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Mechanical Sins ( Lustful Sins & Hocus Pocus )

Connor doesn’t know what he expects to happen when Jude discovers his impromptu, temporary escape. Angry, surely, but he figures the man will simply be happy he returned of his own free will. That turns out not to be the case. Prosthetic, unkind fingers grip tightly onto his bicep and usher him through the room. Jude takes his food, puts it on the nightstand, and shoves him down into the bed. Grips his hair, forces his head back.

“I—but I—” The words out of his mouth are a stuttering mess. He’s scared. Jude has so much power over him, physically and in the form of blackmail, there’s no advantage for Connor. “I was...I was going to come back. I didn’t run away. I wouldn’t run away.” Asking for forgiveness was supposed to be easier, Connor’s heart was beating too fast and his entire body felt numb. He couldn’t even feel his bruises anymore.

The apology spills from his mouth without permission, trying to appear guilty and meek. He’s hoping Jude thinks he’s cute enough to go easy on. “Please, I’m sorry, Jude. I’m sorry, I really am. I won’t do it again. Please.”​
 
Jude growls, listening to Connor's hasty apology. After a moment, he releases the boy's hair and pushes off the bed. He walks to the closet, reaching up to pull a small wooden chest from the upper shelf. "I can't trust you, Connor. I gave you a chance, and you squandered it. Now, I limit your freedom." Jude holds the chest in one hand, flipping the top as he turns. The chest contains a small variety of clearly illegal tech, though it's obviously well made. Apparently, there's more high end tech investors investing in the black market than most realize.

Jude pulls out a thin steel collar that looks like a decorative choker, and a small, three inch fingerprint thumbpad. He sets his left thumb on the pad, and the collar clicks open. "This is a tracker collar. It's linked to my holo-cell, and the thumbpad is keyed to my thumbprint. It can only be unlocked by this thumbpad, and my thumbprint." Jude walks to the side of the bed, setting the chest on the bedside table. "Sit up, Connor."
 
Limited freedom. There are worse punishments in this world. Connor knows that. He knows that Jude could do much worse things to him, all because he ran off to buy a dumb pastry. All because he couldn’t let himself trust the guards enough to ask for food. The fact that it’s not the worst punishment doesn’t stop the tears that sting his eyes. He knows a top quality piece of tech when he sees one. There’s no way he would be able to find an easy way out of that collar.

“Don’t put that thing on me,” he pleads, almost a whisper. Connor rolls over onto his side and makes to run away. To where, he doesn’t know. Anywhere but here. He’ll jump out the window, if he has to. That’s where he goes, to the window, tries to push it open.​
 
Connor might be fast, but Jude is faster. Two steps and he's behind Connor, wrapping his prosthetic arm around his waist. Back to the bed, where he pins the boy down on his stomach. Straddling Connor's hips, Jude uses his knees and thighs to pin Connor's arms to his sides, sitting on him. "Behave, Connor."

Jude slips the thin steel collar around Connor's throat, clicking it locked. It sits snug to his skin, but not tight, and rests just below his Adam's apple. "This is what happens when you disobey. You don't get to roam without me knowing where you are 24/7. You are going to stay with me, be my personal techie. Whether you like it or not."
 
All throughout his life, Connor has never been a fighter. Too small in stature, not enough muscle, never physically strong enough for fighting to make a difference. He struggles now, as Jude straddles him and pins him down. The man is so much heavier than himself, he can hardly move, and his struggles only serve to tire him out. He’s panting by the time the collar clicks around his throat, locking him in. Ridding him of the freedom he once had before.

And he’s crying. Connor doesn’t want to cry, he’s already cried so much since waking up, but he can’t stop the thick tears from slipping down his cheeks. “I hate you,” he sobs into the bed. His life was never the best, but it seems horrible now. Unable to move, with a collar he’s afraid of around his throat, and a man he hates pinning him down. In his mind, he might as well be dead. “I hate you, I fucking hate you! You’re the worst, you’re vile, I hope you choke in your sleep.”​
 
Jude chuckles, pulling Connor's head back by his head. He leans down and licks tears from the boy's cheek. "Look at the bright side. You get a free ride to the top tech university, and the chance to get your name out on the streets. And access to a class five prosthetic to model all your tech. Materials are also free for you."

Jude releases Connor's hair and stands up, pocketing the thumbpad. "And free access to the bar in the main room. Your alcohol addiction is was obvious as mine last night. Now, enough tears. You need food." Jude glances at the pastry. "Real food. And don't try to jump out the window. I have my own medical team on speed dial, and they don't always have access to anesthetics and morphine."
 
Connor cringes away from the wet tongue on his cheek, sick to his stomach. Mind running a mile a minute, trying not to be tricked by the man’s words. Bright sides never exist in these situations, there’s only bad things and slightly less bad things. Sure, he gets to go to university like he’s always dreamed of doing, and people will know his name. What’s the point, though, when he’s nothing more than a glorified sex slave with benefits to a maniacal lunatic? It isn’t fair. He gets to have what he’s always wanted, but he has to give up all his freedom to do it.

Stopping himself from crying is harder than it was earlier. He’s tired, his body hurts where Jude’s weight pinned him down, his head throbs with every beat of his heart. There’s half of his brain that wants to refuse to eat, to take sleep and drink away from his own body, if only in retaliation to Jude’s wants. To starve himself and become a skeleton, let himself wither away into nothing. He knows Jude will never let that happen. The man would shove food down his throat before he let him die. The choice is obvious: he can either obey Jude and live his life or let the man live it for him. Either way he’ll be miserable but at least he’ll be miserable on his own terms.

Connor sits up and glares at Jude like it might burn holes through the man’s skull. “I want unopened food in a package and bottled water. I don’t trust you,” he spits through his own pathetic sniffles. He stands at last, unsteady on his feet, and knows exactly what he wants. “Where’s the alcohol?” Connor had every intention of being drunk twenty-four seven, if only to make the pain of his situation more bearable.​
 
Jude raises a brow. At least Connor is responding now. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighs, then leads the way out of the bedroom, down the hall to the main room. He waves a hand at the bar, giving Connor free access to it. Even feeding the boy's alcohol addiction, he knows Connor won't risk it once he starts university. Jude would set that up for him later. Application doesn't close for another 2 days yet, and classes don't start for another week.

Jude walks over to the men, promptly swinging his prosthetic up to connect sharply with each man's cheek. "Let him out of your sight again and you'll get far worse than a black eye. Go get a variety of packaged foods and a couple cases of bottled water. Now." The men each reeled from the punches, but don't make a sound. And they lunge for the door, in a hurry to obey Jude. The blond looks back over at Connor, who no doubt has already started in on the alcohol. Works for Jude. Drunk, Connor's guard goes down.
 
Connor realizes, as he watches the men by the door each receive a hit to the face, that his actions were far more selfish than he first assumed. He makes a note to apologize to them later. Sure, they were probably just as bad as Jude, but they weren’t the ones who were trapping him in this mess. He makes a beeline for the alcohol, just as Jude suspected he would, and quickly finds an unopened bottle of vodka. Checks the alcohol percentage, which is far higher than the shit he usually drinks, and pops open the cap. Doesn’t even bother with a glass, just drinks it straight from the bottles. It burns and it makes his eyes tear up, but he downs about three shots before he puts it back down on the counter.

When the men come back with food and water, he’s there to take it before Jude can even touch it, with the bottle of alcohol snugly under his arm. He doesn’t trust Jude not to spike anything, to the point of being paranoid about it. So he sits, tucking himself into the far corner of the room, and he eats. Eats and drinks, expects the sadness and misery to be washed away, but it’s not. He just feels worse with every sip of vodka he takes. Nose stuffy, eyes watery, wanting to cry and scream and yell. None of it would make anything better.

“Can I have something to work on?” The question is borderline emotionless. Connor just wants something to keep his hands busy, to clear his head, and alcohol never cuts it as well as a detailed project. “An old prosthetic or something?”​
 
Jude rolls his eyes as he watches Connor down the alcohol. He knows from the location he found Connor that the boy usually drinks cheap stuff. So if he's trying to show off, it's a failed attempt. Jude makes himself comfortable on the sofa, where he can see Connor at all times. When the men return and Connor snatches the food and water, plastic bags with nearly a week's supply of food, Jude refrains from laughing.

Jude watches Connor eat at first, then turns his attention to the TV, turning on some murder crime drama. Of course he watches that. He can still see Connor from the corner of his eye. "Some of that should go in the fridge so it doesn't spoil." There's silence, save for the TV, until Connor asks for a project. Jude turns his blue eyes to the boy. "Is that smart with alcohol in your system?" He only pauses a moment, then gestures to the closet across the room. "There's a box with my old prosthetics in it. Most of them are damaged or burnt out. None have cyberskin though."
 
Jude is right, some of the food did need to be refrigerated, though Connor is reluctant to listen to him. He does anyway, though, walking over to put the food he isn’t eating into the fridge. “I always work drunk,” he snorts, as if the alcohol in his system will impair his ability to make or work on tech. He steps over to the closet and finds the box, indeed filled with old, broken tech. None of them are new models. Old pieces of junk, one might say, but Connor’s made good use out of worse. He digs around under his finds a tool kit, brings a battered prosthetic over to the coffee table in front of the couch where Jude sits, and holds it like a man might hold their own child.

Connor takes a seat on the floor, legs folding underneath himself, and admires it. Tech was beautiful. Gorgeous, complicated, and so much better than a human could ever be. Tech would never backstab him, hurt him, or use him for nefarious purposes. People trashed it the same way they trashed Connor. Holding the bottle of vodka in his lap and taking apart the prosthetic in only minutes, he lost himself in his work. “Your taste in television sucks ass,” he mumbles as he works, the entire prosthetic in nothing more than pieces across the table. Nuts and bolts, screws and plates. All in neat piles, which he’s organized by type and use. “A criminal watching crime shows? Talk about trashy.”​
 
Jude snorts at Connor's comment, turning his eyes back to the TV screen. His eyes might be on the TV, but his attention is still mostly on Connor. He's well aware that on giving Connor the old prosthetics, the boy may very well invent some type of weapon. All the same, this is part of the reason he's keeping the kid.

Jude stretches one leg out and puts his foot on the corner of the coffee table when Connor settles down on the other side. In doing so, he still makes sure to only take up the corner, so it's clear he's just getting comfortable, and not being obnoxious. When Connor comments on his TV tastes, Jude does nothing more than stick out his tongue at the boy. When he does, there's an indent in his tongue visible. A former tongue piercing maybe?
 
Connor expects a response, but when he looks up, he’s met instead with a tongue sticking out at him. He’s not drunk enough to miss the slight indent, though he is drunk enough to ask about it. “Did you have a tongue piercing?” Being drunk makes his brain to mouth filter disappear and, even though he’s still upset, his curiosity always wins out. It was what got him in this situation to begin with. “I had my ears pierced for a while. But then my dad stole my money, so I had to sell them so I could buy new parts for the prosthetic leg I was making for my puppy. He was born with three legs.”

It was not a happy story. Connor’s voice and face remain focused on his work, however. He holds up a screw, looks at how badly rusted it is, and tosses it at Jude. “Speaking of which, can I bring my dog here? I still have him. His name’s Rookie. He’s cute. And all my stuff. I have projects I’m working on.”​
 
Jude tilts his head at Connor's question, pulling his tongue back in his mouth. He listens to Connor's words, more attentive than one would expect. Jude turns his head toward the men at the door, waving them over. Both are quick to approach. "Go to Connor's residence and collect his things. Get more people if you need." He then waves them away and turns his attention back to Connor.

"Yes, I had a tongue piercing. I liked it, but most of the people I hooked up with asked me to remove it, so I just stopped wearing it." Jude pauses, then.. "Do you want earrings again? My ears are sensitive, so that's not something I ever wanted." Jude lifts his right hand to rub his right earlobe between his fingertips thoughtfully.
 
There’s no hiding his slight surprise and happiness when the men are ordered to fetch his belongings. More importantly, they’re going to bring him his dog, and that means the world to him. If he’s going to be here, he wants Rookie with him, to at least make the transition into his new life bearable.

“Why would they ask you to stop wearing it? I don’t see how a tongue piercing makes a big difference,” he comments, wholly not understanding how a small piece of metal would affect a hookup. Maybe blowjobs? That was Connor’s only real experience with sex. Blowjobs and handjobs. Sloppy ones, at best. His night with Jude was a far cry from his typical encounters. The thought of having his own piercings back makes him reach up to his own ears, feeling the smooth and scarred skin. “I think I’d like them again. I liked having them.”

Why Jude is being nice, he doesn’t know. Probably trying to butter him up. Connor’s shallow enough to accept the gifts.​
 
Jude shrugs, his attention completely off the TV now. He may be a rough, aggressive criminal, but when relaxed and calm, he's actually a decent guy. For one, he's never actually murdered anyone, nor have any of his men. Sure, he's done enough damage to hospitalized people, but nobody has ever died by his hands. But now he thinks about Connor's question. "You know, I never thought to ask why. Maybe I just attract people that don't like piercings, I don't know."

The corners of Jude's lips twitch, but he hides his smile. Connor would look good with earrings. "What kind would you want? Hoops, dangles, diamonds?" Not just curiosity, Jude wants to know so he can get some for Connor. If he has to force Connor's obedience, he may as well shower him in gifts too.
 
Relationships were confusing, people were confusing. Piercings were fine. Attractive, too. They’re pretty to look at, come in a variety of styles, and can be put in so many places. “They sound like losers,” he hums, a slight insult to those who may have once been (or still are) close to Jude personally. Not that Connor is different. He’s also a loser. An alcoholic, idiotic loser with a strange knack for complicated machinery and software, but a loser is a loser. “I like piercings. They’re neat and they look cool.”

Connor’s old earrings were a pair of fake ruby red dangles, which he then was lucky enough to trick someone into thinking were real rubies. First and only time he ever made such a good deal off of so little. He wasn’t a good liar or con artist. “Anything with red stones,” he answered. “I like dangles.”

With the prosthetic entirely dismantled in front of him, Connor now knows exactly why it no longer works. He knew the moment he opened it up, but now it’s for certain. “I could turn this into a newer model, with the right pieces and some cyberskin. The circuit board is fried and a few things are rusted, but the structure is in good condition.”​
 
Jude laughs at the lower comment, even nodding his head a bit. Not that he would have used that word for them, but it does work. His laugh is genuine, the same full bodied deep sound from the previous night. "I suppose you could say that." Likes, piercings, huh? Maybe it's time Jude starts wearing his tongue bar again.

Jude stores the tidbit of info about dangles with red stones, then sets his foot from the coffee table back to the floor. He leans forward, knees apart and elbows on his knees. His hands are loosely clasped together. "These are all my old arms over the past ten years. They served their purpose. Now they're a memory. I can get you parts, but cyberskin's a no-go. Real cyberskin is strictly regulated, the fake stuff on the black market is barely more than a decorative sleeve."
 
Jude’s laugh did funny things to Connor’s insides that he didn’t want to think about, stomach flipping without his permission. He ignores it by focusing on the conversation at hand. “A memory, sure, but you could make some money off it instead of throwing it away,” he points out, ever the businessman. Making money and making tech went hand in hand with each other. The government regulates cyberskin as closely as they do pharmaceuticals and weaponry, but that means very little to Connor. “Oh no, I meant you could buy me the materials to make my own cyberskin. It’s trickier than the prosthetic itself, but I’ve made it once before.”

Oddly enough, the materials for cyberskin were much easier to find than one would think. Cheaper, too. A collection of little things that could make something that feels so close to human skin. It fascinates him. “There’s a lot of money to be made refurbishing old tech. Some of it’s outdated and useless, but there’s always good parts to make use of.”​
 
Jude hums, folding his hands behind his head. His blue eyes watch Connor work in silence, occasionally moving to the TV. Materials for the kid to make his own cyberskin. Even that wouldn't be cheap. But if he's going to use Connor to make and sell higher quality prosthetics, especially since he could charge far higher for cyberskinned ones..

After some time, Jude gets up, moving to the kitchen. One thing he has always done is prepare his own food. He was poisoned once as a child, and never wants to repeat that. So he sets to cooking, pulling a package of thick meat cuts from the freezer and laying them out on an oven griller. Once seasoned, into the oven they go, and Jude starts slicing potatoes, carrots, and turnips. Cheaper vegetables that are overly abundant in this area.
 
Connor was working quite happily in silence for a bit. Nothing makes him happier than cybernetics. Creating it, studying it, talking about it. He’s drinking as he does it, one glass turning into two, and then three. The old junk arm is slowly turning into something better. It’s been entirely broken down into separate parts, which he’s methodically combining into the skeleton of a new arm. He’s missing some things, but those will be easier to come by now that he has a steady source of supplies.

By the time he has almost a full, neatly constructed skeleton of an arm, Connor is lightheaded from alcohol. He can’t remember the empty glass was his fourth or fifth drink of whiskey. For as long as he can remember, he’s had issues with drinking, and now is no different.

It’s a problem. It’s a bigger problem when he realizes he doesn’t have enough parts to continue working and decides that Jude is a far worthier subject of his attention. When he stands up, the entire world sways beneath his feet, and he almost topples over. He should show some concern, but it sends him into a fit of soft giggles instead, and he doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around Jude’s waist. He’s a stupid, cuddly and emotional drunk. Always vulnerable, with or without drugs to make him horny. Jude’s chopping vegetables, but Connor wants attention, and he has no sense of danger as he slaps his hands onto the cutting board. “I can cook too,” he says, which is neither a talent nor an accomplishment. He reaches for the blade part of the knife in Jude’s hand with no hesitation. “Gimme, gimme.”​
 
Jude is amused when the drunken boy wraps his arms around his waist. That amusement turns to shock when Conner puts his hands right under the motion of the knife in Jude's hand. Thankfully, Jude has good reflexes. "What the hell, Connor? Are you trying to lose fingers?" Jude's left hand comes up to grab Connor's wrist as he reaches for the blade. "Seriously, you're a dangerous drunk. Dangerous to yourself. No knives for you until you're sober." Jude sighs, shaking his head. He sets the knife down, then takes Connor around the island counter and sits him on one of the two barstools.

"I don't trust you not to tamper with my food, drunk or not. The last thing I need is to be poisoned." Jude returns to slicing, standing back in his original position across from Connor. This way he can keep an eye on the boy. Once that's done, he tosses the carrots and turnips into one pot, the potatoes into another, and sets both to boil. "Besides, you're more likely to burn the food."
 
Connor was self-destructive while sober but especially while drunk. He feels no concern for his own safety, never considers that Jude could have cut him by accident or that he would burn the food in his current state. If he wasn’t with Jude, it would be worse. Normally, he’s always up to something dangerous to his health and well-being. Handling sharp objects while intoxicated, operating dangerous equipment, even wielding a blowtorch once or twice. “I’m not gonna lose fingers,” he slurs, looking at his own hands and wiggling said fingers. “I cook while I’m drunk all the time.”

It’s a good thing Jude takes him over to the barstools and helps him sit down, because he can barely walk let alone climb up on his own. He pouts deeply as Jude returns to the counter and doesn’t stay in place like he should. “I’m not going to poison you,” he sniffs, clumsily sliding off the stool and back onto the floor. Connor is not a violent individual. Not to anyone other than himself, it seems. He steps right back over to where Jude is standing, slips his hands into the front pockets of the man’s jeans, and leans against his back. “I dunno anything about poison.”

Drunk, he’s a mess. He’s dangerous to himself, he’s reckless, he’s clingy, and he’s openly desperate for attention. Any kind of attention, positive or negative. Connor wants to be hugged, kissed and held. He wants to be the center of Jude’s attention. “I’m bored,” he complains, knowing it’s not really what he wants to say. He wants to ask for attention, for Jude to snuggle him, even if it’s brief. There’s nothing in his head to remind him that Jude isn’t necessarily interested in being cuddly with him. “Jude, I’m bored. Cooking is boring.”​
 
Jude is standing at the stove when Connor leans against his back. He has to bite his cheek to keep from reaching when the boy's hands slide into his jeans pockets. The statement that Connor is bored makes Jude snort. "What do you want me to do about it? I'm busy making dinner."

Jude turns, taking a half step to reach back and grab the knife and the small sheaf of chives from beside the cutting board. Then he steps back to the stove, not at all surprised that Connor has followed his movement. He started slicing the chives into the pot with the carrots and turnips. "You know, this isn't a convenient position for cooking I'm going to need to grab a can of sauce in a moment."
 
“Convenience is boring,” Connor says with no real understanding of what Jude is talking about. If anything, he’s just talking to talk with no real concern over his word choice. He does turn and clumsily make his way over to one of the cabinets, though, under the pretense of being helpful. Searches for the jar of sauce in question until he finally comes up with one, raising it above his head in triumph. “I found it!”

He doesn’t bother to try to open it or put it into the food, which is probably lucky for Jude, and simply sets it onto the counter so that he can resume his position of annoyance. Gluing himself to the man’s back, like a drunken little leech, and peeking over his side since he isn’t tall enough to look over his shoulder. Which gives him a good view of Jude’s cybernetic arm. He pats it gently and coos. “I’m going to make you a better arm. It’ll be unique! The only one in the world and the best one ever, so you can brag about it and tell everyone how smart I am for making it!”​
 
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