So some of you folks might remember that I was mucking around with a cyborg 76 bordello fic a while back, featuring cyborg Jack in a corset a la triruntu’s art.
Well, I wouldn’t say it’s finished, but I’ve got 6100 words and no idea where to take it from here, so enjoy. Maybe if I post what I’ve got here, I’ll figure out what happens next.
***
Gabriel’s never been to a place like this before. His army buddies brought him as a congratulations for his promotion. Major Gabriel Reyes.
Nightclub, brothel and burlesque palace all rolled into one; the place is called Wrought Iron and it’s legendary in gossip circles. They say that if you can afford the admission price then you can find pretty much anything you could wish for: man, woman or enbee; human, cyborg or omnic. Robofucking hasn’t exactly been on the list of socially acceptable pastimes since the Omnic Crisis, but that only ever seems to increase the appeal when it comes to fetishes.
Gabriel’s never really been much for paying for sex, but who is he to turn down a free ride to one of the most exclusive bordellos on the planet?
The greeter—the concierge, she calls herself, in a way that’s absolutely meant to imply she’s there to hook them up with anything their hearts desire—meets them at the door and escorts them into the general lounge.
A couple of Gabriel’s buddies laugh at the look on his face, because this place is palatial. The set design alone would be worth the price of admission. Okay, that’s a geek thought, but a man’s got his hobbies. His just so happen to give him an appreciation of color and texture and the artistry involved in deploying them.
Everything is natural fibers and materials. Wood and leather furniture, with hand-carved detailing and tufting to create patterns; cushions and drapes of jaquarded raw silk and damask velvet; woven bamboo and linen wallpaper; it’s a master class in layering texture and color and pattern to create a sense of carelessly expensive class.
The room is already well-populated with ‘hosts’ and a number of clients. It’s easy to tell which is which because the clients don’t look like living works of art. The hosts and their outfits are as lush and sensual as everything else here, carefully designed to bring attention to their best assets and lend them a half-veiled mystique.
In a conversation nook near the door, a human woman leans over a board game spread across the coffee table, and then glances up to smile at Gabriel’s group. She’s stunning, with eyes deep enough to drown in and a mint green lace gown that gives tantalizing glimpses of her smooth dark body underneath. The skirt parts over her left thigh to show off her elegant cybernetic leg.
Finch heads over to her and she gestures to the seat beside her. When she shifts to face Finch as he sits, Gabriel can see the pistons in her knee move. It’s a work of art in its own right. He wonders whether she was able to afford it on her salary here, or if it was a gift from some suitor, or maybe the house.
The hosts watch their visitors enter with an air of studied, lazy welcome. Every one of them is beautiful and fascinating, Some smile or beckon when one of Gabriel’s group shows interest. Others continue on with their activities: games, chatting with each other about politics, science, movies they’ve seen lately. A male omnic on a sofa looks over the top of his book and blinks his optic LEDs in a robotic greeting when Gabriel glances at him. He’s wearing loose, light pants that drape beautifully and a sort of vest made of cascading strands of dark blue and purple glass beads. Underneath, he’s had bits of himself plated in copper to accentuate his exposed joints and underframe.
Gabriel’s never seen an omnic with so much of their understructure exposed. He stares for long enough that the omnic tips his head in invitation and Gabriel has to wave him off, feeling like an ass.
Gauze and tapestry hangings diffuse the light from the stained glass lamps and create ethereal, shadowed half-private niches here and there throughout the room. Everyone and everything here is so romantically, glamorously alluring that Gabriel feels a bit lost, not sure what he’s looking for. He follows the soft sound of music through the shadowed grottos of the room to find a female omnic playing on a grand piano in a windowed bay at the far end of the room. Nkosi is drifting her way as well, drawn as always by anything musical.
He watches their liaison begin from a tapestry-framed nook. It occurs to him that these things are meant to entice; conversations and activities as carefully crafted to draw in and please their clients as the setting and costuming. He crosses his arms and looks around the room, unable to decide whether that’s appealing or creepy.
“It’s all customer service,” says a deep voice to his right.
Gabriel jerks around. There’s a blond host half nestled into a stack of pillows on a chenille loveseat, looking up at him with eyes so blue they jar against the room’s decor. They’re dressed with the androgyneity of an enbee, their body encased in a red and gold satin corset and garter belt that does things to their narrow waist and broad chest. Above it, they’re entirely bare, highlighting the broad, curvaceous sweep of their shoulders, their strong, toned human left arm and the sleek exotically fierce looks of their cybernetic left one.
They uncross and recross their legs. They’ve got great legs; long and sleek, shown off nicely in heeled combat boots and silk thigh-highs, and they happen to also be cybernetic from mid-thigh down. “Our job is to please our clients,” they continue, watching Gabriel take stock of their body. “Considering what we charge, you should expect to get your money’s worth.”
They seem utterly unfazed by Gabriel’s eyes tracking up and down their body. Why should they be? This is their job. But they don’t seem like any of the others in here. They look as completely at their ease as if they were in their own home, but the unusual part is their lack of any discernable emotion. There’s no warmth or allure. They watch Gabriel with a calm neutrality so total that it’s almost icy.
“I’m Gabriel.” It pops out almost despite himself, and he’s not sure whether he’s trying to put some kind of reaction on that pretty, cold face or if it’s because of the way that corset looks like it might split off their body if they breathe too hard. He wants to replace its grip on their chest with his hands.
“Jack.” They give their name in an offhanded way that normally comes with a handshake, but they don’t even offer that. “You seem more into the interior design than the people.”
Gabriel shrugs. “I like costume design. It’s kind of a hobby. I was just admiring how well put together the place is.”
Jack tips their head. “I suppose. I’d never really thought about it, but the proprietors here don’t pull their punches when it comes to crafting an experience.”
There’s something wry in their tone. It’s not mocking or bitter, but the touch of irony is the first bit of emotion they’ve shown and something about it makes Gabriel laugh. Jack doesn’t quite smile, but the glint of humor that flashes over their face makes their eyes shine in a whole new way. “What did I say?”
“I’m having a workplace chat with a…uh. What are you guys called, anyway? Like, job title. Escorts normally go out and about.”
Jack pushes up out of the pillows to sit a little straighter. “The boss likes ‘companion.’ But clients can do what they want. I’m not gonna be offended if you call me what I am.”
“You’re not what I expected. You’re military.” Military cybertech is hard to miss, finer and more durable than anything to be found on the civilian market. And it means Jack didn’t just serve; they got themselves blown to hell, lost three limbs, and were rebuilt and sent back into special operations till their contract ran out. “Kind of an unusual place for someone like you to end up, isn’t it?”
Jack shrugs those amazing shoulders. The human muscles ripple beneath creamy, scarred skin and glossy black plates shift gracefully against each other, and Gabriel has to swallow the sudden extra saliva in his mouth. “Cyborgs aren’t exactly warmly welcomed in most parts these days. We look a bit too much like omnics for most people’s comfort.”
And omnics are barely considered people.
“You seem to like what you see.” Jack’s rough voice snaps him out of the path that thought was going down. It’s not a voice he’d ever imagine a hooker having. The gruffness catches him off-guard every time Jack speaks. When he meets Jack’s eyes, they’re looking back with a steady, pinning gaze that makes it clear they’re not talking about the decor.
“Uh, yeah. I mean you’re-” Gabriel gestures, then cuts himself off. Good god, what a rookie thing to say. He sounds like he’s never picked anybody up before.
Jack just snorts at Gabriel’s awkwardness. “Thanks.” Right. They must get that from clients all the time. Gabriel can feel himself flushing. Thank god for his complexion.
Jack tilts their head, one golden eyebrow bouncing upward. “You’re one of those guys who thinks too much, aren’t you?”
It surprises a laugh out of Gabriel. “Yeah, I am.” He clears his throat, trying to figure out where to go from here, but Jack stands up first.
They must be about the same height, normally. In those heels, Jack’s got a few inches on him. Tall and lean, with those broad shoulders and that cinched waist, they cut one hell of a figure, and Gabriel needs to touch, takes a step forward to slide his hands around that taut body-warm satin and velvet.
“What do you like?” Jack murmurs just a few inches from Gabriel’s mouth. Never mind what he thought about Jack’s voice. Like this, it’s a bedroom purr.
He presses gently at the small of their back. They follow with a dancer’s grace, melting into him so irresistibly that he leans in to catch their mouth with his without thinking, as if it’s all just meant to flow together.
Jack is a damn good kisser. They’ve probably had lots of experience. They flirt with that practiced tongue, taunting and then threatening to draw back, only to yield when Gabriel chases deeper into their mouth. It’s erotic as hell and yeah, okay, Gabriel’s susceptible to the ‘catch me if you can’ game. He tightens his grip on Jack to pull them closer, till their hips and groins are pressed firmly together and he can get a bit of friction on his rapidly rising hard-on.
Their waist is tiny in the corset. It’s the real deal, steel-boned and firmly laced. Gabriel runs his hands up and down Jack’s back and sides to feel the lovely shape of them. Satin and restraint. The idea of what Jack might look like, bent over and getting fucked while tied up tight in it, goes straight to Gabriel’s cock.
When they pull apart again, he glances down curiously. The lace panties Jack is wearing don’t hide anything. Jack’s erection isn’t nearly as far along, but it’s stirring with a bit of interest. Gabriel decides to feel proud of that.
Gabriel settles his hands on Jack’s waist again, tightening his grip a touch to see how far around he can reach. “Is this comfortable?”
Jack scoffs a laugh, letting themselves be handled. “You’re an odd one, aren’t you? Yeah, it is. I’m used to it.”
“Used to being fucked in it?”
“On occasion.” Unnaturally bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners. Jack doesn’t seem to be much for smiling. They just tighten their mouth a little in a way that could be the beginnings of a frown or a thoughtful pout or a determined attempt to keep a neutral expression. It’s weirdly charming. Gabriel wants to know what they look like when they really smile.
Holy shit, Jack is breathtaking. They’ve got gray streaking their temples, and scars along the arm and shoulder that aren’t cybernetic, and Gabriel wants to know what would bring someone like them to this place almost more than he wants to fuck them. “What’s that like for you?”
“Tight. Hard to catch my breath.” Jack studies him. “You like that?”
Gabriel feels his breath catch somewhere in his throat. Holy shit, he does. “It seems kind of anticlimactic, to come to a place like this just to fuck somebody. Even if it’s an uncommonly hot somebody.”
Jack snorts again and holds out their flesh arm in an antiquated offer of escort. “You planning to go to the dinner show?” Gabriel nods. “Take me along as your companion and I promise an anti-climax is the last thing you’ll have.”
***
Jack’s been with a lot of clients. Some of them are more respectful than others. Gabriel’s almost chivalrous. He seems to enjoy treating this like it’s a genuine date, which is sweet even if Jack isn’t about to forget it’s a job.
He lounges on the low divan, attention half on the act—a lithe, segmented omnic named Grayspace who performs a belly dance unlike anything a human is capable of—and half on exploring Jack’s body. Jack picked the corset for the combination of tactile pleasure and the things it does to their figure, and Gabriel is definitely susceptible, running his hands up and down Jack’s flanks and over their breast before sliding upward over Jack’s bare upper chest and shoulders.
He traces both collarbones thoughtfully. “The right one’s synthetic,” Jack says. They look the same, but they lie just under the skin and the differences are apparent to the touch. “They replaced it to anchor the arm.”
Jack doesn’t bother explaining that they made a lot of changes that aren’t obvious. Gabriel’s military. He might already know. If he doesn’t, then Jack’s not inclined to go into the details of being torn apart and rebuilt into a cyborg super-soldier. Taking an organic body beyond its limits via cybernetics requires a lot more than a few joint replacements.
Gabriel doesn’t say anything about it, but his fingers ghost up Jack’s throat to catch their face in his hands for a soft, slow kiss. Jack goes with the flow, drawing him deeper with an experienced curl of tongue that makes Gabriel hum in appreciation. They stroke and glide in a tempo that moves to the rolling beat of Grayspace’s drum music, and then Gabriel pulls back to reach for Jack’s cybernetic arm.
Before he puts his hand on it, Gabriel glances up to meet Jack’s eyes. “May I?”
Jack meets that look and pretends that the courtesy of being asked doesn’t crack them open a little. “Sure.”
It’s not often that people ask for permission first. Jack wouldn’t work this job if they couldn’t handle their prosthetics being touched, but no matter how used to it they are, every time someone puts their hands on them, it’s still a reminder that Jack’s body doesn’t entirely belong to them. The cybernetics interface flawlessly with Jack’s nervous system. Better than flawless, in fact. The reaction times and sensitivity to touch are beyond what the human body is capable of, and different enough to forcibly remind Jack that they’re foreign.
They close their eyes and sigh as Gabriel drags his fingertips down the plating. He knows. Jack can tell by how he’s touching them, slow and gentle and insistent enough to earn a shudder out of them. Jack feels vulnerable, suddenly. Laid open by that simple touch, seen into in a way nobody’s done in years. Jack opens their eyes.
Gabriel’s soft, fascinated expression drinking them in doesn’t actually help any.
Gabriel is a beautiful man, with a physique some people would kill for, eyes Jack could easily drown in and lush features that seem lit from within by ferocious drive. He is, to be frank, exactly Jack’s type. He’s also everything Jack has gone out of their way to avoid since they left the service.
The music changes, and the light shifts with it, from an ethereal green to a pulsing, passionate fire-red. The opening strains of a tango pull Gabriel’s attention away for a moment, and Jack is relieved.
This act holds his attention better than the last one: two men wearing not much, performing a combative, sensual tango that’s half fight and half sex. A few moves into the magnetic, grappling push-pull of it, Gabriel’s arm tightens around Jack and he crosses his legs.
It’s a useless but kind of cute attempt to hide his erection. Jack nestles closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck to place a kiss. “You don’t have to be polite with me,” they whisper in his ear.
Gabriel draws in a breath so sharp it’s almost a gasp, and then he turns and captures Jack’s mouth.
The box has a customizable privacy field, set so that anyone looking in will only see them as shadowy outlines, and any sound they make is muffled to the point of near-silence.
Jack’s bare shoulders hit the soft upholstery of the divan, Gabriel coming down heavy on top of them to settle between their thighs. Jack hooks one leg around Gabriel’s hip to pull them closer together.
This is why Jack wears stockings. A lot of clients are fascinated by the cybernetics–it’s part of the point of this place–but sculpted metal edges lose some of their charm when they go scraping across bare skin.
Gabriel’s fingers slide up the nape of Jack’s neck into the dip at the base of their skull. Jack arches and gasps. Gabriel has no way of knowing how sensitive that spot is. There’s a cybernetic interface under the skin there, woven into the root of their CNS to support the superhuman reaction times the military was aiming for. Gabriel’s caress shoots right down Jack’s spine to tingle in their fingertips and toes and cock.
Gabriel’s a quick study. He catches Jack’s chin to turn their head so he can mouth at the nape of their neck. It strips the breath right out of Jack. They push their shoulders back into the plush cushions of the sofa and make a high keening noise they couldn’t stop if they wanted to.
Gabriel pushes up over them with a wicked smile. “Hmmm.”
Jack’s got a professional awareness of what they look like right now, flushed and chest heaving in the corset, legs parted to either side of Gabriel’s hips. Gabriel watches them with naked hunger. Arousal flutters low in their belly at the predatory edge to it, unexpected but welcome. When sex is work, orgasms aren’t an element to count on. Even though Jack can usually work up to them for the sake of their clients, it takes a lot of the fun out.
Obviously Gabriel’s the type who considers getting his partner off to be at least half the fun. His mouth comes down on their cock through the lace of their underwear, hot and wet and good enough to make Jack moan without even needing to fake it.
Gabriel laughs into Jack’s groin at the sound, which doesn’t do any favors for Jack’s composure. He undoes the fastener on Jack’s right garter, pushes the stocking down, and then sucks a series of hard, nipping kisses down Jack’s inner thigh till he’s licking at the seam between flesh and synthetic.
That spot is all scar tissue and hot-wired nerves. Jack’s body heaves at the intensity of having a tongue on them there, forcing them half-upright in a position that’s *extremely* uncomfortable in a corset and clutching desperately at Gabriel’s curly hair.
“Gabe-!” The diminutive isn’t deliberate. Jack normally tries to stick to the clients name as they gave it to them. But they were raised on neighborly informality and Gabriel doesn’t complain.
Jack drops back down, panting, and then moans again when Gabriel moves back up to pull their panties down and take their cock into his mouth.
It’s not the best blow job they’ve ever had, but it’s a damn sight far from the worst. They do their best not to clutch too hard at Gabriel’s hair, till he reaches around to tug at one hand and set it firmly in his curls. When Jack clenches their hand and tugs experimentally, Gabriel closes his eyes and groans, right around their cock.
Jack nearly chokes.
Gabriel doesn’t make it quick. When Jack pushes warningly against his shoulder, feeling the orgasm closing in, he pulls off and grips tight around the base of Jack’s cock, then turns his head to kiss their thigh again.
“Agh, you-” Jack narrowly keeps from swearing at him—he’s still a client, and there are lines—but Gabriel only looks pleased.
“Like I said. It’d be a waste to come here just for a quick fuck.”
“That’s…ugh…my job.” Jack tries to twist their hips. Gabriel doesn’t even have to hold them down. The corset restricts any movement at the waist.
“Maybe I like getting my partners off. Maybe that’s what gets me going.”
He’s not lying. Gabriel’s eyes are bright and he looks delighted by Jack’s reactions. Jack huffs and drops their head back in surrender, doesn’t fight the shudder that racks them as Gabriel’s mouth returns to their body to start sucking them off again, long and slow at the perfect pace to drive Jack crazy. One of Gabriel’s hands cups around their thigh to trace the contours of their prosthetic leg where it shows above their boot.
The body on top of Jack lets go with one hand and stretches for a moment to reach for the pump bottle of lube on the coffee table. When a slippery finger presses into the cleft of their ass, they relax their lower body to let it in. Gabriel doesn’t stop with the slow, teasing blowjob as he begins to finger Jack, even though his pace turns clumsy from trying to do both at once.
After several minutes of the dual attention, and a few interruptions to reach for more lube, Gabriel’s managing to get the hang of his rhythm. Jack presses the heels of their hands against their temples, and doesn’t even try to suppress a whine. “Are you going to let me come?”
Gabriel looks up along their body at them and seems to give that some thought, damn the man. Then he pulls off, and out, and sits back onto his heels. “I want to fuck you first.”
“Anything you want.” It’s more or less factually true. He is a paying customer, after all. But nobody ever has a problem with a show of enthusiasm. And anyway being being a prostitute doesn’t make Jack immune to the effects of a good tease.
“You got a nice cock,” Jack compliments him as he sinks into them. It is. On the high side of average but not so big it’s punishing. “It’s pretty.”
Gabriel barks a laugh. “Pretty?”
Jack smirks faintly up at him. “How many cocks have you fucked? Believe me, they don’t all belong on Greek statues.”
They wrap their arms around Gabriel’s waist to hold him in place during the ensuing fit of laughter. He’s got a really nice laugh. It’s kind of high and giggly. Unexpectedly cute for a man so big and serious-looking.
Jack lies there under his shaking body and does their best not to look as amused as they are, but when Gabriel’s giggling subsides, they ask dryly, “You done?”
Which as everybody knows is just a cue for another round. They let themselves grin full-on at the ceiling for a moment while Gabriel buries his face in their shoulder.
Jack tries not to smile at clients often. They’ve learned the power of their smile over the years. It encourages people too much. Instead, when Gabriel calms down this time, Jack asks him, “You ever had a guy laugh while they were inside you? It’s really something else.”
Those gorgeous brown eyes go from light to dark instantly. “Yeah?” Gabriel rolls his hips. “How so?”
Jack moans a little. They don’t really feel the need to but it seems to suit the moment. “‘S like. Feeling somebody’s mood from the inside. Like your happiness is vibrating right through my body. It’s really good.” That part is true. Clients laughing during sex isn’t much of a thing, but it’s a huge turn on. Doesn’t hurt that a client enjoying themselves enough to laugh about it might be more inclined to leave a tip.
The part where it feels like Gabriel’s laughter lifts a little piece of the cloud cover they live under, Jack keeps to themselves. That’s nobody else’s business.
Looking pleased, Gabriel gets back to the fucking, trying to pick up the tempo. If he’d asked, Jack might’ve made some suggestions for positions. Face to face is an awkward orientation for a fuck when Jack’s bendability is so limited. After a moment, Gabriel hooks his hands under the backs of Jack’s knees and pushes up to his knees, leaving Jack’s ass in the air and shoulders taking all their weight. Jack has to catch themselves with their hands against the arm of the divan to keep from getting knocked against it as Gabriel starts thrusting with some real force.
Their little break during the giggle fit took the edge off Jack’s arousal, but it doesn’t take long to get it back. Jack’s always found it innately exciting to have someone they like inside them. There’s a breathtaking thrill to the intimacy and invasion of it. They hook the heel of their left boot on the back frame of the divan for leverage so they can push up into each stroke.
Even this ready for an orgasm, though, Jack’s not about to forget they’re performing, or that Gabriel is watching their every move. They reach up to take their cock in hand, but they don’t try to jerk off. “I wanna come.”
Gabriel reaches eagerly to help, just like Jack expected he would. He lets go of one of Jack’s legs to do it, and they both go tilting toward the floor as it unbalances them on the plush cushions.
Gabriel yelps and scrambles for a grip. Jack catches them both, cybernetic left hand clutching the back of the divan hard enough to tear holes in the upholstery and their right leg hooked around Gabriel’s waist, core muscles taut as they lever his weight back into balance. Too bad Gabriel can’t see their abs right now. They probably look spectacular.
There’s a second of wary stillness as they both make sure they’re not going to topple again. Then Jack looks up at Gabriel, who’s staring at them in what looks like surprise. “What?”
Gabriel reaches down to brush Jack’s face, something suspiciously soft in his expression. He pulls back and it vanishes. “Nothing.” He looks down. “You’ve made a mess of yourself.”
Jack looks. There’s cum all over their thighs and the corset. “Goddammit.” They can still feel a few weak post-orgasm quivers deep inside, but all told… “Well, that was a waste.”
Gabriel snorts with laughter. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to stop, you know.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” Gabriel clambers off Jack. “It’s more fun when you’re into it too. I don’t mind simmering for a bit. Here.” He passes Jack the box of tissues from the shelf beneath the coffee table. Jack grabs a few and dabs at the semen on the velvet while Gabriel wipes his own hands off.
The current act is a cyborg couple who are doing some truly amazing nude acrobatics. Gabriel watches it for a moment while he cleans himself off, but Jack can see it’s not really captivating him. “What sorts of stuff do you do in your job, anyway?”
“Hm, as in sexual stuff?” Jack’s caught on that Gabriel is the kind of guy who likes seeing behind the curtain. They think about it while they set their outfit back to rights: how much Gabriel really wants to know and how much Jack feels like sharing. “I’ve done all kinds of things. Got an omnic regular who likes to tie me up. That’s all they want. They tie me up so I can’t move, and I lie there in their lap all night while they pet me and read a book.” They study Gabriel thoughtfully. He looks fascinated, like he’s thinking about asking for more details. “You like bondage, don’t you? You like me being tied up in this thing.” They tap the front cinch of the corset and look up at Gabriel through their lashes. “You want to see the rooms we’ve got set up for BDSM play?”
Gabriel licks his lips. “I’ve never, uh…”
Jack scoffs a laugh. “You don’t have to. I just figured you might be interested.”
“Yeah, then. Show me.”
***
Jack called it a dungeon, but that seems like an ill-fitting word for a room with flocked wallpaper, marble floors and Persian rugs. “I didn’t expect it to be, um. So sexy.” Gabriel eyes the chains and stands, imagining how somebody’d be hooked up in those and how the equipment in display stands next to them would be used on them. What it’d be like to sit in the Italian leather furniture strategically positioned nearby and watch the show.
He runs a hand down the side of a polished walnut ‘x’ stand the size of a man, and turns to look at Jack with a lopsided smile. “This is a whole roomful of sin.”
Jack gives a startled laugh. “Yeah.” They look around. “I guess you could put it that way.”
Next to the stand, there’s an artfully arranged display of whips. Gabriel whistles. “I didn’t even know there were this many kinds. You’ve used all this?”
Jack steps up next to him and reaches out to play with the long suede tails on one of them. It looks soft and light, but the strips end in knots. They’ve got that twisted half-smile on their face again, the smirk that looks like they’ve got something against smiling for real. “I would’ve had to be here a hell of a lot longer than I have to’ve used all of it. But some.”
“Yeah?” Gabriel looks them up and down, trying to imagine. It’s not that hard; his main struggle is the number of options. “Which, uh, which way?”
The smirk twitches a little. “Whatever way the client wants.” Jack circles around the stand, looking at it with a vague distance like they’re remembering. “This is called a St. Andrew’s Cross. I’ve been on it more than once. Put a few people on it too.” They step up onto the wide-spaced platforms at either side of the base and reach up to grab the short chains that hold the manacles at the top.
Gabriel feels a bit like something’s just ruptured in his head at the sight of Jack stretched out, all long scarred limbs and sleek lingerie and silver-spattered gold hair. Old enough to know better but without a fuck to give.
“Mostly clients aren’t really that creative,” they say, as coolly as if they’re not acting out a bondage fantasy. But there’s a glint in those blue eyes when they glance down at Gabriel’s awestruck face. “A lot of the time, they just strap me in and do some light whipping and then they want to fuck me or get a blowjob. Stereotypical stuff. The kind of thing they’ve seen on the cover of an edgy romance novel and they want to play out. Which is fine.” The broad shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “One of the best reasons to come to a place like this, probably.”
They let that comment hang in the air. Gabriel feels like he’s expected to say something. “Is that okay?” he asks after a moment. Jack cocks their head with that bird-like questioning tilt Gabriel’s quickly becoming familiar with. “Well, what if you don’t want to?”
“Oh.” Jack hops down and shrugs again. “We don’t have to agree to it. But there’s a pay bonus if you do.” They face Gabriel, squinting a little. “You really aren’t the kind of guy who comes to places like this very often, are you?”
Gabriel scoffs. “Not really, no.”
“So why are you here, then?” Their expression is piercing, suddenly. “Weren’t you supposed to be having a party with your friends?”
Its an innocent enough question, but there’s something in the way Jack asks it. Gabriel’s been interrogated before. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and he’s having it now. He tries to laugh it off. “You pay attention.”
“I do. It makes me good at my job.” Gabriel has given interrogations too. Jack has let their gaze wander like they’re not particularly interested in the answer but they can’t fool someone who knows the same tricks.
“I ditched them, as it happens,” Gabriel says lightly. “You’re more interesting than they are.”
Jack snorts. “Not very considerate of you.”
“It’s my party,” Gabriel answers. “I can do what I want to. Do you usually pass judgement on your clients?”
The sudden tension is gone again, so ephemeral it could’ve just been in Gabriel’s head. Guys in his line of work learn to get paranoid. Then again, the same can probably be said of Jack’s. “It’s an observation,” Jack says. “Judgments come from people who care what you do.”
There’s really no arguing with that. “Do you like it here?”
It just popped out. Gabriel is already kicking himself for the next-level dumbass when Jack’s surprise turns to a kind of slow, veiled mockery. “Why? You proposing to take me away from all this?”
Gabriel winces. “No.” Jack bursts out laughing. “I mean-! Shit.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Sorry.”
But Jack is still chuckling, with an honest to god grin on their face. Gabriel just stares and lets them finish. He’s known some people who can light up a room, but Jack has the kind of smile that can make people have faith in politicians. A ‘do you believe in love at first sight’ smile.
Eventually, when they wind down, Gabriel nods toward the cross. “So what if I wanted to put you up there?”
Jack puts their hands on their hips and looks at it thoughtfully. “I have something I think you might like better. You’re a Navy guy, right? They still teach you people all about knots?”
“Yeah…?”
Jack is already striding across the room in a swinging high heeled gait. They stop at a peg board full of colorful coils of rope and pick one out, a bright blue that drapes, visibly supple, in their hands. When they hold it out to Gabriel, it’s with a flash of teeth that looks more like a challenge than a smile. “Wanna try your hand, sailor?”
***
Jack breathes a sigh of relief when the door to their private room closes behind them. This is the best part of the night. They reach around behind themselves to undo the corset, sucking in a luxuriously deep breath as it releases its grip on their rib cage, and unfasten their stockings from the garter belt to roll them down the smooth curves of their cybernetic legs.
Here, there’s no one left to please. Jack can shuck the persona along with the costume and lay bare what’s underneath. For a little while after they shed their work skin, everything feels like it fits, new and tender and relaxed in the cool, soothing air. For a short, precious time, Jack’s limbs, body, mind all feel in harmony, and Jack can actually believe they all belong rightfully to them and that they’re obedient to Jack’s will.
It’s most of the reason Jack stays at this job.
Jack’s cybernetics should be more than durable enough to stand up to whatever bondage games a client might want to play, but they learned in the service never to assume. They sit on the bed and stretch their cybernetic arm out to the side to run a diagnostic. Tiny electrical charges ripple up from fingertips into the shoulder joint, activating and testing each fiber and connection in turn. The little interlocking armor scales that form the ‘skin’ shift and lift, then fall back into place in a clattery ruffling, and Jack twitches repeatedly at the jolting tickle-itch as the nerves inside are stimulated. The process repeats for each leg, and then the internal mods.
When the panels have all settled, Jack runs their hands along the glossy blue-gray curves to check the feedback sensitivity, and remembers Gabriel’s hands on their body. Their gentle precision while winding the rope around them, and then the way they’d been on him so greedily everywhere until he had Jack ready for round two.
It was nice, having a man that gorgeous look at them like they’d hung the moon. Too bad he was military. Jack’s got no reason to believe he was here for any reason beyond his celebration, but they didn’t make it this far through stupid chances and unfounded assumptions.
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/2v0hVeV