A/N: Just a random idea that plopped into my head one day. Really, 007 needs more love!
Oh, and if you think that the rating should be higher, feel free to tell me. But there's only mentioning of a lemon, so I think it should be okay.
Disclaimer: I do not own Cyborg 009 or anything that relates to it.
007 used to be human.
A famous actor named Great Britain, the be exact. His love for theater was rivaled only by his love for alcohol and women. All of which he enjoyed indulging in, one right after the other. The rush he got from each activity made his head spin.
The adrenaline he got from acting, the warmth of liquor coursing through his body, and the feel of a woman's skin against his ghosting fingertips. Oh how he just loved waking up the day after a performance, a hangover pounding the back of his eyelids and the gentle caresses of the woman against him.
007 is now a cyborg.
Instead of blood coursing through his veins there's an red oil. His bones aren't really bones, just changeable fibers stuck together. His skin is just a layer of protection, although it has lost it's human like abilities so he can mold himself like play dough.
Circuits and wires run just below the surface of his 'skin' and he's amazed at times that he can still feel pain. He's astounded, proud, and ashamed of his powers all at the same time.
007 still has needs.
Which is why he found himself in the back row of the theater located in the middle of Francoise's old hometown. The team had settled down in France and none where eager to pass up a chance at a well deserved rest. The theater itself was rather small, only enough to fit a house of fifty people. But, he noted, the actors made up for the size with their incredible performance.
007 sunk back into the cushioned seat, transfixed in the way the small troop presented themselves as characters from Shakespeare play Julius Ceaser. From experience he knew how hard it could be, filling up all of the parts, but the ten manned- three womened group pulled it off without a hitch.
When the act five ended, the curtains drawn closed and actors taking bows, 007 stood up to clap before walking out. His feet carried him across the street to a dimly lit bar. Instinct brought him straight to the counter and made him order a favored tonic to warm his chilled bones.
Gingerly nursing his drink, 007 let his eyes wander to the other occupants of the room. A few couples, some older looking men talking loudly in the back. Finding none of them to his interest, 007 turned back. He lifted his cup to finish off his drink when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure come in. One of the actresses from the previous play had taken the seat one down from himself.
She was pretty average, 007 thought to himself as he ordered another drink. Her brown hair was cut short and flared slightly in the back and her face was a pale, porcelain marred only by a few freckles. Without a second thought he turned and started up a conversation with her.
Time ticked by, drink after drink being bought by both 007 and the girl, whose name he didn't catch in his state of mind. A small smirk tugged on his lips as the inebriated girl was swayed by his manner, her flirtatious behavior enhanced by the beer she drank. It was no surprise to him that he left with her wrapped around his arm and an invitation to her apartment.
A sensation he would never forget, the feeling of smooth skin against his own. The way lips would brush against his neck, fingertips exploring his body. Even in a drunken state he managed to pull out moans, his fingers always finding that one spot, his kisses evoking begs and pleads.
After the deed was done, 007 collapsed next to his companion's warm, fleshy body with his arms flung nonchalantly around her waist. His heart raced, pumping the oil-slick blood to each place on his body, his artificial lungs panting hard.
007 might be a cyborg, but he still needs human pleasures.