Work Text:
Endless waves of unnecessary chatter filled the space of the studio, echoing over each other noisily. It gave Tim a headache, as the space seemed to shrink with each passing moment they were in the room. A worried beep escapes Moby’s nonexistent lips as he stares Tim down, picking up on his slightly overwhelmed emotions.
“Cut! That’s a wrap for today.” The director shouted happily, oblivious to the stress of his crew, as usual, as people rushed to pack up. Endless pieces of expensive equipment were hastily put away, as tired chatter droned on. Everyone seemed in a rush to get home, which seemed to increase the volume tenfold. Robots hustled about, giving everyone their lines for tomorrow, and people practically ran through the doors in their haste of getting back home.
“Here are your lines for tomorrow, Tim and Moby,” a monotone, robotic voice announced, thrusting a handful of papers to him, which he took gratefully before the robot took off again.
“Tough shoot today, huh?” Tim muttered, exasperated, moreso to himself, but loud enough for Moby to hear, “Director really wants to finish this scene quickly. I dunno if I could deal with more overtime.”
“Beep,” Moby responded quietly, wrapping his arm around Tim’s shoulder and rubbing his shoulder comfortingly, “beep.”
“Right,” Tim sighed, as he starts to clean up, packing up his things, before quickly peering over to see Moby walking over, smirking.
“What?” Tim asks, entertained, his face upturned in an amused smile. He sees Moby’s robotic smirk widen, before pulling a sheet of paper from behind his back.
“Dear Tim & Moby,
Can gay men reproduce? If yes, how do they?
If not, do they engage in any sexual activities?
How do they experience pleasure?
Curious, Naomi.”
“Where,” Tim breathed, his eyebrows lifting up even higher on his forehead than normal, “did you find this?”
“Beep.”
“Okay, and why did you show me this?”
“Beep.” Another smirk.
“What?”
A camera comes from behind Moby, one from the set, as his smirk widens. Robotic fingers come up and lift Tim’s chin, as he nervously peers into Moby’s emotionless ones, all feelings masked behind his robotic mask.
“Beep, beep beep beep.”
“Yes, sir.” Tim breathes, getting on his knees, tilting his face down.
He hears shuffling but was unsure of what the noise was. He could hear Moby’s offhand remarks, or rather, beeps, as the shuffling continued.
“Beep.”
He stands, eyes still glued to the floor.
“Beep beep.”
“Yes sir.”
He slowly lifts his face, to see a camera positioned in front of them, glaringly obvious. Its lens reflects the light the studio emanates, creating a sharp beam of light. Despite being an inanimate object, it looks back tauntingly, as if daring Tim to do it.
Tim never backs down from a challenge.
His eyes trail back up to Moby, who’s looking at Tim imploringly as if observing something through his robotic gaze.
“Beep, beep?”
“I’m fine, Moby. Just nervous. I wanna do this.”
“Beep beep.”
“Yes sir.”
Fingers suddenly came for his shirt as he was then dragged forward, lips pressed onto another’s. They were metallic, slightly cold from the lack of body warmth, but they felt so right. They slotted together perfectly, with ease, from the immense practice they’ve gone through, and it feels natural. It feels good.
Moby drank up every noise Tim gave him, as did the latter. Their mouths moved in synchronized rhythm, as noisy moans escaped their lips. Their mouths melded together, as desperate hands explored every part of their body.
It’s messy, spit gathering on their lips, as Tim desperately inhales the smell and taste of Moby. Their hips grinded together, and they both groaned at the feeling. And maybe it was the riskiness of it all, as Tim feels himself ache thinking about it, unresolved tension building in his gut.
“Moby,” Tim sighed out, breaking the kiss. He’s gasping for breath, hands pausing for a moment, “Moby. What if someone sees us?”
“Beep,” Moby reassures, going forward to attack his neck with mulberry bruises. Tim sighed once more, a whimper being drawn from his throat.
“Moby, Moby please,” Tim whines, the world floating away around him. His head was filled to the brim with fluffy clouds, eyes glossy.
“Beep.” A dangerous hand trails down his stomach, down his navel, “beep,” it follows his happy trail, leaving a burning trail of neverending inferno flames tinged in pink behind the contrasting cold metal. Tim hisses, “Beep.”
Tim lets out a small sound he didn’t know he’d been holding, drawing out a long exhale as Moby’s cold, metal fingers continued to tease around, phantom touches barely there, driving him insane.
“Moby, please.”
“Beep?” The tone was dark, as the teasing hand suddenly went to grab his chin forcefully, forcing his head to tilt up and meet the robot’s eyes, “beep, beep, beep, beep?”
“Sorry, sir,” Tim stuttered, voice weak, a gasp leaving him when Moby slowly let go, “I am sorry I called you that, sir.”
“Beep beep,” Moby praised, sending a burst of happy tingles down Tim’s spine, slithering down until it reached something more sinister.
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NOT FINISHED IM STILL WORKING ON IT