Day eighteen - "Yield."
Day 18: Rewards / dirty talk / knife play
They'd stopped for one of Monty’s “ecology expeditions,” as he'd taken to calling them, just a day to rest and reset for the crew and for Monty to go charging off into the wilderness of Zood, usually with Olethra in tow. Maxwell, however, asked Torse to spar. He wanted to see how well he could hold up against the naughtamatons of Zern, should it come down to hand to hand combat. The answer? Surprisingly well, all things considered.
It started simply enough. Torse would lunge forward, and Maxwell would dodge. Maxwell would try to grab at Torse’s arm, and Torse would shove him away. Things got more complicated when Torse stopped sheathing his knives, at Maxwell’s insistence.
Maxwell felt the sweat roll down his back, he felt the air when Torse’s blades zipped close to his face. He smiled anyway, wide and manic, bruises on his knuckles and blood drying on his arm, where Torse had scratched earlier. It ended, as it often did, with Maxwell, face in the dirt, refusing to yield. Torse had his hand splayed wide on Maxwell’s back, pressing him down, one knee between his legs.
“Yield, Maxwell.” Torse’s rumbling voice cut through the sounds of nature and Maxwell’s ragged breaths. Maxwell could feel the heat from the iron of Torse’s hand, heat absorbed from his skin. The weight of it, the weight of surrendering himself to this machine weighed heavy on his mind.
“I won’t.” Max spat, ignoring the dirt on his face, trying to wriggle out of Torse’s grip. It only made Torse bring his other hand down to the small of Maxwell’s back and half wrap around his hip, shoving him down once again. Maxwell hadn’t felt small in a long, long time, but Torse’s hands on his back made him pause, breath catching in his throat.
“Maxwell,” Torse said again, chest now lowered enough for the steam venting from his neck to brush over Maxwell’s bruised skin. “You must yield, or I will hold you here until someone finds you.”
Torse’s voice vibrated through him, down his spine, through his bones, through his inappropriately timed erection pressed against the ground. Maxwell couldn’t stop the deep, sensual groan that was ripped from his body, fingers dug deep into the dirt. He gasped quickly after realizing what had happened. “Oh fuck- Torse, I’m sorry, I-”
“You like that.” Torse interrupted, head tilted to one side, light in his faceplate glowing just a bit brighter.
Maxwell wheezed out a cough. Torse’s fingers tightened around his waist, knives digging into the dirt. “I- Yes. I do.” He managed, flushed and sweaty and uncomfortably hot.
“What do you like about it, Maxwell?” Torse lightened his weight on Maxwell, removing his hand on Maxwell’s back and using the other to flip him over effortlessly, careful of the sharp blades on his wrists, and pinned his hands above his head. “Do you like to be overpowered like this?” It felt like Torse’s voice was deeper now, even- could robots be aroused? Was that something Torse felt? Maxwell, in this fleeting moment, couldn’t bring himself to really care.
“Yes, if it’s you.” Maxwell felt his cock straining in his pants, Torse’s knee pressed against it.
“If it’s me?” There was amusement there, in the grinding of gears. “Interesting. You like me, I know this. Do you find me attractive, Maxwell? Do you like my voice, when I tell you how strange you make my iron heart feel, how it makes me want things I was not designed to want?”
Max bucked his hips up, unconsciously, seeking friction against uncompromising metal. “Yes,” he whined pitifully. He must look weak like this, red and panting in the dirt, he thought. “I like it, Torse. I want it, I want you.”
Torse’s mechanisms whirled. Steam vented from somewhere on his back, and he lowered himself down until his faceplate was tantalizing inches from Max’s face. “Would you have me, if I asked you?”
“Fuck yes, Torse. Please keep fucking talking.”
A low turn of gears, reminiscent of a chuckle, and Torse pressed his leg closer to Maxwell’s crotch. “You know what I think, Maxwell? I think that you want to lose against me, you want to use up all your strength and make it easier for me to take you apart. I know what I want, and that is for you to writhe under my touch, and to make you forget yourself in pleasure. Yield, Maxwell, and I will let you have it.”
Holy shit, who taught Torse to speak like this, and why was it working? “I will not.” Maxwell said, partly because he was stubborn, and partly because he wanted to see how far Torse was going to take this. Torse moved one hand under him, holding the small of Max’s back up and hitching his legs around his waist. Sharp prongs threatened Maxwell’s bare skin, heat from the steam Torse didn’t know he was emitting near scalded him.
“Torse- Torse, please, I need you to touch me.” Max fumbled with his belt, pleading eyes staring up at his former opponent. Cold, metal hands tightened on his waist, possessive, dangerous.
“You’d allow this?” Torse was quiet now, for such big talk. “You can’t say all that and expect me not to want it.” Maxwell laughed nervously. Torse closed the gap between their foreheads. “Tell me how you want me.” Torse’s hand on Maxwell’s waist dipped deeper, coming up and over to draw his fingers over the muscles leading to Max’s groin before yanking off his pants. “Tell me how you’ve imagined it, I know you have.”
“Fuck, Torse, it always started like this, with you pinning me and-” Torse’s hand very, very delicately, wrapped around Maxwell’s aching cock.
“Continue.” Torse commanded, and Maxwell could only obey.
“And you’d- you’d touch me just like that, or you’d rake your knives over me and make me- make me lick my blood off of them-” Max resisted the urge to move his hips. He would like to keep his penis attached.
“Another time, Maxwell, when we are more prepared. I admit I have also felt… compulsions, like yours.” Torse’s hand on his back twitched, and Max felt the sharp threat of knives against his spine. His mind raced with the implications.
“Like- ngh- like what? Tell me, please.” Max whined. Torse’s voice was like a fucking aphrodisiac, not helped by the fact he very nearly vibrated with every word.
“Like keeping you pinned, like this, rutting against me like an animal. Because that’s what you are, Maxwell. An animal, chasing instincts.” Torse’s hand left Maxwell’s cock and dipped down, but not before gliding his fingertips over the dewy precome on the top.
Maxwell made a noise he wasn’t entirely sure he could make as cold fingers pressed at his entrance. Thank god the knives retracted. (Maybe one day, he’d ask to keep all of them out.)
“Torse, please.”
“Be specific, Maxwell.” Torse’s voice sounded like he was smiling, despite the lack of lips.
“Fuck me, please, I need to feel you.”
“There you go, using your words,” Torse praised, finally, finally inserting the tips of his fingers. “I have felt many things, but none of them have given me such a sensation. You are exquisite.”
“Oh fuck, keep moving like that, keep talking.” Max keened. His eyes screwed shut. If he looked at the giant automata fucking him this experience would be over much too fast.
“I greatly enjoy this view of you, fucking yourself on my fingers like a whore, even after losing a fight. I believe I was correct in my assumptions before, you do enjoy losing. You like the feeling of knowing that I can take you down and take you. You like being claimed,” Torse’s fingers curled, and Maxwell gasped. Dirt was starting to stick to the sweat on his skin. He felt disgusting. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. “Would you like that, Maxwell? Would you like me to claim you? To mark you as mine?”
“God, yes. Tell me I’m yours and I will be.” Maxwell’s back arched, he felt the dull sting of blades across his ass as the hand that was supporting his lower back gripped the meat of his thighs, surely leaving Torse-sized handprint shaped bruises that he would have to do a damn good job hiding later.
“Mine.” Torse’s gears whirred, another bout of steam burst from under his faceplate. “Mine.” Maxwell wasn’t sure if automatons could growl, but Torse did, and his fingers moved again, mercilessly, in and out in an unpredictable pattern, and Maxwell’s hands grasped for a hold on the spikes on Torse’s shoulders. He was vaguely aware of a pleased hum emanating from Torse’s iron heart. “Torse- I’m gonna- oh god, Torse-” Maxwell babbled, and the coil that had been wound tight in his core snapped, and he came so hard he felt he might pass out.
Torse damn near had to carry him back to the ship.
“Who taught you to say things like that, Torse? You said there wasn’t much need for- well, sex, in Zern. I didn’t even know you knew what a whore was.” Maxwell asked, once they were back in the safety of a room with a lock. “Marya showed me a stash of what she calls ‘smut’ novels and told me to ‘learn a thing or two, for my boyfriend’s sake.’”
“Marya thinks we’re- she thinks we’re together?” “She said it and then winked, and I’m still not entirely sure what that gesture means in Gath.” Torse tilted his head.
Maxwell buried his face in his hands. “Oh god, she’s going to tell everyone. Olethra is never going to leave me alone.”
“Are we not ‘boyfriends,’ as Marya said? I’m told partners do many of the things that we do. And, I would like to say, if it is appropriate, I was not lying when I said you make my iron heart feel, Maxwell.” Max flushed. “I- I feel things for you as well.” “Are we partners now?”
Maxwell couldn’t help but laugh. “I suppose we are.”
