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Part 2 of definition of insanity
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Published:
2020-03-03
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1/1
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the folly of man

Summary:

“You’re proposing… a hug?” Robotnik muses, more of a thought than a question, like he’s trying it out mentally first.

Stone doesn’t speak, doesn’t dare interrupt him, in the hope that maybe, maybe, he’s actually considering it.

(Robotnik is touch starved, and Stone is a problem solver.)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Agent Stone rounds the corner like he’s going to encounter a wildcat. 

 

He is, in a way, if Robotnik could be compared to any type of creature without insulting his intelligence. But it’s enough to make Stone pause outside of the lab and collect himself.

 

Stone knows Robotnik. He knows him so intimately that he can anticipate the catch of his breath when he’s going to speak. He knows the sound of his footfalls as he gets out of bed in the morning and drags himself to the kitchen for the coffee Stone’s prepared for him. He knows the way his hair falls into his eyes when his head tilts too far, the way his fingers drum against his leg when he’s getting listless, the way he twists when his back is too stiff from bending over his workspace too long. Stone knows Robotnik like the sun knows the earth and the moon knows the ocean, like Icarus knew Apollo; trapped in the careful observance and insurmountable distance between a yearning heart and a god. 

 

So he knows when Robotnik is unwell, when his mind, brilliant, incredible, beautiful, tries to implode in on itself and buckle under its own weight. No matter how much he tries to turn himself into the robots he loves so much, he is ever-burdened by the crushing reality that he is wholly, utterly, entirely human. But Stone isn’t there to remind him of his perceived shortcomings. He’s there to help, just as he promised he would all those years ago. 

 

It’s just… 

 

Stone’s noticed things, lately. Small stuff. Bags under Robotnik’s eyes from sleepless nights. Aggression delivering his words with a bite that draws blood. His fingers curling into fists and leaving crescent-moon shapes into his palms when he finally unravels. His jaw always working to relieve the pressure of being clenched for too long. Signs of stress that make him walk a little slower, eat a little less, talk a little quieter. 

 

But most of all - and herein lies the problem - Robotnik is touch starved. 

 

Stone knows it. He knows Robotnik, and he knows the signs of loneliness, as familiar with isolation as any man in the shadow of greatness may be. Robotnik, taking longer hot showers, curling blankets tighter around himself, lingering when Stone hands him whatever he’s holding. He knows. He knows very well. 

 

Maybe Stone shouldn’t be so nervous. Sure, he still gets butterflies the second Robotnik looks at him, he still has to swallow around the dryness in his throat when Robotnik speaks too closely to his face. But he also knows that Robotnik has carved space in his life for Agent Stone. Robotnik may not admit it, but no one else gets to high-five him when he does something great, or dance with him when he’s got his playlist on, or pick him up when a failed creation explodes and sends him flying. He’s the only one Robotnik ever runs ideas by, the only opinion he puts any merit into, even if it’s a small amount. He’s the only man Robotnik has ever offered his trust to. 

 

So Stone’s hoping that Robotnik will do the same thing here. Trust him, that is. 

 

It would just be so much easier if it was any other problem than touch starvation. He’d take going blind over convincing the doctor that he needs a hug. But he’s got his speech prepared, to convince Robotnik. He’s practiced night and day. He even muttered it to himself as he walked the hall to Robotnik’s workshop. He could be useful. He could help. 

 

Courage mustered, or as much as he could manage to scrounge up, anyway, Stone peels himself off the hallway’s wall and steps into the lab. 

 

“What is it, Stone?” comes that wildcat snarl. 

 

Robotnik’s leaning, his hands flat on the workstation table and his shoulders hunched high, near his ears, and his head’s twisted enough for those eyes to fall on him, and even in their sharpness, they cut through Stone’s heart and still it clenches around hardened steel, aching to push through the icy wall to reach his doctor. Stone eyes his teeth, bared like fangs, before he speaks. 

 

“Forgive me for intruding, doctor,” Stone says. His voice comes out much more gently than he planned; or maybe it’s quiet out of wary self-preservation. Too loud and that wildcat roar may be the last thing he ever hears. 

 

“That entirely depends on why you’re doing so, Stone,” Robotnik replies. His brow furrows, taking away some of the edge of this prickly atmosphere. 

 

Okay. Breathe.  

 

He knows he’s got to appeal to Robotnik’s endless curiosity and hunger for knowledge over his basic human needs. He’s not going to care that he’s stressed out and touch starved. So Stone’s been working on finding a way to make him care. And if he knows anything, he knows Robotnik. So this… should work. 

 

“I have noticed some… behavioral changes in you lately,” Stone begins, his words careful. “I apologize for my worry, but after some extended observation, I can safely bet that your norepinephrine levels are critically high, and your oxytocin and serotonin levels are critically low.” 

 

Robotnik doesn’t interrupt him. He just straightens up, turning around so he can lean his back against the table and look at Stone, his arms crossing over his chest tightly. But he doesn’t interrupt. That’s the key.

 

“If you checked, I’m sure your blood pressure would be through the roof,” Stone continues. Robotnik cocks a brow, like he’s considering checking this instant, but doesn’t. “This has led to mistakes in your work, and your condition could spiral downwards quickly. I can see it, you’re frustrated, doctor, and you can’t find relief.”

 

Robotnik is silent for a moment, his head tilting to the side, considering. He looks like he’s deciding if he should take this seriously or not. Stone straightens up a little and manages to maintain eye contact.

 

“If that is what you think, then what do you suggest we do about it?” Robotnik asks, because he’s too smart not to know that this is going somewhere. 

 

“The easiest and most efficient answer is… physical contact,” Stone chooses his words carefully here. The doctor frowns, but he doesn’t outright reject him, so Stone continues, though more out of a nervous need to fill the empty space. “Oxytocin and serotonin are released after seven seconds of physical touch, and after twenty, it can effectively lower blood pressure and levels of norepinephrine. Keeping you in top condition is the only way we’re ever going to succeed, doctor.”

 

Robotnik tilts his head this way and that, considering. Stone can’t begin to know what’s going on in his head, but he can still cross his fingers - not physically, of course, Robotnik would chastise him for something so silly. 

 

“You’re proposing… a hug?” Robotnik muses, more of a thought than a question, like he’s trying it out mentally first. 

 

Stone doesn’t speak, doesn’t dare interrupt him, in the hope that maybe, maybe, he’s actually considering it. Robotnik hums. 

 

“I’m going to allow it.”

 

Stone’s heart stops in his chest. 

 

“If only to test your hypothesis, Stone,” Robotnik adds, his tongue curling around those words almost cruelly, like he doesn’t believe it’s going to be a successful experiment. 

 

Stone doesn’t care why. He said yes. Yes. Holy shit. 

 

Robotnik doesn’t move, even keeps his arms crossed over his chest, but it doesn’t deter Stone. He takes a step, and when Robotnik doesn’t react, he takes another, until he closes the vast distance between himself and the doctor, who watches him with that predatory gleam in his eye, like he’s just waiting to strike, to sink his fangs into soft flesh and rip and tear. 

 

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching, waiting, calculating, until Stone’s in his space. There’s a breath shared, a beat before they close that gap, Stone’s last chance to run, Robotnik’s last chance to push him away.

 

Neither of them move. 

 

Then, Robotnik’s arms uncross - not much, but just enough for Stone to see his opening and take it. He reaches out, and when Robotnik doesn’t snatch his wrists or freeze up, Stone slides his hands through the small space between Robotnik’s arms and his body, sliding around his chest to pull him in, his hands splayed over his back. He revels in the euphoria that rushes over him, in the feeling of Robotnik finally in his hold, broad and warm and alive. He doesn’t know what he expected, but after so long working with the doctor, maybe he’d expected metal, or coldness, or something. But Robotnik melts over him, his arms wrapping overtop of Stone’s to his back and pulling him in completely. Stone’s breath catches in his chest, perhaps to protect his pounding heart from detection, fluttering so rapidly he thinks he might pass out. 

 

Stone dares to tuck his face towards Robotnik’s neck, and he settles into the crook like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and welcomes the soft, warm darkness that envelops him. Smells like the cologne he picked out for the doctor last Christmas, but if Robotnik notices how deeply he inhales, he doesn’t mention it.


“Your sentimental nature will be your downfall, Stone,” Robotnik says instead from above him, but he doesn’t let go. “When does it start to work?” 

 

“Seven seconds,” Stone murmurs, and insanity drags him deeper when his lips brush against the soft skin, delirium making his head spin with the headiness of proximity. Robotnik hums above him, and he can feel the vibration through his own chest. Stone doesn’t mean to count, but sure enough, after seven, he can feel the edges of Robotnik’s body softening as he turns his head to rest his chin on top of Stone’s hair. 

 

Robotnik tentatively runs a hand over his back, and he dares to tighten his hold on the doctor. He hadn’t ever dreamed how good it would feel, to hold him, to be held by him, to be so, so close, close to everything he could’ve ever wanted, right here in his arms. The sun comes down to kiss the horizon, the moon draws the ocean close with high tide, Icarus’s fingers brush Apollo’s as his wings begin to melt, Stone curls into Robotnik’s arms and nothing else matters, nothing, nothing, nothing, but the unique blend of cologne and Robotnik and the feel of their hearts beating against each other.

 

He doesn’t even realize the seconds are ticking by until Robotnik moves his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of his head, and Stone can feel the electric brush of lips against his temple as he speaks: “I suppose I’ll have to commend you for a job well done, Stone.” Stone swells with pride, the soft words echoing over and over in his head. “It seems you were right. This… was what I needed.” 

 

“Thank you, doctor,” Stone replies, muffled against the column of his neck. He isn’t sure if the wave of calm that rushes over him is from the hug, or the praise, but he doesn’t care. He’s happy.

 

“But next time, don’t let the situation get so bad before you approach me,” Robotnik adds, almost a growl, almost a threat. “We don’t have time for failures and mistakes, and your… solution… proved quite effective.” Stone thinks he’s going to dismiss him outright, now that his use has been expended. But Robotnik leans further against the table, in effect, dragging Stone to lean against him. Despite clearly passing the twenty-second mark, the doctor doesn’t seem to have any intention of letting go, and Stone thinks he may have found paradise. He sighs, a release of adoration and contentment, and feels Robotnik follow suit. 

 

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

 

Notes:

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed. kudos and comments are SERIOUSLY so appreciated and loved. they fuel me. they sustain me. 💕

ok. love u bye

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