sometimes she wonders why connor keeps coming back to jericho. markus appreciates him, simon forgives him, josh seems to get along with him surprisingly well, but that's about where the generosity ends. the survivors of the revolution are mostly split down the middle - half in fearful reverence of the deus ex machina leading an army into save them, half just in fear of the deviant hunter that led the FBI to them in the first place.
it's maybe not a fair judgement to make, they all performed tasks they didn't want to before breaking their programming, but it's one that they make all the same.
north for her part just doesn't trust him that much. he's so close to that cop still, working back at the DPD still, living in the city in a nice little apartment with a nice little window box, and it's all so quaint and human. it sickens her, and every time she thinks about connor sitting in his stupid apartment it burns at her.
( maybe it's envy. he's assimilated so well, he has human friends, where all north has is rage, rage, rage. )
so the first time she kissed him he left with thirium leaking from his lip and tiny, near imperceptible dents in his chassis that gave connor shaded marks almost close enough to look like bruises once his synth skin was put back in place. and he came back, and she wasn't kind. and it just keeps going.
now the rage has settled somewhat in her stomach but it's easy enough to find it. it's never far from the surface, and she doesn't need the anger to make this pleasurable for the both of them but there's no denying the sweet satisfaction lasts so much longer when she does.
she tugs slightly on connor's tie, steps in to crowd his space and she might be significantly shorter but north feels like she towers over him right now. she's in charge here, no question about it. she smiles slightly and winds her hand around the tie now, twisting it in her hand and holding tight. she doesn't pull hard, not yet, but she's holding the material taut, holding him just close enough that she can lean in and brush her lips against his jaw. )
Did you wear what I asked?
( she's tempted to tug his collar back, drag his shirt down enough to see for herself, but she wants him to answer. the items were light, delicate little pieces that she could already picture against connor's skin. when she made the request she'd half-expected connor to refuse. more than half, actually, she'd thought they might have finally found his limit. but he'd agreed readily, and now here they are.
she hadn't expected connor to be capable of surprising her. )
when will we be quenched
sometimes she wonders why connor keeps coming back to jericho. markus appreciates him, simon forgives him, josh seems to get along with him surprisingly well, but that's about where the generosity ends. the survivors of the revolution are mostly split down the middle - half in fearful reverence of the deus ex machina leading an army into save them, half just in fear of the deviant hunter that led the FBI to them in the first place.
it's maybe not a fair judgement to make, they all performed tasks they didn't want to before breaking their programming, but it's one that they make all the same.
north for her part just doesn't trust him that much. he's so close to that cop still, working back at the DPD still, living in the city in a nice little apartment with a nice little window box, and it's all so quaint and human. it sickens her, and every time she thinks about connor sitting in his stupid apartment it burns at her.
( maybe it's envy. he's assimilated so well, he has human friends, where all north has is rage, rage, rage. )
so the first time she kissed him he left with thirium leaking from his lip and tiny, near imperceptible dents in his chassis that gave connor shaded marks almost close enough to look like bruises once his synth skin was put back in place. and he came back, and she wasn't kind. and it just keeps going.
now the rage has settled somewhat in her stomach but it's easy enough to find it. it's never far from the surface, and she doesn't need the anger to make this pleasurable for the both of them but there's no denying the sweet satisfaction lasts so much longer when she does.
she tugs slightly on connor's tie, steps in to crowd his space and she might be significantly shorter but north feels like she towers over him right now. she's in charge here, no question about it. she smiles slightly and winds her hand around the tie now, twisting it in her hand and holding tight. she doesn't pull hard, not yet, but she's holding the material taut, holding him just close enough that she can lean in and brush her lips against his jaw. )
Did you wear what I asked?
( she's tempted to tug his collar back, drag his shirt down enough to see for herself, but she wants him to answer. the items were light, delicate little pieces that she could already picture against connor's skin. when she made the request she'd half-expected connor to refuse. more than half, actually, she'd thought they might have finally found his limit. but he'd agreed readily, and now here they are.
she hadn't expected connor to be capable of surprising her. )