#sonarmech

“You good?” Robert asks, just in case.

“Quit asking me that,” Victor grunts.

Victor’s… embarrassed by the whole thing, which is cute. For all the yapping he does, Robert thinks he’d be used to just about anything to do with sex. Only every inch of Victor’s body not covered in fur is bright red and flushed, glossy with sweat. His backward thrusts, though aggressive, are a little too eager, like he’s afraid Robert might stop, like he’s taking all he can get while he can get it. Robert quietly exhales through his nose. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s annoyed. Of course he won’t stop, not unless Victor taps out.

Robert curls over Victor’s back and grasps Victor’s cock. He’s leaking like crazy, hot and twitching in his fist. Victor quivers in place, undecided between thrusting into his hand or fucking himself on his fingers. Robert makes the choice for him and works both hands at the same time.

Victor emits one long, high warble that goes straight to Robert’s dick. As if Robert doesn’t have enough issues, he also has to add getting turned on by bat whimpers to the list.

Robert’s trying to make it good for him—nice, hard strokes, catching his thumb beneath the crown of Victor’s cock over and over, where he’s really sensitive. Robert wants to take the edge off, let Victor relax and not exist as a bundle of keening nerves that’ll shake itself apart at any second. He wants to get Victor off, then fuck him and do it again. Only Victor takes this moment to unstuff his head from the pillow and wriggle, disrupting Robert’s rhythm.

“Stop, dude. You’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah,” Robert says, deadpan. “Kinda the point.”

“Y’don’t have to coddle me. Just stick it in already.”

Robert rolls his eyes and leans back. He lubes himself up, swallowing a little groan that threatens to spill. He’s in worse shape than he thought, untouched since Victor’s been too shy to do any reciprocating beyond the handsy kissing that got them here in the first place. Robert doesn’t hold it against him, especially as he takes a hold of Victor’s hips and begins to press inside. Victor whimpers and thrashes, but he’s spreading his legs wider too, affirmative little chirps caught by the pillow he’s biting and drooling into.

The front of Robert’s thighs meet the back of Victor’s as he bottoms out, buried deep with Victor’s insides rippling around him. Robert exhales shakily, letting his head dip. Victor’s fur tickles his nose; there’s a muskiness rising from it that he hasn’t noticed before, a deeper scent that cologne and body wash usually masked. He can’t place it, faintly citrus-y and earthen, strangely pleasant.

“You sniffing me, Robert?”

“That’s what you’re worried about when I’m balls deep in your ass?”

Victor shrugs his shoulders, which forces fur up Robert’s nose. Robert rubs his arm against his face to keep himself from sneezing.

“Didn’t answer my question—”

Robert takes that as his cue to thrust. Victor immediately starts using his mouth for better things. The squeaks and chirps return with a vengeance, louder than they were before. The sheets begin to tear under the onslaught of Victor’s restless claws. A worthy sacrifice if it means Robert can finish this encounter not looking like he lost a fight to a cat.

It’s been a long time since Robert’s fucked somebody properly, long enough that he’s not sure he can keep it up for more than a few minutes. But that doesn’t seem to matter, because just as he grabs Victor’s cock, Victor’s whole body tenses up, his insides rippling and seizing. His squeaking reaches an octave that Robert can’t hear, then a flood of heat pours over Robert’s fingers. Robert’s so shocked that he almost stops thrusting, then his brain catches up with his cock and he starts fucking Victor in earnest, hard snaps of his hips driving them both into the mattress.

The pace is brutal. When Victor turns his head from the pillow, he forgets to keep quiet, squeaking and gasping, the tip of his tongue lulling out past his fangs, eye narrowed in bliss.

Robert comes moments later, buried deep inside Victor’s wildly twitching body. He stays plastered to him as he catches his breath, face buried in his neck fur.

Victor huffs a laugh that Robert feels against his chest. “You are sniffing me.”

“You smell like roasted orange peels,” Robert groans. “Why do you smell like that?”

“Bat bod, I think.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

Victor starts wriggling against him. Robert hisses, oversensitive.

“What? Don’t got another in you?”

“Let me guess. Another bat bod thing?” Robert withdraws, a little embarrassed by how much come spills out of Victor when he does. He collapses on the bed next to Victor, facing him on his side. “I need to recoup, but I’m happy to help out in the meantime.”

Victor turns his head towards Robert, cracking open a pale eye at him. Then, surprising Robert yet again, he flips onto his side too. Robert looks down, and sure enough, Victor’s cock is hard and straining like he didn’t just come a few minutes ago.

“Uh, duh.”

Sonar settles next to him, naked besides a pair of expensive boxer-briefs. His barely visible pupils tremble a little as he stares between Robert’s legs. Beneath his fur, his shoulders and chest are flushed red. Robert wonders, not for the first time, how they ended up here. A bottle of good whiskey, some bad double entendre, and the strangest make-out session ever, apparently. That long tongue, the fangs… how Sonar chirped desperately when Robert caught his breath between kisses. Seems the sweet talker facade came down quick when push came to shove.

Sonar uncaps the lube, drools way too much of it over his fingers, smears it between Robert’s legs. Robert flinches.

“Cold!”

“My bad.”

Robert spreads his legs wider, takes his own half-hard cock in hand as Sonar draws his finger between his cheeks again. It’s been a long time since Robert’s done this, and Sonar looks, well, big, if the tent in his boxers is anything to go by. And he has a not-so-sneaking suspicion that Sonar’s never done this—at least not with a guy. Maybe not even assplay.

Sonar slips his finger inside. Robert groans, forces his body to relax even as his cock gives a traitorous twitch. Sonar’s not the only desperate one here. It takes a bit, but after a few uncertain see-saw motions, Sonar finds his stride, the press becoming smoother, easier.

“Gimme another. I can take it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure—”

The middle finger slides in with the index before Robert can finish the sentence. He arches a little, momentarily breathless when they brush against his prostate. Maybe all the lube was a good idea. There’s no burn, and the too full feeling never veers into pain, only aches in a way that makes Robert crave more.

It feels good, though Sonar’s touch is clumsy—pulling back when Robert wants it deeper, goes too fast, then too slow. Robert would think Sonar’s teasing him, only Sonar looks like he’s  really concentrating, brow pinched, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. Robert grabs Sonar’s wrist after a particularly bad go at it.

“Here, like this.”

He tugs Sonar forward, rolls his hips into the motion, taking the fingers to the second knuckle with a wet smack. Once, twice, three times. Christ, there we go. Hitting all the right spots now, shivers curling up Robert’s spine.

“Wow, Robert,” Sonar breathes, “that’s kinda slutty.”

Robert glares at him, but he’s sure it’s not convincing, not when he can feel how flushed he is, how hard it’s getting not moan with every press. “Just keep doing it, yeah, there, like that…”

Robert’s not fully hard, but he’s leaking all over his palm. He forgot it could be like this—intense fullness, heat quaking deep in his belly, radiating outwards—while barely touching his cock. He pushes at Sonar’s wrist, but meets resistance.

“Enough, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Wha—you can do that?”

Sonar’s stronger than he looks. Robert can’t stop the pistoning of his fingers, though it’s a much more difficult thing to do now that Robert’s fighting him.

“Probably, but I don’t… hah… want to do it now.”

“Why not?”

Robert changes tactics, grasping Sonar’s cock through his underwear. That gets his attention, Sonar’s hips jerking into Robert’s touch, his mouth opening on an inhuman squeak.

“Okay, yeah, fair… I…” Sonar mumbles, releasing Robert at last to remove his last shred of clothing.

Robert knew it would be big, but. He swallows, throat clicking audibly.

“What’s with the look?”

“What look?”

“The one you’re making now. You not want to do this?”

“No, I do,” Robert replies. “It’s just… uh, not used to so much of that.”

“So much dick?” Sonar chuckles.

“Yeah, well. I don’t get out a lot.”Robert says, then he rolls over.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting on my knees? Think it’ll be easier this way.”

“Really? But I kind of wanted to see—” Robert wedges a pillow under his hips and spreads his legs, glancing at Sonar over his shoulder. “—never mind.”

Robert sighs, tries to keep himself relaxed as he feels Sonar settle in behind him, warm and heavy. The sound of lube uncapping, the quiet chirp of pleasure as Sonar slicks himself up. Maybe this is a bad idea. Robert’s been a little afraid to watch it all go down, but now, there’s a part of him that wishes he could see.

But it’s a little late for that, with a steadying hand at his hip and a hot, blunt press where he’s already aching for it. The pressure builds, but his body resists, until finally, Sonar’s cock pops inside. Robert swears, fist curling into the sheets.

“Bro, could you be any tighter?”

“Gimme a minute,” Robert wheezes.

It doesn’t hurt, exactly, he’s just so full. He can feel Sonar’s anticipation too, how his blunted nails bite into his skin, how he’s not exactly moving but twitching like a live wire. Robert breathes, shivers as Sonar slips just a bit deeper.

“Keep going.”

Inch by inch, breath by breath. Robert keeps thinking he can’t possibly take more, and Sonar keeps proving him wrong. Robert’s dancing on some sort of precipice. Pleasure like winning a fight, blood in his mouth, alive one more day. The heat of Sonar’s pelvis flattens against his body. Sonar’s swears overlap his own groans. They stay together like that, interlocked, Sonar’s breath hot against his nape. Robert thinks he might be able to see how deep Sonar is inside him, but there’s no way to tell in this position.

“Rob, please,” Sonar whimpers. The soft fuzz of his snout against the shell of Robert’s ear. “Can I move? M’not sure how much longer I can—”

“Yeah, just. Slow.”

Sonar starts to pull back nearly as slow as he pushed in. It’s as intense the second time—full, his body barely able to accommodate—but perhaps just a bit easier. Hanging on, the anticipation knife sharp. Somewhere in the mix, bearing becomes craving. Adapting, loosening, Sonar picking up on it, quickening in increments.

The world narrows into sensation: nerves alight, Sonar’s fur between his shoulder blades as he flattens Robert into the bed. His thrusts deepening, becoming more animalistic, pining Robert so he can’t move, only take.

Robert’s not sure what he’s even saying, but all sorts of stupid things are coming out of his mouth. Swears and so goods, faster, harder, yes—maybe even Sonar’s name, gasped between moans. But at least Sonar is near as embarrassing, chirping and squeaking, a chest-deep rumbling that Robert feels in his spine. Twin pinpricks against Robert’s nape, a catch-drag of his fangs.

Robert rolls his head to the side, digging those sharp points into his neck.

“‘m not… that kinda bat…”

Robert laughs, moans as Sonar fucks him harder. He has to force out his words in between thrusts. “Thought you were all freak?”

The bed’s beginning to creak. The force of Sonar’s thrusts works Robert’s cock into the mattress, almost there, but not quite enough. He can’t get any traction either, with Sonar’s legs wedged between his own, keeping him spread wide and helpless. Just a little more—faster, faster—the fangs catch against him, harder now, break the skin. Pain floods Robert with adrenaline, misfires into pleasure—his orgasm steals breath and thought.

“Fuuuuck, Robert—”

The bed whines dangerously as Sonar buries himself to the hilt, crushing Robert to the mattress, pulsing as deep as he can possibly go. Chittering in his ear, a searing tongue against his bleeding neck, almost apologetic as he milks himself into his body.

Even this feels good, after the initial pleasure fades. The heaviness, the slow-building ache inside him, drying sweat, the throbbing claim on his neck. Fuck, it would probably be obvious by the shape who put it there. Maybe his shirt collar’s just high enough to hide it? Sonar’s making those deep rumbles in his chest again, still wriggling his hips. Content as a cat in a sunbeam. Well, maybe someone figuring it out wouldn’t be half-bad.

Sonar startles a little. He plants his hands on either side of Robert’s chest, propping himself up.

“Robert.”

“Yeah?”

“Does this make me gay?”

“I’m sensing some hostility, Robert. You mad at me?”

“Look. What’s done is done. Change back and let’s go to the locker room.”

Sonar scratches the back of his head, displacing another shelf of pollen. Robert feels his eyes water. Thank god he isn’t allergic.

“About that… I can’t?” Sonar replies. “Stomach’s too full. If I shift now, it might like… kind of burst?”

So much for having less bat to clean. “Okay, fine, whatever,” Robert sighs. “C’mon.”

They do their walk of shame through the branch, a trail of pollen following in their wake.

“Shouldn’t this be a job for Waterboy?” Sonar asks as they enter the locker room. Robert collects a pile of towels and several bottles of soap.

“Do you want Waterboy to do this?” Robert asks.

“No way. Dude’s weird. And I think I scare him, a little.”

“I think he’s going to have his hands full anyway with the mess you made on the way here.”

“Point taken.”

“Go stand in the showers. And don’t turn the water on yet.”

Robert thinks he knows what to do. He’s been on the dog grooming side of YouTube before. That’s close enough, right? He grabs one of the shop vacs from the nearby janitor’s closet, then he trades his polo and slacks for his running shorts. No matter how he does this, things are gonna be messy.

He only realizes how ridiculous he looks—half-naked with his arms full of supplies and a vacuum rolling behind him—when a freshly showered hero boggles as he passes. Not like this job allowed for much dignity anyway.

Robert smiles and nods at him. “Can you put one of those ‘closed for cleaning’ signs outside the locker room? Thanks, man.”

The hero nods back, but keeps glancing at him owlishly as he walks away. Robert shakes his head and follows the trail of pollen to the showers. Sonar is standing in the center of the green and brown tile, sniffling a little.

“What’s the vacuum for? Why are you naked?”

“I’m not naked. I just don’t want to wash my work clothes between shifts.” Robert brandishes the vacuum cleaner by the handle. “And I’m blowing you with this before we wash you.”

“Blowing me, Robert? Didn’t know you were that kind of guy.”

“As fun as all these HR violations are, the clock’s ticking.”

The vacuuming is a disaster. As soon as Robert turns it on, pollen explodes into the air. It gets everywhere. His eyes, his mouth, no mucus membrane is safe. The pollen’s floral, melon flavor cloys in the back of his throat. He should’ve borrowed Waterboy’s goggles for this, but it’s way too late to stop now. Robert tries to be methodical about it, starting at the top of Sonar’s body and working his way down, but it just keeps resettling! He reverses the flow of air and tries to catch the pollen as it floats. That seems to do the job, blowing the pollen off then sucking it up, but it’s slow, annoying work.

After twenty minutes of vacuuming, most of the loose pollen is in the shop vac. Robert wheels it back into the locker area. “Alright. Water time,” he says.

“What?” Sonar replies, louder than necessary. Shit. They should’ve plugged his ears.

Robert turns the shower on and gestures Sonar forward. Once Sonar steps into the spray, he transforms from a puffy moth to a wet, pathetic-looking dog.

Cute, Robert thinks. Maybe I could put this online. Surely there’s some bat enthusiasts who’d like this.

Robert lets the water run a little while, then turns it off and hands Sonar one of the soap bottles. “Start with your front. I’ll work on the back.”

“You got it, boss.”

Sonar has to kneel down for him to reach his shoulders. Robert squeezes a generous amount of soap into his hands and gets to work. He stuffs his fingers into Sonar’s neck fluff. Around his chest and upper back, his fur is much thicker. He really has to work his fingers deep to get lather at the root. The suds are initially pollen yellow, but they slowly turn brown the longer he massages.

Sonar struggles to clean himself, Robert realizes. Maybe he should be grossed out, but it feels more oddly satisfying than anything as the dirty suds begin to run clear. Robert falls into a groove: working in the soap, massaging it beneath what he assumes is some kind of bat-hybrid version of a dog’s upper coat, rinsing and massaging the lather and gunk away. Quite literally rinse and repeat.

“You’re kind of good at this,” Sonar mumbles when Robert’s rubbing between his shoulder blades, wrist deep in wet fluff.

“Used to date a software developer. Worked long hours and had terrible posture. Gave him a lot of back rubs. Guess I got good at it.”

“Him?”

“Yeah, him.”

“You like dudes sometimes, Robert?”

Robert laughs, then coughs as some wayward pollen manages to find his lungs. He has a feeling he’ll be coughing it up for days. “More than sometimes.”

“Huh. You don’t really ping on my radar.”

“There’s some kind of joke in there, I know it. Radar. Sonar.”

“I’d stick to your day job.”

The conversation quiets during another round of rinsing. Robert’s made it to Sonar’s lower back. He’s careful to keep his hands above board. Sonar busies himself with his right wing.

“Anyways, that’s cool,” Sonar says. “I sometimes like dudes too.”

“Really? Thought you only liked drugs and boobs.”

“Hey. Man boobs can be nice. Especially if there’re drugs on ‘em.”

“Sorry to say I don’t have much of either.”

“You got something against itty bitty titties, Robbo? They look good on you. Proportional.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

They lapse into companionable silence. The Z-Team is a bombastic group, and Robert rarely hangs out with any of them one on one. Somehow, covered with sticky-wet pollen and desperately missing his lunch, he’s enjoying himself.

Speaking of. Robert glances at the clock. “Almost one p.m.”

“Wha, already? Damn, time sure flies…”

“You good to finish up?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Robert pats Sonar’s back, then turns on one of the other shower faucets. He takes off his pollen-laden shorts and steps under the spray of hot water, trying to rid himself of as much mess as possible before he settles into a desk for the next few hours.

Sonar hunches under his own shower. Not lathering, his eyes narrowed, just seeming to enjoy the water. Robert can’t help but to think about the puppy videos he likes to watch with Beef.

When Sonar moves next, its quick, a there and gone motion as he glances sidelong at Robert. Robert might’ve not noticed, except when Sonar looked, he also squeaked once—softly—before looking away.

Uh.

What was that?

Sonar turns his own shower off like nothing happened. He stands up straight, does a little full-body shake that puffs up his fur and flings water everywhere.

Robert’s trying not to downright stare at him, but it’s hard not to—is he reading too much into one wayward look? But Sonar… squeaked? Peeped at him? He’s wondering this at the worst possible time, too, when he’s also realizing how large Sonar is in beast form, how unused he is to seeing him like this up close.

Sonar catches his eye again, of course he does. Robert hasn’t stopped staring. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like he’s smiling.

“I’m going on ahead. See you in a bit, Robbie boy. And uh… thanks.”

“Yeah, anytime,” Robert murmurs. “See ya.”

Sonar walks away. Robert listens to the sounds of his heavy claws against the tile, the far door opening and closing as he leaves the locker room. Only then does Robert rub his hand over his eyes and let out a long, beleaguered sigh. He turns the heat up on the shower, hoping to burn off whatever weird feeling’s come over him.