for rirenec
1200 words
prometheus and bsg crossover.
kara/leoben, david/elizabeth
warnings for unwanted pregnancy, violence, non-consensual sex, weirdness, unsexiness, creepiness, bad writing
MA
happy halloween, ray-boo.
i.
Kara aborts the fetus to spite him.
Like her mother, she has a cruel streak. And like her father, she is prone to self-sabotage. One minute it is inside her; the next minute, it is not. She twists the knife into her uterus, through the flesh of her lower abdomen, then plucks the blade out, perfectly content to let the life bleed out of her.
Leoben says this thing inside her is proof of her love. Well, fuck that. Getting it out should more than make up for any temporary feelings of affection she had, moments of weakness, because Momma had been right; Kara is shitty and Kara is stupid and Kara can't get it together.
“Kara, let me in,” he says, banging on the door. “Kara, please, gods, Kara.” She’s never heard him this desperate before.
This, all this, the blood on the floor and the wound in her belly, is a lovely, parting fuck you.
She should’ve swallowed a bullet-faster, less painful-ending her life, and as a result, the life of her would-be child. But the chance that somehow, some way, he might revive it, niggled at her her. She’d not let him have that small peace, not ever.
It’s terminated, she will die, and that’ll be that.
ii.
“Show me,” David says, in that way he has, his voice curiously modulated, unaffected-like the hybrids. What does David know of tone? Mood? Pitch? Tenor? Leoben wonders, did his own Creator weave the nuances of language into his semi-organic DNA?
Leoben touches David’s cheek. It is not as warm as his, or as Kara’s. Yet there is a perfect tangledness there constructing itself beneath the surface-the way a child crushes a fish with his feet in an attempt to make it stop flopping. Then, being perturbed by the sudden, utter stillness, killing even more fish, as if somehow, once he kills enough, it will mean something.
“You are extraordinary,” says Leoben.
The endless beauty of this Universe makes his lungs constrict, because oxygen, or more appropriately, a seeming lack of it. A magical molecule that sustains life without question, without caveats, without moral judgment.
“I said, show me,” David repeats.
“Of course.”
Kara is anything but impassive when Leoben slides his tongue over her clit, his hands forcing her thighs apart. She is frighteningly strong, more so now that she is born again.
In seconds, Kara’s no’s metamorphose into breathy pants. She digs her fingers into his head in an attempt to push him away, but then she’s shaking, tugging him closer, frakking her hips into his mouth. She tastes incredible, and her obvious pleasure make his cock hard.
After she comes, convulsing, he climbs on top of her, grabs her wrists in his hand. He sees the scar on her belly, pink and raised and angry and ugly, and he drives himself inside her.
She is crying, like she sometimes does, but her hips move in unison with his, and her legs cling around his waist, forcing him deeper inside of her.
“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,” she says, and it’s a request he’ll grant because he has one fear, that he might lose her. So before he finishes, he pulls out of her, spurts his come onto her belly. She’s not ready yet.
iii.
David removes his belt, the way Leoben had done, and sets it on to the bedside table.
Like Kara, Elizabeth seizes up. She is already in briefs and a sports bra, having just finished sparring with Kara. Only, David thinks, not actually sparring. That’d been a lie. As a machine, it was the first, in his opinion, useful thing he learned-how to fib, how to tell when others were doing it.
In truth, Elizabeth had been watching Kara and Leoben the same way that David had watched them, only she’d been peeking through a vent. The alien ship, though more sophisticated than anything humans had ever created, still has its unaccounted for nooks and crannies.
David stands so that he’s close enough to feel Elizabeth’s warm breath. She is right beside him, and there is something comforting about that closeness, like the way some atoms want to collide.
“This isn’t what I want,” she says, short, dark hair sticking to her face, sweat. Her voice is sure, but the constricting of her lungs belies an underlying uncertainty.
“I can help satisfy you,” says David. “You’ve met your Maker, and yet, it’s not enough. Maybe-I can be enough.” He reaches out, touches the cross around her neck. Elizabeth shoves him away, and he senses the increase in her respiration rate and heart beat, accompanied by swift blood flow to her-as he had heard Kara call it-pussy. “Your origins are with me.”
“Do you not understand what ‘origin’ means?” she asks.
“I do,” says David. “I understand it perfectly well. Yet, I’m beginning to think the word is a bit of a trap.”
“Like, a chicken or the egg sort of thing?”
David ponders that, scanning his internal records for the reference. There it is, yes. “The chicken came first, of course,” says David. “The real question, however, is what came before the chicken? And then before that? And before that? We are here, being. We will continue to be. After us, something else will be. And if you want to know the origin of it all, you need look no further than the sun, than hydrogen. Life is, at it’s most simplest, the result of a cosmic temper tantrum. An atomic bomb of universal proportions.”
Elizabeth holds onto her cross. “I believe that this-” and she gestures to her body, “is not all that we are.”
Nodding, David takes a step toward her. “We could create something together.”
“As you noted,” says Elizabeth, “I have a remarkable talent for survival. You lay a hand on me, and I will end you.”
“‘End’ is another one of those trap words,” he says, “but as I understand it, I don’t have to touch you. Would you prefer, instead, that I didn’t? You like to watch.”
He undoes the button of his trousers, pulls down the zipper of the fly, and removes his dick. He knows that, like the rest of him, it is perfect.
Elizabeth touches herself, almost unconsciously, and David feels himself hardening. It doesn’t feel good or ungood to stroke, but he does it because she’s watching, and it’s what she wants, even if she won’t say.
“Lay down,” he says.
When she doesn’t do it, he repeats himself, speaking more clearly this time, annunciating ever syllable perfectly.
Elizabeth gets on to the bed, reclines.
“Spread,” says David.
She obeys, and when he sees the wet spot on her underwear, he dos feel something stir inside of himself. It is a simple thing. He is supposed to put his cock into her, over and over. She is wet for him, he is hard for her, and it is the most basic of the lessons he’s received over the years.
He gets on top of her.
She says, “I meant it when I said I’d end you.”
But she doesn’t move, and so he slides into her, the sensation entirely new. She whimpers, a sound that sets him on edge, and he begins to move between her legs, in and out, her body loosening as he thrusts.
She finishes before him, her eyes closed, writhing and out of control, and he realises for the first time that he longs for that, oblivion, a complete lack of order.
He shoves into her three more times, filling her, then lets go. And this, their togetherness, seems to be an origin of sorts.