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Biting into flesh still connects him to some base, animal instinct. Even with most of his body kept alive by wires and metal. Cables pulsating with energy from the perpetual generator overheating at his core. The sensation is just below the satisfaction that outright violence grants him. It briefly quiets the roar at the back of his mind that calls for more and more. Pale skin is still warm, he can still feel a faint pulse under his tongue. He knows that just a little more pressure could pierce the barrier and spill blood. The risk excites him. He knows what will happen if he crosses that line. He knows how it feels to play within the suffocating limits he'd been given.
Sergei is only a semblance of pliant. Once those teeth press down too hard his other leg is deftly looping around the cyborg's head, ankles locking together to give him leverage to pin him in place. He's quick for his size; carefully controlled power, muscles thrumming with a strength that almost reminds Bryan of his own. But his is still human, and it still has its limits. It still breaks under the right conditions. Bryan was intent on finding those conditions.
Bryan twists in the hold, not quite able to break it, but able to shift their positions and regain the advantage. His teeth travel further up along bare skin, muscles flexing beneath it, and he bites down harder, disregarding any physical protest. Sergei is on him almost instantly, knee striking something at the back of Bryan's head still human enough to cause his vision to briefly black out. While he's disoriented, Sergei moves them, bodily, the world shifting all around Bryan before he can see again.
He's pinned underneath those pale thighs, calves locked underneath him, back against the mattress. Sergei's sex is square over his face, radiating warmth and smelling of natural musk and cold and hints of leather and some mild soap that had yet to fade. A fist in Bryan's hair forces his head back, and he barks out a laugh like instinct at the burning sensation in his scalp. It feels planned; Sergei takes that moment to seat himself fully, rolling his hips down to press his cock against the flat of Bryan's tongue. He lets out a haggard sigh and some of the hate melts from his expression as his eyes close and he takes his pleasure how he wants. The taste is enough to get Bryan close to that worrying state of almost-human again. It overwhelms his senses past simple mechanical analysis. A different kind of heat bleeds through him. Bryan moves to oblige to the motion of Sergei's hips above him and is rewarded with another animal sound from that pale throat, humming with life.
He brings his hands up to clasp at the prison locking him in with enough force that they're unlikely not to leave bruises. The hold around him gets tighter and the grip in his hair pulls him closer like disciplining a dog. The scarred body above him is all he can see. All he can taste and smell and feel. He's drowning. He remembers feeling this way. He thinks he remembers. The memory flashes like a dying light, fading just as fast. Sergei is purring like an animal above him. Something feral that shapes itself into the facsimile of being fully tamed. It's deep and guttural and they're so closely intertwined now that Bryan can't be sure it isn't the sound of him overheating; gears grinding together with warning as the rest of him runs out of oxygen, suffocating, drowning.
Sergei could kill him. Easily. Sergei might have wanted to kill him. Bryan wasn't a fool; he knew why he'd been kept around for this long. He was a project. A test. Sergei was meant to leash-train him so that he could play weapon for his military. He would be the blade of the state again... Again? No, that memory was gone, too. The traces of it didn't matter. What mattered was now, with a thrill running down his spine at the prospect of being someone else's victim. A lightheaded giddiness overtakes him.
He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you.
Something human finally, fully shows itself. Suffocating was too slow to maintain the satisfaction that the threat alone gave him. He feels as though he's losing control. Again. Again? He knows he's died before, but it was so many lifetimes ago that it doesn't exist as a memory; just as a statement of fact. He had the bullet wounds that had healed over poorly once his body stopped functioning to prove it. Blood stops reaching the living parts of his brain, a warning flashes over his vision. His fingers press harder into Sergei's skin, but he remains unaffected. This was a task like any other for him, with a goal he planned to achieve regardless of what or who was attempting to stop him. Bryan was going to die. He was going to die. You're going to die.
Bryan's head is finally pulled back, the hold around him breaking with a shudder he again can't tell the origin of between the two of them. He's pulling in breaths desperately as Sergei sighs above him. He comes up for air as Sergei comes down from his high. The world refocuses, only obscured by automatic diagnostics scrolling past his eyes. He sees Sergei beyond them still, staring down at him with his hatred just as cold as always, but muted. Veiled thinly by contentment. Killing Bryan would have just been a mild headache for him. Some paperwork and a way to escort his body elsewhere so his government could get their hands on that generator. He wouldn't even have the grace to be pleased about it.
His legs unlatch from behind Bryan's shoulders, the hand keeping his head in place eases away, leaving just a shadow of the grip it had. Bryan's nerves are still on fire, and it's still looping back to that place of excitement, of pleasure, of violence, but the human part of him is boneless and toothless. A hard reset. He's weightless and pliant enough that Sergei's legs can slip free of his grip. It's clear in his expression that he doesn't trust that stillness. But, almost as if it were just another task for him, he moves himself down and finds Bryan where he's still hard, unsatisfied, even after everything. His hand feels cool in comparison. His palms are soft. He's capable of explosive and unthinkable violence and is still able to do these smaller, more careful tasks. He's still human.
Bryan is grateful for the way his mind whites out once he's done. It brings him the right sort of clarity. No more memories or fragments of memories, just the here and now and the fire threatening to overcome him from the inside out. Sergei is moving off the bed once Bryan has his bearings back and still has the wherewithal to react before a stray kick can catch his side. His leg is caught, he's being pulled to the ground, pinned— disciplined. He feels the right amount of alive again. Animal. Visceral.