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Sparring had become a regular occurrence between Torse and Maxwell. They tried to practice every day that they didn’t get caught up fighting someone else.
Today was no different.
Maxwell was already a little bloodied. Torse held back his full strength when they fought, but injury was inevitable when an automaton fought a human.
After getting knocked to the ground again, Maxwell pushed himself up and spit a mouthful of blood off the side of the ship.
“Do you wish to cede?” Torse asked.
Maxwell raised his fists.
“Never,” he grinned.
Max loved the thrill of the fight. The feeling of sweat dripping down his back. His heart pounding in his chest. The threat of being knocked out with one wrong move. It was exhilarating.
With Torse, it was even better. The machine could go round after round without ever tiring, unlike his opponents at Revington. He was the first sparring partner who truly gave Max a run for his money.
Torse dropped low, sweeping his leg out under Maxwell’s.
The man hit the deck of the ship hard, the wind knocked out of his lungs.
Before he could get his bearings and sit up, Torse was pinning him to the wood.
His large metal body was slotted between Maxwell’s legs.
Max froze.
Torse’s hands barred either of his upper arms, stopping him from moving.
His pelvic plate was pressed directly against Max’s groin, which he could feel was quickly swelling.
“Torse-” he choked out.
“Do you cede?” the automaton asked again.
He couldn’t quit. He never quit.
He wedged a knee between their bodies, pushing the machine back a few inches to relieve some of the pressure.
Torse’s hands remained around his arms, the knives of his knuckles dug deep into the wood beneath them.
Breaths caught in his chest.
He could feel bruises forming on his skin where Torse’s fingers bore into him.
With another firm kick, Maxwell managed to push him up enough to move.
He flipped onto his hands and knees before Torse was on him again.
Knees on either side of his thighs. Hands boxing him in. Chest to his back.
The weight of him made Maxwell fall flat on the deck.
His straining cock rubbing against the wood only made him harder.
He was practically hyperventilating.
He had to get out of here.
He had to move.
He had to do something.
He had to-
Torse’s pelvis pressed hard against his ass. He was pinned with the automaton’s full body weight.
An involuntary moan climbed out of his throat. He prayed that it sounded enough like a grunt to be disguised as part of their fight.
His cheek was smushed against the wooden planks.
Blood was flooding his mouth again.
Torse took a handful of his hair and tugged his head back.
He gasped in a breath.
“Do you cede, Maxwell?” he asked once more.
“Yes!” he blurted.
“What?”
Suddenly, everything stopped.
The sting at his roots eased. The pressure on his body was gone. The constant mechanical whirring in his ears disappeared as Torse stood up.
Maxwell stayed on the ground for a moment, trying desperately to both catch his breath and hide the full-blown erection he now had.
Torse squatted down in front of him.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I- I’m fine,” he panted. “I just- khm- Just give me a minute.”
“Are you injured? I could-”
Torse’s hand touched his arm.
Maxwell reacted violently, pulling away with such force that he ended up tumbling back onto his ass. He quickly repositioned his legs to try to hide the bulge between them.
“Maxwell-”
“I have to go,” he said quickly. “I’ll, uh- I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With one hand awkwardly pulling his trousers to the side, he hurried off to his cabin.
Torse watched him disappear into the darkness.
After a second of stunned silence, he began cleaning the blood from their fight off the deck before Van saw it the next morning and yelled at them again.
“Torse,” a familiar voice said. He turned to see Marya walking towards him, a bottle of beer in hand. “How are you, my friend?”
“I am alright,” he said.
“You do not sound alright,” she frowned. She took a seat on the edge of the ship near him. “You sound like someone just spit in your aioli. Talk to me.”
“I… think I may have upset Maxwell.”
“Ah, Gotch is an easy one to get riled up. Tell me what happened.”
“We were sparring and he… gave up.”
“Oh?”
“He has never given up.”
“What was happening when he did?”
“I had him pinned beneath me. I had just pulled him up by the hair so his face was not pressed into the hardwood. But he had suddenly gotten all red and sweaty and then he seemed to panic and leave for his room.”
“Ah…” she said, mouth turning up into a grin.
The feelings the two men had been dancing around were fairly obvious to everyone except the two of them. Marya had almost been hoping for something like this to happen so they would finally talk about it.
“I do not think he is mad,” she told him. Torse looked up at her. “Gotch is a man of great pride. I think he is embarrassed. Why don’t you go invite him to sparring tomorrow? Let him know everything is good between the two of you?”
“You think he will want to see me this soon?”
“I think it is exactly what he wants.”
“Alright… Thank you, Marya.”
Torse started towards Max’s cabin with a renewed confidence.
Kočka scurried up onto Marya’s shoulder, shaking his head.
“You’re meddling again,” he said.
“For the greater good, Kočka,” she grinned. “For the greater good.”
Maxwell felt like he was crawling out of his skin from the moment his bedroom door shut behind him.
His clothes were damp, itchy and sticking to his skin.
He clawed at the zipper of his pants.
On his way to his bed, he tripped over his own feet and slammed down on the mattress. Lying down, he was able to kick his trousers off the rest of the way.
His underwear were ruined already, soaked with sweat and precum. He pushed them off as well.
“Fuck…” he breathed out as his cock touched the cool air.
He knew he should just get into a cold shower, but the thought of Torse was still fresh in his mind and he couldn’t stop his hands from wandering.
One fist wrapped around his length.
He started to stroke himself, slowly at first, but his movements quickly became staggered. He never claimed to be a patient man.
He looked down at his wrists, red marks already turning purple from the force of Torse’s grip, and let out a moan.
He brought his arm up, taking in the faint scent of iron that lingered on his skin.
“Torse…” he groaned, jerking himself faster.
Pressure was building in the pit of his stomach.
Quickly.
Too quickly.
God, how did Torse have this much control over him this soon?
He took a handful of his own hair, trying to tug it the same way that Torse had. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough to make him whine.
His breathing was coming in ragged bursts.
He was close.
So close.
So close…
So-
Torse turned the corner to Maxwell’s cabin. His was the furthest from the main deck of the ship.
As he got closer, he started to hear soft whimpers on the other side of the door.
His iron heart panged at the idea of Maxwell in pain from what he’d done to him.
He went to knock, but was cut off by a weak, “A-ah!”
“Maxwell?” he asked quietly.
“T-Torse!” the man cried out.
With what he’d assumed was permission, Torse pushed the door open.
Maxwell was sprawled out on the bed. Cum was splattered on his shirt and chest. His hair was tousled out of its middle part for the first time since they’d met, his fingers still loosely laced in them. His other hand was still wrapped around his softening cock.
Torse’s gears whirred in his chest.
Max grumbled at the noise, grey eyes fluttering open.
Several things happened at once. Maxwell’s entire body from his ears down to the center of his chest flushed red. He let out a strangled noise, half a gasp and half a scared plea. He scrambled to sit up and cover his lower body with a pillow.
“I- Uh-” he stammered, unsure what his next words were going to be.
Torse stepped in further, closing the door behind him.
“You… were saying my name,” Torse said.
“Torse, I-”
“Do you think of me often in these moments?” Maxwell opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “I see.”
Shame was flooding through his system. Getting turned on while fighting, calling out his friend’s name while masturbating, that friend walking in on him during it- any one of those things alone were enough for him to want to jump off the side of the Zephyr and fall through the clouds.
Maxwell covered his face with both hands.
He was done for. Torse would never speak to him again. Neither would anyone else once Torse told them what happened.
He felt the mattress shift.
Using any courage he had left in his body, he looked up over his fingers.
Torse was sitting on the edge of his bed.
“I… understand this dilemma.” Maxwell lowered his hands another inch, still partially covering his face. “I often find myself thinking of you late at night.”
“You- Really?”
“Mm… So I did not injure you?”
“No more than usual," he chuckled nervously.
“Good.”
Torse’s hand rested on Max’s leg as he spoke.
It felt like pure electricity shooting through him where their bodies connected. The muscles in his thigh visibly twitched. He felt his cock hardening against the pillow again. He had to physically stop himself from jerking away again.
Torse’s grip firmed over him.
The lump in Max’s throat kept growing.
“Torse-” he choked out, muscles clenched so tightly he felt like they were going to tear. “Please, you can’t- I-” He swallowed hard.
“May I touch you?” he asked calmly.
Maxwell tore his eyes away from Torse’s hand to meet the yellow of his visor.
He nodded stiffly.
Torse’s hand traveled up his leg slowly. It slipped under the pillow concealing him and, with a flick of his wrist, he was exposed again.
Out of instinct, he tried to cover himself again, only for Torse to grip his arm where he’d already left bruises. His breath stuttered in his chest.
One of Torse’s blunt fingers reached his cock, which was already starting to harden again. He traced up the length of it, watching the way it twitched and grew under his touch. He let out a low noise akin to a hum.
“You are… very beautiful,” he said quietly.
Maxwell wasn’t sure if it was the absurdity of the moment or the fact that it was the last word he’d use to describe himself, but he laughed before he could stop it.
Torse lifted his head to meet his eyes.
“You do not agree?” he asked.
“I-”
He didn’t. This was the first time he’d ever had to reconcile with that, but he really didn’t. Maxwell had never seen his body as anything other than a machine to win fights. Something to train. Something to worry about. A nuisance, really.
He was broken from his thoughts when Torse’s hand wrapped around him. He gasped, grabbing at one of the automaton’s shoulder spikes.
“Mm…” Torse murmured. He worked his hand slowly, arm pumping up and down as Maxwell tried not to squirm too much beneath him. “I want to hear you say it.”
“W-what?”
“Tell me you’re pretty.”
Max damn near choked on the breath he was taking.
“Excuse me?!” he laughed.
Torse’s grip tightened.
“Tell me you’re pretty,” he repeated.
“I- I’m not doing that.”
Torse’s pace quickened.
The familiar heat in Max’s stomach started to build again.
With his hand still on Torse’s shoulder, he leaned back, bringing the machine down with him. Torse kneeled above him, his knees settled on either side of Max’s thighs.
“Fuck…” Maxwell panted.
He let his head rest back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
His cock started to twitch in Torse’s hand.
“Mm… just like that…” he muttered. “Mmph, Torse! I’m-”
Torse clamped his fingers around the man’s balls, staving off his orgasm before he could reach his release.
Maxwell let out a strained noise. His eyes shot open, teary and searching Torse’s face for an explanation.
“Tell me you’re pretty,” Torse demanded again.
“Are you fucking kidding m- ah!” he cried out as Torse squeezed again.
Despite the pain- or maybe because of it- Maxwell let out the filthiest moan he’d ever heard himself make. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as more precum spilled over Torse’s bladed knuckles, still dangerously close to slicing him open.
“You enjoy getting hurt?” Torse asked, more of a statement than a question.
Maxwell blinked up at him.
“Is that part of why you left earlier?”
His jaw clenched.
Torse nodded slowly.
“I can work with that.”
Torse’s free hand moved up his stomach, leaving thin red lines in the wake of his fingers as he moved towards Max’s chest. The man’s back instinctively arched into his touch.
Maxwell watched with wide eyes as blood began to seep from the cuts along his abdomen.
It should have scared him.
Worried him, at the very least.
Instead he found himself whining and trying to grab at Torse’s hand to continue its path along his skin.
The other wrapped around his aching cock began to move again. Torse stroked him slowly, never letting him get too close to the release he was desperately craving.
After working its way up Max’s chest, Torse’s hand circled around his throat. He kept his vision on the man’s face, watching for any signs of hesitation, but Max continued to pull his hand closer.
His grip tightened slowly.
Maxwell started to lose his breath in the most perfect way.
Heat was pooling in his stomach again.
The edges of his vision started to go grey.
He laced his fingers through the grates of Torse’s chest, trying to find something to tether himself to reality.
His hips jerked up off the mattress into Torse’s hand, hoping to relieve the pressure that had been building.
Torse put a knee on one of his thighs, pinning him back down to the bed.
Maxwell practically screamed when the automaton’s fingers clamped around the base of his cock again, forcing away his orgasm yet another time.
He took in a staggered breath when Torse released his throat.
Hot tears were running down his cheeks.
“God, please!” he begged, leaving behind any ounce of dignity he had left. “Please, I- I can’t- I need to cum! Please!”
Torse leaned further over him, pressing down on his throat gently.
“Tell me you’re pretty,” he demanded once more.
Maxwell hated losing. But he might hate this feeling even more.
“Torse-” he grunted.
“Tell me.” He traced a finger along the head of his cock and Maxwell nearly jumped off the bed. “Tell me, Maxwell.”
“Fuck! I’m- A-ah! I’m pretty!”
“Again.”
“I-I’m pretty!”
“That’s right…” the robot soothed, moving his hand more steadily. He brought the other up to Max’s hair, taking a handful of it in his fist and pulling it tightly like he had before. “Such a good boy.”
“Yes, y-yeah!” he blabbered. “M’a good boy!” Tears and drool were dripping down the sides of his face. “Please! Please, Torse, please, pl-lease!”
Torse shifted some of his weight off of Maxwell’s leg, letting his hips mindlessly thrust up into his waiting hand.
Maxwell’s slurred pleading disintegrated into a mess of half-sputtered words as he finally came over Torse’s hand and his own stomach.
His shaking fingers had a death grip on Torse’s chest.
Slowly, his body stopped bucking up against his lover and he fell flat onto the mattress.
Torse let his fingers loosen, tracing one hand down the side of Maxwell’s face while the man caught his breath.
Maxwell’s eyes flickered open to metal brushing against his cheek.
As he started to get the feeling back in his fingers, Torse disappeared from slightly-fuzzy vision. He returned a moment later with a cloth to wipe them both down.
“Mm…” he grumbled. He blindly reached out until he hit Torse’s iron forearm. The automaton offered a hand to pull him upright.
Maxwell winced slightly when the cuts in his stomach began to bleed again with the movement. He pressed a palm to the open spot.
“Sorry,” Torse said, offering him another cloth.
“It’s alright,” he chuckled.
Torse sat down beside him while he finished wiping the blood from himself.
Silence hung heavily in the air between them. Maxwell could feel himself clamming up already. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look up from his lap.
“Perhaps we could replace daily sparring with this once or twice a week,” he said quickly. Torse looked over at him. “Seems to be about the same workout.”
Something like a laugh echoed in Torse’s chest.