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Let's go!

the ic show some love meme

how to:

this is very similar to a roulette meme. first, go here and utilize the random number generator to the right. put '1' as the minimum and '10' as the maximum, then generate a number. reply to fellow posters according to this table:

1. a kiss on the cheek.
2. a kiss on the mouth (can be chaste or amorous).
3. a hug (brief, romantic, friendly, etc).
4. spoon (don't know what spooning is? direct your attention here).
5. gift them something (i.e. chocolate, roses, jewelry, swords).
6. compliment them.
7. profess your undying love.
8. massage them.
9. make it awkward. cheese it up.
10. your pick!

Stolen from pretty much everywhere, slightly edited for content. As always, if it gets sexy enough to scar the kidlets, take it to your journals.

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"Ha," she called over her shoulder, having moved past him as he'd stood, stunned. Neuropathy was kind in that it had that most coveted of things; floorspace, room to work. Here was not the cramped dark caverns she was once accustomed to, but something more akin to a proper working area, with counter space and cup-holders, and air.

He was off-balance, and she liked that. Motoko reciprocated by giving him time in the swing of her hips to decide on a reaction, and react this time.

Neuropathy's floor plan was especially charitable given its staff and the breadth of their (his) personal space. It was that sphere that Bruce, trotting after her, decided to break in reciprocation.

He came close enough that their arms might brush, that she could feel his breath against her neck-- or at least, whatever sensation her physical sensors would allow her.

Motoko's body is one of the most advanced models on the market, possessing 16²/cm² skin tactile elements, meaning she has a greatly heightened sense of touch. This meant that she felt his presence in ways even he couldn't match, and so she stopped, waiting.

"Yes?"

In a very deliberate gesture he pulled the cowl back and away from his face. She had seen him without it before but never seen that moment before-- without the cowl that transformed him into Batman but before he could compose the less tangible one that marked his other performance as cool, collected and charismatic Bruce Wayne. For that moment he was merely Bruce, the wounded little boy who wasn't normally allowed to appear this frankly to other people.

"I'm open," he all but says, "Take of me what you will."

Cool and charismatic was rarely the truth; he'd never really had her fooled in that regard. Motoko had long ago lost the knack for believing in things that weren't there, and had never been able to recapture it.

She turned, studying him out of a face that was irreverently, impossibly beautiful. Impassive, she watched Bruce, and then she touched his cheek and kissed him again, this time less tempered by violence, as close to 'tender' as she was likely to get.

This time he was was ready for it and kissed back, an arm slipping around her waist and nestling in the small of her back. Once he had pulled away, he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. It was a shock to the system to release the tethers on that part of him he kept shut away at all times and an unknowable fear made his blood run icy. Instead he focuses his attention on other things; the curve of her lip, the heat of her fingers against his skin, the weight of her shell and the sense of implacability that it ever lent her.

He was going to need guiding through this.

It was a little shocking how quickly he bent and looked away. Was the strength of batman really only a shell? Her hand was still on his face, and she used it to guide his gaze up again, to meet her own.

"We can't both be the virgin, Wayne," Implacable, indeed; the Major's reaction to almost any strong emotion was to push it away, grow colder, more distant. Even now, she tried to put the veneer of sarcasm and impersonal insult between them, as much for his comfort as hers.

Bruce smiled imperceptibly and gave a nasal and good-humoured sigh, before sardonically responding, "Cute."

But if that was a challenge, well, didn't he have to rise to it? He ventured another kiss, more decisive in his movements as he tugged her closer. But since he didn't actually have the strength for it, it would appear to a third party more like he was bracing himself against her.

It took her an agonizing few milliseconds to realize what he wanted, and she moved with only a minimum of pressure. It had been such a damn long time since she'd ever been so foolish as to start something with an all-natural human.

And she let him kiss her, let him take charge, and that annoying American tendency towards height was at least on his side.

He suspected that she wanted it that way, to take the onus of responsibility away from her. It was while he considered this and his next move when the thought occured to him:

"Why now?"

"Do you really want the honest answer?" She asked, in that too-amused way that meant he wouldn't like it. She could be incredibly cruel, this woman he'd latched onto, and she made no bones about that fact, "Or would you prefer something more sentimental?"

"I'm not very sentimental," he replied, eyes narrowing guardedly. That was the problem with answers. Batman became restless without them, especially if they were likely to be something unfavourable.

"Luthor would never pan out it a worthwhile manner, and Brugh, sweet as she was," Ah, sarcasm, "Is nineteen, and comatose in the pod caverns, besides. To be honest, it was never my intention to do anything."

She shrugged, one-shouldered, as if it didn't matter. That he was the best option to begin with had been the driving force behind playing the field. Motoko tended not to cope well with attachment.

"I guess I finally got fed up with waiting around."

It had been two years and he always paid close attention to pertinent things like body language. Did she really think he wouldn't pick up on the fraction of a second longer that it took for her to process fabricate the nonchalance of that particular movement?

"At least the competition was fierce," he retorted with equally dry irony.

"You're just lucky Ms. Mei-Xing isn't my type," was this going to become a thing with them? Insults and backbiting between kisses? How they had ever gotten this far without killing each other was anyone's guess.

It was probably that deeply repressed attraction to one another that kept the bloodlust at bay.

"Remind me again who initiated this."

Motoko raised an eyebrow deliberately, then stepped forward and applied her weight to Bruce's foot. It probably wouldn't break any bones. Yet.

Probably.

Really, he should know better by now.

He did his level best not to wince, but he couldn't help the tautening of his features.

"Point taken."

"I'm not so sure," she argued, pressing just a little harder, She could cheerfully keep hurting him forever, but eventually he was actually going to get the better of her, and in that anger, she might kill him.

He just. Kept. Needling her.

"I might be beginning to think you were a masochist."

Half-wince, half-grin. In his defence, he was a very disturbed person and in his mind the pain might well have been a worthy trade-off for the reaction he was provoking.

"That slow on the uptake?"

"Don't start," she groused and left off grinding the small joints together, stepping away. Don't expect much sentimentality from this one, Bruce; she isn't like the others, not in terms of personality or life-expectancy.

Bruce grunted in response and gingerly flexed the toes in his boot, just to make sure he still could.

A hand automatically reached back for the cowl and the impassive line of defence that it offered between him and the intimacy that he feared. He caught himself before he could make that decisive sweep, a hand falling limply to his side.

"What now?"

Edited 2010-10-12 09:27 (UTC)

"Do you want things to change?" She was a little incredulous at that, "I'm not really interested in playing 'girlfriend,' Bruce."

There was work to do, there would always be work to do. Maybe they would work in tandem a little less, or more, or not at all, and someones, when she got tired of being drunk alone, she'd come bother him.

Maybe he wouldn't try so hard to drive her off.

"Business as usual. We could have sex, if you want."

"I was talking about the more immediate future," he replied, raising one eyebrow, "Though I never expected you to 'play' anything."

In truth, 'business as usual' is a relationship he had always been denied in the past. They usually required more of his time than he was prepared to sacrifice, more accomodation of others than he was capable of. More flexibility and more selflessness.

No, this was preferable. She would do what she wanted and he would do the same, and hopefully they wouldn't kill each other in the process.

Motoko raised a shoulder, a coy little smile— wholly fabricated, of course, then dropped both like a discarded undergarment. There were worse fates.

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