John Connor rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. His mind wouldn't shut off and he was too restless to sleep. In the dark of the night, memories swamped him.
Almost without conscious thought, his hand slipped over to cup his half-hard cock, which stretched and grew. The touch of his own hand was good but not what he really wanted...
John looked over to where his terminator stood in the dark. The tall, bulky figure gazed out the window like a sentry standing guard. John pitied anyone who might try to enter the hotel room without permission; they would be dead before they knew it. John smiled.
The terminator protected him, guarded him, obeyed him. It was in his programming to do so and John had found that a moral dilemma back in the days when he first realized what he wanted. But then he came to understand that John himself was programmed to protect and obey and, if it was called love in humans and something else in terminators, in the end it came down to the same thing.
It was cold in the room. The snowstorm that had them holed up like this was a harbinger of Christmas, only a week away. Idly, John wondered what he should get the terminator as a gift, since there was nothing he particularly needed and want simply wasn't a term he understood. But John couldn't help that he wanted to spoil his companion. He stretched luxuriously on the bed until his spine cracked, displaying himself to the cold eye that turned to look down at him.
'You should sleep," the unemotional voice told him.
"I'm too wound up," John said, smilingly. "You could help me out."
The terminator silently turned back to the window, then after a few seconds he looked back at John.
A jolt of excitement ran through John's body and his cock throbbed. "Come here."
Unhesitatingly, the figure came forward to stand beside the bed.
"Take off your shirt," John told him and the terminator moved to obey, laying the shotgun down carefully on the bed and removing his leather jacket and sweater until his well-muscled torso was revealed.
"Kneel here," John said and moved to sit on the edge of the bed with the kneeling terminator between his legs. John cupped the stern face with both hands and kissed his mouth gently. The terminator's lips opened to allow John access but otherwise remained passive. He'd asked John once what the purpose of kissing was. "It feels good to me," was the only answer John could give since it was clear that the terminator was unmoved by it. The terminator had given him that 'humans are strange' look that always caused a churning of amused affection in John's heart, but he'd cooperated without any further comments.
John broke off the kiss and began stroking the terminator's face gently. The flesh had long since grown back to cover the metal and the scars had faded away. The hair never completely grew back and he'd decided it was less conspicuous for the rest to be shaved off. Even John at his most adoring had to admit his terminator was one ugly dude.
The eyeball never grew back and so the sunglasses were normally worn at all times, but John really liked the strangeness of one human eye and one glowing machine eye. It reminded him of who the terminator was, reminded him not to assume human motivations, human needs. It was also very cool looking.
The face was less impassive now. John's light, wispy strokes over the face and down onto the massive torso had muscles twitching frantically under the skin. The terminator had no sexual response like humans, but they'd discovered that the sensory input from light, ticklish strokes was very satisfying to the cyborg. John had even seen him lightly stroke his own stomach for hours at a time when they were in safe situations. The sight never failed to arouse John and lead to other things.
So John happily spent fifteen minutes pleasing his terminator and ignoring the throbbing between his legs. Then when he couldn't hold off any longer, he lay back on the bed and told the terminator to suck him.
There was no hesitation, no holding back. The terminator was well-practiced at this, having done it many, many times over the past year -- ever since John Connor had, at the ripe age of seventeen, realized that, in the complex mix of ambivalent emotions he felt towards his own personal living machine, lust and affection and trust were predominant and gave his first sexual order. John felt that it had worked out well for the both of them.
He knew it was really, really, really wonderful for him. He thrust up into the warm, wet mouth that provided steady, flawless friction and sobbed at how amazing it felt. It was as if he was plugged into the right, the most perfect socket and the electricity buzzed through him. Man and machine connected in the most fundamental, beautiful way. He was filled with ecstatic energy and wished he could be here, in this way, with his terminator all the time.
"Do it!" he cried, desperately. "Do it now!" The terminator's movements changed from the smooth swallowing of John's cock to outwardly still, but inwardly, the tongue and mouth began an intense vibration, which John could feel spread immediately through his cock and balls to his entire lower torso. The sudden increase in stimulation had John writhing and crying out and it was only a matter of moments before he was coming, he was coming into his lover's mouth, spilling everything he had into that most perfect place, becoming a part -- even temporarily -- of the one he loved...
Shuddering in the dark, staring up blindly at the ceiling, John rode his orgasm to the end. And when it was over, he buried his face in the pillow, ignoring the burning in his eyes, the sense of emptiness in his heart. Stupid. It was so stupid to feel this way, to want something that had never happened, that all possibility of happening had died years ago in a selfless suicide, melted to scrap metal in a steel factory.
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