The blasts he'd taken had indeed hurt him.
A lot.
Blaster burns scorched through his shirt in several painful spots.
She was going to have to get the clothing off him to see the extent of the damage.
She tugged at the fabric, but it wouldn’t let go of him.
“What are you doing?” he moaned.
“Trying to get your clothes off so I can administer medical aid.”
“I will be fine,” he panted. “Just need rest.” He lay down right there in the middle of the floor.
She sighed because she knew she wouldn’t be able to move him, at least not with a lot of repulsor gear. “You will not be fine. You have blaster burns all over you. And I can’t get your clothing off to see the extent of the damage.”
He opened one eye and looked at her.
“You want me naked?”
Any other time, she would have thought he was being flirty. This, however, was not the time for it.
“I want to see the damage, and your clothes are in the way.”
“As you wish,” he said.
His clothing melted into his skin. All except for the gauntlets on his forearms.
It did not matter how many times she saw it. It was still the strangest thing to watch it melt into his skin. The cyborgs and their organics were fused with mechanics, but this was unusual, to say the least.
Up close, she was able to truly see the way it processed. The clothing changed to shiny metal, like mercury, and seeped into his skin. Like how the shoes she’d put on oozed around her feet. Except more. She delicately traced the top of his shoulder where his shirt had been.
It was like the fabric was never there. No residue, no anything. It just felt like skin.
“Wow,” she said.
“We cyborgs are impressive specimens. All the humanoid females remark upon it.”
Freya blinked. “Excuse me?”
And she realized what he’d meant.
He didn’t just remove his shirt.
But all his clothing.
He was naked. Very close and naked. And oh stars, was he well-endowed. Even in a flaccid state, the size of the cock on him was impressive. She let her gaze wander over him.
It was proportional to his height, that was for certain.
She shook her head. “Wounds,” she whispered to herself.
And they were extensive. One on his chest, a couple on each arm.
He shifted, almost twisting to the side a little.
“Is there more back there?” she asked.
