Chapter Text
Four hours - and three glasses of wine - later, something happens. Well, to be fair, a fair bit happened in that span of time on Zach's end; he reconnected the spark plugs loosened by Gourmand’s rough handling, reinforced them so it'd never happen again, and even installed more appropriate measures of combating the bastard. All in all, Chrisbot is new and improved - but about twenty pounds heavier. It's nothing installing a hover module won't fix, but it's slightly disappointing all the same.
Throughout the massive amounts of imperative progress being made in leaps and bounds, Chris hardly stirred, only moving to curl up more comfortably under the thick comforter, and had Zach not been one of the most - if not the most - brilliant inventors on the face of the planet, he might have thought his spybot malfunctioned. Even still, he pressed his face close to the screen until he saw the barely discernible rise and fall of Chris's chest, but he blamed the (uncharacteristic) bout of paranoia on the two glasses of wine he'd consumed at that point. So really, it's completely understandable that - an additional glass later - when he turns back to the monitor and finds Chris gone, he freaks the fuck out.
Zach doesn't even bother gliding his chair over; he stumbles out of the thing, the sheer force sending it spiraling out of control until there's a crash from the other side of the room, but he's too focused on adjusting his camera to care. The comforter, he finds, is missing, too, and Zach imagines Chris taking it with him, holding the thing around him like a makeshift shield against unwanted, wandering eyes. (In another life, maybe they would have been Gourmand’s - not Zach's.) He brushes the vision (and treacherous thought) away as the screen settles on the open bedroom door - and the scene framed right outside it.
Gourmand and Chris sit at the table, two steaming bowls of soup(?) laid out before them, and given Chris is actually eating it like it's the most normal thing in the world…
Zach's buzzed brain can hardly wrap itself around all the implications there, so he elects to ignore them in favor of contemplating whether or not to move the spybot closer to pick up their hushed conversation. He doesn't get to decide before the conversation comes to a conclusion that is punctuated by Chris rising to his feet, and with nothing left to say, he sheds the blanket, slips onto Gourmand's lap, and occupies his mouth elsewhere.
Somehow, it's a worse sight than catching them mid-fuck, but Zach can't look away despite the wine-flavored bile crawling up his throat and catching on his tongue. Impulsively, he swallows it with another bitter gulp, his fourth glass downed in record time as he watches the two oblivious assholes savor each other like they're long-lost lovers.
Having endured witnessing Chris's dating habits throughout their youth, the softness there doesn't surprise Zach in the slightest, even if it does disappoint him immensely, but Gourmand matching the gentle affection? Now, that is something Zach didn't see coming - would have never in a million years thought the bastard capable of; yet, there he is, exhibiting a level of care that far exceeds anything Zach has seen him give even the rarest - most precious - of ingredients. Which sticks with him even when Gourmand finally loses his patience and hauls their asses up - quite literally in Chris's case. Who responds to the manhandling instantly, snaking his limbs around Gourmand's hefty frame and holding on just as tightly as the meaty mitts palming just shy of his ass. The desperate, handsy display disgusts and distracts Zach until he realizes, to his horror, that the horny idiots are heading right towards him - or, more accurately, towards his exposed spybot.
With a curse, he clumsily slaps at the controls, the screen swinging around wildly and leaving his head spinning, too, and by the time the world stills, Zach fully expects to meet two sets of eyes catching him red-handed. Unfortunately, what he finds instead are the lovers still completely - and literally - wrapped up in each other as they arrive at the bed, and they stay that way even as they fall to the mattress. The vindictive side of Zach hopes Gourmand's girth smothers the life out of Chris - something that would get both the backstabbers out of his life for good, but the even more vindictive side of him feels cheated. Because Chris certainly didn't kiss him like that - like he'd fucking die if they were apart for even a second, and if Chris didn't hold up his end of their bargin, why should Zach? Hell, maybe he'll send the live feed directly to the Tortuga - play it on every fucking monitor on the stupid turtle and let the Wild Kratts witness firsthand how compromised their precious cohort is. He's buzzed enough to do it, too, but stays his hand just shy of breaking through Aviva's reinforced firewall, but only because the debauched gasp that abruptly bursts from the speakers arrests his attention the moment it escapes Chris's suddenly unoccupied mouth. Gourmand's mouth, on the other hand…
It's impossible to miss the suggestive position the bastard's fat head is in, and Zach's face burns as he watches Chris struggle to decide what he wants more - the mouth swallowing him down or the fingers spreading him open. His pretty face is pinched in pleasured indecision, tears streaming from the fluttering fans of long, dark lashes resting just above a set of flushed, round cheeks, but, in the end, Gourmand - the selfish bastard - makes the choice for him.
“Can't stand smelling other people on you.”
Normally, hearing that grating, possessive voice would be enough to take Zach out of it - to douse the heat spreading through him with each rapid beat of his heart, but this time it only adds fuel to the fire. Because he's one of those people, and the reminder - and just the fact his scent lingers on Chris - excites him almost as much as the choked cries tumbling out of Chris's mouth. Until -
“Was thinking of you - I wanted it to be you.”
Ice fills Zach veins at the admission. It isn't a surprise, per say, but the earnestness - the honesty - of it is, especially with the emotion shining in the bleary, blown eyes desperately searching Gourmand’s out. Such vulnerability is blood in the water for a jackass like Gourmand, who clearly doesn't appreciate the sentiment either when, instead of properly replying, he doubles his finger-fucking efforts until Chris is a melting, mewling mess. It's enough to pique Zach's physical interest again but not to put his mind back in the gutter, and the dissonance intensifies when Chris actually manages to string a sentence together.
“Gaston, please! I need you!”
Even in the most depraved of dreams, Chris Kratt has never begged so brokenly - so beautifully, but Zach can't even fully enjoy it - not with the name proceeding it not being his own - never being his own. Because the man he so foolishly fell for will never be his, and Gourmand makes sure Zach knows it, too.
“Say your mine.”
Cock-hungry Chris obeys without hesitation. “I’m yours!”
He says more - begs for more, but that single, solitary word - yours, yours, yours - drowns the rest out in Zach's burning ears. At least until a piercing cry snaps the streak and begins a new one - one of flesh meeting flesh like before but louder, quicker, deeper, and Chris's sinful sobs mirror the change in all but one way, the pitch high and cracking on each sure, successive slap. In the cacophony of unfettered pleasure, it’s easy to lose track of the grunts and groans of the beast rutting madly into the willing body beneath him, and if Zach closes his eyes, there would be nothing left of Gourmand to taint to scene. In fact, he'd be able to focus entirely on the sweet sounds Chris is making and imagine it's his cock wringing them from even sweeter lips. Which are so damn pretty - parted and panting - that Zach doesn't stand a chance of looking away. His imagination runs wild even without the dark canvas behind his eyelids, but the moment Zach starts to give into the illusion and indulge his own carnal desires, the scene shifts.
Or, more accurately, Gourmand shifts.
It happens so fast, starting with his huge hands trailing down the length of Chris's quivering form, and the only reason Zach notices is because it briefly breaks his line of sight with the blissed out face at the center of his brewing fantasies. Even if it hadn't, Zach is fairly certain he'd have noticed when, with his next thrust, Gourmand bends Chris nearly in half, shoving knees to chest until those long, lean legs aren't framing his hips but his head instead. Which would have been fine if the bastard didn't follow up the showcase of Chris's impressive flexibility - Zach absently snaps a few screenshots for reference use later - by immediately eclipsing the view with his less than appealing and much more bulbous body. What's worse - not even the absolutely wrecked sounds Chris makes now soften the possessive growl that rumbles through his speakers.
“Mine!”
And like before -
“Yours!”
Then Gourmand is flipping Chris over and mounting him like a hump-happy dog, and Chris plays the role of bitch perfectly, ass up, face down, and taking it like a fucking champ. It might have kept Zach's attention if he weren't suddenly feeling every bit the pathetic, drunken voyeur he's allowed himself to become, and while that does little to abate the lust pooling in his loins, it is enough to get him to finally tear his gaze away from the screen and back to Chrisbot. Who will definitely be having some rather enticing soundbites added to his - its repertoire. Later, though; for now, the salacious symphony playing from his speakers - and rapidly approaching its climax - is enough, and the rising chorus follows Zach all the way to the table where his ‘Chris’ lies in perfect submission.
He doesn’t last long. One hand clenched in Chrisbot’s hair and the other fisting himself, Zach closes his eyes and easily pictures the real Chris before him. On his knees or on his back, it doesn't matter; all that matters is that he’s here - with Zach - and begging him for release. He doesn’t deserve to, though, not after calling out the wrong name, and Zach tightens his hold and wretches Chris’s head back in punishment. A guttural howl behind him nearly shatters the illusion again, but Zach is so close already - too close for the discordant tone to keep him from his own crescendo.
Bright light fills the darkness behind his eyelids, taking his mental image of Chris - mouth slack and lashes fluttering - along with it, but when Zach blinks away the last of the stars, he sees him again - no, sees it - sees Chrisbot's placid face coated with proof of his own completion, opaque white splattered across tan skin - skin that isn't red enough to be real. Still, it's enough for his next ragged pant to catch in his throat, and in that sudden silence, he hears them again.
Much like Zach, the lovers are catching their breaths, and he doesn’t want to look - doesn’t want to watch them bask in their afterglow. Especially when - unlike them - Zach has no one to share his with, but, of course, since he’s apparently a bigger glutton than even Gourmand, he takes a peek anyway. What he sees is unsurprisingly appalling; Gourmand winds his arms around Chris and pulls him close until they're spooning, but what is surprising is when they don’t go beyond simply snuggling. In fact, they don’t do anything besides that until Chris - thoroughly exhausted and fucked - falls asleep again, and with the object of his obsession snoring softly in the undeserving arms of another, Zach finds no reason to keep watching.
And yet, he does.
But only because Gourmand does, too.
A small, sated smile twists the jackass’s expression into something soft that doesn’t suit his ugly mug at all; it's too nice - too genuine in a way Gourmand never is. Except, apparently, when he's with Chris fucking Kratt and thinks no one - not even his precious ‘sweet pea’ - can see him, but blackmail is the furthest thing on Zach's mind as he witnesses the gentle way Gourmand sweeps Chris's sex-mused bangs back before pressing a chase kiss to his temple.
Forget nice; it's too damn sweet.
Whether from the sickening sight or the wine sitting heavy in his stomach, Zach decides to follow Chris's lead and hit the sack early, and much like he expected Gourmand to do, he leaves his Chris behind without a care for the mess he's leaving behind.
He’ll add it to the litany of regrets he’ll no doubt have when he wakes up.
Zach does not sleep well. There's, of course, the fact that his head pounds, that last glass of wine a mistake he's all too familiar with, but even when he manages to drift off, his dreams are plagued in equal parts by breathy moans and gut-wrenching grunts, both sources glaring at him with love and hate respectively, and what a fucking turn of events - he can't even enjoy the Chris of his dreams without Gourmand sticking his fat nose - amongst other, less savory bits - into things. Worse yet, he swears he can still hear the two of them going at it despite leaving the nightmare behind, and isn't that just great - there's no escaping them even when he's in the waking world and not spying on them.
Or so he thinks until the noises actively get louder the closer he makes it to his lab. Where he just so happened to have left the feed of Gourmand's bedroom on for the last six or so hours, but the reveal of them indeed ‘going at it again’ doesn't hit Zach nearly as hard as the supposed amount of time the two have been together.
By his calculations, it's been around ten hours since Gourmand first threw Chris on his bed and started this bizarrely domestic rendezvous, and having tracked nearly all of Chris's previously unexplainable disappearances, Zach knows this one is far and away an outlier - and an extreme one at that. It's an irresponsible amount of time for Chris to be shirking his duties as one of the Earth's illustrious protectors, and more damning, there's no way Martin Kratt - the second most insufferable man he knows - would let his precious baby brother be out of his sight for that long. Especially if he knew who exactly Chris was with.
Zach verbally gasps as the final piece clicks into place, but, surely - surely - it's too good to be true! A sneaky peek into the Tortuga - and at her distressed occupants - all but confirms his suspicion, and he keeps both windows open, excited to watch this shitshow from every angle.
So far, it's fucking hilarious, the juxtaposition between the two scenes almost enough to leave Zach cackling. The Wild Ratts - but especially Blue Boy - vibrate with anxiety, the uncertainty of their missing member’s fate weighing so heavily on them that it's a wonder the giant turtle is still in the air, and it truly is a pleasure seeing the usually tight-knit crew succumbing to stress and snapping at each other. Then there, of course, is the actual pleasure being felt by the missing Ratt in question, Chris taking charge for a change and riding Gourmand for all the bastard's worth. Which isn't much, in Zach's humble, unbiased opinion, and knowing Martin is of a similar mindset, Zach wonders if the ‘assault’ being mutual will make him feel better or worse; not that he wants another thing in common with Blue Boy but he hopes it's the latter.
The current bout of sex comes to an end in tandem with another outburst from Martin, whose ejaculation is nowhere near as messy as his baby brother’s but just as explosive, and spent, both brothers slump against their partner (Aviva and Gourmand, respectively) in another - borderline disquieting - instance of synchronicity. Between the two scenes, the one showcasing a majority of Chris's beautiful body - used and abused as it is - appeals to him more than seeing Aviva - the most insufferable woman he knows - comfort the blue buffoon.
Unfortunately, his choice isn't without its own cons - the biggest one (literally and figuratively) being Gourmand. Who eventually stirs beneath Chris, propping his head up on one bulging bicep while his other massive arm slips around Chris and taints the view Zach was actually able to enjoy again. It's almost frustrating enough to have him impulsively shutting off the feed, but the sound of his own name stops him.
“Zach showed me that new robot of his,” Gourmand says, insufferably smarmy and self-satisfied. “I broke it.”
Zach cringes, the reveal reminding him of not only that unfortunate incident but the current state of said robot, repaired, yes, but filthy - not unlike the real Chris, and if one good thing comes from the Gourmand opening his big, fat mouth, it's that it gets Chris to raise his face from the bastard's neck. His wide-eyed surprise makes him look younger - more innocent. Which really shouldn't be possible after being fucked within an inch of his life, but leave it to Chris Kratt to do the impossible.
“What? How?”
“By trying to fuck it, you oblivious idiot,” Zach hisses despite himself. “Obviously.”
Surprisingly, Gourmand essentially says the same.
“Well, I had to test it out. It wasn't nearly as durable as the real thing.” His huge hand presses against the small of Chris's back, a sure sign of possession if Zach's ever seen one - and one that contrasts hilariously with his next admission. “It's a shame, really; that would have solved all my problems.”
Zach expects anger - betrayal - disgust - something negative at the very least, but the emotion that crosses Chris face is none of those things - not even close. No, instead of being appalled by the confession of essentially cheating, Chris looks fucking pleased. Eyes soft and smile softer, he regards Gourmand with equal parts amused affection and unbridled trust. The first is bad enough, but the second tips Zach over the edge and into a raging sea of jealous fury. Because once again the bastard is using Zach to get his cake and fuck it, too, and Zach - self-respecting genius he is - refuses to subject himself to this again.
So as much as he wants to watch their playdate come to its inevitable and permanent (and hopefully violent) end, Zach cuts the feed and gets back to work, starting with ordering the cleaning of his Chris.