Friday October 14, 454 MC
0900 GMT
Damion
DAMION WALKED back to his room with two things on his mind. First, he needed a shower, badly. He smelled like the ass end of a Mercurian workhorse. Second, he was tired. He hadn’t been able to sleep the entire time. He was worried about Requiem. Even if Requiem wouldn’t miss him, and the doctors and the creeps would keep Requiem safe for the most part, they could also take him away or wipe him again.
Requiem looked up, his ice blue eyes locking on to Damion’s face as soon as he walked into the room. Damion could tell Requiem had showered and changed into a new suit. He was happy seeing Requiem sitting on the bed instead of inside his capsule.
“You’re still in one piece.” Damion gave him a small, sad grin. “What, not plugged in? That’s not like you.” He pulled off his shirt and winced at the ache in his ribs. “Fuck if Collins doesn’t have a big fucking fist.”
“You are hurt. Your ribs are bruised, as is your cheek, and you have blood on your mouth,” Requiem said. It sounded less like a report and more a slightly surprised observation. Damion didn’t miss the fact Requiem ignored his words. He stood from the bed and walked to the bathroom, returning with a wet washcloth, and began to methodically, but gently, clean the blood from Damion’s face.
Damion stood still, eyeing him closely with slight suspicion but also a smidgen of hope. The sudden change in Requiem’s behavior shocked the shit out of him. This was the closest thing to emotion he had seen from his Core in weeks. “I’ll live.”
“That was never in question. Your body will take much more damage than this before it shuts down.” Requiem finished his task and put the washcloth in the laundry chute. There he paused, his back to Damion, his head down in obvious thought. “You have been emotionally unbalanced as of late. I have come to the conclusion that this was the reason you ended up in the brig.”
“Emotionally unbalanced?” Damion let out a bitter snigger, angry with himself for even having the slightest bit of hope. So much for thinking that Requiem was showing more emotion. “Not surprised you’d put it that way. I’m going to grab a shower.”
“As you wish,” Requiem replied quietly, sitting back down on the bed.
Damion walked into the bathroom, not saying another word. He tried to never get his hopes up when he saw a flicker of emotion in Requiem. In the past, every time he saw it, or thought he saw it, he would get hopeful, but it was dashed away soon after. Requiem was safe, and for all of Damion’s bitching and stress about the situation, that was the most important fact to him.
After he washed, he stepped back into the room, tossing all the dirty clothing and towels into the laundry chute and pulling out some fresh underwear.
“They wish for me to choose another Fighter,” Requiem said behind Damion’s bare back.
“What? Oh. Didn’t take the bastards long.” Damion ground his teeth, not turning to look at Requiem. Requiem would ask too many questions if he saw the anger in Damion’s features. “What do you want?”
Damion hoped he wasn’t wrong when he heard anger in Requiem’s voice as he answered.
“I want you. I chose you. But if you do not improve in the next seven days, they will remove you from the Zeus and they will have what they want. Me without a hassle.” He seemed strained, almost in pain as he said these words; it was as if he was fighting against a wall.
“You actually give a damn?” Damion turned in amazement before quickly striding over to Requiem and grabbing his chin to stare into his large blue eyes. “Do you even care if they terminate me?”
“Of course I do,” Requiem replied without hesitation, looking confused. Damion had begun to wonder when Requiem trembled if it was against the barriers in his mind, against the brainwashing and compulsions.
“But you still don’t remember anything, do you?” Damion let the pale chin go and sat next to Requiem on the bed. “You told them everything, and they told the Commander everything. Do you know how much that makes me not trust you? It kills me not being able to tell you things.” Damion pulled at his shaggy hair. “Damn it, I almost wish I could just leave and take you with me.”
At those words, Requiem put his hands over his ears as if he could block out what Damion had just said. “Do not say that,” he hissed, his trembling increasing as sweat appeared on his brow. “I… have tried my best… to circumvent them. Telling them half-truths. But I… have been given… orders to tell them if you propose… exactly what you just did.” His words were stilted, obviously forced past a compulsion. “I am sorry that I do not remember what you wish me to, but it is difficult… to be in between two sets of orders—yours and theirs. I try to follow the ones I want to… the ones I feel are right… which are yours. But there is only so much… that I can fight.”
Damion pulled on Requiem’s right hand, tugged him closer so he would pay closer attention to Damion’s words. “Then make your choice, and stop being their slave.”
“It is not as easy as you say.” Requiem’s hand curled around Damion’s, squeezing it tightly as he attempted to make a fist. “They created me. My loyalty is to the Corporation, but… it is also to you. I do not understand. I have never been this…. I have never been between loyalties before. But… they own me. And if I do not do what they wish, you will either be discharged or terminated, and I do not know what they will do to me.”
“I’ll protect you,” Damion growled in frustration, his fingers tightening around the thin wrist in his grip. “Why can’t you believe that?”
“I do believe you, and while nothing is impossible, it is improbable that you will be able to protect us both from the Corporation.” Requiem withdrew his touch from Damion and wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. “They believe you will hurt me. That you are too volatile right now and are a threat to my well-being.”
“I would never hurt you. I’d like to put a bullet in a few of their brainpans, but not you.” Damion got up just to take Requiem by the shoulders and push him down on his back on the bed. “But I don’t know what to do. How can I help you if you just tell them everything? You were pissed when you thought I didn’t trust you not to kill me, yet here we are back at the beginning. Would you kill me now? If they told you to terminate me?”
Requiem fell back on the bed easily, pliable. “Terminate you?” he whispered, confusion showing in his eyes for a moment before it disappeared again behind the wall. “If they… ordered me…?” He was struggling against something, that much could be seen in the way he trembled and the sweat dripped down the sides of his face. “N-no… I could not. Would… not.”
“You’d disobey them to save me?” Damion grabbed Requiem’s wrists and pinned them above his head. He gave the thin wrists a squeeze as he continued to look down into Requiem’s icy eyes.
“I… would… terminate myself to keep you alive,” Requiem forced out through panting breaths.
He was obviously confused as to what Damion was doing, but didn’t fight him at all.
“Say it out loud. You obey me, not them. Say it.” Damion put his left hand on Requiem’s forehead, still holding the shaky wrists to the mattress with his right.
“I… do not…. Please.” Something was tearing him apart. His eyes rolled in their sockets, not able to focus on Damion. “I… yes. You” was all he was able to say, to promise.
“Again. Again.” Damion leaned closer, sharing the warm breath Requiem panted between them. “Say it again.”
“You,” Requiem croaked out. He whimpered behind his teeth, his arms straining against Damion’s steel-like grip as they attempted to come down and cradle his head. And then something snapped, a barrier broke, and Requiem let out a long sigh, his body relaxing and the pained expression on his face disappearing. “I obey you,” he whispered.
“Good.” Damion swooped down and pressed a bruising kiss against Requiem’s lips. His left hand curled into pale white hair while the right grasped the back of Requiem’s neck.
Requiem inhaled through his nose, as his lips were apparently otherwise occupied. He was confused, and his eyes conveyed it. His arms stayed where Damion left them, his fingers twitching, wondering what they should do.
“I want to have sex with you,” Damion said as he pulled his lips away and looked down into Requiem’s confused face. “Do you understand?”
Requiem continued to stare up at him for a few moments, his gaze flicking back and forth over Damion’s face. “We have… done this before.” It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question.
“We did it for about twelve hours straight.” Damion showed the first signs of happiness and amusement in almost two months. “But you really don’t remember it, do you? I wish you did—maybe this would be easier on you.”
“I am sorry.” Requiem sounded sincere as he slowly lowered one hand so that it touched Damion’s face and his smiling lips, in what looked to be rediscovery. “I wish I could, just so you were not… unhappy anymore.”
“You’ve taken the right step. Just show me that you want me more than them.” Damion leaned down and began to kiss him again, but this time he also started to unzip the Core’s attire. This time the kiss was slow instead of the predatory need from before. He licked Requiem’s soft, supple lips before delving inside the hot recesses of his mouth. He slid his tongue alongside Requiem’s, teasing it with his own before they twined together in a slow dance.
Requiem’s hand fluttered from Damion’s mouth to his cheek. It was a complete change from the personality he had shown for the last few months, since the last time he had seen the Creators. He pulled away from Damion’s lips abruptly.
“I… can-not. If I… if my levels become erratic, against what they wish them to be, they will discharge you, make you leave the ship. The Creator is already suspicious and wanting me to choose another Fighter unless your levels improve. If mine become unstable, or fall, they will immediately blame it on you. Damion, so far I have done my best to hide things, to circumvent the rules, but it has not been enough. We are in danger, you especially.”
“See, right there.” Damion sat up, lifting him up a little so that he could pull Requiem’s arms out of his suit. “That’s what I want. For you to think for yourself. You’re not back to normal yet, but it’s enough to make me happy for now. As for the Creators, I don’t care about them or their rules. You’re mine. You admitted that the last time we had sex, and I’ll make you admit it again.”
“I… implied… that?” Requiem sat up so that the suit fell down around his waist. “If you do not care, then you will be terminated. They are a force to be reckoned with. I do not understand how you plan to go against them.”
“You’re the one who always goes on and on and on about how nothing is impossible.” Damion hurriedly stripped Requiem naked as he spoke, moving Requiem as he worked. “And to answer your question, yes, you did fucking say it, and don’t call me a liar. It pisses me off that you can’t remember as it is, so you’ll just have to trust me.”
“Nothing is impossible, but there is improbable,” Requiem stated, having lain back down on the bed while Damion removed his boots and the rest of his clothing, throwing it all to the ground. “I was not going to call you a liar. I feel that you would not lie to me. But… I do not know what to do about remembering. Yet I feel I must try something, since it seems to make you volatile that I do not.”
“Wouldn’t it piss you off if they were able to take me away and strip my memory of you? Of everything you worked on to make me better? To make me happy?” Damion growled, kicking off his boxers while reaching for the lube that had lain forgotten all this time in the bedside table.
“I… do not know. I do not understand how to be… pissed off, as you say.” Requiem obviously thought about it for a moment. “It would make me….” His brow furrowed in a flash of confusion. “Uneasy? I would work to help you remember.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do without getting us in trouble, and it hasn’t been fucking working. This is the first time you’ve even acted like you give a damn.” Damion tossed the lube onto the bed and then gripped Requiem’s hips, urging him more into the center of the bed. “Weeks and weeks, all I could do was remember how great it was to have you to myself, and then they took you away. You’re mine. You’re mine, and yet they took you away.”
Requiem’s body was pliable to Damion’s commands, as if he was going through the motions but still not noticing what exactly was going on. “The Creators,” he mumbled. His gaze flicked about, seeming to be looking for something, except it was probably internal, inside his mind. “The submersion tank. Needles. Light. Burning in my veins from chemicals.” Each word murmured as he was beginning to remember. “They created me. Own me. Control me. But I….” He winced, unable to finish the sentence.
“No, fucking gods be damned, they don’t! You control you. You are a human, and you’re my Core.” Damion roughly pushed Requiem back down onto the bed and pressed another insistent kiss against his muttering lips. Even if Requiem didn’t remember, Damion did, and he knew what he had to do to get him to respond. If he had to start from scratch, so be it, but this time he wasn’t going to use kid gloves. No, he wasn’t holding back, since he knew Requiem had liked it and asked for it before. Nothing was going to stop him from reclaiming what was his.