Chapter Text
Matt wasn’t sure why he had felt the need to close Springtrap's eyes. It wasn’t as though he felt any remorse for the torture he had put it through, even if that torture had resulted in it dying and being subsequently reborn hundreds of times. It wasn’t as though it would change anything about its actual appearance; there wasn’t any kind of button pop-up that his clunky controllers could actually interact with. The most he could possibly do was dumbly wave his transparent in-game hand around and clip it into the model, nothing more than mimicking what he actually wanted to do. Maybe Matt felt a little regretful, not of his actions but of the state of the program. Since he hadn’t thought to make a backup (keeping the game on for ages shouldn’t have been able to do anything to the code, after all), he was fresh out of the one thing he had been hired to do, and already Matt was thinking about what he could do to keep from waving his job goodbye. Or maybe Matt had just wanted to act out a sort of farewell to the thing he had spent countless hours staring holes at, equally relishing and seething at the back-breaking pressure of deadlines, the constant glitches that required raking through lines of code usually just to add or adjust a single letter, and the natural agony of being a high caliber man such as himself stuck working on a Five Nights at Fucking Freddy’s game of all things.
The reason didn’t matter in the end. All that mattered was that Matt went to pretend to close the eyes of Springtrap’s mangled gear-y bloody corpse.
It was slightly baffling that he had to reach up to touch its face. The butchered body was slumped against the wall, yet still seemed to loom over him. Granted, Matt was kneeling and didn’t have to reach too high, Springtrap’s lolling head not far above his own, but he still had to reach and that was still quite a feat. In his opinion, it was way too large. That tended to be the way virtual reality presented itself, though. Models of threats were usually made smaller than they truly were by the safety of the computer screen, but they always managed to reveal themselves once they were actually, properly stood next to. Like the mirrors of a car. Always closer than they seemed.
That was the last thought he managed to have before it was done. His fingers hovered over Springtrap’s digital plastic eyes, and just like that, they slid closed. It wasn’t like closing the eyes made him seem any more peaceful than before, the whole disembowelment was still entirely on display. But it was. It was something.
And it was even more of a something when Springtrap opened his eyes again. And blinked.
Matt stepped back as the rabbit began to rise, organic gears and mechanical intestines dangling from the cavity in his stomach, creaking and shuddering his way into a standing position. At first it wasn’t a big deal. Matt figured it must have been some kind of secret cutscene an animator had made up. Must’ve been cut out, and the exploded code managed to trigger it back in somehow. That was a relief, because that meant some modeler had made up the corpse before him. It wasn’t a terrifying out-of-the-blue encounter. It was just some leftover work deemed too scary for children that was left in the data as an easter egg. The fans loved their easter eggs, after all.
But when it looked at him, standing slightly slouched with its lazy smile bared, it didn’t feel like a cutscene. It felt like Matt was being scrutinized. Springtrap cocked its head slightly, its eyes narrowing, and under the full height of the thing Matt couldn’t help but feel judged personally. Now that the rabbit was no longer collapsed against the wall, he was intensely tall, two feet taller than him at least , and while Matt wasn’t all that short or weak, one of the big reasons he liked Hannah so much was that she was shorter than him by quite a few inches. It made him feel stronger.
He wasn’t strong now.
Springtrap dragged his eyes up and down the man, studying his body, and he fought the urge to curl into himself. They stood like that for a few seconds, just staring. And then, just as quickly as it began, the "cutscene" ended, and Springtrap’s model smoothly transitioned between that and an odd new walking animation, metal feet clanging heavily onto the smooth concrete floor.
Matt huffed; it was obvious that whatever this new scenario was wasn’t a survivable one, and the last thing his mood needed was yet another tortured game over . There wasn’t a point in drawing out the final breaths of the AI he had so diligently worked on for the last couple of months (and the model did seem to mimic breathing as well). So, as the massive figure drew closer, Matt could only manage a glare in response.
He dropped his controllers, feeling them clatter against his arms, and reached up to take his headset off. Immediately Springtrap moved, and a matted, rusty hand grabbed at his wrist.
And it . . . connected.
Matt tried again with the other, and that- it. It connected too. The other hand dwarfed his own as it clenched around his arm, and it stopped his muscles from moving up and freeing him.
He pushed against them, but the hands forced his arms still . And Matt could feel the stiff fur scratch against his arms as he fought, thick and bristly from being matted and dirtied from years of aging that never happened because it was a fucking game .
Matt, with his annoyance quickly morphing into rising panic, began to walk backwards. Real steps, not the point-and-teleport method of VR walking. He knew it was a bad idea; his desk was just a few feet behind him. But he stepped back down the hallway. And Springtrap let him, horrid smile set in stone, eyes lidded in humor.
He realized in a moment just how far he walked, and couldn’t stop the automatic flinch when he realized how close he had to be to his real-world furniture. Brains are silly like that, warning the owner of potential obstacles they only believed might be there. But then Matt looked over the rabbits shoulder, and he saw just how far away the bloodstain that once held his pursuer was. And he realized with a horrible start that, if that was right, he would have to be currently standing inside his desk . But no thump against the faux-wooden furniture happened. No flying papers, no backwards flailing, no inevitable bruise.
Springtrap must’ve seen the way his face twisted in horror, because at that moment he began to push Matt backwards himself. Far, far too strong for his size and condition considering the intestines hanging out the hole in his stomach, Matt was left scraping the floor in a vain attempt to keep still as the rabbit took step after step, shoving him down the hallway. To the point where if he was still in the real world he surely would’ve phased through the wall and right out into the open city air, he was pushed back and back, trapped in the rotten stare of his captor, until he was practically slammed into the brick wall of the hallway (the game’s brick wall in the game that he shouldn’t have been able to feel-), nearly knocking the air from his unprepared lungs.
Towering over him, almost engulfing him and using intimidation to do the rest of the work, Springtrap merely watched him for a moment, eyes still casually lidded as though this was his average tuesday. Considering his actions during the previous night (hundreds of years ago in the rabbit’s eyes), it probably was. And with a start, Matt finally realized that the feeling of wrist straps and dangling controllers had disappeared, and that there might not even be a headset to grab anymore. Had he . . . had he just been trapped in the game?
He had felt godly just five minutes before, so why did he now feel so weak?
Springtrap watched his internal struggle, before coughing out a low scraping noise. Laughing. He tilted his head, and opened his mouth.
“Maaaattt . . .“ he graveled out. His voice was toneless, sounding more like rusty gears screeching against each other than an actual voice. The natural consequence of speaking without usable vocal chords.
And then he grinned, and Matt knew he wasn’t going to live through this.
“Gaaame overrrr . . .”
He couldn’t help it. He screamed. Sure it wasn’t manly. Sure, he hadn’t screamed any time before.
But who wouldn’t react to their own death?
Springtrap shot out in a second, rusted jaws open, and Matt shrieked .
It went for his jugular, just like how the death animation normally played. And as he screamed, he could feel those teeth attach themselves to his neck, almost entirely enveloping his throat, tugging and threatening to tear him apart. Matt squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to watch. Knowing that just feeling his death would already be too much. Just hearing it was already a lot. His heart was pounding in his ears, and adrenaline rushed through his system with such force that it made him light-headed. This was it.
And then,
nothing happened.
Matt’s screams petered off, more due to a lack of oxygen rather than any kind of relaxation. He didn’t open his eyes, just. Just sat there. Hands stuck pressed against the wall, head trapped in a tilted position. Helpless and weak. The concept of struggling was so entirely out of the picture that it might as well have been the cameraman; it felt like any kind of movement would jumpstart his murder all over again. So Matt just stood there and tried to keep his quaking at a minimum. The concept that he might just die of a heart attack before anything could happen was quickly becoming a reality, and he couldn’t help but prefer such a fate.
Matt was brought back out of his thoughts by Springtrap beginning to move, and very quickly there were new things that he was being forced to learn. Many many things about this new reality. Sure the blood and the organs mixed with metal and wires should have been a hint at an organic change in matter. The data of the thing had been splattered all over the code, so he supposed it would make some kind of sense for some sort of distorted version of natural selection to have occurred. Like an artificial intelligence attempting to teach itself and failing horribly (though this wasn’t the kind of intelligence he had programmed at all). So Matt was able to notice how the rusty hinges creaked as it closed around his neck, and how the dull plastic teeth sunk firmly into his skin, not breaking it but very much threatening to. He noticed the deep lungless breaths that didn’t blow any kind of air towards him but were still heard regardless. And, with a jolt, he VERY MUCH noticed when a cold metal tongue began to press and trail itself around his throat.
He yelped at the feeling, trying to tear himself from the hold as much as his already-taut skin would allow him, which wasn’t much at all. It wasn’t anything, really. The tongue felt segmented, slight divots running against him, which was not something Matt designed or approved of at all. The only blessing was that it was dry, completely free of saliva.
What is this?? What was happening??!?
Springtrap grinded out another breathless laugh, the sound vibrating slightly against Matt’s skin. It pulled back for a moment to adjust, bringing up his arms and trapping them over his head with one paw. Matt could have theoretically tried to yank away during that transition, but straight up murder definitely wasn’t off the table yet, and at this point his entire body had frozen still from the panic. Once he was secured again, Springtrap used his free hand to grab Matt’s waist, more than tight enough to bruise but just barely not tight enough to tear. Pain blossomed from the area, made him struggle to breathe, to think.
In a swift move, Matt suddenly found himself pulled up the wall, and a mutilated yellow knee rose up and pushed between his legs before he could even process enough to fight. Matt squawked at the intrusion, a fresh burst of panic rising in his chest, but the leg didn’t move further. It just held him up in a way that didn’t hurt quite so much, just sitting on it rather than anything else. Then Springtrap made a sort of windy sigh noise, reattached himself to the other side of his neck, and brought that infernal tongue back with him.
And Matt . . . coped with that.
It was quiet in that dark hallway, save for Springtrap’s squeaky joints, the deep idle humming of the dim lights above, and Matt’s breathing, which was quickly going from light hyperventilation to a heavy gasping. There wasn’t any music or other signs of life to distract him from this. Though his heart never stopped its rapid sparking in his chest and the pit in his stomach only managed to grow larger, the buzz of adrenaline slowly faded away as the seconds passed without any bloodshed. And Matt began to mostly just think about how uncomfortable he was.
Not just the pain, not just the-the becoming trapped in a game shit. Being stuck in the air, pinned and slobbered on by a serial killer, fictional or otherwise, was . . . not fun in the slightest. Which, wow, understatement of the year. But it was obvious what he meant. Either he was being tasted or emasculated or . . . something else was happening. It was just that he couldn’t tell which option was the real one and which were just delusional concepts made up to pretend reality wasn’t happening. If this even counted as reality. It sure felt fuckin’ real.
Somehow, he was truly starting to get impatient about his lack of death. Matt had always wanted to die fast, without any time to allow those upsetting thoughts he always tried to ignore (thoughts about failure and shame and guilt and regret and all those forbidden unspoken apologies) to consume his final moments. But with every minute that passed with no true change besides the increasing numbness of his hands, the thoughts were allowed to flood freely. And maybe it wasn’t quite his fault for just bullying his own code in a way that shouldn’t- couldn’t possibly have been tampered like this, but Matt couldn’t help but wonder if maybe (. . . if he just had had a lax enough ego to accept any other project than designing the big bad himself . . . if he had just been forced to construct the automation of a feral character who wouldn’t have hesitated to snap his neck instantly . . . if he hadn’t only ever blamed the world for everything that happened to him . . . if all that studying into killers had just gone to waste . . . ), maybe things could have been different.
The tongue slid across his bare skin, down to his collarbone, and he shuddered slightly at the feeling. It was actually kind of a nice feeling, and Matt truly hated that fact. Being uncomfortable and in pain and pants-shittingly scared certainly made it more difficult for any kind of unwanted silver linings to appear. But they did, and with every nibble that almost chewed through his flesh with those massive herbivore teeth, another small shock ran through his fried, fucked up nervous system. And those shocks felt good. Like, upsettingly good. It was a level of touch that was a hell of a lot more than he was used to, and that touch starvation had sunk in deep, apparently. Being borderline cradled and lapped at like this, the scratchy fur and metal slowly warming from his own body heat. It mimicked humanity enough that he almost liked it badly. In fact, it took him quite a while to push through the panic and static in his head to realize that his pants had been tenting a little for a while now as a resuwait what.
Wait, was he hard?
Holy hell, why the fuck was he hard?!
This was far too much silver lining to reason with!!
Of course his dick was trying to get a word in in a situation like this. Of COURSE his dick saw this . . . this interaction as the closest to anything he’d had in ages and quite literally sprung for the chance for more but this!!!!!! Was not the time!!!!!!!!!!
Sure he hadn’t gotten any action since his last girlfriend, and sure, the action he had gotten back then wasn’t all that much to go off of. And sure, that meant that a lot of his nights were spent with just his own hand for company, and usually it was deeply unsatisfying if it satisfied anything at all. Sure that meant he would occasionally go down the route of fictional characters, and sure, MAYBE he hadn’t been immune from looking at a few FNAF characters in a way that typically wasn’t allowed at work. Not like he was a furry or anything! Just, there were a few characters that were allowed, weren’t they? And a lot of people saw Springtrap as one of those exceptions (he had braved the forums once and once only), but HE wasn’t one of those people, wasn’t he? He wasn’t into this kind of shit. Not rabbits, not zombies, not assault. On an off day, occasionally his serial killer fanaticism would border a little on impurity. But not in a real setting! And even then, ignoring the whole rabbit corpse thing, the truth of the matter was that even though most women were unattractive and boring and annoying and superficial, he was straight! Straight as a whistle, straight as a- as an arrow! He wasn’t like that! He wasn’t that kind of person! Not once had he ever thought of doing anything with Jason at all! Who just thought that?! Not him!!
None of this inner monologuing was heard by his dick, of course, and it continued to do what it did best: make the most of any situation.
Matt was valiant in his attempts to ignore it. It was difficult to ignore something that was being intentionally triggered, but he certainly tried. At least, he thought this was on purpose. It had to be, right? It couldn’t be just him. This was a fucked up play of power. Killers did things like this for power. That was it.
Springtrap, who hadn’t been privy to any of his thoughts or excuses (probably didn’t care at all about them in the first place), shifted around in a way that hopefully didn’t mean to be as painfully teasing as it did. But then again, with Matt’s crotch nestled on the animatronic’s thigh, maybe hope never had a chance. It felt like maybe he would die from having all of the blood in his body rush into his face and dick, with nothing left to keep his heart pumping. At that point, Matt started holding his breath, just as a preventative measure. Keep any embarrassing, horrifying noise from coming out on accident, with the added bonus of letting him pass out after enough time!
The tongue rose up his neck, and Springtrap followed it happily, biting a little at his jaw, and then at his ear. He rumbled into it with an exaggerated wheeze of a whisper that left Matt clenching his teeth so hard they should’ve cracked and pushing down any air that threatened to escape him.
“Iiiii knnnooooww . . .”
And really, he did know, didn’t he?
Because Springtrap wasn’t a recent creation of Matt’s. He didn’t just fail his own game three times and give up. Springtrap was born from months of work. Sure, Matt hadn’t created the rabbit entirely from scratch, nor did he ever have it in his mind to make the thing perform like this. But from day one, his assignment was to use all the puzzle pieces he’d been given from animators and riggers and modelers to set up a game and make an AI that was uniquely Springtrap’s. Genuine, smart, relaxed yet deeply threatening. A cold-blooded killer. And he’d done just that. He had sat down on day one and typed out that first line of code that would form a personality, and he made an AI that felt like Springtrap.
But he’d also made an AI that felt like him . The parts of him that burned, the parts that ached. Every creator leaves a bit of themselves in their creations, and he had left a great chunk indeed. Matt had been so upset about being alone, about being seemingly unlovable, about nothing ever going quite right for him, and about a level of suppression so deep he’d had to be confronted this intensely to even start approaching the topic (though there certainly could have been much better ways, right?), and he’d channeled that devastating, guilty, lonely human rage into a being he thought he could control.
The problem, of course, was that when you taught a creature what you thought was wrong, you simultaneously taught that creature what you thought was right.
Matt had never taught Springtrap what he thought was a good lover. But Springtrap had become smart enough and evolved enough to learn anyway. Not that he cared about such a pesky emotion. Maybe he was just interested in the act.
Springtrap removed the padded hand from Matt’s waist (leaving him now entirely sat on that leg between his thighs) and slowly raised it up, startling the man back into his situation. Matt could see spots in his eyes, panic shakily rising once more and causing his body to scream for oxygen. But Springtrap’s metallic hand just made a fist and gently rapped his head a few times, each painless blow making a soft clunk noise.
“Oouuutt of yooouuurrrr heeaaaadd, nowww . . .” he mumbled in his creaking voice, following with another rusty chuckle.
He gripped the man’s hip just as painfully tightly as before and dragged him forward against that leg, forcing enough friction for Matt’s lungs to finally break. He instantly regretted the noise that managed to ring out before the deep gasping for air, because it meant he had failed. Any chance of potentially waiting out this groping until death swiftly took him was completely out the window, and he knew it from the soft scraping laughter that filled his ears.
And so it went on.
His arms were finally released as Springtrap went more in favor of sticking a massive hand up his shirt, and Matt was honestly more overwhelmed from the pins-and-needles static filling up his nearly blue hands to think about what that meant. All he could think of was that he wanted to recoil, to somehow rip himself from the pain and pleasure trapped under his skin. There wasn’t a single thing in the world that he hated more than this.
He blinked and suddenly realized that in the few moments he was once again unfocused, the rabbit had torn his shirt apart, leaving it more akin to a flimsy jacket than anything. And before he knew it, he found himself being played with. Gently brushing up and down his torso, pinching, prodding, causing more and more of those good shocks to course through his system. More and more quiet hitches in his breathing came through, until he was just counting his blessings that he hadn’t outright moaned yet.
Matt moved his arms from where they had been lounging over the rabbit’s shoulders until his hands were clenched around its neck. He squeezed as hard as he could. But there was only more metal to grab, no airpipe that could be forced shut. It laughed lowly around his fingers, the way lovers tended to laugh. Full of promise. Full of lust. Somehow it was more terrifying than anything that had been done so far. Fucking manipulative worthless bitch.
The hand that had just spent far too long warming up from his body paused in its explorations, pressing him tight against the wall, and finally he retracted his tongue. But any dim hope of it being over was immediately dashed when Springtrap leaned back and looked him dead in the eyes. With the same smile as ever, he released Matt’s hip to press a hand into his extremely neglected crotch. And there was nothing above or below that could have kept the broken whine from escaping him. His body tried to buck into it before he could make it stop, but he was so harshly pinned that it barely changed a thing. The rabbit simply let out that low chuckle once more, and Matt glared daggers- no, lasers at it. To make sure it knew wholeheartedly how much he hated this. Then the pressure on his cock began to move, deep, slow strokes as Springtrap began to feel him up through his pants, and the glare was gone instantly.
His dick had been so touchstarved that the pressure and movement made him see stars. More noises leaked from his lips as he quickly realized he needed the extra willpower to not just bust right then and there. There wasn’t another word for it besides the word good. Even a word as similar as “great” wasn’t right. “Great” was too positive, too optimistic. This was primal. It was good. Blindingly good, but good. Matt finally began fighting against his restraints, trying to push every part of it away, trying to rip those hands from his body, panting and whimpering all the while as that goodness pooled down in a way that it decidedly shouldn't have been. It needed to stop so that it couldn’t keep on progressing anymore.
One solid blow at Springtrap’s shoulder made everything stop for just a wonderful second as it growled loud and leaned in so close he could feel its fur on every bit of his exposed skin, feel the weight of their bodies pressed together. It stared deep into his eyes, showing such fury that Matt could feel his already speedy heartbeat quicken even further. For just a second though, he was relieved at the fear. Maybe the disrespect would be enough to kill him.
So Matt just smiled.
But then Springtrap’s gaze lightened, and he laughed, the sound reverberating through Matt’s chest and almost manually sinking his heart. “ Doowwwnnnn, booyyyy . . .” It practically cooed, fingers brushing against his chin. Then his hands were once again pinned above him (though he was a little proud that his suicidal attempts at fighting back resulted in a good amount of struggle before they were stuck once more) and that heavy hand took its place back on his groin to grope as it fucking pleased, furry body still pressed against him. The only good thing that came from the entire event was that his abdomen was finally free, though Matt could do very little about the situation besides squirm around. So squirm he did, almost entirely unconsciously, the pleasure hitting in sharp waves that made his muscles strain and jump.
Matt’s body was almost completely tense, heating up and beginning to sweat from the stimulation. His uncontrollable trembling had changed from pure terror to a mix of overstimulation and exhaustion, tired of the rush of adrenaline even as it continued to pump through his blood. Arousal and fear caused similar effects on the body, after all, so as the seconds passed, the shuddering jolts of his body became more in line with the noises. And Matt tried to stop moaning, he really did. Men weren’t supposed to be the one making all the noise, after all, it was the women who reacted, so every breathy curse felt like the equivalent of screaming like a whore to him. But it was like a bottle being unstop- no, that was far too phallic to be thinking about right then. It was like a wall being ram- nope. It was like . . . a housefire. Incapable of being stopped once it began. He tried to hold his breath and grit his way through the goodness like before, but one particularly deep stroke left him with a sort of strangled hum that made him want to die of embarrassment.
Springtrap, for his part, had just been watching his victim gasp and writhe against him, eyes lidded in something like amusement. Its own breathless breath had begun to deepen, letting out a few wheezes of his own, and his expression had started turning far too immersed for Matt’s own good. He sped up his hand some, just as rough and deep as before, and his grin somehow grew as the whimpers and huffs raised an octave. Matt’s brain almost fully fuzzed over from the stimulation, filled with so much good and want and need that he could barely tamp it all down. He was losing the battle, and fast. He tried to raise his legs, squeezing his thighs as close together as possible in some vain attempt to get away again, to push away the hand just a little, to just do something to keep that tight heat in his gut from building anymore. And as he shuffled and squirmed, trying to somehow curl up into himself, his leg brushed against Springtrap’s body and connected with something that was decidedly third leg shaped and what the fuck what the actual fuck-
Holy hell, how the fuck was he hard?!?!
Morbid curiosity shot through his fear so quickly and so intensely that Matt couldn’t help but crane his head down just to confirm what he was honestly dreading to be true. And Springtrap obliged for once (probably knowing how fucked up it would be to not live in the bliss of partial ignorance), keeping him flush against the wall while pulling away just enough to see. And. Yup. He didn’t quite know what he expected, or how he hadn’t noticed earlier, but that was definitely a springcock. Up at attention, too. Something that definitely hadn’t been modeled by anyone, as if that still needed to be emphasized at this point. Matt was in enough of a headspace to admit that whatever fuckery was going on was both some kind of supernatural and about to involve him. That headspace was quickly causing him to care less and less about being involved.
It was large (just like the rest of him) and at first glance looked as though it shared the same texture base as the rest of the rabbit. But thankfully (thankfully? Was that even close to the right word that should be used in this situation??) it wasn’t furry or, god forbid, made of burnt rotting flesh. Just the same dingy yellow as the rest of him, though a decent bit darker. No holes or broken off pieces of suit or anything, either. It was just, just an appendage attached to his pelvis that most certainly hadn’t been there before. It was truly the first time in this entire shitshow that Matt was glad his assaulter was a video game model. No need to worry about tetanus.
Matt slowly looked up at Springtrap.
Springtrap practically purred back at him. He trailed a finger up the bulge of Matt’s pants, eliciting an embarrassingly long whine. Then it grabbed his hip again, exactly in the same bruised spot as before.
Matt was overwhelmingly fucked.
He sat there, waiting for it all to start again. But it didn’t. He stared at the rabbit, his face probably an indescribable mess, but it just snickered breathlessly. And then he realized that the hold on his hip was far too gentle, and it wasn’t going to start again, and somehow that was even worse. It was a power play.
His hands had begun going numb again, and all the leftover blood had rushed to his cock. The tightness slowly started revolting, aching more and more as the seconds of deprivation ticked on. And over every conscious, rational thought in his fuzzy head was the overwhelming rush that he neededneededneeded it to keep going on he needed it back he needed that goodness fuck his life fuck all of his ethics he needed to cum he needed - Matt felt dizzy sitting on that leg, knowing every second as his body began to burn from the bunched up nerves that he could fix it at any moment just by giving in. He knew the show he was giving, sitting still and trembling with desperation, and he didn’t want to give in, he didn’t he didn’t he didn’t . He didn’t want to do it but he needed it so badly and he was stuck sitting there blueballing himself whimpering and wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else alone and wanting nothing else but to be sitting right there cumming his brains out and
“A-aah . . !”
His body had once again made the choice for him, jerking against that mangled leg in a move that was just as unconscious as a blink or a heartbeat. But instantly, all the neurons in his head were flooded with so much heat so much dopamine and his body jerked again, and again, and he just couldn’t stop it and then he was stuck grinding and fucking himself as Springtrap watched with dark eyes, only barely helping by guiding his hips along, deepening each thrust just enough to make it all feel like heaven. Matt keened loudly, tears beginning to trail down his face. He was so overwhelmed, so scared, so confused so dizzy so helplessly lost and so aroused that it was impossible to not mash his hips down like an untrained dog. He gave in completely, letting the need build up as much as it pleased, arching his back and gracelessly chasing down his orgasm with every shaky drag.
That yellow smile just grinned at him, licking at his tears before going to press against Matt’s mouth in as close of a kiss as it could manage.
Primitive panic led to primitive pleasure. He was so hard that it hurt. Did it even matter anymore?
He returned the kiss, letting the metal tongue snake into his mouth and feel around. He found he liked the taste of saltwater.
It wasn’t long before the ache in his cock became a certainty, where the desperate longing to just- fuck, just cum, pleasecum please just- became a rising tightness that couldn’t have been stopped. He felt his body cross the threshold of what it could possibly endure before an edge officially broke. And then with a muffled sob he was bucking shamelessly, seeing white and trembling harder than ever as he completely and utterly stained his jeans.
All while it watched.
It took a minute of aftershocks and calming down to even notice that Matt’s arms had been released again, and that he had slumped onto the animatronic in a moment so blissful it had erased any and all terror. Of course it didn't last long, and as soon as he regained enough awareness he began to scramble away yet again. And this time, Springtrap let him. He dropped his leg at once, letting Matt hit his ass on the floor hard, limbs still too jittery to catch his fall. He sat up, trying to shake the fuzziness out of his head. Already, post-nut clarity was beginning to strike, finally bringing him to a state of mind that he actually wanted to be in.
Matt blinked, realized that he was still trapped against the wall, cornered by the rabbit’s legs. The potential for an escape had become tangible, but only just. It would be a risk. One that, if this was just playing with food, he did not want to lose.
He looked up.
And Matt realized with a horrible start that he was being given a choice . Exactly one, with exactly two options.
He looked at Springtrap, whose smile thinned somehow, gears moving in such a way as to make him sound like he was purring. Still extremely erect. Covering a concerning amount of his vision, in fact.
And there wasn’t much time to choose.