Work Text:
“I’ll be home late, fleshbag. Got a situation at work. Don’t jerk off your ego too much while I’m gone — 60.”
Elijah sighed, lazily slouching on the living room’s couch, thick glasses slowly lowering down his nose and mussed, undid raven bangs hovering over his sight as the television’s muffled noise spoke in the background, filling the room with the latest news.
The clock on his phone ticked ten p.m.
Sixty was later than usual, the reason now very much clear as the quiet and precise voice of the journalist launched a snippet of a previous interview from a few hours ago to Captain Allen, the impeccable posture and stance of his shoulders taking the screen as he held his chin high and talked about one risky hostage negotiation that was fortuitously resolved thanks to the collaboration of the RK800.
Twirling a strand of his bangs around the tapered index, Elijah observed with renewed fascination how easily Sixty managed to adapt to social situations when work demanded him to, burying every aspect of his chaotic personality in favor of a socially accepted behavior.
As he offered the journalist the most professional façade he had ever seen him flaunt in one year, the android talked about the hostage rescue as if he was blabbering about the grocery shopping list.
If his attitude was anything to go by, he seemed tired and more proved than usual, and the look of concern that the Captain tried to hide beneath his serious and composed demeanor seemed only a poor attempt at masquerading something that his keen eye failed to miss in the way the android nervously clicked his neck during the interview, anxiously pulling around the collar of the tight and adherent uniform and constantly —almost uncomfortably, shifting restlessly on his feet, leaving the attention of the camera as soon as he was done and always keeping his LED far from the objective.
The clutter of dishes coming from the kitchen slightly made him jolt, but it wasn’t until he felt the decisive tapping of familiar nails that he realized he’d been lost in his thoughts for minutes, and the news broadcast had now been interrupted by the umpteenth replica of an old declaration made by president Warren.
“Chloe?” rolling on the sofa and grumbling in discomfort, Elijah sat against the grey pillows, fumbling with his ear piercing in a nervous habit that rivaled his brother’s obnoxious tapping of tables and knee jumping, “You scared me.”
“I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” he gestured to the phone, only then realizing it rolled over the couch and got stuck in the creak between the cushions, “I— Huh. Never mind. Maybe I’m just aging.”
“Should I schedule an appointment with an audiologist? I called your name at least thrice. Verbally.”
Chloe’s raised brows spoke the concern that she didn’t still dare to voice.
Almost twenty years spent by her creator’s side were enough to be able to tell when something was on his mind, and despite the human was no android, it was surprisingly easy to recognize when his metaphorical LED spun yellow, and a quick synchronization with the television and analysis of the later broadcast offered her the quick solution.
“Oh. You’re worried about Sixty.”
Elijah’s thin lips curled into a semblance of a grin, apprehension twisting his expression as his hands run from playing with his undone hair to scratching his short and recently trimmed beard: “I’m afraid he’s experiencing some bugs and trying to hide them from me. He’s always insistent with resolving those issues alone, but he can’t delay maintenance. And he’s been busy all week so I haven’t had any time to do a proper check-in and see if there was anything wrong with his wires. Can’t get him to accept that he needs to be under observation more than his predecessors, with all he’s been through.”
“God created man in His image,” Chloe’s azure irises met her creator’s icy ones before pressing her fingers against his glasses, sliding them up his nose before they could completely fall off, “He’s stubborn, there’s little that can be done about it. But if it can give you some relief, I believe the problems he’s experiencing are nothing organically or, well— hardware-related. I conducted a quick analysis on the clip that has been broadcast and besides an anomaly in the LED, he just seems... stressed. Nothing that can’t be traced back to the singularity of the experience of deviancy.”
“You think he’s just having a rough week?”
“In our last interface, I was able to check his logs and it seems like he’s been refraining from entering stasis in the past days, although I wasn’t able to find out for how long this has been happening. I believe summed to the stress coming from his job, he might be in need of some rest.”
Curiously leaning over, she collected the blanket that was set aside, by the opposite end of the couch, and carefully folding it in four, she tapped her bare feet on the soft and fluffy carpet, now playfully slapping the man’s ass to prop him up from his lazying around: “I know that every time you see something wrong with him, be it a bug or just a minor glitch, you think it’s your job to help him with it. But only because he’s at risk more than his brothers, doesn’t mean that he’s not allowed to experience stress just like any of us. What you see, might just be the outlet of a minor discomfort. Especially considering his long history of stasis deprivation.”
Pinching the space between his narrow eyebrows, Elijah nervously stood up, sliding into his slippers as he let the girl make order on the barely messed couch, a few words of advice spared for him before bidding him a good night, fingers lingering on the marbled door frame as she advised him that the android was on his way back from work, before disappearing down the long corridor of the villa.
Stasis deprivation was nothing new when it came to the RK800.
Between Sixty and Gavin, he felt like his life had always been a pendulum between an insomniac brother and an equally sleep-deprived boyfriend, both victims of anguishes that rarely brought restful sleeps and that his Zen as fuck body wasn’t trained to deal with anymore as he drew closer to the forties with every passing day.
Luckily enough, the few minutes of dozing off on the sofa between the news broadcast and the soporific blabbering of president Warren allowed him to recharge his batteries, and there was nothing that kept him more awake than knowing his lover was in distress —despite he very much wished he didn’t fall asleep so early in the past days, leaving the RK800 to deal alone with his fears, struggles and stress.
One quick check to the phone advised him that it was almost eleven, but despite the hour almost made his eyes blink and water with the need of the soft embrace of his pillows, he squinted and cracked them open at the sudden roar of a familiar motorcycle, the thunder scaring the birds resting by the reeds near the lake and making them flee in flocks, and dirt and dust rising from the ground in a messy and sepia nebula, throwing mud everywhere in the foggy and rainy days, tailpipes exhaling one last growl as the engine was killed and a kickstand pulled down.
When the android came back home riding a bike fresh-bought with his second paycheck months ago, he wasn’t expecting to be this fascinated by the attire he’d find the RK800 wear most of the time back from his work.
And yet, there was something charming about the way his chaotic nature married the untamed elegance of his bike, the simplicity of the firm and yet sleek design eloping with the shades of matte anthracite and a glowing cerulean, perfect match for the flickering of his LED.
Sixty was stunningly seducing riding his steed, and as he pressed his fingers against the authentication panel of the front door, he was surprised by meeting a pair of gleaming, light blue eyes welcoming him back, a goofy grin and a familiar face contoured by heavy glasses now smiling at him as the android stood beneath him with a hint of confusion in his gaze, the protective helmet with enhanced night vision still under his arm, hair and curls slightly tousled, and the uniform weighing him down, the haste to get home leaving him no time to bother changing in the locker room with his colleagues.
“Hellooo nurse,” Elijah squinted his eyes, in a wink that resembled his brother’s incapacity to blink properly, and touching the bulletproof vest his lover was still wearing, he leaned on the tip of his feet to level with him, “Welcome back, beauty.”
The RK barely managed to hide a smile at the odd compliment, and quickly pre-constructing the trajectory, he threw the helmet off his arms, perfectly landing it on the couch, on top of the recently folded blanket, finally able to dedicate his attention to his creator as he leaned enough to meet his soft lips in an ephemeral and fleeting kiss, almost chaste: “Huh, that’s surprising. Wasn’t expecting to find you awake. Here goes my hope of getting my fix of margarine and crunchy marbles at one ass a.m. in the morning.”
“As if my being awake ever worked as a deterrent.”
Sixty wrapped his arms around his waist, gloved palms rubbing against the thin fabric of the cotton shirt, barely feeling the skin beneath the layers that separated his chassis from the human’s pale complexion and his tonic muscles.
Tugging him closer, his chestnut irises gleamed with interest and tease: “You love when my breath smells of unsaturated fats and wood treatment products. Mahogany has a very remarkable taste.”
“I would expect this from a moth,” mused Elijah, little thrills shaking his spine as he felt circles being rubbed on his loins, the leather pressure on his barren skin almost tingling as he angled his head to better kiss the android, dragging a heaved breath before capturing his now moistened lips in a heated encounter of mouths, humming contently when gloved fingers cradled his sharp features, “But I’ve never witnessed such an intense craving for wood so early in the morning. You gnawed and chewed all over Carl’s work.”
“Shut up. He’d laugh his ass off it,” hiding a little chuckle, he bared his teeth, almost to prove a point, despite, unlike his little brother, he wasn’t as fortunate to bear retractable fangs, “I make no distinction between your morning wood and that poor excuse of a sculpture. They’re both huge sticks.”
“I’m offended. You never used my cock as a toothpick”
“Yeah, it’s kinda fat, Lij. But I appreciate the suggestion. It would do if I was as big as a titan or a transformer—”
“I’m not building you a body that big.”
The android flaunted an amused grin, and his hands dropped from the human’s flanks fast enough to hide a seizure, a sudden grasp and tilt of his fingers that piled onto the innumerable amount of bugs that he had been experiencing in a crescendo during the last hours, the stasis-less nights taking a toll on him, in the fear that his secret would soon be exposed, if the accidental sharing of his logs with Chloe hadn’t done the job already.
Undoubtedly so, Elijah was now offering him a preoccupied gaze, thick lenses studying him and checking on his LED with that much hated analytical look that seemed lesser of a lover and more of the researcher and technician he was.
“I... huh.”
He didn’t want to discuss it.
Feelings were a sore point —sex worked way easier than speaking aloud all his problems and preoccupations, but it was in moments like these that he felt the gap between him and Elijah become lesser of a creak and more of a ravine, when he wasn’t a partner in his eyes but a conundrum, the enigma to crack, the appliance to fix, a reason to look at his code, in the hope of catching a glimpse of his own creation, and maybe, a mirror of the person he used to be, chasing ghosts of the past, like the nights he spent on his attempts on reviving Amanda’s AI and salvaging what was left of it between the enclosed sterile walls of his laboratory.
And yet, the expected and dreaded long lecture about his lack of self-care never came, and the glimpse of scientific curiosity that he caught on barely dilated pupils, was now replaced by an unexpected softness, a lover’s tenderness that rarely showed so untamed and raw on the human’s face, pure as the rivulets springing from a glacier.
“Six... it’s been a Day”
Elijah’s fingers lingered over his heavy gear, and his nails traced the sewn numbers of his serial over the name-tag of his uniform, tapping the embroidered “60” that spoke more of his uniqueness than his voice’s timber and face unfortunately would have ever done, a luck and yet also a curse, to share his likeliness with Connor and maybe a few more exemplars who escaped from the revolution and were now living their lives in anonymity, “Why not take all this stuff off?”
“You have an idea, chief?”
“What? Can’t I just want to pamper my boyfriend after a long day of work?”
Sixty’s scanners carefully studied him, lingering way too long on his face as they analyzed it down to every micro-expression.
There were no lies detectable on his creator’s expression, a relief in knowing that it wasn’t a ruse to get him into repairs.
Little did it matter if “Elijah would have never done that.”
There was a fine line between trusting and fearing betrayal that no amount of being brought back to life and scarce promises whispered in the night would suffice to exorcise.
As deft fingers worked their way through the straps of his gear, gently pulling it off, Sixty let himself be guided from the foyer to the corridor, bits and pieces of his weave sown from the hall to the bedroom in a messy trail, boots discarded along the way, leather belt long forgotten as it rolled off his waists in a clanging noise, and buttons of the shirt now slowly undone behind the closed door of their nest.
The soft, caressing shades of smooth and warm lights were casting a lovely shadow upon their bodies, as a gentle and playful push had the android fall on the mattress, pants loosened and chest exposed through almost ripped-off buttons.
“Can you lay down for me? Want to try something out.”
A brush of lips on his forehead, lingering over the cauterized, almost invisible bullet scar, was enough of a delicate request of trust, a whisper that demanded indulgence and faith, as the brush of the mildly wet mouth now grazed his eyebrows, humming over the chocolate curls and drawing lower, on the tip of his nose, purposely ignoring his plump mouth in favor of his cheeks, gifting one kiss each, before cradling his jaw between the ample palms.
“You keep spoiling me like this and I might think you want something more, E̮̩̼͂̚͠ļ̯̻̈͒i,” Sixty’s voice was a trembled murmur, a glitch distorting his words that was soon met by the creator’s chuckle.
“It’s so pretty, seeing you losing your composure whenever you call my name.”
No remarks or retorts followed his words, the silence interrupted by fans kicking in and their whirring now spreading blue tinges across the android’s face, heating up with every smooch and nibble that traveled on his cheeks, marked with indelible saliva and traces his polymer-liquid ashen skin and the chassis beneath, and lighted up in glowing hues every sensible part of it, LED glimmering amber with the tingling human breaths on his neck and in the hollow of his now naked shoulders.
Elijah was revering every part of him, thumbs pressing on phantom knots along his back and down to the titanium ribs, a growl dying in a savage and cracked moan now escaping from the RK800’s lips.
“A-Ã̵͈̙̝́̒̅͜h̷̟̫͍͚̽͂͗... E-Eli.”
Slender fingers instantly seized, Sixty’s trembling hands grabbing for purchase and burying beneath his creator’s raven tufts, delicately and warily pulling, scratching and making a mess of that way too composed hairstyle, legs sprawling as his hips instinctively buckled forward, the loosened pants and tight boxer too much of a restraint.
“Oh God, yes... please, Ĕ̷̫l̴̥̬͔̋̕͘ĩ̷͈̩̃̇͋̊ͅ .”
And yet, his pleads were met by nothing but dainty palms, tracing the lines of his body, the seams of his chassis where they knew every panel clicked with another, venerating the parts that showed up with every nibble and playful bite on the plastic and carbonium as they slowly guided him down on the mattress, Sixty’s strong body now pressed against the tender silky sheets, back exposed where the shoulder blades revealed a pattern of moles and freckles, a beautiful firmament, starry sky that never failed to amaze him.
Sixty was rightfully stubborn with his identity, and he never failed to affirm his individuality, the uniqueness of his own design, by personally tampering with his own skin, altering the complexion, size, and placement of his moles, and the drawings they harmoniously created on his body.
And so, one day his body was a plain, impersonal slate, devoid of any human imperfection, and another he would rearrange every single blemish and beauty spot, hide them and tease his creator in a game of hide-and-seek, a chase of his moles that seemed no different from the pointless pursuit Gavin’s cats would do with a laser pointer.
Elijah contemplated the astounding and breath-taking sight of his lover’s back, the chassis emerging where the pale façade was peeling off.
He could still take notice of spots and delighting imperfections that weren’t there the week before, smaller freckles that looked new and never seen, and hairs that seemed to grow off the usually bare armpits.
“So pretty, my Six”
Bending over him, the man pressed a kiss on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of balm and conditioner that seemed to permeate every strand of his hair, blessing himself with the mewls coming out of the RK800’s throat, strangled moans as he rutted against the Bordeaux sheets, arms stretching and reaching for the closest pillow to bite into.
“Relax for me... no need to be tense. I’ll just give you a good massage. No maintenance involved; I promise.”
His words seemed enough to get the android to finally lower his guard, and when no retort seemed to leave Sixty’s mouth for once, Elijah hopped on his loins, straddling his back and purposely avoiding smacking his butt as he’d playfully do in other settings, glasses set aside on the nightstand and hair undone, as the black elastic that would usually bind them was now resting around his wrist.
Chuckling at the beautiful sight he was bestowed upon, he gently traced his fingertips deep into the RK’s shoulder blades, caressing and stroking every sore point that would have made a human grunt in discomfort and pain, pressing the thumbs over his perfectly curved and aligned spine, vertebra by vertebra, snatching whimpers of relief that he’d usually tear out of Sixty only in very explicit situations.
“Mmph—!”
A sudden bite was muffled into the pillow the RK800 was holding onto, and if the buckled and yearning canting of his hips was anything to go by, in his attempt to unwind his lover did nothing but get even more railed up, legs spreading and back arching, as he leaned into the vigorous and energetic touches that were grazing his spine.
“O-Oh... feels... so g̴͈̻̟̗̠̒̆̈́ò̵̧͚̳͔̝̍̉͠o̴̙̥̠̻̠͂͝d̸̺̝̽͗͝͝, Lij.”
The milky plain of his back ribcage, melting with the glistening cerulean shades of the synthetic muscles, and the recently substituted pieces of tourmaline chassis clicking like chess pieces with the nacre ones, were a panorama that Elijah was more than proud of witnessing from a new perspective, in the penumbra of their bedroom.
“Why you’re s̸̛̜̳̦͓̓̈́̉o̵̻̤̱͉͑͆̊̕ good at this,” Sixty’s voice was strained, a constellation of glitches as he rested face flat against the pillow, no need to breathe, and yet potent exhales choked into the soft material with every knot of synthetic muscle that he felt almost untied, “F-Fuck, I needed it so much.”
“Mmm, I’m glad you’re appreciating.”
The room fell silent, nothing but the human’s musing filling the pregnant silence, time suspended in their bubble, where nothing mattered but the tenderness of the present, the brushing noise of palms comforting him as they explored his body as if they were feeling and discovering it for the very first time, and the loving, adoring murmurs of affection, praise, and tenderness, that avoided as much as possible the word “love” like the elephant in the room, despite undeniably speaking its language.
Elijah’s touch was caring and yet erotic, and had his body on fire and his wires whipped in a frenzy.
“If you keep going, I’m gonna ask you to massage me regularly... a-ă̷̗̔̉̾̈́h̵̫̟̙͆͋̐̕ͅ...”
Breaking the quiet once more, Sixty allowed himself to lean in the attentions even more, concealing a moan in the pillow, ignoring the mingle of proud embarrassment and fluster and the rush of need that was now pooling on his groin at the feeling of his lover’s burgeoning interest pressing against his back, his crotch sitting and accidentally rubbing on him as every massage turned stronger.
Elijah leaned lower to adjust himself, until he was no longer sitting but laying right on top of him, sprawled onto the curve of his spine, his not-so-smaller frame now completely adhering to his, fitting and clicking together like perfect puzzle pieces, his hands holding onto his smaller waist dearly.
“What can I say. I just love cherishing my muse.”
There was a chuckle choked into the cushion, the loving smile of the android never failing to make him grin too, the whirring of his fans and the louder beats of his thirium pump now melodious music to his ears.
“You’re a hypocritical sap. Saying this bullshit while butting your mahogany stick against my ass.”
“I’ll settle for blue balls tonight, thank you. I’ll just be content with snuggling with you, patootie,” brushing his mouth against his lobe, he huffed a warm breath near his helix, and straddling his back, he let his palms venture beneath the naked chest, playfully groping his bare and little defined pectorals, and squeezing the nipples before returning to his caring massages, every twitch of the RK’s hips against his crotch hitching his breath, “Unless you want to, obviously. Then I’ll be glad to do whatever my pretty, pissy muse asks me.”
Sixty’s grip around the pillow loosened, and the last bastion of his defenses crumbled when Elijah’s fingers intertwined around his stomach, generous and usually flamboyant mouth now gifting erratic kisses on the crook of his neck, tracing sweet trails and paths from the shoulder up to the ear, back and forth, tongue pressed against the pearly chassis and whispers hushed as the android’s glabrous and long legs tangled with the human’s shorter and hairy ones, calves and ankles meeting and rubbing against each other in pursuit of contact.
The RK nervously stuttered, but his voice was mute as he struggled to find the words to properly ask what he wanted, tensing as his fingers traveled to hold onto his creator’s, feeling the idle and lazy caresses of thumbs around the glowing rim of his regulator, comforting presence to hold onto as his system seemed to relax on the security of the embrace.
.”.. if I enter stasis...”
Biting into his lower lip, Sixty attempted to conceal the growing blue shades of his face, internal temperature rising at the chuckling and tender nibbles pressed on his nape, affectionate bites that danced around his back-port and “mmms” of approval that Elijah murmured to show him he was listening, imperceptible vibrations that had his pump stutter.
“Can you... hold me until I go on standby?”
Elijah deeply inhaled, and his fingers closed even tighter around the slight and insecure —almost imperceptible tremble of the android’s, letting all his weight rest onto his naked and defenseless back: “I’ll hold you the entire night if you need it.”
Slotting his legs between his, he filled his lungs with his scent, “I raise the stakes: I’ll do it every night if that will make it easier for you to fall asleep.”
“Sappy twunk”
“I firmly believe the word you’re searching for is another, but I’m a magnanimous god, so I’ll settle for acknowledging that my boyfriend finds my attempts at cherishing him endearing and “sappy”.”
“Do you get a certified check from the Dictionary Lobby every time you hit your daily quota of bombastic words and expressions?”
“What, you haven’t been sending them the report?” immediately retorted the human with a joyous smirk, rolling off his back just enough to reach the main light switch and turn the smooth illumination off, now reclaiming his side of the mattress and patting his chest to invite the android to crawl and lay on it.
Sixty didn’t hesitate a moment, and dragging his elbows and wrists on the silky and satin vermilion sheets, he nervously dragged his arms around his creator’s torso, fingertips glowing in the night in sapphire hues, grasping for more and demanding contact, clashing with the slow and unexpected flickers of his ruby LED.
In the darkness of the room, shrouded by the faint lights coming from the tall and transparent windows, there was little to do to conceal and deny the erratic blaring scarlet of his temple, casting crimson shades against the walls.
The palm that was now caressing it offered a silent comfort to the words that his voice box wouldn’t dare to speak and his pride would choke behind the pretense of keeping up his strength and infallible, unbreakable persona.
Elijah was a human, and yet, as they laid together, embracing in the obscurity, he was way more courageous and braver than he could have ever aspired to be in face of his own feelings, fighting all the signs of tiredness that his frail and limited body was communicating, and idly stroking his hair, drawing circles and soft massages against the patches where the chocolate tufts disappeared to reveal the bald and smooth surface.
“I’m sorry. I... just can’t do it.”
Leaning into the hand cradling his face, Sixty huffed off an exasperated and much-unneeded sigh, rubbing his cheek against the fingers that were tracing the hairline around his glistening LED and the tender shell of his ear, gently caressing the input of his audio processor, before offering him an empathetic grin, devoid of prejudices.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—”
His breath halted, and the steel grip around Elijah grew tighter, softening only at the registered spike in his heart-beat, not a yelp of pain escaping the thin seam of his lips, despite the subtle creak of a bone was enough to invite him to desist and instead just snuggle closer than he already was, cuddle and steal as much warmth and comfort as he possibly could from him, as he rested a naked palm on his sternum, aqua fingertips glistening in rising and decreasing heat to the rhythm of the human’s heart.
“I haven’t been entering stasis just because my stress levels were high as fuck. I mean— of fucking course I care about my job and training to defuse shit. And getting along with that bunch of asshats is not a piece of cake. If I could, I’d retch mustard in their bags every day. But like hell I’m ditching my stasis for that bunch of Allen’s worshippers.”
Twirling a rebel curl, Elijah’s fingers traced a swirl around the smooth chestnut strand, as his glacial irises melted in the android’s hot chocolate ones, offering an understanding silence, shrouded in gentleness and patient affection.
“Truth is... sometimes... when I close my eyes, I don’t always manage to access the Zen Garden.”
Long lashes closed on his memories, feeling the delicate and loving caresses as his façade of stubbornness gradually crumbled in fragments and creaks that allowed his creator a timid peek to his true self, a rare opening that yet Sixty allowed and trusted him with all his thirium pump, in the rare few instances he let down the walls of his heart.
“When it happens, the same memory unravels before me. Over, and over again.”
His hands vaguely gestured as he swallowed, throat unusually dry at the sudden remembrance of the scene, the silence encouraging him to open up.
“I see Hank. He’s angry, he’s waving his gun around, but he’s... he knows what he’s doing. He... points the gun at Connor while asking him about Cole. It’s... just a second, but it’s all it takes for Connor to give his long-ass correct answer and being dramatically honest about it. I could have said the exact same words. Same intonation. Same module. No mistakes made. And I am about to speak, to say that I knew that too, but as I open my mouth all I hear—.”
His lips twitched, a jolt of electricity shaking his body in a violent shiver, LED rapidly blinking a darker and never-seen red.
“—all I hear is the gunshot.
I hear the sizzling noise of my circuits frying. It’s an odd sensation, it burns like fucking nitrogen. It’s tiring, it feels like falling into a slumber, except everything is scorching like my entire chassis is being invested by radiations. I smell gunpowder with burnt plastic and carbonium. The alcoholic scent of thirium and all the noise of my audio processors giving in. Everything is red, glitches of reality fading in and out”
When his eyes opened, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in Elijah’s pained and lucid gaze, forehead creased and lips curled in a grimace of bitter sadness, fingers never stopping cradling him, comforting him through the fear that was consummating him, devouring and eating him alive, LED casting ravenous waves of scorching lava against the walls, the android’s pump’s beats now synching with the suddenly accelerated human’s heart, blood rushing faster as his breath heaved in deep grief.
“...then everything goes dark. And I feel pain, and it doesn’t feel right cause androids don’t feel pain. And yet I’m there, and I scream, I scream in the void for someone to come, someone to save me, anyone to rescue me.
And I lay there. Every damn night, I’m on the floor bleeding out to death.
You never come. I never wake up in your laboratory.
All I see and hear is darkness and silence. It’s just me, alone in my head. Bleeding between the creaks of my system as I exhale my last breaths.
Sometimes my body is found and reactivated in emergency mode, only for some technicians to collect it, load it onto the assembly line, and tear it apart just like they wanted to do with Nines, leaving me operational enough to feel every grain of pain and regret my failure as I’m torn apart, limb by limb, de-structured code line by code line in search of flaws to rectify.
Melted.
Scrapped.
Useless piece of bolts, no longer beneficial to the image of Cyberlife.
And then I wake up and—”
Sixty’s breath hitched, and before he could utter another word, he felt Elijah’s thumb so gently cleaning and massaging his now awkwardly wet cheeks, hiding the tears that he would never admit he was crying, voice module creaking as his vision fogged, his creator’s face now clouded and barely distinguishable, no matter how close he now dragged him, lovingly kissing his forehead, caressing and holding his jaw, drying the corners of his eyes and gifting affectionate pecks to the cauterized scar over and over again, in vain attempts to wash it away.
The RK’s fists clutched against his chest, desperately holding onto him for his dear life.
“When I wake up, I’m so s͓̱̔̓̓͟ċͅa̰͔͐̚r̢͒ë̢̙́͑̌ͅd͙̻̗̩̀̉͒͊, Eli,” he uttered in a sob, wails dying in his shoulder, teeth gritting with every grasp for unneeded air, “So scared that you won’t come, you won’t come for me a̠̱͖͂̐̌n̢̳̣̈͆y̧̬̖̖͋̓͐͐m͔͆or̨̭̯̘̜̽͗͌͝ȩ̙̙̙͕̽̽̎̕, cause I’m not worthy of being saved, I’m not the savior of the Revolution and I’m not as useful as my successor, I am— I’m just a n̟͓̏u̙͉͒͆m̛̳̞̭̭̒̚͡b̺̂ė͢r̼̪͔͎͐̀̀͒͟͞, I’m just number 60, I’m barely functional, I’m an agglomerate of bugs and if I don’t do regular maintenance, I’m going to be submerged by them like fucking Windows and— and you’ll grow tired! You’ll ditch me, you’ll become tired of my bullshit and of my idiot takes and I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die, Eli— I’m so scared!”
His stream of words ended in one last whispered hiccup, as he, unfortunately, realized there were no more tears to shed, his reserves already finished, for all the days he snuck in the bathroom of the department unseen, shedding them alone from prying eyes, where he hatefully collected the scattered shards of his pride.
“...I’m so scared,” he repeated as his words died in his throat.
Gently kissing away his tears, Elijah closed his lips on his lids, delicately pressing his mouth against the tender faux skin, as it retracted to reveal the milky chassis beneath.
Not a word was proffered except his heaved breaths as his thumbs moved over to caress lightly and almost terrified the cauterized scar, words whispered in the darkness of the solitary night, as the android’s broken and glitching hiccups stuttered with every mechanical breath taken, internal temperature rising as the tears he couldn’t pour anymore were completely taken over by the utter collapse of his defenses.
“Sixty...”
Catching a glimpse of a crimson light into the brunet’s dark pupils, he offered him a comforting smile, thumbs pressed against the rosy tinge of his soft lips, as a glow of cerulean-dusted blush spread all over his face, at the dawning realization of what had just happened.
“You’re not just a number. You never were and never will be. Doesn’t matter what the remains of your programming or your nightmares tell you. You are not in my eyes, nor in your brothers’ or Gavin’s. And just like no human is perfect, nor are you or any other android. But being imperfect isn’t necessarily a flaw.”
“...you say this but sometimes... you look at me... like... you did earlier... as if I’m some sorta experiment,” Sixty croaked, forehead creasing in pain as the now glistening crimson pupils were met with a sad grimace of acknowledgment, strained brows furrowing as tapered fingers held his face, wiping away the vestiges of his cry: “Yes. I know. I’m sorry if I do. I know I should stop and it’s... unjust in your regards. It’s... difficult at most to discern the feelings I have for you from the impulse to check that everything is in working order, although I realize that’s a shitty excuse you don’t deserve. I’m so wrapped up in my head all the time that I forget that....”
Sixty’s head slowly tilted, and the cerise shades that his LED had been casting against the wall now melted in golden and hopeful shades, fans suddenly whirring in a louder noise that tangled with the echo of the thirium pump beats into his ears.
Elijah’s gaze was sudden elusive, evasive icy irises and teeth sinking into the inner flesh of his lips, as he offered the android the most awkward of his smiles, a window on the simple person that he used to be before everything.
Before Cyberlife.
Before his roads parted with Gavin.
When he wasn’t a gifted child stripped of a regular childhood yet, but just the brother of a bastard and unwanted child, his companion of adventures in the garden, the one who tended his wounds and was forbidden to take the blame when things happened, and that was often woken up in the midst of night by his groans and nightmares, dreams without a name or face, that spoke of Gavin’s life before being allowed into his parents’ home.
“Just... please believe me when I say that I deeply love and cherish you, Sixty. I don’t intend on leaving you any sooner and you can come to me for anything. I don’t mind becoming a coffeeholic again and spending the nights awake with you.”
Nervously holding onto his shoulders, the android buried his blushed face into the crook of his neck, audio processors enhancing the melody of the man’s fastened heartbeats, his pale and porcelain complexion burning in carnation tinges with the embarrassment of his admission, the L-word almost a taboo among them, never spoken aloud if not through veiled allusions.
“What if I don’t ask anymore—” he whispered, feeling the gentle carding of fingers through his short chocolate locks, hums and clicked kisses on his head that comforted him as strong arms held him closer: “You don’t have to ask again, Six. No need to say it aloud either. We never do that, after all. Just....”
Sixty’s LED glistened crimson before swirling back into amber again when a careful and prudent touch ghosted over his nape, tracing reassuring circles over it, fingerprints gracing the pearly chassis.
“Just tell me when I fuck up, okay? I don’t care how harsh it will be, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t enjoy your shit-talking to me.”
There was no answer if not a grumbled nod, weak and glitched as the android clung tighter onto him.
As silence and quiet subdued, the bedroom’s glowing atmosphere changed once again, and a waterfall of refreshing and cherished, familiar blue finally washed over them in a tidying embrace, skin completely peeling off the android’s body in complete and utter trust as the RK rarely did, a token of confidence that was displayed only around his brothers.
“Can you tell me again something about your childhood?” snuggling closer, Sixty pressed his now grey lips against his creator’s warm and reassuring skin, the smooth and unique texture comforting just as much as the sweat perspiring off the tiny pores and bearing the uniqueness of his DNA, as he realized Elijah never stopped cradling and petting his head, despite the hair had disappeared and nothing was left if not his bald chassis.
Elijah never flinched, never retracted his fingers, never smirked or grimaced in disgust.
At the end of the day, he was always a safe harbor to return to.
“Of course. Anything you want, Six.”
Sixty relaxed onto his chest, sheltered by his arms and lulled by the soft tone of his voice, of comforting tales from a time that was long gone, as he let himself be ferried back to years that he never inhabited, but that he could get to know through his stories, poignant of the sweetest and purest memories.
That night, in a very long time, he fell into a restful and comforting slumber, and in the comfort of Elijah’s embrace, he finally let his heart retreat.