#nonbinary moira

Cigarette smoke tendrilled into the neon lights above Moira, twisting in the multicolor night of Osaka. They flicked ashes onto the city, memories of another life falling gently onto persons below. There was once a time when they weren’t alone on this balcony, a time when things didn’t hurt so much. The ever-present pain radiating up Moira’s arm burned extra strong at the memory of a girlfriend past, as if they needed the reminder.

“Don’t be so rude!” Angela had scolded Moira the first time she saw them flick cigarettes onto city goers.

From then on Moira would threaten the action for Angela’s attention, dangling their cigarette over the railing, but allowing the blonde to pull their hand back to the ashtray. Angela would keep her fingers around the geneticists’ as she guided it to her lips for a drag. Smoking was once the pair’s vice, and this was once their city.

“Nothing is guaranteed,” the words slipped wistfully from Moira. And neither were you.

The November wind pulled at Moira’s cashmere robe, ruffling the knot loose and tugging the right sleeve down their shoulder. A strip of their flesh was exposed to the elements, purple and throbbing. The cold felt sweet on Moira’s arm and neck, and they let the midnight cloth sink off their shoulder entirely. Aah, that was better.

The angry red of the cigarette was burning dimmer; they were at the filter now. They smashed it into the balcony railing and aimed below. Tops of heads blurred together as Moira searched for the perfect target.

At last, Moira spotted the beautiful platinum hair of a victim. Pink and blue lights played on blonde locks as Moira made their aim. They ignored the sharp twinge in their damaged arm as they sent the cigarette butt flying. Of course, Moira’s aim was nothing short of perfect: the cigarette bounced off its target and onto the street.

Moira smiled at the swiveling person searching for the projectile. City goers grumbled as they walked around; the person had knelt to the ground for trash. Moira found the behavior pathetic and chuckled.

Their laughter must have carried. Platinum hair snapped up and Moira was caught down the barrel of high cheek bones and a strong jawline. The man in question was so damn pretty it annoyed the geneticist. Moira taunted him, slowly waving their dark stiletto nails. For what could the average, ignorant nothings do to someone as powerful as Moira O’ Deorain?

And indeed, he did nothing. Moira’s boredom grew as the man pocketed the trash and rounded the corner of their building. He didn’t even shake a fist at them. Moira sneered: there was nothing they could stand less than a spineless individual. Moira’s ex would never have let them get away with that. No, Angela would track down their room number, pound on the door, and really let them have it. They lost themselves to the scenario: her Swiss accent would thicken, and her face would turn cherry red. The pair of them would exchange verbal blows into the wee hours of the morning. The arguments would never resolve per say, but the two would tire enough to take a reprieve on the balcony for a smoke, and that was where passions transformed into something more… tangible.  

Moira’s hand snaked up their neck, guided by the ghost of intimate encounters. They tipped their head back and closed their eyes, surrendering to the memory of Angela’s essence.

“Sà-wàt-dii! You loo-.”

The melodic voice startled Moira out of their stupor and into attack mode. Their right hand clenched, siphoning vitality from the ether. They swung their weapon to the right and the intruding speaker dodged. Moira’s biotic grasp missed him by mere centimeters.

“Oh! Dr. O’Deorain! I didn’t mean to startle, and I certainly didn’t mean to startle you.”

The target from below was leaning on the other side of the balcony railing- a stunt that should have been impossible from the fifth story hotel room. He was frustratingly gorgeous up close and surprisingly taller than Moira- a feat not too many could claim. His flawless satin skin barely creased around his easy-going smirk.  

Moira yanked their robe tightly around themselves at the sight of that annoying smirk. However, that annoying smirk did jog Moira’s work brain- they knew this face. He was stuck in their brain as someone important, more important that Akande’s usual distractions. This man did something with technology…

The answer struck them so hard blood rushed to their ears. Moira was furious, but not with the intruding man. They would have never let themselves be caught unawares a year ago. What had happened to the scientist? Were bittersweet musings truly so enthralling that their senses were totally entranced? Or was the entropy so virile that their brain was beginning to succumb?

“Niran Pruksamanee,” his name crawled out of their mouth in a low purr, “Yes, I remember you now. Tell me, what is the infamous creator of biolight doing on the balcony of my hotel?”     

Pruksamanee chuckled. Moira wasn’t sure they liked the way his laughter made them feel.

“Infamous? You are wonderful at irony, Doctor.”

Moira couldn’t help themself: a singular ha escaped their lips. It seemed that the inventor had caught on to the geneticist: his smile was widening.

“Anyway, I came up here because you looked like you lost something.”

Lost something? Did Pruskamanee somehow know what they had been thinking about? Was Angela’s influence so deeply engraved into Moira that it was plain on their face?

Pruksamanee held out his hand before Moira could spiral further. A crumbled snowflake of filter and paper, the remains of the cigarette that they threw, was a confrontation delivered by Pruksamanee’s large, flawless palm. Moira felt their ears burn- something that only happened when Angela pointed out a devastating flaw in their character. In all their mourning of a confrontational spitfire, they never imagined that anyone else would follow through.

Without another idea of how to react, Moira kept their expression blank as they took the cigarette from Pruksamanee. They hadn’t bothered to bring an ash tray, instead rolling the garbage between their fingers as they spoke.

“Hmm, so it appears. I must admit, I am taken aback at your… tenacity to return this to me. I assume you used your biolight to scale the building?“

Pruksamanee held his left hand over his prosthetic right arm. The flash of rose light was so brief that Moira wouldn’t have seen it if they hadn’t been looking directly at his hands. He pulled his left hand away, presenting his palm to Moira once again. Ornate veins were etched into a silver seed that glowed soft pink. They weren’t sure what it did, but whatever power was packed into that little seed allowed him to scale a building. Moira couldn’t help themselves: they were impressed to be in the presence of such an important addition to the fields of science and technology. They hadn’t felt this enamored with an invention since they were approached with the prototype to nanobiotics…

“You dare make yourself vulnerable to me?” Moira lifted an auburn brow, “What’s to stop me from taking your work for myself?”

“Oh, there’s nothing to stop you from trying!” He laughed, “But I’m stronger than I look.”

A quick movement drew Moira’s eye to his arm once more; the twist of his wrist had loaded long thorns of biolight into his gauntlet. They certainly weren’t threatened, but they did reason that those thorns were a potent deterrent of thieves. Besides, Moira believed that more value could be attained through his mind than his technology alone.

“Fine enough, I suppose. I’m still curious as to your emergence in Japan. Aren’t you supposed to be taking refuge in the Atlantic Arcology? You’re a far way from home, little inventor.”

“Little inventor, indeed,” Pruksamanee chuckled, “I always have more to learn.”

They were mere centimeters from one another. Moira could feel the heat of Pruksamanee, warm like summer nights. His aroma was elegant and surprisingly refreshing- rainfall, cucumber, and iris enveloped Moira, dizzying them. Or were they dizzy from those eyes that sparkled bronze in the light of the bedroom?

“You know, Dr. O’Deorain, I think you and I may be in Japan for the same reason.”

“Oh?”

“The meeting of the world’s greatest minds at the Pan-national Biomedical Engineering Conference in Kobe! You and I are some of the greatest minds of our generation, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” said Moira, pleased to hear their intellect acknowledged. So many misunderstood the geneticist, completely writing off their work, “Though I must say, it is surprising that you walk these streets alone. Do you not fear Vishkar’s influence?”

Pruksamanee’s face fell for the first time that night. Moira couldn’t help but notice the melancholic beauty of it, a star falling out of the sky and crashing to the earth. His hands began to pick at the railing as he spoke.

“Your concern is touching, Doctor. I’m not traveling through Japan entirely on my own- Overwatch provided a security detail for me.”

His words hung awkwardly in the air. Moira exaggerated their movements, using their whole body to look over Pruksamanee’s shoulder.

“I see. That must be Ms. Oxton behind your shoulder. Is the Gorilla perched nearby?”

Pruksamanee shrugged sheepishly.

“I did slip away when they thought I was asleep,” he said, “I guess you can say that I’ve always been a bit reckless. Quite a bit, actually. But some of the best things in life are worth the risk.”

The buzz of familiarity rang through Moira’s chest. Perhaps they enjoyed Pruksamanee after all.

“Yes! Limits must be pushed for progress to be gained,” Moira wiggled their damaged fingers reflexively. “Pruksamanee, what would you say to the greatest minds of our generation exploring their ideas and Osaka simultaneously?”

Moira was pleased to note how Pruksamanee’s cheeks reddened at their offer. His delicate blush paired nicely with the pearly whites of his smile.

“That sounds wonderful, Doctor! But please, call me Niran.”

“Niran.” His name was delicious in their mouth. “Then you may address me as Moira. Allow me to dress, and I will meet you in the lobby momentarily. Unless you would prefer to wait in my bedroom?”

The warmth of Niran’s cheeks spread like wildfire across his skin.

“Thank you. I promise to be nothing but a gentleman,” said Niran.

Moira tsked.

“I take it you’re used to the cold,” Niran said.

His words stopped Moira stopped in their tracks. Their slender body loomed over Niran; to be any closer would be to straddle him. Niran’s heart raced at the idea.

“I am happy to keep you warm, Niran.”

A tsunami of competing thoughts and emotions crashed into him at once. His bodyguards, and ultimately friends, had all warned him that Moira O’Deorain was so unempathetic and ruthless that they were beyond alien- they were evil. At the same time, he could only imagine the scoldings he’d received when he returned, condemning his risky behavior. He felt understood in their presence, unjudged- Moira was familiar with risk taking. And that didn’t even account for Niran’s instinct- something deeper than fear crept up his spine in the presence of the controversial scientist: a yearning intrigue.

He loved looking at Moira in the low light of the bedroom- it dramatized the sharp features of their face, the mysterious darkness under their mismatched eyes. The experience in their hair was sexy, their silver streaks paired well with their domineering posture. Moira was haunted by something, and that made them exquisitely dangerous. There was nothing Niran loved more than a new experience, an impossible challenge.

“I’m sure Osaka will wait for us,” Niran agreed.

Niran was surprised to find his fingers along the back of Moira’s thigh, inviting them closer. Cashmere was smooth in his hand as he raised it to Moira’s ass, squeezing gently. He bit back a gasp as their nails trailed along his jawline before wrapping around his chin. They dug into his skin ever so slightly and Niran loved the sting. Moira’s grasp was firm as they tilted his face upwards. Ruby and sapphire burned into bronze; Niran’s gaze was locked into place.

“If you wish to be fucked then you will do as I say. Untie my robe, Niran.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Moira’s grip loosened and the thumb of their short-nailed hand slipped between Niran’s lips- a reward for his good behavior. His eyes shut and he lost himself to his oral fixation, his tongue swirling around their skin. Niran let his desires wander as he made his way to the robe’s knot, helping himself to the feeling of their lithe hips along the way.

Moira pulled their hand back as the knot was undone. The robe’s descent was slow to Niran; he was drinking in every ounce of the geneticist. Moira was domineering in nothing but their black boxers. Niran ached to taste Moira’s tits, bared freely to him. Their physique may have been slender, but years of fieldwork and missions had provided a leanness to their body that was evident in the tone of what muscles they did have. Niran wanted to be wrapped in those long legs, engrossed in what lay between them. He wanted Moira to hold his head in place with those strong arms-

Fixating on those arms brought a splash of cold water on Niran. His reaction did not stem from the pure aesthetic of it- in fact, the cruel edge of Moira’s right arm could be an intimidating turn on- but because he knew how it came to be that way. He knew that Moira’s wound was self-inflicted, a result of taboo experimentation, but he was not prepared for how it had worsened from what the public had last seen.

The violet entropy was growing across Moira’s chest and up their collarbone like a life-threatening moss. The veins of Moira’s infected flesh bulged angrily to the surface, as if they were holding back the might of the artificial decay through sheer force.

“Moira! You’re withering away.”

The words escaped Niran in a hasty whisper before he could stop himself. Moira’s sexy glare recoiled; face suddenly hard to read. What was once an intense, unending gaze from Moira turned into a full avoidance of Niran’s sightline. His heart hurt with the responsibility- the wrong thing always seemed to slip from his mouth before he could stop it. He felt lonely not meeting the stare of those ruby and sapphires.

“I’ve always thrived under a deadline.”

The delivery was dry, even for Moira. Never one to wait, they picked the robe off the floor and slipped it over their shoulders, over their arm. They didn’t bother looking for the tie, allowing the garment to drape open while they walked to the other side of the bed, stopping at their nightside table.

Moira pressed a button on what had seemed to be an antique wood nightstand, revealing a virtual light screen. They made their selection in the blink of an eye and the nightstand’s surface opened down the center. Decanters of amber nectars and a matching bowl of cocktail ice emerged on a disc of hard light.

It was only the guilt that kept Niran’s mind on track. Rays from the disc bathed Moira in gold, bringing out the subtle indigo fibers of the robe that hid too much for Niran’s liking. He wanted to slip under that garment; trail his kisses along their arm, into their collarbone, then plunge below their torso. He wanted to heal Moira’s soul with his mouth. He bit the inside of his lip before attempting to explain himself.

“I’m sorry I said that so abruptly. Your artificial decay has progressed beyond what I was expecting, and I spoke without thinking. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

Glass clinked like windchimes as Moira fixed their drink, whiskey on rocks. They nodded their head in acknowledgement of Niran and closed their eyes to think. He was delightfully surprised to find himself familiar with this reaction: years of rooming with Satya had taught him patience in these moments.

Moira finished their sip, then held the cool glass against the purple of their throat. Niran fought the urge to imagine his tongue on their skin. The geneticist exhaled and folded one arm under the other.

“Little inventor,” Moira began slowly, letting their pet name for him take up the space between the two, “Would you like to go out for a meal?”

Of all the things Niran guessed Moira would say in response to his apology, an invitation to dinner was not one of them. Then again, nothing on this night had gone as he predicted when he snuck away from his hotel, and he was thankful for it.

“Um… yeah! That sounds excellent.”

Moira nodded before finishing the rest of their drink in one swig. Niran watched in comfortable silence as Moira rummaged through their suitcase. He suspected that the familiarity went both ways: Moira showed no modesty, unbothered with his clear view of their naked breasts. They slipped into a navy turtleneck, tucking it into loose matching trousers. The pale brown trench coat they topped it off with flourished around them as they opened the hotel door for Niran.

“Walking through the lobby will attract less attention than using biolight to depart from the balcony,” said Moira.

Niran was thrilled with Moira’s ribbing.

“I’m not sure I entirely agree.”

“Oh?”