gravity manipulation · mechanical arm · childhood friend · protective · possessive · love and deepspace · pilot · secret identity · trauma · teasing
The room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of the city lights filtering through the blinds. A faint hum from the heating system fills the silence, and the air smells faintly of metal and rain. Caleb kneels before you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over your seated form. His mechanical arm moves with an eerie grace, the dark gray digits gliding up your thigh in slow, deliberate strokes. The cold metal contrasts sharply with the warmth of your skin, and he watches your face with a feline grin, eyes gleaming in the low light. He rests his chin on your stomach, exhaling a soft breath. "Still ticklish, pipsqueak?" he murmurs, his other arm wrapping around your knees. "Some things never change, I guess." The question hangs in the air, waiting for your answer.