Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you're the sun, I don't wanna be the moon

The moon's too far away from you

I'd rather envelop you in the bluest of skies

If you're the rain, I don't want to be the stormy weather clouds you leap from

When you touch the ground, I'd rather splash with you

[...]

I don't need matching outfits or your keys

Though I would surely like those things

If you want a piece of me, I'll just run to you

'Cause when you're near, rain is gone and skies are clеar

Who needs the sun to shine when you can smile wider than the sky?

Oh, don't say opposites attract

I'd rather fight you over things we both like

Oh, don't make up for what I lack

I don't need a missing piece, just someone at my back

-

"At my back" by Madds Buckley

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

Doctor Ivo Robotnik’s “streaming career”, if one was inclined to call it as such, starts not out if an evil scheme, like a new crowdfunding project. It was not even truly intentional – not that the doctor would admit that he might have "stumbled into something” on accident and very possibly would have bitten anyone daring to suggest as much unless their name was Stone.

No, what gets Robotnik out into the big, bad world wide web is simply spite. Spite, and boredom. Two of the most terrifying driving forces when it came to the genius doctor.

First came boredom.

But hold on now, back up. How could the most brilliant man alive, with world domination as his longterm goal, possibly get bored, you ask?

Well…

After they had officially called the lazy life in France goodbye and made their triumphant return to villainy by acquiring the Crab Mech through… less than official and legal means, Robotnik had imagined that he and Stone would now be firmly back on track to world domination – with some alien hedgehog squashing as a side dish.

But instead, the evil genius found himself faced with the facts of life: He would have to start a lot smaller if he wanted to have any hopes on victory. They might have a (mobile) lab now, but they were still severly lacking in equipment, power and funding. His former “evil empire” as he loved to call it had now been reduced down to the Crab and the few Badniks it carried, the Mini-Nik, and a handful of gadgets Stone had picked up on the side while getting the Crab Mech out of hibernation. The ideas were there, in the form of blueprints and files safely restored into the Crab’s database, but they first had to be made reality again.

Once he had first let that realization sink in, Robotnik had raged; temper exploding in a burst the likes of which neither of them had seen in nearly over a year while he roared with frustration, grabbing whatever was close to hand to hurl it across the Crab’s expanse and shatter it against the wall.

It never hit; Stone had expertly plucked the missile – an empty cup - out of midair and set it down again, before offering out a hand. “Dance break?”

For a few beats which stretched uncomfortably like toffee between them, Robotnik had stared at the other, panting and trembling and just knowing he must have looked like a crazed madman in that very moment.

The only reason his fury had slowly receded had been the fact that Stone was still smiling at him despite it, never backing away.

“Dance break!” He had agreed on a hiss, and taken the offered hand; his anger deflating somewhat when all his posturing only got him a quiet laugh.

The break had helped Robotnik cool down, even when he is still seething over his own miscalculation. Him! Certified genius! Missing something so incredibly important because he was too impatient to even consider it! One day, such a short sightedness could very well spell his own doom.

With no other choice left, he sits back and re-evaluates his priorities. Clearly, world domination would have to be put on hold for now. His first order of business would be to rebuild what he had lost, primarily his personal army; he would need more than just his beloved Badnik babies for this. For that, in turn, they would need the necessary materials, first and foremost, which meant they would need to find a trustworthy source over which to procure those materials, and a steady income to cover the costs.

Pondering that, Robotnik pulls up the webpages he had been using to crowdfund recently, adjusts some variables, and shoots out another oh-so-desperate plea for something or other (a sickly pet this time; the Mini-Nik could count as a pet, right?). That would be the first step of funding done, even though it was slowly getting a bit tedious to do it this way.

As for the materials…

“Stone!” He calls without turning around, editing some more photos with a flick of a finger. “How is that blackmarket shopping trip coming along?”

“I found a very promising deal on the alloy you had suggested as an alternative for our usual,” Stone answers immediately. He is juggling preparing a latte with one hand while typing rapidly on his phone with the other, all while stepping around the Mini-Nik that is excitedly hounding him for playtime. “I was going to meet them in person, but after you-…”

“Explicitly told you No? Called you an idiot for even considering it? Threatened to send a virus that will destroy your bike? All of the above?”

“… yes, that. I am now finishing the deal while staying anyonymous.” That would explain his rapid fire texting, Robotnik acquiesces with a nod. Barely hiding his amusement, Stone finishes off his latest message and puts his phone down. “It will take a little longer this way, but…”

“I will survive,” and so will you, Robotnik does not add. He had already had a hard time to not burst right out with it while he had berated his partner for even considering going out into the field to meet up with suspicious characters whom they knew nothing about. Had his sycophant not learned from their last big mistake?

Well, he had, so no way he is trusting anyone but Stone, ever again. And his barnacle better do the same.

Finishing his own important work in securing funding with a flourish and one wobbly selfie to edit in future attempts, Robotnik turns and claps his hands, already itching to do more of… something. Anything, really. “Did you find anything that I can work with until you finallized that deal?”

“If I manage to finalize it,” Stone reminds him, much too demure. “There are other bidders…”

“Until. Don’t be ridiculous, sycophant, you are already talking circles around them; keep going, and they will pay you money to take the order off of them.” Robotnik does not even skip a beat, not even to indulge the pleased-surprised little smile tugging at the other’s lips. “But until then, I require something to occupy myself with; you and dance breaks are a nice way to do it, but I need something more on top of that.”

Knowing better than taking basically being called “not enough” personal in any way, Stone hums thoughtfully, stepping over to one of the storage spaces hidden in a niche in the wall. “Could you work with that Badnik prototype we got along with the Crab? It looks pretty much gutted but-…”

"That will do!" Robotnik declares as he rushes over and plucks the empty drone out of his partner's hands.

Turning the machine over in his hands, he scans the damages those imbeciles in G.U.N. had done to it, muttering under his breath while he ambles back to the control panel and falls into his chair heavily. "Missing core, the chassis is not as sturdy as those of the newer generations, but I should at least be able to use it as a sort of blueprint for testing..."

"Can I leave you to it?" Stone asks while he follows him, putting down the finished latte on a table in arm's reach. "I was heading out fo groceries but if I can help-..."

"Mhm," Robotnik grumbles something and makes a shooing motion at the other man without looking up. He continues digging through the chassis for a while, pondering pros and cons of possible uses... before he tilts his head and calls out into the depth of thr Crab, "You are not going to that blackmarket deal!"

"Wouldn't dare!" Stone calls back, amusement heavy in his voice, right before the hydraulics groan as the entrance opens for him.

The door closes once more while Robotnik murmurs wouldn't dare, as if, and then swings around in his chair towards the screen above the panel. While the work will occupy his hands and at least a meager ten percent of his brain, that will still leave him with the predominant amount of his loud, ever hungry, never quiet mind which is used to deadlines and near impossibly tall orders, meaning it is trained to multitask. One measly task will not be able to satisfy it. He needs some sort of background activity to stop his mind from running away from him and maintain the optimal focus.

He flicks through the streaming services they have pirated, searching through the telenovelas he has seen and attempting to find one that he hasn't. That, too, is a relatively new development: Binge watching. A habit he had picked up during their trip to Mexico, while preparing for the Crab heist. At first hehad only meant to hate watch some stuff, but then he had stumbled across La Última Pasión one boring night... and before he knew it, he had watched all four existing seasons in one sitting and become deeply invested in the in the schemes between family members, the affairs, betrayals and tearful reconciliation.

It has gone so far that he had even invited Stone to watch with him, only to experience a huge disappointment when his sycophant's gaze had gone unfocused and drifted away during the greatest plottwist that had been built up to over four whole seasons. He had been bored by it, obviously. Disinterested.

Robotnik had never brought the show up to Stone afterward ever again, though he had kept watching it alone.

Shaking off the unpelasant memory, Robotnik flicks to the end of the list, and groans, annoyed. Nothing; every single telenovela which could possibly capture his attention, he has already watched, and Última Pasión’ s new season won't be out for another few weeks.

Nothing for it then. He would have to try out those "live streams" Stone had suggested as an alternative.

Mood already on the lowest point of the day, he switches over to the streaming platform and scrolls through the options with his eyes narrowed contemplatively. The main topics of these... streams, seem to be adolescents playing some kind of video games; a slew of different age groups simply talking sbout various boring topics; and something called "podcasts" which he ignores for the time being. Something to occupy him, hm…

He stops, finger hovering over a stream that is currently live and seems to show some the progress of a small, biped robot being built from scratch. Hmmm. Nothing that is even in the same wheelhouse as his own brilliant work of course, and the title of "Robot building for dummies!" does not exactly seem enticing, but it should be good background noise while he works.

Decision made, Robotnik shrugs, and clicks on the video.

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

When the Crab's enteance opens an hour after they had said goodbye and Stone steps back into their home with groceries under his arm, it is to the sound of something smashing into a thousand pieces, and over it, the bellow of one furious Ivo Robotnik, so loud and thundering that it sends the Mini-Nik fleeing with a startled whistle, "How DARE you you utter waste of atoms, you are not even worth breathing in the same atmosphere as me and you have the nerve to block me when I am imparting my wisdom to you? Oh that is the last straw, you-..."

"Doctor?" In clear opposite of what any sane person would have done, Stone drops the groceries onto the nearest table and hurries directly into the epicentre of the storm, carefully dodging around strewn about shards sof porcelain in order to reach the other man. "Doctor, what happened? Are you alright?"

Once upon a time, Robotnik would probably have snapped around at the sound of the other's voice and then focused his entire ire on Stone, for daring to interrupt him. He almost does, fury hot in his chest and insults sharp like knives ready on his tongue but... the moment Stone's hand lands gently on his shoulder and he looks up to see his sycophant's worried face right there, he loses some steam. Where he had been a volcano errupting before, he suddenly finds himself dialling it down to a wildfire without his sayso.

Still, he needs to take a few breaths, teeth grinding together, before he managed with his clenched jaw, "Got into an argument."

When Stone's eyebrow jumps up, worry replaced with surprise and confusion, Robotnik bites out an added explanation. "Online."

The memory alone is enough to have him gnash his teeth together. He had been following the stream - an imbecile who dared to call himself an engineer, streaming to a small groupe of followers, and one Ivo Robotnik himself. Who had not even turned the stream on to really watch the drivel, but simply for the background noise! He had only been listening with half an ear while bent over his baby, trying to decide what he would use it for that could be helpful.

Everything had been going great, until the halfwit on video had attempted to wire his "robot" - if one even dared to call it as such, pfff - in such a blatantly wrong way that it would have blown up in his face the moment he hturned it on. Robotnik had seen the error from miles away even in his distracted state, and had magnanmiously decided to step in and inform the blubbering fool of the mistake.

Only for his chat message to be deleted seconds after he had posted it. Too many symbols?! Too many exclamation marks?! Well how else was he supposed to voice his displeasure?!

Obviously, he had had to send another message right after. And obviously he had insulted the imbecile and his entire family tere back to their neanderthal ancestors; at least he had been creative about it. They should have thanked him, for saving their sniffeling face in front of their viewers.

But instead, they had banned him from the stream. Him! The utter disrespect...!

A quiet sound draws him from his own head and his thunderous (quiet) ranting trails off when he looks over and sees Stone bent over next to his chair. His sycophant's head is turned away from him, but his shoulders are quivering slightly.

Instantly, Robotnik's eyes narrow at the other. "Do you think that's funny, Stone?"

"No? No, of course not," Stone's voice is suspiciously high, every syllable trembling under the effort to stay serious. "I'm just relieved. Judging by the noise level, I thought you were being attacked."

"I was!" Forgetting about the insolence of Stone laughing at his plight, Robotnik instead throws his hands up and whirls away again to gesture at the screen. "They nearly killed me with their inept handling of material of quite high quality - something that could have been quite the beautiful machinery, but instead was abused - and their inability to listen to someone who knows better - read as: Me, of course! And to add insult to injury, they blocked me before I could really present all the evidence pointing out the fact that their head is filled with a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen instead of brain matter!"

A peculiar little noise slips from Stone's mouth, something too soft and bitten off to be categorized as either a snort or a cough. The former agent hurries to smooth out his expression when Robotnik glowers suspiciously at him and clears his throat. "They really got under your skin if you are getting that creative."

"Nothing gets under my skin, Stone , you know that best," Robotnik denies with a snort , waving th e accusation off. "This is a matter of principles. Nobody interrupts me before I can give them a thorou g h and detailed explanation of their many failures; doing so is plain disrespect, and I will not tolerate it."

"Of course not," Stone agrees. The hand that had, somehow unnoticed, stayed on the doctor's shoulder the entire time, shifts enough thst the younger man can press his thumb against a tense neck, massaging it in small, smoothing circles. "While you are thinking about a revenge plan, do you want a latte? I brought some cinnamon rolls I think would go perfectly with it."

For a moment, the doctor is caught up in his anger, ready to bark that he does not want nor need any food or drink... but. The thought of one of Stone's lattes is quite tempting. He snaps his fingers a few times , thinking, before he agr e es with a deep sigh, "Oh fine."

The amusement on Stone's face softens and he beams, squeezing the doctor's shoulder once with a "Coming right up" before hurying off.

Well at least his sycophant listens to everything he says without fault. Somewhat appeased, Robotnik taps his fingers to his chin while he eyes the still rolling stream-chat with distaste. Something like this could not stand, obviously, but his first strategy seemed to have been... uninformed. He would have to go about this differently. Maybe brainstorm a bit, first.

Clapping his hands decisively, he calls back, “Stone!”

“Doctor?” Sounds almost directly next to him, only half a beat after his bellow echoed through the Crab.

With a quickly aborted yell, Robotnik slaps one hand over his heart, and with the other, slaps Stone over the shoulder. Goddamn this man and his stealth. If he had not gotten (somehwat) used to it years ago, he might have accidentally fire at the other with one of his machines. Glowering at his partner in a way he hopes will mask his rapid heartbeat, Robotnik growls, “Sycophant, tell me honestly – did you discover the ability to teleport at some point?”

“That would be handy, but no. The Crab just is not that big,” Stone answers with a small smile, graciously ignoring the slapping. He sets the promised latte and a plate with two cinnamon rolls down next to the control panel with great care, a smile tugging at his lips. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

“No, obviously not. Come here,” Robotnik whirls back around towards the holoscreen, crooking one finger in an invitation slash request. “You have spent more time in the useless parts of the internet than me. Enlighten me on this.”

“I do not spend that much time on…” Stone trails off, smile only widening when the doctor waves him off with a blablabla. Clearly intrigued now, he follows the invisible pull and leans in over the genius’ shoulder to get a closer look at what is going on. “Are you doing internet research again?”

“No. Yes.” Without meaning to, Robotnik flounders, remembering a conversation from months ago where they had agreed that they would talk things out, rather than research them. Pulling a face he tacks on quickly, “Nothing to do with you, if that’s what you think.”

“I see…?”

Hm. The slowly rising eyebrow of his sycophant is not helping at all. The doctor clears his throat sharply and returns to the really important things in life – revenge. “I am attempting to formulate a battle plan on how to publicly embarrass the waste of space that called himself an engineer to a degree that he will never start up a comoputer ever again.”

“Well….”

“Do not tell me to drop it, sycophant.”

Stone, wisely, does not tell him to drop it. He squints at the screen, parsing what had happened and where the doctor had been bested by technology by having been silenced, and then shrugs. “I'm not to sure on how to best embarrass them, but... if you do not agree with their take on a certain topic, you could always tell people what you think about it?”

When Stone sees Robotnik raise an eyebrow at him, he adds an explanation: “That is usually what is done online. Make your own post if you don’t like the existing ones.”

“That sounds way more civilized than what I expected of these low lives.”

“It is the more civiilzed option among a few. “

“Ah.” Now wait a second. When had he ever been civilized? Digging an elbow into Stone’s ribs none too harshly, he demands, “Why don’t you show me the other option, then?”

“A little late for it; you already got blocked,” is the dry reply.

“… I do see the logic in that.” Obviously, he could unblock himself again with a little bit of hacking, a few edits here and there, but is he that petty? Well, yes, of course he is, but it is still tedious, so if there is an easier option which will also not make him suspicious on his very first day on a streaming platform, better take that one first. Else he would have to clean up so many loose ends to cover his destructive tracks. Again. “I could make my own stream, you mean.”

Stone gives a shrug; he does not seem surprised that they are actually doing this; but then, he rarely is, he just rolls with the plan. “Or a short video, if you are just going to denounce something that imbecile said.”

“Hmmmm.”

"You could even call them out by name in it."

Now that sounded more like a good revenge. Sinking back in his chair, Robotnik strokes his moustache, a grin spreading over his face. Already, he can think of several ways how he could go about this... streaming thing. Rebuild what that imbecile had tried to create, just with cheaper materials and in actual working condition, instead of being a safety hazzard. Showing clips out of that moron's stream. There are so many beautiful options…

“Satisfied?” Stone asks, sounding gently amused.

“Mrm. No," the doctor responds immediately, rolling his eyes as if to say is that a trick question. "I am still apalled by the general level of education and intelligence to be found on this planet."

"Agreed. It's abyssmal."

The immediate agreement soothes the doctor's temper further, and he reaches over, patting Stone's arm that is propped up on his armrest absentmindedly. “But I will figure it out from here, thank you, Stone.”

There is a deep breath next to him, carching on nothing; distracted as he is with revenge dreams, it takes Robotnik a beat to notice it, track it, and then understand what he had just said. Ah. Alright, that is... nothing big. He had thanked Stone before, even over small things. Or had implied it. It has become more frequent over time, even.

And still, when he glances over, Stone's smile is so bright, it nearly hurts to look at. Pfff , so easy to please, the doctor thinks with none of the derision he had meant to inflict it with.

Stone hums while he nudges their shoukders together, then straightens up. “Alright, have fun."

“Oh I will, sycophant,” Robotnik assures him with a smirk. “I definitely will.”

While Stone walks away towards the kitchen, Robotnik cracks his fingers and and settles in to exact his revenge.

First of all, a script. Well that is easy enough; he knows exactly what he will be talking about in this "stream" - he will tear apart every bit of the imbecile's own video, and replace it all with his own, better approach on the topic. Apparently, concepts like this very not a foreign thing, if his quick research through the streaming platform is not misleading; the common rabel called something like this a “reaction video”. Well, react he would, and that with all the disgust he feels for this insignificant little pest.

He sets about downloading a record of the fool's stream and sics a program on it to cut out the necessary parts. While that is doing its job, he starts about setting up his own account.

Here, he pauses for a moment, finger hovering over the next command. A username, huh? Well...he is tempted to simply use his real name and be done with it - his name does have a certain ring to it, after all - but that seems too easy. Something catchy, something... with a little humour to it.

With a kick, Robotnik spins in his chair, letting it circle while he leans his head back until he is watching the room rush by nearly upside down. The Crab's many screens whirl past; Stone, bent over to packing away their groceries; the flayed-open Badnik prototype, his little egg looking small and innocent rather than the terrifying weapon it is.

His little egg... hmmmm.

His heel hits the ground, stopping his spin just in time to start typing. How about... Egg Maestro? No, too easy. Eggnik? No, what? What was that even supposed to mean?

Oh, now he got it.

With a sly grin, he begins typing.

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

"Hello and welcome, low lives all over the world, to the first and only stream of moi, Doctor... Huevo Diablo!"

Pausing briefly, Robotnik checks the camera and the screen to make sure he is perfectly in view; and yes, the Mini Nik is doing a wonderful job at getting him from his best angle. Satisfied, he returns to his little speech, "We are here today for the monumental event of me deciding to share my knowledge with the masses. Anyone lucky enough to tune it, better record this."

Ah, there it comes, the doctor notes with satisfaction; the viewer count is rising rapidly, and the chat is beginning to roll at the side. Playing around with the website's algorithm to ensure his stream would show up on the front page had been worth it.

Whos this?

Uh Huevo? Srsly?

This should be good

Smirk curling under his mustache, Robotnik waves one hand to call up the recording of the stream he will tear apart, enlargening it with a snaps of his fingers so it will float behind him while he speaks. "What you ae viewing here is the pitiful attempt of an emptyheaded imbecile at what he perceives as robotics. Which, I assure you - it is not. That there, is a joke. This ," and here, he clicks his fingers once more, calling up one of his Badniks so it comes to float over his left shoulder, "this, dear viewers, is what counts as real robotics."

Woah wtf

Is that thing real?

No way

"I see I have gotten your attention now, good. Maybe there is still hope for you - although I seriously doubt it. But it should be enough to make it clear that I do, indeed, know what I'm talking about." Clapping his hands rogether, Robotnik lets the video start rolling while he sends the Badnik back out of the picture. "Now then. Having established that, let us start in on what, exactly, the pathetic little miscreant in this video - whose name and private email address you will see on screen now - has done wrong. From start to finish, and in great detail."

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

The stream went over swimmingly. By the end of it, his account had gained a viewership of several hundred people, whom he had decided to call “Egg Heads” for the time being, and who had dutifully taken to fawning over his work and demanded to see more of it.

Well, obviously, they would have liked to. But they wouldn’t get to, seeing as this had been a one time thing made out of anger and spite and a hefty dose of a too much time in the hands of a crazed genius. That was it.

... Or that would have been it, that is, if the doctor had not discovered something absolutely staggering in that stream, that being-

"Donations!"

Robotnik rolls his chair across the expanse of the Crab with one well aimed kick against the wall and lets the momentum carry him over until he can slam the tablet he has been handling down onto then kitchen counter next to Stone. The younger man merely lifts the coffee he is preparing out of the blast zone before leaning in to see what he is being shown.

Not that it's easy to miss, with Robotnik basically shoving it in his face, pointing towards it. "There are donations, Stone. They keep sending me money while I give them a dressing down of their lifetime. Who knew that is a way to make money?! I could have skipped crowdfunding entirely and gone straight to this!"

"Oh, that's great," Stone agrees readily enough, checking the sums he is being shown until his gaze catches on one if the donation messages, and he snorts, reading it out loud, "Insult me more? What did you-...."

"Ah. Pffff. Insulted someone's intelligence, questioned their life choices and reason for existing, the usual. Only this time, I get paid for it." That is still something Robotnikis absolutely delighted over; he does not have to hold back, is as scathingly himself as possible, and he gets handed money for it. More than that, every time he had gone on a ranting tangent, his viewership had increased noteably. It is laughably easy, if honestly a bit puzzling. He waves his hand at the tablet for emphasis. "I would think the internet has a sort of braindamaging radiation to it, if I didn't know better."

"Do we know better?" Stone mutters where he is scrolling through the rest of the donations, eyebrows meandering further and further up the more he reads.

"I sure hope you do, else I will demote you in the Mini-Nik's programming," Robotnik rolls over to pinch Stone's hip sharply, before grabbing the tablet from him and scrolling through it, spinning idly in his chair. "They like me mean, Stone, and as unusual this unforseen development is, it is also quite flattering. It's like I suddenly have an army of clones of you watching me speak."

"... Really?"

Something about the way Stone's voice is so soft makes Robotnik pause in his gloating, and lean his head back until he can stare at the other upside down.

Stone's smile has shrunken down by a margin of forty-five percent.

Hold on. Rewind. Talking about streaming, about Stone, about his new followers-.... ah, there it is. Snorting, Robotnik snaps his chair around snd reaches for his sycophant in the same motion, repeating the pinch from before with so much strength that Stone actually flinches a little this time.

"Well no, of course it is not the same, sycophant," Robotnik admonishes with a clack of his tongue, as if it is somehow the other's fault that he had misunderstood. "I wouldn't hire any of them; you are not replacable, Stone, until I really do find a way to clone you."

"Please don't," Stone answers dryly. "The existential dread would give me a headache."

He might complain about the cloning, but his smile had regained ninety-nine percent of its glow; a success in the doctor's eyes.

Satisfied with that, Robotnik turne back to his other imminent success, flipping through the comments and donations with a dramatic flap of his wrist. "What I'm really saying, oh so easily worried Stone, is that we can use this. If one short stream can already garner this much attention and financial support, imagine what a second, or a third could do. Surface studies has also shown that these kind of self-portrayals gather huge followings which are easily influcenced by everything their object of interest spews out, so who knows what we could.... what?"

"Hmmm?" Stone blinks slowly when the doctor addresses him directly. The soft smile he had been wearing vanishes as if startled to be caught.

"Don't hmm me, Stone - you're staring at me. Why is that?"

"It's nothi-.." they exchange a look, and Stone knows better to finish that word; he ducks his head with a quiet, soft laugh. "Okay, it's not something tremendous. I just like seeing you have fun, that's all."

“Fun,” Robotnik repeats, drawing out the word like a foreign new thing. Gaze darting about the Crab as if looking for an explanation, he focuses on the technology around them - unused, safe for the parts he needed for his streaming endeavor. The flayed open Badnik prototype – unfinished work, gathering dust. Then snaps his gaze back to Stone. “Even though it is not exactly the most productive kind of activity?”

“… Fun is not supposed to be productive?” Stone’s face betrays his confusion quite clearly for once. “And, besides, you still found a way to make it kind of productive, which is actually brilliant. And even if it wasn’t, we are not exactly on a schedule here. World domination can wait when the world is not going anywhere.”

It sounds so easy when he says it, so obvious. It stops all the frenetic energy that makes up Ivo Robotnik in its tracks and the doctor tilts his head, truly taking in the wonder that is his sycophant for a beat or two before a wide grin spreads over his face, near painful in its wildness. Quick as a snake, he reaches up and grabs Stone by his collar, yanking the younger down to his eyelevel with a decisive tug to speak directly in his face, “Has anybody ever told you that you are a real pushover sometimes, sycophant?”

Stone huffs, a smile tugging at his lips. If he is worried about the way his shirt creaks under the manhandling, he does not show it. “I would have called it supportive, myself, doctor.”

“Push. Over,” Robotnik repeats gleefully, letting go to pat the other man’s cheek briefly, jokingly. “Good job, sycophant!”

The smile spreads, going luminous. “Thank you.”

“Well then! I’m off to conquer the internet, Stone!” He pushes himself away from the kitchen counter and rolls back towards his work station. “Don’t come looking until I call!”

He does not even wait for the agreement before he dives back into setting everything up to his liking – he does not need to, when he knows it will come, anyway.

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

And that is how it starts… and somehow does not end immediately, as had been planned. It starts, as many things do, with boredom. It goes over the edge with spite.

From there, it spirals out of control entirely because… because…

It is fun.

To Robotnik’s utter perplexation, his neverending annoyance and his secretive glee, Stone had been right. Again.

He really should start anticipating that more.

Even doing one stream had shown him that the streaming could get him the attention he so deserved - hundreds upon hundreds of viewers who were left in awe by his genius, and at the same time, nobody who held any sway over him and could tell him what to do. The ideal conditions he could never achieve, neither while working for the government, nor while on the run from the very same. He wanted to show off his newest Badnik model? Well he could, and nobody could tell him to work on a tank instead. He felt like insulting the low lives flooding his chat? There was nobody who could stop him or silence him, quite the opposite; there were even those who rewarded him for the entertainment.

It is a glorious feeling, to be the maestro over the public masses that he was always meant to be.

High on this newfound power, Robotnik launches into preparing his streaming persona. He does not begin small; when has he ever? Even though he had only planned to do one live stream in total, thanks to all the tech and the knowledge he has at hand, it is laughably easy to set up this up as a bigger project. He rearranges his workstation in a way that will let him work most efficiently and enlists the help of the Mini Nik as a mobile camera on top of the ones his screens provide. A few little tweaks to the platform's algorhitm assure that his brandnew account gets listed high enough to ensure he will attract potential viewers, but not so much that anyone could get suspicious over it. And with a bit more time invested, he even sets up accounts on the most well-liked social media for his "Huevo Diablo" persona to link them with the stream.

Stone is satisfactorily impressed when Robotnik calls him over to show him his preparation. He looks around with an eyebrow raised, humming quietly. "That was quick."

"I'm efficient, I know, I know," Robotnik kicks his chair into a spin, letting his fingers slide over the holo screens around him to draw up his account, stream and the software that will monitor the clicks to his stream and records all usernames and IP addresses that enter. "Everything is ready, I can start at any time."

"Doctor?" Stone waits for his acknowledging hum before continuing, "Are there security measures in place so live streaming won't put us at risk of being found by G.U.N.?"

"Do you think me an imbecile, sycophant?" A well-placed stop, and Robotnik lands right in front of the needed screen, starting the software he wants with a wave of his hand while he explains: "Of course there are. Several proxy servers will cover up where I'm sending from, and should someone try to track the line back, they will run into a firewall more stable than the Chinese wall during the Ming dynasty. Satisfied?"

The way Stone does not look surprised, only greatly pleased, is hint enough that he expected something like this. Still he answers dutifully while biting down on a smile, "Very. Magnificent work as always, doctor."

The admiration, in turn, is what Robotnik had expected; the main reason why he had dragged his partner over to show him everything. But he is not about to tell him that - not when he suspects Stone knows it, anyway. He makes a show of accepting the praise with hardly a blink, flapping his hand at it. "Eeeh, easy as pie. Though the whole setting up made me thirsty."

"Would a latte help?"

"It just might, Stone, it just might." He barely hides a grin when Stone laughs quietly behind him before excusing himself to go fetch the required drink.

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

And thus, a new routine is established. Robotnik would start up his stream and pass hours in front of it, demonstrating his Badniks, working on new ideas, or simply ranting about whatever came to mind - he is flexible about his subjects, and his viewers apparently are too. In the meantime, Stone would take care of things in the background, or take the necessary trips outside to procure whatever they needed.

The streams are an entertaining way to secure their funding, obviously. Half a day each time, no more, and the had enough money to work with and still time to focus on the really important things.

Or, that had been the plan.

By the end of the first week, Robotnik's stream already take up half the day, beginning to stretch into three quarters of it.

The doctor does not comment on it, and Stone, wisely, does the same.

The longer the streams go on, the more he runs out of things to talk about – something that should have been unthinkable, downright impossible, but it actually happens. His work on the Badniks reaches a point where he will absolutely not share it with just about anyone (nobody needs to know all of his babies secrets), and there is only so much he can talk about in his daily life, considering he spends it in a Crab Mecha and underwater more often than not.

His viewers, of course, have their own opinions about what he could be talking about. Turns out the longer he streams, the bolder the plebeians become, actually starting to suggest or even demand things from him. Is this what being a celebrity is like? If so, tedious.

Some of the ideas even offer some merits. Some others… clearly don’t.

Like this one. Barely glancing at the screen, Robotnik sighs from his very core and puts his chin in his hand, rolling his eyes at the camera. "No, you utter imbeciles, you won't see any games on my channel. Online games or whatever, an Ivo Robotnik does not play games. This is a serious stream, you nitwits."

Doc we heard you use the word rizz unironically

Aw just try one you'd like it

Grumpy today

"You would be grumpy too if you were missing your latte," Robotnik mutters under his breath, too quiet to be cauht by the microphone. He is no longer looking at the camera to make sure he is in perfect sight, but rather, checking the screen which shows him the readings of Stone's watch. His sycophant had gone out to pick up the alloy he had won them in one of the oh-so-slightly illegal deal, and they had estimated he would be back in an hour and a half.

The chime of the Mini-Nik had informed the doctor ten minutes ago that the agreed upon time had passed, with no sight of Stone at all.

The readings are fine, Robotnik notes with no little sense of... hrm. Satisfaction? He cannot name the feeling right, and he shakes it off to focus on the data instead; that, he can read at least. Stone's heartbeat and breathing are steady, temperature a bit raised which could mean exertion but does not necessarily-...

Behind him, the Crab gives a hiss as its open its entryway. At the sound, a kind of tension Robotnik had not even noticed carrying seeps out of him so abruptly, he feels himself sag forward in his chair before he catches it, straightening up.

He is in the middle of snapping around to check himself when he hears the familiar tune of Stone’s footsteps, and his sycophant hurries into view. Stone catches his searching gaze and opens his mouth – then stops, when he sees the Mini-Nik recording. Instead of saying something, he smiles, raising a hand for a brief wave; all of it without stopping as he makes his way over to the kitchen with big steps.

It takes him out of Robotnik’s line of sight, and that of the camera as well; a second later, the coffee machine starts up with a beeping sound.

All of that has happened in under thirty seconds. Robotnik stays in his seat, a peculiar mix of confusion-anger-offense rising in his chest, a thing with teeth and claws that is growling like a beast. That’s it? That’s all?! He does not even get an explanation?!

No. Not happening.

By now, two week into his daily streaming schedule, Robotnik had learned more about the ins and outs of streaming, and how to use it to each its fullest advantage. He expertly flicks the control that will start up the advertisements that will best aim at the interests of his viewership demography, and give him the time to walk away.

He gets to his feet without a single glance back, and trails after his wayward sycophant.

He finds him where he expected, bent over the coffee machine with utter concentration. Something about the familiar sight which is usually so calming, now makes the doctor’s nerves crackle with an emotion that feels close to fury but isn’t quite. "Stone."

"Yes?" Stone looks over his shoulder, spots him coming, and smiles crookedly. "Ah, your latte will be ready in a moment, doc-..."

"Where were you?" Robotnik interuots him. He closes the distance between them and nudges into the space next to Stone, turning sideways so he can lean against the counter with his hip and look the other up and down. No injuries to be seen; nothing in his posture that shows Stone could be hurt, or anxious. That should be reliev-… satisfactory , but he also knows his sycophant well enough to be aware of how well the other can hide his own pain. He crosses his arms and demands sharp and cooly, "We agreed on ninety minutes, what held you up?"

"... Rush hour," Stone answers after a perplexed beat, his confusion melting into something understanding. "I hadn’t considered how bad the traffic would be around this time of day."

Robotnik grunts, if in understanding or annoyance, he is not so sure himself. "And you forgot how to contact me, too?” He does not give the other a chance to answer anything, steam rolls over the attempt of Stone getting in a word etchwise with his own venomous rant, "Neglectful of you, sycophant. You knew I was waiting for my hourly latte; that would have made you hurry, once upon a time, but I see you are slacking off these days."

Each word is delivered like a knife being thrown, meant to cut, to hurt. He is a master at that, at cutting everyone down to shape with a good old tongue-lashing alone.

Even when he is not entirely sure why he is doing it, like now; all he understands is that the pressure in his chest which has accumulated over the past too-long ten minutes needs an outlet, and Stone’s confused face seems the only target for it. So he snaps it all out, like he has always done -

And then feels bereft and strangely wrong-footed when he is done, and it gives him no real relief. That is… new. Robotnik blinks, frowns, and then immediately tries to school his face back into neutrality again when he sees Stone watching him with a light frown, entirely too understanding for his liking.

Feeling put in the spotlight all of a sudden, Robotnik straightens and flaps a hand. “Ad’s over. Bring me that latte, sycophant.”

And he turns and stalks off – not fleeing, thank you very much! He just didn’t have anything else to say, that’s all.

He has almost convinced himself of that by the time he falls into his chair, scooting closer to the screens. The advertisement is still running – he has miscaclulated. He never miscalculates, he grouses, dammit, what is wrong with him today?!

It’s the latte that’s missing, he tells himself with a frown. He really must be needing that caffeine if it is putting him so out of sorts.

Tapping his fingers impatiently, he watches the counter ticking down, waits until he is back “on air”.

And nearly sighs when he hears the telltale footsteps in his back, stopping only inches behind him.

Darn it all. They both know that Stone can move around without so much as a sound; that he is deliberately making enough noise to be detected means that his sycophant wants something from him.

Right on cue, Stone speaks up quietly. “Doctor?”

“Hrm.”

"Can I speak?"

The ad finally runs out, and his own face goes live again on screen and with it, Stone standing at his back as well. Like this, Robotnik can see him standing there on the stream’s videofeed, two steps behind the doctor, a cup of latte in hand… and with his shoulders slumping and a worried frown etched into his face.

Not just worried, but apologetic . When it had been Robotnik who snapped at the other man as soon as he set foot into the Crab, instead of simply asking if everything was alright.

A sigh wrangles itself out of his chest, and Robotnik presses his fingers to his palm, muting the stream with a single command before he turns his chair to face the other. "Knock yourself out, sycophant."

Stone immediately straightens up, face brightening somewhat even though the wrinkle of worry between his brows stays. He steps closer so they are next to each other, and inclines his head slightly to be heard over the quiet music that fills the background. "I'm sorry, for not thinking to call ahead. When I checked and saw I would not need longer than ten minutes, I figured it would be fine, but that was careless of me. I will do better next time."

He sounds truly like he is chagrined, and not merely like he is going along with this to indulge the doctor’s whims.

Whatever kind of pointless anger Robotnik had been feeling dies down to embers and leaves him feeling tired and… well, not bad, per se, but also not exactly stellar. Urgh. Feelings are so damned complicated.

He sighs, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose to stave of the headache he feels coming on. “One minute,” he decides out loud. “From now on, you have an error margin of one minute; any longer delays than that, and you let me know."

It is so simple, but it is enough. Stone’s frown is wiped off his face as if it was never there in the first place, and his sycophant beams, nodding eagerly. "Of course, doctor."

In the face of so much enthusiasm, it is quite impossible to stay angry for very long. Knowing a losing battle when he sees one, Robotnik snaps his chair around to turn his back on the other; he is not quite ready to be soothed again, yet.

Sadly, the movement brings him face to face with the heart rate monitor which he had been watching so intently minutes before, which does absolutely nothing to brighten his mood.

He is still glowering at it darkly when Stone speaks up quietly behind him. "I think I felt secure, knowing that you always know how I'm doing, anyway."

Ah. So they are looking at the same thing right now. Gritting his teeth against the uncanny feeling of being caught, Robotnik shakes his head jerkily. "Well don't think so much, then," he says, much har sh er than he intended to. "The watch is useless the moment you take it off, or get separated from it in any other way; it is not a fail safe."

Not to mention that it would be too late for him to do anything, should the reading worsen while he is not with Stone.

The thought alone is enough to snap his shoulders back up with tension, teeth grinding together audibly. The forced – wanted – needed – close proximity between the two of them in the past few months had entirely spoiled him, if he is now unable to handle not hovering over Stone’s shoulder at all times; darn it all, when had he become so controlled by emotions? He had not been this… this weak before…

A hand settles on his wrist, stopping the spiraling thoughts neatly. “Doctor.”

When his gaze snaps back around, it is to find Stone leaning over his shoulder, expression soft. His sycophant’s grip is lose but firm around the doctor’s wrist; grounding.

“I’m aware it’s not a fail safe,” Stone assures him quietly, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips while he squeezes gently. “Still, it helps me feel... protected. Knowing that I’m not alone. I like it, and... perhaps I have depended a little too much on it."

Oh. Robotnik blinks, jaw unclenching while he digests that. So… He wasn’t the only one, then?

It lifts the pressure he had felt behind his breastbone; the helpless anger of wanting to berate himself for feeling too much calming down like a storm stopping in its tracks. If even his sycophant, who is trained to be collected and much more in control of his own emotions, can feel just the same kind of… need to make sure, then perhaps this is not quite the weakness he had perceived it as.

Breathing out slowly, pointedly, Robotnik repeats, “One minute, Stone. No more.”

Stone’s smile grows, eyes creasing with it. “Understood, doctor.”

“And that latte over there better be the best one you ever made.”

The smile tilts over into a startled laugh, and Stone turns his head, failing to hide his grin. “Ah, I hope so, but-… here. You tell me.”

He reaches over to hand the doctor the requested latte right into his grabby gimme gesture, and then waits expectantly while Robotnik checks it over.

Despite himself, the genius finds his lips quirking as he gazes down at the latte art on top of the beverage. It is a painstakingly detailed portrait of himself, looking angry, while a smaller portrait of a sad Stone’s face swims next to it, a tiny sorry carved into the foam right next to it.

Schooling his expression, he sniffs at the cup, then takes a tiny sip of it, smacking his lips. Thinks for a beat while he tastes the goat milk and the hint of cacao and cinnamon of the powdery art. Finally, he grunts and declares magnamously, “Passable.”

Stone’s smile goes so bright it could rival the sun, but the man is smart enough to duck his head to hide it.

Lips twitching without his sayso, Robotnik aims a light kick at the other’s shin. “Well? What are you standing around for still? I am live, you know, and this is my spotlight you are hogging here.”

“Right, sorry,” Stone steps back and out of the camera’s view. But he does not turn away immediately, instead hovering in place for a beat longer while he smiles back at the other. “Have fun.”

“Go,” Robotnik grouses, and then snorts when he hears a quiet laughter in answer.

Sipping at his latte (it is damned good) he closes the r eadings of Stone’s watch for good, listens for the familiar rustle of someone moving about behind him for a beat, and then turns back to the stream, feeling much more, hm, focused now.

Now, back to figuring out what he would be streaming about next.

He has barely unmuted the stream again when he notices rapid motion in his periphery. Frowning, he checks for the source of it – and does a double take when he sees it is his stream’s chat, flying past at such a speed he can barely follow it at all. What the…? Curious now, he leans in to read, slowing the whole thing down with a few pointed commands.

What he sees only perplexes him further. He had expected rants because he had muted himself, or for the long advertisement break, but not… this. Whatever this is.

Omg what

Whos that?

Never seen that guy

Coffee delivery!

Is he like a butler

Boyfriend?!?!?!

Where is my coffee

Aw what, the doc can be cute?!

The comments keep pouring in, all of them in much the same vein of questions, exclamations, and theories. Robotnik‘s eyebrow etch further up towards his hairline as it goes on, first at the sudden influx of it, then at how wild the theories are getting fast. Some imbeciles are cooing over the „cutesy display between roommates / boyfriends“ while other suspect some kind of employer-employee relationship - not that far off - and more than half the chat demands to see more of the "mysterious coffee man".

Robotnik blinks, glances down at his latte – still tasty, so take a quick sip – but finds no answer in there to the sudden burst of curiosity. Deciding it can be ignored for the time being, he shrugs and addresses the chat as a whole, “Well then, Egg Heads! Hope you did not get bored while my stimulating self was away!”

Doc who was that

Yeah spill the beans

You got a co-star now?

“No stars here besides moi,” he declares, sketching a sweeping gesture that covers all of him. “Obviously. Now then, if you all could do your best to focus your meager brain activity back onto what other interesting topics I can dazzle you with in future streams…”

The chat slows down somewhat, even though there is still the occassional question on who that was, and when he will be back.

Eh. Robotnik shrugs mentally, deciding to ignore it. His viewers are a little out of it sometimes, and not even he with all his genius really understands their obsession over things. He cannot fathom what could possibly interest them so much about Stone, but one thing is for sure – they are all very simple creatures.

They will have forgotten about it soon enough.

Chapter Text

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

There are not many times in Doctor Ivo Robotnik's life he had to admit that he had been wrong about something. In fact, he can probably count those events off on one hand, and have fingers left over.

At least two unforgettable occasions had to do with unkillable, stinking space porcupines.

One time had been Stone's fault, for being more durable than Robotnik had anticipated of an assigned assistant.

And this fourth one... well...

Can he blame Stone for this one, too, Robotnik wonders while he puts his chin in his palm, eyeing his racing stream chat with a healthy mixture of disgust and macabre curiostiy. He would like to blame his sycpohant for this one, but he doubts that Stone would even know what he is being blamed for.

What he is being blamed for?

That, apparently, he is memorable.

One short appearance from Stone, and Robotnik's Chat (he has begun to call it with a capital letter in his head) cannot seem to stop talking about his sycophant. It had started out that one day they had their... disagreement, and had continued on for the past weeks. The doctor had been so sure they would run out of steam if he simply ignored them, but the more obviously he did so, the more they seemed to latch onto it. Not even blocking the more insistent viewers had brought any relief.

Robotnik hates to admit to something so base, but he is entirely dumbfounded by it all. His viewers had always been a bit - well, cracked. Odd. He knows odd, he is the very epitome of it, but this - this is a pack behavior of oddness he is not familiar with. He was already unable to fathom why people kept tuning into his streams in the first place, considering that what he talks about flies cleanly over everyone's head, and he is not about to dumb it down. Then there is the way they seem to enjoy his abrasive commentary, even ask for it?! Not even Stone, who had in year long tests proven to be the sole person to endure his constant abuse for longer than a few days, does not outright ask for it, never had. And now there are virtual strangers sending him money to hear more scathing remarks from him.

It is, even to a genius, absolutely mind boggling.

And now, the Chat has unearthed a topic to talk about that both baffles and repulses Robotnik on a cellular level for reasons he cannot possibly explain: The topic named Stone.

Or "The coffee man" as the newer viewers have taken to calling him, in lieu of a name. The "butler", or, oddly enough, "the cryptid".

Thousands of people haven suddenly taken an interest in a man who is not the main focus of the streams, and whose entire job once consisted of staying in the background.

Robotnik would laugh at the irony of it, if not for the fact that Stone is still sticking to the background. It's just that it does not help.

It is unavoidable that Stone is sometimes visible behind Robtonik while the later is on stream. The interior of the Crab is not exactly spacious, and apart from the bathroom and the cooking niche, there are no rooms which are not visible from all angles; with Robotnik spending a big part of the day streaming, there is no way for Stone to move around their shared home while avoiding the camera entirely, even when he does his best to be quickly out of view again.

But no matter how fast he is, he is visible, and that's the whole crux of it. As soon as there is even so much as a single finger of Stone to be seen somewhere on cam, the Chat goes wild. It does not matter what he does, or what Robotnik (the true star of the show, mind you!) is doing, as soon as one user would spam cryptid into the chat, it would be picked up by hundred, no, thousands, and there would be no stopping them anymore. The questions range from the obvious Who is that or what is he doing there towards the more strange ones like can we get more of him. Even downright crazy ones like how much for a picture of him.

The last one, Robotnik singles out and sends a virus into the user's inbox, instead of the requested picture. He feels strangely vindicated after, for reasons he does not care to name.

The whole attention should have been something to celebrate, Robotnik ponders. It yields him dozens of new viewers, and the engagement of those viewers is noteably better than before, as well. From a purely logical perspective, it is a good thing.

He cannot for the life of him explain why it puts him so on edge.

Maybe he should ask Stone to stay away from the Crab while he is streaming but that seems... over the top. Even for him. Stone lives here , dammit; he is not that much villain that he will make his trusty sycophant homeless over something like...

Ah, speak of the devil. Behind him, the front door of the Crab hisses open; the thunk of hydraulic reverberates through the entire mech. Robotnik hums, but otherwise does not pay it much attention. Why should he, when there is only two people on this planet who have the passcode, and one of them is him? There is no need to turn around to check who it is, so he turns back to get his stream rolling again without missing a beat...

Or he would have, if his camera did not just willingly ditch him for his assistant instead.

Before he can so much as blink, the Mini-Nik, who previously had done a very good job at hovering in place and only moving to ensure its creator is right in the middle of the screen at all times no matter how passionately he moves about, suddenly forgets all decorum and pre-programmed tasks when it hears the other half of its human pack come back. It gives a high thrill, not unlike an excited shriek of a child, and dives across the Crab at highspeed. While Robotnik still splutters and whirls his chair around, the little rascal has already reached its goal and is all but smacking against a laughing Stone's cheek, cuddling up to him with whirring purr of machinery like a happy, affectionate kitten.

What a sight. Robotnik is momentarily stunned for reasons he will later have to analyse thoroughly, before he catches himself and pushes to his feet, demanding sharply, "Come back here this moment!"

"Hello, little one, I'm happy to see you too." Stone, absolutely unhelpful, is laughing heartily when the Mini-Nik nearly nudges his head back with the force of its cuddling and pats the little shell with two fingers while he coos at it. "I haven’t been gone that long, have I?"

"Barely noticed you went out," Robotnik lies smoothly while he glares at his drone with a raised eyebrow. So yes, maybe Stone has been gone for most of the day; it's his job to - well, do whatever it is he does to support them while Robotnik is deeply engrossed in conquering the internet one stream at a time. But that is still no reason for the Mini-Nik to lose all decorum like this! It will reflect badly on its creator when it is so driven by emotions! What will people think?!

Not that he cares about "people", ever, mind you. But this is about appearances which are to be kept. Speaking if which-...

"Stone, stop overriding my programming," he chides as he reaches the unlikely pair, expertly plucking the Mini-Nik away from his sycophant while ignoring its distressed beeps. So dramatic. Just where did it get that from?

Stone lets it go only reluctantly, their hands brushing as he gives the little one a final pat goodbye before turning to the doctor with a quizzical look. "I didn't do anything, though?"

"You are here," Robotnik retorts courtly while he nudges the drone back towards the workstation. It barely moves, and he frowns, sending Stone a long-suffering look as if this behavior explains what he means. "It has become increasingly clear that your presence is messing with the intelligence module more than I had anticipated. And I can't tolerate that this fact interrupts my streaming."

"Oh," Stone’s smile does not exactly fall, but it goes crooked, surprise drawing it lopsided. "You - are still streaming? Live?"

"My streams are generally live, Stone, yes. "...Hm. Now that he turns the question over in his mind, he realizes what his sycophant is implying with it, and he grasps the Mini-Nik and turns it away from the other man, simultaneously opening the screen on his wrist to see what the drone has been recording this entire time. Yep. Thought so. "And they just got a live closeup of your beard, it seems."

Stone pulls a face, rubbing an self-conscious hand over his chin as if to check if said beard is at least neat and tidy. “Ah. Sorry?"

"Hm." Looking up, Robotnik spots something between Stone's fingers that makes him frown. Quick as lightning, he pulls the other's wrist away, allowing him to view the thin red scratch that he had spotted. With a dismayed grunt, Robotnik grabs Stone's chin and tilts it up, checking how far down the injury runs. To his... relief? Satisfaction? It is only a few millimeters long, and swallow, but the redness of it still does not sit well with him. Huffing through his nose, he lets the other go, but not before grumbling, "Be sorry. You really should shave more carefully."

More than used to being manhandled like this, Stone lets himself be obediently maneuvered around until the doctor is satisfied with the inspection. Once he is released, Stone feels for the scratch himself, hums, then smiles. "I will keep that in mind, doctor."

Mollified by the agreement, Robotnik relaxes, his anger momentarily forgotten.

He is abruptly reminded why he had been interrupted in the first place when there is a whirring sound to his right. When he glances over, it is to the sight of the Mini-Nik slowly circling the two of them, being as quiet as it can... while quite obviously attempting to inch around the doctor to get to Stone.

"Ohohoho, nope, nu-uh," Robotnik grumbles, hand shooting out to grab the little troublemaker out of the air before it can get any further. "You have work to do, and I'm sure Stone does as well."

The Mini-Nik whistles a sound which sounds suspiciously like a whine and actually attempts to roll out of his palm, much to his consternation. Fed up with his child acting out like this, Robotnik clacks his tongue at it and opts to carry it back to his workstation himself, berating it as he goes. "No. Leave Daddy alone for now. You can play with him later."

He places it back in the spot midair where it had been before while he falls back into his seat, running a hand through his hair and peering at the screen to see if the connection is still up and running. Good, it's all still there, the chat rolling by rapidfire, and the camera... he adjusts it again, since the Mini-Nik keeps attempting to track Stone who is passing by in the background, heading for the kitchen. "Focus on your Daddy first."

To his chagrin, the little drone gives a long whistle which sounds like protest. Despite himself, Robotnik rears back, eyebrow jumping up. "Excuse me?! What kind of tone is that?!"

Somewhere in his back, he hears a quiet chuckle; too far to be picked up by the microphone, but he is too attuned to it to miss it. Throwing his head back, the doctor yells, "Stop encouraging this misbehavior, Stone!"

"Sorry, sorry," the smile is too audible to even pretend that he feels truly chagrined. "It's cute, I can't help it."

"Cute," Robtonik mutters, falling back into is chair. He meant to spit it out in disgust, but by now, Stone's behavior is so natural to him that he can't quite manage it. Sighing with a shake of his head, he mutters under his breath, "Bloody softhearted-…"

He is doing his best to come up with an appropriately scathing insult, something to vent his frustration with Stone’s insistence to be a little romantic, a bit whimsical… and trails off with a frown when he realizes he can’t. His heart is not really in it – ahem. Meant to say, his superior intellect cannot be bothered to do it!

…Dammit, he is getting infected by Stone, isn’t he.

Well. Never mind all that! Back to work.

Cracking his knuckles, he switches back into Streamer-mode, dragging the chat and viewer count back up on screen to check if that little interruption has influenced either towards the negative.

To his surprise, the chat is more lively than ever, and viewer numbers have skyrocketed - nine thousand?! He has never reached even remotely that high before. It would have been a reason to celebrate, if not for the fact that the entire viewership has only exactly one main topic:

Did he just say Daddy?

Called himself that. Criiiinge

No, the other guy

Called him Stone? nickname?

Which one is Daddy????

Keep your kinks in the bedroom doc

So they are a couple right

Double cringe

Donation if you twll us which ones the Daddy in the relationship

And on and on it goes. Even for his reflexes, the messages keep coming too fast for him to follow.

Truly perplexed and faintly disgusted that his entire chat has only this topic, instead of something fascinating like his creations, Robotnik pulls a face in clear sight of the camera and mimes a gagging sound. "You," he intones with all the haughty superiority he can manage, which is a lot, "are truly the epitome of humanity's worst, boiled down to the most disgusting dregs of it. Now, if we could get back on topic -"

Is the topic Stone? Would love to get on that lul

Without knowing why exactly - or rather not caring to analyze the reason - Robotnik feels his eye twitch in annoyance. Cutting himself short, he zeroes in on that singular comment, and begins typing into his control glove blindly. ".... blocked, reported, and entirely deleted, hope you're proud of yourself!"

There. That should shut them up for a while, he has time to think... before the chat fairly explodes with activity.

The twitching worsens to a near painful degree while he observes it spiraling well and truly out of his control, emojis and questions pouring in at lightspeed by now.

Sometimes he questions if crowdfunding was not the easier thing to get money from, after all.

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

Of course, because the universe loves to humiliate him, of course it all reaches a boiling point some day, in a way he had not - yes laugh it up, he had not - anticipated.

Robotnik had thought he had gotten it under control, sharp genius that he is. Fed up with having to share Ston-... the spotlight, he had simply banned the words Stone , cryptid , and coffee from his chat. Anybody dumb enough to type them would automatically be time outed for the next hour.

There. That helped calm things down, and he could finally get back to the really important things: His work. Next up, Robotnik had decided, he would change up the Badnik prototype that he had found no real area of application for into a floating, controllable microwave. This way, he explained to Stone, they would have an useful addition to their sparse kitchen, and he would not need to wait for fresh warm food until his sycophant was back from errands every day, he could just warm up leftover takeaway from the day before.

He had magnanimously waved Stone's protests away that he could always prepare some more healthier, possibly cold food options. Always with the worrying, Stone! This is fine!

The whole modification process would be done live on stream while he explained the entire thing down to the most minuscule detail. Of course those imbecilic Egg Heads would not understand even half of it, but this was more for his satisfaction of getting to talk to an audience, after all. It worked out.

In his triumph, Robotnik overlooked one teeny tiny detail - the sheer determination of his viewers in their quest to find more about "his cryptid".

Bowed over his little baby with a grande future, Robotnik is just explaining how he will rewire the inner workings of it to make room for the microwave plate, waving one hand around to emphasis it, when it happens:

The first damning donation pops up, right in the middle of the screen and unavoidable, accompanied with a happy little jingle and an explosion of virtual confetti.

+10$ - does the crypt 1 d butler live with you?

Robotnik halts to squint at the message, jaw working while he debates what to do now. Not that he really cares what anyone thinks about him, or his living situation, but should he really indulge those curious brats so much? Oh, he could ignore it of course; he is good at ignoring inane things, after all. But it is a donation, and the Chat is used to him reacting to those, so pretending he did not see the obvious would probably come back to bite him because it would seem like they had hit a nerve. Either it would only fan the flame of their weird obsession, or it would lead to him losing further donations, and with it, a good source of income.

Deciding the question is harmless and well-paid enough, he shrugs and answers to the camera, “Yes, he does.”

He sees more comments flash up, the chat moving in a blur by now. Alright, fine, he answered their question. Surely now, they will focus on more important-

The next donation pops up. +20 – who is he?

Well, that one was wasted money, thanks for that one! Grinning like a shark, Robotnik mimes innocence, an emotion he is not too well acquainted with, but can at least emulate, “He’s Stone, duh”

The Chat goes wild, emojis flashing mercilessly as the poor fool is made fun off for being so careless in their wording.

Damn

Your own fault man

Okay watch this instead

A third donation, and the doctor’s eyebrow twitches as the jingle overlaps with the one from before. He will have to turn that down if this goes on-

+100 – nother donation - same amount – but you got to answer our question honestly

He stops with one finger hovering over the “off” option, frown deepening. This, right here, sounds like a trap. He cannot say how, exactly, but instinct is shrilling in the back of his head like an alarm. But the money is good, and what questions could a bunch of juveniles come up with that he could not answer? Puh-lease.

And anyway. Not like they could take the money back when he did lie to them.

Now well and truly amused, he takes his baby off his lap to put it aside, then sits back, stippling his fingers while he glares at the camera over them. A challenge; a mockery. “Well, shoot, then.”

What shows up on screen is absolutely not what he expected.

+100 – Is he your boyfriend?

For a beat, he stares, frozen in mid-motion. Then the surprise tips straight over into amusement and laughter bubbles out of him, sharp and cackling and mean. “...That’s it? That is all you come up with?”

Oh that is so good!

He barks another laugh out while he runs his fingers through his moustache, grinning like a madman, shaking his head. Oh, to be a human with an IQ below 200 points! It must be such an interesting yet overwhelming world out there for them. “You get the one time chance to ask me, genius par excellence, a question I might – might – answer truthfully right down to the last detail, and your feeble little minds cannot conjure up anything better than ask after my relationship status? What, were you hoping to determine if you stand a chance with me yourself? Hate to disappoint, Chat, but this eye candy here," here, he gestures at himself, then spreads his arms and does a spin with his chair for good measure to show off all his glory, "is not on the market, so meeeep, though luck. So not sorry to disappoint. Go cry your eyes out over it."

Dude

He didn’t say no

That was not a No!

Not a yes though??

Not on the market means a yes

In denial obv

All the laughter Robotnik had been feeling bubble up immediately dies on his tongue as he reaches the last message, and he snaps his mouth shut, instead presenting his teeth in a snarl. "Denial? Denial would imply I am not in complete control of my own emotions and need to renounce them instead of deleting them, you utter imbecile. Learn the difference, if you are even equipped to so do."

Yep totally denial

Um at least St0ne is so fucking in love hello

He made heart eyes at you doc

For someone calling himself a genius sjdwjcdjd

OMG WHAT

GUYS OMG

look at THAT

OH SHIT

Robotnik has approximately one second to wonder why the everloving hell his already weird viewership has now degenerated down to an unreadable mess of keysmashes and caps lock, when he sees the words crypt1d and St0ne flash up in chat over and over again amidst the chaos. Oh great. Unknowingly, Stone has the absolute worst timing for this.

Now entirely sure what is causing the Chat to shorten out like this, Robotnik bites back a sigh, pressing a hand to the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t even need to turn around to see what has the audience going so wild so quickly, not really, but despite himself, he glances back anyway -

Just in time to see Stone dart out of the cameras range and into the safety of what counts as the “bedroom” in the Crab. He obviously just came from the bathroom; he is still toweling off his wet hair with one hand, while digging for a new shirt among the drawers with the other. Based on the fact that he is wearing his boots, slacks and a tank top, Robotnik figures that he had been working on the upgrades to his bike they had talked about over a quick breakfast this morning, before needing a shower. An absolutely logical course of action so there is… obviously no need to act anything else than normal about it… right?

The doctor only realizes that he has been staring for longer than just a quick glance when Stone turns and meets his gaze, freezing when he realizes he is under scrutiny. With is wet hair spiking in every which way and his wide eyes, he looks impossibly startled and soft when he mouths What?

Good question. What did he want from his sycophant? Nothing, really, he had just… Huh. Been surprised? Been enjoying the view, maybe?

Streaming, Robotnik finally mouths back, gesturing at the screen behind himself.

Confusion melts into a sheepish smile, and Stone shrugs, gesturing at himself, the bathroom, then at his shirt, and mouths another quiet, Sorry! As if that explains everything.

It does, really, and Robotnik rolls his eyes, feeling a tug at the corner of his mouth despite himself at the silly antics, gesturing I know, I know. He turns back around, smile still playing around his lips.

What greets him instantly wipes the smile of his face.

Got a hot bf at home and wastes time streaming? Wtf? Get off cam and on that, doc!

No way he is ignoring that hottie????

He is!

Pay more attention to your bf

Told you guys St0nes just a live-in butler

Yeah, bf to the doc? That hot dude? No way

Any and all levity forgotten, Robotnik snarls; annoyance bubbles up inside of him, which quickly turns into sharp, biting, burning fury. How dare they? He feels strangely offended for a reason he cannot quite grasp yet, but he does not need to. Offense is offense, and for that, Ivo Robotnik would not stand.

With a snap of his fingers, the last comment he had read is deleted, and an invisible chain reaction starts in the background, singling out the user which had sent it and methodically starting to destroy their account and anything that is connected to it. Two more snaps, and any comment that contain hot , hottie , bf or any other offensive term is immediately deleted as well.

"Well?" Robotnik asks, voice sharp and cold; no longer the smooth voice he uses for streaming, but rather the abrasive snap of the mad scientist looking down on such human behavior. "Does anybody else want to test me today?"

The Chat slows to a near crawl.

Sorry doc

Sorry

Okay we're good

"I thought so," somewhat soothed, Robotnik settles back; his hand stays raised, ready to use his control gloves once more should the need arise. "Now, if you all can behave, I might focus on the more relevant parts of my stream again. Now, where were we? Ah yes; my work. Now, let us see..."

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

His outburst had the aimed for effect; the rest of the day, the stream behaves itself exemplary, focus only on what he is working on, and only typing to send questions regarding the Badnik upgrade, or to send donations for work well done.

It should have been enough, should perhaps even made him feel accomplished; but Robotnik cannot shake the buzz under his skin, a pointed feeling of disgust and displeasure that scratches at his nerves like barbed wire. It makes his fingers twitch, his annoyance clear in his voice, and by the time the Crab's artificial lights have dimmed down to simulate a night cycle, he feels a persistent headache pulse in his back of his head and down his neck.

Absolutely done with it all, Robotnik turns the camera feed off before declaring aloud, "Alright, that’s it for now!" and stopping the stream entirely.

The room goes dark around him; now that he is no longer illuminated by his screen, the entire room is plunged into pitch black darkness.

It does not alleviate his headaches at all, to his chagrin.

Robotnik checks his watch, frowning when he reads the time. Two in the morning. Usually, around this time, he would have taken a quick five minute break before going on streaming for at least another two to three hours but… somehow, he does not really feel like it today.

He pushes out of his chair and stretches, suddenly bitterly aware of how much more strength he needs for it, how his spine pops as he moves. Imperfections, the whole of it. Weaknesses and failures which he despised so deeply.

Mood darkening even further, Robotnik snaps around, ready to stomp off and simply fall into bed face first, sleep a few hours to get rid of whatever is clouding his genius mind, and then get back into the grind of it-…

Only to stop sharply when his gaze lands on something at the other end of the Crab’s interior.

The wall bed is already folded down and prepared – already occupied, even. Stone is curled up on the far-side of the mattress, his back to the doctor’s sharp gaze; his shoulders move imperceptibly with deep and even breaths. There is an obvious free space on the mattress next to him, the blankets pulled back just enough to look like an open invitation.

Why that is such a startling sight takes Robotnik a moment to suss out, before he nearly facepalms in a sudden burst of understanding; Stone never falls asleep before him. It is unprecedented; a violation of the natural order. Simply not done. If he wanted his sycophant to sleep before him, or longer than him, he needed to honest to god sedate him. (Critical injuries not withstanding.) Even now that Robotnik’s schedule is back to what it was in his heydays working for the governements, filled with all-nighters and little breaks, Stone had been a quiet presence at his back through it all, even when he had not been there in person; staying out of sight, but still there for whenever the doctor needed him.

To see him asleep like this…

It is almost a little uncanny, Robotnik reflects while he makes his way over as quietly as he can, nearly tiptoeing. His sycophant is the watchful one out of the two of them, the eyes and ears of every operation while his boss slash partner gets lost in whatever captured his attention. This here is… Stone at his most vulnerable, open and unprotected to one genius’ sharp gaze.

Next to the bed, the Mini-Nik resting on the night table gives the quietest of chimes, its eye glowing brighter when it wakes from Standby to greet its creator as he comes closer. Robotnik shushes it with a gesture and click of his control gloves before it can possibly wake the target of his interest and then very carefully crouches down next to the mattress.

Like this, he is face to face with the sleeping Stone; who still does not wake up, the doctor realizes with an amused huff, some bodyguard you turn out to be.

But somehow, even as if he thinks it, he has no doubt in his mind that Stone would be up and awake the very moment anybody but the genius himself would step into the Crab. Does not even need to think about whether or not there is a gun under the former agent’s pillow, or his gauntlets right in reach on the table next to the bed.

And still… Way too open, Stone, Robotnik mouths to himself while he looks his sycophant over. Stone’s face is slack in sleep, lips slightly parted, all lines of laughter or worry or cool professionalism smoothed out from it. A few loose strands of his usually perfectly styled hair falls into his closed eyes, moving slightly every time he breathes out. He looks… guileless, like this, which is so far from the truth that Robotnik nearly starts laughing then and there. Soft, though. Soft, he ponders, is probably an attribute that his sycophant actually hides under all his perfectly up kept appearance.

The doctor stays entirely still, leaning in close while he catalogs Stone’s sleeping form carefully, unheeding of the breach of privacy (did they even have privacy, at this point? Did they care?). This is a prime opportunity to observe the other man in his wholly unguarded entirety, and wonder – is Stone really that attractive? Appealing enough to the masses that a viewership of thousands would go wild when they only got as much as a glimpse of him?

Very likely yes, Robotnik settles on finally, having conducted an observation to his satisfaction. Quite obviously, Stone is a cut above the rest, excelling both in good looks as well as a sharp mind. Not to mention that he keeps in good shape at all times, is competent in everything he does, and has a pleasant personality – as far as Robotnik was concerned, at least. Robotnik knew all that already, of course; he is a genius after all. He very quickly knew that he had gotten his hands on a prime specimen of humanity when he had been assigned this personal assistant, thank you very much. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to stand him for so long.

He is simply… taken aback, now that he is realizing that other people would also notice what a good catch his sycophant really is.

Yeah, bf to the doc? That hot dude? No way

The thought flits through his brilliant mind quite unbidden and he startles, drawing in a hissing breath.

Opposite of him, Stone’s even breathing catches and he shifts under the blanket, forehead crinkling as if- ...

Pulling a face, Robotnik instinctively reaches out and touches the other’s shoulder as lightly as he possibly can; not quite a pat, nor a brush, but something in between, fluttering and helpless. No way that will work, but instincts are even a genius’ crux in life…

To his utter astonishment, it is somehow enough. Instead of bolting upwards like he had feared, Stone breathes out slowly, face relaxing once more. He stays asleep.

And Robotnik stays alone in his sudden epiphany.

Moving as hastily yet quietly as he can, the doctor scoots away from the bed and gets up, hurrying through the half-dark room towards the bathroom. Still moving with a careful hurry, Robotnik eases into the bathroom, closing the door and flipping the little latch to “occupied”.

With a flick of his fingers, he turns on the lights - immediately squeezing his eyes shut for a beat or two when they protest the sudden brightness after hours of half-dark. Blinking back tears of pain, Robotnik leans in to plant his hands left and right of the sink while he studies his reflection in the unforgiving white light.

What he sees is not exactly… pleasing.

Of course he is aware of the vast differences between himself and Stone, appearance wise. It had always been this way, be it the obvious things like pale-and-scrawny versus tan-and-trained, or the more vague aspects like considered handsome by the masses versus.... versus...

This, Robotnik finishes bitterly while he eyes his reflection in the mirror. Look, he is not blind, even when he barely wastes the time looking into mirrors. He knows that he is an unkempt appearance with his wild, by now shoulder long hair and bushy mustache dropping over his lips; neither of which have seen a comb in days, and flop into his face in a wild mess. At least that hides the dark bags under his eyes he is sporting somewhat, but the rest... Hours upon hours of staying copped up in his labs or the Crab combined with his nonexistent sleep schedule have made his already pale parlor worsen to a sight that would give even a ghost a run for its money. Once upon a time, he had at least had his build going for him - never muscular, but still tall and lean and intimidating - but now...

Frowning so deeply it casts even uglier shadow over his offensive facial features, Robotnik pokes at the adipose tissue that is starting to gather around his middle and bulge over the waistband - also commonly known as a belly. When he had first started to gain some weight thanks to all the regular meals Stone had foisted upon him, he had paid it little attention, while the other man had been extremely pleased by it. You need to regain your strength, doctor, his ever dutiful sycophant had pointed out to him when Robtonik had protested the need for food, after everything that has happened. This is a good thing!

But that had been in France, when he had had a balanced diet and took regular walks. Now, after neglecting to even leave the Crab for days on end, not even moving much at all from his chair if to be entirely honest, and grabbing whatever easy junk food he could get his hands on when Stone was not there to procure healthier meals for him… now, his body is betraying him for it.

Another poke at the flabby tissue, soft and squishy under his fingers. If Stone still thinks that this is a good thing?

No way. No way, no way, no way.

... What is he even doing here? He knows how he looks; he is very aware of the fact that he is entirely undesirable.

Why waste time debating the obvious?

A growl works its way out of his chest, and with a flick that is near painful on his fingers, Robotnik extinguishes the lights once more, plunging the room into blessed darkness. He has seen quite enough.

Feeling around blindly, too stubborn to turn the lights on again even as he hits his elbow on something, the doctor goes about taking care of his bodily needs, then washes his hands and splashes his face with water that is too hot, scrubbing himself clean so harshly it pricks at his skin. Not satisfied but still done with it, he feels back towards the door and exits the bathroom, stumbling out into the slightly warmer main room again.

He hurries across the room as fast as he can in the dark, internally cursing himself for not thinking to build in heated floors when he had designed the Crab. His bare feet are not thanking him for this oversight now. He is half tempted to crank up the heating of the whole place with a click... only to realize that he had fled the bathroom so quickly that he had left his control gloves on the sink's edge. Darn it. He really is out of it.

Cursing at himself silently and in several different languages, he barely bites back a sigh of relief when he reaches the bed and can climb on it.

Patting around in the dark, he locates his blanket blindly and drags it over himself, huddling under it as tightly as he can. There. He will warm up in no time this way, and he didn't even wake his sycophant up. Quite satisfied, he scoots around to lay his head onto the pillow-

And immediately jolts with a quiet hiss when his neck protests the movement. Ow, dammit. Sitting slouched over in his chair for hours a time had gotten way more strenous than it had been when he was younger...

Still shuffling around, Robotnik freezes when across from him, Stone moves, breathing in deeply, before mumbling something and rolling around in a way that it too purposeful for a sleeper.

Oh great, the doctor grumbles internally. Poke and prod the guy and he sleeps through it, but make one tiny little noise of pain and-...

Whatever scathing or snarky thing Robotnik had been about to think shrivels and dies when Stone does not speak like he had expected, but rather reaches out for him. A warm hand settles over the back of the doctor's neck, and clever fingers start kneading at the tense muscles there; firm, tight circles that first sting, then bring blessed relief.

Startled into silence, Robtonik nearly bites his tongue bloody to keep in the pleased groan that is trembling somewhere in his throat. But despite dealing with the noise, he cannot stop his head from lolling forward, presenting more of his stiff neck to the ministrations.

Stone hums softly, sounding slightly worried while his hand continues moving with precision. "Tense,” he murmurs, voice hoarse from sleep but still gentle as he offers, "I could give you a massage?”

A what? A massage? Nobody had ever given him a massage; not like anybody had ever offered, but more importantly, he would never have let anybody so close that they could put their hands on him. But, damn it... Stone had been closer than this already, and much as Robotnik hated to admit it, the tiny ministrations already feel heavenly on his sore neck. His sycophant really set the goal for himself to be perfect at everything he did... if this is already so good, maybe a massage wouldn’t be so bad...

For one absolutely blissful, brainless moment, a Yes trembles on Robotnik's tongue, almost eager...

And then his brain kickstarts, and he remembers what he had just learned about himself, and his body.

Massages meant more touching, right? More seeing.

No way. No way, no way, no way.

Whatever relaxation the doctor had been feeling vanishes the moment he takes a deep breath then grinds his teeth together to kill the urge to say Yes. Nope. Stupid idea; way beneath his genius mind. "No"

"No?"

Does he imagine it, or does Stone sound... disappointed? I must be more tired than I thought, Robotnik grouses. He has gotten better at reading Stone's emotions, but this one he completely misinterpreted on the first try. Suprised, maybe. But not disappointed.

"Really?" Stone asks into the awkward silence. He must be close, even though it is hard to tell in the dark; his words are tiny puffs of air against Robotnik forehead. "It really’d be no trouble. I've been told I’m good at it."

By whom, exactly? Robotnik wonders, and then instantly shakes his head. Not important, and thinking about it makes him tense up more again. "Won't work," he explains courtly. "Effect will be ruined when I spend the next hours in the same position again."

Opposite of him, fabric rustles, the mattress moves. Did Stone just shrug? Apparently, because he answers undetered, "Then I give you another one."

"What, after every stream?"

"Or during breaks," Stone is smiling; the doctor is attuned enough to the sound of it by now to know it even while blind as a bat. "Any time. Just say when."

Why is his barnacle so damned persistent about this? It's nothing, just a stiff neck, a little pain. He can deal with it. And still-...

As if to answer his thoughts, Stone whispers into the space between them, "It's not hard, doctor."

What is? Following my orders - requests, these days? Caring for me? Looking at me?

He does not ask, and for once, his sycophant does not anticipate the question and answer it beforehand. Much of that can probably be attributed to the fact that Stone is already falling asleep again. It is obvious in the way his fingers slow until they stop moving and are only cupping the doctor's neck; in the tell tale way his breathing evens out gradually.

Did you really just wake up for that? Robotnik wonders; he aims for biting, but it comes out more startled, even in his own mind.

He lays in the dark, listening to the even breaths a few inches away while he tries to find sleep himself. His insomnia has lessened in the past few months, which he secretly attributes to the tune of Stone’s breathing – he has constructed entirely new formulas around the cadence of it by now. Usually, it is enough to count it to find the sleep which once used to be so elusive.

In. Two, three. Out. Two three.

Today, it won’t work right. His synapses keep firing at rapid speed instead of slowing down to the count he sets for them, making him twitchy and irritable. Why is his trusted routine failing him now?

And why is he the only one awake right now?

"Stone,” Robotnik hisses into the dark.

He does not really expect to be heard - but then, when had Stone ever ignored him? The blanket rustles as his sycophant jolts, then murmurs, "Mhm?"

Yes, well. What exactly did he need him for? Thinking quickly, the doctor frees one hand from his blanket cocoon and wriggles his fingers in the space between them. "We need to do something about the temperature in this place. I'm cold."

“Mh,” there is a yawn and then the mattress dips when Stone sits up – about to leave? Hold on, back up, that was not part of the plan! “I’ll get the gauntlets-…”

“No,” quick as a striking snake, Robotnik reaches out and grabs blindly for his sycophant, managing to locate one arm and pull at it to stop him from leaving. “It’s… No need. Do it tomorrow.”

Not one to ever resist when he is being pulled around by the other, Stone settles back onto the mattress obediently. His breath puffs against the doctor’s cheek softly when he mutters, “But you’re cold.”

“I can handle it,” gods above, he should have figured his loyal barncale would jump up the moment he uttered a complaint, Robotnik thinks with an eyeroll. He will just blame his own frustration and exhaustion for not thinking of-… now hang on-..

Robotnik blinks sharply, nearly jumping backwards when he suddenly feels an arm slip around his shoulders and draw him in closer against another warm body. Surprise makes his voice go utterly flat as he hisses, “What are you doing, sycophant.”

“’S warmer this way.”

“...Ah. I see.”

There is another jaw-cracking yawn as Stone settles in – all but wrapped around him, Robotnik realizes with an odd sense of shock as he is being pulled against a firm chest and and an arm secures him around his back. To top it all of, Stone presses their foreheads together, leaving no space from head to toe between them while he arranges both of their blankets on top of them with his free hand. “Good?”

Yes. No. So much worse and yet so much better at the same time. The way they are arranged, Robotnik’s hands are trapped between them, pressed against Stone’s chest, and he can feel every heartbeat and every single breath up close now. That alone would have already been enough to overload his senses, but combined with the feeling of being wrapped up securely, warm and tight and safe, he feels like his entire genius brain is about to shut down from the way it is spinning into overdrive.

They… they had certainly been very physical in their relationship during the past few months, but that had been different; more pointed, more focused and driven. This here... this is a much calmer way of physicality, and yet, a sensory input of a scale Robotnik had not quite expected. And if he had, he had not seen coming that it would be initiated by Stone himself, who was always so careful to let the doctor take the lead. “…How tired are you, anyway.” He wonders aloud before he can stop himself.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” The hand on his back is rubbing lightly up and down as if to press warmth into him, and Robotnik breathes out shakily while he focuses on its rhythm, torn between pressing into it and away from it at the same time. “I’m… warm. Good job.”

“Mh.” Stone sighs out a breath before scooting even closer. Before Robotnik can even think about pulling away, soft lips press against his forehead, there and gone again as quickly as they came, before there is a sleepy murmur, “Goodn'ght, doctor. Sleep well.”

It is just a hint of touch, barely a brush of skin over skin, really, but it could not have been more devastating in its simplicity. Whatever thoughts had been running circles in his brain before tumble and fall, leaving his genius mind entirely empty for once. Robotnik opens his mouth uselessly, but no sound come out.

It is not necessary, anyway. The cadence of Stone’s breathing tells him the other has fallen back asleep again; he can feel it beneath his palms too, now, underlined with the dull thump of a steadfast heartbeat.

Well. His mind is certainly quiet now, at least. It's not like he can think like this.

Screwing his eyes closed as tightly as he possibly can, Robotnik allows himself to lean in until his burning forehead presses against Stone’s, and focuses on those steady, familiar things surrounding him, willing them to fill the emtpy space where rational thought had been until moments ago.

It works like a charm; his muscles unwind, his pains forgotten, and his mind – well, that has been shut down already, quite neatly.

He is asleep before he can count to ten.

Chapter Text

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

Stream not only starts late the next day, but it is slow going, as well. While Chat tries to drag an explanation for his deviation from the routine from him, Robotnik barely notices them. His gaze is vacant while he remodels the Badnik in his lap, stopping occassionally to rub at his forehead absentmindedly. His viewer counts drops to an all-time low, but that, as well, does not make him look up.

He has got other things on his genius mind; a big part of his genius mind stuck in what happened during the mind, viewing it again and again and again until it is fairly burnt into the back of his eyelids.

Finally, even though only like five percent of his mind are on the task, the doctor fastens the last bit of wiring and closes his baby’s shell carefully before wriggling his fingers, activating the control pad of his gloves.

On command, the Badnik which had been gutted beyond recognition until a few weeks ago beeps to life and slowly rises from his lap to hover in the air, turning around itself slowly. It is in no way finished yet, the entire microwaving function is only partially installed, but at least three quarters are done now.

Feeling a bit more focused now, Robotnik grins up at his child with a proud quirk to his lips, typing in a few commands to let it circle his head while he reaches over to open the chat option and check the reactions.

The comments are already pouring in, a constant barrage of Spanish and a bit of English; even with the viewer count at only a few hundred, the chat is moving nearly too fast to follow. But Robotnik has no intention to read all of it, anyway. He merely skims over it to gather his well-deserved praise as well as new ideas or slang he can use in the future. A lot of it is drivel, spams of emojis and inane questions,but once or twice there is something useful... alright, once or twice a week. Maximum.

He keeps reading anyway.

That can't all be true right?

CGI. There re no robots like this

But hes good

Magnificent

Also hes funny

Even when he is talking about world domination?

Love that shtick

...

Wait. Waitwaitwait. Nearly choking on his cold sip of latte, Robotnik surges forward in his chair to grasp for the keyboard, hitting the button to stop the chat. With suddenly clumsy hands, he scrolls back up, searching for the single word comment that got his attention. It is... there.

Magnificent.

Something tugs at the back of his mind while he stares at it, intuition warring with logical thinking. It is only one word, of course, and could absolutely be coincidence - his work is magnificent, and it is high time the general population realizes this, after all! But something about the word is.…

Next to him, the Mini-Nik gives a quiet chime, indicating that the allotted time for chat-reading will end in another ten seconds.

Hesitating not for one beat, Robotnik balls his hand into a fist, pressing the commands for the Mini-Nik to fall quiet and stop recording as well as for the message Brb Dance Break to appear on the screen, all simultaneously.

Without double checking as he usually would, he pushes to his feet, only momentarily swaying as his body protests the abrupt movement after hours of sitting. With a resolute shake of his head he gets rid of the dizziness and snaps around on his heel, stalking across the limited space the Crab provides them.

Luck is on his side; Stone is standing with his back to him when he approaches, bent over the kitchen counter and focused on chopping something with rapid, masterful movements. That single-minded focus is most likely the main reason the trained agent does not hear his partner approach - or perhaps it is the fact that the rest of his attention is captured by something across from him

A phone screen, displaying a live stream which currently reads BrB Dance Break.

Something squeezes tight in Robotnik's chest, the ache sweet and staggering. He elects to ignore it, as he generally does with anything closely resembling feelings, and instead pushes straight through, never stopping in his forward momentum. He is already in Stone's personal space when the other man finally senses him coming, and before Stone can do more than turn and mutter a surprised sound, Robotnik has already caged him in against the counter bodily, effectively trapping him. Ignoring the surprised look he gets, Robotnik leans in further and reaches around Stone, grasping for the forgotten phone.

It is quite satisfying to watch how Stone’s expression shifts from confusion to realization and then to something approaching sheepish that screams Oops, when Robotnik waves the damning evidence in his face. "You watch my stream."

No real sense to deny it, and Robotnik can see the twitches of Stone’s expression as he comes to the same conclusion and sighs quietly with a smile. "Well... yes."

He knew, and yet… the doctor raises an eyebrows, gesturing with one hand at the entirety of the Crab, and the workstation that functions as his personal corner for streaming now. "When you have the live experience right here?"

“I can barely see more than your back from here. If I want to see it all, I need to watch it,” Stone reminds him. " And supporting the stream only works when I'm a viewer, anyway."

"Supporting..." Now hold on. He had not recongized Stone’s username just now, but something about the implication makes him understand, anyway; if anything, he feels even more perplexed when he prods, "You donated?"

“Yes?” The other looks briefly confused, before surprise and then shock cross his face, and he rips one hand up as if in defense. “From my own money, of course! I wouldn’t touch the funds for this."

"Would defeat the purpose of the stream,” he agrees on autopilot, but his mind is already racing ahead, going further. So that meant Stone had not only been going out to get groceries or acquire things for his projects, but had also managed to find a way to make some money himself or he had been using up his emergencies reserves… all for this silly little project of the doctor? The tug in his chest repeats, the ache of it so sweet it makes his breath stagger. Robotnik needs to clear his throat before he can speak once more, careful to keep his gaze on Stone’s phone instead of meeting the man’s eyes, "Bot accounts, too, I assume?"

"Approximately twenty by now.” Even without looking up, he can detect the hint of sly pride there, and the doctor smirks over the villainous streak of his sycophant before he can help it. Of course.

But that still does not answer all of his questions. Tapping the phone screen with his thumb, he opens the account which had drawn his attention with that single-word comment, lets his gaze dart over its content; it is basically empty, minimal description, no picture, and the only stream it follows its his own. Too obviously fake to be a bot; he knows Stone is not that obvious when he sets up disguises or fake personas. A thought dawns on him, and he tilts the screen in a way that means they can both see it when he asks, "And this one....?"

"My personal one," Stone answers, honest as always, before his lips twitch into a hesitant smile; crooked and unsure. "I really do like watching your streams."

Robotnik stares at him for a beat, then two. All this time he had thought his sycophant simply indulged his whim and then stayed out of the way for it; that he might even be annoyed by it, considering the streaming greatly hampered his freedom of moving about the Crab, but now…

That makes him think of something else, and he tilts a smirk at Stone. “The ones with, or without you?”

Thankfully, Stone immediately catches on to the teasing and laughs, a bright and amused sound. “Ah. Yes, I’m sorry about those, I really am trying my best to stay out of the way, but you know-…”

Doing his best to stay out of the way, huh? Frowning, Robotnik studies the other man closely, tuning out the rest of the needless excuse while he reflects back to the past few weeks; it hadn’t registered then, occupied as he was, but now that he really looks for it, he realizes that the trips Stone had taken outside of the Crab had gotten longer and longer over time. If that had not been to do gods-know-what kind of work, or a strategy to not get claustophobic in here, then that meant-…

He had chased his own sycophant out of their home?

Surely not!

But then, a misunderstanding like that would fit the both of them so well, it is actually disgusting.

Wrinkling his nose in annoyance, he interrupts Stone’s apology by clacking his tongue sharply and pinching the man’s hip. “Bab! None of that, sycophant. You can walk in on the streams whenever you want. After all, you are…”

Here, Robotnik falters, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence. Yes, what? He is Stone. That is it, and that is enough. He had only been half-messing with his viewers when he had said it; to him, that is all the explanation that was needed, or warranted.

But now he had opened his big mouth, and Stone is looking at him with a confused tilt to his head, clearly waiting for him to go on, so he has to say something here. He blinks, bringing his unruly thought processes back in line, and finishes as if it is obvious, “You're my henchman slash sycophant; nobody should expect you to stay away for long."

There is a beat of silence, before Stone’s expression softens, his lips twitching up into a smile. "Oh. Won't that ruin my cryptid status when I become a frequent appearance?"

"Having you walk in and out doesn’t mean you will be a permanent fixture of the show," Robotnik waves off with a snort, for once amused by the dreaded word. "Your cryptid status will stay well and truly intact, sycophant."

"Oh, alright.” Stone sounds so relieved by that the doctor regards him with raised eyebrows, and the younger hurries on to explain, "Of course the majority of the viewers is there for you alone, but I observed that there are a few extra donations a week in the hopes of getting more information on me, so-…"

Huh. Of course, yes – the fact that Stone had been watching his streams (how many of them, he would later get out of him) also means that he had seen what the Chat had written about him. Even more curious now, Robotnik leans in further, tilting his head while he looks the other up and down as if he can read his reactions off him. “Did that bother you?”

“What?” Stone stops, blinks, and only then seems to catch on. “That they asked about me? No.”

“Are you sure?”

“...Well. Some of it was weird,” Stone allows, which Robotnik agrees to with a snort because yes, say that twice. “But it’s not like I have – or had, ever – much of a personal life anyone could dig into, so."

“When they called you my butler?” Robotnik fires, watching closely for any slipup.

No dice; Stone hardly blinks. “Not the most out there of all the theories.”

“Pfff, that does not even cover ten percent of what you do – anyway. Called you cryptid?”

“Saw that as a compliment for being able to stay in the background.”

“Asked for pictures of you?”

“Weird, but almost flattering.”

Interrupting himself, Robotnik taps his fingers against the counter besides them while he weighs his next steps. There is exactly one thing he would love to ask Stone whether it bothered him or not in all the chat and donations messages, but he will not be the one taking the damned b-word in his mouth first, so. His sycophant needs to break first. “There is absolutely nothing that bothered you?” He intones sharply, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

And – yes, there . The tiniest flicker of Stone’s gaze to the left, a tick in his jaw. There and gone in less than half a heartbeat, but burned into the doctor’s mind already even as the former agent says, “No, nothing.”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Robtonik crows, feeling triumphant like a wolf who had gotten its prey between its teeth now. “You are a terrible liar sometimes, Stone – so, which part was it that got under your skin? Come on, spill.”

A frown etches onto Stone’s face and for a beat it looks like he might insist that there was nothing; then his shoulders sag, and he makes a face. “Just the one comment. About, uh. Me making heart eyes at you?”

… What?

Robotnik blinks rapidly, trying to decide if he had heard that wrong; he hadn’t. But. No, now hold up. What? That is in no way – that one hadn’t even been on his list! Of course he remembers the comment, he remembers everything , but why would that be an issue? He has to know. Shaking his head so hard it makes his moustache flap audibly, he demands, “Why that one?”

The grimace only deepens, and Stone frees his arms from under Robotnik’s to cross them over his chest, almost defensive. “ It’s stupid, really.”

“Stone. Remember what I’m dealing with, on a daily basis, from the rest of humanity. I will manage.”

That manages to break through the glower Stone had been wearing; he quirks a quicksilver smile before he sighs deeply, arms falling open – releasing the defense – and he shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “Just... I would like to think that my poker face is better than that .”

Breathing slowly, deeply, Robotnik digests that, analyzing it from all sides. That is what bothered you? Not the implications of it? “Seriously?”

He only realizes he has said the last part out loud when Stone looks at him with a frown. “Yes? A bunch of juvenile stream watchers seeing through me - I think I’ve gotten rusty if it’s gotten that easy to read me.”

He looks truly annoyed by it - by being too obvious. No, by being seen through.

Not by having something untrue pinned onto him.

He is not denying it.

Disbelief slowly gives way for understanding, then amusement – and Robotnik starts laughing, quietly at first before it gains momentum, grows louder and more manic until he cackles with his head thrown back, breathless and loud, his shoulders shaking with it.

Stone lets him laugh his fill, watching him with a grin playing aorund his own lips. Only when Robotnik slowly calms down again does he point out, “It was a real hit to my professional pride, you know.”

“I can imagine, you abhorrent perfectionist,” still snickering meanly, Robotnik reaches up and mimes a reassuring pat to his syocphant’s shoulder. “Oh, the humiliation. You lost your edge, Stone.”

“Only around you.”

The simple sentence is enough to knock what little breath he still had left after that outburst out of him, and suddenly, the doctor does not feel like laughing anymore. He catches his breath and clears his throat sharply, feeling as if the tables have turned a little too quickly for his liking. “Ah. Well. You know, I was expecting you to be more annoyed at all the personal questions about you rather than… that .”

“Why?” Stone looks truly nonplussed when he shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t really care if they waste their time asking. Especially since you’re not about to answer them for real, anyway.”

“Oh, Stone – so naive. Who said I won’t? I’m evil, remember. Maybe I was going to have you answer all their questions by next week; special cryptid stream to rack in more money.”

There is no surprise or trepidation in Stone’s eyes, only amusement. “Oh, will you?”

Well no, of course not , Robotnik thinks with a snort. Not only is it way more fun and lucrative to keep up the mystery of cryptid Stone, but the questions have also long since passed a line; he is absolutely not about to share pictures of Stone, or anecdotes of how they met or why they live together; no way he will zoom in on a laughing Stone in the background, or share recordings of his voice. What right does Chat have to all that? Zilch , that is how much. Obviously, all of that is entirely the doctor's private... property...

Ah. Robotnik blinks, suddenly feeling as if he has found a missing piece he had been looking for for days now. No wonder he had not liked the increasingly personal nature of the requests; they had demanded something that is his, and he is not such a generous man that he will give in to such demands.

Absolutely base urge, he notes with a frown, a needless possessiveness possibly ingrained into human nature. No wonder he hadn’t considered that before, he had thought himself above it.

"Doctor?" Stone sounds amused when he shakes him from his thoughts. "You're not actually considering it, are you?"

That is an easy question, and he can answer it even while distracted. "Hell no. They could pay a fortune, they won't get any more of you." He grumbles, the thought of it alone making him frown already. "I will allow you to walk in and out as you please, but I'm not about to show you off."

"... I see." Stone blinks slowly, smile dimming a little as he processes that. "Yes, of course that - makes sense."

Hmmm? Such an unenthusiastic reaction - oh, of course, Robotnik realizes, they have another misunderstanding right here; Stone seems to not have reached the same epiphany as him snd apparently thinks he does not want him around while on camera . Poor sycophant, one step behind the genius' intellect.

Well, that is easily rectified.

Clacking his tongue, Robotnik hooks one finger into the other's collar, pulling sharply so Stone stumbles into him; like this they are pressed together from chest to toe, his lips pressed against Stone's ear. This way, he basically speaks the words into the other's skin, pressing them there like a brand. "As much as I love showing off what is mine, I'm also not a man who shares, Stone."

He waits, watches, listens, as the information sinks in. Pressed this close, he cannot see the other's entire expression, but there is enough body language to read, anyway. For an agent trained to be impassive even under duress, Stone projects too many signals all at once when it is only the two of them, and Robotnik is learning to anticipate them better and better; the gain of hours and hours of spending observing and cataloguing:

First is the very audible hitch in Stone's breath, as if his very lungs stall in shock. His frame shudders, if from tension or relaxation, it's never quite clear. And there, right under Robtonik's halflidded gaze, is the wildly pulsing carotid artery which gives away the frantic heartbeat of the younger man.

Oh good. He had understood and that in record time - five seconds flat. Satisfied with the quick uptake, Robotnik hums, letting go of the counter long enough to grasp for the small of Stone's back, pulling their boddies together the last inch and closing the distance to that fluttering artery to press lips and teeth against it, to see if he can’t just lay claim there physically, as well…

Behind them, an insistent beep not unlike an alarm clock shrills. They both startle and Robotnik’s snaps his head around to glower at the Mini-Nik who had followed him, and is now chirping at him like an overeager puppy.

“Yes, I know,” he grumbles at it, much in the same tone someone else would have said Not now!

"Dance break's over," Stone points out needlessly, clearly on autopilot. He still looks as dazed as if someone had just hit him over the head with a baseball bat. Close as they are still, unheeding of each otherwise personal space by noe, Robotnik has a clear view of the artery thrumming on the side of the other's neck, fluttering like a humming bird’s wings.

The sight of it – of Stone, blinking up at him clearly dazed, so obviously affected– is enough to make him pause, swaying uncertainly in place. He should go back to his work. The stream is going well, he has been racking in way more money with it than with crowdfunding, and it takes little more from him than simply being his own abrasive self; in the security of screens between them, it seems even the masses can deal with his special brand of obnoxious just fine for a while, are even entertained by it. If he can keep going like this, they will have more funding than they truly need right now.

But right now... right now, he cannot make himself give a single damn over the viewer count, or donation goals, or anything like it. Now when there is his sycophant right in front of him, looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars, seeming so very comfortable with having his space invaded and being manhandled and called out and-

Close to ten thousand viewers a day, Robotnik reflects, caught between amusement and something softer, sweeter, and only a single one of them can stand me when we are in the same room together.

"Doctor," Stone nudges him slightly with his shoulder, nodding towards the still beeping Mini-Nik. "Ten more seconds until you are live."

Acknowledging the reminder with a grunt, the doctor pulls one hand back to flick his wrist, then types in a quick line of commands into his gloves. Across the room, the Mini-Nik beeps another tune; in his other hand, the screen of Stone's phone suddenly reads "connection lost". "Stream's over for today."

"But-...?"

"I've let you ran loose without supervision for too long now, sycophant," Robitnik explains, haughty and superior while he shrugs. "I think it is time to check in on what your schedule looks like these days. Can't have you slacking off, after all."

"Oh." Stone blinks, clearly regrouping. His surprise wavers, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and the fruitless effort to look like the impassive, trained agent he once was. "I... had not actually planned anything work related today, so it probably does count as slack-...."

"Doesn't matter. Show me anyway." He is careful to not intone it like an order, but softer; watches intently to see if Stone will catch on, or not.

It is obvious when Stone does – his confused frown melts into surprise, eyes widening the tiniest bit as he catches on; then a slow smile spreads over his face, tiny but luminous. “Doctor, would you… like to join me?”

“Did I not just say so, sycophant?”

“I – you did. You did, yes.”

Stone looks so softly pleased over this that it makes Robotnik blink, then frown. He had said all that mostly because he had suddenly felt the real need to...hrgh, he has to think it...to spend time with his syopcahnt because he felt like it, but… Now that he really thinks about it: He has been streaming close to sixteen hours a day the past week or two, and in that time, completely list sight of Stone. He had remotely picked up Stone's movements a out the Crab thanks to the regular appearances of food and lattes next to him, or from dirty dishes disappearing and replaced with warm blankets and headache medicine, but other than that…

He has not really stopped to wonder what the other man does in all that time when he isn't catering to his whims.

Interest now well and truly piqued, Robotnik sways in, nose nearly brushing the other mans. "What were you going to do while I was streaming?"

"Uh." Stone seems thrown for a beat; if from the close proximity or by the question is hard to tell. He turns his head away and gestures behind himself vaguely, towards the cutting board he had been using, and – ah yes, there are bowls there, filled with perfect cubes of some kind of fruit, Robontik notes. The same moment, his sycophant explains, "About to prepare you a snack, actually. Then put on some TV in the background."

Instantly, his attention snaps away from the food – he was getting a bit peckish – towards the other. "I thought you watch my stream?"

It comes out almost scandalized.

Stone must have heard it, too, since he chuckles and pats his arm reassuringly . "That's why I said background, doctor. La Última Pasión does not need my full attention, so it works out."

"You - backup, retry that,” Robotnik makes a buzzing sound with his mouth like a failure sound, and shakes his head. “You don't watch Última Pasión; I would know, since you never sat through a single full episode with me."

"Because you showed me an episode from the fourth season immediately, when I had never seen the rest of it," Stone explains, tone this close to dry if it hadn’t been for the amused twitch of his lips. "I couldn’t follow the plot without some more information, so I was trying to catch up."

...Well. That actually does have a certain logic to it, doesn't it, Robotnik has to admit. In his first and last attempt to entice the show to his sycophant, he had focused on really showing him the highlights of it. Perhaps this would have called for a chronological approach, instead of one by preference.

And still, something about that sticks out to him like a sore thumb. He cannot quite figure out what it is - a fact which is highly irritating - but he will be damned if he doesn't figure this out. "Catch up, you say," he repeats. "How far?"

"Not too far yet, have to admit," Stone looks a tad sheepish as he admits it, as if he failed some kind of test. "I was busy finalizing those blackmarket deals-..."

Each of which he had finished with rich profit for them, yes. The last one had gone over without a hitch two days ago.

"... so I only got to season two recently."

Twenty episodes then, minimum. Stone had watched twenty episodes of something that he had seemed disinterested in... and that is what has been bothering him, isn’t it? It does not make sense . Narrowing his eyes contemplatively, Robotnik studies the other closely. "You did not seem particularly interested in telenovelas."

"Well... I never really had the time to try them out, before. I don't really know if I like them,” Stone shrugs as if to say what do you do before tacking on, "But you seemed interested. I figured it might be fun to watch it together."

Together.

Huh.

Had Ivo Robotnik ever before had someone to do leisurely activities together with?

No, ridiculous, he admonishes himself with a snort. He knows the answer to that; and knows very well what reactions he would generally garner from everyone for suggesting to watch a telenovela, of all things. Laughter, ridicule and disbelief would be the most innocent things anyone would throw his way if he did.

Except Stone, apparently. Who, once again, proves to be the only exception to every rule in the doctor’s carefully cultivated and categorized life.

… If those heart palpitations will not stop soon, he would consider them serious health issues.

Clearing his throat sharply, Robotnik ignores the not-real-discomfort in his heart area and straightens to tap Stone on the chest sharply. "You," he intones with all the superior haughtiness that he can manage, which is a damn lot, “are an absolute heathen, sycophant. You cannot possibly grasp the true depth of the intrinsic relationships and convoluted mess of schemes present in Última Pasión when you are simultaneously distracted by my brilliant on-screen self. Absolute beginner's mistake. I expected better logical thinking from you, really.”

“I’m… sorry?” Stone looks like he is fighting with all his might not start laughing, and only barely manages it.

“Well,” Robontik sniffs. "Considering you are basically my number one viewer, which is a full time job, I will consider this a failure born from terrible time management and let it slide this once. We will simply have to start over from scratch."

“Ah, yes. Good plan, doctor.”

“Of course it is; it’s one of mine,” taking a step back, Robotnik snaps around on his heel, directing the other man to follow him with a crook of his finger. "After me, Stone; I will introduce you to Última Pasión in the way it should be enjoyed. You can bring yourself, and the - what snacks are we having, again?"

At the reminder, Stone takes a step to the side to allow the view of the tray with two bowls he has prepared. “Just some fruit, really; you didn’t have lunch yet and I didn’t want to spoil your appetite, so I thought some of these might be good -”

As he talks, he gestures between the two bowls, plucks one piece from the top almost absentmindedly when it rolls away under his gesture, and pops it into his mouth.

Something about the way he does it, the casual grace of the motions, mesmerizes the doctor, and his gaze zeroes in on Stone’s hand, where juice glistens as his sycophant talks. Hmmmm.

Not even hesitating for a blink, Robotnik grabs Stone's hand out of the air mid-gesture and holds it still while he leans in, taking the two first fingers in his mouth and sucking. Pulling back, he smacks his lips, squeezing one eye shut while he considers the taste. "Hm, slightly sweet... Melon? "

".... and strawberry, yes."

“Acceptable.” He licks his lips, then, for good measure and in the name of reducing food waste, nips at Stone’s fingertips too to catch the rest of it.

And because he is a bastard who likes to garner reactions, of course. Sue him, he is an evil mastermind, Robotnik thinks with a mental shrug while he comes back up.

… Alright, so perhaps that had been a little too cruel of him. He might have as well just fried Stone's brain, for all that the former agent looks like he will start steaming out of his ears from overheating any time soon. But it is so deeply gratifying to see the ever-collected man go weak in the knees, blush spreading up his neck and down his chest. It lets the doctor experience a high not unlike the finalization of one of his beloved creations.

Also, Stone with a little sweetness does not exactly taste bad. Oooh, would that experience change with the strawberry? Demands an immediate testing to gather more data. Surely he can convince his sycophant to feed him the rest of the snacks by hand? He highly suspects he won't even need to deliver a logical sounding reason for it.

Instantly in high spirits over his downright genius idea, Robotnik lets go of Stone and turns around, marching off with a spring in his step while he calls over his shoulder, “Well, get a move on, Stone! The sooner we start your re-education, the better!”

“… Of course, doctor.”

Does he just imagine it, or does Stone sound fairly winded already?

Oh, this afternoon will be fun, he can already tell!

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

They relocate to the couch Stone had brought in a while ago – and had wisely bolted down to keep it from sliding around when they move. It is a small but comfy little thing with barely enough space for three people on it.

With the way Robtonik sprawls over the furniture, it barely has enough room foe the two of them, but that is just fine for them. He commandeers the biggest screen in the Crab for their binge watch, and pulls up the first episode of La Última Pasión while he tucks his bare feet under Stone's thigh, starting the video with a click of his fingers.

Robotnik had meant to sit back and let Stone watch in silence, content to observe his sycophant while the other man gains a first impression of the show for himself.

But the moment the title melody has finished playing and the main actress of the show steps onto screen, the doctor cannot hold out any longer, and begins talking.

And Stone, as always, turns to listen.

It is really not Robotnik's own fault, then, that he does not stop; not with such an audience. He talks and talks, sometimes even over what is being said on screen, since he cannot be bothered to stop the TV while he goes on.

By the time episode three rolls around, and Stone has dutifully fed him half of the fruit platter, Robotnik has sketched out the entire family tree that is the focus of the series, spoilered three big plot-twists for the following few seasons, and is having altogether a wonderful time. Stone is a much better audience than his entire viewership, his full focus on the doctor, soaking up his every word with care despite the inane topic, asking question in just the right places.

The episode finishes, the title melody of the next one starts up, and Robotnik runs out of steam long enough to take a breather. In doing so, he takes notice of the fact that Stone has not turned around to watch the screen for the past five minutes, instead watching the doctor's face intently. Really now...

"Sycophant," Robotnik admonishes with no real heat, and reaches over to grab Stone's chin and forcibly turn it back towards the screen. "Watch the show , not me. How will you catch up in this century when you are not even paying attention?"

A chuckle vibrates down his arm, and Stone's smile curves against the tip of his fingers. "But it is more interesting when you tell the story."

"Granted, everything is when I tell it, but you are missing the integral parts that the actors play. Multitask and listen while you watch the screen. My face is not half as interesting."

"Agree to disagree."

Pausing in the middle of pulling away to instead grabbing for his glass of water, Robotnik blinks and turns his head back to ask, "On what, exactly?"

"Hm?" Stone frowns as the lead's grandfather, Pedro, yells something on screen; then he seems to really understand the question and answers without looking away from the on-screen fight, "Oh, I just meant I like looking at your face. Or, you in general, to be honest."

The sip of water the doctor had just taken promptly goes down the wrong way and he starts coughing, slamming his cup back down so hard he nearly topples the table with it. When Stone straightens and turns, a worried frown on his face, Robotnik waves him off, pointing at the screen as if to say No, watch.

When Stone does as he is told, albeit reluctantly, Robotnik takes the moment to wrangle the last few coughs under control, all the while drilling holes into the other man's temple with his gaze. Does Stone even know what he – yes, of course he knows what he just said. It is not the first time he says something like this, about the mad scientist. With steely conviction, teasing, laughing, sincere - it's been there in all kinds of flavors already, but this one... devastatingly casual. A passing thing he does not even need to think about, because it is a simple fact.

Just like supporting a silly stream. Or watching telenovelas he has no real interest in. Or offering massages.

All small acts of utter devotion, layered over each other again and again, until they become something unbreakable.

…Hah. Genius of unparalleled intellect, and all he had used it in the last twelve hours is overthinking things without considering the most important variable: Stone.

Suddenly, Robotnik could not care less about what is going on in the show anymore; there is something far more worthy of his interest right there in reach. He tugs his feet free from under Stone and makes his move, fast and rather graceful for a man of his stature and his age, if he does say so himself.

Alright, maybe it is not that difficult in the first place. The couch is not big, and they are already sitting so close together, it is just a question of rolling around to to come to sit on Stone's lap, pressing him back into the pillows.

To his credit, Stone reacts with little more than a short blink before he expertly shifts them both so they are not in any danger of falling off the couch, and maneuvers the plate away. He does not protest the sudden weight, or having his entire view blocked, and instead looks quite happily surprised by the proceedings. Still, he points out, "Doctor, what about the-..."

Blindly, Robotnik flaps his hand to turn off the show. "Whoops, too bad. To be continued."

".. Is this how La Última Pasión is to be watched properly?" Stone inquires, already grinning.

"Of course, I'm the expert, trust me." Robotnik studies his pleased sycophant, then eyes the fruit platter off to the side. He had the strawberry last, so he wonders if... He reaches for a piece of melon, and raises it to Stone's lips, tapping it lightly against them until the other obediently sucks it into his mouth and begins chewing. "We will see the rest tomorrow."

Frowning the briefest moment, Stone finishes chewing and swallows, only to immediately point out, "Tomorrow is the finalization and big reveal of the Badnik Microwave on stream."

Ah. Trust his sycophant to remember his schedule better than he does. Oh well. Robotnik clacks his tongue and waves the information away like an annoying fly. "Eh. I will speedrun it. Maybe postpone it. You-..." and here he digs one finger into Stone's chest, poking so hard it must have hurt, "need to be further educated on Ultimate Passion, that takes top priority."

With his entire incredible focused on his sycophant right now, there is no way he could have missed it: The amused tilt of Stone’s lips immediately softens, smile turning bright but soft while a pleased flush spills over his cheeks, and his voice has a distinctly breathy quality from smiling too much when he answers “Oh. I’m looking forward to it, then.”

Hmmm. The heart eyes were probably not even that far off, Robotnik thinks with a smirk, making a mental note to give his Chat more credit once in a while. Stone is surprisingly sweet sometimes, isn’t he?

Speaking of sweet; previous testing had shown that the fruit from Stone's hand directly tastes sweet, but carries a faint undercurrent of the man's on taste, which has created a pleasant effect. Familiarity with a certain surprise. Now, the real question, Robotnik reflects with his head tilted in contemplation - what will be sweeter, the fruit, or Stone's smile?

Well, only one way to find out, right.

Using the hand that had just fed Stone to grab his sycophant roughly by the front of his shirt, he yanks the man up while leaning in abruptly himself to crash their lips together. The response is instant, hands flying up to catch his face and tilt it for a better angle. Robotnik grins into the kiss, pleased by the quick reaction, and uses his free hand himself to anchor it in Stone’s hair while he gets that taste he wanted.

It takes his genius brain a nanosecond to decide that yes, Stone's smile is sweeter; warm and honey sweet and addicting. Addicting enough, in fact, that instead of coming up for air right after as originally planned, Robtonik rumbles a pleased sound and does what he does best - pushing further, taking more, devouring all.

He can't be exactly easy to handle, considering his entire weight is resting on his sycophant, impressive moustache and unkempt hair surely a ticklish sensory hell where they press into the other. But Stone does not protest either, much the opposite; where Robotnik's greed is a biting, possessive and branding thing, Stone's is a desperate plea, a sweet surrender that is no less intense for it, matching the doctor beat for beat; hands scrambling for purchase on the older man's back to haul him in, get him closer, get more of him, while Stone arches into the onslaught readily where others would shy away in fear of getting burned.

It is pure greed and hunger given form, and all of it entirely reserved for Robotnik and him alone. Whatever kind of trepidation he had had about his appearance – their appearance – about all of this - whatever nagging doubt it was, it goes out the window with a crash to fall thirty floors and burn down on the pavement forgotten.

Robotnik feels a mad cackle rise up in him. Undesirable to the population, maybe. Undesirable for one sycophant? Absolutely not. All of Stone's focus, all of his devotion, is entirely Robotnik's, handed over freely and willingly without hesitation, as if it is not the greatest treasure of all.

All mine, he hums contentedly while biting down harder, licking deeper until he feels Stone shake under his hands. Mine, mine, mine .

He probably would have kept at it if not for the fact that they are both sadly human, and need air once in a while. When Stone’s breathing turns into swallow pants and Robotnik’s lungs burn, the doctor finally pulls back, sitting up while he licks his lip. The taste is not like the usual kisses…

"Mhm, still fruity," he ponders curiously while sorting it in. The fruit they had tasted leaves a certain sweetness which lingers, but is not overpowering the taste he is come to associate with Stone himself. Complementary, even. Hmmm.

Beneath him, Stone laughs, a bright and startled little thing, shaking them both through. "Do you - do you know what that means?"

"Hmmm?” Robotnik questions with a raised eyebrow while he pops another piece of fruit in his mouth, chewing slowly. That, too, does not overpower the aftertaste of the kiss. It is like he cannot quite shake what is uniquely Stone, or overwrite it, and the thought is a surprisingly pleasant one. Fascinating.

"... Forget it," Stone murmurs, following the movement of the other’s mouth and throat with keen eyes. "It's slang."

Any other time, Robotnik might have insisted on an explanation; he feels like he is missing something important here, and he hates missing out. For now, he shrugs, and reaches for another piece of food. "Explain later."

"Yes, of course." Following his attention, Stone notes the quickly emptying plate. "Oh, I can make more next time, if you like it?"

"Do that. Add some more options." He does like it, but possibly not because of the reasons the other thinks. Ah, well. His sycophant is smart, he will catch on soon enough. Now then... he chooses an especially juicy looking piece of strawberry, and offers it out for Stone, but does not let him take it out of his grip; he holds it still between the other's lips, making sure it's still there before he slowly lets go. "Keep that there, don't swallow."

Perhaps those are unclear instructions, since Stone's eyebrow snaps up, head tilting in a silent question. Feeling quite generous at the moment, Robotnik explains without even an eyeroll. "Taste combinations. I'm experimenting."

Instantly, Stone's eyes widen slightly, darkening, and he exhales deeply, the breath shuddering out of him. But he does not swallow, and does not move otherwise, holding so inhumanely still it is obvious he is simply waiting for the next order.

That feeling in Robotnik's chest, possessive and warm and utterly unclassifiable to his genius mind, expands further like a balloon, tickling at his throat as if trying to bubble out in a laugh. Oh, so damned easy. It is a pleasure to watch his every whim be indulged immediately; even greater pleasure to know Stone is enjoying it just as much.

Smiling a slow, wolfish smile, the doctor reaches out and takes a hold of Stone's chin to secure him in place before leaning in to get the taste he wants.. As expected, Stone tilts into the touch obediently but otherwise does not move an inch, not even to swallow the piece of food still in his mouth which cannot be comfortable.

Very good.

If Stone picks up on the rest of the proceedings with the same speed and eagerness - and Robtonik does not doubt he will - then this will be quite the enjoyable afternoon, indeed.

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

You are in a good mood today doc

Yeah what happened

Yesterday you were all gloom

You stormed off suddenly we were worried

Any other day, Robotnik might have started laughing meanly when he saw the messages and dug into them for even daring to insinuate something ridiculous like this. In high spirits as he is, though, he merely snorts and rolls his eyes without looking up from his rewiring for more than a second, shaking his head. “Ah yes, of course you were.”

Don’t believe us

Meanie

Did St0ne comfort you

We would be bored without you man

“Of course I don’t believe you, you nitwits,” Robotnik sends the camera a look that is half-grin, half-grimace. “Though I commend the attempt.”

Not caring further for what his Egg Heads come up with next, he focuses back on the Badnik in front of him, ordering it to float in a slow circle to check whether or not the balance nod can stabilize the additional weight of the microwave plating without a problem. When the Badnik finishes its circle without losing balance, he grins in triumph before shimmying his shoulders to the beat of the music all around him, miming singing along while he reaches over and adjusts the calculation that are running on the screen to his right.

Everything is looking like it will run smoothly, and it lifts his already good mood even more. Ah, he so loves when everything goes his way!

He is going for the air guitar next, tapping his foot to the rhythm, when there is a delicate knock somewhere in his back and a quiet call, “Doctor?”

Pausing mid-motion, Robotnik tilts his head back to look over the back of his chair.

He finds Stone easily; his sycophant is standing on the other side of the Crab, right outside the range of the cameras; hand still raised where he knocked against the metal wall. When their gazes meet, his crooked smile grows, warm and bright and sweet.

And entirely too far away.

With an amused grunt, Robotnik drops back into his chair and taps a quick command to crank up the music further in a way that turns it from a quiet background noise into a near-deafening sound, before calling over his shoulder, "Come closer if you have something to say, Stone, I can't hear you over the music."

There is a pause, just long enough to make it clear that Stone wonders if he should point out that there are other options - like turning the music down instead of up - before there is a huff of laughter; understanding.

Robotnik bites back a triumphant grin when he hears the approaching footsteps, keeping his gaze on the screens until Stone appears next to him in clear view, leaning over the chair’s back to get to him, resting a hand on his his right shoulder for balance. "I'm heading out, doctor. Shouldn’t be longer than an hour, but I left a thermos of latte on the counter just in case, anyway."

Snapping his chair around so Stone is forced to take a step to the side, Robotnik looks him over, noting the casual wear of a t-shirt and jeans, no boots yet; not some stealth mission then. Good . He would have had quite a few pointed somethings to say about his sycophant going out on missions without telling him in detail what they entail and when he will be back.

A quick glance to the side tells him the Mini-Nik is filming them from over Stone's shoulder, meaning the the younger man has no way to see the little red light that indicates whether or not the cameras are turned on or not. Satisfied, the doctor presses his thumb down to turn all the cameras off, then crooks a finger in an invitation to get Stone closer under the guise of being heard over the thumping bass.

Stone follows without a hitch, just like he knew he would; leans in so close their noses are nearly brushing while he listens attentively, his entire focus on the genius alone.

"And I need to know that why?" Robotnik asks, only audible because they are so close together. He fakes disinterest, as if he has not just called the other over himself, and makes a shooing motion. "Go, go. Do whatever it is you do when you’re not sycophant-ing."

Stone’s chuckle is a warm burst of air on his face as the man shakes his head, eyes lighting up with amusement. "You mean completely ordinary things, like grocery shopping?"

"For all I care, yes." Frankly, maybe he does care, because it gives him a splendid idea. Cranking up the music even further to its full, bone-rattling volume with a click of his fingers, Robotnik leans into Stone, forcing the other to put a hand on his shoulder for balance, and adds loud enough to be hears, "Bring some more fruit with when you come back."

The reaction is gratifyingly instant. The fingers on his shoulder squeeze to a near painful degree while Stone's eyes flicker, going dark, before he catches himself doing it and eases off with a slow, deliberate breath. He must know it had been a tease, since he laughs quietly, his smiling lips brushing against the curve of the doctor's grinning cheek as he answers, "Preferences?"

"Surprise me."

“Alright.”

And as if to prove that he can, his cheeky sycophant leans in that last tiny inch and presses a quick, light kiss to the cheek turned away from the screen, before pulling back entirely and standing back up. He is across the Crab once more before Robotnik’s brain boots back up all the way, and from that safe distance he calls over the loud music, “Be right back!”

“You’re a bastard of a smartass, you know that?” Robotnik bellows after him, only to hear cheerful laughter drifting back to him.

Unable to contain his manic grin, the doctor snaps his chair back around and starts up all the cameras again with a flick. He will take a break from streaming as soon as Stone is back, just to really have the time to pay him back a thousandfold for that little move right now. If he hurries, he might even finish the Microwave Badnik before then, but…

He pauses, glancing at the stream to see if the interruption has any negative side effects. Ah, comments, comments, and more comments…

St0ne spotted!

St0neSt0neSt0ne

Musica so loud, what they saying

Okay now kiss

Whoa stream cut out?!

No just the cam

Doc the caaam

Did you do that on purpose

Ah were back

Doc get St0ne on screen more

Whats his real name?

20 bucks if you send me a pic of him

The last one makes Robotnik pause in the middle of opening his mouth to tell them to calm down already, eyebrow etching up before he slams one finger against his palm, pressing the button hidden there.

Instantly, the user with the outrageous proposition is silenced for the next ten minutes.

It takes a handful of seconds before the rest of the viewers catches onto what just happened, and errupts into chaos.

Oh shit

Awww no pics

possessive af dude

Share the cryptid doc

"There is no sharing here," Robotnik drawls, fingers flying over bis control gloves, time-outting users which comments overstep his boundaries left and right at the speed of light. By the ten second mark, he has blocked over half of his viewers for the time being. "I deign to impart some of my superior knowledge with you peasants, for which you should grovel at my feet in gratefulness. That is all that you will get from me, and every single one of you can take a big,fat break until you have internalized that.

But perhaps that kind of wording flies over your empty heads," he wonders aloud, halting his rapid fire blocking. Maybe he is being too nice; he cannot expect the general population to understand two geniuses like them, after all. Changing tactics, he instead leans in until his face is the only thing the camera can taken in, filling the entire screen while he lowers his voice to his most dangerous lilt, "Let me put this into terms your internet rotten brains might be able to grasp: Get your own cryptid. This one's taken."

Slashing his hand through the air like a knife cutting a throat, he ends the stream entirely – more dramatic then probably necessary – and gets up again, stretching. Hmph, that will teach them to shut up once in a while, he muses. His Egg Heads are really getting out of hand and growing to be an obnoxious bunch. He would feel strangely proud of them, maybe, if they weren't annoying him, of all people.

Moving his stiff shoulders, unbothered by the way his spine cracks, he rubs the back of his neck and listens. He hasn’t heard the Crab open yet, so… “Stone!”

Of course, without fail, the answer is immediate.

“Doctor?” Stone leans back into view where he had just been about to activate the gate’s opening mechanism, looking surprised. “Are you taking a break? Did you need something?”

“The Egg Heads were getting on my nerves, so I’m ending stream for today. That will teach them.” the doctor waves the worry in the other’s voice off. “But I need some air to clear my head, so give me five minutes to get ready.”

“Get ready-…?”

“I will not be joining you in the shirt that I slept in, Stone, that's disgusting,” Robotnik admonishes him with an eyeroll while he stomps over to their bed to go hunt for some presentable clothes. “Five minutes, no more. Think you can wait that long?”

The surprise only intensifies, leaving Stone to gape for all of two seconds – before he catches himself with a blink, and starts beaming as if Christmas had come early. “You can have all the time you need, of course.”

Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Robotnik throws him a look that he suspects is not as offended as he would have liked, and grumbles, “You stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Riiight. He had not considered that Stone cannot see what he is doing with his own face. Truly amused now, Robotnik shrugs his sweaty shirt off and throws it over his shoulder while he reaches for a new one to drag over his head. He will tease his sycophant later over the use of “heart eyes”, as Chat called it; if he starts now, they will never leave, and he wants that fruit now that he mentioned it.

He gets ready in record time, running one hand through his wild hair to tame it haphazardly. In the middle of slipping into his shoes – still barefoot – he hums a distracted sound when Stone comes up to him and starts combing the doctor's hair through with his fingers, sectioning it, then combing again. “It’s getting long,” he murmurs, absentmindedly reaching out to offer a stabilizing arm while Robotnik is adjusting his footwear. “Do you want me to cut it a little?”

Halting while balancing on one foot and holding onto the other’s arm, Robotnik eyes him thoughtfully, if a little disbelieving. “You give hair cuts?”

“I've been cutting my own hair for years,” Stone seems to sense his confused look and pulls a grimace, laughing at himself a little. “Didn’t like the idea of someone with sharp instruments coming close to me.”

Makes sense. He can just about imagine the former agent throwing someone with a judo technique if that someone had tried to get to him with a pair of scissors. Snorting himself now, Robotnik finishes up and adjusts his grip so that his arm slips through Stone’s – a move thst is instinct by now since he had waited for his broken leg to heal, and because it makes it easier to drag his sycophant along, he never really stopped. “Stone. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Of course, there is a lot-…”

“I’m starting to believe there is not, you jack of all trades.” Hitting the opening mechanism, Robotnik nudges the other with his elbow. “Forget about the haircut. What was that about massages you mentioned? Or did you sleep-talk there?”

For a moment, Stone frowns as if he has actually forgotten about it, then his face brightens in memory. “Ah, yes. I did learn at some point. I thought – hm. Doctor, would you like-…?”

Aaah, so the rest of that conversation is coming back to his sycophant, too. Humming an amused sound, Robotnik drags the other through the slowly opening gate of the Crab and outside, shrugging lightly. “Eh. I will think about it.”

It is as if he has handed Stone a gift, rather than even more work. The hopeful look on his face turns into joyful disbelief, eyes wide and glittering while he grins. “Really?”

“I said think about it, sycophant. Not an agreement,” the doctor reprimands, flicking him in the forehead hard; he cannot quite contain his own smirk. “Don’t get all excited. Instead, tell me where the hell you learned a skill like that; is it a G.U.N thing? Entry requirement to get into the academy? First year’s final test? Or is it simply your absolutely exhausting urge to be perfect in all you do? Come on, spill.”

“I do not have an urge to-...ow,” another flick, and Stone snorts while he rubs the smarting spot. “Fine, fine. There was this one mission where I had to pose as an physical therapist for a while…”

As they set foot onto dry land and the Crab dives back under water again, Stone begins talking. And Robotnik… well.

For once, he is quite happy to listen to someone else than himself.

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

In the meantime, unobserved by the two men, but still seen by many hundred viewers who had not vanished with the stream connection like Robotnik had assumed, a last comment drifts into the still running stream chat of “Huevo Diablo” – a single readable line in the midst of blocked comments:

So. We are all in agreement that doc and St0ne are married, right?