Work Text:
Mr. Robot settles into the single dining room chair and props his chin on his hand, observing the only other person in the room. Elliot is fast asleep, and he can feel the gentle pulse of his dreams beneath his own consciousness. He hadn't really been sure the timing would work out, but he'd had a hunch that their new neighbor would drop by after Darlene left.
Elliot loves his sister, but Mr. Robot knows that it still drains him to stay focused and present for her. C'mon kiddo, just take a snooze for a bit. If anything comes up, I'll handle it.
It says a lot about the progress they've made that Elliot can accept that as comfort rather than a threat. And, well, he guesses that it feels... good, to have Elliot place himself in Mr. Robot's hands, trusting that he'll take care of the both of them. In this particular case, he's confident that Elliot will be relieved that he was spared any role in the interaction.
"So you're a music junkie, huh man? You got, like, a stereo or something around here?"
Elliot's new hallway neighbor, Evan, finally stops pretending to skim the bands written on Elliot's CD collection, and uses the excuse of finding a stereo to move to the other side of the bed. Then he turns to look coyly back over his shoulder at Elliot, the mattress stretched across the space between them.
Mr. Robot can't help feeling a little entertained at the drama of these kinds of seduction attempts. If Elliot were awake he'd be climbing the walls with the urge to snatch everything out of Evan's reach, and he certainly wouldn't have the patience for this kind of awkward small-talk. Mr. Robot knows with certainty that he wouldn't notice the gooey bedroom eyes that Evan is attempting to catch him with.
But because they've all learned a lesson or two about not making enemies when distant acquaintances will do, Mr. Robot tries to give him an out.
"Listen bud, my sister's already gone home to her girlfriend, so don't feel bad that you missed your chance, you never had one to begin with," Mr. Robot tells him, knowing it's wasted breath but enjoying the game. Evan hums, then shuffles closer until their knees are almost touching as he looks down and gives a teasing sort of grin.
"Your sister's a good-looking girl, no doubt. Doesn't surprise me she's going home to somebody. What does surprise me is that her brother can't say the same," he says, and leans against the dining table, slowly closing the space between them. "I'm not much worried about where her interests lie, ya know?"
He knows. He's known since they first met Evan outside their building, and Evan's gaze slid past Darlene and lingered on Elliot with a blatant interest that had caught Mr. Robot's attention, even as it sailed right over Elliot's head. Now, three days later, Darlene has finally gone back to her own apartment to crash, and right on cue, new-to-the-neighborhood Evan comes a'knocking to make nice with his twink neighbor.
"I'm not much for socializing," Mr. Robot says, crossing his arms over his chest and resisting the urge to laugh at the understatement.
Evan brings a broad hand to rest against Mr. Robot's neck, and trails it up under his ear and then around to tip his chin upwards. Mr. Robot looks calmly back at him, not moving away, but allowing his boredom to steal across his face. He's curious how Evan will respond. Will he be offended, get angry that someone would shut him down? Or maybe he'll get self-conscious, begin to doubt that he'd read Elliot's sexuality correctly, and show himself out without any more effort on Mr. Robot's part.
Instead, for the first time today, Evan actually does something surprising. Rather than registering the boredom as any kind of rejection, his interest seemed spurred by the challenge. His second hand joins the first, and he cradles Mr. Robot's face in a firm grip that makes him raise an eyebrow. He's not sure what part of this interaction has led Evan to think he's looking for someone to cozy him into submission.
"Baby," Evan breathes against his face, "You don't need to tell me that. I can see how lonely you are - it's all over your face when you think people aren't looking."
Evan, Mr. Robot decides, is annoying.
"When you stand there all alone, arms wrapped around yourself like you're wishing they were someone else's... like you're looking for someone that's not there... baby I can fill that space for you," Evan says, his voice just above a whisper as he speaks against Mr. Robot's lips. His grip on his face tightens, and he seals their mouths, fingernails pressing into Mr. Robot's face and knocking his glasses off-kilter.
Mr. Robot uses this moment of frankly subpar kissing (how long can someone slobber on your face before they realize you're not reciprocating?) to consider how best to explain that the space Evan sees has already been filled. Then Evan bites his lip, a second and even less welcome surprise in an otherwise unoriginal script, and he jerks his head back even as Evan tries to pull him closer, moaning with way more eroticism than is really appropriate or appreciated.
Mr. Robot puts his hand between their faces and pushes Evan away with enough force that he almost falls onto his ass. But he catches himself at the last second, and instead remains standing, breathing heavily. Mr. Robot wipes his mouth with the heel of his palm, and bares his teeth when a thick smear of blood is left behind. Fuck. It's going to sting like a bitch until it heals.
"I happen to like my personal space," he says, pouring as much scathing dismissal into the words as he can. He gets to his feet, and Evan scrambles out of his way to avoid being run down as Mr. Robot strides to the door. "I think you misunderstood what people mean when they say they borrowed some sugar from the neighbor. Try Mrs. - sorry, Ms. Cassick downstairs, she had a divorce party last month, so she might be feeling more neighborly." And don't come back.
Before he can fling the door open, Evan presses up against his back, crowding him so close to the frame that there isn't room to turn the knob. His breath is heavy and moist against Mr. Robot's neck, and the sensation sends a small thrill of disgust through him.
His skin breaks into gooseflesh as Evan whispers against the side of his face, "You don't have to pretend for me, Elliot. I can keep you company. I see how sweet you can be." One of his arms reaches across Mr. Robot's chest, and he slides a hand up under his jaw, until he finds a grip on his throat. The move sets off alarm bells, and who'd have thought this was lurking beneath that entitled dudebro exterior except for anyone who's ever encountered one; meanwhile, Evan doesn't seem to notice the tension that draws Mr. Robot's limbs whipcord tight as he prepares to move.
Someone else does notice.
Elliot waking up is often like watching the tide come in: gradual but unstoppable. And sometimes, when something startles the balance between them, it's like being blindsided by a tidal wave. Sudden and disorienting for them both. There's a shifting of focus as they figure out who is settling where, what limbs are under whose control, and where they are in relation to the other. A star imploding and two new ones emerging to find their orbit together.
When his vision settles, Mr. Robot is standing by Evan's left shoulder, and Elliot's breathing is coming in heaving gasps. Elliot's hands scrabble against the door as he struggles to orient himself. One finds a place over Evan's where it flexes over his esophagus. The other braces against the wall. Evan is moaning again, and Mr. Robot realizes his other hand is now down between Elliot's legs, pawing insistently at his crotch while he humps against his back.
"Kiddo," Mr. Robot says, mind whirling as he searches for a way this can end without Elliot half insensate from a panic attack.
At the sound of his voice, Elliot gives a breathy moan of his own. He pushes harder against the hand around his neck, encouraging it to tighten, and grinds back against the warm body behind him.
In that moment, Mr. Robot feels a rush of such want; it nearly tips him back into Elliot's body, he's so desperate to be wrapped together again. Evan's hips are moving in small little thrusts, and his grip on Elliot's throat tightens further. The alarm bells return, but Elliot himself remains blissfully unaware for a brief second, until Evan speaks again.
"Ooohhhh baby," he groans, the sound pornographic in the way only cheap 70's actors normally aim for, "you're being so good for me."
The effect is instantaneous. At the sound of a strange voice against his ear, Elliot freezes, then his breathing accelerates while both hands fly up to pry at Evan's hold. His fear is palpable, and Mr. Robot's reaction to it is instinctive. He grabs Evan's fingers and bends them backwards viciously, keeping his grip even as Evan howls in pain and yanks them away. Elliot scrambles out of the narrow gap between them and the door, and Mr. Robot uses the space to throw the door open. Then he gets a grip on Evan's jaw and squeezes until he stops struggling, suspended between trying to twist away and keeping his fingers intact.
"Keep your fucking hands to yourself, or I won't be the one bleeding next time," he snarls, and shoves Evan out into the hall. Then he slams the door shut, snaps the deadbolt into place, and turns to Elliot.
"What the fuck was that?" Elliot hisses, grabbing Mr. Robot's wrists when he reaches out and holding his hands away. "Who the fuck was that and what the fuck were we doing with them?" His voice is shaky but gets louder until it's nearly a shout by the end. The movement pulls at the cut on his lip, and they both flinch at the phantom pain.
Mr. Robot twists his hands free and pushes closer, driving Elliot into the corner by the door. Elliot jerks violently at the suddenness of the move, and Mr. Robot pauses before continuing forward at a slower pace. He lets out the breath he was holding when this time Elliot allows his approach.
"Sorry about the rude awakening, kid. I wasn't expecting your neighbor to be so into under-negotiated kink on a first date." He tries to joke, but he doesn't need Elliot's stony glare to know it falls flat. He lets the strained grin fall from his face and tries again. "I'm sorry. I figured he'd come sniffing around once he heard Darlene leave, but I wasn't expecting him to be so fucking pushy about it."
He backs away, giving Elliot some space, until he's close enough to the mattress to drop down onto it with a soft huff. Elliot stares at him for a moment, then goes into the bathroom. Mr. Robot knows he's examining the streak of blood at the corner of his mouth, and the redness around his neck. Not enough to bruise, but enough to feel like there should be one. When he comes back out, he edges closer to the bed but doesn't sit.
"I thought..." Elliot begins, then cuts himself off. Mr. Robot waits, watching his face carefully as Elliot's eyes flit around the room in search of verbage. After a minute of silence that seems to stretch, he continues haltingly, "I thought it was you. Standing there. Standing behind me." His gaze finally latches onto Mr. Robot's, and they look at one another. Then Mr. Robot draws Elliot closer, until he is standing between his knees.
"I know you did, kiddo," Mr. Robot says softly. He wraps his arms carefully around Elliot's waist, watching closely for signs of hypersensitivity, when even a comforting touch sends Elliot spinning so relentlessly that letting him sink back into a blackout is the kindest thing he can do for him. But this time Elliot leans into the touch, and Mr. Robot firmly strokes his back and feels him lean more fully against him.
His palms slide up over Elliot's hips and then slide beneath his shirt to settle on the warm skin of his lower back.
"Why weren't you stopping him?" Elliot asks. His voice is unevenly monotone in that way it gets when he's trying to be rational in the face of emotion. Mr. Robot cuts him a sharp look, trying to understand the subtext behind the question.
"I was not trying to have sex w-" he begins, fury leeching in his words, but Elliot cuts him off.
"I know. I know you don't want that," he says, and Mr. Robot settles slightly now that there is no implication that someone like fucking grabby-hands Evan would get him going. "But why did you let him so close? Were you- did he-?"
Elliot can't find the question he wants to ask, but his fingers come up to gently trace the bite that mirrors his own on Mr. Robot's mouth. The touch stings slightly, but Elliot is being so achingly gentle that Mr. Robot doesn't mind, and he presses into the touch. Elliot's hands slip into his hair and scratch gently at his scalp for a while. Mr. Robot only realizes his eyes have fallen shut when the movements pause. He opens them again, and Elliot's expression is focused and intense.
"Was he forcing you?"
His voice is still soft when he asks, but there is a glittering anger beneath his words like powdered glass, and his jaw is clenched so hard he has to push the words out. God, Mr. Robot thinks. He loves this fucking kid.
"I'm fine, Elliot," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. "He thought he was talking me around, which is a dick move, no arguments here, but it was halfway to handled. I wasn't expecting you to wake up when you did; otherwise I would have kept you under while I twisted his balls off and showed him the door."
Elliot lets out gusty breath that is nearly a gasp, and Mr. Robot feels something in him clench at the relief on the other's face.
"I know that felt scary and ugly, what you woke up to, but trust me that I was dealing with it at my own pace. I didn't see any reason to get nasty. But that was before you entered the equation."
His thumbs find Elliot's belt loops and he gives them a sharp jerk. Elliot stumbles forward into his lap, and Mr. Robot keeps a secure hold on him until he's comfortably settled with his knees bracketing Mr. Robot's hips. Their noses brush, and Mr. Robot presses a kiss to the uninjured corner of Elliot's mouth, then his chin, then the corner of his eye. Elliot's lids flutter shut, and his head tips passively to the side as Mr. Robot mouths down his neck and scrapes his stubble over his thudding pulse. Then he takes Elliot's chin in his hand and pulls his face closer, so close that Elliot's eyes flicker to either side trying to keep his in focus.
"Trust me that after all the shit we've had to figure out, I'm never gonna play those kinds of games with you. With us," Mr. Robot says, his words heavy with surety. Elliot blinks rapidly, then jerks his head in a small nod. Mr. Robot waits for a long moment to let his promise settle between them, then pulls Elliot down until their mouths meet in a chaste kiss.
Elliot sighs against his mouth, a quiet exhale that can only be felt, not heard. Mr. Robot tightens the hold his other arm has maintained around his waist, drawing Elliot further down until their hips are locked together with no space to separate them. They meet again in a harsher kiss, and Mr. Robot laves away the dried blood from Elliot's mouth. He purrs, savoring the copper tang that lingers on Elliot's bottom lip as his thumbs slip past the waistband of his jeans to dig into the divots of his hipbones.
Elliot's mouth falls open, possibly to gasp or cry out, but Mr. Robot is already licking his way inside before the sound can escape. Elliot is practically swaying, the only thing keeping him from sliding bonelessly away being his arms sliding around Mr. Robot's neck to pull him even closer. They kiss for a long time, long enough that clothes are starting to feeling restricting. When Elliot begins steadily grinding down onto him, Mr. Robot reaches between them and unzips Elliot's hoodie with a yank, then draws the shirt beneath it over his head until both layers are a tangled heap in the corner. Elliot reciprocates by pushing his coat and flannel from his shoulders, but doesn't get to the t-shirt in time.
Mr. Robot slides both hands under Elliot's thighs and heaves, sending him sprawling onto his stomach. Before he can recover, Mr. Robot rolls on top of him, sitting on the back of Elliot's knees to keep him in place. He gently presses down on the back of Elliot's neck and guides his face to the mattress, hips pressing against Elliot's rear as he leans forward to hold him still.
"Talk to me, kiddo," he cajoles, voice rough as he thrusts roughly against the valley of Elliot's cheeks, their jeans rasping against each other. Elliot's back arches as he pushes back, and Mr. Robot uses his free hand to feel the vertebrae flex under his palm. "Do you like when I put my hands on you?"
"Yes," Elliot gasps, "Yes, touch me, please touch me, please-"
Mr. Robot releases his hold on Elliot's neck and drops forward onto his forearms; his chest is melded against Elliot's bare back, and he worms his right hand beneath Elliot's armpit until it rests over his rapidly beating heart. His other hand swiftly unbuttons the top of Elliot's black jeans and pushes past the waistband of his briefs. He finds Elliot completely hard and makes an interested sound.
"Glad to see your enthusiasm hasn't cooled," he teases, angling his wrist to get a firm grip on him. Then he almost falls off the bed when Elliot wrenches away violently, and he has to let go to catch himself. "Yikes, kid, calm down on the acrobatics."
"There wasn't any enthusiasm," Elliot says, and his voice is once more lifeless and drone-like. He stares down at the bedspread and doesn't elaborate, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes, and the rapidity of his inhales seems dangerously close to hyperventilation.
Mr. Robot watches the planes of Elliot's face, and slowly reaches forward and places his hand over the back of Elliot's, threading their fingers together, then brings it to his lips to kiss his palm. "I know that, kiddo," he whispers. "I know you weren't asking him to touch you." Another kiss, now on Elliot's wrist. "You were asking me." He gently sets his teeth against the vein beating beneath the thin skin of his wrist, then traces it with his tongue. "Weren't you?"
"Yes," Elliot bites out. His shoulders become less rigid, and Mr. Robot guides their joined hands until Elliot's is reaching behind to sink into Mr. Robot's hair. He holds on tightly for a moment, until Mr. Robot ducks down to nip his earlobe, then his grip softens. Mr. Robot allows a smirk to slide across his face, and presses his lips against Elliot's neck so he can feel it.
"You were asking me to keep you still, hold you in place so I could fuck up into you, weren't you, Elliot?"
Bingo.
The tension reappears, but it's better now, and Elliot gives a small nod that gains in confidence until he finally stutters, "Yes."
Mr. Robot gives a hum of approval. "Good boy. In fact, shitshow aside, I think I'm almost impressed with you, kid. Zero to a hundred in nothing flat, and all you needed was a hand around your throat and my voice in your ear." He says this with his mouth tracing the shell of Elliot's cartilage, and his smirk widens when Elliot honest-to-god flushes at his words. His hand slides from Mr. Robot's hair to the back of his neck, trying to pull him closer, but Mr. Robot resists. He wants to see the show happening in technicolor across Elliot's face, and this angle isn't doing it for him any more. He sits up and considers the long expanse of Elliot's spine, running his hands over the feverish skin as Elliot twitches beneath him, waiting. Trusting, even as his eyes flicker uncertainly over his face, trying to read his expression.
"Roll over, kiddo," Mr. Robot murmurs finally, tapping a hand against Elliot's hip to prompt him and leaning back to give him room to move. Elliot obeys, rolling onto his side while Mr. Robot stands and strips off his shirt, then kicks free of his jeans and underwear. His glasses and hat get tossed onto the computer desk with a clatter. Elliot follows his lead and begins pushing his jeans down over his hips, wriggling as he goes, and Mr. Robot kneels back onto the bed and peels both pants and briefs away. Then he slides a hand down Elliot's naked thigh until it catches behind his knee and drags him back into place beneath him.
Elliot's whole body is deeply flushed, from his face all the way down to the dick straining and leaking against his stomach. Mr. Robot pushes his legs farther apart, pinning one knee to the bed and throwing the other over his shoulder as he slides downwards and exhales heavily over the wet head. Elliot jumps so hard he almost clips him on the temple, then flexes his leg to drag Mr. Robot's face closer to his groin. Mr. Robot pretends to resist for a moment, then darts forward and licks a long, sloppy line from balls to tip. Elliot gives a high, needy whine.
"You like when I touch you, don't you kiddo?" Mr. Robot asks, massaging the slick line of spit that drips down over Elliot's testicles into the skin with the pad of his thumb. Elliot is staring down at him, eyes black with want and lips slightly parted as he nods again.
"And what do you want me to do, when I touch you?" he asks. Elliot hesitates, starts to speak, and chokes on the words when Mr. Robot leans down and sucks hard on the crown of his dick before releasing it with a slick pop. Then he takes Elliot in hand and gently pumps him, his fingers loose and unsatisfying as he collects precum and lets it coat his hand. Elliot's hips buck into the sensation, and he sounds near tears when Mr. Robot's hand goes completely lax.
"Show me, please, please," Elliot finally gasps out, almost chanting the words now that he's finally found them, and his pupils are blown wide as Mr. Robot tightens his grip again and slows his pace even more.
"Show you what?" Mr. Robot breathes into his the crease of his hip as he kisses it, thumb sliding almost absentmindedly over the head of Elliot's dick while he waits for an answer. Elliot tries to thrust into his palm, but Mr. Robot's weight on him doesn't give him the leverage and he grits his teeth. His balls are drawn up tight, and Mr. Robot presses lightly against the strip of skin beneath to stimulate his prostate. Words slip away from Elliot again and he snarls with frustration and arousal. Mr. Robot gives him a moment to collect himself.
"Show me you want me back," he manages, and his voice is fractured like a bad audio file. His hands come down from over his head, and he pulls Mr. Robot's face back up to his own. Mr. Robot releases his grip on Elliot, who lets out a grunt that sounds closer to a sob, and crawls up his body, sliding his hand up over his stomach, then chest, then neck, and coming to press hard over Elliot's mouth. His palm doesn't quite cover his nose - not yet - but it does significantly restrict his breathing. Just as he'd wanted, Elliot goes completely pliant under him, and Mr. Robot softens his hold and leans back as he considers his words.
Show me you want me back.
"I do, Elliot," he says, hand digging under the pillows until he find the tube of lube they keep wedged between the bed and the wall. He flicks the cap open with one hand and lets the contents puddle into his cupped palm. A stray drop runs down over his pinky and drips onto Elliot's stomach and he flinches at the cold. His nipples are are raised, and Mr. Robot ducks down take one into his mouth at the same time he wraps his wet hand around both their erections, trapping them together in the slick heat.
Elliot is trembling beneath him, hips jerking, and a stream of tangled nonsense is falling out of his mouth as the hand gains speed. Mr. Robot covers it again with his other hand, and this time he pinches Elliot's nostrils and completely cuts off his air. Elliot's eyes are wide and his lashes are wet, but he lays as still as he can, accepting, even as he makes tight little cries in the back of his throat as the grip on his dick tightens. Mr. Robot gives a small bite to his nipple then raises up to kiss the back of his own hand, feeling the vibrations of Elliot's noises against his own mouth, looking into his face.
"Never doubt that I want you." His voice is hoarse and his throat feels tight, and fuck they feel so good together. Elliot's not much better, and a tear slips from the corner of his eye to run down his cheek.
Mr. Robot drops his hand from Elliot's face, and Elliot surges forward to kiss him. Mr. Robot lets him take as much as he wants, will always let him take what he wants. The important bit is that Elliot knows for himself that he will never hesitate to give it to him. Only when Elliot leans back again does Mr. Robot force himself to release his grip on them.
There's enough lube escaping his palm that Mr. Robot easily finds some extra to press into Elliot's hole along with two fingers while his thumb presses against his perineum again. Elliot moans loudly, and Mr. Robot sucks lewdly on his tongue as his fingers corkscrew deeper. Elliot's not nearly as difficult to open up as he used to be, when every step of sex was a long process of catch and release, Mr. Robot working Elliot up to something new then pulling back to let him process it, decide whether he wanted more. He always did. Does. Mr. Robot adds another finger.
When he's deep enough to brush Elliot's prostate with the tips of his fingers, Elliot is practically catatonic with pleasure, his kisses sloppy and open mouthed. Mr. Robot loves this in-between moment, before the endgame begins, when Elliot will just lay back and take whatever Mr. Robot will give, for as long as he wants to give it. He relishes the way Elliot's hand skitter over his body, wanting to touch everywhere at once as he brushes his cheeks, his ribs, while his heels dig into the small of his back to pull Mr. Robot closer. Mr. Robot gives a harsh prod to his prostate when Elliot's hand drops away to creep towards his own erection, and the jolt of arousal completely uncoordinates him again.
Elliot drops back against the pillows, gasping, and Mr. Robot uses the moment to re-situate them. He withdraws his fingers and guides Elliot onto one side, draping his top leg over his shoulder with one hand, spreading Elliot's thighs wide. The other he uses to position himself, and just the feel of his own hand is enough to make Mr. Robot hiss. Elliot is dripping with the excess of lube he's worked into him, and he slides in with slow, slick ease. The sensation of wet suction is making his breathing almost as ragged as Elliot's.
"Fuuuuck," Elliot slurs out, voice low and reedy, head tossed back and mouth open. Mr. Robot seats himself with one inexorable push as he leans forward and bites along Elliot's collarbone, and his hands slide beneath his back to grip his shoulders. His muscles coil, and he slams into Elliot, sealing himself tightly against his body while his hands pull Elliot down onto him. Elliot shouts as the head of Mr. Robot's length slides over his prostate, and he squirms with nowhere to go.
"I've got you, kiddo," he gasps through the dizzying pleasure of being buried in Elliot, of feeling him open himself and relax into the violence of Mr. Robot's grip on him. He draws back slightly and then thrusts forward again, the force behind it punishing but not meant to punish. He knows Elliot knows the difference. "I've always got you. And you've always got me."
There, he thinks. What more is there to be said?
He circles his hips as his thrusts gain speed. Elliot's hands are now braced against the wall behind him as he pushes himself down to meet the motions with as much force as his position allows for. Mr. Robot can barely hear over his own loud breathing and thundering pulse, but when Elliot starts talking again he forces himself to pay attention.
"Please, I want it, I want it, I want you I want it, please-" he begs, and Mr. Robot doubts he even knows his mouth is connect to his brain anymore, and the thought makes him drive harder.
"It's yours, kid," he says, and he reaches down between them to pump a sloppy rhythm over Elliot's erection. "I'm yours."
Elliot goes abruptly silent, and Mr. Robot knows he's coming. Elliot's whole body ripples in a shivery contraction that squeezes an "oh fuck" out of Mr. Robot as Elliot writhes over his dick, and then he's coming too, hips snapping frantically as he chases the high for both of them until he only has the energy to grind weakly into Elliot, who is bent practically in half with his eyes closed. They're both sweaty and wrapped so tightly together that Mr. Robot is losing feeling where his fingers are crushed against Elliot's stomach as he softens. There's a ticklish trickle of jizz leaking out to drip down over Mr. Robot's balls, then Elliot's, and he pushes back in a little harder to seal it off. Relaxing the hand that had remained clamped onto Elliot's shoulder, he guides Elliot's leg down to rest over his hip instead.
Elliot pulls down on his elbow until he's lying half on the bed and half on top of him, and gives Mr. Robot a careful, brief kiss. Their breath is hot against one another's faces, and Mr. Robot bites along Elliot's top lip as his pulse settles. Elliot's hand comes up to rest over his rib cage, mimicking Mr. Robot's earlier hold, and he feels the steady heartbeat beneath. Mr. Robot does the same, and together they listen. Perfectly in sync.