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bandom, fic, ryan/spencer: bffs4eva

Fic-for-fic: A Special Case Of The Principle Of Triangulation
This is an outtake for Parallax by ignipes, because when I betaed it for her I told her it needed some porn and she didn't listen. >:( Ryan/Spencer, rated NC-17, ~1400 words, and you need to read at least Part One of Parallax first because this follows on directly from the end of that and without it the story will make no sense.

_

A Special Case Of The Principle Of Triangulation

"You don't have to get up," Ryan said. To enforce his words he stretched out on the bunk, hooking a leg and an arm over Spencer to hold him in place. He kissed Spencer softly, rested his head on Spencer's shoulder, and said through a yawn, "I want to take a nap."

"I just slept for a whole day. I don't need a nap," Spencer said, but he didn't push Ryan away. He rubbed his hand up and down Ryan's back, unconsciously tracing the subtle lines where metal met flesh. Ryan shivered slightly and made a pleased noise. Spencer closed his eyes and muttered, "I just want to see what's going on in my engine room."

"I haven't heard any crashes or mysterious explosions in a few hours at least," Ryan told him. "I'm sure it's perfectly fine." He shuffled a little closer to Spencer on the narrow bunk - Ryan was thin enough that he actually could shuffle closer, even though the bunks were a tight fit for one and should have been a squeeze for two. Spencer remembered his mother clucking her tongue and trying to feed Ryan up when they were small, sharing what little they had because of the way Ryan's ribs were visible under his skin.

Ryan's father had been a retired Alliance soldier and a drunk. It hadn't been until he was working for the Alliance himself that Spencer had finally realized the two were probably related.

Feeding Ryan up would never work now - could never work. The delicate semiorganic machinery that permeated him couldn't accommodate additional weight. Spencer held him a little closer and ran his fingers along Ryan's side. He could still feel the ribs, but there was scarred skin stretched over them. Spencer couldn't remember off the top of his head which ones were metal and which were the ones he'd once been able to count if Ryan took his shirt off in the heat of the Nuevo Montenegro sun.

Ryan sighed at the touch. "Spencer," he mumbled, his breath warm and damp against Spencer's collarbone. Spencer shivered unconsciously, and stilled when Ryan's hand landed on his hip. It slid up Spencer's side, two warm human fingers and three slightly colder metal ones. Spencer knew Ryan had a little feeling in his metal fingertips, that whoever had - built him, rebuilt him, saved his life, changed him - had done that much, at least, done the impossible, and somehow knotted the remnants of the nerves in his hand to the cyborg replacements. He felt sort of furious and thankful every time Ryan did what he did now, and grasped Spencer's hair (no longer chopped regulation-short) only a little too hard just before he kissed him.

Spencer closed his eyes and sank into the kiss, rolling over onto his back and pulling Ryan on top of him - Ryan was heavy, for such a slender-looking man, but Spencer didn't care, liked the weight of him, the sturdy reassurance that Ryan was there. When Ryan's tongue pushed into Spencer's mouth it was slick and demanding and warm and human, when Spencer bit down on Ryan's lower lip the little eager moan Ryan made was nothing any engineer could ever replicate. Spencer wrapped his arms around Ryan, pulling him closer, pulling him down, and Ryan broke the kiss and panted a little, a small smile hovering around his mouth, his eyes dark and familiar and confident. "What, asshole," said Spencer, trying not to laugh.

"Nothing," said Ryan, and ground his hips down against Spencer's erection. Spencer's eyes slipped shut as he groaned but he heard Ryan's quiet noise of amused satisfaction. Spencer didn't know, didn't understand, why it was that it made Ryan so happy to have him, when once upon a time Ryan could have had anyone he wanted. He wasn't going to argue, not with Ryan straddling him in the dim bunks and rubbing against him through their thin clothes, not with Ryan's smile pressed against his cheek, his jaw, then his mouth again. "Ryan, Ryan," he gasped, and Ryan's hands, his sure strong hands with their long fingers, the hands that whoever built him must have known, must have loved, they'd recreated them so well - Ryan's hands stroked his hair, and slipped under his shirt to touch his back and sides and belly, and pushed his waistband out the way so that one of them could wrap confidently around Spencer's cock.

Spencer let out all his air in one fast exhale and thrust up into Ryan's firm grip. It wasn't strange, any more, to feel the slight difference in texture and temperature between Ryan's whole fingers and his metal ones. It had been, at first - it had been nothing like the fantasies Spencer had kept quietly in the back of his mind for years and years, first as a teenage layabout who paid too much attention to a too-beautiful friend, and then as an Alliance pilot who needed something - anything - one good thing to think about, to imagine coming home to, even after he'd heard what had happened to Nuevo Montenegro and he'd been sure it wasn't possible anymore. Finding Ryan again had been the greatest relief of his life; finding out what had happened to him had been the greatest shock. Now it was no longer surprising, just normal, to see the way he looked naked, smooth bright metal gleaming across his shoulderblades and down his back, curving around his ribcage, spread across his scarred forearms like fine lace, and creeping up from his feet past his ankles all the way to his knees. Sometimes Spencer almost forgot he had ever been anything else. It wasn't shocking or strange or upsetting. It was just Ryan.

Ryan who was shirtless now and jerking him off, studying Spencer's face closely for his reactions, as if he didn't know every inch of Spencer's body, every last thing Ryan's touch could do to him, by heart. Spencer pushed Ryan's pants down over his skinny ass and closed his hands around Ryan's hips - his narrow hips that were still all warm skin, marred only by a couple of always-tender scars that made Ryan hiss in something not-really-pain when Spencer's fingers brushed them. Ryan's hand slowed, teasing, and Spencer made a protesting noise. "What do you say?" whispered Ryan.

"Fuck you," said Spencer.

Ryan's hand stopped moving altogether, and Spencer groaned and went to palm his cock himself. Ryan knocked his hand away easily. "Come on, Spence, what do you say?"

"I don't know," panted Spencer, and put his hand on Ryan's cock instead, "maybe you can help me remember -"

Ryan hissed out a breath between his teeth and his hips jerked. Spencer rubbed his thumb over the head and said, "Come on, Ryan, I think you were in the middle of something -"

"Oh, fuck you," said Ryan, and then he was kissing Spencer again, their teeth knocking together, even as he shifted awkwardly over Spencer so that their cocks lined up and he could help Spencer get their two hands around both of them. Spencer moaned at the feeling of Ryan's cock rubbing against his, Ryan's hand wrapped around his, and Ryan moaned too, thrusting down into their joined hands faster and faster. He gasped, "Spencer," as he came messily over both their hands and Spencer's stomach, and it was the look on his face, his eyes wide and hungry and his teeth pressed into his lower lip, that pushed Spencer over the edge. He bucked up into Ryan's hand one last time and came with his mouth and eyes open and Ryan's weight heavy on top of him and Ryan's mouth pressed into his neck.

There were a few loud bangs on the door. "Space mechanic on board, guys!" shouted Brendon from outside. "Keep it down!"

"You keep it down," Ryan called back, which didn't even make sense. Spencer laughed. Ryan rolled off him and lay pressed close beside him in the bunk, his arm across Spencer's waist. Spencer traced the silver lattice that held Ryan's wrist together absently, without really thinking about it, and smiled. "Hi," he said.

"Hey," Ryan whispered, his dark eyes close. "We should do that more often."

They hadn't, much, since they'd escaped Corvus; the whole ship going down without warning on a regular basis didn't really put Spencer in the mood. "We should," he said, and kissed Ryan's mouth softly.

They fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, and Spencer felt as close to safe as he ever felt at all, these days.
_






Consider this bit the gag reel:

(1:59:03 AM) Em: ...you know, i'm trying to figure out exactly what kind of damage the bomb did to ryan that left him a) with metallic hands and forearms, b) with metal in his feet and legs up to the knees, c) with only one lung and his heart surviving out of his viscera, and d) still capable of having sex.
(1:59:14 AM) Kali: HEE.
(1:59:16 AM) Em: when you cyborgify someone, dude, you don't mess around.
(1:59:52 AM) Kali: it was a bomb with very specific shrapnel.
(2:00:13 AM) Kali: it also didn't mess up his pretty face, but that's mostly because i needed him to be able to hide.
(2:00:37 AM) Em: i think maybe he curled into a fetal position. the bomb took out his upper body, and his hands and arms as he was trying to dismantle it, and then the room was on fire and that did a lot of surface damage to his legs and feet, requiring skin grafts and some replacements. sound okay?
(2:00:54 AM) Kali: whatever works, dude. that's more thought than i've given it.
(2:01:06 AM) Em: CYBORG SEX IS SERIOUS BUSINESS
(2:01:18 AM) Kali: i got as far as OMG RYAN IS A CYBORG AND PETE MADE HIM THAT WAY and stopped thinking about details.
(2:01:22 AM) Em: <3
(2:01:48 AM) Kali: (if ryan and pete were in a scene together and actually talking, pete would definitely say something about how the "important parts" are still intact, and wink at spencer.)
(2:02:43 AM) Em: (yes, he absolutely would. :D)
(2:05:46 AM) Kali: but that kind of inappropriate embarrassing comment from pete is still better than having a cybernetic cock. or none at all. priorities, ross.

*

(2:10:06 AM) Em: huh. it turns out detailed description of someone having an agonizing near-death experience is not very sexy. porn = difficult.
(2:10:37 AM) Kali: gosh, that's a surprise. i always associated being torn to shreds by a bomb and subsequently rebuilt as a half-machine with sex.
(2:11:33 AM) Em: kinky, dude, but i suppose i should have guessed when you worked it into your fic. ;)
(2:11:52 AM) Kali: :)
(2:11:56 AM) Em: okay, here is a bit I am cutting, you can have it:
(2:12:11 AM) Em: Spencer knew the list of injuries as well as Ryan did, by now - the rebels' bomb had malfunctioned and gone off as he was trying to dismantle it where it was strapped to his chest; his hands and forearms were ruins, and his ribcage had been scant protection for his heart and lungs. Spencer knew Ryan's spine had broken in two places, too, where he had fallen, and that as he'd lain there curled and unable even to scream, knowing he was dying, the other bombs they'd set had gone off, and the fires had started to spread, catching on Ryan's always-too-elaborate clothes, charring his feet and his legs. It had made him cry, the first time Ryan told the story, cry for the first time since he'd finished his training at Buckton, and he'd leaned on Ryan's shoulder and sobbed and choked out, eventually, the story of Ypsilon-X5H, with Ryan's arms around him.
(2:13:03 AM) Kali: booooooooooooooys! that is not at all sexy. it is HEARTBREAKING.
(2:13:28 AM) Em: see, this is why i can't write porn. i get distracted by more interesting things. like WOE