(no subject)

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
IDW/Dead Space
Drift, Karrie Norton (Vandal) <---whose characterization I've probably butchered
sticky, xeno. Yeah. you read that right. I blame...someone.

Right, Karrie, this was possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. No more whiskey on an empty stomach, especially around the hot robots. “Yeah, so, there you go. Lady bits.”  She flopped back on the large metal platform they called ‘berths’, cold against her warm skin. “You want the Grand Tour or something?”

Drift, who was juuuuust slightly less drunk (maybe), stretched out alongside her, stowing the Great Sword carefully on the floor first. Drunk, but maybe not as far gone as she was. Or maybe that’s what he considered getting naked. 

“You don’t have a spike.”  One hand hovered over her belly. She could feel an almost electric prickle from his electromagnetic field, sliding over her skin.

Fuck it. Why not get hands on? If you’re going to regret shit in the morning, better make it a really busy morning. She grabbed his hand, lowering it to touch her. His fingers were smooth, the metal hard and warm, sliding down the small rise of her belly, the flare of her hip, down the outside of her thigh, and back up. She sighed into it, letting her legs flop open, the finger trailing between her legs. “Yeah, girls.  We got shafted.”  She started giggling at the pun. This whole thing was so fucking bizarre she had to laugh or else she’s flip the fuck out.

Drift gave that sort of polite nod and smile when you know there’s a joke and you don’t get it at all, but you don’t want to feel stupid.  His hand circled up again, fascinated by her breasts, trailing along the undersides of the swells. Which, well, it wasn’t what she wanted, but she wasn’t even sure he could do that. And it felt damn good, the curious, careful touches.

The fingers paused at the join of her thighs, one hooking in, under, deftly parting her legs. Almost like he knew what he was doing. Maybe they were kind of the same? 

She gasped, hands clawing on the berth as that one finger found wetness and heat, and probed into it.

“Should I stop?” The hand froze, the finger against her, just at the edge, stilling. 

Part of her wanted to scream at him to continue, push in harder, farther, to let her writhe over it, and part of her wanted to scream at herself that getting fingerfucked by a sword-wielding robot was surely a sign of insanity. She fought them both down. “Show me yours. That’s how this works, you know.”

He nodded, and the hand withdrew, moving to open a hatch between his legs. “Spike,” he said. Sort of redundantly. She could kind of figure out that that meant, ya know, robodick. His was pretty fucking nice, honestly. At least aesthetically: black and silver in complicated overlapping plates.  He rocked his hips up. “Our valve, down there.”

“Yeah.” Honestly, she could give a crap about that part—the spike was sort of attention grabbing, in about seventeen different hormonal ways.  And hey, he’d touched her first, so….

She wrapped one hand around the spike, feeling Drift twitch as her smaller, warmer hands curled over the metal. It was slick with some thin, clear substance, like a silicon lubricant.  “That how this works?” she asked, twisting her wrist, pushing it down the spike, feeling Drift shudder. Yeah, he didn’t really need to answer that with words—she could feel the thing surge in her hands.  She squirmed as an answering heat filled her.  Dammit.  She wanted to fuck him. Bad.  And he was big—biiiiig—but fuck. She’d seen dildos thicker than this.  She pulled up the spike, feeling Drift’s whole body move into the motion. Typical guy, totally following his dick. She looked up—his mouth was twitching and he looked halfway between really turned on and uncertain. It was a good look for him. “Hey, wanna fuck?  You know, since we’re here and all. And drunk. And primed to regret everything we do.”  Oops, did she say that out loud?

Not the smoothest line, but fuck it.  It was worth it to see the look on his face. “I’m…I could crush you.” Which was not a ‘no’. It was a qualified ‘yes’. 

Point.  It might be legendary to be remembered as the woman who got crushed by a car while attempting to fuck it, but that wasn’t top of her agenda.  “Got an idea.”  She let go of the dick, spike, whatever, pushing at his hips. “Lay down, big boy.”

That was a lot of…really hot robot in motion, all the plates and mechanisms moving as Drift rolled down to his back, and she let herself be shameless, obvious, enjoying it.  She could feel a soft breath of air against her as she stood, with the ozoney tang of his cooling systems. One of his hands brushed her hip, curving around her back. Just for the contact. Just to make this slightly less ridiculous.

Probably didn’t help. She was about to bone a fucking robot. There’s no way to make it not ridiculous.

She boosted herself up onto him, over the hilt of one of his short swords, pausing just to see.  Fuck, he was pretty, all these complicated lines of armor and articulation, and the heavy frame of his pelvis underneath her. She wriggled back, hooking her feet around the edge, feeling the slick wet spike against her back for a moment.  And it was doubt number 358: was she really going to do this?

Yeah, yeah, she was. Because he was here, and she was here and he was some sort of idiot white knight rescuer type and fuck knows she’d never had that in her life.  And she was drunk and could deny everything in the morning. So why not? 

Yeah, there were times when thinking just got you into trouble.

She hiked her hips up, reaching between them, finding the spike with her hand.  She could see Drift’s blue optics on her, hands fluttering and unsure by her shoulders, as she lowered herself onto the thing.

She couldn’t take it all.  But she took as much as she could, inching onto him, feeling herself stretch around the cool metal, his slickness joining with hers.  She braced one palm on his belly armor, fingers splayed on the white and red racing  stripes, her other guiding the spike, keeping him still.

Yeah, not like she would be able to stop him if he suddenly grabbed her and jammed her all the way down.

Hell of a way to die, though.

She paused for a moment, panting, just…having him inside her. It was weird. It felt really fucking good, the metal warming quickly to her body temperature.  She looked up at him, his mouth parted in an expression of arousal that was so human, so familiar, it took her breath away.

“Good?”  Unnecessary question, but she needed the contact right now, needed to hear she wasn’t the only one.

He gave a ragged nod, hands skimming over her shoulders. “Careful,” he whispered.

“Right. Like I’m ever anything but.” He didn’t have to know the irony there. And she had the key to distracting him from further questions right between her legs.  She rocked forward, experimentally, feeling the sleek slide of the spike inside her—different from human skin, ridged and rippled yet smooth, somehow and in all these right ways she’d never noticed before.

A low rev of an engine, his entire body carrying the vibration—tickling her palms, doing unspeakably delicious things to her through the spike. Like a goddam living vibrator.

Yeah, well, two could play at this game—she started rocking back and forth, slowly at first, getting a feel for the angle of the spike, the way it moved against her, then picking up speed, until her breathing started catching.

Drift pushed himself up to his elbows, the armor under her hands tilting suddenly upwards.  She caught her balanced, one hand grabbing at the armor rim between his chest and neck, using it to haul herself up, the other clinging to a catch on the armor.  He was watching her, his blue optics seeming fascinated by the movement of her hair, the rise and fall of her breasts as she rocked on his spike. 

Now would be a great time for some witty repartee, but her mind wasn’t really on that—it was on the thick spike between her thighs, the beads of sweat she could feel forming on her back, tingling in her scalp, the wash of her heat and one of Drift’s energy fields against each other.   

But mostly the spike, and her thighs rising and falling, and heat and wetness, and the pull of her arms and the glossy armor under her hands, and a rising rumble from Drift’s chest and it was just the best goddam thing she could remember. Not that that slot had a lot of competition. 

“Vandal. I…you might want to…,” he could barely get the words out, his voice rough with lust. 

“Later,” she cut him off. Yeah. Whatever he was trying to say could wait, because she could feel it building in her, heat and energy washing around, like little swirls of light and sound and pleasure. And underneath her, she could feel tension in Drift’s thighs, small tremors under her. 

It had been too fucking long.

Drift’s head dropped back, suddenly, mouth parting in a sort of soundless cry, and suddenly…she felt--

Oh.

That’s what he was trying to warn her about.

A sudden jump from the thing inside her, and then a flood of hot liquid.  She’d laugh at how stupid it was to have robots spurt fluids when they orgasmed, but right now she couldn’t think anything other than how good it felt, the heat, wetness, pressure and just the knowledge that she’d gotten Drift off tumbling her over the edge, her hands clawing at the shiny armor, pressing her breasts flat against the chestplate, her thighs quivering with release. 

Liquid slipped out from between them, streaking down her thighs in long, hot lines. It was wet, it was sticky, it was filthy, it was perverse. And she did not give a fuck.

The head shifted forward again, the chassis under her lifting and falling in a sigh. And the silence got uncomfortable, for a second, the two of them sort of staring at each other, before Drift moved his weight onto one elbow, using the other hand to stroke a line down her back, one finger, down the well of her spine, cooler than her sweat-beaded skin, and then around, up her belly, between her breasts, and up her chin, tipping her head up. “Good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”  She figured she probably should move. You know, sooner or later someone would start asking questions and the answer would be something horrible like ‘yeah, Vandal’s Drift’s spike warmer.’  She used her hands on his armor to help lift her off the spike, hissing as the head slipped free, as though missing the size of it already. More fluid seeped down, her wetness, his, streaking her thighs, puddling on his belly. She looked down, then back up. “Made a mess,” she grimaced.

“I can take care of it,” Drift said, coolly. “If you want.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Right now, she didn’t want to move, just sort of roll on these big round waves of afterglow. 

The large hand cupped her shoulders, the other reaching for her hips, as Drift turned, smoothly, and she found herself back on her back, her heat spilling out over the berth, already warmed from Drift.  Drift had rolled to his knees, straddling one of her legs. His hands trailed down her body, tracing the contours of her thigh muscles, dipping in behind her knees, her calves, and sliding off the tops of her feet. It was a surprisingly gentle touch, one she’d be surprised to get from a human, not a several-ton robot. 

He had a quiet, almost shy smile, as he lifted one of her feet by the ankle, bringing it up to nuzzle against his cheek, and then down her shin, the texture of her skin dragging on the smoothness of his facial plating like damp velvet. 

And then lower, tilting his cheek, his tongue—or whatever they called it—flicking out to taste the sweat in the back of her knee, optics lidding as though savoring the taste.

Then, lower still, the tongue finding the first streak of silver and using it as a trail, licking its way up her thigh before flaring off at the crease where her thigh joined her body. And then back down, another trail, another teasing line up the tender skin of her inner thigh, this time flicking over, for a fraction of a second, toward the swollen wet labia, before retreating over to the crease again. 

The bastard was teasing her. The third time, she caught at his helm, that crest right in front, and directed it right where she wanted it. 

A bubble of air, a chuff of a laugh against her, the blue optics dimming just as she felt the tongue obey, exploring the folds, searching blind up and down the creases, curling over the soft flesh, sucking  and rolling it between his tongue and his mouthplating. She didn’t let go of the crest, rocking her hips, grinding herself against him, up and down, trying to show him what to do.

Yeah, quick learner apparently: the tongue found the entrance, sliding up the slit, then down, before probing in, Drift humming with pleasure.

Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about having a giant robot samurai eating you out, how good it feels, how his tongue is moving in ways and places that no human tongue had the right to even think, pushing into her, worming carefully around, while the heavy nasal of his helm, with every movement, rode over the swollen hood of her clit. Don’t think about not only is he doing it, licking up all the silvery spill of whatever it is he’d spurted into her,  but he’s enjoying it, engine purring with pleasure, as though this was the best part. Don’t think about how different you must smell and taste, how you feel suddenly gross and squishy and flabby and he’s all hard and sleek lines and smelling as clean as a new engine. And don’t think about how you’re wrapping your legs around him, curled over his shoulders, because you will fucking die if he stops before he gets you off.

She wanted to curse him out for doing this to her, rendering her some quivering thing clinging to him, wanting nothing more than that tongue to keep moving inside her, the wedge of armor to slickly slide over her clit again.  And again.  But she didn’t trust herself to even get his name out.

All she could do was grip on, panting and writhing, as his optics flickered, studying her twisting body, his tongue slow and steady, curling inside her.

She screamed, jerking at the helm’s elongated finials like handles, jamming his face against her body hard enough to bruise, her hips bucking up against his mouth, spasming into a juddering release.

Karrie groaned, after a long moment, releasing him almost sheepishly, his head pinned against her by her hands, her long bare legs.  “Sorry,” she murmured.

Drift pulled away, just enough, licking the gloss of her fluids off his lips. “Don’t be.” 

“So what the fuck was that about, anyway?”

A shrug. “I told you I’d take care of the mess,” he said, calmly, optics glittering.  Huh. Just when she thought he was the dorky inept type. He moved forward, resting his mouthplates on her belly in a way that might have been a kiss before pushing further forward, moving to lie down on his side next to her.

“Is that some kind of euphemism?”

“It can be, if you want.” Another quirk of the mouth, like a smile, shy but genuine. 

He did this, he always did this, turning into the nice gentle guy, almost unsure of himself.

“So, what now?”  You know, like, are we engaged or fuck buddies or is this a one night stand or what? Did robots even do one night stands?

“Now?”  Drift let his optics float closed, curling one hand over her hip, drawing her against him, “is recharge time.”

Nice evasion, and she’d normally punch him for it, but his spike, still erect, was jutting against her belly, warm and slick but without any real need to it. Just pointing at her. 

You know what? Robots didn’t know shit about humans. Why not use it to your advantage. “All right,” she said, and hooked a thigh over his hip, ankle curling over the scabbard, and tipping herself to take the head of the spike inside her again.  Not all the way, just enough for that sensation, stretched and filled and…somehow safe.  He gave her a curious look, but after a moment, one tiny interested throb against her from the spike, he lowered his head, pillowed on one of his arms, letting his systems relax into sleep.

Comments

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

hodamn, that's HOT!!!

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Some of us were making crack pairings last night and for some reason this was in my head when I woke up. o_O

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

I haven't written xeno in FOREVER. So suddenly getting the urge to write some sort of surprised me and I had to do that whole 'oh gosh what do I call human bits' thing again. XD Glad it worked!

[femme4jack.livejournal.com]

kjal;jfkla;fjdl; hot damn, this was so sexy. *incoherent*

[thayle.livejournal.com]

I normally just lurk around for this stuff, but... Holy Fuck. Drift is already my xeno weak spot. Shit. SON.

*grabs ice water*