fic: the sarah connor chronicles
I made you, and now I take you back, john/cameron, mature, 832 words
Spoilers for 2.08.
The setting is perfect, really. Stupid sheets with planes across the linen fabric and Lego blocks left all over the place. If he takes off her clothes, touches her there, there, maybe there, and sees what makes her moan, it would be like he was a child playing with a toy.
Bed sinks in and she smells like a real girl. She lays back and her legs bend like a real pair of legs should, skin stretching in the right places and muscles flexing underneath flesh. Lips shining, he doesn't get why she even wears make up. Wonders why she always chooses pink. Metal robots don't have color preferences. Unless they're made to.
He can see the outline of her bra underneath her shirt and it's not practical, either. He guesses on her lists of likes, underneath kicking people in the face and shooting before asking questions is little red and pink roses with tiny leaves on cotton fabric that you can see through a white tank top.
Tries to push the thoughts out of his head like he always does, but fuck he is a teenage boy and does she even know what she's doing, anyway? Did he program her to do this? Get into bed with him and fuck his problems away?
The setting is perfect, really. Stupid sheets with planes across the linen fabric and Lego blocks left all over the place. If he takes off her clothes, touches her there, there, maybe there, and sees what makes her moan, it would be like he was a child playing with a toy.
Is that what he had done, made himself a life-sized ass-kicking Barbie doll to play with?
She lies next to him and speaks because the wires in her brain tell her to. Reminds him again she can't be happy, or sad, and for that matter then, horny. That's the problem with toys. Even the ones with chips in them like race cars that move or dolls that talk, they all have their functions but they can't feel anything. They're programed to do certain things because someone made them that way.
Even if he does customize himself the perfect woman and send her back in time to protect him, talk to him, get him off if he feels like it, that's all she is. A customized toy. He has to keep reminding himself of that.
So he does remind himself. Doesn't think about fake tears and fake blood and her face smashed together between two truck grills, mouth forming those words that are just as fake as everything else about her. Have to be.
She sits upright and her warmth leaves his side. Heating, she's programed to be warm. He doesn't notice her arms, long and lean, arms that protect him from harm. She looks back and tells him to let Riley be.
Nothing is real. He's in the wrong time in someone else's house laying on a bed next to a robot girl, waiting to take his place as the leader in a fight against evil computers. But Riley, she's flesh and blood and bone and well, even if he does get her hurt, at least the blood she'll spill will be real. Not some kind of dyed red substance but dark and thick with iron.
And if he kisses her, touches her there, there, maybe there, her reactions will be real. And hell if he doesn't deserve something real for a change.
--
She wants to kiss him. Can't, it's too soon. He's told her this, in the future. Told her the general time but not the exact date so she won't force it to happen. But she can't let herself get carried away too soon or she'll ruin everything.
She's not suppose to want to go against orders, but she does. She shouldn't prefer pink lip gloss over red, but she does. She shouldn't bend her legs towards him like this but she does, because she can sense his heart beating quicker and that pleases her, even though it shouldn't.
”I like this. Lying in bed with you.” His fingertips dance over the skin of her arm and he presses closer against the back of her sheet covered form.
She shivers at his touch and looks over her shoulder to smile at him. “I'll have to do it for you a lot then. When I go back.”
He sighs and wraps his arm around her middle, kissing her bare shoulder. “Cam, you can't. Not until--”
“Right. I know. But after?” She feels him smile against her skin.
“Yeah, after.”
She wasn't supposed to feel this way. She wasn't programed to fall in love. Love wasn't supposed to be something she understood, let alone felt.
His fingers resume their ballet across her arm. “Like your arms, too. You should show them off more.”
She leaves him. Wishes he was programed to follow orders, that he would leave Riley alone. It's not Sarah that brought her to his room tonight. Sarah's easy enough to handle.
As she picks up her jacket from where she'd dropped it, she hopes her chip really isn't damaged. She wasn't sure she wouldn't do something too soon, let something slip out.
Her feelings were becoming harder to hide.
--
Spoilers for 2.08.
The setting is perfect, really. Stupid sheets with planes across the linen fabric and Lego blocks left all over the place. If he takes off her clothes, touches her there, there, maybe there, and sees what makes her moan, it would be like he was a child playing with a toy.
Bed sinks in and she smells like a real girl. She lays back and her legs bend like a real pair of legs should, skin stretching in the right places and muscles flexing underneath flesh. Lips shining, he doesn't get why she even wears make up. Wonders why she always chooses pink. Metal robots don't have color preferences. Unless they're made to.
He can see the outline of her bra underneath her shirt and it's not practical, either. He guesses on her lists of likes, underneath kicking people in the face and shooting before asking questions is little red and pink roses with tiny leaves on cotton fabric that you can see through a white tank top.
Tries to push the thoughts out of his head like he always does, but fuck he is a teenage boy and does she even know what she's doing, anyway? Did he program her to do this? Get into bed with him and fuck his problems away?
The setting is perfect, really. Stupid sheets with planes across the linen fabric and Lego blocks left all over the place. If he takes off her clothes, touches her there, there, maybe there, and sees what makes her moan, it would be like he was a child playing with a toy.
Is that what he had done, made himself a life-sized ass-kicking Barbie doll to play with?
She lies next to him and speaks because the wires in her brain tell her to. Reminds him again she can't be happy, or sad, and for that matter then, horny. That's the problem with toys. Even the ones with chips in them like race cars that move or dolls that talk, they all have their functions but they can't feel anything. They're programed to do certain things because someone made them that way.
Even if he does customize himself the perfect woman and send her back in time to protect him, talk to him, get him off if he feels like it, that's all she is. A customized toy. He has to keep reminding himself of that.
So he does remind himself. Doesn't think about fake tears and fake blood and her face smashed together between two truck grills, mouth forming those words that are just as fake as everything else about her. Have to be.
She sits upright and her warmth leaves his side. Heating, she's programed to be warm. He doesn't notice her arms, long and lean, arms that protect him from harm. She looks back and tells him to let Riley be.
Nothing is real. He's in the wrong time in someone else's house laying on a bed next to a robot girl, waiting to take his place as the leader in a fight against evil computers. But Riley, she's flesh and blood and bone and well, even if he does get her hurt, at least the blood she'll spill will be real. Not some kind of dyed red substance but dark and thick with iron.
And if he kisses her, touches her there, there, maybe there, her reactions will be real. And hell if he doesn't deserve something real for a change.
--
She wants to kiss him. Can't, it's too soon. He's told her this, in the future. Told her the general time but not the exact date so she won't force it to happen. But she can't let herself get carried away too soon or she'll ruin everything.
She's not suppose to want to go against orders, but she does. She shouldn't prefer pink lip gloss over red, but she does. She shouldn't bend her legs towards him like this but she does, because she can sense his heart beating quicker and that pleases her, even though it shouldn't.
”I like this. Lying in bed with you.” His fingertips dance over the skin of her arm and he presses closer against the back of her sheet covered form.
She shivers at his touch and looks over her shoulder to smile at him. “I'll have to do it for you a lot then. When I go back.”
He sighs and wraps his arm around her middle, kissing her bare shoulder. “Cam, you can't. Not until--”
“Right. I know. But after?” She feels him smile against her skin.
“Yeah, after.”
She wasn't supposed to feel this way. She wasn't programed to fall in love. Love wasn't supposed to be something she understood, let alone felt.
His fingers resume their ballet across her arm. “Like your arms, too. You should show them off more.”
She leaves him. Wishes he was programed to follow orders, that he would leave Riley alone. It's not Sarah that brought her to his room tonight. Sarah's easy enough to handle.
As she picks up her jacket from where she'd dropped it, she hopes her chip really isn't damaged. She wasn't sure she wouldn't do something too soon, let something slip out.
Her feelings were becoming harder to hide.
--