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1.
Minor incidents tended to happen within the laboratory walls quite often, much to Agent Stone’s despair. They ranged from tripping on discarded wires and bumping headfirst into a badnik at full speed to inhaling dangerous chemical fumes. Stone himself had suffered a myriad of little accidents over the years, not that Robotnik was aware of it. He always made sure the Doctor’s work would continue uninterrupted, no matter the situation (short of a national emergency). Robotnik, on the other hand, would loudly and energetically make sure the entire G.U.N. headquarters knew when he got so much as a scratch. Which is why, when Agent Stone heard a loud crash but no following shout whatsoever, his heart dropped, feet moving on their own until he reached the main laboratory, the image before him making his throat constrict painfully.
Robotnik sat at his console, chest heaving and body shaking as haggard breaths left his lungs, way too fast and unstable to sustain any real oxygen intake. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only feel the trickle of blood down his palm and into his fingers, soaking the torn glove and making it stick to his skin, the sensation horrid and repulsive, but his body refused to move, to tear the disgusting fabric away and take care of the deep, angry gash on his left hand.
There was movement somewhere by his side, and a muffled voice close to him, too close. Instinctively, he felt more than willed his body to turn around and grab whoever dared to enter his personal space, but found that the searing pain shooting from his hand didn’t allow any more sudden movements, and so, he was vulnerable to attacks, completely alone and defenseless, and so unbelievably scared.
“...tor!” He heard the man in front of him speak, still muffled but gaining clarity by the second. He sounded familiar, warm and inviting and so goddamn worried that he was sure to be dreaming, for no one ever called to him like that before. “Doctor! What happened? Are you- Oh- Your hand!”
Sluggish, almost mechanically, his gaze trailed down to the damaged hand, a sound he could not comprehend as his own voice came out of his mouth as a startled whimper. That seemed to alarm the man in front of him even more, but neither dared move.
A sharp whistle sounded in front of him, and he recognized it as the command for “come", his brain slowly picking up on his surroundings. “Ivory, could you bring the first aid kit, please?” The man said, tone rushed but no less gentle, and something inside him unfurled. He blinked, eyes stinging with tears he hadn’t realized were there, cascading down his cheeks and ruining the subtle makeup he often wore to mask hours of sleepless nights and an array of faded freckles.
Vision finally focused, albeit still a little blurred by the involuntary tears, Agent Stone appeared at last. The shorter man had a deep grimace twisting his usually placid features, mouth pressed in a thin line as his eyes frantically scanned Robotnik for more injuries.
Founding none, his frown diminished a little, coming back with a vengeance the moment his eyes zeroed in on the Doctor’s bleeding palm once again.
“Doctor, can you sit down, please?” He asked softly, making no move to guide the taller man himself despite his clear desire to do so. A cheery beep sounded by them, and Stone smiled tightly at the badnik, grateful for its speed. “Thank you, qalbi,” he said, taking the compact first aid kit from the badnik’s extended arm.
Robotnik watched the interaction with half-lidded eyes, still woozy and lightly swaying from side to side. He couldn’t bring himself to move just yet, a small voice in his mind whispering he would surely fall on his face the moment his foot so much as twitched off the ground. Stone, noticing his distant stare, delicately reached for his arm and lowered him into the office chair. “There we go...” he praised gently.
The Agent, then, hooked his foot under a nearby chair and brought it close, sitting across from Robotnik with the first aid kit sitting neatly in his lap. Ivory, who stayed close in case of another command, made a series of startled beeps upon scanning its master, his vitals appearing on the nearest monitor available. Stone’s eyes went through the data quickly, taking note of the high blood pressure and elevated cortisol levels with a worried “tsk.” Slowly, Stone reached for Robotnik’s injured hand as if approaching a wild animal, mindful of every little movement so he wouldn’t startle the already skittish man before him.
“I’ll need to cut it off, Doctor,” he murmured, searching for any sort of response inside the rich brown eyes. Robotnik glanced at him, then at his destroyed glove, and nodded slightly, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath, preparing for the cold touch of a stainless-steel pair of scissors to grace his irritated skin.
Before the cold, warmth encompassed the back of his hand and forearm when Stone pushed the sleeve of his coat up, making it so it wouldn’t get stained or caught in his ministrations.
His touch was reverent, fingers expertly folding his sleeve neatly just below his elbow, urgent but never careless. Soon enough, his glove was torn apart slowly, the scissors sharp enough to cut through the tiny wires spreading inside the cloth and connecting into the buttons on his palm, all his hard work going into the trash nearby to be destroyed and disposed of properly after. He sighed, an exhausted little exclamation coming from his throat while his words still failed him.
“How did this happen?” Stone asked quietly, putting the scissors aside, grabbing a gauze pad and soaking it with a saline solution, cleaning the sticky and dried blood from Robotnik’s hand as softly as he could.
The older man watched his Agent work silently for a moment, recalling how exactly it had happen, how his stubbornness while dealing with a particularly annoying screw ended up with his pristine, sharp screwdriver sliding clean across his palm, the sting making him groan but not shout, instantly freezing at the sight of the deep crimson soaking his prized control glove with alarming speed.
Rolling his head to the side, eyes glued to Stone’s hands, he sighed, “Momentary lapse of judgment.”
Stone’s hands suddenly stilled, their natural warmth seeping into his perpetually cold fingertips as he held his palm gently, “you don’t make lapses of judgment, Doctor.” He said firmly, and Robotnik almost felt a tentative curl of his lip at that. Always so devoted, his Agent. His gaze remained trained on their joined hands, the cut looking considerably less serious than he’d assumed before, although the sting remained the same.
Comfortable silence followed as Stone wrapped his hand, turning this and that way to ensure he did a good job. “Ivory?” He called, making the drone chirp curiously at him. “Get a spare glove for me, please?” With a confirming beep, it zoomed past them with incredible speed, ripping a fond smile from Robotnik at last.
“She’s very eager today,” the older man said quietly, not missing how Stone’s shoulders finally lowered in relief.
“She was worried,” he murmured, thumbs lightly moving across his fingers in an effort to heat them up. Stone didn’t seem to notice he was doing it, and Robotnik refrained from pointing it out. “I was worried, too.”
Chest tight, Robotnik wondered if his blood pressure was still peaking, as it would be the only logical explanation for the sudden erratic beats of his heart, thumping wildly and uncomfortably against his ribcage. Before he could berate Stone for his sappiness, Ivory came back with a spare control glove, gently lowering it into Stone’s lap.
“Good job,” the Agent praised with a warm smile, letting go of his hand in favor of petting the badnik. He briefly mourned the fact but found that his entire body now felt light and slightly tingly, as if he had stood beneath a sunbeam for a bit too long. The sensation intensified when Stone carefully put his glove back on, mindful of the wrapping and sensitivity of his hand, and unfolded the sleeve of his coat to cover the entire arm once again.
Before letting go of his palm entirely, the Agent brought it close to his lips, leaving a feather-light kiss right above the hidden cut, the feeling of it burning through the fabric and straight into his skin, igniting that gentle warmth into a raging fire that spread quickly and unrelentingly across every nerve and rendering his mind oddly silent. “There we go, this should help heal faster,” the younger man said softly, fondness evident in his voice.
The Doctor tried, he really did, to scowl and dismiss his Agent with an angry remark, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a rushed “don’t be ridiculous, Stone.” It did little to stop the grin spreading across Stone’s lips, face shining with relief and joy at the simple jab.
His hand tingled for days after, entirely unrelated to his injury.
2.
Perhaps he’d been a little too enthusiastic about the latest breakthrough.
As soon as the results flashed a bright, beautiful blue, all Robotnik could do was vibrate in excitement. Finally, finally, he managed to assemble a perfect, smaller version of his military-grade badniks, equipped with a powerful laser and an independent battery, a surveillance camera with live feed and outstanding 4k quality, and, most importantly, the ability to share knowledge with the hive mind. The circuitry and delicate assembly process had taken weeks, missing the mark and restarting repeatedly until the Doctor was driven half mad with frustration and anger. But now… Now it had worked! It worked! He felt jittery, body barely containing the overflowing energy, hands tapped the console repeatedly, legs bouncing up and down in a pace that almost hurt, but the grin plastered on his face refused to leave.
The Agent, oblivious to Robotnik’s excitement, came into the laboratory with easy steps, a clipboard in one hand and a freshly made latte in the other, expecting the usual brunt of the Doctor’s anger caused by another failure. Stone loathed to expect another catastrophic crash and burn, but weeks following the same routine, the same cutting words and hurried dismissals rendered him practically immune to Robotnik’s sour mood, although no less worried about his mental state. He’d always sport a soft smile on his face whenever he was summoned, a knowing glint in his rich brown eyes, ready to remedy the situation, to offer himself as a target so Robotnik wouldn’t, intentionally or not, damage his surroundings and himself. Those moments lingered on Stone’s mind, how the other man would go on a tangent, throw insults his way, and, moments later, deflate and sag his shoulders, suddenly exhausted, looking every part the overworked, stressed scientist he was. It tugged at the Agent’s heartstrings, a bad habit he tried to squash down many times over with less than stellar results.
With a deep breath to steer himself, Stone walked over the laboratory’s threshold. “Good afternoon, Doctor!” He chirped. “How’s the mininik coming alon-”
There was virtually no time to react as Robotnik shot off his chair with the speed of a coiled viper and grabbed him, both gloved hands on the lower half of his face, dragging him aggressively closer. He could feel the heat radiating from the older man, the steady hold on his face, and the scratchy feel of the gloves sending a small shiver down his spine. Before a startled yelp could claw its way out of his throat, the Doctor planted a firm, insistent kiss on his cheek, making a low ‘hmmmm!’ noise alongside it.
His mustache tickles, an unhelpful, deranged section of his mind supplied. Stone briefly worried about the still-healing cut on the Doctor’s hand, but the thought went as fast as it came when Robotnik tossed him aside carelessly, making him stumble a few steps. “I’ve made it, Stone!” He proclaimed, a wide, radiant smile practically tearing his face in half, mustache curling in a way that made the Agent’s barely restrained self-control fight to be broken, waging a war in his chest. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. He refused to let his most base desires get the better of him.
Clipboard held precariously in his hand and fingers numb against the sturdy material, the Agent drew in a deep, strained breath, eyes wide and unfocused. The latte, thankfully, hadn’t spilled, and Robotnik snatched it out of his grasp in one fluid motion, taking a long, greedy gulp of the almost-too-hot beverage, a deep sigh leaving his lips. All the pent-up energy seemed to melt off of him then, the liquid soothing and smooth against his tongue, warmth spreading through his body slowly. “Perfect,” he whispered, eyes twinkling with unrestrained happiness.
A minute passed, the silence broken by a small exclamation coming from the man in front of him. Only then did the Doctor notice his Agent, who had frozen in place with his arms halfway up, now holding onto the clipboard for dear life as his knuckles turned white. It dawned on Robotnik what exactly he had done, color draining from his face a little, ears burning red enough to rival his signature color. He’d kissed Stone. In a fit of extreme happiness and excitement, he’d kissed Stone. Something was stirring in his gut, not unlike a bout of nausea. Both men stood still for what felt like hours, eyes meeting and holding onto each other’s as a silent, mutual show of uncertainty.
A loud beep was enough to break the spell, kickstarting the Agent’s response to any possible danger and Robotnik’s near-constant paranoia, the Doctor and the Agent moving in sync to the control panel and standing side to side as they made the usual rounds of checking surveillance cameras and bugged officers, the previous moment sliding off their minds in favor of identifying the threat. Standing so close, Robotnik could feel the warmth from Stone’s body, their shoulders almost touching, and the memory of his lips on that soft skin came like a punch to the stomach, heartbeat stumbling in the most annoying, familiar way. He willed it away, attempting to stay focused on what could very well be a severe breach in security.
It wasn’t until many, many hours later that Robotnik would stare into the empty coffee cup at his desk and scowl at it, ears once again turning an unearthly shade of red as he replayed the scene in his mind’s eye, perfectly clear and sharp as if he was living it again. What on earth had possessed him to do that? A gloved palm raised to touch his own lips, the metal tip of the index finger sending shivers down his spine at the contact. Face red and mind hazy, he couldn’t help the gulp going down his throat at the thought of his lips touching Stone somewhere, anywhere, else.
3.
The Master Emerald had a wonderful, terrible way of getting into one’s head. He could hear it, like a faint whisper in his ear, urging, egging him on to fulfill his deepest desires, the ones buried underneath dreams of conquering and ruling, of submitting people to his will and making the world in his image, the ones begging, yearning for a gentle and soft hand to hold his own ungloved one, for lips to press feather-light kisses against his eyelids as he fell asleep on a Sunday afternoon.
With a violent shudder, he blocked that particular whisper off, a sudden melancholy usurping the rightful place where his heart should be, chest tight with something else he could not put a name to, despite his newly acquired omniscience.
Coming back to reality, he heard his sycophant’s voice calling for him, tone worried and urgent. Robotnik could hear his heartbeat going a mile a minute, blood rushing furiously. The activity of his brain alone was enough to make the god-like scientist tilt his head in curiosity, wondering, calculating how far he could take Stone’s mind until it broke. Wide, focused eyes bore into him, an intensity not unlike his own stare, and something in him decided that Stone’s brain would continue to be unharmed, unbroken, and rightfully stimulated from that moment on. It would be such a shame to let that beautiful conglomerate of cells go to waste.
The words left his mouth before he could properly think about them, the Emerald hijacking his bodily autonomy, no explanations given, and soon enough he was inches from Stone’s face, hands gripping his nape and cheeks firmly although he could not properly feel the touch, a strange disconnection between his mind and flesh making it impossible to assimilate the situation the Emerald put him in. There was a surge of lightning when they made contact, bathing the dim space with neon green, a beautiful, terrible show of barely contained power.
“I can smell the electricity in your brain,” his mouth moved, vocal cords vibrating, voice distorted and duplicated, wrong in all the right ways. The Emerald whispered again, urged him forward until his lips connected with the bridge of his Agent’s nose delicately, as if the mere touch might break them both. All at once, it freed him from its control, giving the sensation of touch back with what sounded like a mischievous giggle inside his mind, distant enough to sound eerie but not overly malicious. Immediately overwhelmed, Robotnik closed his eyes tightly. Not only could he smell Stone’s brain, he could feel it, hear it almost. An unbroken chant of pure adoration seeping out of it, intensifying the longer they stayed close. A choked breath escaped him, the absurdity of it all halting his major cognitive functions while his body struggled to regulate itself.
Neon green eyes still closed, Robotnik wondered briefly if he could erase this from Stone’s mind; the thought of the Agent realizing how much power he had over him terrifying. A tiny inhale made his eyes open, and suddenly all his mind could comprehend in its immense intelligence was the overwhelming feeling of belonging, the depth of his Agent’s understanding drowning the incessant jabbering of the Emerald.
Of course, it couldn’t have lasted, as all good things that ever happened to Robotnik tended to do. The officer’s mouth opened to question the moment he was witnessing, and the spell broke, leaving the Doctor to deny himself what the Emerald had so fiercely tried to give him, body going rigid as he felt every individual cell cease to exist in one place and re-group in another, that being right beside the idiot policeman, who shrieked at his sudden appearance. The sound alone made Robotnik’s skin prickle, endlessly annoyed by it.
With an unconscious command, the handcuffs that bound his Agent to the chair opened by themselves, a tendril of lightning quickly caressing his wrists as if to soothe the faint chaffing marks before disappearing completely. Stone’s brain registered confusion, surprise, and delight in rapid succession as he got up with firm, confident steps to handcuff the officer in the previously occupied chair.
If Robotnik concentrated just enough, he could visualize the heat signature of Stone’s body, the proof of his fleeting kiss disappearing slowly, turning from red to a more reasonable yellow. It made his mouth tingle, the Emerald resumed its taunting, and he turned away from the Agent in fear that the blasted jewel would take control of him again.
4.
The smell of smoke and burnt wires was overwhelming. His eyes stung as he frantically called, voice hoarse and broken with anguish. Stone couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face, even if he tried, preoccupied with digging through concrete and broken metal to get to the Doctor. His lungs burned, muscles screaming with the effort of lifting large rocks and shoving debris aside, hands aching as shrapnel dug into the gloves. It was night by the time he managed to lose G.U.N and ditch his helmet and face cover, the smoke making it nearly impossible to breathe, so he’d tossed it aside in a panic, blaming the destruction around him for the way his breathing was picking up, each inhale more shallow than the last, heart beating wildly inside his chest in what he recognized now as a rather severe panic attack.
But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t will his body to stay put, gather his thoughts and calm down. As thick tears clouded his vision and fell to the ground, hands gripped at his hair, the sensation dulled in comparison to the intense despair quickly settling into his chest. Eyes still searching, almost manic in their movement, Stone finally noticed a glimpse of bright red against the grey, legs moving on their own, stumbling and tripping over themselves in his haste to get to Robotnik. In a show of desperate strength, the Agent lifted a large block from the Doctor’s body.
Falling to his knees and barely registering the searing pain that shot through his legs as he landed on sharp rocks, Stone took off the thick gloves almost instantly, rushing to feel the pulse of Robotnik’s heart through his naked wrist. Faint, almost gone, but there. With a great sob that wracked through him, Stone gently lifted the upper part of the other man’s body, broken and unstable breaths clawing out of him, small sobs and hiccups shaking his frame as his hands delicately held onto Robotnik in fear.
“It- It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered wildly, eyes darting everywhere, assessing the damage, hoping, praying he would have enough time.
A shaking hand reached to touch Robotnik’s dirty face, wiping away the grime and dust, rearranging his mustache with great care. He looked so peaceful like this, as if he’d just entered a deep REM cycle, face relaxed and loose. He looked peaceful, and it felt so very wrong. Slowly, as if trying to convince himself otherwise, the Agent lowered his head, touching their foreheads for a small second, another tiny, shuddering gasp leaving him before planting a soft, uncertain kiss between Robotnik’s eyes, lips lingering, afraid the broken contact would mean he’d well and truly lost Robotnik. “We’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he muttered against the rough skin once more, attempting to convince himself.
5.
The Crab was silent for once. No streaming or telenovela playing in the background, only the soft sizzling of food being prepared as Robotnik napped on his chair, facing the kitchen so Stone could keep an eye on him.
Silence was not preferred, as it gave the Agent way too much room to think, to spiral, but he wouldn’t risk waking up the older man. He’d more than earned his rest after withstanding excruciating pain followed by months of recovery and even more time of physical therapy, every single day since marked by chronic pain and a rapidly declining mental state. Stone’s heart ached; the familiar surge of protectiveness and impulse to make it better was useless when faced with the gravity of the situation at hand. Having the Doctor so close to him helped, in a way, knowing he could come to his aid in a matter of seconds, even though the probability of him being pushed aside and accused of coddling Robotnik got higher with each passing day.
Over time, it became obvious that the fall had affected Stone just as it had Robotnik, although not physically – save for the fading lighting-shaped scar underneath his eye. He couldn’t bear to be apart from the other man for more than a few hours, and, by the looks of it, whenever Stone came back from a grocery run, neither could Robotnik.
Frowning at the half-cut carrots, the Agent blinked away the unwanted thought. He shouldn’t assume.
The silence was becoming unbearable, making Stone fidgety, forcing him to adjust his apron or crack his knuckles every few seconds so he could concentrate, and so, after a few more minutes of squirming, he caved, turning the speakers on at the lowest volume in an attempt to let the Doctor have his rest. Satisfied with the song selection, he resumed his task with the pleasant, soft hum of music playing, the tightness in his chest finally diminishing, if only a little.
It wasn’t long until Robotnik stirred awake, weary eyes blinking away the sleep, focusing on his surroundings slowly. His joints ached and his head felt heavy, but the unfamiliar sound gave him enough motivation to adjust himself on the chair, standing a bit straighter. Stone had his back to him, stirring something in a pot by the portable stove, swaying from side to side slowly with the music. Robotnik followed the movement of his hips with slight interest, finding the way the Agent tied his apron with a little bow amusing, the longer ends following the motion in an almost hypnotic pattern.
“’Cause we’re living in a world of fools… Breaking us down, when they all should let us be,” Stone’s voice sounded in sync with the song, low and melodious and too much like home.
The tightness in his chest struck like lightning, robbing his breath away, and, for a split second, he could almost hear the blasted Emerald in his ear again, urging him to take what he wanted. With a deep, trembling sigh, he used the chair as leverage and got up on unstable legs, sneaking behind the Agent as best as he could.
“You know the door to my very soul… You’re the light in my deepest, darkest hour,” the Agent continued, hips moving playfully, hands skillfully preparing ingredients as he danced through the kitchen, completely in his element.
You’re my savior when I fall… And you may not think I care for you, when you know down inside that I really do.
“How fitting,” Robotnik grumbled to himself, partially annoyed with the song choice. He knew, for some ungodly reason, that it was Stone’s favorite, and his pesky heart refused to beat normally when his brain registered the fact. Of how he knew so many little things about the man dancing in front of him, how he’d refuse to take a cold shower no matter the weather, or the way the tip of his tongue would slip out whenever he was focused on making latte art, completely unaware of it. He knew entirely too much for someone so adamant on keeping others distant, and it terrified him.
The Agent did not hear his grumbling over the music, none the wiser to his one-person crowd. His sudden revelation ignited an old impulse, an urge to reach and touch, to feel his Agent’s warm skin against him, and, for once, Robotnik didn’t have the resolve to deny himself, so very tired of pretending.
With careful steps, the older man stood behind Stone, arms snaking around his waist and forehead resting against the back of the Agent’s head carefully, with obvious intent. He felt the other man tense against him, gloved hands already dropping to the sides so he could go back to his chair and sulk over his failure.
“No, wait-” Stone exclaimed, taking hold of his arms and purposefully placing them around his middle once again, hands grasping his naked wrists firmly, although with not enough force to keep him if he wished to truly leave. “It’s- Please stay,” he whispered, thumb slowly sweeping across the pale skin.
And how could he refuse Stone such a simple request? He hummed low, the vibration going through the Agent’s body like a purr. Stone had stopped moving with the music momentarily, but his voice followed the lyrics perfectly, making the older man melt against him slowly, appreciating the soothing atmosphere after a bout of restless sleep. Tired as he was, the Doctor only partially registered what he was doing, lowering himself to kiss the nape of Stone’s neck where his hair line ended. His sleepy mind found the way Stone’s hair stood on end incredibly funny, and a quiet snort left his lips against the warm skin, unaware of his Agent’s burning face or the way they started swaying with the music once again.
The chosen playlist kept on going, filling in the silence they both so deeply detested, and Robotnik had never felt so content before, holding his Agent close in a cold, tiny kitchen.
+ 1
The Eclipse Canon explosion had gotten him stuck in a strange, parallel dimension that seemed to have no time at all. His body still existed, but with no external input like light or sound, not even his own touch, it became rather useless. It had taken him a considerable amount of brain power to even rationalize the fact that such a place existed, let alone come to peace with it. Robotnik had no idea how or why he’d been sent to that horrid, unsettling void in the first place, but before he could think of a reasonable enough explanation or theory, he felt a pull. The first thing that actually gave him the notion of feeling back, awareness of his own body. It tugged deep inside him, attempting to drag his body somewhere. Insistent and slightly painful, and what a delight it was to feel anything at all.
That somewhere, it turned out, was the cold, hard ground of a laboratory, the familiar smell of sterilized materials and metal filling his nostrils instantly. He almost felt inclined to kiss the tiles below him before his gaze trailed up to spot a pair of polished black dress shoes. And just as suddenly as he was down, he was up, pulled by the collar of his ruined coat, and a man was shouting at him.
“-an entire decade, Doctor!” The man growled, and Robotnik would recognize him even in death. Stone looked older, tired, desperate. A black and deep purple suit draped over his smaller frame, more grey than black adorning his face, a slick white strand standing out from the top of his head, deep eye bags and round, slightly colored glasses askew on his face as he frantically shook the Doctor for a reaction. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through- Ten years- Say something, Ivo!” He cried, that white strand falling into his forehead at the motion, charming yet damming.
Robotnik stared at the old man before him with wide eyes. Stone’s anger was rarely directed at him, always so understanding, so worried. Begrudgingly, Robotnik recognized this time was most likely deserved. Stone’s eyes were furious, the deep brown swimming in a shallow pool of unshed tears. Definitely deserved. Robotnik concluded with an audible gulp.
“Ivo, I swear to god-”
“You look beautiful, Stone,” he blurted out, voice hoarse from disuse and ears suddenly burning up. That was not at all what he’d meant to say.
“I- Ivo, what the fuck,” Stone exclaimed, anger gone in favor of deep confusion and surprise. That was not at all what he’d been expecting from this conversation. His hands let go of the Doctor’s coat, shaking in their retreat.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to use my name, by the way,” the Doctor snarked, attempting to deflect from his blunder, eyes looking anywhere but the other man. He couldn’t bear the weight of that stare, his own reflection looking back at him with so much guilt.
There was a sharp inhale, and Robotnik yelped when Stone pulled him down to eye level, suddenly very aware of their height difference. The Agent’s glare practically burned a hole through his head, and he found, after a second of reconsideration, that death was preferable to looking away from the rich brown, almost golden eyes of the only person who ever cared for him.
“I’ve spent ten years researching how to bring you back in one piece. I believe I’ve goddamn earned the right to call you Ivo.” Stone snarled, daring him to look away, to break the connection. He was panting, the effort of dragging Ivo down with him taking much more energy than he anticipated. It seemed that, wherever the Doctor had been, he had not aged a day, his body the same as it was on that fateful, terrible day he was left behind with all the strength and vitality the chaos energy could give.
Ivo gulped, gazing down at the Agent’s lips before he could help it; he loathed to look away, but the temptation had been too much to bear after so much time apart. “I- Stone, I’m sor- hmm!”
Stone’s mouth was aggressive against his, pushing forward as his hands pulled him closer, the fabric of his coat squeaking under the force of his grip. The Agent tilted his head slightly, adjusting the angle with mechanical precision, knowing, after all these years, how to suit the other man’s needs instinctively. Ivo groaned against him, eyes closing tightly, overwhelmed with the array of sensations after being isolated for so long. His hand moved by itself, grabbing a handful of Stone’s hair and tugging just so, a satisfied hum sounding between them, a strike of lightning going down Ivo’s spine at the sound.
When they parted, breathless and shaking, Stone’s eyes had softened considerably, the fury replaced by exhaustion, his palm letting go of Ivo’s coat and moving to cradle his face gently, the texture of his skin so familiar yet so strange. “We’ll figure it out,” he muttered, smiling softly despite the immense pain in his eyes, older beyond his years.
Wordlessly, Ivo took his glove off and tossed it aside, bare hand cupping Stone’s own against his face with a broken sigh. The damage he had done wouldn’t be forgotten nor forgiven so soon, but, as he looked into the determined eyes of his Agent, he knew he was granted another chance.
“We’ll figure it out,” Stone repeated firmly, convinced.