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"Um," Keats says, staring warily at Herm where he reclines on their pillow, his pixels managing to form a look of smirking, lecherous suggestion.
The group has mostly settled into a base camp in an abandoned supermarket they found just a little deeper in the EX than the mall, and they're hunkering down here for the time being, until Michelle, their teenage defacto leader — bodes super well for them, doesn't it? — solidifies her plans. This is their first night here, and Keats has managed to snag this supply closet for his and Herm's bedroom, with a sleeping bag rolled out on the floor, covering pretty much all of it, and a nightlight plugged into the wall for light. It's dim and cramped and nothing compared to what they had in their prime as EX smugglers, but it'll do.
Herm has been nudging and grinning at Keats all day, exuding excitement, and Keats gets it. They haven't been alone together in weeks, it's only natural that they should make the most of this supply closet getaway, but...
Keats is so nervous, feels so fumbling and awkward, you'd think he was getting ready to pop his cherry. Somehow, ridiculously, that doesn't feel far from the truth.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Herm asks, standing to frown up at Keats, so small he can fit in the palm of Keats' hand. He's spent much of the past couple weeks doing just that. "You okay?"
It's far from their first time ever, but it absolutely is their first time with Herm being so...tiny.
"Yeah. Yeah, um." Keats clears his throat, fidgets his hands in his lap, sat cross-legged on the sleeping bag. "I'm just kinda tired, I guess..."
"You're tired?" Herm raises a pixelated eyebrow. "Seriously? Babe, we haven't so much as kissed in weeks, and this is our one chance to be together for who knows how long, and you're tired? Something's up."
Keats scoffs. "Nothing's up, asshole! I have a right to be tired."
"Yeah, you do, if you were, but you're not," Herm says, as if this makes sense. He hops off the pillow and crosses the sleeping bag to get to Keats, which takes him ten steps. It would only take Keats one. "Hey." Herm touches Keats' knee with one tiny metal hand, tugs at his jeans. "C'mon, what's up? Talk to me."
"I just wanna go to sleep." Keats sniffles without knowing why, seeing through a veil of unshed tears suddenly. His chest feels too tight.
You were dead, he doesn't say. You were fucking gone.
"Oh, baby." Herm reaches up as if to touch Keats' face, then frowns in pixelated frustration when he can't. He must hate it, too, being this small. "Can you pick me up?" he asks.
Keats nods and scoops Herm into his palms, holding Herm to his face, letting out a quiet sob when Herm touches his cheeks with hands just barely big enough to cover his dimples. "M'sorry," Keats says. "I just, it's like..."
"It's like I'm a different person," Herm says gently, nodding. "I get it, it's freaky. I feel that way, too. Don't worry, buddy, the guys told me this morning that they'd be done repairing my normal model in a few days." Keats shakes his head, knocking a tear loose, because that's not soon enough. Herm wipes it away with one tiny palm, and says, "I know, I know, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for being pushy about sex, that was super uncool of me. We don't have to do anything right now, we'll just wait until I'm back to normal and make up for lost time then, okay?"
"'Kay," Keats whispers. He lies down on his side with Herm cradled in his palms, held against his chest. "It's not that I don't want to," he says. "I do, I feel like I'm being tortured or something. We went from screwing three times a day to, like, never." He's also really, really going to miss all the sex toys they had in their personal pre-war collection.
"Definitely a form of torture," Herm agrees. He presses his screen to Keats' thumb and makes a little kissing noise; he does this a lot, especially mid-sex, for Keats, so Keats will know he's being kissed. It's sweet, Keats has always thought so. "Probably for the best that we wait, though. I'll be real, I don't even know how we'd do it like this. Figured we'd just wing it."
"Hey, um. How —" Keats shifts a little, reminded of a million other times Herm has "kissed" him, in a million other places. "How're we gonna make up for lost time, later?"
Herm chuckles. "You want me to describe it? Should I tell it realistically or embellish a bunch, for porn purposes?"
"Realistic," Keats says, then reconsiders. "But, um. Maybe embellish some stuff."
Another kissing noise, Herm's screen pressed to Keats' palm. "Awesome answer, babe."
"Dude!" Keats whines. "Just, you know what to do. Make it hot, okay?"
"Alright, baby, alright. I'll get you off, I always do." Herm's quiet for a while, contemplating. Keats switches to holding Herm in one hand, moving the other to rest on his thigh, noncommittal but there if he feels moved to jerk off at any point during this. "Okay," Herm says finally, and pats Keats' wrist with his tiny hand. "So in three days, when I'm back in my normal model, the first thing I'm gonna do is hug you, then yank you down and kiss you, and then, after we get away from all our teammates who will no doubt flock to admire my hot bod —" Keats snorts. "— I'll drag you right back here."
"Okay," Keats says. "And what're we gonna do here?"
"Make sweet, sweet love, obviously." Herm's tiny grin manages to be more cute than disturbing, though Keats could cover his whole screen with one fingertip. "Remind my boy who owns his plush ass."
"My plush ass," Keats repeats in a deadpan, taking the hand from his thigh and using it to cover his face instead. "Ugh."
"Yeah, sorry. That was bad." Herm is doing the same thing, in miniature. "I'm rusty, babe. Y'know, figuratively. Although..." He pauses, reclining back against Keats' palm with that dumb, shit-eating smirk Keats is always endeared and infuriated by in equal parts. "Your ass is incredibly plush. You know it's my favorite pillow! Just thick and soft and perfectly fleshy —"
"Okay!" Keats snaps, cheeks flushed in a distinctly unpleasant way. "So you drag me back here, wax weird poetic about my ass, and then I dump you. The end."
Herm laughs. "You're gonna dump me? Baby, Herm doesn't get dumped."
"You're referring to yourself in the third person, gross, now you're double dumped." Keats snickers.
"Okay, well, I guess I'll just have to win you back with my magic vibrating fingers," Herm says smugly, and vibrates them in demonstration against Keats' palm, a miniature version of the effect Keats has enjoyed many, many times since this whole crazy thing began.
Keats squirms a little, returns his hand to his thigh. "Oh?" he prompts.
"Oh," Herm agrees. "So I'll roll you over here on this sleeping bag and wrestle you outta your jeans and work you open until you're all hard and melted and begging for it."
"Oh." Keats inches his hand toward his button and pops it slowly, saying, "Tell me what you'd be thinkin'. Y'know, while you, uh." His cheeks flame; this is nothing new, in action, but they don't usually talk about it. They just do it. "Work me open."
"There's an easy one." Herm's tiny fingers, no longer vibrating, brush over Keats' thumb. Keats cringed from Herm the first few times they screwed around, unused to the feeling of metal caressing his bare skin, but now it's his favorite feeling, something he craves. Firm and safe and satisfying. "I'd be thinking about how pretty you are," Herm says softly, gazing up at Keats with pixelated adoration, kind eyes and a gentle smile, when Keats looks down at him. "Your reactions, that's what really does it for me. Have I ever told you that?"
When Keats shakes his head, blushing and curious, Herm continues, "Like, even though I don't have the right parts to get off, getting you off gets me off. Seeing you turning all pink and squirming around and making those noises, fuck..."
"Noises?" Keats frowns, even as he slowly drags down his zipper. "Shut up, I don't make noises. Or squirm. I'm an extremely dignified lay."
"But you're not a lay," Herm argues lightly, nudging Keats' thumb. "You're my guy."
Keats tenses at this, then melts, sighing and using both hands to cup Herm to his face, nuzzling his little screen. Some of the reason Keats fell in love with Herm is just what Herm said: selfish. When they're together, all of the physical focus goes to Keats, because in the absence of a dick of his own, Herm orgasms vicariously through Keats'; as much as that sucks for Herm, he never seems to mind, and as a result he's the best Keats has ever had. Most of the reason, though, is that Herm is sweet and cheesy and generally adorable, nothing like what Keats thought he knew about robots when they met, in the war.
He got his ass kicked and his leg broken, and he should've died, but then there was Herm, peering down at him. Herm was in his three-story model at the time, and he scared the ever-loving shit out of Keats, but he was never the soulless murder bot Keats thought he was, come to finish the job. Instead, he went rogue from his own platoon, whisked Keats away and took care of him. The rest is history.
Sometimes Keats likes to spin it like it's the other way around, but no, it was always Herm taking care of him. Loving him, for some reason.
"Yeah, I am," Keats says after a while of just nuzzling, Herm pressing his screen to Keats' cheek and making those sweet little kissing noises. "I really love you, y'know? You're my best friend and, like, way more than that, too."
"I know." Herm sounds smug, and taps the tip of Keats' nose with his tiny hand. "And ditto. I love you, buddy, I think you're gorgeous inside and out." He cocks his head, pixels smirking again. "Speaking of the outside, you gonna jerk off sometime this year? C'mon, baby, I know you need it, it's been so long. Your poor balls must be all achy, huh?"
"Ew, what? Shut up, weirdo." Keats laughs, though... Yeah, a little bit. He obliges, moves one hand down to fish out his cock, and just brushing his fingers over himself like this gets him almost to full mast. It really has been so long.
Herm whistles appreciatively, despite having seen Keats' cock a million times before. "Fuck, so pretty, baby."
"Oh my god, holy shit." Keats drops his head to the pillow and gasps at the first slow stroke, trusting the closet to keep his extremely dignified moans contained. Maybe there's something to be said for periods of chastity; he's more sensitive now than he ever remembers being, every nudge of his fingers over the head of his cock like a mini orgasm, precome dripping over his knuckles. "Herm, fuck!"
"I'm here, you're okay, baby." Herm ends up on Keats' shoulder, and walks around to Keats' chest so he can stroke Keats' cheek soothingly. "Kinda intense, huh? But that's a good thing, you're gonna feel so amazing, and that's just what you deserve. You've been so good, waiting for so long. I don't want you to hold back at all, okay? Just let it all out for me."
"'Kay." Keats sniffs, and actually whimpers when he tugs at himself again, the sound yanked from his throat. He loosens his grip, a searing hot idea catching in his skull. It's always Herm taking care of Keats, and sometimes Keats tries to spin it around — but mostly he likes to play into it, the helplessness. "Shit, um. I — I dunno if I can do this."
"Sure you can," Herm coaxes. "C'mon, pull on your big cock until you feel good, you got this."
Keats breaks and laughs, shaking his head. "No, I don't." He takes his hands off himself, despite the ache in his balls, and throws them up dramatically over his head. "I just need you."
"Oh, yeah?" Chuckling, Herm walks down from Keats' chest to his stomach. "Well, lucky for you, I'm here. I'm right here, baby, and I'm not going anywhere." From his stomach to his cock — which is about as tall as Herm now; Keats tries not to think about it — where Herm pauses and looks back at him. "You sure it's okay for me to touch you now?" Herm asks gently. "You changed your mind about waiting?"
Keats nods, propped up on his elbows and smiling down at Herm. "You're not like a different person," Keats says. "You're Herm, you're my guy, and I think I actually might die if you don't get your magic vibrating fingers on me right the fuck now."
Herm's pixels form a grin. "Roger that, babe."
And then he's hugging Keats' cock, reaching up to hold the head while vibrating his fingers, and it's like a gunshot or a taser, flattening Keats' spine to the sleeping bag, curling his toes in his socks. His mouth drops open, his own fingers digging hard into the blanket with the colossal effort to not thrust his hips or writhe around, because that might buck Herm off.
"Herm!" Keats gasps out, close to sobbing when Herm scrubs his tiny vibrating hands over Keats' cockhead, then down to the devastatingly sensitive spot on the underside. Keats shouts, "Fuck, fuck, right there, don't stop!"
"I'm here, not going anywhere," Herm says, again. He tightens his arms around Keats' cock, so he doesn't go flying across the closet when Keats loses a smidge of control and rocks his hips up.
"Sorry," Keats sobs. "Sorry, sorry —"
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay, baby," Herm soothes, and makes a kissing noise with his screen pressed to the ridge of Keats’ cock. "What'd I tell ya? Don't hold back, just let go for me. C'mon, I can feel you getting close, twitching and leaking, so damn pretty..."
Keats screws his eyes shut and braces himself, half expecting to be knocked out by this tidal wave when it breaks over him, it's so huge, pleasure crashing up and down his spine. And then one of Herm's tiny vibrating fingers circles Keats' urethra, slips so easily inside, just half an inch, and Keats is coming like he's never come before, crying and yanking hard at the blanket. "Herm, Herm!"
"Good, that's good, keep going," Herm says, still squeezing and vibrating, just tracing the rim of that tiny, gushing hole now. "Just a little more..."
Keats gasps and cries until it's over, until Herm releases his wrung-out cock and the overpowering wave of pleasure fades to shivery aftershocks. Keats sighs contentedly, manages to get his elbows back under him so he can look down at Herm. "Jeez, that was — Woah!"
He laughs, because there's eight-inch Herm standing on his stomach, absolutely drenched in jizz. Herm's grinning, spinning as if to show off a new outfit. "Check it out, babe.” Herm snickers. "I think this could be a good look for me."
"Ew! C'mere, nasty." Keats grabs Herm off his stomach and brings Herm to his mouth, sets to licking and kissing Herm clean. "This won't mess with your joints, will it?"
"Nah." Herm laughs. "Dude, if your meat puppet fluids messed with my joints, I would've been out of commission a long time ago."
Keats grins against Herm's little chest. "Good point." He inches his mouth down to lap between Herm's legs, the place where his dick would be if he had one. Keats likes doing this, sometimes, usually on his knees with Herm standing over him. Sharp, savory metallic notes sing on his tongue.
"Yeah, that's hot." Herm pats Keats' forehead. "The only thing better than your plush fleshy ass are your plush fleshy lips."
"Ugh!" Keats pulls back, drops Herm onto the pillow and rolls over, but he's grinning, just messing around. "That's it, consider yourself dumped."
Herm gasps, and Keats laughs loud and snorting when Herm pounds angrily between his shoulders with his tiny fists. "Hey! Asshole, you can't dump me!" He's laughing, too. "Not without papers, and good luck getting me to sign 'em!"
This stiffens Keats, and he rolls back over to frown at Herm, who's standing near Keats' face, smiling almost sheepishly.
"Um," Keats says. "As in, marriage? Like we're married?"
"Well, yeah." Herm shifts his weight from one tiny foot to the other, taps his tiny hands together. "I mean, we could be. If you wanted. With all this peace and love and coexistence stuff the kid's spreading, robot-human marriage is bound to become a thing, right?"
Keats just blinks at Herm for a second, uncomprehending. "Dude," he says. "Did you just propose to me?"
"Who the hell else am I gonna propose to?" Herm huffs. "C'mon, just say yes, don't be difficult. We're practically husbands already."
"Husbands!" Something about the word just wraps roots around Keats' heart, squeezes hard.
"Yes, duh! Earth to Keats!" Herm's pixelated expression softens, studying Keats' shock. "Please?"
Keats takes a breath, and trains his face into a look of dignified adoration, though inside he's flipping over tables and swinging from chandeliers and considering upbeat color schemes for their post-apocalyptic gay interspecies wedding. If only his parents could see him now. "Yes," he says simply.
"I just — yes?" Herm gasps and grins. "Oh my god, yes! Fuck yeah!" He throws himself at Keats' face, making frantic kissing noises. Keats kisses back, brings his hands up to cup Herm closer. "We're getting married!"
"Whoo!" Keats cheers, and this time when tears roll down his cheeks, it's only because he's so happy he's overflowing with it. These ones Herm doesn't wipe away; they're the good kind. "Yeah, man! But fuck the government, fuck what anyone else says, we're getting married whether it's legal or not. As soon as your regular model's repaired," Keats decides. He'd prefer not to wait three whole days, but Herm needs to at least be big enough to slide a ring on his finger.
And they need to find rings. Fuck.
"Okay!" Herm's practically vibrating again, this time with excitement. "Starting tomorrow, I will be badgering the shit out of everyone until I'm back to normal. Seriously, no one's sleeping until we've made honest men of each other."
"Also," Keats adds gently, "rings."
"Oh, crap. Yeah." Herm laughs, plops himself down on his back next to Keats' head on the pillow. "Guess I should've done that part first, huh?"
"Nah." Keats wriggles under the blanket, and tugs it up to cover Herm, too. He always does, even though Herm can't get cold. "I like that we're just making this shit up as we go along. It's, like, our thing."
"Making shit up as we go along is so totally our thing," Herm agrees, snuggling closer to Keats' face until his screen bumps Keats' nose. Herm makes a little kissing noise there, widening Keats' smile. "Now you go to sleep, babe, recharge your meat puppet body while I envision our wedding down to the most minute detail. After all, probably the only thing this model is good for is detail work."
An urge to argue rises in Keats' chest, something about how Herm is always good no matter how big he is, what form he takes, but Keats is exhausted. He curls up around Herm, sighing as he cradles Herm in his hands, wishing for the thousandth time that Herm were bigger. Holding him like this just doesn't feel right, not as safe or satisfying. "You don't need to plug in?" Keats asks.
"Nope! I was kind of expecting our love-making to be less vanilla than that, so I charged up before." Herm smiles, soft pixel eyes staring at Keats. "Don't mind me, I'll just be gazing lovingly at you all night. My gorgeous guy with his plush fleshy body and his perfect haircut, looks so badass…"
“Thanks," Keats mumbles before he passes out. He wouldn't have Herm any other way than exactly what he is: a sweet, cheesy, creepy-cute weirdo of a boyfriend (fiance?) who's as crazy about Keats as Keats is about him; who's not going anywhere.
What more could a guy ask for?