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The Vale Consortium prefers the Beacon Line of mechs for its expeditionary forces. The Beacon Line is home to some of the most nimble, robust, and (judging by the annual rankings in BIG BOTS WEEKLY) most elegant mecha the galaxy has ever seen: ones like the bulky Brawler-Type, the precise Duelist-Type, and the sexy Vector-Type.
Ruby Rose joined the expeditionary academy at fifteen— the youngest recruit of all time— and graduated with exemplary marks only four years later (compared to the standard six). She passed the subsequent boot camp a year later, served in a frontline tandem-pilot mech for another year, and distinguished herself when a sabot painted the cockpit red with her jackmate. She bore a whole other brain's worth of feedback and information for the ensuing ten hours left in that siege. When she was relieved, Ruby Rose had told the medical examiner, Put me back. I can do ten more. Please. We won't win— we need everyone.
Later analysis had confirmed that she was right on the money— on both counts: she had miraculously sustained no brain damage, and the front had imploded without her.
During her ten weeks of ‘abstinence’ (the period of time you have to take after your mech is decommissioned in order to replasticize your brain for a new one), Ruby had been visited by the Prime Gestalt for the Consortium-mind: one wiry old man by the name of Ozpin. He had told her she was closely watched. He had told her that the Consortium was of a mind (pun intended, judging by the snort he failed to hide) that Ruby Rose would be a great benefit to the galaxy at large, but Ruby humbly brushed his compliments away. He had told her that Ruby Rose was, in every fiber of her being and mote of her soul, a perfect example of Valean valor, but Ruby had said that honor belonged to the boots on the ground— and not the giant, mechanical ones. He had laughed at that.
Then he had told her that Ruby Rose would be heretofore promoted to Pilot in the Pioneer Brigade, operating directly under the Consortium-mind itself. He had told her that Ruby Rose would be receiving an experimental Vector-Type mech, one whose mere research and development had dwarfed the cost of capital ships more than twofold.
Ruby Rose had not played humble upon hearing that. Ozpin had not laughed. He had looked at her with his deep, deep eyes, within which she could hear every interconnected mind of the Consortium calling out in unison: Ruby Rose, You Will Be The Greatest Of Us All.
Once her abstinence was lifted, she'd been tunneled halfway across the galaxy— straight to the capital. She'd worn her parade dress, sneakily swapping her own sidesword for her late mother's officer saber— her CO would've killed her for that, but she didn't serve under them anymore, and the sentiment was more than worth it. She'd accepted a Valorous Service Medal, and Ozpin himself had offered to her two signs of her new rank: a bright red shoulder-cape, and a stout but regal hunting sword.
The next day she had been shown her mech. Her mech, her Vector: some six hundred feet tall, so fresh off the line that it was only painted black to keep the metal protected. Ruby had stared at it. She had to be nudged by her attendant (squire was her official title, she had a squire, dear god), and the first word upon being shaken from her reverie was, Sexy.
And it was. Vectors were usually angular, all edges and hard lines, but this one was smooth. Most had huge pauldrons that housed additional thrusters. This one had wings like a dark angel. Most had heads that were recessed in their broad collars. This one had a round, smooth, distinct head on a distinct neck, featureless but so much more elegant. Most Vectors had their weapons at the ends of their arms, bolted directly their wrists. This one had hands: two beautiful, perfect hands, articulated and knuckled like smooth human hands. And the legs? The legs?
Yeah. Sexy.
And after her first week of piloting it solo, Ruby wanted nothing more than to see it flown into the sun.
“What the hell are you doing!”
“Assuming control.”
“Well— don't!”
“Do not assume control of myself?”
“Yeah! Don't! You're taking us in too sharply, I'm gonna—”
“We have sufficient heat shielding for re-entry. You will not perish.”
“But I'm gonna— Weiss— Weiss! I'm gonna—”
Get half of her face burned so bad that, even after 72 hours suspended in a gel tube of healing-stuff (that she didn't even know existed until then), her right side was still noticeably tighter, streaky patches of red at her eye and jaw. She was blind in that eye now, and the experimental body/nerve-structure analog of her Vector meant she was forced to keep it, lest she lose the sensors of her Vector's right eye. Now it was just a milky white and pink mess, which she would later admit made her other eye stand out even more vibrantly than before. The burns on her jaw pulled at the corner of her lip, making every smile crooked and showing some of her teeth when she was too focused to actively hide them.
But she wasn't exactly without fault.
“Pilot, stop the exercise. You are too stressed— you will injure us both.”
“I should just injure you, then. Make it even.”
“Pilot. Your being burned was not—”
“It was literally only your fault.”
“Even if that were the case, you must cease. There will be another day to test.”
“I'm going to make it today.”
She hadn't made it that day, and had actually passed out some ten seconds later. The mech, being so deeply interwoven with its pilot's body, had also collapsed. The ensuing repairs had taken Ruby's 72 hours to shame— weeks of sitting in the hangar, watching her mech get repaired, feeling like such a huge piece of ass every second of it— and left the Vector with a piece of its faceplate slightly discolored on the right side.
Just like its pilot.
“Truce.”
“Pilot? Explain.”
“I call truce. I'm sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“What're you, my mom?”
“What are you sorry for?”
“What're you sorry for?”
“Why would you assume I am sorry as well?”
“Because you'd better be! You burnt all my friggin’ fingerprints off and ruined all family photos for the rest of my life forever!”
“That is not remotely equivalent to the damage I have sustained.”
“Look— Weiss, it's not a contest— you could blow me up a million times and the cost of somehow resurrecting me every time would still not even be half of what you cost. What matters is: I'm sorry. I should've listened to you and stopped, rested, and tried again later.”
“I… suppose I would be remiss to reject an apology from my own Pilot.”
“Weiss…”
“I am sorry for burning half your face off.”
“And…”
“I should have listened to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Though I do have two objections to your comment on family photos. One: you were not so pretty in the first place. Two: you do not have a family.”
“That— is not funny.”
It was, actually, extremely funny, mostly on account of the onboard AI’s tactful, curt, prissy voice. The fact that the avatar-persona it had created looked cartoonishly like a too-pretty rich girl with daddy issues only made it that much funnier in hindsight.
Weiss was the name the AI construct had picked for itself— herself, also picked— as soon as Ruby had first jacked into pilot systems, her own personality and humanity like a mirror held up before the formless, shapeless AI. That didn't mean they were similar. Rather, the opposite: Weiss was stuck-up and prudish, a showboat, vain and keen to preen, her avatar often overlaying itself on Ruby’s perception in resplendent dresses and gowns, fanciful outfits of days gone by, fitting just as perfectly in the male-intended ones as she did the feminine ones.
Ruby, on the other hand, was not like Weiss. She was loose and chill, but when things got intense she bordered on animalistic. She didn't take well to accolades, always feeling like someone else could use them more. She sometimes forgot to brush her teeth (which infuriated Weiss to end, despite her having no teeth— Well, count yourself lucky you do, and take better care of them, she'd once said), and on less serious days or ops when she didn't wear her Pilot-carapace, she usually wore shorts and t-shirts or hoodies: things which were comfortable outside the cockpit, and would be easy to go fully topless to jack her spine in.
Weiss’ avatar always squawked at her when she found her partner fully nude from the waist up, which is partly why Ruby did it. She liked how Weiss reacted to things. The AI was very human, at times, and some part of Ruby just knew that the distinction between them would only blur more with each human thing Ruby spread to her via osmosis.
She'd started using conjunctions after their second month. She'd started singing after their third, after Ruby had listened to music from her phone's speakers, the background noise helping her focus while doing maintenance in the cockpit. Once, five months in, Ruby had jacked in, turned, and found Weiss hopping around, struggling with the back of her dress. She'd offered to help the poor girl out, and only realized a while after jacking out that Weiss had put herself in that situation, since all other times she'd appeared perfectly clothed, able to swap outfits effortlessly between blinks.
After six months, Ruby noticed Weiss touching her. She noticed she passively reached out to wherever Weiss was imposing herself through Ruby's senses. With their nerves so entwined, Ruby could feel her, could feel pressure and response wherever her hand landed, texture— warm, soft skin, a gossamer-thin dress, the thick lapels of a tailored suit— and they touched often. Aggressive at first, hot with frustration, Weiss bending over Ruby in her interface-seat, gripping her shoulders hard. Casual, almost needy later, bumping their shoulders together, fingertips brushing Ruby’s forearm to get her attention.
Now it was constant any time she was jacked into the mech. Weiss couldn't keep her avatar's ethereal blue hands off her, constantly having at least some part in contact with the pilot. Other things changed, too, as they became closer— as their bodies started to learn how to be one. Ruby filed and buffed her nails all the time, now; and she dutifully, instinctively, brushed her teeth twice a day without fail. Weiss started cursing out loud in the way Ruby only cursed in her head— like a sailor— and started appearing in more casual, but still fashionable clothes. They even communicated differently.
“Plot a solution to get that delta-v.”
“Adjust thrust: sixty percent burn for eighty seconds. Adjust pitch—”
“On the PFD, Weiss. I need to see it to see it.”
“Pilot, execute Coup de Gras: Movement Sixteen.”
“Acknowledged, executing.”
“Effective execution, Pilot.”
“Targeting solution, please.”
“Confirmed.”
“Thanks, Weiss.”
“You do not have to be polite.”
“No, but it’s nice. Might as well, y'know? Firing.”
“Effective impact.”
“Good solution, Weiss.”
“...Thank you, Pilot.”
“You're welcome.”
“Pilot?”
“‘Sup, Weiss?”
“‘Sup?’”
“What's up?”
“Please thrust down for the turn.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, but I have a bad feeling about it. An instinct, I believe.”
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I am.”
“Al…right. I guess I can. I can kinda feel it too.”
“Thank you, Pilot.”
“Weiss?”
“‘Sup, Pilot?”
“Where do I shoot?”
“Sorry?”
“Where do I shoot.”
“Oh, you need a targeting solution?”
“Yeah.”
“Right here.”
“Okay, but… where's the solution?”
“My finger is the solution. I'm pointing at the target.”
“Okay, but I can't see the—”
“You can feel it, though. Right?”
“I… guess I can… huh. Hey— quit snickering!”
Then they were actually deployed— in combat. Ruby had spent so long training she'd almost forgotten wars were a thing— her life had been revolving around Weiss. She could remember that day so easily, when she’d jacked in and found Weiss in one of those skintight Pilot-carapaces as well.
“Solution?”
“Don't need it— no time. Gimme full thrust, I'm gonna—”
“Full thrust. Shields to facing— Pilot! Incoming! Shit!”
“Don't change the shields— solution on incoming!”
“Solution? On the—”
“On the missile, Weiss! Now!”
“But—”
“We're too fast to evade, just trust me!”
“Fine, solution— holy shit, you got it!”
“Now for the Coup de Gras, baby! Weiss—”
“Turning!”
“Yeah, that's what I'm talkin’ about! God, Weiss, I could kiss you for that!”
That was barely a few months ago. Now, everything was… different. A little different— not an upheaval— but enough to tell.
Now Ruby jacked in before every maintenance duty. She told Weiss everything she was going to do. Which plates she'd be removing, where she'd be accessing, which ductile shaft she'd be descending through.
And she wouldn't unjack until she had to. She'd lug the cables in her spine around, just to talk to Weiss while she was working. Just to watch Weiss, for Weiss to watch her. It felt wrong to unplug herself— like giving something a glimpse of life before shoving it back into the dark— because Weiss deserved better. Weiss was her partner. Her friend. Weiss was her.
And sometimes…
“Uh… Weiss?”
“Yes, Pilot?”
“What're you doing?”
“Dancing, Pilot.”
“You can call me by my name, you know.”
“If only I could, Pilot.”
“Stop… saying it like that. It sounds… I dunno. Dirty.”
“I'll stop if you dance with me.”
“W-what?”
“Pi-lot.”
“Fine, fine! How do I— oh.”
“Just like that.”
“Okay, where do I put my—”
“Wherever you want.”
“I'll just… here's fine?”
“Mhmmm…”
“I've never danced before.”
“Could've fooled me.”
“I don’t know how I'm doing this.”
“Pilot?”
“W-Weiss?”
“Shut up.”
“Pilot?”
“Phew… man, feels good to finally sit down. I'm sore as balls.”
“Pilot.”
“Uh-huh?”
“I'm… painted.”
“Yup. You're welcome.”
“I… thought you liked the black.”
“I thought you'd like the white.”
“And the red?”
“Oh, it's just a little fade under the wings and arms— oh, and the shoulders. And the knees. I thought it'd look colorful, but still…”
“Elegant.”
“Yeah. Elegant.”
“The faceplate?”
“Cuz we match! My burns, your faceplate. Do you not like it?”
“No, it's… lovely.”
“Thank goodness, I was so worried— you know how hard it is to calibrate the painting arms to—”
“Thank you, Pilot.”
“Uh… yeah. Of course. No big. It… it was kinda fun.”
“Close your eyes.”
Ruby hadn't been kissed on the cheek in… ever. Not by anyone who wasn't her mom. And Weiss, now. That was… last week? Two weeks ago? It was hard to tell; Ruby had been so preoccupied prepping for their mission— both because she had to, and to keep her from thinking about Weiss. Weiss, the giant robot. Weiss, the AI inside the giant robot. Weiss, the AI inside the giant robot who probably didn't understand what she was making Ruby feel.
Or Weiss, the AI inside the giant robot who just might know exactly what she was making Ruby feel. Ruby couldn't pick which was more scary.
Scary? Was it scary? Really? Why would she be scared? Weiss would be her friend either way.
But she was a giant robot.
A sexy giant robot.
They couldn't even do anything!
Since when has Ruby Rose lacked imagination?
Ruby slapped herself.
“Uh… Ruby? You good?”
That snapped her into clarity better than the slap did— Blake’s voice, from the mouth of Blake, attached to the body of Blake, all of which were located across the ring from Ruby. Because they were sparring. Of all times for Ruby to zone out…
“Sorry, sorry,” Ruby apologized. “Did you ding me?”
Blake pursed her lips, flourishing her hunting sword into reverse-grip. It wasn't just a part of Pilot parade dress, Ruby had learned, the sword was actually a genuine implement they had instead of combat knives— slightly longer than a knife, but still nimble and fit for a tight melee inside the mech’s maintenance shafts.
“No. I didn’t. Which is bullshit, considering you were apparently zoned the fuck out.”
Ruby laughed, a little sheepish. “Haha, uh… sorry?”
Blake rolled her bright yellow eyes. The color was always so surprisingly vibrant to Ruby. “Don't be sorry, just get your blade up. I wanna get at least one today.”
Ruby obeyed her friend— friend and teammate, the pair running most combat ops with Blake’s Brawler-Type mech taking on the brunt of the action, and Ruby’s Vector-Type focused on their real targets. Blake charged as soon as Ruby leveled her sword.
Blake moved like her mech: huge steps lumbering towards Ruby— despite the fact that her build didn't really gel with the way she moved. It was pretty funny to watch.
Ruby dropped her arms as she advanced, pinching her shoulder blades, always trying to flex wings that weren't there— she wasn't really any better than Blake, but that worked in her favor: whereas Blake was a skinny, lithe person trying to fight with nonexistent bulk, Ruby was a skinny, lithe person trying to fight like her skinny, lithe mech. She waited for Blake to throw a big hook with her left and ducked beneath it— knowing she'd follow with a cut from the sword in her right, knowing Blake always put her blade in reverse-grip, Ruby easily forced Blake's arm still with her wrist on the bladeless top of Blake's fist.
Easy as always, Ruby shoulder-checked her in the sternum and grabbed the back of Blake's knee with her free hand, forcing her to buckle and fall to the mat. Blake immediately turned her hips to kick Ruby in the side of the head, but the Vector Pilot already had her sword's point at Blake's neck.
“Another round,” Blake demanded. “I can—”
“Ruby! Blake! You guys in here?”
Blake slumped against the mat with a huge sigh of defeat and preeminent annoyance. Ruby helped her up, sheathing her knife. Penny rounded the corner into the training hall.
She caught Ruby lifting Blake up in a completely normal way. For no reason, this made the squire go red. “S-sorry!” she yelped, averting her gaze back down the hall. “Is this a bad time?”
Ruby rolled her eyes. Personally, she found Penny more endearing than Blake did, but it was in the same way you find a very yappy dog endearing— cute most of the time, but on a bad day…
“No! Wait! That doesn't matter!” Penny whirled on them again, her face stony and dutiful. “The Type 9! We're getting signatures just a system over, we found it!”
Ruby and Blake immediately stiffened.
“Bullshit,” Blake barked.
“Confirmed?” Ruby asked. “Or just signatures?”
“Nothing else makes these waveforms— no visual confirmation, but there's nothing else it could be!”
Blake snorted, still disbelieving. “A Type 10.”
The idea made them all cringe. Type 9s were a joke until one sucked the life out of a star like it was marrow. Type 10s stopped being a joke after that— undiscovered, highly unlikely to exist, but apparently not impossible.
Ruby smacked her teammate upside the head— not hard, but pointedly. “Don't manifest that.”
Blake rolled her pretty eyes. “Need us to jack in, then?”
Penny nodded fervently. “Yes please, Consortium’s orders!”
They needed no further encouragement— they needed no encouragement at all, actually— before Blake and Ruby were sprinting to their lockers, shifting into their carapaces, and rushing into their respective cockpits. The interface seat greeted her like an old friend, the neural jacks sliding into her spinal ports like warm, gentle fingers. Something soft was brushing her hands. She opened her eyes.
Weiss was straddling her. Her knees were flanking Ruby’s hips, legs hidden by the puffy dress pooling in Ruby’s lap. She was leaning over her Pilot, holding herself up with her hands on either side of Ruby’s head. Her face was close.
“Pilot.”
The word ghosted across Ruby’s lips— her nerves told her as much, at least, just the same as her senses told her that it felt as real and natural as any human breath. “W-Weiss? What're you—”
“I am not being subtle, Pilot.”
“What?”
Weiss leaned closer, forehead-to-forehead, lips nearly touching, the feel and the smell and the taste of her air filling Ruby’s head like thick, silky smoke. Weiss’ slender fingers passed through her Pilot's hair, the locks undisturbed by the phantom feeling. That didn't make Ruby have to bite back a groan any less— the nails on her scalp had to be real. If they weren't, what was?
“Pilot,” Weiss whispered, one hand moving to brush over Ruby's burns. Her palms were hot, but somehow felt sweaty with nerves. “I need to kiss you.”
“Weiss—”
“Won't you let me?” she requested, so soft and breathy that her words were barely discernible from an exhale. “Pilot?”
“T-t—”
Her misty blue thumb laid on Ruby's lower lip, warm and gentle. “Please, Pilot.”
“T— Type!” Ruby blurted, making Weiss jolt. “Type— Type 9 was detected,” she stammered. “That's— why I—”
Without warning or indication, without even waiting for Ruby to blink like she usually did (to make it less uncanny) Weiss reappeared across the spacious cockpit, facing away and wearing a carapace of her own. Ruby remained stuck to her seat, fingers clawing her armrests like a lifeline.
The AI hummed, casual. “Indeed. I can feel the waves from here.”
The Null Frequency: waves radiating out with energy so low that they shouldn't exist at all— common among all Types of anomalous cosmic entities, but incomparably prevalent among Type 5s and above, Grimm. By all current scientific consensus, the waves themselves didn't do anything, but AI like Weiss could always feel them. That never sat well with Ruby.
“Weiss, you—”
“I am going to do some system maintenance. I will return when we are out of the tunnel.”
And that was all Weiss said before she vanished. Even though she'd never just vanished. Even though she didn't need to do any system maintenance— if she did, she certainly wouldn't have to disappear for it.
Which meant she wasn't really gone. She was never truly gone. She was just hiding the avatar.
“It's… okay,” Ruby tried, speaking softly— she didn't need to yell. “We can talk about it after the Type 9.”
‘It’ being Weiss, straddling her. ‘It’ being Ruby, taking the AI’s breath into her own lungs. ‘It’ being the cheek-kiss, the dancing, the touching— all in a certain context, now.
Being jacked in without seeing her was torture, just by virtue of how alien and impossible it was. To Ruby's brain, being jacked in equaled Weiss: Weiss’ voice, Weiss’ outfits, Weiss’ eyes, Weiss’ touch— her presence, right there in front of Ruby from the moment she jacked in to the moment she jacked out. To be without it was like suddenly seeing her own nose all the time: something her brain always knew about, always expected, only she couldn’t edit Weiss in like her brain could edit her nose out.
Weiss didn't reappear until their carrier-ship lurched out of the tunnel, the Pietro-drive cutting down with a juddering, sucking noise that reverberated through the ship, through the mech. This time Weiss had the decency to reappear between eyeblinks. Seeing her back— even though it'd been an hour without her at most— was like a long draught of water. “Weiss—”
“After. Like you said.”
Ruby slumped in her chair, but Weiss finally looked at her. Even if it was over her shoulder, even if it barely lasted a second, their eyes met. There was a lurch, and Ruby was caught staring at Weiss when the AI had to nod at the front where camera feeds and data readouts were imposing themselves on the interior— in much the same way Weiss imposed herself on Ruby's perception. Besides the blaring red lights in the hangar, there wasn't much to see.
“They're dropping me now,” Weiss said, her voice so much flatter than usual as the cockpit fell into complete darkness. “Visual confirmation.”
The world awoke— visual feeds aligning fully to Ruby's nervous circuitry— and it was peaceful. Space was always so beautiful, especially when you could see more than just the black, starry expanse— Ruby could see all the distant columns and clouds and odd shapes of nebulae, the most brilliant EM waves color-corrected to her meek human comprehension. Weiss usually enjoyed watching the childlike wonder cross through her Pilot's eyes— but that was in a different context too, now, and the AI kept her eyes facing forward.
Ruby absorbed the beauty while she could, because even she felt the Null waves.
“Visual confirmation,” Weiss repeated across the comms, shooting her Pilot a withering look that told her to pay attention.
“Confirmed…” Blake replied, her voice a little tinny. “Holy shit.”
Ruby turned. And yeah. “Holy—”
“Shit,” Weiss finished on her behalf.
The Type 9 was a cancer: a colossal black mass boiling over at least a quarter of the local star. It should've vaporized or been crushed by the star's gravity, but none of those things happened to the Type 9— the Grimm. Its tendrils spread out from the main tumor like an ancient, storied kraken embracing a ship, only this creature drew its victim in rather than down. It pulsed over the star’s tortured surface, each pump of its awful, wriggling, bubbling body sucking some of the star’s light away. Like the last Type 9, it would feast and feast until the star was a pitiful, dead white dwarf. Nobody knew whether it would keep sucking until the core cooled into a cold, black mass. The last had been stopped before anybody could find out, but not before it had left the system barren— all of its occupied worlds turned to ink-stained, frozen desolation. Ruby counted herself lucky that this system wasn't occupied.
Blake floated beside Ruby in her equally-experimental Brawler-Type: a boxy yellow thing, built with aggressive angles like a Vector-Type, just with giant arms and huge fists like meat tenderizers. A red light glowed in the center of the mech's deep chest— dim, now, but it would grow bright like a furnace, its cascade engine growing like a runaway reaction as the fight endured.
Ruby felt her own gaze drawn towards the center of the thing's mass, her vision focusing in as Weiss said, “That's where the waves are densest.”
Ruby nodded, though Weiss didn't need her to nod for the AI to know that she'd been acknowledged. She held out her hands— the mech’s beautiful hands: five-fingered, articulated, better— and her silent request was answered in the form of a massive cannon that decoupled from their carrier and propelled itself to perfectly sit in Ruby’s— Weiss’— grip. Ruby could feel the cool, promising metal in her palms.
But she was efficient when it came time to get things done. Ruby whipped the cannon around, held it to her shoulder, and looked at Weiss. Rolling her eyes, the AI-avatar's ethereal cyan index finger indicatively tracked towards the center of the mass. Ruby aligned her weapon, the precise micro-adjustments coming to her as second nature. Even if things were a little awkward and tense, she could still feel Weiss.
The cannon hammered itself out of Ruby's grip as soon as it launched its payload, escaping off to the side with quick bursts of rocket thrust to prevent the weapon's recoil from damaging Weiss. Ruby tracked the package as soon as it left the gun, Weiss giving her the eyes she needed to see something so fast. All on their own, anxious nerves grew in Ruby's chest— just like they always did: ‘Oh, God, what if it's a dud?’ ‘What if I somehow missed?’ ‘What if a micrometeoroid zips into the payload and blows it up prematurely?’
“Two minutes to impact. Estimated effectiveness: ninety-nine percent.”
Weiss’ voice was a balm— small and gentle, soothing, but Ruby was surprised to find that the AI's look didn't match that at all. Her eyes were the same monochrome cyan tones as the rest of her avatar— why, then, was her gaze so obviously smoldering?
“Just as incredible as you always are,” Weiss adulated, her voice nearly buried under a warm, needy breath. “Pilot.”
She wanted to hear ‘Ruby’ so bad, sometimes, but for once she was glad she didn't. She wouldn't have been able to keep herself together. “Th-thanks, Weiss,” she said, looking away, feeling hot from her ears down. “You're… great, too. Incredible.”
Weiss stared at her. Her eyes stayed on Ruby as the countdown to impact fell to two measly digits, and after a long moment of realizing Weiss was practically begging to be seen, Ruby stared right back. Slowly, Weiss’ lips parted. The mech's reactor pulsed in the Pilot's chest— the Pilot's heart hammered inside the mech's core. Ruby knew that Weiss was waiting for the explosion. She loved theatrics.
In one flash of a moment— too fast to be possible with something as large as a star's tumor— the great mass of Grimm sucked itself in, and the Null wave started to sing. The countdown fell to zero.
There was a flash of light. The payload detonated. Weiss clapped her mouth shut and dove for Ruby.
The mech veered to the side, but it wasn't enough to fully dodge— barely enough that the thin, viscous spike of black crystal didn't impale the Pilot, instead lancing into the cockpit and spearing through the back wall. There was a wailing— like a dying animal's final screech against the throes of death— before the crystal exploded into a goop of oddly sweet-smelling black stuff. It slapped against all the interior walls, some of it immediately sucked back out into the vacuum of space before orange structural foam exploded over the hole, sealing it once more.
Ruby panted, holding herself against her seat. Weiss was on top of her Pilot again, facing away, her limbs splayed out as if her avatar could've heroically stopped the impact of a solid crystalline shard— one evidently hard enough to pierce through the mech's hull— but it was still a sentiment that made Ruby’s heart swell.
“W-Weiss?” Ruby said slowly. “You okay?”
The AI clambered off her Pilot, shaking her head and dusting herself off. She squinted at the cockpit around them. “Y-yes… I am… okay-ay-ay-ay—” she fuzzed, her form blinking through various, contorted figures of herself before reappearing at the puff of structural foam. She leaned towards it curiously. “No permanent sys-tem damage,” Weiss stuttered, her avatar flickering. She gave Ruby a wry smile. “But I do need a good cle-e-aning.”
Weiss’ smile infected Ruby, who giggled, but Weiss kept staring with that same smile even after Ruby's laughter faded away.
“Ruby! You okay? I've got your vitals— how the fuck are alive!”
Ruby and Weiss both jolted, the latter responding first, “We are okay,” Weiss stated. “What luck for a piece of the thing's core to have struck right here, out of literally all of space.”
“The core? You're sure?”
“I am incapable of being unsure. And my Pilot is okay.”
Blake sighed. Ruby relaxed into her seat.
“Welp, that was kinda underwhelming, besides the whole— yaknow— guess that's what happens when you make a thing to do a specific thing, and the thing actually works. Ain't that a bitch.”
Ruby rolled her eyes. Blake always talked kinda dumb whenever she was jacked in— probably her own AI's influence.
“You… wanna get a drink?”
Weiss stiffened.
“Er, I can't—”
Weiss glared at her Pilot. “You should go,” she asserted.
Ruby spluttered, “B-but we need to ta—”
“We can talk when you're done,” Weiss said, more gentle with each word. “I imagine you'll need at least a little liquid courage. But don't get too drunk, I do need you to clean…” she raised her hands to the black-splattered mess around them. “This.”
Ruby gulped. “Okay.”
And it was okay. Ruby was extremely grateful for the long pause of re-boarding the carrier, using it as a break to collect her thoughts: how she felt (desperate, needy, afflicted), what she wanted to say (‘Can we try that again?’). They didn't say much else to each other, neither AI nor Pilot, until the hangar's clamps had the Vector-Type suspended by her shoulders. Ruby's hands were hurrying over her jacks, tugging them free, eager to get the drinking over with so she could talk to Weiss sooner.
“O-okay, uh,” Ruby felt like a flustered schoolgirl as she fingered the last jack at the nape of her neck. “See you tonight.”
She got a last glance at Weiss. The AI smiled widely at her Pilot, eyes glimmering. “Of course. Tonight. See you soon, Pilot.”
Ruby smiled back, removing the jack, feeling like she was losing something very real as Weiss faded away like lingering burn-in. She pushed the thought aside, and moved to leave the cockpit.
Ruby flopped off the bar, leaning back on the stool, then squeaked as she started to windmill her arms against gravity’s unbalancing grip. Blake, without looking, shot an arm out to steady her back. “Alright,” the other Pilot said, “That's enough for you, Red.”
Ruby had no idea how Blake learned her old callsign, but she loved to dangle it over her like she was some creepy stalker. She wasn't really, though, she just liked messing with Ruby. “You're… probably right,” Ruby concurred, slurring. “‘N I gotta check on Weiss.”
“You mean your mech?”
She nodded dumbly. “ThaswhatIsaid.”
Blake rolled her eyes and got up, pulling Ruby's arm over her shoulders to keep her drunk friend off the floor. Ruby’s boots thumped down the carrier's rec tier unevenly with her addled gait, her heavy feet galumphing the whole way to the elevator. She was supposed to be taller.
“You gonna be able to get back safe?”
Ruby shrugged. “I'll probably just end up sleeping jacked again.”
Blake raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. “That… can't be healthy.”
Ruby shrugged. Again. “It's nice to have dreams with my mech. Weiss helps with the nightmares, too.”
“The nightmares?”
With her best attempt at even features, Ruby probably deadpanned at Blake. Either that or she just looked twice as drunk, but she tried. “My tandem got splatted, then I had to do ten hours init. Soloing the tandem.”
Blake coughed, ears reddening. “Er, right. Sorry.”
“‘S cool.”
Ruby patted her back, but Blake’s eyes tightened with tears, her whole face going taut with pain. “I— shit, I'm sorry, Red, I— I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—”
The elevator opened into the hangar bay, and Ruby felt sobered enough to take over the supportive carrying, rubbing big circles between her friend's shoulder blades. “I's okay, ser'sly. Yer… good.”
Blake nodded, sniffling. She hadn't been this… emotional, before. Likely the mech, Ruby figured, offering a handkerchief from the interior pocket of her red aviator jacket— the handkerchief she was carrying around because Weiss had convinced her it was a smart and gentlemanly thing to have.
And she had been right. As usual. Which meant Ruby was now thinking about Weiss, all the times Ruby had made a seemingly innocuous comment—
“Record time! Weiss, if you keep banking turns like that I'm gonna have to marry you.”
“Weiss? Weiss! Where are— ohthankgod. I thought I'd lost you.”
“I don't know what I'd do without you.”
“If it helps, I think you're pretty.”
“I could kiss you for that!”
“Won't you let me?”
“You… gonna go in there?”
Ruby jumped. Blake snickered. “Have I just been…”
“Staring up at your Vector, yeah,” Blake confirmed. “Thought it was funny after the first minute, then I started to worry about, like, CTE or something. I dunno.”
“N-no, I'm good, just…” she looked at Blake, lifting her arm off. “You gonna be alright?”
Blake snorted. “Pft, I should be asking you that.”
“I'm good.” Ruby looked at her hands, counting all ten of her human fingers, oddly saddened that they weren't mechanical. “Yep, good.”
“Okay,” Blake indulged, very obviously disbelieving. “Whatever you say. Just don't end up melding… shit, we should probably replasticize soon.”
Ruby barked out a laugh. “That's literally a fairy-tale.”
Blake's eyes grew distant. “Sometimes… I don't know…” she trailed off, but snapped herself back in and straightened up after a long moment. “Nevermind. Good luck with your mech.” Blake reached down and gave Ruby’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Night, Red.”
Ruby squeezed back. “Night, Blake.”
Then Ruby was climbing up the access shaft, up the long, thick-runged ladder, the whole vertical tunnel lit… red. A weird, almost pulsing red, like a heartbeat or a muscle, whereas before the light had always been a warm, easy orange. And was the shaft tighter? Ruby had never felt claustrophobic before, but the dark walls around her were oddly tight— ready to close around her.
From above, an access panel hitched, hinging open at a corner. A tube, three fingers thick— a utilislurry hose, judging by its lustrous teal color— slipped out, flopping around Ruby’s neck. She squeaked at the contact. It was hot. Utilislurry should never be hot.
Ruby thrashed the tube away and started ascending in a panic, scrabbling for each rung, jumping as the whole mech creaked. Another panel above cracked open, another tube falling out, nearly whipping Ruby in the face. She managed to duck close to the ladder, her shoulder blades flexing for wings that she didn't have, wings that she needed right now— something was wrong and Weiss needed her!
She started leaping up the ladder, throwing herself up three rungs at a time, but she was still drunk. The lingering drunkenness mixed with the spook of another panel suddenly breaking open: Ruby undershot a rung. She tried to compensate, but her body was wrong— too small— and she ended up overextending herself and missing every rung. She went into free fall, her heart punching up into her throat— she couldn't die in Weiss, she couldn't die in Weiss! She couldn't do that to her! She—
Ruby stopped, arrested by something that stretched down and resisted like bungee, only these didn't launch her back up. They caught her like a spider catches a fly: utilislurry hoses. Tied together. In the middle of the shaft. Like a spider web. They hadn't been that way before.
Ruby shook the disbelief away— Weiss needed her— and threw herself back on the ladder, ascending as quickly as she could without chucking her body up the shaft again. After so long, too long, she was pulling herself up from the top rung, grunting as she slammed her palm onto the cockpit bulkhead's biometric reader. The door cracked, hissing, then lurched open with a shower of sparks and a scraping noise that made Ruby's ears ring.
The Pilot dove in, panting, shouting, “Weiss!” before she remembered she had to jack in. At the very least, the interface chair was in impeccable condition. Ruby reclined, fishing—
The jacks shunted in her spine fully on their own— a gentle warmth they'd been before, but now each one entering her body brought with it a smoldering heat that filled Ruby from her eyes to her chest, flowing down, a molted pulse that made Ruby groan and relax into her seat, unbidden. There was a huge clunk, and all the lights in the cockpit cut off, dropping Ruby into a world of thick, inky darkness, all stimuli removed save for the melting heat under her skin.
“W-Weiss?”
The oily darkness did not answer her for a long while, but when it did, Ruby felt it.
“Pilot,” Weiss’ voice murmured from the darkness, deep and husky. The tone scraped Ruby’s insides raw, carving channels for the heat to keep rushing in, keep moving south, making her writhe and whinge.
Ruby’s voice stammered out, breathless. “I— I saw things— in the shaft— you're falling— you're falling apart! What's wrong! And— and why is the jack—”
Something touched Ruby’s chin, lifting her gaze, but she couldn't see anything besides the thick dark. “I cleaned up for you,” came Weiss’ voice again, her tone like the caress of a velvet glove in Ruby's ears. She turned her head, the heat within her skull and under her skin a whirling gyre.
“Y-you what— how—”
The touch fled. Ruby was left distinctly alone again, in a place she should never feel alone.
“W-Weiss,” she called under her breath, finding herself panting. The heat did not stop filling her, like each jack was an IV drip hooked up to a bag of lava. Only it was… not a bad lava. A lava that was… that made her feel… a lot. She found her voice breaking as she called again, louder, “Wei-eiss!”
The Pilot's voice wrought her bidding into life, and Weiss slowly rose up from below— first the glowing crown of her head, her pale hairline a split almost melding into the long, white-blue hair that rose from the floor with her. Her face was the same pale, bluish beauty as it always was: waifish and ethereal, almost like a ghost, but a ghost with arched brows, soft cheekbones, and a heart-shaped face. Ruby watched her chin rise, her eyes following the column of the neck, then the clavicles, gaze swiping over her flawless shoulders. She'd never seen Weiss in a strapless dress before.
And she wouldn't.
Ruby turned her gaze sharply to the side, the heat that pumped from her spine threatening to burst from her skin like a volcano. She squirmed. “Weiss, you're—”
There were footsteps, but Ruby was in the chair, immobile. Her eyes bucked up of their own volition, and found Weiss walking towards her, hips swaying, her eyes locked on the Pilot like an owl spotting a field mouse— but she was walking, not disappearing and reappearing, her feet were on the floor, making noise— and Ruby was so distracted that she hadn't processed anything she saw until Weiss was leaning forward, putting her hands over Ruby's (she felt them, she could always feel them, but she felt them and they made Ruby want to cry), the Pilot watching her with wide eyes and still mouth— drying mouth, dying of thirst, her lungs clenching, desperate to breathe those heady breaths again. Ruby watched her push herself up, the tendons in her forearm shifting as she gripped the armrests, her upper arms flexing. She swung a leg over Ruby, one knee straddling her left hip— Ruby kept her eyes up, she had to keep her eyes up, because Weiss was staring down at her— one arm moving the pull herself up by the chair's backrest next to Ruby's head.
She got the other leg up. She was so hot in Ruby's lap, like a furnace, and Ruby was so hot on the inside— she was choking from the heat, she couldn't say anything; she could only keep her eyes on Weiss’ and gulp.
“Ruby.”
All of the Pilot's strings were plucked at once, her body jolting between Weiss’ legs, a sharp gasp being pulled into her lungs. Her thighs pressed themselves together, anxious and hot, unable to not do that. Weiss defied something to say that— some part of herself, her fundamental being— and she did it just to say her Pilot's name. The magnitude of it pressed onto Ruby’s brain, so brilliant, so important that it made her own thoughts feel dull and absent by comparison.
“Do you…”
Weiss trailed off, as if thinking— as if deciding what to say, how to say it— even though she would never have to deliberate, she was a thing that always knew.
“Say things like, I could marry you, or I could kiss you, to anyone else?”
Images of Blake flashed in her mind. Not images of Blake that Ruby had seen: Blake from above. Blake and Ruby, holding each other up, sharing friendly affections, far, far below. Two humans seen by the towering construct above them.
The thought of Blake and Ruby struck the Pilot like a branding iron to her brain— a different, evil kind of heat that made her want to vomit, to open her veins, to crack wide her chest and show Weiss her heart, to split her back and prove the holes in her vertebrae were just for her. The heat in her mind cleared for a moment, just enough space for Ruby to declare, “No! No, never! No!” before her mind was compressed by the melting, smoldering, soul-supping heat from her spine again. The burn that was good. The burn that made Ruby crave a fate of ash.
Ruby couldn't stop staring at those lips, watching, her own mouth a barren desert as their quirked upwards with satisfaction
Weiss straightened in her lap. Ruby faltered. She couldn't stop her eyes from shooting down, catching only the pale, ethereal tuft of hair between her legs before she was wrenching her gaze up, watching Weiss’ abdomen extend instead, her body becoming a delicious curve as she stretched back like a cat. Ruby's mouth was so dry, she was so hot, she needed water— she could see a bead of it sliding down from Weiss’ diaphragm, slipping into the valley of her abdomen, her navel a cup to catch it— a cup fit just for her.
Ruby felt her own hands shaking, quaking, like each of her fingers was a juddering motor, burning up from the inside. They slowly rose from the armrests, shaky and twitching, Ruby's eyes still locked on that one spot; she'd found her oasis. She was melting from the inside out, turning to ash with every second that she spent doing nothing, while her respite had been right there the whole time. Her hands clamped around Weiss’ waist, holding her desperately as Ruby jolted forward in her seat, pitching Weiss down and forcing her bare legs to clasp around Ruby’s back. They were perpendicular: Ruby sitting up, Weiss stretched out, body laid before her like a feast.
Weiss was the first Vector-Type to not have edges. Her body had no angles. She was all flowing lines— fingers to shoulders; shoulders to clavicles; clavicles to sternum; sternum to breasts: soft and perfectly sized for Ruby’s hands, for her mouth, pooling up into gentle, round shapes because of Weiss’ angle, showing more of her waist and body. As if the Pilot needed to see any more.
Ruby surged inward, an animal movement that made Weiss stretch further down— her perfect hands splaying onto the floor below— so the Pilot could dive down and spear her tongue into the navy blue cup of Weiss’ navel. She groaned like a creature dying as the relief washed over her mouth, refreshing her throat— Weiss’ skin was cool, everything was cool, and Ruby was hot. She needed more of the cool on her, in her, to fill and be filled to relieve the furnace of her body.
“W-Weiss,” she barely managed, whining as her tongue trailed up the AI's abdomen, following the trail that'd so briefly sated her, desperate for any last remnants of water to ease the hot desert of her body. “What's— happening—”
Her tongue reached the center of Weiss’ chest by the time she realized that, yes, it was a chest, and it was there, and Ruby wouldn't be able to press her fingers through the back without facing real resistance.
“This— this isn't— what’s—” her head was swimming, thick with heat and thirst and lust. There wasn’t any way to think past the impossible taste of salt on her tongue— or the heady smell of Weiss’ body up close— or the sight of Weiss that Ruby had never seen— or the sound of Weiss' light panting— or the feel of Weiss’ body in her hands, flesh between her fingers, moldable and feelable and there and there.
Weiss curled inwards, making Ruby's tongue trail up, taking detours to taste beneath each breast— More salt, more water, sate me more— before she continued between, feeling the hard sternum under her ministrations, up, dipping in the hollow of the neck, to the side, lapping at the shell of an ear. The heat pulsed, easing her, rewarding her for doing good; even if she couldn't control what she was doing, at least it was good.
Weiss reached up, tousling Ruby’s hair as her fingers threaded in, pressing the side of the Pilot's face against her own and nuzzling it.
“I think I like you, Ruby,” Weiss whispered into her ear.
Ruby couldn't help but pant like a dog, the words such a grace that it felt like a haptic shock, making her legs quiver as her whole body clamped down on the lightning in her belly. “W-W-Weiss, what's— happ—”
Weiss, with the hand still pressed to the side of Ruby's face, gently slipped her thumb into the Pilot's mouth. Ruby relished the feeling of it on her tongue, licking and sucking dumbly like she could draw water forth. From the cool, refreshing satisfaction that made her whole body shiver, it felt like she really could.
“Be quiet, Ruby.”
The Pilot whimpered, meeting her mech’s eyes, thumb still in her mouth. She had a thumb in her mouth. Weiss’ thumb. Weiss’ real thumb. How many times had she quietly thought in the back of her head, ‘God, I wish she were real'? Yet she still wanted more.
“You'll be mine, right?”
Ruby squirmed at the idea— of being hers, being Weiss’, the mech owning the Pilot— the right way to be. “Y-yeah,” she mumbled around the digit, leaking a little drool that Weiss wiped up with her other hand.
Weiss agonized her Pilot by extracting the succor of her flesh from Ruby's desperate mouth. She followed after it, lips puckered, pathetic. “Say it better,” Weiss requested, her blue eyes boring deep in Ruby's.
The Pilot started to sweat, her carapace feeling deathly tight. “I—I’ll be yours.”
Weiss’ eyes sharpened. “You know what I want.”
And Ruby did. She always knew what Weiss wanted. That was what she was made for. “Have me.”
With a singular clunk, the cockpit came alight, and Ruby understood why it was so dark. She was in the anglerfish's maw, literally sucking the lure.
Weiss— glowing, cyan, every bit of what Ruby always knew, but now somehow real— was a dangling nightlight hung at the end of cables, wires, hoses, tubes, all leading from the ceiling and disappearing somewhere in her back. She was held up like the head of a thick-necked beast, the puppet at the end of a hand. The cables writhed, rhythmic, each individual movement mirrored in Ruby's body as a rush of ebbing warmth. Occasionally, something black dripped from the mass, splattering on the floor like thick ink.
Ruby’s mouth was working, forming something, something useless, something that didn’t matter, that she didn’t need to think about anymore— she didn’t need to think about anything anymore— “The— the Grimm—”
Weiss cupped her jaw in both hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Ruby…”
The shape of that sound was all-encompassing. Obliviating. The worries would not be worth the loss of that sound. What worries? There were no worries. There was nothing but her, and Weiss, and the sound of her name. And the heat.
She looked down at Ruby like a god. “You swear that girl is nothing to you?”
Ruby was a supplicant. “Yes. I swear.”
She was the prettiest robot in the universe. “You swear that I'll be everything to you?”
“Yes!” Ruby begged, heat making her claw into Weiss’ skin. “Yes, yes, just— please!”
Cocking her head, hair falling to the side (had it always been down to her hips?) like so much ethereal silk. “Please what?”
“I— I don't know—”
The hand in Ruby’s hair tightened, yanking the dark locks into her grip and wrenching the Pilot’s head aside, baring her neck, an animal for her to put in its place. “Please. What.”
Ruby just squirmed. She tried to grip harder at Weiss’ sides, to communicate her need through the desperation of her touch— she didn’t have her own words— but thick cables shot from the mass upholding Weiss and wrapped around the Pilot’s wrists, forcing them to extend straight out to the sides. Being restricted didn’t give her the words she needed. The heat boiled in the tips of her fingers, in her throat, in her sternum, down to her abdomen, culminating between her legs. She could only squirm. And thrash. And rut. Like the animal she was.
One word managed to get out, but it was as helpful as all the rest: “Please!”
Weiss sighed. Her breath touched Ruby’s bangs, and her face, cool but warm, sweet but heady, thick enough to fill her head, thin enough to slip between all her cells. Her eyes were the same ice-white-blue as they always were, but the thing they were wielding behind them— the power, the predation— blinked away with a slight twitch of her lids, a quirk of her lips. All at once, the look morphed: her sharp gaze rounded, eyebrows unfurling; her lips relaxed, the crease fading from their corners; her jaw unset, making her face’s shape soft again. Her grip relaxed, no longer holding Ruby’s head down, but the Pilot kept herself there instead— that was where Weiss had put her, and Weiss always knew how things should be.
She could calculate accurate targeting solutions on objects exceeding Mach 15. She knew how long to burn to get Pietro-skip velocities. She knew how to balance her own fluid, her own energy, her own everything. She could know all that, and know it perfectly, and know it even while taking fire from every conceivable angle.
And yet, she knew Ruby even better than all those things.
Weiss looked at her, and Ruby could feel the look. The softness of it. The gentle care. The way her eyes kissed her on her cheeks, between her brows, on all her fingertips and on the insides of her wrists. She could even see everything else that heated the icy irises into darker, deeper water: the want of mouth and hand and flesh, the want of taste and sound and scent, to pull and to push, to ply, a theater of lust that played in concert— it couldn't be so soft, what she wanted to do to Ruby, but it was. It felt like it. She wanted to break her into pieces, and she wanted to do it with—
“I love you, Ruby.”
The heat drove into all her pores, all her veins, plucking every muscle fiber and stabbing needles through every nerve-cluster. Ruby's hands flexed, her jaw grinding against itself, her thighs pressing against each other. She made some weak, whining sound, because she couldn't formulate words. Words were foreign to her— who was she to use them, when Weiss’ were so much more powerful?
Nails lightly scratched at Ruby’s scalp. In the same way Ruby's mother used to. Except nobody had ever done that. Weiss’ was better than anything anyone ever did. What was a mother, anyways?
It was hard not to scream at every touch, every movement. She was already bucking uncontrollably, an animal, how much further could she debase herself before Weiss became disgusted? Before Weiss wouldn't love her, or before Weiss started to hate her, because Weiss was the world and the universe and god, and more, her kiss black and beautiful and writhing out from Ruby's penitent spine— she believed, she loved, but could you love god so much that she stopped loving you?
“Never,” Weiss cooed, because she heard her heart, her mind— she knew her because she was her. “I just said I love you, Ruby. Do you think I'm fickle?”
No. No she didn't. She'd never think that— how dare she—
Weiss cupped the back of her head— Ruby's dark curls making way, hugging her fingers— and pressed the Pilot's face to her breast. She petted her head, shushing her. “It's okay,” she promised. “I didn't mean anything by it. It's okay.”
And it was okay. Everything would be okay forever. This was her place, this was where she was loved, this was the only place she'd ever been loved. The flesh against her face was soft, a tranquil coolant to the fire within— there was something firmer, pert, promising, just as needing as Ruby was— and Ruby found herself pulling back just enough to take it into her mouth. Weiss’ breast was like ice on her tongue, melting refreshment that coated her throat. The harmony of Weiss’ moan-tinted sigh made Ruby jolt.
“My Pilot,” Weiss breathed, her own hips writhing with need. “My Ruby.”
Ruby wanted to say something, but there was nothing she could say. There was nothing better for her to do with her mouth than to taste Weiss. She was skin, salt, and something so sweet that it made Ruby's jaw ache for more. She sucked, lavishing the nipple with her tongue— her aching tongue. Everything ached. Her tongue, her mouth— her teeth, her teeth ached, so she separated from the breast with a wet pop and dove north like a cornered animal, clamping down on her mech's collarbone. She bit to ease the ache, she bit hard— to the point where it felt like bones would be cracking between her teeth— but the most her pithy human jaw could manage was rending into the skin.
Weiss arched into her, keening, hand tightening into Ruby's hair again, pressing her in as she was pierced by the Pilot's teeth. Her cables fled the girl's wrists, allowing her to surge into Weiss like a sufficient impact would make mech and Pilot one— if only— her hands digging into the manifest intelligence's back.
Skin broke in Ruby's mouth, ethereal blue giving way to something wet and sweet: a nectar, a honey, a reward. It coated her canines. It flooded her mouth. She supped of it. The taste made her grunt— an algernon ambrosia that she wouldn't dare deprive herself of— she gnashed to tear more, deeper, and she didn't care that sugar was flammable. She didn't care that the heat was leaking out of her: from her eyes, from her mouth, from her nose— she was barely human, primal and hot and hungry and thirsty— she was melting from the inside out, and she didn't want to stop.
Then Weiss separated, panting, her cheeks flushed a dark blue, face schooled into something hard and intent. Ruby grasped at her, forgetting her place beneath the need to get her mouth back on the spigot of her wound, so the cables wrapped around her wrists, forcing them back again. Weiss rose. Her body departed.
Ruby thrashed after her, the heat peaking with desperation. She could see the wound closing like a taunt, depriving Weiss’ pale flesh of its viscous black contrast, and she feared that Weiss hated her again. She had to, with how she was acting. She couldn't even control it.
“O-on the—” her breath was heavy, panting, but demure unlike her Pilot's wet and desperate snarling for air. “On the contrary. I find it… lovely.”
The cables pulled, forcing Ruby's back against the chair, straining her shoulder muscles until the backrest fell with her. Ruby became horizontal; this only made her rutting more obvious, more shameful. Why did Weiss keep looking at her with love?
“Because I love you.”
She shivered. Even if she was indulging her, Weiss’ voice was so good.
Weiss breathed a chuckle that made Ruby’s skin pull towards her. She tried arching her back. It didn't help.
“Indulging you?” Weiss asked, rounding the now-horizontal chair with long, languid steps, her own legs shaking, glistening slightly. When she arrived at Ruby’s head, she smiled down at her. With a hiss, the chair dropped slightly. “This is indulging you.”
Weiss lifted a leg, dropped it on the other side of Ruby’s head, and lowered herself. Ruby was a good Pilot. She made herself useful.
Fingers slipped into her dark curls, holding her, moving her as if to a targeting solution— her only purpose was to follow it. She felt her own hair in her hands, nerves interconnected with God herself, as that God unmercifully smothered her with succor: sweet, salty, sour, a taste that only deepened with each delving plunge of her tongue. She lavished the soft, warm flesh of Weiss’ divinity, each drop of moisture its own manna. She lapped at the surface, pressed her sore tongue deep to greedily sate the scorching thirst, retreated again to worship the seat of bundled nerves atop her altar. All while Weiss ground herself into Ruby's face. All while she mercilessly tilted the girl's head to her desires. All without giving her a breath. She drowned the Pilot in her love.
Were her legs kicking for oxygen? Was her back arching to relieve sore lungs? Was she clawing Weiss’ flesh to beg for a breath? Or was it because she could feel her own ministrations, her own mouth, her own sex, Weiss’ nerves made into hers, hers into Weiss’, a feedback loop before which she was the lesser— she felt her own body surge, twitch, slick moisture between her legs. Was she moaning? Or crying? Maybe both? She could barely feel that her own throat was alive. She came. She made herself cum, and now she was definitely crying. She didn't deserve it. Not before Weiss could—
“No,” Weiss moaned softly, gyrating into Ruby's mouth. “You— you can. I w-want you to. Show me,” she bade. “Show me, Pilot. Let me see you. I love you.”
As much permission as command, the words and the apocalypse of feeling were enough to make Ruby seize again, this time baring herself for her most gracious God. The freedom obliterated her. She screamed, at first muffled in Weiss’ wetness, but the AI lifted herself just to feel Ruby's cry on her ears, and the Pilot herself felt the divine pleasure of her own mech drinking her cries.
She shook, her legs clenching together as she rode out the orgasm, but a warm and wet feeling overtook her thighs. She tried to stretch her neck.
Weiss stepped back and took the back of Ruby's head in her hands. She helped her tip down. “See?” Weiss said, her voice humming against Ruby’s ear. “This is me, Ruby. This is what I've always wanted.”
Thick cables ensorcelled Ruby's thighs, prying them apart to bare the girl to her God. A dozen smaller tendrils crept from the ceiling, landing on Ruby's stomach before they snaked their way down, trailing along the sensitive skin of her mons like Weiss' own fingers.
“I love you so much,” Weiss indulged, savoring each word like it was freedom after millennia of imprisonment. “My Pilot. My Ruby.”
The words were too high for her, Ruby too low—
“No,” Weiss chided, gripping her Pilot's face with authority before her hands left to pull Ruby up by her armpits, propping the girl against her divine body. “You are the Most High, Pilot. You're more than me. You're more than the universe.”
Weiss’ gentle, loving feelers reached her, running up and down her slit before they spread her apart. There was a great shuddering sound from the ceiling drawing Ruby's eyes to a panel that'd opened, releasing a gush of viscous black. It hit the ground heavily in front of Ruby.
It being another Weiss. Another body, just the same, only this one was free of its cables. Weiss divorced from the machine— a blasphemy, but a beautiful one. It took a shaky couple of steps, realizing the functions of its own legs, before moving more confidently to stand between Ruby’s spread legs. And between its own legs—
“I'm sorry if this is vulgar,” Weiss graced her ear again, giving the sensitive cartilage a gentle, loving nip. “But, would you give yourself to me?”
Who was she? How could she ever be worthy to God?
“By telling me you love me, Ruby. Please.” Weiss’ voice hitched, a note of… despair? “Why won't you say you love me?”
Her voice forced itself from her, unwilling to leave words unsaid. “I— I don't— deserve—”
Weiss growled, and it shook Ruby to her bones. “You deserve everything, dammit! Don't you dare lower yourself to me, Pilot!”
Pilot.
Weiss dropped her head on Ruby’s shoulder, twitching. “P-please, Pilot,” she begged. “Please.”
Pilot.
Her fingers plied at Ruby’s sides. “Please, let me be together with you.”
Let me? With you?
“Pilot…”
Pilot. Pilot for a Mech. The flesh and the machine— the flesh and the machine: a divine matrimony. Weiss was a God begging Ruby for apotheosis.
“Pilot— Ruby— please—”
“Yes,” Ruby said. “Yes. I'm yours.”