Cygnet 1X-02

2020

Bobby lets out a moan as his mech settles into its space in the hangar, the machinery shuddering one last, wonderful time before going completely still. The lights in the cockpit dim as Bobby swallows lungfuls of air, his sobs echoing around the tight space of the cockpit.

God, he was close. So damn close. And he’d been so, so good today. If he had cum during the sortie, he swore no one would’ve noticed, but now—

His thoughts are interrupted by feet stomping along the scaffolding to his mech. His breath hitches in his throat as the hatch to his cockpit opens with a thud and a hiss of steam. For a moment, the space is bathed in light, and then a shadow falls as Dorian — today’s mechanic — looks into the cockpit.

“How was work today, Bobby?” Dorian clicks his pen and prepares to jot down some notes, his grin pure business as always.

Bobby takes a deep breath and tries to do the same.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. All systems were operational, though I suppose that isn’t my call to make.”

Dorian laughs and writes something down. “Very true, very true.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Dorian writes on his clipboard, and during that time, Bobby tries his very hardest not to squirm and ruin this little game they’re playing. Sit still, be confident, be the pilot and hero…’s employee that everyone thinks he is.

“Are you ready for my assessment?” Dorian says, flipping a page on his clipboard.

Bobby hopes the shrug he gives looks unaffected. “Whenever you are.”

“Hmm. 99.98% efficiency. A new record, but you do have a scuff on your toe. Nothing bad, lick your thumb and rub that shit off when you get out, yeah?”

Bobby’s sigh is one of genuine frustration as he throws his head back against the headrest. Lost 0.02% over a fucking scuff. He wasn’t obsessed with his scores or anything, but he couldn’t not be pissed off when he knew he was so close.

“You lost 0.01% for the scuff. The other 0.01% came from…” Dorian hides his mouth with the clipboard, but his smize is masterful. “Well, would you like to take a guess?”

Bobby’s frustration flows out of him, and instead it’s steadily replaced with fear and nerves.

Dorian chuckles and looks at his clipboard again.

“Increased heart rate. Increased breathing rate. Increased blood pressure.”

Bobby drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair. Above him, Dorian adjusts his position so that he’s sitting on the rim of the hatch, legs dangling into the cockpit where the toes of his Doc Martens can graze Bobby’s cheek.

“Well now. That could be anything. It could even be the anxiety you’re feeling. Right. Now.” Dorian chuckles. “However. Mission control noticed the presence of...how do I put it? Unauthorized hardware in the cockpit. You wouldn’t happen to know what they’re referring to, would you?”

“I...No.”

“The game is over, Bobby. Let me see it.”

Bobby’s face is hot as he leans forward in his chair, just enough to show that the back of his suit is unzipped, revealing the curve and dip of his spine and the barest hint of orange between his ass.

“More, Bobby.”

Bobby leans forward more so that his head is between his knees, the angle of the dildo inside him shifting dramatically, enough to force out a sob that’s immediately buried in the leather of the seat.

Like this, Dorian can see only the base, stuck to the seat, and the first twist of the dildo as it enters Bobby, as well as the barest hint of pink insides.

“Very good,” Dorian says, voice breathless. “Did you enjoy yourself today?”

Bobby nods, not like Dorian can see it with the way he’s sitting and not that Dorian needs to in order to know Bobby’s answer.

The dildo — a term that was both an accurate descriptor for the thing that was inside him and yet all too simple to capture its complexity — was waiting for him in his cockpit like a gift when he arrived that morning, wrapped and everything.

Bobby didn’t even know who it was from, but it was ultimately his decision to unwrap it and use it...or not. As if he was ever going to say no, even when he saw the thing.

It was...terrifying. But that made Bobby want it all the more.

The dildo was the biggest he’d ever seen — if he had to guess it was forearm length, but he was too afraid to know for sure, the knowledge would scare him off trying altogether. On top of that, it was bright orange, and styled after...a swan, long and twisted to a tapering point.

He could handle it, he surely could after being so entangled with Dorian and the like, he could he could he could

“Did you get to cum?”

Bobby shakes his head desperately. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dorian hold up a small orange remote. All the sound in the world seems to disappear in that moment, but Bobby can read his lips so, so clearly.

Would you like to?

Bobby doesn’t remember answering, but his pleasure feels like an earthquake, a tremor that’s too strong for him to stop, a tremor that throws him around like the useless thing he is and plucks the orgasm out of him like it’s nothing at all.

Bobby cums like that, head between his knees, his sobs drowned out by the sound of another mech landing in the hangar, not that he’s of mind to hear it.

On top of shaking Bobby to his core, the dildo pulses pulses pulses releasing wave after wave of that sticky pseudo-semen “mission control” and the other mechanics were so fond of, as if Bobby didn’t have enough reason to feel humiliated already.

It was—

“Still here? How long does an evaluation take?”

—everything Bobby wanted.

Bobby’s consciousness swims to the forefront of his mind partway through the conversation. Dorian is still sitting on the rim of the hatch, feet absentmindedly tapping on the headrest, head turned back to speak with—

With Bobby’s...employer. Alias Mr. Apollo, real name...still Mr. Apollo.

Bobby isn’t there enough to hear words, but he can hear the flow of the conversation — Apollo’s annoyance and the way Dorian deftly reroutes and parries it. Still, Bobby gets the gist of it: hurry the fuck up and stop playing around, the important people need attention.

Dorian responds with something pointedly half-hearted — the mechanics of this company were unique in that they hardly gave a single shit about who Bobby’s employer was — then turns back to Bobby, eyes soft.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of you as long as you need it.”

Dorian extends a hand and Bobby, after willing the strength back into his muscles, takes it.

As cruel as Dorian and the others might have been, that one promise they did hold true. Their aftercare was as thorough as what came before it, and there was never a time when Bobby didn’t leave feeling lighter than when he came in.

This day was no exception.