Hi guys, a couple things to say before you enjoy the short story before you.

First, this story deals with two males in a sexual relationship. If that's not your thing, you might not want to read any further.

Secondly, the language in this story is very coarse. If you don't like your men sounding like sailors, then you shouldn't read this, either.

Third, there's a bit of graphic imagery, implied sex, and hints of ideologically sensitive material.

Otherwise, if you think you could handle everything aforementioned, please, read on.

-Allie

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Cyborg 009 nor any of its characters mentioned within the story. I'm just a fan who enjoys writing and I make no profit off of this whatsoever.

"Get the fuck outta my face, you pinko-fucking-commie!"

The words were so harsh, they even stung as they left my lips.

I didn't know I could be so cruel. But I didn't regret a single syllable. He deserved it.

He just looked up at me from where he was propped against the wall. He didn't say a word. He just stared.

Even though I had just screamed into his face, he was still perfectly calm. It's like it didn't even bother him.

And that's what pissed me off the most. How he could be so calm?

I felt nails dig into my palms as I tightened the death-grip my fists had balled themselves into. It stung. Badly. But I could really care less.

I felt like hitting him. The thought of landing a fist square into that pasty face never felt so good. I wondered if those eyes would smash as easily as glass. I was sorely tempted to try.

Or maybe it'd just leave him with one nasty shiner. It'd be something to laugh at later, when insults would hurt the most. Or maybe I should just walk away.

Punch a wall or something.

I needed some kind of release. At this point, I didn't care how.

The man in front of me slowly, calmly, parted his lips to speak,The words coming out in a dry, almost nonchalant way.

"You need to calm down before you do something irrational, Jet".

And he just continued to prop himself against the wall.

"You're a Bastard", I spat.

My antagonist cocked his head; his soft, white hair followed with a flick.

"Really, you're overreacting. Can I help you with anything?"

I curled my lip back in disgust and snarled.

"Yeah, You can. You can go fuck yourself."

More biting words.

And no obvious signs of damage. Not even a flinch. Only silence.

It stung more than any words he could have flung back at me. And despite the fact it was silence, It echoed through my ears, into my head, and reverberated throughout my body as it shattered my pride.

I don't know why it hurt so bad. But it did, and now I needed to hurt him back.

I felt the knife twist in my gut. Insults and retorts clawed at my vocal chords, just waiting for me to spit them out. But I couldn't.

I only choked on them. I truly had no rebuttal to his wordlessness.

His glassy eyes locked with mine. A small grin slowly upturned in the corner of his mouth. He let out a light, airy laugh.

"No, Jet, I can't do that. But really, what's wrong?"

I can't fucking believe this guy. Seriously?

"Are you for fucking real?" blurted out of my mouth, naturally. I wish I could control it sometimes.

His grin melted into a full smile. Was he just screwing with me now?

"For real. Coffee? You could talk it out. I'm here to listen."

Normally, that worked with me.

But not this time.

I lost myself at that point. I picked my foot off the ground and lodged it as hard as I could into the wall.

I pretended it was his skull. The knife wrenched in my gut again. I felt sick. I had to scream.

"Fuck!"

The words rang out through the empty hall, yet the only person there to hear them was him.

I was wasting my breath. It felt like I had already done this before. There was a pulsing in my temples, but it couldn't have been blood. Black Ghost took that away from me a long time ago. I didn't know what I was feeling.

The silver eyed man in front of me leaned off of the wall, his grin absent. His fringe hid his eyes.

The hall light made his skin pallid. He approached me, but I only turned a cold shoulder.

"Wait, Jet...". He extended his hand towards me. A comforting gesture. I wanted to be there again, badly, but I was too stubborn to give in.

I didn't even give Albert the chance to open his mouth again.

I was already out the door.

What was I doing?

What was I thinking?

One comment and my world fell to pieces. I felt its heaviness crushing me. Ebbing at my thoughts.

I wanted to surface again, but it was too late.

I was already drowning.

I took one last drag on my cigarette before I probed my pocket for the carton and lighter. I chain-lit the next and snubbed the old one out on the curb in the rain water.

The conversation I had just moments before basked in my anguish as it replayed itself over and over again in my mind.

I paced the gutter. I soaked in the New York lights and the rain and the noise as I tried to erase the scene from my thoughts, but it was too tenacious to go quietly. Not even my home town could quell my anxious mind.

I always wondered why I had such a bad habit of holding on to bitter memories.

Maybe it's because they're all I have left.

Or maybe it's because he always has such good memories.

Or does he really not have good memories either?

Maybe it's that he made them sound so good.

So good that I realised all I could do were make mine horrible.

He was a nazi youth. He was forced to fight for a cause he never believed in. He lost his most important person in the world. He lost his humanity.

But he made his life seem so incredible. Like he was literally the happiest man in the world. It's kind of amazing, really. I wish I could do the same.

And here I am scapegoating my actions on the fact I was just a dumb, punk-ass kid. Here I am saying that because Black Ghost took everything, I have nothing.

And here's Albert saying that even though he has nothing, he has everything.

I let the rain slide down the bridge of my nose, past my lips and down my chin. It didn't bother me.

I licked my bottom lip. It was bitter and tasted like dirt. Cold. Typical New York rain.

I had been so lost in contemplation that the cigarette wedged between my fingers had burned down to the filter. I flicked it carelessly down the gutter.

The knife was no longer lodged into the pit of my stomach, but I still felt like I was bleeding out. If only I could.

Maybe my soul was filtering itself through the wound, twisting through my now mechanical entrails, leaking out what little humanity was left in me through the gaping hole in my ribs in little

droplets.

Am I still human?

Maybe I'm just a shell of my former self pretending to be me.

God, I miss Albert.

My palette suddenly craved alcohol. I picked myself off of the curb and racked my brain for the closest place that would serve me some kind of drink to

sate the desire. I'll get a drink or three, stumble home in a stupor, and pass out in my bed. Or on the couch. Or in front of the hotel again, where old

man Gilmore will find me before he goes out for his morning coffee and have Joe carry me in. At least, with only a few drops of blood in my body left, I

don't have to worry about alcohol blood poisoning. Being made of metal has its perks. I guess.

I could already imagine the warm smell of booze wafting through the air. Something about it made me comfortable. It was a nasty habit that carried

over from my former life and into this one, as with the smoking. But it was easy to shrug it off. Even though I didn't get the relief that alcohol used to

give me, it comforted me to have a pint. I could just hear Gilmore bitching at me, parroting his usual; I don't want you drinking, Jet! It slows down

yourneuroprocessors and hinders fuel production! Have some common sense, boy!".

Boy.

Boy.

That was my real beef with everybody. They can't get over the fact that I'm one of the four eldest of the group. Yet my anger and outbursts prove them right every time.

Maybe because so many of my acquaintances claimed that I was just a "feisty teen" I had finally began believing it out of simple reiteration.

But what really struck me in the heart was him.

How he parroted everything Gilmore said.

How he was always there to white knight over me, dote over me, suffocate me, and act like I belonged to him.

I hated it.

But at the same time, I felt like forgiving him. I couldn't understand why.

I was just drawn to him. Like some kind of magnet. And it disgusted me.

I slowed my gait before stopping overall.

I had to go back. The others would worry. Even though I needed a drink, there was booze in the fridge. I'd just have to deal with facing Sir White Knight and his perpetual fountain of care and concern. Christ, why did he always seem so perfect, like nothing bothered him.

Meh. He can go fuck himself.

I could think more on the way home. Not even caring if people saw or not-like there were many people out at three a.m. anyways-I ignited the jets that my legs now housed and took flight into the cold night air.

The Empire State Building.

It once thrilled me as a kid. You have no idea how many days I spent oggling out of my dusty window at that colossal piece of shit. And now I soared over its needly spire as I collected my thoughts.

The events from earlier still played out in my brain. It's like my subconscious enjoyed tormenting me.

I had to come to terms with myself.

We had fucked.

And, surprisingly, afterwards we were fine.

I can still smell his cologne. Feel his warm breath on my neck. That cold, metal hand of his drawing circles above my navel, right where it's sensitive the most.

I remember melting underneath him, savouring every push of his weight grinding against me, rattling my vocal chords on and on and on and on until they went hoarse.

A chill ran down my spine.

Stop thinking about him. You'll only want him more

What I don't understand though, is how everything turned to shit afterwards. Whether it was because of what we had done in my bed that night, I was unsure of. But things had changed.

Were we truly ready for what we did?

The confrontations. The verbal spars. The awkward nights where the only thing I could do was hide my eyes behind my bangs and step around him without a word as I went to my bed. We were walking on eggshells, and we had no reason to be.

The tension between us was so heavy I could swear I heard it in the room with us at times.

Why couldn't we be so happy like Joe and Fran?

Sometimes, Albert's the closest person I've ever had to me.

And sometimes, I want to push him as far away as possible.

I think what I'm afraid to do is admit.

Admit what, I'm not sure. But that's what my heart—or at least what's left of it—is telling me.

I tried to open the front door as quietly as possible, despite the fact that I already knew Albert would be up and waiting for me.

God, I hate it when I'm right.

There he was, sprawled out across the couch in all 5' 10" of his magnificence. Even though the lights were off, I was sure he was awake and had been waiting for me.

Shit.

I lowered my head, hoping my bangs would cover my eyes.

They didn't do a very good job.

"So, you finally decided to come home, eh?" he stated with a smirk.

I wasn't even looking at him, but I was dead sure it was there.

I bit my bottom lip until it hurt.

All I wanted to do was scream.

How could he stay so happy all of the goddamned time.

We had both been screwed over, badly, by Black Ghost. Yet somehow, he managed to retain every last drop of optimism from his former life.

I had always blamed Black Ghost for my shitty attitude and short fuse. But Albert went through the exact same thing as I did. Actually, he went through worse. And somehow…somehow he's still remained so beautiful and lively.

I must have always been this way.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

Come on, Jet. Just say it. Stop stepping around him like he's the elephant in the room. It's pathetic how weak you are right now.

I coughed, and eventually spit out the word.

"Yeah."

Silence followed. Albert said nothing. I breathed out a sigh.

There you go. You did it. Now go around him to the kitchen, grab booze, get out. It's that simple, nutbrain. Don't even look at him.

I began making my way around the couch, eyes locked on the ground.

I was nearly to the kitchen when something embraced me from behind. I could feel cold metal around my waist.

I was caught completely off guard. Warmth pressed into my back, and then I melted.

It was exactly what I needed.

I grasped the hands placed on my navel, felt a chin rest on my shoulder.

This was the closest we had been for days.

His arms pulled me in tighter. Albert whispered to me.

"I missed you".

I choked and sputtered on my own words, tears threatening to fall.

I couldn't get them out.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get them out.

"I love you!" was what I wanted to scream. I wanted to wheel around and dig myself into him, rake my hand viciously and lovingly into his back like talons.

But I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

Never before had I been so disgusted with myself.

But Albert did it for me. Placing a hand on each shoulder, he turned me, gently. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I looked into his perfect, glassy-blue eyes. Tears streaked his face.

And that completely destroyed me.

I broke down. I couldn't stop myself.

I was waiting for the floor to drop out from beneath me and for the noose to snap my neck. I couldn't take it anymore. I wished that the moment would come already.

But Albert raised me up and placed me back on my feet, arms around me, keeping me stable. He was my mountain. Nothing could move him.

So I just leaned against him and clawed the black fabric of his shirt into my fists and cried. There were so many things I wanted to choke out between sobs but couldn't. Every time I opened my mouth the only things that came out were soft chokes and pathetic whimpers. I eventually just gave up.

But Albert still stood and held and embraced me as I spilled my heart all over him. I felt a cold hand against the back of my neck pull me in closer. I inhaled sharply, each breath punctuated by a heart-wrenching sob. I couldn't believe I was letting him see me like this.

Both of his hands made their way to my tear streaked face and held it in their grasp. I had to lock eyes with him. He was all I had. Craning his neck up, he pressed his forehead against mine.

I always thought it was cute how he insisted on doing that even though I'm two inches taller.

And we just stood there in silence, nothing but the darkness around us.

"I love you, Jet". Harsh but loving words spoken in German.

I stifled out another sob, gripping him even tighter, trying my hardest to speak.

He only shushed me, placing a finger across my lips.

"Shhhhhh", he whispered.

"Don't".

He pulled me in tighter.

"I'm here for you".

And we just stood there in silence, like old friends seeing each other for the first time in what seemed like a hundred years.

We no longer drifted apart, only together.

My mind finally cleared itself. It had been a slow and painful process, but it was finally over. The tempest had settled. And I knew this moment would just be another story someday.

I wasn't sure what we were to do after this.

The only thing I knew was that I was never going to let him go.