come_sailaway | [Closed] If I'm a sinner

Entry tags:

[Closed] If I'm a sinner

Who: Max Maximum, Murderbot (I.E. Security), Valdis, potentially a doctor
What: Backdated aftermath of Max playing with a cougar [NSFW!]
When: Backdated to.... whenever this was in January
Where: Max's shared cabin + library
Warnings: NSFW, discussion of sexual topics, violent kinks, blood, violence, biting, injury--ya boy's a mess

[Closed to Murderbot]

Once he's finally strong and coherent enough to stand and dress himself, he attempts to do so without getting too much blood on his clothes. That's tricky, especially with a significant wound on the back of his neck. It should probably worry him how numb to it he feels, but he can't summon much in the way of regret. That mark is gone. His master's mark. It's... going to hurt later he's sure. He can worry about it then. For now, he needs to sneak back to the cabin and clean himself up in more ways than one. His pants and suit jacket should conceal most of it until he can get showered. That's what he's counting on as he swiftly, if tenderly, walks out of the Tommy Bahama and back to his cabin. There's just one problem with that plan... he hasn't noticed the drone that's tailing him. He thinks he's gotten away with it right up until he opens his cabin door to step inside.

[Closed to Valdis]

He's trying to lay low while his love bites heal. Which means he hasn't been going to his usual places in the morning. Working out on sore muscles with fatigue from blood loss is a bad idea, he knows that much. And he can't exactly go swimming with that big bandage on the back of his neck, either. He tried to sleep in again but he couldn't keep himself in bed past seven. He needs something to do, so he wanders to the library, hoping to find it quiet in the morning so he can just pick a corner and skim through something in peace. Unfortunately, he doesn't realize that when he bends his head forward to read, it causes that bandage on the back of his neck to stick out from the collar of his shirt enough for anyone to see.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Security offers the bottle of painkillers again. A glass of water. And then moves to sit on the couch, staring at nothing. Saying nothing more. It's already texted Watson.

He takes the bottle and water and obediently swallows a dose before setting both aside on the night stand. But now, with nothing to do but wait, he's feeling so fidgety. Security is mad at him and he... can't handle the silence.

"I'm sorry for worrying you."

"I'm not mad that you chose to...engage with Siffleur. That's not what this is about. I would rather have been told about this, though. I wouldn't have stopped you, but I want to be here to support you. If you had gotten killed, I'd need to be here when you woke up. You're part of my crew, Max. I know I can't protect you from everything, and it's clear you didn't want to be protected from this. But."

It lets out a long, hissing sigh. "Being Security is as much about trying to take care of you after something happens as trying to stop things from happening. This cruise, it's not safe, it's never going to be safe. I get that. Just. Let me support you afterwards. Please."

It's not? Max looks up in surprise. He was sure, somewhere in the back of his mind where his own common sense goes to be ignored, that Security would have stopped him if he'd said he was going to do it ahead of time. In his stupid haste, he forgot to consider this side of things at all. He's so used to the way his master would react, he just assumed...

You're part of my crew, Max.

He's...part of a crew--part of a family. He can't get away with acting like he's just a Thing anymore, can he?

"Can I lean against you?"

It blinks a couple times, then nods, moving to sit on the bed, where Max can lean on it. "Of course." Because that's supporting the human, too, a little more literally.

He leans heavily against it, his own exhaustion finally starting to catch up with him. With his face turned to be half buried against Security's shoulder, he murmurs, "I do want to do it again. I'll tell you next time. I promise."

"That'd be nice. I know Erin visits him regularly. Not to...interface. Just to challenge herself. I've considered it, too. There's been times when the possibility of dying is almost the temptation by itself."

Hi, Max, did you think you were the only one here with a fucked up sense of priorities and danger and life and all that jazz?

"If you do you'll tell me first, too?" He's still got his face pressed to Security, and there's a very distinct feeling of wetness there now. It's both terrible and a relief to know he's not the only one.

"So I can be there when you wake up? I don't want you to feel...alone."

"I feel like that a lot less often these days."

Who knows what's changed.

"Not that I'm promising never to die, because like I said, this place is not safe. But. You are someone I'd be glad to wake up to see. You're part of my crew. But. Yes, if I decide I want to face Siffleur, I will tell you before I go."

Watson comes by after the few minutes it takes to gather up a few supplies. He's not really sure how to process "consensual" in terms of "cougar attack" but let him have the awareness that he's probably not in a position to make too many harsh judgements.

He knocks, and when the door is answered, he holds up his leather bag. "I have come prepared."

"I'm really happy to hear that." Max figures Helena is the reason more than himself.

"Thanks. For what it's worth, I hope that won't happen soon. But, um. Can you get the door? I probably shouldn't answer in a towel." Also, he's the patient here so he should probably sit and stay like a good boy.

Security nods, answers the door, lets Watson in.

"He insisted on a shower before you arrived." Draw your own conclusions, Watson, it's not going to offer anything more than that.

Watson has heard stranger things from patients, so it's only the faintest lift of his eyebrows at that, but he comes in, offering Max a smile.

"Well, being clean first of all is not a bad thing." But it hides the evidence. He knows that. "Here, show me the damage, and we'll see what we can do." He steps over, setting his bag to one side for the moment.

He was hiding the evidence of something that is for sure. But he can't hide the copious bite marks and scratches that start at his neck and cascade down his back until they disappear beneath the towel. Most of them are concentrated on his ass which is still concealed, for now.

Max attempts a weak smile when he sees Dr. Watson. He's glad it's someone he knows and trusts, though it also means he's disappointing another friend.

"I don't think you need to worry about most of them. Maybe just the one... here." He turns to the side slightly while pointing to the missing strip of skin on the back of his neck, the place where a branded scar used to be. It's gone, but so is the skin that sat around it. Torn, not cut. It says a lot about Max's pain tolerance that he's able to sit there so calmly with such a gruesome wound. Unfortunately, the combined adrenaline and endorphins from his earlier escapade are waning and the pain is starting to set in. Already a slight tremor is starting in his limbs and he is definitively pale, right down to his swollen and bloody lips.

"Max. Let him examine you properly. He's here to help." There's a light nudge, before it looks at Watson. "He's had 500 milligrams of naproxen already for the pain. I didn't want to give him anything stronger before you saw him. I'm a little concerned about the risk of shock, though."

Someone remembers its lessons!

Watson glances over, pride in his student passing over his face, and then turns his attention back to Max. "A not inconsiderable amount, and you're quite right about the risk of shock. Let's get a blanket on him."

He puts his hand to Max's shoulder, gently, testing the temperature of his skin, the clamminess. "It would be best if you lie down, Max. Make yourself as comfortable as you can. If your pain is severe I can give you something stronger, given the circumstances. If there's enough skin to stitch together I can perhaps minimise the scarring for you, help it to heal."

And, well, something stronger will probably be necessary for that.

"I know..." Max pouts. He's educated enough about first aid to realize they are right. Goddammit. He is clammy, he can feel it. Despite having just had a shower, he's starting to get dewy with cold sweat again.

"I-I think I'm okay right now..." But he will let himself drop sideways to the bed before turning over on his belly, the easier for Watson to see most of the marks on him, including the ones trailing down his buttocks now that the towel has pulled away. There are several deep impressions of mostly human teeth on each side. Max is both cold and at the same time burning with shame, though not as brightly red as usual thanks to the blood loss.

Wait. Shit. Scarring. That's right... no healing vampire blood means no flawlessly healed wounds either. What a time to remember that. Well, fuck it. That's still better than the brand, isn't it? People won't look at it the same.

"You can try to stitch it if you think you can? If not I can just... wear a bandage, right? It will grow back eventually, won't it?"

"Fucking hell, Max." It's not sure if it's more impressed or disgusted, but it sure is experiencing an emotion.

Security moves to the other side of the bed, moving to lie beside Max and radiate heat, like the piece of overheating machinery it is. Look, it's going to be hard for Watson to work if Max is fully covered in blanket, but it can still be useful while the human is struggling.

Watson looks, and suppresses a sigh. "If I had not already been told this was consensual... do have a care for yourself, please. Try not to seriously injure yourself in the seeking of your pleasure. I know that -- well, look, I don't judge the desire, only the execution of it."

He sits down on the edge of the bed, frowning at that wound on Max's neck. "Skin growing back from a wound like this will always be, hm, noticeable, and slow to heal. If I can stitch it... I do think I can pull these edges together." He stretches to pull his bag closer to him, rifling through it for a syringe, and some anesthetic.

Max presses his face into the pillow, wishing he could burrow himself into a dark cave to avoid both of their equally distressing reactions. This is why he wanted to sneak home! (Then again, he wouldn't get to experience the bliss of laying naked next to Security radiating heat if he had, so that's a silver lining.)

"I got carried away... I won't... I'll try not to let it be this bad again." That much he can promise, that he will try to be smarter about it next time. And he won't have a brand to tear off next time, will he?

"I already had a scar there so... it's okay if it's just a different one now. Do the best you can. I trust you."

Security quietly claims Max's nearer hand, moving it to the back of its own neck. To the port there. It's going to let Watson do the speaking, but silently it's saying something real fucking loud: We're not so different. And they're not, they never have been.

So many humans on this ship...so many people...know what it is to be programmed. To be injected with toxic code, literally or otherwise. To be a thing, not a person. So many. And they're all hurting still. Because it doesn't go away--even if this was an actual vacation and they were all free, it doesn't just go away.

Watson looks up from filling a syringe to see that, his expression softening for a moment. His hands on Max's skin are gentle, even through the rubber gloves he's taken a moment to put on. "One moment," he murmurs, reassuring, before giving him a shot of anaesthetic. "There. We'll give that a moment."

He threads a needle, with steady and practised hands. "You shouldn't feel too much, but if it becomes uncomfortable, let me know. If we're replacing one scar with another, I'll do my best to make it a presentable one."

And Watson sets himself to work, with all his quiet focus.

Max lets out a quiet noise of surprise when Security takes his hand, not realizing what for until he's already feeling the back of its neck. He gasps louder, finger lightly pressing against that port hole, understanding washing over him so violently he starts to shiver.

Tears run down his cheeks that have nothing to do with the light prick of that needle. He's so overwhelmed he barely registers that or the words spoken to him after. He couldn't respond if he wanted to because he's too busy fighting back a ragged sob.

Security... he's so sorry. He should have known. He should have. They've been the same all along. He shouldn't have pulled away. He shouldn't have tried to hide how much pain he's been in. Now, all he can do is lay there prone in his miserable self-pity and wait for the worst of this to pass. Thanks to the anesthetic, he barely feels more than an itch or pinch as Watson works on the wound, but part of him knows he wouldn't speak up about it even if he did. He deserves to feel the sting.

It feels Max shiver and moves closer, releasing his arm and staying warm, warmer.

It could speak, but it doesn't want to distract Watson.

It could speak, but it wants to allow Max time to process.

It could speak, but nothing seems right.

It could speak, but it doesn't know what to say.

It can't speak.

It purrs.

It purrs like a cat who knows its human is sick or hurt or upset, because its human is hurt and upset and perhaps sick as well, a sickness of the soul, of the heart and of the mind. It's sure that isn't enough, but that's what it has in this moment.

Watson glances up at the purring, momentarily surprised, momentarily unable to place the source of that sound or explain it; he stares at Security, but ultimately he has to admit that this is not the strangest thing he's ever seen. He also, just a little, feels as though he's intruding on something between the two of them.

He ties off and cuts the thread, and begins to apply a dressing.

"There. I think that will heal quite well, if I do say so myself." His voice is soft, gentle. "No harm to your good looks today. We'll get you cleaned up the rest of the way, and you can settle in to heal."

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CW: suicide ideation, non-graphic.

CW: suicide ideation, non-graphic.

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cw needles???

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