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Last Meal

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They don't speak at first, Marcus standing back silent as Kyle's injuries between LA and Skynet central and back again are tended to. Marcus almost speaks up when the doctor ignores some of the more obvious hurts, her hands skimming over to take care of the bleeding and ignoring the rest. He stops himself before he says something when he realizes she's ignoring the rest because the rest is scar tissue. Old wounds. It bothers him that someone so young could have a body that looked more fucked up than his own. Aged sixteen Kyle Reese had more scars than Marcus Wright did at twenty-eight when they put him down like the rabid dog that he was. Is.

He doesn't even known anymore. what he does know is that John Conner is outside dying, and he has a decision to make. His heart can't take it. As soon as Marcus heard that he knew what he had to do. Conner's wife was with him now, and you didn't bother a man and his wife.

He didn't know where Blair was, didn't much care. That was a woman who could take care of herself, who would go on survivng no matter what the world threw at her. Kyle, Kyle has to be okay. he insisted, keeping a watchful eye until the doctor cleared him and pointed him out so she could deal with the other injured. Marcus crossed the room in a few quick strides and held out a hand to help Kyle up. Left hand, without thinking about it. The skin hadn't grown back yet and Marcus hesitated as he realized this - he was too old for his own body to be shocking him.

While he hesitated though, Kyle didn't. He didn't flinch, reaching out to take Marcus's metal hand with his own flesh and blood one. The metal wasn't without sensors, apparently. He could feel the pressure and the warmth through it.

Marcus helps Kyle up, winds an arm around the young man's waist to give support while they make their way out into the dark of early morning. When they're out behind the complex in what passes for privacy with everyone occupied elsewhere, Kyle leans against the wall. They're facing west, so the sky is a faint hazy blue. Marcus has dim memories of his mother calling it Forget-Me-Not Blue back when his life was normal.

"...They said you came after us yourself." Kyle says first, breaking the silence. He's not looking at Marcus, but at the cloudless sky. The air still smells faintly burned - the fire is no doubt still raging in the factory. "They told me- told me that you weren't letting anything stop you."

Marcus isn't hearing a question asked but he feels like he should answer none the less. He's never been good with this kind of thing. Better at threats, at bravado. And admission of caring is a weakness to exploit.

"...Guess because I wanted to live."

"What?" the expression on Kyle's face reads as clear as his tone. Are you crazy? Attacking Skynet had to be the least likely thing you would do if you had any sense of self preservation. It gets a smirk out of Marcus.

"You said - 'come with me if you want to live'. Guess I wanted to live after all, so I had to keep up with you."

It's stupid and it's sappy and the smile on Kyle's face could light up the whole evening sky even brighter than the nuclear explosion. Marcus has never been good with women. His brother called him a fag a few times because of it, and Marcus is thinking maybe there's some truth to that matter when he sees Kyle smile like that.

Or maybe he's just not thinking at all. He's a dying man - been dying since they locked up up and handed down the sentence. Dying since before Kyle Reese was born. Dying men deserved a last meal.

He was pushing Kyle back against the wall before he knew it, his mouth finding the others and covering it, kissing it, stealing away his breath even as Kyle has only enough time to let out a sound of surprise before he's pushed hard enough against the wall that he can't even struggle. Marcus can feel it now that he bothers with it, the extraordinary senses, his metal frame under the skin that's still there sending acute readings of the amount of pressure Kyle is giving off as he pushes against Marcus's chest and arm. It takes seconds for the pressure if the push to become one of the pull as the younger man wriggles his arms free and uses them not to fight it but to wrap his arms around Marcus's shoulders and pull him close.

They don't have a lot of time. Fuck, this should be more romantic. Marcus thinks to himself as his hands are shoved roughly under the baggy but thin sweater Kyle's got on, undoing the boy's belt with a dexterity that has to be enhanced with how hot and bothered he is from just the desperate kissing. He removes the metal hand first, using it to brace against the wall. The one that's still got skin over it is the one he shoves down the front of the now opened pants, pushing them and the boxers aside until he gets what he was going for. Careful, gentle pressure and Kyle is gasping, pushing hard against him and struggling to hold back making a sound. His lips are red and swollen from their kissing and damn it Marcus just has to kiss them again and again for it. He needs it, he needs to feel wanted, needs to feel and he can go die like a good little martyr for a cause, a good selfless act to make his life meaningful. He just needs to be selfish for a little bit longer, first.

As if reading his mind Kyle's got his hands winding down between them again, pushing Marcus's shirt up, fingertips skirting over exposed metal and hesitating to glance up as if to ask if Marcus can feel that. Marcus kisses him heatedly in response, and all Kyle can do is hold on to Marcus's belt loops and push against his hand for more. As soon as Marcus lets him breathe again his hands are moving, deftly finding every fastening and tugging it open. Marcus has an enhanced nervous system, Kyle just has talent which he gladly displays. Marcus never bothered with underwear before and since he's basically been robbing dead men's clothing he sure as fuck there were limits to robbing the dead. Kyle seems a little surprised somehow, or maybe awkward. He's starting to think about what he's doing and that just won't do. Neither of them have time for second guessing.

Marcus pushes him back again, back so they're close enough that he can easily hold them both in one hand. Kyle gasps and grabs on to Marcus's shoulders, hands fisting in the torn fabric to just hold on as his hips grind into it, pushing against Marcus, against Marcus's hand - he may have a metal skeleton but that part is all human and somehow it seems even more sensitive then it ever was because of it.

Kyle comes first, with a desperate high gasping sound. Marcus kisses him again to swallow any other noises, they're his and his alone. That breath, those faint moans, they'll have to serve as his last meal. Better than what the prison offered.

The younger man is limp and breathing heavily against the wall when Marcus finishes up - still pressed close, still drunk on the body heat and the smell of sex and sweat and the feeling of being alive after what they just went through. He has a feeling that any other time he would pull away quickly, be ashamed, try to rationalize, and he sees doubt start to creep into Kyle's expression. So Marcus presses hard against him again and kisses any protests or doubt from him. The least he can do is make sure he doesn't leave Kyle with that.

They both hear another helicopter landing. The little moment of privacy they had is up. Whatever this is, it's real, I swear. Marcus wants to say, but instead he just kisses Kyle again and squeezes his hand before getting them cleaned up and fit to meet with Conner.