Archive of Our Own ^beta

Come a little bit closer (come a little bit closer)

'Cause I remember the time

When you held me in your arms (come a little bit closer)

And you wanted to be mine

Everything good, everything gold

And now all that's left is a sweet memory

If you love me, let me know

Why don't you show me which way to go?

-

"Come a little bit closer" by Fleetwood Mac

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Stone wakes up next, it is to sunshine and the gentle buzz of Paris’ streets in front of their hotel room window.

His mouth is horribly dry, and his head feels like it is filled with cotton, but other than that, he feels fine. Surprisingly fine, if the memories slowly returning to him are any indication, the agent thinks with wry humor. It starts slowly, like a slideshow, before picking up speed: The deal, the explosion. The damn kiss – though he hates to call it that. Then pain, pain, pain, followed by darkness.

What a night, he allows himself to grumble in the privacy his mind while he carefully blinks one eye open. The sunlight stings, and he screws the eye shut once more again, groaning quietly at the stab his head gives at the disturbance.

The sound is overheard, obviously. A very familiar voice drawls from the side. “Rise and shine, sycophant.”

The voice alone is incentive enough to brace the sunlight, so Stone tries again finally managing to focus his gaze somewhat, and finds he is not alone in the shared bed; Robotnik is sitting next to him, propped up against the headboard, his tablet balanced in one hand while he types and swipes on it with the other.

“… Doctor?” Stone nearly winces at the sound of his own voice, cracking in the middle from disuse and sleep.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, sycophant.”

Somebody about the wording makes Stone frown blearily while he pushes himself up to sit. “How long was I out?”

“After the twenty-six hours you were already knocked out?” Robotnik finishes something on the tablet in a flourish and then throws the device onto the mattress in front of him carelessly to cross his arms. “Another twelve hours, give or take. Related question – has anybody ever told you that you sleep like the dead? Your bodily functions slow down as if you’re hibernating. I had the Mini-Nik scan you twice to see if you’re still alive.”

“Ah. Trained habit.” Stone rubs at his tired eyes – god, he hates it when he sleeps that long, he always feels weird after – and uses the motion to hide the gaze he shoots over at Robotnik. Most of what had happened, he remembers by now, and what is at the forefront of his mind right now is a discussion with the doctor in the middle of the night, first heated, then almost hushed. One piece especially stands out crystal clear in his mind:

“I’m not saying No, Stone.”

Stone is sure he hasn’t dreamed any of it; it feels too real. Real enough that it makes his heart rate pick up and hope bloom in his chest which he can barely contain. But he is carefully weighing his options, considering if he is even allowed to bring it up, or if Robotnik would rather pretend it never happened at all.

The decision is taken out of his hands when Robotnik speaks into the silence, voice stiff and a strange determination in the way he throws it out there, like a challenge, “You did not catch another bout of amnesia again, did you?”

A wry smile tugs at Stone’s lips, and he barely holds back a little laugh. “No, doctor. I remember our, ah, conversation very well.”

“Good,” somehow, the doctor manages to sound gruff and the slightest bit relieved at the same time. “Because I’m not repeating that all over again. Once was more than enough!”

“That it was,” Stone agrees lightly, amused by the other’s annoyance over anything concerning feelings and relationships.

His easy acceptance visibly throws Robotnik off; the way he stills and tilts his head is a tell-tale sign of it. Then, jumping back into his usual ever-moving state abruptly, the doctor snorts and slips to the side and out of the bed, all flurry of motion and barely contained energy. “Well! Now that we have established that your mental capabilities are intact, the physical exam is in order. How do you feel? And do not try and play the hero here, I want a true statement.”

Allowing the change of subject, Stone thinks about it, listening inside before deciding, “Groggy, but getting better. A slight pain, like bruising, in my right side. Also-…”

The loud rumble of his stomach interrupts him, effectively taking the words out of his mouth. Chuckling, the agent indicates his belly with a sheepish grin. “…Yes. That.”

“Thought so,” Robotnik mumbles, because of course he did. Snapping his fingers, he whirls around on his heels and stalks towards the door. “Stay put, sycophant, I will be right back!”

“Alright…,” the room’s door slams audibly, and Stone rolls his eyes fondly in the echo of it, “… doctor.”

As if sensing its master leaving, the Mini-Nik blinks alive on the bedside table, beeping quietly while it rises up and floats slowly over to Stone.

Chuckling to himself, Stone pats the little drone in greeting. “Remember this moment; that’s as close to a tactical retreat as he will ever get.” 

No answer, of course. The Mini-Nik is less advanced than its older siblings were, unable to react to certain voices or understanding jokes of a certain type, but Stone does not mind, simply keeps grinning to himself. Despite his physical injuries, he is in high spirits, almost giddy with it. The comparison to a teenager with a crush comes to mind, and he laughs quietly to himself while he swings his legs out of the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress. Grown man, feeling like a teenager over a little maybe. Way to go, Stone.

But really, can he be blamed? Years. He had thought he did not stand a single chance in hell for years, and now he is being offered a maybe. Everyone would lose their minds a bit over it.

Deciding to distract himself by doing something useful in the doctor’s absence, Stone sets about cleaning and redressing his wound, figuring that it is high time for it when the last time the bandages had been applied had been nearly two entire days ago.

He stands up gingerly, still surprised how well he can move; in his memories, the injury had been such a horrifying, painful thing it had paralyzed him in mind and body, but now he feels little more than a dull pain and a stretch when he gets up and makes a trip to the bathroom. On the way back, he gathers the necessary supplies, dropping them all on the bed, and then sits back down and gets to work.

He cannot very well reach around to his back to loosen the bandages, hampered in his movement as he is by the healing injury and the wrappings itself.  So he simply reaches for the scissors and starts cutting through the bandages covering his chest and stomach. Snip, snip, snip. With each cut, more of the white layers flutter away and fall apart, slipping off him and to the mattress and the ground. Once Stone has untangled himself completely and picked up the scraps to put them aside, he sits back on the edge of the mattress and twists to take a look at the wound in his side.

It is... not as bad as he had imagined, and not nearly as bad as he remembers through blurry memories. The entire jagged zigzag line of the injury is only as long as his hand, much smaller than he had thought, and the stitches amidst the dark pink color of the wound are neat and precise. Wonderful handiwork, Stone marvels quietly, carefully running one fingertip along the threads. But what else would you expect from a man who can build the most complicated machinery while keeping it smaller than the size of a fist?

“What do you think you’re doing there?”

The sharp question from the doorway nearly makes Stone jump, if only because he had not heard the doctor slam the room door on his return as usual – his own way of announcing that it is him arriving, and not some unwanted guests. He pulls his hand back from the stitches and lifts it for a placating gesture, but before he can say anything, Robotnik has already put down the tray with food he had brought onto the nearest surface with enough force to make the cutlery clink and is crossing the room with big strides, dropping to one knee next to Stone to take a look at the injury himself. “If you reopened the stitches with all your poking and prodding, I swear-…”

“No poking. I was only going to clean and redress it,” Stone assures him – then nearly bites his tongue clean off when the doctor touches him without warning, pressing down on both sides of the wound lightly to stretch the skin around it and see better. The touch is a shock to his system; Robotnik has not yet put his gloves back on, and the skin-on-skin contact sends a shiver up Stone’s spine, nearly making him slam his eyes shut. Damn. And he gotten so good at ignoring little, innocent touches from the man and the powerful effect they had on him, too. One word from him, and that all goes up in smoke, the agent thinks, exasperated with himself and his own body.

Thankfully, Robotnik is too preoccupied to notice anything being off. He hums a sound and lets go, sitting back to direct an annoyed look up at his assistant. “Miraculously, you did not manage to ruin my work here. Hand me the wet cloth, I will do it myself.”

“Doctor, I can really do it-…”

"Cloth, Stone." An imperious wriggle of the fingers of his outstretched hand, making it clear that he will not tolerate any more protests.

Stone sighs, hands the requested thing over, and grits his teeth in preparation for what is to come.

It is not like it hurts, not at all. Robotnik's movements are measured, clinical, but he keeps his touch light and gentle enough that it almost tickles. And yet, exactly because of that, every brush of fingertips against his tender side nearly makes Stone tremble, torn between leaning into it and shying away because it is too much. It takes his entire self-control and focusing on the strain in his arm from where he is holding it up and out of the way, else he would have very likely done something incredibly embarrassing.

He does not know if he is more disappointed or relieved when the touches stop and Robotnik declares, "There. Hand me the bandages, will you."

"I can..." Stone catches the look Robotnik throws his way and sighs quietly, fondly, and reaches over with his left hand to grab the requested item. "You know," he says while passing it over, "it's strange, how much larger the injury seemed to be, in my memories."

Their hands knock together, the bandage roll nearly being knocked to the ground if not for Robotnik's quick grab for it. The doctor looks up sharply, something in his eyes which Stone cannot even hope to decipher - before the genius' gaze drops again and he starts unwrapping the bandages in order to begin putting them over the wound. "The common human mind is a fickle thing," he says to Stone's right collarbone, "no wonder your memories are inaccurate at best."

"Right..." Had the doctor just acted a little weird, or had Stone only imagined it? It had passed so quickly; it is hard to tell. Pushing the thought aside, the agent leans forward obediently when there is a tab on his shoulder in order to allow Robotnik to reach around him and wrap the bandages around his back.

This, Stone immediately decides, is infinitely worse than cleaning the wound. Like this, he is basically caged in by the doctor, encompassed by his body heat and smell and the constant damn touching. He is stuck staring at the doctor’s clavicle, hidden by a jumper which looks unfairly soft, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and see if it is as soft, and if it is warm, and-…

But he is not a trained agent for nothing, and especially not one who already had his fair share of experience with swallowing back his own feelings for years. Casting his mind around for something to say, anything to distract himself with, Stone manages through a dry throat, "I don't think I have thanked you yet."

“For what, exactly?” Robotnik murmurs, distracted while he draws the bandages around the agent’s left side and tests if the arm can still be moved despite it.

“Well, you saved my life.”

Next to him, the steady movements halt briefly, before they are picked up again.

“It’s actually pretty rude of me,” Stone continues speaking, half because he means it, half to fill the silence so his unruly mind will not focus on the wrong things again, “that I only now remember to say-…”

“Don’t thank me for it.”

“...What?”

With decisive motions, Robotnik tucks the end of the bandages in place and bends over Stone once more to makes sure they hold fast. This way, his face is hidden while he grumbles, “The deal was my idea. The explosion was caused by my own inventions. This,” a gesture which encompasses the pristine wrapping, but mostly Stone’s entire right side, “you got while protecting me. In conclusion, sycophant - I do not see a single reason for you to thank me.”

One last tug, and the doctor steps back, finished with his task. "... Call me next time you think those need changing."

It takes Stone half a second to realize that Robotnik is preparing to simply leave like this, and he shakes his head, attempting to force his thoughts back into order and that fast. He can later wonder if the doctor had carried that feeling of responsibility and regret - because what else could this be called? -  around ever since That Night; right now, he just needs to prevent the man from leaving without letting Stone say his piece. So without thinking about possible consequences, Stone reaches out and grabs the doctor’s wrist.

 It effectively makes Robotnik freezes mid-step, shooting him a glance over his shoulder which is warning and command all wrapped into one. Let go.

Stubbornly, Stone holds fast, and meets that dark gaze with a determined one of his own. “I agreed to the deal as well. The explosion being set off so close to us was an accident. And protecting you is-…” he trails off, reassessing what he wants to say. He had meant to say my job, but that is not true, is it? It had been a long, long time ago that he last did something for Robotnik because it is his job; everything he does for the other man now is solely because he wants to do it. The truth seems to be the only thing able to make clear what he thinks, so Stone swallows any beginning nerves and finishes, “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Under his grip, Robotnik arm spasms; not in a way that indicates he wants to rip himself free, but an involuntary reaction. The doctor looks away, denying Stone the opportunity to read his expression, and clacks his tongue while he shakes off Stone's hand gentler than expected. “Well, don’t. Stitching you back together the one time was already more than enough trouble.”

Not answering that - he will not lie to the man - Stone lets him go entirely sensing that the genius could not take any more heartfelt talk right now. Opting for a distraction, he pushes to his feet and begins pulling his shirt back on. "I'm glad there is still breakfast at this time of day," He comments idly once he is dressed again, indicating the tray the doctor had slammed down on the table upon his return. "I'm starving."

At his words, Robotnik's gaze snaps around to the food and he stares for a beat, clearly having forgotten about it altogether up until now. Then he seems to shake his stupor off and steps up to the table to start plating the food with harsh, vicious movements. The cutlery and plates clack loudly whenever he sets them down.

“A latte, doctor?” Stone offers into the tense silence between them, hoping it will be understood as the peace offer it is meant to be.

In the middle of setting down a plate, Robotnik pauses, then continues on with a jerky nod. “Yes.”

A relieved smile stretches over his face and he immediately aims for the coffee machine. “Coming right up.”

There is a sound in his back – a hitch of breath, or a throat being cleared, he cannot say for sure. “Thank you, Stone.”

Stone pauses mid-step. The three words are said with enough gravitas that it is clear they are not talking about the coffee making at all, and for a moment, he can barely believe his ears. Then a smile stretches over his face and he continues walking, replying smooth and sincere, “You’re very welcome, doctor.”

Robotnik snorts derisively in his back but it does not really matter; not when Stone returns with the latte and finds the frown has been wiped off the doctor’s brow and a weight seems to have been lifted off his shoulders, making him sit a little straighter.

It’s a step in the right direction. One thank you and one you’re welcome will not be enough to make clear where they stand with each other, not really, but it’s a start. It isn’t going to be easy, Stone knows, but they will be just fine either way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say that they fall back into the routine they had developed in the time before the disastrous deal is not quite right. In a way, they do – they have worked together too long, basically shared living quarters for so long, that a certain level of familiarity is always there, and they move around and with each other like partners in a dance, never stepping into the other’s path, never fumbling, completely aware of the other at all times. 

But something had changed between them. They can’t go and pretend as if that night had never happened, and everything they had told each other, and everything they had not yet told each other, gathers and builds, tension rising like a storm building between them.

It is right there, in the air around them whenever their gazes meet or they brush together while passing by each other; an electrical current crackling around them at all times. Not quite awkward, but... well, maybe a little awkward, Stone can admit that much. It is there, sometimes, when their gazes lock and hold for a heartbeat too long, or when Stone is suddenly a little too aware of the calculating way Robotnik is studying him when the doctor thinks he is not looking.

But isn’t like they are dancing around each other uneasily, or falling into uncomfortable silences whenever there is nothing to occupy them. Things continue on basically the same way they had before. The greatest change, to Stone, is that he feels lighter than he has in years, a weight which he had barely registered anymore lifted of his shoulders, and replaced with a warm, gentle buzz under his skin which spells possibilities.

He pushes it aside with practiced ease and an amused little smile about his own silliness, and continues on. He is not going to be the one to break the impasse, here. What he had to say on the matter, he has already said, and the rest is up to the doctor now. Your move, doctor.

When Robotnik does make his move, a few days into their second vacation, Stone is not really surprised; it is a miracle already that it had taken the ever-impatient genius this long to do something. He only wishes the doctor could have chosen a better time. Mainly, not when they were eating breakfast and drinking coffee.

But of course, good timing is a subjective concept, and Robotnik breaches matters with a single-minded focus and the tact and care of a volcanic eruption. “You haven’t tried to kiss me again yet. Why is that?”

Promptly, Stone inhales the hot espresso he had meant to drink, and chokes on it. Which, given the heat, is not a pleasant feeling at all. Coughing loudly, he slams his cup down and leans to the side in order to avoid spitting his mouthful all over the breakfast spread on the table between them.

By the time he comes back up and manages to wipe the tears of pain out of his eyes, Robotnik is tapping two fingers on the tabletop impatiently, one eyebrow cocked in a clear Well?

“...What?” Stone asks hoarsely, tone flat. He is fairly sure he has heard that right, the question is simply born out of perplex confusion, so when Robotnik opens his mouth to most likely repeat his question word for word, he raises one hand to stop him and clarifies, “I did hear you, alright, I just – why would I do that when you haven't given me an answer yet?”

A frown flits over Robotnik’s face and he huffs, tilting his head even further while he studies the other man with narrowed eyes. “You confessed to having romantic notions towards me, didn’t you?” He sums up with all his usual bluntness. “I assumed now that that is out there, you would insist on showing those a little more openly.”

Rubbing his aching throat, Stone bites back a sigh. He should have seen this coming – he kind of did see this coming, just not like this. Gathering his thoughts after they had scattered to all winds in his shock, he thinks very carefully of what the doctor might have expected, and compares it to what he is actually doing right now. Finally, he settles on a simple, “No.”

“No?” an eyebrow jumps up; a clear sign of surprise.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he emphasizes. “Not until you have made it very clear to me that that is something you would want me to do.”

At that, Robotnik raises the second eyebrow, humming thoughtfully.

It throws Stone off, and he feels his own eyebrows rise in turn. “You can’t possibly be surprised by that? I nearly had a breakdown when I believed I had forced myself on you.”

Instantly, Robotnik’s thoughtful look turns to one of clear dissatisfaction, and he sneers. “I told you that you did no such thing.”

“I said believed,” Stone reminds him, not unkindly. “Well? Are you surprised?”

“A bit.”

When Stone makes a small, almost offended sound in his throat, Robotnik waves his hand to stop any further protests. “Surprised because you could use physical affection to try and influence my decision, could you not? Sway me towards a more favorable outcome. It would make sense.”

The words sting, and Stone has to close his eyes for a beat, taking a deep breath. He doesn’t mean it as an offense, he tells himself, he is just figuring this out. Maybe he should have seen it coming; this conversation is fitting for a man like Robotnik, who has a hard time understanding that somebody can like working for him, can care for him without asking for anything in return. But even though Stone knows all that, the idea that the doctor can believe that he would try to influence him is – uncomfortable, to say the least.

He forces himself to forget about the stinging feeling in his chest and keep his voice calm when he answers, “I wouldn’t.”

At least, Robotnik nods, as if he is not truly surprised to hear that. Small mercies. Still, the genius considers the answer very carefully, weighing it, before following up with the next question immediately, “Why not? Aren’t you hoping for an answer which benefits you, too?”

“Yes?” Stone can’t help but roll his eyes when Robotnik looks triumphant at the confession, but he has to smile a little, too. “That is not difficult to figure out. I’m only human, doctor. Of course I hope for the best outcome. But what I hope for the most is that this best outcome is something you would want, too. And that is something you have to figure out for yourself, with no interference from my side.”

“Hm,” Robotnik seems to mull that over before dragging one finger over the tabletop as if literally scratching something off a list. "So I do not need to watch my back for any attempts at seduction or something similar, then."

This time, Stone chokes on absolutely nothing in his surprise. Spluttering a bit, he flounders – then it really sinks in what he had just heard, and he really cannot help the perplexed, stunned bark of laughter bursting out of him. “Seduction?” He wheezes once he finds his words again. “Where are you getting this from? Did you research this stuff – wait, don’t answer that.”

Perhaps it had not been the smartest move to laugh at the other’s face; Robotnik had tensed, expression going near sullen while he listens, before he sniffs haughtily. Defensive. “Shouldn’t you be flattered that I researched this?”

“And you answered it, anyway,” Stone mutters under his breath, suddenly feeling extremely tired. Rubbing his hands over his face and wondering how the heck this is his life right now, he says firmly, “Please don’t research things like that.”

Behind the hands shielding his face, there is an annoyed grumble. “Cross-referencing is not that uncommon in an experiment. You know that, sycophant.”

“Not in this,” Stone insists, dropping his hands to give the doctor a stern look. He is going to ignore the fact that the doctor is calling the figuring out of feelings an experiment for the time being; he is not truly surprised to hear it. “Try to seeing this from my point of view: I don’t want to know how Google feels towards me, I want to know what you feel.” 

Robotnik’s mustache twitches while he fights a smile at the statement, and Stone feels like laughing a little, too. Maybe hysterical, the tiniest bit, yes, but only a little.

Thankfully, the genius at least seems to see the logic in his outburst, since he hums, tapping his fingers on the table in a sharp staccato. “Plausible reasoning. Fine, I won’t use outside sources to research this matter.”

“Thank you,” Stone answers, extremely relieved to hear it.

The smile becomes a true one then, and Robotnik rolls his eyes at him as if Stone is being the difficult one, here. Leaning back, the doctor’s expression becomes vacant and thoughtful, and Stone refrains for the time being to try and continue eating, sensing that there is more coming. True enough, after a few beats of quiet, Robotnik sums up slowly and with narrowed eyes, “So you want me to say Yes, but you are not going to influence my decision – because you want me to keep my autonomy.”

“Yes.”

“Although you would like to hear a Yes.”

“Only if you mean it.”

Robotnik huffs, frowns, then shakes his head and pins Stone down with that look again. As if the agent is a terribly confusing, vexing, interesting puzzle which not even the genius can solve, much as he wants to. “You are one strange barnacle, I hope you know that,” Robotnik declares, no real bite to his words.

Stone cracks a smile at that, shrugging. “I can live with that.”

That should be it, by all means. Robotnik is still tapping the table, frown thoughtful, but he is looking out the window now instead of staring Stone down, and the agent thinks this should be over, now, they should be able to get back to eating and pretend this never happened. But there is an insisting prickle at the back of his neck, making him feel as if it is not quite over yet.

He is almost a little awed at his own instincts, when, true enough, Robotnik suddenly clears his throat and says in the direction of the window, “I... appreciate… you being considerate of my wishes.”

Stone is glad he has not turned back to his (now cold) espresso, since he is pretty sure he would have choked a third time right this instant if he had. As it is, he merely stills, blinking at the doctor in open astonishment.

Robotnik’s gaze cuts away from the window, back to him, and immediately his expression turns into a scowl. “Don’t make me repeat that.”

“Of course not. And. You’re very welcome.”

“Hmmm.”

Sensing that that had been quite enough talking about deep, emotional things for the doctor, Stone decides to lighten the mood a little, and reaches to refill his cup with a smile. “Do you have more questions or can I safely drink my coffee now?”

It works, in a way. Robotnik’s scowl shatters when he snorts, then he immediately harrumphs when he notices he has been tricked into open amusement. With narrowed eyes, he pushes one of the half-full plates of fruit and jam in Stone’s direction hard enough to nearly knock it over the table edge. “Shut up and eat. You need nutrients to heal properly.”

“Yes, doctor.” He hides his smile behind the rim of his cup, and picks a handful of grapes when the doctor continues to push the plate in his direction by small increments.

That had gone over better than he had imagined, really.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No.”

“Doctor-…”

“Are you having trouble understanding two-letter words now, sycophant? No means No.”

Stone bites back a sigh and rubs his chin. They have been going back and forth like this for a while now, ever since he had said something about going outside to stretch his legs a bit. Being cropped up in the hotel room in order to rest properly had been fine for a few days, but he is starting to get antsy, not used to sit around do nothing at all. Heck, Robotnik had barely even allowed him to get up and making him lattes for a bit, claiming that Stone would somehow manage to overdo it and reopen the stitches because you always overdo it, barnacle, let’s face it.

Amused, Stone had shot back that’s the pot calling the kettle black, doctor and had been sent back to bed for his troubles like a misbehaving child. He would have been offended if he had not been so damn amused about Robotnik’s very own brand of fretting.

(And, yes, maybe also a bit flattered over being the target of it.)

Right now, the doctor is balancing his chair on its hind-legs, effectively cutting off Stone’s path to the door. Not that the agent could not have simply stepped around him if he had wanted to, but they both know he won’t. This will have to be settled with logic, not force.

“I’m really fine, doctor,” Stone says for the thousandth time. “You did an incredible job on patching me up-…

Robotnik snorts audibly, rolling his eyes. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me.”

“…and it does not have to be for long. Just a walk up and down the street would already be more than enough. I just need to move.”

“Move as in move to undo all the hard work I put into keeping you in one piece, you mean. Again: Answer’s No.”

“It’s been days now, doctor. The stitches will not simply fall open from a short walk after such a period of time,” Stone points out. When the other man still does not look very convinced, he decides he has to bring out the big guns now, and adds, “You wouldn’t have liked being told to sit still and do nothing, either.”

That gets through; there is a tell-tale pause when Robotnik stills oh-so-very briefly, ever-moving body and mind stopping for half a second to take that in, before he sighs and runs a hand over his nearly bald head, shoulders sagging while he lets his chair fall back onto its feet with a bang. “Fine. An hour should be alright, I suppose. If you behave and don’t aggravate your injury too much.”

What do you expect me to do, start a bar fight? Stone bites his tongue to keep the joke in and smiles instead, truly grateful. “Great. We could get lunch while we’re out.”

“Barely on your feet and you’re already trying to get me to eat more again,” Robotnik mutters grumpily while he turns around to give the Mini-Nik a few orders for their absence.

The smile on Stone’s face only grows while he goes about searching for more fitting clothes and preparing himself. That was not a No.

This is how they find themselves on the street in front of their hotel not too long after. Stone allows himself a moment to simply stand and drag in a deep breath of the fresh air, dipping his head back with his eyes closed to really savor the feeling of sunshine on his face. He had really needed that.

Next to him, Robotnik makes a little sound in his throat. “You should have gone for the sunglasses.”

Cracking a smile and opening one eye, Stone tips his base-cap a little lower and gestures down at himself, at the simply t-shirt and the washed-out jeans he is wearing with it. “I think this is a good enough disguise, really. Anybody who has seen my usual wouldn’t recognize me like this.”

Robotnik huffs, annoyed. He has gone for the entire disguise with scarf, sunglasses and hat, but then, he is the more recognizable one out of the two of them. Adjusting the scarf over the lower half of his face, the doctor grumbles, “Where did you want to go, anyway?”

“The usual?”

“You’re so predictable.”

“We went there the first time I managed to get you out of the hotel,” Stone teases lightly while they start walking. “What can I say – I have fond memories of it.”

The comment makes Robotnik glance over at him sharply, analyzing. Not even flinching in the face of the sudden intense look being directed his way, Stone meets it openly, letting the doctor see everything. He no longer has anything to hide in this department, after all. Yes, fond because you were there, he thinks, amused and exasperated both.

His message must have been clear, since Robotnik harrumphs and looks away a little too quickly. “Bloody romantic barnacle.” 

Stone merely swallows back a grin and hums amicably along to the grumbling.

They almost get into another argument when they reach the coffee shop and Robotnik insists on leaving Stone outside and get the order himself. At that point, Stone puts his foot down – “I’m injured, not an invalid, doctor.” - which seems to actually offend Robotnik, enough so that he glowers and grumps and looks seconds away from turning on his heels and going back to the hotel.

It is almost funny to watch, Stone thinks; he had always thought that Robotnik was awful to care for when he was hurt, being the most difficult and loudly complaining patient one could possibly imagine, but Robotnik doing the caring was actually worse, in an endearing sort of way. You really don’t know how to do this, do you, Stone thinks, sudden realization hitting him. But you try.

With that thought in mind, it is impossible to be annoyed with the other. Sighing and softening a little, Stone shakes his head, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Doctor, I really appreciate it, I do, but I will go crazy if I don’t start doing things by myself again.”

“Hmph,” another dark look is thrown his way. “Maybe you know now how I felt with my broken leg.”

“I do,” Stone agrees, “it’s absolute shit.”

The candid words do what they were intended for, and Robotnik’s glower cracks long enough to let a smirk through before he frowns again and waves his hand impatiently. “Well. If you so insist on trying to make yourself useful, then go get me a latte.”

“Already on it, doctor.”

Being sent on the errand has the added bonus that Stone is unsupervised long enough that he can grab a load of the sweet crepes the doctor had developed a liking for during their stay in Paris along with the coffees, and return with the treats as a peace offer for the earlier almost-argument. When he sets the plates and cups down, closer to Robotnik’s side of the table, the genius shoots him a look which says I know what you’re doing there, but does not comment out loud. He merely starts plucking the first crepe apart before Stone can even sit back down, throwing a bite of it into his mouth to chew on it in clear relish.

Stone smothers a smile by taking a measured sip of his own coffee. “What were you working on earlier?”

A hum while the doctor chews the next bite, waving his hand around. “Fiddling with more resistant fibers.”

“Fibers?” Stone frowns, mentally tracking back what he had seen his former boss work on last. “Is that part of the next Badnik series?”

There is an almost imperceptible pause while Robotnik swallows, reaching for the cup in front of him. “I’m upgrading your suit,” he grumbles, then immediately takes sip of his latte, a move which effectively hides his face for a moment.

A shame, since Stone would really have liked to read the man’s expression right now. “Ah,” he clears his throat, torn between gaping and beaming at the other. He settles for what he hopes could pass as carefully neutral. “Explosion-proof instead of bulletproof, I take it?”

“That’s the idea. I simply haven’t found a way to make it work with the materials we have at hand right now.”

“What have you tried so far? And what’s the plan?”

He could very well have used a magic formula based on the way Robotnik’s eyes light up and he immediately launches into an explanation of his newest project, forgetting all about being aloof and untouchable while he sketches out the basics with words and hand gestures, barreling through long-winded explanations of the mathematics and the technology behind it at incredible speed. Stone can follow, yes, but he is more content to watch Robotnik talk and animate in between food and drink. The man is basically glowing, an inner fire burning in his eyes while he gets to talk about his work. The sight alone warms Stone more than the midday sun could ever hope to do.

His unerring focus is broken finally when Robotnik, still talking and sketching something into the air with one hand, lifts a sugar-powdered crepe to his mouth with his free hand to take a bite and in his distraction, manages to smear some of the topping over the side of his face and his mustache. He does not seem to notice, continuing on without missing a beat, but Stone does. The sprinkles of white amidst the auburn is, for a reason he cannot quite explain, hilarious to him and he can’t help but crack a smile, clearing his throat to catch the laugh which wants to bubble up.

Of course, the sound and the change in mood does not go unnoticed by Robotnik. He tappers off in his explanation, startled, then frowns a little indignantly at being interrupted. “What’s so funny?”

“Ah, just-…”

“What? Something on my face?”

“Actually, yes,” Stone gestures to his own cheek, indicating where a mustache would be if he had one. “Sugar. Right there.”

Robotnik’s frown shifts from suspicious to annoyed, and he swats at his cheek carelessly, missing by a metaphorical mile. The combination of annoyed frown and sugary powder in the impressive mustache is enough to make Stone snicker a little. “You, uh, missed a little.”

Immediately, the doctor’s glower only intensifies. “You explained it wrong, obviously.”

“Right, of course. It’s just a little more to the-… wait, here, let me.” Deciding to take pity (and never tell the other that he had used that word in his mind), Stone picks up a napkin and leans over the table, raising the cloth to the doctor’s face to wipe away the offensive stain.

Later, he will wonder what the hell he was thinking, and realize that – well, he isn’t thinking at all, in that moment. He is still laughing a bit to himself over Robotnik’s petulance at the whole thing, still so incredibly fond of this complex, complicated man, he moves without sparing even the briefest thoughts on the consequences, leaning into the genius’ personal space with intent to finish his task-…

Quick as a striking snake, Robotnik’s hand snaps up and locks around Stone’s wrist like a vice, making the former agent freeze. Only when their gazes meet and he registers the way Robotnik’s eyes had widened slightly does he realize what he has done – touching the doctor so casually, out in public nonetheless, and putting them so close together that their faces are only inches apart.

He really should apologize and pull back, but Stone finds he can’t move. And even if he could have, the doctor still has not loosened his grip around his wrist, so he is well and truly trapped now. The comparison to a striking snake seems double fitting now, considering Stone feels very much like the proverbial rabbit before the snake under Robotnik’s scrutiny.

Those sharp eyes snap from Stone’s hand – still resting lightly against the other man’s cheek – back to his eyes before Robotnik speaks, low and harsh, “I thought I don’t have to look out for any seduction attempts from you, sycophant?”

“… What?” Still half-frozen, Stone needs a moment to catch up with the question and when he does, he can feel himself pale. “No! Doctor, I wouldn’t-… I really didn’t mean it like that.”

It had been such a light touch. Could his innocent gesture really have been misconstructed that badly? That seems almost impossible, unless…

Stone’s breath stalls in his lungs when it clicks.

For the doctor to interpret this innocent gesture as an attempt at seduction, it would mean that… he did feel seduced by it?

Meaning, Stone thinks, throat suddenly dry and head spinning, if I tried to seduce you, it could work?

He swallows dryly, and that is what makes Robotnik realize he has revealed more than he wanted to. The genius’ eyes widen briefly before they narrow, and he lets go of Stone’s wrist so abruptly as if he has been burnt, shaking his hand out. “Don’t misinterpret,” he snaps, walls visibly slamming back up, anger taking the forefront to hide the brief moment of vulnerability and embarrassment. “One can’t be too careful-…”

“You don’t have to be,” Stone interrupts, something he not often dares to do, but dammit, he surely can be forgiven for being a little out of it at the moment. “You don’t have to look out for anything from me, I’m not going to – I won’t do anything unless you tell me to, doctor. Please believe me on that.”  

He does not point out that they already had this talk; he does not say that Robotnik cannot possibly have forgotten that, so it can’t be the reason for the doctor misinterpreting the situation. This had all been Robotnik, imagining this as something it wasn’t. They both know it; but saying any of it aloud would probably make the doctor flee the scene. So Stone opts for playing along, giving the man an out he desperately needs right now. “Alright, doctor?”

Still flexing his fingers mindlessly as if they are tingling, Robotnik stills. He continues to look downright haunted, but at least not like he will jump to his feet any second to storm away simply in order to avoid exactly this conversation. After what feels like a small eternity, the genius finally opens his mouth and agrees slowly, “… Alright.”

The smile breaking out on his face at the agreement nearly hurts, and Stone breathes out deeply, relieved. He still feels jittery with excitement, heart beating too fast and stomach twisting with nerves, but at least Robotnik hadn’t bolted on him. “Great.”

Silence settles over them, tense and crackling. In an attempt to ease it a little, allow Robotnik to gather his thoughts again and get his own overreacting emotions under control, Stone shoots a cursory look at their table and the half-full cups of coffee and gets up. “Your latte is almost empty. I will see if I can get you a refill.”

He does not wait for an answer, instead crossing over to the counter to give up his order.

The entire time, he can barely focus on what the sales lady is telling him. He doesn’t even really hear what he says himself. All he can think about is the gaze drilling into the back of his neck, and his own stumbling heartbeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funny thing about tension? It can only build so far before it snaps.

The snap comes one rainy afternoon not too long after that memorable trip for lunch. Rain always tended to either make Robotnik either more energetic than usual, or mellow him down enough that he can actually sit still for a while, and this afternoon it is the later of the two. Stone returns from the bathroom to find the doctor had already set up the travel chess board they had been using a lot during their vacation, and now impatiently gestures for his assistant as soon as he spots him. “There you are! Sit down, sit down. I need something to occupy me with.”

“And demolishing me in a board game is not getting boring at this point?” Stone jokes, more than happy to take a seat opposite of the man.

“At least you put up some semblances of a fight,” Robotnik rubs his hands in anticipation and drops into his armchair, sprawling low in the seat while he gestures impatiently for Stone to make his move.

And Stone does, very deliberately so. He hopes Robotnik does not notice the way his hand trembles while he pulls the first rook forward, and he makes sure to lace his fingers together once he leans back. He cannot give his thoughts away right now.

This could actually be the day he manages to put up more than “just” a fight. Today, he is planning to win.

It helps that Robotnik’s focus is not entirely on the board; the doctor is switching between making his move and looking out the window idly. Oh, it is not like he is not paying attention, no matter how it might look right now. Stone is fully aware that Robotnik can pay attention to something with an inhuman focus while simultaneously doing two other things as well.

Which is why Stone is exceptionally careful about how he sets up his trap. The first few moves he makes are terrible – and he knows they are – enough so that Robotnik even points out to him that he seems off his game today. Stone smiles a little smile, hopes it might be interpreted as sheepish, and goes back to playing very, very carefully.

It takes him a little over half an hour of intense focus and last-minute changes to his strategy to do it, but he actually manages it. He almost can’t believe it when it happens, has thought until the last second that he will not be able to pull it off, but then – then Robotnik moves his queen to one side to capture Stone’s tower, and leaves his king wide open to an attack from the agent’s tower. It all happens so quickly that not even Stone catches it immediately, and nearly hesitates over making his own move. He keeps moving his hand a second later, hoping the doctor had not noticed his slip-up.

But, no. A quick glance up shows the agent that Robotnik is still relaxed, gaze on the window and the rivulets of water running down the glass while he steeples his fingers, waiting.

Directing a smile down at the board, Stone moves his knight forward and sets it deliberately in front of the black king. He has to pull his hand back and ball it into a fist to keep it from trembling, surprised elation pulsing through him and making him jittery while he says, “Checkmate.”

It is almost comical, to watch the way Robotnik tilts his head in acknowledgment, then really registers the word, and then does a double take of the board sitting between them. Stone has to tuck the corner of his mouth between his teeth, biting down hard, to keep a giddy laugh in when the doctor swings around from his lazy sprawl in the chair to sit properly, checking the chess board over with laser-like focus. Clearly, he is looking for a fault somewhere, a mistake; possibly going back over all the moves which have been made during the entire game to find something there.

It does not change the outcome. It is checkmate. There is no way for him to get back out of the trap Stone had patiently laid out for him.

Robotnik sees it, too, mere moments after it had been brought to his attention. It is clear in the way he stills, gaze no longer snapping back and forth like reading something. “Checkmate,” he murmurs under his breath, one hand coming up to thoughtlessly pluck at his mustache. “How did you…?”

Laughter and triumph curl in Stone’s chest, and it is only because of that high that he dares to smile serenely and offer, “I can explain my strategy if you want?”

Robotnik’s gaze cuts away from the board, up towards him. His eyes are narrowed, assessing him closely while the doctor says slowly, “When you said you dabbled in chess…”

“I didn’t lie,” Stone assures him, resting his chin on one hand while he tries to remember. “I got into it – oh, I think, ten years ago? Twelve? And I liked it, for a while. Then I lost interest in it. Never picked it up again until – well, this.”

he gestures at all of this – the board, the two of them, the room in a hotel in the middle of Paris. It had all come together, in a way, all of this and his rediscovered hobby.

Robotnik hums in understanding, gaze falling back to the board. He reaches out to play with his own, black king – surrounded now, and with no way out. “Why did you lose interest?” The doctor asks suddenly, the chess piece wobbling dangerously under his fingertip.

Stone hesitates, wondering if it would sound too much like boasting when he says the truth. But then, it is not really a question – he has never been in the habit of lying to the doctor, after all. So he says, careful but truthfully, “I couldn’t find anyone who still posed a challenge.”

The black king falls with a loud clack which echoes eerily in the room. It is sudden enough that Stone jumps a little in his seat, blinking down at the board in astonishment. With that move, the doctor had proclaimed very clearly that he accepts the outcome, too.

Checkmate.

“Are you aware,” Robotnik suddenly speaks over the faint echo of the falling piece lingering around them, “that nobody ever outsmarts me? It simply doesn’t happen. But you-…”

He throws out one hand to wave around them, a gesture that encompasses the board, the fallen king, and Stone himself. “You go and do this, as if it’s easy.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. It wasn’t that easy.”

The moment he says it, Stone realizes what an incredibly impertinent thing that is to say, especially to a man as proud as Robotnik. He freezes; Robotnik freezes. In general, the entire room seems to hold its breath while the doctor looks up from the board very slowly, eyes dark when they meet Stone’s.

Straightening, Stone hurries to reassure, “I’m only joking-…”

“Pin yourself to the wall.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Stone freezes – but more out of surprise this time. He has not heard that particular command in almost a year now. He had thought they had kind of gotten past that. Made progress to a point where it wasn’t needed anymore. Had one stupid joke really ruined all that? “Doctor-…”

“The wall, Stone. Now.”

Realizing that he does not really have a choice here, at least not if he wants to calm the other man down instead of riling him up even more, Stone sighs quietly and stands to walk over to the bit of wall he had been pointed to. Internally, he is cursing himself for his blunder; no matter how high on his victory he had been, he should know better – he does know better than to rub in the doctor’s face, even if it was only in chest. Well, hopefully, he can make this right again with some apologies and by taking Robotnik’s posturing and sneering without comment.

 In the past they have been long past the point where the doctor had wanted the whole pinning bit to hurt, so Stone simply leans with his back against the wall and prepares to apologize, get snapped at and apologize some more.

He does not even get his mouth open before Robotnik is there, having crossed the room so fast even the trained agent is surprised by it. The doctor all but slams his palms down left and right from Stone’s face, missing him by a hair’s breathe, and pushes in so close that his body acts as a veritable cage for his assistant.

For a second, just like always when they find themselves in this position, Stone's pulse spikes. Not out of fear, no - quite the opposite, actually. There had always been something about the doctor looming above him and crowding him in, about the mixture of the tiniest hint of danger mixed with admiration and awe, which had made his heartbeat stumble and trip and pick up speed.

It absolutely does not help that he now knows, through blurry memories at least, what it feels like to kiss the genius. It would be so very easy to simply lean forward a little and-...

Swallowing because his mouth is suddenly very dry, Stone searches for the words he needs, and starts a little shakily, “It really was only a joke, doctor. It wasn’t easy at all; it took me dozens of games to even come close to understanding how you-…”

“Stone,” Robotnik speaks into his rant; not as cutting as he could have, and something about that – that calmness instead of the usual snap and eyeroll – is what makes Stone slam his mouth shut and really listen, really look. Robotnik does not look angry, he looks… a little uncomfortable, actually, face twitching every so often as if different emotions are fighting behind it at the moment, but his eyes are clear and his voice firm when he says, “This is me, saying Yes.”

The meaning does not register immediately; Stone, having geared up for one specific conversation, needs a second to get his mind back on track and follow the sudden change in subject. Once he does the ground seems to fall away from under him. He can’t have heard that right, understood that right.

“Doctor?” his own voice sounds far away to his own ears, the single word wheezing out as if someone had hit him in the solar plexus and knocked it out of him.

Robotnik merely hums, raises an eyebrow, and waits. Which is, weirdly enough, exactly what Stone needs to understand that yes, they are talking about that, and yes, the doctor had just freaking agreed to trying… trying what, exactly?

That line of thinking feels like a bucket of cold water has been tipped out over him. Suddenly, Stone can breathe again, can think again, and he clears his dry throat a few times before managing in a weaker voice than he would have liked, “I’m sorry, doctor, but you will have to be more specific than that.”

He can tell he has surprised his opposite, since Robotnik leans back a little, brows furrowing in annoyance. “Really? I have to spell this out for you?”

“I think so,” Stone nods, ignoring the part of him which is yelling at him to shut up and just go with it. He can’t. “I want to be sure we’re talking about the same thing here. What, exactly, are you agreeing to?”

“Do you really want to talk about this now?”

Does he? Well. At least his body, and a big part of his mind, are absolutely screaming No in answer.  There is only his rabbiting heart and his own iron will which makes him nod once, decisively. He does not trust his voice right now.

With a sigh so deep, it seems to come from his very core, Robotnik pulls back (Stone’s stomach drops in disappointment) but luckily, he does not go far, only until they are no longer inches apart and he can comfortably tilt his head in thought while he plucks at his mustache. “What I’m agreeing to,” the genius mutters, still looking a little put out at having to explain. “Well, in terms which you will hopefully be able to follow, sycophant – with this, I will allow you to go about, hm, romancing me however you want. In return, I will attempt to… let’s say, at least meet you halfway. I will not suddenly start showering you with flowery words, or suffer the use of any kind of labels or pet names from your side, so delete any such thought immediately. Let’s see - yes, I think those will work as the basics of this… arrangement. Will that suffice as a basic explanation, Stone?” 

“Yes, that-… that will suffice,” Stone, somehow, miraculously, manages to get out. Damn. His head is spinning by now, blood rushing in his ears. It is a good thing this conversation had not taken place right after he had nearly died, else he would have thought this is an extremely vivid fever dream. Still feels like one, honestly. Clearing his throat sharply, he starts carefully, “Although. Um. Doctor? What you are describing there is commonly known as a relationship, I think. Is that… alright?”

At the term, Robotnik visibly stiffens and pulls a face before relaxing with a sigh. “What did I just say about labels, sycophant?”

“I’m sorry. Terms I’m able to follow, and all that.”

“Ugh. Fine. I suppose it is – that.” A hand waves around, derisively, to show what he means by that, since Robotnik is clearly not going to use the word itself. “Is that it? Can we get the show back onto the road now? I was in the middle of something, here, before you interrupted.”

“Uh.” Momentarily, Stone is at a loss for words, mainly because his brain simply stops working for a beat while it tries to come up with what exactly the doctor had been in the middle of, and then basically overheats with all the ideas. Shaking his head a little, the agent forces out, “Um, doctor, can I ask-…?”

“No, you can’t, whatever it is,” apparently deciding he had been patient for long enough now, Robotnik reaches out, hand settling over the side of Stone’s neck. Not putting pressure there, simply holding, while the doctor. Fucking. Leans. In.

Stone hates himself a little for the sound he makes in the back of his throat at that, soft and weak. He hates himself a lot for reaching out and putting a hand against the doctor’s chest, effectively stopping his approach. “Doctor!”

“What is it now?!”

“Why now? What made you change your mind?”

“Is that really so important to you, sycophant?!”

“Yes!” Stone answers, voice finding strength again, brain coming back online because yes, this is important. He needs Robotnik to see that.  “I want to – I need to know that you’re sure about this. Serious about this. That this is not just a one-time idea to, I don’t know, test something. If you’re not serious, then I -  I couldn’t deal with it.”

The last part of it is a plea; he can hear that much, himself. He is pretty sure Robotnik hears it, too, and it should have been terribly embarrassing but damn it, for once, he is not above begging. Please don’t just let this be another experiment.

Maybe his meaning is actually understood, for once, even though it is so closely tied to emotions, a subject the doctor hates to deal with. At his outburst, Robotnik stills, the annoyance over being denied what he wants briefly melting from his face while he studies Stone closely. For only a second, less than a blink, the doctor’s features seem to soften the slightest bit before he clears his throat and finds his footing again, the usual superior annoyance back in place.

“Bleugh. You’re actually going to make me talk about this again,” Robotnik murmurs, rolling his eyes; there is not as much derision in his voice as there once would have been, though, and he is not backing off, either, so that has to be a good thing. With a show of grumbling and huffing, the doctor pokes against Stone’s chest, hard, and orders, “You better memorize this word for word, sycophant, because I’m not going to repeat this for as long as either of us live. Which is going to be a long time, and could blur your memories, I know, but no repeats. None at all. Capice?”

“Crystal clear, doctor,” Stone somehow manages to say, voice already ruined, feeling lightheaded with hope and anticipation.

“Why now?” Robotnik muses, fingers playing idly with the edge of Stone’s collar (and, is he doing that on purpose? If so – evil. Even for him.) “Because, sycophant - you joke with me. Tease me, challenge me.”

At the last point, the doctor’s hand slips two fingers into the collar, and pulls sharply. The sudden tug absolutely does not help to make Stone feel less breathless, especially when Robotnik continues on as calmly-as-you-please: “Because you’re as brilliant as me, even though you pretend otherwise. Because you call me amazing for my work, but don’t hesitate to tell me to my face that I’m an idiot when you think so. Because you care and would throw away your life for me without hesitation – though we are going to be having a talk about that last one, it’s an ugly habit.”

Despite the tension, despite everything, Stone finds a laugh bubble out of him at the last part and the way Robotnik pulls a grimace while saying it, as if he is annoyed over an unruly child not following the rules. Even the doctor is grinning a little, lopsided and eyes sparkling, when he pushes instead of pulls, and crowds Stone impossibly closer to the wall, caging him in entirely while he finishes, “Because you’re a damned, impertinent thorn in my side, and I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.”

“Barnacle,” Stone corrects, laughing and choked up simultaneously. “Not thorn.”

“See? Impertinent,” Robotnik grumbles, inches away from his assistant’s lips. “I should train you out of that.”

“Didn’t you just say you wouldn’t want-…”

Whatever snarky comeback he was going to give, it gets entirely lost when Robotnik’s free hand, previously resting on the wall next to Stone’s head, finds its way around the agent’s jaw – not harshly, not squeezing like he is pretty much used to at this point, but almost gently, and a thumb caresses over his bottom lip with the lightest of pressure, as if testing the softness there.

The tiny sound which catches in Stone’s throat can absolutely not be classified as words; it is embarrassingly close to a whimper, all things considered.

At the noise, Robotnik’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, and the smirk he sports should absolutely have been labeled as a crime. He doesn’t say anything about the slip-up – small mercies – but instead leans in, gaze flicking between Stone’s eyes and his lips.

A breath away from his goal, he stops again, and briefly looks up. There is no smirk now, no smugness or teasing or needling. Robotnik looks entirely serious while he waits until he has Stone’s attention. “If you’re going to say No,” he grumbles, voice low and soft, once their eyes meet, “better do it now.”

If Stone still had any reservations left after that speech before, this would have been what dispersed all of them instantly: The fact that Robotnik leaves him a way out, gives his wishes the same kind of consideration which Stone had shown him in return. Heart full to bursting, Stone lets the giddiness bubble up and over freely, grinning so wide he is basically showing of his teeth the way the doctor in his most manic episodes would have done. “Not a chance in hell.”

It is the right answer. Robotnik’s eyes flash brightly, pleased – then they darken, gaze dropping to Stone’s lips, and with one final push the genius crosses the tiny distance left between them and crashes their lips together.

Their first kiss – their first real kiss, because that smashing together of lips in the alley cannot be called a kiss, Stone will insist until his dying day – is in no way perfect. Robotnik, Stone immediately discovers, goes about kissing the same way he goes about everything else: Impatiently, with single-minded focus, and jumping into it headlong with no consideration for his own well-being or that of others. He meets Stone with such a force that it knocks the agent’s head back a little, bumping it painfully against the wall behind him, and his grip on Stone’s jaw tightens to the point where it squeezes a little uncomfortably, and the doctor’s mustache is unfamiliar and tickles a bit. The kiss is not even very deep yet, simply bruised lips pressing and brushing over slightly dry ones.

Stone loves every second of it, imperfect as it is.

But he is also determined to make this good for the doctor; he has got some things to make up for here, dammit. So after giving himself five, ten, fifteen seconds of utter bliss and trying to come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening right now, he carefully lifts his hands from his side were they have dangled uselessly up until now, and settles them on Robotnik’s shoulders. There, he waits.

And nearly goes lightheaded with relief when he does not immediately get shrugged off. Instead, Stone more feels than hears the rumble resonating in Robotnik’s chest and smiles, briefly, into the point of contact. Interpreting the fairly docile reaction as permission, he allows his hands to wander further, one slipping up to cup the back of the doctor’s head, the other to cup his cheek. Like that, Stone carefully, gently, nudges the doctor to follow his lead and tips his head the slightest bit more – Robotnik murmurs a displeased sound when they part due to the movement – before slanting their lips back together at a better angle, allowing for a deeper contact.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of heat, bodies pressing against each other and mouths moving against each other hungrily, greedily. For all his intentions of keeping his gentle and sweet, at least as much as the doctor would allow, Stone finds himself swept up in the typical passion of Robotnik, the storm of it unleashing the feelings he had kept bottled-up for years all at once. He is no longer aware of anything besides the points of contact, of teeth nipping at his bottom lip, the tongue tangling with his, and the hands stroking and tugging through his hair. There is no way to hold back the moan he releases when Robotnik pulls at his hair once, hard, and has to grin himself when the doctor chuckles into the kiss. Trembling under the onslaught of sensations and emotions but determined to make this good for the other, too, Stone carefully sucks the doctor’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites down ever so gently, tugging lightly. The reaction is immediate and powerful – Robotnik jumps and groans, more vibration than sound, and pulls back abruptly, breaking the kiss.

For a moment, they stand there, panting for breath, staring at each other. Any worries on Stone’s side that he overstepped somehow go up in smoke when he sees Robotnik’s expression: Face flushed and pupils dilated, a potent kind of hunger written all over his features which nearly makes Stone’s heart stop for a moment or two. He had not overstepped at all, the agent realizes, dizzy from the lack of breath and the heat low in his belly both; he had done something exceptionally right.

"Well," Robotnik rumbles. His voice is breathless and hoarse, and Stone feels a sense of accomplishment. I did that. The doctor clears his throat and starts again, sounding incredibly smug, "I would say that was a success."

A fond smile tugs the corner of Stone's mouth up before he can help it. "Now you're making it sound like an experiment again."

"I treat everything like an experiment, Stone. Get used to it."

The smile grows into a grin. "Yes, doctor."

Robotnik grins back, wide and sharp and clearly pleased, before he slowly sobers again. His hands slip up from Stone’s neck and jaw towards the back of the agent’s head so long fingers can tangle in his hair once more and tug, light but decisively. The sharp pinprick, sensation tethering on the knife edge between pain and pleasure, has Stone suck in a sharp breath and lean his head back, essentially baring his throat to the other man while he blinks up at him to meet his suddenly sharp gaze.

“I’m not a nice man, Stone, nor a romantic one,” Robotnik begins, underlining the words with another tug. “If you think this is going to change anything about that fact-…”

Stone can’t help it – he laughs, truly amused, breathless for more than one reason.  “I’ve known you for years,” he points out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Do you really think I want nice?”

There is half a beat where Robotnik’s surprise at the easy acceptance is clear – a too-long blink, a sharp breath being taken – before his smirk comes back full-force, dark and pleased. “Smartass.”

“Just stating facts, doctor.” 

“Hmpf,” the hard grip on his hair eases, and the long fingers stroke instead of pull, fingernails catching on his scalp every now and then and eliciting full-body shivers. “I also want a rematch,” Robotnik proclaims after a few beats of companionable silence. “I am going to figure out how you did that without me noticing, mark my words.”

It takes one, two heartbeats before Stone catches on what the other is talking about, and once he does, he laughs again. The game which had triggered this had slipped his mind entirely. To be fair, everything but the doctor had slipped his mind entirely for a bit there. “Of course, doctor,” still chuckling, he makes to push off the wall and get back to the chess board -

- only for Robotnik to not budge in the slightest, effectively keeping him caged in. At the agent’s questioning gaze, the doctor rolls his eyes. “Not now, Stone.”

Oh. Oh. Stone is already grinning again, feeling mischievous, while he is pressed back against the wall, fighting to keep his voice even fake-serious. “Ah, of course. We’re still collecting data for the experiment.”

Robotnik grumbles something which sounds suspiciously like impertinent pain and shoots him a dark look, fighting his own grin. “Why, yes, and the first point I gleaned from it is that there actually is a good way to shut you up. Imagine that. I had already given up all hope in that department.”

“Oh? I must have missed that one, sorry, doctor. Could you show me?”

The next sound which flies from Robotnik’s mouth is half laugh, half snarl, and he surges forward impatiently to lay claim to Stone's mouth again, effectively swallowing the agent's delighted laughter.

Stone manages to think that he won't mind being shut up like that in the future - and then stops thinking entirely for a while.

The rematch can absolutely wait.