DISCLAIMER: The Bionic Woman and its characters are the property of NBC. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I just really wanted to write bionicporn, even though the show hasn't really explained very well how bionics work. Cheesiness is intentional.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Seconds When She's Shaking
By bank_farter


Jaime misses dreamless sleep. Since the surgery, her dreams are too vivid, too overwhelming. Sometimes, they're not even hers. They're snippets of memories she shouldn't have, and they're coming more and more lately.

The flashes make her twitch and flinch, even in unconsciousness: a truck barreling towards her. A truck barreling towards someone who is not her, but whose eyes she sees through. An amputation. The glow beneath her skin. The chip in her cerebral cortex. Sarah Corvus, smoking, smirking, fighting.

Jaime wakes with a start to find Sarah standing over her, looking too wan for it to be attributed entirely to the moonlight streaming in from the window. She's frowning and staring at the spot just below Jaime's nose, and Jaime swipes at it, feeling warm stickiness coat her fingers. She glares at Sarah.

"What did you do to me?" She keeps her voice low to avoid waking Becca, but the words come out gravelly and more menacing than she intended.

"Oh, sure, blame the 'bad girl,'" Sarah quips, making air quotes with her fingers. There's a tremble in her hands. Subtle: she's trying to control it. But Jaime notices, and Sarah sees that she does. Her voice hardens. "You did it to yourself."

Realization sinks in as her hand drifts to the back of her skull. Her mind flashes to the microchip. "They're not watching," she says softly.

"No," Sarah answers, although it wasn't a question to begin with. She smiles wryly and takes a slow step towards the bed. "All alone with the big bad wolf."

"What do you want?" Jaime tries to sound wary—tough—but she can hear the resignation in her own voice.

"I need your help," replies Sarah, almost softly. She holds up an unsteady hand and steps into the column of light coming in through the window so that Sarah can see the dark bags under her eyes. "There are good days and bad days, and this is one of the bad ones. And I need you to make it stop."

Jaime sucks in a breath. "Sarah, I already told you. I can't—"

"—Go to Anthros with me. I know," Sarah interrupts. "It's crap, but I know." She sits on the edge of the bed and bites her lip. It makes her look small somehow—not like the type of person Jaime would expect to have a double digit body count to her name—but she's not fooled. This is a weak moment, but that's all it is: a moment.

"That's not what I was talking about," Sarah says, after a pause. She lifts her eyes to meet Jaime's, and Jaime can feel something locking between them. It's a surge that extends from her bio-optics all the way down to her belly, and she knows then. She understands Sarah's meaning like it's her own, feels it everywhere all of a sudden, in every part of her body. It makes her feel united somehow—whole for the first time since she became bionic. And she knows it shouldn't because she shouldn't want it. Not like this. Not from Sarah.

But she does.

When Sarah leans forward to crush their lips together, Jaime doesn't fight. At least not in the traditional sense. She grabs Sarah's lapel with her strong arm and pulls her down onto the bed hard enough that the springs groan, but she's not trying to hurt her (much). She doesn't even break the kiss when she rolls them over, and Sarah nips at Jaime's lip and grunts in protest when the brunette straddles her.

"Thought you needed this," Jaime murmurs as she skims her hands up Sarah's arms, pinning her wrists by the headboard. She doesn't kid herself: Sarah could break the grip easily. But Sarah doesn't want to, and Jaime doesn't kid herself about that either.

"I do," Sarah breathes.

"Then this is going to be on my terms." Jaime closes her teeth around the pulse point that she's not even sure is real for emphasis.

"I don't think so," Sarah growls, flipping their positions easily. She runs a hand up Jaime's thigh, and Jaime can feel the machinery—both of their machinery—hum with the touch. And then Sarah's palm is pressing up against the heat between her legs, and Jaime is moaning because it's good and it's everywhere, bionics and flesh working in tandem. It's beautiful. "You need it too," Sarah rasps, her lips millimeters from the ear that Jaime has never thought of as hers until this moment. "You need me."

Jaime says nothing as she presses herself up into Sarah's hand, but she's sure Sarah hears the way her breath catches, the way her heartbeat quickens as she touches her. She can hear everything, even Jaime's thoughts if she focuses hard enough, and Jaime loves it and hates it and wants it all at the same time.

"Not good enough," Sarah purrs as she slides her hand past the elastic of Jaime's pajama pants. "I already know you want it." She grazes her thumb over a hardened nipple and runs her finger over Jaime's wetness for emphasis. "Tell me you need it."

"I—" Jaime's eyes squeeze shut as Sarah's finger teases at her entrance.

"Admit it."

Fine, Jaime thinks, forcing her eyes to meet Sarah's. I need this. We need each other.

I know, Sarah replies. Then, smiling, she slides two fingers into Jaime.

Sarah moves into her so easily that Jaime feels like she should blush, or at least feel wrong about it. And she does, a little. But Sarah moves her fingers, curls them inside of her, and Jaime sees sparks behind her eyelids that remind her of synapses firing. And then some part of her decides that she just shouldn't care anymore because all that matters right now is this, the slip-slide of Sarah's fucking her, taking her, adjusting and fine-tuning the movement of her hand before Jaime can even finish thinking, yes, right there…

It's primal and hot and just perfect, and Jaime has to close her teeth around her knuckle just to keep herself from waking the whole building with the sounds Sarah is drawing out of her. But, when Sarah straddles her thigh, grinds her heat against it in time with her thrusts, not even Jaime's hand can muffle the moan she releases. She arches hard against Sarah, who gasps and pins Jaime's arms with her free hand as she pushes back.

Jaime is so far gone that it takes her a few moments to realize that their movements are making headboard beat a regular rhythm against the wall. She feels a sudden surge of panic.

"Becca," Jaime chokes out. "She'll wake—She can't see th—"

Sarah rolls her eyes and pulls her fingers out quickly, and Jaime opens her mouth to protest. Before she can even make an exasperated noise, though, Sarah is grabbing her shoulders firmly and pushing them both onto the floor.

Jaime lands hard enough to take her breath away, and, for a brief moment, she's not sure if they're fighting or fucking. But then Sarah's inside her again and pressed firm up against her leg, and Jaime is thinking that it's probably both. She feels a surge of guilt when she realizes that that might be what she loves most about it.

The guilt doesn't last, though. Nothing does. Everything is crumbling around her, short circuiting and restarting and firing off brilliant little flashes everywhere. Because Sarah is touching her just there, and circling around where Jaime needs pressure most. And, fuck, Jaime really wishes this could last—that she could last. But Sarah's fingers can move so fast, and her arm doesn't tire, and it's too much, and… and…

Jaime almost bites through her lip as she feels herself teeter over the edge, clenching and spasming around Sarah's hand.

Sarah doesn't slow her movements until a few moments later, when Jaime feels her stiffen and release a choked little breath. It's subtle because Sarah can control herself when she wants to, but Jaime sees, hears, senses everything about it. The flood of moisture between her thighs. The pounding of her heart. The tense/untense of her muscles. The way she thinks fuckyesJaime when she feels the rush of pleasure. Jaime knows all of these things, and it feels like power.

It can't last, though—not between them—and Sarah is upright and studying her own hand as soon as she can manage. The fingers that are still slick with Jaime's essence are steady now, and Sarah smiles a predatory smile at her.


Jaime can't decide if it's sarcastic or genuine, and she sighs as she tries to sit up. "Look, Sara-" she begins, but stops when she realizes it's already too late. The curtains are blowing gently, and she can hear Sarah's footsteps on the sidewalk below, moving farther and farther away.

"Stupid," Jaime murmurs to herself as she forces herself to rise and limp gingerly towards the bed.

When she lies down, she hopes for a dreamless sleep. An hour later, when the covers are bunched at her feet and the clock reads 4:30, she tells herself that any sleep at all would do.

The End

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