Chris noticed when Hawker had gone still. The mech never stood still. Even when in the gantry, it whirred and wiggled it’s fingers and looked about. He swore the coolant pumps had even halted.
<Touched a nerve? Or did you like that?> he wondered. If Hawker enjoyed it when he is so close, doing those intimate strokes of his hands.. then perhaps they’d be friends. Very, very good friends. He hand to focus on a bit of the floor and take deep calming breaths. He is right in between the mach’s thighs! It’s like Hawker is kneeling over him in bed, sitting on his face and….
No. NO! Be Professional. He’d hadn’t rubbed one out sense he’d gotten to 42. It’s been days now and he is getting imaginative. Perhaps even a touch perverted. And he’d had his hand and arm in Hawker’s mouth and the way it’d felt and….
<STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!> he mentally scolded himself. <You just patched things up and are starting over. Now you’re gonna FLIRT with him?> he exhaled sharply out his nose. <And just what happens if he decides he does fancy you sunshine? How the fuck will that work when we’re linked up? When I’m done today, I’m getting this out of my system.> Chris decided; thinking to himself. Hawker probably is holding still so he didn’t squash Chris’s hand in the complex hip joint. That’s all. Still, if it was something else, a little teasing wouldn’t hurt. Right? Right….
“Yes Sir. 20 more push ups.” Right in front of him is the heavily weighted codpiece. It hung low and impressive, protecting the center of those complicated mechanicals. Chris looked up, innocently putting both hands on it. “Then I think you’d figure out how we’re going to deal with the fact that there’s no weight room here.” He pressed on that armor, hands sliding to the sides as he pushed off and got down right there. His face and arms by the knees. His feet barely visible, almost under Hawker’s nose! He grunted, arms and body core working. He knew that he was doing, deliberately prodding at sensual feelings the mech likely didn’t have. But maybe, he’d get Hawker curious. And keeping the mech interested and amused would make it want him around more then if he bored the AI.
“Eleven!” He had to breath hard, building up strength isn’t easy. On his right arm, blood trickled down from one of the abrasions he’d gotten from being compressed. “Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen..” He counted each one aloud, doing his best. He had to take three breaks. THe last five push-ups were agony, and when he finished he rolled onto his side and leaned against the massive mechanical left knee.
“Oh man..” he gasped “..you’re lucky..” he swallowed “..you’re always strong..”
But the pleasure sense arose anyways in DF2-equipped machines – it coded itself.
It was one of the many elephants in the room for AI engineers, though Hawker was a lucky HLX-9 in that it never posed a problem for him. At least… not that he could remember. Who knew what was so neatly hidden away in those TOP SECRET documents? Who in the world had been responsible for installing not one, but two –
Hands on his junk. What the hell was that kid doing?!
Hawker ground his denta together, holding his ‘breath’. The mech was the superior here, he needed to keep his goddamn cool. He flinched the tiniest bit when those hands released him, but as the kid turned to do his reps right there between his legs, he had to look elsewhere.
What was this, then? Was he trying to win brownie points by being a hot little piece of ass? The humans played these games all the time: flirting for favors and worse for promotions. But Hawker was a mech – big, powerful, and proud. If the kid had a little frustration to work out of his system, then that was on him. Hawker was a professional.
“Oh man, you’re lucky… you’re always strong…”
Well, most of the time he was.
He was on all fours again, this time directly above Chris. Then he removed his left arm from the floor and folded it across his lower back. One leg back, then the other. The mech lowered himself down, slowly, surely, into a single-armed pushup. Servos whirred, hydraulics sighed, and everything else in his arm hummed.
“I’ll trust you to do your own workouts when you can do one of these,” he said calmly, then rose back up, all the way up, until he was standing again, the little human still splayed out on his back between Hawker’s massive feet. The look on Chris’s face brought out the smugness in him. “I’ll get a crash pad in here,” he decided. “As for equipment…” A pause, as though he hadn’t already come up with a solution. “They say to make do with what you have.” Hawker wiggled his fingers in the kid’s direction, then fisted them all but one to point with. “Your protein gets here in ten, and I want you running until it does. Now hit the pavement!”
Chris dutifully leapt up and bounded away. The sight, the eager obedience… pleased him.
Chris knew exactly what he’d been doing. He’d acted perfectly innocent, that is part of it. The other part is pretending to ignore the reaction of his partner. Hawker thought of himself as Male. That’s Male with a capital M. The mech hadn’t shouted him down, or backhanded him across the motor pool. So that means.. that means Hawker tolerated his little display. Or, perhaps even liked it.
Then it happened. Hawker on top of him. He lay on the ground, not far from the chest cavity where he’d spent hours training. There is no fear that the mech planned to hurt him. There is however, other emotions. Emotions that’d pretty plain on his face when those yellow eyes ever able to take in his expression. He looked pleased and impressed. He liked the inherent strength of the massive mech. And there is no denying it. He is smiling.
“Yes sir. I’ll work on that.” his head followed the big hand, watching the fingers and wrist move.
He kept that smile as he got back to running, quickly working up to the same pace. It felt like 15 tons had come off his back. They’d patched things up. Now if he could keep his cool and get back to training; he might have a future with Hawker.
Aft minutes passed, another thought occurred to him. Until now, Hawker had called him rookie. Scabber. Still did. But, for the first time he could remember; he’d been called a pilot by colossal machine.
He had a spring in his step the rest of the run.
A robot from the vending and food service rolled into the motor pool. It maneuvered over tot he well-used vending machines and did the daily restock, filling them with snacks and nutrient packets; while disposing of the expired ones. After completing, it slowly made it’s way down to the big dog’s alcove. It place two bottles of protein supplements on the delivery pad. One looked cool, the other looked frozen. Like’d thaw after about 3-4 hours. Then it turned and trundled out to continue on it’s rounds.
It’s IFF tag transmitted continuously, sending out it’s location and relative dimensions as crossed in front of the vehicle bays. Chris’s route would have him jogging right past it’s purpose-built form. As he passed, eyes forward as he breathed heavily, it dutifully scanned him before reporting to medical. <Superficial damage. Stop worrying.> it transmitted. <Our bet’s fine.>
Celn halted at the bottles, recognising them easily. He grabbed for the one not coated in a sheen of ice, shaking it up before peeling the top back and guzzling it down. Sweat dripped off his brow, down over the dirt on his face. It made little streaks of cleanliness.
Hawker kept himself on the level by forcing himself to shift focus away from his pilot to the news. It was a habit; one that Kole might have called an addiction if the mech had dopamine receptors.
Chris had located his protein and was sucking it down like water. The mech suddenly pictured him sucking down something else entirely.
Christ, if Kole doesn’t give us a patrol soon this is going to drive me insane. Somehow, neurospace seemed to be safer. He didn’t have to see Chris when he was in the cockpit, only feel him, and even then, their collective minds were usually focused on the task at hand. Hawker had never used… his cockpit upgrades on Lee. They weren’t like that. The man was almost a mentor, and the pilot’s seat was a special place for the both of them in an entirely different way.
Hawker decided to chalk up Chris’s sudden change in behavior to sheer relief and excitement at being able to move forward as a team; at the massive HLX-9 Vanguard Hawker unit finally being his. He seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeves, after all.
“Alright,” he called. “Stretch for ten, break for ten. You’re doing… good. We’ll get those pounds on you soon enough.”
In the meantime, he would see about those pads. Hm… and where the hell to put them.
Chris geld the bottle around the middle. His fingers curled around it’s circumference, right around the middle. The bottle is white, a kind of generic extruded plastic. The bulbous tip pressed against his lips as he thirstily drank down the contents. He had his head tilted back, his throat flexing and his adam’s apple bobbing. Some of the white, thick fluid dripped down his chin. Only after he finished did he go level and wipe off his chin with the back of a hand.
The bottle he left next to the other, the he wiggled to loosen up. He started with simple stuff, raising his arms and stanind on his toes. THen he crouched down with arms forward. Then he rolled back and sat, legs together as he reached forward to stretch his back and touch his toes.
Almost bent in half, his shirt pulling up to expose his lower back. H had a pronounced spine, a narrow waist.Five to ten pounds of muscle and he’d have defination. Now he had that wry strength. What he look like built? With thick muscle in the skin-tight pilot suit?
Chris stood up, breathing for a moment. Then he put his left leg up on a crate, leaving forward to stretch out again. HIs perky rear filled out the back of those sweats, the material curving around his behind.
“I .. hrrg! Ow. They mentioned I needed to get better at climbing and swimming along with the weights.” he spoke, his face almost to his knee. “Does that mean I’m going to climb you? Or they gonna have me scaling a wall?”
No, Hawker decided. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
The question was, what was he going to do about it?
“Heard you scared away a few of our mechanics,” Colburn butt in. “How’s it going down there?”
<Kissed and made up I guess,> he harumphed. He must’ve sounded a little distracted, though, because –
“You sound a little distracted,” she said, biting back a laugh. “If he’s giving you a hard time, you know how to put him in his place, Nine.”
Hawker frowned, cocking a brow, and folded his arms as his optics zoomed in on Chris’s rear. <That’s the problem,> he mumbled.
<Nothing.> A pause, then: <You’re watching the CCTV right now aren’t you?> His face turned toward the nearest security camera, and he shot it a look.
“What! I only just tuned in, alright? I’m checking in because it looks like you two are actually getting along, which raised my suspicions.”
Hawker turned back to the kid for a second, stiffly giving out an order: “Don’t forget your shoulders, Celn! Keep that neck nice and loose!” Then he returned to Colburn. <I want you to do a physical on him today. Make sure everything’s… normal.>
The mech was wanting to rule out any other reason for Chris’s behavior before… well, before he would have to do something about it. Either shut it down, or…
Hawker cursed to himself.
<Yeah, normal. He seems uncharacteristically energetic. I just want to make sure he’s not experiencing some kind of endorphin rebound from whatever painkillers you gave him this morning.>
“Endorphin rebound? Did you just make that up?”
<Just do it, please.>
Hawker made the kid do another lap while he waited for the maintenance droids to deliver the crash pad. Fifteen minutes later, and there was a dull red slab of industrial-grade foam laying on the floor. The mech picked it up and moved it off to the side, closer to his slab and away from potential traffic of vehicles coming and going. Thankfully, this motor pool wasn’t used quite as often as the garage reserved for the beat cops and their cruisers. Down here was emergency response and raid units. But, being Chicago, the place saw action at least several times a month.
“You’re scheduled for a once-over in medical at 0300,” Hawker said as the rookie headed over to the 8″ thick pad. “To make sure your implant isn’t being aggravated or something.”
The human was affecting him. Distracting him. It was almost as if… as soon as he had stopped conflating Chris with Lee, everything clicked into place. Their relationship suddenly had room to be whatever it needed to be. Chris was Chris, and with him a whole new world of possibilities opened up. Namely that Hawker felt more in charge now. Before, he’d been the subordinate. Now the roles were reversed. It was interesting.
The run around the bay helped him clear his head. Let him think. What was he trying to do with Hawker, exactly? The big bot is in control, so why flirt, what helpt pushing him to salaciously parade around in front of the mech? He turned the first corner. He did admit that the looks he’d been getting were amusing. It is fun to have that kind of attention. His shoes thumped on the concrete. He passed the spot where he’d made an impression. Turned the second corner. For once the machine wasn’t being aggressive or indifferent, if kept glancing to him. He swore he’d felt those optical sensors glued to his rear when he’d leaned down to touch his toes. That’d been right before the order to run. Third corner.
It’d been when Hawker had ‘eaten’ him. That’s part of it. THe oversized, yet still human touch. Then there was the machine being so close, the way it’d knel, pushed him down, those push ups. Maybe flirting is a sign of trust. Fourth corner. Hawker is messing with a huge and thick red mat. Looked comfortable. Or just maybe, he’d picked up something when he’d been in Hawker. Maybe it is mutual attract that he felt.
Whatever it was, he needed to keep it cool. Let things develop slowly.
Chris took the final steps as a slow job, arms bouncing in place. He panted, nodding as he heard about his appointment. “Yes sir. Medical inspection.” So easy to obey that strong, booming voice. His arm tilted up and back, his fingers feeling over the bandaged implant. He winced and grumbled as he poked around at the damage. “Doesn’t feel any worse then this morning, Sir.”
THe sweat soaked into his shirt, making it cling to his skin. THe debri and dirt made it feel awful, and he pulled it off, dropping it off on the side. He had some fantastic bruises now, and on his back the shape of a big hand in red stood out. The human walked up to the edge of the matt and knelt. He experimentally poked and pushed into the thick padding. He stood back up, giving Hawker a grin.
Damn, did he like the sight of that towering giant over him. “Orders Sir?”
“On your back.”
Oh my. Oh gods and heavens and stars. Just hearing the rumbling, commanding voice of Hawker say those words got Chris all too warm. As he lowered down into position, the mech drew close. Then it knelt down, leaving over him. Hawker’s face ten or so feet above him. The AI kept doing the same kinds of teasing right back at him! He could easily envision the mech ‘unzipping’ and dropping feet of cock onto him.
<NO! Stop that!> But he couldn’t help it. “Feet in the air.” <Hawker, geez!> Thank god he is wearing a jockstrap. That kept everything confined no matter what he got up to. As he obeyed, he places his arms spread at his sides, keeping himself stable on the matt. Two big fingers came down, one on the bottom of each shoe. He wondered how much weight Hawker was keeping off of him right now. THose digits had to easily weight-in over a hundred pounds, not counting the artifical muscles and hydraulics that moved them.
At least Yorker had taught Chris the right way to breathe and decent form. He didn’t try to lock his knees on extension. Celn began doing methodical leg presses, moving the fingers up and down, working at a steady pace. Sure it might be easy right now, but seeing how he’ll feel on his 5th or 6th set of reps? He’ll be begging for mercy. Mercy that the mech won’t give. It said so much “You’re going to train to failure today.” Chris pulled his lips taut. He’d go to failure all right. But he decided that He wanted to try for 100. 5 Sets. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it, but damn he is going to try!
By the 4th set, his legs are on fire. Hawker oh-so-helpfully let him paused between runs. But had utterly masochistic glee when it prompted him in a smug tone to “Get those legs UP rookie! I said UP! All the way!” THen took his sweet time putting those fingers into place. Sometimes wiggling his raised and extended legs back and forthing, fingertip scooting the sole of his shoes. He lowered his legs, 40 pounds feeling like the weight of the whole mech! He wasn’t sure what is worse, controlling the weight down so his muscles burned; or pushing the weigh up so they screamed.
“You.. you aren’t increasing.. the.. the weight are you?” Sweat dripped from his forehead. His chest has a slick sheen. He likely is making quite the damp spot on the matt; but it’s make to take that kind of organic abuse. It’d become a nightmare now. But he wanted 100. When he finally lowered his legs for 80th time; they flopped onto the matt and he rubbed over his strained thighs. Fingers digging into the material of his sweats as he quietly whimpered to himself.
Minutes later, Hawker commanded he raise his legs. It was agony just to get them off the ground. Now 40 pounds left like the entire HLX-9 is STANDING his feet. Tears came from the corners of his eyes, it wasn’t fair that Hawker could do this with just the lightest of touches! He’d slowed down for sure, and had to be reminded to slowly let the weight down, not to let it crash. He had to distract himself, had to think of something. And for whatever reason, deciding on how hung Hawker should be is what he thought about through the next 10.
<He’s three times my height. So three times my dick size? No.. that wouldn’t be big enough! He needs to look -hung!- It couldn’t possibly fit in me anyway, so at that point go bigger then me. In proportion. Prolly 2 and a half? Na, has to be like, 3 long. Feet! At at least one foot in diameter. Would he have balls?> The internal debate gets him through the next 5. He pushed himself, shaking trembling. 97 and 98 are beyond what his muscles are willing to do, but he gets up and down for each one. At 99? Nope. THose fingers teasingly stay there, probably still at 40 pounds. But Chris shakes his head.
“I.. I can’t move.” he admits. Yorker had done small reps of big weights. Failing Hawker’s light load, and not hitting his personal goal? The tears of pair were real. He’d do better another day. But for now, he is on his back, knees to his chest as hawker ‘s fingers help him there. With just 40 pounds..
It was a breeze at first, of course. Apparently it always was. But he could see it in the kid’s face, those neat brows furrowed, that mouth pursed or panting or grimacing, the cordage in his neck tighten, that it was soon to get much harder. He bit back a chuckle and maintained pressure.
“You… you aren’t increasing… the… the weight are you?”
Hawker filed that devious idea away for another training session. Keeping humans on their toes was a simple pleasure for him. Keeping Chris on his toes would be a little more complicated.
“Why?” he goaded with a sadistic grin. “Havin’ a tough time down there?”
The mech had honestly expected to get no more than 80 reps out of those little legs, so when Chris ground out 19 more, Color me surprised. The sadistic smile softened into a mentor’s look of calm approval as he looked him up and down. “Not bad,” he rumbled. “Not bad at all.” The mech sat back again, pulling away, but not before reaching down to give the kid a nudge with his hand toward the tray. God, he was small. “Go grab your protein. I think we’re done for the day.”
He stood up, stepping over to his own maintenance racks, and pulled out a large cloth to wipe himself down with. He also pulled down a canister before taking a seat on the floor next to the crash pad, elbows on his knees. His eyes followed the kid as he tried drinking the shake, but it was still mostly frozen. Damn.
“Look at you,” he said with a deep laugh. “You can barely walk.” He popped the can and shook out a large tablet, tossing it into his mouth to chew. It was an additive for keeping his mouth and vocalizers clean. “You know what your problem is, greenhorn? You don’t know how to call it quits. That’ll get you into some real trouble someday.” Another laugh. “Never met anyone so masochistic in my life.”
He realized what he’d said a little too late. Maybe you ought to just keep your trap shut, Hawker. Images filled his CPUs of Chris covered in even more bruises, that cute little face wincing in pain, maybe another trickle of blood from his nose, a mouth whispering ‘yes, sir’ to his every command. Hm. Humans.
They were pretty fragile, weren’t they? Quick and smart and charming, but fragile. Lee had always seemed so unbreakable, Hawker realized. Outsmarting death at every turn, but it always got them in the end. Chris was far more open about his physical limitations; he bled, he got tired, he could be beaten black and blue but he kept on going because Hawker told him to. What else could he tell the kid to do? This wasn’t just physical power he had; his word meant everything to the kid.
“Hm? Sorry,” he grunted, realizing Chris had said something he didn’t hear.
Chris’s legs flop down uselessly once they big hand released it’s torturous touch on them. He rolled onto his side and started rubbing over those aching legs while whimpering. Then the same hand comes down scooping and scooting him toward the tray where the still full bottle rested. As he lay there, pondering if it was worth it to get up, the big hand gave him another nudge. Chris crawled the rest of the way, obviously not wanting to do anything with his legs if he could avoid it.
What would it be like to just rest that huge hand on the greenhorn? To to press down or crush, but just rest it and let the weight of the extremity push the kid into the matt? How hard would he struggle to get away while the mech expended no effort at all?
“You can barely walk.” Oh god walking. He didn’t want to even think about it.
Chris propped himself up with his left hand, using the right to pop the top off. Despite sucking hard enough to make it collapse around the solid mass inside, he wasn’t getting enough. Of course that meant he could use the bottle as an ice pack. And he touched it to chis forehead, then he rolled it over his neck and chest. He smiled and groaned as it chilled him in places. He put the lid on the bottle and pulled down his sweats to his knees. Just a jockstrap keeping him contained. He slid the bottle over his thighs, easing the aching muscles with the chill. He’d have it thawed in no time.
“Never met anyone so masochistic in my life.”
Chris paused, looking up at that comment. Was he? Was he behaving that way? The straps of the jock curved over his slender waist, and he scooted his pants back up. Then he pulled up the bottoms, running the bottle over his calves. THose throbbed painfully, felt like the kin was going to split!
Was he being stupid for blindly following the mech’s commands? Kind of. He’d asked for clarity for a few things, at least what he could remember. Putting the bottle down, he layed back on the matt and let it rest under the middle of his spine. A dopey smile spread across his face as the cold spread. If Hawker told him to jump, he’d asked how high on the way up. He’d recklessly thrown himself at every challenge and problem. And look at what’d happened to him!
Of course, Hawker has started to respect him. It wasn’t rank, it wasn’t his willpower. THe mech had no problem taking control of it’s body, even with Chris linked in. No, the only thing he had is that reckless disregard for his personal well-being. But why?
He trusted Hawker. He knew that the mech didn’t want him to die. It didn’t want him hurt either. Well.. okay. Not hurt enough to compromise performance. It had no problems making him ache and cry.
The thought of behind held by that hand, his feet dangling. Being poked. A massive fist knuckling him. The huge boot pressing him into the matt. That mouth biting, kissing at him. A massive shaft landing on him, it’s sheer weight bruising him. Commanding him. Toughening him up. Making him more durable. Telling how good he is for holding up. THen hurting him more.
What did THOSE ideas excite him?
He retrieved the bottle and shook it up. There are still icy chunks, but he drinks it down anyway. Hawker ate? Likely to get the taste of dirty human out of his mouth.
Whatever happened, he decided he’d keep going. He’d go until he failed. Every damn day. He knew hawler wouldn’t ever slack off. And if that meant he had to exhaust himself to see that look, that pleased grin he’d seen earlier on the white face of the mech? yeah. Allright. He’d do it for Hawker.
“So, you’re saying you want me ta quit?” He gave the seated machine a smirk. THen, despite the screaming pain, he pushed himself to stand. He made it a step towards the robot. “I don’t quit Hawker. I’m too dumb to know when I’m beat.” He made it three more steps before he collapsed, face first into the matt. He laughed hard, rolling onto his back.
“Aw man, it would have looked so bad-as if I’d make it to you! Fuck this hurts! This is just your plan to ensure I have to be carried everywhere, isn’t it?” After the run and leg presses, it’s no wonder he’s not moving.
And, unlike most humans, he didn’t fear being picked up. Didn’t fear those monster-sized hands touching and grasping him. Even when being crushed, he’d fought back. Probably would let himself get manhandled whenever the AI wanted too..
“I don’t quit Hawker, I’m too dumb to know when I’m beat.”
That got a full laugh out of him. It was a thunderous sound that echoed around the motor pool. Chris was smart, Hawker decided – maybe too smart for his own good. It’s how he’d survived his years on the streets, though, how he kept one step ahead of whoever owned his ass at the time. Hawker owned his ass now.
“This is just your plan to ensure I have to be carried everywhere, isn’t it?”
“Or dangle you upside down for your lunch money…” The mech reached over and grabbed Chris by the ankles with two massive fingers and lifted him off the mat, holding him a few inches from the foam. He grinned deviously. “Or if I really wanted to be mean…” He righted him in his hands, hands gentle as his fingers splayed across the kid’s back, thumb across his chest while the other did something similar a little further down. Yellow optics studied the warm, pliable body in his hands for just a fraction of a second, liking the feel of it. Chris was like a doll. “I could put you someplace high up and make you climb down.” He set the kid up on his shoulder, a favorite spot of his.
It was not particularly comfortable up there. There were spotlight housings, bolts and latches for getting the armor off, seams where plates came together, thick antennae, and on his upper back were spare fuel cells, life support, and most of the thorium core which was always hot to the touch. On his left shoulder in white was painted his number, 9081, and on the right was Chicago PD’s official seal. Hawker was still sitting, though, so the floor was only 8 feet away instead 15. Still, it would be amusing to watch him flounder around up there with his jelly legs.
Chris swung by has ankles with all of his blood rushing to his head. His arms hung down and he smiled. He pressed his fingers into the matt. Normally he might have complained, but right now the stretching out his legs felt good! The room spun, and he is being held. Held firmly in those hands, hands capable of destroying cars and tanks with ease.
Hawker’s index finger rested behind his head, giving him a place to rest as he relaxed in that grip. THe surface of the hands wasn’t sooth. It’d been treated somehow, and his bare flet stuck to the grippy material. He gazed up into the Ai’s curious expressing with a tired smile. The thumb on his chest felt good! It rolled and pressed, pushing and testing how his skin felt. The other hand came up and supported his lower half. When that thumb rubbed though..
It is Chris’s turn to go still and stare at his partner. His hands rested on the palm of that hand, his mouth making cute, confused shapes. Then he shuddered, pressing and pushing against the finger behind his head. Oh yeah, he liked that! All too soon it ended though. He felt a little dizzy, confused, and warm from the heat of the machinery.
He carefully moved forward; getting himself so that the continuous roil of heat wasn’t basting him in the face or making his fingers blister. Working with his arms, not relying on his legs he scooted closer to the helmeted head of the seated mech. After a few minutes he is close enough to touch. Just a foot away from the smirking features of his superior. He reached out with his right hand. CUrious. Fingers gently stroke over the prominent cheekbones; touching the pliable material of that huge face.
“Woah! You’re.. softer then I’d thought.” THen the same hand when down, feeling along the jawline. It might have been rude for anyone else, but he’d just been manhandled. Turnabout is perfectly fair in his mind. “That’s amazing! And from up here you look different. Down below your face is scary, authoritative. Up here, at your level? You’re a handsome son of a gun.”
Once again, he was getting prodded by the human’s hands. Ten-thousand of those haptic sensors were located in his face alone, so he could feel the barest brush with Chris’s delicate fingers.
“Down below your face is scary, authoritative.” The mech smiled at that, taking it as a compliment. He gazed at Chris’s face. Those lips seemed softer now, eyes warm and bright…
“Up here, at your level? You’re a handsome son of a gun.”
Hawker caught himself. Smile faded, and he looked away for a moment, lifting his optics toward the security cameras. He wondered if Colburn or anyone else was watching. The motor pool was empty aside from the other AIs, but who gave a shit about them? What were they gonna do? Something in Hawker was waking up – he wanted to touch and be touched again. He sensed it’d been a long time, though there was no memory to corroborate that gut feeling.
When he turned his big black head in Chris’s direction again, he looked a little confused. Hawker wanted desperately to run his thumb across that cheek too, but he was reminded of his professionalism. What would the consequences be of kissing that mouth, of devouring that fragile creature in a firestorm of machine desire? What if Chris decided he didn’t like being kissed by a mouth thrice the size of his own, or being kneaded in the palm of a giant metal hand?
“Look, kiddo… let’s call it quits today,” he said, deciding to not let on anything he was thinking. “I just got a, uh, message from Kole. Gotta take care of something.”
Chris looked hurt at those words, which told him that maybe they didn’t need a break from neurospace, but a break from each other. They were like a pendulum, swinging far to one side one minute, and the other the next. Hawker was used to being even-keeled. Calm, cool, and in control. Chris was bringing out too many emotions in him; he needed to take a step back. Hawker wrapped his fingers around the young man’s enticing body again and lowered him back to the mat.
“You’re still due in medical in a couple hours, and tomorrow you’re in the shooting range again. I’ll give you further instructions later.” He had to look away. He couldn’t tell him what he was really trying to get away from. Heat was already building in places he’d long forgotten that heat could build, and he didn’t want this turning into something that they would both regret. Again. “Other than that, enjoy your saturday alright? You earned it, greenhorn.”
Later, Hawker paced in his office. He could still feel Chris’s hands on him, sliding, stroking, rubbing…
He vented harshly, expelling a burst of sweltering air, and leaned against the edge of his own computer terminal, looking down at himself.
A hand that had been resting on his hip moved to his counterweight, cupping its impressive bulge. The jokes about it from the techs were low-hanging fruit, and Hawker pretended he was above the goofy bullshit, but the joke was really on them. The mech stroked a big hand along it and shuddered. 200,000 of his several million haptic sensors were in there, waiting to be let out. He felt along the seam. Heat was building, and his hand began to shake in anticipation.
Hawker growled and tore his hand away, whipping around to stare at the empty screens of his terminal. He stayed like that for a few minutes before turning the computer on and wirelessly telling it to show him a video feed of the pilot’s ward, where Chris was due to be arriving in a few short minutes. Droids were laying a fresh sheet of paper on the bed and preparing an assortment of neural interface tools. Colburn appeared, idly reading over something on a datapad and shaking her head.
The mech busied himself with this new problem, though. If Chris was flirting deliberately, then their next get-together in neurospace would be very awkward; their thoughts, so conscious and overpowering now, would be a lot harder to shield from the other. It was a can of worms. What the hell would Chris think when he finally discovered that he’d been precariously strapped into a pilot’s seat outfitted with a hidden cock straining just an inch away from that tight little ass of his?
An idea came to him. A fucked up idea that would probably just make things worse, but… the voyeur in him made such a compelling argument.
<Colburn,> he said, watching as the woman turned up the volume on her datapad. <Before Chris leaves, tell him to wear the wireless tonight. I want to find out what’s going on in that head of his before we link again.>