Work Text:
The fan in Seven’s room made a soft clunking noise once every six seconds. It has remained consistent since the moment Seven moved in despite his best efforts to increase the speed for better air flow. He enjoyed the familiarity of the noise, used it as a timer for his experiments and when he sat on the dusty beat up couch he had stolen, he let the noise lull his mind to simpler times. Right now, however, it felt wrong. Too slow, almost.
Currently, Seven was trying to make some adjustments to the device he had created to alleviate some of Victor’s pain. Well. Less adjustments and more repairs. Really what had Victor been thinking. Of course the combined static from them would short circuit the thing. He shook his head idly as he remembered the incident, mind lingering for a second on how Victor’s strong arms felt around him.
One, two, three, four, five, clink.
The thought was taken from his mind with the noise of the fan, clearing it from his memory. He focused back in on the wires, delicately replacing them and soldering them in place. Victor had left when the sun started to rise, presumably to find food or something. The sun had set again and usually he would be back by now. Seven idly wondered where he was. Maybe he should get a fridge and stock it with some food for the other man.
Two, three, four, five, clink.
Seven once again cleared his mind of the thoughts. Setting his soldering iron down and pushing his chair to the left to his toolbox, digging around for a screwdriver to no avail. Digging all the way to the bottom just revealed a hammer he rarely used. With a sigh, he stood up, looking around the room scanning for the screwdriver. The last time he had used it was when Victor initially short circuited the cuff. His eyes had gotten so wide, the static crackling off his skin lighting his expression in a way that had left Seven with a tight feeling in his chest.
Three, four, five, clink.
The screwdriver had fallen off a box near the switch. He used his foot to nudge it into the open, giving himself enough room to lean down and pick it up. Seven twirled the tool around his fingers, sitting back down and going to work putting the plate he had taken off, back on. With any luck it would be fixed by the time Victor showed back up, and the cadaver would be able to get some relief from the ache he speaks about so often.
Four, five, clink.
With an agitated groan, Seven pushed the now fixed device out of the way. This was becoming absurd. Preposterous. All other manner of words meaning ridiculous. He needed nothing and no one. He needed ascension. And yet. His mind drifts, wanders. It meanders to a space where he and Victor stay in this weird, pleasant limbo. No maelstrom causing rituals, and no life or death.
A pathetic fantasy.
The fan overhead has picked up speed ever so slightly. Normally you wouldn’t notice it, but Seven spent nearly all his time here and had little else to notice. It sounded right again, that odd nagging feeling from the way it was lagging in his mind fading away. The door swung open. He didn’t expect Victor to knock, he had told him to stop in fact, disliking the way the door rattled on its hinges.
“I’m back,” Victor said. Like he lived there, belonged there. Seven couldn’t tell if the tightness in his chest was good or not.
“I fixed the electroshock device,” Seven said, standing and turning away from the other man, not sure if he could handle looking at him in such an enclosed space. The door swung shut with a thud as Victor dropped himself onto the couch. Seven was thankful he sat and pretended to fiddle with something on the cuff before taking a steadying breath and turning to the other man, wordlessly holding his hand out. Victor seemed to get the message and rested his hand in Seven’s, allowing him to affix the cuff and double check all the external wires. Without waiting for him to say anything, Seven crossed the small room to the switch on the wall and flipped it, wincing internally at the grind of the fan slowing, now at a pace that made earlier seem fast. Victor let out a sigh and sunk deeper into the couch, a pleasant expression on his face. The familiar hum of electricity had grown louder and Seven was pointedly not staring at the other man. Instead he walked back over to his chair and started working on a different project. He made a mental note to check in with Victor every ten to fifteen minutes, this tech wasn’t exactly safety tested after all.
That was the plan at least, but six minutes into his work a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, startling him out of his focus.
“What?” He snapped, glancing slightly over his shoulder, which turned out to be a mistake, as Seven was currently naval level. He cleared his throat and refocused his gaze forward. Victor really needed to invest in a shirt.
“Can’t you take a break or somethin’? Don’t you ever relax?” Victor asked, and the way he began gently kneading Seven’s shoulder did not go unnoticed.
“I can do whatever I want. I simply don't need to ‘take a break’ as you say,” Seven retorted. Victor's one handed massage picked up intensity just barely, burning in a way that Seven relished in.
“C’mon, you’ve got a perfectly good couch, well,” he paused, “Perfectly decent couch, and it's not like the Maelstrom is tomorrow, you got plenty of time to finish whatever schemes you have cooking…”
This was dangerous. Victor was an unaccounted for variable. He was unpredictable in a way that Seven couldn’t get enough of. If Seven moved to the couch, about a thousand different outcomes were possible, 85% of which were greatly exciting. But too much excitement is dangerous. Excitement and attraction were a dangerous combination. He had cared once before, he wasn’t sure there was ample reason to make that mistake again. Victor’s thumb dug ever so slightly harder into the meat of Seven’s shoulder. He held back a noise that attempted to escape.
“You’re going to short-circuit the cuff again,” Seven said breathlessly, gripping the edge of the table.
“I took it off before I came over here,” Victor replied in a whisper, bending down and pressing his face into the crook of Seven’s neck. Seven swallowed roughly, taking deep, calculated breaths. “Join me on the couch.” Victor spoke into the other man's neck, sending chills down his spine.
He shouldn’t. It was a dangerous game they played. A precarious line they toed. Seven should deny him. This line in the sand needed to be drawn and upheld. He shouldn’t go to the couch, he shouldn’t relax, he shouldn’t let his guard so far down in front of Victor.
And yet.
He stood, Victor’s hand sliding down from his shoulder to his hand, taking it and dragging Seven down onto the couch with him. Seven lands next to him, head tilted back just slightly to give his headgear space. Victor still had a hold of his hand.
“See. Relaxing,” Victor said, and Seven could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Awfully smug over there,” Seven said, looking over at Victor out of the corner of his vision. Victor was looking at him with… a peculiar look on his face. One that Seven wasn’t fully confident in the meaning of.
“Coming from you?” Victor replied incredulously, releasing Seven’s hand to move it onto his thigh.
“Victor,” Seven said, a warning in his voice. Victor just cocked his head in response, giving his thigh a squeeze.
“Seven,” Victor drawled in a teasing tone.
This was a game. A back and forth. Who would break first? He leveled his gaze at Victor, weighing the options. Give in now and admit defeat, or wait for Victor. For a brief moment he wondered if it was really defeat if he was just getting what he wanted deep down. That train of thought was violently derailed as Victor's hand shifted, inching up Seven’s thigh. He grabbed it roughly, halting the others movements. There was a flash of worry on Victor’s face, and Seven knew he could capitalize on that, tell him he crossed a line and this would end. This unnecessary attachment would be severed. He paused too long however, and the worry was gone, replaced with satisfaction, smugness, even. They both knew why.
Seven had lost. He hates losing.
Well, in for a penny in for a pound, or whatever. Seven shifted, moving quickly, repositioning himself so he was straddling Victor’s waist, knees digging into the rotting cushions beneath them.
“What exactly is your plan here Pinocchio?” Seven questioned, attempting to wrangle control of the situation.
“Pinocchio? Really? That the best you got?” Victor replied, dodging the question and moving his hands up to Seven’s waist.
“Answer the question,” Seven hissed, bringing one hand up to run through Victor’s hair, giving the locks an experimental tug, noting the sharp intake of breath and the way Victor’s eyes darkened. Interesting. If nothing else he was an intriguing study.
“I didn’t really think I’d get this far, bein honest,” Victor replied, smirking. Seven’s jaw tensed at that. He was playing right into Victor’s hands, more so than either of them had clearly expected. Whatever. Seven clearly wasn’t going to be able to regain control in the way he intended, so he’d attempt a different approach.
“Well if I were you, I’d figure something out quickly before I get bored. It’s not everyday you have a future god sitting in your lap,” Seven remarked, satisfied with the effect it had on Victor. His jaw tensed and his eyes darted up and down Seven’s body, pulling the corner of his lower lip between his teeth. Seven just cocked his head in response, waiting for him to make a move. Victor moved slowly, no doubt testing Seven’s patience. Fortunately for both of them Seven could be a very patient man, especially in such an interesting situation. Slowly, carefully, Victor’s hand shifted, moving down Seven’s waist to make his way under his shirt, squeezing the malformed charred skin of his waist gently. He swallowed hard, shifting on Victor’s lap ever so slightly, unused to the way skin to skin contact felt after so long. This seemed to spur the other man on, moving his other hand to join the first beneath Seven’s shirt, but sliding further up to his chest, giving his pec an exploratory squeeze. His breath hitched, the limited touch rapidly becoming not enough. Seven brought his own hand up to Victor’s shoulder, static dancing between the two of them. It provided an extra sensation, one that stung in the most delectable way possible.
“Let me worship you like a good devotee,” Victor whispered, leaning forward to rest his chin on Seven’s sternum, looking up through his eyelashes at the man on his lap. Seven’s mind stalled for a moment, bringing his free hand up to Victor’s cheek, pulling him up to his mouth. He got with the program quickly, kissing Seven as deeply as possible. Seven didn’t really have a mouth, more just an opening that moved slightly. That didn’t seem to deter either of them, Victor still finding a way to shove his tongue into his mouth. His hands shifted to Seven's back, pulling him further up his lap, so they were chest to chest. Victor kissed like a man in the desert finding water, desperate, and needy. Seven loved it. He pulled back to breathe deeply, immediately moving to latch onto Seven’s neck, kissing and biting at the melted skin there. Seven’s hand came up to the back of Victor’s head, gripping his hair tightly, pulling a soft breathy noise from the man savaging his neck. This was probably the closest he had gotten to being worshipped so far, Victor kissing him like his life depended on it, focusing all his attention on Seven.
It was addictive.
“God, Seven. You are…” Victor said, pulling back from Seven neck and resting his forehead on his shoulder, breathing heavily.
“You need no other God than me,” Seven replied, pulling a soft chuckle from Victor.
“Ha, you might be right.” He turned his head so his temple was resting on Seven’s shoulder and he could look up at the man. Victor shifted back to his previous position, bringing a hand up to pull down Sevens collar, granting Victor access to the skin of his shoulder. Pressing soft slow kisses there.
“Victor, I-” A sharp loud banging cut him off. “Fuck,” he said, pushing himself back and standing up, running a hand down his face. He stalked over to the door, throwing it open aggressively.
“Seven, we had to block off one of the northern tunnels. Your little boyfriend needs to be more careful,” Krill said, Mo grumbling something before they stalked off. Seven threw the door shut, turning to where Victor was lounging on the couch. He was sprawled out in his usual laying position, calves and feet dangling off the armrest. The tension in the room had dissipated, and Seven made his way back over to his workbench, pulling something close and mindlessly working on it. The fan was back on pace.
One, two, three, click.