after the hurty bit of what-if hfs e/l earlier, we figured y'all can have a lil treat. a not-so-lil treat. a large chunk of treat. the next bit of @varanere00 and myself continuing to write that main hfs e/l scene! more doc! way Way more horny! cub checkup hours!
content warning for some medical wound treatment kink happening in this one, it gets a lil intense. everyone involved is into it tho.
Cub is fully engrossed in diagnostics of his internal systems, plugged into a laptop that's been air gapped for safety. Just in case someone somehow uploaded malware onto him. It's so unlikely it'll probably never happen throughout his lifetime, especially if he keeps up his powers farce, but it pays to be safe.
So when Doc comes in he doesn't notice until he's bodily picked up and set on a creeper back, carried off to the lab.
"The movement interfaces are fully functional, as are the phase controls." Cub reports, without so much as a how do you do or welcome back, not that Doc is expecting those. "They send back clean diagnostic reports, I've copied them out." Cub doesn't bother passing the usb, just sweeps Docs hair aside and plugs it right into the port. First try, nice.
"The entire sensory interface and processing systems will have to be reworked though, completely borked up. Completely borked up."
"Let me see that." Now in the lab, Doc sets him down on a chair, taking the laptop out of his hands.
Cub sits himself sideways on the chair, so his wings don't press into the back of it. He takes a moment to breathe and assess the room. No signs of further operation, and the lab hasn't been trashed. So. That's good.
Questions press against the back of Cub's teeth as he glances over at Doc, but he knows Doc won't answer any of them. Shouldn't answer any of them. If Doc answered them to Cub about someone else, then he could answer to someone else about Cub. It's not worth breaching that hard line. So Cub swallows his questions back down and focuses on himself.
"Sorry for the early house call." Cub says, only just remembering this late that maybe manners would be an appropriate thing to have here. He doesn't regret calling Doc over, but that's the right part of his script for smoother peopling. And he doesn't want Doc getting fed up with being bothered. Hopefully the work is interesting enough to be worth it. Cub thinks it is.
"It's fine." Doc waves off. Cub tries to sit still. To let Doc do his thing and figure out what's wrong.
Doc must have noticed his fidgeting, because he looks up from where he's focused on the laptop.
"I can tell you that what you did helped. And he will want to talk. He has questions for you. He seems to trust me a bit more now." Cub feels so much more tension than he knew he was holding leave his body, when Doc tells him, as much as he can, that Hotguy is fine. Will be fine. Cub's not too concerned with those details. He helped, that's enough for him right now.
"Can you give me a full rundown of what happened? Doc asks, turning back to the laptop.
Full rundown. Okay. Okay. Cub can do that. He takes a couple minutes to gather his thoughts, putting all of them into order and checking them over before he begins speaking.
"I went out for a heist yesterday. Ran into Hotguy, as planned. Musta been an off day, because he got a cuff on me. So I put the other end of it on the nearest thing that wasn't my other wrist, on instinct. Which turned out to be him. Turned out to be him." Hard to believe all this mess was started by his own snap decision to link Hotguy to himself during that fight.
"Did a bunch of running and some falling, but he was still gonna try to turn me in, so I put a dud collar on him to get him to come here." Cub pushes the thought of how sweetly Hotguy had melted in his arms when he'd done so out of his mind.
"Got the cuffs off in my lab, but he bit me when I went to take the collar off. Something's not right there. Decided to give him some space instead, and he wrecked up the place." Cub still doesn't get why Hotguy had done that. Had he figured out about the collar? That he's not bound to passivity right now? He seems to have forgotten again, if so.
"I got him out and treated him, and put him to bed. In the morning, he took advantage of me sleeping to get his hands on my wings." Cub tries to think of that as his heroic foe seeking weakness, but all he can remember is lightning arcing over and bridging between his nerves, dancing right along the edge of worldshattering pleasure and mindcrushing pain.
"Some kind of electricity hit them, I think? Maybe residual from me being on my charger? And ever since them my whole system has been on the fritz. On the fritz. Been trying to treat him and myself, until the errors were too much to handle alone and I called you in." Cub flexes his hand, trying to work the feeling of dripping, sizzling acid out of all the tingling nerves there. Cub hopes that was everything, his brain still feels a little less than peak performance.
"Electricity hit? While he was touching them? Where and how? Also were you still on the charger when that happened?" Doc seems done with the laptop for now, though Cub can feel the pulling sensation of a full data backup being downloaded.
"He was running his fingers over them. Or maybe his fingernails? A bit like he was petting them, I think." It's hard to remember between the sleep, the pleasure-pain, and the dizzying shock and reboot that followed. Right, the reboot.
"We were still on my bed, though I was fully charged at that point. There was some kind of static tingle building, and then I got zapped. Took me a moment, but I managed to reboot my systems right after that." The download tug stops. Cub never really carries much data in his implants, unlike Doc, who at all times seems to have several dozen tabs open on them as well as several terabytes of data saved. In addition to his uplink to his home system.
"Alright." Doc unplugs Cub from the laptop, and instead plugs it into himself. "Get out of that get up, and hop in the scanner. I want to see if the surge or whatever caused physical damage, or just shook up your code real good."
"Got it." The only hesitation Cub has about disrobing is a flash of irrational fear that Hotguy's shirt will evaporate into thin air as soon as he takes it off. But that's not how physics works. So Cub methodically strips off all of his outer layers, and neatly piles them up. It's kind of a pain to do without phasing his wings, but he manages. Cub puts the whole stack in one of his locked cabinets. Just for peace of mind. Not against Doc, he knows Doc wouldn't mess with or take them, more a precaution against other irrational thoughts.
And then Cub makes his way over to the scanner, opening it up and settling himself in place, laying comfortably enough that he won't feel the need to move while being scanned.
Closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax, Cub thinks about how nice it'll be to be in a dark room with a movie going, soon. Not all that much longer now.
While the scanner cycles up and Cub strips down, Doc busies himself looking over the code he just pulled. Parts of it are majorly messed up. If some touching them while on a full body charger had caused this, they would have to do some major redesigning of the wings structure, given that Doc reckons those morning touches are not going anywhere. If anything, given what he had seen, they would probably be getting worse. Void only knows what those two insane people will come up with, with all the things they had installed in Cub, and any powers Hotguy may have but not use. Doc only has to look at Ren and himself to see just what cybernetics can be used for, in the bedroom. He has a lube dispenser built into his fingers in this arm, for crying out loud.
Once Cub is fully encased within the scanning chamber, Doc turns his attention the scanner controls, and starts a number of different scans. Not every scan he wants, some aren't safe to do with the materials used in the wings, but enough scans. he goes back to looking to a fix to the code problem, though it's looking like they are going to have to wipe Cub's systems and do a complete reinstall. Not that that is much of an issue with how often they do it, as some scans can have the tendency to mess with the programming, so it's safer to remove all removable memory banks, like the ones he has, and do a complete backup of all systems, wipe everything and set up the backup. A procedure both of them have done countless times, and could probably do in their sleep by now, on account of both having experimental technology in them that they monitor and check frequently.
Leaving Cub to get scanned, and any further troubleshooting be for now, Doc heads back to the kitchen. He hasn't had breakfast, from what he can tell neither have Cub or Hotguy, and both will want food when they are done with their scan and shower respectively.
Cub doesn't get what Hotguy's problem with the scanning chamber was. It's dark, and isolated, and quiet aside from the hum of machinery. All in all, a perfect place to relax.
He plays one of his favored games during these times, guessing the exact suite of scans Doc queued up from just the movements and sounds of the machine around him. Cub compiles it to a list for later checking with the resultant files from the scan.
There's not really much else to do at this point. Maybe play a round of brain minesweeper while the not-brain bits of him are being scanned. With the force feedback turned off, of course.
When the rhythmic clunking winds down, and the machine opens up to spit Cub back out, he is alone in the lab. He peels himself off the scanning table, taking care not to bump his wings as he slides them out of their designated cutout, and pads over to check the desk for a note from Doc.
Nothing. He does get a different clue, however. Cub's stomach rumbles, reminding him that it's getting later into the morning, and he's been up for- he queries his logs. Coming up on five hours now. And he still hasn't eaten breakfast. Which leads him to the kitchen, where he finds Doc, and a bowl of apple oatmeal next to him at the table. The bowl is still hot when Cub touches it.
"43 seconds earlier than I anticipated." Doc is digging into a variety of breakfast foods from a tupper box.
"Yessss let's gooo!" Cub slides into the seat next to Doc, moaning in bliss as he takes the first bite of his oatmeal. It's thick and warm, just the way he likes it. The diced apples make for a fun texture crunch every now and then. He swallows the spoonful of thick creamy goodness, and looks over at Doc. "Have you looked at my scans yet?"
"Nah." Doc crunches into some toast. "Made you food. I have reviewed the error logs though. Got some thoughts on that."
Scar slides his other hand, the one not slowly and methodically working over his cock, up over his chest and neck, cupping his jaw for a moment, before he shoves two fingers into his own mouth, pressing down on his tongue an-
Bleugh! Scar's whole body recoils, spitting out onto the water running over the shower floor at the taste of more of the gross medical goop on his hand. In a determined effort the get rid on the bad taste, he reaches for the first tasty thing in reach, the delicious bodywash Vex had gotten for him, so that he could smell the way Vex wants him to, the way Vex likes him to, flips open the lid, and squeezes a good amount straight onto his tongue.
The awful, soapy taste hits him moments later, and he whines. Stuck with this mouthful of awful soapyness that he both does not want to swallow, cannot make himself swallow, but also refuses to spit back out. It's Vex's, Vex's soap, that he chose just for Scar. He doesn't want to waste it, to waste any little bit Vex is willing to give him. So Scar sits there, stuck, bodywash dripping out of his open mouth like drool, slipping down his chest and running thickly over his stomach. He wishes it were a different pearly white liquid of Vex's running out of his mouth like that.
If he won't waste it, won't spit it out, no matter how much it bites the inside of his mouth, no matter how bad it tastes, then he can at least use what is already on him to wash up, surely. Efficiency, and all that. Groping around for a washcloth, Scar starts to lather it around on his chest, moreso smearing around the bodywash and luxuriating in the rough feel of the cloth on his skin than actually washing. He can't make himself move it any lower, the sting when he rubs it over his nipples going straight to where he's still jerking his dick further down, desperately needing to get off, but drawing it out and denying himself that release, because that's what Vex would do, and he belongs to Vex.
"Care to share those thoughts?" Cub asks.
"M-well..." Doc swallows his food. "Seems like a certain set of processes with the sensory processing is what's throwing up the errors." Putting down his fork Doc turns to pull his tablet out of his pack. Setting it on the table, he goes back to eating his food, preferring to use his mind over his hands to operate the tablet.
"That feels about right." Cub confirms. "Moving still works fine." He flairs his wings in demonstration, then winces at the renewed pins and needles in the limbs.
Download Complete lights up the tablet screen, the screen unlocking and navigating to the image gallery seemingly on its own.
Onscreen are the images from Cub's scans.
Scar arches up into his own hand on his chest, squeezing his own tit just like how he remembers Vex doing. His other hand has abandoned his cock, not ready to let his fun end so soon. Thinking of Vex pulling his hands away, imagining so clearly Vex telling him, commanding him to spread his legs yet further, Vex's hands hiking one of Scar's legs onto a shelf-support.
Fuck, Scar wants this so damn much. Scar has to stop even playing with his chest a moment, breathing hard and holding himself back. He hasn't been given permission to- That edge falls away again, a mournful parting, letting him pinch his own nipple as the water thoroughly wets his other hand. He's ready, open for Vex, open for pleasure. Ready to be burned up in the fires of his own lust.
Presenting himself, open and willing. Wanting. Needing. Scar whimpers, begging in a sweet babble for Vex to touch him. Long moments drag past before Scar allows his hand to slide down, below his dick, ignoring the direct throbbing pulse of his need, kneading into the sensitive skin beyond and sliding back to rub circles over his entrance.
Vex would be slow. Meticulous. Like the way he kisses. Like he wants to take Scar apart and study his every reaction. And hell damn does Scar want to be picked apart and studied by Vex- Scar wouldn't prepare himself as much, but Vex, Vex is going to draw this out, going to make him work and wait for his gratification. Strong fingers into supple skin, Scar is already so loose and relaxed, but fingertip massages loosen him even more. Make him keen and shake and plead for more. Vex's glowing eyes haunt him, see clean through him.
Scar's gratitude echoes and bounces off the shower walls, as he presses his finger in finally, babbling thank yous between moans and gasps.
Cub sticks his spoon into his half-eaten oatmeal, and picks up the tablet. "You have your own copy?" he asks Doc, already knowing the answer. Doc always pulls his own copy of any scans, storing them in the extensive medical file he keeps on Cub.
"Hmhm." Doc is decimating his eggs, pausing briefly to tap the end of his fork to the metal casing of his cranial cybernetics.
"Good. Good." Cub studies the individual images, paying close attention to every detail he can see. "You got a comparative analysis with the last images for me?" he asks. Doc can run it much faster than he can, pulling old images and overlaying them with the new ones, aligning them and highlighting sections with a certain amount of coloration changes.
Doc hums out a confirmation, and moments later a series of downloading icons pop up in the notifications on the tablet, as Doc uploads each image individually.
Scar doesn't let himself rest on his laurels of that initial carefulness, no. Vex may tease, may move with thoughtful precision, but he keeps moving once he starts. He keeps pushing.
So Scar keeps pushing himself. He barely even notices the first couple additional fingers, rocking them in and out with care not to hit anywhere too sensitive inside himself. Just enough friction to keep him simmering, but always frustratingly off-target.
What Scar does notice, after he'd gotten the whole flat of his hand in, is the stretch so sweetly bordering on painful. Water runs down his body and over his hand as he tries to cant his hips to get an angle to slip his thumb-
Screaming pain stops Scar in his tracks, bad pain, stiff pain that tries to lock up his legs. A warning that they will lock up, if he carries down that path. He's so so so lucky it was just a warning and not an immediate- Fuck, the pain thumps a pulse he can feel in his tongue, until he manages to shuffle into a new position that doesn't make it worse.
With determination, Scar curls his fingers, still inside himself. A rubbing tap of pleasure jumpstarts returning the arousal the half-cramp had stolen from him, getting Scar back on track to rock nearly his entire hand out of himself. Apologies spill from his lips, that he can't do this for Vex. Promises that he wants it, wants Vex's hand, his fist, as much of Vex as Vex will give him.
Sharp whines at the lack of potential fullness escape him from between Scar's groans as he coaxes the rocking friction back into a warm blaze threading through his gut. Someday it'll be Vex's hands on him, and he won't have to care if his stupid body attempts to betray him. Vex kneeing in front of him, telling him how pretty he is, him losing himself to Vex's girth. Vex praising him for taking everything. Scar rocks his hips into his own thrusts, head thumping back onto the tile and mouth falling fully open, tongue flicking into air for a treat he won't find.
Cub hums, flicking through the images, chewing on his food. "Are you seeing this? These darker spots on the second RAM?"
Doc nods. "Yeah. I sink that was the one we mainly run the sensory processing on, no? Maybe those spots are damage?"
Cub sighs. "I was hoping we could do this without cracking open the old noggin, but I guess not. I guess not." He flicks back and forth between a few images, comparing. "At least only one of them seems to be affected, so I guess that's good news." He pushes his empty bowl aside, his head thunking onto the kitchen table.
"Don't concuss yourself. I don't treat stupidity." is all Doc has to say about this behavior.
Scar gives a pitiful whine, as another peak slips away, unreached. He thinks, he hopes Vex would both be this mean to him, and also take pity on him. Let him cum. Let him be free from this burning need. Panting. open-mouthed, he turns his head into the spray, drinking down a mouthful of water. He's been so close so many times, he's lost count. Hadn't even thought to start to count, in his need. Each touch feels rough, like he can count the ridges of his fingerprints on the hand he has jammed inside himself as far as his aching back will allow, digging knuckles and fingers hard into his prostate whenever he dares, hoping it will not tip him over before he has permission.
There is no one here to give him permission. Just him, the hand he can't fully fit in his ass, and the water pattering on his skin like a thousand tiny pebbles. Hiding the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
Vex is not here to give him permission. Will likely never be here to give him permission. Scar should be ashamed, lusting after this villain, who wants nothing from him but his defeat. Who only sees him as an obstacle to be removed.
Scar twists his hand inside himself, the rough scrape of calloused fingers on overstimulated insides drawing broken sounds from his aching throat. It's not enough, his own hand, not the one in him, and not the one on him. Still tugging at his dick, despite it having gone nearly numb with the repeat edges and friction. Nerves too fried to feel anymore.
Trying to get a better angle, any angle, any new form of stimulation, he shifts under the spray. His foot, braced against a tiled wall shelf, slips, jamming his fingers hard into his prostate, dead on.
Scar howls, deep and wounded, as the intense pain forces a short, harsh orgasm out of him. One that leaves him winded, and worse off than before, no longer having the curl of building pleasure to offset the discomfort, but not quenching his need, fanning it higher instead.
Hand still buried palm deep inside him, Scar does his best to curl up, hoping the spray from the shower can hide his tears even from himself.
"You done?" Cub asks, when Doc closes his tupper.
"No, I'm eating the table next." Doc deadpanned. "Yeah, I'm done." He uncurls his massive body from its customary pretzel, rocking first back to stretch his front and then forward to stretch his back legs out. Shaking himself off like a wet dog, Doc trots over to the dishwasher and adds the cutlery he had used, alongside Cub's bowl and spoon.
"We gonna go crack open my skull now?" Cub bounces on the balls of his feet.
"Soon. I wanna check the bite on your neck first. How did that even happen man?" Cub is again scooped up and deposited on Docs back.
Cub wonders how difficult it would be to make a blanket that feels like Doc's fur does, as he relaxes into laying on Doc's back again. There's something comforting about it, and a nice smell.
Still, he has to answer the question, even if he doesn't want to think about it. Cub does not need a reminder of the transcendent image of Hotguy standing over him, snarling fury with Cub's blood running down his chin and chest. Cub's going to be seeing that enough as it is.
"I told you man, I tried to take the collar off him after I got the cuffs off and he just- Snapped. Bit me. Never seen him like that before." Cub sighs, pressing his face into Doc's fur again. "Something's not right, gonna have to scan his brain later. Once he's stable enough." And once Cub's own brain stops being so staticky.
The gnawing guilt that even his so perfectly careful rules and systems haven't prevented him from doing damage to Hotguy's brain, has become a constant companion in Cub's mind at this point. It wanes and waxes, but never fades completely. But he'll fix it. He will. He'll get those scans and figure out how to put Hotguy back to the way he's supposed to be. Or at the very least how not to do more damage to him.
Even if it means giving up the perfect, sweet, thrilling way Hotguy melds to his commands, the adoring way Hotguy melts under his praise. It's not right, not how Hotguy is supposed to be, especially not while wearing a collar without controlling tech in it. How much Cub wants to covet those moments, steal more of them for himself, doesn't matter. It's not about him.
Except that it is about him, and about doing what he can live with at the end of the day. Cub has to remind himself of that.
"It's quite the love bite." Doc chuckles, his back vibrating under Cub. "Are you sure you guys didn't just make out too eagerly and now you don'ts wants to tell me?"
Cub groans, low and long, into Doc's fur. The throbbing painful heat of the bite probably is what love feels like anyway- Not that Cub would know.
"I wish. Believe me, Doc, if that were the case? If that were the case? You wouldn't be able to shut me up about it." Cub sighs, glum. "No, the makeouts were separate and don't count."
"Ah, there were finally makeouts, yes? Multiple from how you says it? I'm surprised I haven't heard every detail by now, with how you usually gush about him. I assume you fucked too, yes? Got your hands on his tight little ass? Or did he get his on yours?" Doc gives said ass a good squeeze, when he lifts Cub off his back.
"There's no point in talking about them when they don't count." Cub stubbornly reiterates. "He's not in his right mind, that's- Too far to take pretending, you know?" No matter how much his libido says he didn't take it far enough. Cub swats lightly at Doc for the squeeze, rolling his eyes. Still, he moves to get ready for the procedure, both of them practiced at their own parts of preparation by now, almost second nature.
To his surprise, Doc isn't preparing with him, when Cub turns to him, mask off and skin pink again, Vex persona fully dropped now that the door between them and Hotguy is locked. Doc's rifling through his pack again, laying out a few things Cub recognizes as used in wound flushing. Cub groans, and once again lets his head thunk onto the table when he sees what disinfectant Doc chose.
"This is going to hurt like a bitch, isn't it." It's more statement than question. Looks like Doc, the old sadist, had chosen his punishment for... something. If it's the not cleaning the wound properly in time, or the not telling him about the makeouts, or the early hour, or something completely different, Cub doesn't know. What he does know is that this will have him aching in more ways than just one. Doc knows it too, how much the sting of disinfectant can turn him on, work him up, especially when he's already frustrated from all the unintended teasing and denial from the day before.
All Cub gets in response is an amused chuckle.
"Fine, bring it on." If Doc's going to play it that way, then fine, Cub can step up. Can't be worse than any of the last day's everything. That's what Cub tells himself, anyway. He's allowed a little lie to himself every now and again.
At least Doc doesn't know he'd shoved his wet fingers in the wound and wiggled them around. Cub can only imagine what the punishment would be for that.
Cub settles himself in Doc's reach, tipping his head to expose the wound. He keeps his expression carefully schooled to disinterest, at least to start. Where's the fun if he doesn't make Doc work for his reactions?
"Hold this." Handing Cub a kidney dish, Doc guides him to press it to the skin a couple inches under the bite with both hands. Both to catch the flushing fluid, and to keep Cub's hands busy. Can't have him touching himself before Doc allows it. That part will come later, as will the retribution for not telling him about the makeouts.
Doc is both surprised Cub and Hotguy actually kissed, and at the same time not surprised at all. It's the timing, he reckons, as well as the lack of fucking to follow. He owes Ren a day of being his free use slut now, since he lost their bet.
Working behind Cub, as to not let him see what was going on and leave him in suspense, Doc gloves up and pulls up a large syringe of the disinfectant. With no warning, he uses the fingers of one hand to spread the wound open, then pushes in the needle-less syringe tip and depresses the plunger slowly and steadily.
Cub makes sure his grip on the dish is steady, solid enough to squeeze without slipping or dipping his fingers into the fluid that will fill it. Honestly, Doc's more doing him a favor than anything, taking away any temptation to use his hands for anything else.
The first flush of pain straightens Cub's spine with a jolt, but he holds in any sounds. He can't let himself be quite that easy to work up, even if the lengthy continued stream of disinfectant leaves him hissing his breath through his teeth to avoid any further sound.
Cub leans slightly forward into the pressing of Doc's hand, easing off briefly then leaning again. Not quite as good as his own fingers in the bite, but something close enough to make Cub press his thighs together.
"Is that all you got?" Cub goads, voice overly tightly level. He already wants more.
"I'm just getting started." Cub is a delight in every way. Doc is so proud and happy to be able to call Cub his partner.
Drawing up a second syringe, Doc makes sure to really get it deep in there this time. Spends a good amount of time just poking and wiggling it around in the wound. That, in combination with the previous flushing, has a renewed stream of blood flowing from the wound. Deeming the tip worked in nice and deep, Doc depresses the plunger again, this time dragging the syringe through the crescent as he does, earning him a beautiful bitten off gasp of pain from Cub as he quivers beneath him.
Fully throwing proper medical procedure into the wind, Doc dips one thick disinfectant soaked fingertip into the wound, stretching it so far the edges go taunt and white as he shamelessly starts to finger it. The flow of clear and red liquid stops, his finger sealing the hole tight, pressure building as he continues to force in more disinfectant with the syringe. Fluid gushes forth when Doc pulls his finger out of the hot confines of Cub's insides, only to shove it back in harshly.
"Good." Cub's voice crackles slightly, his voice changer trying to flicker on in the jumbled mix of signals through his brain, before he forces it back off again. No mask, no filter, that's what Cub does his best to maintain. The glowing eyes he's less strict about, just because they're cool.
The scent of disinfectant is harsh in Cub's mouth and nose, almost a taste. He carefully doesn't slosh the rinsed out liquid in the basin he's holding, watching the way his blood drips and diffuses into it, bright against the metal.
For one irrational moment Cub tries to wrangle his words to demand Doc extend his claw, on the finger plugged into his wound. Thankfully, they don't come together, knocked completely out of Cub's brain by the sudden release of pressure, pulling a couple sharp twitches out of his hips. He should have sat along the edge, Cub thinks, so that he could grind down into his seat. Instead Cub is stuck humping up into the air with a paper-thin whine when Doc plunges back into him again. Cub presses himself forward, taking as much of Doc as he can. Just. To get the depths of the wound as clean as possible. Of course.
Cub's breaths have turned into panting gasps, mind tugged back and forth between the pain of the wound and the mounting pressure of needy arousal.
Cub is doing so beautifully for him. Doc draws up yet another syringe, moving to a so far unflushed bit. There are plenty of smaller holes and tears here for him to drawn this out for a while. Plus, he'll have to apply the healing and scar prevention ointments after the flushing is done.
"Hold still." He chides Cub, even though his twitching hips won't affect Doc's work in any way. It still is a beautiful sight to see Cub struggle to remain still for him. Doc positions the syringe at the opening of the next hole. "Wouldn't want to get hurt on accident, would you." Cub can't see him, but Doc still grins wide, showing all his sharp teeth. A breath rushes out of Cub.
Doc roughly shoves the syringe in, with no regard for the pain it will cause Cub. Already flooding the wound with more stinging disinfectant as he pushes in until he hits resistance, and then a bit harder, just for good measure. Can't have any part go unflushed.
(Normally, he would give a local anesthetic for this, and use a much gentler solution. But Cub- Cub doesn't need those considerations, those concessions to his comfort. He revels in the pain Doc can cause him just as much as in the pleasure. Doc thinks those two may just be one and the same, to Cub. If Doc wanted to, he could make Cub cum untouched, just like this, from fingers and stinging disinfectant and hard plastic syringes buried deep in the meat of Cub's body in openings that should not exist, should not cause this level of pleasure. He's done it before.)
Some of the wound may be unflushed, but Cub certainly isn't, he can feel the splotchy heat of his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders. As if the heat of the infection were spreading through him.
His thighs quiver, trembling with the force of him trying to stop their movement. Denied even the futile seeking of pressure that isn't there.
"Not. On accident." Cub grits out, mostly echoing Doc's words, because he doesn't have any room in his brain to think of things to say himself. He just wants to prove that he still can talk at all, even if all it does is show audibly how deeply wrecked he is already.
A full moan escapes Cub, as Doc grinds the gushing syringe into his wound. Cub would already be slumped down onto the table, if he weren't putting so much straining effort into remaining as still as he was told to be.
"Finally." Doc grumbles at Cub, now that he's holding mostly still. Cub wears the desperation of it so well. Idly, Doc dips his fingers into the wound again. Digs them deep, presses into the flesh. When he pulls them out this time, it's with the wet squelch of blood staining them red.
"Looks like I'm going to have to do that one again." There really is no reason for that, with the flowing blood washing away any remaining contamination. Doc just wants to hurt Cub more.
Setting another full syringe at the opening, he forces not just the tip in, but the entire girth of it, which is a lot more than his fingers. The fingers had already been a stretch. Forcing the syringe in tears the flesh open wider, on the edges. Doc can feel the give at it happens. He pushes the plunger down hard, forcing the already hurting and tight area into more pain, more burn, more pressure.
Cub licks his lips, having to smother the urge to lean forward and lick his own blood off of Doc's fingers. Unsanitary, but incredibly appealing. A thought-wire crosses, and Cub has the flicker of a mental image of Hotguy, the one licking up his blood and suckling on those fingers instead.
A groan punches out of Cub, the image dissolving into fragments under the burning tear of flesh, replaced by a new one, Hotguy's fingers joining Doc's in his wound, stuffing it yet more over-full and scooping out blood to paint Hotguy's lips with-
Winding heat builds throughout Cub, a concentration of pressure that he knows means Doc won't have to keep at this much longer before Cub tips over into release, even untouched. Cub refuses to beg for it, but shivering gasps wrack his body all the same. A trembling wire of need, so close to closing the circuit.
Seeing the characteristic shivers run through Cub, Doc backs off, pulling the syringe out with a pop! and another bubbling gush of red-stained liquids. Giving Cub time to cool off, he preps another few syringes in one go, setting them aside for now.
Cub is still a mess by the time Doc finishes, shivers wracking Cub’s whole body intermittently. Hopefully, he is no longer a mess a hairs breath away from release. Doc wants to draw this out.
"You weren't about to cum in your pants on me there, were you? Just from having your wound washed?" Doc asks, fully aware Cub was. Teasing him is just too much fun. Now, to make him lose the rest of his restrained demeanor and make him beg for it...
A little flinch of a gasp is all Doc gets from Cub as Doc takes away all the pain, all the stimulation. Every image Cub tries to conjure up to get himself there slips out of his grasp, static and hollow. Even if the brief thought of Hotguy pressed close to Doc almost feels like it’s something, before that too dissolves. Cub’s chance to rid himself of this fevered heat slips out of his hands, torn away by Doc.
"If I didn't know better. I'd think you're jealous." Cub sounds slightly more composed again, grumbling his low rumble of words. He breathes deep and steadying breaths, taking as much advantage of the break as he can.
"Jealous? What is there to be jealous of, little horror? I'm heading home to Ren after this. Gonna pound him into the bed real good." Doc places a heavy hand on the bite and squeezes. "You however, I have not yet decided on what I want to do with you. Might just leave you here like this, hard, leaking, and denied for Hotguy to find. I'd put your mask back on you, I'm not a monster," Doc chuckles. "But the rest would be up to you."
Without giving Cub a moment to recover from his words, Doc immediately shoves the next syringe into a fresh, unrinsed bit, and forces it full of disinfectant.
The one-two hit of the pet name and Doc's whole hand squeezing his bite-wound drags a guttural low wail out of Cub. The mixture of tenderness and roughness shredding through his composure like that façade wasn't even there to begin with. Cub can't catch his breath, it comes in hitches and bursts.
Still, he was going to attempt to answer Doc's threat, a threat Cub's burning-delirious mind can't quite find to be a bad idea right now, when the burn of disinfectant flares back to life. "Ah!" Is all that comes out instead of the composed words Cub had been planning on.
His knuckles grow pale from their clutched grip on the basin he's holding against his chest to catch the messy, cloudy flow. And yet, he remains still, as trembling-still as he can. Refusing to lose entirely at this challenge.
"Ren and I both have the day off." Doc continues, as if he isn't pushing the limits of what Cub can take.
"Might give him some eggs too, been having a few more than is comfortable knocking around inside. And you guys seem to enjoy them so much." The chuckle, and the feeling of the next syringe being placed on his shoulder, the next part of the bite rinsed, has Cub momentarily loosing his iron grip on his hips, giving a single, aborted thrust into the air.
"Tsk." Doc gives his shoulder another hard squeeze, before letting up for a moment. "Last one. So you better enjoy this."
Enjoy it Cub does. Doc draws it out for him, all sensual and painful. Cub's shoulder is a mess of fire and agony by now, fuel for the fire in his gut. And yet somehow, Doc keeps finding new places to hurt. Or maybe they are old places, places that he already hurt, that are now that much more sensitive, pain singing along Cubs nerves and driving him up to the precipice hard.
"Done. You can give that back now." Cub sags as careful fingers extract the bowl from his grasp.
"Lucky man." Cub shoves the words out well and truly belatedly, followed by a long moan.
Muddled thoughts of Doc and Hotguy working together to take him apart fill Cub's mind, singeing him to so much as look at for too long. Cub rides out that final heat, final flared pain, for as long as he can, before it begins to fade without any kind of climax.
Giving up the bowl to Doc is slow, Cub uncurling each finger manually. Still, he'd survived. He hadn't gotten any relief, but he'd made it through.
Cub doesn't indulge in sagging for long, straightening up when Doc returns, dish disposed of, new gloves applied, and first aid supplies gathered. They're not quite done yet, just past the worst (best) of it.
Slow pants of breath gradually bleed the fevered warmth out of Cub's skin, bringing all but the bits nearest the bite back to their usual chill in minutes. Meanwhile, Doc hums to himself as he finishes up the last few familiar steps. Patting the wound dry with a fresh pack of gauze pads, and slathering on ointments that make even the infected skin feel blessedly cool.
While Cub's brain is still not in good working order, the corner of it he'd managed to carve out for thoughts spins back up into vague functionality "Thanks." He really does appreciate Doc, including when Doc's being kind of mean to him. How could Cub not appreciate someone willing to push the limits of Cub's body with him?
Finishing up, Doc sticks a large plaster over the bite, now clean and medicated. Turning, he disposes of his gloves, and starts packing up his supplies again.
"Next time you get bit, clean it out immediately." he chides. Barely acknowledges Cubs almost reflexive 'Yes, Doc' behind him.
"Now that your shoulder is looked at, we can move on to your head. If I remember correctly you do keep replacement parts here somewhere, right?" Doc looks around.
"Yeah, that cupboard, bottom shelf. I can get ‘em." Cub nods at the cupboard, but stays seated. Legs probably won't carry him yet. No wonder, after what Doc just put him through.
"I can do it. You start shutting down and see if you can take your wings off after that." Doc pads over and pulls out the box with the replacement parts, all neatly and individually packaged, sorted orderly into their spaces. Meanwhile, he pulls up the interface for the rooms machines on his own implants, and sets the steri-field to spin up, and sterilizes the chair they use for working on Cub's head as it goes. This is going to take a while.
After throwing himself a proper post-shower fit on his bed, wet and thrashing and naked, Scar eventually decides that he's not getting anywhere with this. The moment has passed, the mood is gone. He's too sore and winded to work himself up again, anyway. He might as well move on to other things.
First things first, he retrieves his box of lung sharpnel from the bathroom counter, and sets it in a nicely visible place of honor up on one of his shelves. Shelves lined with lego sets he's completed during his weeks here, DVDs of the movies they've watched, toys and trinkets and the occasional plants with little fancy waterer machines.
No matter where he looks, Scar can't escape the memories of his times here, of passing moments mentioning his interests to Vex, only to find some new thing lining the shelves the next time he's kidnapped.
Kidnapped. Brought here against his will. A pretty, fun cage, but a cage nonetheless.
Scar doesn't want to think about any of that.
Thankfully, his stomach has some very helpful timing, rumbling loudly enough to remind himself that it exists. That he's been given a task. He's supposed to take those pills with food soon-soon.
After pulling on a hoodie and sweats, mockeries of his own merch done up in Vex's colors and branded with Vex's logo, Scar retrieves his pills and safely stows them in the pocket. The kitchen is only a short walk away. This time he does wish for his cane, even though it's not as bad as before. But that's not an option here, so Scar just goes slow and makes due without it.
Surely Vex will have to get hungry soon, as well. Scar doesn't really ever remember Vex doing much in the kitchen for himself, that's Scar's domain. So Scar decides that he'll surprise Vex with a nice meal for them both. A little treat, something to bring them closer to normal again, to get them in the right headspace for the promised movie time afterward.
It'll be great, Scar's sure of it!
The fridge contents are still limited, but Scar can do some tasty things with the eggs he finds. Toast, potatoes, and a can of beans round out his selection.
Starting off by dicing the potatoes into small cubes, Scar tosses them into a pan with the beans.
While that cooks, Scar heats up some butter in a pan, and uses a glass to cut round holes into the bread slices. Adding the buttered bread to the pan, both the slices with the cutouts and the round bits he cut out, to toast up nice and brown. Into the bread holes, he cracks an egg each, sprinkling seasoning on top. The circles he flips. They will be his snack, so he can be good and take his pill.
Leaning heavily on the counter to take a moment to breathe, Scar again wishes for his cane. Or maybe one of those high roll-y stool things.
Scar plates up the beans and hash, flipping the egg-toasts. The snack circles he puts on a separate plate, with a spoonful of hash, taking the first bite and moaning approvingly at the taste.
Rounding out the plates with two nest eggs each, Scar sets them out on the table. Back at the counter, he finishes his snack, and swallows the pill down dry. His dish goes in the sink, and Scar himself goes in a chair at the table. Everything in it's rightful place, as it should be.
All Scar has to do from here is wait. Admittedly, not his strongest skill. But! It'll be worth it. When Vex gets in, and sees the meal ready and warm and waiting. And when Scar gets to tell Vex that Scar did all the silly medical stuff right, too! Even though Doc was way too rulesy and complicated about most of it.
Admittedly, Scar is still hungry. All his snack has done is remind his body that food exists, not helped by the smells wafting off of the spread in front of him.
But it'd be rude to start the meal proper without Vex! And awkward to sit there and wait while Vex eats, if Scar had already wolfed down his own food first. And if the food never tastes quite as good when Scar eats alone, well. All the more reason to wait.
If Scar doesn't look at a clock, then the slow crawl of time can't hurt him. He fiddles with the charm on his collar, fingertips tracing the grooves of Vex's logo, the round curve of the medallion. He can't quite reach that muffled foggy place by himself, but the reminder of Vex's claim on him still softens the passage of time, makes it easier to ignore the contour of the chair digging mildly into his thigh, the damp press of his hair on the back of his neck. Maybe he'll ask about getting the chairs replaced, later. They're good, but they could be better, and Scar wants his kitchen to be perfect.
The surface of the table sneaks up on Scar, degree by degree, until he's folded down onto a clear spot on it, resting his head on his arms. Just a moment of rest, not sleep, and then he'll pick himself back up, he tells himself. Just a moment-
Properly disinfected, Cub sinks forward on the chair, leaning forward onto the headrest so Doc can access the back of his head. The bulk of his cranial implants are situated at the base of his skull, just above where the neck muscles attach. The compartment itself wasn't visible from the outside, the outside covered by synthskin, which also grew hair. Running his fingers thorough that hair, Doc feels along Cub's scalp for the slight ridge under the skin that denotes the seam where the access hatch opens. Parting Cub's hair along that line, he uses a generous amount of clips to fasten it out of the way.
The top layer of synthskin healed perfectly from last time, Doc notes, not even a faint scar visible. Good.
He sprays down the area with disinfectant, studying the panes of Cub's back as he waits for it to dry. Without his wings, the large ports on his back are barely visible, only a light dimpling in folds and flaps of synthskin grafted to Cub's skin giving away their positions. No redness or swelling that Doc can see, though he figures he might as well take a peek inside them while he's got Cub sat here for him anyways.
When Cub's scalp is dry, Doc picks up a small scalpel.
"Hold still now." Doc gives Cub a headsup before he makes the first careful cut, separating the thin layer of synthskin cleanly. The bleeding stops almost immediately, the vessels in the skin contracting like they should, cutting off the bloodflow. Under his hands, Cub tenses at the pain, then relaxes slowly as his breaths become slow and measured. Cub hadn't asked for an anesthetic, nor applied one himself, so Doc hadn't bothered with it. Cub can handle the bit of pain, might even enjoy it.
Holding still this time is much simpler for Cub. Much less going on. His brain quieter without the background thrum of processes curled around his thoughts, his body quieter with only a single tiny pinpoint of stimulation dragged across the back of his head.
Easy then, to let the tiny blip of pain wash over him, and to settle into the calm it leaves behind. For a brief time, he's just a machine to be serviced, like any other. Doc's hands are steady, calming in their precision. If there was ever a time Cub might understand the appeal of meditation, it would be in these moments.
Pulling back a loose bit of synthskin, Doc uncovers the latch, unlatching it and opening the hatch. Densely packed computer parts come into view. The damaged RAM is easy to find, small scorch marks around it's socket. Doc uses forceps to carefully remove it, dropping it into the discard bowl, to be taken apart and studied later, to hopefully determine what went wrong.
The socket, fortunately, is undamaged.
The new RAM bar is already unpacked, waiting to be put in. The rest of the parts box is within Cub's reach, for him to unpack anything else Doc may need without having to leave the sterile area. The sterile area is not strictly necessary, per se, with only shallow synthskin cuts being made, but Doc prefers it anyway, both for the familiar feel of surgery and to help minimize infection risk. The steri-field projected over the area is just another extra precaution, against any airborne contaminants.
A soft snick sees the new RAM seated into place. Doc puts down the forceps, looking over the parts for any further damage.
"Everything else looks good in here." He tells Cub. "I'm gonna close back up."
An affirmative hum, given that Cub can't nod right now, and is probably too comfortable to speak. Doc closes the hatch, ensuring no hair gets caught, and that it fully seals all the way around. The cut in the synthskin is treated with a small bead of skin sealant, piped from a little syringe around the entire cut. When pushed together, the skin seals up, like the cut was never there, the surplus sealant the only giveaway.
"Done." Doc wipes off the extra sealant, and turns off the steri-field. "Though I'd like to check on your back ports, since I have you here."
Cub flexes his hands, shaking off a little of his deep calm to focus on what Doc's saying. "Sounds good." He even manages an answer, in loose, brief words.
The warning is good, enough for Cub to brace himself. Hopefully without the wings attached, without his systems booted up, he won’t have the same sensitivity in that whole area as this morning, but it's better to be prepared. Just a normal port exam, nothing to stress about. So he doesn't.
Doc discards his gloves, the wing ports, being external, not needing the same careful consideration. All external ports on both of them are designed that way, to be touched and used just like any other body part, waterproof and all.
Just running his hands flat over Cub's back for now, Doc pets the skin, both for the pure physical enjoyment of petting his partner, and to ensure there are no sensory issues with the synthskin.
"Anything feel off? Numb? Painful?" Doc runs a single finger down the outer synthskin, covering every square inch one after the other in a well practiced methodical pattern.
Outer skin checked, Doc dips his fingers in and spreads the folds open the same way the wings would. No redness or swelling on the inside either. All contacts clean, with no sign of wear. Doc taps a finger against each port in different places. None cause a pained reaction in Cub, who knows better than to not mention any pain during these proceedings.
"Looking good." Doc claps Cub on his uninjured shoulder. "Time to do the software reset, and then you should be good."
The smooth and predictable motions of Doc's touches are as soothing as ever, to Cub. Thankfully. Just the orderly optimal pathing, efficiently clearing each bit of synth-skin. By the time Doc is poking around inside the ports, Cub is too calm to have much a reaction at all, outside of soft little sighs.
Doc's hand on his shoulder rouses Cub a bit, brings him blinking back to thoughts. "Got it." Cub agrees, once he's cleared up what Doc said. "Got the backup snapshot ready." He'd prepared it while on his laptop earlier, just in case.
Cub pulls himself up from the seat, shaking out his arms and rolling his neck, getting everything used to moving again.
Cub hooks into his laptop using the high speed proprietary ConCorp connector port in his wrist. "Handshake's good. You want to do the honors?" Cub could manage it himself, but he figures he should offer. Anyway, it's nice not having to focus with his brain while also working on his brain.
"Sure, hand it here." Doc takes the laptop from him, careful not to strain the connector. Despite feeling so heavy, Doc's hands move with a deft speed over the keys, which Cub allows himself a bit of time to admire.
Cub imagines he can feel a lightened dizziness of files being deleted and the insertion of new files to take their place, but with all the systems shut down, Cub knows it's likely to be no more than a figment of his imagination. A phantom, meaningless.
The disconnect chime sounds from the laptop's speakers, automatically moving Cub to remove the cable from his wrist port out of habit.
"Go ahead and boot up for me." Doc watches Cub, cybernetic eye focusing and refocusing. Doc's supervision brings a sense of safety that stops any nerves Cub might have found before they can even begin to form.
Cub closes his eyes, bringing his internal systems back online with a firm mental nudge. Putting it through its paces, he's given checkmark after checkmark.
"Everything coming back clean." Cub reports, tone bright with relief.
"Good. Try phasing now. Start slow. Then we will try your wings." Doc instructs. Cub first lets his hand glide out of phase, and when that doesn't hurt, his whole body. He remains on the same floor as Doc, not letting himself slip thought the floor. To further test his phasing, Cub lets his hand pass through the chair he's still sitting on. Again, no pain. It feels good, having this hard-earned ability restored to him.
"All good. Just the usual cold. Just cold." Cub flexes his hand, passing it through the chair a few more times, chasing off the last vestiges of the biting acid in his nerves.
"Good." collecting Cub's wings from the table, Doc comes up behind him. A smooth, warm hand touches Cub's back, slotting his right wing back into place with a click. The synthetic nerves connect to his brain seamlessly, cycling through the different sensitivity settings. Cub interrupts the process before they automatically go through a full movement test, which would smack Doc in the face with how he's currently positioned.
The second wing clicks into place, and this time Cub lets it do the motion range test, restarting the sequence for the other one too. Doc, knowing those would come, has stepped out of the way.
"Everything clear." Cub flexes and spreads his wings. He knows Doc will want to touch them now.
"I'm gonna touch your right wing now." As expected, Doc does. The warning is nice, it lets Cub dial down the sensitivity on them. Still, he can feel Doc's touch on them, precise strokes working methodically to cover the whole wing. He turns the sensitivity up then, when no problems arise, back to flight high.
Still the staticy tingle does not build around Doc's touch. Cub refuses to feel any one way about that. It must be from him having been on his charger then. Something they can look into later, when Hotguy has recovered and gone back home.
Doc works over Cub's left wing too. Cub reports no abnormalities on either of them.
"I'd say my job here is done. Both of you are fixed up, for now. So I'll be on my way then." Doc cups a hand around Cubs chin, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Got a few eggs to give Ren, you know how it is." Teasing Cub is just too much fun. His pupils always get so wide at the mention of eggs.
"Do make sure Hotguy follows my instructions, and that he knows how to contact me before you let him leave." Another quick kiss. "I'll be off now, bye little horror." With another kiss to Cub's lips, and one to his forehead, Doc sweeps out of the med lab, on his way back home.
"A pleasure, as always, Doc." Cub gives a little wave as Doc heads on out. Doc really is a reliable research and lab partner, as well as a solid medic. Cub's glad they're acquaintances.
