A Very Drunken Cyborg
Author: Art Badger
Thanks to: delorita
for beta reading
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit, etc. All credit to James Cameron, WarnerBro, McG, whoever else.Summary: When a party is thrown to celebrate a major victory, it turns out that cyborgs can get drunk, given enough alcohol. Or can they? Marcus wasn't finished with General John Connor...
Note: This story is not part of the The Fate We Made
series, but it could be if you closed your eyes and imagined! It's like an AU of the AU. I'm blaming Del for this sequel to Crazy Plans
, she just had to get an idea stuck in my head...and Allaire didn't help with her constantly promotion of Connor, eventually convincing me that he might be more then an angry stupid.
A Very Drunken Cyborg
For years now, Marcus Wright had been his friend. He was loyal, ferociously protective of anyone he cared about and willing to do anything necessary to complete his missions. John Connor found a lot to admire about the man. At the moment, however, his most pressing concern was figuring out how to deal with an intoxicated cyborg who weighed over three hundred pounds and had breath that could strip the paint off a Sherman tank.
"Christ, Marcus, how much did you have to drink to get trashed?" Connor turned his face away when Marcus started laughing and continued muttering to himself while he half-dragged the inebriated man out of the hangar where Kyle and the Raiders had organized the celebration. A few hours ago the news had come in that the Resistance on the east coast had taken New York and destroyed the largest Skynet hub remaining in the former United States. The Raiders, specifically Blair and Allison, had somehow managed to find every bottle and jug of drinkable alcohol on the base for the party.
"I dunno, Connor," Marcus was slurring his words even more than usual. The booze combined with his Texan accent made him almost incomprehensible to Connor's Californian ears, "Seven?"
"You shouldn't even be able to get drun – did you say seven?" Connor stared down at the over-sized jug still clutched in Marcus' right hand.
"Think so. Lemme go, I gotta piss." Marcus shook Connor off and lumbered his way down the hall, headed in the direction of the conference room. There was not a bathroom down that hall.
"Marcus!" Damn it, Connor thought to himself. He chased after his friend and, with some effort, was able to redirect the cyborg.
Marcus must have found Connor's efforts amusing because he started laughing while Connor steered him into the closest facility. While Marcus took care of his own needs, Connor scrubbed at his face with a wet towel from the stack of tattered rags kept by the sink. He'd been working all day before the news of the victory in New York came in and then the party had been going for hours. He stank; the first thing he'd do after he got Marcus settled was take a shower.
"You really did drink seven of those jugs, didn't you?" Connor looked over his shoulder at Marcus, who was still not finished.
"I ain't been this trashed in –" Marcus trailed off, swaying a bit on his feet, "— um, years. Yeah."
Connor shook his head. "Come on, Marcus. You're just playing with it now."
Grinning fit to split his face in half, Marcus gave himself a few good tugs, making sure Connor had a full view. He leaned in close, his whiskey-laden breath warm on the taller man's face.
"Yeah. Jealous?" His blue eyes were a bit unfocused, but the smug mockery in his voice wasn't the least bit impeded by his intoxication.
Connor looked down. Marcus, of course, chuckled and stroked his thumb along the length of his shaft. Connor didn't need to see the other man's face to know that damn grin was about to make his jaw fall off. Despite the growing hardness in his own pants, Connor very firmly looked Marcus in the face and shook his head. "Zip up, Wright. You're going to bed."
"Damn straight I am, Connor." Marcus laughed even louder, but he did zip his pants and throw his arm around Connor's shoulders so the taller man could lead him back to his quarters.
Having Marcus' body draped over his own and the man's head resting lightly against his shoulder was not helping Connor's resolve to get his friend peacefully into bed to sleep off his binge. Their closeness brought back memories of the taste of Marcus' body and the feel of that lean, muscular form pressed against him. Kate and Blair had schemed to get their husbands together for their own amusement, only to have the guys turn the tables on them and drag the women into bed with them. Connor had honestly not expected to enjoy Marcus' attention as much as he had and, even more, he hadn't expected the lengths he'd gone to in giving back to the cyborg.
When finally, it felt like hours later, Marcus was fumbling the door to his room open, Connor was shifting uncomfortably. His free hand found its way to his groin to adjust the swelling that was making it feel like his pants were suddenly much too tight.
"Hey, Connor, help me here?" Marcus was struggling with his boots.
"Fine, but you're going to sleep. Got it?" Connor bent over to help the drunken cyborg. As soon as his knee touched the ground, he had a very bad feeling. He looked up to see Marcus grinning down at him, a wicked look in those blue eyes. He must have picked that expression up from Blair.
"Marcus – damn it!"
With inhuman speed, Marcus had surged up from the side of the bed, kicked the door shut and wrapped his arms around Connor. Connor struggled to free himself, but he knew it was a lost cause. Marcus was much too strong to wrestle with if he had his mind set on winning.
"Marcus, come on. You're drunk out of your mind. I'm not doing this right now."
"I'm not drunk, John," the smaller man growled softly as he pushed Connor onto his back. Marcus let Connor get a hand between them and chuckled as the big man tried to push them apart. He captured the hand and brought it to his mouth. Gently, he chewed on the end of Connor's fingers. Marcus liked to bite, Connor remembered.
"You drank –"
"Still not drunk, Connor. Sure, I got a bit of a buzz, but I could still shoot a coyote dead from 500 yards. I'm sober enough to trick the Leader of the Resistance."
"Fucker! I was helping you; this was not about getting into your pants."
"No, it's about getting into yours. How much did you have to drink that you didn't get that?"
Marcus' breath still smelled like whiskey, but his eyes were clear and sharp now that he wasn't bothering to keep up the drunk act. Deft hands had Connor's shirt over his head, trapping his hands in the black fabric, before Connor could protest.
"So," Marcus rumbled with his mouth next to Connor's neck, "if I'm not drunk, and we're both consenting, what's the problem?" His tongue was warm and it tickled as it traced down Connor's throat.
"You tricked me, you ass." Connor growled right back, but he wasn't resisting any more. He wrapped one of his legs around Marcus' and tried to shift their positions so he could be on equal footing. Marcus didn't budge.
"I do that all the time, Connor," Marcus snorted. He pulled his head back far enough to make eye contact, watching Connor's face carefully. His smug grin was back, bright against the dark, coppery stubble on his jaw. "I told you I'd have your ass, John. I mean to keep that promise."
"Fuck you, Wright, we'll see about that!" Marcus leaned back, offering Connor the chance to change their positions. Connor took it, grabbing Marcus by the shoulders and wrestling him onto his side. He knew from the way Marcus was relaxed, still grinning like a fool, that if he really wanted to take charge, he could. Connor hesitated for just a moment, unsure, and felt his grip on the other man's shoulders slip. In a split second, Marcus had him pinned again.
Connor didn't try to stop the groan that hissed out between his teeth when a warm hand wrapped around him and gave a gentle tug. He didn't even remember when Marcus had undone his belt, or his fly for that matter. Marcus' other hand was yanking at his trousers, pulling them down to give him more room to work. Connor jerked violently when Marcus pressed a finger against his hole, testing.
"If you don’t want to play, I reckon I could wait," Marcus drawled out, sounding resigned.
"If you don't stop fucking with me, Wright, I will tear your heart out, even if I have to get a blowtorch and a crowbar to do it." Connor snarled. He untangled his hands from his twisted shirt and finished the job of shucking his pants. Marcus' low laugh made him fume. He didn't know how the man could piss him off and turn him on at the same time.
"That's the plan, John." Marcus smiled down at him. He leaned back just long enough to strip off his own shirt, while Connor made short work of his belt and oil-stained work pants. The only thing either of them was wearing were their boots, Marcus' so scuffed and worn that the steel in the toe was showing through the heavy leather.
"Don't worry, John, I'm not gunna hurt you."
"I might hurt you if you don't stop stalling," Connor groused.
"What is it with you people? The world ends and everyone goes nuts. I'm tryin' to be considerate here and – OW!"
"Bastard, my ass isn't made of metal!" Marcus craned his neck, trying to see the damage but Connor lunged up and dragged him back down, holding the compact cyborg tightly to him. The dark fur on Marcus' chest was rough against his skin, he hadn't really noticed how much he liked that feeling last time. Marcus rumbled a protest, but he didn't break free. He did stop Connor once again from flipping them over. Pushing back against Connor until he had space to talk, Marcus glowered at his friend.
"Will you stay put? Damn, you're pushy."
"Just shut up and get to work, Wright."
"You sound like Blair – DAMN IT, JOHN!" A flush of red blossomed across Marcus' cheeks and he readjusted their positions until Connor couldn't do much more than twitch, his legs and arms both held fast.
"Stop that! I am gunna do this my way, dammit!"
"You mean fake being drunk to seduce your commanding officer into your bed where you try to drive him nuts?" Connor wasn't going to forget that little deception.
"It worked, didn't it? You're here, you're naked and you're mine." The last words were almost a purr, rumbling up from deep inside Marcus' chest. The dark-haired cyborg pressed Connor's head back into the mattress until their noses squished against each other. He swallowed whatever protest Connor had in mind, only letting his mouth go when Connor bucked against him, signaling that he needed to breathe.
"You're the one that's gunna get wore out, old man. Is that why you're in such a hurry?"
"Call me that one more time," Connor dared, green eyes blazing.
"Fine, fine. But you'll enjoy it more if you let me have my way."
"I know Blair doesn't let you get away with this; I remember when she broke your nose. You think I'm going to be easier?"
"I think I don't have to go as easy on you," Marcus punctuated his threat with another hard kiss.
He released one of Connor's arms to take the other man's straining cock in hand, squeezing roughly. Connor hissed a ragged breath out, his back arched, trying to press their bodies closer together. His free hand fastened on Marcus' arm, he liked feeling the strong muscles move under the skin. He slid his hand up, over and found the hollow in the side of Marcus' neck where his fingers could trace the line of his collarbone. Skynet had done an excellent job of making the cybernetic improvements to Marcus' body undetectable, but there were a few parts of him where Connor could find them. The bone under his fingertips was too perfect, too straight to be human.
Marcus' eyes flickered with confusion as he felt Connor rubbing at the metal, his mouth opened to speak but Connor stopped him. There was nothing mechanical about the wet heat of Marcus' mouth; the contrast sent a thrill down Connor's spine.
"The metal isn't me, Connor." Marcus whispered against his cheek.
"Some of it is," Connor let his hand work its way down until he gripped the thick shaft that had been grinding into his stomach, "See? Sure feels like metal to me."
"No wonder Kate won't let you tell jokes, you suck at it." Marcus kept his tone light, but his voice was husky as Connor's hand pulled at him, stroked him. Connor could see the pulse in Marcus' neck racing despite the control that he had over his face. He was suddenly determined to break that control.
"Let me go, Marcus," Connor ordered.
Eyebrows raising, Marcus let up the pressure on Connor's other arm and shifted so his weight wasn't holding the other man down. The cyborg waited, looking expectant.
"On your back." If he wrestled with Marcus, it was a contest and Marcus had to win, either by beating Connor or allowing Connor to take control. If he just took control, though, that was another story.
"You change your mind, Connor?"
"No, we're still doing things your way."
"We are?" Confusion was plain on Marcus' face, but he wasn't making any move to adjust their positions. Especially not with Connor's hands working their way down his chest to his belly. Marcus twitched as John's fingertips ran across his stomach; his muscles clenched while he gasped a laugh and he tried to get away from the tickling of those light touches.
"Hey! That is not my rules, Connor!"
"You wanted to go slow, we're going slow." Connor grinned Marcus' own grin down at him and found that he enjoyed it. He wondered if he had that same silly expression of disbelieving lust on his face when Marcus grinned at him this way.
"Yeah, but – shiiiit," there were at least four syllables in that last expletive. Marcus' muscles went tight but not to shift Connor off him. He was struggling to focus his eyes on a rare sight: John Connor, mouth open wide, going down on him.
Marcus tasted just like Connor remembered. More important than the taste of him was the feel; the heat of Marcus in his mouth and the throb of his strong pulse. He looked up, watching the half-silly, half-smug grin. Still in control, Connor thought to himself. He was going to show the fucking cyborg a few things. By the end of this, he was going to break that infuriating self-possession, that aura of smug superiority that Marcus always exuded.
Blair had been next to him, whispering in his ear last time he’d had Marcus' cock in his mouth. The smell of Marcus' body, the taste of him, everything was coming back. He could almost feel her there, telling him exactly what drove Marcus insane. He let his teeth scrape gently across the sensitive flesh and was rewarded with a resounded rumble of agonized pleasure from the man under him. When Marcus tried to shift, to move where he could take charge of what Connor was doing, Connor had a hand on his hip and another on his chest, holding down with all his strength.
"That isn't fair, Connor." Marcus' voice was strained. It wasn't good enough for Connor. He felt the lean body twisting under him, but he kept his weight pressing down on the smaller man. The only part of him that wasn't involved in holding Marcus down was his mouth.
"Connor!" He would have grinned, if he could. He knew that Marcus could see it in his eyes when he locked gazes. Those bright blue eyes nearly crossed when Connor's tongue found the spot Blair had guided him to and Marcus bucked nearly hard enough to bounce them both off the bed when Connor took him down far enough that he could sneak the tip of his tongue out and lap at Marcus' balls. "Fuck! John!!"
"What do you WANT?!" Sweat covered both their bodies now and Connor didn't know if he imagined it, but he thought he could taste the metal in Marcus' sweat when he let the throbbing cock fall from his mouth to trace his tongue up the trail of dark hair across Marcus' stomach to his belly button. He knew that just under the muscles and skin there were plates of armor, protecting the vulnerable living tissue still inside the cyborg. He could feel the hard, unyielding strength of them when he was holding Marcus down.
"Shut up, Wright. You wanted to go slow," Connor smirked at the seething fury that pulled his friend's heavy brows down and shadowed those perfect eyes. So close now. He took a deep breath and swallowed Marcus as far as he could. One hand stayed on the strong chest, holding him down, the other was kneading his victim's balls, rolling them back and forth in his palm.
"I swear, Connor – FUCK!"
Marcus' bellow cut off in a gasping breath. Strong hands curled into fists, slamming into the bed on either side of him. The metal frame protested loudly; Connor wouldn't be surprised if Marcus had bent the bed with that blow. He pushed things just a bit further, something he couldn't do with Kate. He let go of Marcus' sack and ran that hand up to the man's stomach. His other hand stayed on Marcus' chest, fingers tracing through the dark hair, finding the sensitive nipples. He bit down gently, scraping his teeth across the head of the strong cock that filled his mouth. And again, less gently.
The muscles under his hands tensed until he was almost sure that Marcus was going to literally explode, then slowly relaxed. A low, soft noise escaped from Marcus' open mouth, so soft that John felt it through the vibrations of the man's body more than heard it. Marcus Wright, badass extraordinaire, cyborg with bones of steel, whimpered. His face was slack, totally gone. When finally the blue eyes refocused, he raised himself up on elbows that trembled slightly and just stared at Connor, still crouched between his legs.
"What the fucking hell was THAT, John?"
Connor swallowed, coughing a few times. He gave the slack-jawed cyborg a contemplative look, “You taste a little like motor oil, you know?”
"You fucking bastard," Marcus snarled. Without warning, Connor found himself being tackled right off the bed. His head thumped on the ground, but he dismissed the pain when Marcus kissed him, hard and long.
"If you ever do that to me again, I'm going to think you're trying to kill me. I think my fucking heart stopped there for a minute!" The deep voice was loud even as a whisper; Marcus was speaking right into his ear while he chewed on Connor's earlobe.
It took Connor a few moments to realize what was jabbing into his stomach while Marcus had him wrapped up in a tight embrace. He felt his way down the sweat-soaked torso and blinked at what he felt. Marcus’ cock was, if anything, harder then it had been before it unloaded down his throat. The still-racing pulse of the man on top of him was obvious in the heavy throbs of the hot shaft in his hand.
“What the fuck, Marcus?”
"Some of us aren’t tired old men, Connor."
He gave Marcus a look that would send most men running for cover and his hand not still gripping Marcus' hard shaft tightened dangerously on the sensitive balls.
"Hey, hey! Those are still 100% human, thanks!"
"Jackass cyborg, make one more joke about my age and I’ll –“
"It happens to be one of the only good things about being like this, Connor." Marcus interrupted while he gently pried Connor's hand loose. A hot tongue found the scar from the T-800 that had almost killed him before Marcus saved his life, traced its length down his face. Connor shivered, feeling some of his anger ebb away.
"I don't get tired," Marcus kissed him until his lungs ached for breath.
"I don't have to rest," one of those strong hands found his cock and teased the head with a thumb.
"I can fuck you for a week, if I want to," Marcus grinned down at him. Connor had to take a second for his brain to process that thought, "and I really, really want to. Especially after what you just did. You deserve it, in every way."
The dark threat in those words almost had him making embarrassing noises of his own. Marcus could see it in his eyes and he growled into Connor's ear, "My turn, Connor."