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Doll and Uzi always had a complicated relationship. Complicated was an understatement to describe whatever was going on between the two of them. It was no ordinary relationship. They were not lovers. They weren't friends. They weren't close either. They were like rivals, almost enemies. It was a constant back-and-forth, a futile game of back-and-forth. No one ever won. They could only lose when one of them gave in. Or when the other forced the other to do so. The loser was the one who let the other one win. The one who gave in first. Although, of course, the tension was there, latent, floating in the air. Invisible, heavy. Stifling. Enough to be sliced with a knife. And Doll loved knives. Boy, did she love knives.
Things got worse with the prom incident.
The damn prom incident.
Everything would have gone according to plan had it not been for Doorman. Stupid Doorman. She couldn't stay out of it. Of course she couldn't. And to top it all off she had to side with the Murder Drones. Vile traitor. It couldn't be any other way. To say that this intervention made her feel bad was, without a doubt, the equivalent of comparing a glass of water with the ocean itself. That is to say, something ridiculous, absurd. To say that her anger was something tangible was also wrong. At this point she was an automaton whose engine ran on anger, revenge and foreign oil. Dammit Uzi Doorman. She was going to make sure she broke that particular ego of hers. Even if it was the last thing she did. She'd had enough of her absurd games. She needed to focus on her earlier plans anyway before she took out that fool Uzi. Minor details.
Taking up her revenge was not too complicated. But Doorman again intruded where no one called her. Didn't she have anything better to do? This time she wasn't going to give her any consideration. Not again. Not like last time. Last time she had given in due to circumstances beyond her control (she didn't like to remember that particular defeat of hers, you can imagine why) but it wouldn't happen again. Not again.
A one-on-one fight. Just her and Uzi. Uzi and her. She had beaten her before. Out of pure spite. Out of sheer fun. On a mere whim. This time would be no different. It shouldn't be. That was the plan.
But of course, Uzi had a predilection for ruining Doll's plans. As usual.
That's pretty much how they had ended up in that situation. Fighting in that old shack hadn't been the brightest of her ideas either. But as they say, you don't choose where you dance, you just dance where you get to. And there they were, looking like a bloody mess. Side by side. Shattered. Hurt. Tired of fighting. The unmistakable scent of oil permeated the old room. It combined horribly with the stench of rotting wood. The only light left in the room was their own optics, reflecting off the dirty metal surface.
Uzi opened her mouth with aggressive eagerness, her voice broken, trembling, laden with pain.
"You're a liar."
She said as she glared her optics at her, angrily. If she hadn't already been a wreck, she would have knocked out her teeth one by one with her fists. That's what she thought. As if Doll would let her do that. Unthinkable. She let out a dismayed sigh that echoed through her tired fans, barked again, almost pained.
"Why didn't you say it sooner?"
Doll throws her head back. She remains silent for a moment, sighing slowly. She clicks her tongue against her sharp teeth. Her visor flickers and responds dryly with another question without turning to look at her. She drags out the words with resignation.
[Do you think I knew?]
Uzi groans. Then snarls. She bares her teeth at her. The whirring of her mechanism intensifies. You can almost see her desperation venting from underneath her circuits. She huffs and replies again. She clenches her fists.
"You knew more than I did, bite me!"
Doll turns to the opposite side. She sighs resignedly and responds thoughtfully. Almost as if they hadn't been about to kill each other moments before. Very calm to be honest. Very composed. Too quiet in fact. As if she was measuring every syllable on the tip of her canines. Scraping the ''r's'' as usual.
[You never want to listen to me]
Uzi grits her teeth. She claims sharply.
"I don't want to listen to your bullshit lies."
What a pointless fight. Useless to think that either of them is really looking for something more than simple violence. Or that's what they've both wanted to assume. They've done it long enough to stop questioning it. No one wants to go any further. Even if, deep down, things are completely different.
Doll runs her fingers over her own face, combs her oil-soaked hair, coated with a thick layer of gunk. A subtle and useless movement, because they fall back on the visor. Her sight is unreadable. Exhausted. She lets the oil drip down her face. How dramatic she is.
None of it matters anymore. She speaks heavily again, pulling the letters slowly as if begging for something, something she won't deign to ask for. At least not in the words she should. She seems to change the subject, but the subtext is the same.
[What about me makes you bitter?]
Uzi hugs her legs. Unable to look at her. She tries to wipe the oil from her own face. She licks her hand slowly. Does not look at her. She can't do it. She doesn't want to . She shouldn't. Isn't able to. She mumbles through her teeth, clenching her jaw.
”None of your business”
She complains aggressively. Cutting. Almost offended. Doll closes the distance between them. She looks straight at her. Without blinking. As if trying to sneak into her thoughts with her simple gaze. The air soon fills with heavy tension. Electric. Uzi can sense it. She is unable to keep her eyes on it. Her visor soon does its thing and lets glimpses of thick pixelated beads of sweat running down her face. She swallows saliva. Doll speaks again.
[Do you hate me that much?]
”So what if I do?”
The Russian hardens her expression. She knows Uzi is lying. She doesn't need to say it to be sure she is. She can read her even if she's not honest with herself either. She knows her well enough, even if they haven't talked about their feelings openly. They don't need to at this point. Neither of them would agree to it. Her neon eyes glow reddish, reflecting in the other's visor. She speaks again. She demands, covering her anxiety with that cold tone of hers.
[Say it to me straight out]
She demands, slurring her words, measuring them with dangerous caution. Uzi remains silent. She blinks a couple of times and arches her eyebrows. She breaks eye contact.
”I hate you.”
She mutters. She doesn't sound convinced. She's not. She hesitates. Doll slides her hand under her opponent's chin. He forces her to keep her eyes on her, again.
[Look at me when I talk to you.]
She commands authoritatively. Uzi's eyes widen for a moment. She frowns. The blush in her visor betrays her. She growls between her teeth. She feels her closeness beginning to suffocate her. It is asphyxiating. Her chest burns.
”You're an idiot,” she mumbled.
[None of this is good enough for you, is it Doorman?]
Her fingers hold the metal surface firmly, just by the edge of her chin. The temperature begins to rise. Uzi is willing to let her continue. She's too confused just then. She's too tired. It doesn't matter anymore. The feeling intensifies. And she's horrible at processing her feelings. She doesn't need to overthink it, not just then. It's too late for that. She looks down and sighs heavily.
”Bite me”
More than an insult, it sounds like an indecent invitation. How naughty. Doll curves her lips. Smiles pleased. She lets her synthetic breath tickle over her contrarian's face. She doesn't need to speak to beg for what they both desire. A kiss will be enough to confirm it. She joins her mouth to the other's in a slow, desperate eagerness. Uzi squirms. She mumbles something but Doll won't let her speak. She chokes her words in her mouth. It is clear who is in control. Doll leads the rhythm of the kiss, hungrily, anxiously. They only separate when she decides to, tasting her rebellious lips, a trickle of artificial saliva still connecting them.
Uzi pants, diverts her gaze. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Doll slides hers down her neck. Uzi swallows saliva. She looks at her uncertainly. She knows well what will happen next. Doll can taste her mechanical pulse throbbing beneath the metal. Quickening at her slow touch. Rattling with desperation. Uzi grits her teeth. It smells of burnt oil and scorched circuits.
Stupid Doll. They shouldn't be doing that. They're supposed to hate each other. They're supposed to rip each other's wires out if they had the chance. They were supposed to make each other bleed between spectral screams and wasted oil. They were supposed to hurt each other until they were sick to death. She doesn't understand. How could she? After all, she feels that same, exotic, vulgar desire with an intensity that makes her shudder like nothing else does. But she won't deign to accept it. She is too proud to do so. She'd rather have Doll rip out what's left of her pride and rub it in her face. That's the way things always have been. That's the way they should be.
She'll let Doll take away what's left of her dignity. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Doll settles down on her leg, just above her knee. Uzi whimpers. That's been enough to ruin her completely. Someone like her, so devoid of touch, doesn't need much to go crazy for a little physical contact. She shudders. She feels her heat. Doll moves with measured caution. With aberrant slowness. Uzi makes a supernatural effort to endure the sensation. She grinds her teeth. She needs her touch, the hot friction, the erotic swaying drives her crazy. She doesn't want to beg, but Doll will make her. She'll have her eating out of her hand just because she can. Just because she wants to. Just because she desires it.
Uzi squirms under her partner. She pants with desperation. The words get caught behind her vocalizer, tangled between her teeth. All she can do is growl. Like a starving animal. Like a wounded beast. She whimpers breathlessly. Her optics flicker. She shuts them. She doesn't need to see. She feels the warm miasma of her opponent, condensing on her face, caressing her steel with tantalizing care.
She knows what's going on but refuses to give in just yet. Her carcass buzzes with anticipation. Doll runs her cold fingers down the folds of her clothing. She presses her own knee against her. Right between her legs. A hellish ache grows from within and climbs up her belly. It is strangely cozy. She needs more. She groans. The heat is unbearable. It burns between her wires without even touching them. Though pretending to dislike the idea is useless at this point. She knows well she would love to have Doll's fingers fiddling between her circuits. Exploring her insides. Making her suffer even more. Hopeless masochist, who would have thought it? The rebellious Uzi, giving in to the cold and calculating Doll.
Her visor begins to fail briefly. She curses through her teeth. She hisses in pain, numbly. An overheat warning becomes visible on her front panel. The heat is more literal than she expected. Doll still has her fingers tracing burning circles over her chest plate, nearly electric touch. She won't mind burning her wires in the process. Uzi pants anxiously. The sensation is too overwhelming.
She can feel Doll's expression without even looking at her. She doesn't need to in order to describe it. That image rests behind her visor, like the ghost of a constant memory. She has seen it many times before. It's not the first time it has happened. It won't be the last either, she knows perfectly well. Doll bares her teeth. She breathes heavily. Her face reflects an unnatural hunger. She runs her tongue over her neck with agonizing slowness.
Uzi knows Doll enjoys it as much as she hates it. She hates that heated feeling that rises up into her chest, suffocating her. She hates that burning sensation that aches deep, from below, up through her circuits and makes her tremble from head to toe. She hates feeling her breathing heavily on her neck. She hates her with longing, with despair. She hates it with a strange, burning passion. The feeling is mutual and it is clear to both of them. They hate each other in a twisted, incomprehensible way. They hate each other so much that it seems that they love each other.
Uzi mumbles Doll's name reluctantly. Refusing to beg. But she continues. She runs her warm wet tongue over her partner's neck. She shudders. She replies between unintelligible mumbles bordering on desperation. They seem like two lovers in full display of affection. It seems that finally one of the two has given in. If only for an instant. Like an implicit agreement to which neither of them has actually agreed.
Doll will take what she demands so much. For the sheer pleasure of being able to do so. For the mania of having Uzi underneath her, whimpering and moaning for her. Just because she can do it she will.
Doll presses against her leg. Hot metal against hot metal. Uzi complains. Her vocalizer begins to fail. She stutters, her voice cracking. She insists in vain. Doll holds her in place, trapped beneath her. Uzi writhes between ragged gasps and Doll pleasures herself with desperation. The cadence of her hips is enough to drive Uzi over the edge without letting her finish. Uzi moans in anguish, desperately seeking to lengthen the contact. She arches, contorting her face with obvious need. Artificial tears drip onto her visor screen. Her circuits will be fried shortly, and Doll knows it all too well. But she doesn't care. Not just then. Or so it seems.
Uzi opens her mouth to curse again and her foe plunges her thumb into it. She presses her finger hard against her sharp teeth. She does not order, not in words at least. Her very action indicates an implicit command. As if she says “bite me”. How ironic. Uzi runs her tongue over it, out of sheer inertia and she lets her canines hurt it, pushing her phalanx hard. Uzi moans. Doll lets out a heated whimper. She enjoys the sensation, the sharpness of her teeth piercing her own metal. Oil spills into her partner's mouth. It should be enough for now. After all, it's only a game. She wouldn't be able to let it die. Not at least while they're having fun. She cares enough to do that. Or she just likes to be hurt on her own command.
With her it's impossible to know. Dammit Doll.
The pragmatic Russian lowers her hand over her hot chest, savoring her mechanized figure. She slides her fingers down her hip and squeezes her thigh without stopping her movement. She caresses the edges of the sections of her leg, skimming slowly over the edge of the steel. Uzi breaks down in irregular moans. It's as if an electric current is coursing through her from head to toe. Maybe it's more literal than it sounds. They are robots after all. Doll clings to her as she reaches the peak of her pleasure, moaning freely, head back, shuddering noisily.
Uzi stared at the floor with a blush covering her visor. She didn't want to look her in the face. How indecent. She tugged at the neck of her sweatshirt, uncomfortable, drenched in sweat. Doll wiped her hand on her own clothes. She looked at her indifferently as she smoothed back her hair. As if the whole thing had been nothing more than a minor setback. A minor mishap, really.
The awkward silence lasted for what seemed to Uzi like a horrifying eternity. What was she supposed to say?
They both looked at each other for a moment. Doll broke eye contact. Her visor revealed the bright blush on her face. Uzi smiled. still tense. Awkward. Strange.
They wouldn't talk about it. Neither of them had any use for it. They didn't need anyone else to know about their particular encounter. Could they even keep calling each other enemies?
It didn't matter anymore anyway.