#bleedblve

yoU OVERRATED LITTLE TWINK

“Well, go ahead.”

👏 😩

Bonus: Giving | Receiving | Both

this guy knows how to party

why u gotta hurt like this

          “Your a–a——an—gel?”          Eyes blinked rapidly once more, with every touch, every foreign sensation that wasn’t something he was prepared for ahead of time. It wasn’t Hank touching him, it was another android – of the same make and model no less. The same face, the same base programming, and the few things that made them different in between.          And if he was connected to Cyberlife? Whose to say he wouldn’t hurt him?           Yet there was a shudder to his joints, an uncertainty as his bad knee nearly buckled and his body pressed into the one whose arms were held wide open in offering. Gentle touch, careful touch, an almost loving, doting appreciation. It didn’t feel like mockery – But it felt strange. It made his chest draw tight, and his hand lower to grip at his own side, as if he feared springing a leak at any given moment.          “How c—c—-ould you call someth-th-thing like me– An angel?” The question was honest and genuine in it’s confusion, brow knitting tight despite the way his cheek fell against Orion’s shoulder, the way his body began to tiredly slump. Androids shouldn’t. Feel. Exhaustion. But he did, every damn second of the day he felt so worn. So he would rest here, just for a moment, while these arms would have him.             Even if he feared what this honey could be trapping him into.

          Eyelids fluttered rapidly as his face was taken hold of, even with a gentle touch there was always a fear that the hands entering his spice were not benevolent. There was always a fear that they were unlike Hank, who had taken the time to save an ailing android on the brink of death. For hands so perfect in projection to touch greying, bruised looking skin like it was nothing – To speak so softly of him.          Was this duplicate model patronizing him?          “If I didn’t know any bet—tt—ter, I would s-say you’re either c—-c—-crazy or yoo-our optical units are as d–damaged as mine. A and B a— aren’t entirely p—p—plausible, so is there a third optio—-option?” His tone came through with a bit of snark, defensive uncertainty of the words bestowed upon him, his head twitching to cant, which only pressed his cheek into that palm. Though they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, he was almost certain there was no beauty to be found here.          There was nothing romantic about the aftermath of self destruction, and in his current state, he felt like a shell of what he once was. Jealous. Bitter. Victimized by his own models. He didn’t want to be pitied and after all, that was all this could truly be, wasn’t it? Pity? Or ridicule?