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

"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."

Max lets out a soft sound caught halfway between a laugh and sob when he hears that wonderful purring. His eyes crinkle with a grateful smile. Security... it chose its name well. Max settles into a comfortable silence until Watson finishes up and bandages him.

"Thank you," he says, turning his head so he can look at Watson. "I'm sorry for making you have to come take care of me."

"Doctor Watson, is there anything I need to know about tending to the wounds as they heal?" Because it intends to be available for that. No, not just available--present and actively involved. It's also not rushing to get up.

"Oh, don't be sorry," Watson gently chides Max. "This is what I do. I put people back together. I'm just glad to be of use."

As he starts dabbing antiseptic on the less serious wounds, he answers Security's question. And oh, is he glad that Max will have someone at hand, willing and able to help. "Keep the dressing dry and clean for a few days. If it becomes soiled, change it; I'll leave some extras for you. If there are signs of infection -- unusual heat or pain at the site, fever, odour -- then fetch me immediately. I trust your judgement, but you know where I am if you have questions, or just want a second opinion."

"Yeah... I know..." sheepish and guilty still.

He shivers slightly from the touch of antiseptics to those other various bite indents and claw marks, but only slightly. Security's heat and closeness is keeping him very comfortable.

"Pratt told me wounds don't really get infected here, though. That's why his finger is okay." Sure hope you knew about that already.

Security pulls away, only long enough to grab the weighted blanket and pull it over itself and Max. "Even if Pratt's finger is fine, I'm going to keep checking on you, and you're not leaving the cabin for the rest of the day."

"Hmph. I don't trust this place to always be antiseptic. I won't have a patient of mine getting an infection due to my negligence."

So he knows, he just... doesn't entirely believe. Wounds fester; it's a thing he knows down to his soul. He can't take it on faith alone that they won't. "Even if infection is impossible, I think it best you take it easy. Try to avoid turning your neck too far, or too quickly." Watson smiles, a faint warning in his face. "So no... athletics, shall we say."

"Fiiiine," he burrows in under that beloved weighted blanket, taking in the sweet flavor of lavender as he sucks a spiteful breath through his teeth. Both of them fussing like this is enough to make him want to hide in bed forever so... mission accomplished, Security. He doesn't even feel like getting up to put pants on first. It's naked time now.

"I'll lay off my routine until it's healed. I know the drill." No swimming. No weight lifting for a while, probably. No interfacing. He's going to be so restless.

"Thank you for everything."

“Doctor Watson, I have it from here.” There is still more of a talk to be had between the roommates. “Thank you for coming, though.”

There's something almost funny about being shooed from a sickroom by someone who he taught. But then, sometimes you turn things over to the nurse. "I leave him in your capable hands, then," Watson says, turning to gather up his supplies. "Here's the dressings. And don't hesitate to call me back."

Oh no. Max thinks he knows the tone of voice it's using. What are the chances he can get away with pretending to be asleep already? Probably about as good as his chances of sneaking home unnoticed were.

He gingerly curls himself into a loose ball and braces for a lecture he knows he's earned. It would be silly for him to try to keep Watson from leaving yet just to spare himself from it, right? Yeah...

Security waits until the door is closed. Lets out a heavy breath.

“Are you scared of me, Max? It feels like you’re cowering, and I can’t think of a reason you would have to fear me, in this moment.”

"No," Max croaks. "I'm not scared of you I'm just... ashamed of myself. And maybe I'm... scared you think less of me now."

"Ashamed. Why that?"

The rest can wait, it wants to actually understand where Max's head is at. Its arm curls over and around Max so its hand can rest, palm-flat, against his chest, right over his naked heart, feeling it pound.

"Because normal people aren't supposed to like getting hurt like this so much." Watson's reaction did a lot to drive that point home, as much as the doctor was trying to be non-judgmental.

His heart flutters against that touch. He craves this softness just as much as he craves the pain, each in unique ways. He knows why he's like this, if he really searches his soul for the answer, but it's nothing anyone would want to hear--least of all Security, he thinks.

"This is not a ship full of 'normal people'."

It lets that statement hang in the air for a moment, before continuing.

"For you, getting hurt means feeling something. You're scared when it's quiet and lonely and numb. Because that's when you get deep in your head. The thoughts running round, loud and sharp. When your mind is in your body completely, it's not trapped within itself."

"Yes," he gasps out. How does it know? No, that's... that's the point. The port on its neck. They are so, so similar. So painfully similar.

"When I saw the sign I just wanted something distracting. Just for a little while. I didn't think about after I... I didn't think." He didn't want to think.

"I had my knife out. I thought I would fight back but..." He swallows hard against a new and frightening realization that threatens to choke him.

"For so fucking long, I've been told there's an enemy out there waiting for me. People who want to kill me. Then I came face to face with him and I... I didn't feel like fighting anymore."

"There's a peace that washes over you, when you know it's the end and you don't have any choices left."

Those words are so, so very quiet. It's remembering back before the ship, on a hopper with the last group of people who it could have called its crew.

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cw needles???

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