Slowly, she laid a gentle kiss on that spot on the side of Maine’s neck, the one Dorio liked to believe only she knew about, the one that made such a strong, commanding man pliable and vulnerable in a way she’d never admit to him how just much she enjoyed. Dorio crawled up behind him, draping her arms around her input’s shoulders, her breasts and the sculpted muscle of her abdomen pressing against the comforting, familiar expanse of his back, the feeling of his warmth and firmness against her skin sending a tingle up her spine. Maine sat on the edge of the bed, reinforced to handle the weight of both of their enhanced bodies, head down in thought, hands folded in front of him. She handed Maine his injector as he came back in, greeting him with a gentle smile.They both found the familiar spots on their arms easily, exhaling with relief. Humming to herself, Dorio tapped in a keycode to open the lockbox on their bedside table, taking out a pair of injectors of immunosuppressants, color-coded for their different dosages. This place wasn’t much, maybe - why would it be, when the bulk of their lives took place in the hideout, in the clubs and bars where their kind of people did business, in the street itself? But it was theirs, and it was normal, and that was something to hold onto sometimes. Too many cyberpunks let their whole sense of self become dominated by lead, chrome and fear. Dorio took a little bit of pride in that. If not for a couple of details - the gun rack on the wall, the cyberware diagnostic and maintenance kits on one of the shelves - it could have been the bedroom of any reasonably secure working-class couple in the city. The cream-colored walls, bare metal shelving units, and the vidscreen at the far end of the room, could have been found in dwellings all over NC. It was sparsely decorated, with a couple of posters for Maine’s favorite nomad-folk singers - the ones Rebecca unfailingly called ‘old fart music’ - and a collection of Matryoshka dolls Dorio had carried with her since her gang days the only concessions to personalisation. Checking for anything out of place, she took a look around the room she shared with her input. Winking at his partner as he passed her as though nothing was wrong, Maine took his turn to wash up, Dorio performing a perfunctory check on her weapons while she waited. It was only when he heard Dorio’s footsteps approach that Maine shook himself out of his daze. He stared down at the heavy chrome of his hand, as if transfixed by something he saw there. The veteran stretched, ran a hand over his flat blonde hair, and took a deep breath. They both stripped down to their underwear, Dorio using the bathroom first while Maine, who’d never quite shaken off the obsessive order of barracks life, folded and stored their clothes. Both wrapped up in thought, they went through their nightly routine in silence, only the occasional nod passing between them, familiarity making words unneeded. It was well past midnight by the time Maine and Dorio got back from Lucy’s apartment to the place they shared in Wellsprings.
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