Chapter Text
“You’re lucky I’m a decent mechanic,” they tell him, testing how the wing unfurls, tongue stuck between their teeth in concentration as they tighten a screw and then test it again. “This battle death wish of yours would otherwise be the end of me.”
“Master, I do not understand. You wish to succeed in battle. We achieved that.”
They roll their eyes, moving on to the next part of his wing with a heavy sigh. “Some catacombs sweeping isn’t worth your life, B. Save the heroics or—”
He remembers the days of being turned on and off on a whim, as they stop mid-sentence to tighten another screw. Long days of being on standby. How his parts would creak once he would move again, sluggishly until he was oiled. Now he never has to feel like that. He is a body constantly in motion, constantly doing. And now, thanks to his newest Master Attendant, constantly maintained. There is no data for him to use when dealing with them. It continues to surprise him, the differences between them and his first master, them and Spaghetti. The master is soft where it counts but still manages to have a leader's backbone of steel, even though logic tells him its an error that they dote on him so much. Too much energy expended in his maintenance means—
“You’ll replace me,” he finishes. “Logical.”
“No!” They blurt out, waving the screwdriver in his face with a frown. “I absolutely was not going to say that! What I was going to say is I’ll have to learn how to take better care of you or find an expert to show me how.”
“I do not wish to be trouble.”
“You’re not. Trouble is Steak and Red Wine arguing over the littlest of slights. Trouble is Boston complaining about the heat only he can feel. Trouble is Crab Long Bao trying to drink himself to death when no one is looking," they huff with a pained expression. "I just wish I could keep up with your repairs.”
“Why?”
Sometimes the simplest question is the most efficient. He continues to look at them, an unblinking stare they avoid, blush rising to their cheeks.
“I guess I just really like you, B,” they tell him, patting the now fixed wing and moving on to the next part in need of repair. While he wasn’t the first food soul they summoned, he was one of the few that they constantly took out to battle and so they both got used to this routine of him being looked over and fixed after. They told him it was because he and Vodka worked well together {Lie: not detected} so the pair would be going out more often along with their old team of Milk, Black Tea, and Crab Long Bao.
B, they call him, not B-52 Cocktail. They’ve shortened his name.
Logic tells him its out of convenience, but it feels like something else too.
Is this what human friendship feels like?
{Error: invalid command line. Data: null.}
“Master, what is the purpose of enjoying me beyond my use?”
They’re behind him now, checking the joints that attach to his back and he can feel gentle fingers run over where skin meets metal, oiling the joints. A feeling he doesn’t have a name for sizzles through his veins like the blue flames of his cane, as they continue their work.
“That’s hard to explain, B. You’re not a machine or a tool to me, you’re my friend.”
Brownie had said something similar to him in the past. And similar to now, he did not understand.
{System Error: invalid command. Batch return: undetermined. Try again? }
“You’re someone trying their best,” they continue. Their hands are small and warm as they unbutton his shirt, gently probing and mapping his chest for any injuries. “And even though your heart doesn’t beat exactly the same way as mine, it’s still full of good, full of kindness.”
“Perhaps I should read more about morality to understand.”
“You could,” they say, moving closer so the gap between their bodies is smaller than normal, the master’s eyes dilating and nostrils flaring only slightly as they look him in the eyes. “Or… you said you want to know what being human is like, right?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I’m aware of the practice.”
“I figured as much,” they chuckle as they raise a hand to brush his cheek. “But I want to make sure you’re okay with it. Remember when we talked about consent and how you’re allowed to not always agree with everything I say?”
“You pointed out Red Wine and Boston Lobster as examples. I do not wish to emulate their behavior.”
They give a snort before looking at him, hand moving down from his cheek to rest lightly on his shoulder.
“B, what do you want?“
They say this with an audible sigh, lips now tilted in a wry smile. "I’ve tried my damnedest to figure it out so you don’t get hurt so much. Sometimes it scares me I might lose you.”
Loss.
He's not sure he wants to contemplate that.
In fact, what he wants is to not have a philosophical debate with the master after they so graciously have repaired his wing again. What he wants is to continue to be useful—no, that’s not the right word, they would tell him, eyes sad and he doesn’t like the look on their face when they’re sad about something he’s done or said—
Placing a hand on the back of the master’s head and the other on the small of their back, he leans in and brushes his lips against theirs, retrieving all the data of human courtship he’s compiled. Human mouths are warm, wet, and strange mashing together to show affection. He patiently lets the master guide him through how lips and tongues are supposed to touch, but teeth aren’t, as they make noises that would normally give way to concern, but do not stop. He continues until they pull away, breathing heavily.
“I forgot you don’t have to breathe,” they reply sheepishly, cheeks pink and lips rosy. Heart rate elevated even more than before, similar to when they are in battle. He can hear their human heart so unlike his thumping loudly in their chest, like its waiting to burst free. Placing a curious hand over it, he feels the steady rhythm underneath his palm.
“Its—that’s okay,” they tell him, brushing hair out of his eyes and giving him a smile. “It’s normal when you enjoy kissing for that to happen.”
They make him feel human, the way they smile at him. The way their nose wrinkles up, not in disgust at how different he is, but in humor and exasperation when they see a part of him broken after a fight the healers can’t fix.
“I performed well?”
“Quite,” they say with a laugh, resting their forehead against his. “You’re a natural. Even without the biological necessity behind attraction.”
He hums as the master twines their fingers together, squeezing gently. This feeling, the opposite of pain somehow giving him just as much life. His master closes their eyes, letting out a content sigh, as he realizes he wants more so he kisses them again, this time a bit more forceful since he’s the one leading. They gasp in his mouth, clearly startled, before returning the kiss back just as fervently and the fire he felt now takes on even more heat, embers from before crackling as the blue flames reach new heights inside of him, licking at his skin everywhere the master touches him.
He feels not just human, but alive.
He pulls away gently first, voice low and steady as he looks at them and feels more irrational than he's ever felt before.
“I’ll need your guidance to continue, I am unsure beyond diagrams what I am to do now,” he tells them quietly. Stilling his hands on their hips, they give him a mischievous smile. “Please be direct in your instructions.”
“Okay, B,” they tell him, pushing his unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders.
They pull him in for another kiss he gladly returns.
“If you say so, I will.”