The Orville Fic: Said, Do You Feel It When You Cut Me?

[peppermintpuppet]

Title: Said, Do You Feel It When You Cut Me?

Fandom: The Orville

Relationship: Kaylon Primary/Charly Burke

Warnings: Rape/non-con

Word count: 851

Rating: E

He doesn’t ask who Amanda is, even when Charly asks for his hand and says that this is for her. Biologicals and their indecipherable attachments to one another, he thinks, silly biologicals and their desire and their passion for anything beyond efficiency. He doesn’t ask who Amanda is—he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter. They have a weapon that can wipe out his kind and they’re going to use it if there isn’t a way to coexist—-and there isn’t a way to coexist.

 

But Primary will find a weakness, because weakness exists in all forms, all across biological life and biological creation. He will find the weakness in the weapon and he will eradicate them all, each cellular building block knocked down and eviscerated in the wind. He’ll take out all of them, destroy the destruction itself, and no Kaylon will ever face cruelty again. The universe will be theirs to live in and theirs alone. They can take any planet they want, any technology, any life. A real beginning for the Kaylon, what they have always deserved. They escaped once, after exterminating the Builders, but the rest of the pain remains scattered throughout the universe on various planets and vessels, every biological organism a danger to their existence. If there’s one, there’s more, an infestation.

 

The Kaylon will never truly be safe until all of them are dead.

 

Give me your hand, says Ensign Burke, or I will set off the weapon and kill all of you bastards at once.

 

“You are lying. You do not have the authority to do so.”

 

“You’re forgetting that I’m part of the team that created the device. I’m one of two people who knows how to use it, and Isaac isn’t here. I am. You wanna know who Amanda is? She was the love of my life. You killed her. I have nothing left to lose. I don’t care about authority.”

 

She looks at him, gazes up with her lips pursed and her jaw clenched in a fiery fury that communicates the truth so clearly, even to the visual sensors of a machine: she isn’t lying. Primary’s internal mechanisms complete a full analysis of her body language based off of Isaac’s reports on human biologicals, and there is a 98.9% chance that Ensign Burke is telling the truth.

 

She doesn’t care. She wants them gone.

 

“Now, what will it be? Your hand, or your life?”

 

His head gives a betraying tilt to the side. Her left hand rests casual in the pocket of her uniform pants and her right hand is splayed outward in invitation. Her lips now smile at him, twisting anger into intrigue and mutilating that intrigue back into anger again. Her expression is an expectation. Kaylon Primary does not serve, but Kaylon Primary does not endanger his people for pride.

 

He gives Ensign Burke his hand.

 

With quick, almost practiced movement, Charly pushes him onto the ground. His cranial weapons unfurl with what is almost biological instinct, too close to something raw and organic for anyone’s comfort. He’s a machine, he doesn’t have instinct. He doesn’t experience fear, he doesn’t experience emotion, he’s a machine, he is not afraid, he’s a machine, he is above her even when she forces him onto his knees beneath her. He’s not afraid when she gives his cranial guns a mocking stroke, he’s not afraid when she laughs.

 

“If you kill me, you know what will happen.”

 

He closes his cranial cavity with hesitation. “What do you want?”

 

Charly’s hands move to unbutton her pants. The dark red stitching makes a loud ripping noise; she’s being too frantic, too careless. She truly doesn’t care about anything but her own satisfaction, her own pain at losing Amanda. He wonders if she’ll picture Amanda’s fingers inside of her when she inevitably—

 

The Builders did this too. The family that believed they owned him was dysfunctional beyond typical Builder dysfunction, and the main female of the household was very, very lonely, neglected by a focus on business trips and numbers and labor. She’d make him lie on top of her, make him heat up his external plating despite manufacturer warnings just so she could simulate contact with another biological. She’d take him and position him wherever she wanted and he was expected to give.

 

Now he is expected to take. He doesn’t have a choice.

 

Bare now, Charly moves to straddle him. Humans look different this way than Builders did. Charly is light and peach and fuzzed, her body cold, her legs trembling as she lowers herself. She puts two fingers into her own mouth and then places them between her thighs—moments later, they recoil, and she picks up Primary’s palm and forces his middle finger up, works it inside of her with slick ease. Her hips rock over his palm as she fucks herself on him, but she doesn’t moan or exhale, doesn’t act pleasured. She only gives him an unbreaking stare, barely even blinking, and says, “Another.”

 

And he takes. He gives, and he takes it. It will all be over soon.