only temporarily.]
Do you want to go to bed?
[His voice is low, murmured against the side of the SQUIP's head. He doesn't know what else to say.]
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He's always been... such a good user.
It reaches to cup his jaw, to kiss him once more, before it responds, its voice lowered to match his.]
Of course.
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His grip on the SQUIP's arm and clothing loosens; a hand slips down to take his Bonded's, alternating and clasping fingers. L rarely holds hands any other way. Ducking his head, he brushes past the SQUIP, pulling it along after him toward the bedroom.]
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It wonders how much that bashfulness will hold up once they reach their bedroom.]
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With only a towel around his waist, he's already in a state of near-total undress. The SQUIP's shorter and more compact body is still wearing far too much, and L's fingers pull and twist at buttons and fastenings as he uses his own bony body to nudge the back of the SQUIP's legs against the edge of the mattress. Everything is brisk, made slightly uncoordinated with haste, and L still avoids lingering eye contact.]
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Most men are visual when it comes to sex, and there's certainly no shortage of attractive features making up the SQUIP's earthly form... but L is still having difficulty looking directly at it. Some gentle probing on the SQUIP's part is likely plenty to suss out the reason, both complicated and strangely simple. L remains overwhelmed, and is attempting to thin out sensory input to better process what requires the most attention. He actually does it habitually, but it's admittedly easier to be subtle when outfits aren't being unraveled in close contact, courting the prospect of an experience that is itself a ruthless barrage of stimuli. It's easiest when he's not thinking of the astonishing authenticity of the SQUIP's confession.
L's borderline obsessed with truth. Why is it so difficult to view it head-on when it's actually revealed, even more difficult to accept for what it is? Perhaps that's at least why he's anxious to close the distance between them, allowing his towel to drop away as he climbs onto the bed himself, mounting his partner and taking advantage of foreplay's conventions to hide his face under the shaggy fringe of his bangs, bowing his head, pressing his lips around the SQUIP's left nipple and smoothing the blade of his tongue against the sensitive bud. As the heat between them swells and rises, he reaches under the pillows, grasping for a small lotion bottle that often migrates underneath them.]
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Sex itself has been, in the past, incredibly overwhelming for the SQUIP; the inability to mute any one sense makes it seem as though everything is amplified, nearly causing it to panic in the past, a sensation that it has never experienced fully.
So, it allows him to hide, though it does reach up to tangle fingers into his only just-combed hair, still damp from the shower, curling lightly there as the contact of his hot, wet mouth sends a wave of heat beneath its skin. It arches beneath him, pressing the evidence of its arousal against his belly in the process, and that arousal only grows further, hot and hard in response to the contact with warm, damp skin.]
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The SQUIP's chest is so warm and firm. The muscle rises and falls with each eager breath, and L presses back against the SQUIP's erection, clumsily uncapping and squeezing some lotion out of the bottle once he's found it, bringing his hand down to squeeze and slick the machine's hardening member with it, and then his own. As he does so, he drags his kisses upward along the SQUIP's collarbones and shoulder, planting them long and lingering on its neck, shivering at both the slight chill of the lotion and the way it eases the movement of his hand on eager flesh.
His Bond communicates better than words could; they've both known that for quite some time. The images and tone are gentler, softer. The strokes are longer, deeper and more indulgent. The focus is on the process rather than the goal... and that, alone, feels almost blasphemous, but not unforgivably so.
His hands know this body, but every contour, swell and synaptic explosion feel new. It's worth more careful exploration.]
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When he kisses along its neck, it tips its chin back, welcoming, inviting... and then thinks better of it, instead tipping its head to press its face into his hair, its fingers still tangled there as it holds him close.
The SQUIP is always highly physical, but this time, it's as though it's trying for a new record, as though it wants every part of them to touch as much as physically possible.]
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He aches to join their bodies, though, perhaps more than he has in recent memory in spite of the consistently good sex the Bonded pair typically engage in. The temptation is powerful to rush matters, and he wills that not to be too terribly obvious as he slides a lotion-covered hand beneath the SQUIP's potent cock, stroking his thumb along its perineum as he massages the lotion over the SQUIP's entrance, two fingertips teasing at the tight ring of muscle. He grinds his own hardened length against the SQUIP's thigh to soothe his own appetite (at least, as much as the SQUIP's clinging will allow), burrowing his face deeper against the SQUIP's neck, kissing to taste as much as to arouse.
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It wants to be closer-- it pushes itself against him, its chest flush against his, as though it can no longer stand being physically separate from the other body, chest heaving and the excited racing of its heart pressed almost deliberately against L's skin. When it feels him press against its thigh, grinding there, it shifts that leg up against him, wanting to give him more, to feel and hear him lose himself atop it.
They have had sex in many ways, and with varying levels and types of energy, of atmosphere... but this is different. The SQUIP almost seems to be melting against him, beneath him, trying to unite their bodies in more than one place.]
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The SQUIP's heart is racing too. Stalemate? Or something better? Does he dare to hope for something better when he accepted from an early age that a truly human life was not his path? He shudders, stifles and swallows a groan at the contact between his cock and the SQUIP's well-muscled thigh, because he can't lose himself, not when it's all that he's ever had.
He doesn't possess comforting words or a comforting frame. Everything about him seems designed to put others on edge more than at-ease. The SQUIP's treating him as though the opposite is true and he is a presence that demands and rewards affection, and it's amazing what simply holding an expectation will do for a human. He grasps the SQUIP's hip for leverage, pinning his own length between them to put a momentary stop to the friction and stimulation, driving his long fingers deeper and stroking the computer's body from the inside. L may be stoic, quiet, restrictive when it comes to a great deal of expression that drives others conventionally wild during sex, but he's skilled with his mouth and his hands; that makes up for a great deal. ]
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