A short story, just testing some ideas and what not out. Characters are probably OOC, but we can deal with that.
Raiden rape for all!
This is far from perfect, so any and all critique is welcome.
He was no longer human. His body cold as ice, artificial blood as white as snow running through man made veins, a beating mechanical heart keeping him alive. He is not human, but a machine. His body gone, all that remains is a head and spine, mounted in a cold inhuman shell. Technically he is dead.
Oh yes, he looks human to a degree. The perfectly made joints of his hands and fingers, his legs, his torso, all moulded after the human body. But they are not real. Cold metal and synthetic muscle where warm flesh should be. White liquid moving through false veins, like ice to the touch, where fire red blood should flow. A mechanical heart, like clockwork, ticking, keeping the false blood moving. Cold even to the core of his body. Well, at least the shots helped with that.
A man made killing machine. How perfect.
But he yearned for the warmth, flesh upon flesh, to be held as he once was. For the fire of another's body he would do anything. Rose's warm self beside him, even if he wouldn't remain for the night... No, couldn't remain for the night. He could never force his past on anyone, let alone sweet Rose, no matter how she said she would share it. His past was his alone, something that could not be erased. But she is no longer there to hold him, she means nothing to him now, or so he tries to tell himself. Their child, lost. Even next to her, he was alone. The charade she played, hair and eyes, the Rose he knew, or thought he knew. It was all fake, as artificial as his body, or perhaps even more so. Her hair dyed, her eyes masked by contacts, and a love as fake as she was. All a lie, an artificial love.
Or was it. He can tell himself and convince himself that it was false, almost a game, but the thought will always remain... What if? What could have been?
Alone, he'd always been alone. From the day he was born to the day he will die, he has and will always be alone.
But how he craves the warmth. Maybe that's why he didn't struggle.
An arm sliding quickly around his waist, a hand forced over his mouth. Expertly, quickly, his captor knows what he is doing. Professional. A quick turn of the head only to take in the sight of the man who killed Emma Emmerich. Thoughts of the brilliant programmer dead on the ground, her brother mourning. Another dead. Unneeded sorrow. He should hate this man... He does hate this man with all of his heart. Vamp. He shouldn't... No, couldn't be alive. An impossible occurrence. Vamp's intention is clear by the way he is being held, being forced, yet he does not struggle. He is as limp as a doll.
The warmth, what he would do for that warmth, for release. Even with a man he hates.
But this body cannot allow the release he seeks. A body designed for fighting and war, it has not been made for more... Human uses. Sex is not something for the battlefield, not when you are near completely robotic anyway, both in body and soul. Snake may disagree. Oh, he can participate in the act itself of course, but there is no way for him to get his release.
But for the warmth of another, he would do anything... Even this? Yes.
The only other to hold him, not be frightened by him is Sunny. Concern on her face, her small body curled against his legs on the foot of the dialysis machine. A child's love. Innocent tiny Sunny. She loves her strange 'family'. Otacon may care for her, but she sees Snake as a father too. And perhaps even himself as family. An uncle perhaps, or maybe as more as an older sibling. Olga would be pleased her child had some stability in her life at least, even if it is surrounded by war. Perhaps his own child would have been similar to Sunny. Silver-white hair and intelligent like the computer prodigy. Perhaps they would have been friends. With Rose as a mother it would have had to have been an intelligent kid. Who would it have had looked like? A boy or a girl?
Ah, but theirs no use letting those thoughts cloud his mind. Vamps white hot kisses on his back make the thoughts of his child flee. This is what he wants, to forget. To feel alive again.
A soft moan, followed a chuckle from Vamp. If he is synthetic, as cold as ice, then Vamp is the fire to warm him tonight. He wastes no time in taking what he wants. There are no words to exchange, no point in talking. Warm flesh meets cold metal, and a burning passionate thing, as old as the ages itself begins. Something the mind and even this inhuman body craves so deeply. Vamp, though definitely not caring, is at least gentle. Pleasure enveloping his body, yet no release, as it is impossible in his synthetic replica of the human form. It lacks the necessary equipment. But he can still feel things, the touch and warmth on his man made skin, the feeling of his robotic nervous system being stimulated by Vamps well timed thrusts, the brush of a hand, feather light against his thigh, it makes him feel real. It is almost enough, no, just enough to make this worth it. For a moment he can close his eyes and let dark lashes fall onto pale cheeks, and fool himself into thinking he is wanted, desired, even if it is just for the few moments of this primitive act. It's not making love for him, it's touching reality, humanity, the warmth he has long missed.
He is twisted against Vamp, chest to chest, the dark haired man supporting him, lifting him, thrusting into him. A faster pace. He allows it, limp like the doll he may as well be, crafted and made to fit someone else's purpose. Sharp breaths and gentle sighs at the touches he receives until all too soon Vamp quickens, close to the edge, only to finish, pull away and set him upon the floor, still limp as a doll. The illusion of want, of need is over, he can no longer fool himself. His eyes open, and once again he is alone.