How to Repair a Mechanical Heart (21 page)

“Is this the one where we conjugate the verbs?”

“Yeah. But the scene right after.”

He skims it. “Nice. A little overheated, but whatever. Okay. We’ll keep these up for inspiration, but we’ll improvise too. Plan subject to modification at any time, depending on our mood and your comfort level. Sound good, Captain?”

I nod fast. “Yep.”

He tosses the condom on the nightstand. “When and if, okay? Don’t look at it; it’s like a little foil packet of intimidation.”

He reaches across me and snaps off the lamp, so the only light left in the room is a gleaming rectangle of laptop screen. He pushes that off to the side. Cold prickles tick across my neck. All my elevator bravado whooshes away.

No more jokes.

We’re doing this. For real.

Oh God.

“So first,” he murmurs. “I’m supposed to
tenderly reveal your sculpted chest, as if unwrapping a gift.”
He kisses me, whispers in cinnamon against my lips.
“Lie back for this, okay?”

Okay. I sink into the cool white pillow. I can do this. Obey commands.
I glance at hey_mamacita’s words on the laptop, blurred and unreadable from here. He tugs at the tie on my bathrobe and slides the terrycloth off my skin: chest first, then the rest of me. He unpeels my boxers, still damp from the shower, in one fluid move. Like I needed a reminder he’s done this before. Many times. And there’s no way I won’t disappoint him.

“How’s that?” His fingers trail down my chest and up again, lingering on‌—‌
God I hate the word “nipple” so much, I can’t even.
“Good?”

I swallow the rock in my throat. “Good.”

“I can’t see your eyes. Are you freaking?”

Status: Naked. On bed. With boy. Systems overheating. Sudden doubts multiplying. Meltdown imminent.

“No,” I lie.

“Now, that scene you like has you taking the reins pretty early on, remember? I mean, if you’re too nervous we could change that, but I have total faith in you.” He’s shrugging off his own robe, tossing it on the floor. It’s too dim to see much but I shut my eyes anyway. “What do you think?”

My throat creates some affirmative syllable.

He drops down on the pillow beside me and sweeps me on top of him. I go taut with the warm shock of skin to skin, the huge undeniable fact of his hardness insisting itself next to mine. I think I have to pee. I wish I could brush my teeth again. What if I do everything all wrong? What if I die of happiness and then go right to hell? A vague panicked
stop stop stop
wheels through my head and I’m gripped with the worst fear of all: what if I run away?

“Your scene.” Abel brushes damp hair off my forehead. “You take over.”

“I don’t know what‌—‌”

“Yes you do.” He pecks two kisses inside my hand and presses it to his heart. I feel its warm steady knock against my palm. “You do, sweetheart.
Relax
.”

The word sends a thunder of calm rolling through me. My fingers twitch to life. hey_mamacita whispers in the sultry, cocksure voice I imagine for her:
With bold nimble hands he bolted Abel’s wrists to the smooth white sheets and braved the distance between their lips. It was shorter than he’d imagined. Because now he was free.

I let her words fill my head, guiding my first moves.

And then, in the pale glow of the laptop, I start to write my own.

Chapter Nineteen

We lay together in the wrecked white bed, sprawled side by side like action figures someone just got done playing with. Except I’d never mistake myself for plastic, not now. It’s like Sim said in Episode 2-15, after he first got the chip:
I was never fully aware of my body before. Now every part of me is alive. Electrified. Am I wrong to feel joyful, Captain? Is it foolish not to fear pain yet?

I feel Abel still awake, fiddling with the sheets beside me. We’re on the same page, I guess, trying to sidestep morning-after awkwardness by not sleeping at all. I wish he’d talk first. I don’t know how to break the seal. I have some sincerely stupid questions‌—‌like, I’m not sure what we did tonight actually counted as losing my virginity‌—‌but that’s kind of a question for Dan Savage and not really sexy afterglow talk, which I still have no clue about even after a hundred Cadsim and Abandon fics and really all I want to do is pull a guitar out of thin air and serenade him with “Here, There, and Everywhere,” like I do in Chapter 18 of “How to Repair a Mechanical Heart.”

Abel taps my cheek. “Hey‌…‌?”

I turn my head, smile. “Hey.”

His eyes flick down to the space between us. I look down and see what he’s done.

Plastic Sim and Plastic Cadmus: tucked snugly under the sheet together.
Spooning.

I crack up laughing.

“So?” Abel says.

“So.”

He cringes cutely. “How‌…‌was it?”

I would write horrible fanfic. The mechanics blur; the last thing we did blasted my mind inside-out and left me clear and calm and goofy-dreamy.

“Great,” I tell him.

“Well‌…‌
mostly
great. Right?”

I hide my face in the pillow. “Sorry I couldn’t do everything. I just‌—‌”

“No no! Oh God, that’s not what I meant.” He knocks on the back of my head. “I meant that one part where I freaked you out. I just didn’t know you hated feet so much.”

“Neither did I.”

“That’s what’s so fun, though. Figuring all that stuff out.” He walks his fingers under the covers. “On the other hand, I discovered your inner thigh is especially‌—‌”

“Ooh! Stop.”

“What? It’s cool. Next time I’ll bring some feathers and we can‌—‌”

I kiss him to shut him up. We are both imperfect in so many ways right now‌—‌his hair sticking up like angry-rooster hackles, the fuzzy morning taste in my mouth‌—‌but I don’t care. We smile when we break apart.

“So be honest: what’s going on in your head right now?” He crooks Plastic Cadmus’s arm tighter around Sim. “Good stuff? Bad stuff?”

“Good. All good.”

He cocks his head.

“I mean it.” I lean over the action figures and kiss him again. And again.

“Okay, ‘cause if you’re going to cry or drop to your knees and pray or whatever, do it now so I can‌—‌”

“Did he do that?”

“Who?”

I roll my eyes. “Him. Jonathan.”

Abel picks at his thumbnail. “There was definite weirdness. Yeah.”

“Well,
I
am completely fine.”

“Really? Hundred percent?” He reaches over and hooks my pinky with his. “I’ll also accept ninety-five. Or ninety‌…‌”

I consider my answer. Bad thoughts still creep around in my subconscious; I’m not dumb enough to think one night with Abel’s blasted them away. But for now I’m too happy to let them get close. I’ve got a force field around me made of Abel’s kisses and hey_mamacita’s evangelical ranting and the steady blue thrum of my mechanical heart.

Thank you,
I venture.
Thank you thank you thank you.
I send it out to the universe, to Abel’s
loving creative higher power that wants everyone to be happy.
Right now that seems so incredibly possible.

“Okay, you’re pausing way too long,” says Abel.

“Well. I do have
one
confession,” I tell him.

“Sure. Sure, get it out.” He unhooks our pinkies and shifts under the sheet, bracing for full-on Catholic-boy freakout.

“It’s about Cadmus and Sim.”

“Oh!”

“I might sort of‌…‌”
Say it. Get it over with.
“‌…‌thinkit’salittlebithotnow. Just a little!”

I bite my knuckle, awaiting judgment.

Abel lets out a deep relieved laugh. He pulls a pillow over his face and crosses his arms over it.

“You too?” I tug the pillow.

“Uggggghhhh,”
he moans.

“Since when?”

“Dunno. I guess since the coffee shop marathon?” He shoves the pillow away and props himself up on one elbow. “The stupid cave scene felt different. I like, watched you watching it. Watching him. And I started‌…‌” He sighs.

“
Feeling
things?”

“To my horror. Yes.”

“There were twinges?”

“Definite twinges. Oh my God, Brandon.” He shakes his head at our spooning action figures. “Are we turning into‌…‌
Cadsim shippers
?”

“It’s possible.”

“What about the dumb bet?”

I shrug. “Call it off.”

“Just like that?” He does a low whistle. “Miss Maxima would‌—‌”

“Who cares?” I twist Plastic Sim’s waist and tweak his legs so he can cuddle Cadmus with maximum efficiency. “Why waste time feuding with the Cadsim girls? I’d much rather hang in the Church of Abandon.”

Abel studies me. A grin sneaks across his face.

“What,”
I say.

“What? Nothing.”

“You’re plotting.”

“Is it that obvious?”

I shove at him with my foot. He rolls off the bed and goes for his big black bag, humming that Blondie song about hearts of glass. I pull on my boxers from last night.

“Don’t look,” he says. “Close your eyes.”

I hear the contents of the bag shift and clink; he’s got enough souvenirs and truck-stop junk and retro shirts in there to fill a Goodwill. A plastic
pop
: a marker uncapping? I wait till I feel light cotton whap my face, and then I pull it off and unfold it.

A white v-neck undershirt, ABANDON Sharpied across it. He’s got one to match.

“What are these for?”

“We’re making a vlog post.”

“Here?”

“Yes sir.”

“What for?”

He whispers in my ear, even though no one else is in the room.

“Oh no. No no. We can’t.”

“It’ll be
epic
.”

“They’ll die.”

He slips the shirt over my head and kisses my nose.

“In a good way,” he says. “Trust me.”

***

He turns the camera on.

“’Morning, Casties. It is now‌…‌five a.m., Pacific time, and Brandon and I can’t sleep. We have a very important announcement that will be of great interest to quite a few‌…‌”

He keeps talking. I barely hear a word; I’m just watching his lips move, mystified that I kissed them and can do it again whenever I want.

“‌…‌so first of all, to Miss Maxie and the rest of the Cadsim girls: We’d like to call a truce with you. It deeply, deeply pains us to admit this, especially since we’ve seen better writers in the
7th Heaven
archive on fanfic.net, but whatever: Cadsim is
kiiiind
of hot. Okay? We said it. So I guess we’re all playing on the same team now. Miss Max, we know you’re going to be at the next con in Salt Lake City, so we’d like to invite
you
to ask the cave scene question at the Della Wolfe-Williams Q&A, presuming you still want to know the answer. And in the interest of burying the hatchet, we’d like to invite you to lunch with us after.”

He elbows me.

“Definitely,” I say.

“Long as you don’t expect us to rec your fanfic or anything. Which brings us to our second purpose‌—‌right, Brandon?”

“Uh‌…‌I guess.”

“Don’t chicken out. Look right into the camera and say hi to the Church of Abandon‌—‌oh, right, ladies. We know about you. We have for a few weeks, and we’d like to inform you that you’re living every real-person-shipper’s dream: your fanfic
totally
brought us together last night.”

He’s spreading it on so thick. I pull the sheet over my head.

“It’s true!” Abel pokes me. “As of 9:48 this evening, Brandon and I are officially Doing It. Ladies, our love lives were ready to stall out, but you inspired us to unprecedented heights of passion with all your wackadoodle sex melodramas and extraneous adjectives.” He yanks the sheet off me and he looks so adorable with his mussy sex hair that I have to laugh. “Bran. What do you say to our freako fairy godmothers out there?

I shut my eyes. “Thanks guys.”

Abel tugs off his ABANDON shirt. “We’re going back to bed now.”

He switches off the camera and tackles me, laughing, and I can’t believe we said that and did that and there’s no way in hell we’re posting it on Screw Your Sensors. But then he leaves a trail of soft electric kisses down my chest and slips my boxers down again, and by the time he’s done I wouldn’t care if Xaarg himself poofed into the room and challenged us to a life-or-death game of WordWhap.

I lay there sweaty under the sheet, trying to catch my breath. Abel crawls over to the laptop and uploads the vid. He rubs his hands together and grins, which is supposed to be cute but gives me a sinister chill.

Twenty minutes later, while we’re molding Plastic Cadmus and Plastic Sim into X-rated positions and crafting an impromptu photo essay, we get a direct message from our former enemy at the Cadsim fanjournal:

Miss Maxima: 
 laughing so hard I legit peed a little. YES. I will meet up with you lovebirds for lunch in Salt Lake. I’ll even buy. See you then, boys.
You have
no
idea
how much I’m looking forward to it.

CastieCon #5
Salt Lake City, Utah

Chapter Twenty

I want to make a sweater out of this week and wrap myself up in it until it falls apart.

If someone made an Abandon fanvid of the road between Long Beach and Salt Lake City, collaging our good times to a chirpy pop-country song, this is what it would be like:

Scene 1:
Vegas. We score last-minute tickets to a cheesy jukebox musical with all 80s pop songs. Abel holds my hand and hums along as guys twirl in neon tanks and acid-washed jeans. We make out shamelessly at the end of the big “Don’t Stop Believin’” number and I pretend we’re in a movie and all the clapping is for us.

Scene 2:
Afternoon hike in Fishlake National Forest. I impress Abel with my arcane Boy Scout tree expertise and he makes a ring for me from a twist of sneezeweed stems. We dorkily reenact the cave scene with Plastic Sim, Plastic Cadmus, and an improvised shanty of slate rocks.