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“Question: at what point does this stop being for fun?”
What a strange thing to ask when one has a hand around another’s dick. “Mr. Screwllum,” begins Veritas, his tone a touch tight because Screwllum is doing that thing with his fingers that makes his eyes cross, “this is, perhaps, the worst time to have a philosophical discussion.”
Screwllum hums, considering this. “Veritas.”
He’s always calling him that, now. It was a mistake, maybe, to tell him to do it because Veritas is not unconvinced that Screwllum doesn’t use it to his advantage. So, it’s Mr. Screwllum this, because if one of them is going to draw a hard line, it’ll be him.
(Even though he doesn’t want to. Even though Veritas is, maybe, pathetically drawn to this man, and what does that say about him? What kind of fool is in love with a computer? But Screwllum is less of a machine and more of a man than Veritas ever thought he’d be, and what was supposed to be just fun in the sack has turned into something more searching, seeking.)
“Mr. Screwllum,” he finally remembers to answer.
Screwllum hesitates, which is strange in itself. This is a man who knows what to say at the drop of a hat. But, but— that’s the entire point of this, isn’t it? Or, it was supposed to be. For research purposes, they said to each other in the beginning. Screwllum is curious as to what makes mortal men tick, and Veritas is quite a fan of the scientific process.
And no, experiments don’t usually involve dinner, or wining and dining, or spending late nights and even later mornings together, but Veritas has always been an adaptable man.
“Back to my question,” continues Screwllum, and Aeons above, it’s impossible to keep that train of thought with him pulling over Veritas’s very hard, very aching cock.
“It’s always questions with you. It’s always—can’t it wait until we are done?”
“This question, actually, has something to do with our current activities.”
Activities. If anyone else were to frame it like that, it’d be funny, almost. Screwllum holds Veritas’s dick in his hand, the metal of it having long since warmed against his skin. He strokes it once, base to the tip, and then sweeps the pad of his thumb over the wet tip. He has fingerprints; the metal there is textured, catching against the crown of his cock, and fuck, this is why Veritas hasn’t slept with anyone else since they started indulging in this.
“So, question.” Screwllum leans closer now, pressing Veritas into the bed. “At what point does this stop being for fun?”
Veritas doesn’t moan, but he does let loose a breathy little sound that lodges in his throat. “Are—are you not having fun? If you’re not—”
“That is not what I said, nor even what I implied.”
What?
Veritas manages to shoot him a glare. “Not what you implied? Mr. Screwllum, you’re holding my cock and asking if this is still fun—”
“Rephrase: At what point does this cease to be merely beneficial, and something more?”
Veritas stills. Everything comes to a screeching halt, and even his cock gives a pathetic twitch before flagging slightly. Oh, he thinks. Oh, so they’re finally having this conversation, then. Veritas must’ve miscalculated somewhere, or, perhaps, he’s just not as good at hiding his feelings as he initially thought. Screwllum is not just a smart man, he is the smartest man, and Veritas was a fool to think that he could hide something that is probably so very obvious.
Even if Screwllum is inorganic. Even if this entire jaunt was in an effort to understand organics and their—what was it he said all those months ago? Courting rituals? Aeons above, Veritas really is a fool.
“I—Are—” Veritas sucks in a breath and drags a hand down his face. “Look, if it bothers you—”
“Why would such a thing bother me? Veritas, was this not the entire point of our…” It is a rare thing for Screwllum to pause and think about his words. “Arrangement,” he settles on. “And, as a result, I find myself within quite the conundrum.”
“Mr. Screwllum—”
“Question, Veritas: Is this love?”
Veritas blinks. Gives Screwllum a confused, shrewd look.
Screwllum hums softly. “Hence, my conundrum,” he murmurs then. “There are a vast many things that I have learned and experienced, Veritas. Even more so with alterations and expansions to my program over the centuries, but this is one of the rare things that eludes me. This is something that I feel as though I have come to learn, but Veritas, I am unsure because I have nothing else to compare it to.”
This is not how Veritas thought this conversation would go. Screwllum being the one to essentially confess his love feels more like a wild, feverish dream that Veritas has had before. But this is real. And Screwllum gives him that patient, genteel gaze, his head slightly tilted.
As he holds his cock. Right, this really, really, is the worst time for this.
“Why… why ask me?”
Screwllum hums again, a soft whirring sound of his gears. “Have you never loved before? Am I incorrect in thinking that this is a universal experience that most organics have imbibed?”
Veritas has, potentially, loved too much and vastly, but it wasn’t until this point that it was romantic. Loving people and loving the universe is not the same as loving a man, and even then he’s missed the mark.
(But no, Screwllum is certainly a man; he’s a man of many colors and experiences, of knowledge that the cosmos can only begin to fathom. There is a draw to that, but mostly it’s his eagerness, the polite drive of caring for others. He could not care, but he chooses to do so, and his work is for the betterment of others, not himself. So, a man, more of a man than many organics, Veritas would wager, but that doesn’t mean this will work out.)
(It could, though, right? There is a charm to Screwllum’s childish wonder about this that makes Veritas want to pick his brain for more.)
Veritas licks his lips. “I… well, it’s a complicated thing, isn’t it?”
“I have gathered that. I have considered many things about this quandary but have formulated only one hypothesis.”
“Which is?”
“That I must love you.”
Oh, Aeons.
But Screwllum is not dumb. “There are few questions that have no answers, Veritas.” He squeezes at his cock again, which— why? Isn’t he supposed to be wooing Veritas with a sickly sweet confession? But, perhaps it’s nerves. Perhaps Screwllum is so out of his depth, he defaults to focusing on something that he knows so well.
“And there are so many adages,” he continues, “so many descriptors found within literature. Love is strange, they say. Love is pain, love hurts. Love is incomprehensible.” A pause. “I seek out your presence. I savor your laughter and warmth. I find pleasure in you, specifically, and these are things that I do not understand, and so it must be love. That is the conclusion, no?”
“Are you seriously saying this while holding my dick?” It’s an absurd way to respond, but really, really, Veritas would like to think clearly about this entire situation.
Screwllum, mercifully, lets go of his cock. But remains close, close enough to feel the coolness of his body, and his weight against him.
“Inquiry: does this bother you?”
“Does this—” What an absurd question. Veritas laughs—he laughs! He doesn’t even know where to begin because this is a pipe dream that he never thought would come to fruition. Dreaming about Screwllum loving him is one thing, but to hear it, to consider that he’s thought about this long and hard, that it’s bothered him in the same way that the greatest mysteries known to allkind have is…
“You fool,” he finally says. “You are so—for a man so smart, you truly are an idiot. Of course, I don’t mind. I—” Veritas cuts himself off and swallows around the thick lump in his throat. “I am not good with feelings. I am not good at catching feelings, and least of all ignoring them. And I have, mind you. Been ignoring them. They’ve plagued me, Screwllum.”
Not Mr. Screwllum. That’s a title that seems too far-flung now.
Screwllum shifts against him. “It will be strange, between us. It will be a never-ending experiment Veritas, because I am inorganic, and I—”
“Screwllum, you are not an unfeeling man, so why are you so intent on thinking this is a matter that requires further study?”
“Because I want to study it, Veritas. Because I enjoy it, you.”
“We’ve never kissed,” says Veritas, then.
Screwllum’s expression never truly changes, but there’s a laxness to his body that suggests mild amusement. “I can’t kiss you,” he replies.
Well, in a way, they could. Screwllum has hinged mouthparts, he can even eat, damn it.
“But I can kiss you.” It would be cold, maybe. Strange, kissing metal, but Veritas is more than just willing to try, he’s wanted to for a very long time.
Screwllum leans so close that it would only take Veritas tipping his face up for his lips to meet. So he does, tilts until his mouth meets cold metal. And it is strange, he thought it’d be, but Veritas thinks it just might take getting used to. Organics are warm, soft. Screwllum is hard against his mouth, but the metal of his body absorbs Veritas’s heat, so the kiss is cold for only a few seconds, heating against his lips.
It is not dislikable. No, Screwllum cannot kiss him back in the fairest of terms, but he does make a soft sound, he does shift against Veritas, pressing closer between his thighs. He’s hard. Veritas’s cock has flared back to life, but it’s Screwllum who drops his hips and grinds against him.
He takes pleasure the same as anyone else, Veritas has learned. Screwllum can feel things, has the same sort of needs, and friction against his aching length affects him just as it would anyone else.
Veritas still kisses him, drags his tongue against the sharp seam of his mouth; cups Screwllum’s cheeks for better access and—and, there’s just something sweet about this, innocent even. Screwllum clearly likes it, judging the way he tilts against him, by how he presses closer, and how his cock twitches in response.
He should’ve done this sooner. They should have—
Veritas pulls back. “I called you a fool,” he says, “and you are one. But you’re my fool, and I think it’s worth saying that I love you too.”
There’s a mechanical churr of laughter. Screwllum’s hand slides down his front, knuckles tracing the length of Veritas’s cock. “This should be handled first, and then we will talk.”
Talk, right. That. Veritas knows they should, but they should also make love, he thinks. “These things do not have to be mutually exclusive.”
“You berated me earlier,” says Screwllum. “My question brought forth annoyance—”
“That was before you said that you love me.”
“Which I do. And so—” He curls his fingers around Veritas’s cock again, pulling over its length. “This?”
That’s a well known question. Just this, he means, just his fingers, or does Veritas want something more? He wants that talk, he wants to pick Screwllum’s brain, but the man is right; first, they should do this.
“Quickly,” he says. “Against yours. Like— yes, like that.”
Screwllum’s cock is a different material than the rest of him; silicone and soft, with a little give. It simulates the real thing just as well. Functions all the same, even spills artificial come for the—as Screwllum once put it, the full experience.
Veritas thought it a little silly until he realized that such functionality goes both ways. Screwllum feels pleasure, has described sensations of the same aching need, deep in his gut. He presses their cocks together. Groans softly as he grinds against Veritas, relishing the friction.
His hand is large, circling the both of them well. Screwllum thrusts, and the drag of his cock against Veritas’s own pulls a moan straight from his throat.
“Aeons,” he murmurs, arching in the bed. “Like that, just like that.”
It will not take much. Veritas is in a sentimental mood, and so seems his cock. It twitches, ready to spill with just a few touches, with just the weight of Screwllum’s body against him. And maybe that’s how this works. Love. Veritas wouldn’t know, but he’s keen to experiment nonetheless.
“I’m— Screwllum.” Another keening whine as he squirms in the sheets. These are his quarters, more lived-in, less sterile. Screwllum has always preferred them due to that, but Veritas just likes the way he looks, surrounded by his things.
But love, love. Who would have thought?
“Close,” mutters Screwllum. “You’re already so close, and I—” He grunts, a soft little sound, as he thrusts again into the tight grip of his hand. “This is different.” His tone is caught, awed even. “Why does this feel different?”
The why, though, is obvious, and Veritas pets over the smooth round of Screwllum’s head, chuckling. “Always worried over the mechanics of it. Just feel, darling. Isn’t that the point of this?”
“Darling,” repeats Screwllum, his hips halting.
“Do you dislike it?”
“No. But. Question: is this a pet name?”
Again, with the absurd questions! Veritas doesn’t answer, just curls his fingers around Screwllum’s hand, squeezing it tighter around their cocks. He lifts his hips, and oh, that sweet, divine friction seems to short-circuit Screwllum’s programming.
“Hah,” he hisses. “That’s—”
Veritas likes him like that, has always liked when Screwllum seems to enjoy fucking, but this is softer, sweeter, and it’s been that way for quite some time. “You teased me about being close, but you—”
“You know that my end comes as a direct reaction to you.” Screwllum’s excuse for finishing is always that it’s collateral damage, a natural reaction to Veritas’s end. But he isn’t a fool, neither of them are. Screwllum can and will come because he wants to, not because he tells himself to.
That pleasure swells, unbidden, the same as any organic. Screwllum tries to maintain decorum, but fails in the way his hips roll against his, and the soft, sultry sounds he makes with each thrust. This isn’t about servicing Veritas, or making him feel better, this is mutual assured destruction, and yes, yes, they are both very close.
Veritas does come first, though. He usually does. It’s his damned goal in life to have Screwllum spill before he does, a challenge that he will eventually win. It might be easier, now that there are feelings involved. Screwllum seems sentimental, seems to enjoy the fact of nurturing a relationship.
He still finishes quickly, just after, and suddenly Veritas’s stomach is a mess of their fluids.
The wind down is slow. Screwllum presses his fingers to Veritas’s hair, hesitant to pet. Usually, he’s pulling at it. Usually, his fingers are tight against his scalp, pulling Veritas onto his cock, but this is different.
“Go on,” says Veritas, melting against the sheets.
Screwllum combs through his hair. “Consideration: soft.”
Eventually, they clean up, using Veritas’s shirt to wipe away the mess of their come. Screwllum hesitates again, this time sitting on the edge of his bed, gaze flickering to the door.
Ah. It’s always been messy partings for them.
“Stay,” he says, removing the equation entirely.
“Another conundrum,” muses Screwllum, but he slips into the sheets nonetheless. “I sleep, but—”
“But?”
“My sleep cycles spent here have always been… more restful.”
Veritas rolls over, tucking into his side. “And just how long has that bothered you?”
“Bothered?” If Screwllum could raise an eyebrow, he would. “No, but a quandary nonetheless. Even with investigation—”
“Is that why you started demanding sleepovers?”
“Admittedly, it was a terribly run experiment. There was no control, no variables, nothing to compare it to. I—”
“I am teasing,” cuts in Veritas.
There’s a long pause. And then Screwllum says, “Question: is teasing part of being in love?”
Veritas laughs—genuinely laughs, a sound straight from the belly that makes his entire body shake. Screwllum will not think it funny. There is no doubt that it’s an honest question, but that childlike wonder is just one small part of why he’s so fond of the man.
“Rest,” he says. “Save the questions for breakfast.”
“You said we would talk—”
“Tomorrow.”
Screwllum sighs. Pets through his hair again, those textured fingertips catching against his scalp. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.
This is different. A wonder. Veritas isn’t in the habit of being self-indulgent in this way, but as Screwllum would say, what a conundrum.