Look A Likes

Metal closes a hand around the torn remnants of Sonic's arm, just above the elbow, and pulls. All that happens at first is that Sonic lets out a weak sound of pain, but then there's a sort of popping noise, a tearing as his skin and muscle starts to stretch, as the ball of his humerus pops out of the joint. Metal pulls harder, harder still until Sonic's flesh tears completely, his arm coming free of his body in Metal's hand.

"That's…" Sonic trails off, eyes rolling back as he passes out at the feeling of Metal plunging a hand into his guts. He comes to again a moment later, the pain too intense to allow him to stay unconscious for long. "That's more like it," he finally manages to say, something soft and almost affectionate to his tone.

It's infuriating. Metal stops thinking, starts slashing mindlessly at Sonic's body, his flesh parting for his fingers like butter for a hot knife. When he reaches his chest and encounters the solid barrier of his rib cage, he wraps his fingers around as many of his ribs as he can fit and closes his hand, snapping them like a handful of twigs. Sonic makes a sound that could be pain but sounds more like a moan, pitching up as Metal does it again—then abruptly cuts off when Metal stabs the sharp tips of his fingers directly into his heart.

Even the blue fake's death isn't enough to make Metal stop. He keeps slashing, stabbing, crushing bone and cartilage and other unidentified viscera in his grip until all that's left is a gristly paste, a red smear that no longer resembles Sonic in the slightest.

Metal looks down at his hands, covered in so much blood and gore they're entirely red. He continues to stare even as an arm winds around his shoulders and across his chest, as a warm, living torso presses against his back.

"Satisfied yet?" Sonic murmurs. His lips touch the side of Metal's face; his breath would no doubt be fogging up the metal plating if the surface of it wasn't covered in blood.

It's gentle, intimate, almost loving—and it pisses Metal off. He whirls around, whips a hand across Sonic's chest to leave behind a long, ragged gash. Sonic turns his head down to look at it, smiling faintly as he watches blood well up from the wound and trickle down. His lips are already stained red with it, like poorly applied lipstick.