Chapter Text
“About fucking time,” Robotnik growled, breezing past Stone as he held the door wide for him.
Their plans had been derailed today in a most dramatic way. Their government plane, set to whisk them off to a series of very important meetings set to take place the following day, had been diverted due to inclement weather. They were told at the last minute that their flight would be, instead, by commercial airliner. Doctor Robotnik absolutely abhorred flying commercial.
Of course, to compound the issue, the necessary flight, the one that had already been booked for them, only gave them ninety minute's notice. This, of course, put the Doctor into an immediate righteous fury, to the surprise of absolutely no one. Luckily, Stone had already been at the lab, working away. Flight days were no excuse for lost productivity, after all. This sudden change of plans would leave them no time to park up at the airport. Stone, ever resourceful, cued up a rideshare on his phone and gently warned his boss not to ruin his perfect commuter score.
The Doctor had snapped at him in the moment, several paces ahead of Stone, who was rolling both of their suitcases behind him as they made a hasty exit. It was about what he'd expected in response. Once in the car, though, Robotnik fumed dutifully and silently in the backseat, a man of his word despite the terribly inconvenient situation.
Of course, once they arrived at the airport through unusual traffic, things continued to deteriorate. They approached the check-in counter only to see a scene already in process. A man at the head of the central line was shouting and swearing, knocking over brochure stands in a fit of apparent rage. The attendant on the other side of the counter was doing his very best to calm the situation, but it was clearly proving ineffective.
The other passengers had joined other lines, so naturally, the Doctor took the spot several feet behind the irate man. Stone, already wary of the situation, was busy sizing him up. Boutique brown leather shoulder bag for his luggage set on the ground. Suede boat shoes. A notable absence of socks. Cargo shorts. Pastel Hawaiian shirt, one that Stone would've liked had it been on anybody else. Plasticky white wrap-around sunglasses with reflective lenses, pushed up past his forehead, holding back his slightly-greasy hair. Late-twenties to mid-thirties, average build, peaked in high school or college.
Okay, golf tournament, Stone thought, or maybe some sort of frat reunion? Maybe he was begrudgingly invited to his cousin's destination wedding?
“Oh my god,” Robotnik groaned loudly at the spectacle happening at the check-in counter, "This is ridiculous."
Today had already presented enough annoyances, enough unexpected obstacles, and he simply hadn't the patience for one more.
The man at the head of their line stopped haranguing the attendant and spun around.
"The fuck you say?" he asked loudly.
He was already advancing on Robotnik, his leather duffel bag abandoned at the counter. Stone was already tense, training and instincts kicking into high gear at the merest suggestion of an altercation. As he came closer, the Agent could smell alcohol emanating from him, see his uneven shave and unwashed hair, his faintly unsteady gait. He's likely not stopped drinking since the night before. Regardless of the specific outcome, this man had no idea what was in store for him.
“The fuck did you just say?” the man repeated, irate eyes focused on the Doctor.
Oh, fuck, Stone thought, definitely drunk. Let the Doctor have the first go.
“Hurry up! Check your cheap imitation bag and get out of my way,” Robotnik snapped, staring down at him, “I’ve got a flight to catch and you won’t be the one to make me miss it.”
He was never one to be deterred by boisterous, hyper-masculine intimidation. He looked formidable, Stone observed, tall and austere in his flowing black coat, posture stiff. He could practically feel the malicious, calculating energy emanating from him. The stranger swayed sightly on his feet.
This guy would be a fool to press his luck, he thought.
When the man didn't back down, Stone’s grip on their rolling suitcases tightened, shoulders tensing as he anticipated an altercation that he’d have to talk them both out of. He was the resident deescalator of the two. Before he could raise a hand and speak a single stern word to de-fuse the situation, the man reached into his pocket and flicked open a small knife, knees bending, ready to spring on Robotnik, if unsteadily.
For the barest instant, Stone froze, but only to map the trajectory.
The Doctor registered it all happening, but only for a fraction of a second. He looked at the small matte black blade of the pocket knife in the man’s clenched fist and then up to his face, ready to dodge instinctively as best he could. The assailant was already slightly airborne, armed fist first. Robotnik drew back with an automatic gasp, bracing for impact as Stone sailed into his field of view, fist connecting with the man’s cheek, knocking his head to the side in a nauseatingly abrupt motion.
“Fuck!” Robotnik shouted, staggering back as time returned to its normal speed, maintaining his footing.
Stone took the man down to the ground easily, pulling down the ropes that separated the lines with a stunningly hard impact. People all around stood back as the shouting began. Robotnik’s eyes were locked on his assistant, knee pressed into the perpetrator’s lower back, wresting the knife from his fist and sending it sliding across the terrazzo floor.
“Somebody get that!” he barked, looking up a moment.
In that flash instant, Robotnik registered an unfamiliar fire in his assistant's eyes, a fascinatingly hard expression he'd never seen before.
The man, screaming obscenities, tried to buck him off, but Stone caught him by his hair and crushed his face into the ground once, a single sharp, decisive movement accompanied by a cringe-inducing sound. The man went quiet a second before erupting into a sputtering cough. When Stone pulled the man’s head back up, there was already blood streaming from his nose.
"Don't you fucking touch him," Stone gritted, "You drunk piece of shit."
He twisted at the waist and looked over to the startled airport employee behind the counter with a brisk nod, changing his tone and expression entirely to one of politeness under great duress.
“Call security,” he said, somehow controlled, “Armed patron subdued. Get ‘em over here.”
Others around were fleeing in clumsy, panicked droves, but the Doctor was frozen to the spot, watching his assistant with great scientific interest. The Agent’s eyes flashed and his teeth were gritted, but his body communicated a confident calm. Though the man underneath him still fought, it was clear he didn’t stand a chance.
“Who the fuck are you?” he shouted, “Get the fuck off me! Somebody help! Get this fucker off of me!”
“Stop struggling,” Stone said firmly, "You've attempted to assault a high-level government scientist. You're fucked."
In all the years he'd known Stone, Robotnik had never heard him use two swear words in such close succession. It appeared that his patience for this scene had fully run out, and run out quickly, at that.
The man threw his head back, a clumsy attempt at a headbutt, but the Agent was already a few steps ahead of him. He used his weight to shove him to the ground harder, nearly knocking the wind out of the assailant.
"Stop. Fucking. Around." Stone seethed, voice at a dangerous low volume, "Or I will break your arm."
Robotnik registered that his teeth were clenched and his posture was tense, but not from exertion. He didn’t seem to be having trouble controlling the situation. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed it was rage, though before those strange, sickening slow-motion seconds, he hadn’t thought Stone capable of it.
“You motherfucker,” the man underneath him spat, still trying to wriggle free from his grasp.
“I said stop,” Stone ground out, pulling his head back again, “Last chance. If you know what's good for you, you'll go quietly.”
Robotnik watched the man wince, little droplets of blood starting to gather on the flecked mint green floor. Stone still had his knee pinned to the man’s lower back, other leg braced on the ground, steady as ever. At some point, he’d caught both of his wrists and was pushing them into the man's back with one hand, rendering them utterly useless, his other hand snared in the assailant's hair.
“Fucking cunt!” the man bellowed, attempting to roll out from under him to no avail, "Let me go!"
“That’s enough!” Stone growled, slamming his cheek against the ground hard, holding his head there a moment.
The impact was hard enough to result in another little font of blood spattering across the terrazzo. Stone let go of his hair, one hand moving to grab one of the man's arms just below the wrist, beginning to wrench it at an angle that even made the Doctor wince. The assailant was suddenly begging loudly, crying fruitlessly for mercy and for help.
Fuck, he's going to dislocate his shoulder, Robotnik thought, bracing for the sound of it.
Two concurrent things broke Robotnik from his trance-like state – the sound of hurried approaching footsteps and shouting, and Stone meeting his eyes for just a moment, his expression changing so suddenly that it nearly gave him whiplash. He went from fierce and determined, ready to inflict remorseless damage on his opponent, to suddenly concerned, all the anger draining away, looking as though he’d just come out of a trance, too. It was so eerie that it nearly took the Doctor’s breath away.
Four security officers hustled up to the situation, two immediately moving to take the man's arms by the elbows, holding him to the ground, still struggling.
Stone let go of him and as though nothing had happened, stood and coolly dusted himself off, straightening his jacket and offering up one last devastating passing glance to the man pinned to the ground.
"Got lucky this time," he said, voice low, threatening, "Get to keep both arms where they belong. Lucky you."
The tone of his voice sent a chill down Robotnik's spine. It was a rare and unusually feeling, for someone as self-assured as the Doctor. It set him ill-at-ease, but he wasn't sure the feeling was entirely negative.
As they cuffed the assailant, he was already complaining that he’d been wrongfully targeted, that he hadn't done anything wrong. The other two officers stared at Stone, clearly trying to figure out what had transpired here.
Pathetic, Stone thought, looking away from the man writhing on the ground.
He registered the two officers staring at him and collected himself, snapping back to reality with uncomfortable speed. He cleared his throat and readjusted his voice accordingly.
“Government agent,” he said, seamlessly producing his badge from his inner jacket pocket.
The officers nodded, looking from one to the other in understanding. Stone took a few brisk steps away and used his neatly polished shoe to slide the knife back across the floor to one of the officers, who immediately stooped to pick it up.
“We’ve, uh, got a plane to catch,” he said with a nod, voice suddenly uncomfortable.
He was trying to extricate himself quickly and neatly. They didn’t have time to be detained for questioning. They were nearly late for their flight as it was before this whole thing had kicked off. Stone grabbed his suitcase with one hand and the Doctor’s wrist with the other, already pulling them toward their gate.
“C’mon, Doctor,” he said hastily, voice hushed, “Let’s go.”
Robotnik snagged his own suitcase and in his surprise, allowed himself to be pulled forward, Stone’s grip tight on his wrist. The whole thing had taken only minutes, but it was enough to leave him completely speechless and uncomfortably off-kilter.
“Sorry! Official government business!” Stone called over his shoulder to the officers, leaving them to clean up, “Thanks, guys!”
They hurried through the airport, Robotnik’s wrist in his grasp, keeping up with his long legs but still trailing behind. What ensued was a bunch of badge flashing to bypass security and checkpoints, lots of hurried, short-breathed explanations of their important government business. Stone reflexively held Robotnik's wrist most of that time, much to the latter's surprise. He had so much to process that he didn't think of wresting it from his assistant's hold.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Stone said under his breath, eyes looking up at each gate number as they passed, still at a moderate gallop.
Robotnik was fairly sure he didn’t even realize he was saying it. He could always tell when his assistant was in a panic. Meanwhile, his own heart was racing from the exercise and the adrenaline. When they finally made it through all the checkpoints and to their gate, first class was already boarding.
“Oh my god,” Stone said, shoulders slumping suddenly in relief, “We made it.”
Their flight was somehow miraculously un-delayed, likely far enough from the chaos and close enough to takeoff to get the green light to go.
“And that,” Robotnik said, finally pulling his wrist from his grasp, trying not to sound out of breath, “Is why we don’t fly commercial, Agent.”
He smoothed his gloved hands down his shirt and rolled his neck. Stone hung his head with a sigh, realizing how close they were to escaping this situation and its inevitable aftermath. As soon as the threat had been neutralized, the familiar anxiety had hit him, the all-consuming one that usually followed whenever he'd pushed something too far. He didn’t feel the tension in his chest start to dissipate until after takeoff, seated next to Robotnik in first class.
The inside of the pressurized cabin was filled with the pleasant white noise inherent to air travel. Takeoff was blessedly smooth and all of the passengers seemed to be on the same page. Calm. Quiet. Just trying to get from point A to point B with as little fuss as possible. Stone took a deep breath to center himself, thankful to be high up in the air and away from the commotion at the airport.
He opened his tablet and put in his earbuds to try and distract himself, to keep from replaying the scene over and over in his head, ad nauseam. He declined a drink from the flight attendant and started to zone out, watching Robotnik typing away at something in his periphery, the afternoon sky just outside the window beyond him.
About halfway through the flight, a gloved hand reached over and placed a phone on his tray. Stone pulled out one earbud and picked up the device, reading the headline on the screen, face dissolving into a clear mask of dread.
Unnamed Government Agent Subdues Armed Man in Airport.
“Oh, shit,” Stone said quietly before giving the Doctor a knowing glance, “Lemme guess – the cameras were down?”
“Mmhmm,” Robotnik said with a satisfied smirk, not looking at him.
“Your doing?” Stone pressed, already sure of the answer he would receive.
“Mmhmm,” his boss hummed, “I know how you like your anonymity, Agent.”
Something about the remark, and about the gesture itself, had Stone a little flustered. He sat up a little straighter as Robotnik reached over and took his phone from his in-flight tray and put it back into his coat pocket.
“Thanks,” Stone said, clearing his throat discreetly, “And, uh, sorry about... All of that.”
“Sorry?” Robotnik asked, looking over at him, a look that said I don’t understand where this is coming from, I need more information.
“The... Mess at the airport,” Stone said sheepishly, vividly recalling the visceral sound of nose cartilage being broken.
He’d lost control and he wasn’t proud. He could’ve dispatched the assailant in a much tidier way, but something had come over him. Something he’d hoped to avoid thinking about until he was alone in his hotel suite later that night. It threatened to rear its head, to surface from the depths of his subconscious.
Nobody touches my Doctor. Nobody.
“The mess? Are you referring to keeping me from being stabbed by some deranged airport-goer in an astounding feat of strength and composure?” Robotnik asked, leveling him with a serious look, “No need to apologize for that, Agent.”
His eyes said don’t you dare deflect. You deserve the credit. Take it. I expect you to.
So he did.
“Ah, yeah, okay,” Stone said, doing his best conceal is embarrassment.
High praise did not come easily from the Doctor. It had to be earned, and on the Robotnik scale, that had been practically effusive.
“In fact, I found it impressive,” Robotnik said clinically, turning back toward the seat in front of him, relieving his assistant of his penetrating gaze for the time being, “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
With that, Robotnik simply tipped his head back, turned slightly away from Stone, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. Stone knew better than to think he was sleeping. He often did this on flights, just zone out under the guise of a quick nap. Often, without moving or opening his eyes, he’d drone off some task or reminder to Stone in a wakeful voice, a little reminder to never presume he wasn’t listening.
Stone was glad that conversation was over for now, and that it had gone the way it did. If the whole thing had offended Robotnik in any way, he would've been in store for an icy few days of business travel. He settled back into a movie on his tablet, putting his left earbud back in and doing his best to zone out, too. He still felt unsettled from the incident, adrenaline still running just a bit too high, heart rate still slightly elevated.
Twenty minutes later, Robotnik spoke from his stillness.
“We’ll need to write up an incident report tomorrow,” he said, eyes closed, posture relaxed, “You know they watch my every move, and they knew where we were flying out of and when. This has my prints all over it, so to speak. Won’t do well to ignore it.”
“Ugh,” Stone groaned quietly, worried the event would reflect poorly on his reputation and character.
“No need to worry, Agent,” Robotnik said, still under the guise of sleep, “The way I’ll write it, you’ll be in line for a commendation, and there’s no camera footage to prove otherwise.”
Though he didn’t open his eyes, the knowing sound Stone made, somewhere between a relieved chuff and an impressed laugh, made Robotnik smile slightly on the obscured side of his face. His loyal assistant was easy to please. Always had been.
The rest of the flight passed in silence, as did the ride to the hotel, both of them in the back seat of a chauffeured car. This was common these days, the two of them working in comfortable silence. Their silences were tense for the longest – Robotnik waiting for Stone to interrupt him, Stone waiting for him to snap. As those incidences grew fewer and further between, their silences grew more comfortable, drawn out.
Stone handled the hotel check-in counter, Robotnik standing a few feet back, watching him. They took the elevator up, side by side, and unlocked their adjoined suites. They always stayed in nice adjoined rooms up on a high floor. That way, Stone was just one door away in case of emergency, and that seemed more relevant than ever, given the airport incident.
The Agent settled in, setting his suitcase on the bed and hanging his shirts and jackets for the next two days in the nicely-sized closet, trying to stave off creases and wrinkles. I dropped his dopp kit on the bathroom counter and drew the tap, filling his cupped hands with cool water and wetting his face, toweling it off quickly. He needed to shut off, to get out of government agent mode.
When he returned to the bed, he set his rolling suitcase back onto the floor and walked to the adjoining door, just several scant feet from the bed. He hesitated a moment before knocking.
“Doctor?” he asked.
“Yes?” he heard from the other side of the door, slightly louder than his usual speaking volume.
Stone unlocked the door and opened it, just about a foot and a half, peering in. Robotnik was pristinely dressed, standing near the bed.
“Everything to your liking?” Stone asked.
“It’s not the Ritz,” Robotnik replied lightly, “But it’ll do.”
“Ok, good,” Stone said with a little laugh, adding his usual joke, “I’ll be next door if you need me.”
He leaned back into his own room and closed the door, leaving it unlocked. It was always left unlocked, in case of emergency. Always unlocked, but never utilized. Stone sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the little lock button a moment before putting his tablet on charge and settling back into his movie from the flight.
Meanwhile, just on the other side of that adjoining door, the Doctor laid on his back in the middle of the bed, head barely propped up on the pillows. His arms were crossed over his chest, still fully dressed down to his socks and shoes.
He was playing the incident at the airport over and over again. The more he thought about it, the more stunned he was. He‘d been on the other end of a weapon before, and he found that it always took a little time to settle down after. He held very still and let the video feed of his mind roll forward.
He’d never seen Stone out of control. Not once. He’d put him through some ridiculous things that would’ve broken the strongest, most composed person. He pictured his face in his mind’s eye – teeth bared, eyes flashing as he crushed that drunk idiot’s face into the ground.
Who knew, he thought.
He’d never pictured his meek, polite latte-making housecat to be a tiger in disguise. Sure, he knew Stone knew his way around a gun and had a certain level of self-defense training. It was a prerequisite for his job title. But he’d never expected such brutality from his mild mannered assistant. The whole thing was more akin to a government-sanctioned bar fight than a smooth deescalation and dispatch.
Something about it had felt so charged, and Robotnik couldn't put his finger on why.
Of course, they’d had an abrupt change of plans. They were running late, in danger of missing their flight. It hardly seemed significant enough to set off his calm, collected assistant.
As he thought, his mind began to wander back to Stone, the seamless way he took the offender down. It had all been so smooth, so effortless, so impressive. He thought of his knee grinding the man into the ground, pushed into the small of his back. The way he held him by his hair, pulled his head back and commanded him to calm down and submit, or else.
A little chill went through him, the second one that day, and in spite of himself, he felt the intrusion of certain thoughts he’d rather avoid. He sighed, entirely annoyed with himself for letting his thoughts go this far. Something about the show of strength had gotten the better of him.
Better not, he told himself, crossing both arms tighter over his chest.
There was something else to it, and though he tried, he couldn't keep his mind from it. Something more than just that astounding display of strength and barely-controlled aggression.
Doctor Robotnik was shocked that Stone had done anything at all. Yes, it was his job to look after him, to keep him alive and functioning as an important government asset. But beyond that, he couldn’t imagine that he inspired more than customer service fealty in him. The sheer ferocity of that display spoke of loyalty, of devotion. Perhaps of something even more than that.
The Doctor willed that supposition away. Instead, he thought of Stone’s face when he looked up at him, all that rage and fire draining away to an almost embarrassed look, a look like he’d utterly lost himself and then got caught in it. Robotnik felt an odd tightness in his chest that only tightened further as the scenario progressed.
“C’mon, Doctor,” Stone had said as they made their escape, “Let’s go.”
The touch of his bare hand on his wrist. It had been undeniably electric.
By that point, he had his wrist in his hold, in the hold that had just broken someone’s nose a moment before, and was readying to remove the same assailant's shoulder from its natural alignment. His grasp was strong, but none of the ire carried over. Something in his grip felt – well, he wasn’t exactly sure, but it certainly wasn’t negative. Protective, perhaps?
“Nonsense,” Robotnik said aloud, closing his eyes.
He replayed the scenario a few more times, processing it from every minute angle. That is, he processed it until an incidental symptom occurred. He slipped one gloved hand past the waistband of his trousers and readjusted himself, lingering just a few seconds. His cock was erect and wanting, insistent. His glove and underwear formed a buffer that made it fractionally easier to pull back.
Getting hard at the thought of your assistant brutalizing someone on your behalf, he thought to himself with a self-deprecating mental tone, that’s a troubling new facet.
He removed his hand from his pants, instead reaching into his pocket for his phone, placing a quick call.
Next door, Stone was doing about the same. Thinking of the incident at the airport. It kept replaying in his head unbidden, no matter how much he tried to interest himself in the movie playing on his tablet.
I can’t believe I lost my shit like that, he thought, feeling his cheeks color slightly, so unprofessional.
Punching someone in the face and breaking their nose against the floor wasn’t exactly government protocol. He sighed, still pretending to watch a movie on his tablet when there was a knock at the door.
His eyes darted to the adjoining door next to the bed, shoulders relaxing when he realized it was coming from the main door, the one that led out into the hallway. He sat up with a questioning look, creaking the door open only slightly at first.
“Room service,” said a smartly dressed young woman on the other side.
“Oh! There must be a mistake. I didn’t order anything,” Stone said, opening the door wider, “Maybe another room on this floor?”
“It’s your room number,” she said, looking at the little ticket in her hand, “Looks like the person next door sent it.”
“Ah, okay?” Stone said, a little bewildered, unable to keep from a small curious smile.
The employee took this clue and ran with it.
“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, sir,” she said brightly with a little conspiratorial wink.
“Not quite,” Stone said, in good humor.
He tipped her and took the little tray off the gleaming silver cart, setting it on the table before closing and locking his door behind him. Upon closer inspection, it was an ice bucket, a glass, and a cocktail shaker containing about two drinks’ worth of liquid.
He poured himself a drink and took a sip, succumbing to an enjoyable shiver at the oaky twang of bourbon.
“Huh, a boulevardier,” he said.
He’d mentioned liking them once. Robotnik must’ve remembered, unsurprisingly. Nothing escaped him.
There was a note on the tray, too, folded to obscure the contents. He carried it over to the bed. He wanted to sit before reading it. He took another sip of his cocktail before he unfolded the little piece of hotel letterhead. Robotnik must’ve dictated it, as it was written in an unfamiliar hand.
Excellent work today. Thought you could use some ice for that fist.
Stone closed his eyes and folded the note again, dramatically sliding down the headboard of the bed, mortally wounded by the dictated praise.
Should I thank him, he wondered, should I knock on the door? Would he let me in?
He knew that idea was ludicrous from the start. Doctor Robotnik wasn’t above the occasional generous gesture, but he was certainly above accepting thanks for them. “Don’t mention it,” he would say tersely, and it was clear that he meant it.
I can't thank him for thanking me, Stone assured himself.
He set the note aside and took another sip from the pleasantly heavy glass, still thinking of his boss. Stone had made himself comfortable earlier – jacket shucked off, shirtsleeves rolled up. It had been a long day, and he was frankly exhausted.
He’d been sloppy. He let his temper get the better of him. There were old documents in his file detailing other incidents. He’d let his hot-headed tendencies go years ago, or so he’d thought. He thought he’d annealed them into something useful, tempering them into something else, something that made him the perfect employee. Something safe and tame.
Again, in his head he replayed the moment that drunk sack of shit came at the Doctor and felt a little specter of his earlier rage flare up in him again.
Nobody touches my Doctor. Nobody.
It did him no good to be possessive, but he couldn’t help it. The fact that Robotnik seemed often largely indifferent about him was irrelevant, if inconvenient. He was his responsibility, his employer, the abject object of his deepest, most sordid desires.
You did do a good job today, he assured himself, even if your methods were... Unorthodox. He did say he was impressed.
Excellent job today, the note seemed to echo, just inches from his free hand. He knew he'd secret the note back home in his luggage.
It didn’t take much. He’d be the first to admit that he was pent up to a torturous degree. He was already mostly-hard at the thought of Robotnik’s dry, but sincere compliments on the plane. He reasoned it out. He was still on a bit of an adrenaline high after the incident and the tense flight. He needed to be in top form tomorrow for a day full of important tech meetings. It would be hard to get to sleep, and he certainly needed to be rested.
“Ahh,” he agonized before easily giving in, “Fine.”
He partially untucked his shirt and pushed his hand into his slacks, past his underwear, taking hold of his cock and immediately starting with a slow stroke. He laid his head back with a very low moan, conscious of his neighbor in the next room.
This is fine, he assured himself, just gotta get it out of your system.
He started to work himself a little faster, wondering what his boss was doing in the next room, just beyond that door. Was he showering? Had he dressed down to his pajamas, the ones Stone had always wondered about? What did he wear to bed?
“Oh, fuck,” Stone breathed, picturing his boss with dripping wet hair, stepping out of his presumably identical bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, “oh, fuck... Doctor.”
He was already bucking into his palm, carefully taking another taste of his boulevardier, the spoils of war, determined not to spill.
Again, he pictured Robotnik’s face at the airport – the look of surprise, the look of vulnerability as he'd watched him grind his would-be assailant into the terrazzo. The fact that he was impressed by it did something to Stone. He felt a wicked little surge of arousal, wishing he could’ve been in his head in that moment.
What would you do, he wondered, biting his lip, if I tried that on you, Doctor?
He pictured it, pinning him down, holding his hands behind his back, wondering what kind of sound he would make in that compromising position. Before he could stop himself, he was on his feet, standing in front of the adjoining door, tantalizingly unlocked.
Between his drink and his cock, he thankfully didn’t have a free hand to tempt him into ghosting over the doorknob, mimicking a decisive turn and flinging it open. Instead, the forearm of his drink hand leaned hard into the door frame, and he rested his cheek against his upper arm, needing to steady himself somehow.
Sure, he’d thought of overpowering the Doctor before, but it had never felt so topical, so relevant. He’d never considered it on an adrenaline rush like this, and as perverse as it seemed, he simply couldn’t bring himself to care.
As he pictured it, he brought the drink to his mouth again, still quickly stroking himself, feeling a little tremble start in his knees. He buried his face in his elbow, against the bunched fabric of the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt and stifled what surely would’ve been a desperate groan.
He lost himself quickly, thoughts and images flickering through his head, a little scenario of domination and submission playing out that captured his full attention until he heard it.
The sound of footsteps.
Footsteps on the other side of the door
Approaching slowly.
Oh, fuck, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut even more tightly.
In the next room, Robotnik hovered in the space between the bed and the door that joined their suites. He knew the drink had arrived, and he was tempted. Tempted to what, he wasn't sure. He wondered.
Tempted to join Stone? To thank him again? Just to look at him, to steal one last glance before bed, a selfish little taste under the guise of gratitude and appreciation?
He wasn’t sure, but he felt compelled. He took a few steps forward and reached out, hand floating tensely above the doorknob.
Just do it, Doctor, he told himself, just go in.
Internal conflict had him rooted to the spot, immensely wanting to commit to the act, to slowly open the door and peek inside before stepping in. But something stopped him. After an endless moment, he slowly reeled his hand back in and turned back toward the bed, sitting on the edge, doing anything he could to keep from looking at that door.
Stone heard the footsteps recede and his shoulders went slack in a mix of relief and disappointment. He lifted his face from the crook of his arm and sucked in a quiet breath before taking another sip of his drink. He decided it was time to move back to the bed, to lay down.
He set his glass on a napkin on the nightstand and laid down on his back, perpendicular across the bed, feet still on the ground, knees bent. His hand worked furiously in his pants, making his toes curl, eliciting little involuntary twitches all throughout his body. He did his best to keep quiet, to keep it to low-volume gasps and curtailed moans.
In his mind, he had Robotnik subdued in a most intimate way, skin to skin, hands captured, making him beg so deliciously. If nothing else, his imagination was as well-developed as his self-defense skills. He wasn't sure what Robotnik's body looked like, but he had a consistent image in his mind, picturing his pale shoulders flexing, long neck exposed. He thought of his heaving, narrow chest, and what his face might look like in the throes of rough, possessive passion.
Would he like that? Would he like to be owned? To be dominated? To be overpowered?
“Oh, Doctor,” Stone breathed, head back, eyes closed, fully absorbed in his fantasies, “Oh, Doctor.”
He wasn't quite on the verge yet, wanting to draw it out just a bit. This was new, this combination of his usual lust with real world adrenaline, the violence of earlier that day unexpectedly sparking a perverse little fire deep within him. It was intoxicating, completely enveloping his mind in a heady erotic haze. He was fully lost in his fantasy, imagining his name on his boss's lips, fucking into him until he begged, holding him down, owning him and making sure he knew it, but most of all, seeing to it that he enjoyed every minute of it. Stone's cock throbbed deliriously at the mental images, drooling from the tip at the thought of Robotnik utterly helpless, completely at his mercy.
It was getting to be almost too much when Stone was suddenly yanked out of his fantasy by the sound of the nearby adjoining door clicking open.