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She peered at the small mechanisms inside Pathfinder's left knee joint, her magnifying lenses allowing her to appreciate how much fine sand he managed to collect in his machinery. He was fairly good at self-maintenance but darkened her door for help every now and then.
She wasn't supposed to help any of them. Her job was to maintain the arenas' munitions. Any assistance she gave the Legends could be construed as cheating. But she kept her tinkering to a minimum and didn't turn any of them away. Octavio and the MRVN sought her help most often, but Elliott stopped by occasionally, mostly to flirt, because of course he did.
She stood up straight and yanked her goggles onto her forehead.
"Let me get my air. It's just some grit," she said.
"I appreciate your assistance," he said in his ever-cheerful voice.
"Make me some stew and we'll be even," she said as she pulled a small air compressor from her nearby workbench.
She pulled her goggles back down and leaned in to blow the sand from his exposed joint. It only took a few well-placed blasts of air to clean him out. For good measure, she added a bit of lubricant before closing the small mechanism back up.
"Hey Doc, you workin' on knees?"
Octavio's voice was distinct, primarily due to his accent. The Legends were a hodgepodge representation of humanity, each almost comically distinguishable from the others.
"Let me guess, your right prosthetic is giving you problems," she responded loudly, not bothering to look up from her last touches on Pathfinder.
His prosthetic legs were remarkably quiet, so if he could manage to contain himself, he could easily sneak up on someone.
He was rarely able ever to contain himself.
"You know my body intimately," he said, now only a few feet from them.
His mouth always gave him away.
She pursed her lips at his phrasing. Elliott couldn't help but flirt. He was a charismatic fool. He got himself into and out of situations with his charm. Octavio was just insatiable.
"Of anyone, Pathfinder's body is the one I know best," she said, dropping her goggles around her neck. "I've been all up in your chassis, haven't I?"
The screen on the robot's chest flashed a large, red heart.
"You're all set," she said.
The MRVN hopped off the workbench where he had been sitting and gave her a thumbs up.
"I'll be by tonight to make you dinner," he said.
"It's a date," she said with a grin.
Octavio watched as the robot walked out of the workshop and then looked back at her, his eyebrow cocked.
"Yo, you fuckin' the robot?" he asked.
"No, Octavio, I am not fucking Pathfinder," she said as she began swapping her tools out for the finer ones that his prosthetics required.
"Let me know if you do. I wanna watch," he said, hopping up onto the workbench effortlessly.
She sighed softly.
"Ajay did you such a huge favor in getting these legs for you. You really should take better care of them. And yourself."
"Yeah yeah," he muttered.
"I'm not a doctor, but if you fuck your nervous system up, these bad boys won't do you any good," she said.
She pushed his shorts up to release the prosthetic from his limb, then set it on the workbench.
"I didn't come for a lecture, mami," he said.
"I'm an engineer. The body is a machine. In your case, doubly so," she said. "I just want to see it run well. It'd be a shame if it broke down too early."
"That's sweet," he said. "But this bod ain't breaking down anytime soon. I can give you a demonstration if you want."
She looked up to catch him grinning like a wolf. He was plenty handsome. They almost all were. Even Pathfinder was an amazing example of his model and she admired his build. She had no idea what Bloodhound looked like, so they were exempted. And while Caustic wasn't hideous, it was hard to find a guy who dealt with so much lethal gas attractive.
But Octavio was a wiry, trim beautiful thing. He had a jawline so sharp, he could cut glass with it. His high cheekbones were perfectly round. And his face had plenty of character she found adorable, from the chips in his teeth from doing god knows what to his ears that folded out from his head.
It also didn't hurt he had a nice six-pack.
"You're an engineer, but right now, you seem more interested in what's on this side of the socket," he said.
"Stuff it, Silva," she muttered and looked back down at his prosthetic, her cheeks flushed.
He chuckled and leaned back against the wall, watching her work. Knees were hard from an engineering standpoint and maintaining his was even more challenging. He appreciated her help, though. She was brilliant but a bit overly cautious for him. He usually felt like everyone moved so damn slowly, but she was like molasses. Every movement she made was so damn precise. So damn deliberate.
She'd never last in the arena, even if she knew the guns better than the rest of them. He'd seen her shoot. She was an ace with any gun you put in her hands. But she'd never get a shot off in a firefight. She'd make a perfect sniper, but the arena often didn't favor snipers. They weren't any fun to watch, anyway. The crowd loved the messy close combat best of all.
Her hands moved with surgical precision and her fingers didn't waver as she worked. She seemed almost like she was in a trance. He didn't know how she did it. He was doing everything he could to not fidget, lest she yell at him for shaking everything around him.
"You ready for tomorrow's match?" she asked as she worked.
"Hell yeah. I love the new arena," he said. "I'm gonna do some sick shit. Just wait and see."
"I always watch," she said. "It helps me understand how exactly you knuckleheads fuck my guns up."
"Who's your favorite?" he asked.
"You keep asking," she said.
"And you never tell me."
"I'm not saying. If I let that slip and anyone finds out, they could construe the help I give him as cheating."
"Is it me?"
"I'm not telling," she said.
"It's me, isn't it?"
She smirked and looked at him for just a moment.
"Hell yeah, it's me."
"I'm formally impartial to all of you," she said.
"Yeah, but you informally love me," he said.
"That's a bit strong. I didn't know anything about you before you joined the games, you know. I just like how brash you are out there. We're total opposites, so I suppose that's alluring," she said. "This is finished."
She lifted the lightweight leg and lined it back up with his socket, her hands under the hem of his shorts again. The limb clicked, locking in place, and she motioned for him to swing it a few times. He did so.
"Feels good," he said.
She gave him a wink and began putting her tools away.
"Like you said, I know your body intimately," she said.
He hopped off the bench and stepped up behind her, pressing himself softly against her back. She felt his breath on her neck, his hands gently resting on her hips. She paused briefly but went back to cleaning up.
"How 'bout I get to know yours," he muttered into her ear.
He pressed his groin against her ass and nuzzled her neck. Her heart fluttered a few times. She'd been single for a while now, and she hadn't bothered with one-night stands, so it was hard to ignore just how much his touch excited her.
"Octavio," she said softly.
He stepped back, the gap between their bodies feeling tremendously unsatisfying.
"Message me tonight when you're done with the robot," he said.
She didn't turn around. Instead, she swore softly to herself repeatedly as he left.
She stared at her mobile's screen, sitting in the darkness of her small flat. Pathfinder had left an hour ago, and she'd been sitting on her sofa, arguing with herself about messaging Octavio. She knew he barely slept, so time wasn't an excuse. She found herself starting and then deleting messages—everything she wrote just felt stupid.
She was probably better off fucking the robot.
She finally settled on just her address, hit SEND, and waited. Short and sweet. Minutes went by with no response and she began to relax. Maybe he had gotten busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe she was off the hook. Maybe she didn't have to be nervous about fucking the heir to Silva Pharmaceuticals, a guy with fans in every damn sector for his reckless stunts.
She had gotten through several sets of maybes when her door chimed, snapping her from her nerve-wracked thought process. Her gaze flashed to the front door and she froze. Was he so eager that he just showed up without responding?
She practically climbed over her sofa and pulled the door open. He was standing in the exterior hall, silhouetted by the night sky behind him, the hood of his zipper sweatshirt pulled up. He was grinning under the hood, his hazel eyes glinting in the glow cast by the hallway light over her door.
"I was one hundred percent convinced you wouldn't message me," he said, slipping in past her.
"I almost didn't," she said, closing the door behind him.
He pulled his hoodie off, tossed it over a chair, and then shook his short, unkempt green hair. From the pockets of his shorts, he withdrew several stims and set them on the table.
"I brought some for you," he said with a wink.
"I'm good," she replied. "That shit's addictive. I've got my own stuff."
"You smoke that shit that slows you down, don't you?" he asked.
She gave him a single finger gun and rounded her sofa, sitting back down. She pulled out some papers and began rolling herself a joint with the dried flowers from in a nearby bag. He grabbed his injections and sat with her, watching her practiced routine. Once satisfied, she sat back and dug a lighter from her pocket. His leg jittered as she twirled the joint over the flame until she produced a bright red smoldering end. She then popped the joint between her lips and took a long drag.
"How can you sit so damn still?" he asked.
She held the joint up as an answer to his question and then slowly exhaled the smoke through her nose. Her lips parted slightly and more smoke poured out. Her anxiety began to melt away as she stared at his face. For all purposes, Octavio was a junkie. A rich junkie with steady access to high-quality stims. But a junkie nonetheless. Guys hooked on uppers could go forever, so if she was gonna do this, she needed to be ready to be up the rest of the night.
She hung the joint from her bottom lip and grabbed her things. She would need to roll another one or two of these before the night was over.
"Alright, let's do this," she said, standing.
He blinked a few times and then sprung to his feet.
"Hell yeah," he said and followed her as she made her way to the bedroom.
He was already out of his t-shirt when she turned to look at him. She took another drag from her joint as she admired his narrow chest and even narrower waist. Reaching out, she grabbed the top of his shorts and pulled him toward her.
"Damn, I didn't think you'd be so into it," he said with a laugh as she undid the top button.
"It's been a while. I'm very ready," she said.
He shimmied out of his shorts and tugged at the bottom of her shirt. With his help, she pulled it over her head without losing the cherry on her joint. His hands were on her bare breasts immediately, his thumbs moving back and forth over her nipples. She slid her own hand into his boxer briefs, her fingers wrapping around his rigid cock.
He moaned and gripped her shoulders, pushing her toward the bed. She took a step back and then crumbled into the blankets with him. The rest of their clothes came off quickly, and he slid his body on top of hers while she put her joint out in the ashtray on the nightstand.
His mouth was on her neck as he ground himself into her, the head of his cock pressing against her thigh. She rested her hands behind her head and let her eyes drift half closed, enjoying the feeling of his form against hers.
"Shit," he muttered and reached over the edge of the bed, hanging there until he found his stims.
After sitting back up straight, he jammed one into his upper leg. The green chemical drained from the syringe and his eyes lit up. He let out a loud laugh as he tossed the injector over his shoulder. It clattered against the wall and hit the floor.
"You're in for it," he said with a growl as he positioned himself between her legs.
He pushed her left leg back toward her with one hand while he grabbed his cock with the other and rubbed his swollen head up against her labia. He could see how wet she was, which made his cock twitch. He then slid himself through her lips once more before moving his hand to spread them with his fingers.
He took one good look before sinking his cock into her. She inhaled audibly, her eyes rolling slightly as he pushed himself into her with a single, fluid motion. It was more than she had expected, but it still felt good. His head lolled back, and he squeezed her hamstrings, pressing her thighs back toward her head.
He paused for one brief moment before his hips began a full-on assault of fevered thrusts. She cried out in surprise and reached up for something to grasp onto, but she had no headboard. Her palms flattened against the cool wall behind her.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
"Wrong guy," he said, his hands moving down to her waist.
He pulled her against him with each thrust, moving so quickly and forcefully that she was virtually immobilized. She felt like he was going to rattle her brain straight out of her head. Despite the jarring movement, she managed to slide her hand down to her clit. The stimulation from his rapid plunges was unreal, his skin pushing against and peeling away from her vulva feeling amazing.
Her eyes locked with his. His pupils were like dark pools, dilated from a combination of the drugs and the pleasure. His chest was already damp with sweat, giving him a gorgeous glow in the dim light from her nearby lamp.
She barely had to rub her clit. The jostling from his movements did a lot of the work for her. All she had to do was apply pressure. The urge to come right away was strong, but she got the impression this would go on for a while. Instead, she continually brought herself close and then withdrew her fingers before she orgasmed.
"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his fingertips digging into her. "I'm never gonna stop."
She couldn't help but laugh. She would be raw tomorrow, but it'd be worth it.
"You're an animal," she said.
"And that's just the first stim," he said.
He leaned down, resting his forearm on the bed at her side, his mouth connecting with hers. His pace didn't falter as he ran his other hand around the back of her head, through her hair, kissing her with little finesse. She could feel his heartbeat in each place their upper bodies met. The rate at which it raced was otherworldly. She would have collapsed by now if their situations were reversed.
He lifted his head and gave her another grin, this one more mischievous than the others. Without a word, he slid his entire body back, slipping his cock from her. The world steadied and she took a second to center herself. But no sooner than she had taken a single breath, she felt his tongue on her clit and his fingers curl up inside her. He began stroking her with his fingers as his tongue rapidly and firmly flicked her bud.
She buried her hands in his hair and gripped it as her lower half began to swell with a pleasurable, aching sensation. Few men were good at finding a clit, let alone all of the sensitive areas within, but Octavio seemed to have zero issues as his fingers worked a small, soft spot inside her. Before long, she began to feel the tingling, urgent sensation that she both loved and couldn't stand. It was almost too much.
"Oc," she whined.
He chuckled as he felt her flex her pelvic muscles, pulling them up and pushing them down. Minutes passed and she had become a mewling mess. She was incredibly wet, the sheets underneath her now damp from his attention. He continued well past the point when anyone else may have tired out, his stamina, natural and artificial, driving him. He was determined to make her come.
Her whimpers changed into intermittent gasps, her back arching. Her pussy was like a vice around his fingers.
"Come for me, bebé."
He paused his attention on her clit to watch her writhe. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came as he felt her push down hard on his hand. He wrapped his lips back around her clit and pushed his tongue against it. Her high-pitched squeal came next as she unleashed a flood of fluid over his wrist and arm. After what felt like immeasurable moments, her squeal turned into a whimper, and he sat up as he pulled his hand from her.
"You've made a mess," he said with a grin.
"Fuck, Octavio," she whispered.
He reached down over the side of the bed, grabbing another stim.
"My turn," he said and slammed the injector into his abdomen.
She hadn't recovered before he rolled her onto her side and hooked his hand under her top knee, pushing it up and back. She cried out as he plunged himself inside of her. She tried to prop herself up on her lower arm, or at least use it to steady herself, but it was almost no use. The speed at which he moved made it difficult to maintain any stability.
After a minute or so, he pulled himself out, watching the line of fluid connect the head of his cock to her pussy. He then flipped her onto her stomach, eliciting another cry from her.
He muttered something she couldn't make out, and she inhaled sharply as his open palm met her ass, the sound ringing through her room and the stinging sensation sending a jolt through her. He gripped her ass and squeezed it, then slapped it again.
"I could watch this ass jiggle all night," he said with a laugh.
He then wrapped his hands around her hips and slid his cock back into her.
"I might actually come," he said. "This feels way too fucking good."
He gave her several full thrusts, pulling himself nearly the whole way out before sinking straight back in. The sight of her labia around his shaft was fucking amazing. But he could only take so much slow movement before he resumed his machine gun thrusting.
She rested her face in her pillows and let out an occasional cry mixed with a soft laugh. She felt ethereal after her orgasm, like she was half in another dimension, lingering in pleasure. He felt incredible, but she was no longer gripped with sheer desire. She could instead enjoy the sensation for what it was, even though she felt like her head might be jostled off her neck by the time he was finished.
"Fuck, I actually am gonna come," he said, his voice low.
With gritted teeth, he squeezed her hips and slammed himself into her roughly, his pace hiccupping as he yelled out a string of incoherent Spanish. He pumped himself inside her a few more times, cursing as he filled her. He hadn't meant to come inside of her, but it happened so quickly that it surprised even him.
After a few more moments, he let go, a shiver running through him as he slid himself from her. He paused to catch his breath, his eyes drifting along her figure from the top down.
"This is the biggest fuckin' wet spot I've ever seen," he said, sitting back on his metal heels.
He felt his heartbeat slow as the stim began to wear off. His first inclination was to grab another, but his body was also sending a signal that he should just lie the fuck down for a few minutes. Besides, he didn't have any of his equipment with him.
He grabbed a blanket, set it over the spot below him, and then collapsed into the bed next to her. She had already rolled over and relit her joint, smoke once again curling from her lips.
"I'm just gonna give you a key to my flat," she said, grinning. "Nobody's ever made me come like that, so you are welcome anytime."
He matched her grin.
"You're never gonna walk straight again," he said.
Key:
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E/C eye color (lower case)
H/C hair color (lower case)
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Y/N peered at the small mechanisms inside Pathfinder's left knee joint, her magnifying lenses allowing her to appreciate how much fine sand he managed to collect in his machinery. He was fairly good at self-maintenance, but darkened her door for help every now and then.
She wasn't supposed to help any of them. Her job was to maintain the arenas' munitions. Any assistance she gave the Legends could be construed as cheating. But she kept her tinkering to a minimum and didn't turn any of them away. Octavio and the MRVN sought her help most often, but Elliott stopped by occasionally, mostly to flirt, because of course he did.
She stood up straight and yanked her goggles onto her forehead.
"Let me get my air. It's just some grit," she said.
"I appreciate your assistance," he said in his ever-cheerful voice.
"Make me some stew and we'll be even," she said as she pulled a small air compressor from her nearby workbench.
She pulled her goggles back down and leaned in to blow the sand from his exposed joint. It only took a few well-placed blasts of air to clean him out. For good measure, she added a bit of lubricant before closing the small mechanism back up.
"Hey Doc, you workin' on knees?"
Octavio's voice was distinct, primarily due to his accent. The Legends were a hodgepodge representation of humanity, each almost comically distinguishable from the others.
"Let me guess, your right prosthetic is giving you problems," she responded loudly, not bothering to look up from her last touches on Pathfinder.
His prosthetic legs were remarkably quiet, so if he could manage to contain himself, he could easily sneak up on someone.
He was rarely able ever to contain himself.
"You know my body intimately," he said, now only a few feet from them.
His mouth always gave him away.
She pursed her lips at his phrasing. Elliott couldn't help but flirt. He was a charismatic fool. He got himself into and out of situations with his charm. Octavio was just insatiable.
"Of anyone, Pathfinder's body is the one I know best," she said, dropping her goggles around her neck. "I've been all up in your chassis, haven't I?"
The screen on the robot's chest flashed a large, red heart.
"You're all set," she said.
The MRVN hopped off the workbench where he had been sitting and gave her a thumbs up.
"I'll be by tonight to make you dinner," he said.
"It's a date," she said with a grin.
Octavio watched as the robot walked out of the workshop and then looked back at her, his eyebrow cocked.
"Yo, Y/N, you fuckin' the robot?" he asked.
"No, Octavio, I am not fucking Pathfinder," she said as she began swapping her tools out for the finer ones that his prosthetics required.
"Let me know if you do. I wanna watch," he said, hopping up onto the workbench effortlessly.
She sighed softly.
"Ajay did you such a huge favor in getting these legs for you. You really should take better care of them. And yourself."
"Yeah yeah," he muttered.
"I'm not a doctor, but if you fuck your nervous system up, these bad boys won't do you any good," she said.
She pushed his shorts up to release the prosthetic from his limb, then set it on the workbench.
"I didn't come for a lecture, mami," he said.
"I'm an engineer. The body is a machine. In your case, doubly so," she said. "I just want to see it run well. It'd be a shame if it broke down too early."
"That's sweet," he said. "But this bod ain't breaking down anytime soon. I can give you a demonstration if you want."
She looked up to catch him grinning like a wolf. He was plenty handsome. They almost all were. Even Pathfinder was an amazing example of his model and she admired his build. She had no idea what Bloodhound looked like, so they were exempted. And while Caustic wasn't hideous, it was hard to find a guy who dealt with so much lethal gas attractive.
But Octavio was a wiry, trim beautiful thing. He had a jawline so sharp, he could cut glass with it. His high cheekbones were perfectly round. And his face had plenty of character she found adorable, from the chips in his teeth from doing god knows what to his ears that folded out from his head.
It also didn't hurt he had a nice six-pack.
"You're an engineer, but right now you seem more interested in what's on this side of the socket," he said.
"Stuff it, Silva," she muttered and looked back down at his prosthetic, her cheeks flushed.
He chuckled and leaned back against the wall, watching her work. Knees were hard from an engineering standpoint and maintaining his was even more challenging. He appreciated her help, though. She was brilliant but a bit overly cautious for him. He usually felt like everyone moved so damn slowly, but she was like molasses. Every movement she made was so damn precise. So damn deliberate.
She'd never last in the arena, even if she knew the guns better than the rest of them. He'd seen her shoot. She was an ace with any gun you put in her hands. But she'd never get a shot off in a firefight. She'd make a perfect sniper, but the arena often didn't favor snipers. They weren't any fun to watch, anyway. The crowd loved the messy close combat best of all.
Her hands moved with surgical precision and her fingers didn't waver as she worked. She seemed almost like she was in a trance. He didn't know how she did it. He was doing everything he could to not fidget lest she yell at him for shaking everything around him.
"You ready for tomorrow's match?" she asked as she worked.
"Hell yeah. I love Talos," he said. "I'm gonna do some sick shit. Just wait and see."
"I always watch," she said. "It helps me understand how exactly you knuckleheads fuck my guns up."
"Who's your favorite?" he asked.
"You keep asking," she said.
"And you never tell me."
"I'm not saying. If I let that slip and anyone finds out, they could construe the help I give him as cheating."
"Is it me?"
"I'm not telling," she said.
"It's me, isn't it?"
She smirked and looked at him for just a moment.
"Hell yeah, it's me."
"I'm formally impartial to all of you," she said.
"Yeah, but you informally love me," he said.
"That's a bit strong. I didn't know anything about you before you joined the games, you know. I just like how brash you are out there. We're total opposites, so I suppose that's alluring," she said. "This is finished."
She lifted the lightweight leg and lined it back up with his socket, her hands under the hem of his shorts again. The limb clicked, locking in place, and she motioned for him to swing it a few times. He did so.
"Feels good," he said.
She gave him a wink and began putting her tools away.
"Like you said, I know your body intimately," she said.
He hopped off the bench and stepped up behind her, pressing himself softly against her back. She felt his breath on her neck, his hands gently resting on her hips. She paused briefly but went back to cleaning up.
"How 'bout I get to know yours," he muttered into her ear.
He pressed his groin against her ass and nuzzled her neck. Her heart fluttered a few times. She'd been single for a while now, and she hadn't bothered with one-night stands, so it was hard to ignore just how much his touch excited her.
"Octavio," she said softly.
He stepped back, the gap between their bodies feeling tremendously unsatisfying.
"Message me tonight when you're done with the robot," he said.
She didn't turn around. Instead, she swore softly to herself repeatedly as he left.
Y/N stared at her mobile's screen, sitting in the darkness of her small flat. Pathfinder had left an hour ago, and she'd been sitting on her sofa, arguing with herself about messaging Octavio. She knew he barely slept, so time wasn't an excuse. She found herself starting and then deleting messages—everything she wrote just felt stupid.
She was probably better off fucking the robot.
She finally settled on just her address, hit SEND, and waited. Short and sweet. Minutes went by with no response and she began to relax. Maybe he had gotten busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe she was off the hook. Maybe she didn't have to be nervous about fucking the heir to Silva Pharmaceuticals, a guy with fans in every damn sector for his reckless stunts.
She had gotten through several sets of maybes when her door chimed, snapping her from her nerve-wracked thought process. Her gaze flashed to the front door and she froze. Was he so eager that he just showed up without responding?
She practically climbed over her sofa and pulled the door open. He was standing in the exterior hall, silhouetted by the night sky behind him, the hood of his zipper sweatshirt pulled up. He was grinning under the hood, his hazel eyes glinting in the glow cast by the hallway light over her door.
"I was one hundred percent convinced you wouldn't message me," he said, slipping in past her.
"I almost didn't," she said, closing the door behind him.
He pulled his hoodie off, tossed it over a chair, and then shook his short, unkempt green hair. From the pockets of his shorts, he withdrew several stims and set them on the table.
"I brought some for you," he said with a wink.
"I'm good," she replied. "That shit's addictive. I've got my own stuff."
"You smoke that shit that slows you down, don't you?" he asked.
She gave him a single finger gun and rounded her sofa, sitting back down. She pulled out some papers and began rolling herself a joint with the dried flowers from in a nearby bag. He grabbed his injections and sat with her, watching her practiced routine. Once satisfied, she sat back and dug a lighter from her pocket. His leg jittered as she twirled the joint over the flame until she produced a bright red smoldering end. She then popped the joint between her lips and took a long drag.
"How can you sit so damn still?" he asked.
She held the joint up as an answer to his question and then slowly exhaled the smoke through her nose. Her lips parted slightly and more smoke poured out. Her anxiety began to melt away as she stared at his face. For all purposes, Octavio was a junkie. A rich junkie with steady access to high-quality stims. But a junkie nonetheless. Guys hooked on uppers could go forever, so if she was gonna do this, she needed to be ready to be up the rest of the night.
She hung the joint from her bottom lip and grabbed her things. She would probably need to roll another one or two of these before the night was over.
"Alright, let's do this," she said, standing.
He blinked a few times and then sprung to his feet.
"Hell yeah," he said and followed her as she made her way to the bedroom.
He was already out of his t-shirt when she turned to look at him. She took another drag from her joint as she admired his narrow chest and even narrower waist. Reaching out, she grabbed the top of his shorts and pulled him toward her.
"Damn, I didn't think you'd be so into it," he said with a laugh as she undid the top button.
"It's been a while. I'm very ready," she said.
He shimmied out of his shorts and tugged at the bottom of her shirt. With his help, she pulled it over her head without losing the cherry on her joint. His hands were on her bare breasts immediately, his thumbs moving back and forth over her nipples. She slid her own hand into his boxer briefs, her fingers wrapping around his rigid cock.
He moaned and gripped her shoulders, pushing her toward the bed. She took a step back and then crumbled into the blankets with him. The rest of their clothes came off quickly, and he slid his body on top of hers while she put her joint out in the ashtray on the nightstand.
His mouth was on her neck as he ground himself into her, the head of his cock pressing against her thigh. She rested her hands behind her head and let her E/C eyes drift half closed, enjoying the feeling of his form against hers.
"Shit," he muttered and reached over the edge of the bed, hanging there until he found his stims.
After sitting up straight, he jammed one into his upper leg. The green chemical drained from the syringe and his eyes lit up. He let out a loud laugh as he tossed the injector over his shoulder. It clattered against the wall and hit the floor.
"You're in for it," he said with a growl as he positioned himself between her legs.
He pushed her left leg back toward her with one hand while he grabbed his cock with the other and rubbed his swollen head up against her labia. He could see how wet she was, which made his cock twitch. He then slid himself through her lips once more before moving his hand to spread them with his fingers.
He took one good look before sinking his cock into her. She inhaled audibly, her eyes rolling slightly as he pushed himself into her with a single, fluid motion. It was more than she had expected, but it still felt good. His head lolled back, and he squeezed her hamstrings, pressing her thighs back toward her head.
He paused for one brief moment before his hips began a full-on assault of fevered thrusts. She cried out in surprise and reached up for something to grasp onto, but she had no headboard. Her palms flattened against the cool wall behind her.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
"Wrong guy," he said, his hands moving down to her waist.
He pulled her against him with each thrust, moving so quickly and forcefully that she was virtually immobilized. She felt like he was going to rattle her brain straight out of her head. Despite the jarring movement, she managed to slide her hand down to her clit. The stimulation from his rapid plunges was unreal, his skin pushing against and peeling away from her vulva felt amazing.
Her eyes locked with his. His pupils were like dark pools, dilated from a combination of the drugs and the pleasure. His chest was already damp with sweat, giving him a gorgeous glow in the dim light from her nearby lamp.
She barely had to rub her clit. The jostling from his movements did a lot of the work for her. All she had to do was apply pressure. The urge to come right away was strong, but she got the impression this would go on for a while. Instead, she continually brought herself close and then withdrew her fingers before she orgasmed.
"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his fingertips digging into her. "I'm never gonna stop."
She couldn't help but laugh. She would be raw tomorrow, but it'd be worth it.
"You're an animal," she said.
"And that's just the first stim," he said.
He leaned down, resting his forearm on the bed at her side, his mouth connecting with hers. His pace didn't falter as he ran his other hand around the back of her head, through her H/L H/C hair, kissing her with little finesse. She could feel his heartbeat in each place their upper bodies met. The rate at which it raced was otherworldly. She would have collapsed by now if their situations were reversed.
He lifted his head and gave her another grin, this one more mischievous than the others. Without a word, he slid his entire body back, slipping his cock from her. The world steadied and she took a second to center herself. But no sooner than she had taken a single breath, she felt his tongue on her clit and his fingers curl up inside her. He began stroking her with his fingers as his tongue rapidly and firmly flicked her bud.
She buried her hands in his hair and gripped it as her lower half began to swell with a pleasurable, aching sensation. Few men were good at finding a clit, let alone all of the sensitive areas within, but Octavio seemed to have zero issues as his fingers worked a small, soft spot inside her. Before long, she began to feel the tingling, urgent sensation that she both loved and couldn't stand. It was almost too much.
"Oc," she whined.
He chuckled as he felt her flex her pelvic muscles, pulling them up and pushing them down. Minutes passed and she had become a mewling mess. She was incredibly wet, the sheets underneath her now damp from his attention. He continued well past the point when anyone else may have tired out, his stamina, natural and artificial, driving him. He was determined to make her come.
Her whimpers changed into intermittent gasps, her back arching. Her pussy was like a vice around his fingers.
"Come for me, Y/N."
He paused his attention on her clit to watch her writhe. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came as he felt her push down hard on his hand. He wrapped his lips back around her clit and pushed his tongue against it. Her high-pitched squeal came next as she unleashed a flood of fluid over his wrist and arm. After what felt like immeasurable moments, her squeal turned into a whimper, and he sat up as he pulled his hand from her.
"You've made a mess," he said with a grin.
"Fuck, Octavio," she whispered.
He reached down over the side of the bed, grabbing another stim.
"My turn," he said and slammed the injector into his abdomen.
She hadn't recovered before he rolled her onto her side and hooked his hand under her top knee, pushing it up and back. She cried out as he plunged himself inside of her. She tried to prop herself up on her lower arm, or at least use it to steady herself, but it was almost no use. The speed at which he moved made it difficult to maintain any stability.
After a minute or so, he pulled himself out, watching the line of fluid connect the head of his cock to her pussy. He then flipped her onto her stomach, eliciting another cry from her.
He muttered something she couldn't make out, and she inhaled sharply as his open palm met her ass, the sound ringing through her room and the stinging sensation sending a jolt through her. He gripped her ass and squeezed it, then slapped it again.
"I could watch this ass jiggle all night," he said with a laugh.
He then wrapped his hands around her hips and slid his cock back into her.
"I might actually come," he said. "This feels way too fucking good."
He gave her several full thrusts, pulling himself nearly the whole way out before sinking straight back in. The sight of her labia around his shaft was fucking amazing. But he could only take so much slow movement before he resumed his machine gun thrusting.
She rested her face in her pillows and let out an occasional cry mixed with a soft laugh. She felt ethereal after her orgasm, like she was half in another dimension, lingering in pleasure. He felt incredible, but she was no longer gripped with sheer desire. She could instead enjoy the sensation for what it was, even though she felt like her head might be jostled off her neck by the time he was finished.
"Fuck, I actually am gonna come," he said, his voice low.
With gritted teeth, he squeezed her hips and slammed himself into her roughly, his pace hiccupping as he yelled out a string of incoherent Spanish. He pumped himself inside her a few more times, cursing as he filled her. He hadn't meant to come inside of her, but it happened so quickly that it surprised even him.
After a few more moments, he let go, a shiver running through him as he slid himself from her. He paused to catch his breath, his eyes drifting along her figure from the top down.
"This is the biggest fuckin' wet spot I've ever seen," he said, sitting back on his metal heels.
He felt his heartbeat slow as the stim began to wear off. His first inclination was to grab another, but his body was also sending a signal that he should just lie the fuck down for a few minutes. Besides, he didn't have any of his equipment with him.
He grabbed a blanket, set it over the spot below him, and then collapsed into the bed next to her. She had already rolled over and relit her joint, smoke once again curling from her lips.
"I'm just gonna give you a key to my flat," she said, grinning. "Nobody's ever made me come like that, so you are welcome anytime."
He matched her grin.
"You're never gonna walk straight again," he said.
You peer at the small mechanisms inside Pathfinder's left knee joint, your magnifying lenses allowing you to appreciate how much fine sand he had managed to collect in his machinery. He was reasonably good at self-maintenance but darkened your door for help every now and then.
You aren't supposed to help any of them. Your job is to maintain the arenas' munitions. Any assistance you give the Legends could be construed as cheating. But you keep your tinkering to a minimum and don't turn any of them away. Octavio and the MRVN seek your help most often, but Elliott stops by occasionally, mostly to flirt, because of course he does.
You stand up straight and pull your goggles up to your forehead.
"Let me get my air. It's just some grit," you say.
"I appreciate your assistance," he says in his ever-cheerful voice.
"Make me some stew and we'll be even," you say as you pull a small air compressor from your nearby workbench.
You yank your goggles back down and lean in to blow the sand from his exposed joint. It only takes a few well-placed blasts of air to clean him out. For good measure, you add a bit of lubricant before closing the small mechanism back up.
"Hey Doc, you workin' on knees?"
Octavio's voice is distinct, primarily due to his accent. The Legends were a hodgepodge representation of humanity, each almost comically distinguishable from the others.
"Let me guess, your right prosthetic is giving you problems," you respond loudly, not bothering to look up from your last touches on Pathfinder.
His prosthetic legs are remarkably quiet; if he could just manage to contain himself, he could very easily sneak up on someone.
Octavio's dilemma was that he could rarely contain himself.
"You know my body intimately," he says, now only a few feet from you.
It's his mouth that always gives him away.
You purse your lips at his phrasing. Elliott can't help but flirt, being a charismatic fool. He gets himself into and out of situations with his charm. Octavio is just insatiable. There is nothing in life that seems to be enough for him.
"Of anyone, Pathfinder's body is the one I know best," you say, now dropping your goggles down around your neck. "I've been all up in your chassis, haven't I?"
The screen on the robot's chest flashes a large, pink heart.
"You're all set," you say.
The MRVN hops off of the workbench where he had been sitting and gives you a thumbs up.
"I'll be by tonight to make you dinner," he says.
"It's a date," you say with a grin.
Octavio watches as the robot walks out of the workshop and then looks back at you, his eyebrow cocked.
"Yo, you fuckin' the robot?" he asks.
"No, Octavio, I am not fucking Pathfinder," you say as you begin swapping your tools out for the finer ones his prosthetics require.
"Let me know if you do. I wanna watch," he says, hopping up onto the workbench effortlessly.
You sigh softly.
"Ajay did you such a huge favor in getting these legs for you. You really should take better care of them. And yourself."
"Yeah yeah," he mutters.
"I'm not a doctor, but if you fuck your nervous system up, these bad boys won't do you any good," you say.
You pull his shorts up to release the prosthetic from his limb, then set it on the workbench.
"I didn't come for a lecture, mami," he says.
"I'm an engineer. The body is a machine. In your case, doubly so," you say. "I just want to see it run well. It'd be a shame if it broke down too early."
"That's sweet," he says. "But this bod ain't breaking down anytime soon. I can give you a demonstration if you want."
You look up to catch him grinning like a wolf. He is plenty handsome. They almost all are. Even Pathfinder is a fantastic example of his model and you admire his build. You have no idea what Bloodhound looks like, so they are exempted. And while Alexander isn't hideous, it's hard to find a guy who dealt with so much lethal gas attractive.
But Octavio is a wiry, trim beautiful thing. His jawline is so sharp, he could cut glass with it. His high cheekbones are perfectly round. And his face has plenty of character you find adorable, from the chips in his teeth from doing god knows what to his ears that fold out from his head.
It also didn't hurt that he had a nice six-pack.
"You're an engineer, but right now you seem more interested in what's on this side of the socket," he says.
"Stuff it, Silva," you mutter and look back down at his prosthetic, your cheeks flushed.
He chuckles and leans back against the wall behind him, watching you work. Knees are tricky from an engineering standpoint and maintaining his is even more challenging. He appreciates your help, though. You're smart, but you understood that you must seem like molasses to him. Every movement you make is so precise. So deliberate. It has to be.
Your hands move with surgical precision and your fingers don't waver as you work. You seem almost in a trance to an outside observer. You can tell he is doing everything he can to not fidget, lest you yell at him for shaking everything around him.
"You ready for tomorrow's match?" you ask as you work.
"Hell yeah. I love the new arena," he says. "I'm gonna do some sick shit, just wait and see."
"I always watch," you say. "It helps me understand how exactly you knuckleheads fuck my guns up."
"Who's your favorite?" he asks.
"You keep asking," you say.
"And you never tell me."
"I'm not saying. If I let that slip and anyone finds out, they could construe the help I give him as cheating."
"Is it me?"
"I'm not telling," you say.
"It's me, isn't it?"
You smirk and look at him for a moment.
"Hell yeah, it's me."
"I'm formally impartial to all of you," you say.
"Yeah, but you informally love me," he says.
"That's a bit strong," you say. "This is finished."
You lift the lightweight leg and line it back up with his socket, your hands under the hem of his shorts again. The limb clicks, locking in place, and you motion for him to swing it a few times. He does so.
"Feels good," he says.
You give him a wink and begin putting your tools away.
"Like you say, I know your body intimately," you say.
He hops off the bench and steps up behind you, pressing himself softly against your back. You feel his breath on your neck, his hands gently resting on your hips. You pause briefly but go back to cleaning up.
"How 'bout I get to know yours," he mutters into your ear.
He presses his groin up against your ass and nuzzles your neck. You become distinctly aware of your heart in your throat.
"Octavio," you say softly.
He steps back, the gap between your bodies feeling tremendously unsatisfying.
"Message me tonight when you're done with the robot," he says.
You don't turn around. Instead, you swear softly to yourself repeatedly as he goes.
You stare at your mobile's screen, sitting in the darkness of your small apartment. Pathfinder had left an hour ago, and you've been sitting on your sofa, arguing with yourself about messaging Octavio. You find yourself starting and then deleting messages. Everything you write feels embarrassing.
You are probably better off fucking the robot.
You finally settle on just your address, then hit SEND and wait. Short and sweet. Minutes go by with no response and you begin to relax. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe you were off the hook. Maybe you didn't have to be nervous about fucking the heir to Silva Pharmaceuticals, a guy with fans in every damn sector for his reckless stunts.
You make it through several sets of maybes when your door chimes, snapping you from your nerve-wracked thought process. Your gaze flashes to the front door and you freeze. Was he so eager that he just showed up without responding?
You practically climb over your sofa and pull the door open. He's standing in the exterior hall, silhouetted by the night sky behind him, the hood of his zipper sweatshirt pulled up. From under the hood, you can see his grin, his hazel eyes glinting in the glow cast by the hallway light over your door.
"I was one hundred percent convinced you wouldn't message me," he says, slipping in past you.
"I almost didn't," you say as you close the door behind him.
He pulls his hoodie off and tosses it over a chair, then shakes his short, unkempt green hair. From the pockets of his shorts, he withdraws several stims and sets them on the table.
"I brought some for you," he says with a wink.
"I'm good," you reply. "That shit's addictive. I've got my own stuff."
"You smoke that shit that slows you down, don't you?" he asks.
You give him a single finger gun and round your sofa, sitting back down. You pull out some papers and begin rolling yourself a joint with the dried flowers that sit in a nearby bag. He grabs his injections and sits with you, watching your practiced routine. Once satisfied, you sit back and dig a lighter from your pocket. His leg jitters as you twirl the joint over the flame until you produce a bright red smoldering end. You then pop the joint between your lips and take a long drag.
"How can you sit so damn still?" he asks.
You hold the joint up as an answer to his question and then slowly exhale the smoke through your nose. Your lips part slightly and more smoke pours out. Your anxiety begins to melt away as you stare at his face. For all purposes, Octavio was a junkie. A rich junkie with steady access to high-quality stims. But a junkie nonetheless. Guys hooked on uppers could go forever, so if you were gonna do this, you had to be ready to be up the rest of the night.
You hang the joint from your bottom lip and grab your things. You figure you'll need to roll another one or two of these before the night is over.
"Alright, let's do this," you say, standing.
He blinks a few times and then springs to his feet.
"Hell yeah," he says and follows you as you make your way to the bedroom.
He is already out of his t-shirt when you turn to look at him. You take another drag from your joint as you admire his narrow chest and even narrower waist. Reaching out, you grab the top of his shorts and pull him toward you.
"Damn, I didn't think you'd be so into it," he says with a laugh as you undo the top button.
"It's been a while. I'm very ready," you say.
He shimmies out of his shorts and tugs at the bottom of your shirt. With his help, you pull it over your head without losing the cherry on your joint. His hands are on your bare breasts immediately, his thumbs moving back and forth over your nipples. You slide your own hand into his boxer briefs, your fingers wrapping around his rigid cock.
He moans and grips your shoulders, pushing you toward the bed. You take a step back and then crumble into the blankets with him. The rest of your clothes come off quickly and he slides his lean body on top of yours while you hurriedly put your joint out in the ashtray on the nearby nightstand.
His mouth is on your neck as he grinds himself into you, the head of his cock pressing against your thigh. You rest your hands behind your head and let your eyes drift half closed, enjoying the feeling of his form against yours.
"Shit," he mutters and reaches over the edge of the bed, hanging there until he finds his stims.
After sitting back up straight, he jams one into his upper leg. The green chemical drains from the syringe and his eyes light up. He lets out a loud laugh as he tosses the injector over his shoulder. It clatters against the wall and hits the floor.
"You're in for it," he says with a growl as he positions himself between your legs.
He pushes your leg back toward you with one hand while he grabs his cock with the other and rubs his swollen head up against your labia. He then slides himself through your lips once more before moving his hand to spread them with his fingers.
You watch him take one good look before sinking his cock into you. You inhale audibly, your eyes rolling slightly as he pushes himself into you with a single, fluid motion. It is more than you had expected, but it still feels good. His head lolls back, and he squeezes your hamstrings, pressing your thighs back toward your head.
He pauses for one brief moment before his hips begin a full-on assault of fevered thrusts. You cry out in surprise and reach up for something to grasp onto, but there's no headboard. Your palms flatten against the cool wall behind you.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
"Wrong guy, baby," he says, his hands moving down to your waist.
He pulls you against him with each thrust, moving so quickly and forcefully that you are virtually immobilized. You feel like he will rattle your brain straight out of your head. Despite all of the jarring movement, you manage to slide your hand down to your clit. The stimulation from his rapid plunging is unreal, his skin pushing against and peeling away from your vulva feeling amazing.
Your eyes lock with his. His pupils are like dark pools, dilated from a combination of drugs and pleasure. His chest is already damp with sweat, giving him a gorgeous glow in the dim light from your nearby lamp.
You barely need to rub your clit. The jostling from his movements does a lot of the work for you. All you have to do is apply pressure. The urge to come right away is strong, but you get the impression this will go on for a while. Instead, you continually bring yourself close and then withdraw your fingers before you orgasm.
"You feel so fucking good," he groans, his fingertips digging into you. "I'm never gonna stop."
You can't help but laugh. You will be raw tomorrow, but it'll be worth it.
"You're an animal," you say.
"And that's just the first stim," he says.
He leans down, resting his forearm on the bed at your side, his mouth connecting with yours. His pace doesn't falter as he runs his other hand around the back of your head, through your hair, kissing you with little finesse. You can feel his heartbeat in each place your upper bodies meet. The rate at which it races seems otherworldly.
He lifts his head and gives you another grin, this one even more mischievous than the others. Without a word, he slides his entire body back, slipping his cock from you. The world steadies and you take a second to center yourself. But the moment you take a single breath, you feel his tongue on your clit, and his fingers curl inside you. He begins stroking you with his fingers as his tongue rapidly and firmly flicks your bud.
You bury your hands in his hair and grip it as your lower half swells with a pleasurable, aching sensation. Few men were good at finding a clit, let alone all of the sensitive areas within, but Octavio seems to have zero issues as his fingers work a small, soft spot inside you. Before long, you begin to feel the tingling, urgent sensation that you both crave and can't stand. It is almost too much.
"Oc," you whine.
He chuckles as he feels you flex your pelvic muscles, pulling them up and pushing them down. Minutes pass and you are a mewling mess. The sheets underneath you are damp from his attention. He continues well past the point when anyone else may have tired out, his stamina, natural and artificial, driving him. He is determined to make you come.
Your whimpering evolves into intermittent gasps, your back arching.
"Come for me, bebé."
He pauses his attention on your clit to watch your writhe. Your mouth falls open, but you make no sound as you push down hard on his hand. He wraps his lips back around your clit, his tongue against it. Your high-pitched squeal comes next as you unleash a flood of fluid over his wrist and arm. After what felt like immeasurable moments, your squeal turns into a whimper, and he sits up as he pulls his hand from you.
"You've made a mess," he says, obviously satisfied with himself.
"Fuck, Octavio," you whisper.
He reaches down over the side of the bed, grabbing another stim.
"My turn," he says and slams the injector into his abdomen.
You're still recovering when he rolls you onto your side and hooks his hand under your top knee, pushing it up and back. You cry out as he plunges himself inside of you. You try to prop yourself up on your lower arm, or at least use it to steady yourself, but it is almost no use. The speed at which he moves makes it difficult to maintain any stability.
After a minute or so, he pulls himself out, watching the line of fluid connect the head of his cock to your pussy. He then flips you onto your stomach, eliciting another cry from you.
He mutters something you can't make out, and you inhale sharply as his open palm meets your ass, the sound ringing through your room. The stinging sensation sends a jolt through you. He grips your ass and squeezes it, then slaps it again.
"I could watch this ass jiggle all night," he says with a laugh.
He then wraps his hands around your hips and slides his cock back into you.
"I might actually come," he says. "This feels way too fucking good."
He gives you several full thrusts, pulling himself nearly the whole way out before sinking straight back in. You rest your face in your pillows and let out an occasional cry mixed with a soft laugh. You feel ethereal after your orgasm, as if you are half in another dimension, lingering in pleasure. He feels incredible, but you are no longer gripped with sheer desire. You can enjoy the sensation for what it is, even if you feel like your head may be jostled off your neck by the time he's finished.
"Fuck, I actually am gonna come," he says, his voice low.
With gritted teeth, he squeezes your hips and slams himself into you roughly, his pace hiccupping as he yells out a string of incoherent Spanish. He pumps himself inside you a few more times, cursing as he fills you. After a few more moments, he lets go, a shiver running through his body as he slides himself from you. He pauses to catch his breath, his eyes drifting along your figure from the top down.
"This is the biggest fuckin' wet spot I've ever seen," he says, sitting back on his metal heels.
He grabs a blanket, sets it over the spot below him, and collapses into the bed next to you.
"I'm just gonna give you a key to my apartment," you say, grinning at him. "Nobody's ever made me come like that, so you are welcome anytime."
He matches your grin.
"You're never gonna walk straight again," he says.
Key:
Y/N First Name
You peer at the small mechanisms inside Pathfinder's left knee joint, your magnifying lenses allowing you to appreciate how much fine sand the MRVN managed to collect in his machinery. Pathfinder is fairly good at self-maintenance, but every now and then, he darkens your door for help.
It is a bit suspicious of you to help any of the Legends. Your job is to maintain the arenas' munitions. Any assistance you give the Legends can be construed as cheating. But you keep your tinkering to a minimum and don't turn any of them away. Octavio and Pathfinder seek your help most often, but Elliott stops by occasionally, mostly to flirt, because of course he does.
You stand up straight and yank your goggles onto your forehead.
"Let me get my air. It's just some grit," you say.
"I appreciate your assistance," Pathfinder says in his ever-cheerful voice.
"Make me some stew and we'll be even," you say as you fetch a small air compressor from your nearby workbench.
You pull your goggles back down and lean in to blow the sand from the MRVN's exposed joint. It only takes a few well-placed blasts of air to clean him out. For good measure, you add a bit of lubricant before closing the small mechanism back up.
"Hey Doc, you workin' on knees?"
Octavio's voice is distinct, primarily due to his accent. The Legends are a hodgepodge representation of humanity, each almost comically distinguishable from the others.
"Let me guess, your right prosthetic is giving you problems," you respond loudly, not bothering to look up from your last touches on Pathfinder.
Octavio's prosthetic legs are remarkably quiet, so if he could contain himself, he'd easily sneak up on someone.
He's rarely able ever to contain himself.
"You know my body intimately," he says, now only a few feet from you.
His mouth always gives him away.
You purse your lips at his phrasing. Elliott can't help but flirt—he is a charismatic fool. He gets himself into and out of situations with his charm. Octavio is just insatiable.
"Of anyone, Pathfinder's body is the one I know best," you say, dropping your goggles around your neck. "I've been all up in your chassis, haven't I?"
The screen on the robot's chest flashes a large, red heart.
"You're all set," you say.
The MRVN hops off the workbench where he'd been sitting and gives you a thumbs up.
"I'll be by tonight to make you dinner," Pathfinder says.
"It's a date," you say with a grin.
Octavio watches as the robot walks out of the workshop and then looks back at you, his eyebrow cocked.
"Yo, you fuckin' the robot?" he asks.
"No, Octavio, I am not fucking Pathfinder," you say as you begin swapping your tools out for the finer ones that his prosthetics require.
"Let me know if you do. I wanna watch," he says as he effortlessly hops up onto the workbench.
You let out a soft sigh.
"Ajay did you a huge favor in getting these legs for you. You really should take better care of them. And yourself."
"Yeah, yeah," Octavio mumbles.
"I'm not a doctor, but if you fuck your nervous system up, these bad boys won't do you any good."
You push up Octavio's shorts to release the prosthetic from his limb, then set it on the workbench.
"I didn't come for a lecture, mami."
"I'm an engineer. The body is a machine. In your case, doubly so," you say. "I just want to see it run well. It'd be a shame if it broke down too early."
"That's sweet. But this bod ain't breaking down anytime soon. I can give you a demonstration if you want."
You glance up, only to find Octavio grinning back at you like a wolf. The Legend is plenty handsome. They almost all are. Even Pathfinder is an amazing example of his model, and you admire his build. You have no idea what Bloodhound looks like, so they are exempt. And while Caustic isn't hideous, it is hard to find a guy so obsessed with lethal experiments attractive.
But Octavio is a wiry, trim, beautiful thing. He has a jawline so sharp, he can cut glass with it. His high cheekbones are perfectly round. Plus, his face has plenty of character you find adorable, from the chips in his teeth from doing god knows what to his ears that fold out from his head.
It also didn't hurt he has a great six-pack.
"You're an engineer, but right now, you seem more interested in what's on this side of the socket."
"Stuff it, Silva," you grumble and look back down at the prosthetic, your cheeks flushed.
Your patient chuckles and leans back against the wall, watching you work. Knees are tricky from an engineering standpoint, and maintaining his is even more challenging. You know he appreciates your help, though.
Your hands move with surgical precision and your fingers don't waver as you plug away. You move like molasses compared to Octavio—everyone does—and you can tell it's taking everything he's got not to jitter.
"You ready for tomorrow's match?" you ask.
"Hell yeah. I love Talos. I'm gonna do some sick shit. Just wait and see."
"I always watch," you say. "It helps me understand how exactly you knuckleheads fuck my guns up."
"Who's your favorite?" Octavio asks.
"You keep asking," you say.
"And you never tell me."
"I'm not saying. If I let that slip and anyone finds out, they could construe the help I give him as cheating."
"Is it me?"
"I'm not telling," you say.
"It's me, isn't it?"
You smirk and look at him for a moment.
"Hell yeah, it's me."
"I'm formally impartial to all of you," you say.
"Yeah, but you informally love me."
"That's a bit strong. I didn't know anything about you before you joined the games, you know. I just like how brash you are out there," you say. "This is finished."
You lift the lightweight leg and line it up with his socket, your hands under the hem of his shorts again. The limb clicks, locking in place, and you motion for Octavio to swing it a few times. He does so.
"Feels good."
You give him a wink as you put your tools away.
"Like you said, I know your body intimately," you say.
Octavio hops off the bench and steps up behind you, pressing himself against your back. You feel his breath on your neck, his hands resting on your hips as his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. You pause briefly but go back to cleaning.
"How 'bout I get to know yours, Y/N," he whispers into your ear.
He presses his groin against your ass and nuzzles your neck. Your heart flutters a few times. You have been single for a while now, and you haven't bothered with one-night stands, so it is hard to ignore just how much Silva's touch excites you.
"Octavio..."
Silva steps back, the gap between your bodies feeling tremendously unsatisfying.
"Message me tonight when you're done with the robot," he says.
You don't turn around. Instead, you swear under your breath repeatedly as he leaves.
You stare at your mobile's screen, sitting in the darkness of your small flat. Pathfinder left an hour ago, and you are on your sofa, arguing internally about messaging Octavio. You know he barely sleeps, so time isn't an excuse. You start and then delete each message—everything you write feels stupid.
You'd be better off fucking the robot.
You finally settle on just your address, hit SEND, and wait. Short and sweet. Minutes go by with no response and you begin to relax. Maybe he's busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe you don't have to be nervous about fucking the heir to Silva Pharmaceuticals, a guy with fans in every damn sector for his reckless stunts.
You have already worked through several sets of maybes when your door buzzes, snapping you from your nerve-wracked thought process. Your gaze flashes to the front door and you freeze. Is he so eager that he showed up without responding?
You practically climb over your sofa and pull the door open. Octavio is standing there in the exterior breezeway, silhouetted by the night sky behind him, the hood of his zipper sweatshirt pulled up. He grins under the hood, his hazel eyes glinting in the glow cast by the hallway light over your door.
"I was one hundred percent convinced you wouldn't message me," he says, slipping past you.
"I almost didn't," you say, closing the door behind him.
He pulls his hoodie off, tosses it over a chair, and then shakes his short, unkempt green hair. From the pockets of his shorts, he withdraws several stims and sets them on the table.
"I brought some for you," he says with a wink.
"I'm good," you reply. "That shit's addictive. I've got my own stuff."
"You smoke that shit that slows you down, don't you?"
You give him a single finger gun and round your sofa, where you sit and pull out some papers, then begin rolling a joint with the dried flowers from a nearby bag. Octavio grabs his injections and joins you, watching your practiced routine. Once satisfied, you lean back and dig a lighter from your pocket. Silva's leg jitters as you twirl the joint over the flame until you produce a bright red smoldering end. You then pop the joint between your lips and take a long drag.
"How can you sit so damn still?" Octavio asks.
You hold the joint up as an answer to his question and then slowly exhale the smoke through your nose. Your lips part slightly and more smoke pours out. Your anxiety begins to melt away as you stare at his face. For all purposes, Octavio is a junkie. A rich junkie with steady access to high-quality stims. But a junkie nonetheless. Guys hooked on uppers can go forever, so if you want to do this, you need to be ready to be up the rest of the night.
You hang the joint from your bottom lip and grab your things. You will probably need to roll another one or two of these before the night is over.
"Alright, let's do this," you say, standing.
He blinks a few times, then springs to his feet.
"Hells yeah," he says and follows you as you make your way to the bedroom.
He is already out of his t-shirt when you turn to look at him. You take another drag from your joint as you admire his narrow chest and his even narrower waist. Reaching out, you grab the top of his shorts and pull him toward you.
"Damn, I didn't think you'd be so into it," he says with a laugh as you undo the top button.
"It's been a while. I'm very ready," you say.
Octavio shimmies out of his shorts and tugs at the bottom of your shirt. With his help, you pull it over your head without losing the cherry on your joint. His hands are on your bare chest immediately, his thumbs moving back and forth over your nipples. You slide your hand into his boxer briefs, your fingers wrapping around his rigid cock.
He moans and grips your shoulders, pushing you toward the bed. You step back and then crumble into the blankets with him. The rest of your clothes come off quickly, and Octavio slides his body on top of yours while you put your joint out in the ashtray on the nightstand and find your lube.
His mouth is on your neck as he grinds himself into you, the head of his cock pressing against your thigh. You rest your hands behind your head and let your eyes drift half closed, enjoying the feeling of his form against yours.
"Shit," Octavio mutters and reaches over the edge of the bed, hanging there until he finds his stims.
After sitting back up, he jams one into his upper leg. The green chemical drains from the syringe and his eyes light up. He lets out a loud laugh as he tosses the injector over his shoulder. It clatters against the wall and hits the floor.
"You're in for it," he says with a growl as he positions himself between your legs.
"And you can give it to me, but first," you say as you take him in your hands, working lube along his length until he groans in frustration. Satisfied, you fall back into your pillows.
He lifts your leg with one hand while he grabs his cock with the other and rubs his swollen head against you. His cock twitches as he stares down at your sweet spot, clearly enjoying the view. He then slides himself over your opening before sinking his cock into you. You inhale audibly, your eyes rolling slightly as he drives himself into you with a single, fluid motion. It is more than you expected, but it still feels good. Octavio's head lolls back, and he squeezes both of your hamstrings, pressing your thighs back toward your head.
He pauses for one brief moment before his hips begin a full-on assault of fevered thrusts. You cry out in surprise and reach up for something to grasp onto, but you have no headboard. Your palms flatten against the cool wall behind you.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
"Wrong guy," Octavio says, his hands moving down to your waist.
He pulls you against his body with each thrust, moving so quickly and forcefully that he virtually immobilizes you. You feel like he will rattle your brain straight out of your head. The stimulation from his rapid plunges is unreal, and the way his body rubs against you feels amazing.
Your brilliant eyes lock with his. His pupils are like dark pools, dilated from a combination of drugs and pleasure. His thin chest is already damp with sweat, giving him a gorgeous glow in the dim light from the nearby lamp.
You barely need to stroke yourself. The jostling from his movements is doing most of the work for you. The urge to come right away is strong, but you have a feeling this will go on for a while. Instead, you continually bring yourself close and then withdraw your hand before you orgasm.
"You feel so fucking good," he groans, his fingertips digging into you. "I'm never gonna stop."
You can't help but laugh. You will be raw tomorrow, but it'll be worth it.
"You're an animal," you say.
"And that's just the first stim."
Octavio leans down, resting his forearm on the bed at your side, his mouth connecting with yours. His pace doesn't falter as he runs his other hand around the back of your head, combing his fingers through your hair as he kisses you with little finesse. You can feel his heartbeat in each place your upper bodies meet. The rate at which it races is otherworldly. You would have collapsed by now if your situations were reversed.
He lifts his head and gives you another grin, this one more mischievous than the others. Without a word, he slides his entire body back, slipping his cock from you. The world steadies and you take a second to center yourself. But no sooner than you have taken a single breath, you feel his tongue on you and his fingers curl up inside you where his cock had just been. He starts stroking you as his tongue darts across your arousal.
You bury your hands in his hair and grip it as your lower half swells with a pleasurable, aching sensation. Octavio works magic as his fingers rub a small, soft spot inside you. As his fingers work, he takes you in his mouth, sucking on you as his tongue continues to dance over you.
"Oc," you whine.
He chuckles as he feels you flex your muscles, pulling them up and pushing them down. Minutes pass, and you have become a mewling mess. Your body is hot all over, and your skin is flushed. He continues well past the point when anyone else may have tired out, his stamina, natural and artificial, driving him. He is determined to make you come.
Your whimpers become intermittent gasps, your back arching. Your core is like a vice around his fingers.
"Come for me, Y/N."
He pauses for a moment to watch you writhe. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes as you push down hard on his hand. He wraps his lips back around you and lashes his tongue against you. You cry out as you come, and he eagerly swallows it, lapping up everything he can get. After what feels like immeasurable moments, your cry becomes a moan, and he sits up, pulling his hand from you.
"You've made a mess," he says with a grin.
"Fuck, Octavio," you whisper.
He reaches down over the side of the bed, grabbing another stim.
"My turn," he says, slamming the injector into his abdomen.
You haven't recovered before Octavio rolls you onto your side and hooks his hand under your top knee. You cry out as he plunges himself inside of you. You try to prop yourself up on your lower arm, or at least use it to steady yourself, but it is no use. The speed at which he moves makes it difficult to maintain any stability.
After a minute or so, he pulls himself out, watching the line of fluid connect the head of his cock to your opening. He then flips you onto your stomach, eliciting more cries.
He mutters something you can't make out, and you inhale sharply as his open palm meets your ass, the sound ringing through your room. The stinging sensation sends a jolt through you. He grips your ass and squeezes it, then slaps it again.
"I could watch this ass jiggle all night," he says with a laugh.
He then wraps his hands around your hips and slides his cock back into you.
"I might actually come," he says. "This feels way too fucking good."
He gives you several full thrusts, pulling himself out nearly the whole way before sinking straight back in. You know, however, there is only so much slow movement he can take, and as expected, he quickly ramps back up to his machine-gun thrusting.
You rest your face in your pillows and let out an occasional cry mixed with a soft laugh. You are ethereal after your orgasm, like you half exist in a different dimension, lingering in pleasure. Octavio feels incredible, but desire no longer grips you. You can instead enjoy the sensation for what it is, even though he'll have jostled your head off by the time he's done.
"Fuck, I actually am gonna come," he says, his voice low.
He squeezes your hips and slams himself into you roughly, his pace hiccupping as he yells out a string of incoherent Spanish. He pumps himself inside you a few more times, cursing as he fills you.
After a few more moments, he lets go, a shiver running through him as he slides himself free. He pauses to catch his breath, his eyes drifting along your figure from the top down.
"This is the biggest fuckin' wet spot I've ever seen," he says, sitting back on his metal heels.
He grabs a blanket, sets it over the spot below him, and then collapses into the bed next to you. You have already rolled over and relit your joint, smoke once again curling from your lips.
"I'm just gonna give you a key to my flat," you say, grinning. "Nobody's ever made me come like that, so you are welcome anytime."
He matches your grin.
"You're never gonna walk straight again," he says.