your code is programmed not to love me
(This is literally just weird bad-idea porn. I blame @the-son-of-dathomir. Just do me a favor and pretend thereās about 50,000 words of build-up, jealous glances and petty bullshit and hand touches through leather gloves, alright?)
(title from Janelle Monaeās Take A Byte, an excellent song to make out with someone you kinda hate to)
āAnd with the collapse of the smuggling ring, Iāll need these filed.ā Agent Thirteen tossed the datapad carelessly across the table at Watcher Two.Ā
Shara Jenn. Her real name was Shara. That tidbit had stuck in her head since Watcher X left it for her like a Life Day gift, like a birdās head deposited on a windowsill. Thirteen couldnāt stop repeating it, putting the name to the face.Ā Shara, Shara, Shara, echoing in her brain until she might slip and let it fall out of her mouth. Matching it to at Watcherās perfect, moon-round face and bright eyes. Her hair that was never mussed by the battlefield.
The datapadās collapse on the table was very loud in the empty conference room. Shara glared.
āYou expect me to do your datawork?ā The words filthy alien had never been spoken between them, but they underpinned every interaction, an invisible current that charged the air between them. Shara arched a horrifically perfect brow, her pale face marred by the irritated wrinkle in her forehead.
āOnly one of us runs around getting shot at, Watcher.ā Thirteen snipped, her head tilting at a haughty angle. Only one of us is considered disposable enough to be put in the line of fire, you perfectly-engineered twat.Ā āI have things to-ā
āI shanāt.ā Shara crossed her arms, her place at the head of the conference table conveniently blocking Thirteenās exit.Ā āIāve a mountain of things to take care of with this mission cleanup, do it yourself.ā
āNo. Iām busy. And besides- youāre so much better with numbers- that lovely brain of yours can calculate hyperspace routes, some spreadsheets oughtnāt give you any trouble, hm?ā Thirteen smirked, the expression casually cruel on her face. Graceful fingers flicked out in a dismissive wave good-bye as she passed, her fingertips passing just a heartbeat over Sharaās arm. Close enough to feel the heat of her against the dehumidified chill of the room.
Shara- Watcher- stepped in front of her, shoulders squared- she was shorter than Thirteen, not lean nor muscled, but stood like a stubborn little rock in her path.Ā āMake me.ā She challenged, her brow twisted in confusion, her lips pursed in a childish little pout.
āMove.ā Thirteen stopped dead, quivering with the urge to shove her to the floor, like a girl on the playground.
āMake me,ā Shara insisted, stepping up even closer. She was warm and soft, smelling of cold, dry air and the radiating smell of a holo-emitter. Like something made of blue light and circuitry.
Thirteen surged forward to steal her mouth in a biting kiss.
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