[ he can taste thirium under his tongue, chase it around the backs of his teeth and the back corners of his mouth as he works on finding the words. how best to describe what he needs, as markus takes the tools from him without question and simon feels as though he's been laid out on a platter before a starving man. that isn't what this is, he tells himself. this is a necessity, the modification of a body that hadn't been built to be adaptive - only replaced in a few years time - to better handle something newer, better.
( he thinks of it again: the CX100 silent and sleeping in its crate. the replacement parts he'd rummaged through, gleaming white and sleek compared to what he hid underneath his synthetic skin; yellowing plastic, old cracks and scrapes that could not be buffed out. scars on his insides, from the parts of him that had rubbed against one another. it eats at him, low in his belly like he's swallowed poison instead. )
jaw tense, he shifts his weight to the opposite hip. balances himself in a way that the exposed, inner curve of his body is backlit by his own insides, soft blue and humming with the strain. he doesn't think of what it feels like, to be open like this to markus -- that it this is as commonplace as being seen by someone performing routine maintenance. it isn't intimate. but, it is. beyond intimate, because the way markus looks at him is not impartial. he isn't seen merely as a machine, by those eyes. ]
This needs to be narrowed. These wires need to be pulled forward.
[ he explains it verbally, demonstrating the locations of critical connectivity points. his own metal joint needs to be broken, bended and narrowed to fit the sleeker composition of the CX100's limb. wiring can be affixed in place by using the spare metals to bracket it, solder it in place. his explanation could be far more efficient, if shared silently through their connection, but the way simon tips his head back and swallows thirium -- he's not able to suffer that burden just yet.
as he sets the bottle aside, his hands find markus's wrists. steadying them, even as he brings them down to --
he can't think of this now ( a sparking between them; the sensation of -- teethtongue -- against wrist, soft and hungry ), not until they're out of the woods. ]
Maybe I should have everything upgraded, [ he laughs, a little wry, a little heartsick. ] Wouldn't that be nice?
no subject
( he thinks of it again: the CX100 silent and sleeping in its crate. the replacement parts he'd rummaged through, gleaming white and sleek compared to what he hid underneath his synthetic skin; yellowing plastic, old cracks and scrapes that could not be buffed out. scars on his insides, from the parts of him that had rubbed against one another. it eats at him, low in his belly like he's swallowed poison instead. )
jaw tense, he shifts his weight to the opposite hip. balances himself in a way that the exposed, inner curve of his body is backlit by his own insides, soft blue and humming with the strain. he doesn't think of what it feels like, to be open like this to markus -- that it this is as commonplace as being seen by someone performing routine maintenance. it isn't intimate. but, it is. beyond intimate, because the way markus looks at him is not impartial. he isn't seen merely as a machine, by those eyes. ]
This needs to be narrowed. These wires need to be pulled forward.
[ he explains it verbally, demonstrating the locations of critical connectivity points. his own metal joint needs to be broken, bended and narrowed to fit the sleeker composition of the CX100's limb. wiring can be affixed in place by using the spare metals to bracket it, solder it in place. his explanation could be far more efficient, if shared silently through their connection, but the way simon tips his head back and swallows thirium -- he's not able to suffer that burden just yet.
as he sets the bottle aside, his hands find markus's wrists. steadying them, even as he brings them down to --
he can't think of this now ( a sparking between them; the sensation of -- teethtongue -- against wrist, soft and hungry ), not until they're out of the woods. ]
Maybe I should have everything upgraded, [ he laughs, a little wry, a little heartsick. ] Wouldn't that be nice?