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I wince.
"I called for help, but there was no one to help. I laid in the crater for a time, waiting for someone to kill me, or to retrieve me. And then I saw shuttles landing on the far side of the valley, and I realized we were retreating, and I was going to get left behind if I did not do something. So I used my arms and I crawled."
I bury my face against his chest, breathing in his scent, the mixture of machine oil and warm skin that is somehow perfectly Zakoar. "You're very brave."
"Mm. I just like living." His hand slides down to my ass and he cups it, pulling me tight against him. "I had my back fixed—again, with sub-par equipment—and spent the next year learning how to walk again. By that time, my indenture had been completed and the war was over."
"Did you win?"
"No. Not even close." He's silent for a long moment. "I didn't know what to do with myself after that. Ended up here, opened a shop with an old friend of mine who fixed small things—data pads, vid-comm units, things like that. One day an old soldier friend of mine came through, and his hand was malfunctioning. He asked if I could do anything for it, piece of junk that it was. So I fixed it up for him, just like I did when I was in the military. Two weeks later, some of his buddies came by. Same problem. From there, my business grew."
His business. I don't know all the details, but I've heard about it in hushed terms. That he's a chop shop. That he switches out limbs for a price. That he does under-the-table alterations. All of the dreadful, frightening things I've heard rumored around the station are far less altruistic than the truth—that he's just a war-wounded man doing what he can to help others in the same situation as him. "But you kept your metal jaw and your head plate? You never wanted to change them to something else? Even though you can?"
Zakoar chuckles, the sound a little more forced than it should be. "Why, do you think I should change it out? Match up synth-skin and make myself pretty instead of a monster?"
I pinch his side, hard. "That's not what I'm saying at all. It's just that it seems to bother you, and if you have the know-how, I thought that'd be one reason to do what you do. I personally like the way you look." I tilt my head back to stare at him, and his jaw is right there in my face, so I give it a lascivious, deliberate look. "I think it's a great jaw, personally. Very strong. Very capable of endurance. Worked just fine when you were between my thighs."
This time, his laughter isn't forced at all, and he squeezes my ass. "I thought about it," he admits. "But like I said, I've been ugly for so long that I didn't think about it too hard. And then it became what I was known for—if you wanted your prosthetics repaired under the table, you looked for the male with the metal jaw."
I slide my hand around his backside, reaching for his tail. "And this? Are all these studs repairs?"
"No. It just seemed…too normal. Didn't match the rest of me. So I studded it. Does it bother you?"
I squeeze the base, appreciating the way his breath hisses from between his teeth. "No. Quit asking if something bothers me. How many times do I have to say that none of it bothers me? That I like all of you?"
"Perhaps I ask because I don't see the same thing you do."
"Maybe you need to change that cybernetic eye out for a new one," I grumble.
He goes still and then buries his face against my shoulder. For a moment, I panic. Then, I realize…he's laughing.
And I smile.15TESSAThe next morning, when Zakoar tries to creep out of bed, I wake up and am brushing my teeth before he even gets out of the shower. He looks at me curiously, and I figure I should explain. "I'm going with you today. I've made up my mind."
"Is that so?"
I put the borrowed toothbrush back and nod at him. "I'll need some clothes, of course. I can't exactly show up naked. But yeah, I figured I'm useless sitting here on your couch, and if I go with you to work, I promise I'll stay out of the way."
He watches me with an unreadable look. After a moment, he simply says, "I will be busy."
"I'll give you a blow job during downtime." I flutter my lashes at him. "I just want to be near you. Watch you work. Is that so bad?"
"If you get bored," he begins, warning.
"I know. Don't come crying to you." I wave a hand in the air. "Now, do you have something I can wear or am I doing this toga-style with the bedsheet?"
