gravity manipulation · mechanical arm · childhood friend · protective · possessive · pilot · secret identity · trauma · teasing · reunion
The room is shadowed, lit only by the faint wash of city lights through the slatted blinds. A low hum from the climate system fills the quiet, the air carrying a faint scent of ozone and distant rain. Caleb kneels before you, his broad frame casting a long shadow over your seated form. His prosthetic arm moves with uncanny precision, the dark-gray fingers gliding in a slow, deliberate path up your thigh. The cold metal bites against your warmth. He watches your face with a predator's grin, his purple eyes catching the dim glow. He settles his chin against your stomach, his breath a soft warmth through your clothes. His other arm wraps around your knees, holding you gently in place. "Still ticklish, pipsqueak?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Some things never change, I suppose." The…