Categories > Anime/Manga > Cyborg 009 > 50 Sentances for Jet, Frances, and Albert

Young Offender, Light and with a Twist

by Sybil_Rowan 0 reviews

These are sets of sentences involving Jet, Frances, and Albert in intimate relationships together. 002/003/004 (yes, you read it right)

Category: Cyborg 009 - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Romance - Warnings: [X] [?] - Published: 2010-09-03 - Updated: 2010-09-03 - 1673 words - Complete

Author: Sybil Rowan
Title: Young Offender, Light and with a Twist
Fandom: Cyborg 009
Pairing: Jet Link x Frances Arnoul x Albert Heinrich (yes, you've read that right)
Theme set: One (for the "3sentence": livejournal community- write fifty sentence based on a trio of characters together in a romantic relationship, there are fifty word prompts in five different sets)
Rating: R
Date: 7/3/2010
Notes: bisexuality, some Joe bashing
Summary: This 'Set One' is a play off of my story 'Young Offender' only with a romantic twist between Jet, Frances, and Albert. I'm NOT planning on putting this stuff in my regular story. Basically, it deals with the question of what if the first generation cyborgs escaped before their cryogenic sleep. I wrote these as kind to help me plot out the story, so most are platonic, but these have a kinky twist of Jet, Frances, and Albert ending up together at the end. My next sets are a little more graphic, but not by much, and they are loosely based on canon.

The harmony between Frances and Jet was only maintained by Albert; he was thrust in the role of peace-maker and judge, but he accepted the role gratefully for the distraction from his deceased wife.

“Will you show some manners,” Frances commanded, sharply glaring as Jet licked his fingers.

Jet fell in sync with Albert first due to their hard, jaded past lives, but Frances took almost three decades to share their rhythm.

Frances's enhanced senses annoyingly focused on the smallest things at inconvenient times, like the fond glances between Jet and Albert in the dim candle light as they shared New York pizza around a rundown coffee table.

“Don't you...” Albert warned Jet, but the New Yorker gave him a smirk and leaped high in the night air, rockets ignited, leaving Frances and he alone on top of the Empire State Building.

“I thought you both liked walks in the park, and Paris is gorgeous in the Spring,” Frances bragged to glum Jet, while Albert buried his nose deeper in a newspaper.

“Faster! They've found us,” Frances screamed, as Albert pushed the gas peddle to the floor, and Jet took aim with his ray gun out of the car window.

Albert help Frances make all of their beds, but he felt a pang realizing the soft texture of the cotton sheet was lost to his right hand.

The first thing Jet found he had in common with Frances was chocolate and hard rock candy, which Albert indulged them with when they visited his native West Berlin.

“Sorry, but we ran out of candles,” Jet joked, while Frances placed Albert's fire laden birthday cake on their kitchen table.

Jet's hair was flaming red just like his deceased wife's hair, but the soft gold of Frances's hair was fetching too.

Albert was careful to only offer comfort, or just hold them, with his left arm; it would seem too obscene to touch them with his deadly, right hand.

Frances picked up a partially burnt photo of her brother, Jean-Paul, and fought her tears; meanwhile, Jet and Albert search the area for the blond Frenchman.

Albert sighed while watching Jet and Frances argue over which movie they wanted to see in front of the Los Angles theater; he should have known it was a bad idea to offer to take them out.

Frances focused on the Tchaikovsky melody in her head as she glided through her old ballet routine in th abandon warehouse, their new hideout; at the edge of her awareness Albert and Jet watched her from a metal staircase, all the while, they smoke their noxious cigarettes.

Jet glared around him and kicked the sand on the beach in front of Kozumi's house; he knew this Japanese Eden wouldn't last for them either.

Albert knew there was certain fruit he shouldn't touch; his companions were both young, compared to him, even though his loneliness was overwhelming at times.

Albert grabbed the lanky redhead by his blue, uniform scarf and said, “I'll pluck your feathers if you ever do anything like that again!”

“Too bad you both can't join me at the same time,” Jet said, looking wistfully at the overcast sky, “but they're actually pretty cold and wet.”

“I'm not some mother for you two!” Frances shouted and threw a feather duster on the floor.

Frances paused in front of the storefront window and longed to see herself in the white, silk gown on display; it created an emptiness inside.

Albert fingered the plain, gold band hanging from a chain around his neck; it was still like touching a gaping wound.

Jet slumped forward in his seat and glared down at the Shakespearian actors, next he turned his hostile gaze at Frances and Albert; they were totally oblivious to his boredom.

Frances took out Jean-Paul's gold pocket watch and walked into the hospital room; the shock at seeing her now elderly brother knocked her backwards, but Jet and Albert supported her.

Albert clutched his left shoulder that leaked rusty fluid, feeling spent of energy, but he refused to let the Black Ghost take Jet and Frances back; he'd die before that happened.

Never once had anyone told Jet they were proud of him; he found himself humbled when Albert and Frances fawned over him when he earned an airplane flight license.

“So how long do you think we'll live,” Frances asked, sitting aside her crochet on their fortieth year together; but before Albert could look up from his book and answer, Jet replied, “As long as we find rogue doctors who'll fix us up.”

Frances leaned on prayers as she and Albert desperately ran through the abandon Black Ghost facility, searching for a clue to where they took Jet.

Albert rubbed his metallic knees and let his hands travel to the point where his thighs became flesh again; he admitted he did crave the of feeling mailable warmth again.

“Now that movie was so cool,” Jet declared as the three of them left the premier showing of 'Night of the Living Dead' in a rundown New York theater; Frances and Albert traded exasperated expressions.

“We can make your frame lighter, and it'll give you more speed,” Kaminari offered Albert, but the German man shook his head and walked off, knowing it would only lead to him loosing more flesh.

She was in the closet hanging up her coat when she heard them sneak back into their apartment; she glanced through the crack in the door and saw Albert's left hand drift down Jet's back, draw him closer, and he gave the lanky, New Yorker a deep, passionate kiss.

“He's a man, Frances, and he needs his space every now and again; his parents are not your concern,” Albert explained, gripping her wrist before she could chase after Jet and his volcanic temper.

She snatched their damp coats off the floor and shook off the Alps snow, aggravated the Winter days made Jet and Albert behave like ten-year-olds.

“Please, just this one, Albert's still busy getting repaired by Doctor Gilmore,” Frances asked Jet, and he sighed in resignation, grabbing the abstract painting from her hands.

“You're such a child,” Frances said, thrusting a jar of Tang at Jet across the breakfast table.

“Al, can be so sour some times,” Jet complained to Frances as she used his hands to hold her yarn while she wound a ball.

The grapes were dark, lush, and sweet, a wonderful present Albert brought into their Italian safe house to break the gloom.

Albert knew his dreadful, robotic duplicate was in the rundown German castle along with clues to where the Black Ghost was keeping Jet and Frances.

“Hey... wouldn't Frannie look really choice in one of those little black maid's outfits,” Jet whispered, paranoid she was lurking too close with those too sharp ears; instead, Jet was reward with a sly smirk from Albert before he buried his aquiline nose in a Goethe book.

The mossy-haired, woman assassin lofted an explosive, black queen chess piece and flashed Jet, Frances, and Albert a sardonic look before she said, “Check mate.”

“I'll be Earth's ultimate ruler, thanks to you three fools,” Scar sneered towards the three battered cyborgs forced to kneel at his feet.

“My name is Joe, what's yours?” the young Japanese boy asked Frances with a friendly smile; however, there was vulnerability without Jet and Albert by her side in this tiny French cafe.

“I'm playing Odette!” Frances squealed before launching herself into Albert and Jet's waiting arms.

Now that they were safely hidden in an abandon North Carolina lighthouse, they huddled together for warmth, comfort, and protection.

“Black Ghost is trying to rescue humanity from its mistakes,” Joe insisted to Frances as she cowered from him.

She shielded her eyes as the prison door crumpled; she was elated as Albert and Jet came charging in, fighting off eight Black Ghost goons.

“I refuse to be used Black Ghost again... I'll never tell you where they are,” Albert sneered at the Black Ghost base commander.

“Listen... that Joe guy cheated on you with that whore Helen, and he sold us out to the Black Ghost... we don't want to ever see you hurt like that again,” Jet said, brandy-colored eyes flashing with desire as he slid closer to Frances on the couch; she felt Albert move closer as well.

“This is our great reward for enduring it all,” Frances murmured, shifting on their bed, wrapping her arms around Albert's neck, Jet trailed kisses down her bare back as Albert's cool metallic hand moved down her shapely hip; all of this, after they were assured of the Black Ghost organization's destruction.

End Set One.
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