Chapter Text
Rung stirred his breakfast cube slowly, watching the mica flakes fluff up at the bottom and swirl around before settling out again. He watched Froid emerge from their berthroom and enter the kitchen, pulling an empty cube out of the cupboard and filling it up with energon fresh from the dispenser.
“Good morning,” Rung greeted.
“Mhmm,” Froid muttered. He took a sip of energon and glanced over at Rung, before his optics slid away again, a silent dismissal. “There’s a package coming today. You need to sign for it.”
“Okay,” Rung said. “I’ll be here. I’m not in the office today.”
He tried to catch Froid’s hand on his way to the sink but Froid lifted it just out of reach. He slugged the rest of his fuel and dropped the cube into the sink and swept out of the room, grabbing his bag and flitting out of the apartment.
The door shut behind him with an echo.
Rung sighed and looked down at his half-full cube. He’d waited to finish so Froid could fuel with him.
Just another morning.
...
The deliverymech knocked on the front door shortly after lunch. Rung had since showered, buffed, waxed, and accepted Froid’s delivery as well as his own. He sat down at the kitchen table and opened his package first.
Inside were three slinky outfits, one of black lace, another with pink satin ribbons and a third dangerous ensemble in red leather, held together with gold rings. Beneath those were... other items. He examined the large, double-sided rabbit toy with appreciation. If he concentrated he could picture Froid on the other end of it, their fingers intertwined as their valves and nodes were assaulted in unison—
He took the outfits to their berthroom and held them up in front of the full length mirror, watching how each fell across his frame and decorated his windowed spark chamber. Froid was bound to like one of them.
He laid the outfits out on the berth and returned for the toys, placing them next to the lingerie. The double-sided rabbit was the star attraction, but he had also splurged on a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, flavored lubricant, and a dildo modeled after the famous racer, Blurr.
‘Made from a mold cast of Blurr’s actual spike!’ the box promised.
Rung peeked inside and saw the silver and blue toy looking back at him, the slim tip and protruding nubs looking like a positive delicacy. He returned to the kitchen to break down the box and paused when he noticed one more package inside.
‘Free gift!’ the tag read. He opened the little bag and saw an aftplug with a purple gem base inside. He’d never tried aftplay before but he had heard it was extremely pleasurable.
He tucked the plug into his subspace and folded the box into a flat piece of material which he laid aside for disposal. He sat down at the kitchen table and sighed.
Their relationship had been rocky at best for the last couple years. Rung had been confident that working on their book together would help improve Froid’s mood but it hadn’t. If anything, Froid had been ecstatic for a few months before falling back into his sullen, conceited attitude.
Perhaps... after the book was published, Froid could finally pop the question. They could have the nice little wedding he had always hoped for. And having a conjunx endura would make anybot happy, even Froid. Maybe, Rung could even take his baffles out, and they could have a little one of their own...
Rung shook his helm. Enough daydreaming.
He examined Froid’s package. It was heavy, and it looked like one corner had been dented. He had better open it, just to check and make sure everything was still intact.
He cut the seal and opened the top to see a double stack of datapads inside. He took one out and turned it on.
“Overcoming Adversity,” he read. “Written by Dr. Froid of Iacon, MD, PhD.”
Rung blinked. This was their book. In print, already? They hadn’t finished the final summary, the index wasn’t complete, and they hadn’t settled on the font. He flipped through to the table of contents and noticed a couple chapters he had written were missing. This must be one of the proof copies. A test to see how it looked all laid out. They had decided on the formatting.
He scrolled through a few pages and smiled to himself when he saw the work he had written. In print! It was his work in print! And Froid’s work too, but he had been published before. This was going to be Rung’s first major publication aside from the journal articles he had written.
He set the datapad aside and picked up his folded box. He would run it down to the recycling and then start planning dinner. They were going to have some pre-publication celebrations tonight...
...
The front door unlocked and opened just as Rung was pulling the soufflé out of the oven. He squeaked and glanced down at his getup, making sure that none of the lacy black straps were twisted or turned. His stockings were stretched tight and exposed daring bits of plating between the cuff and the matching garter. The panty had a sneaky little slit sewn in, but he kept his array buttoned up for now. He wouldn’t give away the surprise until it was time for the deed. He hoped it would be soon... he had purchased a pheromone set that was ‘sure to work, everytime!’ and it was applied directly to the valve and its lining. And he had to admit... it was working. He was soaked behind his panel at the mere thought of Froid.
“I’m in here!” he called lightly, and Froid came into the kitchen, surveying the set table and the steaming dishes in Rung’s hands.
“What’s all this?” he asked, voice a bit flat.
“I saw the package,” Rung said giddily, setting the soufflé dishes on the stovetop so he could take the bottle of chilled Praxian wine out of the cooler and pour them two glasses. “How exciting! Our book in print. The proofs look excellent... I have some suggestions (and one question!) but I think they’re nearly ready to publish.”
“Oh good, so my package came?” Froid asked.
“Yes yes, it’s over here,” Rung said. “I couldn’t help myself, I opened it. The corner was damaged! I wanted to make sure everything was safe. One of the datapads was dinged on the edge but otherwise everything was intact.”
He showed Froid the damaged datapad before handing him another. “Look! It looks like they missed my name again, but that’s a simple fix.”
Froid turned on the datapad and scrolled through it on his way back through the kitchen. Rung took the hint and swiftly served their dinner, bringing the glasses of wine with him. Froid sat down and finished his perusing before he set the datapad aside and began to eat.
“I can’t wait to see it on the shelf,” Rung said, doing more talking than eating. “But I wanted to ask about the font. We hadn’t decided on one yet, right? The test font looks lovely, but I think the sans serif is a bit cold. I know serif fonts are a bit old fashioned, but they’re much more pleasant to read.”
“Uh-huh,” Froid said.
“And the index— oh, before that. It looks like chapter two and chapter fifteen are missing,” Rung said. “My two main chapters. Did you submit those too? I thought you had access to my most recent draft, I’ll have to send it over—”
“They aren’t going to be included.”
Rung paused. “Why not?”
“Because it’s my book,” Froid said. “Why would I include your work in my book?”
“It, it’s our book,” Rung said.
“Look at you. Did you even bother reading the title page? The back of it? Anything but a cursory sweep?”
“I, um,” Rung grabbed the copy Froid had been reading.
He scrolled through to the title page and scanned it, taking in the title, Froid’s name, and then underneath it... the words First Edition.
“First edition?” Rung read, mouth going dry. “This, this can’t be right. First edition— Froid, is this it? The finished product? You... you finished without me?”
“There was no with you to begin with,” Froid said, waving his hand as he picked up his wine glass. “You’ve been near-incessant about this book since I started assembling the source files.”
“F-Froid, darling, please,” Rung whimpered. “All this time, all of those nights we stayed up late working together, just the two of us… all the years we’ve spent with each other… didn’t any of it mean anything to you?”
“Oh, it’s meant a great deal,” Froid said, rolling his optics. “It’s been nice having you pay all of the rent for this place, that’s for sure. And I have to admit, your cooking is fabulous.”
He took a sip of wine.
“I won’t stand for this!” Rung cried, finally mustering up the anger that was building inside of him. “Taking my work, passing it off as your own… I’ve half a mind to alert the board!”
Froid stared at him blankly.
And then he laughed.
“It’s so cute how you think they’ll listen to you,” he mocked. “Didn’t you ever realize? Every one of our colleagues think you’re a joke.”
“Th-that’s not true!” Rung retorted desperately. “My patients respect me! People listen when I speak! Remember that conference in Tetrahex last year?”
“That conference! Adorable,” Froid laughed as he swirled his wine, then took a long sip. “If only you heard how they talked about you there. You think the “technical difficulties” throughout your speech were accidents?”
Every word he lobbed at Rung, every sneer, and every cruel laugh pierced him right in his spark. It was so much pain to bear that he felt a stinging feeling in his spark growing, and growing, and growing.
Was… Was it all true? Did everyone really think of him like that?
“How can you say such things, Froid?” Rung cried. “What happened to you? This isn’t you. You don’t say those things to someone you love—“
“I’ve never loved you,” Froid retorted callously. “But here’s the thing, Rung: I’m the best you’ll ever get. Do you honestly think that you’ll find someone who wants you? Weak, forgettable little you?”
Rung trembled and tried his hardest to keep his field in check, to keep his tears from falling.
How? How had there not been signs before? What happened to the Froid, his Froid, that he met all those years ago, the one that cared for him, loved him?
Did he ever love him?
“You can’t really expect to be loved like that, can you?” Froid taunted. He reached over to tilt Rung’s chin up, staring at him condescendingly. “So why bother trying to be someone you’re not?”
Rung wanted to scream. He wanted to sob and beg and plead with Froid to stop, to think, to love him the way he wanted him to, the way he needed. But all he could do was sit there and take it. He felt the start of tears welling up behind his optics, and he tried his damndest to keep the coolant at bay.
The more the silence swelled on, the more Rung came to realize, much to his disgust… that Froid was right.
Who was he kidding? It should have been clear when he struggled making friends and professional connections in university, when he tried to start up his practice, when he began to publish. For whatever reason, he couldn’t grasp why others never seemed to give him the time of day that Froid did. But Froid was kind enough to take him under his wing—or at least, he seemed so at the time.
Without him, he was nothing. He was worthless.
Rung sighed and tried to regain control of himself. He wasn’t going to cry. Everything was going to be alright.
“J-Just... come into the berthroom, we can talk about this,” Rung whined. “I... we’ll have a good time and then call the publisher. I’m sure it’s not too late to... to fix this.”
Freud finished off his wine and set the glass down. “Lead the way.”
Rung stood up on shaky feet and took Froid’s hand, guiding him down to the berthroom. On the berth he had sprinkled a handful of dried electrose petals and put the double-sided rabbit out to entice Froid to play. As they reached the berth he turned around and put his hands on Froid’s chest, leaning in to meekly kiss at his jaw. Froid never liked his mouthpiece touched right off, he preferred to anticipate it. The mouthpiece was one of the few erogenous zones outside of his array.
Froid sighed as Rung’s hands traveled higher to cling on his breastplate while he worked closer and closer towards his mouthpiece. Rung opened his panels just as he gave the edge a tentative lick. Froid gasped softly and went a bit more pliant under Rung’s hands as that eager glossa began examining each slat in his mouthpiece.
The scent of lubricant wafted up between them and Froid let his hand brush Rung’s thigh. Rung widened his stance when Froid’s questing fingers pressed between his legs, felt the panty and his valve mesh, felt the slickness dampening his crotch.
“Have you been so desperately horny this whole time?” Froid asked. “All throughout dinner, just waiting to get off?”
“N-No,” Rung whimpered as Froid’s fingers framed his anterior node, pressing the silk of the panty down to trap it lightly in place. “I wanted to be ready to make love to you. To... to celebrate.”
“Frag yes, we need to celebrate is right,” Froid crowed. “My book is finished, in print!”
His fingers curled cruelly and Rung gasped in pain as Froid steered him away from the berth, turning him around and shoving him up against the wall.
“Froid,” Rung whined when two long fingers plunged into his valve and spread him wide open.
Tears welled up in his optics at the sudden, burning stretch. The pheromones could only do so much to prepare him for... this. He heard Froid’s array opened up and he shoved his spike between Rung’s legs, taking the place of his fingers.
This wasn’t how he had planned it. He had expected Froid to fall into berth with him, giddy about their book, maybe use the rabbit toy on Rung first before they ended up sharing it. His spike, while below average, was a lot to take without any preparation. As Froid began to thrust Rung slipped his hand into his panty and touched himself, stroking his spike to try and take away some of the burning sensation with more arousal. His tears overflowed his optics and escaped the confines of his glasses to leave tracks down his cheeks.
“You can cry all you want to, Rung, but you’ll never be anything more than a forgettable waste of my time,” Froid said. “And an average lay at best.”
He punctuated that line with a sharp thrust and Rung tried to stop himself from moaning and failed. He was aroused, the pheromones were working, and even though he knew he should stop this, should force Froid off of him and run out on all of this awfulness but he just couldn’t, not when Froid’s spike was generating charge against his sensors, when all he could feel was the weight of Froid’s frame behind him.
He hated it, but he moaned.
And he couldn’t help but hate himself, too.
He felt it coming. The looming, impending doom of his overload. He was trembling, frame responding to every touch, every thrust of Froid’s spike, and there was no way he was going to be able to stop it. He couldn’t get away, and he was going to humiliate himself further by overloading all over Froid’s spike.
He hoped it wasn’t going to cause a big mess... but with the way he was pulling on his spike and how Froid’s angle was he could feel it in his groin. He was going to— to—
“Froid!”
He howled out his pleasure as he overloaded, spike unloading itself into his hand while he squirted down his legs, valve clamping down on Froid’s spike. His array was singing with blissful charge, finally he was satisfying the urges the pheromones were encouraging. He slid his hand lower to rub his node while his calipers were still fluttering, drawing out his overload until he could feel Froid’s heated transfluid deep in his belly.
“Did you— disgusting!”
Froid backed up, shoving Rung off his spike and back against the wall. Rung stumbled and slid down to the ground, drawing his knees up to try and hide the evidence of his climax. His stockings were splattered with wetness, and when he tried to cover his array he realized his hand was sticky with transfluid and all he was doing was smearing it in.
“You... you voided on me!”
“N-No I didn’t,” Rung wept. “It, it felt good, Froid, you made me—”
“Oh, please. Clean up after yourself,” Froid spat. “It’s disgusting the way you’re wallowing in your own fluids.”
He gave Rung a once over before he chuckled and turned away. “Pathetic, as always.”
Rung forced himself to stand and retrieved a cleaning cloth from his subspace. He trembled with every movement as he wiped away the evidence of him letting Froid take advantage of his love for him. By the time he had removed the lingerie and shamefully thrown it away Froid was already in berth.
He laid down in the berth, turning towards Froid. His back was facing him. Rung reached out, trying to touch his shoulder, to appeal to whatever sensibilities he still possessed behind his cruelty–
“Ugh, don’t touch me,” he said, jerking away as if Rung were some kind of vermin. “I can’t believe you’re even still here.”
Rung couldn’t help but let his lip quiver. He withdrew his hand and turned over in the berth to curl up into himself, defeated.
How couldn’t he see this all coming sooner? Was he so blinded by love that he couldn’t see that there was none for him from the only mech that gave him the time of day? His world, his life, all of it was crumbling to pieces, and all he could do was cry. He hiccuped out little sobs and his spark felt tight with grief, with humiliation, with anger.
“If you’re going to blubber like that the whole night, take it outside,” Froid grumbled. “I can’t recharge with you sniveling in my audials.”
Rung stared at Froid’s back, at the detailed ventilation apparatus connected to his mouthpiece, and then slowly rolled his feet over the edge of the berth. He took a moment to breathe and then stood, walking out of the berthroom, out of the kitchen, out of the apartment. When he came back to his senses, he was standing on the street of their local artisan district.
As he walked, he couldn’t help but look over at the display windows of the book shop that he and Froid once frequented together, when their romance was still new, all those years ago.
There, in the windows, as though taunting him, were posters advertising their—Froid’s—new book.
“Coming soon from esteemed author, Dr. Froid of Iacon, MD, PhD: Overcoming Adversity, releasing next weekend.”
How–? He had walked by these windows only joors earlier, coming back from the store with the ingredients for that evening’s dinner! Was he just so ignorant of everything going on around him that everyone else knew about it, too?
The anger came to a boil within his lines. He couldn’t think straight. He grabbed an empty cube sitting outside a nearby overflowing trash receptacle and, with a whimpering growl of pent-up rage, hurled the cube at the display window, right at Froid’s face.
Or, at least, he tried to. The energon cube instead flew and hit against Froid’s chassis, where his spark would be, before clattering onto the sidewalk. Some leftover drops of energon dripped down the glass.
Rung huffed. He never had a good throw. He was an academic, not an athlete. He wasn’t strong enough for that.
He was weak, and stupid, and useless.
The realization hit him hard, too hard, and he finally let out a sob.
This was what he had been reduced to. Just a sniveling, naive, second-rate excuse for a mech. He couldn’t notice Froid treating him like dirt for all the time that they spent together. And he thought writing a book would solve their problems?
He moved his glasses and wiped away the coolant pooling in front of his optics before gazing back up at the poster in the window. At Froid. Even in a professional photograph, he still had that uppity, smug look in his optics. It made Rung think of the way Froid laughed at him and his pain, and his helm drooped sadly, still deferring to him, even when alone.
Rung had to break it off with him. If it were anyone else in this situation—if it were a patient—he’d stress the need to cut contact, to live their life. But it was different when it was him, when he was still hanging onto the life he wanted to live.
He sighed and kept walking. He had to take his processor off of this.
He looked ahead and saw a faint glow at the end of the block from the local bar. It didn’t look too busy. Maybe he could have a little something to soothe his circuits.
He picked up his pace, grateful at least for a chance to take the edge off.