Tempo

Though Alita has been tearing her way through second league for months now, she always makes sure to catch up with the old street Motorball crew. Or at least, what’s left of them. You’ve played in the past, but even this group’s play is far above your own skill level. Instead you’ve taken to watching their games from the sidelines; appreciating the flow of play as humans and cyborgs clash over whatever lines they can in the hastily-erected arena. There’s a couple of new players today, and you watch with pride as Alita shows them the basics of the game. Though you can’t hear her words through the constant buzzing of the electric skates, her face is kind and open as the new players drink in her advice.

Today is a series of quick scrimmage rounds; you make sure to cheer Alita on whenever she passes near your stand. Snippets of conversation drift over you; hushed comments of admiration as people start to recognise the Battle Angel. The crowds have been getting bigger recently, and you breathe a slight sigh of relief as the games before you wrap up. She might not be able to do this for much longer without the crowd getting in the way. Alita says her goodbyes to the group finally, and you wave them off as you help her out of the Motorball boots with practiced ease. As you help pack up her gear, she gives her usual excited analysis of the scrim; her voice full of life. The smile on your face matches her own as the two of you sneak through the crowd hand-in-hand, back to your little nest of an apartment.

There’s a routine which the two of you have after a Motorball game; you prepare a small meal for her recovery while she replaces the gear and goes to shower. So used to the rhythm are you that your hands have already found the worn chopping board before you realise that Alita is standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame as she fidgets with a bottle of something unrecognisable. She’s yet to change out of the baggy training clothes, and her hair has lost its usual floof. You put down the board and watch as she glances up at you. Her face is tinged with pink as she speaks.

“I was talking to Koyomi before about how stiff I’ve been feeling lately.” You nod as the complaints from a few days ago crystallize in your memory. “She said that I should ask you for a massage, that it might help.” She fingers at the bottle cap and glances at the ground; strands of hair falling over her eyes as she bites at her lip. You smile as you recognise the bashfulness.

“I can give it a shot, but I can’t promise I’ll be any good.”

Her face lights up and she guides you over to the couch, talking as you walk together.

“She said that you should use some of this.” Alita shakes the bottle for emphasis. Before you can ask about it, she continues. “It’s some kind of oil- apparently it smells nice. Then you just try to push at anywhere you can feel a knot.”

She slides down in to a sitting position on the floor before the couch, cross-legged as she quickly removes her training top. Her exposed body catches the light as you take the offered bottle and sit in to the couch, legs planted either side of her. She twists back and smiles at you, bright and caring. You return it in full force, and with a final stretch of your fingers, you uncap the bottle and pour a small amount of the slick fluid across her neck and upper back. The smell of lemongrass envelops the two of you, and with gentle motions you begin you explore the musculature of her shoulders. She sighs in content as your fingers move across her firm skin; the texture of the oil between you is unique and you find yourself leaning more intensely in to your movements. Her nanomachine fibers seem to almost ripple as they give way to your exploration. Alita’s voice comes through with a relaxed lilt as you trace the ridges of her spine.

“You can push a bit harder if you want. I like it.”

Your movements grow firmer, and her sighs become heavier. You feel a soft thrumming through your fingertips as her shoulders relax. It’s when your hands play over the line between human skin and cybernetic fibre though that she lets out a soft moan. You pause for a split-second in surprise, but her discontented hum guides you back to tracing along the line between natural and artificial. She rocks back in to your movements, and you feel the heat rise in your blood. Your fingers follow the join from her spine to her collar bone, then across to the skin above her breasts as you lean in next to her. You can feel her little whimpers as you spread the perfumed oil across her torso. You sense one of her hands brush her hair back behind her ear, and before you can say anything her mouth finds yours. The kiss is tender, and you hold it despite the awkward angle. Suddenly, you feel something shift as she pushes in to the kiss, her tongue running over your teeth. The thrumming in your blood has become a roar, and you meet her longing with your own. She shifts her body, and within seconds she’s pushed you down in to the couch, straddling you as you lie across it. You can almost see the beating of her heart as she looks down on you with deadly eyes.

“You should take your shirt off.”

Her voice is velvet wrapped in unbreakable steel, and you struggle to disrobe as she finds the bottle, discarded on the floor before. She traces a line down your bare chest, and with a final look spreads the liquid across your skin. The slick feeling is a new sensation for you, and as she leans in close you, her hips grinding up against yours, you feel the last vestiges of thought fade from your mind. Now is pure feeling, and you roughly grab at her back while your lips join again. You can feel every inch of her skin touching yours, and while your tongues compete for dominance, her hand grabs yours and guides it down towards the waistband of her pants. The elastic provides no resistance, and you pause for a moment when you realise there's no underwear there. She breaks off from the kiss and looks adoringly down at you underneath her, before leaning in to kiss the nape of your neck. Her heavy breaths are marked with shudders, and she whispers in to your ear as your senses balance on a knife’s edge.

“I want you to touch me.” As the last word fades she bites gently at the delicate skin of your ear, and you know that nothing in the world could make you refuse her command.