DISCLAIMER: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and its characters are the propert of James Cameron and Fox. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Big thanks to ralst and ncruuk for the assist as I struggled, mightly, to get Sarah’s voice right. And since this is my first attempt at the fandom, please, criticism, constructive or otherwise, is appreciated.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SERIES: First part of the Mixed Emotions series.
Stating the Obvious
By zennie
"You are upset." The words are said without emotion, without empathy, in a flat monotone. A statement of fact, no more, no less.
"You don't say." The words match the monotone, if not the lack the emotion. Sarah stands with her back to Cameron, her hands braced on the kitchen counter. She is determined not to look at the terminator. She needs distance, time: time to decompress, time to settle the emotions of their narrow escape, and especially distance, from terminators, of all stripes.
"Why are you upset?" Cameron is curious, she's always curious, but Sarah doesn't answer; the last thing she needs right now is yet another round of 'teach Cameron about human emotions'. She may not have signed up to be 'the mother of the future leader of humanity', but she's gotten used to it, but there's no way in hell she's going to play nanny to a terminator with stunted emotional growth to boot.
There's a hand on her shoulder, the artificial warmth of human tissue over metal alloy burning into her skin. A second later, the hand is removed.
"I was wrong." There is a pause, one of those funny pauses in which Sarah imagines she can almost hear the whirl of the gears spinning as Cameron analyzes the data and formulates a response. "You are not upset. You are aroused."
"Get out."
"I can help."
Sarah snorts. "You have a vibrator extension on one of those metal fingers?" The joke falls, leaden, even to her own ears.
"No." Cameron takes the question seriously, as she always does. Her face is impassive, almost slack. "I can…"
"You can stay the hell away from me is what you can do," Sarah spins to face the terminator, angry now.
Cameron's eyes flick over her face, and Sarah wonders what data points are being analyzed: the blush in her cheeks, the tempo of her respiration, the dark look of lust and longing she knows must show in her eyes.
Cameron catches Sarah's hand and lays it to rest just above her breast, the swell moving up and down with completely superfluous breath. Sarah can feel a fabricated heartbeat underneath her fingers, beating at a frantic speed. She tries to pull her hand away, but Cameron has a tight grip on her wrist and won't let go. "I am aroused too."
"You're a robot. You can't be aroused."
"I'm not a robot, I'm a cybernetic organism. I have living tissue and…"
"Why?" The question is said quietly and it stops Cameron's recitation of the technical specifications of her construction.
"I desire you."
"You can't feel desire."
"I am not a robot." Although said in a monotone, the tension in the slight frame is apparent to Sarah. It is as close to shouting as Cameron can get. "I feel; I have emotions."
Sarah pulls her hand from Cameron's grip, losing some skin in the process. She knows she is sinking, flailing and floundering under the immense weight she carries, and she strikes out, at the nearest, most convenient target.
Pushing the deceptively slight frame back against the counter, Sarah overcomes the terminator, a pretense, she knows. She feels the cloth rend under her fingers as she rips Cameron's boxers away from her body, exposing her. Sarah is brutal as she parts Cameron's legs, but she doesn't care. She is surprised to find the proper equipment, even more surprised to find wetness greet her fingers as she plunges them in. "Can you feel that?" The question has the ring of a taunt, a challenge.
"Yes." Cameron's reply is breathless as her body moves to the rhythm of Sarah's hand. Sarah glances at her face, the eyes closed, head thrown back, and she realizes how utterly inappropriate this is; it feels wrong, it feels like rape. A terminator, a sentient being, a killing machine, a young woman; Sarah doesn't know what she sees anymore when she looks at Cameron.
In one move, Sarah withdraws her hand and steps back, running into the counter behind her. She doesn't know what to do with her hand, slick and still coated with Cameron's wetness. "I…"
Cameron's eyes blink open, the look on her face a study of arousal, confusion, and vulnerability. "Don't stop." She catches Sarah's hand, pulls her close, places it back between her legs. "Please."
And because Cameron asked and because she started it, Sarah continues, bracing herself against the counter and wrapping an arm around Cameron as she slides her fingers back in. She is gentler this time, slower, watching the play of sensations on Cameron's face. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth and her eyes are closed again. The expression on Cameron's face is introspective, as if she is thinking very hard about what's happening to her body and analyzing every sensation. Suddenly, her mouth opens in a perfect, round O and her whole body tenses. Cameron's orgasm is wordless, a cascade of tremors rippling outward from her core to envelope her wholly, bodily.
Cameron drops her head forward to rest in the crook of Sarah's neck, instinctively snuggling into the older woman, and Sarah can feel the dampness of sweat against her cheek as she tightens her hold. Sarah wonders if Cameron has ever done this before, but how does one ask a killing machine sent from the future about her sexual history? And she simply refuses to consider why she cares so much. And when Cameron looks at her with sleepy, satiated eyes and tells her, again, "I can help," Sarah lets herself be led into the bedroom.
The End