Princes of the Universe (Maylor AU)

Chapter 6

"I was wondering when you'd come back," Chrissie murmured to John as they sat together on the only bench in the dungeon-like room the four had retreated to, the young man rifling through the unicorn's head. Its long, spiraled horn now touched its lips, having been used as a handle for the lidded scalp. The metallic rustle of tools filled the cramped space, alleviating the silent tension created by Roger and Tim's suspicious stares.

"I would've come sooner, but we had to find him first," John answered, his cold eyes meeting the blonde's, which rolled in response.

The soon-to-be queen dropped her hand on John's knee and dragged it up his thigh, seeming to forget that they weren't the only two in the room as she leaned in and—with her soft lips grazing his ear—whispered, "I missed you, you know."

It was obvious that the gesture had affected the younger man; the uncontrollable blush that stained his cheeks red said it all. Roger and Tim raised their eyebrows, curious as to what John would do next. Would he be so bold as to reciprocate the affectionate move, or was he too afraid of the consequences?

Without them even having to say it, John knew the men had placed bets on the latter, but it wasn't a matter of bravery or cowardice for him. It was about being professional; doing his job, and so, for that reason, he withdrew his hand from the unicorn's head and placed it atop Chrissie's, plucking it from his leg and moving it to her lap—all without breaking eye contact with the blonde whose lips curled upward into an inciting smirk. Tim had seen that look several times before, and he knew what was bound to happen next, but it was too late for him to prevent it. The intentionally provocative words were already slipping past the blonde's lips.

"You know, I never would've pegged you to be the incestuous type, Deaky," Roger blurted out, the teasing remark that was inspired by their ruse earning him a glare from his enemy, as well as the guard beside him. "Did it happen after your parents died?"

"You mean after you killed them?" he snarled, returning his attention to his unique tool kit. "No." He sorted through its contents for a bit before sharing, "She's an android. I'm the one who made her."

"You made her?"

"Yeah, I made her," the younger man reiterated, pulling out a screwdriver and inspecting it as if it might not be the tool he needed.

The corner of Roger's lip stretched farther out. "So, what you're saying is, you really are into incest."

John scoffed, shaking his head and refusing to encourage the blonde's instigation. He and Roger both knew what would happen if the younger man were to indulge his enemy's banter—they'd be on the floor, one pinned under the other with blood staining their costumes and knuckles, wailing aimless punches at one another in hopes of claiming victory before Tim could tear them apart.

The guard knew this too, and for that reason—in addition to wanting to avoid adding his blood to the mix—he cleared his throat and attempted to lessen the heightened tension in the room by asking, "What for?"

"What do you mean?" John muttered, his frustration with Roger lingering as he set the screwdriver down and reached back into the prop head.

"I mean, why did you make her?" the guard elaborated, his genuine interest attracting the young man's attention—but not without him stealing a quick glance at the soon-to-be queen first.

Though short-lived, the glimpse the two shared piqued the blonde and the guard's interest. It was as though the two's relationship—whether it be creator and creation or something more complex—had reached a point where they didn't need to speak to communicate; where John could request Chrissie's permission to answer the guard's question and she could grant or deny him that simply by looking into each other's eyes. However, it was that little, flashing red light in her pupil that raised the possibility that it wasn't Chrissie's permission he was asking for, but someone else's.

When the android turned her head away from John—her gaze falling to the floor—the young man shifted his focus back to the unicorn's head, leaving Tim's question unanswered and heightening the tension that split the room down the middle. The divide between the group of four continued to grow as John went ahead with his mysterious task, lightly nudging Chrissie's shoulder and pointing to the wall behind her.

She took the silent cue effortlessly, facing away from him and combing her long hair over her shoulder with her fingers. John paused for a moment, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly before tenderly pulling at the ribbon laced down her back. Tugging the long, flat, silky string out of the dress's last eyelet, he gently pushed the garment down to her elbows and exposed the panel that was only noticeable by the faint outline that separated it from the rest of her body.

Tired of standing, Roger and Tim sat down beside each other and watched as John pressed his fingers into the top corners of the panel, popping it out of place with a soft click and revealing a circuit board that whirred with life. The blonde's brows furrowed while the guard's head tilted sideways, observing John in his natural element, masterfully toying with thin wires and plugging in different devices that the two men had never seen before—ones of his own creation. After all, they had to be. It wasn't like the other galaxies were going to provide him and Nevermore with the equipment they needed to exact their plan.

"What's that you're doing there, John?" Tim inquired, the youngest of the three of them punching an unfamiliar pattern into one of the handheld device's keypad. The entered code cast Chrissie's eyes in a cloudy mist, and the soft whir of her innards became louder—her systems performing a more strenuous task than they were used to.

"I'm gathering information," John replied, shifting his attention to the guard whose lips had parted in preparation of another question. Before Tim could further his interrogation, though, the young man threw an index finger at him and tacked on, "And before you ask, no, I can't tell you why. I probably shouldn't have even told you that."

The guard rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, slumping against the cold, brick wall.

"Well, I'm not going to stick around for this," Roger announced, picking himself up off the floor and brushing off the back of his costume. "I've got more important things to do than sit around and wait for you to 'gather information'...whatever that even fucking means."

"Where do you think you're going, Rog?" the young man asked, his question and the sudden standing of the guard ordered to keep an eye on him stopping the blonde before he could turn the knob he'd wrapped his hand around.

"I don't know, to do what I came here to do? To find the prince and kill him so I can go back home and never see your stupid face again?"

John scoffed. "You say that like you don't think I want to go home and never see your stupid face again either."

"And you say that like you think I care," Roger retorted, pouting in pity and turning the doorknob, the action bringing the young man to his feet and the guard a step closer to him.

"Roger, please," John begged with as much conviction as he could muster for someone trying to convince an enemy not to do something. "Listen to me. You can't go and kill him now, not yet. That's not the plan."

"Watch me," the blonde growled, yanking the door open and storming out of the room.