Work Text:
I'm your turbo lover
Tell me there's no other
I'm your turbo lover
Better run for cover
Maybe asking Eddie when Steve's fingers were inside him wasn't Steve's brightest idea. Nevertheless, if he didn't get his dick into Eddie in the next thirty seconds, his chassis was going to malfunction, and he'd keel over without the proper shutdown protocols. "Are you sure you want this?"
Eddie craned his neck up from his pillow to glare at Steve, his dick in his hand between them. "Hell yes," he said. "Now put on the song."
Steve rolled his eyes, but with his lube-free left hand, he switched on the tape player. The tape inside was cued to exactly where Eddie wanted it. Synth waves of distortion reverberated through Eddie's room as a driving beat started, and Rob Halford started singing about being a turbo lover.
"Come on, big boy," Eddie panted as Steve slowly withdrew his fingers and lubed up his dick one last time. "Be my turbo lover."
Steve bit back a habitually sarcastic retort. This was about Eddie's current fantasy. Instead, Steve did his best impression of Robby the Robot from Lost in Space: "I. Aim. To. Please."
"Oh, fuck, that's so hot. Why is that so fucking hot?" Eddie panted.
Steve kept his face blank, securing away all his reactions and expressions as he pushed into Eddie. Eddie was tight, wet, soft, and so thoroughly human in his theatrical reactions as Steve eased inside with small thrusts until he was all the way inside. "Waiting. For. Orders. To. Continue."
"Just give me a second," Eddie breathed out. "Did you switch out for a larger dick or something? How the hell are you this big?"
Steve didn't respond, waiting for Eddie to give him the command.
"Okay, okay, Steve fuck me like the robot you are." It was the code phrase they created when Eddie presented Steve with the idea. He wanted to be fucked by a robot, a machine made to blow his back out and keep going. Once Eddie gave the green light to start, Steve wouldn't stop until Eddie told him to with another specific phrase. That way, Eddie could beg him to stop, and Steve would know he didn't mean it.
"Pass. Code. Confirmed. I. Will. Begin. Fucking. You. Now."
In the last few days, he thought about how he would start. He imagined starting fast, slamming in and out of Eddie with the kind of unstoppable mechanical abandon Eddie fantasized about, but feeling the slide of his dick in Eddie, Steve knew he was going to start slow. He would be relentless in a different way than either of them expected.
Eddie moaned, giving his dick a tug before his hands fell back against the bed, flexing in the air.
Steve kept his pace slow but not languid. He focused on picking a pace he could sustain as long as possible, but one he could speed up slowly, the increase in acceleration nearly imperceptible to Eddie. Steve focused on each thrust, with his hand wrapped around Eddie's thighs, nailing Eddie in place.
"God, Steve, please. Please."
"Please. Is. Not. A. Command. I. Recognize." It was damn hard not to pant with the effort of fucking Eddie like this, but he didn't want to be the one to break the illusion of the game they were playing, no matter how his dick felt.
"Faster," Eddie begged.
"Command. Recognized."
Steve started to fuck Eddie faster and faster, picking up his pace until he was plowing his hips into Eddie superhumanly fast.
"Oh, God," Eddie wailed, the sound of his voice broken by the thrusts of Steve's hips forcing air out of him. "Don't stop." He grabbed his dick and tugged.
"Command. Recognized."
"I'm gonna come." Eddie wasn't usually as loud in bed as Steve expected from a metalhead lead singer, but now, in their empty house, he sang, screamed, and thrashed as he came, dick barely touched by his own hand.
Crucially, he didn't signal to stop or even slow down, so Steve kept his unrelenting pace as he wrung aftershocks of pleasure out of Eddie.
"Okay, okay, you can stop," Eddie said, his voice fried as if he'd just stepped off stage from a two-hour set.
"Stop. Is. Not. A. Command. I. Recognize. Please. Try. Again."
"Please, Steve. I gotta. You-" Eddie begged.
"Please. Is. Not. A. Command. I. Recognize."
"Shit, shit, uh," Eddie thrashed and moaned under Steve, who pinned him in place and kept his frantic thrusting speed. "Come for me, Stevie."
There it was; that was the correct phrase. "Command. Recognized."
Steve unlocked his own pleasure feedback loops, ones he had deprioritized at the beginning of the scene. If he hadn't, he would have come in a second. He let the sensations overwhelm him; the slide, the pull, the heat, and the pressure. It was too much all at once, and for one moment, he thought his visual sensors shorted out because he went blind as he came, his hips stuttering out of the pace he'd set. His vision didn't clear until he'd wrung out every possible spark of pleasure from his circuitry.
"Rob Halford is God," Eddie said as Steve slumped down onto his chest, letting his dick stay inside Eddie as it softened.
"Eddie, come on, not right now."
"No, no. This man blessed me with a new album this year, glam metal sellout aside, and since it sparked the idea for this? He deserves every praise."
"The song isn't even about robots. It's about motorcycles," Steve complained as he kissed Eddie's neck. "Even I picked up on that metaphor."
Eddie kissed his cheek. "You loved it, anyway."
"Yeah, I did," Steve confessed. "As long as we're talking about us and not the song."