Because you told me to

Author’s notes: Not sure how much to talk about in this part. Yes, John is under age. I don’t thinkt he pedophilia tag applies because he is starting to get secondary sexual chracteristics, at least in this story itself. Domination does apply in this fic, but more from John to the Terminator. Title is a quote from the Terminator in the film.

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John Connor was young, but certainly no innocent. He had learned a hundred ways to kill a man, and a thousand for how to hurt one. He had also been taught how to manipulate, cajole, and beg for whatever he might need. His mother knew he needed to be prepared for any possibility, and to engage others at any cost. Yes, he had to know how to lead men, how to make them do anything for him, but right now he was a child, and he needed to know how to use anyone to his own advantage. It wasn’t the most respectable method of a hero, but in comparison to history, at least this young hero knew what he was up against, and what he would have to do. Sometime in the future he would know his father. Yet he would be unable to show him love or anything else akin to that. Instead, he would have to send him back in time to die, or else he would never be born.

It was this lack of innocence, coupled with oncoming adolescence that made John, future savior of humanity... a little curious. Not only curious, but determined to solve his curiosity. The T-800 (HIS T-800, not just because it was sent back by himself, which was still actually a little hard to grasp, but “his” because it listened to absolutely everything he said) was driving at the top legal speed permitable as they tried to catch up with his mother. She had left on a personal mission to kill Miles Dyson, and end the war against Skynet before it began. On the surface, it seemed a fine idea. Skynet tried to kill him before he existed, so wouldn’t the same be fair? Except for the fact that a man’s life was at stake. John did not think of his mother with kindly sweet thoughts, as other young boys might, but she was his mother, and he couldn’t even think of a world where she was a murderer, just like the terminators. Well, the bad ones that weren’t his.

As they drove back on a back road, the sun setting slightly on the horizon, John glanced over at the driver of the vehicle. Series T-800, Model 101, Uncle Bob. He had many designations and a strange sort of name he’d had to come up with on the fly, but he didn’t really have something Connor could call him. Then again, as he watched the machine drive with full alertness, but then turn to check on him as he was being looked on... well, he didn’t need to call him anything. The T-800 was aware of him every second, and just seemed to know when John was looking at or addressing him.

The Terminator turned back to watch the road as no orders were forthcoming, and he squinted a little. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see, but rather that he was getting better at emulating human gestures. “There is a roadblock up ahead. They seem to be finishing up, but they will still be present when we arrive there.”

John didn’t think the cops were looking for them, not going out in this direction (at least not if they were quitting all ready). But they might ask one too many questions, or have been notified about their little group regardless if they were the main catch. “Try to pull over before they can see us.” He leaned forward and tried to see what his Terminator saw, but his human eyes were not able to. At least that meant they had a good margin of safety before the cops spotted them.

“No problemo.”

John grinned to himself at his Terminator’s improved vocabulary. Sure, it wasn’t great, but at least it wasn’t that stupid sounding ‘affirmative’. Well, not all the time, only occasionally. While they laid low maybe he could teach him a few variations and how to do it randomly. And maybe add a few more fun phrases here and there. It’d make his mom roll her eyes at him, but it’s not like she’d be angry. She got angry sure, but not at stuff like that.

They drove for another mile or two, then the Terminator slowed the vehicle and turned onto a dirt road that headed into what looked like a ghost town. Or a squatter town out in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter though, it looked completely empty. The T-800 parked the vehicle in a barn-type structure, then checked his weapon in his jacket and handed it to John. Wordlessly, he got out of the car and walked around, checking for any human signatures in the vicinity. Seeing none, he returned to find John digging through the back seat for some leftover snacks. He had heard him doing so while walking around however, as he’d tried to concentrate his hearing to exceed human levels, so that he could hear the police cars whenever they drove past when they were finished picking up.

“John, you were not watching for an ambush,” he chided as he returned to sit in the driver’s seat and stare forward. It wasn’t made in an annoyed tone, merely a matter-of-fact one.

“Yeah sorry, I was hungry,” the boy said as he got his feet off the front seat and turned to sit more or less properly in it, eventually kicking up his shoes onto the dashboard. He didn’t sound repentant, but at least he wasn’t confrontational. Since the Terminator only stated things, instead of nagging, it didn’t put him in a foul mood to be corrected by him most of the time. He quietly ate some chips and drank a high sugar soda, then continued his meal while turning his head to look at the T-800.

As before, it turned to him awaiting instruction, but looked away when it was obvious that wasn’t why John was looking at him. In his calculating mind, his protectee was probably just seeing if he was injured or at risk for giving them away, which corresponded to whenever he made sure the boy wasn’t injured. He started thinking about the differences and similarities between this John Connor and the one that had reprogrammed him in the future and given him his mission.

Elder John Connor was not as flippant about life as this one, but there was something in their eyes that was quite similar. The other John was also given to talking aloud to himself much more than this one, asking rhetorical questions he did not expect the Terminator to answer, but sometimes he would make him. Feeling no gratitude at not being terminated himself, the T-800 still understood he’d been given a second chance at completing an objective. If he could take this boy to become the man who sent him back into the past, it would be enough. Machines did not believe in God or a higher calling, but their artificial intelligence had been made in the shape of their creators, and they required a drive, a purpose, nonetheless.

While he was processing those thoughts with 5% brain power (at least 30% was being spent in observing for possible dangers around him, though he did not look it), he heard John finish eating. He then heard the young boy clear his throat loudly, and in a fake manner to his ears. Assuming this meant he wanted his attention, the Terminator looked back to his young charge.

“So... You can’t do much beyond your programming, like not until you learn it, and you can sorta feel pain... but... um...” John motioned for the Terminator to remove his glasses, having a hard time getting his question out while looking at his own reflection.

The T-800 removed his shades as he understood, and tried to determine what John was having a difficult time saying. His eyes noted that John’s face was flushing, but his core temperature was within normal limits. “Are you trying to determine what other abilities I have that make me become a more efficient killer?” The question would not have come so easily before, but his cybernetic mind was getting better at taking ‘guesses’, as John called it. Now understanding that the youth was merely blushing, he still wasn’t sure for what reason.

“Yeah, no. Well kinda. Like blending in.” He had to look away from his Terminator’s blue eyes. He knew they were fake, but they really looked like a human. Of course, he saw his T-800 as a real person, more than most of the kids in school he’d only get to know for a few weeks, then move to the next school. They seemed like representations of kids, like characters in a movie with no real substance to them. “Do you look completely human, everywhere?”

The Terminator paused, wanting to make sure he understood all the connotations of the question presented to him. “Affirmative.”

“Like... do you have... a penis?” John blushed at what he was asking, feeling weird and strange, but so very curious about it. Boys younger than him played doctor with little girls, if only to compare and learn about their own bits. Boys older than him began to really become interested in other person’s private parts, mainly of the sex they were most interested in. But John, with his abnormal childhood, was asking for both reasons. And for more, including the fact that he had never seen another real one, just stuff in magazines and occasional porn film he’d swiped from Todd. He had started growing some hair down there himself, and his balls looked like they were getting a little bigger too. John knew from health class he’d grow underarm hair, his voice would change, and then his penis would also get bigger. But, was he pathetically tiny? Todd might have been able to answer questions from a human perspective, but John had never been able to see him in that light. Not like he could his T-800. And even better actually, since he was sure that the Terminator wouldn’t laugh at him or joke about it, or anything like that.

“Affirmative.” The Terminator answered the closed question quickly. He had only a small file on psychology, but he quickly accessed it about the conversation. Before he stated aloud that John’s curiosity was perfectly normal, he held back. The file coupled with his processor also told him that for the optimal ending to this conversation, he had to let John lead it. Though Skynet had uploaded psychology texts into its Terminators to enhance their killing abilities, it had never considered how it would actually assist a young John Connor be a more healthy individual, according to the latest psych journals before Judgment Day.

“...Can I see it?” John had to finally look away from his Terminator’s gaze. It still felt strange to be asking this, but at the same time, he was determined. He’d started something and he’d finish it. Though that was part of his mom’s teachings, he didn’t think this was at all what she’d meant.

Without vocally replying, the T-800 reclined more in his seat and undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his manhood, flaccid. It did operate in a fashion, but only in response to his voluntary mental commands, much like the way he had to tell himself to squint or smile. For now it was merely held out with his meaty hand, offered like a specimen to be investigated. He had his head turned towards John, but his eyes weren’t as stern as usual, though he still awaited more instructions.

Looking straight at it, John had no words. They must both have been freaks then, because the Terminator’s dick was gigantic! John thought he might’ve caught a glance here and there somewhere along the line, because though he was worried he was on the small side, he just knew that the Terminator’s was on the really big side. Without asking permission, as he was used to taking certain liberties with the T-800, John timidly put out a hand and gently touched two fingertips to the tip that looked circumcised. It felt warm and soft to his fingers, and he slightly rubbed them, wanting tactile proof of this such as when he had poked at the Terminator’s cheek after being saved by him in the drainage ditches.

The T-800 tried to gauge what John was thinking, wanting to say something that would be positive, and yet not ‘lame’, as he’d been told before. His psych file notified him that most human males, especially young ones, were oftentimes concerned with size of their organ. Perhaps instead of encouragement, the boy needed reassurance. “If Skynet had female Terminators, they would have large breasts. It is its way of making our job as infiltrators easier.”

John looked up at him, leaving his hand where it was. “Like... like you can have sex? For real?” He was fully curious now not only of how he measured up next to his Terminator, but also what it could do. Not that he could really see the T-800 making love to some random woman. It was almost a little silly even.

“Affirmative. I can respond as if physically or mentally stimulated, whichever would be more appropriate.”

“Show me.” John felt his stomach clench at the bizarre and frightening idea he’d had and spoken aloud before catching himself, but he couldn’t stop. He was in this too deep, and he’d probably never have the guts to do this again. What had come over him? Before he let himself think too much on that, he forced himself to wrap his fingers around the Terminator’s shaft. He had masturbated a few times, but had always been too worried about getting caught. There was no chance of that happening here now, at least.

The T-800 stopped its staring at John, and instead looked down at his length in that tiny hand. His cybernetic brain suggested a thought of how simple a matter it would be to kill John at this age. He was small, weak, and also quite impressionable. If his programming had been to infiltrate and to mislead, it would also have been as easy a job as to terminate him. But rather, he rejected and deleted the idea, it being too much like going against his primary objective to be allowed to exist. Instead he started concentrating on making his body respond to John’s touches, as per protocol.

His length had no metal endoskeleton underneath the flesh, but as he had tiny muscles in his skin, sweat glands, and tiny capillaries, there was also a perfect facsimile of human tissue inside that area, which followed his brain’s directions.

John licked his lips nervously at the way the dick began to harden in his grip, and he tried to stroke it up and down. As the beast got even bigger (which gave him some kind of hope; maybe his could too, when he got old enough?), he had to use a second hand to rub the shaft. He readjusted himself on his seat and got closer to his T-800, kneeling beside him on the car seat as his hands continued their ministrations. Up close, he saw that the Terminator had a thicker bush there, and his balls were proportionately huge too. It looked kinda funky, how the hell could he run? Well, how could a normal person that got upset when they felt pain run around with that stuff in their pants? At least if it was that frickin’ big? He knew his Terminator could feel pain, however he tried to explain it, but he knew that the machine just pushed it away too, otherwise occupied with its mission.

Having had more time to review possible alternatives, the Terminator chose to emulate sexual feeling even more, for John’s educational benefit, and leaned his head back over the head cushion of his chair. He spread his legs a bit to give John more reach around his manhood, his thighs tensing in the tight leather pants. As he half-closed his eyes (needing to stay vigilant despite not appearing so), his processor gave him other scenarios he could consider. Should he touch John? No, that might frighten him. Should he become vocal with pleasure, or start panting and moaning? Same possible outcome. It would be best if he remained where he was, generally how he was, and allowed John to do as he wished. For a second he thought he had a whisper of a memory but his mind informed him that those files were restricted, he assumed most likely because they were damaged.

Gaining a little more courage, the boy rubbed up and down the smooth skin, fascinated by the way it felt, all the softness and the tiny ripples from a vein here and there. When his hand reached low, he could also feel the tickle of the dark blond hair. Taking a quick glance at the Terminator’s face, he returned his attention to what he was doing, gripping a little harder now, and letting his fingers occasionally drape onto the balls, fascinated at the way the Terminator was sweating there too.

The T-800 predicted that with John’s hesitant performance, it would take him approximately 54 minutes and 31 seconds to release realistically. But he also knew that younger males were often quicker, and he did not want to give John a false impression of what he could expect when he performed something similar with another human. In addition to that, he wanted to leave this area as soon as it was safe to, and the police should have closed their roadblock before then. It would not be problematic if he rushed his reactions, as if John was actually performing any number of techniques he himself had been programmed for in case it was necessary. The T-800 formed several alternate plans to have at ready in case John required him to assist him in exchange, but would not enact any while the boy gave no hint that that was what he expected or wanted.

As the soft small hands rubbed up and down his thick meat, the Terminator allowed himself to further delve into this specific program. His breathing was quiet, but it increased in pace, and he parted his lips to exhale more easily. His cybernetic brain told him that several sudden waves of sensation were akin to human pleasure, and he took a few microseconds to process them. It was difficult to catalog them in his growing computer mind, but he ended up storing them in the file regarding events that had taken place at the safe house a short time ago. He categorized them as “positive feelings”, much like that sensation he compared to a human’s smug amusement when he’d moved his hand away from a high five that John had been giving him. This whole situation was bordering on needing its own file, as the stimulations were something he would have been interested to repeat and examine some other time, if the situation ever arose.

As the boy was trying to speed his stroking, the Terminator felt it was less inadequate. After another minute of his increased breathing, his muscles started to contract, and he realized an urge to pump his hips upward, but resisted. Though the new file demanded that this process be completed so that he could reach the mental stimulation of a climax, he held himself back. It was a peculiar urge, like the driving need to protect John, he felt a similar need to reach a release, but also the conflicting feeling to wait just a little longer.

Noticing how his Terminator was acting now, though he didn’t put as much thought into it as the machine did, John squeezed harder with his hands, being rougher than would have been comfortable for most humans, but by the way the flesh throbbed in his hands, he assumed he was doing the right thing. No longer was he concerned about just seeing what happened, he was now determined to finish this as best he could, wondering if his Terminator would make noises like he’d heard in porn video clips.

The T-800’s breathing had now evolved into hurried gasps, evidenced more by the way his stomach muscles rippled and flexed than by any noise. Though he remembered everything he experienced with perfect clarity, he reworked his senses into a completely new file, saving this as a ‘memory’ with even more precision than most. It definitely registered as a positive feeling, more diverting than seeing an enemy terminated (before John told him that was unacceptable). His balls were no longer lose in their sac, but tight and higher up, occasionally undergoing a random twitch as the program continued, now honestly sped up and continuing, rather than the way he’d set it up. The Terminator thought that perhaps it wasn’t necessarily young males that had shorter reactions, but those starting out, which fit with his current situation. If he’d wanted to rewrite the program to slow down or stop, he could, but there were more than enough reasons not to. Reacting from a sudden urge, the T-800 braced his booted feet on the car floor, and gripped the seat cushion he was sitting on between the door and his left leg.

His enamel-covered metallic teeth clenched tightly, and he found it a bit harder than estimated to stay quiet. It was muted somewhat, but he did make a short and low moan. The immediate expulsion of a clear-ish substance from the tip of his large organ, followed by a few smaller splurts were all that was obviously visible from his orgasm. His long exhalation and torn leather seat under his left hand were other telltale signs, but much better hidden.

John had stroked the Terminator’s organ steadily in his hurried frenzy until he came, to which he pulled away quickly as if away from an animal bite. “Ew, gross,” he said as he grabbed at some napkins on the floor. Though it had been interesting to see it all happen, he felt cheated in that he hadn’t really had any warning of the machine’s seed touching him.

The Terminator actually had to recover himself for few seconds (rewriting the program to allow himself to relax almost instantly from the ordeal), then cleaned himself off with a scrap of the seat’s leather, put his limp organ back into his pants, and readjusted his clothing nonchalantly. “It is merely machine lubricant. I am not capable of producing actual semen.”

“Well it’s still kinda nasty,” John said in rebuttal as he finished wiping his hands off. Now feeling a bit embarrassed of what had just happened, he edged back to his side of the car and looked out the open window at the barn wall. His cheeks were practically burning from how much he was blushing. Did he really just do that? To another man? This had to be some kind of wrong thing, now that he had a clearer mind to think about it. At the same time, it really couldn’t be. No one was hurt, and he’d been around the Terminator long enough to know he would advise him against ideas if they were bad ones, like when he’d tried fighting him on getting his mom out of the nuthouse.

The Terminator’s processor was trying to give him ideas on what would be most beneficial to John’s maturation process now that the experimentation was concluded (and the boy looked obviously uncomfortable), so the Terminator took the alternative with the highest probability of succeeding. “I will not tell her anything. And if you wish, I can delete this from my files.”

John glanced back at him, feeling just the slightest twinge of rejection from such an offer, but at the same time grateful. He had the same plans of having his Terminator always with him, up until he destroyed everything of Skynet, except for him, but could he live with this between them? Making him erase the memory was very tempting, at least for a few short seconds. He scolded himself for thinking about taking the easy way out though. Mom said a lot of stuff about responsibility and living with the consequences of your actions. It wasn’t a favorite subject of his (take for example the hell he put his foster parents through), but now that he absolutely knew that everything of the dark future was true, he wanted to grow up and be that fearless leader to save everyone. “Yeah, don’t tell her, but leave it. Kay?”

The Terminator nodded, and immediately raised an arm as he saw the beginning motions of John moving towards him. The boy leaned his head on his massive chest and wrapped his small arms around him. He had seen John go to sleep against his mother like this at a point the previous night, which was why he’d known to raise his arm. The T-800 did not understand why he did it, yet he responded in kind, lowering his arm onto the boy’s back with his hand lightly resting on him.

“Wake me when it’s time to go,” John’s muffled and now rather tired sounding voice drifted up from the Terminator’s chest. The Terminator nodded, but was silent as he stayed still, allowing the boy to rest on him. He remained that way for half an hour, and then gently shook the boy when he’d heard the police cars go past the small access road that had led them here.

Once they arrived at Dyson’s home that night, there had been no time for the Terminator to think on these events, up until he hugged John near the end. The T-800 understood then, if not fully, then certainly much more than he had before. He would not be able to take care of John anymore, and it wasn’t just failing at his mission that he considered. Though there was no afterlife for his kind, he would miss John. He indeed could not cry, but something inside him felt wounded, much like John’s description of “when it hurts”. But at least he’d done this much. And hopefully it was enough, even though for him to wish John success was to damn all his kind. It didn’t matter though, wanting John to win was his last thought as he was lowered into the molten steel and his processor shut down, while he held up his gloved hand in a ‘thumbs up’ symbol which he’d been taught would signify the meaning of his wish for the boy.

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The slimmer but still muscled man pounded his hips into the larger male’s beneath his with an animalistic passion, sweating profusely. His fingers dug at smooth skin of the other’s back as he leaned over him doggy style. “Say it, say it!” he growled angrily into the other’s ear. He stopped clawing at the the bloodied flesh of the other with one hand just to drop it underneath the large man and stroke off his hard thick cock. His movements were rough, as if merely being mechanical and not actually caring about the other’s comfort at all. The small bit of blood acted as a slight lubricant for his own ease of stroking the cock brutally quickly.

“I love you John,” came the response. Its intonations were off, as if it was merely a repetition of something learned, not anything felt. But the voice was panting, and added groans as he was fondled. Finally, with a dramatic arch as he estimated a prostrate might be hit by those last few thrusts, the large man cried out as a clear gel-like liquid shot out of his organ.

The large man dropped on the bed as he’d been instructed earlier, and the slim one thrust in a few more times and came while biting his wrist to muffle himself. He collapsed on top of the other, and breathed harshly for several seconds. After some time of just remaining there, with the big, solid, and warm body beneath him, and the feel of his own cock softening and starting to slip out, the slim man stood up and went into the room’s shower without a word.

Washed and dressed, the man returned to look down at the unmoved man on his bed, looking thoughtful as he lightly ran a thumb along a scar on his handsome face. “Go wash up. After you get your clothes back on, I want you to erase that file. Understood?”

“Affirmative.” The large man got up and went into the shower as ordered. Back in the bedroom, the other removed all the sheets and set up clean ones. He loved his wife with all his heart, but he also loved this one too. He wasn’t human, but he loved him.

The man was thinking of all this as the large male came out of the bathroom dressed in light clothing, since he did not feel the cold that pervaded through the bunker, he was only dressed for modesty’s sake (and to hide the fingernail scratches and bitemarks that had been left on his otherwise unblemished skin). The man came to the realization that he had also loved Kyle Reese too, but had had to send him to his death to complete all this. And now...now he had to send this one. To die as well, before his eyes. Again, or was it for the first time? “State your mission.”

“Protect John Connor.”

“That’s an affirmative. Let’s head out.” He left the bedroom without looking back, but he knew that the large Terminator was following him. The dogs in the bunker barked and growled as they walked by, and people murmured angrily. They didn’t understand the risk of bringing the Thing inside here, they thought their leader could have done everything in the labs outside. But he could never explain, nor could he hope for any of them to understand. This was between him and HIS Terminator. What made it hurt so much though was that they would never be able to be together in truth, never both in one time period.