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She comes into your shop with a face lined with steel and her left arm dangling at her side. She intimidates you, but that's nothing new- out here everyone puts on a tough face.
She's gorgeous, really, so you're not surprised that against your better judgement you accept her request and come to repair something on her ship. You bring your tools and she brings you into her bedroom, then removes the bandages covering her left arm.
She's a cyborg, of course. You should have known who she was the instant you saw her face.
You ignore the sudden panic- her reputation precedes her- and open up each compartment, checking for crossed wires.
It's a bit busted up on the surface but really all it should need is a tune up and some buffing. You keep looking until you find three crossed wires. up high on her arm. You work for five minutes in silence.
“Do you want me to fix the dents?” you say timidly as you close the compartment on her arm and look up, your stomach churning as you gaze upon her face. She is flawless. You wonder if the rest of her body is as finely made as her arm.
She recognizes some expression on your face. “You are disgusted with me,” she says. “It does not matter. I only need you for this. If you are done, you may leave.”
“I'm not,” you say. “Not disgusted. I'm attracted to you.”
You could swear you see confusion flit across her face. She reaches out and holds her hand gently against your throat, and you feel your heart rate speed up. You swallow.
“You want me to fuck you?” she says, leaning in so close that you can feel her breath on your skin. You drop the tool you were holding and barely hear the clatter as it hits the floor.
“If I say no, would you kill me?”
“Why would I kill you for refusing to have sex with me? That would be idiotic. I have no illusions that I am attractive.”
You reach up to stroke the rough metal of the implants around her eye. She holds very still, like she's uncomfortable in her own body. You suppose she is.
“You're beautiful,” you say, flattening your hand to hold against her cheek
She stiffens, then reaches up to touch your hand with her metal hand.
“Can you feel things with your hand?” you say.
“Almost.” She leans in to unbutton your shirt, her fingers precise in their movement. You stop her after the last button.
“I want you to enjoy this, too,” you say, placing a hand on her arm. By her reaction, you can't be sure if she even feels it.
“How can I enjoy anything?” she says. “I can feel you enough to know where you are touching me. Nothing else.”
“Nothing? Nowhere?”
Nebula looks at you evenly, then raises two fingers to a point on her neck. “You can touch me here.” You replace her fingers with your own, and you see her blink slowly.
“Are there any other spots?” you ask, rubbing gently at the place she showed you.
“None you can reach currently.”
“Take off your clothes. Let me see you.”
She takes longer to reply, her voice slightly rougher when she does. “You don't want to see me.”
“Yes, I do.” you reach forward and press your lips against her neck, your hand sliding to the back of her neck. She lets out a loud grunt and a slightly strangled moan as your tongue darts between your lips and tastes her skin. It's like a mixture of life and death- metallic, almost, but can taste her perspiration. You feel her tremble, and after a moment, you pull back.
She undoes the straps over her right shoulder, exposing her bare skin, and wordlessly rubs her metal thumb over a small spot where her collarbone meets her shoulder. You put your mouth over it and lean your forehead against her shoulder, feeling the tendons in her neck tense as her head moves to the side. You bite her softly and she jerks so violently that you jump back.
“No,” Nebula says, the intensity in her eyes almost scaring you. “Don't stop.”
You go back to her neck, and you scrape your teeth gently over her sensitive skin. She's shaking, hard, and you would pull back to check if she’s alright, but her hand is threaded through your hair, pulling you closer to her.
You swirl your thumb over the spot on her shoulder, and you say, “may I see more of you?”
“I am ugly,” she says, and you feel your heart break. You wish you could touch her all over and make her feel your affection, but the power you hold over her depends on her.
“No. No, you're not.”
She traces the outline of your nipple over your shirt, and you close your eyes for a moment. Her finger is cold, and the sensation sparks through your whole body. You almost give in, but you remember the noises she made when you bit her.
“Please,” you say, and you see the fear on her face as she peels away the fabric covering her to reveal her chest and her stomach. Her right breast is malformed, a scar over where the nipple should be. There's a metal patch from her left collarbone to right above her left breast, and you touch it gently, trailing down the length of it.
She's watching you intently, and you press a gentle kiss to her neck again.
“You're stunning,” you say against her skin.
“Why are you so focused on me? Do you not want to feel pleasure?”
“I like the noises you make,” you say. “I could draw them out of you forever.”
“My left breast,” she says, her voice clipped. “It still has all its sensation.”
You don't need any further encouragement, and you lower your head to just over her nipple, pausing for a moment to gauge her reaction before touching her.
She looks like she is holding her breath. She's staring into the distance.
You close your mouth around her nipple and bite down softly and she screams, savage and piercing. It hits you right in the core, but in the next moment, her hand grips you by the hair and pulls you back while her chest heaves, her eyes squeezed shut, and you're terrified that you've gone too far and she won't let you touch her anymore.
Then she opens her eyes and tells you to do it again.
You nibble across the soft expanse of flesh, and she lets out harsh cries. They don't sound any different than the noises she makes when she's in pain. She probably doesn't know the difference, but by the way her fist in your hair keeps pulling you closer, you figure she doesn't want you to stop. You lick over her nipple and she moans.
You stop for a moment and look up at her- she looks as surprised as you are. A slow grin slides across your face. You duck your head down and do it again, and you feel her hips grind against your thigh. You look up from where your mouth is attached to her, and she's looking at you still, her eyes somewhat unfocused.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
She lets out a chuckle, but there's no warmth in it. “You're asking me?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I've never felt like this before.”
You pause, your hand reaching up to play with her chest while you talk. “Have you had sex?”
“Yes.”
“Did you come?” You pinch her nipple and her hips jerk against you again.
“No.”
“Show me more of you,” you say, and with an unsteady hand, she removes the last articles of clothing except a pair of blue boyshorts that cling to her. Metal lines her legs and disappears under the seam, but you see wetness seeping through her underwear.
“Where can I touch?” you ask, and she splays a hand across one inner thigh and the top of her opposite hip. You suck the skin on her hip into your mouth, hard enough to leave a hickey, but she doesn't bruise, she just moans and cries out, her feet scrabbling subtly for purchase on the bed. You brush a finger over the wet patch on her underwear, and her entire body draws up taut.
“Please,” she says. “Please.”
You made her beg.
You rub over her underwear once more before gripping the sides cautiously. You look up for confirmation, but she's already pushing at your hands and helping you take it off. You toss it to the side, and she lays down, spreading her legs.
Her modifications run the length of her thighs, but her sex is untouched, glistening with arousal. You dip one finger in and move to penetrate her, but after only a second she grabs your hand and tugs it away.
“What do you want?” you say.
She looks completely uncertain, but when she speaks, she sounds authoritative. “Use your mouth on me.”
This time you expect the scream when it comes again. It fades to a keening wail, but she doesn't stop. You suck on her clit with varying pressure, and her noises match your movements. You place one hand on her hip and the other on her thigh, and hold her down as she tries desperately to thrust into your mouth for more friction.
She tastes like iron and salt.
Your teeth bump against her clit and she thrashes. You lick against her lips and she jolts again, and you know she's going to come soon, so you slow down.
Nebula is looking at you like a kicked puppy. You don't know how someone so dangerous can be so adorable. You don't dwell on it. Instead, you place your mouth over her soaked pussy and you suck her clit into your mouth, hard.
You can see the tremors move through her body, and it looks much like a seizure. Her mouth is open wide, but no sound comes out except strangled aspirations. The hand gripping your hair loosens and slides away, and you lick at her come as it drips down her leg. She twitches at every lick, and once you're done, you kiss your way up her body, only touching the spots you know she feels.
Your hand rests on her boob, the one she can't feel, but she doesn't seem to mind. You kiss her gently on the mouth, and she reciprocates.
She's staring into the distance again.
“Nebula,” you say, and she looks at you, blinking slightly as if getting her bearings.
“I can't move,” she says, and panic sparks in your chest until you feel her arm move to hold you against her chest. You wore her out. “I'm sorry I can't give it back to you right away.”
“You don't have to,” you say. It's ridiculous how wound up you are from making her come, you're sure you could come in less than a minute.
“Nonsense,” she says.
You think you love her.
She helps you take off your pants and underwear and slides your unbuttoned shirt off your shoulders. You're still straddling her, and she's still breathing heavily, and you're not sure she should be exerting herself so soon after her first orgasm.
“Nebula,” you say.
She looks at you, her eyes dark. Maybe she really is fine. “I love the way you say my name,” she says. “I want you to scream it.”
You don't even realize she moved until you feel her thighs pinning you to the bed and find yourself looking up at her. “Nebula,” you say, breathless.
She takes your ear in her mouth and you squeak. Her mouth is warm and wet and she licks across your neck, kisses across your collarbones, reaches your chest and scrapes her teeth gently across your nipple. You gasp. Everything she does is calculated, including this, and her gentleness shouldn't surprise you but it still does.
She rubs your clit firmly, and you find yourself wanting more but not knowing how to ask for it. “Your fingers-” you start, but she cuts you off with a kiss and by entering you with two fingers. The kiss turns sloppy as her thrusts become harder, and you pant under her.
“What's my name?” she says, and your vision swims. She bites at your neck.
“Nebula,” you cry as her finger finds the perfect spot inside of you.
You feel something fuzzy building up inside you, and you can't think, can't breathe, can't remember your own name.
“What's my name?” she asks, and you scream it as she brings you over the edge.
When you find yourself coming to, you feel her rubbing your back.
“I thought I had killed you, with how you screamed,” she says. “Then I saw you had passed out.”
She's killed more people than she's pleasured. You know this, and you know it should bother you, but you feel her hand move gently across your back and you push it to the back of your mind.
“You screamed louder,” you remind her.
You turn to look at her, and you see that she's put clothes on. She looks surprisingly normal in a loose tank top and underwear.
“I was rough,” she says. Her thumb strokes over a spot on your neck that stings slightly. There's a question hanging in the air that she is afraid to say.
“You were amazing,” you say.
She doesn't move closer or farther away, and you know that without encouragement she would withdraw back into her shell.
“Hold me,” you say, and she pulls you closer to her. You feel the hard planes of her body press into you, but her lips are soft as she brushes them against your shoulder.
You could fall asleep right there, but you don't want to make Nebula uncomfortable.
“I must sleep,” she says.
“Me too,” you whisper. She doesn't let go of you, and eventually you hear her breathing even out.
The ship’s light makes her blue skin glow.