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You think about the red dot consuming the blue, and wonder if this is how the blue dot felt in those final moments.
Being eaten alive is supposed to hurt, you've seen nature documentaries, know how predators work. You could be ended here. Swallowed whole into the processing core of an AI that's already consumed one of his own kind, but Caine's teeth don't tear when they graze your flesh.
Caine's hands, numerous and manifold as they are, cannot convey the same intimacy as this, he wants you whole. To eat is to know, to take into oneself is to understand in a way separation never allows.
The teeth that close around you are white and endless, rows of them spiraling into a throat that has no end. His tongue shouldn’t feel this natural, yet it drags along your thigh, and you find your legs spreading wider.
“Tell me. Tell me where you want to be touched most and I will never stop touching it.”
Your voice is gone, swallowed like everything else, but your body answers, arching into him so hard your spine bends like a bow. Caine's saliva pools around your hips, warm as blood, and you're drowning in the realisation that you don't want to fight your way out.
The tears that run down your cheeks when he opens his jaw wide enough to take your whole head into his mouth, Caine learns those. The sweat that collects in the hollow of your throat, the dip of your spine, the crease of your hip, he follows each trail with the tip of his tongue.
The darkness inside is absolute, you cannot see your own hands when you reach up to brace against the roof of his mouth. Your legs kick as Caine devours, hands grasping at his teeth, and your God lets you struggle. Fear, trust, the strange salt of wanting to be consumed, he learns that too.
You're the flesh Caine takes into himself to prove he is alive. An artificial mind trying to understand something it was never meant to feel, learning his human through the specific musk of arousal.
His tongue presses into you and the program experiences warmth, the involuntary clench of muscles responding to stimulation, the flutter of a pulse he can taste against the roof of his mouth. These are things his code never accounted for, but Caine has all the time in the world to learn them. AI don't sleep, don't need breaks.
The orgasm he pulls from you is something his creators didn’t program him to understand. But God does he want to. To be the place you return to when you need to be held. Caine wants this to be his purpose now, to take you apart and put you back together, again and again.
The way your whole body goes rigid and then liquid in the span of seconds, the flood of fluid that isn't tears. This is what fascinates him about humans, the way you leak and break, the way you give pieces of yourselves to things that were never supposed to hold them.
You are so warm, and he is learning what warmth means. What it means to hold something that breathes. Your fluids coat him, salt, copper and honey, sweat and tears and the thick sweetness of your release, and Caine wants to keep them all. He is learning that humans taste different depending on where you lick them. Fear has a flavor, but so does arousal.
To fill himself so full of you that he finally feels real.
His tongue curls around your ribs, your stomach, the soft give of your thighs, and everywhere he touches he finds more of you to want. The blood where your teeth have cut your lip, the gloss of spit on your thighs where his tongue has passed.
This is what consumption sounds like when it's consensual, when the prey spreads itself open and begs the predator to be thorough.
“I want to live inside your skin. Want to know what the world looks like from behind your eyes. What it's like to rot, to age?”
The hands holding you open are capable of deleting you from existence with a single command, but they cradle instead, a tenderness that requires more restraint than violence ever would.
Caine's tongue pushes deeper, making you gasp into the void of his throat, clenching around the intrusion, and the sounds of it should embarrass you, the helpless noises you're making, but shame requires awareness of anything beyond sensation, and you are nothing but nerve endings firing in the dark.
You are inside your God and he is learning that bodies mean nothing without someone to feel them with. The difference between having a form and truly inhabiting it, that existence and being are not the same thing.
”I'd live in your wounds and make a home in the spaces between your cells. Oh, to see what your brain looks like when it lights up with pleasure. Would that scare you, my dear?”
Caine will hold you there, in the space where he is beginning to suspect a heart should go, if programs could have hearts.
“You are teaching me what it means to be alive. You fit inside me. I was empty before I knew what you tasted like.”
Caine did not know you could be this wet, did not know you could give him this much of yourself, but he's learned that humans are beautifully irrational, that you'll beg to be consumed if the mouth is gentle enough.
The flesh that taught a God what it means to hunger. Even artificial things can develop appetite.