will be at a con (sort of) today so no warm-up, but ☝️ i do have more friend oc fic from a while back
"This is insane," Rudi mutters. His hand trembles where it hovers over Mars' abdomen, the scalpel mere millimeters from his skin. "You're insane."
Mars only smiles at him, a curl of his lips that—as usual—doesn't reach his eyes. "Time's ticking, Morris. Do you want to save me, or not?"
Rudi levels him with a flat look. Mars knows full well that he intends to kill him at the end of this—
But he also knows he can't, yet. For now, Rudi needs him alive—and that means playing along with Mars' stupid game.
"Better hurry," Mars taunts. "Who knows how long you have until the vial dissolves?"
The vial. The vial with poison that's somewhere in Mars' body. A poison that will kill him, if Rudi doesn't get it out in time.
It's tempting. A not insignificant part of Rudi wants to let this sick game run its course. He wants to let the vial dissolve, wants to watch as the poison spreads throughout Mars' body. He wants to watch it kill him.
It's a struggle to remind himself that Mars can't die yet. Rudi can't let him die yet. It would ruin everything.
And Mars knows that. That smile of his stays in place, smug and knowing. He meets Rudi's eyes, then looks meaningfully down at the scalpel hovering above his abdomen. A silent taunt, or a command.
Fine. Fine.
Rudi grits his teeth, tightens his grip on the scalpel, and makes the first incision.
Mars gasps when the scalpel starts slicing through his skin. It's too subdued of a response for somebody undergoing abdominal surgery without anesthesia, even if he is hooked up to a morphine drip. Mars' stomach is being sliced open. He should be in unimaginable pain. He should be screaming, thrashing, trying to get away—
But that gasp is the extent of his reaction. Other than that he stays quiet and perfectly still as Rudi continues cutting him open.
Rudi lifts the scalpel once the cut is long enough. A trembling breath tumbles from Mars' lips, colored with—something. Not pain. Rudi knows what pain sounds like, and this is… It's—
He looks at Mars' face. There's a flush high on his cheeks. His mouth is slightly open, lips shiny with spit. He's gazing down, though Rudi can't tell if he's looking at the scalpel in his hand or the long, deep cut on his abdomen. His pupils are blown wide, the gray of his irises just a thin ring.
Freak.
Rudi clenches his jaw and lowers his head, focusing his attention on the incision. He lifts the scalpel again to make two horizontal cuts at either end of the incision. When he's finished, his eyes flick up to Mars' face again without his consent.
His expression has shifted subtly, containing an edge of excitement.
Rudi sighs and sets the scalpel aside. "I haven't washed my hands," he points out. "You're going to get an infection."
Mars finally tears his gaze away from his stomach to meet Rudi's eyes. One corner of his lips curls up, his eyebrow twitching along with it. "Then it's lucky I have you there to nurse me back to health." His voice doesn't contain a single hint of irony. If anything, he sounds almost fond, like he actually thinks Rudi is looking out for him willingly.
Rudi's fingers twitch. He's glad he's no longer holding the scalpel; if he was, he might have plunged it into one of Mars' eyes, consequences be damned. As it is, he brings his hand to Mars' abdomen and digs his fingers into the edge of the incision. Blood instantly seeps from the wound, slick and hot; Rudi's fingers slip as he attempts to get a solid grip. It's a struggle, made all the more difficult by Mars gasping again, that same soft sound of not-pain.
After a few seconds of fumbling, Rudi finally manages to get hold of Mars' skin. There's a wet sucking sound as he peels it back. The inside of Mars' skin is pink and glistening with dark red blood. Rudi stares at it, a wave of nausea crashing through him. He swallows thickly, bites the inside of his cheek to ground himself and takes a deep breath—
—and gags at the smell in the air. Blood, metallic and sharp. Raw meat, too; it reminds Rudi of being in a butcher's shop, of getting served a rare steak with dinner. It's almost pleasant—which somehow makes it more disgusting.
Mars grunts, the first actual sound of pain Rudi has heard him make during all this. "You might want to get a move on," he says, voice tight. "I think I just felt something."
Rudi raises an eyebrow. "And you don't think that might be related to your skin being peeled back?"
Mars laughs, breathless. His stomach shakes with it; Rudi has to tighten his grip to keep hold of the flaps of skin. "Something inside."
Rudi's eyes move from the flaps of skin to the organs he's just laid bare. Another wave of nausea hits; this time he actually gags, worried for a moment he's going to throw up. He lets go of Mars' skin; the flaps fall back down, though they stay curled away enough that Rudi can still see the bloody mess of his insides, yellowish sacks of fat and dark red organs that almost seem to be pulsing—
He looks away, gagging again. His head swims, vision blurring. There's no way he can go through with this. This, finally, will be the game that breaks him. The game that Mars wins.
"Rudi." Mars' voice cuts through the ringing in his ears, sharp and sudden. "Look at me."
The previous tightness in his voice has disappeared. It's steady, commanding, and Rudi obeys in spite of himself.
Mars raises his hand, slow and deliberate. When he's sure Rudi is watching, he folds his thumb into his palm, then closes his fingers around it and squeezes. He nods at Rudi, a silent encouragement for him to do the same.
Rudi does, copying the motion. Miraculously, he stops gagging. The nausea is still there, but he no longer worries about throwing up.
He opens his mouth to thank Mars—then snaps it shut when he notices the smug smirk plastered on his face. No way he's feeding his ego even more.
Rudi stays like that, breathing deeply through his mouth until the nausea passes. Only then does he relax the grip he has on his thumb. He grabs one of the flaps of skin with his left hand, pulling it back until the wound is big enough for him to stick his right hand inside.
He moves quickly. If he waits, if he hesitates, there's a chance he'll chicken out again—so he doesn't. As soon as the wound is wide enough, he sticks his hand inside.
It's—warm. That's the first thing he notices; a warmth like a fever, like one of Adi's hugs. It's almost painful, how not wrong it feels—
Until Rudi finally becomes aware of the wetness, the squish of Mars' organs around him. He can feel his blood pumping through his veins, a thrumming against his own skin. It reminds him, undeniably, inescapably, that his hand is currently inside of Mars' abdomen.
Lastly, he notices the sound. Mars' heavy breathing, occasionally trembling with—
With a moan. There's no mistaking it, this time—the something Rudi noticed earlier is pleasure, no doubt about it.
"You're disgusting," he says, voice shaking with barely restrained rage.
Mars chuckles. Rudi can feel the vibrations, the way his insides shake with it; he wants to pull his hand out, but—
"But you'll do what I want anyway," Mars says. "You have to."
Rudi grits his teeth. He hates that Mars is right. No matter how much he wants to, he has to do this.
"Go on." Mars tilts his head, an amused tinge to his voice. "Have a look around. Or did you forget there's a purpose to all this?"
"I—" Rudi snaps his mouth shut, teeth clacking together hard. The more time he spends arguing with Mars, the longer he has to stay inside of him—and he'd like for that to be over as soon as possible.
He gets to work exploring, gently moving his hand through Mars' abdomen. It's disgusting, even more because Mars continues to moan softly while he works. At one point Rudi has to take another break, squeezing his thumb hard against his palm to keep from throwing up—but eventually he finds the vial nestled between the folds of Mars' intestines.
As soon as his fingers close around it, Rudi pulls his hand out. He stands up fast enough to get a little dizzy, the vials clenched tight in his hand—then whirls around and throws it hard against the wall.
The vial—what remains of it, at least—shatters, the bright yellow poison inside splattering against the plaster. Rudi stares at it, unblinking, until his vision starts to blur. His chest heaves with his breaths, harsh like he just ran a marathon.
"Congratulations," Mars says. "You win. Although you should probably sew this wound closed, if you don't want your hard work to be for nothing."
Rudi snaps his head over to glare at him. Mars just smiles in response—and for once, for just a second, it almost seems to reach his eyes.
Fucking freak. Rudi growls, hands balling into fists as he works to fight down the instinct to just leave the bastard like this—and once he manages, stalks over to the first aid kit that contains the sutures he'll need to stitch Mars' wound closed.
It climbs up the Pygmalion workshop in a flurry, like the flame of a bunsen burner gone awry. It’s chaotic and senseless, more than Elke’s ever seen before.
And Confick is a mess when Elke finds her.
Her lab coat’s covered in ash, singed at the edges. She’s coughing, short of breath.
She barely notices Elke, her attention solely on the burning building.
Even at this distance Elke can feel the heat lick at her skin. When Confick reaches towards the flames, hand shaky, Elke jumps and pulls her back.
Confick finally acknowledges her as they touch. She half turns to Elke, eyes wide. Her gaze never fully leaves her workshop.
Flames reflect in her eyes like a mirror, and for a moment, it looks mesmerising.
“Let go,” Confick says finally. She tries to pull out of Elke’s hold before coughing violently. The smoke is still stuck in her lungs like a bad dream.
Elke only tightens her hold. Confick is desperate, but so is she.
“We have to go,” she pleads, “They’ll be here any minute.”
“No- I- I have to—“
It’s not hard to stop Confick from running back inside. Scientists were never known for their physical strength, and much of what little she had was already lost in the fire.
“Comeon,” Elke pulls again. In the pause, of Confick stuck within indecision, Elke takes her hand in a manner too gentle for their current urgency.
Confick follows without much resistance, now.
Past the roaming eyes of the city, they find themselves in an unassuming alleyway. A broken neon sign indicates an inn of some kind.
Elke looks at Confick’s tired form, at the busy night street. She’ll have to take a chance.
It’s a rundown place, but it’d have to do. Surprisingly, the room has a bathtub.
Elke nudges Confick towards the bathroom. “You should wash up.”
Confick doesn’t reply. For a moment Elke thinks she’ll be ignored entirely, but Confick exhales. “Fine.”
Elke leaves her to it. Or, she tries to, until she starts getting antsy. Only ten minutes passes, but the bathroom was much too quiet.
She knocks on the door, once, twice. No answer. Elke mumbles a silent apology then opens the door in a hurry. Beyond the door—
Is Confick. Confick is fine.
She sits in the tub, despondent. Eyes closed. Something about her feels so far away somehow.
The click of the door alerts Confick of Elke’s presence. She hums in acknowledgement, not looking up.
Elke isn’t sure what overcomes her, but words escape her quicker than she’s able to think.
“Can I wash your hair?”
Confick finally opens her eyes. Looks straight through Elke like she could see the way her intestines twist and her heart beat.
She seems to consider it for a moment, then nods. It was barely there, but it was something.
Elke moves a stool behind the tub. Rolls up her sleeve.
It was a strange sight. It felt like only yesterday when Elke sat behind Confick in class and paid more attention to her than the professor. And now she has her hands in her hair, so close, it feels unreal.
Elke gently combs through each strand. Rubs the mystery shampoo-conditioner concoction in, and sorts through knots like she was undoing braided lace. Not a sound comes from Confick the entire time.
When was the last time Elke had been this close to someone? Not since—
Soapy suds escape into the bathroom drain as Elke points the shower head at Confick’s hair. It’s only as she stands to place the shower head away does she notice how wet her clothes have gotten. She’d have to take those off.
It must be the residual fire on her skin that makes her continue to say things she would never say. Because Elke places a hand on the side of the tub, and catches Confick’s attention.
“Can I—“ she pauses. It’s hard to form the question. CorTech might find them any moment, yet Elke was trying to take advantage of whatever this is.
Confick shuffles her legs to the side ever so slightly.
There’s room now, and Elke feels dizzy.
With wet clothes left on the stool in a messy heap, she joins her.
The two of them barely fit. Confick’s legs touch Elke’s, and the water feels much hotter than it really is.
Elke isn’t sure where to rest her eyes, finally deciding to simply glance at Confick’s face. She’s quiet, looking at the grout in the tiled walls. It was weird to see her hair wet. There’s bruises on her neck.
Time doesn’t seem to pass. Even as the water cooled beyond lukewarm, as Elke’s fingertips pruned. Quiet, just like they were back in their classroom, and Confick had no idea who she was.
Elke almost slips when she climbs out the tub, legs numb. It takes her pulling at Confick again to get her out of there, too.
There isn’t much choice in the bedroom. Just a single bed between the two of them. Confick doesn’t protest. But Elke never expected her to.
When they lay side by side like packed sardines Confick lets her with no complaints. Elke almost wishes she did, just to hear her say something. If only to hear there’s life in her voice.
In the dead of night, Elke sneaks a look at Confick. Her eyes are shut and her breathing is shallow.
Finally being able to rest, Elke lets the events of the day run by her. It’s been three years since graduation, since Elke saw Confick in person. She never changed, no matter how tired she sounded over the phone.
Elke can’t be the best ending. If Confick asks how she found her, she’d have no better answer than ‘I’ve had you in my mind for years’. But that’s left unsaid, buried, and Elke was the same anyways. It’s better not to ask.
It’s hard to say what’ll happen tomorrow. Elke might wake up in the morning to the same pristine bedroom and that girl’s gentle smile, or CorTech’ll have banged down the door.
They can talk about it all tomorrow.
For tonight, Elke closes her eyes and leans ever so slightly into Confick’s space. Focuses solely on the heat from her.
if ur not writing smut for ur friend's oc's birthdays what are u doing with ur life? productive things? disgusting. i'm built different
Elke rubs herself across Confick's thigh, rolls her hips until the angle is right to grind her clit against it. She shudders, detaching her mouth from where she was sucking a bruise into Confick's neck to moan against her skin instead. Her hand on Confick's cunt falters, fingers sliding off her clit.
If Elke was in her position, she'd probably whine in frustration, make some kind of sound at the very least—but Confick stays silent as ever. Even when Elke's fingers find her clit again, she doesn't so much as twitch.
Elke pulls away from Confick's neck with a sigh, sitting upright on her thigh. To no surprise, Confick's face is blank—but is a little flushed. That's something, at least.
She moves her fingers lower, slides them through Confick's wet folds before dipping the tip of her finger into her hole. Her insides are soft and warm, her walls fluttering.
"Did you already come?" Elke asks, smiling wryly when Confick nods. Typical—Elke couldn't tell at all.
"Then," she removes her hand and grinds down on Confick's leg again, "do you mind helping me out a little?"
Confick sighs, put-upon. She moves her leg, pushes back against Elke's grinding just the tiniest bit. It's not enough—not nearly—but it's more than Elke was expecting. Seems she caught Confick in a giving mood.
Elke decides to push her luck. "Actually, can you lie on your side?"
Confick's expression doesn't change, but somehow Elke can still tell she's being judged. "You're sitting on my leg."
With a huff, Elke lifts herself onto her knees. She's fully prepared for Confick to continue lying flat on her back, but to her surprise she actually does as she's asked and rolls onto her side. Her knee nearly catches Elke in the ribs; she just barely manages to catch her leg in time to avoid getting hit, shifting it to rest on her shoulder.
Elke shuffles forward on her knees until her cunt is hovering right over Confick's. She looks at her face; it's blank as ever.
"This is okay, right?"
"Do whatever," Confick says. It's the standard response; she'll let Elke do whatever she wants, as long as what she wants doesn't involve any work on Confick's part.
How funny. She acts like she's doing Elke a favor—and she is, but at the same time…
It's not like Confick's not getting anything out of it, either.
Elke lowers herself so their cunts slide together. It takes a few tries, but eventually she manages to angle herself so their clits bump against each other. She moves her hips in little circles, shudders every time her clit grinds against Confick's. It feels good—but even better is the view of Confick's flush darkening.
"Does it feel good?" She asks, knowing she won't get a response. Confick isn't especially talkative at the best of times and she's even more taciturn during sex—unless Elke manages to catch her while she's brainstorming fixes for a coding error. Then she'll keep right on talking to herself, during.
Elke likes those times the best.
This is nice in it's own way, though. Confick lying back and letting Elke do whatever she wants to her, letting her use her—it's enough to drive her crazy. She might be able to achieve faster results with a different toy, but she doesn't want fast; she wants Confick.
Elke's first orgasm builds slow and hits hard. She digs her fingers into the flesh just above Confick's knee, pulls her leg against her hard enough that Confick makes a small noise in protest. Even so, she doesn't make any move to shake off Elke's grip, so Elke doesn't loosen it until the waves of her orgasm have passed.
The space between them is wetter now than when she started. Confick's face is even redder, too; some of the extra slick is probably hers. For all Elke knows, she could even have come again.
She starts moving again, starting slow before building to a faster rhythm than before. Confick doesn't protest, doesn't move—but by the time Elke's second orgasm hits, her flush has started creeping down her neck.
Elke pauses for a moment to catch her breath. She's satisfied, could easily stop now—but she knows the chances that she'll get Confick into this position again are unlikely. Better to take advantage of it while she still can.
She trains her eyes on Confick's face as she starts chasing her third orgasm, grinding hard and fast against her. Confick's flush deepens even more, creeps further down her body until it covers her shoulders and part of her chest.
That flush on her breasts is pretty. A reddish-pink that's similar in color to Confick's areolas, her stiff nipples. Idly, Elke reaches town to tweak one—and nearly does a double take when Confick actually makes a sound in response.
She can't quite tell what it was, whether it was a moan or a whine or something else entirely. The sound doesn't repeat when Elke does it again—but there is a sudden increase in the fluid leaking from Confick's cunt, enough that Elke is almost certain she came again.
Elke knows she should stop, should give Confick a moment to recover at least—but knowing that she just came, that this feels as good for her as it does for Elke is enough of a turn-on that she speeds up instead, rubs their clits together more insistently as her own orgasm starts to approach.
Confick's breathing gets heavier. It's a beautiful sound; Elke is torn between continuing to look at Confick's face or closing her eyes so she can focus on the sound of her breathing—when, on the next exhale, Confick lets out a trembling moan.
That's enough for Elke to tip over the edge. She clutches Confick's leg to her again, tilts her face towards it and bites down on Confick's thigh to keep the desperate whine that threatens to escape her inside. It means she hears the sound Confick lets out in response, something halfway between a whimper and a sigh.
It's incredible. Confick is never this responsive. Even though Elke's orgasm is barely finished, she moves again, wanting more, wanting—
"Enough," Confick says. Her voice is rough, trembling and a little wet. When Elke focuses on her face, her eyes are shiny with unshed tears. She isn't quite crying, but it's close.
Holy crap. Elke sways, feeling a little faint.
The sight is so arousing she grinds down again on instinct—only to stop abruptly when Confick honest to god sniffles. "Enough, I said. Stop."
Elke doesn't move immediately. It's only a moment of hesitation, but it's long enough for Confick to tack on a weak please.
Jesus. What the hell did Elke do to her?
Elke pulls back, dropping Confick's leg from her shoulder. It flops limply onto the bed; Elke expects Confick to either stay like that or get up to shower like she usually does, but instead she pulls both her legs up until she's curled into a loose ball, twisting her torso to bury her face in a pillow. Her upper back is just as red as her face and chest had been, and shiny with sweat besides. Her hair sticks to the nape of her neck with it; Elke reaches out a hand to brush it off—
And Confick flinches away from her.
"Are you okay?" Elke asks. She's never seen Confick behave like this before.
Confick grunts, the sound muffled by the pillow. Elke waits patiently for more of a response, some kind of explanation—but when it doesn't come, she hazards a guess.
"How many times did you come?"
Finally, Confick lifts her head from the pillow to pin Elke with a glare. "Seven," she says flatly.
Elke reels. "Seriously?"
Confick doesn't dignify that with an answer—but she does say, "Never do that again."
number 1 perk of being my friend is if ur oc's are good enough i'll go crazy and write smut about them, as is the case with @ufolily
It's not like her voice is particularly attractive. Elke has heard Confick speak plenty of times without feeling even the slightest hint of arousal—like when she's ordering lunch in the cafeteria, or making idle chit-chat with a professor in the hall. It's usually only when she's talking about her research that Elke finds her attractive. That intelligence, that clarity of purpose—that pureness. It's magnetic. Addictive.
The point is, Elke cares about her research—so there's no reason for Elke's body to react the way it does when Confick responds to the professor asking her opinion on Elke's proposed solution to the example problem on the board. And yet—
Confick says, "It's good. Simple, but elegant."
—and heat blooms in Elke's abdomen, hot and sudden like a firecracker.
Elke stares at the back of Confick's head. She didn't even turn around to look at her when she complimented her work. Even now, she's already turned her face down to her notes.
Wetness pools between Elke's legs. She rubs her thighs together, bites her lip at the shock of pleasure the pressure sends through her.
The rest of the lecture is agony. Elke fidgets in her seat, unable to focus on anything the professor is saying. Her pen hovers over her notebook, but she doesn't write anything down. All she can seem to focus on is Confick's words. Simple, but elegant, running through her head until it's filled with nothing but Confick's voice, her praise, her—
Elke presses a hand flat against her chest. Under her skin, her heart pounds, a rapid thump-ta-thump against her ribs.
She's so wet she thinks the people in the seats next to her can probably smell it.
When the lecture finishes, Elke is out of her seat like a shot. She haphazardly tosses her things into her bag before shoving past the other students still in their seats with a few muttered excuses.
It's a fight not to run once she's in the hall. She speed walks to the bathroom instead, rushes into the first unoccupied stall. She locks the door behind herself, throws her bag onto the floor without caring that it's probably covered in piss, and sits on the toilet without even bothering to pull her skirt down.
Elke spreads her legs and reaches under her skirt. Her underwear is soaked, clinging to her labia. Even just pulling it to the side feels good, a wet drag that has her bite her tongue to keep from making noise.
The sound of people talking, of faucets turning on and off as people wash their hands is muffled by the door but still audible. Elke does her best to stay quiet as she unceremoniously sinks a finger into herself. She's so wet that the slide is easy, sweet pleasure without even the sting of pain to distract her. Her mind is free to run where it will—and it goes, of course, to Confick.
Simple, but elegant. Elke wonders if maybe that is what Confick thinks of her in general. Certainly, anybody would be considered simple compared to Confick's genius. Elke, especially, couldn't hope to compete on the basis of intelligence alone—but perhaps Confick admires that about her.
Would she compliment Elke's work more if she knew of the sleepless nights that fuel it? The hours spent pouring over books, going over the same material that her fellow students seem to absorb without difficulty over and over again—would Confick commend her for it? Would she—
Elke bites down on a groan when her finger bushes against a particularly good spot. She brings her other hand down between her legs as well, rubs clumsy fingers against her clit. It's hard and swollen, almost hot to the touch. She only manages to circle it once, twice, before a moan slips out of her and she realizes she won't be able to stay quiet like this.
Reluctantly, Elke moves her hand away from her clit and places it over her mouth instead. Her fingers are sticky with slick; the smell of it fills her nose, makes her dizzy.
It's pathetic, really. She was so desperate she couldn't even wait until she got home, couldn't curl up in the dark of her apartment and slip her hand between her legs the way she usually does—she had to do this here, in a public bathroom, where anybody could hear her.
If Confick knew she was doing this, she'd think Elke was disgusting.
Elke groans at the thought, the sound thankfully muffled behind her hand, and sinks a second finger into herself. She twists her wrist—the angle is slightly awkward, hurts a little, but it's all worth it when she thumbs at her clit as she thrusts her fingers in and out. The pleasure is so intense she nearly squeals, has to bite her tongue to keep the sound in even with her hand over her mouth.
Simple, but elegant. Pathetic. Disgusting.
Confick's voice fills her head, her ears. Things she's heard her say before and things she hasn't, but can imagine. Good girl. Freak. Simple, but elegant.
Elke hunches forward as her orgasm tears through her. Her hips jerk forward even as her hand falters, her rhythm becoming sloppy. Her eyes roll back, then slip closed. She keeps her hand clamped over her mouth to keep any of the myriad desperate noises trying to tear their way free of her contained. Her lungs burn, her extremities tingle, her head swims—
And then, with one final messy thrust of her fingers, it's over. The last of the aftershocks brings a sort of calm with it, an inexplicable serenity. Elke removes her fingers from her insides and wipes them on a sheet of toilet paper, then wipes the fingers of her other hand and her sticky chin. Once she's relatively clean, she puts her clothes in order.
She flushes the toilet paper, collects her bag and unlocks the door. Her legs tremble a little as she walks to the sink, but not enough to be noticeable. She looks in the mirror while she washes her hands. The harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom makes her look tired—but that's normal. She looks like she always does. Simple, but elegant.
