"Almost Like," Bijou/Digital Devil Saga (Heat/Jet)
Title: Almost Like Author: Laylah Rating: not worksafe Warning: DDS2 spoilers of the "where Heat is and what he's doing during the early game" variety. Word count: ~1700 Prompt: Heat/??? - unbridled passion - exactly what he needs A/N: This wound up twisting the prompt and having a lot more wistfulness in it than I planned on. er. ...Also, here's everything you need to know about the Bijou for it: The Bijou is a very fancy boy whorehouse. Yeah, that should do it.
*
Nobody talks about the house openly, but everyone in Karma City knows it's there. It was the first profession, the madam is fond of saying, and now it looks as though it will be one of the last, as well. The Society soldiers gossip about her, about the shamelessness that makes her wear her dresses cut so low that the legs of the Black Widow atma are visible between her breasts. You can't trust a woman like that, they say, though they're careful not to say that too loudly or any place where Cuvier or Angel might hear.
The don't say any of it to Heat -- they don't talk to him any more than they have to -- but he more or less gets the idea. People go to this house to hire other people to give them pleasure. It sounds pretty frivolous to him, really, or at least he thinks so at first. But it's exhausting and it sucks, being treated like a traitor waiting to happen, not having anyone he can call a comrade, not being able to really help Sera, when she clearly needs it so bad. After a while the idea of anyone trying to make him feel better starts to sound pretty appealing, even if he'd have to pay for it.
Fuck, what else is he doing with his money, right? The Society takes care of everything else.
So Heat winds up in the old quarter of Karma City when he gets himself a little time off-duty, and it turns out it's not hard to find this Bijou place at all. There are red lights outside, and the doors open smoothly when he walks up to them, and there are guards on duty inside -- two big guys with matching black atma streaked down either side of their faces -- but they don't give him any shit. The madam comes to meet him, heels clicking on the shining black floor, her hips swaying as she walks. Her dress is red, dark like the blood from a deep vein, and she smiles when she sees him but it's as cold as anything in the lab.
"Welcome to the Bijou," she says. "It's rare that we see a soldier of such rank here. What can I offer you this evening?"
"I --" Heat tries not to act as uncomfortable as he is. He doesn't know what his options are. "What do you have?"
The madam gestures toward the screens on the wall, and they flicker on, showing him -- people. Maybe a dozen different guys, different poses, different hair and skin colors, all of them naked. The images cycle slowly. "Which would you like?" the madam asks. The display changes so instead of a bunch of guys at once, each screen shows a different picture of the same person. First there's a blond boy, his atma low on his back. Then there's a dark-skinned boy who's almost as flexible as a naga. Then one with red hair in a long braid.
"How am I supposed to choose based on -- wait, stop," Heat says. The screen freezes. The boy he's staring at is slender, black-haired, with dark eyes and a serious expression. He looks like --
"Jet," the madam says. She reaches for the panel beside the monitors. "Would you like him to take care of you?"
Heat nods. "Yeah," he says. He feels a little like he's being fucked with, but it hurts less than the way the Society types do it.
The madam takes his karma ring, runs it through a machine that subtracts a ridiculous amount from the number that represents how useful the Society thinks he is. Heat doesn't really care. He keeps looking at the still images of the black-haired boy.
After the transaction's done, the madam hands his karma ring back. A door opens behind her and the black-haired boy is standing there, naked, just like in his pictures. "Jet," the madam says. "You have a visitor."
The boy smiles -- and that looks fucking weird, because nobody looks at Heat like that -- and says, "Please, come in."
Heat follows him down the hallway, staring at the atma on the back of his shoulder, wondering what he looks like when he changes. Black and gray, Heat thinks. It should be black and gray, mostly.
Jet leads him into a small room that doesn't have much in it besides a bed. "What should I call you?" he asks.
"Heat." This close he can smell the scent that clings to Jet's skin, a little blood and more of other fluids, and a cool-water sweetness that must come from his atma. It's a good scent, something he can taste at the back of his throat.
"What would you like, Heat?" Jet asks. He takes a step closer.
"I don't know," Heat says, and tries to keep the growl out of his voice. Having Jet this close makes him think of Sera, in their second base, the softness of her mouth and -- but that went badly. He can sort of remember other things like that, from his other life, the one Madame Cuvier showed him on video. None of those memories are clear or satisfying. He tries to push them out of his head most of the time.
Jet reaches up slowly, like he's trying not to make any sudden moves -- like he's used to not pissing off other guys and waking their atma up -- and wraps his arms around the back of Heat's neck. "Then let's start here," he says, and stretches up on his toes to kiss Heat's mouth.
He tastes like rain, like the chilling sweetness of bufu, the way Heat figures Ser -- no. He tastes good, and he leans in closer when Heat's tongue presses past his lips, and he doesn't cry. It feels...Heat doesn't have words for it, not good ones. It's like being hungry, but not -- he doesn't think devouring would fix this. It's a different kind of ache.
When he pulls back he's breathless as if he's been fighting. "I want," he says, watching Jet's eyes for clues. "I want to --"
"That's what I'm here for," Jet says when he doesn't finish, and that's maybe a little weird -- Heat's had about enough of people telling him what he's for -- but Jet doesn't act like it's a burden. "Will you undress?" His fingers brush Heat's face. "It feels good, skin against skin."
Heat nods. He's supposed to know that already, isn't he? Normal people would. Jet's not a dick about it, though. Heat unlatches the plates of his body armor and Jet helps him peel it off. It feels weird to be without it, and Heat's not sure if that's because he's not used to it or because he was programmed that way. Fuck that. He pulls at the seam where his under-armor seals, and shrugs out of it. Jet is watching him like he's done something right and he wishes -- no, that's only making him crazy, isn't it?
"Come here," Jet says once Heat has stripped completely, reaching out to pull him toward the bed. "You want to fuck me?" he asks. He smiles a little, like -- like they're sharing something. "Most people don't trust us to suck their cocks anymore."
The idea startles a little laugh out of Heat before he realizes he's going to do it. He stretches out beside Jet on the bed, leans in close and breathes deep. Bare skin does feel good. "I don't think I've ever done this before," he says. Not so it counts. Not so it's him.
"That's fine," Jet says. "I can show you." He reaches across Heat for a pump bottle on the table beside the bed, squeezes some thick clear liquid out of it onto his fingers. "Here," he says, and straddles Heat as he reaches back behind himself.
Agni growls, and the Fireball on Heat's arm pulses with warmth, but this isn't a battle and Jet isn't offering him a challenge. Heat watches Jet's shoulder move, makes a low sound in his throat when Jet leans forward and rocks against his cock. He holds on to Jet's thighs and pushes up himself, and the friction makes him hungry-not-hungry all over again.
"There, see?" Jet says. "You know what you're doing." He shifts, crawls a little further up Heat's body, and his fingers are sticky-wet when they close around Heat's cock. "Now push right here," he says, ad Heat does, and Jet's body opens tight and hot for Heat's cock and no memory could be this good, could make him feel like this. Heat pushes until he can't go any deeper, and Jet arches above him, slim and smooth and trembling, and the next push is Agni, taking, driving hard. Jet's lips part like he has more to say, and Heat reaches up without thinking to press his fingers to Jet's mouth.
"Can you -- can I ask you to not talk?" he says. he can't tell if wanting that makes him more or less of a traitor.
Jet nods, licks his fingers, and rocks down onto Heat's cock. He moves fast, rough, and Heat swallows the curses that rise to his lips. He's going to say the wrong name if he speaks now. Jet takes Heat's fingers in his mouth, sucking, and his teeth scrape -- and power flares in between them, crackling on the air, raw magic that sharpens Heat's senses and darkens everything around him except Jet's blood warmth -- his other arm shifts and stretches, re-forming, and then he's wrapping Agni's claws around Jet's back -- and Jet's looking down at him through eyes gone golden instead of dark, flexing black-banded legs to hold tight to Heat's waist. He opens his mouth, and his teeth are sharp when Heat pulls his fingers back, sharp enough to catch skin and draw blood.
It's good, though, blood and all, Agni's voice less a growl and more a purr in the back of his head, Jet moving with him and holding onto him and almost like -- almost --
This isn't the same as having his comrades back, but just for right now, it's enough.