Archive of Our Own

"Your fans are running."

The observation broke their collaborative silence, Trickster currently leaning over the table in front of him, eyes searching the scattered newspapers and files laid out. Paperboy, usually quiet, was operating at a slight whirr, slouched in a chair on the opposite side of the room, images flicking by on his visor. They were being fed by the thick cable that jacked into the side of the device, snaking along the floor to the machine that sat on the table, taking in the sheets Aesop was handling and transcribing the information for safe-keeping on the synthetic man's hard drive.

"I know," the words came out with a slight wash of modulation, kicked away by Victor in an instant as he concentrated. "Is the noise bothering you?"

"Not in the slightest." Aesop stood up straight, brushing his hair out of his face. He observed his partner and the state of the room around them, a makeshift hideout in an abandoned office building more suited for pigeons to shit in the corner of than to stow away the resistance's latest intel. They could only make do, at least up until Pirate Radio decided to spare them another transmission. Victor was just fine taking up the moth-eaten, mildew soaked chair to rest in as he catalogued away what he was being supplied with, one leg kicked up lazily on the edge of the cushion and head askew like he could be dozing. Though he had no obligation to, and likely no inclination given the behavior of the rest of his cohorts, Aesop couldn't help but be irked sometimes with the lack of professionalism. He and his team weren't in Metropolis for the sightseeing and mucking about, even if Surveyor had other ideas.

"Then you remarked on it, why?"

Trickster only continued to stare. Victor's visor blinked white for one moment, switching to his visual feed, before he raised his hands, palms out.

"Just got clogged for a second. You're overheating me."

"Apologies. Perhaps if you'd sit correctly you'd allow yourself proper ventilation." Aesop held up the newspaper sheet he still had in his hand, squinting. Did they really need another repetitive article on Energy Corporation's slow, vastly evident trickle of corruption? Perhaps José—or more likely Patricia—would scoff at his flagrant disregard for complete archival, but he'd have to hold on for the moment anyhow, even if Paperboy did anything other than sink down farther into the disgusting chair in response. Aesop simply raised his brow and held the paper tantalizingly close to the transcriber, ready to offload more information on him at his whim; at the least it got Victor to sit up straight, displeased frown and all. Hmph.

Trickster turned away, heading for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"You make it sound as though you need some air," he tapped the handle to the door with his gloved hand, using the moment to check his watch and hanging his head with a sigh at the hands' positions. Another hour before Auditorium and Puppeteer would possibly drop by with reels and endless papers to burden them with. To be fair to the pair, it wasn't as if the time had been allotted for nothing—archival was typically a slow, methodical process. It just didn't help that Trickster was the one doing all the work. Surely, Victor could handle it just fine while Aesop went off to do less mind-numbing things—perhaps Eli wasn't the most shortsighted with his eager wandering of the gilded city, they evidently had plenty of time. Eternal Aurora's next show wasn't for a few more weeks, and though Pirate Radio's team could be lightning fast and scarily precise when the time called for it, the investigation bureau's joining of their efforts during an information gathering phase read more as torture than progress. He was immensely thankful he'd been first stuck by the quietest out of the group—most of the time, anyway.

Victor sputtered from where he was sat, the noise coming with a crunch, his voice chip failing to fully approximate. "Are you stupid?"

Aesop kept the smirk that came to his lips for himself, still facing the door. He could live with a bit of teasing. "You'll deny yourself a breeze?"

"The draft will suck all these papers out and lay them nice and pretty on the streets below." There was a shuffling sound, and Paperboy got up, dragging the cable still attached to him as his fans quietly blasted on.

"Help me unplug," Victor placed his hand against the cable connected to him, head tilted at the weight of it.

"Can't you just wait a moment?" Trickster faced him, looking like he was about to give a scolding. "You'll have to get back to it in a matter of minutes."

"Yes, but being made to stand around attached like this makes me as good as a dog on a leash."

Amusing. Speaking of dogs, that was another small thing Aesop could spare gratitude for with the man—as much as Victor adored his canine companion, Wick wasn't very well suited for espionage or their fast-paced information dispersion, let alone just being sat with them in this room. God knows she'd be eager to 'deliver' the papers they had lying around, on top of ignoring the difficulties in keeping an animal quiet and unnoticeable. No, she was back at the port, likely being spoiled rotten by Neon Vanguard and Whiplash in Victor's absence. Though, sometimes while they were back at base, if Trickster occasionally paid attention to her with some scratches behind the ear under his desk while he worked—no one had to know. Paperboy's self-comparison didn’t inspire the same mental imagery.

"You can't do something as simple as disconnect yourself? What on earth did you even do before the bureau came in?"

Admittedly, Aesop had assisted him with keeping the cable held up while he'd prepared the port, keeping a latch pressed open so he could push the connector in until there was a deep click and Victor had let out a sigh. It wasn't anything they hadn't done countless times before, but this was the first time they were on their lonesome for it—Aesop usually had better things to be doing by the time they were winding down.

Even still, if Victor couldn't be bothered to do the relatively simple action himself, or truly couldn't do it at all, it just added unnecessary apprehension to plans moving forward. What if there was an emergency, Trickster having to take his leave? It was easy to imagine Victor lying about all the while, heaving complaints about his neck growing sore and joints temporarily locking while not in use. Perhaps it'd serve him right.

"Twice as much," Paperboy responded with a churlish smile, not letting Aesop's tendency to shoulder on the work anyway escape either of them. He was met with indifference glazing over Trickster's eyes as he laid a hand over the cable in turn, not making any moves to assist. Though he couldn't feel the scrape of the braided nylon beneath his finger pads, the cord was hefty and latched onto Victor like a lover, serial port located on the side of his visor. It may have truly been weighing him down, but Trickster found himself lacking the capacity for much sympathy. He simply gazed back at Victor's screen and waited for his inevitable discomfort at the attention.

"Cut it out—" he shifted one hand over Aesop's, the other already prying at the plastic nub that kept everything in place. "Are you going to pull or just stand there?"

But Aesop waited even still, listening. There was a warm—warm enough to seep through the cotton of his glove—push of air drifting over his hand, the faint smell of metal that sat at the back of his nose. 

"Your fans are still running," he commented idly, enjoying how Victor's lips scrunched together with the observation.

"So?"

"You've finished processing any data and nothing's being transmitted."

"Since when were you interested in my innerworkings?"

When the bureau had first arrived in Metropolis, Trickster wasn't all too pleased with the opulence of it all—enough time spent traversing in or around the abyss and the voids in-between made the bright lights and glitz give him migraines more often than not. The technology, though, it had its charms. Of course, the entire population of the city slowly succumbing to being augmented into unconscious machines was one of the things both José and Aesop were looking to put a stop to, but to say he wasn't at least a little taken with the largely cybernetic team he'd begun working with would be a lie. Albeit, a lie that was easily believed. Trickster made no indications on his curiosity into their forms or what made them tick, just simply observed. Pirate Radio was a premiere specimen for his fascination, given the man's previous career as a celebrity, that he wasn't a human in the slightest, and how the former intersected with the latter to result in almost zero qualms about personal autonomy or privacy, at least at the port. He'd sit out in the common area with the lot of them, socializing as thick charging cables protruded from his back and small lapses in his concentration would come about as the process went on; without his sunglasses, his eyes were grey spheres that swiveled and rotated with an audible whine, pinpoints of purple light that mocked pupils. In their first days after making contact with the resistance, he'd given Aesop and the other newcomers a quick, practical overview of how robots such as him functioned by way of removing a panel that acted as his chest and pointing to how the wiring and internal support structures replicated a human's. Though he'd been sat in the back, Aesop watched on intently, simultaneously disturbed by and attracted to the thick bundles of wire that wound through the cavity, intersecting and connecting then trailing off to his extremities; his battery jutted out where his heart should have been, metal terminals ready for an emergency charge if need be. And then Tabloid had given the man a polite shock to demonstrate how to disable a bot completely, if only for a few seconds. The taser that was now hooked to Trickster's belt wherever he went in the city didn't feel so out of place. 

Paperboy worked just fine, though, had his most interesting parts plain to view, even if they were cleaned up by panels and silicon covers. He was still, crudely, a walking information bank, though one with an attitude Trickster wouldn't expect of a mid-end bot, even if he knew nothing of the hierarchies of the city. Pirate Radio treated them all roughly the same, and it didn't appear as a concern on Victor's radar, so he supposed it was a non-issue. There was an exception to the egalitarianism when it came to Whiplash, but Kevin and José simply meshed a little too well in their personalities, something about them and their past sacrifices that attached them at the hip. Aesop figured he could attempt to find something similar with someone on Pirate Radio's team who was just as patently observant and long-suffering as he was, and though Victor's outlook on things was less serious and more sardonic, it was a surprising fit. Anyone that knew Trickster well enough—or really, just Eli—was aware of his penchant for shutting down horseplay and taking some sort of enjoyment from it. In the long hours that archiving took, it wouldn't be too terrible of a pastime at the moment.

"Paperboy." His tone alone made Victor visibly squirm. "I only have an interest in completing our work. I question you because it's an oddity that may impede progress. Just explain."

The bot straightened his shoulders, giving an annoyed breath. "Just a bit warm. Disconnect me and I'll be good to go in a minute or two."

Fine, then. Hand still on him, Aesop gave a tug.

To which the cable didn't yank free. Victor's fingers had slipped off the latch that kept it secured, and his head instead lurched towards Aesop as he let out a gasp.

"I—wasn't ready just then!" Victor's monitor flashed a few times before going blank again, and Trickster could hear his fans kick up a notch. Fascinating. He kept the cord pulled taut, but not enough to continue to drag him. No matter how hard he tugged, without the release being pressed, only another machine may have had the strength to rip it out, likely the whole port and a mess of sparking wires alongside it.

"And whose fault is that?" he asked with an air of knowing better. "Now you've grown even more distressed. Are you quite sure we shouldn't just leave it alone?"

The other man grasped at Aesop's hand again, taking a slow breath. "What're you doing."

"Hm?"

"You're messing with me when we're supposed to be working, Trickster. You keep reminding me of said work and yet—" he squeezed Aesop's hand. "So're you punishing me or something?"

"Well." Aesop's other hand reached around to the nape of Victor's neck, a slight seam that he pressed against was pushing out hot exhaust air. "I'm not still causing you to overheat, am I?"

"Like you said, you're stressing me out," he leaned back into the other's touch, frowning.

"Apologies for my concern over your functionality. If you'd reach a critical error of some sort I suppose I'd leave you to your dignity, twitching on the ground."

What really, truly made the automata Aesop was surrounded by to his liking was their relation to death. At most any moment, whether from mechanical malfunctions, no power, or a violent breaking apart, they could be rendered useless and be transitioned into scrap or salvaged for new bots. But, with the simple transfer of a few chips, the memories and personality that inhabited the old body could come alive again in something new, and the cycle, blazingly efficient, could tear on forever. As much as Trickster would like to attempt embalming one of the wildly lifelike bots, like José, he wouldn't know where to even start. Perhaps that's what made the silent idea so thrilling. Preserving the beauty and dignity of the once-living was second nature to the man at that point, and though it was never boring, bestowing the same intimacy and respect upon a thing who hadn't a soul, who could very likely be alongside him in the room and watch their old body be renewed...

He'd catch himself staring at the defaced posters of Eternal Aurora a little too long sometimes, that he knew. That treatment for her might be thought of as a fitting punishment from some if he would tarnish her, expose the rotten insides—but to Aesop, he was only a touch desperate to know what the deceased would think of his work.

The same thought being applied to Victor, as pointedly artificial as he was, made Aesop have to ignore a twist in his stomach.

"You wouldn't."

"You do test me so, Victor."

Paperboy turned his head at that, jaw set firm even as it meant Trickster making the force exerted on the cable even worse. "We're working," he repeated uncertainly.

"Yet you've distracted me," Aesop tilted his own head.

"The fan did bother you."

"Only as much as it stirred curiosity," he moved his finger along the vent, feeling a stronger whoosh of air. Victor got a smile for his troubles.

"...Are you going to unplug me or not?" he laid his hand over Aesop's fully, both now curled around the cord.

"Would you like me to?"

"If it isn't obvious—"

"I'm giving you a choice."

"Ah."

There it was. Victor falling back on insisting for their job was just pretense, unsure of where the other man was leading their taut conversation. Work, and the separation between it and everything else not being in place could only mean one thing, a switch to be flicked on and off.

Their entanglement—for lack of a better word—it was nothing serious. Trickster never entertained the thought that he'd be in Metropolis, or anywhere he went, for a meaningful amount of time, and any lover he'd even fantasize about courting would likely never see his face again. Victor, thankfully, was nonplussed about the subject: they shared a mutual attraction, goal, and time together. The human body and artificial mind were wont to satisfy certain desires for the touch of another, assurance that they care in some capacity. Love wasn't part of the equation, and it left them free to simple indulgences: stolen kisses in the empty last car of a train, a warmer bed at the end of a long day, and the base comfort of a smile before the times they were whisked away from one another. None of that was present when they were on the job, of course, but they weren't perfect. The liberty of no true attachment meant that Aesop could slip back to his typical workaholic presentation in front of the man with ease, just as much as it meant they'd both jump upon spontaneous moments as they got them. In any case, that seemed to be the same situation Whiplash and Puppeteer were dancing around, so, no harm, no foul. It was only a touch ridiculous the three of them were up to some version of it, maybe similarly titillated by their partially or fully inhuman companions, but at least Aesop kept it subtle. Catching Tracy and Luca necking in the hall outside their rooms once was more than enough. All of that, on top of what looked to be Patricia's game of cat and mouse with William—

Poor Surveyor. Maybe he'd catch a certain eye or two the next time around.

Or perhaps they should attempt to stop growing so close to the inhabitants of wherever the Abyss took them next. The excuse of dangerous lives entitling quick joys could only go so far.

But Aesop would have much rather paid attention to the bot in front of him than his overabundance of circling thoughts at that moment.

Victor's free hand raised as he gingerly removed his hat, tossing it to land on the table and mussing through the synthetic fibers of his hair. He puffed out another breath, visor downturned. "You kill me sometimes."

"Oh," Trickster brought his hand around from his neck and placed two fingers to Victor's chin instead, tilting his head up, "but you'd come right back if that were true."

"You'd miss this model too much," he reciprocated by cupping Aesop's cheek, artificial skin cold.

"I'd keep it for myself," Aesop breathed out, selfish as he leaned up and took Victor in a kiss, swallowing any retort. It wasn't anything wanton, at least not by Trickster's insistence, but for the other man, who only breathed to simulate life, it was easy to get lost in the rhythm of their lips against each other, how their shallow breaths mingled and leaked out as Victor wouldn’t let it break. Though not the most terrible thing in Aesop's mind, he did need to properly inhale at some point. A swift yank to the bulky cable that still connected to the bot left Victor jerking away like he was burned—by the sound of his fans growing ever louder, he might as well have been.

Eyes open as he gasped in a breath, Trickster reoriented his hand at Victor's chin to have a thumb pressed to his lower lip, tempting. "Patience. And is that heating my fault again?"

"Mmhm," Victor hummed happily. "You're going to keep pulling me around like that?"

"Describe it. The feeling."

"Not exactly pleasure—I don't think I can really process that—but it's good. The current jumps over the strain on the wires," he answered readily. "Like scraping something away."

"Scratching an itch?" Aesop gave another yank immediately to test his words, leaving Victor with a groan.

"Yes," his hands slipped down to the edges of Trickster's vest, holding. "I'm surprised you haven't tried before."

"Believe me—" Trickster twisted the connector with no real movement, but it did have Paperboy melting into his grip. "I've wanted to."

He dragged Aesop toward him with a sudden urgency, brushing away his staying hand to kiss him again, muffling the short whines Aesop pulled from him as he continued to toy with the cable. Victor pressed against him and turned them both, taking stumbling steps to the table to push Aesop back against it, cord looped around their feet. In their short haze, Trickster allowed himself to indulge, tonguing at Victor's bottom lip until the man let him explore his mouth. He appreciated, perhaps too much, the synthetic saliva and smooth-cut porcelain teeth he licked at, far more sterile than his own.

It was Victor that interrupted then, breaths heavy on his wetted lips. "Satisfied yet?"

Aesop swallowed, eyeing the blank monitor with a lowered brow. "I've not unplugged you."

"Oh, so there comes the punishment."

"Not quite."

With steady hands, he depressed the latch and teased the cable free, Victor groaning with relief at being able to keep his head up straight. It was dropped with a clank somewhere on the floor near them, and the pins of the port were left exposed again. Aesop followed the shape of it with his finger, curious.

"Is it only the electric parts that do anything for you?"

"Maybe," Victor shrugged, smile tinged a bit sheepish. "You're being a lot bolder than usual. I wouldn't know."

"Are you enjoying it?" Aesop leaned back to peel off his gloves, then moved to experimentally rub at the pins, to which he only got a hum.

"Very much. Wish you thought I was fit to fool around with a lot sooner, but—" he pressed a kiss to the edge of his lips, "—maybe that patience is part of being so appealing."

"Hold on," the compliment was taken with little notice, Aesop instead focusing on how to make the most of what he had in front of him. If just touch wasn't enough, maybe those currents needed to be stimulated. Victor stared at him, mouth flat with a pinch of confusion, then dropping open when Trickster lifted his pointer and middle finger to his own mouth, licked the pads, and moved to touch the pins again. His reaction was instant.

"Ah—hhh—" Victor's fingers twitched, one moment raising a hand as if to stop his partner, the next relenting as the spit quickly dried and left him breathless. "Jesus," he gulped, throwing his arms over Aesop's shoulders. "Warn a guy, won't you?"

Pleased, Aesop planted a kiss on his cheek before trailing them to his jaw, one hand against Victor's chest. "How did that feel?"

"Ticklish," Paperboy muttered.

"Let me try something else."

With a swipe of his tongue over his lips, Trickster moved to press a kiss directly to the serial port, pulling at Victor's tie for leverage—it had the same bitter burn of charged metal, and was still warm from being hooked up so recently. Victor made a strangled sound, voice chip once again failing to replicate, then keened as Trickster continued mouthing at it with a hum.

"Aes—Aesop!" Victor whined, leaning into his partner so heavily that the table scooted an inch back, startling them both. He managed to turn Aesop away by the chin, attempting to catch his breath. " Fuck.  Where on earth are you getting these ideas from, huh?"

Flushed, Aesop wiped at his mouth and regarded Victor in silence. The answer was blatant to him, unspoken interest in machines aside: one didn't become a dimension-hopping investigator without being able to think on their feet. And if Trickster had fantasized a little on his lonesome—it didn't hurt anyone. Paperboy sighed and shook his head at the lack of a response, going for another, gentler kiss.

"Can't say you're not an attentive lover," Victor murmured against his lips, and Aesop stifled completely at the word. He knew he only meant it in the physical sense, but it caught him off guard all the same. He let the man work at him through the kiss, trying to let the discomfort slide off of him. It wasn't before long that Victor became needier in his ministrations, and, in reciprocity, angled his hips against Trickster's—all for Aesop's sake, given the obvious. He squeezed his thighs together at the act, but… the idea of showering Victor with attention and heading straight back to work, embarrassing him again, was too good to pass up. Some of what they'd done gave just as much satisfaction back to him either way—a bit of delight found in the denial. Below that, Aesop ignored the thought that he might not be ready to be treated so intimately anyway, making a mess of himself and his emotions.

"Off," he made himself say instead, pushing at Victor's shoulder and delivering a nip to his jaw. The other pulled away with a sigh, hands ghosting near Trickster's waist.

"What? Are we done?"

"No. Don't go thinking I'll leave you unsatisfied." Aesop loosened Victor's tie, glancing about the space. He couldn't bear the thought of continuing something like this on the only chair in the room, fetid as it was—and leaning against the table was getting uncomfortable for him already. The floor would have to do. With a brief kiss near the corner of his visor, he guided Victor a few steps to the nearest wall.

"Down," he pressed at his shoulder again to have him sit, the bot doing so with an intrigued smile, sliding against the wall to the ground. Aesop joined him in a tangle of limbs briefly before straddling the man.

"You're red as a tomato," Paperboy commented with his hands settled on his hips, admiring as he looked up.

"You should listen to yourself before you go on teasing." The whir of Victor's fans was loud enough to make his system's failing attempts at keeping him cool apparent. Aesop was quite warm, yes, but unlike his partner that was an aspect completely out of his control. Victor could  manually shut off his fans if he'd like, it just might make him hotter to the touch. He scoffed.

"Am I  going to get a chance at you at all?" his tempting hands squeezed.

"No," but Aesop denied him bluntly, peeling away what he could of his shirt collar and vest, attached in an odd way given the printing press jammed into Victor's chest. Since it was still, Aesop was able to run his fingers along the notches of the gears that stuck out of it, brushing past the sudden thought of them turning on their own volition, crushing his hand—certainly ignoring his stomach twisting again. "I'd like to dedicate this time to you. There's something else I want to try."

"Huh?" Victor gulped, repositioning his hands to cup Aesop's face. "You're sure? I'm not— clueless. "

That at least got Aesop to smirk. "I don't doubt it. Just be good and listen to me?"

"Uh. Yes, yup. Mhm." Paperboy conceded with another kiss. "I don't know where this is coming from, but I have to say I'm a fan."

"Just don't know me well enough, Victor." He trailed his hand up the exposed, smooth skin of the bot's neck. "But you're aware I can be assertive."

"Think you mean bossy."

Silence. Aesop didn't dignify the response, instead continuing his wandering hand's trail as he stared at Victor, eyes half-lidded. His fingers grazed the edge of the visor near where ears normally would be.

"This comes off, doesn't it?" Trickster tapped the metal.

"It can," Victor wetted his lips, reaching a hand over Aesop's. "You, ah, want to?"

He'd seen it before, though only once. When Victor had gotten jostled too hard on one of many escapes he's had to make from Metropolis' trains, a few wires connecting his computer and processors to his visor had gotten disconnected, making his vision fuzz in and out like through a snowstorm. Aesop had walked in on José and Tracy with a visor-less Paperboy, wires hanging loosely, attempting to troubleshoot the issue—all he could do was hurry along and try not to stare too much. That was only a little before he and Victor agreed they could benefit from each other in more ways than one, and Aesop dismissed the prospect that he was partially enticed by that event alone.

"It'd give me more direct access to you."

"You'd also be exposing what needs the most delicate handling." Victor took a slow breath. "You're no mechanic, Aesop."

Trickster stilled, fingertips already grasped around the corner of the visor. This close to a deep seated desire of his—there was no sense in folding now.

"No. But you trust me, don't you?" he pressed a kiss to Victor's temple.

"Stop that," Victor shook his head, unable to hide his embarrassment. "I'm more worried you'll mess something up, and then one of us is left explaining why I was opened up in the first place."

"Overheating," Aesop offered, brushing his free hand against the back of his neck again. "A poor solder came loose. It wouldn't be the end of the world if it came down to it."

"..." Victor frowned in consideration, leaning forward at Trickster giving a kiss to his forehead. "It's not just slotted in. You'd need a tri-wing screwdriver and—"

"As if we don't keep a toolkit on hand." He reached out to hold Victor's face, then, brows gently lowered. "I'll assume you've never gotten this intimate before."

"We're very busy, if you haven't noticed."

"Before Pirate Radio looped you in."

Victor tilted his head to avoid looking at Aesop directly. "I worked. Did I ever tell you I had a different body before I started Have Fun?"

"No," Aesop thumbed at his cheek, trying to catch his attention again. "Was the switch intentional, then?"

"I was a grunt worker for an Entero franchise," a rueful smile tugged at Victor's lips. "Just fully mechanical. There was an electrical fire backstage while I was in the prop closet and I couldn't get out. One of the other bots was kind enough to fish my motherboard out of the heap left behind." He lowered his hands and wrapped them around Aesop instead, resting his head on the man's shoulder. "Becoming a newsbot was an upgrade technically. Even if I was supposed to peddle the same syrupy sweet entertainment fodder like everyone else."

Trickster hugged the man back, squinting at the wall in front of him. They'd never really delved into their personal lives before, and he had no idea what enticed Victor into sharing now. Perhaps he needed to work past his nerves the same as Aesop did, though talking through it rather than ignoring completely. He found trying to picture the same person he knew, with even less of a face to go off of, no imitative hand to hold, difficult. It irked him, actually. Bodies were vessels for the penultimate thing, their lived experience and purpose—Victor would be Victor no matter the machine, surely.

And that's what it took to make Aesop pause.

"Technically?" an obvious answer he hadn't quite considered before crept up his spine.

"How highly would you regard sentience?" the bot's words were mumbled into his shoulder, though Aesop felt as though they lodged into his throat. "Selling on the street means you need a personality and working memory to entice readers."

"You mean your… self  only came about…?"

"In a year?" Victor shifted his head back. "Newsbots are streetwise by default. Snappy you could say. Most are sent out of the factory with default chips. I'm just lucky my read-only memory got onboarded too."

Aesop studied the blank monitor before him. He was comfortable most of the time with a lack of eyes on Paperboy's face, couldn't be distracted by whether he was making eye contact or not—but now the sure feeling of being stared at  opened a slight pit in his chest.

"If that weren't the case I wouldn't be here at all. Energy Corp's fault for letting some former low-level think for himself." Victor smiled again, all teeth. "I know Pirate Radio would hate the thought, but the more they make us life-like the more we can push back against the opposite."

"You're talking an awful lot," Aesop blurted out, knew it was rude. He was itching to back away from the sentimentality Victor was offering in his hands.

And it was successful in making him pause. Paperboy shifted to lean against the wall, expression flat. "Sorry. Ruining the mood, aren't I."

"No—no. We don't normally do this."

"If you can feel free to ravage me then surely you can listen to what I have to say."

"You were hesitating," Aesop loosened his own tie, feeling hot all of a sudden. "I assumed you needed the moment to ramble to adjust."

Victor's mouth dropped open but soon closed. Unhappy. Trickster's heart gave a painful thud at the sight, his dismay at wasting both of their times, maybe breaking his own rule about not putting too much into their partnership, nakedly obvious. In the view of a machine, still relatively new to the awareness of life as a concept, perhaps being physically close necessitated a deeper understanding of the other. Blinder trust.

If he wasn't as oblivious to bots transferring their lives from shell to shell, like he was realizing now, maybe he'd have dwelled more on being attached to the man's mind on top of his body. Because, if that wasn't the case, upsetting Victor should only have stung on a surface level, as much of a hurt as a papercut. So why did regret move Aesop to get off of him, sit by his side rather than give up at the friction he created?

"I'm being ignorant," he managed, hands running through his hair. "Forgive me."

"...Did you think I was always Victor Grantz?" the man in question asked quietly, head turned to Trickster. "Need a name for business."

"I'm sorry," Aesop felt his will shriveling by the second, like he was parched for air.

"I wasn't rambling to fill the silence. But you're right, of course I was nervous. Don't know if you realize this or not, Aesop, but what exactly do you think will happen if I'm damaged beyond repair again?"

The same idea he'd been titillated by minutes ago had soured considerably. He'd covet him, but didn't think past where Victor would be after the fact. Why would he watch?

"I'm unregistered at this point—couldn't call in a replacement. If the rest of you wanted to hijack a new body for me, we'd be stealing the life out from someone else. I don't want that." Victor sighed, pressing his hands together. "Could still be useful on a computer, digitally, maybe. You'd lose this," he nudged Aesop with his shoulder, and the other felt sick in a way he didn't want to face. Trickster ached, miserably, for that moment; he was unnerved with the way that want  came so quick from corrections to his mistaken thoughts. So he doused it the same way he knew one would douse a fire, smothering.

Aesop twisted where he sat, pushing into Victor as to be able to hold his face again, kissed him with a mouthful of shame. The other man didn't reciprocate for a second, unsure, but Aesop tugged him closer, desperate for distraction—it only got Victor to break away, breaths shallow.

"What're you doing?" Victor whispered.

"I—" Aesop swallowed, burning. "I don't know."

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"Yes."

Victor stilled, brought Trickster's hand down from his cheek.

"If I stop I'll feel worse," he blurted again.

"...We're not doing that," he kept Aesop at arm's length. "What's wrong?"

What a question. The man's mind buzzed with static as the culmination of his previously lurid slew of thoughts. The discomfort and anxiety spilled from his chest, in the rivulets that came in sweat down his back and the stuttering of his heart.

Finishing their mission in Metropolis without Victor to turn back to would be terribly lonely, that he knew, now. He knew he'd miss the man's clever retorts to his own dry wit, his easy-going rapport with everyone around them, the determination he harbored towards leading the city from amusing itself to death—that last point's reasoning was illustrated clearer than ever.

He'd miss Victor when they left, too. By entertaining even a tepid relationship with the man, Trickster was in the middle before he knew that he'd begun.

"I think I've acquired unnecessary feelings," Aesop answered with a start.

"Unnecessary," Victor repeated slowly.

Trickster chewed at his lip, looked away, considering. "I've grown too fond."

"Oh."

The silence that swallowed up the room had Aesop hearing the rush of blood in his ears.

"...Fond of…?" Victor looked toward him, shoulders turning.

"Don't make me say it," he squeezed his eyes shut, acutely aware of how childish it was. "Please."

Paperboy paused, utterly surprised. "Aesop," he started gently. "You're… saying you like me too much?"

"I'm sorry," he pressed his face into his hands. "It's my fault. Ignore me."

"No," Paperboy put a hand to his shoulder. "I won't. Why're you apologizing?"

"Damages our partnership," he muttered as he ground the heels of his palms to his eyes. "Distracts. One of the things this is all prepositioned on."

"...And you realized this because I explained—"

"I would miss you too much," the words curled out sour, just the same as he curled his arms around himself. "I was mistaken in thinking this was all physical."

"I mean," Victor squeezed with his hand. "It still can be."

How hollow that would be. Aesop pictured himself gnashing, internally, for much more every time now that he knew he didn't guard his heart well enough. "That'd be insulting."

"Would you… like to put a stop to this entirely, then?"

"No," Aesop answered quicker than he could rein himself in, pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, perhaps. Wouldn't want to jeopardize anything."

"May I say my own thoughts?" Victor waited until Trickster nodded to continue. "I think we've seen enough to indicate that, ah… being more open  with each other wouldn't ruin much of anything. You've seen José and Kevin."

"Completely different."

"How?"

"They've the emotional availability for it. Surely didn't agree to start it off on a platonic basis." Aesop's head lolled to the side, body language despairing.

"I'm fine with making a change," Victor turned to watch him.

"...What?" he asked tiredly, eyes shifting up.

"I like you quite a lot, Aesop," he put it simply. "If I didn't I don't think I'd tolerate your attitude so much."

Trickster's eyes darted away, brows low. None of that necessarily translated into a more typical relationship. He wasn't even sure how he'd express all the want  that welled up, just knew it was there, now. Wanted Victor to stay, at least.

"I'd miss you as well, you know," the bot chanced a feather-light kiss to the side of Aesop's head, hesitated with a hand to stroke at his hair. "I've thought that for a bit, now, even if the point was to not get attached—so I should be apologizing first."

"But you never acted on it," Trickster shifted his hands in front of him, intertwined. "Could keep it to yourself."

"So?" Victor brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Listen, Aesop—what is it that you want right now?"

You, was what sprang to his mind first, and he bit his tongue at the indolent thought. No, he wanted to be free of the mire he'd stuck himself in, handle this maturely. He was an adult, capable enough to regulate his own emotions. Any difficulty was from inexperience.

But to lie at that moment would be akin to spitting on Victor's kindness. He could live with a bit of humility.

"...To be able to have this still, I suppose," the words came out limp and lame, and Trickster drew his knees up to his chest.

"Alright."

Aesop blinked. " Alright? "

"I'd like that too," Victor adjusted himself, leaning in closer to the other man. "Even if it's just for the rest of our time in this room. No harm in trying."

His logic was too simple—making it near impossible to refute. The safety of being able to retreat from the mess of it all once they were out of the confines of the rotting building was enticing. Aesop pressed his hands to the sides of his face and breathed in and out deeply, steadying his still-pounding heart. "I—fine. As you wish."

"May I kiss you?"

Aesop hated the way the request made his self-soothing crumble, as if they weren't making out all of ten minutes ago. He tugged at his tie and gave a nod, grumbling. Victor then gently directed his head to face him, thumbs framing the corner of his eyes.

"Let's just pretend it's a fresh start," Victor whispered before leaning forward for the kiss, gentle like he was afraid of scaring Aesop away.

Their first kiss was a bit rash, felt more like a handshake used to seal their agreement with how chaste it was, quiet in the dark of the hall. Comparing it to now felt like an affront, not at all alike with the way Trickster's heart swelled from Victor's tender insistence. Aesop managed to snake his arms around the bot, holding onto him with a new, unsettled appreciation for the man in his entirety.

"You're okay?" Paperboy murmured on his lips, thumbs rubbing.

"Yes," he whispered back, craving. "...Hold me, please."

Victor's mouth tipped into a smile, kissed him again as he hooked an arm around his back and chest to meet at his side. They stayed like that for a little while, until Victor shifted him away so Aesop would take a few meager breaths. He slumped farther down against the wall and laid his head on Paperboy's shoulder, still holding him tight.

"I'd assume it's inappropriate to ask to resume what we were doing earlier," he tried after clearing his throat, eyes downcast.

"You really want to please me that badly?" Victor hummed.

"We'd be closer," he rephrased his response, twisting his head to hide his face in Victor's shirt. "I'd take care of you."

"Much sweeter sentiment," the bot paused, lifting a hand to card through Aesop's hair. "Is that what you were keeping away?"

Aesop sighed, tilted his head back to look at the other man. "I'm just—being honest. You don't need to make this harder."

"Alright, alright. You want… my visor off, still. Can I ask why?"

"...I'd like a look as much as I'd like to keep my word."

"Ah."

The short response unnerved him. "I won't touch anything without your say so," Trickster offered, frowning.

Victor pouted and drew Aesop up for another kiss. "You're alright. I'm just wondering now—you thought  this was all physical… do you appreciate that I'm a machine more than if I were human?"

"...Yes." He couldn't lie. The living had their finite time and their finicky decisions on how to spend that time. Even if Aesop did fall quickly, like he feared he had for Victor, the unknown expiration date on any other sort of relationship would only lead him to wanting to keep it short and sweet, to preserve what he found so captivating before too much time came to pass. It was unfortunate that he'd been wrong about just how much of Victor he'd be able to keep without consequence, and now the man had taken his heart in turn.

"...Can I admit that's cute?" was the astounding reply he was given. Aesop froze in Victor’s arms as the other man hummed out a laugh. “You’re just very peculiar, Aesop. It’s endearing when everything here tends to be the same.”

Trickster reddened, and though still held up, he tried to sink down and at least farther out of view. The day he considered being called odd  a compliment seemed to be fast approaching, so long as it was Victor speaking the words. He cleared his throat.

“I see,” gaze up on Paperboy, stiff. “May we… move on yet?”

Victor considered the request with a sigh, but he was smiling. “Just… don’t break anything. Where do you want me to…?” glancing around the dim room left few spots they’d be able to continue on in—but Aesop had already thought of that. He brought up a hand to signal some patience, then shimmied himself out of Victor’s grasp so he could come to a stand and reach his briefcase on the table. Inside, among the many implements for embalming and abyssal work, was a small collection of tools useful for quick fixes; right now the screwdriver he lifted out and approached the other man with would have to experience some extracurricular usage. Aesop sat down again on the cold floor against the wall, then gestured for Victor to lie his head on his lap. Such an intimate act rang stifling for a second as Aesop swept some of the hair from the bot’s face, knowing they’d be moving onto less innocent exploration soon, but still hungering for the moment itself. Victor’s grin was such a troubling thing for his penchant for stoicness.

“The, ah, screws are on the sides,” Trickster was verbally nudged, one of Victor’s hands moving to pat his thigh making up the physical. “You still want to do this?”
“Yes, just…” he took up the screwdriver again, but still stalled, trying to think of an appropriate excuse. “...Admiring.” Then wincing, as he bit his tongue at the answer immediately.

“Aw,” the bot tilted his head to lean against Aesop’s stomach. “Hey, if this is part of dropping our pretense, I’m all for it.”
“...Ah?” 

“Letting yourself be sweeter. Or, like you said, more honest?” he laughs. “Your silence says a lot sometimes.”
“...I suppose,” Aesop went and tilted Victor’s head the other way, squinting as he searched for the aforementioned screws. Perhaps it was honesty, or the words simply came from him when vulnerability wasn’t such a terrifying or inaccessible thing. Metal scraped against metal as he found the first place to slot the screwdriver’s tip to, giving a twist. No reaction, so he continued, no resistance in the smooth turning—they were kept relatively safe in a small pile nearby as he went and took each screw out, as they wouldn’t be moving around much at all to disturb them. Paperboy attempted relaxing, arms folded overtop his waist, but he still shifted as the last screw was removed, anticipating.

“Ready?”
The bot nodded, taking a deep breath. Aesop grasped the metal edges, then pulled.

"Ah—" Victor's voice wavered as the visor began to be lifted up and out, Aesop moving it with care. He watched the myriad of colorful, connected wires that stretched out of him, made up the bulk of what was rattling around inside Paperboy's head at every moment. The wire-filled cavity left behind, left open to toy with, was lit by the blinking of a few indicator lights on boards that sat snug along the sides. A short plane of metal separated him from Victor’s mouth and the delicate mechanics that helped his lips contort and breath cycle, which was a slight disappointment. Perhaps they’d find a way to remove it another time—and the easy thought of another time  made him feel quite silly in the middle of it all.

"Fuck," the bot breathed out, distracting, digging his fingers into his arms. "Th—that's a lot.”

"Too much?" Aesop stilled, attention shifted to him and the solid device he now held wholly in his hands.

"Nh—" he couldn't speak for a moment, losing focus. "Not yet. Just—my vision."

"You can still see right now?" he tilted the visor.

"Yes. It's making me," another unintentional pause, "—feel sick.  Why does that have to be programmed into me?"

Aesop pulled the visor to the side, intending to set it on the ground, but instead made Victor whine. "...I can stop."

"No—" the other man raised his hands to his face, loosely felt along the soft skin edges of the hole. "It's good. Please. Let me get used to it."

With a reserved nod, Trickster shifted to hold the device in one hand, the other hovering over the mess of wires he was pulling out, some already taut. He gave another small pull, and Victor's fans kicked up again, the bot covering his mouth with one hand and grasping for Trickster's with the other.

"Sensitive…" Aesop pushed his fingers against the wires, straining the connections without much effort.

"You're—inside of me," Victor grunted out, nails digging into Aesop's wrist. "Of course I am."

"Phrasing. Not even there yet."

Paperboy gave a shudder, nodding—and stuttering out a moan, his own slight movements working him up as he dropped his hands. Aesop cupped his cheek.

"More?"

"Y—” his hands twitched. “Yes.” Victor’s throat bobbed. “Sorry.”
Trickster furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

“Not—very exciting, from your—view. But it’s like you’re plucking at every nerve,” he received his answer, strained.

There were plenty of things Aesop could have said at the moment to deny any disappointment, but none would help the bot’s flustered, hazy state. Not the worst predicament to be in. He chose his next words carefully, just the same as he grasped a bundle of red wires that plunged up through his neck and gave a pull.

“It’s attractive. Stop fretting.”
The subsequent distorted gurgling from Victor was enough to keep spurring Aesop on, enough to make him smile. He did, truly, appreciate how undone he became at the act of prying him open, if described in cruder words. Detached enjoyment of how the wiring acted as a simple guide on how to please him—or perhaps that itself was taken from the bot having certain personal proclivities. He continued to explore, watching Victor's expression change and body react with each additional twist or yank he was dealt; especially the short moans and shivers he pulled from him at the most sensitive spots. A thin array of blue cords that sprouted from the back center of the visor he took a liking to in particular, rubbing his thumb in the tight space between their ports and murmuring soft approval. It only took a ’doing well’  for the other man to start losing composure.
“Aesop,” Victor pleaded for nothing with his name, fingers now digging into his own thighs. “Oh my God—”

Encouraged, the man took his other hand and sank it into the bot’s head, searching for where the wires snaked off to, what made them so sensitive in the first place. With Aesop’s prodding, it seemed they sank past where he could reach, following the same red bundle that traveled through his throat. He could only manage two fingers to press into the space, letting out an excited breath as Victor didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, whining and keening with his hands raising up to shake and shudder uselessly.

“Down,” Paperboy whispered, “harder, please—please—”

“It’s tight,” Aesop hummed in response, “You’re very—”
And all of a sudden, not so useless, Victor grasped Aesop’s wrist and simply attempted to shove, wrench his hand down farther as he asked. His grip was harsh, straining, and Trickster couldn’t help the kick of heat the assertiveness delivered to his face, nor the painful scrape of his fingers against the hot metal and deeper wire he could barely graze. It all led to his other hand, the one still cradling his visor and thumbing between the ports, to clench in reaction to the burn—and pinch a connector from the array loose.

The next moment the bones of Aesop’s wrist were creaking  with the force that Victor held him with, body seizing and mouth at a worrying tremble. He gasped at the pain, but couldn’t pull away.

“I can’t—I can’t—” the bot’s voice buzzed. “No, sorry—sorry—I—” and then proceeded to fall into a stuttering loop, still not letting go. A chill of panic hit Aesop’s stomach just the same as his hand went cold with the constriction: locking up the bot like this was dangerous for them both. On instinct, out of preservation, he dropped the visor to the floor and fumbled for the one thing he knew would cure them of the issue, as bad as action felt. Trickster detached the small taser from his belt and jammed it to Victor’s abdomen, firing with only a gasped ‘sorry’.

The device crackled, and the other man went slack in an instant, mouth hanging open and head at a slight lull. Blessedly, Aesop was let go of, but he stayed frozen, hunched over as he was and breathing quick. Though his wrist was screaming with pain and his fingers slightly scalded, he was only concerned with Victor’s wellbeing at the second. He cupped his face and stared, waiting with bated breath.

"...Still with me?"

A small series of clicks sounded, and just like that, Victor's voice came back with a croak. "Yeah—yes. Jesus, Aesop." Just as he hoped, the shock ultimately shut him down for all of a second. He went and squeezed Victor's hand, limp on the floor.

"Good boy," Aesop murmured appreciatively, watching the bot jolt back to some functionality at the praise. "Are you okay?"

"Ah—unplug the—optical cable, please." He answered first as he maneuvered a hand up, dropping it back in the cavity with a huff, clumsy. "This," Victor nudged a clear cord. “I’m so sorry.”

Aesop paused, thumbed at his cheek. “I’m fine,” he nudged his hand out slowly, trying not to grimace at the sting. “What happened?”
“Something disconnected with the visual feed that supplies my central servos—lets me have any sort of coordination.”

“Oh. Should I plug it back in?”
“No—no, just blind me for now. Hopefully stops me from freezing up again.”

“Alright…” He hesitated. “...You’re sure you’re fine?”
“Yes!” Victor nearly laughed. “I needed that. S’long as you’re not hurt.”
“...Not very much,” Aesop leaned over as much as he could the same as he craned Victor’s head up, brushing a kiss against his forehead.

“Well… no point in stopping now,” Victor sighed. “Keep, ah, going. Please.”

Relieved, Trickster nodded, trying to settle back into what they were doing before. He traced his uninjured finger along the optical cable and twisted it at the shielding, eliciting a bitten down moan from the bot. "Well, I should say you're quite pretty all opened up like this."

"Aesop—" Victor whined again. "Please?"

He complied with a hum, and Paperboy reflexively relaxed, fumbling for Aesop's hand inside of him.

"Okay. When—when I say so, I want you to shock me again."

"Again?"

"It—I don't know. I haven't felt that before. I want more."

"Getting a little impatient," Aesop ventured back in and tangled his fingers in the wires at the very back of Victor's head, giving them all a gentle twist. "Are you going to ask nicely?"

Victor squirmed, breaths coming quick. "Are you going to make me beg?"

He didn't justify Victor with an answer, instead just grasped the taser again and prodded it at the bot's neck.

"Nh—! Not yet!" he shivered. "Just—use—fuck—"

Aesop gave an interested hum, pressing his fingers deep enough to feel the heated metal of Victor's skull. "Tell me."

The other man's hands twitched, and he made the decision to give up dignity in favor of base wants: he shoved his other hand into the cavity with a whimper, space now cramped. Trickster could feel the wires surrounding his hand indenting his skin.

"Use me some more," Victor sounded humiliated, voice chip straining. If Aesop knew they had more time, that alone might have changed his tune on only paying attention to the bot. Without another word, he set to dragging his hand out of his skull, brushing past Victor's fingers—and shoved it back in roughly. And again, and again, metaphorically fucking more and more desperate moans out of him, transfixed by the sight of his hand displacing all the carefully connected wires and sinking into the mess. There was a small click of something else getting unplugged, and Victor jerked, panting.

"Please—" Aesop pulled his hand out again at his voice, a few cords coming with him, curled around his fingers. " Please— "

"Please what?"

Victor's mouth hung open, slow to process the request. "Shock me, I need it."

Trickster pressed the pins of the taser hard again against his neck, but didn't move to depress the button. “You can take it?”

“Y—You’re making me beg, aren’t you?”
“Mmh…” Aesop sank back down into the warm tangle in his head, teasing. “That’s your choice.”

Lying there, breaths staccato, and both hands still wrist-deep in his own skull, Victor had little room to be decent. He bit his lip and craned his head with a grunt, pressing just that much more against the end of the taser and Aesop’s steady grip. “For God’s sake—please—you’ve—you’ve already— fucked  my fucking head—” the bot was all breath, now, fans running so hard the current of air across Trickster’s thighs felt hot enough to burn. He followed Victor’s complaining plea with another tug to those small blue wires, fingers tensing along the taser. A keen, a gasp—the man he’d taken apart so easily stuttered out what would win Aesop over.
“I need—nh— need you— ”
Click. The voltage shuddered into Victor and almost through himself too, current skittering through his hand as literally close to, inside, the man as he was. Victor’s body gave a harsh twitch, stilled, and relaxed, enough for Aesop to take a deep breath and pull back completely, setting the taser on the floor and angling his head against the wall behind him. It was a small wonder if they would have let themselves get to this state if Trickster hadn’t been made to stop and reconsider the particulars about them, or more so the bot that now laid quiet as a statue in his lap. He was still aware, or at least coming back, but there was a peaceful placidness to his expression, to being at complete rest, that made Aesop not want to get up. He made a pretty dreamer.

“...Aesop…” Victor’s voice came soft as he stirred once more, fingers flexing before his hands came to his mouth to try and stop a giggle from bubbling out. “That was… that was… ah, we don’t have a lot of time to bask, do we?”

Trickster went to confirm with his watch—and held back a curse with the minute hand only ten to the hour. He shook his head, but remembered the bot’s lack of vision and went to cradle his face instead. “No. Don’t you need a moment?”

“I need you to start fixing what you pulled out,” he smiled. “Just don’t get any ideas.”

“Of course not,” Aesop flushed, again, embarrassed by the notion he’d be so careless. He grasped one blue cord and inserted it with a tap, but had to go searching for whatever else it was that unplugged. Victor laid there, happy to be attended to in the meantime, a little too similar to lazing in the chair while the other did the work. He was lucky Aesop never quite truly minded.

“There,” a small, stubborn cord needed to be clipped in at one end inside his head, and Trickster combed through the wires to straighten them out while he was at it; the optical cable stood out, waiting to nearly finish the process. “Last one.”

Another click, though of a different completion, and Victor gave a pleased sigh. “Just screw that back in and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

Trickster grasped the visor with a light frown. “Liar.” It slotted into his head just as Paperboy finally let his laughter go.

“Well, as far as anyone else  knows,” the screws began to be worked back in, Aesop attempting to ignore— “why, do you feel different?”

“You’re talking too much again.” The last one sat flush with his visor, and Trickster was half tempted to shove him off, though to no avail—Victor was too quick, too eager in bounding up from where he laid to clamber for a kiss. Aesop took it with a sigh, hauling the bot closer and sealing his fate with one last thought: a biting shame, that out of everything, he’d miss this easy adoration the most.

And then three rattling knocks disturbed them and the door.

"Y'ello?"

There came Auditorium's voice a few moments later, already thumping the thing again in impatience. "Got a delivery!"

Aesop scrambled to get himself and Victor to their feet, fixing his tie and shoving the other man back to the chair.

"Just a second!" his voice came out gruff, ripped from the noise of his thoughts and the warmth of the others lips, tripping over himself on his way to grasping the transfer cable off of the floor. He knocked into the table, which gave an ugly screech—Victor stifled a laugh.

"Everything okay in there?" Puppeteer's conservatively concerned tone followed after.

"Yes!" Paperboy answered for him, one hand reaching for the cable while the other pressed firm on the latch. Aesop regretfully shoved it back in without much care, face pinching up as Victor had to bite his lip to prevent another laugh or any worse noise from coming out.

"Well," Luca's voice prattled on through the door, "hauling all of this up here wasn't the most enjoyable  thing!" Trickster took the moment to fix Victor's clothes, but they still were a wrinkled mess—the impending doom of being caught despite their efforts made his insides curdle. "So one of you either opens the door or you're shit out of luck for entertainment the rest of this week."

And even still, the other man pulled Aesop close for a second, kissed him again with a smile. "Thank you," he whispered, then twisted his head. "Don't want to hear it, Luca! You've got your home movies on rotation again?"

"No!" Auditorium gasped, offended, doubly so with Tracy's laughter coming through. 

"It's probably still Casablanca," she added.

Aesop turned away to make a break for the door, unable to ignore the flutter Victor set in his heart; he was so patently out of his depth.

Opening it—the assumption made earlier about the draft messing with the papers was proven somewhat right, though they at most gave a stir. More critical was Luca and Tracy stood waiting for them, the former immediately shoving past Aesop to deposit his armful of reels onto the table.

"Excuse me for being happy with pilfering a copy while it's still in the theatres." He looked around, hands on his hips and letting out a low whistle. "This place is a disaster!"

"No thanks to your additions," Trickster took a quick breath, stepping to the side to let Tracy in with her own box of papers.

"I would weep for you, Trickster," Luca dusted off his shoulder. "But this is all for tomorrow. Boss wants to see us all back at the port."

"A meeting?" Aesop intoned. "Why not just radio in and let us know?"

"Safety in numbers something or other—or maybe he just didn't want Tracy and I alone for much longer," he gave her a grin.

"Save it," she couldn't help a returned smile while brushing him off. Tracy stepped over to Victor, reflexively unlatching the cable and unplugging it. "How far did you two get?"

"Far enough," he stood with a full stretch, nonchalant, hands reaching up. "Nice and boring. Think José will let me offload while we're chatting?"

"Dunno!" Luca was already back at the door, peering out into the hall. "Wasn't a distress call or anything, sure we can mosey for a little."

"No," Trickster moved past him. "Maintenance train. We're not walking for two hours."

Auditorium scoffed. "You'd think being able to show your face in public would make you more amiable to walking around."

"And what exactly would you and Paperboy do?" Aesop held the door open for them all, pausing at Tracy to tap the brim of her currently-askew hat. She fixed it with an avoidant cough.

"Proceed very carefully."

Trickster let him go with little more than an irritated side-eye, but that quickly shifted into a stare that led back inside the room, eyeing the one article of clothing they hadn’t corrected in their haste. To mention it would draw inevitable attention, but he said he’d take care of the man, didn’t he?

"Victor… don't forget your cap."

"Oh! Hah, right," Paperboy’s eyebrows flicked up for a moment, then he spun on his heel to snatch it off the table and shove it onto his head with a pinched smile. Aesop got the door shut just as Luca continued on, already walking down the hall. “It’s, y’know, mainly slums out here anyway. Do you really think the poor folks out here would wanna bring the police and their trouble in?”

“That line of thinking is the kind to get us arrested,” Paperboy skirted ahead, bumping Auditorium with an elbow. “What’re we gonna enjoy out there, the litter?”

"Oh, Victor, how I wish you'd been here sooner—I'd kill for a proper outing at a Whiskeytodd's without wanted posters of our faces plastered about."

Tracy, the one walking side by side with Trickster now, rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you telling me their drinks bordered on shit whenever you used to go, anyway? And how’s Paperboy going to drink? ”

“He wouldn’t! They’ve got entertainment past getting trashed—which is exactly why— ”

“No!” Aesop butted in, assertive. They’d reached the end of the decrepit hall at that point, the windows lining the wall to their right either caked with dust and smog or broken open and letting in the stench of the city below. “Take the elevator already,” the one which laid before them, metal doors rusted. It was easy enough for them to figure how to siphon from a separate power line to barely feed the building, but it left the ride feeling precarious every time. Almost grinding, the doors pulled open as Victor pressed the call button, and he slipped into the tiny space with a less than happy Luca. The bot gave Aesop a grin just as he disappeared from view, leaving him looking away like a fool.

He stayed there, waiting with Tracy in the meantime as the pair descended, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. He couldn’t let the simple act get to him at this rate, but with Tracy at his side—

"...Is something wrong?" were the words she used to break the silence.

"What? No," he got out immediately, studying the stained floor tiles rather than his companion. "...Why?"

"Mmh," Puppeteer hummed, curling a ringlet of hair around her finger. "You're acting like Kevin after you all managed to wrangle me back from Pickman."

"Pardon?"

"I think Eli might have called it 'mother-henning.'"

Aesop blinked, turned his head and regarded Tracy with a furrowed brow. "I have… no idea how that relates to now."

"It's not a bad thing!" she nudged him. "I'm more than happy if you're… sort of coming around to everyone else here, even if it's only now. You just look incredibly stressed about it."

He continued to stare, perturbed. He only felt  different in that whatever he was to do with Victor now extended past the box he'd only ever imagined himself in; allow some vulnerability into his daily routine. If that somehow translated so clearly to others, unknown to himself—that wouldn't do.

"Uhm," Tracy angled her head away. "It's just this far-away look you get, the stressed part."

Aesop folded his hands behind his back, listening for the rattle of the service elevator beginning to make its ascent back. He wasn't doing himself any favors with his silence, but Puppeteer tended to have an impulsivity to her that led to further prodding of him no matter how he responded.

"...What are you thinking of?"

"Hm?"

"I… have to assume you are, anyway. Happier thoughts?"

"...Just about myself, Tracy. Don't let it bother you."

"It wasn't—"

The elevator let out a weak ding, arrived, doors sliding open. Trickster stepped in, clearing his throat as Tracy followed suit. When the doors closed again and they began their rickety ride down, Aesop decided, at least for the moment, it'd be best to try following that same thread of vulnerability Victor eased out of him.

"...If I'm to recall how Whiplash was when we brought you back, he was seemingly concerned to the point of being overbearing," Aesop sighed. "I sympathize with the sentiment, now. Must come about with the realization of what's important to you, personally."

Tracy stood still, watching Aesop with a touch of bewilderment—he knew speaking openly wasn't exactly a staple of his.

"...We've each other and those we grow close to at the end of the day, Tracy. I am—trying to let up on some of my reservations that've come with this lifestyle." He sucked in a breath, pushing himself to finish. "I'm alright. Just adapting to a different perspective."

The elevator shuddered as it approached the first floor, signaling their moment to be over soon. Tracy, bless her, let Aesop go with a simple head resting on his shoulder. They were back to normal just as Paperboy and Auditorium were able to greet them again.

“—okay, but I’m just saying if you could  picture yourself acting,” Luca was gesturing to the other man with a smirk. “You’d make a good sidekick, don’t you think? Even got the uh… spiffy animal companion.”

“Mh, well,” the bot’s head twisted away at the elevator sounding, smiling upon seeing Trickster again. Aesop ducked his head. “All I can say is I hope Wick pisses on your film again.”

“Gah! Don’t even think about letting her near the dark room! Tracy—” Luca urged her forward and linked their arms, frown making his snaggletooth stick out. “Come on, maybe a short train ride would  be best for right now.” Led away, all Puppeteer could do was mouth a less than apologetic ‘sorry’ before she gave him a kiss on the cheek to settle his mood. Around the corner and gone into the office lobby, Trickster blinked before walking forward, glancing to Victor once, twice, and to the floor. He could scarcely believe he’d be reduced to bashfulness so soon, but the other man was beginning to feel more and more like a lamp he couldn’t shade.

"Hey—" so it was fitting, then, that he caught Aesop by the hand. "Now's the time to speak up. Are we going to stick with this?"

Though Aesop knew what Victor explicitly meant by this, some allowance of some real feelings for one another, the wording presented a world of different scenarios. Flings, yes—he’d have wanted for that even if none of their recent developments had occurred. Entertaining the thought of a relationship, in concept—the idea itself left a flat, hollow feeling in his stomach, but that felt just about the same as denying the wants that competed with that fear. If he’d hurt either way, alone sounded much, much worse. And, simply being by one another’s side in all of the weeks to come—well, Aesop would be a fool if there was any answer to that aside from absolutely.  Victor couldn’t be kept forever.

It all added up to his hesitant response, lungs settling with a press of warmth. 

"...We can see where it goes."

Victor grinned, then stooped slightly, lifting Trickster's hand—he sent his heart aflutter again with a sweet kiss pressed to his knuckles.

"No one I'd be happier to try with."