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The Mecha Man suit comes to life in the basement of the Torrence branch SDN.
The sleek planes of the suit move, rearranging as the aperture seals Mecha Man inside. The faceplate and logo burn to life as it finishes warming up, arms and legs subtly shifting the immense weight like nothing as it prepares for action.
Flambae stands in front of it, dwarfed by its hulking silhouette. It looms in the dimly lit garage, little clouds of dust kicked up from the idling engines settling in the far corners. He glares up at its exaggerated male figure, at the shoulders he could park his car on, and sneers.
<What, don’t like what you see?> Mecha Man’s miserable fucking voice comes through the speakers, digitized and layered upon itself.
He snorts. Steam whooshes from his nostrils. “Shut up.”
<All I’m saying is->
“I said shut the fuck up,” he growls, jumping up onto the mech’s slightly bent leg. His shoulders flicker with fire but he forces the heat back into his body.
“Don’t want to singe the new paint job,” he smirks. Mecha Man remains silent, allowing Flambae to examine the robotic suit’s ‘face’ closer.
It’s so similar to the memory in his head. It’s different enough to be pretty, though, he allows. The helmet's shape, the delicate razor sharp fins- much better than the shitty bucket the previous one used.
He slips a hand in the gap between the collar and the helm, cupping the metal with his palm. It’s cold. He wants to push heat into it, desperately, but stops himself. Taps the surface with his fingers. Tries to turn the head manually.
To his surprise it actually moves, guided by his hands. It looks at him with its glowing electric blue visor-
His feet struggle for purchase on the leg. The suit vibrates, a low bass note reverberating as one of the large arms moves to catch him.
The hand of the thing is wide enough to circle his entire waist.
Fuck.
Flambae wiggles in the thing’s iron grip as it reorients itself- as Mecha Man pilots it, he mentally corrects himself, putting the suit into a one-leg-up kneel so he can stand easier on the thigh.
Fuck. fuck.
“You didn’t need to do that, I was fine,” he hissed through bared teeth. His face was flushing, eyes flashing dangerously. Mecha Man released him from the suit’s loose grip and kept his mouth, thankfully, closed.
Flambae breathes, in through his nose, out through his clenched teeth. A cloud of steam fogs the metal in front of him. He leans in, hands sliding up the chassis through the condensation, the electric blue M illuminating his suit and turning it purple.
Robert was in there. Mecha Man was in there.
His fist slams onto the surface- not enough to dent, but enough to rattle the fucker inside.
<Hey->
Flambae leans in, pressing his forehead to the cold metal. Good. Be scared, he thinks, pressing his dick onto the chassis about where Mecha Man himself would be.
Could he tell? Did he have sensors or cameras that could feel the heat of his cock as he pressed it to the cool metal shell of his stupid fucking toy?
He hoped he did. His hips push lightly, cock throbbing, chasing any friction on the smooth surface. His tongue darts out, catching the salt of his sweat and licking a hot stripe onto the chestpiece. It tastes like nothing but it feels electric against the heat of his mouth, the cold inhuman zing of metal making him thrust against the chassis with more intensity.
He was going to make this thing his bitch.
Mecha Man’s hand remained hovering nearby. Without direction, he was simply letting Flambae take whatever it was that he needed out of the encounter at his own speed.
The temperature of the room was rising, the heat Flambae was radiating enough to trigger the room’s climate control, if it wasn’t disabled temporarily. Condensation was building up on the glass. The suit’s lights blurred, getting slightly hazy as their light diffused in the humidity.
Flambae ground against the machine, fingers scrabbling for purchase. The cool blue metal leeched his heat, greedy for it. But it was too smooth, too hard to get a good angle on. He growled, chasing the friction, but- he needed more, needed-
“Grab me again,” he demands, eyes closed. He wanted it to surprise him.
He didn’t startle when the large mechanical fingers closed around him again, because unlike Robert, he wasn’t a bitch. Still, though, his pulse jumped, frission shooting down his spine as he’s lofted into the air.
So cold. It was so cold compared to himself. Goosebumps prickled up his arms. His nipples hardened. So cold. So large. So- inhuman.
Fuck, he thinks.
“Fuck,” he moans, trying to move. He’s held fast. His dick twitches.
“Squeeze me-”
The hand tightens before he can finish. The breath punches out of Flambae, squeezed right out of his lungs by the force of the suit’s grasp. His hips kick, and the thumb of the suit moves, shifting down so he has something to grind on.
He groans, long and low, chest tight and dick solid as he ruts against the giant digit. It’s unyielding, cold, impersonal. He grinds against it hard, lungs burning, skin nearly boiling.
It’s not kind. It doesn’t even really feel like sex exactly, but under the blue glare of the suit’s lights he feels more seen, more turned on than with any of the last few flings he’d had. The thumb of the Mecha Man suit slides along his dick and he wants to-
Christ. His thoughts are getting disjointed as pleasure rolls through his body. Sweat beads up and steams off of his forehead. He needs- this is good, but he wants something more-
Ghh-
The hand squeezes again and he cries out, dick thrusting against the thumb. His head lolls back and he exhales, more steam leaking from his throat.
The hand stills for a moment with him.
Flambae whines and tries to chase the friction, cutting himself off and grunting out, “Pin me.”
The hand loosens a little. He sucks in air greedily, eyes wild, repeats louder: “Pin me to the floor.”
Mecha man takes a second to respond. <Foot or hand?>
A guttural noise rips from his throat. Fuck. He wants-
“Hand,” he chokes out, tongue dry.
He’s thrown to the ground before he can even think, breath leaving him as he’s slammed into the concrete hard. Mecha Man’s hand is everywhere around him, on top of him, holding him fast to the floor.
His dick throbs where it’s trapped between his stomach and the palm, leaking precome.
Flambae wheezes. His vision swims for a moment, darkness tunneling his sight until all he can see is the bright blue visor of the fucking Mecha Man suit staring down at him.
The weight lifts just a touch and he breathes a little easier. His hips squirm, dick throbbing, chasing the pressure.
He can hear movement above him. The blue light cuts out suddenly, something blocking the view- it’s the other arm, reaching down towards him to-
He blinks.
One finger from the free hand hovers over his face. It caresses him, the several ton machine maneuvering the digit with impossible precision around the edge of his jaw. The cool metal sucks the heat like a sponge where it touches feather light on his skin, leaving a trail that prickles as it reheats. The sensation makes him shudder- he feels feverish, like when he was too young to realize he could burn his sickness away.
The finger brushes down his throat and back up again, resting against his lips.
He opens his mouth and licks it, tilting his head and kissing the surface like a lover would. A parody of what he likes in the bedroom- as if he could accept the thing fully in his mouth, generously lubing it with his spit as if he would be fucking himself on it later–
The hand trapping him flexes, pushing him further into the floor. Reminding him where he was. Teasing his dick with the palm.
Flambae rolls his hips, chest heaving. Fuck. He needs it, the primal, animal part of his brain desperate for the crushing weight and the touch on his cock. The friction is good, but he wants- he needs-
The pressure building in his groin is close to peaking. He chokes on his words, brain scrambled and tingly from the lack of oxygen, spit foaming against the finger.
Mecha Man leans into his hand, bearing more of the suit’s weight down on his chest again. His head snaps back with a wet choke, a filament of spit threaded between the finger and his mouth. Flambae can’t breathe for a moment, stunned- It relents and he gasps, sobbing, as his lungs refill. A tear spills out of the corner of his eye involuntarily. The spit soaked finger fills his spotty vision again, brushing his wet cheek before pushing his head to the side and his face against the cold concrete floor.
He is utterly, completely fucking helpless underneath the suit’s weight. Flambae grits his teeth, breathing raggedly. His dick is throbbing, precome soaking through and beading on the front of his uniform.
Fuck this.
He smashes his face against the finger, growling. It pulls back enough for him to flip his hair from his eyes and glare up at the thing pining him down. Fuck him. Fuck Mecha Man, fuck this stupid farce, fuck his stupid fucking suit-
Fire licks up his body. The hand holding him down tenses.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, “I can get out- I can burn myself out of your stupid robot hands.”
He ignites.
The temperature in the room spikes, the air around Flambae shimmering and rippling from the intensity. He thrashes, looking for weakness in the grip.
He finds none.
Even though it was handling Flambae directly, the suit did not seem to be failing like it had years prior. Mecha Man shifted, once again pushing more weight down on the trapped man, who shrieked and bucked against the suit’s palm wildly.
<No. You can’t.>
Mecha Man’s voice was smug, rough. It echoes in the room with Flambae’s cries as he thrashes below him.
<Had it fireproofed. Modeled the coating after your suit, actually. Even you can’t burn through it.>
He hates Mecha Man so much. He hates him, and he hates that the words send electricity straight to his dick. He spits fire up at the stupid glowing helmet and grunts, thrashing harder to prove him wrong.
“Fuck! Fuck you, bitch, fuck you, I fucking hate you,” he seethes, neck straining, pushing his heat until he’s burning hard enough to send alarms off in the suit.
He grins, maniacal, chest heaving. The air around is boiling, superheated and shimmering from his fire. Mecha Man shifts to reposition slightly, lets up just a little- Flambae pushes up against the hand, grinning maniacally. Good. Good. He was winning. He was going to melt the fucking thing into slag-
A sword bursts into existence above him.
Flambae bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. His flames bank but still burn, naked shock and fear visible on his face.
<Cool down, Flambae, or I’ll have to use force,> Mecha Man says in his stupid fucking hero voice, just like the night he ruined his life up forever.
Flambae stares up at the sword. Its edges are raw energy that crackle up the length of the blade, but the hard light tip is solid and wickedly sharp. It doesn’t cast a shadow- it illuminates him in blue and green plasma, throwing his face into sharp relief.
It could kill him.
His dick throbs traitorously.
“Fuck you,” Flambae spits, frothy and pink. His fire creeps back up his arms and settles around his shoulders.
The hand pinning him bears down again. He gasps, pulse pounding in his ears as the tip of the energy sword presses up to the base of his throat.
He can feel the heat of it - foreign, tamed, not like his own flames at all. His right hand throbs in agony, phantom pain from the stumps of his mangled fingers making itself known again.
Mecha man just waits. His sword is pressed to Flambae’s throat, his hand is holding him down. He has the upper hand. He could do anything and Flambae would be powerless to prevent him.
Flambae’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. He can’t win this fight.
He has to submit.
The temperature in the room gradually drops as he wills his fire away. His sweat returns, beading down his forehead, soaking into his costume. His chest heaves from the effort. Wordlessly, he stares up at Mecha Man.
<Good boy.>
Mecha Man’s voice has no right to sound as erotic as it does through the speakers singing his praise. Flambae shudders, nipples peaking. It’s because he’s cold. That’s all.
He removes the sword but does not disengage the blade. Flambae’s eyes never leave it.
The tip of the sword moves slowly down his body. It slides from his throat to his groin and pauses before it twists, catching the fabric, ripping through it- his cock bounces free, thick and heavy-
Suddenly the hand on top of him rises. Before he can move it comes back, the still warm fingers sliding behind him to cradle him instead of forcing him to the ground. He whines before he can stop himself, cheeks flushing. The pressure, the touch- Flambae wanted it back, and he was getting close to begging, as embarrassing as it would be.
Thankfully, he doesn’t need to. Mecha Man’s other hand joins the first, fingers the length of baseball bats caressing his body and finally- finally- his cock.
The sword lays abandoned a dozen feet away.
God- fucking god-
The cool metal of the suit’s dominant hand feels alien as it slides over his erection. His body shakes, skin prickling as the temperature difference attacks him. He bites his lip with the effort not to burst into flames again.
It’s his index finger, he realizes belatedly. The one I sucked. It catches his precum as he ruts against it, the surface becoming slick for him instead of resistant.
<You’re doing so well,> comes Mecha Man’s voice, and he sounds wrecked. He was watching- of course he was, but he liked what he saw-
Flambae’s eyes close as his head drops. His hair, which had long come loose from his ponytail, falls in front of his face.
The finger is joined by another, pressing his erection against his stomach and-
Oh fuck-
They begin to vibrate lightly. He’s gone enough to not question why this function was built into the suit, a low groan punching from his throat as he begins thrusting against them with enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes, fuck-”
Flambae can feel his balls tightening, his orgasm barreling down on him, and he sobs, raw and furious and relieved, pure molten heat throbbing from his skull to his dick.
His cock pulses between the fingers, his cum coating the Mecha Man suit’s paint. His breath is steaming again- his throat works as he cums, soft little cries at the beginning of each breath as he comes undone in Robert’s hands. The fingers stop vibrating but continue to hold him, limp and breathless, cold and sweaty in a way he never usually is. Flambae is exhausted- his vision is tunneling again, not from a lack of air but from an endorphin crash.
Mecha Man cradles him in his hands and gently swipes the hair from his face. <Flambae. Hey. Stay with me.>
Easy to ask, hard to do. He groans, leg twitching. “Fuck off.”
<I need you to burn for a second. You’re cold, you’re not used to it. Warm yourself up.>
Flambae sighs, reaching for the energy to burn. After a moment he finds it, sedate and fluttering, and invites it to dance on his skin again.
It helps. He feels cleaner- his suit warms up, pulling free from his skin where the sweat and semen had adhered it, and his cum disappears from the leg hair it had started drying in.
He lets the fire go, relaxing against the fingers holding him up. Mecha Man holds him as he settles, the suit’s lights bathing them both in an electric blue glow.
Robert lets him have a moment of peace before engaging the intercom again.
<Hey, so I gotta ask. Do you wanna fuck you car like this, or am I just special?>
Flambae’s eyes snap open. “I’m actually going to kill you.”