Chapter Text
The keycard they gave him back when he was a janitor gave him access to the entire building. Waterboy wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not, or if it was just an oversight that slipped under the radar, especially once he entered the building’s basement. The infirmary, sure, yes. He would have needed to mop there. Sanitize the counters. The gym? Those always need disinfecting. It made sense.
The lab where they kept the Mecha Man suit between deployments…
He hadn’t used the thing since being picked for the Z-Team. He figured they must have turned it off; it was an electronic RFID chip, they had ways to disable them remotely. Any job with a halfway decent cybersecurity team would have caught on and deactivated it.
Key word ‘decent’. The Torrance SDN branch was never the best funded or robustly employed, and on the list of priorities, turning the ex-janitor’s keycard off probably fell towards the bottom, especially considering he was still employed there in a different department. He kept the keycard clipped to a lanyard that he wore under his suit- he mostly kept it as a memory, as a keepsake, his first foot in the door before becoming an honest-to-god superhero-
But then he had needed a mop from the cleaning closet after everyone got a little too excited in the break room during lunch, and he didn’t want to bother Blonde Blazer for a key unless he had to, so he fished it out of his suit and hoped for the best, and, to his surprise, it still worked.
He was curious. He was staying after work today to see if it was like that with all the doors, or just the ones he had used when he was briefly in charge of maintenance. So far, it hasn't failed to open a single one. But this was different. This was - it was the lab. Mecha Man’s suit was in there. It’s just- there is no way he’s getting in.
The keycard opens the door. He surveys the room in disbelief. There’s absolutely no reason it should have done that. It has to be a mistake, he thinks. The lab is something you weren't just supposed to be able to enter. It had a lock on it to keep people like him out.
But reality apparently begs to differ. Waterboy steps through the reinforced doorframe, breathing in the scent of ozone and graphite lubricant. It’s dim but not dark in the workspace, high tech displays bathing the room in a soft glow. Everything in here looks wildly expensive. Equipment he could not name lines every wall, with screens and servers running programs filling the space between fabricators and workbenches.
He stoops in on himself, careful not to get water on anything, as he wanders through the lab. Schematics. Actual paper schematics for the robotic armor- he jerks his hand back, making sure not to drip on the paper, and continues moving through the room. A small red LED indicator catches his eye: the panel to the testing chamber at the back has a keycard reader, too.
Surely. Surely this is out of bounds, he thinks, pressing the SDN card against it.
It chirps a friendly little tritone and opens the sliding doors.
Herman blinks into the dark. He only hesitates for a minute before sticking his head inside.
The lights are on motion sensors. They snap on in sequence, illuminating the chamber section by section until everything is visible. The Mecha Man armor gleams blue at the back of the room, casting a multiprong shadow across the floor.
Herman is drawn to it like a magnet.
It’s so… big.
He gapes up at it, dwarfed by the suit. Not many things can do that- make him feel small. Physically. Many things make him feel small emotionally, but- he’s tall. It’s a novelty.
It stood over twice his height, but it seemed smaller in the naked light of the workshop- or maybe it was just seeing it out of combat, with no screaming looming death to warp its shape in his mind.
But size aside, it’s beautiful. The silhouette is not dissimilar to the previous 2 iterations: two legs, two arms, large chest, small head. But where the other two were solid, this model was slick. Graceful. Downright artistic, if he was being honest. All sleek lines and strong shoulders, looking like something out of Gundam. He loved Gundam.
He liked Mecha Man more.
Herman raised a hand tentatively, the other folded near his chest. His fingers twitched. Carefully, he extended his hand until it grazed the surface of the leg in front of him. He snapped it back quickly, head swiveling, on the lookout for alarms, flashing lights, anything-
Nothing happens. He coughs out a nervous breath and flexes his hand, reaching out again until his hand rests against the metal.
He’s touching Mecha Man.
His suit, anyway. The suit is more- attainable? Approachable?
Herman shakes his head. That’s not- charitable, to Mecha Man- to Robert, he corrects himself. He’s approachable. He’s nice. He’s too nice, actually. He’s not sure if there’s anything he could actually do to piss him off, and that- it makes his heart hurt. Not that he wants to piss him off! He wants to be good for him. A good teammate! He wants to be a good teammate. For Robert. Mecha Man. His boss.
He smooths his hand over the cool metal plating on the leg.
He really, really wants to be good. For Robert. Personally.
Herman sighs, resting his head on the suit’s leg.
Maybe sexually.
He leans into the leg, his half hard cock squeezing against the metal. His breath hitches.
Okay, definitely sexually.
He drags his hips slowly, face flushing, shoulders curled. His dick swells, tenting his suit, sliding easily in along the metallic surface in the wet fabric. A breath hisses through his clenched teeth.
This is- it’s insane. He knows it’s insane. But the suit is so - it’s so cool, and when is he ever going to get a chance like this again? He just- his hips stutter, the zipper catching on the edge of a plate. Herman palms his dick a little, moving it so it can press against the metal easier, and starts humping it again slowly.
Mecha Man was a hero he’d long looked up to since he was a kid. Selfless. Honorable. Flew around in a kickass suit. He dressed up as him for halloween, once. (His grandmother hand sewed the costume.)
His life now was like some sort of unbelievable fantasy. Mecha Man was his boss. His coworker. He’d met him. Touched him. Listened to his deep voice tell him what to do all day-
His dick throbs. God, his voice. Deep but soft, stern and polite. Having to listen to it all day, directly into his ear, telling him ‘good job’ or ‘nice work’ or ‘shit happens’- It felt like too much, sometimes. (Not that he wanted him to stop.)
And he was so patient. He knew he was- well, Waterboy. A glorified janitor. A fuckup. But Robert didn't see him that way. Robert had grabbed his shoulder once after a total wash of a call, pulled him down to eye level and said “Don’t you ever let them tell you you’re worthless, Herman. You’re learning. You’re doing just fine.”
Maybe he said more. Herman’s brain had stopped working fairly quickly. All he could remember is being eye to eye, Mecha Man’s hand on his shoulder, forced to make eye contact- fuck. He’d had to excuse himself to the bathroom to jerk off before he could start his second shift.
Thinking about it makes his pulse jump. Herman tugs the zipper of his wetsuit down, runs a hand down his chest over his soaked undershirt, fingers the skin above the band of his underwear. He sighs, eyes closed. He can pretend it’s- that it belongs to someone else this way. His hand slides under the waistband and around his dick, palming the length a few times before cupping his balls and tugging lightly.
He groans, his cheek pressing into the cold metal of the suit’s leg.
Maybe someday he’d grow enough of a spine to actually talk to him about this. To initiate touch instead of the other way around. Instead, here he was, alone in the basement of his job and playing with his balls while he humped the leg of his boss’s mech suit.
Fuck, he was such a loser. Who would want to be touched by the perpetually wet guy? Nobody. He’s not stupid. He knows he has no chance. Herman bites his lip as he pulls harshly on his balls, the pain making him shiver.
He’s competing with people like Malevola and Flambae, Prism and Visi and Phenomaman- Herman, the guy built like a scarecrow who can’t stop sweating, nobody would pick him over the almost anybody he worked with-
Herman whines, grinding into the leg. Water spills from his mouth and drips down the metal, wetting the surface and making the movement easier.
So if this was all he could get- touching the suit, pretending- it was more than enough for him, he thinks, water dripping down his temples. Mecha Man wasn’t just the operator. He was the suit, too, right? He could never have Robert but the suit belonged to Robert, was a part of Robert, and that was kind of- he was- he could- he could have this, this moment, in secret. All his. Him and Mecha Man-
Oh fuck. Herman worries his lip, breath catching in his throat. He presses his forearm over face. Oh god, he was defiling robert’s suit- fuck- what was wrong with him- His cock is leaking precome, pleasure climbing his spine-
But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, in too deep, shame making him harder, making his legs quake-
His hand scrabbles at the suit’s leg, reaching for the knee guard to grab onto, the other pulling his cock fully out and furiously pumping it, water dripping from the corners of his mouth and running rivulets down his neck.
His knees buckle a little when he works his cockhead, gasping and staggering back a touch. He looks up at the towering mech, the dark lines of it stretching far above his body, feeling the cool metal under his hand. He imagines Robert inside- Mecha man inside, watching him-
oh fuck. His whole body quivers at the thought, dick furiously hard in his hand. If Robert were inside, watching him- what would he think? Water pours from his forehead, drips down his back, puddles at his feet. Would he be disgusted? A sharp pang stabs him in his navel, shoots to his dick at the thought. Would he think it was hot? Would he talk to him- tell him what he wanted him to do for him-
He groans, face burning, water foaming through his clenched teeth. Would Robert talk him through it? In his dark hoarse voice, would he tell Herman how to touch his cock to put on a show for him-?
His throat bobs as he swallows down a mouthful of water. God, he wants to be in the cockpit where Robert sits, where Mecha Man sits, he thinks, licking his teeth, It probably smells like him in there - I bet it smells like his aftershave-
“Fuck, oh my god, fuck-” he whimpers, cock pulsing as his orgasm hits. His balls draw up tight and he moans, legs shaking as he collapses against the suit’s leg. Water drools from his bottom lip as he milks his dick, cum painting the metal below him.
Herman’s breath is unsteady as he comes down, the air in the garage feeling especially cold after getting so- excited. Wet.
He’s more damp than usual. He grimaces, shivering, aftershocks sparkling up his spine as he tucks his softening dick away. The puddle at his feet splashes as he shuffles, rearranging his clothing. He steals little glances at the pearlescent splash on the calf of the Mecha Man suit, wishing he had brought his phone.
Mental image will have to be enough. He’s- there’s no way he’s coming back down here to do it again, so- it has to be. It will be. The first and last time he does this. For sure.
He wrings his hands, cringing.
Probably.
He scuttles off, face flushed, to grab a mop.