Archive of Our Own

These days, the morning routine at the Mean Bean was a relaxed, casual affair.

Doctor Robotnik sat quietly at a little table, scrolling his tablet idly. The windows were equipped with a handy two-way feature that allowed in the sunlight while keeping out the prying eyes of the local simpletons, the doors soundproofed to mute their insistent knocks for the only decent coffee in town.

He looked down at the long beams of light that stretched across the table, warming his arms, clothed and dry under an earthly sky. These were all wonderful recent changes. Also wonderful was the pre-work environment of a private café. It wasn’t until after breakfast that the passcode was spoken, turning the warm, woody front room of the Mean Bean into a sleek, chrome lab space.

Until then, instrumental music played softly from unseen speakers. The air smelled faintly of fresh pastry, the air conditioner soundlessly moderating the environment to the perfect ambient temperature and humidity. Robotnik looked up when he heard Stone take up his spot behind the counter, in his element.

Stone didn’t meet his gaze. His head was bowed slightly, eyes calm and focused as he began to fastidiously measure and grind the beans, infusing the atmosphere with their earthy aroma. The sound of bubbling water added itself to the quiet music. Next was the faint subconscious hum of Stone's, following the melody line of whatever was playing at the time. The Doctor took a deep breath, filling his lungs.

This was the only way to start the day.

The first hour of the day was usually spent in this sort of solitude. Robotnik planning, Stone on private barista duty.  

So civilized, Robotnik thought, the coffee grinder’s whir stirring him after months of caffeine-free exile.

He scarcely looked up at Stone after his initial admiring glance, knowing he’d come over momentarily. His eyes flicked back down to his tablet, rotating the schematic on the screen with two gloved fingers. These days, it seemed he had all the time in the world to look at his assistant.  

Stone, on the other hand, eyed him carefully. He’d showered, tidied his beard, and dressed a little differently today in his white shirt/black apron/black tie barista boilerplate standard. He'd checked himself in the mirror with care, making sure nary a hair was out of place. 

He'd always been an early riser. This morning, he’d baked off a few pastries, apricot jam striped with a simple icing, the homemade dough carefully frozen and rationed beforehand to last them the week. He plated one with gentle fingers. He tucked his little black bar towel into the back of his apron waistband and carefully poured a perfect steamed milk rosette, sly smile playing on his lips.

He resisted the urge to ding the little bell on the counter. Very shortly after opening the Mean Bean, he'd moved the bell back where the customers couldn't reach it. It was to get their attention, not his. He took up the plated pastry in one hand, the saucered latte in the other and circled out from behind the counter. He admired Robotnik’s cleanly shaven head as he approached, hiding his grin as he noticed how absorbed he was by the glowing screen in front of him.

Had he been an average Green Hills sap, the sight would've infuriated him. A customer at the prime sunny table during the morning rush, too fixated on their little glowing screen, their little window into any world outside of this useless town, to come pick up their order. He shook it off easily. It was different when it was Robotnik.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he said warmly, setting down the pastry and latte, “Coffee up.”

Robotnik’s eyes moved lazily from his screen and Stone watched carefully with private glee as they suddenly widened with surprise, his gloved hand stopping in the air midway between his tablet and his mug.

“Stone, where are your pants?” Robotnik asked, catching a glimpse of his toned thigh past his white shirt, his ass blessedly covered, allowing him to keep a small portion of his wits about him.

Stone kept his smile hidden, secretly delighting in his boss’s shocked, wide-eyed stare.

“Casual Friday?” he offered with a polite shrug.

“It’s Saturday,” Robotnik said, still a little gobsmacked as he looked at Stone’s bare legs, at the impression of his dick beneath his clean black apron, tied tight at the waist.

“Guess I’m overdressed then, huh?” Stone said, still with a casual affect.

He reached to untie his apron at the back but Robotnik put out a hand to stop him.

“Leave it on,” he said firmly, toothy smile finally starting to catch up with him.

“I thought so,” Stone replied, finally fixing him with a cool, flirtatious look.

Stone took one step backward and slipped into a lean, the skin of his upper thigh pressing lightly against the cool glass of the pastry case. He suppressed the urge to stand a little straighter, keeping a tight leash on his calculatedly casual air. He watched Robotnik finally lift his mug and take a sip, eyes decidedly downcast.

“Good coffee?” Stone asked.

“Very,” Robotnik said, “Where’s yours?”

True, they usually took their morning coffee together these days.

They did a lot of things together these days.

“I had a sneaky espresso back in the kitchen,” Stone admitted, nodding his head in that direction.

“Ah,” Robotnik said, finally craning his neck to look at him in his fitted shirt, strong arms crossed over his aproned chest.

Seeing Stone in white was a new experience, drawing the eyes in to his body, bright against the warm wood tones of the room. His desirous gaze was obvious, and Stone could feel little licks of heat in the places his eyes swept over. He was already hard, sensitive skin against the slightly rough canvas of his heavy duty apron. It didn't take much to turn him on, and the prospect of even following through with his half-dressed game was enough to do it for him. 

In the weighty silence, Robotnik picked up his pastry, featherlight, and took a bite, feeling the perfectly laminated layers shatter pleasantly between his teeth. He chewed and swallowed, washing it down his dry throat with another mouthful of perfectly hot coffee. He was biding his time, enjoying the view. It would’ve been unbecoming, after all, to eschew sampling every bit of this morning offering. He’d save the best for last.

“And your breakfast?” he asked, needling Stone in a way that he knew he'd find pleasant. 

“Not particularly hungry,” he said before subtly capturing his lower lip between his teeth.

“Hm,” Robotnik said with a nod, setting his coffee down soundlessly, “Is that so?”

He stood slowly, pushing himself back from the table. The chair moved easily across the perpetually clean and polished concrete floor with hardly a sound. He and Stone were only a few feet apart but the magnetism was strong, demanding him closer. He was careful to advance slowly, to move deliberately, feeling the swish of his coat in his wake. 

“What about you?” Stone asked, feeling his fine hairs stand on end as he witnessed his approach.

“Funny thing, that. Not as hungry as I thought,” Robotnik said, stopping in front of him, mere inches away, decidedly within his personal space, “Not for pastry anyway.”

“Oh?” Stone asked, pushing his chest out as the Doctor pointedly fingered his necktie.

Their height difference was not able to be ignored at moments like this. Stone lifted his chin to look up at him, meeting his gaze knowingly. Robotnik had come back from the mushroom planet a little unhinged, a little wilder in the eyes. Stone liked it. Much of Robotnik's former pent-up persona had washed away with the mud and spores, leaving behind a man who wasn't reticent to say what he wanted, even if that meant crossing professional boundaries. 

Certainly, they weren't government employees anymore. Robotnik didn't sign the checks, so to speak. Stone didn't interact with others on his behalf anymore, a cool and collected conduit between the US Government and the Doctor. Despite all this, they were still professionally affiliated, and in many ways, Stone was still his subordinate. He still did the grunt work, made the coffees, acknowledged that he was second in command.  

“Turn around,” Robotnik demanded, voice low, eyes narrowed, “Hands on the glass.”

“Yes, sir,” Stone replied with an eager nod, feeling his eyes sweep over him like a familiar retinal authentication scan.

He turned to face the pastry case and bowed his head with an anticipatory sigh, spreading his feet further than shoulder-width apart. He hummed as gloved hands lifted the tail of his shirt, exposing him to the temperate air of the café. He sighed, knowing that even through the firm dig of the plastic fingertip sensors, he was being touched reverently.  

They’d been doing this – physical, sexual intimacy – since Robotnik had returned. It had begun almost immediately. It was new and electric and there was still so much to explore, each time something new discovered, something new tried, something new learned.

The Doctor slipped into a relatively-easy crouch, knees protesting just slightly with a faintly audible crackle. He framed Stone’s shapely ass with his hands, taking a moment to admire his smooth skin, his firm musculature.

Stone sighed again dreamily as he felt those hands glide down to his thighs.

“Couldn’t help but notice you took a little longer in the shower today,” Robotnik purred.

“Micromanager,” Stone accused gently, “It was only by three minutes.”

He swore that the Royal Observatory at Greenwich ran on Robotnik Standard Time. 

“And what exactly did you have in mind when you made that decision, to alter your morning routine by three precious minutes?” Robotnik asked, spreading his cheeks with his thumbs, breath ghosting over his hole.

“Thought you might want breakfast,” Stone replied with an unseen grin, body tight with pleasant anticipation.

The Doctor shook his head before bestowing a first lick, coy in his approach. 

“Aah,” Stone breathed, feeling the tension in his shoulders suddenly dissipate.

“You were correct,” Robotnik said, voice low as he leaned in, putting his tongue to work.

Stone felt his knees go weak in an instant as the Doctor licked him, audibly breathing and humming as he did. He'd even quickly grown to enjoy the tickle of his wild mustache, often resulting in pleasant goosebumps. Stone had been surprised by his initial willingness to perform this act. Robotnik had always seemed squeamish about the human body – his own or otherwise. Stone couldn’t help but grin when he recalled how that conversation had gone.

Stone, I’ve been eating dirt and fungus for months, the Doctor had scoffed, looking up at him, this is nothing, I assure you.

“Oh, that’s so good,” Stone encouraged.

In response, Robotnik’s fingers dug into his ass, the rigid tips of his gloves pressing into his skin hard enough to leave temporary divots. Stone groaned, letting his head hang forward. Robotnik's tongue was wet and agile and not the least bit shy. He knew how to use it, had quickly and studiously learned to please him. 

Stone's enthusiasm held untold aphrodisiac qualities. Robotnik wanted to bottle it, to be able to experience it on-demand. It only took a second to realize that this was already essentially his reality, no bottle or atomizer required. 

“Mmm,” he hummed approvingly.

It had been lonely on the mushroom planet. 

The Doctor had always been lonely. It wasn’t being entirely alone out there that he’d been unable to get used to – that was par for the course. It was being unoccupied that had done it. He couldn't recall a time in his adult life in which he hadn't been feverishly working, the bulk of his brain power dedicated to set tasks with deadlines. Once marooned in the outer reaches with nothing to do, boredom and introspection took him by the hands and led him reluctantly into closed-off parts of his mind.

The difficult part was not the solitary nature of his exile, but the realization that he missed certain things. He'd always prided himself in his relative asceticism and fierce misanthropy. That all began to fold in on itself at the edges after just a few weeks. Harder still was the realization, after countless hours of recollection and consideration, of what might have been requited attraction.

“Have I complimented you on your soap choice?” Robotnik asked, easing back for a quick breath.

“I know you like – ah – tidiness, Doctor,” Stone said, gasping as that hungry tongue beset upon him once more.

It would've been funny if his legs weren't getting ready to buckle. 

Robotnik‘s eyes were closed, his body leaned forward despite the faint ache already present in his kneecaps. He realized that if they’d done this behind the counter, he would’ve at least had a shock-absorbent rubber mat beneath him to cushion his patellas.

“And it does not go unnoticed,” he said, voice muffled, “That you keep a tidy space.”

He was focused on long, lapping, even licks, unable to keep from moaning quietly every few swipes. Stone’s little sounds, his achy breaths and shaky gasps, made his hands itch with eagerness. He wanted to touch him all over, to speed ahead. He chided himself internally – telling himself to slow down as stoically as he could manage. He was the manager of his own deadlines now. There was no need to rush. 

A hand brushing his pulled him from his thoughts.

“Fuck, Doctor,” Stone breathed, having reached back to spread himself a little wider.

Robotnik’s hand slid underneath his easily before flicking it away.

“Both hands on the glass,” he insisted casually before pressing an audible kiss to his hole.

“Aah,” Stone sighed, voice full of good feelings, “Right. Sorry.”

He did as he was told, feeling the cool glass of the temperature-controlled pastry case beneath his palms. Typically the case was full of all manner of things – croissants (laminating pastry became a breeze once he integrated the Robotnik Labs tech into the kitchen), matcha Swiss rolls, hazelnut brownies, seeded loaves, carefully constructed pastries with ornate cuts and folds. Much of the selection changed week for week, mostly to keep himself on his toes. 

The unusual confections, along with his stellar coffee craftsmanship had earned him a write-up in the local paper, complete with a little picture of him standing behind the counter. He'd clipped it out, saved it. Turns out, accolades just weren't the same when they weren't shouted directly into your face from an inch or two away. 

Now, through bleary eyes, Stone looked at the single plate in the case with three apricot pastries on it, just enough for the two of them to last the next day or so. It was nice to not have to serve the public, to limit his effort and time in the kitchen, to allow his jangled nerves to rest after a cavalcade of unpredictable customers.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Robotnik briefly breaking contact, just long enough to crane his head back and spit on his hole, making him clench. He gasped dryly. Behind him, Robotnik hastily fished off one glove with his teeth and tucked it into his coat pocket. He pressed his middle and ring fingers against the surface of his tongue, rubbing them back and forth to adequate slickness before pressing both fingertips against Stone’s hole.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

The answer was an unequivocal yes. At first blush, the question, which had been asked several times, set Stone ablaze. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Of course he wanted him. He wanted him like he’d wanted nothing else. He’d wanted him and only him for months upon lonely months, plus years of employ before that.

Once out of context though, once they were sprawled out on the shared bed in the second-floor loft space Stone had been living in for over a year, spent and drained, it took on a whole other meaning. It was adorable. It was heart wrenching. He was asking because he wanted to be wanted, he needed to be wanted, and he needed to know it without room for question.

“Doctor, yes!” Stone replied emphatically, “I want you, I want you, I fucking want you.”

Even as his first few words were uttered, Robotnik’s fingers were stretching him, pushing into him. With his free hand, the Doctor reached down to apply pressure to his own clothed cock with a ragged breath. He was still working on his resilience – prolonged exile combined with years of unuse hadn’t exactly improved his sexual stamina.

Stone was stroking himself, hand underneath his apron, slow and steady from the base up to the halfway point of his shaft. His hips rocked, dragging his sensitive cockhead against the canvas. He knew he'd been instructed otherwise, but he simply couldn't help it. He stopped abruptly when Robotnik's gloved hand tightened around his balls unexpectedly.

“As much as I’d like to see your icing splattered across the glass,” Robotnik said, leaning around him to eye the contents of the case, hand between his legs with faint menace, “I think it’s time to take this behind the counter.”

“Ah, fuck,” Stone gritted, entire body tense. 

The Doctor's thumb stroked firmly across the seam of his scrotum. He watched Stone attempting to manually relax his muscles bit by bit, grinning mischievously. He looked good under duress, head back, lips parted. Robotnik gave a parting squeeze, hearing him draw a dry wheeze before letting go. 

“C’mon,” he urged abruptly, standing up and taking him by the neck strap of his apron, “Get behind the counter where you belong, barista boy.”

“Whoa!” Stone said, off-balance as he was dragged along for a few hasty paces.

He quickly caught his stride and allowed Robotnik to haul him back behind the counter, noticing in his periphery that he had grabbed his coffee with the other hand, leaving only the empty saucer and bitten pastry behind.

“It’s only professional that you resume your post, don’t you think?” he growled, roughly pushing Stone up against the counter, “Can’t have an empty register.”

Robotnik set down his mug roughly and unhanded Stone for just a moment, only long enough to unzip his fly and pull his hard cock hastily from his slacks. Stone reached a hand into his apron pocket and pulled out a half-empty bottle of lube, handing it back without looking. Robotnik took it gratefully, applying it with careful generosity before slapping it down next to his mug on the counter. 

He looked down at his latte, the upset milk rosette, the light flecks against the dark wood from the force with which he'd set it down. It sent an odd little chill through him, thinking of what he was about to do.

With the leftover lube on his fingers, he quickly reached down and smeared the rest over Stone’s hole, dipping two fingers in again, giving him a subconscious come-hither. He pressed out a nasal breath as he felt Stone tighten around him.

“Ready for me?” he asked, though it didn’t need much clarification.

He backed his fingers out and wiped them on the little black towel hanging in the back of Stone’s apron waist.

“Yeah,” Stone breathed, “C’mon, please.”

He squared his hips and shoulders as he felt Robotnik’s hand bury itself in his short hair and force his head down until his waist was at a nearly ninety-degree angle. His prepared words died on the back of a high moan as Robotnik rubbed against him from behind, cock unabashedly slicking him further, feeling the ridge of his cockhead against him.

“Are we feeling slow and easy today? Or-” Robotnik began, voice seething.

“No,” Stone interrupted definitively.

“Didn’t think so,” he replied with a chuckle.

He continued to rub against him, feeling Stone’s impatience and frustration in the air around him. He'd barely touched himself until now, and the tease before the main event was divine. He felt his eyelids flutter closed and breathed out slowly. 

“Fuck me,” Stone uttered, halfway between a beg and a demand, “Doctor, please fuck me. Don’t make me wait.”

With his free hand, Robotnik took hold of his shaft at the base and pushed inside with one fluid stroke, feeling his own throat tighten at the sudden constriction. He winced as Stone let out a stinging moan, watching his fingers scrabble helplessly against the handsome dark wood counter top.

“Oh, fuck,” Stone breathed, “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.”

His obvious need reverberated through Robotnik like the striking of a bell. He loosened his grip on his hair and opened his palm, slowly drawing it down the back of his scalp, the back of his neck, travelling lower. He felt his shoulders shift and tighten beneath his hand, feeling his labored breaths, the tension in his lower back. Finally, both hands settled onto his bare hips, pushing his shirt up, holding him securely.

"Is it good?" he asked, voice low.

"Y-yeah," Stone said. 

He wanted to say more, to talk about the sudden emptiness that took hold in his life when Robotnik disappeared. The numb, cold, solitary emptiness that sometimes blew through him like a high altitude winter wind as he stood at his post at the register. How with a flourish and a little jingle from the bell above the door, that emptiness had been filled up again, Robotnik walking back into his life, breathing heat and passion back into everything by simply existing. He especially wanted to say it now, when Robotnik filled him like this, with no room left for that emptiness that had once lived inside him.  

He took a deep breath to speak, but all he could do was exhale before his breath started to catch at the base of his throat. 

The Doctor stood straight, head turned slightly to the side, eyes closed, breathing evenly. He cherished these lulls, the moments of inaction giving him time to process the enormity of it all, physically, mentally, emotionally. The monumental changes at hand. If he had long enough, he could almost feel the axis of the Earth shift.

“Doctor, please,” Stone begged quietly, “Please fuck me.”

This was usually how each lull ended. He wasn’t as tough on interruptions as he used to be. He tightened his grip on Stone’s hips and started to pump into him, hard for a starting pace but nowhere near full-tilt. His reward was an approving gasp followed by a long, soft exhaled moan.

“You’re such an easy fuck,” Robotnik complimented.

He was already pulling Stone back toward him with each stroke. He watched Stone’s hands grip the close edge of the counter, elbows bent, fingers clinging to the rounded edge. He was sure Stone was blushing from his crude compliment.

“You must’ve been getting in some good practice while I was away,” Robotnik needled.

“Oh, fuck no,” Stone said firmly, casting him a testy glance over his shoulder.

“You didn’t take a lover in my absence?” Robotnik asked, almost teasing, “A little summer fling in picturesque Green Hills, Montana, USA?”

He, of course, had no right to know. They hadn’t been involved before his disappearance. Stone could've done whatever he pleased. He was his own man. Robotnik was learning, however, that Stone liked to be teased and worked up, and he happened to have years of experience in that particular arena. 

“Ew. No.” Stone replied vehemently.

It was true. While he only had eyes for his boss and would have been hard pressed to feel even a glimmer of feeling toward anyone else, the denizens of Green Hills would’ve been the last possible dating pool he’d ever willingly wade into. He’d never been so bored and unenthralled by a group of people in his life, and that was saying a lot for someone with a long career in government work.

Robotnik was genuinely curious as he stood behind him, thumbs digging into his hips a little harder. His voice simmered with a quiet sort of jealousy, with a sneaking possessiveness. Stone quivered, able to hear it loud and clear. His heart raced a bit faster as the interrogation continued. 

“Really? No tumble in the hay with an all-American farmboy?” Robotnik pressed, “No quick hookup at the Rusty Spittoon with the gruff yet handsome garbage collector?”

It wasn’t that Robotnik thought anyone in town could catch Stone’s eye. Quite the opposite. Stone was leagues above anyone in this two-bit shitstain on the map, but he could certainly see where people would be fascinated by him.

His neat and tidy appearance, cosmopolitan to the bumpkins who came in, intimidated by the drink names on the chalkboard menu. Certainly any closeted men in Green Hills could sniff him out as gay, but some of the women would perhaps have tried their luck, too. And of course, it was a small enough town to make Stone’s good looks exotic. He wondered how many people had asked him “But where are you really from?”

“God, no,” Stone replied, eyes looking back at Robotnik with a sudden cutting ruthlessness, “I don’t fuck slack-jawed yokels.”

Robotnik grinned wide.

That’s my boy, he thought.

Stone had always been a touch merciless. He wondered if he’d hid the depth of it well, or if his stint in retail food service had hardened him further.

Retail will do that to you, he thought.

"Give me some fucking credit, Doctor," Stone said a bit sternly. 

Though his voice was tough, he pushed his hips back against Robotnik, helping him into a suitable rhythm. He found that Robotnik sometimes faltered rhythmically, as though getting ahead of himself. One of Stone's hands crept between his chest and the counter, palm splayed, fingertips pressed lightly on either side of his breastbone, steadying himself, holding himself together. 

“Tell me more,” Robotnik said, “Surely you had your fair share of suitors, maybe even a suitress or two?”

“Eda at the diner has a soft spot for me,” he said wryly, “But she’s eighty-five and that’s just a touch too old for me.”

“Ouch,” Robotnik replied to his joke, placing a satirical hand over his own chest to cover the wound.

“I’ve had a few lingerers in the café now and again,” Stone said, calculating, “They were all dispatched quickly. Gotta turn those tables. No time for looky-lous, lollygaggers.”

“Oooh,” Robotnik purred, interested.

His hand moved to play at the knot of Stone's apron, the one that rested at the nape of his neck. Bare fingertips teased him. 

“D’you really think I’d do all of this for you and sleep with some local with a two-digit IQ?” Stone asked, feeling his eyebrows knit at the gentle touch.

“Just curious,” Robotnik replied, chest tight, privately flattered.

He stood a little taller, flush with pride that Stone had held a candle for him while he was gone. His hand alighted on Stone's hip again, bringing his mind back into alignment, focusing on fucking him and the glorious sensations it created.  

“No, no,” Stone breathed, “You were the only one on my mind.”

Robotnik’s body was seized by a rough thrill at the raw honesty of his words.

“Tell me,” he growled, wrapping his fist in the towel hanging from Stone’s apron, pulling him back against him harder with each yank of the cloth, “I need to know.”

Stone took his cock so well. They fit together seamlessly. Robotnik's free hand briefly closed into a loose fist and covered his mouth, masking his private awe. He'd engineered plenty of things to provide him pleasure over the years, but nothing measured up to Stone - his hold, his heat, his undisguised enthusiasm. Robotnik's teeth clenched, biting back what he knew would've been a high, shaky moan. 

“This place is full of uncouth idiots, fools with bad politics, smalltown has-beens, never-weres, losers,” Stone said, “Not a single fuckable soul.”

“Oh,” Robotnik grunted, fascinated by his gritty retelling, “Do go on.”

He didn't mind a little special attention to his ego every now and again. 

“Every time someone came in facetiously demanding just a regular coffee, I died a little inside,” he continued, throwing his head back for a gasp of fresh air above the collected heat of their shared immediate atmosphere, “This place is an empty Petri dish. No culture.”

Robotnik choked back an inelegant sound at the unexpected joke. He looked down and noticed that one of Stone’s fists was clenched, resting on the counter, elbow bent in front of his face.

Tension, he thought, Rage, perhaps? How very interesting. 

“Well, let’s hear it then,” he said.

“Hear what?" Stone replied, stretching his forearms across the counter for leverage, wrapping his fingers around the opposite edge, straightening his back into a pleasant angle, "Mmm. Deeper."

Robotnik had lapsed into shallower thrusts without realizing. He wordlessly complied with Stone's simple request, putting his hips into it, feeling his length being swallowed up with each thrust. He collected himself with some difficulty. 

“Your best customer service voice. Let's hear it. The one you used years ago, back when you disliked me,” Robotnik said, voice toothy, cocky, “I’ve forgotten what it sounds like.”

Stone sighed, amused. Robotnik seemed to wear it like a medal, the fact that he liked him, that fact that he’d somehow won him over.

You won me over, Stone thought wryly, Sure, that's how it went.

“Go on then, Stone,” Robotnik encouraged, voice seething, “What kind of menu is this? Where can a guy get a regular coffee around here?”

“Good morning, sir,” Stone started, voice that old canned shade of friendly, freezer-burnt with faint disdain, “Have you had a chance to look over our menu? I’m sure we have something that you’ll-”

“Got an American menu?” Robotnik interrupted, channeling every distasteful senator and low-brow general he’d ever met, “Y’know, in English?”

Though he was doing his best to sound irritated, his voice had a sultry edge. He plunged into Stone undeterred, finding it hard to sound too angry in the moment with the way he pulsed around him, with how hot his skin felt. 

“Ah, right,” Stone said coolly, and getting colder by the second, “Let me walk you through it.”

The condescension turned Robotnik’s dial a shade higher, glad Stone wasn’t observing him to watch his momentary enraptured expression, one eye inelegantly half-closed. There was no arguing it - Stone was hot when he was stern and in charge, lying in wait, clearly holding back. 

Despite the clear knowledge that this was role play, Stone felt irritated bile rising in his throat. He briefly considered as Robotnik pounded into him, the different ways he’d been fucked since he’d disappeared. Fucked by the government and its utter lack of support. Fucked over by this café and its ignorant, close-minded patrons, always leaving behind messes, being unnecessarily difficult, flat out insulting him to his face. Fucked by himself, either through hours of unnecessary work to dull the persistent ache or by his own hands as he fingered himself and frotted into a pillow after a long, merciless shift, working his way toward an unsatisfying climax. 

He’d been fucked every which way ‘til Sunday, but this was the only time it was any good - with Robotnik at the wheel and the taste of imminent upheaval on his lips. He shifted his neck abruptly to one side, letting it audibly crack, feeling a little surge of relief. 

“Hurry up,” Robotnik demanded, leaning forward, stomach pressed against his lower back, “I haven’t got all day. Some of us have real jobs.”

He wound the bar towel tucked into the back of Stone's apron around one deceptively strong hand, tensing his forearm and locking his elbow as he used it to pull him back harder onto his cock, to encourage him into a particular rhythm. The little breathy grunt he received made him crack an exerted smile. With his other hand, he tapped a plastic sensor audibly against the counter in a perfect semblance of impatience. 

Stone felt the pent-up frustration beginning to ebb like a loosening hand up high on his throat. There was something cathartic about it, playing it though in a safe environment.

“Might I suggest,” Stone said toothily, “A café Americano?”

Stone’s casually scornful yet attentive air was so familiar to Robotnik. It made the hair on his forearms stand on end beneath his sleeves, made him inhale slowly to collect himself before proceeding. 

“Whatever, fancy boy,” Robotnik spat with an air of distaste, “Black, no sugar, and make it quick.”

He punctuated the arrogant statement with a particularly sharp smack on his bare ass. Stone yelped and threw his head back, eyes closed, moaning through the bright, stinging rays of pleasure before dropping into a growl that seemed to shake his bones. 

“Ah, yes,” Robotnik purred, “I remember that contemptuous tone well.”

He sunk his fingers into the meat of Stone’s hips again, listening to the wet, vulgar sound created by the rhythm of their bodies colliding. 

“You could’ve just told me your coffee order,” Stone gritted cleverly, “Instead of making me guess for weeks.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Robotnik asked, “You were bright enough to start with black/no sugar and work your way up from there. A promising note from the early days.”

Stone sighed dreamily.

That early on, huh, he thought, You could've told me sooner.

“It was worth the wait, anyway,” Robotnik said, “No wonder the local yokels have been banging the door down.”

He loosened the grip of one hand with great effort and reached for his mug, glove creaking as his fingers fastened themselves around the handle a bit too tensely. He lifted it to his lips for a taste, slowing his thrusts so as not to spill, easing into a lenient, shallow pattern.

“D’you like it?” Stone asked.

“It’s perfect,” Robotnik said, delicately lifting the mug to his mouth again, careful not to clack the porcelain into his teeth.

“Leave me a good Yelp review,” Stone joked.

“I’ll do you better,” Robotnik replied, letting his head fall back, inhaling the warm, earthy smell, the dying steam of his latte, left to the side in favor of something hotter. 

“A nice tip?” Stone asked.

“A tip?” Robotnik echoed, eyes snapping open as he lowered his head, carefully setting his mug back down, “I’ll give you the whole thing.”

With that, he pushed the length of his cock back in, sudden and hard, hips against Stone, Stone against the counter, pinning him in place. The moan it pressed out of him was divine. Robotnik’s free hand quickly found a new place, seizing the neck of Stone’s apron.

“Tell me,” he hissed, folding over him, lips against his neck, pressing light, teasing kisses between his words, “Am I your favorite customer?”

“Y-yeah,” Stone replied, gathering a little strength back into his voice, “You have been for years.”

“Hmm,” the Doctor breathed, fascinated by the feeling of being openly favored.

“If I never serve another customer again, it’ll be too soon,” Stone said, doubling down, “Fuck this town and everyone in it.”

“Really?” Robotnik asked, still resolutely pressed against him, hot against his back even through all their combined layers of clothing, “You wouldn’t even treat them to one last glance upon the only worthwhile thing to happen to Green Hills since indoor plumbing?"

Stone was quiet a moment. 

"I'm talking about you," Robotnik clarified bluntly. 

With that, Stone's hand crept beneath the lip of the counter, pressing unshyly against his dick. The canvas of his apron was pleasantly abrasive. A wet spot had already gathered about the tip. He ground into his palm, preferring frottage for the moment, wanting to keep his pleasure from escalating at a rate he couldn't control. He trapped his shaft between his shirt and his apron, palm rubbing slowly, feeling the heat and pulse of his cock against his belly. 

"Oh, fuck," he murmured, letting his shoulders sink, "Doctor..."

“I mean, just think of it, Stone,” Robotnik said mischievously, “Imagine if your loyal, stupid clientele could see you now.”

Stone reflexively turned his head toward the window. He knew nobody could see in, but the thought made him clench and flutter. He palmed himself a bit harder at the notion, feeling his eyes roll back.  

“Well, I suspect most of them figured I was a fancy boy,” he said, borrowing Robotnik’s crass terminology, “I don’t think it would come as much of a surprise.”

He tried to play it cool, but Robotnik was never one to leave a bluff uncalled. He could feel how it had excited him. 

“With the click of a button, they could see,” he offered, leaning forward to show Stone his one gloved hand, all sensors and buttons, “I could simply... Unmirror those windows.”

He was still yanking Stone back toward him, their bodies meeting mid-thrust at a leveled-off speed. He felt Stone tighten again at his suggestion. He let his hand linger in Stone’s field of vision, enjoying the aspect of his turned head, profile bared, desperate pleasure painted all over his face.

“Fuck, Doctor,” he said, brows creasing.

Robotnik circled one of the palm sensors with his thumb alluringly.

“One. Click.” he said simply.

An anguished gasp and Stone’s head fell forward. Robotnik could see the flex of his strong shoulders beneath the fabric of his well-fitted shirt. With a quiet laugh, he pulled back his hand, placing it on the small of Stone’s back as he stood up straight again.

“One click and we’ll turn that sign from Closed to Open,” Robotnik gritted, "I'm sure plenty of people are looking for a good cup of coffee this fine Saturday morning."

Stone groaned, pounding the counter a few times with a closed fist, almost completely overcome. He pictured it. Any of his patrons coming up to the glass with cupped hands about their eyes, looking in and seeing him getting fucked raw over his immaculate little coffee counter, head thrown back, about to spill his load. He pictured it from the outside, the vision of Robotnik fucking him, putting his back into it, neck craned forward, expression intense, hungry. 

“Just unlock that door,” Robotnik said, shaking him from his thoughts, “Let them see how much cream daddy likes in his coffee.”

“Oh, fuck!” Stone yelped, fingers squeaking down the counter, unable to catch his grasp, "So hot."

Robotnik briefly toyed with the idea, if only for his own benefit. He thought of the quiet bustle of the small town Saturday mornings he’d become accustomed to. He wondered who, of the slightly-familiar faces he’d cataloged, might see if he clicked that button. He grunted at the thought, neck straining.

“You’d really fuck me right in front of them,” Stone asked, “Wouldn’t you?”

His voice was resigned, breathy.

“Of course, I would,” Robotnik growled, “How else would I show them what they'll never have? How else would I show them that you’re mine?”

Stone gasped and let his forehead rest against the cool counter for a moment. Robotnik had said that in various contexts before his disappearance, usually uncomfortably close and pointing a threatening finger in his face or right at the center of his chest.

One mistake on that spreadsheet and your ass is mine.

And don’t even think about resigning. You’re mine. You know that.

Who the fuck do they think they are, asking you to process a report for them? They’ll need to be reminded posthaste that you’re mine!

It had always given him butterflies, but since their descent into carnality, into both physical and the beginnings of tentative emotional intimacy, the word had taken on a pointed sort of gravity. He felt the word settle somewhere between his chest and stomach, effervescent and new and not quite yet understood. 

“But the dim-bulbed halfwits of this town don’t deserve to witness it,” Robotnik said, voice a little sweeter as he slowed a bit, “Remember that when I wipe this place off the map eventually."

"Mmm, what're you gonna do?" Stone asked with undisguised interest. 

"As I've said before," Robotnik purred, one hand settling at Stone's waist possessively, "I think I'll let you choose what happens to Green Hills. Vaporized. Burnt to the ground. Winked out of existence in an atomic flash. Dealer's choice."

"Ooh, Doctor," Stone moaned quietly. 

Flirtation through world domination, Robotnik mused internally, Who would've thought.  

"The choice is yours," he continued, "I'll let you sit in my lap when I press that button."

Stone’s delicious little gasp pushed him further, but he was careful to keep easing down the speed, ticking back the force. Stone’s hand reappeared, grasping the edge of the counter again, trying to ride the lull, knowing it would only serve to heighten the high if he could hit it just right.

"Second thought, I'll let you push that button," Robotnik amended, "You've got more skin in the game here, after all. It's only fair."

"Yes!" Stone gasped. 

“Now, should we have Die Walküre playing or is that a bit passé? Maybe something a bit jauntier?” Robotnik continued, “What do you think these dirt clods would like to hear for their last song?”

“Who cares. Fuck 'em,” Stone muttered, finally lifting his head, feeling foggy from the fucking he was receiving, “Every last one of them.”

“Now, now, Stone,” Robotnik chided teasingly, “When did Green Hills’ own Iron Barista become so jaded?”

He squeezed both of Stone’s strong upper arms from behind, making it clear that his little nickname was based on both physique and demeanor. He was sure Stone ran a tight ship. He'd watched him run circles around government fools for years, cold and unaccepting of anything less than reasonable perfection. If his current disparaging of the denizens of Green Hills was any indicator, that severe streak was still alive and well. 

“I fucking hate it here,” Stone said almost lightly, as though he might laugh at the obviousness of the admission.

Robotnik was still fucking him hard, but had slowed to last a little longer, careful enough to keep from crashing him into the counter with each thrust. He raised one hand to cup Stone’s chin from behind, holding his head in place with a mixture of affection and dominance.

“Why stay then?” he asked, voice gravelly before clearing his throat, “Why not up sticks and fly back to Uncle Sam? Why start over in something as utterly miserable as food service?”

Stone was quiet for a moment, fingers of one hand squeaking down the bar top again. Robotnik already knew that the government had turned him loose and shut the door behind him within days of his disappearance. Stone broke his answer down to the simplest form. 

“This was the last place I saw you,” he finally said, “Seemed as good a place as any to wait for you.”

Wait for you.

The three words struck Robotnik’s chest like electrified darts, taking him by surprise. His shoulders lurched in an uncomfortable spasm before he spread his feet, bracing himself. Stone’s voice was entirely matter-of-fact, but something about that made it more pointed. Presented like a simple fact, plain as day, as though it were the only logical course of action. 

He prided himself on learning new things every day, and it seemed he still had much to learn about his longtime assistant. 

The brief shock to the heart ignited a little spark that quickly flared up into righteous fire. Yes, he’d systematically broken Stone down over years, watching him build himself back up stronger, brighter, into a fierce and pragmatic force to be reckoned with. Knowing that this two-bit town had taken Stone and turned him bitter after all these years was too much to bear.

He was still careful to keep it close to his chest, how much he to meant to him, how much it meant to have one devoted person on his side. His relief to find Stone receptive of his return was still dizzying if he thought about it too long.

He’d always been possessive, but hearing about Stone's miserable tenure in Green Hills whipped him into a fury every time.

“We’ll both show this garbage little town,” Robotnik growled, redoubling his efforts.

He was suddenly pounding Stone so hard and fast that the latter’s knees threatened to give way. Each brutal stroke was paired with one of Stone’s achy, wanting gasps. His hand moved from grasping Stone’s chin to frantically loosening his tie and clumsily unbuttoning his shirt.

“That they can’t beat you and they can’t beat me,” the Doctor continued, feeling suddenly like he’d overheat in an instant, leaving nothing but a scorchburn on the polished concrete, “Jettison me into space, presumed never to return? Fine. That’s fair. But what they did to you is unforgivable.”

His bare hand was under Stone’s shirt, roughly fondling him, feeling his hot skin and chest hair.

“Huh?” Stone asked, trying to look back at him over his shoulder, “Me?”

He was surprised that this vendetta included him to this extent. The glimpse he caught was breathtaking – the Doctor in a fury, neck veins visible, white teeth clenched, eyes like molten metal, sweat trickling down from his shaven crown.

“Yes, you,” Robotnik spat bitterly, “I’m gonna build a giant fucking robot and leave this place a smoldering crater for what it did to you.”

Stone could practically see the hearts in the high, achy breath that Robotnik's words pressed out of him. He decided this was a clear and fair exception to their previously established “no talk of giant robots during sex” rule.

“Talking down to you. Demeaning you. Grinding that spark out of your eyes,” Robotnik growled, flicking his head back to clear the imaginary hairs from his eyes out of habit, a phantom twinge for the person he used to be, “They didn’t appreciate you.”

“Oh, Doctor,” Stone moaned, palms braced hard on the edge of the counter, elbows locked stiff, “Doctor!”

“They don’t fucking deserve you,” Robotnik said, drilling into him with all his depleting stamina, sweat rolling down his neck and into his collar.

I don’t deserve you either, said the tiniest sliver of his mind not preoccupied with pleasing them, I did the same thing.

With a frustrated snarl he shoved his own weight forward, pulling Stone back to him. His words failed him, tangled up at the base of his throat. He knew he had making up to do, lots of it. He hoped to show it while the words stuck in his gullet.

He wanted to tear Stone’s shirt away with his teeth and cover his back in kisses, to press his cheek to those weight-bearing shoulders, to snap the neck yoke of his apron and slip both arms beneath the tatters of his barista uniform, to hold him as tight as he could.

Stone could sense it, Robotnik retreating somewhere into his own mind, and made a quick effort to pull him back.

“Doctor,” he said quietly but urgently.

He received a choked gasp in response, short and abrupt, like someone coming up for air. It worked.

“Be here,” Stone whispered, raising his head without turning to look at him, "I need you."

"Ah," Robotnik acknowledged, blinking his eyes open to the current reality, "Uh-huh."

It was always surprising to Stone that he could be so distant while in such close physical proximity to him, that he was able to retreat into his mind despite the obvious level of pleasure distraction at hand. If anyone could do it, it was the Doctor.

Before he could consider further, the Doctor's hand slipped under his apron, grasping him, stroking him in time. A desperate sound broke from Stone's throat and he allowed his neck to go limp, his temple resting against his wrist that was laid flat on the counter. 

"Oh, god," he groaned, followed by a short series of audible whines. 

Robotnik had shaken his guilt for the moment, ready to replace it with action. 

"You like that?" he asked. 

"Y-yeah," Stone breathed. 

Robotnik nodded sharply, unseen. He wrested his locked hand from Stone's hip, shaking it briskly in midair to relax his fingers. With loosely curled fingers, he drew his knuckles up Stone's back, stopping to spread his palm over his ribs. He slipped his arm through the gap between Stone's arm and side, fingers tracing the neat line of his beard before resting his fingers on his cheek. 

"You're so fucking good looking," he growled, craning his neck to get a clearer look at Stone's wrought face in profile, "Do you know that?"

"Aaah," Stone moaned, eyes closing tightly, bucking into his bare hand. 

"Good looking, eloquent, - ahh - self- reliant," he listed off another compliment with each fevered snap of his hips, continuing with a guttural growl, "Fuck this idiot town. No one here could possibly appreciate your multitudes."

"Fuck!" Stone breathed, feeling Robotnik pound into him like a jackhammer. 

He was drawing short, quick, shallow breaths, panting, holding his own against the overwhelming pleasure. Robotnik's hand was squeezing him, focusing his sliding grasp over his wet cockhead, sending electric sparks up his spine each time his gripped him hard enough. The Doctor was doing his best to match his strokes, to maintain a steady pace, to keep from entirely losing it due to Stone's grip and heat, and the aching, honest sounds he was making. 

"Do you know what you do to me?" he hissed, pressing his body against Stone's strong back to ground himself, "You couldn't fathom it. I couldn't begin to explain the vastness of it."

"Aah, Doctor, please!" Stone begged, "I'm so close, I need you so bad..."

He ended on a whimper that made Robotnik's shoulders fold inward without thought. He was suddenly excruciatingly hot, burning up inside his coat. 

"Touch yourself," he said urgently, suddenly aware that he was faintly drooling.  

"Huh?" Stone asked, eyes flicking open. 

"Just - please," Robotnik entreated, "I'm overheating."

Stone nodded and they did a seamless trade off. Robotnik's fingers clumsily tore at his coat after he wiped the drool away with his sleeve. All of this made all the more difficult by Stone's takeover, fucking himself back on his cock while he briefly stood somewhat still to undress. 

"Ah, fuck, Stone," Robotnik said, voice tight, "Keep fucking me like that and it's all over."

After several endless seconds, he finally freed himself from his coat, the garment fighting him all the way, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. He flung it to the floor, relieved to feel the cool air on his nape and forearms. He still wore a thin black shirt, but it was better than the coat by miles. 

He paused for a moment, watching Stone stroke himself and push back against him. He snapped out of it when he noticed Stone was watching him over his shoulder, taking in his awed silence. With that, Robotnik leaned forward again, his bare hand moving under Stone's apron and taking hold of his cock, hips shifting into gear without hesitation. He was grateful for the moment to regain his composure, but it was time to get back to work. 

"That's enough," he said, "You've done all the work long enough."

The utterance nearly knocked the wind out of Stone, a quiet, soft acknowledgement of all he'd done in the Doctor's absence. He felt it in his throat and closed his eyes tightly. 

"Let me take over," Robotnik said. 

With that, Stone felt an old ache somewhere within him dissolve. His forearm was pressed to the counter to brace himself against the buffeting thrusts. He rested his cheek against his inner-elbow and tried to hold it together. Robotnik's fist closed around his cockhead before puling back down his shaft, making him bow his back. 

"Please, please, please," Stone begged, mouth acting independently of his saturated brain. 

The earnestness in his voice made Robotnik shiver, knees threatening to lock up. He was so painfully close. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he used actions, keeping steady at this pace as best he could, the lever of his elbow working Stone to the edge. His other hand pressed itself to the small of his own back in a vain attempt to lessen his future fatigue. 

It was through tunneled vision that he experienced the grip and pull of Stone's climax, hearing his aching, shattered cry as though underwater. He watched him arch his neck, one white-knuckled hand pulling down the bar top for leverage. His vision cut abruptly to black, eyes squeezing closed as his own orgasm reverberated through him like some massive cosmic bell, completely overpowering every sense but physical feeling. 

Before either of them were free from the grips of orgasmic contraction, Robotnik lurched forward, taking Stone by surprise when he pressed his body against his back. He wrapped his arms around Stone’s waist from behind and pressed his cheek into his shoulder, holding to him tightly. Stone stiffened briefly at the unexpected finale and then felt himself go slack at the sudden gesture of tenderness. He slipped his hand down to cover Robotnik’s. 

They stayed like that a long while, breaths syncing, the pleasant, floating tiredness setting in, making their eyelids and limbs feel heavy and slow. Robotnik was the first to move, gradually straightening up, aware of the moisture wicking through their clothing. His back felt stiff. He gingerly took his softening cock around the base a pulled out of Stone with a final muted spasm, sensitivity magnified. 

He managed about two steps before settling next to Stone, mirroring his posture, bent at the waist, elbows supporting himself on the counter. He looked over at him curiously, eyes aware but bleary. 

"Hi," Stone said with a warm smile, looking up from where his forehead had been resting on his arm. 

"Are we feeling good?" Robotnik asked. 

We, referring only to Stone, or perhaps to both of them. He wasn't quite sure. He was still unpacking that little turn of phrase. 

"We are," Stone replied with a bright flash of teeth. 

Robotnik's hand rested on his damp shoulder before moving to the back of his neck, gripping him briefly, fondly, rocking him side-to-side slightly before unhanding him. Stone cherished little things like this, filing them away in an ever-growing dossier. 

They caught their breath for a few more moments before heading up to the loft to change. Stone went first, moving more quickly and easily, Robotnik lagging behind to retrieve his coat, making his way up the stairs despite the faint exertion aches in his body. 

Stone was already undressed when he made it up to the bedroom, clothes thrown haphazardly into the hamper, his apron hanging half-in, half-out. He watched him lay down on the bed, tossing back the comforter and stretching out. He sat on the edge of the bed, observing him for a bit, still dressed from his shirt to his shoes. 

“Come lay down a while,” Stone gently entreated after a few moments, “It’s Saturday.”

His smile was enough to break the strongest of reserves. 

“I believe,” Robotnik said, pausing for a deep breath, “I’ve promised someone a giant fucking robot. It’s not going to build itself.”

Stone beamed subtly at the sentiment but that didn’t stop him from rolling onto his side to reach out and take him by the elbow.

“I know you’re good for it,” he said quietly, meeting his gaze, “Come lay down a while.”

Robotnik’s eyes lingered on his face a moment before nodding, gaze softening into one of subtle amazement.

“Undress,” Stone suggested, letting go of his arm.

Robotnik nodded, trance-like, as he slowly stood from the bedside, fingers already working at his belt. There was no question that sex left him docile and malleable. All it took was the quietest request.  

“Get comfortable,” Stone said, followed by a soft yawn.

I’m trying, Robotnik thought honestly, It's very difficult, and I'm not accustomed to that. 

Truly, difficulty didn't come easy to him. He was so accustomed to instant understanding, spoilt by his own genius. The emotional realm was proving very different from the scientific realm. He pulled his shirt off over his head, aware that Stone's eyes were on his back. Once again, he wondered what he looked like to him, what he saw in him. He didn't allow the thought to linger long. 

Once he was undressed, he slipped under the blankets next to Stone, feeling his radiant warmth, savoring the new level of proximity between them. Stone looked forward to this as much as he did the sex itself. Often he would sit up and look down at Robotnik, who was only slightly elevated by a pillow, mostly recumbent, gesturing in the air with both hands as he spoke. Sometimes, it was only one hand, as the other seemed to subconsciously hold the blankets modestly to his bare chest.

They’d often talk more than they would throughout the rest of the day, the two taking turns. The topics were often light – usually spirited retellings of events that had occurred in the absence of the other, the heaviness of them somehow alleviated by the present company. Sometimes it was a discussion of lofty plans going forward. He wondered where it would take them today. 

“So,” Stone started, sitting up a bit to his usual vantage point, “What color for the giant robot?”

Though he asked it with humor, Robotnik’s genuine smirk almost immediately flickered away to a faint grimace, eyes never once meeting Stone’s.

“Hmm, uh-oh,” Stone said, voice softening, “Looks like you’ve got something else on your mind.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Robotnik said, flicking one slim wrist lazily to try and brush away the pall.

“I’ve never seen you look so down while discussing a giant robot,” Stone pressed gently, encouraging his body over closer to his, reaching to rest a hand on his arm.

Robotnik hummed thoughtfully, trying to come up with a believable scapegoat. Stone's imploring eyes broke him down like Styrofoam in gasoline. He steeled himself, drawing the sheets around his body a bit more tightly before beginning. He knew he could only put this off for so long. 

He'd spent a lot of time in exile considering his past actions, his past treatment of Stone. As it turned out, scouring himself mentally a million miles away was actually quite a bit easier than a post-coital discussion about it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, if only to make his closed eyes less visible, sure Stone could read him before he even spoke. 

"In the past-" he began, "I was not good to you."

Stone's sigh was almost relieved. 

"Oh, Doc," he said, "You don't have to-"

"No, no," Robotnik said, raising his other hand, pointer finger aloft, "I do."

"Okay, okay," Stone said quietly, "Go on."

"I feel terribly... Guilty? About the way I've treated you," he said, struggling to find words that conveyed the gravity of his feelings. 

As it turned out, anger and awe were the easiest things for him to express. All these other emotions, these new and nuanced ones, were proving very difficult. Speaking them was so different than thinking them or feeling them. 

"I'm struggling to find adequate words," he finally admitted. 

Stone could tell this was challenging for him. He took his hand and held it, feeling their fingers intertwine with ease. It got easier each time. It just took practice. 

"It's okay," Stone said, "I know you feel bad-"

"Here I am, grinding the idiot denizens of Green Hills into the ground for talking down to you, for being difficult for the sake of it, for treating you like you're worthless," he said, finally removing the hand that was partially obscuring his face, "I'm a hypocrite."

He was careful not to go further with his self-deprecation. He knew enough to not put Stone in the position to try and deny that he'd been awful, to try and explain everything away as being "okay" and "in the past." That wouldn't have been right. 

"For years, I carried on like that," he continued, "I don't deserve your loyalty. I truly have no idea why you - why you did all this. Why you took up the mantle."

Stone was nodding along, listening carefully, studiously not meeting Robotnik's far-away gaze so as not to interrupt his thoughts. 

"And frankly, I also have no idea why you'd want to be physically intimate with me," Robotnik said with a tilt of his head, "I don't understand it, but I'm glad you - I don't - hmm."

He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, stubble audibly scratching against his palm. 

"I don't understand it," he said more clearly, "But I'm glad you do."

Stone nodded encouragingly. 

"All of this to say," Robotnik said, trying to wrap things up neatly, knowing Stone would have input he'd consider later, input that would inform his thoughts, "I apologize for my past behavior. I was absolutely monstrous. It was unwarranted and unfair. You had every right to leave me high and dry, or turn me over to the authorities immediately. I'm... Indebted. I'm grateful. I don't understand, but I'm very grateful that you somehow saw past it all. I don't expect your forgiveness or your continued loyalty, but I am prepared to earn it."

Stone closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing his hand a little tighter. He'd never expected an earnest apology, let alone a vow of restitution. He hadn't needed either, but he'd gladly accept them both. Robotnik's gentle, guileless voice left him speechless. 

"And one day, I'll understand it, too," Robotnik said, "Having to work for comprehension is... New to me."

Stone chuckled, grateful for the levity. It was short-lived though, as the Doctor heaved a small sigh. Stone almost felt it travel though him like a ripple on the water. He let go of Robotnik's hand and instead abruptly gathered him up, pulling him close, curling around him. I only took a few seconds after the sudden reconfiguration for Robotnik to relax into his hold, cheek against his bare chest, encircled by his strong arms. 

He allowed himself to be held, to be lulled, feeling Stone's deep, even breaths compressing him further. He felt his nose and beard against his shaven scalp. 

He wasn't finished, but he wasn't sure what to say at the current juncture. Stone's hold on him threatened to ease him into a comfortable sleep, but he felt the need to finish off this conversation somehow, to try and provide some small semblance of closure. 

"I don't know how to fix the past," Robotnik finally said. 

Stone smiled, realizing this could've been figurative language or literal, that a time machine may somehow be involved down the line. He tried not to think of the myriad paradoxes this could result in. 

"I think the answer," he said, "Is to just move forward."

"Hm?" Robotnik asked, moving just enough to look up at him. 

He needed more context clues than he was being given to understand where Stone was going with this. 

"You're right. We can't change the past. We can't explain it away," Stone said, knowing any attempt he made to exonerate the Doctor would be summarily dismissed, "Let's just treat this like a new beginning. Move forward from here."

Robotnik lowered his head again, cheek against Stone's chest in contemplation. He felt within him a little flicker of something warm, a small guttering light that hadn't been there before. He wondered if this was what hope felt like. Genuine, guileless hope. He closed his eyes and decided it was. 

He also decided this would be a glorious new beginning. That things would go differently this time in so many aspects. Between him and Stone. Between them the government. Between them and that damned hedgehog, and this useless little town, and the whole world after that. 

If he knew anything, he knew that if he decided something, it was only a matter of time before he made it happen. 

In the moments that ensued, he considered Stone's gift for perspective, his unbelievable capacity for forgiveness, his unshakable pragmatism. He'd become so acutely aware of so many facets of Stone since his return. As he laid in his arms, he knew there were even more facets to be revealed in time. 

Finally, out of the intimate silence, he spoke. 

“Red and yellow,” Robotnik said quietly. 

“What?” Stone asked, eyes opening, hold loosening to allow him to meet his gaze. 

“The giant robot,” he continued with a tired, sly smile, “It’s going to be red and yellow.”

He raised his head to steal a quick kiss, briefly pressing his lips to Stone's and drawing away, slipping back down into his hold. 

With that, Stone smiled and shook his head, rubbing his hand over Robotnik's scalp before pushing him back down against his chest, full of playful affection.  

"Sounds good," he said, holding back elated laughter as he kissed the top of his head in return, "But I think construction can wait until tomorrow."

"Certainly," The Doctor replied, relaxing into the comfort of this new reality, "Giant robot construction begins tomorrow... After coffee."

"Right," Stone agreed, closing his eyes and yawning, ready to settle in for a comfortable mid-morning nap with Robotnik against his chest, "Coffee first, world domination later."