Work Header


Work Text:

Insistent, rhythmic rings of the doorbell, at perfectly spaced intervals. It was fine. Let him sweat it out long enough to get a little nervous, to wonder, "Did something happen to him?", to hate himself for his concern, and then

Ouma opened the suite's garish pink door, gave the robot a quick glance up and down, feigned surprise widening his eyes and arching his brows.

"Wow, you actually showed up just because I asked you to? You're even dumber than you look!" With a little laugh, he gripped K1-B0's wrist, harder than the robot assumed he could, and pulled him inside. The door shut with a thud, locked with a click, and then they were alone, a white noise machine and soundproofed walls hiding the fact that anyone was inside at all.

Kiibo jerked his wrist away, his eyes darting around the suite with a look of undisguised suspicion on his face. "Why meet here, of all places?" he asked, looking from the heart-shaped bed to the saltire cross in one corner of the room. There was no way he knew what the latter was, because if he did, he'd have already bolted.

"I figured you'd want somewhere more private than the dorms," Ouma said, "plus, the beds there are so small, y'know? And Iruma-chan's lab doesn't lock, and wouldn't that be so embarrassing for you if someone walked in?" A table by the bed was covered end to end in tools he'd shamelessly stolen from Iruma's lab, and he ran his fingers across the metal surfaces delicately. "Hey, can robots feel shame? I guess we'll find out, huh?"

Truthfully, he had no idea what half of these did—he'd grabbed them because they looked intimidating. But Kiibo didn't need to know that. He dragged the table closer to the bed until it was flush with the side, for easier access. He had a distinct feeling the robot was going to be squirming a lot.

"C'mon, c'mon, down you go!" Ouma didn't so much usher as shove Kiibo backwards onto the bed, immediately crawling on top of him and straddling his waist, tucking his legs back over Kiibo's thighs to help pin him more effectively. "Haha, wow, you really are weak!"

Kiibo yelped in surprise, but Ouma saw the way the robot's hands immediately drifted up towards his own head, voluntarily making himself more helpless instead of going for Ouma's throat the way any sensible person would have done. That mischievous little giggle escaped his mouth, too playful for someone currently reaching for a portable electric transformer. Kiibo didn't recognize the machine in his hands—a hollow glass tube with a flat, disc-shaped head connected to a solid pink handle. "Ugh. Iruma-chan's bad taste makes this look so much less menacing than I was hoping," Ouma tsk'ed, nonchalantly flicking the device on with his thumb.

A tiny arc of magenta sparks flew from the glass tip of the device to Ouma's index finger, and he giggled again. He moved his fingers, closer and further, stretching out the line of the current and seeing how far it could go before breaking, repeating the process again and again as he spoke. "It's so brave of you to volunteer your body for science, Kiibo! Having a better understanding of how you work will definitely help me get over any of my lingering anti-robot sentiments. I'm just so curious."

"If—if it will help you overcome your bigotry, then—" Kiibo started, unable to take his eyes off the electric wand in Ouma's hands, "then that's—it's fine, but I won't let this become a regular occurrence, and—"

"We haven't even gotten started and you're already thinking about next time?" Ouma interrupted loudly, pure delight spreading across his face as he looked at the robot pinned beneath him.

"N-no! No no no, Ouma-kun, I just said—"

"Oh, so you don't want to?" A pout as he turned the wand off, shoulders sagging. "Aww… I know Iruma-chan is probably better at servicing you than me, but I was hoping you'd let me at least try before you wrote me off." Ouma gave an exaggerated sigh as he moved to get off of Kiibo's waist. "Well, whatever. No point in even having this session, then. I hate guys who can't commit."

Before he could process what he had done, Kiibo's hand shot out to grab Ouma's wrist. There was a moment of silence as they stared at one another, Ouma's expression inscrutable and Kiibo's full of anxiety.

And then Ouma smiled, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and full of gentle malice. "Say you want it, Kiibo-chan."

"I want…" Kiibo struggled to articulate it. What were they even doing? What was this supposed to be? Ouma had invited him here under the pretense of tuning him up instead of Iruma, a paper-thin excuse to tear him open and savagely explore his body, and he'd accepted, so what did he want?

The robot averted his eyes and forced the words out of his mouth. "P-please… use me."

Ouma settled back into place on top of him. "Open up, then," he said, tapping his fingers against Kiibo's chestplate. "I wanna see what's inside you."

After a moment's hesitation, Kiibo complied, and the sleek gray panels of his chest hissed softly as they unlocked, folding open like begging hands. Inside was a densely-packed mess of cables and circuit boards, gently-whirring fans and glowing teal lights. At the center, a pulsing core of barely-contained energy rotated in place.

Ouma said nothing, only observed, which made Kiibo more anxious than any infuriating joke he could have made. As Kiibo's breathing quickened, the fans spun faster, pristine machinery rotating where lungs should have been. There was no rise and fall of his chest, and the positioning of his inner mechanisms—vaguely mimicking flesh-and-blood organs, but arranged more like offerings on an altar—only served to highlight how inhuman he was.

The uncharacteristic silence was finally broken by one of Ouma's breathy "wow!"s, and Kiibo wasn't sure why that made him feel so relieved. Without regard for safety, Ouma traced along the tangle of wires with his fingers, pinching and tugging at the rough texture of the thick cables. Kiibo couldn't feel it, and so he realized too late when Ouma had unplugged the bundles of wiring connecting his arms to the rest of his motor functions.

"Wh-what is the meaning of this?!" he yelped, attempting to flail limbs that no longer responded to him. Ouma laughed again, twirling the cables around his fingers.

"That was easy! Kinda too easy. I thought the big bundle going to your arms couldn't really control your arms, y'know? Like, it had to be an obvious fake-out," Ouma chatted away as he picked up the electric wand once more. "Can't have you lashing out and hitting my cute little face. Haha, aww, listen how loud your fans are going!"

The device switched on, the sharp, clean scent of ozone washing over them as Ouma touched the glowing tip to his fingers again. "Don't look so scared. See? Feel how gentle it is." Without waiting for a response, he brushed the glass disc over Kiibo's cheek.

Instinctively, Kiibo jerked his face away, but stilled once the glass touched him. Ouma had actually been right. The wand only pricked at his synthetic skin, producing a strangely pleasant buzzing sensation. He looked back up at Ouma, the ozone smell even stronger now that it was right up against him.

Another mischievous little laugh, and Ouma leaned in as he pulled the wand away. It went against everything Kiibo knew for someone who looked so sweet to be so full of malice. Even if his motor controls hadn't been disabled, Kiibo wouldn't have been able to move with Ouma so close that he could see his eyelashes as they fluttered. "I'll use the lowest setting and give you lots of time to get used to it, okay?" he whispered. The dial on the handle of the wand clicked up, but Kiibo didn't hear, too focused on the sound of Ouma's tongue inside his mouth.

Ouma's head dipped down, even closer, until their noses were touching and Kiibo could taste his breath as he spoke.

"That was a lie."

The pain was so overwhelming that Kiibo couldn't even scream, a blinding, all-consuming agony that overloaded all his senses at once, so intense he couldn't tell where Ouma was even touching him with the wand.

Ouma's laugh somehow reached him through the pain, the innocent cruelty of a child pulling the wings off of insects.

It was almost worse when the shocks stopped, as Kiibo's sensors scrambled to adjust to a baseline level of normalcy again. Unsure of how to handle the electric overload right to his core, his systems rebooted, and after a few moments it would have been like nothing happened, if not for the memory of the pain. Kiibo gasped, finally seeing Ouma's gleeful expression as he tormented him.

"Nihihi, I guess that was a little too strong?" He adjusted the wand's dial. "See, now I know how much you can take! It wouldn't be fun if you kept rebooting like that."

There was no waiting before Ouma started again, touching glass to circuits and playing Kiibo's strangled cries like a theremin. The currents coursed through the robot's body, and in spite of how weak he was, his violent thrashing nearly managed to throw Ouma off his lap.

So he reached down and—


Panic surged as Kiibo realized Ouma had ripped the wiring connecting his legs to his motor system. Not a delicate removal, the caring touch the professor used during maintenance, but a violent tearing, making sparks fly from the ports where the cables had been. Ouma held the bundle in one hand, looking almost proud. Hunched over him like this, he looked like a feral animal, only missing blood splatters and gore streaking his face as he mauled his prey.

"Ouma-kun, wait—" Kiibo stammered, trying desperately to move his neck, his shoulders, anything that would let him sit up, to no avail.

"Relaaax," Ouma scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tossed the bundle of wires to the side, where they hit the silk bed with a heavy thud. "It's nothing Iruma-chan can't fix. Probably." His eyes gleamed as he looked at Kiibo's insides, small hands twitching with anticipation as he placed the wand down and reached toward him.

"WAIT," Kiibo yelled, and Ouma actually listened, pausing and tilting his head with his hands a few centimeters away from the robot's exposed circuitry. "Your hands—you need to wear gloves! The electrical current could give you a lethal shock—"

Ouma cackled, actually doubling backwards as though he'd been struck. "Oh my GOD. You're so... " But he didn't finish his sentence, still laughing as he pulled a pair of black rubber gloves from the side of the bed over his hands. Kiibo's mouth set into a worried little line, his cheeks turning red as his fans failed to turn quickly enough.

The first touch was experimental, almost soft. Ouma's hands ran down the underside of Kiibo's chest panels, caressing where a human's ribs would have been—if they'd been vivisected first. Kiibo could only watch, even as his internal sensors screamed. Foreign object detected.

Ouma's fingers traced the thin silver lines of circuits, rubbing at the seams and edges of every capacitor and transistor he came across.

Immediate maintenance recommended. Initiating emergency shutdown.

Delicate circles around the inductor coils, over and over, soothing spirals that made the fans stutter.

WARNING: Manual override of emergency shutdown not recommended. Continue override?

Ouma held Kiibo's core the way someone would pull fruit off a tree. He dug in too hard, used too much pressure, pulled, wires running taut, and then the voltage started again. Kiibo had never heard himself make noises like that, but he didn't care—the only thought running through his head was more. He was being pulled apart, disintegrated, could practically feel the epoxy resins cracking and bending, and his back only arched to lean into Ouma's destroying touch. More. More. Break me to pieces—

He short-circuited with a gasping scream, felt himself shut down, snap out of existence and then come back into his own body with an almost physical force. There was no light, no sound, only a vague sensation of floating, of calm. Warmth after frostbite. Lungfuls of fresh air after escaping a fire.

Serenity and stillness.

When Kiibo woke up several hours later, it was not to serenity and stillness. Iruma was shrieking somewhere close by, and Ouma was laughing, and Kiibo did his best to block them out as his startup diagnostic sequence ran. Iruma's lab was overlaid with teal numbers as he looked around, sitting up stiffly on the table in the center of her room.

"You could have killed him, you fucking moron! Did you really think you could just dig around in machinery worth more than your miserable little life with your awful fucking rat paws?! God, I should fucking end you for stealing shit from my lab!"

"He didn't die, though! See? He's already up. He's fiiine. Aren't you, Kiibo-chan?"

Iruma whipped around, blonde hair sticking to the sweat on her cheeks, her eyes wide. First, genuine worry: "are you okay?!" Then, anger: "I can't believe how dumb you are!" And finally, back to normal: "if you wanted to fuckin' nut so hard you saw God, why not just ask me?!"

Kiibo didn't answer, still focused on reading his diagnostics. Ouma really hadn't done any permanent damage, somehow, and that surprised him more than anything else had tonight. Iruma's repairs had all been easy fixes he could have done on his own—one of his resistors needed to be replaced, but that was it. His eyes flickered over to Ouma, who looked more smug than Kiibo had ever seen him before.

"I don't know if your tune-ups are gonna be enough for him after this," he said, tapping a finger to his lips and grinning. "I might've ruined your toy, Iruma-chan."