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Whole But Still So Broken	By : apathyswhore Category: +M through R > Red vs. Blue Views: 1612 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Whole But Still So Broken
- 1
Agent Washington had been given the orders to find the fully merged Alpha AI who had run off shortly after he had been given a body. Pretty much no one was surprised by the lack of forethought that had gone into this little venture (the army wasn’t known for thinking ahead), or the fact that they hadn’t been keeping track of him. So, of course, he had been the one who was given the task, once again, “of securing all of the military’s property,” seeing as he had been the one who had worked the closest with the subject and actually had the capacity to think. It had perturbed him to no end that Church was now considered an object, rather than a person. True, he wasn’t an organic human, but he had developed a completely different set of experiences, personality traits, and habits from the original Church. In Washington’s opinion, he should be able to do whatever he damn well pleased. He would have loved to be able to tell them to go fuck themselves, but once you sign yourself into the military machine, you’ll always be stuck as a cog. That, and a part of him wanted to see Church again. For whatever reason, he had a strange liking for the abrasive, scathing, sarcastic, and bitter man. Maybe it was because he himself was all of those things. Perhaps it was because part of him went crazy in his head and left him less than sane with the memories of horrible torture. Whatever the reason, part of him hopped he wasn’t doing anything horrible.

He had looked for him for what seemed like ever, though in reality it had only been six months. A lot of what he had were leads that crumbled into nothing and false paper trails. He was, once again, questioning the logic of being the one assigned to this particular mission. He wasn’t a detective; he was a highly trained combat soldier. He could understand if he was being held captive behind enemy lines, or was armed and dangerous. But having known Church personally, the only real danger he could inflict was a serious tongue lashing.

When he did find him, it had nothing to do with some sort of detective work on his part. He had been roaming the black city streets at night, weaving in between the dark, empty buildings in a bad part of town. All he had to do in the end was round a corner and there he was, like some convenient twist in a story. He had been leaning up against a building, clothes hanging off of his skeletal body, blue eyes sunken deep into his face and surrounded by dark rings, shaggy black hair looking like it hadn’t been cared for in a long, long time. He looked like absolute shit.

He approached him like one would a wild animal, but if appearances were anything to go by he should be approaching him like one would a dead animal. Slowly he crossed the deserted street, passing piles of broken glass so ground down by day time traffic that it looked like the fairy dust of some child‘s story, deserted houses surrounding them that one point might have been resplendent. But Washington paid no heed. He was focused on his goal. Like he always was. Like he always had been. Like he always would be. It was the reason he made such a good little military cog. Not to say he was single-minded, however. His mind was running through different scenarios. What if he runs; which way is he likely to go? If he fights will he have a weapon? If so, what weapon will it be? But most of all it was what the fuck is a man like him doing in an absolute shit hole like this? The gap between them was now swiftly closing. Three meters, two now, then finally he was upon him. Standing right in front of him, he said his name. “Church?” he asked, part of him still unsure that this broken down wraith could be the once arrogant man he had known.

“What?” he countered, not even bothering to turn his head.

Washington wasn’t a man who was used to being snubbed, especially when it came to matters of work, so it took him a moment to come up with an answer. In his most authoritative voice, he said, “I’ve been assigned to retrieve you.” In his head, he hated how professional he sounded. Retrieve. What was he, some sort of dog? The little voice in the back of his head told him that yes, that was exactly what he was. And now it sounded like he was the one thinking of Church as an object. Wonderful. Apparently bad notions were infections now.

“Oh yeah?” Church replied, rather uninterested, still not bothering to turn his head. Yes, there was now no doubt in Washington’s head as to the identity of this man. No on else he knew could pull off having that level of apathy in their voice.

Annoyed with the lack of interaction with his target (there he goes again), Washington sighed. “Yes, Church,” he said, voice having a level of exasperation unique to him alone. “I have been sent to bring you back.” At least he didn’t use the word retrieve again.

This time, however, there was no monotone reply. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go back, I can understand that, but-” he was cut off when all of a sudden, Church began to tilt dangerously to the left. The side Wash happened to be standing on.

Quickly, he grabbed Church’s left shoulder and, still keeping him upright, circled to his front. It was horrible seeing him like this, a sallow ghost (“I am a mother fucking ghost!”). He waived the quote away, not willing to feel guilty about it. It wasn’t his fault all of Church’s life had been a lie. No, said a voice in the back of his head, but maybe he could have gone on in blissful ignorance about it. Of all the things and times to regain a conscience about, this had to be the most unusual. Wash shook it off; he had to concentrate on the apparently sleeping man in front of him. Now that he was so close, he took the time to study Church, or rather, what seemed to be left of him. My god, he looked like shit, his mind reiterated for him. From here, he could see how the dim streetlights reflected dully his tangled, greasy black hair. Carefully, Washington took a hold of his chin and tilted his face to get a better look. He wasn’t happy with the results. His once full lips were now shrunken and horribly chapped, fragments of the fraying skin sticking up, leaving tiny traces of blood beneath them. His eyes moved up, and he was disgusted with the hollowness of his cheeks, how his skin was stretched taut over the jutting bones. And oh, his skin! He had been pale, but now his flesh tone was ashen and deathly. “Oh Church,” he murmured, “what have you been doing to yourself?” Gently, he began to shake him, watching the shadows from the streetlights waver over his features as his rag doll like body swayed back and forth. Eventually, he came to.

“What the fuck man, quit fucking shaking me!’ he yelled and slapped Wash’s hands away. He couldn’t help but be relieved at the rather Church like behavior presented to him.

“Perhaps you should consider a better place to fall asleep than a street corner next time then.” He replied, just a hint of mirth sneaking into his otherwise sarcastic voice. “What the fuck?” Church exclaimed, recognition and blatant surprise coming over his face. “Washington? What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. Even though his tone was that of astonishment, there was a rather obvious undercurrent of annoyance in it.

Putting on an unreadable expression, Washington said, “I’ve been sent to bring you back.” He said, being careful not to use retrieve again.

A wry smirk came to Church’s face. “Pheh, yeah, right.” He said.

Wash raised an eyebrow. “What, are you going to run from me? I’d wager you’d make it a few yards and collapse. Again.”

“Hey man, fuck off.” He said, as he began walking away.

“God damn it, Church!” Washington replied, following him. It was easy enough to keep pace with him, Wash being in peak physical condition and Church a virtual skeleton. For a while, they walked side by side, passing the towering tenements that could be described as monuments to poverty that glittered in the dim city light. The fracture patterns in the windows like spider's webs that, instead of ensnared, let in the putrid dust and decay of the metropolis that spanned like a constantly shifting labyrinth around them. Off in the distance, a dog began barking, followed by a gunshot. Washington was very familiar with that particular sound, so he knew he had made no mistake, thought he had to admit, he was rather surprised by how unaffected Church was. He hadn’t known him long, but he knew how indifferent Church could be, however he didn’t know it was this bad. He had to admit, part of him felt pity at how numb Church seemed to be. They continued to walk side by side in silence, nothing to be heard save for the sound of their foot falls in the deserted city streets. “What have you been doing to yourself?" He asked, a tiny hint of concern flitting through his voice.

Church, for his part, kept silent, his head bowed as they walked, hands in his pockets. He was the picture of emotional distress. In his mind, he was debating on what to do. He knew he couldn’t just book it, Wash was right about him not getting very far.

Church didn’t dislike Washington, which, by Church standards, said an awful lot. Sure, he had hated him to begin with (he hated everyone to begin with), Wash being the man to break the news that he was a fucking computer program. But really, he knew he would have found out anyway. After his fragments had joined to create the Meta (he was secretly rather proud of himself for having meted out that much destruction), Command would have dragged him back as a tool to placate it anyway. After all, computers didn’t have any rights. He knew from experience. Church shuttered, forcing back the memories of torture. One of the main reasons he didn’t hate Washington was because, to some extent, they shared that memory. Though Church wasn’t sure if Washington had actually experienced it or had merely been an outside observer. However, they dealt with it in different ways. Washington had built up hatred and had had an idea of some type of one man crusade. He had become hell bent on getting some type of pseudo justice and vengeance. Church himself, however, had a rather different type of outlet.

He had “residual memories” as people seemed so fond of saying to him, of having been a junkie before. The original Church had a history of drug and sex addiction. Right after high school, he had gotten into it.

He had always had an overactive mind, and when left to its own devises, it tended to go into very dark places. The futility of life and the fearful end. No matter what or how or why we are all going to die. Everything we’ve ever loved and hated will fade to obscurity as out bodies rot in the ground and our ashes are scattered into the oceanic abyss. We’re just a blink of an eye in an ever shifting universe, pointless and ignorant to any true greater cause. We’re all born to die. No matter what we do it’s all the same. Nothing changes. Even the stars themselves are finite in their burning glory. The only thing we ever truly do is fear the inevitable and create lies of paradise to keep ourselves from going mad with anguish and fear. It’s hard to think of ourselves as pointless and without worth. Beautiful trash made of stardust. He hated everything. The world was dying and he refused to be part of the movement that finally pulled the trigger. Everyone was a complete and utter idiot an he honestly didn’t give a fuck as long as they left him out of it. His bitterness and contempt had seeped so far past his veins that it melted his very core and blinded him to any chance of hope humanity might have had. He didn’t care anymore. People say that you have to take the good with the bad, but he’d never received his share of good. So just take it all away. Suffering, anger, fear, desperation, depression, frustration, and betrayal.

So why waste this short and precious time toiling day in and day out? Why let yourself be torn apart by rage and bitterness. Better to inject liquid happiness and apathy than have to think about this everlasting horror and the overall failure of humanity. When you don’t care about anything you don’t care about dying or stupidity. It made it manageable again. It was the cure for all the grim white noise in his head. But heroin was something most people frowned upon. Not that he gave a shit what other people thought, mind you. Which was way he had been rather content to continue on his own little path of self destruction.    But, when he was too tired and addicted to hold down a job (he got a bit of a dirty thrill shooting up in stock rooms, bathrooms, or various other placed that were semi-public), he had gone to an age old standby. He sold his body. He was handsome enough, and a lot of men, and even a few women, seemed to like that heroin chic look. And to him, it didn’t’ matter anymore who was fucking him. Some old, fat rich guy or some nervous kid. In the end, he got off and, more importantly, got money for smack. And that was when something he would never be able to explain happened. Somehow, he ran into Tex. They had always known each other, had grown up on the same block and had had one of the world’s worst relationships. After high school, they went their separate ways, and he had though that that would be that. But somehow, they ended up together again. She had been pissed and appalled at what he had been doing. What he had become. “What the fuck do you care, bitch?” he had asked. She raised an eyebrow and punched him in the face. Needless to say, he went flying and knocked his head against the side of a brick building.

“Because, you fucking idiot, you were supposed be better than that!” she had screamed at him. Even in his then concussed state, he had been surprised by her outburst. In her violent and fucked up special way, that meant she cared. Church had just stared at her after that. In his mind, she was the epitome of beauty whenever she was mad, her short red hair falling around her face, green eyes narrowed in a fury to envy all the gods of old, snub nose wrinkled in distaste, and one hand on her slim hip. He remembered in that moment that he loved her dearly. And right then, she cared about him, was worried even.

After that, they struck up a tentative relationship. Again. In the end, he had been given an ultimatum. “Which one do you love more, Leo, the smack, or me. You have a week.” And the choice was made that would define the fate of so many others. He chose her. He chose her like he always had and always would.

Church remembered a lot of false starts, a lot of getting the shit beaten out of him by Tex because of said false starts.   He hated all those nights of pacing back and forth, running to the bathroom to vomit as he was going through the DTs, twitching and shaking and almost clawing his own damn skin off. But she somehow managed to stay with him through the whole damn time, silently watching as his body rebelled and he cursed her and screamed about how he should have stayed with the drugs. In cases like that, she would jack up the volume of the TV to block out all of his delirious ranting and to show how much pity she felt for him and his bad choices.

If Washington thought he was going to go through with that again, not only was he crazy (he knew, he had been in his head) he was stupid. His reflections were broken by a large and deceptively gentle hand on his right shoulder. Oh yeah, fucking Wash was still following him. He had no idea about what to do about that. “Church,” he said, “where are we going?” Church wrinkled his nose. We. He fucking hated that word. “You can go straight to hell. I’m going home.”

I’m already in hell, he almost said. And I have the distinct feeling that you are too. But he wisely held his tongue. He had gotten rather good at that over the years. Besides, he was in control of the situation and was pretty sure Church knew it too. But back to the situation at hand. He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to see what constituted as a “home” in this atrocious festering cyst of a place. He really didn’t know why he didn’t just pick him up and carry him back kicking and screaming (or sleeping). It looked like he couldn’t weigh more than one hundred and ten pounds anyway. It would be easy enough. But he wouldn’t do that. He had a morbid and burning desire to find out for himself exactly what he was doing. Wash had a feeling he would never find out if he just carted him off with no questions asked.

Washington was about to begin interrogating him when someone called from across the street. “Hey honey! What’s a good looking man like you doing with a dirty bag of bones like that? Wouldn’t you rather spend the night with a pretty woman?” Wash had no idea what her definition of pretty was, but it wasn’t the same as his. She had a garish purple sequin tube top, a golden mini skirt, red fishnets, clear heals, and way too much makeup on. He was pretty sure she was a whore. This was turning out to be the most confusing night of his life.

“Fuck off, Taffy!” Church yelled without looking up.

“It’s Candy, you little faggot!” Church gave her the finger and kept on walking. “If you change your mind or he falls asleep on you, I’ll be around. If you haven’t missed your chance, that is.” she said with a wink.

Yes, Wash decided, he had been in killing fields where the air was choked with smoke and the scent of blood and fire that had made more sense than this.

“What was she talking about, Church?” Wash asked as they rounded a corner.

“I’ve seen you pout a bullet through a wounded woman’s head, don’t play the naive school boy. It doesn’t suit you.”

He was talking about South. Wounded or not, the bitch had it coming. Her rage and jealousy had always blocked her logic and made her vulnerable. In the end it had been that all consuming anger that had been her downfall. And the downfall of her poor brother. Wash had rather liked North. He was caring and kind, even to his psychotic sister. It was a shame that such a good man had to go in such a way.

“It was your logic that advised her death.” Washington reminded him.

“Hey, I’m not saying it was the wrong decision, I’m just saying I don’t have time for your bullshit questions.”

To Wash, it looked like he had all the time in the world, but he didn’t mention it. “Alright, let me rephrase that. Why are you a prostitute?”

“Don’t, Washington, just fucking don’t. “

“Just don’t what, Church? Don’t try to bring you back? Don’t help you? What am I not supposed to do, Leonard?” Church had always hated being referred to by his first name. One of the few perks of the army was that you only had your last name. He was sure Wash knew that (his memory did have a short time in his brain) and had only done it to piss him off. Not that that was a hard task to accomplish. So with a death glare, he said, “no. Just don’t fucking bother.” At that, Church turned his head and stormed away, knowing full well that Washington wasn’t just going to leave him to rot here, no matter how much both might desire to. He didn’t say anything else, and neither did Wash. Church just continued to walk down the abandoned streets. Washington followed at his heels like the dog he hated to be.

Eventually they came to a stop outside of one of the many disintegrating buildings It was old, you could tell by the grimy and crumbling bricks that it had been built not too long after the invention of steel framed buildings. This place might have been beautiful once, might have been prosperous and free from the dirt and anguish that it now claimed as it’s place in the world. Just like them. Church yanked open a two paneled wooden door that at one point had had glass panes that were now long shattered. Inside it was very narrow with pealing cream walls and a squared staircase that spiraled all way to the top floor with a simple wooden banister. Each narrow platform having one door that lead to an apartment. Up a winding stair. But Washington was no longer sure who was the spider and who was the fly. “Nice place.” he said dryly. “It’s free.” Church replied, tone just as acerbic. Without another word they climbed the stairs. Church came to a stop on the third floor and entered the apartment.

At first it was completely black but after a moment it was dimly illuminated by a lighter held by Church. In one of the corners of the room there was an old oil lamp that looked like it had been fished out of the dump and probably had been. It was quietly lit. “There’s no electricity, but there’s running water.” Church explained. The hovel looked worse than the hall. It had dark wood floors, scraped clean of any value they might have once had. A dirty, full sized mattress was pushed into the north east corner of the room. It was devoid of any sign of true comfort like pillows or sheets. It would be getting cold soon and Wash felt concern for Church. He might freeze to death given his lack of body weight. There were a few empty cans of food, but judging by Church’s appearance, they were very old cans. There was a small bathroom that was missing any sort of door to it, but it was hard to make out any detail in the dim light provided by the lamp. The rest of place consisted of one window, one plastic deck chair, and a small first aid kit next to the bed. The first aid kit was puzzling, but provided Wash with a modicum of comfort knowing he at least had some Band-Aids.

When Church sat down on the mattress and stared at his lap, Wash took the chair.

“Church?” he gave no reply, but Washington continued with his question. “What they did to you, doesn’t it make it hard to have sex?” It bothered Wash. It had bothered him to no end. He himself disliked physical contact after being witness to the depraved atrocities that had gone on. He remembered being violently ill after that. It was the strange contrast of his, being able to ruthlessly kill because of a single order but still having the ability to empathize.   Honestly he was not malicious. Most of the time, anyway. He didn’t torture his … assignments like some of the others had; there was no cat and mouse for him, simply point and shoot. Washington was good at what he did, but he had no love for it like the others. It was probably the reason he had made the list, but was on the bottom.

“I don’t let them tie me up or do any sort of S&M games. It’s hard not to think about it if they do. Did you feel it? What was done?”

“No. I only witnessed it.” he answered quietly.

“I try to remember it didn’t really happen. It was only a simulation.”

“But it did happen. Even if it wasn’t in the physical world, what was done was real. It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen and that‘s saying something. I still have a hard time with it and I only saw it. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like. You‘ve never talked about it with anyone, have you?” he asked knowingly. “I never did either. I was never quite sure what to say.” Perhaps it was time they did talk about it. It wasn’t that they were living in the past so much as they were trying to bury it, kicking and screaming, one hundred feet in the earth so they didn’t have to remember its agony.   But maybe it was time to face it, to heal, and move on. Maybe this was what both of them had been waiting for for so long now.

During their short lived conversation Church had brought his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible as once again the memories came flooding back. It was always hell trying to push them down where always lurked, waiting to send him into panic attacks and paralyzing fear. But that was where the drugs came into play. “I need a fix.” he said, opening the little med kit.

He had seen the little box on the curb one night and thought it would be rather apropos. It contained three grams of heroin, a syringe filled with water, another syringe with a hypodermic needle attached, an elastic band he used as a tourniquet, a burnt spoon, and a wad of cotton balls. It also had condoms and a half empty bottle of lube. He had a thing against letting men come inside of him, given his past experiences. It stirred up bad memories.

It wasn’t like he was proud of it. He could have chosen a much worse way to get money. At least someone walked away happy. But it wasn’t just the heroin he was addicted to anymore. He actually enjoyed the sex now. At first, it had been physically and emotionally painful, but it had sort of become a statement to himself that the past no longer had power over him. Well, part of the past anyway. But after a while, with some coaching from his Johns, he began to rather like it. A lot. Over the months he’d become accustomed to taking it up the ass, and, if done properly, he rather enjoyed it. It was one of the reasons he was still in business. Apparently some rent boys weren’t so into it, and it really helped the ego of his cliental to see that their fucking him made him cum. Loudly. Sometimes though, certain voices, phrases, or positions would make him freeze for a moment and he would have to force himself though the session. Refunds were not an option. But that was okay, because he always had his poison of choice waiting when he was done. In fact, if he wasn’t craving heroin, he was craving sex. And the best part of it was he was getting paid to feed his addictions. Sure he was dirty, scrawny, technically homeless, and a drug addicted prostitute, but for the first time in a long time, or ever, he was happy. He was alone and only had to deal with other people for “business” but then he was getting laid or buying drugs. Which, again, made him happy. It was this deplorable process that made him feel okay.

Tex had made him happy. But there were equal, if not greater, parts of misery mixed in with that. If she came back, would he give it up again? Without a thought he would. But she was gone now. And this time she wasn’t coming back. It was one of the main reasons he had given up on life. The only person he gave a shit about was gone and she took his will to live with her, that thieving bitch. So between his life being a lie, being put through one of the worlds most brutal rape sessions, having to live with insufferable morons for years, and losing the only person he cared about he gave up and went back to something that made him not care. He was finally happy. Or at least didn’t give a shit, and that was good enough for him. And now Wash wanted to fuck all of that up.

“I’d like it if you’d leave now.” Church said. “Only if you leave with me.” was Washington’s reply. Church hadn’t thought he would go, but it was worth a shot. He didn’t particularly give a shit if he watched, but he really didn’t think Wash would keep his fucking mouth shut while he was shooting up. But now he had to try and he wasn’t too sure how well that would turn out.

Wash was curious as to what the contents of the med kit were. He couldn’t recall anyone ever getting a fix from antibacterial cream, so he looked on with interest as Church assembled a seemingly random array of items. It didn’t dawn on him what it was until he saw the needle. He was stunned silent as he watched Church put the brown , clumpy powder on the spoon and added a little water from the syringe. He continued to watch as Church held a lighter underneath and slowly the mixture melted into one sticky mess. Church used one of the cotton balls to filter it as he sucked up the mixture with the preassembled hypo.

It was while Church was tying his tourniquet that Wash snapped back to reality. He rushed in and, as carefully as he could, snatched the needle away.

“Don’t you dare fuck with me on this, Wash!” Church yelled.

“I’m not just going to sit there and watch you kill yourself.”

“You don’t have to watch; I asked you to leave. But you wanted to stay. I would have been fine if you hadn’t brought up the past!”

“I didn’t know you were mainlining heroin. I should throw away all of this shit.”

“Don’t you fucking dare! Do you have any idea what it coasts?”

“How about you tell me in the amount of men you had to fuck to get it?”

Like an offended woman, Church slapped him, causing Wash to drop the hypo. Church watched with sharp eyes as it skittered and clinked into the corner. The sound it made reminded him of a scared cockroach fleeing for its life. He figured he wouldn’t get away with shooting up with Wash around. But that was okay, his previous dose hadn’t run through his system yet and there were other things he craved. He decided to give his idea a try. For science. So, putting on his best “fuck me” face, he leaned against the wall, hips jutting forward. “I won’t do anything drug related if you fuck me instead.” he said as seductively as he could. He’d always imagined Wash would be a rough fuck He always seemed like he had a lot of angst that he needed an outlet for, and fucking was always a good outlet. It might even help loosen the son of bitch up a little, but he doubted it.

Wash was taken aback; not once had he ever thought of having sex with Church, especially when he looked so ill and fragile. Wash was worried that he would break if he laid a hand on him in his current state. “Church, please. Don’t be ridiculous. You need help.“ he tried.

Church ignored him. “When was the last time you got laid, Wash? I bet it would do you a lot of good.” he said, pealing off his grimy shirt. Honestly it had been rather a long time since Wash had had sex, not that he regretted it. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t the slightest bit interested, despite the strange circumstances. And there was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. He shouldn’t have found it attractive. Seeing him stand there, naked from the waist up, all twenty-four ribs painfully visible, angry red lines running up his scraggy arms and a look on his face that he knew couldn’t quite be called sane. He shouldn’t have been aroused by the way Leonard Church, the Alpha, walked towards him with a sensual grace despite the decline of his body, displaying the cool confidence of someone who knew what they wanted and knew exactly how to get if from most everyone. Washington suddenly realized why Church still managed to be a good hooker: he was damn sexy when he wanted to be.

Church put his arms around his shoulders and began to sway back and forth to some inaudible sound. Washington felt paralyzed, but whether it was more from lust or surprise he would never know. Washington, despite being a man, was never really that interested in sex. He had always found it to be a distraction and a potential risk. That’s not to say he couldn’t please a woman; he had always proved more than adequate on the occasions he chose a partner. But it had always been a fairly attractive woman, never a rogue, embittered AI/junkie whose tortured memories had made him a little… off kilter. Church stood on the tips of his toes like some sort of melancholy ballerina and whispered into Wash’s ear, “you can touch me, if you want.” Almost automatically his hands went to Church’s skeletal hips, clutching them with cautions need.   This was not logical. This was not right. Church was dirty and sick. He would be taking advantage of him in this state. And then Church’s hand went down the front of his pants. Oh yeah, that was a game changer. Cold and claw like fingers clutched his semi-erect cock. And, for some reason that was currently unknown to Washington, it was the sexiest thing that had ever been done to him. He really must have gone insane because the next thing he knew he was smashing their mouths together so hard that he thought their teeth might shatter from the force behind it. He tasted like tooth decay and bad breath. It was horrible, disgusting, bitter, cathartic, and wonderful all at the same heart stopping time. This was what he had wanted all along, what he had needed but had never known. This probably wouldn’t fix the Alpha, but it might help Washington.

Church was surprised at how easy it had been to seduce him. He knew he had a weird thing for Epsilon from being in his head the one time, but he didn’t know it was like… whatever the hell they were doing now. Suddenly, he was pissed. It was like he was some sort of strange replacement for himself. Like Wash couldn’t have Epsilon as an individual so he went for the closest thing to that. Using all of his meager strength, he pushed Washington off of himself. It was sort of like pulling a suckerfish off your face. “You’re not doing this because you had a hard on for my memories, are you?“ He asked. Much to his chagrin, he was beginning to feel like rebound ass. Sure, Wash was handsome if you were into the whole strong, silent, and emotionally scarred for life type. Though realistically anyone with enough money or heroin was his type. But that didn’t explain why the fuck he was feeling pissed now.

“I’m doing this to keep you from putting more poison in your veins.” Washington then pondered the question as his thoughts traveled to his former AI.

It was hard to get rid of the feeling of something in your head. But it was even harder to get used to. Especially for a such a reserved man like Washington. Getting used to sharing every thought, every emotion, every shred of yourself with something else that could keep its own thoughts and feelings from you. It was… difficult. But Epsilon had never kept anything to itself. It had been desperate for companionship from the beginning, for someone to help it. It had willingly poured all of its anguish into his mind. “This is what I’ve dealt with, This is what’s been done to me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.” He had witnessed the blood, beatings, fear, and pain of another sentient being. And at that moment, his heart had gone to Epsilon. He had wanted to help, needed to, even. But he had never gotten that chance. It was hard to share every shred yourself. And it was even harder not to fall a little (or a lot) in love with something that had seen you so naked, so exposed. Yes, he could admit it now. He had loved Epsilon, dearly. And now, standing before him was his love, whole at last, like he had always wanted to be. But still so broken and in so much pain. The worst part was that he had no idea how to save him no matter how desperately he wanted to.

“I could never help Epsilon,“ he said, pain evident in his voice, “but maybe I can find a way to help you.“ Church smiled his slightly off smile again. “I don’t want your fucking help,“ he whispered sensuously. But apparently it had been the right answer because the next thing he knew Church’s tongue was down his throat. Kissing Church was the most wonderfully disgusting thing that he had ever done. Wash placed his left hand on the back of Church’s head, clutching his greasy hair while his right hand went to his ass, squeezing lightly. There was hardly any fat there so he felt mostly atrophied muscle and bone, but it still turned him on. Continuing to grope, he pulled his tongue out of Church’s mouth, a long string of saliva keeping them attached like the unseen hand of fate that had thrown them hurdling at each other. The wet thread was broken when he virtually attacked the other man’s neck. It was full of bruises and bite marks from all of the other men who had been in the same position as Washington. It sort of pissed him off. How dare they leave their filthy marks all over him? They had no idea what technological magnificence turned flesh and bone stood before them. They didn’t know how amazing it was that he had come through, had become whole again no matter how low he was now. Wash pulled Church closer as he sucked and bit his neck, trying cover the marks of so many others.

Church was happy that Wash was so eager. He must have been right about the other’s lack of sexual activity. What really got him though was how rough he was being and how grabby he was. It didn’t bother him though. Church could put up with pretty much anything as long as he wasn’t bound and gagged. In fact, he had rather come to like a little rough treatment, which was a good thing seeing as how being a whore got you a lot of it. Church wrapped his arms around Washington’s neck and, carefully balancing on one skeletal foot, wrapped the other leg around Wash’s sturdy waist.

Washington was slightly surprised that he hadn’t been scolded for basically chewing on his neck. He felt Church twist around him like Eve’s snake only this time the forbidden fruit was the deviant creature itself. Wash ground their crotches together and heard Church let out an appreciative sigh at the exquisite friction. Washington himself craved more, but he wanted this to last as long as possible. He had already given in so he might as well savor it. Lightly he moved his kisses around Church’s neck, nipping at his chin then moving down to briefly suck on his larynx then lower still to trace his tongue and teeth over his strikingly prominent clavicle.

Church sharply took in a breath as his head tilted back, giving Washington better access. It was rare that anyone took the time to ravish him with such desperate hunger; usually they had him face down by now while he jerked himself off. It felt nice to be treated so reverently, to be so desperately needed. Wash’s mouth felt good on his cold skin. It was warm and wet and his tongue traced meaningless patterns when it tasted his flesh. It tickled but soothed in its own strange way. But he didn’t know how much longer he could stay wrapped around him like that. He decided it was time to move to the bed where they could fool around better anyway. Church disentangled himself from Wash and his needy grasp.

Washington was worried he had done something wrong when the warm, compliant body unraveled from around him like the string attached to a adrift kite. Teasing, lost, and free.   He watched almost nervously as Church wriggled his way out of his pants revealing nothing but taught flesh underneath, just beginning to show too many hints of the ridged bone beneath.
Church kicked off his worn shoes and sat down cross legged on the filthy mattress. He lifted his dirty hand with overgrown, grime filled nails and beckoned to Wash with one finger. Both of his eyebrows were raised and there was a rare smile on his pale lips, just showing a hint of yellow tinged teeth. The whole picture was a surreal and disgusting mix of coy and devious. Washington had never seen such a perfectly contrasting combination mesh so well together. Almost mindlessly he obeyed the unspoken command to come hither. Church was beautiful in his tragedy, an unwilling digital messiah made flesh for the ignorant and ungrateful masses. But Washington was here to worship at his alter; to take part in this twisted and taboo communion. To be both Judas and John.

“Hey,” Church said huskily, interrupting Wash’s silent sermon. “Take your clothes off.”   He said it in such a way that it sounded like there was a giggle behind it.

Washington reminded him of a kicked puppy, eager to obey but also unsure of himself. It was cute in a sad sort of way. But he was used to sad. It had its own special quality that made you step away and think, analyze a situation in a way that happy people were likely to ignore. Yes, he was most certainly used to sad by this point in his miserable life.   Church watched as Washington pealed off his shirt, enjoying the view as well toned muscles were reveled without hesitation. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this quite a bit more than he normally would. When his pants and underwear were pulled down he really knew he was going to enjoy it.

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. He was really going to fuck Church. He was going to have sex with a drug addicted prostitute in a disgusting room. But he wanted it. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted any normal sex with any normal women. He knew he shouldn’t, there were so many reason why this was a really bad idea, but none of them mattered. For once in his life he was going to do something spontaneous. He was going to do something without reason and order. Silently he knelt down before the object of his desire. The grody mattress was an alter and Church was the god. He must have met his gods approval because Church reached out and pulled Washington over top of him. Wash decided to continue where he left off and began planting wet kisses on Church’s shoulders. There were bruises there too, but it no longer mattered. Church was his. He moved lower down his body and ran his hand down Church’s torso, memorizing the hills and valleys of his prominent ribs, continuing the exploration with his mouth as he nipped at each jutting bone. His cadaverous flesh tasted acrid; he could taste the salty tang of old sweat and city filth. This too should have turned him off, but it was no deterrent. He wanted him that much, that badly. He felt Church shift slightly, arching into his kisses and sighing softly. It was good to know he was doing it right. But he supposed that a body was a body, after all.

For his part, Church wasn’t used to such gentle treatment.   Judging by the way he had been gnawing on his neck earlier he wouldn’t have guessed that Wash was into being tender. Weird. Sex with Tex had always been a brutal affair, never slow and sensual. This was different, but not bad. He felt Wash’s hands drift lower on his body, fingers skimming by his groin and just barely missing his cock. Teasing son of bitch.

Washington moved his mouth lower, kissing a trail down his concave stomach, hands moving back up to grasp at his emaciated hips, running his thumb along the jutting crest of bone. As he explored he couldn’t help but remember that he’d seen this body naked before. Epsilon had shown him. He decided he’d rather see him in this sickly state than see a healthy Church covered in blood and semen and filled with knives, razors, and screws.

“Are you just going to stare at my pelvis all night or are we going to do something?” Church said snidely. Apparently he had been lost in thought for too long. Wash couldn’t help but smile as he bit down on his hip in retaliation. “Ow! Don’t be an ass!” he yelled as he jerked his lower half away. Church was always so impatient, so willful. At first, Washington hadn’t liked that, finding his generally cynical and egotistical attitude annoying, but his acerbic wit and intellectual capabilities had endeared him to Washington. But he supposed Church had a point; it was time to move on to the next phase.

He sat up while he was between Church’s legs, picking up his right one and resting the foot over his shoulder and pressed his lips to Church calve, losing his thoughts in the smell of him, the feel of smooth and ashen skin beneath his searching fingertips. Wash’s other hand rested on Church’s hip as without shame, he said, “I’ve never had sex with another man before, you’ll have to tell me what to do.” He felt no embarrassment in his confession. Proper instructions made for a far more satisfactory outcome after all. Besides, he had been told what to do for the better part of his life so he had gotten rather good at following orders.

Church gave a throaty chuckle at the other man’s statement. It wasn’t uncommon to get novices at gay sex. And he much preferred to instruct rather than have them try to mount him and assume that anal sex was the same as vaginal sex. Church pulled his leg away and sat up. Smiling deviously, he instructed Wash to lay down. For the sake of comfort, Wash gathered the nearby clothes and create a makeshift pillow for himself. Not the most comfortable or supportive thing in the world, but it would be better than nothing, he supposed. He lay back and tried not to think about how weighted down with dead skin cells and old semen the mattress was.

This was definitely going to be fun, Church decided. He was looking forward to making the epitome of self restrain lose it. He took out the lubricant and decided to omit the condoms for the special occasion. He always used them, and he’d be damned if he’d ever share a needle. He was pretty sure he never shared a thing in his life and being a junkie and a whore hadn’t exactly made him altruistic. But getting back on the subject, he was also pretty sure that Wash was as clean as a freshly autoclaved scalpel and on the off chance he wasn’t, well, Church was pretty sure he didn’t have that long of a life ahead of him anyway.

“Give me your hand,” Church said. Gingerly Washington extended his arm, holding out his hand. He watched from his prone position as Church poured lube over his index and middle fingers. Church then straddled him again and guided his wet fingers to the cleft of his ass.

“Stick one finger in then when I tell you to stick the other one in.”

“That seems a bit unsanitary.” he replied, unsure of the ramifications of sticking his fingers in Church’s ass.

Church just glared at him from his lofty position. “Well, you’re going to be sticking your dick in there, so you might want to get the fuck over it if you wanna get laid!” he snapped irritably.

Admittedly it had been a rather stupid statement, but he wasn’t going to be out done. He jammed his index finger straight in. He immediately felt the muscles constrict around the intrusion. “Jesus fucking Christ, do it slowly. You are such a douche bag!” he yelled out. “Sorry,” he replied, but it wasn’t a sincere apology. Slowly he pulled his finger out and, with equal speed pushed it back in. It wasn’t smooth or wet like he had expected, but, in retrospect, it made sense that it wasn’t. As he pushed his finger in further it opened up and felt a lot smoother though. He continued in this fashion only a little while longer before he was told to add a second finger. “Curve you fingers a little towards the front when you pull them out.” More instructions. Mostly he just wanted to put his dick in now. But he supposed there was some satisfaction to be had in from this strange process. It was titillating to do something so taboo. As he pulled them out (curved inwards as instructed) he felt them push against a small bump. When they did, Church gasped ad pushed back on his fingers. He pressed the pads of them against it again, eliciting a quiet moan from the man straddling him. “St-stretch them open.” Church told him breathlessly.

“My fingers?”

“No, your eyeballs, you retard!” He yelled as he pushed back against his digits, eager for more pleasure. Wash sighed and stretched his middle finger out, leaving his index to press against his prostate. He continued to rub against the bundle of nerves while his index finger scissored the walls of Church’s ass, memorizing the different textures therein.

Church, for his part, was enjoying the experience. He had planted his hands on Wash’ abdomen to balance himself while the delicious shocks of pleasure ran up his spine as his insides were stroked and stretched. Warm, throbbing pleasure was mixed with slow, burning pain. It was the contrast that made the experience all the better. He let soft moans fall past his lips as he rocked his hips against the fingers inside of him.

Watching Church fuck his fingers was one of the those special scenes you memorize and keep for the rest of your life to think back on when you’re at your worst and you need to remember that your life wasn’t a total waste. That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t beginning to lost his patience. Church was having fun but currently Washington’s penis was rock hard and woefully outside. He didn’t seem to be getting his fair share of the pleasure.

“Are you going to ride my fingers all night, or is this going to go somewhere else?” His sexual frustration making his voice terse. Granted, Church had only said “fuck me”. And that didn’t necessarily mean ass to dick action, but it was greatly implied.

There we go, Church thought, he’s not made of stone after all. But you wouldn’t think it by looking at his dick. Perfect. Church dismounted and felt the fingers slip from his body, leaving him feeling stretched open and slick. He retrieved the lube again and squeezed a generous amount directly on the head of Wash’s cock.

“Shit that’s cold!” Wash exclaimed as the slick substance hit his heated flesh. “I’m sorry, would his highness liked me to have warmed it first?” Church snapped back as he took Washington’s dick in hand and began to spread the lube properly. Wash didn’t care what Church said anymore though, as long as he kept his hand on his dick. Finally he was granted the contact he so longed for. He grunted and arched his hips as that sinfully skilled hand slowly worked him. The hand started from the tip to the base, but his grasp was loose as it smeared the lube fully around his erection

Church wasn’t doing this part so Wash could feel good. If he just gave him a handy that would leave himself high and dry. He wasn’t just going to literally handout freebies. He was going to get something out of this one way or another. But he did give awesome hand jobs. There was no question about that.

Church decided that everything was slick enough and took his place atop Washington once again. The thing about anal was that you had to push your butt muscles out if you wanted something to go in. Paradoxical, but effective. He grabbed Wash’s dick and lined it up. He had done this a million times, so he knew exactly what to do as he slowly sat down on his erection. He liked riding because of the control it gave him. He was able to speed up or slow down at will and change the angle to reduce discomfort and maximize pleasure. Also it was nice to control something for one in his existence.

Washington tensed and grabbed Church’s hips as slowly he was engulfed in the tormentingly sublime heat. He felt this urge to thrust up and bury himself in one go, but he had enough self control to resist. Being inside of an ass was a completely new experience. Right at the opening it was extremely tight and a little rough, but after about an inch it opened up and had a different texture. It was damp and entirely smooth and yielding. Church sat still for a moment after Wash had been taken to the base, head straight and eyes unfocused as he stared at the cracked wall before him. Washington was just about to dig his fingers into sickly flesh and start pounding when Church planted his hands on Wash’s abs and rose up. Washington took a sharp breath as his cock slid free from its inviting confines and was once again exposed to the chill air. He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he had been holding when Church sank down on him. Wash tightened his grip on his lean hips and helped movie Church up and down on his erection. He was incredibly light so there was hardly a noticeable effort.

Church grunted as he slid back down on Wash’s cock. He was rather large and it stretched him more than he was used to but it didn’t bother him much. It was a bit like jabbing yourself with a needle to inject heroin. You have to take the pain if you wanted to get to the pleasure. And there was pleasure to be had in the wearing friction and that strangely satisfying feeling of being filled. Sometimes he thought he liked it because he had been split apart and the need to feel complete translated to feeling filled and became a Freudian thing. Other times he thought it was just because he was a weird slut. Regardless he was beginning to enjoy the deep ache inside of him as he languidly bounced on Wash’s cock. Washington’s hands were tightening their grasp on his hips and were beginning to force him to move faster. Church didn’t mind though. He was acclimated well enough to his size that the increased in speed felt good and was welcome.

Wash vaguely noticed a change in the color of Church’s skin. What was once sickly now flushed pink and looked almost healthy. But honestly he wasn’t able to focus on much except for how good his dick felt. The artificial lubricant made the slide in just easy enough that the maddening friction was exquisite. And the contrast of the tight opening and the loose inner chamber was carnally fascinating. He listened to the moist slap of flesh as Church rose up and then impaled himself again. It was a never ending and provoking tease. Washington couldn’t get enough of the feel of being engulfed in heat and flesh on the in stroke and the grinding friction on the out stroke. Each time one feeling began he felt he never wanted it to stop. His body demanded more of each sensation.

Church had aligned himself just right so that Wash’s dick was rubbing delightfully against his prostate. He was enjoying the pleasure but wasn’t entirely focused on it. He’d been fucked so may times (literally and figuratively) that he had gotten rather good at thinking about other things during the act. He had been trying to come up with a reason as to why he had gotten so pissed at Washington earlier for maybe implying that he was a substitute for his fractured memories. He came to the conclusion that it was the idea that he was at a higher value in pieces rather than a whole that had bothered him. All the shit he went through, all the shit he had put up with to get whole again, and the man who had seemingly wanted it more than anything would rather have just a shade of him than all of him. That would have meant he had been lied to again. He was sick of lies. All of his life had been one big lie. Do you have any fucking idea what that was like? To have everything you ever though you knew, the one thing you thought you knew for a fact, to have been a complete and absolute lie? The truth being that he had just been the throw away result of a cruel and perverted experiment that destroyed the lives of so may others. Wash grabbed his hips and started moving him at a faster pace, making the pleasurable sensations harder to ignore. He might as well get lost in it. It was better than thinking about shit “life”.

Washington observed with erotic fascination as Church’s expression went from blank to openly aroused; his icy, dilated eyes lost their focus and his jaw was loosing slack. He planted his hands on Wash’s chest in order to get better leverage. Church was breathing heavily now and when he felt the dick rub just right at his insides he let loose a soft moan of pleasure. His head tipped towards Washington and his cool blue eyes stared at the man beneath him. With any other person it would have been a welcome and erotic sight; but Washington could only see Church as he was when tortured. He saw the noose wrapped tightly around his delicate neck and razors wedged between enameled bone. If he closed his eyes he could swear that the sweat that dripped from the other’s body was hot, fresh blood and the moans of pleasure emanating from his sweet and bitter mouth were those of pain. He couldn’t continue to perform if those images kept haunting him, kept reminding him of the utter destruction of something he had come to love so thoroughly. He wrapped one of his arms around Church’s waist and the other arm around his shoulders. He gripped as gently as he could, causing Church to begrudgingly halt his hedonistic gyrations. Without disconnecting their bodies, Washington managed to lay Church on his back

Church was only mildly annoyed at having Wash change the position but he had to give him credit for doing it so fluidly and not taking his dick out. He did his best to cant his hips as he wrapped his arms around Washington’s neck. The angle was pleasant enough, and there was the bonus of having his erection pressed between them if he arched his hips in the right place. Wash’s cock brushed his prostate and he muttered nonsense as it was hit again. Yeah, this would do. It would do just fine. Church began to thrust back against the cock inside of him. Fuck, he was getting close. He tightly closed his eyes and wrapped his legs around Wash’s hips. “Do it… do harder. Fuck me harder!” Washington hardly needed any more urging. He grasped Church’s sides so he wouldn’t bounce around on the mattress and accidentally get away from his dick. Every time he thrust in it was like his orgasm was buried under layers of sensation. Each thrust eroding away a layer and revealing another stratum of even more sensitive nerves until it would reach the raw core and ultimate satisfaction.

Church couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how long his mind said to hold out, his body was incapable of doing so. “Fuck, fuck! Jesus fucking Christ, Wash!” He yelled as he shoved himself back on Wash’s cock while he arched his hips as he came.

Washington himself met his limit then. Primal urges taking over as he reached his burning core of pleasure, his hips crashing into Church’s at a wild pace as he came harder than he ever had before, spurred on by Church’s screaming.

There was no ceremony afterward, no kisses, no sweet words exchanged between the two. They weren’t lovers, after all. They were stuck in some strange amalgam of almost complete strangers and knowing each other better than anyone else. Not to mention this most certainly wasn’t the most normal of circumstances. Washington pulled out and collapsed on his back next to Church. Wash had performed most admirably, he supposed. But he wasn’t that surprised. Church idly wondered how many times Wash had pulled off a successful mission. It was probably the majority of the time. He wasn’t sure, but you probably had to be really good at getting the job done to become a freelancer. But honestly he didn’t really care.

Church eyed the syringe still abandoned in the corner with the same longing a mother would look at her crying infant. He would probably need it soon. Now he just needed a way to get rid of Washington. Maybe he would fall asleep. He could make a run for it then. He didn’t know what Wash was planning but he didn’t really give a shit. Re-establishing himself in another city would be a bitch. He’d have to find a new dealer, another abandoned building with running water (good luck there), and the worst part, he’d have to establish a new clientele. He didn’t think it would be too hard, but it would still be a pain in the ass. Literally and figuratively. He wasn’t healthy looking like he had been when he first settled in here. But the good thing was that the only requirements for being a hooker was to be alive and have a hole men could stick a dick in. He met both criteria. Speaking of men, Wash was just sitting there, staring at nothing. Far be it from him to interrupt. Better chance he would fall asleep if he kept his mouth shut.

Washington’s body throbbed with all the pleasantries that orgasm brought on. But he was hardly paying any attention to that. He fucked Church. While fucking the Alpha wasn’t the polar opposite of his mission, it had to be pretty close. What was he going to do now? He could leave. He could just leave and say he never found anything; that it was a pointless search. He could say he was dead, even. They might buy it. But if not, his actions would be considered treasonous. If he was lucky (which he never was) it would be military prison. For a long time. Honestly Washington didn’t like the odds of that decision. And truth be told, he couldn’t just leave him here like this. What little was left of his conscience would kill him if he abandoned him here to die. How long would it take for someone to find the body? Long past the stages of rigor mortis and lividity, putrefied with time. Completely unremarkable save for the stench of necrosis. Just another junkie whore. They would never know how amazing and special Church truly was. But could he haul him back to the military? They’d either “decommission” his “software” or try to clean him up and reinstate him. Honestly he didn’t know which was worse. But that was a lie. If he were honest with himself, that was a boldfaced lie. Surely some life was better than death at all coasts? There might be honor in death but he’d rather have him alive and enslaved than just plain dead and gone. Odd that a man with such a high body count would believe that. Perhaps all of the death had at his hands had given him the idea that there was no degradation too great that death seemed like the better hand. He’d rather have Church alive but enslaved than dead. But could he really be the instrument that brought him back to an incompetent organization who veiled their bloodlust as a sacrifice to the greater good?

Could they run? Was there any way to hide him? He supposed it all depended on how much they wanted him back and how deeply the wanted to bury their dirty secrets. They might give up, but then again, they might send others.

All of this begged question of how much he wanted to personally sacrifice for Church. And Washington never did anything by halves. It was either all or nothing.

Now all he had to do was make his decision.

___________________________________

Okay. Somewhere on my profile should be a link to a long note explaining all of this and Breaking of the Alpha.
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Whole But Still So Broken