Alternate Universe "Firefly"
Warnings: slash, and some other weirdnesses, sort of a little bloodplay. Sort of.
Thanks to my wonderful betas - Kim and Estee, who helped me make this work with someone else's universe!
Special thanks to Maygra for letting me play with her universe and her character interpretations. Her two stories and the notes on the universe are here:
Maygra started this universe and it's awesome. I'm only treading in her footsteps!
The first time they fucked, they were angry. Not at each other, but at everything else - and differently.Vin had flown, the first of them to do so. High on adrenalin, the sudden unexpected freedom, the thrill itself, he'd been furious that their 'handlers' had locked the wings' relays, forcing him down.
Chris had been furious at the handlers - jailors, torturers - who had beaten Vin to his knees, punishment for not obeying, then wrenched the wings from their fittings, snarling that any pain he felt was his own damned fault for over-exerting.
Fucking Alliance robots.
"It's a wonder, Chris," Vin murmured. He was stretched out on his belly on his cot, a thin sheet pulled over his long legs, up to his waist. The bastards had had the decency to run him through a decon unit and a sanitizer; the fliers, as they were termed in Alliance code, were too expensive to be out of commission because of something preventable like infection. But they'd 'forgotten' to give Vin clothes. "You can see - hell, you can see everything. Like being free. And alone."
Free and alone. Of the two concepts, Chris knew which was highest on his personal list, by a long shot. He wanted out of this captivity, so much so that at times, he barely contained the urge to throw himself at their keepers, just to get himself killed.
But that wouldn't work, not now, not since his implants had taken and his body was worth more to the Alliance than the guards holding them.
Though he knew this, the urge was still there, and only a word or touch from Buck or Vin would keep it at bay.
For Vin, though, freedom and solitude were more mixed up. It had been bad enough before they'd moved up to this level in the experiment, the confines close, the guards closer.
Now they had walls on three sides, cold metal, and bars on the fourth, giving them an illusion of privacy, but there were also cameras in their cells, and worse, sensors and probes in their bodies. Everything was recorded, every heartbeat, breath, pulse, everything in or out.
Privacy and solitude were nonexistent, even with the three walls.
"It's like you can touch the sky." Vin was drowsy, the pain too strong to let him sleep. He was fevered, his blood carrying some of fluid the engineers had created to pump through the wings, making them as close to 'alive' as they could be. But it was contaminated, some of the silicates in it getting past the filters and into Vin's body. It happened every time they were forced to wear the damned things, the system imperfect.
As if that weren't enough, a combination of blood and the wing-fluid oozed from the skin flaps near his shoulder blades, crimson lines that outlined the perverse bumps and bulges that were unnatural to his upper back. Chris knew he had the same ones, refused to consider how they looked on him. His slits weren't oozing now though, as they had only seen fit to torture Vin today.
Vin's spine was rigid, the arch in his lower back deeper than usual and pushing his belly into the cot's slim mattress. The human body was not designed to fly, and the bastards who had come up with this idea had broken bones and added inserts and cybernetic implants to stretch and strengthen their shoulders to take the weight and demands of the wing system. This had been the focus of so much of their research that they hadn't taken into account the engineering problems of other areas.
Of the three of them, Buck's body, oddly, had been the most suited for this, his shoulders naturally broad, his upper body muscular and well-proportioned. In simulation, air flow and lift, coupled with the triangle of his upper body, let his legs drag without burdening the wings. His height had been an unexpected benefit instead of the obstacle the doctors had expected.
Though shorter, Chris had a similar symmetry, his shoulders tapering to a slender waist.
Vin was built like Chris - but his spine had been broken in the last battle he had fought. The Alliance had picked him up then, taken him in for treatment. In return for repairing his spine, a sort of magical feat even for the Alliance, he had committed himself to this damned project, allowing more alterations to his body, expansions in his upper back and shoulders stretching his skin taut and thin over the new additions. But that break to his spine, the one they had managed to repair, had made it difficult for his back to bend where it needed to in flight, leaving his legs to drag too much.
After the first few simulations, there had been talk of 'more modifications', 'surgical streamlining'.
Breaking his spine again - returning him to the crippled state he'd been in when he was taken as a prisoner of war, only this time, placing the break specifically, where they could control his legs in the air.
Leaving him helpless on the ground.
The physical thing between them had started then, in the dead of night, when Chris would awaken to Vin's nightmares. It began as a sort of comfort, physical reassurance that Vin was still whole, but it gave way to a desperation that Chris couldn't refuse, not coupled with his own needs and the strange connection between the two men. It was little more than shared groping, another hand on a hard dick, a friendly body close and warm.
Buck had used his own talents, managing to charm one of the therapists to work with Vin, helping him learn to hold the arch. A timely turn in the war had helped as well, stalling the shipment of biotech parts, giving Vin time to practice holding the unnatural arch in his back as long as he needed to while he was in the air.
Chris wondered if the constant pain was worth it. He wasn't sure that he wouldn't have taken the paralysis, not able to feel anything. But then, Vin had been through that already, so perhaps he knew better than any of them what it was worth.
"Like nothing you ever seen," Vin mumbled, but Chris saw the sudden tension in his body, the curl of his fingers into the hard mattress.
"Cramp?" he asked, unnecessarily.
Vin's eyes were closed, his thin lips pressed together. There was no answer, but there didn't need to be.
Chris rose from his own cot, moved the spare few feet to look down on his friend's back. He could see the line of tensed muscle on either side of Vin's spine, just at and below the worst of the bend. It was lower than the scars that framed where the Alliance doctors had repaired his spine after his capture.
Vin's lower body was cramped too, the muscles of his calves and thighs clearly defined beneath the thin cloth.
His ass as well, round and tight enough to bounce coins on.
Chris knew what he had to do, had done it before. Vin never asked, but he never refused. And he made it up to Chris however he could, however Chris would let him.
He settled on Vin's thighs, one knee on either side of Vin's hips. He placed his hands so that his thumbs rested along the parallel ridges of the knotted muscles, below the scars that were Vin's alone, his other fingers splayed at various angles of perpendicularity over Vin's lower back. Vin's skin was hot and flushed, the fever working against them here as well.
At the first press of his thumbs, Vin made a noise like a whimper, but he cut it off quickly.
It was like digging into a sheet of metal. When his thumbs started to tire, Chris alternated with the flat of his fist, pushing and prodding until he was wiping sweat from his face.
Vin's face was wet as well, sweat but also tears, Chris knew, this even more painful than the muscle lock itself.
It was starting to work, though, the muscles beginning to clench and unclench in a sort of rhythm that matched the working of his hands on the strong back.
He was balanced forward, using his weight as a force against Vin's tension. The position put his groin right at Vin's ass - right on it.
He was half-hard before he realized it, but as he shifted, trying to avoid the brushing contractions, one of his hands slid the wrong way, pushing into the wrong place.
Vin cried out, his body jerking, his hips snapping up, so that his ass lodged solidly into the curve of Chris' groin.
In the few seconds of shocked stillness, as Buck called from the next cell to see if they were all right, the only movement was from the continued tremors of Vin's body and the continued growth of Chris' cock, lodged along the hot cleft between Vin's cheeks.
"Chris!" Buck called again, "everything all right?"
"Yeah," Vin called, his voice strained, "Chris is just working on my back."
Those three walls gave them a little more space from the others who shared their lives, and right this second, Chris was thankful for that. "Vin," he hissed, "you all right?" He levered himself up, almost losing his balance as he pushed hard with his thighs.
"Fuck me." The words were low and deep and desperate, and Chris thought he had imagined themHH
, until Vin twisted looking back over his shoulder. His eyes blazed in the cell's dim light, intense. "Fuck me, Chris, let me feel something real."
Not the false freedom of flying, Chris realized, not the pretense of solitude that ended when he was forced back to the ground and into the chains.
Chris' mouth was dry, his cock throbbing. It had been so long since he'd fucked some one, anyone, and Vin -
"Your back," he said, barely managing to think past his own desire. "You're hurting - "
"It's almost there," Vin answered, rushing, "won't take much now."
He'd have done it without the promise of sex, but not with as much enthusiasm. As his fingers dug once more into the bands of muscles, his rationality tried to regain its hold. "You sure about this?" he asked. "You know what you're offering?"
"Offering my ass," Vin chuckled softly. "I ain't a virgin, if that's what you're asking." His head was on the bed again, his arms stretched on either side. "Been a long time, though, since before -" His breath caught and Chris realized how long it had been, since before his back was broken. Vin didn't push though, picking up like the thought was gone. "Reckon it has been for you, too. Think you can remember how to do it?"
Chris caught the flicker of the grin on the upturned side of Vin's face. "Reckon I can," he answered easily, applying all his weight once more to the pressure points.
Vin jerked under him again, his ass thrusting back once more into Chris' groin. This time, the sheet dropped so that only the rough material of Chris' prison pants was between them.
Vin groaned, and Chris wasn't certain if it was in pain or appreciation. His body shuddered, the muscles locking hard for several long seconds before slowly relaxing. He seemed boneless, except that his hips were still raised, the offer clear.
Chris backed away enough to loosen the tie on his pants, pushing them down to free his erection. He was so close to orgasm that it almost happened at the soft swipe of the fabric over his head, and he hissed as he closed his fingers harshly around the base.
It didn't help that looking down at his erection had him also looking at the perfect globes of Vin's ass and the darker space between.
'Been a while,' Vin had said.
"Gonna need something," Chris muttered, but all he could think to use was spit.
"My back," Vin said, lifting his head a little. Chris saw that his face was flushed and his right arm was under him,
"What?'
"My back," Vin gestured with head.
The wing-fluid.
Chris stared, the idea disgusting. "It's blood," he said, even as Vin's hips rolled a little, pushing up against Chris.
"Yeah, some," Vin agreed, his voice raspy. He was panting a little now, and Chris knew what the hand beneath him was doing. "But there's lube in it - hell, I don't care if you use it or not." The last was a growl, and he pushed back once more, whimpering a little when the thick tip of Chris' cock wedged into the softer flesh behind his balls.
The feel of it worked for Chris as well, his repugnance giving way enough that he was able to run his free hand through the red muck, then smear it over his erection, making sure to keep his hold on the base tight.
It felt so good it hurt.
With effort, he pulled his hand away, gathering up more of the mixture onto his fingers. Vin moaned a little when those fingers pushed between his cheeks, then whimpered as they brushed over the opening.
"Seven moons!" Chris hissed, pushing one finger in. Tight was an understatement. He was never going to be able to -
"More," Vin begged, pushing back against the penetration.
It was one of the most erotic things Chris had ever seen, Vin riding his finger while Vin's arm moved up and down, working his own dick.
Two fingers still seemed tight, but Vin sighed with pleasure, and he shifted, trying to get his knees under him.
"Move," Vin ordered, "let me spread my legs."
Getting him positioned took little time but some effort, as his body clenched around Chris' fingers, holding them inside as they moved. By the time Vin was where he wanted to be, Chris was looking at three of his fingers moving in and out of Vin's body, Vin's thighs spread wide, his head and shoulders on the mattress as both of his hands worked at his own groin.
"If you don't get it in me soon, I'm gonna come without you," Vin rasped, the sound holding a little whine in it.
"You ain't ready," Chris heard himself say, but he was already lining up, refusing to think on how small the hole was, how big his cock looked getting near it. "I won't be able to stop once I'm in," he said, pulling his fingers out slowly and reluctantly, then resting the leaking tip in their place.
In retrospect, he should have expected what happened next; as he opened his mouth to ask one more time, Vin thrust back, forcing penetration.
For several seconds, Chris couldn't breathe, overwhelmed by the clasp of wet heat and slick tissue surrounding the sensitive nerves at the head of his cock. Orgasm almost came again, despite the hold he had on himself, and it was only when he was certain that he had it at bay that he could focus outside himself.
Vin was still, his arms unmoving, his face lined in concentration. Blood was trickling from his wing-slits, thin red trails wondering through the swirls Chris had left on his skin.
"Vin?" Chris asked, "You hurt? Too much?"
"Hush now," Vin answered, distractedly. He drew breath then pushed again, and Chris watched himself being slowly swallowed into his friend.
It was slow and beautiful, exquisite torture that continued even after they were flush, his balls rubbing against the fine skin of Vin's perineum.
It was unlike anything Chris had ever known, almost too hot, almost too tight, just on the fine line between pain and a pleasure so strong it threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't move, but he couldn't not move, wanting this to last as long as he could stand it.
It wasn't up to him, however. As he had done with Chris' fingers, Vin rode Chris' cock, moving forward then back, slow at first but gradually building speed as his body accepted the presence within. His arms moved as well, flexing and giving with the same rhythm as his hips, a full-body exercise.
But he shifted every now and then, his hips corkscrewing a little, and Chris knew what he was trying to do.
He could tell as the pace picked up that Vin was getting close, but he also recognized the little sighs of frustration. Close, but not close enough, not making the next step.
"I ain't gonna last long," he whispered, his hands finally curving over Vin's bony hips, "but hang on."
It was hard and fast and deep - as deep as he could go. The first few thrusts drew grunts, but the third, the third got a gasp and Vin's body lifted up, letting Chris know he had hit it, Vin's pleasure bump. He did it again, then once more, and Vin was crying out, the ripples of his orgasm washing over Chris, pulling him in as well.
Chris' next conscious awareness was of the tickle of something against his cheek. He forced his head up, his skin pulling against something sticky.
He was bent over Vin, his face on Vin's back, his cock still in the other man, his hands still clutching his hips.
Vin stirred, struggling to get his arms from beneath him, and Chris eased up some.
"Gai do," he mumbled, willing his fingers to relax. He winced as he saw the bruises already forming on the pale skin.
"Yeah," Vin grunted. He pushed onto his elbows, frowned, then with a hiss, he drew forward and off of the impalement.
Chris hissed himself, first at the tingling that followed as soon as his cock was free of the vise-like pressure, then at the streaks of blood on him. It took him a second to remember what they had used to ease the joining, but he still feared that some of the blood was fresh, too fresh, and not cut with the hydraulic mix.
Vin rolled to his side, wiping at his belly with the sheet. He looked tired and sated and a little wicked as he grinned at Chris. "Thanks," he said, stretching his legs out to one side. "Hope you liked it as much as I did."
"Reckon I did," Chris agreed, smiling back. "But I won't be sore in the morning."
Vin shrugged as much as he could from that position. "Won't be the first time, maybe not the last, either." He looked past Chris to the corner of the cell. "Hope y'all enjoyed it too," he said more loudly, to the camera.
Chris shook his head, but he couldn't stop the chuckle. He pulled his pants up, wiping himself on them before closing them back up, then forced his body to stand. He stretched, his spine popping a little, his body more relaxed than he could remember.
He'd just fucked a friend.
It hit him hard and low in his gut, yet another thing to blame on the Alliance, another thing to add to the list of reasons to hate them, for making him change who he was, what he was.
"Chris?" Vin's voice was soft, drowsy again. "It don't mean nothing."
He looked down, catching the sleepy blue eyes as they stared up at him.
It did mean something. He knew it did, and Vin did too. It meant they were still human, not the machines that the Alliance was trying to turn them into. It meant they still had their own wants and needs.
For Vin - for Vin it meant he could still feel - no, Chris corrected, looking into those eyes. It meant he could feel again. 'Nothing,' Vin had said, that first day so long ago. 'Nothing from the chin down.' The memory of it haunted Vin, terrified him, enough so that he'd take the pain as well as the pleasure. Even force it.
Chris reached down, pushing strands of Vin's hair back, off his face. "We'll get out of this," he whispered, his back to the camera. "You don't owe them for your back. They broke it to start with."
Vin blinked, but nodded, and Chris stepped back, climbing into his own cot. As he settled, his cheek itched, and he remembered the stickiness from earlier, on Vin's back. Vin's blood.
Oddly, it was a little reassuring now, something else that was theirs, something Vin had given him, not something that had been taken from him. Just like Vin had given him the sex.
He scratched at the itch, his own wing slits pulling a little. No matter what Vin thought, Chris would never be able to enjoy flying, never be able to forgive these bastards for what they were doing to them. Vin didn't say it, but Chris could see it in the younger man's eyes sometimes, the idea that Vin owed them for doing whatever it was that they had done to his spine, giving him back his life.
It was deal with the devil, for a situation created by that same devil, and Vin owed them nothing. If it took them the rest of their lives, he was going to make the other man understand that.