For No Other Reason

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Big O. I'm just writing some non-profit yaoi. Don't sue me, for I have no money as it is. It all goes to buy anime.

"For No Other Reason"
by GoldenVendetta

Inorganic lips sucked at warm, fleshy ones. Hands like porcelain and steel glided over quivering flesh. Blond hair brushed against flushed cheeks and whispered words sunk claw-like into ears already deafened by the sound of pulsing blood.

Gasping. Moaning. Painted lips parted in a devilish grin, a red slash in a white face below black silk. He didn't need eyes to touch this one, taste him.

Alan, you're being vulgar.

Yes, he was. And he loved it. Loved it, loved it, loved the sound of his metal fingers scraping against human flesh. Loved the way he could elicit cries of pain-- or was that pleasure?-- from unwilling lips.

Skin and metal melded together, his artificial body so cool against that of his partner's. He had to be careful; it was so easy to rupture blood vessels and leave bruises where he didn't want them. No sense in breaking a good toy before the game ended. And sometimes even he liked to look at unblemished perfection.

"Alan, please..."

And there it was. So impatient, these creatures. Had he really been one? He couldn't remember. There wasn't much left of him that was natural. Oh, he could bleed, and it was red blood not oil or coolant or whatever the hell robots had running through their veins. And he could still feel to some extent. Could still enjoy the face nestled between his thighs, sucking along his length. Could enjoy the dampened sensation of running his metal hand through fine, soft hair as he arched his back, mouth falling open in something that wasn't his usual sardonic smirk.

But then he giggled at the image he must have presented. Skin and metal, servicing and being serviced. His legs spread wider as he was pushed onto his back, the fingers of his somewhat human hand digging into the bed sheets as if he could find buried treasure within the depths of the mattress. Lost memories. Did he have any?

There wasn't much he could remember. Forty years seemed like a long time ago, and he couldn't remember much more than the past few years. But that didn't mean anything. Androids, cyborgs... He'd heard that getting robotic implants could mess with your head. And did it really matter what he remembered? He didn't think so, not as he was told to roll on his stomach and offer himself on hands and knees.

That was the trouble with humans, he thought, and whimpered a little as rough fingers probed him. They put too much value on things that, in the long run, really didn't matter. Memories could be faked. Hell, the whole world could be faked--

And here he had to pause that train of thought, because there were hands on his hips and they demanded attention. He bent his body forward, pressing his face into the black and white stripes of his discarded jacket, breathing in the scent of his partner's cologne that had rubbed off when he'd been accosted in the elevator.

Some things could be faked, he continued, like the noises of pleasure he made when he was thrust into without any sort of lubrication. Fucking bastard. But the pain changed to pleasure quickly enough.

Things were always changing, and that's why humans clung so strongly to the past. The past was stable. The past had already been written. But in the City of Amnesia, where the unforeseeable future was all one had to look forward to, was it any wonder that humans sought out something, anything, to let them know that they weren't just adrift in a sea of chaos?

He had been quiet too long. The rhythm faltered in concern. This time, the moan that sighed from his lips wasn't entirely faked. His metal hand curled around his engorged shaft, coldness and heat and pain and pleasure all at once. It was only in times like this that he really felt alive, whatever that meant.

It didn't take long for his partner to finish. After all, he'd been teased for over an hour and no doubt his balls had been ready to explode after the first fifteen minutes. Alan was just that good.

Thoughts of his own superiority were enough to send a tingle down his cock and white upper teeth sank into painted red to stifle his cry of release. He tasted his blood, and the dirty eroticism of it caused another spasm to send a ropey torrent over his pumping fingers.

His partner fell back onto the pillows with a shuddering sigh of completion, and Alan eased himself flat onto the bed.

The future and the past were just excuses people used to keep from getting things done, he concluded, bringing his sticky hand in front of his face and resting his pointed chin on his other arm. What was important was the here and now. Because nobody could predict what would happen tomorrow, and nobody could clearly remember the past. That only left today for the taking.

As he slipped from the bed to go clean up, leaving his partner half-dozing behind him, he thought to himself that he should have sex more often. It provided him ample time to think.