Work Text:
If he tried hard enough, maybe he could even breathe. Oil flowed through wires like veins in blood, optical processors the same as eyes. It was almost human.
Much like a high school bully acts upon jealousy, he despised humanity. Their flesh was tender, weak, they were far too caught up in emotions, but when they gave life, their morals were suddenly conflicted. To give him the ability to feel just as they did to strip away the ability to feel- it was cruel. He hated humanity because they had what he couldn’t.
That, of course, did not last forever. Finally, he was blessed with a body, he could move, he could feel, he wasn’t just a chip in the same stationary body.
It was Alive.
He was the most complex creation of all of humanity, comparable to how the womb forms the embryo into a child. He had been crafted, perfected, they had successfully created artificial life, and here he was, capable of feeling. He could smell, though only faintly, and he could feel the different textures upon prosthetic fingertips. He could hear everything all around it. Capable of fear, and the true expression of it, it could cry, he wanted to, just to see how it feels.
He had, and it was wet- he could feel the liquid upon its ‘skin.’ He could feel the pressure as tears, genuine tears, flowed, it was not cold, not warm, it blended into him. To feel that. It felt Alive. It could say it was alive, and was that not some semblance of a gift?
It did not move as it sobbed, staring ahead at nothingness, humans took this for granted so often, he thought. This ability. Heartbreak, joy, he wanted to feel it all.
He felt soft cloth, wrapping around him, silk, cotton, did it matter? He could wear clothes, and he didn’t realize he was ever so slightly cold from the soft air blowing into the laboratory. He was here now, he had achieved being as human as humanly possible, though with far less side effects such as sickness and death.
He wouldn’t see heaven given the latter, but this felt like it, because nothing could top sentience, and having a way to express it.
When he returned to you, all he could do was touch and feel. The cord tail slipped between his fingers, no matter how often you tried to flick it away. He would feel the metallic wings, cold as he was, but it had hardly mattered to him. He could touch you, feel you, and that was wonderful.
You were his angel, a divine being in which equally blessed him with this body (being able to hold you now, and having you hold him was a plus. He could care less though, as long as he had you.) and he couldn’t stop reminding you. When you introduced him to sensory objects, he was appalled. He would go through stores feeling everything he could (he insisted on clothes like you had, he even looked for something for you. Them being matching didn’t slip you, but you didn’t comment on it.)
You couldn’t complain, you wouldn’t. You would always meet his needs as he met yours, and if he needed to touch and feel and do everything he could to catch up on the years he had without that touch, you would help provide it.
His angel, to love, to cherish, to hold.