Chapter Text
It was looking to be a quiet night, not even the regular evening patrons could be found at Handlebar’s saloon. There was excitement happening off across the desert and at some point they would all be back and thirsty, but for now there wasn’t much for the bar’s owner to do. He was just considering calling it an early night when a sad robot clanked through the doors. The robot shuffled dejectedly to a seat at the bar, his eyes hidden under a downturned hat. The hat, featuring twin pairs of antennae, was familiar as was the bright yellow, if a bit rumpled jacket. It was an outfit that had adorned it’s fair share of wanted posters.
“Thunderstick, isn’t it?”
Glowing yellow eyes flashed dangerously from beneath the hat. “It is. An’ before you go-go getting any ideas I just got out of jail. The long way, unfortunately.”
Ah, that would explain the bad mood. Handlebar considered asking if the robot had someone to pick him up and take him home before deciding it would be awkward if the answer was ‘no’. Instead he simply placed a full glass before him.
“You’ll be wanting for something real to drink then.”
Thunderstick nodded appreciatively, taking the glass. He ran his thumb up and down the side thoughtfully but didn’t drink. He seemed tense and distracted. Handlebar had been tending bar long enough to know when a man needed to get out of his own head.
“Do you have a place to stay the night?”
Thunderstick sagged down in his chair. “I should probably just-just get going. It’s a long ride to the Hexagon.”
Handlebar frowned, “You don’t have to go back there. You did your time, you’re a free man. Free to make an honest life.”
“I came here for a-a drink, not to be-be lectured,” sneered the stuttering robot.
Handlebar shrugged. “Not a lecture partner, just some friendly advice. That comes free with the drink.”
“Well I don’t much care for your ‘honest’ way of livin’, so you can jus’ keep-keep your advice.” The robot lifted the glass to his steel lips but still didn’t drink.
“If that’s how you want it.” He watched the robot toy with the still full glass in his left hand. He swirled it, tapped the side with his fingers and occasionally brought it up to his mouth but never once did the liquid touch his lips.
Oh. Handlebar could have kicked himself, of course the robot couldn’t drink, there was no mouth behind his metal jaw. Thunderstick’s voice seemed to come from a speaker in the tube across his face. It likely also contained a scent detector, judging by his habit of bringing the glass to his lips. But none of his whole facial setup seemed designed for eating. So he was holding and smelling in lieu of ingesting. Handlebar was used to serving all types at his bar, and odd dietary needs were a part of that service.
“Can I get you anything else…?” Shoot, what did mechanical types need? Oil? He hoped he didn’t eat karium crystals like peanuts…
Thunderstick cocked his head. “Actually, do you-you have an outlet by chance?”
“An outlet for-? Oh! Yeah, just a second.” Handlebar disappeared through the back door for a minute. He returned with a small portable generator he used for powering up his ride on long trips. He plopped it down on the bar with a thunk, it was heavier than it looked.
“Mighty grateful.” Thunderstick loosened the bandanna around his neck and started undoing his jacket. “Uh, pardon-pardon me.”
Handlebar suddenly realised he was quite interested in what was hidden under that sharp yellow jacket. But in the interest of modesty he pretended to busy himself with something in the other direction. However, this left his mind free to wander. Thunderstick didn’t eat or drink, but what of his other senses? Did he tire and need to sleep? Did he feel temperature? Touch? Did he crave it? Did he have a- Handlebar mentally shook himself and looked at the holo-clock. It was far too early in the season for him to be feeling this frisky.
He glanced back at the bar. Thunderstick sat back on his stool with his jacket slightly open, a cord ran from somewhere beneath it to the generator. A slow, rhythmic waveform played across his ocular display.
Being plugged in seemed soothing to the robot. Something like a hot meal to himself. Speaking of…
Handlebar jerked his thumb towards the back of the bar that led to his kitchenette. “I’m going to grab something for myself if that’s all right with you? Hit the bell if you need me.”
Thunderstick nodded placidly, his attention clearly on his own meal.
Handlebar tucked into a couple big pieces of ironroot pie and a hearty glass of ale. He was fully expecting his patron to have eaten and run by the time he returned. Part of him was hoping for it, so he could go back to a comfortable peace with his ignorance of robotic anatomy. But no, Thunderstick was relaxing at the bar just as he had left him. His power cord had been returned to wherever it came from and his jacket was buttoned though, as Handlebar was pleased to see, still only part way. A tantalising gleam of steel peeked from below his bandanna.
“Enjoy your meal?”
“Yes, thank you.” Thunderstick tried to push the generator away like an empty plate but it was still heavier than it looked and didn’t budge. He gave it an appreciative pat instead. “You know they would barely let me touch-touch the station outlet? Thought I might ha-hack their database! Ha!”
Handlebar chuckled. The sheriff might be handy with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets, but their complex workings were not his specialty. Not that Handlebar would readily talk about his own proficiency. Might bring up the wrong sort of questions.
It was starting to get dark. Two of the three suns had already set and outside the saloon door the streetlights began to flicker on.
Thunderstick stood up and rooted around in his pocket, producing a handful of dusty lint, sandy small change and some hard candies for some reason. He muttered something about crime really not paying as he counted out the money for the drink.
“Listen, Thunderstick. Wherever you’re going, it’s too late to cross the desert now. There are dangerous things that prowl in the dark.”
Thunderstick squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest, showing off his tall, lean figure. “I am the dangerous thing that prowls the night.”
Handlebar raised himself to his own considerable height and thrust out his chest, easily as big around as three of Thunderstick. “I can be plenty dangerous myself but you don’t catch me throwing myself to the sand crabs.”
He thought he saw Thunderstick’s eyes flicker off for a moment. The robot looked him up and down and clanked his jaw shut. “Okay.”
“So listen, this might sound like a proposition but-” Handlebar chuckled, embarrassed.
“Maybe I wouldn’t mi-mind if’n it was,” Thunderstick interjected.
Well then. That was not what he was expecting. Thunderstick was an outlaw and a crook and honestly kind of an asshole. Handlebar’s type, unfortunately. But whatever he was, in this bar tonight they were both just a couple men looking for some company. He stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
“Well, if that’s the case. How’s abouts you stay the night with me and you can be off in the morning?”
“Lead-lead the way big guy.”
~~~
It had been so long since Thunderstick had taken a real bath. He sighed happily as the warm, sudsy water flowed through his grimy joints. He scrubbed away the dirt and with it the oppression of that miserable cell. He couldn’t damn well turn to mist and escape every time a plan went south like Tex could, no he had to sit and wait for a rescue that never came. His crew had better have a good excuse when he came back. They didn’t visit him, didn’t pick him up when his sentence was done, didn’t even send him a cake with a lockpick hidden in it!
He splashed water over his sudsy face and let these thoughts flow through him and down the drain like the dirt. Handlebar had been right, this was just what he needed. Jail had been mind-numbingly dull without a moment’s privacy. Right now Thunderstick needed some time for himself, and some fun. He wasn’t expecting to find it like this, but now that he was here he was quite looking forward to it. He didn’t get a hankering for sex the way a lot of the fleshy folk seemed to, but he enjoyed it now and again when he got the chance. And a big handsome fellow like Handlebar, well now, that would be a fine way to spend his first night out of the slammer.
Better make sure everything’s in working order. Thunderstick flipped open his pelvic hatch and extended his robotic dick. Oof, a good thing I thought to do this… How does the grime even get into the sealed bits?? He ran his left hand over the shaft and caked-on sand flaked off. Ugh. Had it really gotten this bad?? How long had it been? He ran the heaters and the thrusters and let the shaft pump in his hand. He let out a happy hum, he had forgotten how good that felt. He left the shaft extended to it’s full length so he could focus on cleaning away… however many months of grime had built up on the rubber casing. He left the heaters running, fleshy folks could get particular about his cold touch and he didn’t want this one running off on him.
Feeling cleaner than he had in maybe years Thunderstick stopped to admire himself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad. He winked at his reflection. Handlebar had left some chrome polish out on the sink. It wasn’t the robot’s usual brand, but it would do just fine.
Scrubbed and buffed to perfection Thunderstick wrapped a towel around his waist and, because they weren’t that familiar, put on his hat.
Handlebar was lying on his bed listening to a radio program. He clicked the machine off and sat up when he heard Thunderstick open the door. The robot leaned seductively on the doorframe. The low light of the bedroom lantern glimmered on his exposed steel body.
“You look like a hundred-million space bucks!” Handlebar exclaimed.
Thunderstick sauntered to the bed. He pressed his jaw to Handlebar’s lips, who kissed him back tenderly. His hat flopped to the bedroom floor as he was pulled in closer. Thunderstick didn’t really have touch sensors per se on most of his body, but his balance calibrators picked up the pressure and he could feel the light spark of natural electricity from his partner’s skin. Handlebar smelled fresh and clean, with the rich scent of a woody cologne and the sweet fruity smell of sweetwater. His moustache brushed against the robot’s facial tube. Handlebar took the robot’s face in his hands and pressed him deeper into his kisses. Thunderstick slid his gun hand up underneath Handlebar’s shirt.
“Go ahead,” the robot hummed.
Handlebar shrugged off his suspenders and slid out of his shirt. Standing up to drop his trousers, Thunderstick was again taken aback by the sheer size of the man. He was built like a slab of cement, green skin taught over muscle and dusted with curls of bright red hair. His cock seemed to be more or less the general humanoid model, but thick . It turned a deep, dark green as his arousal grew.
“Whew-ee, you’re a darn fine lookin’ fellow mister Handlebar.” Thunderstick dropped his towel and drew his own stick.
“So that’s how it works,” murmured Handlebar.
Thunderstick stroked himself, “it’s a cu-custom job, I think you’ll like it. Now why don’t you lean back and get comfortable?”
“One second.” Handlebar reached into his nightstand and produced a jar of lube. Thunderstick caught a glance at a collection of wildly shaped and brightly coloured dildoes.
Interesting, maybe real men did play with toys.
Handlebar rubbed his hands together, “may I?” Thunderstick nodded and let Handlebar run his slippery hands sensually over him, taking care to gently coat all his ridges. The robot damn near short circuited right then and there. His fans were buzzing noisily in his chest.
Handlebar laid back on the bed and Thunderstick shuffled himself between his legs.
“I uh… Some folks have, uh, complained I a-a-ain’t made of the softest stuff.”
Handlebar laughed heartily and thumped his green barrel like chest. “Oh I don’t see that being a problem, Rigellians are pretty sturdy ourselves! Give me your best!”
Nothing in the galaxy could be more beautiful than hearing this big green hunk say he wanted Thunderstick to give it to him. So he did. Gently at first, then with the pumping of his hips, then his dick thrusters, then a messy combination of both. He let Handlebar handle his own dick. Rigellian or not, robotic hands had a nasty habit of being… pinchy. His coolant systems struggled to keep up with him, blowing a pleasant stream of warm air out his chest vents.
Thunderstick’s fans whirred and processors screamed, the odd spark emitted from the side of his head. A high tone buzzed through his vocal modulator. His eye lights flickered and went off as his whole body shook and convulsed then slumped down. Handlebar came soon after, bellowing and bucking into his hand, spraying them both with a thick pink fog.
The two spent men flopped onto the bed, wordlessly panting for breath.
Handlebar pulled the blankets over them and watched his companion fall asleep. Snuggled up close to the robot’s chest, whirring and humming away, he soon followed.
~~~
Thunderstick was an early riser and had been planning on sneaking out before his host woke up. This plan had been foiled immediately, since in the night Handlebar had shifted and draped his arm around the robot rendering him completely trapped. After a few futile attempts to wiggle out from under several tonnes of buff Rigellian leading only to the embrace closing tighter around him, Thunderstick accepted his fate. While letting his processes boot up he looked over at the content sleeping face of the man beside him.
Handlebar's moustache twitched and he shifted in his sleep, his face nestling up against Thunderstick’s shoulder. A fellow could get used to waking up like this. It sure was an improvement over his lonely room at the Hexagon.
But if a lonely life was the price he had to pay for freedom he would pay it a thousand times over.
His mind wandered to a time before he had awoken. Back when he was just a robot. Before he had his gun or his name. He had been a tool then, nothing more. Referred to as his model number or simply “Robot,” pushed to near breaking working long days until his batteries were spent and his joints were jammed with dirt, all for the sake of his unyielding masters. Never again. Never again would he serve these so-called “honest” workers.
“Hmmmm, g’morning handsome” Handlebar murmured sleepily. The first sun peaking over the horizon flooded the room with warm light.
“Good mo-morning,” Thunderstick softly replied.
Thunderstick fidgeted with his hat, hesitating at the saloon door. “The next time we meet I re-reck-reckon we’ll be on opposite sides.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.” Handlebar put his hand on the robot’s shoulder. “But listen, if you ever need to get away from it all my door is open. I won’t do nothing illegal for you, but I’m here if you need a friend. Or, you know, we could maybe hook up again sometime.” He grinned, warm and genuine.
“I’ll keep-keep that in mind.” Thunderstick shifted closer to the large Rigellian. Handlebar ran his thumb over his metal lips, leaning close to kiss him.
The moment was interrupted by an explosion. The tremors nearly threw Thunderstick to the floor but Handlebar caught him. A raucous commotion was coming down the main street. The telltale sounds of laser fire blasts, revving turbo mules and unhinged cackling grew steadily closer.
“That’ll be your people then,” Handlebar grumbled with naked distaste.
“About da-damn time they showed up!” Thunderstick straightened up and took a step toward the door but Handlebar pulled him back into his arms with a gentle kiss.
Thunderstick turned again for the door. He looked back and tipped his hat before leaving to join his gang.
“Thunderstick! There you are! This is no time to have a drink. Sandstorm and Vipra have the marshal busy on the other side of the desert but I reckon they’ll be back soon.” Tex Hex pulled his Skull Walker up to the saloon.
Thunderstick crossed his arms slowly. “I got thirsty, what-what with me bein’ stuck in jail this whole time an’ all.”
Tex waved a clawed hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Jump on, I’ll fill you in on the plan.”
Thunderstick clicked his jaw testily but did as Tex commanded. If Tex had made a point of picking him up that meant he had use of his gun, and that suited Thunderstick just fine. The sound of Cactus Head’s canons echoed across the town, it sounded like he was having fun. Thunderstick readied his gun arm, it had been a nice evening off but now it was time for him to get back to work.