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Mechanical Sins ( Lustful Sins & Hocus Pocus )

Jude snorts when Connor stumbles around the kitchen, eventually finding the jar of creamy cheese sauce. And when Connor leans against his back again, Jude hums quietly. He opens the jar of sauce, emptying it into the pot, then adds the turnip and carrot. "You are so drunk. It's no wonder you were so easy to drug last night."

Jude turns up the heat, then puts a lid on the pot. The potatoes are boiling, so he turns that one down a bit, placing a wooden spoon across it to reduce the starch bubbles. Connor's hand on his prosthetic right arm draws his attention, and he steps sideways, then turns in the boy's arms, leaning his hips back against the counter. "I'm counting on it, Connor."
 
Connor barely registers the man’s words for what they are—he knows he should be more upset about being drugged. He is, somewhere deep, deep down, underneath the bubbly haze of his drunken stupor. That’s what he likes about alcohol. He doesn’t have to think anything except what’s in the moment.

The second Jude turns around, Connor’s all over the opportunity to run his hands up and down his arm. Almost lovingly, though the majority of that affection is reserved for the prosthetic itself. “I had a great idea to make an entire, full-body prosthetic a couple years ago. You’d need surgery, but it would be awesome.”
 
Jude tilts his head, sighing as Connor does on his arm. He's not surprised, but jeez, this boy really fixates. Jude flexes his fingers, the red honeycomb cyberskin sliding under Connor's fingers. When the boy mentions a full body prosthetic, Jude grimaces. "That sounds awful. Trapped completely in a suit of steel and cyberskin? Sure, cyberskin lets the wearer feel pressure, heat, and cold. But there's no tingle. There's no goosebumps, or that faint transfer of electric shock at the touch of another. I'd hate a body like that."

Jude shakes his head, frowning as he states down at his arm held in Connor's fingers. Jude is happy to have his high tech prosthetic, but there's always the memory of why it's there. The lingering regret of not doing something different to avoid needing one. People get prosthetics out of need or greed, not looks.
 
“No, not that kind of prosthetic. Not steel, anyway. A couple years back, there was a bit of backlash from the top cyberskin producer in the country. The government covered it up pretty well, but they were trying to invest in prosthetics that were more life-like. More like nervous and dermal systems, but made from things like cyberskin,” Connor hums and it’s a very quiet ramble, lost in his own head. It takes him a minute to blink out of it and look back up at Jude, the man’s arm hugged affectionately to his chest.

He loves prosthetics and mechanics, because machines never hurt him. When he cut himself or hurt himself during work, it was his own fault. The machinery never actively sought to cause him harm—it just existed. “I had a friend of a friend dig around in their private archive before they amped up security protocols. They had all these beautiful diagrams and blueprints, Jude. Life-size androids that looked human! Full suits of prosthetics for people who get into horrific accidents or people who are dying.”
 
Jude presses his lips into a thin line, listening. When Connor stops talking, Jude pulls his arm away gently. He turns his back, lifting the lid on the sauce pot. He's silent, stirring the contents. When he speaks, his voice is tense. "Maybe for someone bedridden or dying, that would be a solution. But don't ever suggest that for me again. Understand?"

Jude takes a deep breath, then moves about to get a collander, draining the water from the potatoes. Then he locates a masher, setting to squashing the potatoes in the pot. "Go get the milk and butter from the fridge."
 
The tense, serious command for Connor never to bring up the idea shakes him right out of his head. He looks at Jude and remembers exactly why he doesn’t share his thoughts when he’s sober. People don’t love artificial creations the way he does. They like their bodies—they don’t like that they need prosthetics in the first place. They would rather have their original body parts back. He doesn’t get it. What’s so great about being human? Being soft and delicate, weak and vulnerable? Trapped in a shell that will eventually rot and fade?

Connor would trade it for something mechanical in a heartbeat.

“Okay,” he says softly and he drops the subject, just like that, as he moves over to the fridge in search of the necessary ingredients. He knows better than to keep talking, even drunk. Doesn’t want to risk an unnecessary slap or kick. When he returns with the milk and butter, he sets both on the counter, and hesitates. He doesn’t want to cling to Jude anymore, so he goes back to his original spot in the living room. Back to where he can put his focus on screws and bolts that will never judge him, because they have no feelings to judge with.
 
Jude adds milk and butter to the potatoes, stirring them into a creamy mass. He can tell the mood has shifted, but doesn't make any attempt to fix it. Drunk or not, Jude isn't going to pander to Connor's whims. He bends and pulls the pan of pork chops out of the oven, setting it on the stove. Then he turns off the oven and both stove burners.

"How much do you want?" Jude starts by plating his own food, then looks over his shoulder at Connor. When the boy doesn't answer, Jude sighs again and fixes a plate for him. He walks over with both, setting the plate down on the coffee table before sitting on the couch. "Eat, before it gets cold."
 
Jude doesn’t pander to Connor’s whims and the boys is extremely disappointed by that. He wants the man to react the way he’s used to. Men will do almost anything to please Connor, if it means getting what they want. Not Jude, it seems, and he pouts over it. The food is something he grimaces at. Connor doesn’t want it. Well, he wants to push it away. Maybe throw it across the room. He wants to be a brat and throw a fit, make Jude’s night horrible by ruining the carpet or smashing a hole in the wall.

That’s the behavior he’s so used to seeing other people show when they want something. Truth be told, though, he doesn’t know what wants and he doesn’t want to make Jude angry. So he picks at the food and takes a tiny bite, makes a face, and pushes the plate away. It’s not bad, but he doesn’t want it. He wants to go home. He wants his best friend’s homemade macaroni and cheese. Wants cake for dessert and to watch bad science fiction films while they curl up on the couch together.

“Why can’t I go home?” He asks as he stabs his food, pouting into the plate. “You’ll get your prosthetics. You can call me over whenever you want to fuck. I don’t get why I have to stay here.”
 
Jude watches Connor pick at his food, eating his own contentedly. When Connor asks about going home, Jude hums, sticking another forkful of potatoes in his mouth. He doesn't reply until he has finished his entire meal. "You're staying here because I don't trust you not to try and get the collar off in some dangerous manner."

Jude sets his plate down, then moves around the coffee table. Carefully, he moves aside the work in progress prosthetic, then sits on the coffee table in front of Connor, one leg on either side of him. "You need to eat. Here." Jude takes away the fork, the picks up a piece of meat with it and holds it in front of Connor's lips.
 
Connor grumbles wordlessly under his breath. What is going to do, take a knife to his own throat? No way. He wants the collar off, but he doesn’t want to die. Either way, it’s clear he isn’t getting out of this place no matter how badly he wants to.

When Jude seats himself on the table and offers him the fork, he makes another face. Turns away with a small sniff. “No. I don’t want it,” he decides, childish and immature. He’s being ridiculous and he knows it, but right now, it’s all he can do. In Jude’s home, under his control, he’s powerless.
 
"Connor you're going to make yourself sick if you don't eat. Not to mention the hangover you'll get." Jude pokes the meat against Connor's lips. When the boy intends to continue being childish, Jude growls. He let's the fork clatter to the plate, standing up. "Fine, if you won't eat this, I'll give you something else."

Jude walks to the bar, bending down behind it. There's a small safe beneath the bar, but Connor likely wouldn't have noticed. Straightening, Jude grabs a fresh bottle of whiskey. Then he returns to sitting on the coffee table in front of Connor, setting the bottle beside him. Jude's left hand, cold from the bottle, grips Connor's jaw tightly, turning his head to look up at him. The moment Connor tries to protest, Jude's cyberskin fingers push something small under Connor's tongue; a Syn tablet. His left hand adjusts its grip, covering Connor's mouth and holding it closed. Whether the boy swallow or not doesn't matter, it would dissolve and absorb in a matter of seconds.
 
Connor can’t imagine what Jude is rummaging around for. He doesn’t suspect it’s anything too bad, but he’s wrong. When his face is being grabbed, he struggles, and he tries to bite the fingers that shove their way into his mouth. He doesn’t succeed and he manages not to swallow, so he thinks he’s won. Whatever it was is gone though, dissolved into his mouth, and he coughs the moment he’s free. “What the hell? What’s wrong with you?”

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and tries to clear his throat of the bad, tingly feeling that Jude’s fingers left behind. Coughs and fails to do so, unable to get rid of it. His entire mouth feels warm and that tingly sensation just gets worse. Spreads further, until his entire head feels dizzy. It’s strange but slightly familiar—though he doesn’t connect the dots like he should. Connor leans his face against Jude’s knee, eyes half-closed and panting.

“What’d you do?” The question leaves his mouth in a slur, everything feels too hot and too much all at once.
 
Jude stares, folding his arms over his chest. He watches in silence until Connor's face flushes. Then he smirks down at the boy, watching his head droop to rest on his knee. "Satisfying to see you're not a one time high." Jude's fingers thread through Connor's hair, toying with it. "I gave you Syn again."

Jude plays his fingertips across Connor's cheek, along his neck, dipping into the back of his shirt. "There's a good boy. Relax, I'll take good care of you, just like last night." Jude's prosthetic hand grips Connor's short and pulls it up his back, bunching it at his shoulders. "Do you want this off?"
 
The fingers in his hair feel nice. Connor hears the familiar word syn and knows he should be more upset. He’s been drugged again, this time right in front of his own eyes, and he’s still powerless to stop it. The substance has already wracked his body, moved through his blood stream like poison. It’s impossible to fight the call of his own body’s forced arousal. Every touch to his skin sets him on fire. “Off, off,” he agrees, less fight than there had been the previous night. Maybe it’s the amount of alcohol in his body or already knowing what’s going to happen. Whatever the reason, he eagerly lets the man take of his shirt.

Naked from the waist up, Connor fits himself into the space between the man’s legs, and rubs his face against Jude’s lower stomach. He doesn’t feel good—he feels broken and desperate, for any and all contact. A touch, a kiss, a graze of their hands. He would take anything right now or nothing. “Jude, please,” he begs in a whimper. “Please. It doesn’t feel good. I don’t feel good.”
 
Jude complies, lifting his hand from Connor's hair to strip off his shirt. He shifts his feet when the boy moves closer, his legs more or less folded around the boy. "Don't feel good? I said you should have eaten. But I'll make you feel better."

Jude rubs his hands up and down Connor's back, across his shoulders, through his hair. Teasing the drugged boy with casual touches. Of course he wants Connor to be needy, because the more needy the boy is, the more dependent he will be. And Jude needs him to be dependent, so that he's loyal. "Is that better?"
 
Needy is exactly what Connor is. He pushes back into the touches across his back and shoulders, arches into every casual brush of a hand across his body. They aren’t necessarily sexual, but it doesn’t matter. A touch is a touch. “Better, better,” he answers in a soft sight, nuzzles his face into the man’s abdomen.

He’s hot, though, and impatient. Doesn’t wait for Jude to take off the rest of his clothes. He wiggles out of his shorts clumsily, kicks them away, and resumes his place between the man’s legs. “Jude, I’m hot. It’s so hot.”
 
Jude tilts his head, continuing to run his hands along Connor's skin. He likes the boy like this, soft and puppy-like, instead of bitter. When Connor shuffles out of his remaining clothing, complaining of being hot, Jude hums. "I know, Connor."

Every motion of Connor nuzzling into Jude's abdomen stirs his libido. Though, it never takes much to make Jude horny. He slides his left hand into the boy's hair, pulling his head up. His right hand cups Connor's jaw, thumb brushing his lower lip.
 
There’s no bite to Connor when he’s drugged like this. He’s soft and needy, compliant and eager to obey. Exactly what Jude wants from him. He’ll do anything for the slightest touch, no matter what it is, and nothing else matters. He opens his mouth as a hand cups his jaw, panting, and whines softly. His tongue swipes over Jude’s thumb, elbows resting on the man’s thighs, and he tries to wiggle closer.

“Hold me,” he pleads, so desperate for the contact that he could cry. His arms raise, making grabby motions for Jude’s shoulders. Wants to be held and cuddled, to sit in his lap and feel wanted. Syn makes him as clingy as it does needy. “Please. Wanna be held. Please, Jude. Please.”
 
Jude's thumb presses on Connor's tongue briefly, before releasing his jaw to slide his hands along the boy's arms. Down his naked body, over his hips, to grasp his round ass. This is how he lifts the boy standing.

Jude doesn't go far. The couch is more comfortable than the coffee table. Jude sits down with Connor on his lap, head leaning forward to bite Connor's lip. His hands knead the soft flesh of Connor's ass, encouraging him to roll his hips.
 
Connor makes a noise of surprise when he’s lifted off the floor, but he doesn’t protest. He’s more than happy to sit in the man’s lap, moans at the way his lip is bitten and the flesh of his ass is being kneaded between warm hands. Without much prompting, he eagerly rolls his hips down against Jude’s lap, grinding clumsily against the fabric of his clothes. Hard and leaking, desperate for the smallest amount of delicious friction.

His hands curl around the man’s neck and he sloppily kisses him, panting and making small noises of pleasure. Syn isn’t a permanent solution to his bad attitude. He can’t reasonably take it every day without horrible side effects. But it turns him into a slutty mess, a needy little plaything ready to obey Jude’s every whim. When the boy feels a hard length underneath his body, he acts on his own to position his ass over it, until he’s humping Jude’s leg like an animal. “Miss you,” he whines, knows how wonderful it had felt the night before to have that cock inside of himself. “Need you, need you please.”
 
Jude groans when Connor eagerly grinds his ass down on his cock. His fingers dig into Connor's soft flesh. And the boy's words only serve to make him harder. He urges the boy up on his knees, mouth moving to bite and suck at Connor's nipple. He uses this to distract the boy while he shimmies out of his sweats.

Then Jude brings Connor back down, closer, so his cock slides along the crease of the boy's ass. Jude had intended on toying with Connor, then carrying him back to the bedroom. But Connor is too irresistible. There's no lube here, so Jude brings his cyberskin fingers up to Connor's mouth, sliding two fingers in. "You need to wet them first."
 
A moan fills the room as Connor’s nipple is given some much needed attention. It only causes him to grind his hips faster, would have driven himself right to a climax if it weren’t for Jude’s order. He leans forward and takes both fingers into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around them, getting them wet, and paying as close attention to them as he would the man’s cock.

He doesn’t care that using no lube is going to hurt. Doesn’t care that he’ll regret it in the morning. The syn makes him horny, sets his body on fire, and leaves no room to think about anything else. He just wants Jude.
 
Jude bites his own lower lip as he watches Connor lick and suck at his fingers. He growls, left hand grasping and kneading Connor's ass. "Good boy, just like that. Shall we make you feel better now?" Jude pulls his fingers from Connor's mouth, bringing them down behind him.

Jude's saliva slicked cyberskin fingers press deeply into Connor's body. Spreading slightly, he rubs them against Connor's inner walls. Jude's mouth brushes along Connor's jaw, licking and biting his skin. "Come on, Connor. Let me hear you moan."
 
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