seriousfic

Title: Birthday Cake
Fandom: Terminator
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Sarah/Cameron
Word Count: 730
Summary: Written for porn battle. Prompt: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Cameron/Sarah, "built-day" wish.

Sarah can feel Cameron’s confusion all day, starting with Sarah silencing the Terminator before sneaking into John’s bedroom with homemade waffles, piling up with the birthday cards he gets at school, crescendoing with the party and the hats and the balloons and the cake. For the most part, Cameron shuts up and just mimicks Derek, who almost hides his horror with bemusement, until the boys are off on a trip to the arcade and Cameron just helps clean up. As tempting as the prospect is, Sarah doesn’t let her do it on her own. Once you start treating them like maids, forgetting what they really are, you’ve already lost.

“I have files on the customs, but do not understand the significance. This is not the occasion of John’s conception, nor is it the first sign of sapience. Why is it worthy of celebration?”

Sarah groans as she sees there isn’t enough tin foil to cover the cake. She cuts off the offending portion and bundles up what’s left. And because she can already feel the devil’s food torpedoing toward her thighs, she sends the slice of cake Cameron’s way. “It’s not just that he was born today. This was the first time I saw him. Before this, he was… intangible. But after he was born, I could see him, touch him… he had my eyes. He had his father’s nose.” Off Cameron’s confused holding of the cake, as if she were waiting for Sarah to take it back, Sarah shoved the cake into the fridge. “Don’t you attach any significance to when you were brought online?”

“I existed before then, I was merely nonoperational.”

Sarah sighed. “Maybe it’s significant because we attach significance to it. It’s nice to have one day a year to look back and forward, remember the child you once were and how you’ve grown and… God, I’m going to turn into a weepy.” She tossed a fork Cameron’s way. The Terminator caught it, of course. “Eat. You’re making me self-conscious.”

Cameron looked at the cake. “It will provide no sustainence.”

“You eat it because it tastes good. Aren’t you programmed to feel things?”

“It is an effective infiltration tool.” And, finally giving in to Sarah’s prodding, Cameron forked a frosting flower into her mouth. It left wisps of blue frosting on her lips, which disappeared when she licked them. Her enjoyment was slow, experimental… orgasmic. Sarah wondered if it was rude to stare. “My operational status’s anniversary was two months ago.”

“Aww, you didn’t blow out any candles? You could’ve built-day-wished that Skynet would never become operational.”

Cameron ignores the sarcasm, as always, ladling another forkful of frosting and cake upward. “That would not be my wish.” In a flash she’s covered the distance between them. “Your morale is imperative to mission success.”

“Gee, thanks.” Before Sarah can snark more, the fork is shoved into her mouth. It does taste good, even if there’s something far too heated about the way Cameron watches her satisfaction, something predatory in a way she’s never seen with a Terminator before.

“I have extensive files on birthday celebration.” Cameron ran a finger through the cake’s frosting and then wiped it on Sarah’s cheek, down her throat and toward the hollow of her cleavage. Sarah wished, desperately, that her tanktop was cut higher.

When Cameron spoke next, it wasn’t her voice, it was the low throaty smoke of Marilyn Monroe. “Haaapy birthday, Miss Connor…” She leaned down and when her tongue darted across Sarah’s cheek, scooping off the frosting, Sarah wondered if her extensive files included a list of the Sarah Connor erogeous zones.

“Stop that.”

Cameron straightened. “Is my singing not pleasing to you?”

“Your… I like your real voice,” Sarah admitted.

Cameron nodded and when she bent down again, her tongue slowly moving up Sarah’s throat and off her chin, it was to say “Delicious.”

There was a whole world of lust packed into that single word, and Sarah almost would’ve wondered what happened to Cameron’s monotone mechanical accent, if the Terminator didn’t bury her face in the curve of Sarah’s chest, tongue diving down between her breasts. It made Sarah gasp, twitch, moan, and when she felt Cameron’s hand around her wrist, forcing her fingers into the frosting and then up to Cameron’s parted lips to be sucked clean, she couldn’t help but wonder how Terminators celebrated Valentine’s.