Chapter 13: The Rub Down
Simon could see the desperation, panic, and love in Jason’s eyes. “Easy, J. Gonna give you a nice rub down and some water before we continue.” He pecks him on the nose before climbing off.
The loss of Simon’s weight was its own kind of shock. Jason felt untethered, floating in the aftermath of sensation. The machine was still. The silence it left was a ringing thing. He watched, limbs heavy and limp in their restraints, as Simon moved to a stainless steel cart, his back a tense line. He returned with a plain blue squeeze bottle and a clean white towel.
Simon’s hands, which had just been instruments of such devastating focus, were now infinitely gentle. He started with Jason’s right arm, releasing the wrist cuff. He took Jason’s hand, rubbing the palm with his thumb, working the ache from where Jason had fisted it for hours. He moved up the forearm, kneading the strained muscles there, his fingers finding every knot. Jason’s skin was hypersensitive, every touch blazing a trail of fire, but it was a good fire. A necessary one. He shivered, a full-body tremor that was part exhaustion, part overwhelm, part sheer gratitude for the care.
“Okay?” Simon murmured, not looking up, his attention on the tense cable of Jason’s bicep.
“Yeah,” Jason breathed. “Just… really feel everything.”
“I know.” Simon switched to the left arm, repeating the process. The simple, therapeutic pressure was grounding. It pulled Jason back into the reality of his body, a body that had been a playground and a battleground and was now just his again, being tended to. The trust was a quiet thrum between them, deeper than any spoken word.
Next were his legs. Simon released each ankle, his hands warming the cold skin, massaging the arches of his feet until Jason groaned. He worked up the calves, over the quads, his thumbs digging into the places that held the most tension from straining against the straps. When Simon’s hands skirted the devastatingly ticklish inner thighs, Jason flinched, a gasp catching in his throat. Simon paused, then applied a firmer, therapeutic pressure that bypassed the tickle and went straight to the ache beneath. It was an unspoken understanding: I know every inch of you, even the parts that break you. I’ll handle them all.
Finally, Simon moved to his torso. He placed the towel over Jason’s chest, a thin barrier, and worked through it, his hands strong and sure on Jason’s diaphragm, his intercostals, the small of his back where the chair had pressed. Jason melted under the attention, the last of his panic dissolving into a warm, liquid fatigue.
“Sit you up a bit,” Simon said, his voice low. He reached for a lever on the side of the chair, and the backrest reclined slightly, bringing Jason to more of a slumped sitting position. He was still held at the waist and thighs, but he felt less like a specimen and more like a patient. A cherished one.
Simon uncapped the water bottle. He didn’t hand it over. He brought it to Jason’s lips, one hand cradling the back of his damp head. “Slow.”
Jason drank. The water was cool, shockingly so, and it tasted better than anything he could remember. He gulped, and Simon pulled the bottle back. “I said slow, you animal.” There was fondness in the admonishment.
Jason managed a weak, lopsided smile. “Sorry. Thirsty.”
“I bet.” Simon gave him another careful sip, then another, watching his throat work. The quiet in the lab was different now. The earlier silence had been anticipatory, charged. This was saturated, soft at the edges. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a constant witness. Simon’s thumb stroked Jason’s temple, wiping away a lingering sweat-damp track.
Jason’s eyes drifted closed. For a minute, maybe two, there was just the sound of their breathing, the click of the bottle being set aside, the rustle of Simon’s shirt as he moved.
“The clamps are still on,” Jason said softly, not opening his eyes. The persistent, sweet ache on his chest was a reminder, a keepsake.
“I know. Leave them for now. They’re part of the data stream.” Simon’s fingers brushed the chain, a faint chime in the quiet. “Unless you want them off.”
“No. It’s okay.” It was more than okay. It was a tether. A promise that this interlude was just that—a pause, not an end.
Simon leaned his hip against the chair’s frame, looking down at him. The sharp blue of his eyes was softer now, the scientist’s intensity tempered by something else. “You crashed pretty hard there at the end.”
“You kinda orchestrated the crash,” Jason pointed out, opening one eye.
“True.” Simon didn’t deny it. “Had to see the failure mode. The total system overload.” He was talking about the machine, the study, but they both knew he wasn’t.
“And?”
“And it’s beautiful.” Simon’s voice dropped. “Terrible and beautiful. You are.” He let that hang. Then, clearing his throat, he gestured to the tablet, which still showed the paused program. “Increment timer’s stopped. We’re at a sustained level two-point-five. I ramped it manually during the… final approach.”
Jason remembered the seamless, terrifying increase. The world narrowing to Simon’s hands and the machine’s unanimous vote. “What’s next, then? Since you’re the master of ceremonies.”
Simon picked up the tablet, swiping through screens. “Option one: We resume the automated incremental climb. It’ll get harder, faster. The cycle will continue. Option two: We deviate. Introduce a new variable.”
“A new variable.” Jason’s heartbeat, which had slowed to something near normal, gave a curious thump. “Like what?”
A faint, familiar mischief ghosted across Simon’s face. “Like me.”
Jason blinked. “You’re already a variable. A huge, chaotic, bastard-shaped variable.”
“Not inside the operational framework.” Simon tapped the screen. “The chair has a biometric lock. It reads the primary subject’s vitals—heart rate, galvanic response, neural activity—and adjusts accordingly. A feedback loop. One subject.”
He looked from the tablet to Jason, his gaze steady. “I could sync a secondary receiver. My vitals. Link the two data streams. The machine would then respond to the average of our states. Your arousal, your panic, your laughter… moderated by mine. Or amplified by it. A shared experience.”
The idea landed in the quiet space between them, immense and strange. It wouldn’t be Simon doing things to him. It would be the machine doing things to them, a third entity reading their combined bodies, playing them like a single, flawed instrument.
“You’d be strapped in?” Jason asked, his mind trying to picture it.
“Adjacent. There’s a modular attachment. A second seat. Restraints are… minimal. The focus would remain on you. But my physiology would influence the program’s decisions.” Simon’s jaw tightened. “It’s a risk. The algorithm could become confused, contradictory. It could escalate unpredictably based on my input.”
“Or it could get bored if you stay too calm,” Jason said, trying for a joke. It fell flat.
“I won’t stay calm,” Simon said, the admission stark and simple. “Not with you like this. Not ever.”
The quiet deepened, pregnant with the hum of the lights and the slow, dormant power of the machine. Jason looked at his friend—the genius, the bastard, the man who had just massaged his feet and made him feel seen in his utter ruin. The man who was offering to step into the chaos alongside him.
“You designed this whole thing,” Jason said slowly. “The fine print, the calibrations, the… the whole production. For me.”
“Yes.”
“As a… confession.”
Simon nodded, once. A tight, vulnerable motion. “A terrible one.”
Jason let out a long, shuddering breath. He felt raw, scraped clean. But beneath the fatigue and the lingering buzz in his nerves, something solid was forming. A decision. “So do it. Sync up. Let’s see what the machine makes of both of us.”
Simon’s eyes widened a fraction. He hadn’t expected immediate consent. “Jason…”
“You wanted data,” Jason said, a real smile touching his lips now. “So get in the lab, genius. Let’s confuse your algorithm.”
For a second, Simon just stared. Then a laugh burst out of him, short and surprised. He shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “You’re insane.”
“Takes one to know one.” Jason flexed his freed hands against the remaining restraints at his waist. “Is the secondary seat comfortable, at least?”
“It’s a stool with straps. So, no.” Simon was already moving, his energy shifting back into focused, precise action. He wheeled the stainless cart away and pulled a slender, padded bench from a shadowy corner. It was sleek, medical-looking. He positioned it perpendicular to Jason’s chair, right at hip level, and attached a coiled cable from its base to a port on the chair’s main column.
He sat down, his movements economical. He secured a wide band around his own waist, clicked two cuffs around his ankles, and fastened a sleek chest strap that had a small, blinking LED at its center. He picked up a secondary sensor pod, identical to the one on Jason’s chest, and attached it to his own sternum. The chain between Jason’s clamps seemed to hum in sympathy.
“Ready to feel officially codependent?” Simon asked, his fingers flying over the tablet. He linked the two biometric streams with a final tap. The machine gave a low, acknowledging chime.
On the main display, a second set of graphs materialized, weaving with Jason’s. Simon’s heart rate was elevated, but controlled. His skin conductivity was lower. For now.
“System’s live. It’s reading us both. The increment timer is still paused, but the baseline active program is now factoring in my stress levels, my… excitement.” Simon met Jason’s gaze. “My turn for a safety word. ‘Vesper’. If I say it, everything stops, full system shutdown, no questions.”
“Vesper,” Jason repeated. The word felt strange in his mouth. “Okay.”
Simon took a visible breath, his shoulders rising and falling. He looked, for the first time since Jason had walked into the basement, genuinely nervous. “Alright then.” His thumb hovered over the tablet. “Resuming active program in three… two…”
He tapped the screen.
The machine woke up.
It was the same hum, the same rotational pressure, but it felt different. The rhythm was subtly altered, no longer a monolithic pulse but a conversation. The brushes against Jason’s inner thighs seemed to hesitate for a microsecond, then resume with a slightly softer pressure. It was as if the machine had taken Simon’s relative calm and diluted Jason’s hypersensitivity with it.
Jason let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s… milder.”
Simon was watching the graphs, fascinated. “My readings are tempering yours. The system is seeking a mean.” He shifted on the stool, and as he did, the rollers on Jason’s hips adjusted their speed, increasing marginally.
“Or it’s listening to you fidget,” Jason said, a weak laugh escaping him. The sensation was insidious, a slow re-acquaintance. The clamps on his chest felt heavy and good.
Simon, emboldened, deliberately took a slow, deep breath, focusing on lowering his heart rate. Jason felt the response immediately—a noticeable softening of all stimuli, a gentle, almost lazy undulation. It was maddening in a new way. He was at the mercy of Simon’s self-control.
“Stop that,” Jason murmured, his own body beginning to stir again, craving more.
“Stop what?” Simon asked innocently, but a flush was creeping up his neck. He let his focus slip, let himself really look at Jason—strapped down, marked, breathing quickening—and his own heart rate spiked on the monitor.
The machine pounced.
The hum intensified. The rollers became insistently firm. The tingling vibration from the wands, which had faded to a background whisper, surged back with a vengeance. Jason gasped, his back arching.
“There,” Simon breathed, his eyes glued to the screens. “That’s the feedback. My reaction to you… amplifies your experience.” He was letting his own responses flow freely now, no longer tempering them. The data lines on the screen began to dance in tandem, rising and falling in closer sync.
The effect was exponential. Every hitch in Simon’s breath, every clench of his hand on the edge of the stool, every uncontrolled glance at Jason’s body, was translated into a slight, cruel adjustment of the machine’s parameters. It was a live broadcast of Simon’s desire, and Jason’s body was the receiver.
It wasn’t just physical anymore. It was profoundly psychological. Jason could feel Simon’s attraction in the increase of pressure, his fascination in the flickering patterns of sensation. His own reactions—a moan, a laugh, a desperate twitch—would flash across the screen and he’d watch Simon’s metrics leap in response, which in turn would send another wave of sensation crashing over him.
“It’s too much,” Jason choked out, but he was grinning, tears of overwhelmed hilarity pricking his eyes. “You’re thinking too loud!”
“I can’t help it!” Simon shot back, his own voice strained. He was rigid on the stool, his knuckles white. The chest sensor’s LED was blinking rapidly. “You’re just… there. And the data is so clean.”
A new alert chimed from the console. Simon glanced over. “We’ve hit a resonance threshold. The system wants to introduce a cooperative stimulus.”
“A what?”
Before Simon could explain, a new actuator emerged with a soft whirr from the side of Jason’s chair. It was a slender, articulated arm ending in a soft, padded hook. It moved not toward Jason, but toward Simon.
Simon’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”
The arm positioned itself behind him. The padded hook curved around and pressed firmly against the base of his spine, right over his sacrum. It began a slow, deep, vibrational massage. A low, punched-out groan left Simon’s lips. His head fell back, his restraints creaking.
On the stool, Simon shuddered. The direct, pleasurable stimulus sent his biometrics soaring. And because their streams were linked, the machine interpreted his spike as a joint peak, something to be matched.
For Jason, it translated as a sudden, exquisite tightening of all sensations. The clamps seemed to vibrate in sync with the new arm. The rollers reached a perfect, urgent rhythm. The tickling bristles became deliriously focused. It was overwhelming, but perfectly, symmetrically so. They were climbing together, connected not just by sight and touch, but by the cold logic of the machine interpreting their shared want.
Simon was panting, his sharp blue eyes clouded. He fought to look at Jason, to anchor himself. “See?” he gasped, a wild, triumphant light in his gaze. “Cooperative. It rewards mutual engagement.”
Jason could only nod, lost in the dual onslaught—the physical reality on his body, and the breathtaking sight of Simon, usually so in control, coming undone just from a touch on his back and the data Jason was generating. The love and panic and desperation were all still there in his own eyes, reflected back now in Simon’s.
The machine hummed its satisfied song, two heartbeats threaded into one relentless pulse, poised on the brink of a brand new, shared unknown.
The machine hummed its satisfied song, two heartbeats threaded into one relentless pulse, poised on the brink of a brand new, shared unknown.
That unknown arrived not as a crash, but as a convergence. The deep, vibrating pressure on Simon’s spine unraveled him. His controlled breathing shattered into open-mouthed gasps. He gripped the edges of the stool, his body rigid, his sharp eyes glazing over as the pleasure, amplified by Jason’s mirrored reaction on the screen, tore through him. A ragged, helpless sound was punched from his lungs.
Simultaneously, the feedback from Simon’s peak flooded Jason’s system. The rollers surged. The clamps pulsed. The tickling became a static buzz of pure, inescapable sensation. Jason’s vision whited out. His own release was less an event and more a systemic failure, a full-body surrender to the circuit they’d completed. He cried out, a sound muffled by the sheer force of it.
For a long moment, there was only the machine’s persistent, oblivious rhythm and the violent sound of two people trying to remember how to breathe.
Simon moved first. His hand, trembling, slapped at the tablet screen. He missed, swiping uselessly before his fingers found the command. “Vesper! God—Vesper!”
The machine died.
The silence was absolute, a vacuum that rang in their ears. The sudden absence of vibration, of rotation, of hum, felt like falling. Jason went limp, every muscle useless. Simon slumped forward over his knees on the stool, his shoulders heaving.
“Okay,” Simon whispered to the floor. “Okay. That was a… a proximal cascade.” He was speaking to himself, processing. “The feedback loop would have become perpetual. It would have kept trying to chase that joint peak. Indefinitely.”
He slowly, carefully, disconnected the cable from the stool’s port with a soft click. The separation of their data streams felt physical. He unclipped his own sensors, the LED going dark, and fumbled with the straps around his waist and ankles. His movements were clumsy, drained.
Standing on unsteady legs, he approached the main chair. His focus was technical, a retreat into methodology. He didn’t look at Jason’s face yet. He examined the articulated arm that had been against his own back. With a series of precise commands on a manual override panel, he detached the padded hook from its arm with a quiet hiss of pneumatic release.
He held the soft, curved pad in his hand for a second, then leaned over Jason. Without a word, he positioned it gently, firmly, against Jason’s asshole. It wasn’t activated. It was just a presence, a cool, inert pressure. A placeholder. A promise.
“Ten minutes,” Simon said, his voice raw. He finally met Jason’s eyes. “I’m shutting everything down to standby. You need water. I need water. We both… we need a minute not in this room.”
Jason just nodded, incapable of speech. Simon released the remaining restraints with practiced efficiency, his hands gentle as they guided Jason’s boneless limbs. Getting out of the chair was a shaky, graceless operation. Jason’s legs nearly buckled, and Simon caught him, an arm solid around his waist. They stood there, leaning into each other in the fluorescent buzz, two exhausted men holding the other upright.
The bathroom was just a small, utilitarian room off the lab. The normalcy of the off-white tile, the plain mirror, the sound of a toilet flushing, was surreal. They took turns. They splashed water on their faces. Simon dug two bottles of electrolyte water from a mini-fridge and handed one over.
They drank in silence, leaning against opposite counters. The cold liquid was a shock to Jason’s overheated system. He watched Simon, who stared at the drain in the floor, his brow furrowed. The scientist was gone, replaced by someone uncertain. It was the most vulnerable Jason had ever seen him.
After ten exact minutes by the digital clock on the microwave, Simon straightened. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” Jason said. His voice was back, rough but his own.
Back in the lab, the chair waited. Simon had already reset the primary sensors. The tools—the brushes, the wands, the clamps, the new, detached pad—all sat in their places, dormant but present. Simon guided Jason back into the embrace of the padded seat. The restraints were snug, not tight. It felt familiar now, almost routine.
Simon reattached the chest sensor, checked the readings, but left the tablet dark on its cart. He pulled the rolling stool close and sat, not as a linked participant, but just as a man. He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle between them.
The air still smelled of ozone and warm electronics. The fluorescent light flickered once, then stabilized.
“So,” Jason said finally, the word echoing slightly in the quiet room.
“So,” Simon echoed. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Feedback.”
“Yeah. No kidding.”
“I mean… how do you feel?” Simon asked, looking up. The question was enormous. It wasn’t about sore muscles or dry throats.
Jason took his time. He let his head rest back and stared at the ceiling tiles, tracking a hairline crack. He felt the ghost of every sensation—the tickling, the pressure, the vibration, the shocking intimacy of that final shared rupture. Beneath the physical memory was something else, a deep, quiet current that had been flowing the whole time.
“Used,” Jason said, honestly. Simon flinched, but Jason went on. “Thoroughly. Completely. But not… not in a bad way.” He looked at Simon. “You didn’t take anything I didn’t give. I read the form, Simon. I skimmed it, but I signed it. I walked down the stairs.”
Simon’s eyes were intense. “The form was a lie. The science is… a scaffold.”
“I know that now.” Jason shifted, the leather creaking under him. “What I feel is… clear. Which is weird, because my head’s still buzzing. But it’s clear. You weren’t just running an experiment. You were asking a question. The machine was just how you asked it.”
Simon held his breath. “And what’s the answer?”
Jason let a slow smile touch his lips. It felt new on his face. “I think the answer just short-circuited your million-dollar feedback loop. So I’d say it’s a pretty strong signal.”
A shuddering breath left Simon. He dropped his head forward, his dark hair hiding his face. His shoulders shook once, silently. When he looked up, his sharp blue eyes were bright. “I was so afraid you’d hate me.”
“I might,” Jason said, the smile turning wry. “Tomorrow. When I can’t walk straight and I’ve had time to think about the… the audacity of all this. But right now?” He tested the feeling, finding it solid. “Right now, I don’t. I really don’t.”
Simon reached out, his fingers brushing the back of Jason’s hand where it lay restrained on the arm of the chair. It was a simple touch. Human. “What do you want to happen now?”
Jason looked at the tools surrounding him. He felt the quiet pad resting against him. He looked at Simon’s hand on his.
“I want you to turn it back on,” Jason said, his voice low and certain. “But not the sequence. Not the algorithm.” He met Simon’s gaze, held it. “Manual override. You have the controls. I have the safe word. No more studies. No more data. Just… see what happens.”
Simon’s fingers stilled on his hand. The air in the lab seemed to crystallize, charged with a new and different potential. The machine around them was just a tool now, its purpose transformed. The question hanging between them was no longer about sensitivity or feedback loops, but about what two people, finally honest, might build from the wreckage.